I was missing Madison a lot last night for some reason. The smell of the dirt in the community farm that we had one summer, the sparkle of the snow around the state capitol building, the protests which filled the streets with electric energy, the farmers' market that stretched a mile around the capitol with activists and street artists vying for attention in the Saturday morning summer sun. I stayed awake thinking about my teachers there, the people who looked after me. And my students, who inspired me in almost every lesson, who re-energized me on even my most tired days and on Saturday morning at 8am. I thought about Classical Revolution and the labor of love that it was to create it there, the people that I met through it and the things that I learned from it. So many wonderful people who played with me, gave me rides from one thing to another, listened to me and had me listen to them.
Madison is a wonderful place. I still love seeing pictures of it and status updates about it on facebook. But tonight as I sat down to dinner and decided to turn off NPR and turn on NHK to hear the sound of Japanese, I remembered being homesick for Japan while I was in Madison. I remember coming back to America and missing it so much that I would dedicate an evening to cook some ramen and listen to my basic Japanese lessons, just to hear the sound of it.
Funny to be in such a wonderful place and thinking about another.
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