Happy!

My mom and friends were very kind to me in the mail department last year: they sent packages, Christmas letters, cards. It's always fun to get something besides a bill in the mail -- wherever you are -- but it's especially encouraging to receive something here, when I'm far away from home and so many of the people I love.

Mike handed this package to me just as I sat down to dinner last night. I was completely surprised and so pleased to receive a dose of pop culture, some cute pads of paper (which I'd been wishing I could find here!), and some cards to open at my leisure.

Thank you for sending me some love. 

Tutorial: How to Buy a Coat Rack

1. Ask Mike to take you to the Zax (huge outdoor market). (You could go by yourself, of course, but soon enough you'll be glad you didn't.)
2. Put on a coat even if it seems unnecessary. Remember that you live in a weather vortex where the temperature is always 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the city. I neglected to remember this last Saturday.
3. Drive. Park. Pay the $.05 fee to enter the Zax. Weave your way through the clothing and shoe stalls until you find the furniture section. (That's the easy part, I assure you.)
   
4. Find the coat racks. Of the three available, you'll need to choose between two that are light brown and one that is lavendar. Tough decision.
5. (If Mike is around, he'll take care of steps 5-12. Phew!) Ask the cost.
6. Ask if there is free delivery.
7. Ask again if the delivery will be free.
8. Explain that last time you were told the delivery was free and then were asked for money after the delivery.
9. Receive assurance that delivery will be free.
10. Ask when the delivery will happen.
11. Ask again when told it will happen "right now".
12. Verify "right now".
13. Pay for your coat rack.
14. Stand by as it's loaded onto a cart.
15. Follow the cart out the back entrance to a pick-up truck. (Try not to get run over by other carts. Their drivers could care less about your toes.)
    
16. Wait 10-15 minutes as they unload the truck and reload the truck. Mike will probably have to help.
    
17. Listen as Mike verifies that they will be leaving soon. As in now.
18. Get in the truck with Mongolian man since you will have to direct him to your house and Mike will have to go back for his own car.
19. Attempt to understand fast, slurred Mongolian as he points to your stuff and says "two" and to the sink in the front seat and says "one".
20. Argue with him in your limited Mongolian. It will go something like this:
• Mongolian Man: (pointing to sink) "One."
• You: (shaking head vigorously) "No. My house. One."
• Mongolian Man: "something something something. Where?"
• You: (realizing you don't know the word for "near" point over his shoulder) "Five minutes. Five minutes."
• Mongolian Man: "Five minutes?"
• You: "Yes. Five minutes." (more pointing)
  
• Mongolian Man: "Okay."
• You: (inward sigh) "Okay."
21. Wait for Mongolian man to have a cigarette, rope down the things in the back of the trunk, try to start his truck, try to fix his truck, try again to start his truck.
22. Attempt to open your door to tell Mike (who is still standing nearby -- thank you, Mike! --) what's happening and discover that your passenger door doesn't open from the inside. (At this point you may or may not have a flashback to the time you had a fit of poor judgment while in Hawaii and accepted a ride from a very large Samoan man only to discover that when he dropped you off, he had to get out and open your door for you. Thank God for his protection and harmless Samoan men.) 
23. Ask Him to protect you again.
24. Sit in the truck as Mike, the driver, and two other Mongolian men push the truck out of the parking stall, which will require a 12-point turn since the trucks are all packed in like sardines.
25. Continue to sit as the men now push the car from behind so your driver can jump the clutch to start the truck. Be thankful it only took one try.
26. Lean forward while a Mongolian woman climbs into the backseat of the pick-up.
27. Move over as another Mongolian man pushes in next to you on the front seat.
28. Smile at Mike as you drive away and hope you won't have to argue again.
29. Point out the left turn to your house. Point out your driveway. (You will realize later that while you thought you were saying "there" and "here", you were actually saying "this" and "that".)
30. When telling the driver where to park, you will say the one phrase you are confident of ("Stop please"), but which will result in all three Mongolians cracking up. Be thankful for laughter.
31. Stand by as the two men and two of the Sprenger boys take your furniture up to your apartment.
32. Be grateful when the driver does not ask for more money.
33. Say "thank you" (because you're an American) and stand back to admire your purchase. 

It's as easy as that. 
 

green in grey

green, originally uploaded by Wanderings.

A composite of days

as suggested by Shannon

My Life in Pictures

breakfast

This one was nicked when I went downstairs to pick Linden up for school.

Pumpkin coffee cake. And coffee in my favorite mug from Mike's collection.

Mmm-mm-mmmm.

school w/ Linden

We are doing a lot of work with reading, spelling, and phonics this year.

lunch

Whatever I have on hand.

Today was fried rice.

Now that it's colder, I'll be making (and freezing) a lot of soup for lunch.

off to the co-op...

short-cut through the fence

and across the playground

writing class

When the weather is nice enough, I like to give the creative writing students time outside. It seems to calm them down a bit and -- because they can spread out -- they get more writing done than in the classroom. Here, they're working on poems about Fall.

walk to language lessons

Once a week I have lessons with Bayarmaa at the Bubbling Springs building.

The other afternoon, I have a 15-20 minute walk to my lesson.

It's a nice walk, but I'm not sure I'll still feel that way when the weather drops below zero.

 language lessons

Bayarmaa (on the left) and her sister Olonbayar.

I love studying Mongolian.

Even though the language is impossible!

walking home

This intersection is much more chaotic than it looks. One of these days I'll take a video.

still walking...

past the women "airing" their babies

past the older Mongolians gossiping

past the boys playing basketball

home, sweet home

The top two windows on the right are mine.

dinner with the fam

This is one of my favorite times of day.

Family meals are vastly underrated.

at my desk 

Most nights I head back up to my apartment after dinner.

I might get online. I might read. I might prepare for the next day.

This is where I unwind.

bed

Usually I end up here later than I should.

Some thoughts, some questions, a few lingering doubts

I've been wrestling for awhile now with the question of teaching. I've been wondering if, indeed, I can teach. If I can teach teenagers. I'm not worried about teaching literature -- the challenge of unpacking words and metaphors and themes so that Beowulf is more than an old, boring story is an obstacle I'm eager to meet. I don't expect to teach Old English epic poetry well, but I expect to enjoy trying.

I'm worried about teaching writing. Partly because it's so much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. Partly (mostly?) because I'm not sure I can. My guess is that in order to become a good writer, you have to want to become a good writer. I don't think any of my students care to become decent writers.

I don't know what to do.

In the midst of this questioning and doubting and despairing, I'm coming face-to-face with my own limits as a writer/speaker of the English language. I have become lazy with words. As a teenager, I would write silly poems about boys simply so I could play with a new word I'd developed a crush on. Now I can't seem to express myself without the use of multiple exclamation points, the caps lock key, and several combinations of parentheses and colons.

In his preface to Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis explained why he had omitted italics from the second edition:

A talker ought to use variations of voice for emphasis because his medium naturally lends itself to that method: but a writer ought not to use italics for the same purpose. He has his own, different, means of bringing out the key words and ought to use them.

I am not averse to the many shorthands we use in our writing and emailing and SMS-ing except that because of their convenience I have forgotten the "means of bringing out key words". Those means have become rusty with disuse to the point that I cannot communicate a joking tone without a ";)" or a *wink*.

Months after my chastisement by Lewis, my friend posted these lines from one of Keats' love letters:

I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment - upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses.

It's not what he says that captures me, but the way he takes such care in saying it. How much care do I take when expressing my thankfulness to a friend for an unexpected email that makes me feel not wholly removed from her life or how the meals CB makes every night help to ground me in the reality of why I withstand the difficulty of being here?

I don't take any care. I say, "Thank you. This means a lot." "A lot." How expressive.

And then, just a few nights ago, another friend wrote about vocabulary in his blog:

I find myself constructing sentences for the words I can remember. In fact, I can feel, if I turn up the right knob of sensibility, I can feel that little poot of disappointment every time I'm forced to adjust syntax in order to use a less precise word. Not the word I wanted...

I do this every day! (See? The exclamation point. I wonder if Lewis would approve.) Sometimes I do it because I am adjusting my sentences to the vocabulary of the 5-year-old who asked what "unfortunate" means. But most of the time I do it because I don't have the words to say what I really want to say. I use the generic "things" instead of the specific "ideas/instances/concepts/occurrences".

And then I tell my students not to use "red" when they could use "crimson", not to say "wicked awesome" when they could say ... what?

I feel stuck in a crisis. I feel inept and ill-equipped to teach.

I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with ...

COFFEE

One of the major differences I'm noticing this time around is the amount of time I'm spending with some of the other younger women in UB. Last year, I had an intense desire to separate myself from the "young people" and make sure I was seen as an adult. The age lines are often blurred here and people are either kids (children) or adults (parents). Because I'm younger and because I'm not a parent, I felt like I needed to remind the kids that I wasn't one of them by refusing to hang out with them.

It sounds so ridiculous to say that now.

This year, I just don't care. I can't exactly explain why -- I'm sure part of it is that I'm more sure of myself and don't feel the need to prove that I'm a grown-up, part of it is feeling more comfortable in UB, part of it is wanting to take advantage of the warmer weather and get out and about while I can. The list goes on...

Whatever the many reasons are, I'm thankful for the change of heart. I've been so blessed to spend time with these girls.

We've been able to walk over to the center of the city...

... and try out some new (to me) coffee places (Coffee Empire, Irish Pub).

We've had great conversations and a lot of laughter.

Fall Festival

Every year, the school year starts off with a bit of a bang. The first major project for the older kids at the co-op is putting on the annual fair. This year's theme was Medieval Times. All of the costumes and games and paintings were prepared accordingly.

Take a peak at these photos on Flickr to see some of the amazing booths the kids put together -- jousting, castles, a pillory, and more! They really transformed the school, leaving little to remind us that just a few weeks ago we still strolled through Russia on our way to class.

Created with flickr slideshow.

Not content to sit on the sidelines and let the older kids do all the work, Holly asked me to help her sell popcorn. She came up with the idea of doing Jester's Corn, asked her sister to help make us some hats, and -- voila! -- a medieval food stand (nevermind the electric popcorn maker). We had a lot of fun attempting British accents (Holly's was better than mine according to Joel, our resident Brit), hawking our wares, and generally scaring most of the little kids who walked through the door.

"I don't know what to write about!" she cried.

"What do you want to know?"


(I need some help getting back on the Mongolian blog horse.)