It's been awhile since I have written. I guess I have been distracted by the unseasonable warm winter that has lured me away from my computer and into the great outdoors. Yes, I will blame it on that ;) It has been truly beautiful outside. We have had perfectly cool mornings and warm afternoons and I have enjoyed every minute of it. I don't think I have turned on my heat more than a few days the whole winter. I hope it lasts. For now, belly full of grits and coffee on the way, I have plenty of time to kick back and think about what we've been studying in school.
Between our recent studies, and what is going on all over the world, my mind full of ideas of revolution. If you don't know about the Arab Spring and the events that have transpired in the last year in the Arab world, then you should become informed. The world is changing at a rapid pace. Sometimes that change has come through peaceful protest (think Thoreau and King) and sometimes through unfortunate violence, yet in whatever form it occurs, change is happening. People round the world are longing for rights and freedoms that their governments have long denied them. They are desperate to believe that their voices will be the catalyst for that change, and they are not willing to back down. They seem unafraid of death. Martyrs for a cause? I guess that remains to be seen, but how similar they seem to me today to the voices of the past.
The Transcendentalists spoke about the value of being true to yourself. They called for personal growth and those like Thoreau called for governmental change. Their voices echoed in the ears of people like Whitman who wrote of equality. Slowly, the match lit the paper and the paper lit the sticks and the sticks set the nation on fire. The words of a few men became the voice of a people who spoke against the institution of slavery. Escaped slaves added their own voices and the power of the abolitionist movement drove the nation toward change. Change came - in the form of a war. And while perhaps Emerson had a point when he quipped, "Sometimes gunpowder smells good," let us hope that the seeds of change grow at a lesser cost for Arab citizens who seek to find new life.
Today, I encourage you to think about what it means to be a revolutionary. Not a rebel. Any punk can be a rebel. Anyone can yell about an "unfair" rule or whine about what they didn't get or break the law just because it can be broken. None of that is revolution. Revolution is seeded somewhere else. It grows out of desperation. It grows from the soul. And when it is sparked, it cannot be killed. It's leaders might be slaughtered. It's people might go into hiding. But true revolution is built on the power of an unsilenceable voice.
EC. Write a one page summary (all in your own words) of the events referred to as the "Arab Spring."
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Leaves, pumpkins and a little breeze
Fall is upon us. This is my favorite time of year, hands down. I love the crispness in the air and the box of sweaters that I can finally take out from under my bed. I love the pumpkins that fill the market and I dream of carving one each time I pass by them. Last year, I carved Jack from Nightmare before Christmas, and it was a masterpiece. I don't know that I can top it this year, but I am sure going to try. I love Thanksgiving, which is my favorite holiday of all and fills me with warmth. Finally, in a true mark of my simple heart, I love the crunch of leaves and acorns under my feet. I know that this is maybe a little silly, but that little crunch under my feet when I walk is one of my favorite sounds in all the world. I will often go out of my way when walking, just so I can step on fallen leaves and acorns. It simply makes me happy. Everything about this season makes me glow a little. I wish that I had a fireplace so that I could curl up beside it with a good book, a good friend, or both.
It's a little chilly in my house now as I write, but I have my fan on anyway as an excuse to keep wearing my warm scarf and wool socks. It's going to be a very long night of grading, so I am wrapping myself in comfort. This is the time of year when grading also never ends. My students (those who want to pass at least) have just submitted their term projects and I am immersed in the task of grading them all. It is a good thing that I love what I do!! Still, the workload kind of makes me dream of escaping. I am itching for travel, even if it is just a few states away. I long to go back to Germany and to Nicaragua, and I am dreaming of mountains. It is fitting that I feel this way as I begin to teach my students about American Romanticism.
I love the look on some of their faces when they come into the room and they see the word ROMANTICISM glaring at them in 4-inch letters on the projector screen. To amplify the reaction, I always couple it with some tasteful Fabio-esque picture and wait for their excitement to take root. The girls always glow a little imagining Zane novels and chick flick scenarios and the boys usually grown imagining the same. It isn't long, however, before I comfort the boys with the knowledge that I have better things to do than to build unrealistic Hollywood expectations in the minds of impressionable teenage girls. The girls are disappointed, the boys are relieved, and the dialogue begins. I LOVE the American Romantics. I think that I understand them in a way that I have never understood the Realists and the Modernists with their invading pessimism. The Romantics and the Transcendentalists that follow them speak to me in a way that I just get.As our fledgling nation moved toward the great progress of the Industrial Revolution, Americans realized that a transition from pastoral living to city living would be less than smooth. The new cities spawned by the mechanization and promise of the Industrial Revolution were hardly the metropolises of today. In New York, overcrowded tenements encouraged the spread of diseases such as cholera, an outbreak of which killed up to 100 people a day. Considering that Cholera could strike a man down so quickly that he would be healthy in the morning and dead at night, these numbers aren't surprising. The streets of New York were littered with trash, dead animals, and improperly treated sewage. They were ripe for disease. Add to that the rising crime rates both at the hands of organized criminals and the nearly 20,000 orphans living in the streets, and it is no wonder that people wanted escape. Cities that had promised a better future were often suffocating machines. Out of this sprung a new breed of writers - the American Romantics. The early Romantics fitted neatly into two camps - those who wrote about a return to the wilderness and great American heroes of the wild like James Fenimore Cooper's Natty Bumpo and the real life Davy Crockett; and those who wrote about the darkness of the human heart like Edgar Allan Poe. Both of these camps of writers was directly impacted by what they saw in the burgeoning cities. They were both dreaming of escaping, one through embracing the wild frontier and the other through wandering deeply into the human psyche and exploring the darkness there. In the end, I get that.
While I am not so much a fan of the horror movie genre that sprung forth from the likes of Poe, I do appreciate his writing and the darkness he captured so beautifully. Still, I have to believe that he is wrong. We are not all evil at heart. There is still much goodness in the world and many people who know how to withstand pressure with grace. Yet, beyond Poe who is undoubtedly the most famous of the Romantics, I do hold in my heart a soft spot for the idea of a Romantic hero who lives off the land, honorable and young at heart. There is something cloying about the idea of being swept away into that life and out of the rush and push of society. I am sure it is not always practical, but it is always appealing. I love teaching my "urbanite" students about these heroes. They enjoy learning Poe more, perhaps, but I will never stop trying to feed them little bits of my wilderness dream. Maybe they'll catch the bug one day!
FOR MY STUDENTS: Extra Credit - After reading the blog and revisiting your American Romanticism notes, write an acrostic poem in which the first letters of your lines (when viewed down the left margin) spell out the word R-O-M-A-N-T-I-C-I-S-M. The poem needs to show a clear understanding of the Romantic movement and may include any information in your notes or this blog. Make them good. Up to 40 points EC. Due Thursday, October 27th. See me if you have any questions.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
All That Glitters . . .
There is something to be said for glittery things. The simple beauty in the way light reflects off of a drop of water, creating prisms of light; the shine of a newly polished ring upon the hand of a woman who, herself, glitters with joy; the sparkle of laughter that emerges from a place of deep happiness in the heart of a child; these things are all "glittery." They evoke something within us that speaks of goodness and leaves a sweet taste in our proverbial mouths. If life were always honest and straightforward, then glittery, happy, shiny things and moments and opportunities would always be good. But they aren't.
We humans have become experts at covering dirtiness and deception with a little shine so that we may call it clean. We live in a society where a good offer is often a scam, where doctored pictures can make anyone look like a catch on eHarmony, and where cheap fakes of designer brands and quality jewelry are peddled on the streets as great buys! When the gold begins to darken and tarnish and the silver turns our fingers green, we scoff in disappointment that we didn't see it coming.
In his 1596 play, The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare offered a warning to the cautious listener:
All that glisters is not gold;
Often you have heard that told:
Many a man his life has sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold
The message is clear: A wise man is not fooled by what looks outwardly good. A foolish man, will sell even his own life for that which seems to have outward value. On the outside, the tomb may be gilded (covered in gold), but inside, there are still worms. While Shakespeare's expression is certainly the most famous, it is hardly the first. French thrologian Alain de Lille said, "Do not hold everything gold that shines like gold," in the 12th century. Thomas Becon repeated the sentiment in 1553, when he remarked, "All is not golde that glistereth." These men understood what some of us clearly fail to grasp - the outside package can hide rather sinister truth.
Perhaps in a more metaphorical nature, Dimmesdale reaches this conclusion at the end of the book. Having planned a "glittering" future for himself, he came to understand that there was actually something better. When he says to Hester, "Is not this better than what we dreamed of in the forest?" we see that he has learned to be, as Shakespeare said, "as wise as bold."
EC - Consider the ending of the book and write a one page, well-supported paper in which you discuss the following prompt:
Why is Dimmesdale's final choice "better than what [they] dreamed of in the forest"? How is this decision a reflection of the idea that "all that glitters is not gold"?
We humans have become experts at covering dirtiness and deception with a little shine so that we may call it clean. We live in a society where a good offer is often a scam, where doctored pictures can make anyone look like a catch on eHarmony, and where cheap fakes of designer brands and quality jewelry are peddled on the streets as great buys! When the gold begins to darken and tarnish and the silver turns our fingers green, we scoff in disappointment that we didn't see it coming.
In his 1596 play, The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare offered a warning to the cautious listener:
All that glisters is not gold;
Often you have heard that told:
Many a man his life has sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold
The message is clear: A wise man is not fooled by what looks outwardly good. A foolish man, will sell even his own life for that which seems to have outward value. On the outside, the tomb may be gilded (covered in gold), but inside, there are still worms. While Shakespeare's expression is certainly the most famous, it is hardly the first. French thrologian Alain de Lille said, "Do not hold everything gold that shines like gold," in the 12th century. Thomas Becon repeated the sentiment in 1553, when he remarked, "All is not golde that glistereth." These men understood what some of us clearly fail to grasp - the outside package can hide rather sinister truth.
Perhaps in a more metaphorical nature, Dimmesdale reaches this conclusion at the end of the book. Having planned a "glittering" future for himself, he came to understand that there was actually something better. When he says to Hester, "Is not this better than what we dreamed of in the forest?" we see that he has learned to be, as Shakespeare said, "as wise as bold."
EC - Consider the ending of the book and write a one page, well-supported paper in which you discuss the following prompt:
Why is Dimmesdale's final choice "better than what [they] dreamed of in the forest"? How is this decision a reflection of the idea that "all that glitters is not gold"?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A Secret and Suffocating Soul
A pillow pushing hard against my face,
To soften my sinful cries.
To cover my pain and disgrace,
And hide away my lies.
Pushing so hard now,
That I can hardly breathe.
Suffocating ever so slowly,
Like every day I lead.
Becoming weak under the pressure,
Too tired to even strive.
So I try and become what I was,
And make my days a 'life'.
It seems hope is really bleak,
Because these walls are closing in.
I'm crumbling under the weight,
Of my every little sin.
These words, penned by an internet poet who calls herself "Torn" seem to be spoken from the very mouth of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. As we work our way through The Scarlet Letter, I cannot help but think about the intense suffering of the characters. Each of them is somehow facing "walls that are closing in." Their foundations of security are rattled by shame and loss, unrequited love and unquenchable hate. Through it all, one will become angelic, one will become monstrous, and one will suffer the greatest torment of all, the suffocation that is born of silence that hides a guilty heart.
It is easy to understand the pressure that Dimmesdale faces. He is, after all, the spiritual leader of the entire town and, as such, is expected to be blameless. He should be without sin. That is without question, but is there no redemption for sin? Is there no reconciliation to be had for a man who truly loves God?
Torn writes, "I'm crumbling under the weight of my every little sin." Like Dimmesdale, she says that her own sin is hidden, secret, suffocating. If hidden sin is so capable of breaking us, then why do we not just open ourselves to sharing the truth? Perhaps it is the nature of man to fear openness, to fear transparency, to fear consequences. After all, Adam and Eve hid from God in the Garden of Eden when they knew they had sinned. So we as humans have a long history of hiding from the truth.
Think about it: As children, we hide when we know we have done wrong. By our teens, we are experts at lying to cover our transgressions. Grown men and women create entirely separate identities so that they can live dual lives and cover their many indiscretions. Lest we believe that we humans are alone in this, remember that even dogs cower when "master" yells. We hide ourselves behind webs of deceit for fear of discovery and we slowly die inside. We are all like Dimmesdale in some way or another. His story is so moving, so memorable, so painful to read, because it is so human. We all see ourselves a little bit in him and we understand his suffering. Over the next week, you will see yourself in Dimmesdale, and part of you will hurt. I hope that his story will inspire you to explore your own soul and find your own hiding places so that you may find your way out of them into the open air that brings redemption.
E.C. #1 - "Follow" this blog (you can figure it out!!) and add a comment to this blog post. What do you think about the human desire to hide from truth? Can we find redemption for even the worst sins? Is it better to confess? What do you think about Dimmesdale's situation? Write about whatever you would like in your comment, but make it good! 25 points
E.C. #2 - Read over Torn's poem again and think about how it relates to Dimmesdale. After considering that, write your own poem in the "voice" of one of the main characters (Hester, Dimmesdale, Pearl, Chillingworth) that expresses their struggles. It should be the same length as Torn's (4 stanzas of 4 lines each). Make sure to use poetic form in stanzas with meaningful line breaks. (Don't just write until you run out of space. Decide what each line should say and then break to the next line. This isn't an essay or a paragraph, after all!) Up to 40 points. In ink or typed only.
To soften my sinful cries.
To cover my pain and disgrace,
And hide away my lies.
Pushing so hard now,
That I can hardly breathe.
Suffocating ever so slowly,
Like every day I lead.
Becoming weak under the pressure,
Too tired to even strive.
So I try and become what I was,
And make my days a 'life'.
It seems hope is really bleak,
Because these walls are closing in.
I'm crumbling under the weight,
Of my every little sin.
These words, penned by an internet poet who calls herself "Torn" seem to be spoken from the very mouth of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. As we work our way through The Scarlet Letter, I cannot help but think about the intense suffering of the characters. Each of them is somehow facing "walls that are closing in." Their foundations of security are rattled by shame and loss, unrequited love and unquenchable hate. Through it all, one will become angelic, one will become monstrous, and one will suffer the greatest torment of all, the suffocation that is born of silence that hides a guilty heart.
It is easy to understand the pressure that Dimmesdale faces. He is, after all, the spiritual leader of the entire town and, as such, is expected to be blameless. He should be without sin. That is without question, but is there no redemption for sin? Is there no reconciliation to be had for a man who truly loves God?
Torn writes, "I'm crumbling under the weight of my every little sin." Like Dimmesdale, she says that her own sin is hidden, secret, suffocating. If hidden sin is so capable of breaking us, then why do we not just open ourselves to sharing the truth? Perhaps it is the nature of man to fear openness, to fear transparency, to fear consequences. After all, Adam and Eve hid from God in the Garden of Eden when they knew they had sinned. So we as humans have a long history of hiding from the truth.
Think about it: As children, we hide when we know we have done wrong. By our teens, we are experts at lying to cover our transgressions. Grown men and women create entirely separate identities so that they can live dual lives and cover their many indiscretions. Lest we believe that we humans are alone in this, remember that even dogs cower when "master" yells. We hide ourselves behind webs of deceit for fear of discovery and we slowly die inside. We are all like Dimmesdale in some way or another. His story is so moving, so memorable, so painful to read, because it is so human. We all see ourselves a little bit in him and we understand his suffering. Over the next week, you will see yourself in Dimmesdale, and part of you will hurt. I hope that his story will inspire you to explore your own soul and find your own hiding places so that you may find your way out of them into the open air that brings redemption.
E.C. #1 - "Follow" this blog (you can figure it out!!) and add a comment to this blog post. What do you think about the human desire to hide from truth? Can we find redemption for even the worst sins? Is it better to confess? What do you think about Dimmesdale's situation? Write about whatever you would like in your comment, but make it good! 25 points
E.C. #2 - Read over Torn's poem again and think about how it relates to Dimmesdale. After considering that, write your own poem in the "voice" of one of the main characters (Hester, Dimmesdale, Pearl, Chillingworth) that expresses their struggles. It should be the same length as Torn's (4 stanzas of 4 lines each). Make sure to use poetic form in stanzas with meaningful line breaks. (Don't just write until you run out of space. Decide what each line should say and then break to the next line. This isn't an essay or a paragraph, after all!) Up to 40 points. In ink or typed only.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wild Beasts and Wild Men?
William Bradford once called the New World a land of "wild beasts and wild men." It is always interesting to me the ways that we describe people who are different from us. I see it all the time. An Asian student walks into a room and some ignorant child yells out "ching, chung, chang!" A Muslim man walks into a business and people walk to the other side or leave, sure that he is a terrorist. A single woman with three children of mixed race walks down the street and people assume she sleeps around and is probably ghetto and on welfare. Those of you who read The Poisonwood Bible will remember the way that the Prices viewed the Congolese people when they arrived on the "wild, uncivilized" African continent. We are really good at stereotyping. We are really good at making assumptions about people. We are really good at being wrong.
William Bradford was wrong. The "wild" men he encountered, now dubbed Native Americans in a nod to their "first nation" status, were quite civilized. They had families and homes and a functioning society. They were not savages bent on death and destruction. As a matter of fact, they didn't become violent with the settlers until it became clear that the European settlers had no intention of sharing land and food with them. As they lost their land, their families, their food, and their ability to survive, they fought back. For it, they were labeled as ruthless, violent people who murdered for no reason. Their love and compassion, their desire to be providers for their families, and their knowledge of the land and its terrible beauty all went unnoticed.
Certainly, we should have learned better. Certainly we should have stopped making hurried assumptions about people who are different from us. But should is a difficult word. We often choose not to do what we should because it is too difficult, and we suffer for that choice. Just think how much the Europeans could have learned from the Native Americans. Just think of how much we could have learned from non-violent Muslims in the days following 9/11, how much we could have understood about gentle people who didn't condone the violence of a few. Just think of how much knowledge and peace could arise from withholding our judgments based on "race" and language.
Think about what life must have been like for the Native Americans during the 1500s and beyond as their land was taken and they were viewed as evil. How does that mirror life today? For extra credit, write one page(in pen or typed) about a time when either you misjudged/stereotyped someone else or when someone misjudged/stereotyped you. Explain the situation, how you felt, how the truth was revealed and what the experience taught you. Turn in the paper by Thursday, September 1.
William Bradford was wrong. The "wild" men he encountered, now dubbed Native Americans in a nod to their "first nation" status, were quite civilized. They had families and homes and a functioning society. They were not savages bent on death and destruction. As a matter of fact, they didn't become violent with the settlers until it became clear that the European settlers had no intention of sharing land and food with them. As they lost their land, their families, their food, and their ability to survive, they fought back. For it, they were labeled as ruthless, violent people who murdered for no reason. Their love and compassion, their desire to be providers for their families, and their knowledge of the land and its terrible beauty all went unnoticed.
Certainly, we should have learned better. Certainly we should have stopped making hurried assumptions about people who are different from us. But should is a difficult word. We often choose not to do what we should because it is too difficult, and we suffer for that choice. Just think how much the Europeans could have learned from the Native Americans. Just think of how much we could have learned from non-violent Muslims in the days following 9/11, how much we could have understood about gentle people who didn't condone the violence of a few. Just think of how much knowledge and peace could arise from withholding our judgments based on "race" and language.
Think about what life must have been like for the Native Americans during the 1500s and beyond as their land was taken and they were viewed as evil. How does that mirror life today? For extra credit, write one page(in pen or typed) about a time when either you misjudged/stereotyped someone else or when someone misjudged/stereotyped you. Explain the situation, how you felt, how the truth was revealed and what the experience taught you. Turn in the paper by Thursday, September 1.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
There are some things that you should be told before you travel. Most of them relate to transportation in one way or another, and I am pretty sure that most of them are left unsaid out of some personal sadistic joy on the part of the silent friends. They are adhering to the classic "learn by experience" principle. This is wrong. I seek to enlighten by sharing some of my experiences from the last six weeks.
Planes
1) Prepare yourself for sickness. Seriously, this is the least of your worries, but be ready. I tried to do the math to calculate exactly how many germs were being recycled into my lungs during a 9+ hour flight, but then I remembered why I'm an English teacher and I stopped torturing my brain. Needless to say, there were enough germs to give me the plague.
2) Rows with escape hatches really do have more room. Don't neglect the "choose a seat" option when booking, and look for these. Most people decide window or aisle, but that is simply not enough. I am only 5'6" and my knees battered against the seat in front of me. While I probably have abnormally long, mutant femurs, I can't imagine that any non-mutants of, say, 5'7" or more can live through the contortion required of flying across "the pond" (incidentally, Brits, a lame moniker for something as large as, well, an ocean)! That "escape row" inch or two makes all the world happier.
3) Don't try to sneak into first class or you will get caught. And when you do (Little blonde girl with your snooty escort and ugly headpiece that looks like a twisty black tumor) and they escort you scowling back to your proper seat in my row, I will chuckle internally and grin out the window into the Czech night that hides my glee. Of course, then I will lament that I do not actually have a row to myself. Maybe chuckling was too much.
4) When you fly, know the customs and characteristics of people around you. For instance, you should know that Armenian men, while fit and handsome as youths, often grow portly and smoke too much as they age. To boot, they don't have the same relationship with "Sure" that we do in America, a fact that doesn't keep them from raising their arms. Not a problem until you are squished between two of them, they remove the armrests, and they begin to sprawl. Knowing the country will at least prepare you to take a sedative if needed. Yeah. It was as fun as you imagine.
5) When anyone with an official uniform barks at you in any language, just try to comply while making it clear that you only speak English. Follow this immediately with acute regret that you only speak English.
6) When a nice-looking German man smiles at you more than once while flying home, makes a point of talking to you as you deplane, waits for you at customs, and then invites you to dinner in the airport, you just say, "yes" because there really is no other answer. ;)
Trains
1) When riding a train between countries in Europe, do not believe the "reserved" signs on seats or you won't find one. When you have a Misha to point this out, you get a seat. When you don't, you spend the whole ride in a dining car, smiling at the waiter, making bread and jam and coffee last 2 hours so you can save precious Euros.
2) Each country, heck, each city has a different definition of "single ride" and "day" tickets for public transport. This is a good lesson to know BEFORE you are pulled off of a tram by ticket checkers who inform you that your "day" ticket was not for 24 hours, but rather expired at 4am. If this does happen to you, smile a lot, be really sweet and explain that you couldn't understand the German writing on the ticket. Then smile more. If you execute this correctly, the nice man will smile back, give you a warning instead of a 40 Euro fine, and give you a free hour to ride the tram so you can finish your trip. (I also got a free 10 Euro credit for my German cell phone this day by smiling and being sweet, but I digress.)
Automobiles
This is easy: People in other countries (read Armenia here) don't actually follow laws or believe that lights mean anything or give the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks WHO HAVE WALK SIGNALS. They will run you over. They will feel bad about it, but it won't trouble them for long. How dare you walk when the little green man tells you too! They also will make 4 lanes where only 2 exist, pass on curves and with no sight-line, and just generally terrify you every moment that you are on any street in their country. You will love their country anyway, but you will fear. And speaking of fear, I must give a nod to the Germans here: the autobahn is a little scary at 160km/hr.
Happy travels. Start the joyful planning NOW!
Planes
1) Prepare yourself for sickness. Seriously, this is the least of your worries, but be ready. I tried to do the math to calculate exactly how many germs were being recycled into my lungs during a 9+ hour flight, but then I remembered why I'm an English teacher and I stopped torturing my brain. Needless to say, there were enough germs to give me the plague.
2) Rows with escape hatches really do have more room. Don't neglect the "choose a seat" option when booking, and look for these. Most people decide window or aisle, but that is simply not enough. I am only 5'6" and my knees battered against the seat in front of me. While I probably have abnormally long, mutant femurs, I can't imagine that any non-mutants of, say, 5'7" or more can live through the contortion required of flying across "the pond" (incidentally, Brits, a lame moniker for something as large as, well, an ocean)! That "escape row" inch or two makes all the world happier.
3) Don't try to sneak into first class or you will get caught. And when you do (Little blonde girl with your snooty escort and ugly headpiece that looks like a twisty black tumor) and they escort you scowling back to your proper seat in my row, I will chuckle internally and grin out the window into the Czech night that hides my glee. Of course, then I will lament that I do not actually have a row to myself. Maybe chuckling was too much.
4) When you fly, know the customs and characteristics of people around you. For instance, you should know that Armenian men, while fit and handsome as youths, often grow portly and smoke too much as they age. To boot, they don't have the same relationship with "Sure" that we do in America, a fact that doesn't keep them from raising their arms. Not a problem until you are squished between two of them, they remove the armrests, and they begin to sprawl. Knowing the country will at least prepare you to take a sedative if needed. Yeah. It was as fun as you imagine.
5) When anyone with an official uniform barks at you in any language, just try to comply while making it clear that you only speak English. Follow this immediately with acute regret that you only speak English.
6) When a nice-looking German man smiles at you more than once while flying home, makes a point of talking to you as you deplane, waits for you at customs, and then invites you to dinner in the airport, you just say, "yes" because there really is no other answer. ;)
Trains
1) When riding a train between countries in Europe, do not believe the "reserved" signs on seats or you won't find one. When you have a Misha to point this out, you get a seat. When you don't, you spend the whole ride in a dining car, smiling at the waiter, making bread and jam and coffee last 2 hours so you can save precious Euros.
2) Each country, heck, each city has a different definition of "single ride" and "day" tickets for public transport. This is a good lesson to know BEFORE you are pulled off of a tram by ticket checkers who inform you that your "day" ticket was not for 24 hours, but rather expired at 4am. If this does happen to you, smile a lot, be really sweet and explain that you couldn't understand the German writing on the ticket. Then smile more. If you execute this correctly, the nice man will smile back, give you a warning instead of a 40 Euro fine, and give you a free hour to ride the tram so you can finish your trip. (I also got a free 10 Euro credit for my German cell phone this day by smiling and being sweet, but I digress.)
Automobiles
This is easy: People in other countries (read Armenia here) don't actually follow laws or believe that lights mean anything or give the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks WHO HAVE WALK SIGNALS. They will run you over. They will feel bad about it, but it won't trouble them for long. How dare you walk when the little green man tells you too! They also will make 4 lanes where only 2 exist, pass on curves and with no sight-line, and just generally terrify you every moment that you are on any street in their country. You will love their country anyway, but you will fear. And speaking of fear, I must give a nod to the Germans here: the autobahn is a little scary at 160km/hr.
Happy travels. Start the joyful planning NOW!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Doors Left Ajar
A door left ajar
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
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