Matching Tracksuits

An image from the late 1990s -- the kitchen I had in my first apartment in Lipnica. That mug on the right -- I still have it upstairs. The writing is just about gone, and if I were as sentimental as I used to be, that would upset me greatly as this particular mug was an unexpected birthday gift from a sophomore class of students. This means the kids who gave me that mug are now in their mid- to late- thirties, likely with kids as old or older than my current students.

The significance of this? Same as always...

It’s one thirty, and I’ve returned with the dziennik to the teachers’ room. It’s been snowing all day, and there’s a soft glow in the room as the light filters through the snow-covered windows in the roof. The hustle of the morning — teachers swallowing one last gulp of tea before calling out, “Who has the dziennik for 1c? I’m looking for 1c,” before heading out to class — has given way to a virtually empty room with one teacher working on the computer in the corner and a couple more sitting at the table chatting.

I sit down to write my day’s lesson topic in the given space, initial it, and then slide the dziennik into its slot.

One teacher stands and walks over, absentmindedly asking, “Which did you have?”

“3b,” I reply.

“Oh. I need 1d.” She finds it and heads out. I pack up my satchel, and head down to the cafeteria for lunch.

Including both a soup and a main course, this is my main meal of the day. Dinner will be a sandwich probably, but lunch is the hot meal. There’s a cooking school in our high school, so there’s always a wide variety of food throughout the week. It’s all traditional Polish food, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

I go to the small window, put down a few zloty — it’s a school, so the price just covers the materials, about four zloty — and try some small talk. None of the cafeteria workers/culinary teachers has much time or interest most days, but I might get a small chat in about the weather.

“Can you believe it’s snowing?” I ask as the lady take my money.

“Snow and more snow,” she laughs, turning to get my bowl of soup. I hurry to take my satchel to a seat and return for the soup.

“It’s sure beautiful though,” I say. She says nothing but smiles in response.

I sit down to my soup, take out a book, and begin unwinding from the day.