learn to find your way in darkness

Yesterday morning I woke up with the lyrics of "Learn to be lonely" running through my head. Specifically, I woke up with "Learn to be lonely da da da da da" running through my head because it's one of those songs with a memorable chorus and a lot of filler words.

I started to think about the words. Learn to be lonely. What exactly does that mean? If you're lonely, you're meant to give up on relationships with the people around you and learn to accept it? Or is it a lover's lament – without me you must learn to be lonely?

Lonely people. I began to think about Hitler. Was he lonely? I stopped this train of thought when I remembered that multiple friends have described me as the type of person who would defend Hitler. Nope.

So I'm leaving the song to its context. It belongs to a disfigured child who is taunted and abused for being different. He grows up in solitude, grasping for power and significance, haunting the halls of an opera house, watching the merriment from afar – from his shadows. He falls in love with a beautiful young singer with soft eyes and long dark hair, singing to her and training her from a distance. She responds to him differently than anybody ever has; with curiosity and – affection? She is his. All he wants and needs and desires. But she chooses another. And now he must learn to be lonely.

**

According to my father, the word for snow in Farsi is "barf." During his childhood in Iran, one of the major laundry detergent brands was "Barf," named after the pure, white, cleanliness of snow.

**

It turns out that Taylor Swift is quite the figurative little lovechild. I tried to maintain continuity in one of my classes by using another of her songs as a listening exercise. I have three of her songs on my iPod which helped narrow my choice to: Teardrops on my guitar.

Drew ______ at _____
I fake a _______ so he won't _______

etc.

The problems started early. "Who can explain this first section to me?" I asked. "Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see."

Stefan volunteered. "Drew is...like this," he made a scribble on his paper.

"Yes," I agreed. "But in English it's also a name."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. Drew is looking at her and so she fakes a smile so that he can't see she's in love with him." They stared at me.

We moved on. "'Drew talks to me. I laugh 'cause it's just so funny, that I can't even see anyone when he's with me.' What does that mean?"

"She's laughing because he's funny."

"No...she's laughing because it's – sad." More like ironic. But I wasn't going there.

"What?"

"Look at it. She laughing because it's sad because she loves him so much that she can't see anyone else when she's with him."

They stared.

"It's a metaphor," I added (yes, I went there). "It's not that she can't actually see. When she's with him, he's the only person she can see in the room," I mimed blocking them all out and focusing somewhere else.

Clearly my kids aren't old enough to understand the depths of love Taylor has experienced. At least not in English.

**

I've discovered the key to the craziness of the Swedish language: word stresses.

In English, each word has one stress. "If you hear two stresses, you hear two words." (Englishclub.com).

In Swedish, they throw around stresses like Bjorn Borg underwear ads.



(This one is all over the SL Metro Stations)

Seriously. And they don't just throw a couple of stresses into three or four syllable words – where there's a syllable, there's a way: they stick them into two syllable words. I have several students named "Karin" and couldn't pronounce it for the life of me until someone told me that I needed to stress both syllables.

**

Speaking of Swedish Tunnelbanan ads, some of my latest favorites are ones titled "The many ways of sisters." This is a series of (what I'm assuming are) clothing ads with the same girl duplicated several times in each photo. Yes, she looks like she could be sisters.



(on the ads, they have "The many ways of sisters" in black letters across the image)

After the sister campaign started, they launched a "Brothers" campaign. Just...Brothers. Apparently there is only one way of brother.

These men look nothing like brothers except that they both share a "concerned but slightly bored" brooding look. Amadeus loves these ads. I haven't figured out why.

tell her how the ...

"Hi, I'm ----."
"Hi -----."
"I own a shop."
"What do you sell?"
"I sell ....."

This is a game I play with the kids to practice their vocabulary. Each person has to say all of the previous for sale items and make a new one up.

Today's lesson went something like this:

"Hi, I'm Karin."
"Hi Karin."
"I rown –"
"Own. You own."
"I own a –" (asks her brother a question in Swedish)
"Store."
"What do you sell?"
"Uhhh." A minute goes by.
"It can be anything."
She exchanges some more words in Swedish with her brother. He finally says "Draugoon."
"Draugoons."
"Dragons?"
"Yes."

Then it was Sven's turn. He was pretty excited.
"I sell RPGs."
"Rocket propelled grenades?" I asked incredulously.
"No," Stefan butted in. "Rocket propelled grenade launchers."
"OK. Stefan's turn."
He listed a very specific shotgun.
"Where are you getting these words from?"
"Call of Duty 4."
"Well you can't use it. No more weapons."
"But everything can be a weapon. A house can be a weapon."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. Sell pillows."
"A pillow can be a weapon."
"How?"
"If you hold it to someone's mouth so they can't breathe."

I eventually convinced him to stop listing weapons. Our list turned out something like this:

Dragons, RPGs, Half Life 2 episodes 1 and 2, butterflies (mine), humans, hair...

Sounds like a store I'd definitely want to check out.

i'll be here tomorrow, that is if you're here – and you promise to keep this between you and me

I'm trying to slow down on here. I've been mildly successful this month, but I can't help share a bit of my latest happenings.

I met a boy. Two actually. And they are wonderful, adorable little fairy creatures who talk to me with ready smiles and big, confused eyes. AND they have the best names – Carl (every male in Sweden is or wants to be named Carl), and Edwin (pronounced EdVin). They are six and eight and have been teaching me that I take the English language for granted.

I decided that we would talk about our emotions today – heavy first date topic, I know – and I drew 10 blank circles with a different feeling written under each. We were to discuss what each feeling meant and fill in the circle with an appropriate face.

The first three were pretty easy to draw:
Happy: Smiley Face
Sad: Frowny Face
Angry: Eyebrows slanted, teeth bared

Unfortunately, Edwin didn't know what "angry" was, and I was fairly incoherent in my attempted explanation.

"You know..." I made an exaggerated mad face. "Like that. Like if you don't like something." (By the time I'm done with them, they will be fully acquainted with English filler words.)

He stared up at me.

"Umm...like if you're watching football" – I wildly banked on the European football fetish – "and the other team scores a goal against you and you're like 'No!'" I shook my fist.

In retrospect, if he didn't understand the word "angry," he probably didn't understand my extended explanation. I console myself that it was good for him to hear the words anyways.

**

Angry was the beginning of my definition problems. I also found it difficult to define excited: "Like if you're really happy!" I used my enthusiastic, cheering voice. "Yay! Like if your football team scored and you're really happy!" Hopefully he's a little sporty boy and not a little bookish boy. (Yes, he has to be one or the other.)

Then of course, there were the last few emotions that I stuck in to make an even ten: hungry, calm, hyper.

Hungry = not really an emotion, but very easy to describe/communicate.

Calm = Very hard to mime/act out. "You know, it's when you're like this," I leaned back and looked around, mentally deciding not to use the word "chilled." I'm teaching English, not American teen slang.

"Umm...you know. The opposite of excited. When you're excited, you're all crazy and energetic - you know what energy is? No? Okay well it's like when you have a lot of movement. But this is the opposite. You know what opposite is? No? Okay it's like a different thing. Like happy is the opposite of sad." And so on. I kept reverting back to my actions, except it's pretty hard to act out calm.

As it turns out, it's also hard for a six-year-old to draw "calm" in a smiley face and make it look different than "tired," "hungry," and "confused." It's also hard for a college graduate.

Hyper = The last word on the list, and the one I used because the only other one I could come up with was "depressed" and I wasn't sure how that would go over with mum and dad. And, honestly, I didn't want to attempt that explanation. "It's like when you're sad for a long period of time and lose interest in activities that you used to enjoy, and everything seems meaningless and you can't stop thinking about death..." Hmmm.

So Life Advice: It's hard to describe basic words without synonyms. Especially when your vocal expressions appear to be less universal than you thought.

**

I have also found my dream job: someone who wants to pay me to talk to him in English for an hour every week. Why yes, I'll take your money while you fulfill my need for human interaction. Thank you.

My father, naturally, is displeased at the notion of my meeting a strange man for English lessons:

"No. You are not doing this. I don't like this."
"I'm an adult."
"How many adults have been mutilated and butchered? What kind of an answer is that?"

A few minutes further into the conversation:

"What's his name?"
"(name)"
"What does he look like?"
"I don't know I haven't met him."
"Well you're going to meet up, you'll need a description."
"He told me he was a gangstery looking guy with a knife."
"That's very funny ha ha ha ha ha. I'll tell that to the cops when they ask for a description."

and blinking, step into the sun

"Miss Stewart, is this personification?"
"Miss Steeeewart, why is Brian always mean to me?"
"Miss Stward, how do I block my phone number? I want to call my friends and talk in a creepy voice and hang up."
"Add me as a friend on Facebook!"
"Somebody made a mess on the floors in the bathroom."
"Miss Stewart...don't get mad...but do you have a boyfriend?"
"Evan scooped me!"
"What does "h-e-a-d-a-c-h-e mean?"
"Someone broke my eraser."
"Miss Stewart, someone wrote "sex" in this book!"
"Look, it's an ass. Donkey. Hahahhahahhaa!"
"Miss Stewart, am I invisible? Dylan says I'm invisible." (I ignored this:))
"Is the reason New York got its nickname because it's the second largest apple exporter in America?"

Those are some of the latest queries/comments thrown my way. (Many of them are recurring.) When imagining them spoken aloud, remember to get in a mental image of kids nudging, shaking, poking, and squeezing me. And as long as we're reliving these moments, go ahead and imagine my boss bringing in her tiny new pedigree puppy and letting it run madly around the room underneath everyone's feet, occasionally squealing an unearthly high pitched sound. Yeah, I definitely had thought she was on my side.

**

But of course, working at BCLC is not without its merits. 12-year-old Andrew is proof of this. Today he wrote an essay/autobiography from the point of view of his future, 25 year old self. It described his adult years – he had attended Yale and is currently making a ton of money off his manga comic company. He has decided that he wants to be a bachelor until he's at least 30, and has a dog to keep him company when he's lonely. He also has a team of exotic cartoonists working with him, including a 22-year-old French girl named Marie who seems promising.

I think he was concerned about my uncontrolled laughter (it was supposed to be a fairly serious project), but I couldn't help it.

When I made fun of "Marie" and asked if he'd even ever met a French person, he informed me that he had recently broken up with his French girlfriend. Andrew is 12. Surprised, I asked why they had broken up – he couldn't remember. This made me feel better (after my angsty conversation with a 16 year old a few days previously.)

6-year-old Katherine was doing her work next to us, and when she heard his girlfriend story, she started quietly chanting, "Andrew has a girlfriend. Andrew has a girlfriend," to which I joined in with a "Andrew likes giiiirls, Andrew likes giiiirls."

Andrew became flustered. "Had. I had a girlfriend," he insisted.

We kept chanting. (Yes, in my head I'm still in junior high.) He made some illogical comment about my maturity, which I ignored in favor of more chanting. I love my job because it makes me feel like Peter Pan.

Please don't you be very long

Today I wore a red Indian tunic type thing that I got in Egypt. It was pretty much the center of all my conversations at the tutoring center. (Oh and it doesn't really look like the above picture, but I'm too lazy to take an actual picture.)

"Miss Stewart!!! You look pretty all in reeeeed!" shouted Hannah as I walked in. She is always telling me this sort of thing. She is definitely one of my favorites (not just because of the constant compliments...I'm sure she has other qualities.)

And then, an hour later, came my favorite conversation of the day. Nathan Vo – not nefarious Nathan, a different one – looked at me and asked me very seriously if I was wearing Satan red.

"What?" I felt like I was missing something.
"Is that Satan red?" he was smiling, intent on getting an answer.
"Are you color blind?" I didn't know what else to say.
"Is it Satan red?" he insisted, ignoring my question.
"Satan red? I don't know." At this point he realized that I found his question bizarre.
"Well, what does "s" "a" "t" "i" "n" mean?"
"Satin? Nathan, satin is a type of material."
"Ohh. Okay, I thought it might be like the red you're wearing."
"No. This isn't satin."
"Oh. Okay." He went back to his work. I felt strange.

Other notable red tunic comments:
"Miss Stewart why are you wearing red?"
"Why aren't you wearing red, Jason?"
"I am!" (He was.)

Andrew: Miss Stewart! Why are you wearing an Indian shirt if you're Arabic?

Andrew also asked me if I knew how to text. I gave him a withering look.
"What do you think?"
"Well last time I asked you, you asked me how old you looked."
"Oh...did I?"
"Yeah, you did."
"Well, how old do I look?"
"But I don't just want to text. I want to know all the abbreviations and slang and emoticons. You know, the little smiley faces."
"I know what emoticons are, Andrew."
"Yeah, well no one I know will teach me."
"What problem do you need help with?" I asked, glancing at his math homework.

It's so nice to have that line as a guarantee subject change. Because when you're technically never supposed to be having a casual conversation with someone, it's really easy to have an out. I'm still trying to implement this in my everyday life:

Man at gas station: Will you go out with me sometime?
Me: Have you finished your reading?

Okay, so it needs some polishing, but I think it'll be life changing.

Today's Article was shown to me by my friend Edmund who has a secret blog which he is unwilling to share with anybody. I don't actually believe it exists. The article, however does – it's about how blogging is good for your health. Like, cancer healing good for your health.

"Research shows that it improves memory and sleep, boosts immune cell activity and reduces viral load in AIDS patients, and even speeds healing after surgery."

So add that to your cheerios diet.

**
Two of my four readers happen to be named Emma. This is rather unfortunate, and I've been getting confused because both of you apparently channel your real life sarcasm onto the internet very smoothly.

Also, I've noticed an "M" theme to the places my family frequents and lives. Morocco, Michigan, Missouri, Montana. (Okay, so Montana isn't completely legit – we all have t-shirts from there!)

**

Quote of the Day:

"I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.

I used to not like God because God didn't resolve. But that was before any of this happened."

– Don Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I really like Miller's writing style. I also like that this quote reminds me of "About a Boy" when Hugh Grant complains about Marcus and his mum closing their eyes while singing "Killing Me Softly." And then later he ends up onstage singing it – far too long – with his eyes closed. Beautiful.

i don't know why you say goodbye i say hello

GLEE. (is back and more dramatic than ever)

This will be brief.

Random sign in Oman that just popped into my head: "Welcome to SAPCO, please come always." I don't actually remember the wording, but I'm almost positive that's what it said.

We were also down the street from a "Typical Dental Clinic" – the connotations of "typical" having been confused in translation. Naturally the "T" was rubbed off and it was simply the "Ypical Dental Clinic" for the 5 years we were there.

The kids from youthgroup came back from a field trip with a picture of a sign reading "Plastic Torture is Forbidden," which was more of a discussion piece than a sign. I think it had something to do with pollution...

My favorite though, was the warning sign near a water hole in a wadi "Diving Accidents are Now Popular."

**

Hairy Krishnmas

While I was in Texas, I happened to be in the hair dye section, and there was coincidentally a sale, and I might have accidentally picked up a box of dark red coloring. This broke my (almost entire) year of fasting from dyeing my hair – but I was actually only a month early, and I gave up stuff for lent, so I figure that bought me a month.

The kids have gotten a kick out of it.

"Miss Stewart, did you dye your hair?" was shouted at me repeatedly throughout the day. I try to avoid answering redundant questions like this (I figure responses only further stunt their intelligence), so I mostly smiled and shrugged.

When nefarious Nathan came in and asked me for the millionth time, I was tired of it.

"No I didn't. Someone shot me in the head and the blood mingled into my hair and created this color."

"Eww I don't believe you!"

"It's true. My friend shot me –"

"It was your friend?"

"Well we're not friends anymore." and so on.

Daniel told me I looked like Mary Osbourne, many many times. David decided I looked like a waitress and got a kick out of calling me over.

"Hey waitress! What's 88-7?"

Vivian and Charlotte, a set of twins, were shocked. "I didn't see this coming," Charlotte said. "You look like Little Red Riding Hood."

This post is dedicated to my Emmas. To the hair stylist Emma Catherine, who left blondey bits in my hair which make me look cooler than I am. And to Emma Cole, a natural redhead who pulls it off much better. (A natural curly head too, for that matter...maybe brown contacts are in my future.)

since folks here to an absurd degree...

Once again I find myself returning to blogging about my irrational fear of flying. This time with new justifications. ("Now with twice the servings!") I suppose it's somehow fitting that I would develop this phobia – I without a homebase, I with my friends spread across continents, I with my own need for travel. No solution, you say? Boats, I say! People have been traversing the world for centuries through sea travel.

As we drove to the airport today, I looked at the ominous whiteness surrounding the city and remarked, "You know, weather like this brings planes down.

"No it does not!" my mother rebuffed. "Stop saying things like that!" (She is also, if you recall, the one who told me to stop reading airdisaster.com)

"It's true. Fog like this took out the government of Poland yesterday." (Yes, I realize this was a highly inappropriate comment, but sometimes I get fixated on making my point. I apologize.)

My mother looked around. "This is NOT fog!" she exclaimed. The rest of the car laughed at this – it was like saying that we weren't in a car, in Austin, in April. Magritte would have been proud. (See above image).

She paused. "It's mist."

Fair enough.

**

On the same airport trip, we discussed the strength of my jaw – a topic I often bring up, only because a dentist had me clench my jaw once and became very surprised. He told me that my jaw muscle was very overdeveloped and asked if it ever clicked. I told him it didn't, and he told me it would probably start, and I would probably develop TMJ.

As I told my mother this story, she pooh poohed the doctor's opinion, and told me he was probably flirting with me. (I must say, there has to be a better way to woo a woman besides telling her that her jaw is unnaturally strong. "My, what a muscely jaw you have, Ilsa. Sam, play that song again!") I pointed out that my jaw had, indeed, started clicking a few weeks later and I developed TMJ.

Her response: "He probably did something to you."

Apparently I get my need to win arguments directly from the tree.

**

Anyways, the flight itself was wonderful except for the first 30 minutes of turbulence. Oh and the TV right above me whose screws and support had come almost completely out so that it rattled and looked like it was about to fall on me the whole time. And the chunks of plastic coming loose on the armrest and overhead compartment. Honestly, if the interior of the plane is starting to disintegrate, it makes me really nervous about the rest of it.

However, everything was redeemed through my delightful seatmate. He was a UCLA grad student studying history, and was wonderfully chatty and distracting. I told him how much I hate flying (which I always do – trust me, you don't want to end up next to me on a plane), and he assured me that "hopefully we'll get through this turbulence." I didn't appreciate the "hopefully" part – I think he's one of those super honest people who need to be completely accurate and he didn't want to be called out later if the plane crashed. Like I would have thrown it back in his face. (OK maybe I would have. Might as well feel vindicated in my final moments.)

I started telling him about the Flight of Doom I was on which got struck by lightning but I didn't know it and thought an engine had exploded and the captain and flight attendants were conspicuously silent. SILENT. After a giant explosion on the wing of the plane which half the passengers saw. Oh, one attendant came down the aisle and nervously looked out the window before going back. That was all. And then Will looked out the window (we were supposed to be landing) and started muttering "We're not getting any lower. We're not getting any lower.)

Anyways, as I told him the story, my seatmate was extremely sympathetic and said I was a real trouper. A trouper – that's right. I told him about a domestic Egypt flight I had been on wherein the planes' interior lights flickered on and off the entire flight, AND there was a giant hole in the glass of my window. (There are two glass panes on airplane windows, but it was still unnerving.)

Then I told him how I had been on an Air France plane the same day another commercial AirFrance flight had mysteriously crashed into the ocean.

I also told him about airdisaster.com, and about another plane I had been on which had the "EXIT" signs light up during turbulence.

I didn't tell him about the Yemeni evacuation where we hoped the South would honor their agreement to halt antiaircraft long enough to let American evacuees out of the country.

I didn't tell him that since watching MI2, I've been freaked out by the "oxygen" masks because in the movie they're filled with poison.

I didn't tell him about my dad's family bribing their way onto the last plane out of Iran before the airport collapsed in the '70s

Anyways, I've realized that though my fear is "irrational," it is not without foundation. That's all I'm saying.

Plus, I'm a trouper.

**

Today's Smashing Story relates to the jaw topic: A man in Georgia tried to eat a giant sandwich only to have his jaw lock in place as he stretched it for the first bite. Click the link, it's pretty entertaining – his family thought he was kidding and laughed at him. They probably weren't laughing during the next 14 hours as he underwent surgery.

Today's Life Advice: The day before flying, make sure you get a severe sunburn on your shoulders so you can really feel your backpack – which is stuffed with everything you used to put in your checked bags – dig into your flesh. This ensures that you are constantly in tune with your luggage.

*This advice directly corresponds with making sure to get skin cancer in your 40's so you can be in tune with your body.

it's time to try

Last Friday most of the kids didn't come to the center and I was able to spend some quality time with Jaein, Brian, Jake, and Jason, all of whom were there for several hours beyond everyone else.

Jake and Brian are 10 and 12 year old rather ESL (remember the green card conversation?) brothers who constantly bicker with each other and everyone else.

For example, last Friday as they got out of the bus:

Brian: I have baseball practice today!

Me: Cool! What position do you play?

Brian: Third base.

Jake: Third base sucks ball! (yes – it sucks "ball")

Brian: Shut up! You play outfield retard!

Jake is the rotund goofy kid who gets a kick out of yelling "Hey Miss Stward!" before closing his eyes and spastically shaking his entire body while flailing his arms in an unearthly little dance. It is an indescribable sight and I have often pondered somehow secretly videoing it.

Jake is also intensely emotional and is given to sudden fits of rage and tears. Friday, though, his energy had a sort of manically joyous flavor. When he realized he was one of only a few kids left, he started suggesting games we could play instead of working. The kids always try to pull some variation of this – "Miss Stewart, can I go to sleep?" "Can we have an extra break if we're good?" etc. I don't know why they think I'm suddenly going to become fun teacher (Not like other teachers, FUN teacher!) (vague Mean Girls reference...), but I guess hope is good for the human soul.

So on Friday, he pipes up with:

"We should play Roll the Bottle!"

"Really? Roll the bottle, Jake?"

"Yeah! It's when you take a bottle and push it," he gestured wildly, "And if it points at you, you have to tell truth or take your clothes off! Hahahahahhaha!" he ended in a frenzied laughter.

And then, a bit later, Jason looked around the room at the remaining occupants.

"There's only one girl left and if she leaves, it will be all boys!" he shouted.

Miss Garcia laughed. "What's Miss Stewart? She's a girl!"

"That's female!" he yelled.

Everybody was laughing at this point.

"What, you mean 'woman'?"

"Yeah."

I felt vaguely objectified, being pointed at, and being called a "that" and "female" in the same sentence. They start young...

***

I started some lists, but stopped when I realized they could go on forever. So here are the beginnings:

stuff i like
-getting clothes out of the dryer
-restaurant leftovers for lunch
-the pioneer woman website
-Roald Dahl

-sand dunes

-kites

-african gray parrots

-silver toe rings

stuff i don't like:
-airport goodbyes
-dropping clothes on the floor as i transfer them from the washer to dryer
-corn dogs. I don't like corn dogs! And I have 15 of them in my freezer. Stupid stupid stupid.

I'll probably add to them later...

This only serves to confirm my suspicion

A conversation in which (thankfully) I was not an active member. I've condensed it for your appreciation:

Brian: Miss Garcia, why do they ask you stupid questions when you're getting a green card?
Miss Garcia (laughing): Like questions about the United States and the Constitution?
Katie: What's the Constilution? (yes, "lution.")
Brian: No, like if I'm a terrorist or stole things and stuff. It's stupid.
Miss Garcia: Okay, imagine you owned a country. Would you want to let in a bunch of terrorists and thieves.
Brian: Oh...

I know what you're thinking: Siobhan, you've only ever quoted five students from your work. Is it actually a center with 30 kids? The truth is, I'm not sure how many kids there are. BUT, only about seven of them tend to be consistently loud and ridiculous. That's not hard to believe, right? (Believe me, I'm thankful.)

And I also was able to Skype with two of my sisters. Lex, the youngest, informed me that Amadeus, who was not there, actually enjoys reading my blog. Our conversation went something like this:

Lex: Yeah, Emma really likes your blog.
Llams: Really?
Lex: Yeah. I said, "I thought you didn't like Siobhan," and she said "Yeah, but she's funny."

So yes, charming. Hello to you too, Emma Catherine. The question of course, is would I rather be loved or found amusing. Difficult call. Here's a Dilbert to think about instead.




(click)



I have been corresponding with my older brother in Morocco (from yesterday's video), and his latest email cracked me up so much that I'm reposting a chunk instead of attempting to rephrase. By doing this, I have completely one-upped my parents, who tend to forward all of our emails to EVERYONE in our family/friend circle. Hellooo public.

"I am also using my pressure cooker for the first time. I am really scared. I have heard lots of stories about people getting their heads blown off. I am making vegetable soup. I am living dangerous. Another dangerous thing is all the gas that we use. I have two large green high pressure gas tanks under my sink. I got the large ones, because apparently the little ones have no safety valves and like the pressure cookers, tend to explode and destroy small neighborhoods etc...

Another hazard worthy of mention is that my Carbon Monoxide detector keeps going off after I take a shower. I have gas heated water and we were warned about how sometimes the gas comes through the shower hose with the water. I open doors and windows when I take showers now, but the damn alarm keeps going off.

I can't decide whether it is broken or not. It talks in a robot voice. "Evacuate kitchen!" "Carbon monoxide level at Nine. Hundred. PPM" And then beeps really shrilly. I don't like being ordered around by a plastic object. Sometimes I just turn it off. I guess that I should investigate, but my experience with plumbers here has been frustrating. Also if I've been hanging out in nine billion parts per million carbon monoxide filled air, shouldn't I die? But no, the only thing giving me a headache is the alarm. Not quite the "silent death" we were so direly warned about. "

Funny, eh?

when I was a boy...

And now, a memorable fight between Brian (12) and Josh (13).

Brian (to Josh): Do you have a green card?
Josh: No.
Brian: Why not?
Josh: Because I'm American.
Brian: No you aren't.
Josh: Yes I am. I was born in the United States. I'm American.
Brian: No! You're Asian!
Josh: What? I'm American you idiot.
Brian: You're Asian! You have small eyes!
Josh: I'm Asian American.
Me: Brian, if you're born in America, you're an American citizen.
Brian: Oh.

blossoms of snow

Today the role of therapist was added to my duties:

Brian (age 12): Miss Stewart, why do I sometimes feel sad for no reason?
Me: Oh. Well, you know Brian, that's life. Sometimes you feel happy for no reason, and sometimes you feel sad for no reason. (seriously all I could come up with)
Brian: But why do I feel sad?
Me (laughing nervously): Umm. I don't know. Did something happen?
Brian: No.
Me: Oh...well it'll be okay. (one of the 20 other kids was calling me)

Nice, right? I go home and tell my roommates, and end up with this conversation:

Becky: That was not okay to say! It is not normal to feel sad for no reason.
Christine: Yeah. He's going to end up committing suicide and you're going to be the one they interview – "There were warning signs..."

Peachy.

And then of course there was the latest discovery of calling each other incredibly inappropriate names.

"Miss Stewart! Jason called me a (!)"
"Alright, there will be NO more anatomy insults in here!"
"What's anatomy?"
"Oh...never mind."

(at least I didn't say 'anatomical'...)

The third charming conversation I had today happened when I was sitting at a table brainstorming with Emma Cole.

Emma looked over at me: "When you were nine, is this what you thought you'd be doing when you were 22?"

I looked down at the list of gangsta words we had been compiling for a rap song. On my computer was a website with a list of international slang words for police officers. (Ranging from "bobbies" to "po-lice" (pronounced "po-lease").)

"Well...no." I looked at her quizzically.

"I'm just pointing out the difference between reality and perceived reality," she went all psych-major on me. "So when we're 40 –"

"We'll still be cool?"

"No. If we're not cool now, we never will be."

A waltz when she walks in the room

Moments with Andrew

Andrew: Mrs. Stewart!!!
Me: Yes Andrew?
Andrew: What would happen if you were allergic to cats and then you ate a cat?
Me: You'd probably explode.
Andrew: But really...would you have to skin it?
Me: I don't care.

_______


Andrew: Mrs. Stewart I have another question.
Me: You come up with the weirdest questions.
Andrew: Well I need to find a picture of a black girl fighting a white girl.
Me: What?
Andrew: For class. I need to find a picture of a black girl fighting a white girl. And every time I search for it, it comes up with...well you know.
Vivian: Why don't you search "Caucasian..." hmmm.
Me: Have you tried "interracial fighting"?

and on.

_______

i can keep rhythm with no metronome

"Miss Stewart, Evan called me 'fatty'!"
"No, she called me 'fatty'!"
"Yeah, I heard her."
"Okay, you guys, it isn't nice to call each other names."

Blessed are the peacemakers, right? Teachers have a lot to collect on.

I later tried to have small talk with two sisters, a six and eight-year-old who sit across from me.

"So did you have a good Thanksgiving?"
They both nodded, their big eyes serious, their dark bangs sitting perfectly adorable on their foreheads.
"We went to the spa," the eight-year-old, JiWon, explained.
"Well that's exciting."
"And my friend Ashley made a poop in the spa."
I made a face. This encouraged her and she went into details which I didn't pursue. I'm pretty sure this Ashley girl used the hot tub as her own personal toilet.

all the music of the spheres and still it's your voice I hear

Maira: "5th grade math is so hard. I hate it."
me: "Wait 'til you get to 9th grade."
Maira: (rolls eyes) "What grade are you in?"
me: "What grade do you think?"
Maira: "9th?"

This was one of many beautiful conversations I undertook with dozens of seven to 12 year-olds today. Guess I'm not old meatloaf yet, because – yes – I look like a 14-year-old. I know I put the thought in her head, but still.

I'm starting a running tally of enjoyment vs. unemployment, and giving a point to unemployment for this conversation. Current score: Enjoyment 0, Unemployment 1.

Life Lesson: Sarcasm is lost on children. Lost or purposefully ignored. Either way, it's not the best behavioral correction method.

Adolpho (throwing green slimy thing at window): "Can I break the window?"
me: "Yes, Adolpho, I'll give you permission to break the window."
Adolpho: "Sweeet!"
me: (walk away and leave real teachers to deal with him)

Smashing Story: There are "Hitler is still alive" conspiracy theorists out there. Kind of like the Elvis hopefuls but more cynical. My favorite line in this article is: "(This is) the point when Hitler conspiracy theories lose touch with reality altogether." This was referring to a theory that Hitler escaped to a secret Nazi base on the moon using hidden rocket technology. I'm all for a good conspiracy theory, but it needs to be plausible enough to really annoy someone in an argument.

Funky Word: Calumny. It means slander (and so does traducement, apparently.) This word is a pain to say, but interesting to write.

______________________________________________

Something that is fun to do with children is play Taboo. I'll never forget playing countless Taboo games with my cousins and Aunt in Boerne, Texas.

Auntie B: (frantically trying to get my cousin Bridey to guess the right word). Okay, when mommy goes on road trips, she gets really unhappy unless she has...?"
Bridey: Cymbalta!
Auntie B: (faintly horrified) No!

Oh yes, that was priceless.