mommuck, quamish, and such

'My English is good enough"

2012-01-31T10:52:00.001-05:00

In a small Arizona town, a woman named Alejandrina Cabrera is running for city council. She is Hispanic and bilingual...sort of. A judge recently ruled that her name couldn't be on the ballot because she doesn't speak English well enough to run for public office (you can read the full article here).

According to the article, Cabrera's community is 98.7% Hispanic, and 87% of them speak a language other than English at home (ie Spanish). Cabrera is a US citizen who graduated from a bilingual high school. She rates her own English skills as a 5 out of 10. Most of (dare I assume all) the other city council members are bilingual. Meetings are conducted in English, but with a Spanish-speaking community, and much of her interaction would be in Spanish. As with most foreign language speakers, her comprehension is higher than her productive abilities, but in a court evaluation, she struggled to answer questions put before her by the court.

Arizona does have an English-only law, and in 1910 Arizona became a state under the stipulation that "The ability to read, write, speak, and understand the English language sufficiently well to conduct duties of the office without aid of an interpreter shall be a necessary qualification for all state officers and members of the state legislature." Now if Cabrera's English is so poor that she requires a translator, I would agree wholeheartedly with the judge. Cabrera, however, believes she can function efficiently as is, and even studies with a tutor to improve her English. The law does not specify a particular level of English one must speak as long as one can understand sufficiently well.

I'm reminded of a particular southern state representative who, when giving a testimony at a congressional hearing (or some similar type of event...I can't quite remember) was nearly incomprehensible to a speaker of Standard American English. But her constituents understood her well enough to vote her into office, so who am I to complain that I didn't understand her dialect? I think the same principal applies here. Cabrera is an ideal representative of the people of her community; they want someone who speaks like they speak and knows what it's like to grow up bilingual.

I tend to agree with them. I think this issue goes beyond the English-only debate; Cabrera is not arguing that Spanish should be used on the city council, but that her English, imperfect thought it may be, is good enough. And in a country full of languages, dialects, and accents, I think that's all we should ask for. Thoughts?

taxes

2012-01-24T12:08:00.002-05:00

Romney.

What do you think? Does it bother you that he is so ridiculously wealthy? Does it bother you that he only paid (quite legally) only 15.4% tax rate?

I don't love Romney. I don't hate him. (I actually quite liked Huntsman, but we all knew he never really had a chance). I like him more than the rest of the current Republican candidates. I'd vote for him in the primaries (in Virginia those with no party affiliation may vote in either primary. I think). I might vote for him in the general election if he gets the nomination...then again, maybe I'll stick with Nader. I haven't decided. It doesn't bother me that Romney is wealthy or that he paid a smaller percentage of taxes than Obama or Gingrich. It DOES bother me that the current tax system will require that someone like me pay 22-25% taxes, but the millionaires don't because of capital gains or something that I don't really understand (Father or sister, here's your cue to offer a SIMPLE explanation of tax law). It seems the system could use an overhaul. But I don't think that should influence one's opinion of a candidate's politics. Because who would volunteer to pay more taxes than required by law? As long as it's all legal, what's the big deal?

I'm just wondering what you think. Please share. All six of you who still read my blog on occasion.

jobs jobs jobs

2012-01-19T10:48:00.001-05:00

In a few months, the project I have been working on at the company that hired me when I moved to DC will be over and I'll either have the option to stay and start a new project or quit.

I'm not sure what to do.

I don't love my job. It's rather boring, sometimes mindless, and keeps me cooped up in an office all day long. I'd rather be teaching, and having this job prevents me from taking more classes and really getting my foot in the door at Gtown.

On the other hand, it gives me a salary, and I really like getting paid. I have decent benefits, excellent co-workers, and the most diverse, flexible work environment one could want. One might say I'm crazy for even considering leaving something relatively stable to be an adjunct at some university where the pay is always minimal and respect hard to come by. In reality, this decision will mostly be based on what kind of job T-rav gets (ie how much money he makes) after he finishes up his temp job next month. I only have the option of quitting if Trav's job, whatever it ends up being, is enough to pay the bills.

But it's made me think lately about what's more important: doing something you love (or at least really like) or doing something that makes a lot of money (relatively speaking, of course. I AM in the language field after all). What do you think?

MLK day

2012-01-16T19:43:00.002-05:00

Today both T-rav and I had the day off. And although I felt weird all day--I think I'm coming down with some sort of cold or flu or sinus something--after a moment of silence for Dr. King, we decided to go oot and aboot anyway. We started with a trip to the nearest Wegman's (which, by the way, now sells their own brand of most delicious organic milk) accidentally took a wrong exit on the way to Ikea, putting us back on the right road 20 minutes later--so typical for a DC detour--and then stopped at a little state park on the banks of the Potomac called Mason's Neck. I'm sure it would be much lovelier in a non-winter season. As you can see in the picture below, it bears strong resemblance to the Fire Swamp, but I think we'll go back when things start to green up a bit.

I've been lamenting my lack of a social life lately. We've been bad about making new friends around here, but it seems to me that everyone is So Busy! and Important and no one has time to make new friends. Or maybe we're not trying hard enough...honestly, it's probably mostly that. The good thing is that neither Trav nor I really have any friends (aside from Ryry, of course), so we've been spending a lot more time together. We're a good match, if I may say so myself. We generally have low expectations of our "adventures," have plenty of things to talk about (even if I occasionally end up ranting), and aren't afraid to try weird things. And while I'm being forthright, I might as well admit that a large portion of the time I'd much rather sit at home and read a book or cook or watch reruns of Law & Order than make new friends. It's much less intimidating, don't you think?

may 2012 bring...

2012-01-05T08:30:00.000-05:00

my very first race since high school (an 8K in March) and a Ragnar, perhaps (Adirondacks, DC, or PA, anyone? I'll only be motivated if I can run with Kee)
more patience
trips to: Turkey, somewhere in the Balkaans, Norway, Morocco? Brazil? and of course US-bound road trips (anyone up for the Appalachian trail?
less self-loathing
uileann piping
less cynicism
~~a dog~~ crossed off because Trav said I shouldn't put unrealistic things on my list :(
lots of bread baking and Irish dancing
some Portuguese to my tongue
friends to my house in DC

This picture is actually a couple of years old (ie note the rounded bottom..not that it's that much smaller these days. Us Hill girls are a little bootylicious), but I felt it was a promising way to usher in the new year. ;)

Christmas 2011 in pictures

2012-01-01T13:39:00.001-05:00

Clockwise from top left: Grandma and great grandson Connor ◊ Connor eating a lemon (yes, he really does like them) ◊ Me and T-rav at a park ◊ Kate and I stuffing our faces with crepes ◊ Kristi and Rapha ◊ Kristi expressing her feelings about having a pregnant belly ◊ Trav and Grandma's Christmas present (from 2 years ago) that he finally put together for her ◊ Sleeping Christmas afternoon ◊ Connor and my dear friend Jay's kiddo ◊ Adam, Lauren and Connor ◊ Four Generations

I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T18:37:00.001-05:00

Lord, make us instruments of Thy peace.

Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

- Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Merry Christmas!

sounds of the season

2011-12-18T22:04:00.003-05:00

Christmas isn't Christmas to me without music. But I have a few favorites that I just can't live without. Like this one:

Or this one:

What's yours?

food for the 1%

2011-12-14T08:31:00.000-05:00

Now that I work in the Real World where people go to their offices every day and work like drones until 5 or sometimes 6 and then march home only to wait to start it all over again, I've discovered that office buildings around here throw ~~Christmas~~ holiday parties as a way to treat their tenants to something nice (or in my case, a way to placate us because they only turn the heat on once a week and, naturally, that makes us a little angry). Our building isn't super fancy and I doubt we have the highest rent in the neighborhood. Here is a selection from our menu:

bacon-wrapped scallops; meatballs; vegetable spring rolls; a cheese platter and crackers (with pepperjack, cheddar, and mozzarella); shrimp and crab dip; assorted cakes and pastries

It was nice, but nothing too spectacular, as was the quality/flavor of the food. Now let's look at T-rav's building party, which, might I add, was serenaded by a live harpist:

individual lamb shanks; duck and mango kebobs; a cheese platter (with fancy cheese); mushroom stuffed phyllo wraps; assorted tarts, pastries, and other delectables; an open bar with drinks all around

Let's just say Trav's was definitely a step up from mine. So is his building (in addition to the party, the partners in his company each received a holiday ham). I don't know if they would be considered part of the 1%...maybe the 5% (on a side note, isn't it interesting that 6 months ago, me saying "the 1%" would have had little to no meaning without context, but now it's common jargon for everyone in America! I love how language changes!), but as nice as it is to have a party (and I do like a party), I couldn't help but wonder if the world wouldn't be a better place if they donated all this extra money they have floating around rather than waste it on duck on lamb shanks. Surely the building budgets these extravagances into their leasing prices and part of what makes their building more desirable than others is their extravagance.

I just find it frustrating that so much money goes into a party "celebrating" a holiday that people are afraid to name when there are/were people protesting the economic gap a few blocks away, the national debt is rising, and people are starving in Africa. And Afghanistan. And China. And America.

And this is where T-rav jumps in and calls me a communist.

Scottish Christmas Walk (aka dog parade)

2011-12-04T08:52:00.001-05:00

Old Town Alexandria does a parade every year, which, in my opinion, included all the things a successful parade needs: bagpipes, old cars, candy, and dogs. No floats, no baton twirlers, just pipers wearing kilts and every variety of terrier imaginable with a few hounds, setters, and sheepdogs thrown in the mix.

Sadly my camera battery died before I could photograph all the dogs I hope to adopt. For those of you who know Mr. T, just imagine 100 lil Towsers wearing their family's tartan, marching down the street to the beat of the drums. Yes. It was Fantastic.

T-rav thinks it's creepy that grown men, successful businessmen or politicians or whatever, dress up in elaborate costumes with big fuzzy hats and wolf head purses and parade through the streets waving sticks in the air or shooting off rifles every few hundred feet. What's so strange about that?

I, on the other hand, dream of doing historical reenactment. Madrigal dinners/concerts are my favorite. And then there's the whole Irish dancing thing--donning a curly wig, short skirt, and lots and lots of glitter and sparkles--I guess he'll just have to get used to it.

29.

2011-11-30T20:09:00.001-05:00

Today I am 29.

Twenty-nine. And I still look about the same as my 8-year-old self. Except, sadly, my nose has grown. I should go find those old glasses...

So I have now entered the last year of my twenties. The end of life as I know it? Quite possibly. I'm trying to work out some way to come to grips with getting older...I'll let you know if I come up with anything. In the meantime, here's an interesting list of some of those who share my birthday.

1667 Jonathan Swift

1768 Jędrzej Śniadecki (I've never actually heard of him, but I wanted to type a coolies Polish name. Try and say it. Apparently he's a writer/physician/chemist/biologist)

1835 Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens

1874 Sir Winston Churchill

1929 Dick Clark

1955 Billy Idol

Other random facts about 30 November (thank you Wikipedia):

The first international football match took place between Scotland and England in 1872.
Oscar Wilde died in 1900.
My saint is Andrew, a warrior saint and invoked against injustice, sterility, gout, dysentery, and, of course, wry neck. He is also the patron saint of Greece, Romania, Russia, Ukraine, and the Ecumenical Patrarchate of Constantinople.
Barbados and South Yemen celebrate their independence from the UK today.
Lucille Ball married Desi Arnaz in 1940.
Ken Jennings finally lost a Jeopardy match in 2004.

Happy birthday to me!

ma'am or miss

2011-11-29T11:58:00.001-05:00

While standing in the metro waiting for my train, a noticed a man standing nearly in my bubble of personal space. "Excuse me, ma'am" Who on earth could he be talking to? "Ma'am, do you have a dollar? I'm down to 80 cents on my train fare and didn't bring any cash with me." I think he's talking to me. But ma'am? Since when do I look like a ma'am?

Which brings me to the question: which do you prefer, ma'am or miss? Or neither? I've always thought of ma'am as the title reserved for WOMEN. Moms. Grandmas. Miss is for young women who look like they might be in college. Or teenage girls. People like me. But apparently I look like I'm getting on in years, at least enough to be called ma'am. Or perhaps, as I prefer to think, miss is simply falling out of fashion. For example, I know that in German the charming word fraulein is falling out of use to be replaced across the board by the more dignified and all-encompassing frau. Is the same thing happening in French? Portuguese? Spanish? (I should know the answer to this in Italian, but it's been too long). Is this a conscious politically-correct thing to do (we don't know if someone is unmarried or young, so we'll call everyone ma'am to avoid potential mistakes) or something else?

Whatever the case, ma'am just makes me feel so old.

gratitude

2011-11-22T08:20:00.001-05:00

I have been an ungrateful, cynical wretch the past few months. But mostly I'm impatient. After nearly 8 years of schooling between the two of us, many short-term jobs or career changes, and very little direction in our lives, I'm antsy, to put it mildly, for a little stability (note- I'm not antsy to settle down. That's a terrifying prospect), especially of the financial variety. I dream not of huge houses or fancy electronics or cars we can buy, but of having two incomes (that have no end date in sight) and a savings. I dream of hoarding my money.

I suppose all of this should have taught me patience, but it hasn't. Instead I've been more impatient and irritated when things haven't gone the way I planned. Or hoped. Or demanded. So in order to remind myself of all the things I do have, especially considering the approaching holiday, here's a short list of my blessings, in no particular order.

I have a job. It pays my bills.
I get to teach at G-town, and next semester I'm even scheduled for two classes. Here's to the start of me slowly weaseling my way into a full-time position...(cross your fingers, please!)
I'm married to the most patient, understanding, and generally considerate person I've ever met.
My parents.
My kitchen is huge. And our apartment is reasonably priced in a great neighborhood close to everything.
I live closer to my family and can easily go home and visit.
I have some of the best friends in the world who, even though they're far away, are still my best friends.
I live in one of the most beautiful, historic, lively cities in the US. There's always an adventure waiting.
I get to eat delicious and healthy food every day.
Democracy.
My body is strong and healthy (knock on wood, this is not an invitation to tempt fate).
I have health insurance.
Sweet potatoes.
I get to travel.
I live in a country where it's ok for my Muslim co-workers to take time out of their day for prayers, and I can leave for Christmas or Easter.
Sisters.
I finally found an armchair for my living room which is perfect for rainy afternoons and a book.
I work in a multi-cultural environment and learn about faraway places every day.
Saffron, cinnamon, cloves, rosemary, garlic, lemon, chocolate, thyme, vanilla...
Harry Potter and my secret books. Let's be honest- really all books in general.
My in-laws.
Google.
Holidays.

And with that, I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

25 ways to wear a scarf

2011-11-20T16:30:00.001-05:00

Watch this. Don't you think this girl is adorable?

And when you're finished, you can click on a specific style and watch the tutorial in regular speed.

reality check

2011-11-15T15:44:00.001-05:00

I have a good imagination. And I'm overly curious (nosy, you say?), so as I pass people on the street, I like to concoct a story of who they are, where they're from, and what they're doing out and about. In my mind, they are unfailingly foreign, speaking a language that I also just happen to speak. I work out an entire conversation in my head, generally beginning with a look of desperation in their eyes, begging me to say something in a friendly tongue, and ending with me helping them on their way in perfectly communicable (but not perfect- I'm not that conceited even in my day dreams) Russian or German or Italian or wherever I decide they should be from. I am never nervous or bashful speaking their language; my grammar is correct and my accent decent. And best of all, my words do not fail me.

Enter reality. Let me replay a recent conversation T-rav and I had at the Russian Cultural Center:

We walk into the building on a Saturday afternoon. The door is open and there's a very-Russian looking guy (skinny, round face with angular features, thin hair) standing in the middle of a room that would make a better ballroom than space for a receptionist's desk. Trav says hello and asks about language classes. The Russian guy says something very fast in Russian. Ooo, I think I caught something about them not working. But how can I be sure...we stand there awkwardly. Trav simplifies his request in slow and basic English. The Russian looks bewildered and slightly irked. We ask him if he speaks English. Obviously not. So then, we think, we'll switch to Russian! Pause. What were those words I used to know? Trav and I stand there and look at each other and stare at the Russian and the Russian stares at us. I switch to staring at the floor. I notice that there are several pieces of paper blowing around on the ballroom's wooden floor. It would look quite nice if they refinished it. I'd like to put up a mirror and dance a jig. If the Russian weren't there, that is. Damn. All I can remember is "I want to see your rubber boots." I suck. We continue staring. Finally I blurt out Russian class in Russian. A light turns on in the Russian's eyes and he starts talking on the phone in rapid Russian. Ah, it's the head of the Cultural Center. We find out what we need to know and give the Russian back his phone. We manage to mumble a Russian thank you on our way out.

And that is the difference between my dreams and reality.

random

2011-11-11T09:54:00.001-05:00

Today is 11/11/11. It seems significant somehow. You decide.

Editing page after page after page of textbook makes me want to stab my eyes out. Unfortunately for me, editing is all I've been doing lately. Which is why I've been checking facebook incessantly, reading loads of blogs/websites/news articles, and posting a bit more often than usual. Anything to distract...

When I was a freshman in college, I was never cold. I walked around campus in the middle of winter late at night in jeans, a sweater, hat, and gloves, and was almost never cold. I'm now freezing 95% of the time no matter what I wear. Maybe it's because I'm getting old.

T-rav and I have been eagerly engaged in a month-long Prison Break marathon. We finished the last episode last night. I feel as though it has left a small hole in my heart.

Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away. It can't come soon enough.

impulse buy

2011-11-10T09:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday our sturdy hp laptop of 6 years finally went kaput. Because it kindly alerted us to its imminent demise by randomly freezing up, shutting down, and beeping sorrowfully during the previous week, there was no meltdown from me like there could have been without proper mental preparation. Just acceptance and a tinge of sadness. It has been with me for a long time through master's thesis, resumes, lesson plans, UVU presentations, and a second bachelor's for T-rav.

But this tinge of sadness wasn't enough to keep me from buying a new one right away. As in less than 1 hour after we played a requiem for our old one, we were on our new laptop, checking email and reading the news as if we'd had it for years. And the best part: it cost us less that $400 thanks to some killer deals at Staples. Impulse buy? Maybe. But you can't really go wrong with a laptop that is twice the computer you had before at a fraction of the price.

my secret stash

2011-11-07T08:10:00.001-05:00

I have a secret stash of books. Books that I keep hidden in a box or on a separate shelf away from prying eyes that I'm a little (ok sometimes a lot) ashamed to admit that I love.

No, they're not dirty romance novels. What kind of girl do you think I am?

They're fantasy novels. And they're not that well-written and the story isn't so unoriginal (thanks, Tolkein for inspiring a generation of ~~plagiarists~~ writers) but I can't help myself. I've loved them since my tween years. And every so often I have the urge to read them again. All 12 of them (and some 6000 pages).

Which brings me to my current dilemma: there are so many books I'm longing to read. I have 4 on hold at the library, several on my shelf just waiting to be picked up, a queue on my kindle, and dozens waiting for purchase on my amazon list. It doesn't make sense to me to waste my time reading silly books that I've read, literally, dozens of times. But sometimes I just need to. And they never get old, no matter how many times I read them.

So tell me. What can you read without ever growing tired of it?

(Do you like how I have neatly avoided mentioning the title of these hidden books?)

a different Halloween perspective

2011-10-28T10:10:00.000-04:00

One of my Afghan coworkers today was asking me about Halloween. Well, mostly he just wanted to know why I didn't have treats for him today since it was "Halloween weekend" (yes, that man can EAT). Here's about how our conversation went:

Me: Are you planning to dress up or go to any parties?
Him: No, probably not. I'll go like this [wearing jeans and a fleece jacket)
Me: What? Why? Have you ever celebrated Halloween? Gone to any haunted houses or anything?
Him: No...well, I almost went one time last year, but then I didn't.
Me: Why not? Haunted houses are fun!
Him: Well, I've seen real dead bodies and watched people die, so fake ones don't scare me. In the village where I grew up, there were a bunch of houses down the street that exploded with the people still in them. I used to walk past those houses late at night by myself when I was a kid. And I played hide-and-seek in the basement with the windows nailed shut. I even followed a ghost once, but it got away from me. Once you've seen the real thing, the fake ones just aren't scary.
Me: [blank stare]

What do you say to that?

mansplaining

2011-10-24T11:44:00.002-04:00

My new favorite word (T-rav, don't you wish you had never sent me that link?)
to mansplain:

1- to delight incondescending, inaccurate explanations delivered with rock solid confidence ofrightness and that slimy certainty that of course he is right, because he isthe man in this conversation

2-To explain in a patronizing manner, assuming total ignorance on the part ofthose listening. The mansplainer is often shocked and hurt when theirmansplanation is not taken as absolute fact, criticized or even rejectedaltogether

(from urbandictionary.com)

Now just to be clear, mainsplaining isn't just explaining something while being male (though for some it seems to be). It's when a male tells a female how to do something she already knows how to do, or how she is wrong about something she is actually right about, or miscellaneous and inaccurate "facts" about something she knows quite a lot more about than he does.

I also recognize that many men, and women, for that matter, are know-it-alls by nature. They'll condescendingly explain things to men, women, children, dogs, cats, whoever will listen. And some people go in to teacher mode when talking about something they know about (I'm sure I occasionally do this when discussing English. But at least I actually know something about it). It happens.

Off the top of my head, I can think of about five or six of my friends/acquaintances/co-workers who can't talk about a topic without mansplaining. I've experienced plenty of linguistically related mansplaining (some of them seem to think that speaking a second language or living in a foreign country somehow makes them an expert on grammar, semantics, phonology, or language history)--a science or math or engineering major telling me all about something I've spent 6 years formally studying (and many more informally). And of course, the mansplainer was always wrong. But much more often I have to endure mansplaining related to women and their roles, their feelings, and, worst of all, what they can/can't or should/shouldn't do.

Naturally, it infuriates me and my reaction is instantly prickly. I really hate being told what to do, but I especially hate it from a mansplainer. What gives him the right to tell me what I can do, how I really feel about something or how he's sure I'll feel when I get there, where I can go, etc.

When I take a step back and think about this logically, I realize that many of these guys may not realize that they're coming off in such a condescending or overbearing way. They may not even be particularly chauvinistic at heart. But that doesn't really make it any less irritating.

So my questions for you are: do you know a mansplainer? If you do, what does he mansplain about? And how do you respond?

My Weekend

2011-10-23T21:26:00.002-04:00

This was the first weekend in, well, weeks, that we haven't had people visiting, been visiting people, or had good weather. So the natural thing to do was hop in the car and drive west, west into the mountains of the east: the Blue Ridge mountains. We spent the afternoon hiking through unspeakably beautiful hillsides.

We went through a town called Waterlick. If this grocery store hadn't been closed, I would have shopped there.

Hurrah for the self-timer on my camera. Its one redeeming quality.

I think we're going to go back next weekend.

How's your autumn coming along?

What does English sound like?

2011-10-19T08:57:00.002-04:00

Want to know what English sounds like? I think this (rather strange) video does an excellent job with their fake English...all the right sounds, plenty of real words, nonsensical word order. What do you think?

version 3.0

2011-10-14T15:31:00.001-04:00

In my mind I can categorize myself into 2 versions.

Version 1: shy. introverted. somewhat timid.
Version 2: friendly. opinionated. bossy. adventurous.

My family is much more familiar with version 2. And as the oldest child in the family, I feel confident declaring that it is not my fault that I'm bossy. Can I help it if I had a lot of responsibility and decisions put upon me as first-born? Nope. Not my fault. Sorry, siblings.

When I wasn't at home, I was almost always version 1. I hated talking at school and loathed being called on to answer questions because then everyone would stare at me (they really wouldn't--what 9-year-old listens to much of anything in the classroom. But I thought they would stare at me. Especially if I said the wrong thing. Oh the horror!). I had some friends, but was far from "miss popularity." I hated being labeled as "quiet" like it was a bad thing. What's so bad about being quiet? I knew in my heart that I was NOT quiet, not really, but on the outside, that's what people saw.

Version 2 emerged as people got to know me. I didn't hesitate to shout down any of the rotten little boys on the playground, and I think most of my friends thought of me as much more adventurous and extroverted than they were. Sassy, even. But it took time and effort to get to that point.

Which brings us to the present day. When I meet new people, potential friends possibly, I am often still version 1. I might feel uncomfortable conversing, maybe even have a hint of a blush whenever the conversation turns toward me. Sometimes I'm just fine, extroverted even, but I have to be in the right mood, drunk with some kind of energy and excitement. I wish I could merge my two selves into one better version that doesn't feel shy, but doesn't mind still being introverted. But it's easier said than done, I guess.

I wonder if any of you feel this way. Which is the better self? I know, I know. The answer is probably neither. I should embrace my selves and be comfortable with who I am! Also easier said than done. ;)

On saucing

2011-10-11T18:04:00.001-04:00

Applesauce is among the five or so foods I could live on continuously if they didn't kill me first (bread, cheese, gelato, nutella, apple-related anything). But not just any applesauce. My grandma's applesauce. Because, you see, it's better than any I've ever had before. Yes, ever ever. Because my Grandma is The. Best. Cook. And even though she has Alzheimer's and needs to be occasionally reminded of what to do next, she's still the best.

First you take Cortland apples and core and slice them, a step which we were able to skip because we're friends with an apple-product-factory owner. Then you throw them in a pot with a teensy bit of water and bring them to a nice sturdy simmer, cooking until they turn to mush. You must stir and watch very carefully not to burn them. It helps to have a very lovely grandma watching over things to inspect the progress.

Only stop for a picture when you're ready to take the apples off the heat. Otherwise Grandma will scold you. Nicely, of course. Next pour the mushed apples into a press that spits out the peels and other unsavory bits on one side and sploosoms out the sauce on the other.

Dump the sauce in a bowl with a bit of sugar and stir. Then divide it into jars, wipe down the mouth of the jar, and boil the heck out of them until sealed. And I almost forgot the most important part: reserve a jar to eat right away, slightly warm is best.

2011-10-07T12:35:00.002-04:00

Just attended my first G-town EFL potluck. Which included a wild dance party. Boys only. Girls watched from the sidelines. One brave American girl was dragged into the fray.

I was a little jealous.

headscarf fashion

2011-10-03T22:24:00.001-04:00

If I close the door in my classroom at Georgetown, I can imagine that I'm teaching somewhere in the Middle East. There are a few Spanish speakers, a token Brazilian, and one lone Korean (how I miss my Koreans!), but half of the faces that stare up at me are partially covered in a lovely array of headscarves. It's a fashion show every day.

There's the beautiful B, with her brown and bright pink flowered scarf that often slips out and requires tucking several times per class. Make-up perfect, lips a bright shade of pink. There's A, wearing an abaya (the robe or cloak-like cover than some women in the Saudi area wear), always demure and feminine in light blue. My smartest student, S, alternates between a bright pink and white flowered scarf and one of multi-colors. Like A, O also sports an abaya and wears a reserved color scarf, but her sparkly purple tennis shoes give her bright personality away. And R, who wasn't blessed with great beauty, still looks stunning with a bright blue scarf.

I wish I could show you pictures.

I love seeing how personalities are revealed in the way these girls wear their scarves. And I love the little peek of fashion hidden underneath the abayas (jeans, dress pants, sweatpants! bright purple tights). And sometimes I see a shadow of a hairstyle in a ponytail bump or thick piece of bang that drops out from under the scarf. But I long to see what they look like beneath their scarves. I certainly look different with my hair hidden...are they prettier? The same? Do they have curly hair? Wavy? Wild hair cuts? Would removing the headscarf change the way they behave? Would it bring out a different part of their personality?

Maybe one day I'll declare a "girls-only" class and then I'll get to see.

sing we now

2011-09-20T12:14:00.002-04:00

I used to sing. At BYU, I was in women's chorus for 2 (or 3? M, help, I can't remember!) years, and then I joined the awesome community choir called the Christmas Chorus. It's a women's choir and only meets for Christmas music and Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols. We sing in the chapel by the state mental hospital in Provo (yes, in the picture on the left. If you look really close, you might be able to see me in the back middle). We wear gynormous homemade green bag skirts and white blouses with red holly/ivy vests that are made for women significantly more endowed in the bust than I am. Sometimes we are great and sometimes we are...less than great. But it is always fun.

And now I live far away and have no choir in which to sing. This makes me sad. So this morning I decided to look up some local choirs and see if anything tickled my fancy. And of course I found lots of great choirs--it is DC, after all. But the more I looked, the more I saw the word "audition" lurking about.

Audition.

Audition.

AUDITION!

And it fills my heart with terror.

Not that I expected anything different. Of course I would need to audition to get into a choir. Especially a really great one that sings motets and cantatas all the time. But auditions and I have never really gotten along.

It started back in 6th grade when I realized that the 350-pound, loud talking, poofy-haired, abrasive/terrifying teacher named Ms. Pagano was also the drama teacher. There was no way in hell I was going to try out for anything in front of that woman. She might as well be Mrs. Trunchbull, thought I. And then freshman year I went to a Women's Chorus audition high on lortab and other various painkillers for the chronic migraines I'd been having. What I can remember of that audition (which isn't much) is hazy at best. Let's just say it went less than desired.

But the mere thought of auditioning for something literally makes me shake with dread (no really. My hands will start shaking any minute now). I've never been very confident singing alone in front of others (unless those others are family, close friends, or Kathleen Battle and Frederica von Stade or Renee Flemming, who won't talk back no matter how I sound). I hate solos. I hate auditions. Something weird happens when I'm forced to perform on command. My voice suddenly isn't mine and I realize everyone is listening to me and I think I sound like a dying cat and I panic. And then I lose my notes and my concentration and it's a disaster from then on. Luckily I've been able to avoid this situation most of my life by just avoiding auditions in general...but I'm not sure how to get around it this time.

Maybe I should try hypnosis.

oh to age with grace

2011-09-14T08:43:00.001-04:00

Last night I discovered a box of old pictures without a place. They're the kind that aren't good or interesting enough to put into a photo album, but you still don't have the heart to throw them out. They're memories of freshman year days, roommates, early adventures with T-rav. And after a few minutes of happily reminiscing, I decided two things:

1- My awkward years went well beyond the typical "teenage" awkwardness. I wish someone would have mentioned a few things to me at some point...You try looking unkempt and disheveled (in a non-cute kind of way) until the age of 25 and see how you feel about yourself. (With a few anomalous exceptions, of course; every once in a while a glimmer of the self that I know now appeared).

2- I'm getting old. Not that I look old yet--people still regularly accuse me of being barely old enough to be a college freshman--but I do look older than than I did when I got married. And that scares me a little.

Yes, yes, I realize this is normal. There's no escaping age. And I'm rather relieved that I no longer look 14. But the fact that I can identify some stark differences in how I look now and then alarms me, especially as 30 is looming in the not-so-distant future. It's starting to scare me a little. I don't want to get old. I don't want to look old (really, who does?).

I've been chastised plenty of times by old and young people about my dismay of getting older. I've been told I should embrace the progression of life. Who wants to stay 28 forever, they say. But in all honesty, part of me kind of does. I fear looking old and losing the youthfulness that I've had for so long.

Now I realize that feeling this way is: 1) a sign of my vanity (which I try IN VAIN to get rid of, and generally fail miserably). It's true: I'm both vain and self-conscious; and 2) immature and silly. I know I'm silly to feel this way and I'm actually surprised to be confessing this to you (or maybe I'm just infinitely bored). But I'm eager to hear your advice/feelings on the matter. So please advise me.

books

2011-09-12T08:44:00.004-04:00

I used to collect things when I was a kid. Leaves. Rocks. Shells. Thimbles from places I visited. Pine cones. Cool sticks. Books. You name it. I didn't always keep my treasures, but I was seriously attached to whatever it was I was collecting at the time. Then after a while, I'd get sick of them (or I'd realize it was weird to keep a twig lying around) and I'd throw them back into the woods or even the trash.

I hadn't thought of it this way before, but I guess I now collect books. Or I try to. When we decided to move to DC last winter, I had to put a hold on my book buying because who knew how tiny of a place we would live in? I still snuck a few in here and there, but not as many as usual. And now we have a place to live, and it's not tiny, but definitely not well-equipped for 4 1/2 large shelves of books. And I've found myself wondering if I can part with some, or even all, of our book collection...

...I just can't do it.

The more I think about it, the more unthinkable it becomes. Which ones do I choose? How do I narrow down my selection when I love every single one of them? I can't possibly get rid of so many good old friends.

When I try to think rationally (which is, admittedly, a bit difficult for me where books are considered), I must ask myself if it is really logical to cart around such a heavy and cumbersome collection. And then the answer is generally a hearty NO. Our moving truck was literally 1/3 books/shelves (1/4 kitchen things, 1/4 camping things, and the rest miscellaneous). We could have gotten a smaller truck and our apartment would definitely be roomier without them. I suppose I could leave them in storage, but what's the point of having books if you can never see, find, or read them?

At this point, we're definitely going to keep all our books; they're already unpacked and have a place. But I wonder what to do the next time we move. What then, I say?

Part of this may be my compulsion to purge my house of all unnecessary things. I hate clutter and I usually throw things out to the point that I regret it later (the perfect Alice in Wonderland costume-dress from DI comes to mind every Halloween since 2002). I hate when people see my things and blurt out "Wow! You have a lot of stuff!" I don't have stuff, thank you. I have lots and lots of books. And quite a few kitchen things that make tasty food that I plan to feed you.

I'd like to be able to pack up and move at a moment's notice and just leave everything I own behind. If I were to become a vagabond and travel around the world or just move overseas like I'm always hoping, I'd be ok with storing my books for a while. Maybe I'll become detached enough to get rid of them. Maybe I'll get to that point one day. But right now, they're just too close to my heart.

a rant

2011-09-08T12:19:00.002-04:00

I'm going to rant, so if any of the 5 of you who read my pitiful blog have something better to do, which I'm sure you do, don't bother reading this post.

Working in an office is a waste of one's life. And a waste of company time. Between the smoke breaks, bathroom breaks, water breaks, coffee breaks, meetings, "consultations" (read: chatting) with coworkers, and, of course, lunch, why bother coming in to work at all? Imagine how productive we could be if we actually worked during work? And for those of us who do work, and can do it without the hours of distractions, what are we to do with our remaining 6 hours of the day when we finish our task? Facebook? Amuse ourselves by googling things like "British people are..." or "best hair dryers for frizz" or write a ranting blog about their dull job.

I hate having a client whose every whim I have to satisfy. Especially when one of those clients is a complete and utter imbecile. Trite. Asinine. Exasperating. And possibly a trollop. Don't people realize that my way really will be better? Basically I despise working for someone. It's one thing to be a teacher and have a department chair to answer to. It's another thing entirely have a project manager, department manager, and client. I'm a free spirit. I don't want a job where I have to answer to so authority figures. I hate authority.

It's a damn good thing I won't be doing this forever.

On another note, I'm sick of the rain (4 days without a break) because my umbrella is broken and they're sold out everywhere so I can't buy a new one and my rain boots are in the moving truck coming across the country as I type.

How's that for whiny?

2011-08-30T12:01:00.000-04:00

Good news indeed.

On Greek yogurt and other such fads

2011-08-26T12:20:00.007-04:00

As a general rule I tend to scorn fads. I like to imagine myself above the fad, or pre-fad; I liked it before it became a fad!! I definitely don't claim to start the fad--ha! Me! Start a fad! But I imagine that I liked it before it was cool. Like having a scooter.. Or eating Greek yogurt. I've been wildly in love with Greek yogurt for years. It's only recently that I've actually been able to afford it much less easily find it. It used to be that if I wanted Greek yogurt, it could only be found in plain form, was very expensive (compared to other yogurts, and I'm a known cheapo), and generally required me driving to 2 stores. Now it's everywhere. On commercials, in magazine adds, in my fridge at work. All the "cool" people are eating it.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I like to imagine that it's my thing, something that sets me apart. If everyone else is doing it, I become like everyone else (the horror!). But on the other hand, when things like this become popular, it often means they get cheaper (hurrah for competing brands!). They're more accessible. They come in a greater variety. So really it's quite beneficial.

And it's not like I don't want to share the greatness. I would encourage everyone I know to get a scooter. Well, almost everyone. And of course Greek yogurt is delicious, so please, go buy some. Eat it. Enjoy. I just have to get ride of this prideful-possibly-slightly-superior-feeling whenever I think about how I was first or at least early on in the fad. It's just silly.

grow the economy

2011-08-12T08:15:00.011-04:00

Last night I watched part of the Republican Presidential Debates (which was, by the way, significantly more entertaining than any political debate I've seen in a while). And aside from some of the crazier ideas tossed about, I found one thing quite vexing.

Grow the economy.

Come again?

I swear I heard well over a dozen instances of candidates promising to grow the economy (at least it felt like at least that many). Does that grate on the ears of anybody else?

I realize this is not a new phrase, at least in my lifetime. Apparently, grow the economy became popular after one of Bill Clinton's presidential election speeches in 1992. Politicians and businessmen heard the phrase and ran with it. It figures they'd choose one of the most awkward sounding phrases as a catchphrase for politicians and economists for the next 20 years.

What bothers me is not that it's grammatically incorrect--grow can be an intransitive verb (does not need an object) as in these examples: the tree grows, children grow, his head is growing. And it can be a transitive verb (can take an object), so we can say grow potatoes, grow corn or grow a beard. Then why not grow the economy?

Well, first of all, and obviously most importantly, because I think it sounds dreadful and unnatural. But that's just me.

Secondly, the most common uses of grow in Modern English (in transitive or intransitive forms) refer to raising or increasing a living thing (a seed into a plant or a child or a body part or a tree becoming taller). The OED has one instance, supposedly obsolete, from 1481 of grow being used in the sense of increasing or expanding a non-living thing: When David had reigned 7 years in Hebron he grew and amended much this city (in my Modern English).

So yes, I suppose since grow can be both transitive and intransitive and can refer to living and non-living entities, one could argue that grow the economy is technically correct. But is it pretty? Hardly. Am I fighting a losing battle? Quite probably. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

G-town

2011-08-09T21:15:00.004-04:00

I belong on a campus. High school, community college, university. It doesn't matter. When I set foot into the academic world, my heart does a little pitter patter reserved only for the scent of autumn, the sight of awkward freshmen schlepping their bags behind them while peering furtively at their course schedule, the secluded corner benches where one can read or people watch, depending on how interesting your textbooks are.

I thought that this year would be the first since...well, since the age of 3 (I started kindergarten at 4), that I wouldn't be starting school with the rest of academia. What would life be like not on a school schedule? How would I count my days, if not by semesters, midterms and school holidays? To be quite honest, I was dreading it.

And then I got an email that made everything ok. The lovely ladies at the EFL program at Georgetown actually did have a desperate need for a teacher in the fall, and I happened to be desperate for a class. Voila! Problem solved.

So now I'm working more than I really wanted (my slightly dull full time job + 1 class), but happily get to dally with fellow lecturers, professors, and, of course students.

School starts in a little less than 3 weeks. I'm a little excited.

An embassy event--Moroccan style

2011-07-31T08:33:00.011-04:00

Last night was the 12th anniversary of His Majesty King Mohammed VI of Morocco's ascension to the throne. I believe it is also known as National Day in Morocco. Naturally, the Moroccan embassy here threw a huge party and then kindly invited all the Congressmen in Washington. Including their staff. Which meant that T-rav scored an invite. Huzzah!

This was my very first time going to any important event where there are important people (which we are not) and nice clothes (which I do not have) and well-coiffed hair (which definitely does not describe me). And as no one in T-rav's office could/cared to go, we also didn't know a soul there. Intimidating? Yes.

At times (ok, most times) I feel like the soul of awkwardness. In a situation where "networking" is just what you do and small talk is what you say, I am generally mystified. How does one start and carry on a conversation with a perfect stranger? I feel the anxiety creeping over me just thinking about it. But I really wanted to go and see how the Moroccans threw a party, so on went my only black dress and my 4-inch heels, a tidge of eye liner and some subtle lip tint, and once my hair was pulled back in an unsatisfactory manner, we were ready (I've learned that I really really need to learn how to do something besides a ponytail or braid with my hair).

I walked 4 big DC blocks in those 4-inch heels. Very very slowly. And then we were there and there were tons of people dressed about the same--some better, some worse--as I was, and there was Moroccon music and fantastic architecture, and Americans dressed up in traditional Middle Eastern garb, and many-starred generals from almost anywhere, and other foreigners...and even a few young and slightly awkward looking peeps like ourselves. But most importantly, there was food. Spinach, Lentils, couscous, meatballs, seafood-phyllo pie, tomato salad, and bread. Delicious!

We did our best to try to talk to people. We met a very short American man who is moving to Abu Dhabi. And we met Anastasia and Peter--a young Russian girl working on her MA at American University, and Peter, a really really old ex-foreign service officer who, according to Anastasia, has a collection of young foreign girls he takes to various events. Awesome.

All in all, I'm glad we went. I did feel awkward a good portion of the time (what does one do with one's hands in a nice dress?! And is it acceptable to stuff those hands in pockets if the dress happens to have pockets? What's the best way to start a conversation with a perfect stranger who may or may not speak English?). I learned I need to work on my small talk skills and that everyone in DC carries business cards even if they're just a lowly student. And a bit of awkwardness is worth the people-watching and free food.

working for the weekend

2011-07-21T21:35:00.003-04:00

I sneak out of the door every day at work terrified that someone is going to stop me and make me stay another 10 minutes. I don't feel safe until I'm out of the elevator and past the little Korean-run convenience store (everything from gift cards to laundry soap and an ATM!). Don't get me wrong- I like my job. It's interesting and new and I work with some fascinating Afghan people. I've learned more about Afghanistan and the languages spoken there in the past 3 weeks than I ever knew before.

But. I'm now working in the "corporate" world. I go in around 8 and I'm expected to stay a full 8 hours, with time taken out for a lunch break of course. But many days I don't really have enough work to fill my time. Sometimes I do. But there are plenty of days that I'm dragging my feet on some assignment just to make sure I'm not done too fast and left with time to twiddle my thumbs. Or delete emails from my work inbox. Or shuffle papers around my desk. Because I don't really want to be one of those people who spend their time at work on facebook or writing blogs. But what am I to do when I'm already 3 weeks ahead of schedule?

So I've decided that I should be allowed to do my work, finish my task, and go home when I'm done. In a perfect world, my salary would be the same, but I would be a whole lot more productive because I wouldn't have to waste time at work trying to look busy. I could go home and do something else, and maybe I wouldn't long for the weekend quite as much as I do now. Ah, what a dream that would be! Don't you think it's a good idea?

English English English

2011-07-10T19:38:00.003-04:00

I love the English language. But I haven't always felt this way. There have been times I've felt a tidge of "white guilt" for speaking it. Sometimes I hate English for being a killer language and running nice little tribal languages and regional dialects right out of existence (not that English is alone in this- Russian, Spanish, Chinese, Portuguese, and countless others are guilty of the same). Sometimes it's annoying to teach because there are so many dang exceptions to every rule. But that's what makes it interesting. Because when it really comes down to it, I LOVE English. And of the many many things I love about it (maybe I'll get into more detail about that when I'm feeling particularly nerdy), but I especially love its variety.

I've always been very conscious of the way I speak. Even as an elementary school student, I paid attention to how my words sounded. I aimed for a neutral accent rather than the strong upstate New York dialect of my peers; I even made fun of my poor father for saying "melk" instead of milk or "pellow" for pillow. I loved listening to actors with British accents, and I spent a good deal of time each summer talking to my best friend Jay like a Brit in word choice and accent (or so we thought). When I went off to college, I was suddenly surrounded by a new dialect group, mostly Utah based, which I deemed again undesirable. For myself at least. My eastern dialect was a bit more interesting now, and I gave in, at least to some features like to the strong a in "canal" or "pal."

Maybe because I myself tried to "train" my dialect, it doesn't surprised me when I hear about people studying to get rid of their accent. But it does make me kind of sad, when, for instance, a charming or unique dialect is viewed as less desirable, and it consequently declines in use. This article here talks about people in Boston who take classes to learn Standard American English. But it breaks my heart a little. I don't want people to sound the same! I want them to sound different! Diversity in language is what makes it interesting. Even though I personally don't want to sound like I'm from Utah, I'm quite fond of the dialect. It makes people sound friendly and approachable. English wouldn't be the same without it.

But all of this has a point. I'm just wondering if there are any particular dialects (or accents, if you prefer to think of it that way) that you love or hate. If you could choose to sound like you're from a particular place, where would it be? Or where would you hate to sound like you belong?

New things

2011-07-05T19:49:00.007-04:00

I live in a new (and old) city. I have a new job. I'm meeting new people at church, in the neighborhood, and at work. I have a new dress code. There's a new style to my hair: frizz. There's a new Wegman's far from my new house, but not so far I can't make up reasons to go there. I'm giving my blog a new design. So many new things...

And thus far, these new changes have been pretty good. I think I'm going to like my new job (I'm a curriculum developer for a language company that does contract work for clients such as the US military or State Department. Basically, I'm writing textbooks for Dari and Pashto- both spoken in Afghanistan- with the assistance of people who actually speak those languages). My apartment is still kind of ghetto, but we'll only be in this place for another month and a half. Things are looking up for now.

I still miss all of you I left behind. But it's good to be doing something new.

Saying goodbye

2011-06-22T20:14:00.003-04:00

I love change. Except for when I hate it. Like when I realize that moving to DC means I won't actually get to see my friends anymore. And I'll have to make some new friends. Or like when I realize that the idea of a new job is awesome, but actually starting a new job is something closer to terrifying. Change is good. I spend my time wishing for change. And then it scares the crap out of me when it actually happens.

I also hate saying goodbye. Like most of the unpleasant things in life, when confronted with saying goodbye, my preferred method of coping is avoidance. Can't I just sneak off to DC without seeing anyone "one last time?" How do you say goodbye to someone you truly care about, but most probably will never see again in your life? "Email me" seems a little shallow. And what about the person who starts to weep while you sit there awkwardly trying not to join her, racking your brain for something meaningful to say. Pat her gently on the shoulder? This is not to mention those who are actually closest to you.

There's a lovely poem I found in one of my ESL textbooks several years ago. I posted it once upon a time in a moment of despair when Zillah was leaving us to go off and do her doctorate somewhere far away. Although a little more serious than simply moving across country, yt seems appropriate yet again.

There is No Word for Goodbye
by Mary Tall Mountain

Sokoya,* I said, looking through
the net of wrinkles into
wise black pools of her eyes.

What do you say in Athabaskan
when you leave each other?
What is the word
for goodbye?

A shade of feeling rippled
the wind-tanned skin
Ah, nothing, she said,
watching the river flash.

She looked at me close.
We just say, Tlaa. That means,
See you.
We never leave ecah other.
When does your mouth
say goodbye to your heart?

She touched me light
as a bluebell.
You forget when you leave us,
you're so small then.
We don't use that word.

We always think you're coming back,
but if you don't,
we'll see you some place else.
You understand.
There is no word for goodbye.

*Sokoya- maternal aunt (in Athabaskan, a Native American language)

kicking against the wall

2011-06-18T10:53:00.000-04:00

I've been really busy lately. Sometimes busy in a good way- visiting friends, going to dance class, cooking, frantically trying to finish the rest of the seasons of Battlestar Galactica with Phin- but mostly I've been busy in the irritating way - teaching, grading, preparing for classes, and other various unpleasant obligations I simply can't avoid. Normally I wouldn't mind my responsibilities. But with just barely more than a week left in Utah, I've been contemplating throwing responsibility to the wind. The other option is throwing a temper tantrum.

As a child, whenever I was naughty, my parents would make me stand in the corner or sit on a stool. All I had to do was be quiet for x number of minutes. I HATED it. Hated it with more passion than the normal child hates being disciplined. Instead of being quiet as quickly as possible so I could get out of the corner as quickly as possible, I would scream and kick the wall (because that was much wiser than kicking one's parents) for being forced to do what I didn't want to do. I wasn't quite rebellious enough defy my parents and walk away which meant I was torn with inner conflict- every inch of me longed to move, but I realized the punishment would be much more severe if I did. So I stayed and screamed with rage and frustration that I had to stay there.

That's kind of how I've been feeling about a lot of things the past couple of weeks.

don't "sister" me

2011-06-06T22:21:00.003-04:00

I received an email from the BYU music department today. This is what was attached at the bottom.

Sister Hall Dr. Staheli Sister Applonie

Please note the titles of the respective conductors. Note that the one male in the group is graced with the noble title of "Dr" while the women retain their submissive "sister" title. At least that's how I see it. Sister is what you call someone at church. Or your actual sister. You don't, or shouldn't, refer to a woman in an academic setting as sister. How often do you ever hear people call their male professors "brother" (with the exception of religion classes)?

Please admire "Sister" Hall's academic achievements:

M.M., Choral Conducting, Brigham Young University, 1993.
Postgraduate Music Teacher's Certificate, London University, England, 1978
B.M., Royal Academy of Music, London, England, 1977.
Associate of the London College of Music (piano), London, England, 1977.
Licentiate of the Royal Academy of Music (singing), London, England, 1976.

And now "Sister" Applonie:

M.M. Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1990
B.M. (cum laude) Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1984
Kodaly Certification, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, 1997

And now "Dr" Staheli:

D.M.A., Choral Music, University of Southern California, 1977.
M.M., Choral Music, University of Southern California, 1973.
B.A., Magna Cum Laude, Piano Performance and Music Theory, including emphasis in voice, Brigham Young University, 1972.

Yes, the ladies are both lacking in doctoral status. But they both have a wealth of experience and certification deserving of recognition higher than sister. Like maybe their names. Don't you think?

Cruisin' the Mediterranean

2011-05-22T15:00:00.001-04:00

I feel a little spoiled: the past 2.5 weeks I spent with my parents, both sets of grandparents, and youngest sister on a cruise of the Mediterranean. And let me tell you, it was pretty awesome. While cruising may not be for the overactive or fly by the seat of your pants type (and while I was often panged with guilt at the luxurious treatment I received but didn't feel I deserved), it's certainly a fun way to get a brief introduction to some new parts of the world. Here's as short a recap as I can manage.

Start: Barcelona, Spain. We spent a few days here before the cruise- and might I add that aside from Catalan, the local language, the Spanish spoken in Barcelona is not really Spanish. They just pretend it is- and realized that Barcelona is fantastic and huge and has way too many things to see. I must go back. Oh, and Gaudi's cathedral really is as awesome and eclectic as I had always thought. And now I really want to learn Catalan.

Stop #2: Villfranche, France (just outside of Nice). Lovely, but unfortunately, we were there on a Sunday, which apparently meant that all shops be closed. We observed the rocky beach, took in the beautiful scenery, and had some dang good chocolate pastries.

Stop #3: Livorno, Italy (destination Pisa and Florence- there's not a whole lot to see in Livorno). I finally got around to seeing the leaning tower, and to my surprise, it actually was worth the trip. How it leans! Also. I ADORE Florence.

Stop #4: Civitavecchia, Italy (destination Rome). Is 3 cups of gelato in one day too many? Having a guided tour through the Roman Forum made it much more interesting than wandering through rubble on your own (which is what we did last time). I can also assure you that the Vatican is still there, and just as awe-inspiring as ever.

Stop #5: Athens, Greece. The Acropolis really is worth seeing. We were lucky enough to be the very first tour group there in the very early morning. I recommend it. Also. I love Greek food (cucumber salad and baklava and pitas, oh my!), but Athens itself isn't much to rave about. We took a drive to the southern most point of Europe to see more rubble in temple form. Worth the drive, I'd s

ay.

Stop #6: Kusadasi, Turkey. Although I may be biased because I love all things remotely Islamic, Turkey was one of my favorites. We saw the stunning ruins of Ephesus (think Ephesians from the Bible), bought lots of touristy things (including my parents and grandparents buying several expensive and beautiful rugs), ate tasty Turkish food, declined several passionate proposals, and desperately wished for more time to roam around.

Stop #6: Santorini, Greece. This is was the entire reason my mom decided to book this cruise. I was initially a bit skeptical, but it turned out to be every bit as beautiful as momma had hoped. My dad and I scaled the 800 or so wide steps up the backside of the volcano from port to town, dodging donkeys as we went. If I had money to spare, I mean a lot of money, I would definitely rent a cliff-side room with a view for a week or two. Maybe one day.

Stop #6: Salerno, Italy (destination Vesuvius and Pompei- basically Naples). I need to live here. Really. Truly. I won't survive life if I don't get to spend at least a year on the Amalfi coast. I didn't expect it, but this area of Italy was probably the most gorgeous part of the country I've seen yet. We hiked to the top of Mt. Vesuvius, observed the steam pouring out of the still-active-and-possibly-about-to-blow-any-day volcano, nearly froze in the strong winds and 40 degree temperatures (our cruise weather forecaster lied to us), and walked around the streets of Pompei, which, to quote my grandfather, "was the most impressive bunch of rubble I've ever seen!" It's shockingly well preserved; as you walk around it looks and feels like a real town. Except it was built over 2000 years ago. Another reason to live in Naples: their pizza is the best thing I've ever tasted.

In between some of the stops, we had 4 days of sailing at sea, during which we spent our time eating, sleeping, lying in the sun, attending special classes in belly dancing (well, some of us did. Can you imagine grandpa swinging his hips?), and chatting. The days at port were busy and long, but when you only have 1 day in a city, you can't spare a minute! I got to spend time with 4 of my grandparents while they're still healthy enough to get around and remember it. Mostly. I got to pretend I was 16 again (no, Kate and I are not twins, but plenty of people thought so), and my parents spoiled me rotten. All in all, a dang good trip. Thanks, parents!

Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

2011-05-03T14:14:00.003-04:00

This country bumpkin (me) did a scary thing today.

I drove around in the District of Columbia, just me and my trusty ole' GPS.

Not impressed? You should be. Let me describe a a typical DC driving scenario.

First of all, your street, even though it's in the "suburbs" has a traffic light on nearly every corner. Just leaving your street takes 4-5 minutes and several red lights. As you pull onto the main street closest to your house, you notice that although there are 4 lanes (2 each way), the road is exceedingly narrow. You pull into the right lane and drive along at 25 mph, which really means around 40. Things are going well until you notice that you're barreling down on a parked car in your lane. You quickly merge left rather than hit the car or slam on the brakes and cause an accident, getting honked at for almost cutting off the guy behind you.

Your heart beating a little faster, you suddenly see that the next traffic light is red, but the intersection is doing something weird with 2 roads intersecting over yours, and you stop uncertainly in between the 2 roads with a prayer in your heart that you won't get smashed. Then there's a patch of construction where all the lines shift; the GPS says to keep left, but the road you need suddenly turns; some roads are one-way, some aren't; some should be and as a car tries to pass you, it nearly scrapes the paint off your car.

When you finally arrive at your destination, your knees are weak, but your car is still in tact and so are you. Your journey has been a success.

2011-04-22T17:33:00.002-04:00

Packing.

Throwing copious amounts of stuff away.

Pack some more.

Grading, teaching, grading, testing.

Frantically visiting friends.

DC next week to leave Trav behind.

Europe the week after.

Then back to Utah to teach my final semester at UVU.

We're finally leaving.

Molly

2011-04-07T21:40:00.003-04:00

Three weeks ago today, my 16-year-old cousin Molly got up in the morning and didn't feel well. She trudged down the stairs to tell her mom that she wanted to stay home from school and was going back to bed. My auntie knew that Molly had been feeling a little off, feverish and such, for the past few days, so she didn't think much about it. Molly went back to bed and slept and slept and slept. And slept.

Sometime in the early afternoon, my aunt went into Molly's room to check on her. She had, after all, been sleeping for more than even the average teenager should sleep. Auntie called her name, shook her, tried to wake her up, to no avail. She was breathing, but not responding. An ambulance was called. Molly was admitted to the hospital and dozens of tests were run. Still nothing.

By Friday morning, things weren't looking so good. Molly's brain had swelled during the night, and it was no longer responding to the tests the doctors were running. The family, hoping for the miracle Molly deserved, called Molly's two older sisters and told them to come back from college right away. But by the time they arrived late Friday night, Molly was brain dead. They kept her breathing long enough for the family to say good bye.

Molly was my younger sister Kate's best friend and like a sister to us. Like a sister in all the ways you have a sister- all the fun, as well as irritations, of a sister. She and Kate used to torture Kristi and me (though I'm sure if you ask them, they would say it was the other way around). They were annoying and loud and giggly and messy and juvenile. They were also adorable and funny and sometimes even sweet. Molly spent half of her time at my house, and Kate spent half of her time at Molly's house. Sometimes when they had slumber parties, I would make them pancakes for breakfast and pretend to be the waiter. They had to call me sir, or I wouldn't respond. When I did reply, it was only in a British accent. Sir didn't speak American.

Molly was one of the wittiest people I ever knew. Sometimes she and T-rav and I would make snarky comments about whoever was hanging around us. We would laugh about little things under our breath and then refuse to reveal their meaning. She understood jokes way beyond her years.

Molly was smart, beautiful, athletic, popular, and a little spoiled, but most of all, and most importantly, she was nice. Everyone who knew her loved her. Over 1000 people came to her calling hours; there were nearly 900 at the funeral, including her entire sophomore class. Everyone talked about how kind and friendly Molly was. She talked to the lonely girl in gym class or always smiled at the nerdy kids. She definitely wasn't perfect. But she was compassionate and thoughtful. And loving.

We don't know why Molly died. It makes me inexpressibly angry that she was taken from us, from Kate, her sisters, and especially from her parents. How do you go on with life when something like this happens? Why did this tragedy happen? I wonder when and if the anger will ever go away. This is the type of tragedy that is better read in a Reader's Digest article and not experienced on your own. It's not supposed to happen.

I know that somehow life will continue, somehow my poor aunt and uncle will carry on, somehow life will regain a sense of normalcy. But we will never forget her.

Molly, I love you.

si, yo hablo

2011-03-15T22:24:00.002-04:00

One of the most amusing parts of being an ESL teacher is tricking your students in to thinking you don't speak their language when actually you do. You hear all sorts of things you're not supposed to...like who is at home in bed rather than in class because they stayed up too late playing video games, or who is actually on vacation and not visiting their dying aunt, or who so-and-so is dating, etc. And swear words. It's really quite entertaining.

But the funny thing is, sometimes I make it more than obvious that I understand what they're saying, and they still have no idea. For example, a student might lean over to a friend during class and ask the translation of a word in their native language. But before the friend can reply with the translation, I might supply it for them. The students rarely bat an eyelash; they continue on as if it was perfectly natural that their English speaking teacher could have translated their language.

At some point during nearing the end of the semester, they usually get around to asking me what and how much I speak. If their native language is among the list, there are usually exclamations of shock, excitement, and, quite possibly, dismay: "You mean you understood us all along?"

Yes, yes, I did. Ha!

bountiful baskets

2011-03-07T23:46:00.002-05:00

I bought my first share in a food co-op the other day. Here's what $15 got me:

4 tomatoes

3 mangoes from Guatemala in perfect ripeness

3 yellow squash, slightly hail damaged

1 pineapple

1 huge bunch of spinach

5-lbs of yellow (my favorite!) potatoes

10 apples

10 delicious juicy oranges

7 bananas, very green

2 lbs green beans

2 turnips

Here's how it works: you sign up on the website (bountiful baskets) on Monday or Tuesday for a location near your house- and you have to be quick about it because the sites fill up fast- and on Saturday, at a designated time, you go pick up your produce from someone's back yard or business or greenhouse. It's mostly local produce (except for during the winter, when it's Arizona or Mexico local), and organic baskets are also available. ($25/basket). You never know what you're going to get; each week is different. And it's a lot of food.

a rant about a ten-year-old

2011-03-04T16:58:00.007-05:00

I have a confession: I've spent the past few weeks grumbling about 3 particular 10-year-olds in my dance class. I complain about them on the way to dance, and then rant about them on the way home. You might be wondering how can a fully grown, mostly adult person could spend her time thinking about and being irritated by someone less than half her age.

Well let me tell you.

Thanks to my current teaching schedule, I get to the studio exactly as dance is about to start or, more likely, a few minutes late. I run in with my bag in hand, ready to rip off my teaching clothes and fling on my dance clothes. It would take me all of 3 minutes. But as I rush in, I notice the lone bathroom is occupied. "Who's in there?" I ask. It's no surprise that it's girl #1, who's been changing for at least 7 minutes. Oh, and did she get to class 10 minutes early? And did she spend her time gossiping with the other girls rather than change? Yes, yes, she did.

I wait by the door while class starts warming up. And I keep waiting. When girl #1 finally gets out and I finish getting changed, I'm well over 10 minutes late. Great. I go join the rest of the class and try to hear the instructions being hollered at us by the teacher- hollered because someone is clomping out some beats with her hard shoes while the rest of us are trying to hear. Oh yes, it's girl #2.

Some of us turn to #2 and tell her to stop. She smirks at us with her beady eyes and jowly face and pauses just until we turn around to listen. The clomping starts again. And when it's time to do our group dance, guess who's in the wrong spot and doing the wrong steps with bad form and terrible posture? Yep, it's #2.

Until this point #3 has been silent, but that's because she's been hiding in the back with her friend. Now that she's in with the rest of the class, the questions start. "Miss Jo, can I be the leader? Miss Jo, can I show everyone the step? Miss Jo, I want to be on the first line! Miss Jo, can I be Harry Potter if she doesn't show up? (this is for our group dance) But if she doesn't show up, can I do her part? I want to be Harry Potter! Miss Jo, she pushed me! Oh, I already know this step; let me be the leader!" All of this wouldn't be so unbearable if it didn't cause a riot among the other dancers. No one wants to let this girl have her way, and for good reason.

At the end of class, my friend and I are discussing what type of solo dress we'd like to buy when #1 walks past and hears the word "dress." She butts into our conversation, spewing forth mindless drivel about the new dress she got and how great she looks in it and how it means she's so advanced and how it will help her win all the medals at the next competition.

My irritation level is rising just thinking about this. And yes, I realize that makes me a very petty person.

winter blues trip #1

2011-02-27T20:43:00.009-05:00

Last week was a glorious one for one main reason: I only went to work for 1.5 days. Monday was a holiday and Wednesday we left for a trip to San Diego to visit my brother.

Bro-ter, as I like to call him, was graduating from recruiting school for the marines (much to his dismay- no one really wants to be a recruiter. It's like being a missionary except without any of the spiritual blessings associated with religion and a lot of cold calls and public speaking. Yuck). And since I'd never had the pleasure of visiting a military base, we popped in for the occasion.

Our first night there we stayed on base in "billeting," which is a weird word for fancy barracks for soldiers on a short-term stay or their visiting families. Think dorm room circa 1960. After bro-ter's graduation, we hung around San Diego with him until his flight left. Although I felt a bid morbid doing so with a marine brother, we spent about an hour wandering around a navy cemetery, pristinely located on a peninsula overlooking the bay and Pacific ocean. Beautiful.

The next day the sun finally succumbed to my pleadings and showed its face for a few hours in the afternoon.

It was here that we spent my favorite part of the trip: watching the sea lions and seals sun themselves. They looked like big dead blobs on the beach, but I assure you, they were very much alive. I NEED one.

We also visited the statue modeled after the famous picture of the sailor kissing a nurse. There was a posse of teenage Italian students that arrived there just before us, and like all Italians, they dominated the whole area with their loud Italian chattering while their chaperon directed each of them to imitate the famous kiss. I think ours beat theirs.

She's a HE?

2011-02-13T20:57:00.003-05:00

T-rav posted this on his family's blog. I thought I'd share it with all of you.

Have you ever gone through life thinking that something was one way and then it turned out to be the other? We've had a chicken for four months that we thought was a hen. When we bought her she was too young to lay eggs, so we didn't worry too much about her. The other two hens we bought at the same time started laying eggs about a month ago, but Blackie never did. We did our internet homework and found out that chickens of her breed don't like to lay eggs in cold weather so we made some excuses for her. Yesterday I observed some suspicious barnyard/backyard behavior involving the chicken in question and another hen and I knew I needed to go back to the source of all light and knowledge in the world...the internet. I found the above picture and our "hen" looks suspiciously more like the one the right than the left. "She" also fits a whole lot of other patterns that make "her" a "him". So it turns out that our late blooming hen is actually a rooster. I feel kind of confused and both Kelly and I have had a hard time changing to masculine pronouns when referring to Blackie.

I think the most helpful bit of information that I found for how to tell the difference between a Black Jersey Giant hen and rooster was the one that told me to look into their eyes. A hen has a peaceful absent sort of look in her eye while a rooster should have an intense look with a glimmer of anger or rage. Today we made sure to look our chicken in the eye and sure enough, there is a fire burning behind those beady black eyes.

-Trav

lame duck books

2011-01-16T18:55:00.004-05:00

I used to believe it was a terrible sin to quit reading a book without finishing it. I clearly remember reading one particularly awful book upon the recommendation of a friend (called The Clan of the Cave Bears. The title should have been enough to tip me off, I know) and being either scandalized or bored out of my mind. Yet I kept plodding through, waiting for it to get better. It never did. It's not that I really thought the author would suddenly morph into an amazing writer or that the plot would get interesting 10 pages before the end. I just couldn't leave it unfinished. The remaining pages would haunt me, and whenever I saw the book sitting on my shelf, I'd be tempted to pick it back up and see how it ends.

Luckily, as a moderately speedy reader, I've been able to keep the time-wasting to a minimum. Not to say that I haven't read plenty of worthless books over the years- it pains me to think of all the pages spent on badly written material when I could have been reading something better.

So lately I've begun to reevaluate my policy. I started reading a book last spring that I just couldn't get into. I hated the writing style, the plot was confusing, and the characters flat and uninspiring. After about 100 pages, I put it down. Last week I started a book I got for Christmas from T-rav (one that I thought I wanted to read) and I'm thinking about dropping that one as well. I feel like I've given it a fair chance to persuade me to keep reading. If a book can't interest me after 210 pages, what's the point?

control freaks

2011-01-14T17:06:00.004-05:00

I'm perfectly willing to admit that I can be a bit controlling. A bit. When I think I know how to do something, I think everyone should naturally do it my way. Who doesn't? But fortunately, I don't think I'm the best at everything, nor do I have answers to every question or solutions to every problem. And very unfortunately, I'm more and more often becoming surrounded by people whose level of control-freak-ness rivals that of Stalin. Or Hitler.

I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to hold my tongue. How can I not say something when blatant lies and/or misinformation are spewing forth out of the mouth gaping back at me? When the justification just won't stop coming, even when my coat is on, bag over one shoulder, hand is on the knob and foot our the door. When there's a conspiracy around every corner, but no amount of factual evidence or detailed explanation can convince the person they might be wrong. Or when the "answers" to the problem actually have nothing to do with the actual problem.

Fighting back with passive aggressive notes aren't my style. I prefer to directly tackle the problem (or rant about it on my blog). But what to do when I've addressed the problem(s) directly, and still nothing comes of it? My approach thus far has been that of peacemaker, but my tolerance for peace is waning. I'm starting to realize that you can't rationalize with people like this. You also can't change their minds.

I should just be in charge.

a fender bender

2011-01-11T11:33:00.003-05:00

On our way to school just barely past our house on our street, T-rav notices a large sedan sitting at a stop sign on the left, waiting to cross the street. I am just driving along, not speeding, not poking, just going, paying attention to my surroundings, but also trying to see through our very dirty windshield while chatting with T-rav. I suddenly hear him saying "Tia, tia, TIA" and I finally look over to see that the car sitting at the stop sign is no longer sitting. She's attempting to cross the street, but obviously hasn't looked to see if anyone is coming. I simultaneously slam on the brakes, curse, and honk, hoping that she will see me and stop.

She doesn't.

Luckily, we both slow down enough that when I finally ram into her, it's not very hard. I'm instantly enraged. I try to zip after the moron I just hit, but find that I can't. In the split second of panic during impact, I took my foot off the clutch and killed the car. I start up the engine, squeal away, and park just beyond the red sedan. I'm ready to get out and rage at the idiot who doesn't know how to drive when I see that it's the nicest little old lady from our ward. I can't yell at her. I feel bad because I know she's probably a lot more shaken than I am. I also realize that I kind of enjoyed the sensation of ramming into another car (Trav later suggests that I should become a derby car driver).

I pull the key out of the ignition and leap out of the car with no thought of anyone's physical well-being. Who cares if someone is injured- what about my car! How much is this going to cost me! I later wonder what it says about my personality that my first thought in a crisis is always of the expense of the repair and never my health. The little frau I hit asks if we're ok while admitting that it was her fault; she was thinking about how she was going to get across the busy intersection a few streets ahead rather than the one she was driving on. She didn't look for cars coming the other way.

We're lucky- our front bumper is scraped up and slightly cracked, but no serious damage done. Her insurance should easily cover it. Our little frau is less lucky- I hit her right in the wheel, leaving it bent at a strange angle. We're not sure she should drive on it, but she insists it's ok. I think she's quite shaken but doesn't want to admit it. As we chat I start feeling guilty- I should have driven slower (slower than 25?), I should have looked more carefully (but she crossed without looking), and worst of all, the thought that T-rav would have slowed down in time if he had been driving!

We exchange numbers, and she reminds us where she lives so we can come over and sort things out later. I wish to myself that I had hit a nasty punk 19 year old I could have yelled at. Who can be mad at grandma? We hop back in our cars and go about our day. A few blocks from school, I remind T-rav that he better not even think for 1 second that he could have avoided our accident. It has nothing to do with me being a good or bad driver. I admit that I'm overly concerned about being considered a good driver and hope this doesn't tarnish my good record, for today was my very first accident.

the eleventies

2011-01-04T21:25:00.002-05:00

As I leapt off the tallest stool I could find on New Year's Eve at 11:59:59 (a tradition passed on by my childhood best friend's Norwegian mother), I found myself thinking something along the lines of "good bloody riddance 2010!" rather than my usual wish for the new year. Not that 2010 was particularly awful; I had a decent albeit severely underpaid job, T-rav went back to school (alhamdulillah!), we lived in a lovely house with superb neighbors, my sister moved back to the area, I took Irish dance AND karate, and we got chickens. Really, not much to complain about. But my general feeling for most of the year was blah. Blah blah blah. It was a year of stagnant monotony, and more often than I like to admit, I was grumpy, irritable, depressed, and unpleasant to be around, especially for my poor T-rav. I'm glad 2010 is over.

Sometimes I think it's silly that we make goals and resolutions for the coming year. As if one particular day really made things a clean slate, fresh and new. Nothing magically changes once the clock strikes 12:00 on January 1st. I'm probably still a surly disconsolate beast. But...I'm hopeful that 2011 will bring a bit more excitement and a whole lot of change with it. And so, in the spirit of hopefulness, here are a few of my goals/hopes/wishes for the eleventies.

Move out of Utah. And stay out. Not that there's anything wrong with Utah, I've just been here too long.
Travel somewhere outside of the US and Canada. Some days my wanderlust is so tangible it's painful. I itch to go somewhere.
Finish the study Raceli and I are working on and submit it for publication.
Compare, criticize, and complain less.
Find some way to raise substantial money for the Haitian school belonging to my former student. Ideas would be appreciated.
Win out (reach the pre-champ level) in all my dances in Irish dance. I have a LOT of practicing ahead of me.
Become better friends with myself.
Go on the road trip I've been secretly planning.
Read more. About a wider variety of things.

Wish me luck.

2011-01-02T20:38:00.002-05:00

Trav told me it was high time to put up a new post on here. Something about being sick of self-deprecation...

So here's an update on the past 4 weeks:

We went to Idaho for Christmas and spent the time lounging, eating, chatting, laughing, etc. It was lovely to be spoiled like a child again.
I got an immersion blender and pie weights for Christmas. Huzzah!
I realized being an adjunct at UVU puts me near the poverty line. Lovely.
We watched all of season 7 of The West Wing (the final season) in 3 days. Except the last episode. I'm saving that one because I'm not ready to be done with it.
Our chickens were brutally attacked by an over-sized husky. One was killed, 2 lost all their tail feathers, and 1 remained unscathed.
School starts this week. I need another week off.
T-rav got an internship in DC for the summer. Which means we're FINALLY leaving Utah. The plan is to find a job there and stay for a while.

How was your holiday?

self-deprecation

2010-12-07T21:24:00.004-05:00

Sometimes words cannot express what I'm thinking and feeling. I feel mute, voiceless, helpless to express my rage, joy, discouragement, anxiety. I haven't yet mastered the ability to identify and come to terms with my own emotions. Writing things down sometimes makes it easier, unless I read what I wrote and realize that I sound like a imbecile. Or think I do. I have been known to go back through previous journal entries and "edit" things I didn't like. I even occasionally make rude comments to myself, mocking the ridiculousness of whatever I had said. It's really not much motivation for journal writing. It also makes it hard to articulate any of those thoughts out loud...for if i find myself worthy of ridicule, won't everyone else?

the perfect jeans

2010-11-29T13:26:00.005-05:00

I'm being punished.

Nearly 2 months ago I splurged and spent an exorbitant amount of money (for me, at least) on a pair of jeans. The price shall remain a mystery, but let's just say that when I tried them on, I was so convinced of their awesomeness that I shed my usual penny-pinching attitude and bought them anyway.

Then came the remorse. These jeans sat on my dresser in the bag with the receipt for 2 weeks. I agonized about them, thinking of all the excuses why I shouldn't keep them; I couldn't possibly pay for crummy jeans that cost that much! But I was finally convinced by the fact that it usually takes me a good 6 months of hunting before finally finding a pair with buying. At any price. So spending a little more on 1 pair shouldn't be the end of the world, right?

Once I decided to actually put them on, I remembered that they were a good 6 inches too long. Off they went to a friend's house to be hemmed. Alas, I didn't measure very well, and we, or rather, she, since I was only good for conversation while she sewed, hemmed them a bit too long. So they returned to their place on top of my dresser until last week when my sister-in-law re-hemmed them for me.

And now that I can actually wear them with no excuse, I'm finding them a bit less amahzing than I originally thought. Did I really pay ___$ for jeans that are already exceedingly faded in certain places? And maybe I widened up a little over Thanksgiving, but I don't recall them being quite so stretched in the waist...and hemming flared pants often ruins the shape of the leg...

I suppose it's what I deserve. Next time I'll stick with a cheap pair. At least I'm only out 20$ if I decide I don't love them after all.

28

2010-11-21T18:48:00.004-05:00

I will be 28 in just barely over a week, and I'm approaching this birthday with a bit of trepidation. I graduated from high school ten years ago. I've been out of school (well, finished my most recent degree, I should say, since I can't resist taking classes while I teach) for 3 years. I've been living in Utah for far longer than I ever intended. I'm only 2 years from 30.

Twenty-eight sounds old. Like someone who should have a real direction in life and be doing something worthwhile like working at a real job where she intends to stay for a while or one that has benefits (at least that's what my dad tells me). A twenty-eight year old should know how to curl her hair. She should be able to properly apply eye liner. And she should especially own a stunning black dress.

There's a small part of me that doesn't mind getting older. The part that thinks it's silly to fret about 28 or 30 or 45, especially when people routinely think I'm barely 20. This wise part knows to embrace life with each stage that passes.

But still...I can't help thinking...can't I just stay 27?

Wise Mongolians

2010-11-03T11:51:00.004-04:00

If I ever have a baby, I'm going to swaddle him/her just like this:

It's brilliant! Notice how the wrapping is tied- there's no wiggling out of this burrito. I think you could toss the newborn around with no adverse effects.

And then, if s/he is starting to want a bit more freedom, we'll graduate to this:

election day

2010-11-02T13:15:00.004-04:00

To vote...

Or not to vote?

At UVU there's a sign on the wall of the International Center that says "Half of the American people have never read the newspaper. Half never voted for President. One hopes it is the same half" (Gore Vidal).

On a day like today, I suppose we have four main groups of people: (1) those who are moderately informed and educated on the candidates; (2) those who vote and have very little idea aside from what they've seen/heard on the advertisements; (3) those who have no idea and vote anyway; (4) those who don't care and don't vote.

But how common do you think it is for people to vote on issues they know nothing about? I've also been wondering how common it is for people just pick a random name for races they know nothing about or how many just leave it blank. If I don't know anything about a person/issue, I generally leave it blank (ok maybe I occasionally vote for someone from a party you've never heard of. It's for moral support!). Maybe you just shouldn't vote if you don't know about the issues.

So do you think it is more important to be an informed voter or to do your civic duty? But isn't it part of our civic duty to be at least somewhat knowledgeable on the things we're helping our government decide?

what do you smell like?

2010-10-26T16:01:00.003-04:00

Today in class we were talking about American hygiene (which the Brazilians thought was border line dirty and the European thought was possibly over the top), a student asked me if American men wear cologne.

I had to pause to consider my answer. Yes, they wear it. But I think there's something about the 5 foot rule- if you can smell the cologne from more than 5 feet away, it's too strong...or something like that. I told him that yes, they wear it, but it's usually not very strong. He was wondering because someone actually said this to him in the mall the other day:

girl: Hey, are you gay?
male student: Um, no. Why do you ask me this?
girl: Because I can smell you from a mile away!

There's really no response. Who says something like that to a total stranger?! Now this student happens to be from a country where men typically were cologne and a lot of it. The more important the occasion, the stronger he smells. He doesn't always wear it for school (which may tell you something about why his grades aren't so stellar), but I've noticed that when he wears it, he wears it. You can smell him from the other side of the room. It usually smells nice enough, but not being a perfume wearer myself due to the instant headache no matter the quantity or quality, I usually keep my distance.

I like the idea of perfume. I like smelling the little sample sticks that come in magazines. I like looking at the lovely bottles and thinking about old fashioned perfume pumps (my grandma used to have some of those). I just can't handle walking around all day with a fuzzy brain. Even scented lotions sometimes bother me.

My sister usually wears perfume or some kind of body spray when she dresses up. My mom wears it all the time. My dad wears cologne for special occasions? or possibly all the time. I'm not sure. My grandpa smells like aftershave. My grandma smells like Tide and Bounce. But I couldn't recall smelling perfume on many of my friends. What do you guys smell like?

If you get enough people to say you're right, does that make you right?

2010-10-20T18:44:00.003-04:00

What will happen if Palestine convinces the world to declare it a state? Will it actually work?

2010-10-19T14:00:00.001-04:00

May I draw your attention to the "Books I've been reading lately" list. If you've paid any attention at all to my list, you may now notice that something is missing. Something that has been on the list for far too long. After 2 long years (2 summers actually) I have finally, FINALLY finished Harry Potter e il Principe Mezzosangue, aka Harry Potter #6. In Italian. It took me many moons and the all-too-constant assistance of a dictionary. But I finished.

Finalmente!

A jaunt to DC

2010-10-17T19:30:00.003-04:00

Last week was fall break and being as I was dying to go somewhere, we finally used our Delta vouchers that have been sitting around for months (that's the only reason I'd willingly choose to fly delta) and hopped on a plane bound for DC. Why DC? Well, it was one of the only places too far to drive to and cheap enough to use our tickets; most of the activities were free; the metro is relatively reasonably priced and goes almost everywhere; we had an offer of a place to stay from our lovely friends Brooke and Max. Who could pass up such an opportunity?

Day 1: Arlington Cemetery. Tour of the capitol. Air and Space Museum. Below is the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington.
In the afternoon, we met up with T-rav's old roommate RyRy.
Day 2: Torrential rain (and no jacket- what was I thinking?!). Holocaust Museum- what to say about that. You can't really say it was great- moving, perhaps? Depressing? Educational? Museum of American History.

Posing by the very famous leather jacket worn by The Fonz.
They were filming a movie while we were in DC and we stumbled across this in a parking lot in Chinatown.
In case you don't recognize the truck in the picture, this might help.
Day 3: The Washington Monument- I swear it was swaying in the wild gusts of wind. Lincoln Memorial. WWII, Korean War, and Vietnam Memorials- I thought it was interesting that each war memorial seemed to fit the war it represented. Some were large and stately and full of triumph (WWII) while others were small and quiet and situated off the beaten path (Korea). National Archives- the Declaration is much more faded than I anticipated! The National Cathedral- a little bit of "medieval" Europe right in our nation's capital. A Haunted Tour of Old Town Alexandria- wasn't terribly spooky, but fun just the same. Maybe one day when I have dollars coming out my ears I'll buy a teensy little house in one of those neighborhoods and hunt for ghosts myself.
View east from the Lincoln Memorial
Vietnam Veterans Memorial .
National Cathedral. Bob gave us a great 1/2 hour (actually turned into 1.5 hours) tour and showed us a moon rock embedded in one of the stained glass windows and all kinds of other random coolies things (we found the Darth Vader gargoyle all by ourselves). This church is ginormous. And beautiful. If we ever need to get married again, I'm booking the children's chapel for the wedding.All in all, a lovely trip. I'm hoping we have lots of reasons to go back in the near future.

tie or tide...the results

2010-10-07T22:49:00.006-04:00

So. It seems that you people prefer tide to tie. And I'm perfectly ok with that. You say tide, I'll say tie, and we'll all just get along.

However, what baffles me is what determines which one you say. Is it that you say what you think you hear and 1/3 of the population doesn't hear the -d on the end? Or is there actually a pattern in location, gender, age, etc, that is obviously missing here from such a small survey sample. In my family, for example, my mom, sister and I (New Yorkers) all say tie me over; my dad (Utahn) says tide me over (my brother probably doesn't say either, as he spends most of his time cursing). Where's the pattern in that?

Another question that I still have is where exactly did the expression tide me over come from in the first place? Now I'm no etymologist, but my theory lies in the meaning of an obsolete form of the word tide, which, according to the OED (thanks for the byu access, sister!) means:

tide: To carry through (an undertaking); to enable (a person) to surmount (a difficulty, etc.) as on a swelling tide.

The earliest use of this form of tide occurred in 1626 and the last in 1870 and, coincidentally, coincides with the first appearances of the expression tide me over.

to tide over: to get over or surmount (a difficulty, time of stress, etc.) as if by rising on the flowing tide, or by taking advantage of a favourable tide

And, surprise! (to me, at least) an alternate and modern definition of tide is:

tide: To carry, as the tide does

If you consider tide in this way rather than thinking solely about waves flowing to and fro, I think it makes quite a bit of sense where our expression originated.

Alas, the OED has no information concerning tie over (at least that I can find), so I can't answer when, why, or how it emerged into the English language. But I will say that as a descriptivist, and maybe also because I myself say the alternate expression, I can't condemn the use of tie. It's just the way language evolves, folks. Take it or leave it.

breaking news

2010-10-05T16:51:00.003-04:00

A new language has been found!! Although most of you probably don't care two shakes, here's an article about the world's most recent language discovery. If I could, I'd fly right over to northern India to hear it for myself!

tie or tide

2010-09-30T21:56:00.004-04:00

T-rav and I are in the middle of a word debate that probably doesn't have a right or wrong answer but is fun to talk about just the same. He noticed this posted on my facebook status: "hungry and far from the kitchen with only 3 small cookies to tie me over."

He thought it was strange that I said tie me over because he has always heard/said tide me over. When he mentioned the difference, I instantly went into ridicule mode. TIDE me over? What is that supposed to mean? But then I started thinking about it and tie doesn't really sound all that much better...and I suppose I had heard tide now and then...so we started doing some google research (if only I had access to the OED, I'd try that too). We found that:

Tie me over has 10,300,000 hits while tide me over has 2,710,000 hits (not that this is scientific or proves anything, but ole' Dr. Robertson used it in every class to explain such and such an idea).
There are loads of sites that mock the use of tie and support the use of tide.
Many sites agree that tie me over is a colloquialism and therefore wrong (which I have a problem with).

One British site says: ...I say that the true form is to tide one over. In some slight defence of to tie one over, it is becoming more common, but it is a folk etymology (read “error” if you prefer) that has grown up because the word tide here seems to make no sense.

The idea is that of the swelling tide, which will carry you over some obstacle, with the implication that it won’t require effort on your part. It may be that it’s a deliberate echo of Brutus’s comment, in Julius Caesar: “There is a Tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the Flood, leads on to Fortune”, or it may at least be taken from the same idea of a ship, say, waiting for the tide to rise and carry it over the bar into a harbour.

Now I'm not sure I buy the part about a swelling tide...but he makes an interesting point. So what do you say? And I'm wondering if this is regional or age-related or random or some other variable. Post a comment and answer the survey (and send others my way. I need a bigger sample group!), please!

to beat or not to beat

2010-09-28T16:27:00.002-04:00

I nearly chucked my marker at a student in my class today. Between personal conversations, questions to me (usually about something I barely answered), answering the phone in class (the inappropriateness of which we've already discussed) comments about our discussion, and random inane comments and noises from one strange Mexican kid, I could hardly hear myself think. Until today I've liked this class, but I'm starting to reconsider. They're just too unruly.

In their defense:

We have a large class in a teensy classroom that is ill-lit (unless you open the shades on the windows, which in turn blind the teacher).
The students are sitting nearly on top of each other, making it extra easy for them to chat.
Because they're sitting so close together, it's very easy to conceal phones and text messages, furthering classroom distraction.
We meet right after lunch, which usually has a drowsy effect on students, but with this group it's like a party.
It's a listening speaking class, so we do lots of conversational, active activities.

But REALLY. During the second hour of class, I was ready to pack up and leave. But then the students would have been delighted to leave early, and student glee is NOT what I'm going for. I've had unruly classes in the past, but this one is pushing all the right buttons. Perhaps it's the Arab guy who gives me less respect than his male teacher. Maybe it's the weird Mexican kid who sits in the back and says "no" and/or claps at everything anyone says. Whatever the problem, they're going to be surprised when they come to class on Thursday and find that their teacher isn't quite as nice as she may have seemed. Here's what I've been tossing around as disciplinary ideas:

Throw things at them when they're noisy.
Refuse to speak until everyone is quiet.
Bring a horn/whistle to blow whenever they're not listening.
Stage a public beating.
Refuse to answer questions of students who may not have done their homework.
Throw out students who come unprepared.
Deduct 10 points every time a student speaks out of turn.
Yell.
Throw out the weird Mexican kid.
Confiscate cell phones and possibly laptops (I don't know if I can make myself do this one- my German teacher answers phones that go off in class...in German. I don't have that kind of...courage).

My personal favorite is to throw things, but I might get in trouble for that. I suppose I could make my class very boring in hopes that it will calm them down, but I already struggle to make our topics relevant and interesting to skeptical students. I get sick of hearing "teacher, why you make us do this?" or "teacher, how does this help my English?" Or maybe they think my class is boring and that's the problem? I'm not sure. Any other ideas out there?

2010-09-26T11:28:00.003-04:00

Radio West had a program on Mormon Feminism last week with the fantastic Joanna Brooks and Claudia Bushman. It was great. Here's the link, if you're interested.

Slumpy Day

2010-09-21T16:13:00.002-04:00

Today shouldn't be a slumpy day. Today had so much potential. I bought my level 3 students candy and did a fun activity (or fun for me. They had to eat black licorice with their eyes closed- not knowing what it was- and then describe it), I went to a fantastic lecture with the inspiring Uyghur woman Rebiya Kadeer, I didn't have to teach much of my level 4 class (because of the lecture that we attended) and I get to go to Irish dance. And I really like what I wore today, which, shallow as that may seem, actually can affect my mood for the day.

But I still feel slumpy. I partially blame two of my students. They're frequently negative about the topics we discuss in class and today I really didn't know how to react to them. Usually I just shrug them off and continue with our conversation, but today their brief comments about nothing made me go from perfectly content to perfectly not.

The thing is, I've been feeling like that more and more this semester. Now if it were January or February, this would be quite normal. But usually in the fall I'm happy to be back at school and starting afresh. But I'm not. I'm less patient with my students and less inclined to spend extra time doing things for them. I know I should "live in the moment," but I'm exceedingly antsy to move on with our life. I just wish I knew what "moving on" entailed, other than moving out of Utah. I'm going to stir crazy and some days I think the unsatisfied wanderlust might just kill me.

And more and more often I wonder if I really want to teach. Don't get me wrong- I really like teaching. But isn't there something more meaningful I could be doing? Like working with the Uyghurs to help free their people? Or finding money for my Haitian friend whose school is still in ruins? Or going back to Guatemala to help them with their gardens so their children aren't malnourished and sick? Or...or....

Sorry for complaining. I just had to get that off my chest. Do you ever feel this way?

"I want my first amendment...as long as I agree with it"

2010-09-13T23:25:00.004-04:00

The other day I heard someone say the following:

"The people who say there should be no mosque at ground zero are some of the same ones who say the pastor in Florida has the right to burn as many Korans as he wants."

Now lest you think I think something other than what I actually think, let's make two things very clear:

I think they can put a mosque wherever they dang well please, and no, I don't find it inappropriate or insensitive for a mosque to be built on or near ground zero (because it's actually 2 blocks away AND there was a Muslim prayer room in one of the towers for years). I think it would actually be quite nice. America is not at at war with Islam. We're at war with terrorists who, yes, are Muslim, but that doesn't condemn an entire faith.
OBVIOUSLY it's rotten to burn Korans. Rotten, horrible, insensitive, exceedingly disrespectful, etc. But do people have a right to do so if they feel like it? Sure. Is it stupid? Very. But not illegal.

I find it interesting, however, that some people seem to have a double standard with the rights of Americans. To protect the rights of pyromaniac Americans, we must allow a Koran-burning, but then interfere with the rights of a religious minority who want to build a mosque? I don't think it works like that. Or it shouldn't. I think if burning Korans is ok, so is a mosque. The rights that protect one unpleasant thing are the very same that protect one pleasant thing. I guess as we cling to the First Amendment, we have to allow for some give and take on both sides.

Chickens!

2010-09-05T14:07:00.002-04:00

The long awaited pictures of our chickens:

This is Bertha. She's the dominant one of the bunch and was a champion layer until she got sick. She still hasn't quite recovered. She's not the most beautiful thing and we sometimes wonder if she's half turkey. She's so fat she waddles when she walks and almost falls over if she runs, leaving her panting and heaving in recovery.

This is Roger (upon T-rav's insistence, we named our lovely hen an ugly man's name). She's third in the pecking order and currently our best layer:

The coop T-rav built, plus our neighbor's old dog kennel combined to make a great pen. We sometimes let them out into our yard and the neighbor's orchard for some extra excitement. Bertha is sometimes to fat and unsteady on her feet to make it down the ramp without a tumble. A new ramp is in the works.

For a while we were only getting 1 egg a day, but we're up to 2 the past week. If they don't crank up the numbers soon, we might just have to buy another 2 chickens. I want a surplus of eggs. But here are the fruits of our/their labors. Don't they look nice?

greetings

2010-09-02T10:28:00.002-04:00

Many of my students have been disenchanted by American greetings because they don't realize that when an American says "Hey, how're you doing?" they don't really want to know how you are. It's just a greeting. Some of them have been quite surprised when the American expressed discomfort at their detailed explanation of their current mood.

Because I'm aware of this, I usually don't ask my students how they are unless I really have time to hear their answers. And we talk about what Americans really mean by their question. But I was wondering what you say. When you see someone you know walking past or in a room, what is your usual response? Do you just say hi and keep walking? Do you ask them how they are? Do you stop and chat? I'm sure one's response is greatly dependent on how much time is available...I'm speaking generally here. What would you do/say?

new season new semester

2010-08-27T11:24:00.002-04:00

School has started and, true to how the world should be, it's suddenly much cooler. Knowing Utah, it's not likely to stay that way, but I've been enjoying it while it lasts.

The hard drive on our laptop is kaput. Lovely. This also explains why I feel so disconnected from the world (no computer, no TV. You mean if I want to know what's going on, I have to go to the library?!)

I have a Dane AND a Fin(n -anyone know the proper spelling for a Finnish person?) in my new class. Huzzah!

My attempts to take German 2010 (attempts that were foiled by my department last year) have been foiled once again. Surprise! I have to teach during German twice a week. Thank goodness for auditing. Alas, the total price for books for the lone class = 226.00. And there are no used books to be found since it's a new edition. Down with the publishing industry!

Did I tell you all I now have chickens? Pictures proving their ugliness will be coming as soon as my computer is back in order. I can't wait.

2010-08-19T21:22:00.002-04:00

In case you haven't heard yet, Mormon feminism is back.

It's about bloody time.

see vs. meet

2010-08-10T09:48:00.003-04:00

The other day I was talking to a friend about her 2 week old baby (we'll call her Bertha) and she asked me "when are you going to come meet Bertha?" There was something very strange to me in that question. Can you guess what it is?

Keep thinking...

I was surprised by her asking me to come meet her baby (did you guess right?). I was expecting her to ask me when I was going to come see her baby, which is what I was accustomed to hearing, not meet.

When I hear the verb meet, I think of becoming acquainted with someone. To me, that implies equal acquainting between people. A baby, in my opinion, although she may have the beginnings of her own personality, is not yet cognizant enough to become acquainted with anyone.

In my curiosity, I asked my mom what she would say (without telling her about meet), and she used the verb see. When I used a sentence in this way with meet, she looked at me funny...which leads me to wonder if this is a trend among 20-30ish women (and men?). But is it regional? I have no idea. I've heard many of my friends use meet, but then again, most of those with babies live in Utah right now.

I was also thinking that this might say something about the general feeling towards babies these days...please bear in mind that I have no babies and don't recall what it was like for mothers 30 years ago, but I think younger women are more likely to feel like their baby is a real, unique person right when she's born than women of the previous generation. I think babies used to just be, well, babies, whereas now they're this miracle of a human that I (well, not I, but you know what I mean) produced in this very baby-centered culture.

Have you heard men or women (or both) use meet? What would your mom say? What have you heard/what would you say?

Your Majesty, Honor, and Excellency

2010-07-25T11:11:00.005-04:00

T-rav and I had a lively discussion last night concerning political, military, or religious titles and the respect that accompanies them (or should). If, for example, I were to meet the president of the US, I would be excited to have met the president regardless of whether I agreed with his/her politics; the office of president commands respect regardless of whether I really like the person. I may not fawn over the person if I think they're a schmuck, but I still respect what they've done to get themselves in such a respectable position.

A few years ago Dick Cheney came to speak at BYU for a graducation service. There were all sorts of protests and a group of crazy students (though crazy for other reasons and not just for this) even planned an "alternative commencement" with Ralph Nader for people who couldn't stomach the idea of listening to VP Cheney. I didn't understand all the hype. Had Cheney been a genocidal dictator, this would have been a natural reaction. But Cheney wasn't a bad guy (well maybe they thought so...). Maybe you hate his politics, but he's still the VP and it's kind of cool that BYU managed to get such an important person to speak at commencement. At least that's how I saw it. To me, the vice president, who also happened to be Cheney, would be speaking to BYU students. Since he wasn't coming to give a political speech, his political views were irrelevant to me.

T-rav, on the other hand, sees it the other way around. Although he didn't hate Cheney, he saw it more as Cheney, who happens to be VP, came to speak. Being excited or angry about him coming completely depended on how he felt about Cheney's politics. If he doesn't like the person or the politics, he won't be as excited to meet them. It doesn't matter if that person is president or king or prophet; T-rav respects the office if he also respects the person.

So which category do you fit into? And which do you think is more normal for Americans? Why?

flem or francais?

2010-07-15T15:47:00.002-04:00

I know that probably most of you aren't terribly interested in socio-linguistic things, but I found this article absolutely fascinating! I had no idea that Belgium was in such linguistic disarry. In such a case as this, when you have 2 nearly equal language groups that strongly dislike the other, wouldn't it be easier to just divide the country? If only it were so simple...

If you're not in the mood to read the full article, just answer me this: wouldn't you like to be called a Walloon of Wallonia? Or perhaps you'd prefer being a Fleming of Flanders? I just hope I can live in Linkebeek.

news

2010-07-14T19:02:00.005-04:00

Here's the latest:

I broke my foot just over 2 weeks ago, which was healing nicely until I thought it would be a good idea to jump (gently, of course) on my auntie's trampoline. Maybe not so much.

We just got back from a week trip with our friends Brian and Callie to California. Traipsing around Disneyland, LA, San Diego and Tijuana with good friends and the cutest 9 month old = loads of fun.

My garden is nearly ready to produce something (other than weeds) and my compost pile is fermenting nicely. If any of you live in the area and have any spare grass clippings or green waste, bring it by!

I shall be spending the next blessed weeks before school starts again reading, gardening, hiking (once my foot gets back to normal, of course) and generally relaxing. Not that I'm trying to rub it in...if any of you have some spare time, feel free to stop by and hang out.

blogs vs facebook

2010-07-01T17:19:00.003-04:00

T-rav thinks blogs are slowly dying, and I must say, he might be right. Are they already being replaced by the faster, easier facebook? We're all about instant gratification these days, and for that, there's nothing better than facebook.

Facebook makes nosing around people's business a whole lot easier. You don't have to snoop around various websites to see what people are up to. Just a quick click will bring you to far more information about people's lives than you ever wanted to know (honestly, do we really care how many times you're going to the gym or what your dog did last night or how clean your house is?). Universal adoration comes easier on facebook. Those who hate you can be blocked, and a true facebook junkie has dozens of fellow addicts just jumping at the chance to tell you how amAHzing you are. It's a little burst of superficial self-esteem at every turn.

But truth be told, I kind of miss blogs. I don't miss those comments giving glory laud and honor to the writer (I find them insincere and obnoxiously similar to those facebook comments I refer to), but I miss knowing what my friends are up to. I miss reading full sentences and paragraphs and stories containing actual nouns, verbs, and prepositions. And punctuation! Yes, blogs do have their faults (being completely 100% self-centered for one thing), but they gave a bit more insight to what people were actually thinking and feeling. For a few short but lovely years, I was able to keep in contact with friends of mine who may not be so good at emailing/calling/texting. So if blogs really go away, I will miss that. As much as I enjoy facebook (and I really do), it's just not the same.

2010-06-28T20:25:00.000-04:00

It's just like ALIAS in real life! I probably shouldn't be so excited about foreign spies living in the US...

cool or creepy?

2010-06-21T16:41:00.001-04:00

I have a student who is a clown.

Enough said.

2010-06-16T18:27:00.003-04:00

I just finished reading some of the nicest journal entries from my level 2 writing students. Their assignment was to write 1 paragraph (~8 sentences) about things they like about themselves followed by 1 paragraph (~8 sentences) about things they disliked (physical appearance, personality, abilities, etc). Almost all of them started their entry with "this was really hard for me to write about..." Now if it had been me, it would have been because I couldn't think of enough good things to write. But all of them mentioned it was difficult because they couldn't think of things they disliked.

I know what you're thinking. Arrogant Asians, right?

But no, this class is actually mostly Hispanic students, all from different cultures, some LDS, some not. All of them said the loveliest things about themselves without being a bit proud or obnoxious. And their dislikes were honest, but not degrading or full of self-loathing. I don't know what went wrong in my wiring, but I've never been like that. What good things I could come up with were usually short and half hearted and the bad list long and self-contemptuous.

I'm not hinting at a "oh, no you're so wonderful" kind of comment to this post. I'm just wondering what you would have written about yourself. Would the postivies or negatives have been easier?

2010-06-12T14:22:00.003-04:00

You've heard the expression "publish or perish" right? From the way I've been going, I'm not going to make it much longer (I'm trying to start something, really I am!), but T-rav is well on his way with his very first published work. Aside from some odd corrections his non-native English speaking professor made, it's pretty dang good.

2010-06-03T09:13:00.002-04:00

Go Irish go. I hope they have better luck than previous blockade breakers.

Fire!

2010-06-02T12:39:00.003-04:00

The most exciting thing just happened. Two cute, innocent looking Korean girls were playing around before class by a fire alarm...and accidentally bumped into it, causing the alarm to go off and everyone to evacuate the building.

YES!

I love fire drills. They're so exciting (except when you think of all the books that could burn if the building were actually on fire). And I've always secretly wanted to pull a fire alarm.

So we all dutifully exited the building to the beautiful sunshine, though some less enthusiastically than others. I was ecstatic about this chance to hang out in the sun until I unwisely opened my mouth and mentioned to someone with Authority that it was just an accident and that I had seen it and Mr. Authority made a call and suddenly the alarm went off and we all had to go back inside (and now I had no excuse for not being prepared for my next class).

But it was a glorious few moments.

oh how things change

2010-05-17T09:18:00.003-04:00

Exactly one week ago, if you had asked me my summer plans, I would have told you that they involved spending an extended time in Kyrgyzstan (the small central Asian country just west of China), speaking Russian and hanging out with Kyrgyz peeps while Trav did his internship. Alas, due to 1 very stubborn UVU bureaucrat (and the slightly unstable political situation in Kyrgyzstan- they just had a coup a few weeks ago), his application for approval from UVU was denied, leaving him without an internship and us without plans for most of the summer.

My, how quickly thing can change.

So now what do we do for the next 3 months?

the new girl

2010-05-11T16:24:00.002-04:00

With a ring in her very straight and well-shaped nose and her long, straight, black hair, she reminds me of a gypsy. She defies the world with her body language and smoldering gaze (in an angry not seductive way). And as of today she's my newest student.

I've seen her around campus a few times and always given her a wide berth. You don't want to get in the way of that kind of attitude! Today our conversations went something like this:

Me: Welcome to class. What's your name?
her: (mumbles as she glares at me)
Me: One more time, please?
her: ****! (her name, not a curse word. but it kind of sounds like one)
Me: Here's your syllabus. Please read it (as I flee back to my table)
after class:
her: Is it always going to be like that?
me: Like what? About Native American tribes?
her: (nods sharply, says nothing, arms folded defiantly)
me: No, just some days. So if you're bored by Indians, don't worry. We'll do other things.
her: (nods again)
me: (thinking I detect a glimmer of a smile, I smile back. What little smile there may have been suddenly disappears, and she stalks out of class).

Suffice it to say, this girl is far from warm and fuzzy. And even if she's not as bad as she seems upon first impression, she's still a bit...intimidating. I'm hoping we can bond over her being Middle Eastern and me loving everything about Arabs, but I'm skeptical. We'll see how things develop.

glorious sleep

2010-05-06T12:01:00.005-04:00

I had a 5 day reprieve from school last week. Our original plans involved driving to some exotic location and lounging on the beach, but due to other possible future travel developments and the need to save our pennies, we opted to stay home. It was actually quite pleasant; we did a whole lot a nothin'. Most of our time was spent reading, lounging, watching movies (I recommend Goodbye Lenin and Bulletproof Monk-it really is as awesome as it sounds), interspersed with eating and a bit of gardening.

Oh, and sleeping, did I mention that? I discovered that when I have no reason to get up, my body will naturally wake itself up after exactly 7 hours and 50 minutes of sleep. At first I thought it was just because of the sun shining in my window, but then the sun went away for 3 days and I still woke up right on schedule. And I felt absolutely great. I guess I hadn't noticed how tired I had been getting from skipping sleep. Who knew your body actually does need 8 hours!

Alas, after such a great discovery, I'm back in school, and with it comes fewer and fewer restful hours during the night. I suppose that gives me one reason to be grateful my church doesn't start until 1:00- at least I'll have Sundays.

a lesson on Muslim headscarves

2010-04-29T20:48:00.003-04:00

If you've ever wondered the difference between a burka, hijab, and chador (or wondered what they are in general), check out this article from the bbc. It's about a law passed in Belgium that bans women from wearing a burka, but if you scroll down about halfway, there's a lovely set of pictures with accompanying explanation about headscarves.

2010-04-28T18:10:00.002-04:00

Last week my eye doctor thought I might possibly have a brain tumor or MS or optic neuritis or something else dreadful. So for a week and a half I did too. After tears and hysteria followed by extreme anxiety, I settled into a nice indifferent sort of mood. After all, I rationalized, it couldn't possibly be me who has something horrible like MS, right? Other people get that. Not me. I'd rather have a brain tumor. So then I had an mri and waited for the results (and waited and waited and nearly blew up at the most idiotic, unhelpful morons at the radiologist's office)...

...and finally found out that my brain is free and clear of anything nasty.

Disaster averted, for now. Hopefully the spots I'm seeing in my right eye will disappear within the next month or so, leaving me only with an unpleasant memory and high bills.

faith

2010-04-16T10:43:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about faith lately. My patriarchal blessing says that I have been blessed with great faith. And as a child and teenager, that was easy to believe, especially since nothing bad every really happened to me. Oh, I had my "trials" just like everyone else, but nothing that really challenged my beliefs. But I've started wondering how to have faith but also have your heart aligned with God's will.

For example, If I were to develop a terrible disease, I'm totally, 100% sure that if God wanted it, I could be cured. No problem. But does He want to? What if it's His will that I suffer? What if there's "something I'm supposed to learn" from said ailment? All the faith in the world won't change God's will....or could it? If I had stronger faith, would I be healed, even if it's not part of God's plan for me?

So how do I know what God wants for me? How do I pray the "right" way and ask only for those things which God wants for my life? What if my faith is great, but not placed in the right area? Is my my faith then in vain, and I end up a bitter, dying old woman? Or must I accept that whatever God does is the best thing...

...but then, does God have an active hand in everything that happens to us? Do some things just happen because they happen and God just observes? Are these things really planned out for us?

I have so many questions.

some thoughts/worries

2010-04-07T20:20:00.007-04:00

1- I'm looking for the perfect shade flowers to plant around my house. Perennials would be nice, but not mandatory. Any suggestions?

2- Sunday morning I woke up to whitish spots in my right eye. I immediately assumed I was going blind (my greatest fear since I first got glasses at the age of 7), and rushed to the doctor Monday afternoon. Since then, I've gone to 2 eye doctors and 1 retina specialist. I had my eye poked, prodded (literally) and puffed with air, dilated twice, and several color photographs and scans done (which I'm sure cost a fortune...I can't wait to see the bill for all this). And after all that, they still don't know what's wrong with me. It could be nothing. Or it could be something terrible, but the doctor refuses to tell me lest I start needlessly worrying and assuming the worst. Which I'm already doing, of course.

3- I've decided I need to get rid of/stop wearing all of my flowy shirts. I've had 2 students ask me if I'm pregnant in the past week. Once I show them my non-pregnant stomach, they're convinced, but really. It's getting a little old. And then another student asked if something was wrong with me because I'm pink instead of white or brown (and I wasn't blushing). What can I say, I was blessed with a ruddy complexion.

4- Three more weeks til the end of the semester. I'm going to be very sad to leave these students behind. Aside from some dear but rather...demanding level 2 students (who would learn a lot faster if they actually listened for a few minutes) these 2 classes have been some of my best. They've definitely made up for the beasts from last fall.

5- I miss blogging.

2010-03-26T17:52:00.002-04:00

Dear weather,

Please stop fooling around with winter. I'm sick of swirling bits of snow that don't really stick and dry, dead grass and trees. Also. I would like to remind you that I do not live in Seattle, and therefore the sun should come out more than once a week. Please go find spring. I'm sure you can entice her to stay.

Sincerely,
a whiny, vitamin-D deprived winter-blues sufferer

Happy St.Patrick's day!

2010-03-17T12:19:00.002-04:00

Trav always makes fun of me for this, but I consider myself Irish (Irish-American, I should say) above all other nationalities. In reality, I'm not really any more Irish than I am German or Danish or English. But I identify more with the Irish side of the family. Maybe it's because I've done lots of research on my Irish family history. Or because my first name is Irish. Or because my middle name is from my off-the-boat Irish great-grandmother. Or because they speak/spoke a really fantastic form of Gaelic (which I tried to teach myself in high school). Or maybe because I do Irish dance. Whenever I mention it, people ask me if I dance because I'm Irish. I don't really (there are far more non-Irish Irish dancers than Irish...but there is a ton of red-headed Irish dancers...); I do Irish dance because it's awesome. It's just convenient that I happen to be part Irish.

Whatever my personal motivation may be, there are dozens of reasons to be proud to be Irish. Here's a short list:

to speak Irish Gaelic
to speak Irish Engligh
to be so feisty! How many other countries are renowned for having such fiery tempers?
to be green! Sometimes when I see pictures of Ireland, I'm homesick for the land I've never been to
to have great fiddle music
to eat soda bread
to have produced James Joyce
to believe in leprechauns
to have done a large chunk of the dirty work in American cities during the early 1900s
to have a long, rich, fascinating history
to dance with flying feet

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

for the love of dirt!

2010-03-11T22:59:00.004-05:00

I started a compost pile. And I love it. I love that I can throw food out my screen door into the pile of decomposing food (this is especially enjoyable when throwing eggs that cracked when I accidentally flung them to the ground in their shopping bag). That my leaves went to good use this year. That I feel earthy and wholesome piling up my vegetable waste while I'm preparing for dinner. That I might possibly have nice soil for my hopefully organic garden this summer. That my garbage doesn't stink any more and is only half as full these days (the recylcing has probably had something to do with this, too).

I did, however, make one fatal mistake. I put this compost pile in one of the worst places in my yard. It's close to the house, yes, but it's in almost constant shade. That pile hasn't felt any sun in months! And because of this, I fear my compost won't be ready in time for spring planting. I also suspect that I need to turn my compost pile more than once in a while. And I don't really have any soil in my compost mixture, and I'm pretty sure that's one of the key ingredients.

Now that I think about it, there are probably dozens of things I haven't done to make my compost perf. And I have no idea what they might be. But luckily, the Central Utah Gardens have a class in a few weeks all about compost. It's free, I'm going, and I'm ridiculously, nerdily excited about it. I've had a vegetable garden the past 5 years, and it has been quite successful. But I haven't delved into organic gardening or composting or producing herbs that I actually cook with more than twice a year (if you need any sage, or rather cups upon cups upon cups of sage, head down to my old house. Two winters still haven't killed that stuff off yet). I'm hoping this year I can learn all sorts of useful things and end up with produce coming out my ears.

If you happen to still live somewhere near Utah county, you can sign up for this class (or others) here.

a quandry

2010-03-04T01:10:00.002-05:00

Answer me this: if you were getting married, would you let your family (and your in-laws) know the dates you were thinking about? Or would you just pick a date and tell everyone to stick it- rearrange your schedule or don't bother coming. And what if this wedding was planned TWO WEEKS in advance. What would you do then? Eh?

Would you, as a friend/relative of the couple, be able to drop everything and be at the wedding...on the other side of the country? And what if you had something you couldn't get out of? What then?

mums the word

2010-02-23T18:48:00.004-05:00

Today my German teacher was wrong. WRONG! And I did nothing to correct him.

He was explaining the difference between simple past (preterit) and present perfect in German. To do so, he compared the German to English: The boy went to the store. vs The boy has gone to the store.

Both correct sentences, both past tense. So German teacher says to class "Is there a difference in the tenses of these two sentences? Does it change the meaning?" No one says anything (probably because no one had any idea what he was talking about....Americans are notoriously bad at knowing their own grammar. But don't fret if you're one of them. You can't help it if you're a product of your less-than-worthy-grade-school-English-education).

I, not wanting to appear a know-it-all (I answer too many questions as it is), simply nodded my head. He asks again, I nod again. There is a long pause...and my teacher confidently declares "There isn't a difference! And it's the same in German!"

My eyebrows raise in skepticism. No difference? Excuse me? There is totally a difference. Yes, maybe it's a subtle, picky difference, but it's a difference nonetheless. Could you say I went to the beach last summer and I have gone to the beach last summer interchangeably? If I were to say did you see the movie, you might answer yes, last Saturday. But what would you say to have you seen the movie? Does it sound right to say yes, I have seen it last Saturday. I certainly hope not!

Unfortunately, I didn't say any of that. Instead, I sat there with my eyebrows raised, head shaking vigorously in disagreement, and mind racing. How to contradict/argue with my teacher in the middle of class...I've never been good at that...the blushing that results is always so uncomfortable. But luckily, we have a Russian student in my class who piped up (I think being a foreigner gave her an advantage) and said what I was thinking. My teacher shrugged it off as poor Russian teaching skills. But he did agree to look at one of her English textbooks at a later date, so apparently he's not opposed to being wrong.

I really should have said something. I wanted to. Usually my reason for keeping quiet in such a circumstance is insecurity- I'm never totally sure that I'm right. But this time, I knew I was right. I teach this stuff to my students on a regular basis. I can show him dozens of different grammar books as proof of my rightness. But rightness doesn't matter when you're too silent to answer.

Dang it.

the way of the Russki

2010-02-20T14:34:00.004-05:00

I have a Russian student this semester. I love him because he's Russian and I've never had a Russian before (Russian speakers from Armenia or Tajikistan, yes, but never a real Russian!). I'm kind of partial to reverse discrimination- I love my minority students more.

On my first day of class, I was slightly terrified of this Russian guy. He's about 5'6", extremely muscular (think a smaller version of the bad guy in Rocky 4...or someone who's obsessed with "building muscular mass," as he puts it.). His hair is short, dark blondish, and perfectly parted. He wears his pants slightly too high for American taste and always tucks his button-up shirt into his slightly high pants. His clothes are perfectly tailored to his muscular frame. He insists upon calling me Mrs. Zirker and always raises his hand when answering a question in class. He is, in short, very intense.

But after a few weeks, I realized that although he is indeed very intense (and very intelligent), he's not really that scary. He's actually really great. His English is much higher than a level 2 (which is the class I have him for), so he understands when I make jokes that the others don't catch or when other students are being remarkably dense (I have a lot of dense students in this class. They're nice, but very thick). And he started smiling, which made him seem less like a military sergeant.

But the best thing about this student is his writing. He is simply incapable of writing something comprehensible to the average American. His love for "fancy" words (as his grammar teacher says) is just too strong. For example, when asking for help with the printer, instead of saying something like "Could you help me with the printer?" he says "Could you render me some assistance with this printing device?" Or if he wants to know about a homework assignment, he sends me an email that says "Let me address to you with question concerning the implementation of our home assignment." Did he get married? No, he "entered into a matrimonial alliance."

And this is how he feels about an athletic competition from his youth: "In the course of our displacement I did not experienced a critical excitement, inasmuch as I possessed sufficient training abilities. On the contrary, the feeling of foretaste overfilled me, which was stimulated by adrenalin."

I love it.

2010-02-18T23:01:00.004-05:00

when your luck runs out...

...you get a dreadful head/chest cold, complete with excruciating sinus pressure, a nose that drips like my bathroom faucet, a hacking cough that sounds like consumption, and dizzy spells. Twice. In a three week period of time. Did I mention that up until 3 weeks ago, I hadn't been sick in over a year? I guess it was coming to me.

And I have watched nearly all the online episodes of House, Chuck, Ugly Betty, Bones, The Biggest Loser, and The Office. Oh, and I watched Sense and Sensibility twice. I'm running out of things to watch. Any suggestions?