I am experiencing winter shock. Like culture shock... except colder. It has snowed 6 times in the past 9 days. Three of the days were blizzards. It is not even officially winter yet. Apparently, this is not normal in New England (we have already received almost 2 times as much snow as they got last year Nov-April). But, they also tell me, nothing is "normal". The weather is so unpredictable, today they told us on the morning news cast that we'd have a light dusting of 1 inch of snow. Boston College stayed open all day as inch after inch after inch piled up. In the end, we had received an inch per hour... all day! The other day, the nice newscaster gave a 90% chance of rain. It didn't even mist. As you'll notice, this Californian is learning to check her weather forecasts...not that it helps!
Snow, our pure and delicate friend, can be a real pain in the A-- (I'll let you fill in the blanks so that I don't come across as the crotchety Bostonian I am starting to feel like). "But how can this be?" you may ask. I found it hard to believe myself before 7 days of slogging through mud flavored slurpy, ankle deep. After all, it is so lovely on the trees and bushes, so soft to walk through when freshly fallen. In California, more snow means better snowboarding, right? I suppose they feel that way in Vermont, too, or the suburbs, where the roads are wide and easily plowed-where everyone parks in a-covered-gasp!-enclosed-garage. In Boston, snow means every road is reduced to half it's width until the snow melts, which, if your weather is like ours, means March. If you park in a lot down a hill of ice, like we do, driving is out of the questions. (I dug my car out the other day out of sheer desperation and it took me an hour and a half, after which I got stuck heading up the drive and had to get a push, so I wouldn't need to be towed!) Not driving means you can't Christmas shop or buy a gift for your office White Elephant (they call it a Yankee Swap). True, you can still commute on foot, provided you are willing to tromp through knee deep snow. Where snow piles up on what were once sidewalks, one is forced to venture out into the street, angering already enraged drivers who fight through jammed narrowed passes which double their daily commute. These oft-unshoveled sidewalks prevent even simple errands like jogging over to Kinko's to print out your Christmas letter. Walking to the T in the morning means ruining a pair of lined Ann Taylor work pants (the only kind that are warm enough to wear to work). Buying milk becomes a feat I mentally gear up for like a drive through L.A. during rush hour. And let me be sure to clarify, it isn't the cold I'm complaining about. So far, the temperatures in the teens and twenties haven't bothered me a bit. It's the blasted precipitation that falls from the skies, freezes our landlords' driveway into a sheet of glass, covers the cars so completely that you aren't sure if you are walking around a car, or a giant plow-pile, and darkens the skies so thoroughly that nither a cheery ray peeks through all day.
I am counting down the hours till we land in San Francisco for Christmas. Don't blame me if I come empty handed, without presents more than a pocket full of ice-balls and chapped lips. You can thank Old Man Winter. As for me, I'm dreaming of a black Christmas, just like the freeways I used to know...
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Winter...Wonderland?
Today we were let out of work at 1 pm. I took a picture of my commute home.
At least we didn't try to move in the snow. Here's a pod just like the one we used which I saw two girls trying to wedge closed in the snow down the street at the outset of this afternoon's blizzard.
We are expecting 12 inches of snow in a 6 hour period today. That's what they call a "white out". While I've lived through a snow storm here and there during my winters in Virginia, I was unfamiliar with this term before today. Allow me to explain. A white out is when you are driving home from work and are admiring the snow falling over the nearby reservoir, and the next minute you look back at the reservoir and you see nothing except white. Huh! I am still trying to get used to sundown at 3:30 pm. I mean, it's not Alaska, people! What's up with the sunset???
The other day I had to laugh out loud when I picked the morning after an ice-storm to drive to work. Like a truly pathetic ex-state-riate in New England, I peeped through my blinds around 7 am to "check the weather" as we do in CA and noticed that there wasn't any more snow on the ground (after having taking the "T" for several days due to snowy roads.) I thought, "Hooray, I can drive to work again! Winter must be temporarily over." It wasn't a step beyond our front porch leading down to our driveway that I learned how see-through ice can get. A good 1/4 inch of it was covering our porch. If that wasn't ominous warning enough, how about the fact that no one in our 15 car parking lot had removed their cars to drive that morning? As I ice-skated down the parking lot driveway, I considered bargaining with God that if he'd get me to work, I'd quit driving until March. At that point, I was far too late to catch the T.
When it comes to weather, I'm not what you'd call a "quick" learner. This morning, I was lured behind the wheel again when after testing our front steps carefully to ensure that the ice had melted, I felt confident that the roads would be safe. It's a good thing I work in Human Resources at the University. We were the first to know that things were shutting down when the skies began to dump buckets of flakes around noon.
At least we didn't try to move in the snow. Here's a pod just like the one we used which I saw two girls trying to wedge closed in the snow down the street at the outset of this afternoon's blizzard.
We are expecting 12 inches of snow in a 6 hour period today. That's what they call a "white out". While I've lived through a snow storm here and there during my winters in Virginia, I was unfamiliar with this term before today. Allow me to explain. A white out is when you are driving home from work and are admiring the snow falling over the nearby reservoir, and the next minute you look back at the reservoir and you see nothing except white. Huh! I am still trying to get used to sundown at 3:30 pm. I mean, it's not Alaska, people! What's up with the sunset???
The other day I had to laugh out loud when I picked the morning after an ice-storm to drive to work. Like a truly pathetic ex-state-riate in New England, I peeped through my blinds around 7 am to "check the weather" as we do in CA and noticed that there wasn't any more snow on the ground (after having taking the "T" for several days due to snowy roads.) I thought, "Hooray, I can drive to work again! Winter must be temporarily over." It wasn't a step beyond our front porch leading down to our driveway that I learned how see-through ice can get. A good 1/4 inch of it was covering our porch. If that wasn't ominous warning enough, how about the fact that no one in our 15 car parking lot had removed their cars to drive that morning? As I ice-skated down the parking lot driveway, I considered bargaining with God that if he'd get me to work, I'd quit driving until March. At that point, I was far too late to catch the T.
When it comes to weather, I'm not what you'd call a "quick" learner. This morning, I was lured behind the wheel again when after testing our front steps carefully to ensure that the ice had melted, I felt confident that the roads would be safe. It's a good thing I work in Human Resources at the University. We were the first to know that things were shutting down when the skies began to dump buckets of flakes around noon.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Black Friday Blogspot: 2 blogs for the price of 1!
First Snow
Nov. 20: Today was our first snow in Boston! I was walking to my car after work thinking about how forlorn and lonely the grass looked against the fading trees. Its green was just begging to turn itself into something more subtle, so it wouldn't keep sticking out like a sore thumb. It seemed to be calling out in its tiny little grass voice, "Snow on me! Please snow on me!" I thought, "What a profound observation for my blog! Now, if only it would snow at this exact moment!"
And then, it did. Wispy little flakes flew down at first, and then great big clumpy ones began to fall. By noon, we'd received several inches and the frosted pines outside our office gave off the appearance of a veritable winterwonderland.
In late afternoon, a light rain melted away all the snow. By Turkey Day, we were back to a balmy 68 degrees!
Thanksgiving
Nov. 22: Thanksgiving in the Saylor household this year proved to be a grand success, thanks to the help of our San Diego visitors, Mark and Crystal Eutizi. (God bless them; they are very handy in the kitchen!)The day began lazily with a 10 am wake-up call. How true that we gen-Xers are loathe to rise at the crack of dawn to begin Grandma's recipes when hours before the turkey should be on the table, we can print 30-minute versions off recipeezaar.com! To exemplify this principle, I should note that I'd actually printed a lovely make-and-bake-the-night-before brunch casserole recipe offline in efforts to appear like an organized baby-boomer who prepares for the morrow. I'd even shopped for the ingredients 4 days before. Instead of slaving over my stove on Wed. night, however, we accompanied the Eutizis to a cozy little Italian dive (Giacomos) for dinner in the North End and didn't get home until 11:30. I completely forgot about my recipe, so we ate the eggs and sausage individually on T-day morning.
After our somewhat less dignified, but equally "fat and happy" breakfast, we sailed down to Plymouth to view the Mayflower model ship and paid a visit to Plymouth Rock. You'll be interested to know that the historical revisionists have not let Plymouth alone to revel it's glorified past. At every turn upon your visit to the mock plantation, ship, or rock monument you are accosted with negative quotes about "our" egregious errors in taking the "New World" for England. While I do not deny mistreatment of the Indians, I find comments like, "Thanksgiving should be a day of mourning for the atrocities we committed toward the natives" a mite preposterous. My theory is that this backlash has been caused by the Plymouth locals who, sick of 200+ years of tourists, have made the historical exhibits as negative as possible to discourage return. Well, "Ha Ha to you, Plymouth!" This was my 4th time clogging up and jay-walking across your fair village streets, so you can't stop me from glorying in trans-Atlantic survival and relating to the pathos of those seeking freedom of religious expression!
Nov. 20: Today was our first snow in Boston! I was walking to my car after work thinking about how forlorn and lonely the grass looked against the fading trees. Its green was just begging to turn itself into something more subtle, so it wouldn't keep sticking out like a sore thumb. It seemed to be calling out in its tiny little grass voice, "Snow on me! Please snow on me!" I thought, "What a profound observation for my blog! Now, if only it would snow at this exact moment!"
And then, it did. Wispy little flakes flew down at first, and then great big clumpy ones began to fall. By noon, we'd received several inches and the frosted pines outside our office gave off the appearance of a veritable winterwonderland.
In late afternoon, a light rain melted away all the snow. By Turkey Day, we were back to a balmy 68 degrees!
Thanksgiving
Nov. 22: Thanksgiving in the Saylor household this year proved to be a grand success, thanks to the help of our San Diego visitors, Mark and Crystal Eutizi. (God bless them; they are very handy in the kitchen!)The day began lazily with a 10 am wake-up call. How true that we gen-Xers are loathe to rise at the crack of dawn to begin Grandma's recipes when hours before the turkey should be on the table, we can print 30-minute versions off recipeezaar.com! To exemplify this principle, I should note that I'd actually printed a lovely make-and-bake-the-night-before brunch casserole recipe offline in efforts to appear like an organized baby-boomer who prepares for the morrow. I'd even shopped for the ingredients 4 days before. Instead of slaving over my stove on Wed. night, however, we accompanied the Eutizis to a cozy little Italian dive (Giacomos) for dinner in the North End and didn't get home until 11:30. I completely forgot about my recipe, so we ate the eggs and sausage individually on T-day morning.
After our somewhat less dignified, but equally "fat and happy" breakfast, we sailed down to Plymouth to view the Mayflower model ship and paid a visit to Plymouth Rock. You'll be interested to know that the historical revisionists have not let Plymouth alone to revel it's glorified past. At every turn upon your visit to the mock plantation, ship, or rock monument you are accosted with negative quotes about "our" egregious errors in taking the "New World" for England. While I do not deny mistreatment of the Indians, I find comments like, "Thanksgiving should be a day of mourning for the atrocities we committed toward the natives" a mite preposterous. My theory is that this backlash has been caused by the Plymouth locals who, sick of 200+ years of tourists, have made the historical exhibits as negative as possible to discourage return. Well, "Ha Ha to you, Plymouth!" This was my 4th time clogging up and jay-walking across your fair village streets, so you can't stop me from glorying in trans-Atlantic survival and relating to the pathos of those seeking freedom of religious expression!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
No more casual Friday
To an estranged Californian, Boston office culture seems like a study of traditions frozen in time. They’ve never even heard of Casual Friday. You should’ve seen the look my supervisor gave me when I casually mentioned it. They have another concept for the Christmas White Elephant, too-it’s called a “Yankee Swap”. What??? Oh, and while we’re on the subject-“dungarees” are jeans (I thought they were those big giant yellow overalls that fishermen wore in storms), “frappes” (pron: fraps) are milkshakes, and anything “wicked” is good. But you probably already knew that one…immortalized by Matt Damon in the movie, “Good Will Hunting.” God bless his beautiful soul.
I am a week into my new job and frankly, nothing but grateful to be employed…at whatever task. Oh I’ll dress up! I’d don real dungarees if they asked me to. Ironically, the fear that I wasn’t dressed professionally enough haunted me even into my dreams the other night when my new manager followed me home to critique my shoes, pair by pair, until she’d eliminated all but one deemed sharp enough for work. I guess my summer teaching job with the no “open-toed” policy had a deeper psychological effect than I’d imagined!
Seriously, my new job’s not bad. My official role is Customer Service Rep. in HR at BC (Boston College)-can you tell they like abbreviations? Basically, I’m a glorified receptionist. It’s easy, but people-oriented. I know that I am where God wants me. I have soooo much peace about it that even when I went to the program director’s office today to inquire about starting my Masters (in Global Social Work) in January and he said I have to wait until NEXT SEPTEMBER (!!!) I didn’t fret. Ok…maybe just a little. I figure I will have plenty to occupy me on campus, what with the gym, free language classes, lectures, employee lunches, football games, etc. It’s even a Jesuit university, so there is a spiritual dynamic to every aspect of university life. We discussed the conversion of St. Ignatius to Christ at our new employee Orientation! If I could pick a religious order to put on my postage stamps, the Jesuits would definitely be it. So, it looks like I’m going to be learning a lot about La Societe de Jesu!
I am a week into my new job and frankly, nothing but grateful to be employed…at whatever task. Oh I’ll dress up! I’d don real dungarees if they asked me to. Ironically, the fear that I wasn’t dressed professionally enough haunted me even into my dreams the other night when my new manager followed me home to critique my shoes, pair by pair, until she’d eliminated all but one deemed sharp enough for work. I guess my summer teaching job with the no “open-toed” policy had a deeper psychological effect than I’d imagined!
Seriously, my new job’s not bad. My official role is Customer Service Rep. in HR at BC (Boston College)-can you tell they like abbreviations? Basically, I’m a glorified receptionist. It’s easy, but people-oriented. I know that I am where God wants me. I have soooo much peace about it that even when I went to the program director’s office today to inquire about starting my Masters (in Global Social Work) in January and he said I have to wait until NEXT SEPTEMBER (!!!) I didn’t fret. Ok…maybe just a little. I figure I will have plenty to occupy me on campus, what with the gym, free language classes, lectures, employee lunches, football games, etc. It’s even a Jesuit university, so there is a spiritual dynamic to every aspect of university life. We discussed the conversion of St. Ignatius to Christ at our new employee Orientation! If I could pick a religious order to put on my postage stamps, the Jesuits would definitely be it. So, it looks like I’m going to be learning a lot about La Societe de Jesu!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Old People
If my unemployment is going to end any time soon, it is going to be thanks to a member of the AARP. Last week a well-meaning man from church in his 70's referred me to a position at BU that ended up being a tenure-track professorial position! I sent my resume to the person he recommended, only to follow up later and find out I was 15 years underqualified. Whoops.
Today I met Vera, Ruth, Barbara, and Albert. They are my new friends around the corner at the nursing home in my neighborhood. Today was my first day visiting them. Boy did I enjoy myself! It wasn't without fear that I poked into their rooms this morning. Old people intimidate me. Unlike pets or children, they will yell at you or embarrass you if you accidentally cross them. They might even throw a gloppy milk carton! I guess kids could do this too, but it wouldn't be as humiliating. I decided to take a chance and signed up at the Brookline Rehabilitation Center to see what would happen.
Part of my impetus to volunteer at an Old Folks Home (still my favorite name for "Senior Care Facility") came from a comment one of my former ESL students made about the travesty of unvisited seniors in the U.S. I was struck when she reported reading that less than 10% of seniors get visited by family members each year in our country. Most of my guts came from my current unemployed status as a professional LOSER. (I am waiting to hear back from a temp agency-can you believe it?) I decided it was high time I got out of my apartment and back into society!!!
I laughed internally when the social worker who oriented me insisted that I refrain from touching any bodily fluids left on the floor or a bed, but to let the nurse clean them up instead. "Thanks for steeling me back, buddy, cuz I was really looking forward to mopping up some fluid!" An important reason why people don't visit seniors-the smell! (Not to be overlooked.) But this home is a pretty clean one and the windows look out on parks with good ventilation. My job today was to go room to room, checking in on people and introducing myself.
I botched things up a bit with a few 60 year-olds who had just had a mild stroke and were at the home for only a few days of recovery. I just about blasted them out of their wheelchairs trying to make sure my introductions were heard and understood. Their withering looks brought the volume down a few notches, and the speed/depth of our conversation back to reality. Point well taken.
But my biggest surprise was Ms. Barbara Jewett, age 76, with whom I spoke for over an hour. In spite of her age and health problems, she was so with it, by the time our conversation ended she was giving me tips on how to get a job! As I wheeled her to lunch before departing she mysteriously looked this way and that down the hall, then motioned for me to move closer. "Give your resume to...(pause, with furtive glance)...NICOLE!!!" she hissed in a voice half whispered, half mouthed. "Don't tell them I gave you her name, but I heard they were looking for someone in the business office! Just say you 'heard it through the grapevine!'"
God bless the old folks!
Today I met Vera, Ruth, Barbara, and Albert. They are my new friends around the corner at the nursing home in my neighborhood. Today was my first day visiting them. Boy did I enjoy myself! It wasn't without fear that I poked into their rooms this morning. Old people intimidate me. Unlike pets or children, they will yell at you or embarrass you if you accidentally cross them. They might even throw a gloppy milk carton! I guess kids could do this too, but it wouldn't be as humiliating. I decided to take a chance and signed up at the Brookline Rehabilitation Center to see what would happen.
Part of my impetus to volunteer at an Old Folks Home (still my favorite name for "Senior Care Facility") came from a comment one of my former ESL students made about the travesty of unvisited seniors in the U.S. I was struck when she reported reading that less than 10% of seniors get visited by family members each year in our country. Most of my guts came from my current unemployed status as a professional LOSER. (I am waiting to hear back from a temp agency-can you believe it?) I decided it was high time I got out of my apartment and back into society!!!
I laughed internally when the social worker who oriented me insisted that I refrain from touching any bodily fluids left on the floor or a bed, but to let the nurse clean them up instead. "Thanks for steeling me back, buddy, cuz I was really looking forward to mopping up some fluid!" An important reason why people don't visit seniors-the smell! (Not to be overlooked.) But this home is a pretty clean one and the windows look out on parks with good ventilation. My job today was to go room to room, checking in on people and introducing myself.
I botched things up a bit with a few 60 year-olds who had just had a mild stroke and were at the home for only a few days of recovery. I just about blasted them out of their wheelchairs trying to make sure my introductions were heard and understood. Their withering looks brought the volume down a few notches, and the speed/depth of our conversation back to reality. Point well taken.
But my biggest surprise was Ms. Barbara Jewett, age 76, with whom I spoke for over an hour. In spite of her age and health problems, she was so with it, by the time our conversation ended she was giving me tips on how to get a job! As I wheeled her to lunch before departing she mysteriously looked this way and that down the hall, then motioned for me to move closer. "Give your resume to...(pause, with furtive glance)...NICOLE!!!" she hissed in a voice half whispered, half mouthed. "Don't tell them I gave you her name, but I heard they were looking for someone in the business office! Just say you 'heard it through the grapevine!'"
God bless the old folks!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
P.S.
Did I mention he pooped in my SHOES??? Thank God for T.J. Maax or I might've paid full price for those!!! Die, Leopold, Die!
To catch a mouse...
Press Release, Associated Press
Boston, MA-This morning at approximately 2 am, residents Phil and Laura Saylor finally captured "Leopold", the supermouse, mouse of all mice, and fearless spawn of the dozens of droppings which have been driving them all but OUT OF OUR MINDS for the past three months. Caloo Calay, how they chortled in their bed to hear him squeal as his little foot finally stuck fast in one RAT-sized glue trap purchased at none other than an industrial size Chinese food service supply store yesterday.
Laura Saylor commented: "If you want to catch a mouse, my friends, the Chinese food supply industry is the place to turn for proper trappage."
The Saylor's mouse-fiend, a rodent smarter then a grown man with an M.D. and his dauntless wife, was sage enough to avoid any contraption that even sniffed of a live release. His demise followed seven sorts of traps set in approximately 30 locations in their Brookline apartment, at least that many types of bait, and frantic prayers stopping just shy of an exorcism.
Philip and Laura wonder what will fill the deep void left at his passing. They are considering investing time previously spent disinfecting their counters, floors, and consequently raw hands into blogging. They fear, however, that their readers may be overwhelmed with the deluge of musings and may thus opt for watching lame t.v. instead.
Boston, MA-This morning at approximately 2 am, residents Phil and Laura Saylor finally captured "Leopold", the supermouse, mouse of all mice, and fearless spawn of the dozens of droppings which have been driving them all but OUT OF OUR MINDS for the past three months. Caloo Calay, how they chortled in their bed to hear him squeal as his little foot finally stuck fast in one RAT-sized glue trap purchased at none other than an industrial size Chinese food service supply store yesterday.
Laura Saylor commented: "If you want to catch a mouse, my friends, the Chinese food supply industry is the place to turn for proper trappage."
The Saylor's mouse-fiend, a rodent smarter then a grown man with an M.D. and his dauntless wife, was sage enough to avoid any contraption that even sniffed of a live release. His demise followed seven sorts of traps set in approximately 30 locations in their Brookline apartment, at least that many types of bait, and frantic prayers stopping just shy of an exorcism.
Philip and Laura wonder what will fill the deep void left at his passing. They are considering investing time previously spent disinfecting their counters, floors, and consequently raw hands into blogging. They fear, however, that their readers may be overwhelmed with the deluge of musings and may thus opt for watching lame t.v. instead.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Late summer New England...
Oh my Lord, what a beautiful day! There is a faint, sweet smell of spices and soup in the air and the breeze is carrying it into my window. Signs of early fall have begun and appropriately, it has begun gently so we are able to appreciate each drop in degree. Thank God, the humidity has ceased! The air is cool and the sun is muted, creating one of those cloudless skies of DEEP blue that rarely exist (I never saw one the whole three years I lived in San Diego). The trees are yellowing at their edges, but the leafy bows hold on to their adornment in the breeze. Nothing is falling yet. The wind is crisp and clean and full of joy!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Teaching, Part 2
As I sit here grading on a lovely Sunday afternoon, the breeze floating in through my window and catching corners of grammar tests to tempt them off the table and out into the day, I ask myself, what am I doing here again? It's groundhog day (thank you, Ethan for the image) and I am back in school again. I hated school! Every assignment was torturous. I have wiped the whole horrible memory of it all so well from my brain that I desire to go back to grad school.
My conclusion? Teaching is masochism. It taunts you with potentially wonderful friends (my students) you instead are forced to grade and discipline. It requires you to hold those who most interest you at arms length so as not to play favorites. It takes the joy out of any material that intrigues you as you must review it, and review it again so as not to make an idiot of yourself in front of the class. Not to mention you now associate that theme with the sick feeling you have in your stomach when you are in front of a critical audience.
Teaching is bad for one's health. It requires you eat and pee and sleep and read at odd times without any say. It gives you sore throats. It exposes you to 100's of people's germs you wouldn't otherwise come in contact with.
Teaching is bad for one's wardrobe. It forces you to live on an inhumane wage and scrimp on shopping at the very time you find yourself in front of crowds of Italians and Japanese every day. And don't lets speak again about the close-toed shoes rule.
Yet if I'm honest, without teaching, I wouldn't know wonderful people in the world like 11 year-old Lucas in Argentina who called me on the 4th of July after two years of silence to say "Hi, Miss Morris" (my maiden name). I recognized his voice immediately.
Without teaching I wouldn't know Ippei, this 20 year-old Japanese sweetheart in my class who plays base guitar and wears purple Keds everyday. I wouldn't get to hear his nightmarish, yet entertaining stories of the cabby who robbed him of $220 US for a taxi ride from one end of JFK airport to the other.
I would never have been close to my friends in Spain or have had the experience of being a missionary. I would never have found an awed appreciation for all those professors in college who received my anonymous but scathing reviews (forgive me, Lord!) I wouldn't have the guts to say, "no" to my kids or the authority to tell them what I want from them.
I would never have heard the story of my Korean female student Do Yoon who went to a vegetarian restaurant, saw a "Chickpea sandwich" on the menu and told the waitress with disgust, "I can't believe Americans eat baby chickens!"
My conclusion? Teaching is masochism. It taunts you with potentially wonderful friends (my students) you instead are forced to grade and discipline. It requires you to hold those who most interest you at arms length so as not to play favorites. It takes the joy out of any material that intrigues you as you must review it, and review it again so as not to make an idiot of yourself in front of the class. Not to mention you now associate that theme with the sick feeling you have in your stomach when you are in front of a critical audience.
Teaching is bad for one's health. It requires you eat and pee and sleep and read at odd times without any say. It gives you sore throats. It exposes you to 100's of people's germs you wouldn't otherwise come in contact with.
Teaching is bad for one's wardrobe. It forces you to live on an inhumane wage and scrimp on shopping at the very time you find yourself in front of crowds of Italians and Japanese every day. And don't lets speak again about the close-toed shoes rule.
Yet if I'm honest, without teaching, I wouldn't know wonderful people in the world like 11 year-old Lucas in Argentina who called me on the 4th of July after two years of silence to say "Hi, Miss Morris" (my maiden name). I recognized his voice immediately.
Without teaching I wouldn't know Ippei, this 20 year-old Japanese sweetheart in my class who plays base guitar and wears purple Keds everyday. I wouldn't get to hear his nightmarish, yet entertaining stories of the cabby who robbed him of $220 US for a taxi ride from one end of JFK airport to the other.
I would never have been close to my friends in Spain or have had the experience of being a missionary. I would never have found an awed appreciation for all those professors in college who received my anonymous but scathing reviews (forgive me, Lord!) I wouldn't have the guts to say, "no" to my kids or the authority to tell them what I want from them.
I would never have heard the story of my Korean female student Do Yoon who went to a vegetarian restaurant, saw a "Chickpea sandwich" on the menu and told the waitress with disgust, "I can't believe Americans eat baby chickens!"
Friday, August 3, 2007
A Looong Blog
Observations...
Shellfish
They may not be paying doctors these days what they used to, but oh the contrast in catered meals Phil & my employers offered us during our first month at our new jobs. Phil's "Welcome to Fellowship Clambake": Between the two of us, we managed to polish off 2 lobsters, a 1/2 lb. pile of "steamers" (clams & oysters), 2 bowls of clam chowder, a couple of fresh ears of corn, 2 sweet muffins, and a bowl of strawberry shortcake before the mosquitoes evicted us. (It was the mosquitoes or the nasty looks from the doctor sitting next to me who I'd squirted 15 times with lobster juice and corn before the meal was over. No joke.) Laura's school's "catered" lunch consisted of:
1)wonder bread in a bag
2)processed cheese (at least they had cheese!)
3) lettuce
4) bologna slices.
I am NOT kidding. This was the gratuitous lunch they offered us in lieu of payment for 1.5 hours of grading time on the last day of classes in July. What is it about teachers settling for such abuse? I was horrified not so much by the lack of pay, but rather by the lack of condiments. If you're going to serve me bologna, at least provide some mustard.
Bigfoot...
Did you know that in Boston, size 11 feet are considered freakish? So much so that the clerks who I've asked for flats in a size above mine (10) for the purpose of inserting insoles have looked at me like I've just spoken to them in Tagalog. Forget those gals in Cali who wear a size 12!!!
New Englanders on Change:
"We've been doing it this way for over 100 years-what's your problem?"
International hub...
Did you know that on the streets of Boston you can hear up to 15 different languages spoken each day? I'm not talking about my ESL students, Euro tourists, or even Spanish-speaking immigrants. I'm talking about crazy languages from Africa and the South Pacific that I couldn't even begin to identify. Cool!
A tribute to my beautiful day by the Charles...
Tonight I went to meet a group of Spanish students for a free outdoor movie (part of my all-hours crazy job) and they didn't show. At first I was depressed and felt all alone as I walked toward the subway line that runs back to our apartment. But then I decided I would rejoice in the Lord instead. All of a sudden, the path I was walking on broadened and opened to one of the most beautiful scenes I have witnessed ever in my life! There are these lovely canals that run by the Charles River and the sun was setting behind thick groves of trees and ducks were playing in the reeds that grew around the stony bridges crossing the canals. To my right was the river blowing in the warm breeze and covered in white sail boats. To my left were a row of 200 year-old brownstone buildings with green copper balconies covered in ivy and the Boston skyline behind them, shining in the sunset. What a gift! I feel so blessed to be here, in spite of the challenges of the move and getting started!
Shellfish
They may not be paying doctors these days what they used to, but oh the contrast in catered meals Phil & my employers offered us during our first month at our new jobs. Phil's "Welcome to Fellowship Clambake": Between the two of us, we managed to polish off 2 lobsters, a 1/2 lb. pile of "steamers" (clams & oysters), 2 bowls of clam chowder, a couple of fresh ears of corn, 2 sweet muffins, and a bowl of strawberry shortcake before the mosquitoes evicted us. (It was the mosquitoes or the nasty looks from the doctor sitting next to me who I'd squirted 15 times with lobster juice and corn before the meal was over. No joke.) Laura's school's "catered" lunch consisted of:
1)wonder bread in a bag
2)processed cheese (at least they had cheese!)
3) lettuce
4) bologna slices.
I am NOT kidding. This was the gratuitous lunch they offered us in lieu of payment for 1.5 hours of grading time on the last day of classes in July. What is it about teachers settling for such abuse? I was horrified not so much by the lack of pay, but rather by the lack of condiments. If you're going to serve me bologna, at least provide some mustard.
Bigfoot...
Did you know that in Boston, size 11 feet are considered freakish? So much so that the clerks who I've asked for flats in a size above mine (10) for the purpose of inserting insoles have looked at me like I've just spoken to them in Tagalog. Forget those gals in Cali who wear a size 12!!!
New Englanders on Change:
"We've been doing it this way for over 100 years-what's your problem?"
International hub...
Did you know that on the streets of Boston you can hear up to 15 different languages spoken each day? I'm not talking about my ESL students, Euro tourists, or even Spanish-speaking immigrants. I'm talking about crazy languages from Africa and the South Pacific that I couldn't even begin to identify. Cool!
A tribute to my beautiful day by the Charles...
Tonight I went to meet a group of Spanish students for a free outdoor movie (part of my all-hours crazy job) and they didn't show. At first I was depressed and felt all alone as I walked toward the subway line that runs back to our apartment. But then I decided I would rejoice in the Lord instead. All of a sudden, the path I was walking on broadened and opened to one of the most beautiful scenes I have witnessed ever in my life! There are these lovely canals that run by the Charles River and the sun was setting behind thick groves of trees and ducks were playing in the reeds that grew around the stony bridges crossing the canals. To my right was the river blowing in the warm breeze and covered in white sail boats. To my left were a row of 200 year-old brownstone buildings with green copper balconies covered in ivy and the Boston skyline behind them, shining in the sunset. What a gift! I feel so blessed to be here, in spite of the challenges of the move and getting started!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Happy Birthday, Julie!
Happy birthday to my most faithful (and, ahem, it appears ONLY) reader!
Here is a birthday salad recipe I came up with for you to make (it is SO yummy and quick since you are studyign so much german. It has four food groups all in one bowl!):
Julie's Greek Goddess Salad
-Sautee chicken breast stips in olive oil until golden brown and sprinkle with garlic salt and fresh ground pepper. Squeeze juice of one lemon over top and bring to a boil. Simmer until Chicken is cooked through (10 minutes)
-Toss stale bread cubes in butter and add garlic salt and oregano liberally. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes until golden and croutony
-Mix dressing: juice of one lemon, wine vinegar (either type), oregano, salt, pepper, olive oil, and one smashed garlic clove to taste. Add chopped fresh parsley if you have it.
Combine above ingredients with: red leaf lettuce, kalamata olives, halved grape tomatoes, vidalia onion shavings (vidalias are the sweetest), chunks of English cucumbers, and feta cheese.
YUMMMY BIRTHDAY, Julie!
Here is a birthday salad recipe I came up with for you to make (it is SO yummy and quick since you are studyign so much german. It has four food groups all in one bowl!):
Julie's Greek Goddess Salad
-Sautee chicken breast stips in olive oil until golden brown and sprinkle with garlic salt and fresh ground pepper. Squeeze juice of one lemon over top and bring to a boil. Simmer until Chicken is cooked through (10 minutes)
-Toss stale bread cubes in butter and add garlic salt and oregano liberally. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes until golden and croutony
-Mix dressing: juice of one lemon, wine vinegar (either type), oregano, salt, pepper, olive oil, and one smashed garlic clove to taste. Add chopped fresh parsley if you have it.
Combine above ingredients with: red leaf lettuce, kalamata olives, halved grape tomatoes, vidalia onion shavings (vidalias are the sweetest), chunks of English cucumbers, and feta cheese.
YUMMMY BIRTHDAY, Julie!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Teaching
Yesterday was my first day in the classroom. I'm not sure I have what it takes! Why do I hate teaching yet keep pushing myself to do it? Is it the challenge? I dont' think so, because I hate the challenging parts of it! I'm not sure if I'm confusing my love of learning with a love of teaching. Or maybe it's just that I want to travel, so I feel like I'm doing so vicariously through the students who come here to study ESL? I bet it is the fact that there are teachers who make it look so easy and sound so fun...I want to get a piece of what they are experiencing! Probably a little of all of the above.
I could have kicked myself yesterday for starting work 5 days after moving across country. It has been so stressful! But if I want a job year-round, the best time to start is in July when they desperately need teachers. I love the school I work at. It is pretty much the best environment a new ESL teacher could ask for-in an urban mini-mall in the heart of Harvard Square. Lots of fun shops and restaurants for our students (and me!) to enjoy. The bus from my house drops me right across the street!
I think Boston is the city where they invented that saying "Every cloud has a silver lining." There are lots of nice clouds here. (San Diego has a dirth of clouds.) Did I tell you that the church we visited on Sunday listed, "My country 'tis of thee" in the bulletin as a hymn last week because the hymn had been written there in that church about 200 years ago? Amazing.
But back to teaching, do I want to continue until fall? Only time/God will tell. Who knows what I'll end up doing. Hopefully not something that involves hours of prep each day, a lot of stressful suspense wondering if my audience is going to buy my "product" for the day, not to mention 1,000 daily photocopies on the school's measly ONE machine. Sigh...
Thank you for reading, Julie. ;)
I could have kicked myself yesterday for starting work 5 days after moving across country. It has been so stressful! But if I want a job year-round, the best time to start is in July when they desperately need teachers. I love the school I work at. It is pretty much the best environment a new ESL teacher could ask for-in an urban mini-mall in the heart of Harvard Square. Lots of fun shops and restaurants for our students (and me!) to enjoy. The bus from my house drops me right across the street!
I think Boston is the city where they invented that saying "Every cloud has a silver lining." There are lots of nice clouds here. (San Diego has a dirth of clouds.) Did I tell you that the church we visited on Sunday listed, "My country 'tis of thee" in the bulletin as a hymn last week because the hymn had been written there in that church about 200 years ago? Amazing.
But back to teaching, do I want to continue until fall? Only time/God will tell. Who knows what I'll end up doing. Hopefully not something that involves hours of prep each day, a lot of stressful suspense wondering if my audience is going to buy my "product" for the day, not to mention 1,000 daily photocopies on the school's measly ONE machine. Sigh...
Thank you for reading, Julie. ;)
Friday, June 29, 2007
Boston...
...is full of its challenges. The beauty of the city, the lush trees and quaint Victorian houses is discouragingly muted by the contorted face of the RMV (Massachusetts' version of the DMV) worker who tells us after our 2 hour wait that we don't have the right stamp on our car insurance form--an insurance form which doesn't exist in California--and a suggestion that we each register new licenses at a cost of $90 a pop. (This was our second visit to the RMV in a town 40 minutes and two toll-booths away. Not that I'm counting.) The busy humm of opportunity awaiting us in the "big city" is drowned out by the sound of squirrels scratching in our new apartment's walls. It's been a challenging start. Enough so that I am on my knees hourly... albeit it gingerly for fear of squirrel droppings. I am hopeful that things will get easier, better. Tonight we walked to Falafal King for a fabulous shwarma sandwich and salad. Delicious. Our apartment is only 4 blocks from a Trader Joes, our new bank (a B of A housed in a lovely old building), our...hush...COVERED parking space which we finagled under a new development for a MERE $225/month (believe it our not, this IS a deal), and various and sundry other shops/restaurants sporting lovely luxury goods which make for nice window shopping strolls. My commute to work is a direct 30 minute jaunt on the bus. It's a safe neighborhood, and quite close to the T, Boston's metro. In the words of Phil, "It isn't bad, it may just take a while to reach a positivity surplus!" We are both practicing our Pollyanna paradigm and looking for ways in which God is working all things for good. We can be thankful for this experience because it is putting a more realistic spin on the challenges of being home owners!
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