Also, we tried to take a panorama photo from our balcony today. We were hoping to catch some of the fall scenery, but the weather was hazy.
 |
| From Fall 2010 |
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Quiet Alexander and a View
Alexander is three months old today. To honor his longevity and stoic adorableness, we put together this video about our perception of his baby-personality:
Also, we tried to take a panorama photo from our balcony today. We were hoping to catch some of the fall scenery, but the weather was hazy.
Also, we tried to take a panorama photo from our balcony today. We were hoping to catch some of the fall scenery, but the weather was hazy.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Alexander the American
Our week began with a trip to a local photo shop to have Alexander's passport photo taken. There, the couple-proprietors expressed, through lots of famous arm-crossed negative Korean hand-gestures and also through some lengthy Korean sentences about clothes, and stripes and colors and such - that his off-white union suit was inappropriate to the passport photo process, and that we needed to come back with Alexander in darker clothes.
The next day we returned, with Alexander in a brown cardigan (the only dark thing he owns). The woman of the couple then took him and began trying to bounce him into awakeness, while the man of the couple stomped and clicked in front of him with a big camera. Alexander, indifferent to all of it, flopped around and slept. Thaddeus then tried holding him, and the photographer caught one picture of Alexander with his eyes somewhat sort of open, and so these pictures were printed.
Upon arriving home, we read the e-mail that the US Embassy had just sent us, warning that Korean passport photos are a different size than US photos...So we returned to the photo shop and got the right pictures.
Then, we went to Seoul for two days and Alexander slept.
We arrived at the Embassy early (it looks like a mid-American library built in 1965...if you picture such a building surrounded by fifteen-foot walls, barbed wire, and too many Korean guards) and completed all the steps to receive Alexander's Certificate of Birth Abroad, Passport, Social Security card, and Entitlement to Resent and Dehumanize Any Human Being who Doesn't Happen to Have these Items card (he's planning to save this and use it when we return to America and he moves to Arizona...).
While waiting at the Embassy, Malachi requested that we go to a Coffee Shop and then to a bookstore and then out for ice-cream, which is pretty much an accurate description of what we did with the rest of our time. Malachi also had a night-terror about some kind of cracker famine, and that kept him up for a few hours one night, but - other than that - it was a largely uneventful and also perfectly productive trip.
The next day we returned, with Alexander in a brown cardigan (the only dark thing he owns). The woman of the couple then took him and began trying to bounce him into awakeness, while the man of the couple stomped and clicked in front of him with a big camera. Alexander, indifferent to all of it, flopped around and slept. Thaddeus then tried holding him, and the photographer caught one picture of Alexander with his eyes somewhat sort of open, and so these pictures were printed.
Upon arriving home, we read the e-mail that the US Embassy had just sent us, warning that Korean passport photos are a different size than US photos...So we returned to the photo shop and got the right pictures.
Then, we went to Seoul for two days and Alexander slept.
We arrived at the Embassy early (it looks like a mid-American library built in 1965...if you picture such a building surrounded by fifteen-foot walls, barbed wire, and too many Korean guards) and completed all the steps to receive Alexander's Certificate of Birth Abroad, Passport, Social Security card, and Entitlement to Resent and Dehumanize Any Human Being who Doesn't Happen to Have these Items card (he's planning to save this and use it when we return to America and he moves to Arizona...).While waiting at the Embassy, Malachi requested that we go to a Coffee Shop and then to a bookstore and then out for ice-cream, which is pretty much an accurate description of what we did with the rest of our time. Malachi also had a night-terror about some kind of cracker famine, and that kept him up for a few hours one night, but - other than that - it was a largely uneventful and also perfectly productive trip.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Phone Conversations
Thaddeus has begun calling in the afternoon before he comes home, and Malachi looks forward to the ritual of reviewing his day, working on his phone etiquette, and sometimes astounding us with his memory and talkativeness. Today he was not talkative, but the usual formula was still roughly followed. Thaddeus is asking things like "Did you go outside today?" "What did you see?" "What did you eat?" (this one usually dominates the discussion) and sometimes other overly-personal toilet-related questions that needn't be repeated, but which are natural conversation topics between father and son at this stage...
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
One Year Anniversary
One year ago today, we arrived in Korea.
We celebrated by wondering who shut off our water all afternoon, and why, and whether the announcer guy was talking about that or whether he was doing a poetry reading, and by ordering non-Korean pizza from Dominos, and (for me) by going out shopping this evening and feeling moderately satisfied in my ability to communicate (in Korean) to the cashier that I needed a bag, that yes, I'm pregnant and the baby is a male-child, that I 'forgot' my point card, and that I understand there will be dire consequences if I do not bring my point card this weekend.
In other words, for us, it was a classically Korean day. The sakura trees have bloomed, which we don't remember from last year (it's been a late Spring this year - so maybe we never saw them last year?) and Thaddeus took some pretty pictures of them on his way to school:
We celebrated by wondering who shut off our water all afternoon, and why, and whether the announcer guy was talking about that or whether he was doing a poetry reading, and by ordering non-Korean pizza from Dominos, and (for me) by going out shopping this evening and feeling moderately satisfied in my ability to communicate (in Korean) to the cashier that I needed a bag, that yes, I'm pregnant and the baby is a male-child, that I 'forgot' my point card, and that I understand there will be dire consequences if I do not bring my point card this weekend.
In other words, for us, it was a classically Korean day. The sakura trees have bloomed, which we don't remember from last year (it's been a late Spring this year - so maybe we never saw them last year?) and Thaddeus took some pretty pictures of them on his way to school:
Friday, March 26, 2010
It's a......!
On Wednesday, Thaddeus' school gave him a half-day off to accompany Malachi and I on our second prenatal visit with our Nurse-Midwife. We took a regional bus this time instead of the usual combination of university buses+14 Seoul subway stops, and it was a wise choice. Regional buses are posh (and comparatively private) after riding city buses all the time - and Malachi napped - so it was an enjoyable journey.
When a bus approaches a terminal here, a palpable panic overtakes the passengers. People begin gathering their items, swaying back and forth, up and down aisles, fortressing themselves in front of the door, and casting anxious glances at our intended destination. If we were paratroopers dropping into occupied-France the aura would make sense, but as it is - the bus just stops, and everyone claws their way out within 2 seconds of one another, and then...the bus waits, for about 5 more minutes, with its doors open, before receiving its new load of passengers. So we watch the spectacle from our seat, and leisurely exit last. It's kind of our thing. Getting on a bus is different; that really is a rat-race. So maybe it's habitual.
We arrived in Ansan an hour earlier than our appointment. The weather was mild and the side-walks in Ansan are spacious and accommodating and mostly free of motorbikes and semi-trucks, so we let Malachi meander his way to the clinic.
A group of women gave him a sucker, through a cute little girl proxy. He treasured it, and also the discovery that he has pockets in his sweater made expressly for carrying gifted candy.
He didn't want to pose; he kept squatting and turning away from the camera.
He's observing a black-and-white and slightly blue bird that we've noticed here often lately. The ladies across the way interpret his interest to be in them, however, and are calling to him and clicking at him.
Our appointment went well. During the sonogram, we were able to see the baby's heartbeat, hand-waving skills, and even eye-ball rolling (?). The picture quality and the midwife's explanations were all so clear that Malachi was able to understand and stay interested, which was gratifying. And, we were able to learn the baby's gender! See Malachi's video at the end of the post.
After our appointment, we went to Starbucks to re-stock our coffee supply and ruin our appetites for dinner with rich desserts.
This was definitely the most peaceful foray we have made into Seoul, and an overall pleasant day. On the way home we modified our original choice of baby names, as reflected at the end of the video.
When a bus approaches a terminal here, a palpable panic overtakes the passengers. People begin gathering their items, swaying back and forth, up and down aisles, fortressing themselves in front of the door, and casting anxious glances at our intended destination. If we were paratroopers dropping into occupied-France the aura would make sense, but as it is - the bus just stops, and everyone claws their way out within 2 seconds of one another, and then...the bus waits, for about 5 more minutes, with its doors open, before receiving its new load of passengers. So we watch the spectacle from our seat, and leisurely exit last. It's kind of our thing. Getting on a bus is different; that really is a rat-race. So maybe it's habitual.
We arrived in Ansan an hour earlier than our appointment. The weather was mild and the side-walks in Ansan are spacious and accommodating and mostly free of motorbikes and semi-trucks, so we let Malachi meander his way to the clinic.
A group of women gave him a sucker, through a cute little girl proxy. He treasured it, and also the discovery that he has pockets in his sweater made expressly for carrying gifted candy.
He didn't want to pose; he kept squatting and turning away from the camera.
He's observing a black-and-white and slightly blue bird that we've noticed here often lately. The ladies across the way interpret his interest to be in them, however, and are calling to him and clicking at him.
Our appointment went well. During the sonogram, we were able to see the baby's heartbeat, hand-waving skills, and even eye-ball rolling (?). The picture quality and the midwife's explanations were all so clear that Malachi was able to understand and stay interested, which was gratifying. And, we were able to learn the baby's gender! See Malachi's video at the end of the post.
After our appointment, we went to Starbucks to re-stock our coffee supply and ruin our appetites for dinner with rich desserts.
This was definitely the most peaceful foray we have made into Seoul, and an overall pleasant day. On the way home we modified our original choice of baby names, as reflected at the end of the video.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Malachi can Moo
I'll preface this, first, with the assertion I know Thaddeus always secretly hopes I will make when I attempt something in photoshop... So, the initial 'Mr. Malachi Can Moo Can You?' graphic was not created by him. It was me. It's supposed to be cheesy, and yes, it's also the best I can do.
Secondly, Grandmas - notice that you get an unaccountable shout-out after he makes the "Splat!" 'sound' of lightning...
And lastly, notice how he wants to begin knocking long before the 'knock-knock' sound, and how he has to physically restrain his knocking hand with his other hand until he is finally able to unleash the knock? It's one of his more endearing quirks, so far, I think. Enjoy.
Secondly, Grandmas - notice that you get an unaccountable shout-out after he makes the "Splat!" 'sound' of lightning...
And lastly, notice how he wants to begin knocking long before the 'knock-knock' sound, and how he has to physically restrain his knocking hand with his other hand until he is finally able to unleash the knock? It's one of his more endearing quirks, so far, I think. Enjoy.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Internet Shopping
For the first eight months of our lives in Korea, our shopping world was exceptionally limited. We would go out, together or individually, with a back pack and a bag, walk to the supermarket or a take a bus to a larger store, and stock up on things that didn't poke our spines too badly.And we still do, for most things. But for specialty, oversized, formerly unfindable items, we have discovered internet shopping. G-market has an English page, and has recently removed the systemic prejudice of not accepting the numeric pattern of alien registration numbers in order to purchase from the site.
We cleverly manipulated English name brands into their Hangulized equivalent, and found real laundry detergent (I maintain that the Korean brands are mostly sand and pink shards of sparkly glass) and whole wheat flour, and rye flour, and water in mass quantities so we don't have to lug it home everyday, and I think we could also start our own dentist clinic, or even a full surgery hospital with the selection and precision of medical supplies available in the 'first aid' section...
So, we thought, this is perfect. And Thaddeus still thinks it's perfect; the country of Korea is geographically tiny, so when we order something, it arrives the same or the next day. He comes home from school to find a shiny new clothes rack with crisp, clean, non-parchment type clothing and forty-eight bottles of water, so of course it's perfect.
But - an interesting tradition also surrounds the delivery of the products we order. Each product, no matter how small, is delivered separately (because they're from different vendors; G-market is just a storefront) and each deliveryman must call prior to delivery, in order to verify the address, make sure the person is home, and perhaps also chat about the local ginseng crop. I don't really know the meat of our conversations, but I do know that I dread Delivery Days. It means I will be on the phone, between four and fifteen separate times with deliverymen who possess varying levels of anger management and English skills.
Each time the phone rings, I feel that perhaps I should say "yeboseyo?" because - well, propriety or something - I know I'm in Korea, I know this is the way Koreans begin phone conversations, and some part of me feels like it's the proper thing to do. But a stronger, more practical part of me knows that this will elicit a conviction in the person on the other side of the line that I speak Korean - no matter how many times I clearly state that I do not, and that I cannot understand them - so perhaps it's just mean and pointless to say "yeboseyo"... This is the running commentary in my mind as I answer the phone, every time, and every time I say, hesitantly, "Uh-hello?" And a hurried, male voice responds "YEBOSEYO? YEBOSEYO? YEBOSEYO?" and I let there be a slight pause, to ensure that the yeboseyos are done and then I say "Um - I'm sorry - hello?" And then they begin telling me something - animatedly, sometimes upset, and I respond in Korean "I don't understand. I don't speak Korean."And they say "Ohhhhh, uh..." merely a half-second of troubleshooting results in another long tirade, in Korean. I wait for it to finish, and then say "Um, I don't speak Korean." And they say "You don't speak Korean?" And I say "Yes, yes, I don't speak Korean." And they say "Korean...." and then lots of other things I don't understand. Sometimes, the person will then say "Uh, Englisheee?" And I say, "yes, yes, I do speak English." "Me NOOOOO speakee Englisheee" And I give them the integrity of their statement, though, I must admit, I kind of resent that they never give me the truth of mine. I will sometimes try to apologetically empathize by sharing again that "I don't speak Korean" but usually there's just a long awkward pause in which I wonder how I can express to them that I know it's Delivery Day, and that they just want to make sure I'm me and that I'm home.
Some people, I am able to understand, want my address, but others are deeply distressed when I offer to give it to them, and seem to want some other number - once resulting in me communicating that I would be home at "13" (1pm) when really I was just repeating the first two numbers of our address. When the man wisely responded "In due time...in due time..." and hung up, I was left wondering why the address had been cut off, and why he made the cryptic prediction, until I finally unraveled that he meant he would be there "on time" and that my numbers had communicated time rather than location...
Malachi's attitude about the experience is more enlightened than my own self-absorbed embarrassment. He loves delivery days – being visited by so many different people who say interesting sounding things to him and leave him boxes and bottles to play with. Sixty-four bottles this time. And that’s the note to end on, after all.
Monday, January 4, 2010
On Our Way...
It's 7:30am here, and Thaddeus is out (hopefully) hailing a taxi to take us to the bus terminal, where we hope to find a bus that will take us to the airport, where, we hope, a plane awaits to take us to Japan, and from there to Chicago, and from there to Northwest Arkansas, where hopefully our car awaits us to take us home!
We're very ready to leave; Malachi even packed his monkey. And unpacked it, and packed it, and unpacked it. And he knows he has new books he hasn't read yet, and crackers he hasn't eaten, so he's looking forward to his day.
My strongest regret is that we are leaving just as our area of Korea is discovering the existence of real cheese. Over the last eight months, we've given over to calling the fake, floppy, watery fare here 'cheese' - but then, last week, we found real sharp cheddar, and monterey jack, and then we found a fancy pizza place that served (extra sharp) cheeses with names I couldn't pronounce (to clarify that we're not genuine cheese snobs; we just like cheese).
And I'm concerned, given the pattern of past Western products that we've found here, that this trend will be over by the time we return, and that all the specialty cheese in our little supermarket will be out of stock because some other foreigner bought them up, like we would do if we were staying...
But we are going to a place of cheese. That is what people say of Americans, isn't it? That we smell of cheese.
So, a temporary farewell to Korea (isn't the scene from our balcony lovely in the Winter?), and...we'll see you soon!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Pre-Christmas Post
Malachi put together a glog to wish everyone a Merry Christmas:
http://thaddeusmccleary.glogster.com/malachis-christmas/
http://thaddeusmccleary.glogster.com/malachis-christmas/
Friday, November 27, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
"American" Lunch
I've always hoped I would grow up to be a hospitable adult.
Instead, I'm a very private one. I say instead not because the one naturally excludes the other but because my mind often uses the excuse of privacy and shyness to justify myself against the feeling that I both want to be and ought to be more generous in offering my opinions, presence, food-creations and home to others in formal acts of hospitality. My choice of husband offers no hope for constructive rehabilitation; he's not very hospitable... or even sociable most of the time... (I'm stating; not criticizing. He nodded when he read it...)
But - people have been so hospitable to us for months here - have taken us out to eat, to tea, to see sights, invited us over to their houses, and taken us shopping and explained how to eat poisonous nuts in small enough quantities to not die ( that was valuable advice; for instance, Malachi should not eat more than one) and so, I took the plunge, and invited two of the ladies from our apartment complex to our apartment for lunch today.
And I think we all enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, and Malachi went crazy. And I felt that I was an adequate (if starkly American) hostess. We talked about: linguistics of course (Sunny is an English teacher) and how children learn language, and feminism and the western habit of changing your last name when you marry (this they do not historically do in Korea, and they think it's an odd practice to give up your fathers name, and applauded me for keeping my father's name as well as taking my husbands - it was a conversation with lots of cheering in it, but I don't know why...)
It went well...
This was the older of the ladies, with her son "Min-Su." (Her, I know only as "Min-Su's mom")
And this is my friend Sunny's daughter "Tey-Hee" (on the left) and the other ladies' daughter (whose name I sometimes think is also Min-Su, but must be different but I can't distinguish sounds...it's an ongoing mystery, and one that i fear will get more and more frustrating)
Tey-Hee will be 1 next month. Note her gypsy-skirt!
My friend Sunny (English name).
Malachi was overwhelmed, but elated.
Instead, I'm a very private one. I say instead not because the one naturally excludes the other but because my mind often uses the excuse of privacy and shyness to justify myself against the feeling that I both want to be and ought to be more generous in offering my opinions, presence, food-creations and home to others in formal acts of hospitality. My choice of husband offers no hope for constructive rehabilitation; he's not very hospitable... or even sociable most of the time... (I'm stating; not criticizing. He nodded when he read it...)
But - people have been so hospitable to us for months here - have taken us out to eat, to tea, to see sights, invited us over to their houses, and taken us shopping and explained how to eat poisonous nuts in small enough quantities to not die ( that was valuable advice; for instance, Malachi should not eat more than one) and so, I took the plunge, and invited two of the ladies from our apartment complex to our apartment for lunch today.
And I think we all enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, and Malachi went crazy. And I felt that I was an adequate (if starkly American) hostess. We talked about: linguistics of course (Sunny is an English teacher) and how children learn language, and feminism and the western habit of changing your last name when you marry (this they do not historically do in Korea, and they think it's an odd practice to give up your fathers name, and applauded me for keeping my father's name as well as taking my husbands - it was a conversation with lots of cheering in it, but I don't know why...)
It went well...
This was the older of the ladies, with her son "Min-Su." (Her, I know only as "Min-Su's mom")
And this is my friend Sunny's daughter "Tey-Hee" (on the left) and the other ladies' daughter (whose name I sometimes think is also Min-Su, but must be different but I can't distinguish sounds...it's an ongoing mystery, and one that i fear will get more and more frustrating)
Tey-Hee will be 1 next month. Note her gypsy-skirt!
My friend Sunny (English name).
Malachi was overwhelmed, but elated.
Monday, November 2, 2009
After Purchasing a Winter Coat for Malachi, I thought about some things...
Yesterday we winterized Malachi's wardrobe.
We folded ourselves into tiny children boutiques that are - ostensibly - where people buy children's clothes here. Most boutiques have two or three pricey, plush, often plaid outfits that are patly impractical and also whimsically androgynous. And not warm. We eventually entered a sort of outlet store, or a place that said "sale!" in English (though, there wasn't actually a sale. The key in Korea is often to merely use English; not to use English in a way that means anything in particular)
So, I was browsing the racks of this non-sale-outlet-type place when I found some unwarm long-sleeved shirts for little girls (a range of 2yrs.-6yrs. old) featuring a playboy bunny and the words "player" in repeated patterns on the shirtfront.
--
Or - different anecdote. Last week at the bus terminal I saw a normal, middle-school aged girl walking hand-in-hand with her mother, with a large Beatrix-Potteresque rabbit on her shirt, and the words "Let's do it like rabbits all day long, first I'll do you then you do me."
Or, there's the mannequin I saw (my not so subtle way of clarifying that this is a corporately-presented ideal; not a mysterious flop), with a knee length t-shirt that announced in bold purple "I am a SLUT," with 'SLUT' in thick, elongated letters that spanned over half the shirt.
--
I have a theory. Somewhere in mid-America, there is a panel of adolescent boys with uniquely unimaginative senses of sex and humor, that are asked which text they would like women in Asia to brand themselves with, without their real knowledge or consent...
I'm not sure in which category of thought I expect these observations to belong- bewildered humor, like the grammatically crooked notebooks? Paranoia - the fear that I've become psychotically feminist or moralist by even noticing and storing up and connecting these sights?
Or - and by bringing it into a new paragraph, I'm hinting that this is most often where I want take it - is it only possible to consider parabolically?
For instance, perhaps fashion is an art always in a foreign language. What says "I'm self-assured and stylish and unashamed" to one person, says "I'm a slut" to someone else. But wearing it doesn't actually make the person a slut... no one really interprets it that way....(except men sometimes, and sometimes other women?)...
I think what bothers me the most is that unmistakable consciousness behind it - borrowed and corporate, and, it seems, designed to undercut the very empowered confidence that women here (as everywhere) so delicately seek in fashion...and the parable extends...
We folded ourselves into tiny children boutiques that are - ostensibly - where people buy children's clothes here. Most boutiques have two or three pricey, plush, often plaid outfits that are patly impractical and also whimsically androgynous. And not warm. We eventually entered a sort of outlet store, or a place that said "sale!" in English (though, there wasn't actually a sale. The key in Korea is often to merely use English; not to use English in a way that means anything in particular)
So, I was browsing the racks of this non-sale-outlet-type place when I found some unwarm long-sleeved shirts for little girls (a range of 2yrs.-6yrs. old) featuring a playboy bunny and the words "player" in repeated patterns on the shirtfront.
--
Or - different anecdote. Last week at the bus terminal I saw a normal, middle-school aged girl walking hand-in-hand with her mother, with a large Beatrix-Potteresque rabbit on her shirt, and the words "Let's do it like rabbits all day long, first I'll do you then you do me."
Or, there's the mannequin I saw (my not so subtle way of clarifying that this is a corporately-presented ideal; not a mysterious flop), with a knee length t-shirt that announced in bold purple "I am a SLUT," with 'SLUT' in thick, elongated letters that spanned over half the shirt.
--
I have a theory. Somewhere in mid-America, there is a panel of adolescent boys with uniquely unimaginative senses of sex and humor, that are asked which text they would like women in Asia to brand themselves with, without their real knowledge or consent...
I'm not sure in which category of thought I expect these observations to belong- bewildered humor, like the grammatically crooked notebooks? Paranoia - the fear that I've become psychotically feminist or moralist by even noticing and storing up and connecting these sights?
Or - and by bringing it into a new paragraph, I'm hinting that this is most often where I want take it - is it only possible to consider parabolically?
For instance, perhaps fashion is an art always in a foreign language. What says "I'm self-assured and stylish and unashamed" to one person, says "I'm a slut" to someone else. But wearing it doesn't actually make the person a slut... no one really interprets it that way....(except men sometimes, and sometimes other women?)...
I think what bothers me the most is that unmistakable consciousness behind it - borrowed and corporate, and, it seems, designed to undercut the very empowered confidence that women here (as everywhere) so delicately seek in fashion...and the parable extends...
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Story in Pictures
The night we arrived in Korea was appropriately dark, wet and confusing(despite the assurance of the beeping, blinking, finely detailed GPS display on the dash of our likely bullet proof limo-taxi).
The driver had never been to our city. Now, this makes sense to us. Then, it felt suspicious. He did u-turns in one-lane roads lined with construction signs that said things like 'no entry either way' and 'turn this way - no - that way - because the first way is blocked', indicated all his driving intentions by the liberal use of his horn and hazard lights. He kept a running commentary of his opinions by cursing quietly at the GSP system and snapping his xytol-laced chewing gum. He paused at the gate of our apartment complex to parley (in our early interpretation of it - insult) the "guard" on duty, and then finally called Thaddeus' co-teacher to be painstakingly directed through the labyrinth parking lot of what we now estimate to be our Neosho-sized apartment complex.
It all felt complexly strange and unadjustable. The next day, the city felt even larger as we took the "shortcut" to Thaddeus' school and saw the 'first' version of many things we've now seen in multiples of ten.
It's different now. We realized this as we leisurely took one of about fourteen ways we know to get back from Thaddeus' school last week. We know the layout of our area, we know that our "area" is not the extent of our city, we know the mountains that contain our little area, all the buses to get away, the best places for pizza and nail-enhancing mineral water...we've come to feel that we know this place, as we have never known a place before. In part because we walk it at the pace of a 17 month old toddler, and in part because we look at things with more precision, and speak of them with more generosity than we have our previous locations.
We wanted to share pictures of our evening walk and let your own perceptions fill in the story behind them. Our present perception is rather simple: this is where we live.
The driver had never been to our city. Now, this makes sense to us. Then, it felt suspicious. He did u-turns in one-lane roads lined with construction signs that said things like 'no entry either way' and 'turn this way - no - that way - because the first way is blocked', indicated all his driving intentions by the liberal use of his horn and hazard lights. He kept a running commentary of his opinions by cursing quietly at the GSP system and snapping his xytol-laced chewing gum. He paused at the gate of our apartment complex to parley (in our early interpretation of it - insult) the "guard" on duty, and then finally called Thaddeus' co-teacher to be painstakingly directed through the labyrinth parking lot of what we now estimate to be our Neosho-sized apartment complex.
It all felt complexly strange and unadjustable. The next day, the city felt even larger as we took the "shortcut" to Thaddeus' school and saw the 'first' version of many things we've now seen in multiples of ten.
It's different now. We realized this as we leisurely took one of about fourteen ways we know to get back from Thaddeus' school last week. We know the layout of our area, we know that our "area" is not the extent of our city, we know the mountains that contain our little area, all the buses to get away, the best places for pizza and nail-enhancing mineral water...we've come to feel that we know this place, as we have never known a place before. In part because we walk it at the pace of a 17 month old toddler, and in part because we look at things with more precision, and speak of them with more generosity than we have our previous locations.
We wanted to share pictures of our evening walk and let your own perceptions fill in the story behind them. Our present perception is rather simple: this is where we live.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
English Cafe
Last Saturday Thaddeus and his co-teacher hosted an "English Cafe" where students could spend their fake US dollars (earned by good performance throughout the semester) on food, beverages, notebooks, sketchbooks, candies, pencils, etc.
Malachi and I came to help, or to be inspiring, or inspired, or overwhelming, or overwhelmed...or cute, all depending on your perspective.
The children were proud of the money they had earned and many were hesitant to let it go. We noticed that about half of the students kept some money for keepsakes...or maybe in the hope that it's real currency....
Thaddeus and I hosted the "Stationary" (non-food) table, and, overall, I thought it was (exhaustingly) great fun.
I observed that many of the students were going through the exact same range of emotions and shortcuts I encounter when first using foreign currency - for example, when in doubt use the largest denomination, or the temptation to buy something you don't want just because you understand how much it is, etc. Suckers were a popular purchase. They were $1. Easy.
The end. Sorry it's a bit outdated.
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