About fourteen years ago this month I started third grade, my first year at a real school in the United States. We'd just moved to Fort Collins; on my first day I wore a flowered dress with a white peter-pan collar, and my teacher was Mrs. Johnston, who wore jean jumpers.
This month, this year, I'm moving to Boston, for my first year at a "real job". I start work on Monday; I don't know what I'm going to wear yet, but I do know that instead of sitting in the little chairs behind the little desks, I'll be standing at (or near) the front of another third grade classroom. This school is in an old six-floor apartment building with a big marble staircase in the center; they don't have a big playground like my own third-grade school, but their street has magnolias and they might raise baby chickens this spring.
I'll be in a hostel until my apartment opens up, so posts might be periodic until then. Next step of the plan : learn to spell the state's name.
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