This is not perhaps the best mindset to have in which to reflect on the past year, but I think I owe it to myself to look at all that has occurred this year.
In no particular order:
1. Perú. In mid-January. Definitely a plus in my life. Looking oh-so-forward to that again in 10 more days.
2. Oregon. In July with my sister. I miss my family and, although it would kill me to live next door to either my sister in Vegas or my mother in Deadford, it kills me to live so far away as well. We're all that's left.
3. My uncle in Oregon. Hadn't seen him since Dad's funeral; thus he had never met my children or my sister's new family. That was an incredibly lovely day.
4. My new business. A dream come true. Lots of work but wonderful to work out of the home and earn my own students, work with my own materials, not have to teach for exams and not have to deal with psycho students who feel they can threaten their professors.
5. My garden. I re-shaped my front yard this summer and my vegetable garden did wonderfully well, too. It was so nice to be able to share the wealth with friends and neighbors.
6. My faith. I grew a lot in my faith this year, mainly by taking a step back and embracing a much more private respect for my God, while opening my children's eyes to how we can find God in all Things and how that should inspire joy in our hearts, not fear.
7. My body. I joined the gym to give myself some movement, I followed with relative strictness my soy allergy diet and a little less a gluten-free diet, but I was so much healthier and comfortable in my skin this year. I may not be able to put on any more weight, but I am feeling so much better.
8. My health. I caught only one cold this year and no flu. All questionable issues have been nipped in the bud. I'm good, albeit still too hormonal.
9. The Young Prince potty-trained before he turned 3. Thus facilitating entry into 3 morning-a-week preschool. Together with Princesita's a.m. kindergarten schedule, Life is a bit freer now!
10. Defining what is really wrong in my life. Trying to take steps, although minimal, to work towards a resolution. Moving downstairs into the basement and finally sleeping well. And buying MY king-sized bed that I usually share with one or both of the kids.
11. Playing the piano when I want to play the piano, singing when I want to sing, grabbing my violin...well, my bows need rehairing so that isn't happening right now. But just taking a moment when I want to and creating what I need to create in the moment.
12. That pedicure yesterday was one of the best things that has happened to me in a very, very long time.
13. Delegating a bit more and controlling a bit less. Key words: "a bit"
14. Not completely losing my mind over this lawsuit. As I've heard nothing more from my insurance company except that they assigned a defense lawyer to the case, I will assume all will be well. I just wish the nightmare would end...or had not ever started to begin with.
15. Each and every moment I took to tackle, tickle, hit a baseball with, draw chalk art all over the driveway, read to, whatever it was that I did with my children was so much more enjoyable this year and so much less stressful..as if I should be doing something else with my time as in years past. I have come to learn that there is absolutely nothing more important than creating these two human beings to become the best additions to human society that they can me, and that task is requiring of my attention.
16. Returning to the blog...new face, new name, new friends, new community, new connections and just knowing I'm not alone here. What a great feeling, really.
Tomorrow is another day. It has to be better. I will make it better. I have no choice.
Happy New Year. Feliz año nuevo. お正月おめでとうございます。osho-gatsu omedetou gozaimasu. May 2008 bring each of you much happiness, laughter, balance and peace.
lunes, 31 de diciembre de 2007
clueless
He doesn't notice me, he doesn't see me.
We live in parallel worlds that never intersect. He can't tell when anything is the matter.
We have lived together for 9 years, shared the same house, had two children and lost one together.
And he can't tell when I'm dying inside.
Fucking amazing.
Not a clue.
We live in parallel worlds that never intersect. He can't tell when anything is the matter.
We have lived together for 9 years, shared the same house, had two children and lost one together.
And he can't tell when I'm dying inside.
Fucking amazing.
Not a clue.
te voy a perder
There are days in which one can only watch certain videos or hear certain songs and cry.
Tengo tanto miedo...no me dejes sola aquí en esta maldita Tierra por favor.
Tengo tanto miedo...no me dejes sola aquí en esta maldita Tierra por favor.
T-cell lymphoma
Anybody know anything about it? Non-Hodgkins type T-cell lymphoma?
Anyone know of anyone who has ever survived?
Just looking for as much information as I can gather, and sometimes best not to search the Entire Internet.
Anyone know of anyone who has ever survived?
Just looking for as much information as I can gather, and sometimes best not to search the Entire Internet.
judgment day
It has arrived. I can't talk freely now and am in so much pain that I need to talk to someone, but I can't deal with judgment right now. Impartial parties really do not exist.
I'm not quite sure what to do. Except cry
I'm not quite sure what to do. Except cry
St. Charles streetcar
The news about made me cry as I scanned headlines before sleeping last night:
The St. Charles Streetcar is back on track!
The grinding wheels, the tourists, the route running all the way from Canal on the Quarter uptown to the Riverbend on Carrollton, just past Tulane and the Audubon Zoo. There was a La Madeleine on that corner, right around the bend from one house I inhabited in my years in N'awlins.
I first arrived in N'awlins having little to no idea of what the city was all about. I was: 1. from the West Coast so San Francisco, LA, Seattle or Vegas was more likely of a vacation destination. 2. fresh back from 3 years, the real beginning of my adult life, in Japan which greatly influenced my frame of reference. I have, in fact, a 3-7 year block of American pop culture...I have very little to no idea what happened during those early to mid-90s years here in the States. I really had no idea what N'awlins would be like, but could tell you all about Roppongi in Tokyo on a Saturday night. 3. I had no place lined up to live. I was starting the PhD program in mid-year and thus the graduate residence was already full. So one of my profs offered up his 1853 house just off the Quarter on Barracks St. to me. Another puertorriqueño was inhabiting the "slave quarters" in the back. So I thought, "why not?"
I was persuaded to leave my new car behind in Oregon, as N'awlins streets are notorious for being really hard on cars. It is true that there are drive-through daiquiri stands. It is also true that one of the biggest sobriety tests is just watching to see what cars drive straight on the roads and what cars swerve radically to miss all the potholes.
Tulane was, of course, way uptown from where I was on the far end of the Quarter. I had to walk 10 blocks just to catch the bus or to take the Streetcar, either way. I normally taught in the morning hours, held office hours in the afternoon and had my own classes in either the afternoon or the evening; evening classes normally let out between 9 and 9:30. Then back to a bus to get me back down to the Quarter, then walk back to my home along Rampart Street, too tired to deal with the drunks on Bourbon Street but still having to maintain my guard as I walked along what the local police calls "Louis Armed-and-Strong Park" trying to act crazier than the crazies so that nobody would touch me..I would just sing to myself.
I lived in a very gentrified, very black area. I didn't mind feeling the minority; indeed, that's how I spent the previous three years as a gaijin in rural Japan. Once I was recognized for living in the neighborhood, I felt protected and watched out for to a certain degree. There are places I would not set foot, sure; common sense must always reign. But there were places that I just kind of stumbled upon and, with a smile and some polite manners could figure my way back home.
As I met other classmates in the Department and they came to realize where exactly it was that I lived (one was engaged to a local and he was horrified that I would actually walk alone where I lived) the pressure began to get me to move uptown. If you're a gay puertorriqueño, no problem. The Quarter is a heavily gay district. I actually preferred to walk the gay streets than the drunk streets (N'awlins was not a good city to do actual serious graduate study in...undergrad could have been fun, but I did not have a lot of time for fun as a grad student). My name got out in the Department as "a housesitter" so I was offered another home by another professor leaving on sabbatical, and he was uptown just down the street from the University.
I had my car then. A Japanese friend and I went back to Oregon and he and I made the road trip all the way back down along the I-10 to Louisiana, stopping to see the Grand Canyon and various sights along the way; I had to be back to work so time was a bit limited. That fall the streets flooded up to my waist on Broadway Street, the water actually picked up my car and moved it, having filled it up to the steering wheel with filthy floodwater. I called class off early, even though school hadn't officially cancelled classes yet, but by then the damage was long done and the frat boys were already out kayaking down Broadway Street.
I then moved into the house of a friend of my husband's, who was leaving her Navy post in N'awlins and moving up to Long Island for a new post there. She had a half-shotgun just off Magazine Street, just a couple blocks down from the Audubon Zoo. It had the porch swing and everything...I fell in love with the porch culture, sitting out on the porch with a glass of something in hand, chatting with the neighbor on the next porch over--it was a real community. I also became heavily addicted to the café culture. Walking down to CCs Coffee on Napoleon--or was it Jefferson?--and Magazine (I forget...it's been almost 10 years!) for Saturday and Sunday morning bagels, coffee, neighbors, chatting and culture. It is something I truly miss; Starbucks dates with the monitos are nice but they are not even comparable to coffee mornings at CCs.
I'd hop the Streetcar with my Japanese friends--I lived with N, a Japanese who was studying English at the time and who has now established himself as a professional photographer in New York City--down to the Quarter to hit some of the great jazz joints until the sun came up the next morning and we would stumble back home. Whenever friends or family came to visit, the Streetcar was there to provide a nice link to the Garden District, the Quarter, the Mall down at the end of Canal, and home. There were times you could close your eyes and hear Marlon Brando yell "STELLA!" even though the Desire Streetcar was no longer in service; pre-Katrina talk was to try to reinstate the Desire service but I'm not sure if the lack of popularity of the idea came from the part of town that the Streetcar would have to run through, namely the Desire projects.
It was nice to read that story last night. So many memories evoked. N'awlins really does have something for just about everyone. I would go back for vacation, but I've done 3 Mardi Gras and wear my chosen earned beads with Pride every year no matter where I live. I earned that right.
The St. Charles Streetcar is back on track!
The grinding wheels, the tourists, the route running all the way from Canal on the Quarter uptown to the Riverbend on Carrollton, just past Tulane and the Audubon Zoo. There was a La Madeleine on that corner, right around the bend from one house I inhabited in my years in N'awlins.
I first arrived in N'awlins having little to no idea of what the city was all about. I was: 1. from the West Coast so San Francisco, LA, Seattle or Vegas was more likely of a vacation destination. 2. fresh back from 3 years, the real beginning of my adult life, in Japan which greatly influenced my frame of reference. I have, in fact, a 3-7 year block of American pop culture...I have very little to no idea what happened during those early to mid-90s years here in the States. I really had no idea what N'awlins would be like, but could tell you all about Roppongi in Tokyo on a Saturday night. 3. I had no place lined up to live. I was starting the PhD program in mid-year and thus the graduate residence was already full. So one of my profs offered up his 1853 house just off the Quarter on Barracks St. to me. Another puertorriqueño was inhabiting the "slave quarters" in the back. So I thought, "why not?"
I was persuaded to leave my new car behind in Oregon, as N'awlins streets are notorious for being really hard on cars. It is true that there are drive-through daiquiri stands. It is also true that one of the biggest sobriety tests is just watching to see what cars drive straight on the roads and what cars swerve radically to miss all the potholes.
Tulane was, of course, way uptown from where I was on the far end of the Quarter. I had to walk 10 blocks just to catch the bus or to take the Streetcar, either way. I normally taught in the morning hours, held office hours in the afternoon and had my own classes in either the afternoon or the evening; evening classes normally let out between 9 and 9:30. Then back to a bus to get me back down to the Quarter, then walk back to my home along Rampart Street, too tired to deal with the drunks on Bourbon Street but still having to maintain my guard as I walked along what the local police calls "Louis Armed-and-Strong Park" trying to act crazier than the crazies so that nobody would touch me..I would just sing to myself.
I lived in a very gentrified, very black area. I didn't mind feeling the minority; indeed, that's how I spent the previous three years as a gaijin in rural Japan. Once I was recognized for living in the neighborhood, I felt protected and watched out for to a certain degree. There are places I would not set foot, sure; common sense must always reign. But there were places that I just kind of stumbled upon and, with a smile and some polite manners could figure my way back home.
As I met other classmates in the Department and they came to realize where exactly it was that I lived (one was engaged to a local and he was horrified that I would actually walk alone where I lived) the pressure began to get me to move uptown. If you're a gay puertorriqueño, no problem. The Quarter is a heavily gay district. I actually preferred to walk the gay streets than the drunk streets (N'awlins was not a good city to do actual serious graduate study in...undergrad could have been fun, but I did not have a lot of time for fun as a grad student). My name got out in the Department as "a housesitter" so I was offered another home by another professor leaving on sabbatical, and he was uptown just down the street from the University.
I had my car then. A Japanese friend and I went back to Oregon and he and I made the road trip all the way back down along the I-10 to Louisiana, stopping to see the Grand Canyon and various sights along the way; I had to be back to work so time was a bit limited. That fall the streets flooded up to my waist on Broadway Street, the water actually picked up my car and moved it, having filled it up to the steering wheel with filthy floodwater. I called class off early, even though school hadn't officially cancelled classes yet, but by then the damage was long done and the frat boys were already out kayaking down Broadway Street.
I then moved into the house of a friend of my husband's, who was leaving her Navy post in N'awlins and moving up to Long Island for a new post there. She had a half-shotgun just off Magazine Street, just a couple blocks down from the Audubon Zoo. It had the porch swing and everything...I fell in love with the porch culture, sitting out on the porch with a glass of something in hand, chatting with the neighbor on the next porch over--it was a real community. I also became heavily addicted to the café culture. Walking down to CCs Coffee on Napoleon--or was it Jefferson?--and Magazine (I forget...it's been almost 10 years!) for Saturday and Sunday morning bagels, coffee, neighbors, chatting and culture. It is something I truly miss; Starbucks dates with the monitos are nice but they are not even comparable to coffee mornings at CCs.
I'd hop the Streetcar with my Japanese friends--I lived with N, a Japanese who was studying English at the time and who has now established himself as a professional photographer in New York City--down to the Quarter to hit some of the great jazz joints until the sun came up the next morning and we would stumble back home. Whenever friends or family came to visit, the Streetcar was there to provide a nice link to the Garden District, the Quarter, the Mall down at the end of Canal, and home. There were times you could close your eyes and hear Marlon Brando yell "STELLA!" even though the Desire Streetcar was no longer in service; pre-Katrina talk was to try to reinstate the Desire service but I'm not sure if the lack of popularity of the idea came from the part of town that the Streetcar would have to run through, namely the Desire projects.
It was nice to read that story last night. So many memories evoked. N'awlins really does have something for just about everyone. I would go back for vacation, but I've done 3 Mardi Gras and wear my chosen earned beads with Pride every year no matter where I live. I earned that right.
domingo, 30 de diciembre de 2007
physical contact
Totally spur-of-the-moment, I went with Princess from Neighboring Village for a pedicure.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I haven't had any spa treatment at all in...hmm...let's see...4 1/2 years. And no pedicure in longer than that.
Queen from Neighboring Village and I first took the chariot on a run to the store, then to the spa. It was the same spa--actually, new name and different look and service, but same place--that I had been to the last time, over 4 years ago, the week I miscarried.
So that was good, to kind-of undo old, icky memories, in a way.
I ended up with a Spa Pedicure (how that is different than a regular one I will never know except that it cost $10 more) and it was D.I.V.I.N.E.
I sat back in the massage chair and let her do her magic.
It felt so good just to have physical contact with some other human being (other than my darling children, of course...this was All For Me) that I could have cried.
I have missed physical contact. I need touch. I need to be touched. I don't have adult physical contact in my life and I miss it so very much. I crave it.
I think this will be part of my Improving Me recipe for 2008. A bit cost prohibitive but, will some sacrifice here and there I will make it work.
I deserve it.
In the process, however, I forgot to eat. I haven't had anything to eat since 9:30 this morning and am dying, so ta ta for now.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I haven't had any spa treatment at all in...hmm...let's see...4 1/2 years. And no pedicure in longer than that.
Queen from Neighboring Village and I first took the chariot on a run to the store, then to the spa. It was the same spa--actually, new name and different look and service, but same place--that I had been to the last time, over 4 years ago, the week I miscarried.
So that was good, to kind-of undo old, icky memories, in a way.
I ended up with a Spa Pedicure (how that is different than a regular one I will never know except that it cost $10 more) and it was D.I.V.I.N.E.
I sat back in the massage chair and let her do her magic.
It felt so good just to have physical contact with some other human being (other than my darling children, of course...this was All For Me) that I could have cried.
I have missed physical contact. I need touch. I need to be touched. I don't have adult physical contact in my life and I miss it so very much. I crave it.
I think this will be part of my Improving Me recipe for 2008. A bit cost prohibitive but, will some sacrifice here and there I will make it work.
I deserve it.
In the process, however, I forgot to eat. I haven't had anything to eat since 9:30 this morning and am dying, so ta ta for now.
a little of this, a little of that
Very strange mood today. Probably PMS...although I'm not *supposed* to be PMSing anymore with my new hormonal treatment. 2nd month in on it, so we'll see.
So before I start on my HUGE to-do list for today (no wait, I already cleaned the Young Prince's lair and must start on the Second to the Throne's next...what do I mean start? I'm totally selling myself short) I need to get a few things off my chest.
1. One is this horrible pain in my chest. Left side. Totally stress. It is present when I come back home after having been out. I had to go to Whole Paycheck for some breakfast commodities this morning and, upon my return, with children screaming and running (good screaming, mind you) and The (fat) Court Jester miaowing for even more food, it hit me. Hard. Deep breaths. That got me through two natural births and more with no meds. I can do this.
2. Yesterday's "eeeeeewwwww-event" at the gym totally has thrown my comfort zone into loopy-loops. Here in the "Town" I feel fine about leaving my home. I joined a gym that offers 24/7 security and, in my horrible insomniac-laden Life in the early months of this year, I was visiting that gym at 2 or 3 in the morning easy, just to work myself to death so I could collapse from exhaustion. I joined a gym that is close so I would not have to drive there. I love to walk or even jog. But with the cold, yes, I am a Wuss. My teeth, to be honest, hurt soooo badly in the cold air that the pain is unbearable (and yes, I am a Sensodyne brusher).
So the event, you may ask? I was on my elliptical machine, having finished doing weights and following up with 30 minutes of cardio. Plugged into my gym jam on my iPod and feeling the beat, if you can get my drift. However, I always maintain awareness about who is around me. Who enters and leaves the gym. Who is on the machine next to me. This does not mean I am checking people out; this means that I have trained myself to always be cautious and observant. That alone has gotten me out of many a situation I probably should not have gotten myself into in the first place. But those are for other stories...
Back to the story. A guy comes in, probably about my age if not a little younger, when I'm 10 minutes into my elliptical routine. He is on the far right elliptical; I am on the far left. Two between us. I look up at the TV once in a while, but remain tuned in to my iPod. My eyes falter; he's watching me. Ugh. I look down and change my song on my iPod and keep the rhythm working. I was aware of him watching me. Baseball cap. Sandy hair. Caucasian. Always aware. Always defensive.
Dismounts the elliptical after about 10 minutes and then goes to do weights. I continue as I have 10 minutes more on my workout. However, noting that there were others waiting I cut my workout short by 5 minutes to be considerate, but not before noticing in the mirror that He was still watching me from the other end of the room. I just kind of wanted out by then.
So I go back to the lockers, grab my keys, put my sweatshirt on and back comes one man I have seen throughout the morning there, and then the one who was watching me came back there, too. I pretended to be fully engrossed in getting my iPod stored in my pockets, grabbing my glasses and my keys and making sure I had my water bottle and my towel, and left. I can be really good at appearing completely engrossed in something so that I would not apparently notice goings on occuring around me.
So I walked through the gym.
And he followed me.
And I left.
And the door opened after me and he followed me out.
With my naturally very quick step I walked up the sidewalk to my car, thanking God I had decided to actually drive that day instead of walk and for never parking in the garage but instead always on the street, let myself in and locked the doors in one fell swoop. Busying myself with getting my seat belt on, I took a quick look around.
There was nobody there.
I returned home trembling and continued to tremble for about an hour. The only time I've actually been followed was in Ecuador. It wasn't like I felt like I was going to be robbed or raped or anything; it was broad daylight in the Town on a Saturday morning and the Street was bustling. I guess I just did not understand the pursuit; if he had something to say, I do respond to "Excuse me..."
3. The Young Prince and I were cuddling on the LoveSac (that is what it's called...here's the link) watching Yo amo a Juan Querendón, my guilty pleasure telenovela that airs on Univisión at 7 weeknights. All nice and warm and cozy.
Then I look down and notice that the Young Prince has his...ahem, although we use accurate anatomical nomenclature in this house, shall we here call it... his "Mr. Little Prince" in his hand and he's whimpering.
-Young Prince, is something the matter?
-Yes, Mommy. Something is wrong with my 'Mr. Little Prince.'
Silence as I observe and realize that my 3 year old has just had his first comprehension of a hard-on. Full attention, shall I say, and I said, trying really hard not to laugh, "No, Young Prince, nothing is wrong. Just tuck it back into your pants (he was in sweats so I didn't feel bad with the suggestion) and it will feel better in a few moments."
So he did. Is this the birth of Oedipal complexes? I hope not. We were just comfy, warm and that is a natural physical reaction. I'm not the type to tease, but it's a cute story.
4. Freecycle has cleaned my house! I have been able to get rid of so much crap in the past week to others who could actually use it. I love the system...and none of it goes in the trash. At least not until it is used again, and perhaps even then Freecycled-out a few more times before going to the Great Trash Compactor in the Sky. If you are interested in learning more about this global effort to reduce our consumption, visit freecycle.org and there you can find a local chapter.
5. Chocolate. I was going to try to eliminate this more from my diet this year, but as it is what I do eat is really good quality...it's just really expensive and, with the quantity I eat (as that is the only way I'm obviously getting the Joys that Life Have to Offer at this point--but still limited to not more than one bar a day) that racks up quite a chocolate bill at the end of each month. So I need to do some soul-searching and prioritizing, I think.
We shall see. I am now done reflecting and, more obviously, procrastinating. Back to work.
So before I start on my HUGE to-do list for today (no wait, I already cleaned the Young Prince's lair and must start on the Second to the Throne's next...what do I mean start? I'm totally selling myself short) I need to get a few things off my chest.
1. One is this horrible pain in my chest. Left side. Totally stress. It is present when I come back home after having been out. I had to go to Whole Paycheck for some breakfast commodities this morning and, upon my return, with children screaming and running (good screaming, mind you) and The (fat) Court Jester miaowing for even more food, it hit me. Hard. Deep breaths. That got me through two natural births and more with no meds. I can do this.
2. Yesterday's "eeeeeewwwww-event" at the gym totally has thrown my comfort zone into loopy-loops. Here in the "Town" I feel fine about leaving my home. I joined a gym that offers 24/7 security and, in my horrible insomniac-laden Life in the early months of this year, I was visiting that gym at 2 or 3 in the morning easy, just to work myself to death so I could collapse from exhaustion. I joined a gym that is close so I would not have to drive there. I love to walk or even jog. But with the cold, yes, I am a Wuss. My teeth, to be honest, hurt soooo badly in the cold air that the pain is unbearable (and yes, I am a Sensodyne brusher).
So the event, you may ask? I was on my elliptical machine, having finished doing weights and following up with 30 minutes of cardio. Plugged into my gym jam on my iPod and feeling the beat, if you can get my drift. However, I always maintain awareness about who is around me. Who enters and leaves the gym. Who is on the machine next to me. This does not mean I am checking people out; this means that I have trained myself to always be cautious and observant. That alone has gotten me out of many a situation I probably should not have gotten myself into in the first place. But those are for other stories...
Back to the story. A guy comes in, probably about my age if not a little younger, when I'm 10 minutes into my elliptical routine. He is on the far right elliptical; I am on the far left. Two between us. I look up at the TV once in a while, but remain tuned in to my iPod. My eyes falter; he's watching me. Ugh. I look down and change my song on my iPod and keep the rhythm working. I was aware of him watching me. Baseball cap. Sandy hair. Caucasian. Always aware. Always defensive.
Dismounts the elliptical after about 10 minutes and then goes to do weights. I continue as I have 10 minutes more on my workout. However, noting that there were others waiting I cut my workout short by 5 minutes to be considerate, but not before noticing in the mirror that He was still watching me from the other end of the room. I just kind of wanted out by then.
So I go back to the lockers, grab my keys, put my sweatshirt on and back comes one man I have seen throughout the morning there, and then the one who was watching me came back there, too. I pretended to be fully engrossed in getting my iPod stored in my pockets, grabbing my glasses and my keys and making sure I had my water bottle and my towel, and left. I can be really good at appearing completely engrossed in something so that I would not apparently notice goings on occuring around me.
So I walked through the gym.
And he followed me.
And I left.
And the door opened after me and he followed me out.
With my naturally very quick step I walked up the sidewalk to my car, thanking God I had decided to actually drive that day instead of walk and for never parking in the garage but instead always on the street, let myself in and locked the doors in one fell swoop. Busying myself with getting my seat belt on, I took a quick look around.
There was nobody there.
I returned home trembling and continued to tremble for about an hour. The only time I've actually been followed was in Ecuador. It wasn't like I felt like I was going to be robbed or raped or anything; it was broad daylight in the Town on a Saturday morning and the Street was bustling. I guess I just did not understand the pursuit; if he had something to say, I do respond to "Excuse me..."
3. The Young Prince and I were cuddling on the LoveSac (that is what it's called...here's the link) watching Yo amo a Juan Querendón, my guilty pleasure telenovela that airs on Univisión at 7 weeknights. All nice and warm and cozy.
Then I look down and notice that the Young Prince has his...ahem, although we use accurate anatomical nomenclature in this house, shall we here call it... his "Mr. Little Prince" in his hand and he's whimpering.
-Young Prince, is something the matter?
-Yes, Mommy. Something is wrong with my 'Mr. Little Prince.'
Silence as I observe and realize that my 3 year old has just had his first comprehension of a hard-on. Full attention, shall I say, and I said, trying really hard not to laugh, "No, Young Prince, nothing is wrong. Just tuck it back into your pants (he was in sweats so I didn't feel bad with the suggestion) and it will feel better in a few moments."
So he did. Is this the birth of Oedipal complexes? I hope not. We were just comfy, warm and that is a natural physical reaction. I'm not the type to tease, but it's a cute story.
4. Freecycle has cleaned my house! I have been able to get rid of so much crap in the past week to others who could actually use it. I love the system...and none of it goes in the trash. At least not until it is used again, and perhaps even then Freecycled-out a few more times before going to the Great Trash Compactor in the Sky. If you are interested in learning more about this global effort to reduce our consumption, visit freecycle.org and there you can find a local chapter.
5. Chocolate. I was going to try to eliminate this more from my diet this year, but as it is what I do eat is really good quality...it's just really expensive and, with the quantity I eat (as that is the only way I'm obviously getting the Joys that Life Have to Offer at this point--but still limited to not more than one bar a day) that racks up quite a chocolate bill at the end of each month. So I need to do some soul-searching and prioritizing, I think.
We shall see. I am now done reflecting and, more obviously, procrastinating. Back to work.
sábado, 29 de diciembre de 2007
New Year's Eve
I have never been out on New Year's Eve.
In high school, I was once invited to a friend's home for a movie night. That was nice and perfect for the time.
In college, I was always home for New Year's Eve. If my boyfriend called, my father would set the timer on the microwave and that's how long I had to talk to him. No more.
In Japan, I was with a friend and her family for a very cultural New Year's Eve but still suffered aftereffects from MSG poisioning had in Taiwain just days before, so I did not feel very well. Year two had me in Thailand, on the island of Koh Samui and I went out to a discoteque that night...but only to return to my bungalow deathly ill on warm-water shrimp, something that had also almost been my demise in Ecuador. I didn't leave that bungalow for three days.
Back from Japan, met my current housemate, who I soon learned will not ask me out unless it is to a military museum, a holocaust memorial, a war movie or a battleground park. New Year's Eve? Go dancing? Have fun? Nope. War stresses me out terribly. It is just not one of my hobbies.
So I suppose I can get around this now by permitting my children to have friends over on New Year's Eve. Make this a good, child-friendly home for eating snacks and playing games and showing videos and providing noisemakers for what might be around 10:00 this year when all will be too tired to continue on until midnight.
And I may live vicariously through them.
In high school, I was once invited to a friend's home for a movie night. That was nice and perfect for the time.
In college, I was always home for New Year's Eve. If my boyfriend called, my father would set the timer on the microwave and that's how long I had to talk to him. No more.
In Japan, I was with a friend and her family for a very cultural New Year's Eve but still suffered aftereffects from MSG poisioning had in Taiwain just days before, so I did not feel very well. Year two had me in Thailand, on the island of Koh Samui and I went out to a discoteque that night...but only to return to my bungalow deathly ill on warm-water shrimp, something that had also almost been my demise in Ecuador. I didn't leave that bungalow for three days.
Back from Japan, met my current housemate, who I soon learned will not ask me out unless it is to a military museum, a holocaust memorial, a war movie or a battleground park. New Year's Eve? Go dancing? Have fun? Nope. War stresses me out terribly. It is just not one of my hobbies.
So I suppose I can get around this now by permitting my children to have friends over on New Year's Eve. Make this a good, child-friendly home for eating snacks and playing games and showing videos and providing noisemakers for what might be around 10:00 this year when all will be too tired to continue on until midnight.
And I may live vicariously through them.
Out of the House!
I got out of the house today. God, it felt soooooooo good.
Of course, I didn't have the guts in me to do it on my own. So K joined me. She's 6, cute, and that gives me an excuse not to have to talk to anyone and gives me someone to "preoccupy" myself with.
I wore the poor thing out.
I noticed that I have a habit out in public of biting my lower lip. Ugh. Probably a nervous reflex.
Everything was on sale...except the only two skirts I found that I actually liked. Great. No, I didn't buy them. I'm on a budget. They won't fit in those limitations!
So.
My rambling for the day centers around the idea of the fact that I'll go to Perú alone but not leave my house to go shopping.
I thought a lot about this today, as I am Within Two Weeks Of Departure. Why does this not give me any problems?
1. I have professional purpose down there. Check.
2. I am so obviously a foreigner there that my missteps or my lack of boob job or my true-not-colored hair or my lack of mass amounts of makeup are just part of my "exoticism" (yes I am being sarcastic--I used to believe myself exotic when I was 20. That is faaaaar behind me now!), not a drawback.
3. I have such a different personality when I speak Spanish...I'm much more forward, much more direct, and am working to master the art of double-speak...I have fun with Spanish. It's a very sexual language, too...when speaking with someone, you must address the gender of that person. I like that. A man has to identify a woman as a woman by making everything having to do with her grammatically "female", and a woman does the same back to a man. I think that is just a glorious constant recognition of the other.
4. Manners abound (among the natives, not the non-Spanish speaking gringos bumbling through the streets) and that is lovely. I make eye-contact with someone, s/he smiles and says Good Afternoon, and a comment about the weather might ensue (if the sun actually shines through the Lima garua, that can be a glorious conversation starter). Pleases and Thank-yous are exchanged. People offer pardons when they bump into you. It is more a reflection of how I was raised than anything I witnessed here today.
5. Sure, it is not the safest city in the world, but I have survived a lot of stuff I probably should not have. If I die, at least I will die doing something I love doing.
6. I love to talk to taxi drivers. Period. I can become my own person, I can make up my own identity and my own story (or not) and they will never know. They're just thrilled to get to talk to a long-legged Spanish-speaking gringa.
7. If I get to go dancing, well...that just speaks for itself. Table dancing died for me in early 20s, but I still LOVE to salsa, merengue and cumbia, and follow a good leader decently well...and I no longer have to be drunk to dance well.
8. Service rocks. You are waited on well, even in the cheapest holes-in-the-wall if you even look like you might want more water. In department stores you are treated like a Goddess. The dependientas set you up, look you up and down and tell you in 5 seconds your size and get you four different pairs of jeans to try on and voila, if something doesn't work they are right there to help you get something else. And all this with a smile, no clicking of the tongue, rolling of the eyes and the "oh, just get it yourself why don'cha?" look.
So there we go. I will go to Lima but I won't go downtown here by myself. I actually feel I know my way around Lima better than this city. Funny, perspective...
Of course, I didn't have the guts in me to do it on my own. So K joined me. She's 6, cute, and that gives me an excuse not to have to talk to anyone and gives me someone to "preoccupy" myself with.
I wore the poor thing out.
I noticed that I have a habit out in public of biting my lower lip. Ugh. Probably a nervous reflex.
Everything was on sale...except the only two skirts I found that I actually liked. Great. No, I didn't buy them. I'm on a budget. They won't fit in those limitations!
So.
My rambling for the day centers around the idea of the fact that I'll go to Perú alone but not leave my house to go shopping.
I thought a lot about this today, as I am Within Two Weeks Of Departure. Why does this not give me any problems?
1. I have professional purpose down there. Check.
2. I am so obviously a foreigner there that my missteps or my lack of boob job or my true-not-colored hair or my lack of mass amounts of makeup are just part of my "exoticism" (yes I am being sarcastic--I used to believe myself exotic when I was 20. That is faaaaar behind me now!), not a drawback.
3. I have such a different personality when I speak Spanish...I'm much more forward, much more direct, and am working to master the art of double-speak...I have fun with Spanish. It's a very sexual language, too...when speaking with someone, you must address the gender of that person. I like that. A man has to identify a woman as a woman by making everything having to do with her grammatically "female", and a woman does the same back to a man. I think that is just a glorious constant recognition of the other.
4. Manners abound (among the natives, not the non-Spanish speaking gringos bumbling through the streets) and that is lovely. I make eye-contact with someone, s/he smiles and says Good Afternoon, and a comment about the weather might ensue (if the sun actually shines through the Lima garua, that can be a glorious conversation starter). Pleases and Thank-yous are exchanged. People offer pardons when they bump into you. It is more a reflection of how I was raised than anything I witnessed here today.
5. Sure, it is not the safest city in the world, but I have survived a lot of stuff I probably should not have. If I die, at least I will die doing something I love doing.
6. I love to talk to taxi drivers. Period. I can become my own person, I can make up my own identity and my own story (or not) and they will never know. They're just thrilled to get to talk to a long-legged Spanish-speaking gringa.
7. If I get to go dancing, well...that just speaks for itself. Table dancing died for me in early 20s, but I still LOVE to salsa, merengue and cumbia, and follow a good leader decently well...and I no longer have to be drunk to dance well.
8. Service rocks. You are waited on well, even in the cheapest holes-in-the-wall if you even look like you might want more water. In department stores you are treated like a Goddess. The dependientas set you up, look you up and down and tell you in 5 seconds your size and get you four different pairs of jeans to try on and voila, if something doesn't work they are right there to help you get something else. And all this with a smile, no clicking of the tongue, rolling of the eyes and the "oh, just get it yourself why don'cha?" look.
So there we go. I will go to Lima but I won't go downtown here by myself. I actually feel I know my way around Lima better than this city. Funny, perspective...
viernes, 28 de diciembre de 2007
Art-filled glee
My little monkeys each received a Paint-your-own Soccer Ball for Christmas. So I decided that, with the impending rain/sleet this afternoon and the graying skies overhead, this would be a perfect day to don their big t-shirt art smocks, cover my classroom in newspaper and let then Have At It.
To be honest, they haven't even been this quiet while sleeping for months.
This gives me a few moments just to watch their creativity flow, to allow it to flow with absolute minimal assistance (Mommy, more water please; Mommy, can you make more purple for me please?), release my control and allow them to just have fun.
Kind of makes me want a soccer ball to paint, too!
To be honest, they haven't even been this quiet while sleeping for months.
This gives me a few moments just to watch their creativity flow, to allow it to flow with absolute minimal assistance (Mommy, more water please; Mommy, can you make more purple for me please?), release my control and allow them to just have fun.
Kind of makes me want a soccer ball to paint, too!
jueves, 27 de diciembre de 2007
big sigh
She-ra called today...no, wait...I called her. No matter. We spoke on the phone this afternoon. It was a nice conversation. Her dog is in the doggy hospital overnight; she was sick during Christmas and it has persisted, so my entire household is worried. We are a pet-loving family, although I only have it in my to "love" a cat--I can hardly handle him at times.
Anyhow, our conversation turned to my personal self-esteem issues. She said that she went to my professional website (I felt need to have a website for my business, a step I'm glad I made in the marketing of myself) and read every single testimonial written by ex-university students of mine. After that, she said, how could I doubt myself?
-But that's work. Professionally I'm fine.
-But so much of what was said has to do with who you are as a person. You as a person comes through in you as a teacher. I especially liked the guy who said, "And I was the one who saw all the evaluations."
I have always separated the working me from the personal me. I always felt so differently pulled by what were often opposing forces acting on my personality in different situations that, when I was young, I questioned if I could be schizophrenic (not having any real idea what schizophrenia was really all about, of course...just to illustrate how different my personalities were). When at school, I was incredibly outgoing and outspoken but could not be that way at home. I rarely had friends over because I felt torn in how I ought to act...the way my friends know me, or the way my family knows me.
I have to be honest...sometimes I go into a classroom (especially one filled with anywhere from 20-40 students) and I don't know what the hell I am doing. But somehow, and I have no idea how, everything magically works out and we always end up with a wonderful experience in which all proclaim to have learned so much..."Oh, fulano de tal never explained it like that." "Oh, NOW I get it." What I would always call "light bulb moments." To be brutally honest, I sometimes felt like a fake, going in and 'teaching'. Relating. Telling stories. Making jokes. Creating characters. Playing games. Grabbing interest and holding onto that interest and that attention and not letting go, and in the meantime cramming whatever I could into those heads, even if indirectly. I could blah and blah on and on about how I was educated in the methodology, blah blah...but everyone in my graduate program was so educated in methodology at Tulane. Few could actually practice it.
So I'm a good teacher. There are good teachers and there are teachers that suck. There are teachers that believe that anybody could be a teacher, and there are those who believe that those who were born to be teachers were born to be teachers. They are the ones that do it for love, not for the money...because there is no money in teaching.
But does being a good teacher equate to being a good person? A good mother? A good friend? A good sister? A good daughter? No, not necessarily. That's where I seem to lack. I feel like, over the past 15-16 years I have obsessed over learning to become the best whatever-it-is-I-can-educate-myself-to-become (note the goal orientation) that I have left the rest of Me on the back burner to simmer. In the process, that Me became stagnant and stale, unappetizing to the sight and unpleasant to the taste.
2008. A year to redefine, to get that back. When I was in my early 20s, I told myself I never want to me a 50 year old who said, "I wish I would have..." I'm only 35 and here I am.
Let's see what we can do. 365 days is a lot of time.
...or is it?
Anyhow, our conversation turned to my personal self-esteem issues. She said that she went to my professional website (I felt need to have a website for my business, a step I'm glad I made in the marketing of myself) and read every single testimonial written by ex-university students of mine. After that, she said, how could I doubt myself?
-But that's work. Professionally I'm fine.
-But so much of what was said has to do with who you are as a person. You as a person comes through in you as a teacher. I especially liked the guy who said, "And I was the one who saw all the evaluations."
I have always separated the working me from the personal me. I always felt so differently pulled by what were often opposing forces acting on my personality in different situations that, when I was young, I questioned if I could be schizophrenic (not having any real idea what schizophrenia was really all about, of course...just to illustrate how different my personalities were). When at school, I was incredibly outgoing and outspoken but could not be that way at home. I rarely had friends over because I felt torn in how I ought to act...the way my friends know me, or the way my family knows me.
I have to be honest...sometimes I go into a classroom (especially one filled with anywhere from 20-40 students) and I don't know what the hell I am doing. But somehow, and I have no idea how, everything magically works out and we always end up with a wonderful experience in which all proclaim to have learned so much..."Oh, fulano de tal never explained it like that." "Oh, NOW I get it." What I would always call "light bulb moments." To be brutally honest, I sometimes felt like a fake, going in and 'teaching'. Relating. Telling stories. Making jokes. Creating characters. Playing games. Grabbing interest and holding onto that interest and that attention and not letting go, and in the meantime cramming whatever I could into those heads, even if indirectly. I could blah and blah on and on about how I was educated in the methodology, blah blah...but everyone in my graduate program was so educated in methodology at Tulane. Few could actually practice it.
So I'm a good teacher. There are good teachers and there are teachers that suck. There are teachers that believe that anybody could be a teacher, and there are those who believe that those who were born to be teachers were born to be teachers. They are the ones that do it for love, not for the money...because there is no money in teaching.
But does being a good teacher equate to being a good person? A good mother? A good friend? A good sister? A good daughter? No, not necessarily. That's where I seem to lack. I feel like, over the past 15-16 years I have obsessed over learning to become the best whatever-it-is-I-can-educate-myself-to-become (note the goal orientation) that I have left the rest of Me on the back burner to simmer. In the process, that Me became stagnant and stale, unappetizing to the sight and unpleasant to the taste.
2008. A year to redefine, to get that back. When I was in my early 20s, I told myself I never want to me a 50 year old who said, "I wish I would have..." I'm only 35 and here I am.
Let's see what we can do. 365 days is a lot of time.
...or is it?
b.i.t.c.h. session
Okay...I had a different post and I have deleted it.
We all need to be happy and not read my bitching about Life's little unfair-ities. That's just not right, especially with so much more misery in the world there is really no room left, logically, for the little stuff.
The sun is shining, I have students today, I'm home ALONE with the kids (the past five days off for you-know-who just about killed me) and, although I have a resultingly huge amount of laundry debt to pay off (that you-know-who could have helped with instead of sitting around picking his nose and his head, and dozing all day yesterday while I worked by butt off around the house) I will finish and I will be a better person because of it...and there will be no broken windows from asking you-know-who to actually do something.
And I will be happy!
Now back to regularly-scheduled programming.
That was a very tempered-down post. Less passion, less Taurean, more tempered approach in 2008. Good thing?
We all need to be happy and not read my bitching about Life's little unfair-ities. That's just not right, especially with so much more misery in the world there is really no room left, logically, for the little stuff.
The sun is shining, I have students today, I'm home ALONE with the kids (the past five days off for you-know-who just about killed me) and, although I have a resultingly huge amount of laundry debt to pay off (that you-know-who could have helped with instead of sitting around picking his nose and his head, and dozing all day yesterday while I worked by butt off around the house) I will finish and I will be a better person because of it...and there will be no broken windows from asking you-know-who to actually do something.
And I will be happy!
Now back to regularly-scheduled programming.
That was a very tempered-down post. Less passion, less Taurean, more tempered approach in 2008. Good thing?
miércoles, 26 de diciembre de 2007
exhausted
Today was an incredibly, frighteningly productive day...
First and foremost, I got one hell of a workout in at the gym this morning. No little monitos awake here, I could sneak out without the choir of "I want to go, toooooo" following me out the door. Good stretching, leg weights first (am I the only one who gets really turned on doing leg curls? It's a purely physical reaction but geez, brings me back to sorority days and knowing where All The GOOD Chairs in the University were...) then arms and back and sit-ups. Got my elliptical jog in, but the heartrate monitor was a trite off this morning: I maintained a 7.5 mph clip and my registered heartrate was jumping between 161 and 125. Target is 148.
Got a shower. That was good. Got to do my legs. That was even better and oh, so necessary. Got to play "Guess Who" with La Princesita...she noted the gender inequality right off the bat: "Mommy, why are there 19 boys and only 5 girls?" I am GOING to have to complain to Mattel about this. There are 24 possibilities...they could have split it 12/12.
Then started madly Trying to Claim My House Back. Tomorrow is recycling day, doubled with gomi-pick up because Monday's gomi pick up was cancelled. So I have, like, 10 bags of recycleables (including all the paper and cardboard) that needed to be gathered and put together, then I collected all the trash. Then I got a bunch of stuff out on Freecycle. Good for Mommy. House is cleaner. I can see the floor of my office again...haven't seen that in weeks. Needs to be vacuumed.
Got class scheduled for noon as opposed to 10 tomorrow. The kids can have some computer time while my students are here.
Made linner. Just heated up leftovers so it really didn't count, but still counts for providing the chickadees with basic nutritional needs. Yes, they have to have fruit, too. Fortunately we just got a bag of fresh Florida grapefruit from P's parents on Christmas Eve, and grapefruit just does not last around these kids.
Then what? Cleaned up the classroom for tomorrow, adecuately trashed following almost a week of no classes. Finished the polishing of my translation of this transcription, edited some spelling errors in the English version, and sent both off to Vodium so they can finish that leg. I will go downtown to do the voice-over dub on the 4th. I can picture it being like one of those old Japanese samurai flicks that are dubbed in English: "I will die first!" ...and the mouth of the actor continues moving in silence for 10 seconds after the English voiceover has finished the 'translation.' I'm looking very much forward to seeing/hearing the final version's webcast.
Had a prospective new student contact me, hopefully can get a new series of beginners going at the end of January. That would just be peachy.
And last, but not least...
The three of us, Christmas Eve. Mamacitas extraordinnaires.
Now isn't that what it is all about, ladies? What a wonderful picture...and perhaps the only one of myself that I will permit be taken this year!
First and foremost, I got one hell of a workout in at the gym this morning. No little monitos awake here, I could sneak out without the choir of "I want to go, toooooo" following me out the door. Good stretching, leg weights first (am I the only one who gets really turned on doing leg curls? It's a purely physical reaction but geez, brings me back to sorority days and knowing where All The GOOD Chairs in the University were...) then arms and back and sit-ups. Got my elliptical jog in, but the heartrate monitor was a trite off this morning: I maintained a 7.5 mph clip and my registered heartrate was jumping between 161 and 125. Target is 148.
Got a shower. That was good. Got to do my legs. That was even better and oh, so necessary. Got to play "Guess Who" with La Princesita...she noted the gender inequality right off the bat: "Mommy, why are there 19 boys and only 5 girls?" I am GOING to have to complain to Mattel about this. There are 24 possibilities...they could have split it 12/12.
Then started madly Trying to Claim My House Back. Tomorrow is recycling day, doubled with gomi-pick up because Monday's gomi pick up was cancelled. So I have, like, 10 bags of recycleables (including all the paper and cardboard) that needed to be gathered and put together, then I collected all the trash. Then I got a bunch of stuff out on Freecycle. Good for Mommy. House is cleaner. I can see the floor of my office again...haven't seen that in weeks. Needs to be vacuumed.
Got class scheduled for noon as opposed to 10 tomorrow. The kids can have some computer time while my students are here.
Made linner. Just heated up leftovers so it really didn't count, but still counts for providing the chickadees with basic nutritional needs. Yes, they have to have fruit, too. Fortunately we just got a bag of fresh Florida grapefruit from P's parents on Christmas Eve, and grapefruit just does not last around these kids.
Then what? Cleaned up the classroom for tomorrow, adecuately trashed following almost a week of no classes. Finished the polishing of my translation of this transcription, edited some spelling errors in the English version, and sent both off to Vodium so they can finish that leg. I will go downtown to do the voice-over dub on the 4th. I can picture it being like one of those old Japanese samurai flicks that are dubbed in English: "I will die first!" ...and the mouth of the actor continues moving in silence for 10 seconds after the English voiceover has finished the 'translation.' I'm looking very much forward to seeing/hearing the final version's webcast.
Had a prospective new student contact me, hopefully can get a new series of beginners going at the end of January. That would just be peachy.
And last, but not least...
The three of us, Christmas Eve. Mamacitas extraordinnaires.Now isn't that what it is all about, ladies? What a wonderful picture...and perhaps the only one of myself that I will permit be taken this year!
"all I want for Christmas... (warning: we're getting PG-13 to R-rated here--apologies to my family-friendly readers)
...is my navel pierced..."
Am I just wierd? I think it's sexy, hot and for some reason I am drawn to navel piercings. No, not nipple pierces (nor anywhere else not visible under a bikini, thank you and ouch), not tongue pierces, nor eyebrow or rings through my nose...although a tiniest of a diamante stud in the corner of my nose I could handle but will never do.
I have always been self-conscious about my tummy, probably because of the various skin imperfections found there and I have always hated my skin.
I am also not feeling like a woman anymore. I am a mother, which almost by definition takes away my womanhood. I have not had sex in almost two years and, for someone who is an extremely sexual person and in her sexual peak of Life, this is just not a good thing. I need to feel alive again...and I bet that could actually solve most of my problems.
So perhaps inflicting great piercing pain upon myself is my little way of reminding myself that I am, indeed, alive.
My only real issue with navel piercing is that my yoga stretches might eventually work it out of my skin. I do actually enjoy doing full backbends, it feels great on my lower back and I am now, as a full-blown 30-something, enjoying a bodily flexibility that I have never before known. Plus I do a lot of research into something before actually following through--I can't say I'm a very spontaneous person.
So does that mean I should not go searching out a good, reputable and sanitary tatoo parlour for my piercing (there is one out west of here, and some places I've only heard about in the City)?
Or should I do it, like I did the second set of holes in my ears, by myself?
If it were just a matter of walking into Claire's like I did this past summer for my third earring holes, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Ok, unbiased 3rd party readers, tell me what you think! Only one of you knows me well enough to let your children play with mine, so we can talk later (jajaja)...after this post, they might not be alllowed to come play at Auntie S's house any more for playdates! :)
And if you have other solutions in mind, I have had a girlfriend offer to take me to the Adult Shoppe (my first time...! no, I'm not the prude I might seem, I've just never been to one nor even know where one is) later this week to help me find something for, shall we say, some self-discovery to pack in my Perú bag. No better time to learn when not having to share space with two little monitos, I suppose.
My greatest fear there is, what happens if this gets confiscated from my carry-on bag. And not so much that...it is more the question of how would I survive the airport embarrassment??? Ugh.
Another post for another day. I'll have to let you know how that goes.
Am I just wierd? I think it's sexy, hot and for some reason I am drawn to navel piercings. No, not nipple pierces (nor anywhere else not visible under a bikini, thank you and ouch), not tongue pierces, nor eyebrow or rings through my nose...although a tiniest of a diamante stud in the corner of my nose I could handle but will never do.
I have always been self-conscious about my tummy, probably because of the various skin imperfections found there and I have always hated my skin.
I am also not feeling like a woman anymore. I am a mother, which almost by definition takes away my womanhood. I have not had sex in almost two years and, for someone who is an extremely sexual person and in her sexual peak of Life, this is just not a good thing. I need to feel alive again...and I bet that could actually solve most of my problems.
So perhaps inflicting great piercing pain upon myself is my little way of reminding myself that I am, indeed, alive.
My only real issue with navel piercing is that my yoga stretches might eventually work it out of my skin. I do actually enjoy doing full backbends, it feels great on my lower back and I am now, as a full-blown 30-something, enjoying a bodily flexibility that I have never before known. Plus I do a lot of research into something before actually following through--I can't say I'm a very spontaneous person.
So does that mean I should not go searching out a good, reputable and sanitary tatoo parlour for my piercing (there is one out west of here, and some places I've only heard about in the City)?
Or should I do it, like I did the second set of holes in my ears, by myself?
If it were just a matter of walking into Claire's like I did this past summer for my third earring holes, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Ok, unbiased 3rd party readers, tell me what you think! Only one of you knows me well enough to let your children play with mine, so we can talk later (jajaja)...after this post, they might not be alllowed to come play at Auntie S's house any more for playdates! :)
And if you have other solutions in mind, I have had a girlfriend offer to take me to the Adult Shoppe (my first time...! no, I'm not the prude I might seem, I've just never been to one nor even know where one is) later this week to help me find something for, shall we say, some self-discovery to pack in my Perú bag. No better time to learn when not having to share space with two little monitos, I suppose.
My greatest fear there is, what happens if this gets confiscated from my carry-on bag. And not so much that...it is more the question of how would I survive the airport embarrassment??? Ugh.
Another post for another day. I'll have to let you know how that goes.
martes, 25 de diciembre de 2007
Christmas greetings from afar...again
I just opened my email to a link to an e-post greeting from Arkadiy, my old pen pal in Novosibirsk, Russia. I would share it if I could but, as it posts also my personal details are also included. The Young Prince, my three year old, was very entertained by the animated snow falling about a very colorful Santa picture.
And he said to await a letter in January.
I can't wait. It has been...hmmm...this year makes 19 or 20 years of having maintained some sort of correspondance with him.
That made me happy. Thank you, Arkadiy. Merry Christmas to you!
And he said to await a letter in January.
I can't wait. It has been...hmmm...this year makes 19 or 20 years of having maintained some sort of correspondance with him.
That made me happy. Thank you, Arkadiy. Merry Christmas to you!
lunes, 24 de diciembre de 2007
Christmas in Taiwan
I spent my first Christmas away from home, in 1994, in Taiwan.
My college roommate was half-Taiwanese, half-American and had fulfilled a study abroad requisite there while I was in Ecuador in 1992. She returned after graduation, and as I was likewise already living in the same hemisphere as of July of 94, she invited me to the southern city of Kaohsiung to spend Christmas.
Granted, Taiwan is not a Christian country but Christianity is alive and well as it politically exercises a rather great degree of independence from China. There were lots of Christmas services that we could attend and it was a new experience for me, very different from Japan. It was the first time being in a country in which I did not speak or have some basic operational idea of the native language.
Her boyfriend (now husband of 11 years) joined us and, together with a co-worker of hers and her boyfriend (I felt a bit like a, well, "fifth" wheel...) took off one day to the southern coast where there is a beautiful national park and the southernmost point of Taiwan, that looks like a cat's nose. We went out for some amazing food--I believe we had wontons, and I had way more than I should have. As the day wore on I started to feel worse and worse. My throat became sorer and sorer and I started to lose my balance. If I had been drinking I would have understood how I felt, but I had not a drop of alcohol in my blood. By the end of the night I could eat nothing more nor could I even stand up; we had gone to shoot pool, something I enjoy from time to time, but I couldn't even focus and didn't have the energy to stand anymore.
We got back to her apartment and I fell into a restless sleep. I awoke in the middle of the night and stumbled into the bathroom, I could not breathe. I was falling against the wall. My throat had swollen and I had to awaken my friend as I was terrified.
This was the day I was to be back on the plane to Japan and I had to get to the hospital. I don't know what they did, gave me a shot of something, probably a placebo but who knows, to make the swelling go down so I could breathe and be fit to fly. I had a rather long layover, seemingly endless, in Taipei, but obviously survived and made it back to Japan in time to rest for a few days previous to the New Year's celebrations.
In researching and learning about my relatively newly-discovered food allergies, I found out that reaction in Taiwan was probably anaphlaxis from MSG. MSG happens to be derived from soy, something I didn't know then but now, since as of just about three years ago my soy allergy became manifest following the birth of my son, I have made all attempts to avoid in my life. MSG acts almost like a drug in that it tricks your brain into a heightened awareness state; thus all senses are almost overloaded (including that of taste) and consequently foods are made to taste absolutely wonderful when consumed under this influence. Much like a drug, people constantly taking in MSG in their diets will, over time, gain tolerance and thus not suffer the strong reaction one whose body is not accustomed to such a strong additive. MSG goes by some "code names" as well and I know when I've had some because my tongue will swell to the point of hardly being able to talk and I will usually end up with a strong headache.
Now, 13 years later I am awake, it is 3:30 a.m. and I suppose now is the best time to get myself up, clean up the playroom and magically make the Santa gifts appear. Make myself a cup of hot tea, then go back to bed.
There is sacrifice in making magic happen...
My college roommate was half-Taiwanese, half-American and had fulfilled a study abroad requisite there while I was in Ecuador in 1992. She returned after graduation, and as I was likewise already living in the same hemisphere as of July of 94, she invited me to the southern city of Kaohsiung to spend Christmas.
Granted, Taiwan is not a Christian country but Christianity is alive and well as it politically exercises a rather great degree of independence from China. There were lots of Christmas services that we could attend and it was a new experience for me, very different from Japan. It was the first time being in a country in which I did not speak or have some basic operational idea of the native language.
Her boyfriend (now husband of 11 years) joined us and, together with a co-worker of hers and her boyfriend (I felt a bit like a, well, "fifth" wheel...) took off one day to the southern coast where there is a beautiful national park and the southernmost point of Taiwan, that looks like a cat's nose. We went out for some amazing food--I believe we had wontons, and I had way more than I should have. As the day wore on I started to feel worse and worse. My throat became sorer and sorer and I started to lose my balance. If I had been drinking I would have understood how I felt, but I had not a drop of alcohol in my blood. By the end of the night I could eat nothing more nor could I even stand up; we had gone to shoot pool, something I enjoy from time to time, but I couldn't even focus and didn't have the energy to stand anymore.
We got back to her apartment and I fell into a restless sleep. I awoke in the middle of the night and stumbled into the bathroom, I could not breathe. I was falling against the wall. My throat had swollen and I had to awaken my friend as I was terrified.
This was the day I was to be back on the plane to Japan and I had to get to the hospital. I don't know what they did, gave me a shot of something, probably a placebo but who knows, to make the swelling go down so I could breathe and be fit to fly. I had a rather long layover, seemingly endless, in Taipei, but obviously survived and made it back to Japan in time to rest for a few days previous to the New Year's celebrations.
In researching and learning about my relatively newly-discovered food allergies, I found out that reaction in Taiwan was probably anaphlaxis from MSG. MSG happens to be derived from soy, something I didn't know then but now, since as of just about three years ago my soy allergy became manifest following the birth of my son, I have made all attempts to avoid in my life. MSG acts almost like a drug in that it tricks your brain into a heightened awareness state; thus all senses are almost overloaded (including that of taste) and consequently foods are made to taste absolutely wonderful when consumed under this influence. Much like a drug, people constantly taking in MSG in their diets will, over time, gain tolerance and thus not suffer the strong reaction one whose body is not accustomed to such a strong additive. MSG goes by some "code names" as well and I know when I've had some because my tongue will swell to the point of hardly being able to talk and I will usually end up with a strong headache.
*-------*
Now, 13 years later I am awake, it is 3:30 a.m. and I suppose now is the best time to get myself up, clean up the playroom and magically make the Santa gifts appear. Make myself a cup of hot tea, then go back to bed.
There is sacrifice in making magic happen...
Lemonade from lemons, revisited
Okay...
So the fudge...yeah, well, it being chocolate and all, I just didn't have the heart to send that out to Wasteland, so I stuck it in the fridge to get a fresh, more chilled perspective on things this morning.
I dipped my finger in...
No, still had not set. But damn, it's good.
Could be marketed as "Almost Fudge Chocolate Sauce." With walnuts, of course.
I can spoon some over my Haagen Dazs Chocolate Sorbet (no soy in that baby)...or just spoon some into a bowl...
ahhhhhhhhh. Qué rico. A little piece of heaven. Almost orgasmic.
The sun is shining, the spring daffodils are starting to peek their heads out in my garden, and two little phlox flowers are actually blooming today, as is my rosemary. And I still have chocolate.
It is a very Merry Christmas Eve, indeed.
So the fudge...yeah, well, it being chocolate and all, I just didn't have the heart to send that out to Wasteland, so I stuck it in the fridge to get a fresh, more chilled perspective on things this morning.
I dipped my finger in...
No, still had not set. But damn, it's good.
Could be marketed as "Almost Fudge Chocolate Sauce." With walnuts, of course.
I can spoon some over my Haagen Dazs Chocolate Sorbet (no soy in that baby)...or just spoon some into a bowl...
ahhhhhhhhh. Qué rico. A little piece of heaven. Almost orgasmic.
The sun is shining, the spring daffodils are starting to peek their heads out in my garden, and two little phlox flowers are actually blooming today, as is my rosemary. And I still have chocolate.
It is a very Merry Christmas Eve, indeed.
domingo, 23 de diciembre de 2007
Christmas Gifts
Cooking dinner with a pain growing in my heart, I was listening to "The Little Drummer Boy."
The little boy has no gifts fit to give a King. But wait...he has his God-given gift of being able to bring joy to others through his ability to drum.
So what did I learn from this?
So today I was a complete failure as a cook. I don't get any homemade Christmas treats and goodies this year from my kitchen, and neither do my children. But they got to make a mess, play in the dough, eat batter, cut out cookies (that might never have come to be, but they still got to play) and had a great time licking the chocolate off the mixer beaters.
It is not all a loss. I could give my children that gift...of being able to be carefree children, experimenting and cutting and singing Christmas Carols and being silly and having fun with Mommy.
To borrow a phrase, lemonade from lemons...
The little boy has no gifts fit to give a King. But wait...he has his God-given gift of being able to bring joy to others through his ability to drum.
So what did I learn from this?
So today I was a complete failure as a cook. I don't get any homemade Christmas treats and goodies this year from my kitchen, and neither do my children. But they got to make a mess, play in the dough, eat batter, cut out cookies (that might never have come to be, but they still got to play) and had a great time licking the chocolate off the mixer beaters.
It is not all a loss. I could give my children that gift...of being able to be carefree children, experimenting and cutting and singing Christmas Carols and being silly and having fun with Mommy.
To borrow a phrase, lemonade from lemons...
wrap-up of the cooking experiments
Today's kitchen activities centered around three different Christmas treats I have never before experienced problems with: sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies and fudge.
The fudge didn't set. And I even used the thermometer the entire time. Failed.
The sugar cookies melted and expanded into one gigantic cookie in the oven, and were too crumbly of a consistency to even break apart to munch on. Failed.
The gingerbread angels actually maintained shape in the oven and did well, but the flours' pungent tastes overcame that of the ginger and spices that I normally love in gingerbread, and they are absolutely disgusting. I am not going to waste the time in even icing them later. Failure.
So 0 for 3, and a complete and utter waste of...how many hours? Four. So remind me again: why do I bother?
And also remind me NOT to do gluten-free again. Even though that doesn't matter with the fudge. I just won't eat any of the cookies next time.
...if there is a next time.
The fudge didn't set. And I even used the thermometer the entire time. Failed.
The sugar cookies melted and expanded into one gigantic cookie in the oven, and were too crumbly of a consistency to even break apart to munch on. Failed.
The gingerbread angels actually maintained shape in the oven and did well, but the flours' pungent tastes overcame that of the ginger and spices that I normally love in gingerbread, and they are absolutely disgusting. I am not going to waste the time in even icing them later. Failure.
So 0 for 3, and a complete and utter waste of...how many hours? Four. So remind me again: why do I bother?
And also remind me NOT to do gluten-free again. Even though that doesn't matter with the fudge. I just won't eat any of the cookies next time.
...if there is a next time.
sábado, 22 de diciembre de 2007
wow...done!
All except for the last-minute jammies purchase I had to make in an effort to create a new Christmas Eve tradition, all gifts (and I mean all, Ho Ho Ho) are wrapped and appropriately placed either under the tree or in great hiding places.
Not that I've done a LOT of gifts. I really don't overdo it. I did, however, try to wrap things a bit separately so the excitement would grow at seeing lots of little things (socks separate from shirts separate from pants) as opposed to one box containing all...which is, of course, closer to my nature.
But this is for the children and I need to feed their enthusiasm instead of imposing my realism-borderline-pessimism into the magic of their Christmas.
We drove around the town looking at lights tonight. It was nice. We stopped at *buckies for hot chocolates for the Outback sleigh ride and off we went through the streets, "ooo"ing and "ahhhh"ing at the most impressive of displays. My 3 year old does an impressively accurate rendition of "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" (Ho Ho Ho and all stuck in the middle) so he serenaded us from his carseat. I usually save such activity for Christmas night but, knowing all the food prep I will be doing that day, I am certain to be exhausted by the night and even today I could barely keep my eyes open for 45 minutes cruising through the Town, and it was only 6:00!
So I will turn in and prepare for a good rest. Tomorrow I will attempt gluten-free baking. I am terrified of this trial; I have absolutely no confidence whatsoever in the kitchen and can see it all turning out as a horrible mess of an experiment that ends in the gomi. I'll do the best I can. There were no more gingerbread house kits left so I bought the kids a gingerbread tree to create tomorrow. I'd love to make gingerbread angels and rum balls...the gingerbread I might be able to attempt, but I can't find gluten-free nilla wafers. Such is Life.
Following my cathartic outburst of yesterday I am feeling better. December is a tough month for me. I wish it weren't so. The dark gloom of the day yesterday did not help, and I was not in the mood to sit down in my dark office with my sunlamp, even in my new non-butt-buster chair. I had students today, and I feel better. Not ready to take on the world quite yet, but definitely better. Coping. My new jeans came in...size 7 Juniors. I didn't dare go for a 5. They fit lengthwise but they were just too big. I started to cry when I put them on. But then I said no, wait. I can cope. I threw them in the wash on HOT and dried them for 60 entire minutes on HOT and they didn't exactly shrink down perfectly to my size but they are at least no longer falling off my butt.
Coping. I can do this.
I am strong. I am Mama. I am Woman.
More chocolate, please.
Oh, and pass the wine.
Not that I've done a LOT of gifts. I really don't overdo it. I did, however, try to wrap things a bit separately so the excitement would grow at seeing lots of little things (socks separate from shirts separate from pants) as opposed to one box containing all...which is, of course, closer to my nature.
But this is for the children and I need to feed their enthusiasm instead of imposing my realism-borderline-pessimism into the magic of their Christmas.
We drove around the town looking at lights tonight. It was nice. We stopped at *buckies for hot chocolates for the Outback sleigh ride and off we went through the streets, "ooo"ing and "ahhhh"ing at the most impressive of displays. My 3 year old does an impressively accurate rendition of "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" (Ho Ho Ho and all stuck in the middle) so he serenaded us from his carseat. I usually save such activity for Christmas night but, knowing all the food prep I will be doing that day, I am certain to be exhausted by the night and even today I could barely keep my eyes open for 45 minutes cruising through the Town, and it was only 6:00!
So I will turn in and prepare for a good rest. Tomorrow I will attempt gluten-free baking. I am terrified of this trial; I have absolutely no confidence whatsoever in the kitchen and can see it all turning out as a horrible mess of an experiment that ends in the gomi. I'll do the best I can. There were no more gingerbread house kits left so I bought the kids a gingerbread tree to create tomorrow. I'd love to make gingerbread angels and rum balls...the gingerbread I might be able to attempt, but I can't find gluten-free nilla wafers. Such is Life.
Following my cathartic outburst of yesterday I am feeling better. December is a tough month for me. I wish it weren't so. The dark gloom of the day yesterday did not help, and I was not in the mood to sit down in my dark office with my sunlamp, even in my new non-butt-buster chair. I had students today, and I feel better. Not ready to take on the world quite yet, but definitely better. Coping. My new jeans came in...size 7 Juniors. I didn't dare go for a 5. They fit lengthwise but they were just too big. I started to cry when I put them on. But then I said no, wait. I can cope. I threw them in the wash on HOT and dried them for 60 entire minutes on HOT and they didn't exactly shrink down perfectly to my size but they are at least no longer falling off my butt.
Coping. I can do this.
I am strong. I am Mama. I am Woman.
More chocolate, please.
Oh, and pass the wine.
The Great Kobe Quake
In the early morning hours of mid-January 1995 I was awoken by a jolt. It was a very minor jolt, but enough of one to make anyone from the West Coast sit up and wonder if they would have to go stand in the doorframe.
I took my 5:30 a.m. morning walk (I was nuts when I was 23--this WAS mid-January in the cold, cold Japan mountains) and came back to my house. My morning routine was to shower and then fix my miso soup and breakfast cereal, and watch the morning news in Japanese to boost my language skills (still my 1st year there).
Images started pouring in on Fuji-TV of fires illuminating the dark sky over Kobe. As morning dawned over the Land of the Rising Sun, we started to see entire freeways completely collapsed, bullet trains and local trains completely derailed, an entire metropolitan area destroyed. It was devastating.
Port of Kobe
I had friends in the area and, eventually, was able to contact them and found out that they had survived. Reports were coming out of Kobe and leaking to international media of deaths. One was that of a 20-something year old English teacher from Portland, Oregon. Although I was not from Portland, I had done my university schooling west of that city. I therefore had friends who thought me to be dead. I could not call home to my family and they could not call to me; the internet was not as widespread as it is today (remember, it was 1995) and I did not yet have my own computer.
As time went by, we learned about various countries' offers of assistance. However, Prime Minister Murayama at the time rejected all offers, in an extremely proud and idiotic gesture of Japan's independence and true island-nation identity, saying that Japan could take care of itself.
I will never forget watching the news when one man, sobbing, told a reporter that he would not have cared what color or from what nation the hand would have been that could have pulled his wife out alive from the rubble under which she was buried.
One boy lost his entire family. He happened to be a "big brother" to a younger boy, a role model, someone to whom he was not genetically related. The degree of post-traumatic stress he experienced was so extreme, he beheaded this younger boy some time after the quake and stuck the head on a fencepost surrounding the boy's school.
I am certain this is one of those many news items that never made it out of Japan. Japan does not like its international image to be tarnished. Japan wants to be seen as strong, invincible...it is the Samurai way, the Bushido, the samurai code.
Two months following the quake, Aum Shinri Kyo (the Aum Supreme Truth cult) attacked the Tokyo subway system with sarin gas. I had been in the Tokyo subway just the very day before. Aum got what it wanted; attention...and in the process, stole all the attention and assistance from the thousands still suffering the devastation of Kobe.
In May 1995 I visited Kobe for a conference. I stayed with the sister of a close friend from University who lived right in downtown Kobe. The devastation still surrounded us. Sleeping on the floor, as we did in Japan, we were awoken one morning with what was the most violent quake I had ever experienced. I had been in rolling quakes, shaking quakes...but this was a free-fall quake. It was as if we dropped 10 feet and slammed. All the plates jumped but stayed, ironically, put on the shelves. It was a free-fall, not a shake, so nothing was displaced. But it scared the living Shosta-frickin'-kovich out of me.
View from Sannomiya Station entrance
The photos posted here are a couple I took that May 1995 while visiting Kobe. I was so taken by the picture above, that so eerily resembled the Oklahoma City bombing site that had occurred just one month before.
Japan put itself back together, the country survived, and Kobe is again a thriving port city, twin city to Osaka. It is a beautiful city with a soul that is very powerful, a soul created by the spirit of survival. Yet the events surrounding the Kobe quake of 1995 highlighted for me some of Japan's huge weaknesses as a country trying to participate in a modern global society, weaknesses that perhaps aren't evident to the outsider...the 外人 gaijin.
I took my 5:30 a.m. morning walk (I was nuts when I was 23--this WAS mid-January in the cold, cold Japan mountains) and came back to my house. My morning routine was to shower and then fix my miso soup and breakfast cereal, and watch the morning news in Japanese to boost my language skills (still my 1st year there).
Images started pouring in on Fuji-TV of fires illuminating the dark sky over Kobe. As morning dawned over the Land of the Rising Sun, we started to see entire freeways completely collapsed, bullet trains and local trains completely derailed, an entire metropolitan area destroyed. It was devastating.
Port of KobeAs time went by, we learned about various countries' offers of assistance. However, Prime Minister Murayama at the time rejected all offers, in an extremely proud and idiotic gesture of Japan's independence and true island-nation identity, saying that Japan could take care of itself.
I will never forget watching the news when one man, sobbing, told a reporter that he would not have cared what color or from what nation the hand would have been that could have pulled his wife out alive from the rubble under which she was buried.
One boy lost his entire family. He happened to be a "big brother" to a younger boy, a role model, someone to whom he was not genetically related. The degree of post-traumatic stress he experienced was so extreme, he beheaded this younger boy some time after the quake and stuck the head on a fencepost surrounding the boy's school.
I am certain this is one of those many news items that never made it out of Japan. Japan does not like its international image to be tarnished. Japan wants to be seen as strong, invincible...it is the Samurai way, the Bushido, the samurai code.
Two months following the quake, Aum Shinri Kyo (the Aum Supreme Truth cult) attacked the Tokyo subway system with sarin gas. I had been in the Tokyo subway just the very day before. Aum got what it wanted; attention...and in the process, stole all the attention and assistance from the thousands still suffering the devastation of Kobe.
In May 1995 I visited Kobe for a conference. I stayed with the sister of a close friend from University who lived right in downtown Kobe. The devastation still surrounded us. Sleeping on the floor, as we did in Japan, we were awoken one morning with what was the most violent quake I had ever experienced. I had been in rolling quakes, shaking quakes...but this was a free-fall quake. It was as if we dropped 10 feet and slammed. All the plates jumped but stayed, ironically, put on the shelves. It was a free-fall, not a shake, so nothing was displaced. But it scared the living Shosta-frickin'-kovich out of me.
View from Sannomiya Station entranceJapan put itself back together, the country survived, and Kobe is again a thriving port city, twin city to Osaka. It is a beautiful city with a soul that is very powerful, a soul created by the spirit of survival. Yet the events surrounding the Kobe quake of 1995 highlighted for me some of Japan's huge weaknesses as a country trying to participate in a modern global society, weaknesses that perhaps aren't evident to the outsider...the 外人 gaijin.
viernes, 21 de diciembre de 2007
いじめ ijime-bullying
いじめ ijime Bullying was and I am certain still is a topic of great social concern in Japan. The kinds of pressure put on the working classes by superiors bears striking resemblance to and perhaps has its roots in schoolyard bullying to which I was privy on several occasions. Due to Japan's highly competitive natural social consciousness, I suppose that いじめ could be seen as a means to an end, that end being the elimination of possible competition. However, いじめ can occur for any variety of reasons, including being too good in school subjects or being too unlike others in a homogenous and conformist society. いじめ could also take on a variety of forms, from simple name-calling to violent and sinister acts, similar to severe hazing activities seen on university campuses in the States (now illegal) such as physical torture and vandalism to personal property.
It is extremely sad to say that each year several young people, usually middle-school aged, fall victim to such radical degrees of いじめ that they commit suicide. In Japanese society, the admission of いじめ is seen as a weakness, that one cannot handle his/her own problems and an admission to the shameful state of being different.
One of my thirteen-year old students, a girl, was a victim of いじめ during my years in 中之条 Nakanojo. She went to the neighboring town's train station and, one afternoon jumped off the bridge over the tracks in front of an oncoming train, was struck and died.
I remember thinking, wondering, wracking my brain in retrospect, if I had ever realized she was experiencing the difficulties with which she was faced. Was there ever a situation in which I could have intervened? Could I have ever showed her that someone did care? Would it have made a difference if someone had? Was it too late? All questions nobody would ever be able to answer, and the situation was never spoken of in the school besides in the normal morning teacher's meeting.
In the past five years or so the Japanese media has adopted the issue of いじめ and thrust it into the spotlight in order to address what has become a serious problem among young people. Incidences of suicide due to いじめ are down and reported いじめ situations are down as well...which does not necessarily mean anything significant; いじめ may be called by a different name in a toned-down manner much like some large metropolitan areas lower their homicide rates by utilizing other terminology in the "naming" of the crimes.
My experience with the sad effects of いじめ carries into my life here; I am extremely sensitive to the issue of bullying at whatever level in schools or in sports. Teaching my children to be more empathetic towards others is, at this most basic level, how I try to train them to not fall into the trap of poking fun or pushing others around in any way. Yet I don't want my children to fall victim, either. When my daughter was younger, we unfortunately had a couple of playmates that would seek her out just to hit her on the head with some blunt foreign object. Why her, I don't exactly know. Parents were around, but she was singled out and hit. Granted, there were either developmental or possibly emotional issues those children were dealing with and I so wanted to try to keep an open mind so these other children could learn to play well and cooperatively...but not at the expense of my daughter's well-being.
I found myself wondering how much I should teach my daughter to tolerate, and how much I should teach her to fight back, which falls contrary to my ethics. It is funny, though, how this evokes a memory of Girls State, in the summer going into my senior year in high school, I was chosen from my county to vie for Girls Nation and the impromptu speech topic we were given 30 seconds to think and speak on was "Terrorism: Tolerate or Retaliate?" In a way, bullying can be seen in this same light, and the moral decision to stand up for oneself and fight back or to tolerate the abuse so as not to stir up more trouble is a decision that has obviously been too much to bear for those young students in Japan. It is a decision we all must make at some level or at some point in our formative years, be it during a recesstime scuffle on the playground, the stealing of lunch money, or even being teased or bearing witness to others being teased. What does one do? What must one do?
It is extremely sad to say that each year several young people, usually middle-school aged, fall victim to such radical degrees of いじめ that they commit suicide. In Japanese society, the admission of いじめ is seen as a weakness, that one cannot handle his/her own problems and an admission to the shameful state of being different.
One of my thirteen-year old students, a girl, was a victim of いじめ during my years in 中之条 Nakanojo. She went to the neighboring town's train station and, one afternoon jumped off the bridge over the tracks in front of an oncoming train, was struck and died.
I remember thinking, wondering, wracking my brain in retrospect, if I had ever realized she was experiencing the difficulties with which she was faced. Was there ever a situation in which I could have intervened? Could I have ever showed her that someone did care? Would it have made a difference if someone had? Was it too late? All questions nobody would ever be able to answer, and the situation was never spoken of in the school besides in the normal morning teacher's meeting.
In the past five years or so the Japanese media has adopted the issue of いじめ and thrust it into the spotlight in order to address what has become a serious problem among young people. Incidences of suicide due to いじめ are down and reported いじめ situations are down as well...which does not necessarily mean anything significant; いじめ may be called by a different name in a toned-down manner much like some large metropolitan areas lower their homicide rates by utilizing other terminology in the "naming" of the crimes.
My experience with the sad effects of いじめ carries into my life here; I am extremely sensitive to the issue of bullying at whatever level in schools or in sports. Teaching my children to be more empathetic towards others is, at this most basic level, how I try to train them to not fall into the trap of poking fun or pushing others around in any way. Yet I don't want my children to fall victim, either. When my daughter was younger, we unfortunately had a couple of playmates that would seek her out just to hit her on the head with some blunt foreign object. Why her, I don't exactly know. Parents were around, but she was singled out and hit. Granted, there were either developmental or possibly emotional issues those children were dealing with and I so wanted to try to keep an open mind so these other children could learn to play well and cooperatively...but not at the expense of my daughter's well-being.
I found myself wondering how much I should teach my daughter to tolerate, and how much I should teach her to fight back, which falls contrary to my ethics. It is funny, though, how this evokes a memory of Girls State, in the summer going into my senior year in high school, I was chosen from my county to vie for Girls Nation and the impromptu speech topic we were given 30 seconds to think and speak on was "Terrorism: Tolerate or Retaliate?" In a way, bullying can be seen in this same light, and the moral decision to stand up for oneself and fight back or to tolerate the abuse so as not to stir up more trouble is a decision that has obviously been too much to bear for those young students in Japan. It is a decision we all must make at some level or at some point in our formative years, be it during a recesstime scuffle on the playground, the stealing of lunch money, or even being teased or bearing witness to others being teased. What does one do? What must one do?
excrutiatingly painful introspections
I had a close friend tell me today that I need to develop more of a social life.
I can come up with so many excuses as to why no, I really can't. My work hours don't allow me too many large, free blocks of time, and those I do have I spend with my children. Or working on my book, that I'm 2/3 of the way into finishing. Or maintaining the house, as I can't afford a housekeeper--a rare thing around here, apparently. Or making food, as I really don't eat out much due to the fact that I am allergic to soy and seem to have a gluten intolerance as well...and I am not a natural cook, so that is not something that comes easy to me and takes time.
I feel so very alone. I have felt more alone since I've been married than during any other time in my life. However, I have vowed to not make my marital relationship, or lack thereof, fodder for my blog so I will make that irrelevant.
My problem? As I have grown older I have grown excrutiatingly shy. I don't see myself as having anything in common with those around me and have no desire to be a part of the "alpha mom" society, those who feel they must push their children in every direction and make them try absolutely everything, running them around from soccer game to judo practice to scout meetings to Heaven knows what else while pulling their hair out in the process from the busy schedule. I can't. I work. Anyway, I want my children to figure out on their own what they would like to try and tell me, much like my sister and I did, and I do not want to push them into anything.
I don't let them play video games and they have strict television rules (which *includes*, I might note, Saturday morning cartoons...those will not destroy my children). I don't do battery operated toys. I just feel that I don't "fit in" with the general values around here, where it seems that everyone is trying to plan for their children's Hah-vahd education by the end of kindergarten.
I feel that I have met many people I currently know by trying to fit into a mold that is not me, and I have come to the realization that I have spent most of my life thus far doing just that. Why? Because I knew no other way. I wasn't given a choice. So I grew up believing the only way to be acceptable to others was to try to be what they wanted me to be, try to prove myself worthy of their attentions or their friendship or their love. That extended into my family relationships, trying to excel at everything and undertaking more and more, becoming a huge overachiever and a scholar, just to try to gain parental approbation and trust.
Today, as I sit and, in tears, try to wrap Christmas presents for my children, I realize that I have no self-esteem left. I don't feel like anybody would even want to get to know me because I no longer can make myself try to fit into everyone else's expectations. I also have exceptionally high expectations set for myself and cannot hold others to those same standards; that is, likewise, not fair.
What happened?
I used to be the principal violinist, the self-motivated Wonder Woman who traveled the world and sought out new experiences and flavors of Life, who was not afraid to laugh, love, lust, screw up, be independent, pursue friendships, pick up the telephone and call somebody just to talk, and take monumental risks. Granted, as one has children the sense of responsibility to the children requires moderation and alteration of certain behaviors, such as risk-taking. That is acceptable to me. But where the idea of independence once was such a positive in my life, it has now become one of intense loneliness. Nobody has time for conversations anymore and, instead of taking that at face value I take it personally, perhaps falsely (perhaps not) believing that what is really happening is that nobody wants to talk to me.
So--the blog-osphere. Why do I blog? Probably for the same reasons as most other bloggers...it's not so risky. It's a voiceless voice. I can put myself out there, not have high expectations for readers nor for readership, and not expect a return on all I put out. It is safe. I can be somewhat anonymous. I have made some acquaintances and a couple actual friends who I doubtfully will ever meet but...well, that's okay. I am who I am and what I choose to share is what people learn about me--if I am even read. If someone does not like what they read, I never have to deal with it. It's....easy. Hell of a lot easier than pen-palling ever was...
When I was a new mother of my 6 year-old daughter back in Oregon, a group of us naturally formed from the hospital in which we delivered. They became my friends, we could relate and giggle and be ourselves, with or without the babies with us, and be a great support system for each other. I moved East, out of necessity for a paycheck, within five months of meeting these phenomenal women. Desperately trying to find something similar and naively believing that it would, indeed, exist out here, I sought out various "groups". But you had to pay to be a member. And I thought, "Pay to have friends? No, not for me." So perhaps in that way I did isolate myself. I have since learned that is "the way" things are done around here, but oh well...not my cup of tea.
I almost fear I'm becoming agoraphobic. I almost aim to try to shop when stores are empty so as not have to deal with what I have come to find to be a generally impolite and impersonal public. Sometimes I feel like an ant simply wandering, trying not to interact with others yet fulfilling my personal purpose, much like that which was cinematically represented in Dalí/Buñuel's Un chien andalou; a rather grotesque and surrealist image but very true-to-life, nonetheless. I try not to go to the gym when a lot of others will be there. It's not that I'm ashamed of my body; I can be ashamedly narcisstic in all honesty. I just don't want to have to deal with people. I met my friend at a bar in a local restaurant one Friday night a while back. She couldn't come immediately, so I told her I'd meet her there. It was packed. So what did I do? I sat with my back to everyone, got a menu and tried to catch the eye of the bartender to place an order without being pushy (I wasn't sitting at the bar as I was alone and there was no room, anyway) and it took me a half hour just to do that. My self-confidence is gone. I can't just push in and take my turn; I must let everyone else go first...it is very Japanese of me (funny considering how not-Japanese I look!). I can't invite myself over to others' homes or just join in with activities; I must wait to be invited. That is partially fault of my upbringing: "Wait until you are asked." It is so hard for me to just appear when I have not been specifically invited...and yet, if someone just appears at my doorstep it evokes in me one of the greatest, warmest of feelings and I wish it would occur more often. I can't even get myself something to eat without being offered something first. I just can't.
I now own the camera. When my family reunites once a year, I take all the photos...and thus am never actually in any of the pictures. My own little way of erasing myself from history? Perhaps. But neither does anyone ever offer, and I will not ask.
So my next question is: How do I get beyond this, to not end up raising two mental cases who are afraid of their own shadows and who cannot be socially competent? My measure of success as a human is no longer who I am but rather how my children turn out. I don't seem to matter anymore.
Is that right?
I can come up with so many excuses as to why no, I really can't. My work hours don't allow me too many large, free blocks of time, and those I do have I spend with my children. Or working on my book, that I'm 2/3 of the way into finishing. Or maintaining the house, as I can't afford a housekeeper--a rare thing around here, apparently. Or making food, as I really don't eat out much due to the fact that I am allergic to soy and seem to have a gluten intolerance as well...and I am not a natural cook, so that is not something that comes easy to me and takes time.
I feel so very alone. I have felt more alone since I've been married than during any other time in my life. However, I have vowed to not make my marital relationship, or lack thereof, fodder for my blog so I will make that irrelevant.
My problem? As I have grown older I have grown excrutiatingly shy. I don't see myself as having anything in common with those around me and have no desire to be a part of the "alpha mom" society, those who feel they must push their children in every direction and make them try absolutely everything, running them around from soccer game to judo practice to scout meetings to Heaven knows what else while pulling their hair out in the process from the busy schedule. I can't. I work. Anyway, I want my children to figure out on their own what they would like to try and tell me, much like my sister and I did, and I do not want to push them into anything.
I don't let them play video games and they have strict television rules (which *includes*, I might note, Saturday morning cartoons...those will not destroy my children). I don't do battery operated toys. I just feel that I don't "fit in" with the general values around here, where it seems that everyone is trying to plan for their children's Hah-vahd education by the end of kindergarten.
I feel that I have met many people I currently know by trying to fit into a mold that is not me, and I have come to the realization that I have spent most of my life thus far doing just that. Why? Because I knew no other way. I wasn't given a choice. So I grew up believing the only way to be acceptable to others was to try to be what they wanted me to be, try to prove myself worthy of their attentions or their friendship or their love. That extended into my family relationships, trying to excel at everything and undertaking more and more, becoming a huge overachiever and a scholar, just to try to gain parental approbation and trust.
Today, as I sit and, in tears, try to wrap Christmas presents for my children, I realize that I have no self-esteem left. I don't feel like anybody would even want to get to know me because I no longer can make myself try to fit into everyone else's expectations. I also have exceptionally high expectations set for myself and cannot hold others to those same standards; that is, likewise, not fair.
What happened?
I used to be the principal violinist, the self-motivated Wonder Woman who traveled the world and sought out new experiences and flavors of Life, who was not afraid to laugh, love, lust, screw up, be independent, pursue friendships, pick up the telephone and call somebody just to talk, and take monumental risks. Granted, as one has children the sense of responsibility to the children requires moderation and alteration of certain behaviors, such as risk-taking. That is acceptable to me. But where the idea of independence once was such a positive in my life, it has now become one of intense loneliness. Nobody has time for conversations anymore and, instead of taking that at face value I take it personally, perhaps falsely (perhaps not) believing that what is really happening is that nobody wants to talk to me.
So--the blog-osphere. Why do I blog? Probably for the same reasons as most other bloggers...it's not so risky. It's a voiceless voice. I can put myself out there, not have high expectations for readers nor for readership, and not expect a return on all I put out. It is safe. I can be somewhat anonymous. I have made some acquaintances and a couple actual friends who I doubtfully will ever meet but...well, that's okay. I am who I am and what I choose to share is what people learn about me--if I am even read. If someone does not like what they read, I never have to deal with it. It's....easy. Hell of a lot easier than pen-palling ever was...
When I was a new mother of my 6 year-old daughter back in Oregon, a group of us naturally formed from the hospital in which we delivered. They became my friends, we could relate and giggle and be ourselves, with or without the babies with us, and be a great support system for each other. I moved East, out of necessity for a paycheck, within five months of meeting these phenomenal women. Desperately trying to find something similar and naively believing that it would, indeed, exist out here, I sought out various "groups". But you had to pay to be a member. And I thought, "Pay to have friends? No, not for me." So perhaps in that way I did isolate myself. I have since learned that is "the way" things are done around here, but oh well...not my cup of tea.
I almost fear I'm becoming agoraphobic. I almost aim to try to shop when stores are empty so as not have to deal with what I have come to find to be a generally impolite and impersonal public. Sometimes I feel like an ant simply wandering, trying not to interact with others yet fulfilling my personal purpose, much like that which was cinematically represented in Dalí/Buñuel's Un chien andalou; a rather grotesque and surrealist image but very true-to-life, nonetheless. I try not to go to the gym when a lot of others will be there. It's not that I'm ashamed of my body; I can be ashamedly narcisstic in all honesty. I just don't want to have to deal with people. I met my friend at a bar in a local restaurant one Friday night a while back. She couldn't come immediately, so I told her I'd meet her there. It was packed. So what did I do? I sat with my back to everyone, got a menu and tried to catch the eye of the bartender to place an order without being pushy (I wasn't sitting at the bar as I was alone and there was no room, anyway) and it took me a half hour just to do that. My self-confidence is gone. I can't just push in and take my turn; I must let everyone else go first...it is very Japanese of me (funny considering how not-Japanese I look!). I can't invite myself over to others' homes or just join in with activities; I must wait to be invited. That is partially fault of my upbringing: "Wait until you are asked." It is so hard for me to just appear when I have not been specifically invited...and yet, if someone just appears at my doorstep it evokes in me one of the greatest, warmest of feelings and I wish it would occur more often. I can't even get myself something to eat without being offered something first. I just can't.
I now own the camera. When my family reunites once a year, I take all the photos...and thus am never actually in any of the pictures. My own little way of erasing myself from history? Perhaps. But neither does anyone ever offer, and I will not ask.
So my next question is: How do I get beyond this, to not end up raising two mental cases who are afraid of their own shadows and who cannot be socially competent? My measure of success as a human is no longer who I am but rather how my children turn out. I don't seem to matter anymore.
Is that right?
jueves, 20 de diciembre de 2007
World Orgasm Day
This caught my eye this morning. Of course, I read it in Spanish, but it appears that this Saturday, in conjunction with the Winter Solstice, has been named World Orgasm Day.
The purpose, one might ask? Besides being one hell of a stress relief, it is viewed that such action can generously contribute to various causes, among them being the fight for global peace, the fight against global warming and the fight for social justice and sexual equality.
"To achieve positive change in the electric field of the Earth through the best possible means of biological, mental and spiritual energy."
Yeah. I might have to agree on the global warming front.
The organizers (I have no idea who they are) are pleading that this day should not, however, promote the conception of more children due to an already overpopulated planet.
Ideally, one (or rather, two, I suppose...) should try to time things so as to climax right at the moment of the Winter Solstice, occuring at 7:28 a.m. That would make it 1:25 a.m. Eastern Standard Time USA.
Hmm.. yaaaaaaaawn
Maybe I'll have to pull a Meg Ryan in honor.
We'll just call it my little contribution to peace on Earth and good will toward all.
Okay, off to the gym....
The purpose, one might ask? Besides being one hell of a stress relief, it is viewed that such action can generously contribute to various causes, among them being the fight for global peace, the fight against global warming and the fight for social justice and sexual equality.
"To achieve positive change in the electric field of the Earth through the best possible means of biological, mental and spiritual energy."
Yeah. I might have to agree on the global warming front.
The organizers (I have no idea who they are) are pleading that this day should not, however, promote the conception of more children due to an already overpopulated planet.
Ideally, one (or rather, two, I suppose...) should try to time things so as to climax right at the moment of the Winter Solstice, occuring at 7:28 a.m. That would make it 1:25 a.m. Eastern Standard Time USA.
Hmm.. yaaaaaaaawn
Maybe I'll have to pull a Meg Ryan in honor.
We'll just call it my little contribution to peace on Earth and good will toward all.
Okay, off to the gym....
lunes, 17 de diciembre de 2007
Remembrances
I have thought a lot about my dear father today.
He was a really good teacher. At his funeral were students from his very first class, in 1967, to his last class in 1998. Our State Senator had my father for math, and attended the funeral. The church was packed full, I was really taken by how many lives he had touched but at the same time was not at all surprised. Many of my friends who had also had my father were in attendance; it had almost turned into a type of class reunion.
His best friend did not come to the funeral. We had asked him to be a pallbearer and he turned that down. I cannot blame him; his pain must have been so great, yet also his relief must have contradicted that pain, as I am sure he hated to see my father go downhill as rapidly as he did.
My uncle and I sat together, and I held his hand as he cried. My father was the last of his immediate family, and I knew he was so broken inside to lose his big brother. I have always been close to my uncle, closer than my sister or my mother. I got to see him this past summer 2007 while back in Oregon and introduced him to my children. It was the first time we had seen each other since the funeral.
My father did not want a lot of people going to the gravesite for the burial, but a large number still followed us 30 miles up the freeway to pay their final respects. It was such a cold December day, but the sun did shine, and an eagle flew overhead as he was laid into the ground.
That morning, while preparing for the preceding wake, I was looking out the window in the backyard when I saw the most brilliant sight. The morning frost was thick on the evergreens in my mother's backyard and, with the rays of the morning sun shining through the branches, a dazzling, sparkling frost powder was falling from the branches. The effect was amazing; it was as if raining diamonds. I called my sister, my mother's brother and my cousins, who had come down from up north for the funeral, to the back window and pointed, without words, at what I saw. We all stood there in silence, beholding this beauty, for a long time. I know we were all thinking the same thing; Dad wanted us to know he was there, too, and in a better place, and that he would be with us all this difficult day.
As my great-aunt watched the eagle soar over the cold cemetery where we were all standing, I heard her inhale and utter, "Oh, Mike, there you are." One of his favorite songs was "On Eagle's Wings" which was sung at his funeral Mass.
The Mass had ended, we decided, with "Angels We Have Heard on High." It was appropriate, considering it was only two days before Christmas.
What a shame that you could never know your grandchildren; your sense of humor is so vivid in their young personalities. I pray they never lose that.
I miss you, Dad.
He was a really good teacher. At his funeral were students from his very first class, in 1967, to his last class in 1998. Our State Senator had my father for math, and attended the funeral. The church was packed full, I was really taken by how many lives he had touched but at the same time was not at all surprised. Many of my friends who had also had my father were in attendance; it had almost turned into a type of class reunion.
His best friend did not come to the funeral. We had asked him to be a pallbearer and he turned that down. I cannot blame him; his pain must have been so great, yet also his relief must have contradicted that pain, as I am sure he hated to see my father go downhill as rapidly as he did.
My uncle and I sat together, and I held his hand as he cried. My father was the last of his immediate family, and I knew he was so broken inside to lose his big brother. I have always been close to my uncle, closer than my sister or my mother. I got to see him this past summer 2007 while back in Oregon and introduced him to my children. It was the first time we had seen each other since the funeral.
My father did not want a lot of people going to the gravesite for the burial, but a large number still followed us 30 miles up the freeway to pay their final respects. It was such a cold December day, but the sun did shine, and an eagle flew overhead as he was laid into the ground.
That morning, while preparing for the preceding wake, I was looking out the window in the backyard when I saw the most brilliant sight. The morning frost was thick on the evergreens in my mother's backyard and, with the rays of the morning sun shining through the branches, a dazzling, sparkling frost powder was falling from the branches. The effect was amazing; it was as if raining diamonds. I called my sister, my mother's brother and my cousins, who had come down from up north for the funeral, to the back window and pointed, without words, at what I saw. We all stood there in silence, beholding this beauty, for a long time. I know we were all thinking the same thing; Dad wanted us to know he was there, too, and in a better place, and that he would be with us all this difficult day.
As my great-aunt watched the eagle soar over the cold cemetery where we were all standing, I heard her inhale and utter, "Oh, Mike, there you are." One of his favorite songs was "On Eagle's Wings" which was sung at his funeral Mass.
The Mass had ended, we decided, with "Angels We Have Heard on High." It was appropriate, considering it was only two days before Christmas.
What a shame that you could never know your grandchildren; your sense of humor is so vivid in their young personalities. I pray they never lose that.
I miss you, Dad.
domingo, 16 de diciembre de 2007
me-time
I have been blessed with a little time this weekend. Not much, mind you, but enough to get myself to the gym and have, both Saturday and this morning, wonderfully exerting workouts. I have long avoided a heavy cardio program and instead mainly focus upon weights; I am rather slender and have a hard time maintaining weight (This is not a boast; I fully realize most would kill for my problems). I thus did not see that a heavily sweat-producing workout was all that beneficial to me as I am not trying to burn calories or lose weight.
Yesterday, something pushed me toward the elliptical machines. I love to brisk walk outdoors, but the cold temperatures now are very hard for my body to tolerate on so many levels. I also can hardly break a sweat brisk walking anymore. Plus, following the accident of March 2006, my left knee has been giving me problems; I must have done something then that I did not realize as most of my pain was centralled in my chest and lung injuries. Therefore the impact on the pavement, no matter how wonderful my Air Nikes might be, still affects my knee. Disappointing, as I have really tried to take care of my knees over the years so that I would not have issues with them as I get older; now I am a mere 30-something and am already experiencing difficulties.
So, following my weights and stretching workout, I climbed on to the elliptical and wow! It really allows me to get into a jog, work myself just above what my target heart rate for my age and weight should be, and I could even watch TV while doing so (I, of course, plugged myself into some hip-moving merengue on my Ipod and was off). No impact to bother my knee and adjustment of resistance so as to help me maintain close to my target heart rate and not go too high. Not so shabby. These things have really come a long way since they first came out.
I could get used to this. So I went this morning as well, got my weight workout in and then "treated myself" to a 30 minute session of elliptical jogging. I noticed yesterday that I am hungrier, and for someone who often gets so busy that I forget to eat, I will have to stay on top of that.
But it felt good. It feels good. And I needed to have something make me feel good this weekend.
Yesterday, something pushed me toward the elliptical machines. I love to brisk walk outdoors, but the cold temperatures now are very hard for my body to tolerate on so many levels. I also can hardly break a sweat brisk walking anymore. Plus, following the accident of March 2006, my left knee has been giving me problems; I must have done something then that I did not realize as most of my pain was centralled in my chest and lung injuries. Therefore the impact on the pavement, no matter how wonderful my Air Nikes might be, still affects my knee. Disappointing, as I have really tried to take care of my knees over the years so that I would not have issues with them as I get older; now I am a mere 30-something and am already experiencing difficulties.
So, following my weights and stretching workout, I climbed on to the elliptical and wow! It really allows me to get into a jog, work myself just above what my target heart rate for my age and weight should be, and I could even watch TV while doing so (I, of course, plugged myself into some hip-moving merengue on my Ipod and was off). No impact to bother my knee and adjustment of resistance so as to help me maintain close to my target heart rate and not go too high. Not so shabby. These things have really come a long way since they first came out.
I could get used to this. So I went this morning as well, got my weight workout in and then "treated myself" to a 30 minute session of elliptical jogging. I noticed yesterday that I am hungrier, and for someone who often gets so busy that I forget to eat, I will have to stay on top of that.
But it felt good. It feels good. And I needed to have something make me feel good this weekend.
viernes, 14 de diciembre de 2007
Trying to prove myself "not stupid"
I spent three wonderful years in Japan. I had a lot of fun but, as an educator and a language person I got a lot more out of my experience than the run-of-the-mill university graduate who goes abroad to teach English for a stint. I had a MINOR in Japanese, after all.
Like that got me far. I couldn't talk to a preschooler.
I was humbled. Here I was, already bilingual on my own accord (no heredity here) in Spanish and English, honors graduate overachiever who felt I could do anything I set my mind to...and yet when I opened my mouth, I could not be understood. I could not understand even the names of animals; such trivial knowledge is not taught in the University curriculum (and you can bet your buttons that I have included specifically animals and the sounds they make in the adult ed. Spanish textbook I'm writing!). ...oh, that would make a good post, too.
I have already written about my understandable difficulties with the written language regarding such menial tasks as, say, food preparation or singing karaoke. The spoken language, however, posed a great obstacle to me in my attempts to establish my place, my identity in this culture during my entire first year in 中之条 Nakanojo. I could understand much more than I could produce, which I could logically comprehend due to lack of common root language but could not figure out quite why it took so long to acquire even while experiencing total immersion. One of my key phrases became, "I'm not stupid, I just don't know the words to say..." Surprisingly, that seemed to help and I would end up learning more than I had initially set out to communicate.
The entire first year, I did not feel comfortable talking on the telephone, I dreaded seeing my landlord to make my monthly rent payment because I did not want to be invited in for a drink of Calpis...yeah, it tastes kind of like what it sounds like...and the obligatory offering of a rice cracker graced with a piece of dried seaweed and a dead little fish (eyes still there, thank you) on top. Yummers...actually, I'm too Japanese for my own good now.
I think one of the most difficult challenges I had to face had to do with my first encounter with ゴー先生 Go-sensei Mr. "Go"...short for his real name. Same guy who I later reported having kicked the student in the stomach (see ethics post). He was rotated into my school in April with the new fiscal year, school year and routine changes of staff. He had previously been at my friend Mike's school over in 吾妻 Agatsuma. Within two days of having him at my school, I was in tears. I could not go into any room alone, be it the copy room or the little kitchen to get more お茶 ocha green tea or anywhere but the women's bathroom without this man following me. I understood enough Japanese to know what he said when he moved in close while I was making photocopies and whispered in my ear, "You know, the previous teacher in my town never looked this good leaning over a photocopier" or reaching out to grab at or touch me in some fashion. I was disgusted. Not that it would have made any difference, as this was the workplace, but he wasn't even young and good-looking. Ugh. After a couple of days of this, and returning home in tears, feeling trapped and naive, I called Mike and asked for some advice. He mentioned that I might want to start a conversation, while Mr. Go is in earshot, with an English-speaking faculty member about セクハラseku-hara sexual harrassment. That is such a big key phrase, sekuhara, that if it is mentioned all sit straight up and nobody would ever believe there is a sexual being in the room. It's pretty funny. Anyhow, I did just that and won that battle, although I still was privy to grotesque demonstrations of Mr. Go lifting his shirt while walking through the 職員室 shokuin shitsu teacher's office and showing all his bare chest and his beer belly. Lovely.
Language-wise, things got better for me. I was asked to prepare a 1/2 hour speech for a local UNESCO group, which marked a huge turning point in my Japanese aquisition and I worked for a long time with my Japanese teacher on that. I got a Japanese boyfriend and that helped, of course. I was asked, by my third year, to do translations for local national parks and new hot spring resorts, and to give formal presentations and hold Q&A sessions for PTA groups and UNESCO. It was an honor and it really gave me the opportunity to be more than a mere "token foreigner." I let my opinions fly on certain issues and stimulated discussion.
Still, to this day I have times when the words come first to me in Japanese. It's hard when that happens while I'm teaching Spanish, but it does and that is natural. I just have to live with it. But it occurs less and less frequently than before. I miss the days when I could really surprise people with my Japanese but, once I get into a conversation I can still work it a bit. All is not completely lost.
Like that got me far. I couldn't talk to a preschooler.
I was humbled. Here I was, already bilingual on my own accord (no heredity here) in Spanish and English, honors graduate overachiever who felt I could do anything I set my mind to...and yet when I opened my mouth, I could not be understood. I could not understand even the names of animals; such trivial knowledge is not taught in the University curriculum (and you can bet your buttons that I have included specifically animals and the sounds they make in the adult ed. Spanish textbook I'm writing!). ...oh, that would make a good post, too.
I have already written about my understandable difficulties with the written language regarding such menial tasks as, say, food preparation or singing karaoke. The spoken language, however, posed a great obstacle to me in my attempts to establish my place, my identity in this culture during my entire first year in 中之条 Nakanojo. I could understand much more than I could produce, which I could logically comprehend due to lack of common root language but could not figure out quite why it took so long to acquire even while experiencing total immersion. One of my key phrases became, "I'm not stupid, I just don't know the words to say..." Surprisingly, that seemed to help and I would end up learning more than I had initially set out to communicate.
The entire first year, I did not feel comfortable talking on the telephone, I dreaded seeing my landlord to make my monthly rent payment because I did not want to be invited in for a drink of Calpis...yeah, it tastes kind of like what it sounds like...and the obligatory offering of a rice cracker graced with a piece of dried seaweed and a dead little fish (eyes still there, thank you) on top. Yummers...actually, I'm too Japanese for my own good now.
I think one of the most difficult challenges I had to face had to do with my first encounter with ゴー先生 Go-sensei Mr. "Go"...short for his real name. Same guy who I later reported having kicked the student in the stomach (see ethics post). He was rotated into my school in April with the new fiscal year, school year and routine changes of staff. He had previously been at my friend Mike's school over in 吾妻 Agatsuma. Within two days of having him at my school, I was in tears. I could not go into any room alone, be it the copy room or the little kitchen to get more お茶 ocha green tea or anywhere but the women's bathroom without this man following me. I understood enough Japanese to know what he said when he moved in close while I was making photocopies and whispered in my ear, "You know, the previous teacher in my town never looked this good leaning over a photocopier" or reaching out to grab at or touch me in some fashion. I was disgusted. Not that it would have made any difference, as this was the workplace, but he wasn't even young and good-looking. Ugh. After a couple of days of this, and returning home in tears, feeling trapped and naive, I called Mike and asked for some advice. He mentioned that I might want to start a conversation, while Mr. Go is in earshot, with an English-speaking faculty member about セクハラseku-hara sexual harrassment. That is such a big key phrase, sekuhara, that if it is mentioned all sit straight up and nobody would ever believe there is a sexual being in the room. It's pretty funny. Anyhow, I did just that and won that battle, although I still was privy to grotesque demonstrations of Mr. Go lifting his shirt while walking through the 職員室 shokuin shitsu teacher's office and showing all his bare chest and his beer belly. Lovely.
Language-wise, things got better for me. I was asked to prepare a 1/2 hour speech for a local UNESCO group, which marked a huge turning point in my Japanese aquisition and I worked for a long time with my Japanese teacher on that. I got a Japanese boyfriend and that helped, of course. I was asked, by my third year, to do translations for local national parks and new hot spring resorts, and to give formal presentations and hold Q&A sessions for PTA groups and UNESCO. It was an honor and it really gave me the opportunity to be more than a mere "token foreigner." I let my opinions fly on certain issues and stimulated discussion.
Still, to this day I have times when the words come first to me in Japanese. It's hard when that happens while I'm teaching Spanish, but it does and that is natural. I just have to live with it. But it occurs less and less frequently than before. I miss the days when I could really surprise people with my Japanese but, once I get into a conversation I can still work it a bit. All is not completely lost.
jueves, 13 de diciembre de 2007
和製英語 wa-sei eigo Japanese-made English
Any 外人 (remembering any of these characters yet? I told you there'd be a test later...) gaijin living in Japan, especially those from the English-speaking world, will at once have their sense of their own native language completely assaulted. I don't think there are many other ways I can comment on this phenomenon but by simply giving you a few good examples of true, living 和製英語 wa-sei eigo Japanese-made English. Some will make you roll with laughter, some will simply fill your head with "Huh?" The teacher in me says that perhaps I should make you match up the 和製英語 wa-sei eigo Japanese-made English phrase in Column A with the correct English equivalent in Column B. We'll see.
So, here we go. If you decide to try to actually utter some of the phrases, remember to keep the vowels constant (a=ah, i=ee, u=oo, e=eh and o=o). All consonant+vowel combinations create a single syllable; Japanese is really not as hard to pronounce as most other languages. So there is your first Japanese lesson and your first 5 letters of the Japanese alphabet to boot!
Food products:
-Pocari Sweat (gatorade-type drink often sold in vending machines)
-Creap (creamer you put in your coffee)
-bata (butter)
-furaido poteto (french fries) at Makudonarudozu (McDonald's), of course (that one took me three years to master)
Anything with the word "city" morphs as the "si" sound does not exist in Japanese...it becomes "shi-". So in an effort not to be profane on this site, please say the following out loud, using "shi-" in the place of "ci-":
1. New Yo-ku city
2. Citibank
3. Pure-zu sito down. (please sit down)
The differentiation between "l" and "r" is very hard for the Japanese to master. Translate the following:
1. Eric Crapton
2. Za erection ofu Puresidento Curinton (my era of being there, so dang appropriate)
3. Arufu (big TV star in Japan, one of the most popular shows along with #4)
4. Furu Hous-u
Logos:
Lets SPORTS yOUNG gAY CluB
Happy Time Card Dick (ATM card)
Other goodies:
1. amefuto (American Football)
2. apa-to (apartment)
3. baiku (motorcycle, NOT bicycle)
4. baikingu (smorgasbord) viking
5. basujjakku (bus-jacking, like a car-jacking)
6. bebika- (stroller-baby car)
7. cheriboi (a male virgin) cherry boy
8. pinchi (a pinch, a dangerous situation)
9. resutoran (restaurant)
10. sa-bisu (a freebie) service
11. suma-to (looking sharp) smart
My test to see that I had actually mastered sounding enough like a Japanese person perhaps occurred in my third year in Japan. I don't eat McDonald's hamburgers, but at the time I would travel miles and kilometers for a chocolate shake and fries. Which I did, driving all the way into the city of 渋川 Shibukawa for my heart's desire. Deciding this time to go through the drive-thru, I placed my order and made my way around the building to the pick-up window. There, the lady almost dropped my order when she saw I was a 外人 and she made a comment, something about how surprised she was.
I drove away, chokore-tto she-ki and furaido potetto in hand, most satisfied...in more ways than one.
So, here we go. If you decide to try to actually utter some of the phrases, remember to keep the vowels constant (a=ah, i=ee, u=oo, e=eh and o=o). All consonant+vowel combinations create a single syllable; Japanese is really not as hard to pronounce as most other languages. So there is your first Japanese lesson and your first 5 letters of the Japanese alphabet to boot!
Food products:
-Pocari Sweat (gatorade-type drink often sold in vending machines)
-Creap (creamer you put in your coffee)
-bata (butter)
-furaido poteto (french fries) at Makudonarudozu (McDonald's), of course (that one took me three years to master)
Anything with the word "city" morphs as the "si" sound does not exist in Japanese...it becomes "shi-". So in an effort not to be profane on this site, please say the following out loud, using "shi-" in the place of "ci-":
1. New Yo-ku city
2. Citibank
3. Pure-zu sito down. (please sit down)
The differentiation between "l" and "r" is very hard for the Japanese to master. Translate the following:
1. Eric Crapton
2. Za erection ofu Puresidento Curinton (my era of being there, so dang appropriate)
3. Arufu (big TV star in Japan, one of the most popular shows along with #4)
4. Furu Hous-u
Logos:
Lets SPORTS yOUNG gAY CluB
Happy Time Card Dick (ATM card)
Other goodies:
1. amefuto (American Football)
2. apa-to (apartment)
3. baiku (motorcycle, NOT bicycle)
4. baikingu (smorgasbord) viking
5. basujjakku (bus-jacking, like a car-jacking)
6. bebika- (stroller-baby car)
7. cheriboi (a male virgin) cherry boy
8. pinchi (a pinch, a dangerous situation)
9. resutoran (restaurant)
10. sa-bisu (a freebie) service
11. suma-to (looking sharp) smart
My test to see that I had actually mastered sounding enough like a Japanese person perhaps occurred in my third year in Japan. I don't eat McDonald's hamburgers, but at the time I would travel miles and kilometers for a chocolate shake and fries. Which I did, driving all the way into the city of 渋川 Shibukawa for my heart's desire. Deciding this time to go through the drive-thru, I placed my order and made my way around the building to the pick-up window. There, the lady almost dropped my order when she saw I was a 外人 and she made a comment, something about how surprised she was.
I drove away, chokore-tto she-ki and furaido potetto in hand, most satisfied...in more ways than one.
martes, 11 de diciembre de 2007
Christmas questions...
If you read this, you know what to do...you're tagged! Just for fun; I can handle these not-so-deep ones right now!
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? gift bags!
2. Real tree or Artificial? This is my first year EVER on an artificial. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
3 . When do you put up the tree? Beginning of Advent for the artificial, 2 weeks for a real tree
4. When do you take the tree down? At Epiphany (Jan 5-6 arena)
5. Do you like egg nog? Sometimes, not really.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? My sister got a Magical Musical Thing, I got a toy Electric Guitar, and we totally made some noise!
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Two: One atop my piano, a gorgeous Nativity in Waterford Crystal for the Christmas season; the other, an olive wood nativity that is always hung between my children’s bedrooms on the wall from the Holy Land.
8. Hardest person to buy for? my husband, so I don’t anymore as everything ends up in the trash or in the Freecycle pile.
9. Easiest person to buy for? my children, most of the time, or myself.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Snail Mail
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? The Shower Radio...a family gift, we kept reusing the box every year as a gag.
12. Favorite Christmas movie? A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens...I really enjoyed the musical version with Kelsey Grammer...
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? October to November, usually
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Recycled, no; given to charity, yes.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Chicken a la Maria on Christmas Eve.
16. Christmas colors? Deep red, deep purple, deep green, deep blue, deep green, gold and silver...royal colors
17, Favorite Christmas Carol? So many I love: O Holy Night, The Holly and the Ivy, O How a Rose E'er Blooming
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? STAY HOME!...or very close to home!
19. Can you name Santa's reindeerYes, but ONLY to the tune of “Rudolph”
20. Top of the Christmas tree? Angel
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Used to be both as a child; but now not as many gifts, so we do it all Christmas Morning!
22. The most annoying thing about this time of year? The fact that all Christmas music ends at 5:00 p.m. Christmas Day, when Christmas really just starts on the 25 and goes until January 5.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Angels...but the best story behind ornaments is the fact that all the white beads decorating my tree were obtained at one of the three Mardi Gras I survived in New Orleans.
24. Favorite Christmas dinner? One shared with my close friends, no matter what is prepared—we are each others’ families out here!
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? A new non-butt buster office chair from Staples
26. Who is most likely to respond to this? ? I’ll meme it on my blog...Z? Val? S.F.?
27. Who is least likely to respond? He Who Not Readeth the Blog.
28. Favorite holiday smell? Cinnamon or spiced goods; gingerbread (is there gluten-free gingerbread?)
29. Best holiday tradition? Decorating the home, turning on the lights, my children and i singing Christmas carols whenever we want.
30. Best things in my stocking? We never received gifts in stockings; they were just for show.
31. Favorite ornament on my tree? My Margaret Furlong ornaments.
32. Least favorite thing in my stocking when I was a kid? Ditto on #30
33. Always good holiday gifts? Personal and hand-made with the individual in mind and NOT obligatory.
34.Least favorite holiday food? Something other than turkey, after just having finished Thanksgiving leftovers!
35. Ever had a White Christmas? Yes, it was blindingly white fog in Southern Oregon back in the heavy inversion days...I think that's the closest I've ever been to a White Christmas.
Extra note: Japan does not celebrate Christmas, so I did actually go to work a full day on Christmas Day one year, my final year, as I was not travelling abroad that year for the holidays. The New Year (お正月osho-gatsu) is more recognized and 年賀状 nengajou New Year's Cards are sent in the mail instead.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? gift bags!
2. Real tree or Artificial? This is my first year EVER on an artificial. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
3 . When do you put up the tree? Beginning of Advent for the artificial, 2 weeks for a real tree
4. When do you take the tree down? At Epiphany (Jan 5-6 arena)
5. Do you like egg nog? Sometimes, not really.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? My sister got a Magical Musical Thing, I got a toy Electric Guitar, and we totally made some noise!
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Two: One atop my piano, a gorgeous Nativity in Waterford Crystal for the Christmas season; the other, an olive wood nativity that is always hung between my children’s bedrooms on the wall from the Holy Land.
8. Hardest person to buy for? my husband, so I don’t anymore as everything ends up in the trash or in the Freecycle pile.
9. Easiest person to buy for? my children, most of the time, or myself.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Snail Mail
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? The Shower Radio...a family gift, we kept reusing the box every year as a gag.
12. Favorite Christmas movie? A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens...I really enjoyed the musical version with Kelsey Grammer...
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? October to November, usually
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Recycled, no; given to charity, yes.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Chicken a la Maria on Christmas Eve.
16. Christmas colors? Deep red, deep purple, deep green, deep blue, deep green, gold and silver...royal colors
17, Favorite Christmas Carol? So many I love: O Holy Night, The Holly and the Ivy, O How a Rose E'er Blooming
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? STAY HOME!...or very close to home!
19. Can you name Santa's reindeerYes, but ONLY to the tune of “Rudolph”
20. Top of the Christmas tree? Angel
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Used to be both as a child; but now not as many gifts, so we do it all Christmas Morning!
22. The most annoying thing about this time of year? The fact that all Christmas music ends at 5:00 p.m. Christmas Day, when Christmas really just starts on the 25 and goes until January 5.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Angels...but the best story behind ornaments is the fact that all the white beads decorating my tree were obtained at one of the three Mardi Gras I survived in New Orleans.
24. Favorite Christmas dinner? One shared with my close friends, no matter what is prepared—we are each others’ families out here!
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? A new non-butt buster office chair from Staples
26. Who is most likely to respond to this? ? I’ll meme it on my blog...Z? Val? S.F.?
27. Who is least likely to respond? He Who Not Readeth the Blog.
28. Favorite holiday smell? Cinnamon or spiced goods; gingerbread (is there gluten-free gingerbread?)
29. Best holiday tradition? Decorating the home, turning on the lights, my children and i singing Christmas carols whenever we want.
30. Best things in my stocking? We never received gifts in stockings; they were just for show.
31. Favorite ornament on my tree? My Margaret Furlong ornaments.
32. Least favorite thing in my stocking when I was a kid? Ditto on #30
33. Always good holiday gifts? Personal and hand-made with the individual in mind and NOT obligatory.
34.Least favorite holiday food? Something other than turkey, after just having finished Thanksgiving leftovers!
35. Ever had a White Christmas? Yes, it was blindingly white fog in Southern Oregon back in the heavy inversion days...I think that's the closest I've ever been to a White Christmas.
Extra note: Japan does not celebrate Christmas, so I did actually go to work a full day on Christmas Day one year, my final year, as I was not travelling abroad that year for the holidays. The New Year (お正月osho-gatsu) is more recognized and 年賀状 nengajou New Year's Cards are sent in the mail instead.
lunes, 10 de diciembre de 2007
my daddy
In 1980, when I was in the 3rd grade, my father almost died.
Doctors didn't know what was wrong with him. He hurt. He ached. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He was 40 years old and he spent his nights pacing the entire house and his days laying down, wondering if he was dying.
The CT scan was first used in the mid-1970s but it wasn't until right around 1980 that certain medical centers and research institutions had them. After having been diagnosed with what doctors believed to be some sort of vasculitis or blood vessel cancer, he had a CT scan taken and a grapefruit-sized tumor was discovered growing in his abdomen. He was rushed to Oregon Health Sciences University where his surgery was the first of its kind. The doctors went in believing the tumor was on his spleen but, upon removal of the spleen, they discovered that was not correct. They then had to re-evaluate, re-enter and remove half of his pancreas where the ice-blue tumor was found.
This returned my father to pretty much perfect health.
I was eight years old at the time, and remember vividly the emotions and the struggle to try to understand all that was happening, trying to be grown up and strong for my mother and my little sister who doesn't really remember anything of this time.
All was well for years.
I received The Phone Call while in Japan, in fall of 1995. Dad had a recurrance of the tumor, but this time in the liver. Things weren't looking good, but there was hope in a relatively new surgical procedure called cryosurgery. (Only) About 200 surgeries had been performed using this technique. The tumor would be frozen and killed, the body would flush out the toxins and the liver, being an organ that can regenerate itself, would do so in time.
Insurance would not cover this as it was deemed "too experimental", so my parents took the insurance company to court and won. After their trip to Japan and our family trip to China in 1997, they sent word that the surgery was scheduled for the end of May.
My father had type B blood. Positive or negative, I don't know. But it was B. He had to have a transfusion of blood platelets after the long surgery, which his body rejected. He went code blue three times.
During this day I was in Japan not able to sit still. I had a horrible headache, I didn't know what was happening, I hadn't heard from anyone. I even tried phoning my uncle in Sacramento for news, but to no avail. I knew something was wrong.
Doctors told my mother to pray, because my father was bleeding to death inside and there were no platelets in his blood to clot him. There was nothing they could do as his body was rejecting all their efforts.
So she did.
The next morning the bleeding had stopped and my father had regained partial consciousness. One doctor pulled my mother aside and said, "This is when I really do believe in the hand of God. We had nothing to do with this."
My father was baptised and confirmed into the Catholic Church the next Easter. I don't know what had happened to him, if he had visions, anything. I just know that he felt God had spoken to him and that he felt that he needed to make this step immediately.
At Thanksgiving of 1998, just engaged and having spent Thanksgiving with my soon-to-be sister-in-law's family in Colorado, I returned home to word that my father's tumor had returned, and that surgery was scheduled for right after Christmas. I arranged all plans to be able to be there for the duration, and my mother, my uncle and I stayed in that hospital all fourteen hours of that surgery...a surgery we were told would only take "max 4-6 hours."
He made it.
When I saw him after the surgery in ICU, yellowed with jaundice, the room around me began to spin, my chest felt heavily compressed, and I could not breathe; I about passed out. I had never expected such a strong reaction. My mother and my uncle couldn't even come into the room. I had to sit with my head between my legs, I held Dad's hand and just talked to him to let him know I was there as he came to excrutiatingly slowly. He gently squeezed my hand, which gave me the strength I needed to go on and to encourage my mother and my uncle to enter and talk to him, too.
I helped him walk up and down the corridors, as he knew to be up and walking immediately. He couldn't believe he was actually alive.
He walked me down the aisle in May of that year.
In June, immediately following my honeymoon, my parents informed us of a minor complication, something that could be taken care of in a simple outpatient procedure in their own hometown hospital. The scar tissue was blocking his bile duct and they had to go back in and unblock the duct.
However, the scar tissue had grown in like cement and the doctors couldn't get through. So he was sent back up to Portland, to the same doctor as before.
And had to undergo another fourteen-hour surgery, this time a bile duct bypass.
Upon learning of this I flew home immediately for a couple of weeks to help them get home and get my father back on his feet. He had a hole in his side where the bile would drain into a bag, that he had to empty. He had to duct tape this contraption onto his skin, and he said that the nurses refused to do it at his doctor's office. Probably because it was so gross. So that was my job after he showered, to help him re-attach his bag over his tube.
The day I left I accompanied him to his oncologist appointment. He had a temperature. I inquired to the doctor, doesn't that mean that there is infection? He just ignored me. Looked right through me as if I didn't exist and went on with his business.
I didn't want to leave, and I didn't feel right leaving.
That was the last time I would see my father alive.
There were various episodes following my departure during which my mother had to call family friends and 911 in the middle of the night. True nightmares to have to face alone...why is it the nights are always the worst?
He did have an infection. He had staph. But nobody treated him for staph. He was treated by one doctor for symptoms of medications that another doctor had prescribed him. It was as if the insurance company had said, "No more."
He developed blood clots and started to have strokes. He was then under the same doctor's care that his mother was under when she died...while having strokes in the hospital.
Difference was, she was a life-long smoker and had 15 years on him when she died.
Our last telephone conversation was one of great pain. I asked him why he wouldn't question what the doctors were saying or doing, because he always had said he would never allow himself to get caught in the whirlpool of medications that will drag you to your death, as it had his mother. He, rather angrily but in slurred stroke-affected speech, told me that they were all that were keeping him alive.
Christmas was coming, and we were planning to spend it together in New Orleans before flying up for the New Year to Oregon to be with my family. We had our first tree up, the lights twinkled, it was beautiful. Then, the night before I was to administer my final exam to my students, I had handed in all my master's work and officially completed my degree, my mother called. My dad had slipped into a coma. She was strangely calm. He had been lucid when they got in the elevator. When she realized she forgot her purse in his room, she left to get it and said they would meet up in x-ray or wherever it was they were taking him. She said she will never know what happened in that elevator because when she got upstairs, he was unconscious and nobody would answer her questions.
The doctor was calling her at home to pressure her to take him off the life support.
Neither my sister nor I were home yet. They hadn't even done a brain scan on him until an hour before I had flown in and arrived at the Christmasy-clad hospital the next day.
My mother, my sister and I were told by cold doctors, "Someone else could use those machines more now. They could be going to better use."
My sister verbally attacked him. I could have punched him.
We called our priest. We all stood around him and had a final Mass over him.
I still can't say the Our Father without crying.
We disconnected life support.
I held my daddy's hand and laid my head on his chest and cried and cried and cried and told my daddy how much I loved him. My mother and my sister held onto each other, they stood together at the foot of the bed. My daddy was my protector, he was my ally, he was my daddy.
I laid with my head on his chest and cried and listened to his heart beat slowly, slowly, slowly until it beat no more. Father had to pull me from his chest.
He was 59 years old.
December 17, 1999...but it sometimes still feels like yesterday.
Doctors didn't know what was wrong with him. He hurt. He ached. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He was 40 years old and he spent his nights pacing the entire house and his days laying down, wondering if he was dying.
The CT scan was first used in the mid-1970s but it wasn't until right around 1980 that certain medical centers and research institutions had them. After having been diagnosed with what doctors believed to be some sort of vasculitis or blood vessel cancer, he had a CT scan taken and a grapefruit-sized tumor was discovered growing in his abdomen. He was rushed to Oregon Health Sciences University where his surgery was the first of its kind. The doctors went in believing the tumor was on his spleen but, upon removal of the spleen, they discovered that was not correct. They then had to re-evaluate, re-enter and remove half of his pancreas where the ice-blue tumor was found.
This returned my father to pretty much perfect health.
I was eight years old at the time, and remember vividly the emotions and the struggle to try to understand all that was happening, trying to be grown up and strong for my mother and my little sister who doesn't really remember anything of this time.
All was well for years.
I received The Phone Call while in Japan, in fall of 1995. Dad had a recurrance of the tumor, but this time in the liver. Things weren't looking good, but there was hope in a relatively new surgical procedure called cryosurgery. (Only) About 200 surgeries had been performed using this technique. The tumor would be frozen and killed, the body would flush out the toxins and the liver, being an organ that can regenerate itself, would do so in time.
Insurance would not cover this as it was deemed "too experimental", so my parents took the insurance company to court and won. After their trip to Japan and our family trip to China in 1997, they sent word that the surgery was scheduled for the end of May.
My father had type B blood. Positive or negative, I don't know. But it was B. He had to have a transfusion of blood platelets after the long surgery, which his body rejected. He went code blue three times.
During this day I was in Japan not able to sit still. I had a horrible headache, I didn't know what was happening, I hadn't heard from anyone. I even tried phoning my uncle in Sacramento for news, but to no avail. I knew something was wrong.
Doctors told my mother to pray, because my father was bleeding to death inside and there were no platelets in his blood to clot him. There was nothing they could do as his body was rejecting all their efforts.
So she did.
The next morning the bleeding had stopped and my father had regained partial consciousness. One doctor pulled my mother aside and said, "This is when I really do believe in the hand of God. We had nothing to do with this."
My father was baptised and confirmed into the Catholic Church the next Easter. I don't know what had happened to him, if he had visions, anything. I just know that he felt God had spoken to him and that he felt that he needed to make this step immediately.
At Thanksgiving of 1998, just engaged and having spent Thanksgiving with my soon-to-be sister-in-law's family in Colorado, I returned home to word that my father's tumor had returned, and that surgery was scheduled for right after Christmas. I arranged all plans to be able to be there for the duration, and my mother, my uncle and I stayed in that hospital all fourteen hours of that surgery...a surgery we were told would only take "max 4-6 hours."
He made it.
When I saw him after the surgery in ICU, yellowed with jaundice, the room around me began to spin, my chest felt heavily compressed, and I could not breathe; I about passed out. I had never expected such a strong reaction. My mother and my uncle couldn't even come into the room. I had to sit with my head between my legs, I held Dad's hand and just talked to him to let him know I was there as he came to excrutiatingly slowly. He gently squeezed my hand, which gave me the strength I needed to go on and to encourage my mother and my uncle to enter and talk to him, too.
I helped him walk up and down the corridors, as he knew to be up and walking immediately. He couldn't believe he was actually alive.
He walked me down the aisle in May of that year.
In June, immediately following my honeymoon, my parents informed us of a minor complication, something that could be taken care of in a simple outpatient procedure in their own hometown hospital. The scar tissue was blocking his bile duct and they had to go back in and unblock the duct.
However, the scar tissue had grown in like cement and the doctors couldn't get through. So he was sent back up to Portland, to the same doctor as before.
And had to undergo another fourteen-hour surgery, this time a bile duct bypass.
Upon learning of this I flew home immediately for a couple of weeks to help them get home and get my father back on his feet. He had a hole in his side where the bile would drain into a bag, that he had to empty. He had to duct tape this contraption onto his skin, and he said that the nurses refused to do it at his doctor's office. Probably because it was so gross. So that was my job after he showered, to help him re-attach his bag over his tube.
The day I left I accompanied him to his oncologist appointment. He had a temperature. I inquired to the doctor, doesn't that mean that there is infection? He just ignored me. Looked right through me as if I didn't exist and went on with his business.
I didn't want to leave, and I didn't feel right leaving.
That was the last time I would see my father alive.
There were various episodes following my departure during which my mother had to call family friends and 911 in the middle of the night. True nightmares to have to face alone...why is it the nights are always the worst?
He did have an infection. He had staph. But nobody treated him for staph. He was treated by one doctor for symptoms of medications that another doctor had prescribed him. It was as if the insurance company had said, "No more."
He developed blood clots and started to have strokes. He was then under the same doctor's care that his mother was under when she died...while having strokes in the hospital.
Difference was, she was a life-long smoker and had 15 years on him when she died.
Our last telephone conversation was one of great pain. I asked him why he wouldn't question what the doctors were saying or doing, because he always had said he would never allow himself to get caught in the whirlpool of medications that will drag you to your death, as it had his mother. He, rather angrily but in slurred stroke-affected speech, told me that they were all that were keeping him alive.
Christmas was coming, and we were planning to spend it together in New Orleans before flying up for the New Year to Oregon to be with my family. We had our first tree up, the lights twinkled, it was beautiful. Then, the night before I was to administer my final exam to my students, I had handed in all my master's work and officially completed my degree, my mother called. My dad had slipped into a coma. She was strangely calm. He had been lucid when they got in the elevator. When she realized she forgot her purse in his room, she left to get it and said they would meet up in x-ray or wherever it was they were taking him. She said she will never know what happened in that elevator because when she got upstairs, he was unconscious and nobody would answer her questions.
The doctor was calling her at home to pressure her to take him off the life support.
Neither my sister nor I were home yet. They hadn't even done a brain scan on him until an hour before I had flown in and arrived at the Christmasy-clad hospital the next day.
My mother, my sister and I were told by cold doctors, "Someone else could use those machines more now. They could be going to better use."
My sister verbally attacked him. I could have punched him.
We called our priest. We all stood around him and had a final Mass over him.
I still can't say the Our Father without crying.
We disconnected life support.
I held my daddy's hand and laid my head on his chest and cried and cried and cried and told my daddy how much I loved him. My mother and my sister held onto each other, they stood together at the foot of the bed. My daddy was my protector, he was my ally, he was my daddy.
I laid with my head on his chest and cried and listened to his heart beat slowly, slowly, slowly until it beat no more. Father had to pull me from his chest.
He was 59 years old.
December 17, 1999...but it sometimes still feels like yesterday.
viernes, 7 de diciembre de 2007
公一
This will be the only Japan blog written about a specific person.
公一Kouichi was one of the first people I met in Nakanojo.
A very gentle person, he was the 係長, kakaricho, or sub-section chief, of my side of the 教育委員会 kyoiku iinkai, the Board of Education. We sat back-to-back at our desks for the entire first month of my first year's tenure, as the schools were on their Summer break and were not to begin school again until the end of August; there is about a six-week or so break in the summertime for Japanese students.
公一, or 公ちゃん Ko-chan, as he was affectionately called by his co-workers and as he invited me to call him soon after we met, was a quiet person by nature but he had a great sense of humor; during the first month he would turn around and, little by little, start teaching me some of the local ベンben (slang) based on the Japanese I already knew. I would crack the entire office up by trying out my new ben but, in the end, I found they were thrilled that someone would want to learn all that I could and acted as a sponge, soaking up all that I could, and all that anyone would be willing to teach me.
During the first month of my stay, 公ちゃん and Papa-chan took me out to climb the local landmark, 嵩山, Takayama and taught me of the magic of living in an area surrounded by volcanic hot springs. They took charge of me in my 歓迎会, kangeikai, welcome party during which I demonstrated not only my decent alcohol tolerance but also my stamina to stay out all night eating sushi and ramen and singing カラオケ karaoke.
We went on a trip along with other Education Board members and with several groups of junior high students who were involved with Nakanojo's sister city, located in 千葉県, Chiba Prefecture, on the beach. Papa-chan, 公ちゃん, Yuri-chan, Taka-chan, Kogure-san and I soon formed a sort of sextet; between us we would take little day trips from time to time to different places, everything from art museums to hikes in various natural landscapes. This group of people averaged in age about 15 to 20 or so years older than I was; most my age had left Nakanojo for The City, but tended to return when the responsibilities of Life called them back home to an existence more in touch with their roots, a very important detail in the lives of the Japanese.
公ちゃん and I became allies. I would join him and his wife in various activities. His sons were students of mine. Although feeling very attracted to him, an attraction I sensed he shared but knew it was something neither of us would speak of nor act upon, a deep and enduring friendship developed between us. In the middle of my second year's tenure, 公ちゃん was rotated out of the 教育委員会 kyoiku iinkai board of education and into the position of the Mayor and Vice-Mayor's right-hand man.
Although the move made everyone in the 教育委員会 sad, as 公ちゃんwas so sweet and loved by all, we still were able to see each other often and get out for excursions. There was a huge going-away party held for all who were being transferred out, and a welcome for those transferred in. The Japanese love to party. But that's another post. 公ちゃん had quite a low tolerance for alcohol, and I would often go to his rescue when I saw his face becoming flush with all the 義理 giri obligatory sips of 酒 sake he would have to drink...it's a cultural thing. I would come around with the sickeningly sweet orange soda drink or the canned 紅茶 kocha tea to give him something other than alcohol in his system, for which he thanked me, silently and profusely, and we would sit together and chat while watching the rest of the world imbibe.
In August 1996, the beginning of my third year in 中之条 I decided it was time to return to my home for a visit; I had not seen my family in a year and a half. Five of my friends, including Papa-chan and 公ちゃん decided to take a trip to the continental US at the same time so as to meet my family and see where I was from. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to share my home with them. My family was so gracious as to open their home to them for meals, arrange hotel stays, rent a van so we could travel to some famous and special sites together and try to communicate as much as possible with my friends. 公ちゃん really put himself out to try to communicate with my father. The two of them ended up very close, with my father greatly influencing 公ちゃん into making a huge change in his life--公ちゃん became a Christian a few years later because he thought my father so embodied all that was good and tried to live the way a Christian out to live without being pushy about it...living by example and not by word. At the end of their few days' whirlwind trip through Southern Oregon, we had to depart in the airport. For me, it was not sad as I knew I would be heading back to the Orient in a couple of weeks. But my family was extremely emotional, as were my normally rather emotionally-stoic Japanese friends. Tears were shed. 公ちゃんhad stayed up late composing a thank you message he wanted to read to my family in the airport, and he followed this up with a hug given to my father. The effort alone was very touching.
My final year in Japan witnessed great changes in 公ちゃん and my relationship. We tried to cram as many activities together in as possible, feeling like our time together was almost over.
We truly loved each other. This was very pure in the sense that no feelings were ever acted upon beyond shared activities and simply spending time, laughter, feelings...together.
公ちゃん was diagnosed with stomach cancer in the second half of my final year. Right before my departure, he was hospitalized and had the upper portion of his stomach removed.
My last night in Japan, before going to dinner with the closest of my friends from the 役場 yakuba town hall, I went to the hospital to spend a few hours with 公ちゃん. I told him everything I wanted to do still with him. He confided in me all he felt and wanted. Then we sat there, held hands, hugged and wept.
For an eternity.
That was the beginning of tears shed upon my departure, and yet that does not end the story. 公ちゃん made it through just fine, although he did lose a bit of weight that made his already slight frame even slighter. I had returned to the States, entered graduate school and met who is now my husband.
Seven people came all the way from Japan for my wedding.
公ちゃん was among them.
Taka-chan, a very close friend and confidant, pulled me aside while I was entertaining the group in the days leading up to the wedding and told me that 公ちゃん and his wife had divorced. She left him. But he did not want me to know because he didn't want things to change for me.
I let 公ちゃん know that I had been informed. I didn't know what to say. I don't know if anything would have ever been different, but he was not about to change my life's trajectory.
Our honeymoon took us back to Japan. My friends made it back before we did, and 公ちゃん was at the 中之条駅 Nakanojo eki train station awaiting us. He had with him a newspaper reporter from the prefectural paper to interview me as "the gaijin who has returned to her 第二古里 daini furusato second home."
Leaving 中之条 that time was very difficult for me. A part of me knew, I suppose, that I was never to return. My hopes skyrocketed when, in 2001 I heard from 公ちゃん saying he and Papa-chan wanted to come for a visit. I then received word from Papa-chan that 公ちゃん was in the hospital again. I gave birth to my daughter in November of that year and sent word back. I received congratulatory messages back from 公ちゃん through Papa-chan.
The next word I had from Papa-chan was that 公ちゃん had died.
He was 45 years old.
December 15, 2001.
My heart was broken, my world completely fell apart, after having tried so hard to reconstruct what had shattered after my father's death two years almost to the day before.
I will never again return to 中之条. Without 公ちゃん there with me, there is nothing more there but memories shared. I visit all the time in my dreams. I am still speaking Japanese in my dreams. 公ちゃん is there, by my side, in my dreams, and will be, I am sure, until the day I die.
It is my secret, that I keep guarded deep in my heart and soul, under lock and key. Very, very few who know me well know this story...
...but perhaps it is time to let the beauty, the deep sadness, and the truth of the story be known.
公一Kouichi was one of the first people I met in Nakanojo.
A very gentle person, he was the 係長, kakaricho, or sub-section chief, of my side of the 教育委員会 kyoiku iinkai, the Board of Education. We sat back-to-back at our desks for the entire first month of my first year's tenure, as the schools were on their Summer break and were not to begin school again until the end of August; there is about a six-week or so break in the summertime for Japanese students.
公一, or 公ちゃん Ko-chan, as he was affectionately called by his co-workers and as he invited me to call him soon after we met, was a quiet person by nature but he had a great sense of humor; during the first month he would turn around and, little by little, start teaching me some of the local ベンben (slang) based on the Japanese I already knew. I would crack the entire office up by trying out my new ben but, in the end, I found they were thrilled that someone would want to learn all that I could and acted as a sponge, soaking up all that I could, and all that anyone would be willing to teach me.
During the first month of my stay, 公ちゃん and Papa-chan took me out to climb the local landmark, 嵩山, Takayama and taught me of the magic of living in an area surrounded by volcanic hot springs. They took charge of me in my 歓迎会, kangeikai, welcome party during which I demonstrated not only my decent alcohol tolerance but also my stamina to stay out all night eating sushi and ramen and singing カラオケ karaoke.
We went on a trip along with other Education Board members and with several groups of junior high students who were involved with Nakanojo's sister city, located in 千葉県, Chiba Prefecture, on the beach. Papa-chan, 公ちゃん, Yuri-chan, Taka-chan, Kogure-san and I soon formed a sort of sextet; between us we would take little day trips from time to time to different places, everything from art museums to hikes in various natural landscapes. This group of people averaged in age about 15 to 20 or so years older than I was; most my age had left Nakanojo for The City, but tended to return when the responsibilities of Life called them back home to an existence more in touch with their roots, a very important detail in the lives of the Japanese.
公ちゃん and I became allies. I would join him and his wife in various activities. His sons were students of mine. Although feeling very attracted to him, an attraction I sensed he shared but knew it was something neither of us would speak of nor act upon, a deep and enduring friendship developed between us. In the middle of my second year's tenure, 公ちゃん was rotated out of the 教育委員会 kyoiku iinkai board of education and into the position of the Mayor and Vice-Mayor's right-hand man.
Although the move made everyone in the 教育委員会 sad, as 公ちゃんwas so sweet and loved by all, we still were able to see each other often and get out for excursions. There was a huge going-away party held for all who were being transferred out, and a welcome for those transferred in. The Japanese love to party. But that's another post. 公ちゃん had quite a low tolerance for alcohol, and I would often go to his rescue when I saw his face becoming flush with all the 義理 giri obligatory sips of 酒 sake he would have to drink...it's a cultural thing. I would come around with the sickeningly sweet orange soda drink or the canned 紅茶 kocha tea to give him something other than alcohol in his system, for which he thanked me, silently and profusely, and we would sit together and chat while watching the rest of the world imbibe.
In August 1996, the beginning of my third year in 中之条 I decided it was time to return to my home for a visit; I had not seen my family in a year and a half. Five of my friends, including Papa-chan and 公ちゃん decided to take a trip to the continental US at the same time so as to meet my family and see where I was from. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to share my home with them. My family was so gracious as to open their home to them for meals, arrange hotel stays, rent a van so we could travel to some famous and special sites together and try to communicate as much as possible with my friends. 公ちゃん really put himself out to try to communicate with my father. The two of them ended up very close, with my father greatly influencing 公ちゃん into making a huge change in his life--公ちゃん became a Christian a few years later because he thought my father so embodied all that was good and tried to live the way a Christian out to live without being pushy about it...living by example and not by word. At the end of their few days' whirlwind trip through Southern Oregon, we had to depart in the airport. For me, it was not sad as I knew I would be heading back to the Orient in a couple of weeks. But my family was extremely emotional, as were my normally rather emotionally-stoic Japanese friends. Tears were shed. 公ちゃんhad stayed up late composing a thank you message he wanted to read to my family in the airport, and he followed this up with a hug given to my father. The effort alone was very touching.
My final year in Japan witnessed great changes in 公ちゃん and my relationship. We tried to cram as many activities together in as possible, feeling like our time together was almost over.
We truly loved each other. This was very pure in the sense that no feelings were ever acted upon beyond shared activities and simply spending time, laughter, feelings...together.
公ちゃん was diagnosed with stomach cancer in the second half of my final year. Right before my departure, he was hospitalized and had the upper portion of his stomach removed.
My last night in Japan, before going to dinner with the closest of my friends from the 役場 yakuba town hall, I went to the hospital to spend a few hours with 公ちゃん. I told him everything I wanted to do still with him. He confided in me all he felt and wanted. Then we sat there, held hands, hugged and wept.
For an eternity.
That was the beginning of tears shed upon my departure, and yet that does not end the story. 公ちゃん made it through just fine, although he did lose a bit of weight that made his already slight frame even slighter. I had returned to the States, entered graduate school and met who is now my husband.
Seven people came all the way from Japan for my wedding.
公ちゃん was among them.
Taka-chan, a very close friend and confidant, pulled me aside while I was entertaining the group in the days leading up to the wedding and told me that 公ちゃん and his wife had divorced. She left him. But he did not want me to know because he didn't want things to change for me.
I let 公ちゃん know that I had been informed. I didn't know what to say. I don't know if anything would have ever been different, but he was not about to change my life's trajectory.
Our honeymoon took us back to Japan. My friends made it back before we did, and 公ちゃん was at the 中之条駅 Nakanojo eki train station awaiting us. He had with him a newspaper reporter from the prefectural paper to interview me as "the gaijin who has returned to her 第二古里 daini furusato second home."
Leaving 中之条 that time was very difficult for me. A part of me knew, I suppose, that I was never to return. My hopes skyrocketed when, in 2001 I heard from 公ちゃん saying he and Papa-chan wanted to come for a visit. I then received word from Papa-chan that 公ちゃん was in the hospital again. I gave birth to my daughter in November of that year and sent word back. I received congratulatory messages back from 公ちゃん through Papa-chan.
The next word I had from Papa-chan was that 公ちゃん had died.
He was 45 years old.
December 15, 2001.
My heart was broken, my world completely fell apart, after having tried so hard to reconstruct what had shattered after my father's death two years almost to the day before.
I will never again return to 中之条. Without 公ちゃん there with me, there is nothing more there but memories shared. I visit all the time in my dreams. I am still speaking Japanese in my dreams. 公ちゃん is there, by my side, in my dreams, and will be, I am sure, until the day I die.
It is my secret, that I keep guarded deep in my heart and soul, under lock and key. Very, very few who know me well know this story...
...but perhaps it is time to let the beauty, the deep sadness, and the truth of the story be known.
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