Miss Colleen's Storytime Blog

Vaclav Havel

2011-12-28T22:32:00.002+09:00

The day after Vaclav Havel died, I walked through Vaclavske Naměsti. The statue of Sv. Vaclav (Saint Wenceslas) at the top of the square was surrounded by a memorial. There were hundreds of candles. Every time a candle blew out, someone relit it. Every candle that burned out seemed to be replaced by another. People gathered in silence to say goodbye to the man who helped bring this country into the Western world and the 21st century. I saw elderly men crying quietly as they lit candles.

I have been reminded a few times that if it were not for him, we would not be here. I'm not sure where I would be right now, however, this place is where I have done so much of my growing up. I am so thankful for this opportunity.

A week later, the square is full of candles, though most in the center have long burnt out. More are added to the edges every minute. Parents stand with their children and try to explain to them the importance of a great man. And everywhere, there are hearts.
"Truth and love must prevail over hatred and lies"-Vaclav Havel (1936-2011)

Christmas Markets in Germany

2011-12-26T21:39:00.003+09:00

A few years ago, I went to Dresden for their Christmas market. This year, we went to Munich and Nuremberg. It was a really quick trip, just three days and two nights. On a preschool teacher's salary, this was my big trip for the next few months. Being in Southern Germany was pretty exciting. It was much more western than what I have become accustomed to. The markets were beautiful. In Munich, the Christmas market was small but the Christmas atmosphere there could not be beat. In front of beautiful, ornate buildings (and I say this as a resident of Prague), we drank mulled wine and listened to a live choir who sang from a balcony. In Nuremberg, the market was huge! They specialized in these bizarre figurines made out of nuts and dried fruit with faces glued on them. I cannot say I understood their appeal. However, I did find an entire stand of Ostheimer toys! I gazed longingly at all of the figures. "My school will be full of these," I declared. Someday, someday. Nuremberg also had a section of the market dedicated to their sister Christmas markets from various cities around the world including Glasgow, Atlanta, and Prague. Each city had a stall with Christmas wares and treats. I even got a hot toddy from Glassgow! I may have come home a little lighter in the wallet, nevertheless, it was wonderful to have a Christmas mini-break.

Christmastime at School

2011-12-19T01:09:00.005+09:00

It seems that I haven't posted in nearly half a year! Whoops.

This school year, I am teaching the 3-year-olds again. Unfortunately, we have what I so often refer to as "an enrollment problem"--which is to say that I have two students. One of them comes three times a week, the other one four. This means that my time is spread between my own class, the other preschool classes, and our after-school program to which I've been assigned. Two afternoons a week, I am supposed to entertain and educate a group of 2-4 second graders. There's a reason I teach preschool and not second grade. This is not my passion. However, I am looking to just get through the next year so that I can move back to America with three full years of preschool experience and a good reference under my belt. While I enjoy writing the curriculum for the seven-year-olds and seeing their results, the teaching can be a struggle.

My first project this year was to teach them why they are learning English. They are at the age when they realize it's harder to speak English than Czech, so why bother? They haven't yet been in a situation where English was helpful so they just rebel. I asked them to list countries where English is spoken. They couldn't come up with more than five. I asked them if they thought there were more than 10 countries where English is a major language. They were certain there couldn't be. So, I showed them a list of countries where English is a national language (de jure or de facto). We picked ten countries with the highest percentage of English speakers per capita and made a book about them. We used atlases and other books to research the people, climate, animals, and traditions. We compared Irish dance and Highland dance on Youtube. As I write all of this, I feel so proud of my students and of myself. However, while teaching it, I could not wait for it to be over.

Our next project was to write letters to an American second grade class. I wanted them to explain what Christmas was like in the Czech Republic. I had them do watercolor paintings to illustrate their letters. They all wanted to paint Christmas trees. It was kind of a bust. However, I got two of them to work together to make this timeline of Christmas. They dictated to me what they did on each day and made these little pictures. Again, I wonder if the ends justifies the means because this is pretty great.

Aside from teaching, my life has had a few changes. In September, I moved into a flop house where I had only half a window as I was in one side of a room divided by sheetrock. The kitchen had no hot water. There were people moving in and out every week, not to mention the number of couchsurfers my landlord invited over without telling us. The final straw was his refusal to put a lock on my door. He pocketed half of my security deposit and I went on my merry way. In October, I moved into my current flat with my girlfriend. We live in a fifth-floor walk-up which means a lot of stairs. Otherwise, I love the place. It's the top floor with vaulted ceilings--which are still absurdly high and have skylights! Nothing like the vaulted ceilings where I lived when I was twenty. It's got a loft-esque quality to it with exposed beams and a mostly open floor plan. The last tenants put up a wall (of high quality) to separate off part of the living room/dining room area into a second bedroom which we use mostly for clothes and guests.

And now, it's time for me to get back to Christmas preparations. I hope to take pictures of our fat little tree and all the crafty decorations we've put up!

And So It's Summer.

2011-07-02T20:29:00.005+09:00

I just said goodbye to my first real preschool class. As a gift at the end of the year, I gave them all dolls of themselves. It took a lot of work but I feel like it was worth it. One girl with the most adorable freckles did not understand why her doll was dirty and kept telling me she needed to wash it.

All week, one of my strongest English speakers has been telling me, "Miss Colleen, I gone miss you. I not see you whole the summer because I go to hotel. So I gone start miss you when I go." Nothing builds your self-esteem like being a preschool teacher. The little ones are so full of love that they'll give it to anyone, whether or not you earn it.

Summer makes little things so joyful. "A time of nostalgia," according to My Drunk Kitchen girl, and I have to agree.

It makes the little things seem beautiful. I have become the fashion equivalent of a freegan lately. This sweater came from a friend who decided three red cardigans was excessive. I happily took it off her hands, though I then wore it to a smokey bar and it's now airing out. All the cut flowers were end of the year teacher gifts (so much loot!). And I'm currently plant-sitting for Girlfriend while she's in the States. All things together make for one beautiful windowsill.

And I Will Never Grow So Old Again

2011-03-17T07:49:00.002+09:00

There's a warm breeze in the city. And my world is coming back to life.

I discovered the other day that I can now call American telephones from my Gmail account which is pretty incredible. I called my mom's house and heard our answering machine for the first time in a year and a half. When I got through to her today, all I wanted to talk about was how I finally felt like myself again.

Last weekend, I found myself in a six hour conversation with a relative stranger. We talked about everything. We talked about love, religion, politics, how we were raised, everything that you spend years revealing to your friends as you get to know them. At one point in the conversation, I said, "You know, sometimes you just need to talk to a stranger to remember who you are." I walked home that night and each step was easier than the one before it. For months, each step was a hurdle. I was too tired to sleep, I was too tired to get out of bed. I felt lost in this city, lost in my own head. But suddenly, I was searching for similes and metaphors. I was getting a new pair of glasses, removing a veil, watching the sun come out from behind the clouds, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders. There weren't enough. There will never be enough. We reserve so many clichés for falling in love, for explaining that inexplicable feeling. And now, I want to steal all of those phrases and use them for how I feel about living.

I find myself running for trams a lot lately. I wear dresses again. I feel the way that my feet pound against the pavement, the way that it fights back and propels me. I feel the way that my dress flutters against my stocking-clad legs. I throw my arms wide and feel like I am flying in this warm breeze. I let the tram catch me, I let it pull me through the city. I look up. I see murals I've never noticed. I catch glimpses of crocuses. I smile at strangers and they smile back. I dance when the urge overcomes me. I sing out loud. I sing "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison because it's the only song that can capture the feeling of spring after a long, grey winter.

Teach a Man to Fish

2011-02-24T04:51:00.002+09:00

Though my spring break doesn't occur for nearly another month, my kids are already taking theirs. This is because different schools in different districts of Prague have different holidays to prevent the entire country fleeing to the mountains at once. None of my kids are vacationing in the Mediterranean for spring break. They all go to the mountains. One of those little things about living in a post communist country is seeing how the limits imposed by the government became somehow natural. But that's a post for another day.

My kids are off on holiday because their older siblings in other schools have holidays. This means that instead of my class of eight little princesses, we've been topping out at five. While it's frustrating because my kids will be at such different levels after this next month, it has given me a chance to get to know them better as individuals.

And there are those moments when I just happen to be listening to the right kid at the right moment that make my whole life make sense...

We've been putting up a bulletin board with fruit on it to show how some fruit grows on bushes and other fruit grows on trees. I was hanging a cloud up with rain coming down over one of the bushes and one of my girls asked why it was raining.

"Well, you need to drink water and tea, right?"

"Mhmm."

"The bush needs to drink, too. It drinks the rain water."

A few hours later, my girls were sitting below the bulletin board.

"You know why is cloudy here?" I heard. "The bush need drink rain water so it get big."

A few minutes later:

"I am rain and you are bush. I come and make you big, okay?"

Most teachers I know think of circle time as their most important lesson time. I'm learning that the time I give to individual children is just as important if not more important than our class lessons. If I teach the whole class something they don't particularly care about, it's lost about five minutes later. But if I spur the curiosity of a child and that child spurs the curiosity of another child, two sentences can lead to an elaborate role-play in which my children figure out how the world around them works.

My kids are always playing nurturing games. "I'm Mommy and you're Baby!" Or "I am the kitten and you're my daddy!" They've managed to discover a new nurturing game as rain nurtures plants. Spring is coming and I'm so excited to see it through their eyes.

"Where My Mommy Is?"

2011-02-04T05:58:00.006+09:00

Today, my co-teacher and I were at school alone. At 5:00 there was only one boy left.

We got him into his coat and shoes so he wouldn't waste time when his mom came to pick him up. And then we sat in the entrance way and waited.

"Where my mommy is?!" He started to get really upset, and something took over inside of me.

"Well, your mommy was on her way to get you but when she went out the door and got in her car... there was a lion in it! She got out and closed the door, then she called the zookeeper...

The zookeeper came and took the lion back to the zoo. Your mommy got in the car and turned onto the street, just then... What did she see?" I asked my co-teacher.

"Uh, squirrels?"

"Yeah, that's right, squirrels! Hundreds of them! They climbed all over the car and made it so she couldn't see out the windows. She had to stop driving and call the zookeeper AGAIN! He came and got the squirrels and brought them back to the zoo. So your mommy drove to school but when she was almost here--"

"--A DRAGON!" interrupted my co-teacher, who totally got into the story.

"That's right, there was a dragon in the middle of the road! All of the cars had to stop, no one knew what to do! So your mommy called the zookeeper AGAIN! And do you know what he did?"

"He came and got the dragon?" asked the boy.

"No! He said, 'A dragon? What do you want me to do about a dragon?! We don't have dragons at the zoo!' So do you know who she called next?"

"His mommy?"

"Yes! She called the dragon's mommy who came down and got him. She told him, 'Little dragon, don't you ever run away again!' All the cars started driving again, and your mommy was only one block from school when she had to stop because there was a line of penguins crossing the road!"

"Yes, and they were moving very slowly because of all the snow," inserted my co-teacher.

"It's true, and that's the reason they left the zoo. They were all in their snowy area at the zoo but then they looked outside and saw snow everywhere, they thought they could go play. So they all left the zoo! Do you know what your mommy did next?"

"Called the zookeeper?"

"No, because he didn't help her with the dragon. Your mommy opened the car door and let all of the penguins in the car so she could take them back to the zoo herself! She asked the penguins which way to go and the first one said 'Right' so she drove to the right. Then the next one said, 'No, left!' so she drove to the left. Then another one said, 'No, straight!' so she drove straight. The fourth one said, 'No, turn around, the other way!' So your mommy stopped driving and decided she needed to call the zookeeper for directions." All the while, my co-teacher was pointing different directions while our student watched.

"But he was no help at all, so your mommy put on the GPS and used it to help her find her way to the zoo."

"And then what?!"

"When she got there, she brought the penguins back to their area and was in such a hurry to come get you that she forgot to close the gate! And all the animals got out! But not the scary animals, only the friendly animals because they weren't in cages."

"Mhmm, I think I see a giraffe over there!" said my co-teacher

"And an elephant?!" he asked.

"Yup, there's elepants walking outside in all this snow!"

"Then what happened?!"

"Well, your mommy got all the animals back to the zoo, closed the gate, and drove here to come get you... and there she is!"

For fifteen straight minutes I was able to tell this story. At the beginning, when I was simply putting together a sentence about a lion in the car, each word came to mind so slowly. It was like my story walkway was covered in tar. As I got going, it just came to me. The words flowed through me as though I was simply a vehicle. I didn't even have to think. When he asked, "then what?!" might have been one of my best moments as a teacher. For fifteen solid minutes, I was able to keep the most easily distracted kid in my school rapt as he sat and stared at nothing, just absorbing my words and my story. Those fifteen minutes were probably the best of my career as a teacher. They reminded me why I love children, why I love stories, why I love Waldorf pedagogy, and to some extent why I am.

And then, as I was leaving, I said to my co-teacher, "Wow, we kept him distracted for fifteen minutes!"

She responded, "I'm going to call you and have you tell me a bed-time story every night."

Okay, it was also a little good for the ol' ego.

Writer's Block

2011-01-13T02:07:00.002+09:00

Sometimes, I set myself a goal--to post every so many days, to write so many hours a week. Sometimes, there's so much to write about that I don't want to summarize, so I just don't write at all. And it's silly to worry about, of this I am aware, as I am only writing a bit of my personal life on the internet for all to see. There's no novel in the works nor a deadline looming in the distance. There's just my desire to transform thoughts to words and even complete sentences to peruse later when the act of recalling memories so often has created a stilted history and I'm looking for something with the accuracy of things experienced in the moment.

But sometimes I can't be in the moment, which is one of my biggest sources of writer's block. The other seems to be finding a voice in my head that's not my own, whether from reading too much of a particular author or just trying too hard to relate a story. Lately, I find Perrault in my head, telling my life in Once-Upon-a-Times or filling my memories with castles and cobbled streets.

Or maybe that just comes from living in a city of cobblestones and spires. Sometimes, my life feels broken up into chapters so different from each other that they might as well be entirely different stories. And sometimes, I think back to all the opportunities I didn't take, to all of the forks in the road, and I wonder my What Ifs. I wonder what would have happened if I applied to spend a summer in Iceland four years ago. What if I had stayed in Korea? What if I had gone back as planned? What if I had never left the US in the first place? What if I had moved to Alaska?

I'm slowly pushing the What-If-I-Hads out of my head, in favor of What-Ifs.

La Vie Boheme

2011-01-07T04:39:00.002+09:00

Roommate: Ughhhhhh, that was so frustrating! I can't even explain why. It's just like everything that could go wrong did.

Colleen: Kind of like my visa.

Roommate: Or... a toilet seat.

Colleen: The funny thing is, when something is so frustrating, I feel like the most primal urge is to just light it on fire. But you've already done that.

Roommate: I guess I could just bite it now.

In the end... Roommate: 1, Broken toilet seat: 0.

There's still a drawer that doesn't come out because the front just falls off when touched. And one must open the washing machine with a spoon.

But I still love this place.

This Moment

2010-12-18T05:05:00.003+09:00

This Moment: One photo without words that reminds me why I'm here.

(Inspired by SouleMama)

This Moment

2010-12-11T03:42:00.002+09:00

This Moment: One Photo without words that reminds me why I'm here.

(In the spirit of SouleMama)

I live here now!

2010-12-06T03:58:00.003+09:00

As I've kind of explained, I finally moved from Kolín to Prague. However, I am still working in Kolín until the end of the month. Then I have to go through all the stress of getting a license to teach independently, then get a new visa, and all the paper work that goes with it. I'm not looking forward to it. I'm trying not to think too much about it and to instead focus on how wonderful this new chapter of my life will be--beginning with living in a wonderful new flat in a really easily accessible place in Prague. It couldn't be more different from my life in Kolín and that is so much of its appeal. Also, I have roommates who play the ukulele and leave things like chocolate cake on the table for the taking.

I've got another week of commuting and/or sleeping at school ahead of me. But this rainbow of paper lanterns which I spent most of the weekend making are giving me a sense of calm and hopefulness. I am ready to make this place a home.

This Moment

2010-12-04T04:36:00.003+09:00

One Photo. No Words. A Reminder of Why I Am Here.

***

(In the tradition of SouleMama)

This Moment

2010-11-26T16:16:00.003+09:00

This Moment:

One photo, no words, that reminds me why I am here.

(Based on the tradition of SouleMama)

Meta-Blogging/This Moment

2010-11-20T01:21:00.003+09:00

From Guide to Online Schools

I got a totally surprising e-mail today that I have been chosen on this list of ECE blogs. When I started writing here two years ago, it was simply a way to keep in contact with my family and friends back home. I write about personal experiences, both silly and important. I write for the sake of writing. It's a passion I've had since the second grade. Lately, I've been talking a lot about committing myself to writing more, to focusing on really writing. At the end of October, I even toyed with the idea of NaNoWriMo. In the end, I decided that I would be far too busy this month to work on such a project, that I should save it for another month. Having my blog recognized as something more than a way to update people at home is kind of inspiring. I'm definitely going to work harder at this, for better or worse.

Additionally, I've been trying to find inspiration for school projects anywhere I can. I am sick of the project books we have at school (why would I ever buy a book with that dreaded little red Scholastic label on the bottom? What was I thinking?) and tried to find blogs that are a bit more Waldorf and/or a bit more modern. I became obsessed with filling my Google Reader with inspiration. I want to be able to check it at any time and see 10 new posts. Many of the blogs I follow have a Friday tradition inspired by SouleMama, an incredible blogging mom. The tradition is called This Moment and she describes it as this:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

For me, This Moment will not necessarily be from this past week, as I don't have my camera around often enough for that. I'll try to make it from this month, or this season at worst. Mine is not necessarily about a "simple, special, extraordinary moment" but more of a "There's no place I'd rather be" moment. And now, here goes nothing, my first This Moment:

This Moment. A single photo that reminds me that there's no place I'd rather be.

Swooooon

2010-11-11T04:48:00.005+09:00

I just wrote and erased a few paragraphs of explanation about how November is the longest month. And then I realized that writing them was enough and I don't need to share them, now that the thoughts are out of my head. However, the conclusion was that writing is the best way to get through the November Dark'n'Stormies, so write I shall! I promise quantity over quality in the coming weeks. At least you know what you're getting into now.

When I hear the word "swoon," I think of a world before color. I imagine a blonde woman with the back of her hand to her forehead being caught by a man in a suit whose speech is characterized by an excess of clichés and adverbs.

I do not imagine holding a towel to a kid's bloody nose. But somehow, it's be best word I've got to explain the situation. I don't pass out. I don't faint. I simply get a head rush and crumple to the floor, falling--sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. I'm mostly coherent, though not quite in control of my own body. Sometimes it's my initial response to seeing blood but sometimes it's after I've assessed the situation.

And I have no idea where this came from.

I am not consciously bothered by blood. I've never been one for gore but blood doesn't freak me out. I used to get blood taken a lot and I never had any problem seeing a vial fill with my own blood. I would always feel faint afterwards, which I attributed to my having lost blood. Completely logical! I took an intense course in first aid during my senior year of university and had no problem learning about the gruesome stuff. A woman getting mauled by a bear while delivering her child through emergency C-section preformed with car keys? No problem!

So why is it that instead of finding gauze for my girlfriend's nosebleed this weekend, I found myself slumped on the bathroom floor unable to feel my own limbs? I was so embarrassed and assumed that this was a normal response that had gone a little haywire. I mean, someone I care about was bleeding excessively and there didn't seem to be a logical cause. It makes sense to be worried. Maybe I hadn't eaten enough that day. Maybe I had low iron. I wondered if this was just going to be my response to seeing blood from now on--that I hadn't really seen a lot for a while that wasn't my own. Maybe I felt so faint when I cut my finger just because of the sight of my own blood. But then, I figured that as I don't see blood a lot, this isn't something I have to really think about.

Which brings us to yesterday. Child trips, falls, gets a bloody lip. I pick the child up, inspect his mouth to make sure he didn't bite off his tongue or anything. I determine that the blood is just coming from his lip which isn't cut very badly. And then I fall to the ground. Slowly and only to my knees. Suddenly, I'm grateful that the kids never put away the foam blocks and that it's not such a long journey for me to get to the floor. Thank goodness I'm not any taller! After all of this, I ate some chocolate and tried to steady myself. I went home and did some internet research on it and apparently this is a phobia. It may be purely biological, some innate sense of self-preservation that makes one play opossum in battle. I felt slightly reassured by the knowledge that I'm not just freaking out--my body is doing this. Again, I thought, it's not such a big deal because people don't bleed around me that often.

I should probably stop saying that to myself. Today, at nap time, one of my kids called for a tissue so I walked toward him and saw blood dripping out of his nose. I was down. Quickly, this time, without even time to assess the situation. His cries brought me back soon enough and I took him to another teacher. Focusing on the other kids helped. I went back and read to the children still trying to sleep. I got some candy again, which seems to help. But, I did not reassure myself that people don't bleed around me all that often. Instead, I am making a request that people please stop bleeding around me so often. And also, carrying candy and a dark colored (blood hiding) bandana with me at all times.

Hacking Reality

2010-11-09T03:05:00.003+09:00

The train is already moving when a girl slides open the door to the compartment. There's one empty spot, which she eyes with a look of travel-weary desperation. Never knowing with whom to make eye-contact, who should decide such things, she asks the occupants in a sweeping glance if the seat is free. No one assures her it is; however, as no one objects, she approaches it. She drops her backpack on the seat while she removes her pink pashmina scarf and green corduroy jacket, hanging them on the free hook in front of her. She notices that the overhead luggage racks are full, so she lifts her backpack and sits down, placing it on her lap and hugging it against her chest. A coffee-cup shaped felt brooch pinned to the outer pocket of the grey North Face backpack looks to her like it should signify something more though it is mostly ornamental.

The train is a standard Central European intercity train, on a typical journey. Perhaps on a short trip, from a capital to that country's second city. Or possibly it is headed from Budapest to Berlin, stopping at every city of appropriate size in between. It doesn't matter to the girl, who is only on it for an hour. She pulls down the maroon armrest to separate her half of the bench from the father to her left who is trying to get his 3-year-old son to sit down and stop touching the window. She looks down to her right, trying to decide if she has left socially appropriate distance between herself and the girl sitting next to her, who though she is dressed like a teenager, the girl estimates to be only a year or two younger than herself--twenty-two or twenty-three. Across from the two young women sits a heterosexual couple of similar age. While not in formal-attire, they seem out of place in pressed, possibly designer label, clothing. The girl's long necklace of red wooden ovals matches the red of the man's tie. The man leans against the side of the compartment, watching something on his laptop while the girl clutches her purse and sneaks glances at the screen. To her right sits the kind of man one could never find in a crowd.

He looks at the girl to his right, a strikingly beautiful yet modestly dressed teenager, who looks like she could be either his daughter or his sister. The man's build and height are average. His lack of distinguishing features--glasses, facial hair, freckles, wrinkles, or moles, makes him distinctly nondescript. When the dark-haired teenage girl meets his gaze, he quickly looks to the floor, embarrassed to be caught staring at a stranger.

As the train begins to slow down, the father and son gather their jackets and luggage. They exit the compartment as the breaks squeal and the girl sitting near their empty seat takes the opportunity to move closer to the window. She places her backpack in the overhead rack before any more travelers enter the compartment. She sits down but quickly pulls her backpack down again to take out a book to read now that she has space. She replaces the backpack and makes herself comfortable, only to be squeezed into the corner by a large woman who sits next to her a minute later. The book in her hands is a first-grade level textbook for the national language, which she's never studied formally but has been learning through immersion in the year or so that she's been living there. She learns the language mostly from her students at her English-language preschool. She's excited about the textbook, which makes the language much more accessible than any textbooks for foreigner's she's tried to learn from. She likes to think that she's learning the language in a natural way, so it makes sense to learn from a textbook for native speakers.

This is not what the man across from her sees, however. Assuming her to be a native, based on her ability to ask if the seat was free when she entered, he wonders why she would be reading a textbook for seven-year-olds. He figures she must be a teacher, preparing a lesson. But then she begins to mumble to herself, under her breath, pausing for long intervals, and then smiling at the book. She takes much too long on each page to be preparing a lesson. He decides she must be mentally handicapped. But she moves with such dexterity, she travels alone. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and rests his face in his hands. He tries his best to look like he's casually looking out the window though he is straining to listen. He hears her accent and finally sees the girl as she sees herself. He smiles to himself and makes a mental note to tell his wife about the strange foreign girl learning their language from a children's textbook.

He begins to think about his wife and how best to tell the story. He hopes the simple story cannot be misinterpreted and will distract her from leading questions about his business trip. The girl with the textbook gets off the train one stop but a full hour before the man. Though the hall of the train is full of passengers, no one moves in to take her seat, the view of which is obscured by the woman sitting next to it. The man continues to stare at her seat, weighing his options. The teenage girl to his right keeps brushing her shoulder against his arm, leaving his skin tingling under his grey, wool sweater. If he moves across the compartment, he won't have to bear her touches which, though innocent, fill him with guilt, reminding him of the girl with whom he spent the previous night. It would seem like he just wanted to be closer to the window, he assures himself as he crosses the compartment and sits down. Once there, he realizes his mistake. Instead of being too close, the girl is now in his direct line of sight. He stares out the window for the better part of an hour. He wants so much to be off the crowded train but dreads going home.

When he gets to his flat on the outskirts of the city that evening, he walks in and takes off his shoes, dropping his briefcase and overnight bag by the door and hanging his coat on an already full coatrack.

"Honza, are you planning on leaving those there?" asks his wife standing in a doorway at the end of the hall. He tries to remember what it was like when Klara greeted him with pet names and kisses. Klara, small and blonde with a few wrinkles lining her fair face, disappears back into the living room

Jan knows that the proper answer is unspoken, so he takes his bags into the bedroom while beginning the story, "Today, on the train--"

"--And I told you to put away your fall jackets to make room for your winter coat," she interrupts, a disembodied voice from another room. "There's too much on that coatrack already. It's going to fall off of the wall and we both know you don't have the time to fix it."

"Yeah, okay, I'll do it in a minute. Can I get some dinner first?" he replies in carefully measured tones. He walks into the kitchen where his daughter is coloring at the table. "Hey Little Bunny, is that for me?" he asks. The four-year-old smiles shyly at her father and nods her head. Jan notices how much her face looks like her mother's, especially her big sad eyes.

"What is it?" he asks. She shrugs. "Just a picture?"

"Mhmm," she replies. It seems to him that Verunka only speaks to him in "mhmms" and "uh-uhs" lately. He blames it not on his regular absences from her life but instead on her attending bilingual preschool.

"They're not teaching you English, they're teaching you Caveman at that school, aren't they?" he asks. Sensitive to the subtle anger in her father's voice, Verunka looks down at her paper. Jan is reminded of the story he planned to tell his wife and tells his daughter instead. "Today, on the train, I saw a girl who was like your teacher at school, the one who speaks English. She was trying to learn Czech, but she was really bad! She sounded like a baby! And she was reading a book for children in grade one like it was really hard. I think you could read better, Little Bunny. Isn't that funny?"

"Mhmm," she says with a smile and picks up a roll from the plate next to her paper. She offers it to her father without a word. He takes it and sighs.

The girl with the textbook sits at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, waiting for her friend to meet her for the pumpkin pie flavored latte she's been dreaming about for a month. She is again looking at the children's textbook when her friend comes in and hugs her. She has long, dark hair and a mediterranean appearance that would make her stick out in Central Europe, if her speaking English didn't do it already. "What is that?" she asks laughing.

"Don't laugh! I know it's a first grade textbook, but I think it's actually helpful. It's way easier to learn from this than any actual adult language books for foreigners. I mean, I basically learn like a small child, right? So, why not embrace it? I can read this whole page!" she says pointing at a page covered in pictures of cakes and cars.

"You're not going to believe this! One of my kids told me a story on Monday that was like, 'Daddy is train and is English girl. She have Czech book but book is for children, children is seven.' I'm pretty sure she was talking about an expat reading a first grade English textbook."

"Seriously? Where was her dad going?"

"I don't know, probably Brno or something, she says he's not around a lot. She's the sweetest little girl but her family is obviously screwed up."

"I bet I was totally on the train with her dad."

No, I think to myself. That's too Dickensian of an ending. I set the Czech textbook down on the tray and look out the window of the train. I can't believe how early it gets dark and it's not even December yet.

Halloween Memories

2010-10-30T01:16:00.005+09:00

I was going to write this post all about how frustrating it is to try to be expected to create Halloween in a country that doesn't have it (What do children do on Halloween? Beg strangers for candy. Halloween requires the involvement of children andcandy-giving strangers.) However, when the Smith Alumnae Association posted on Facebook, asking about our most vivid Halloween memories, I thought I would do something more positive and positively nostalgic.

So, Smith Alumnae Association, my most vivid memories of Halloween as a child were our homemade costumes. There were a lot of things in my childhood that my mom took very seriously. Science fair projects might take months of preparation. Easter egg hunts involved careful tallying to ensure that no egg was left behind. But the Halloween costumes were always my favorite. My mother seemed to have endless creativity when it came to Halloween costumes when I was a child. Her sisters took Halloween just as seriously and also created Halloween masterpieces that became a collection shared among all the kids. In our family, it was practically considered child abuse to take your child to a Halloween parade in something store-bought. Sure, we were butterflies, vampires, witches, and puppies like everyone else. But we were also lobsters and race cars (not race car drivers!). I'm still impressed with how the women in my family could make a costume out of nothing. My mom would take basic costumes and make them something new with a few simple changes. Or she could make something out of whatever she found around the house. Which leads me to a memory I have of the All-Time-Greatest-Halloween.

I will preface this story with the note that I may be combining different years into one Halloween, but that's what the memory does.

As a preschool teacher, I have come to understand that when you have multiple children under the age of six, their limited range of motion might be to your advantage. So, I have infinite respect for my mother and her ability to create three imaginative, immobilizing costumes for my sisters and me. Jess, the oldest, was, if I recall properly, a vacuum cleaner. She was all in grey with a big white bucket (with the bottom cut out) around her torso with hose coming from it. I, lest I be something so simple as a clown, was a jack-in-the-box. A clown costume, plus a box around my body held up with straps over my shoulders. While Cassady, the baby, was a flower because at her age she didn't need full-body immobilization, the head was enough. I remember seeing a picture of this Halloween later on and commenting about how ingenious it was to restrict us so we couldn't run away. My mother said this was not in any way her intention. Whether it was or it wasn't, I'm still impressed.

Six Days with Socialized Medicine

2010-10-02T02:37:00.002+09:00

I had fully intended to spend this weekend on a soul-searching adventure in the woods somewhere. I made this decision while reading The Tao of Pooh on a long train ride home last weekend. I wasn't going to plan where I was going, though I would equip myself with a map. Maybe I'd get a compass. I'd plan An Expedition, but not Where To. I would find Who I Am again, as autumn tends to make the picture clearer for me. I would write poetic prose or prosaic poetry about this self-discovery.

But instead, I spent the week learning A Bit About Czech Healthcare. Let's turn this Rather Unfortunate Week into a learning experience and a treatise on the importance of affordable, accessible healthcare (and try to ignore how quality fits in).

On Sunday, I was chopping vegetables for tea (best to call it that, as it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner). I was given a soft-skinned pumpkin from my girlfriend's garden, which was the basis for a tea of roasted autumnal vegetables. Instead of cutting it, gutting it, and baking it as I usually do with winter squash, I learned that since the skin was so soft, I could peel it. And then I peeled off a bit of the tip of my pinky. Only some skin and nail, but it wasn't pretty. I had no idea what to do. I walked around my flat looking for something to wrap it in, trying to figure out some remotely sterile plan. After forty minutes of profuse bleeding, I decided it was a Medical Situation. I googled "hospital Kolín" and found that there was a hospital about a fifteen minute walk away, right where I walked to school. After bundling against the cold and rain, I arrived at what was not a hospital in the American sense. More of a clinic. Open on weekdays. I called my boss who tried to direct me to the real hospital, but that didn't help. I walked to the square and found the town map, then walked to the hospital. At this point, I had been bleeding for over two hours. I got to where the hospital should be, but found it under reconstruction with no clear signs. I had taken two breaks already and was about to sit down for another, possibly the break that would involve finally passing out, when I spotted an assistant teacher from my school! What luck!

She happened to know how to get to the ER, despite the lack of signage even in Czech. She walked me in and took me to the reception desk, where I paid 90 crowns (about $5) for a ticket to the emergency room. It was like going to the movies. I waited in the hall, and when I was called in, a nurse without gloves removed my bandana and poked at my finger, while I continued to bleed everywhere. It felt more like an office than an emergency room. There were two desks, a few chairs, and a table with metal boxes and tongs full of mostly unwrapped first aid materials. The peroxide was in an old jam jar with a piece of masking tape as a label. They couldn't give me stitches as there was nothing to sew, so they put some weird loosely woven, sticky gauze on the tip, then another few layers of gauze, then they wrapped it all up. They seemed only to use rubbing alcohol to clean it. They didn't even wash the blood off the rest of my finger before they covered it. They, still un-gloved, took my bloody ER ticket and sent me away with a care sheet instructing me to rest and take the bandage off in three days.

That's it. The rest was all inference. "I'm pretty sure I shouldn't get this wet" was the most important one. American medical care may be harder to come by, but at least when you leave, you've probably been told by three different people exactly what to do. Also, after bleeding for a few hours, I decided I could still walk home, which in retrospect was probably a terrible idea and something that American ERs certainly would have discouraged. But I made it.

Three days later, I removed the bandage to find that, unsurprisingly, the piece of sticky gauze used instead of sutures was stuck. I could not for the life of me remove it. So, back I went. I got the exact same treatment and exact same instructions. In removing this piece of gauze, they completely re-opened the wound. I'm not sure how it's ever going to heal if the process continues like this. Something tells me that tomorrow, I'll probably be visiting the ER for the third time this week.

It's not been so bad. I quickly decided that as far as these things go, I was quite lucky. It's the pinky on my left hand, could there be a less useful finger? It's out of the way enough that now that the second bandage isn't so dense and doesn't give me a claw, I can sometimes even use my left hand. Also, couldn't get luckier than running into my assistant! And we had a holiday on Tuesday, so I had one less day to be the Amazing One-Handed Preschool Teacher, able to change diapers with a single hand (no joke)! Both times, I was in and out of the hospital in under half an hour. Accessible and affordable, hurrah!

But on Wednesday as I was staring down another three days of annoyance with this bandage, I started to notice what I thought was just post-pub-visit congestion in my chest was getting pretty bad. By last night, I couldn't sleep because it felt like someone was crushing my lungs. This morning, I got up early and headed to the doctor. I've been to this doctor before for a cold. I learned that you don't need an appointment, and in a clinic-like fashion, you just get there early and wait until you can go in. I waited about an hour for my turn, but it turns out that my doctor was on holiday. My intermediate-at-best "English-speaking" doctor was on holiday. My symptoms were taken by the medical assistant in her helpful, if broken, English and via google translate. I was asked if I had "the snuffles" and how bad my coffee was. Her broken English was encouraged as I replied that I had "only small snuffles and a big big cough."

I went into the doctor's office, which really is more of an office than an exam room (again), but the counter is covered in phials of blood that are just lying out, not even in any kind of holder. This still unsettles me. The white, cold, sterility of American medical places is actually really comforting.

The doctor examined me and asked me the basics as well. Checked my throat "iz good." Checked my lymph nodes "iz mmm." Checked my lungs. Checked my lungs. Checked my lungs "iz... okay." Iz okay? Iz not dead but iz not good iz okay? That was my diagnosis, "iz okay" said in a very hesitant manner. He told me to sleep in bed (couches are out?), drink hot tea, and take medicine every 12 hours. He didn't tell me what the medicine was but I assumed it was an expectorant. I paid my 30 crowns ($1.67) and went to the pharmacy where I expected to receive my expectorant. Just get this stuff outta' my chest! The pharmacist spoke to me in rapid Czech and I understood one pill every 12 hours, yeah, got that. Then I understood "antibiotika" and asked her if she spoke English. She told me it was a prescription for antibiotics for my chest infection. Huh. That sounds... not "okay." So I went to school and the other teachers looked at my pills and read my papers. Yep. Chest infection (not exactly sure what that means, to be honest, but it still sounds bad). And then I decided that maybe that whole "sleep in bed" thing wasn't a bad idea.

Now, I'm not sure how I'm going to get to the hospital to have my dressing changed if I am too wheezy to walk to the kitchen, but I guess I'll figure that out tomorrow. All and all, three visits for under $20 ain't bad. I am skeptical about the quality of my medical care, though it was certainly fast. Also, what if I didn't have 30 crowns for my doctor or 90 for the emergency room? I needed to pay before I even got treatment. I assume they can't refuse treatment if you can't pay, but I do find the pay-before thing troubling. Is this a system that works better than America? As far as I can tell, yes. Does it have its own problems? Certainly. But there is no way to properly describe the feeling of comfort in knowing that if I get sick, I can get treated without worrying about accruing hundreds of dollars of debt for every hour spent getting care. This peace of mind is priceless.

Another Anniversary

2010-09-26T20:46:00.004+09:00

One year ago today, I got off a plane in Prague. For the second time in my life, I left everything I knew behind to move across the ocean without a safety net. The first time, I only made it four months. But in that four months of feeling totally lost, I think I found myself. I climbed a mountain on my own and reveled in my ability to drop completely off the map. Without a cellphone, roommate, or much in the way of friends, I was free to disappear whenever I wanted. Sure, it was lonely and I wouldn't trade all of my Prague friends for that freedom, but there is something to be said for some self-discovery.

But in the past year, I feel like I've ridden a roller coaster of self-awareness. I find new things I care about, only to completely ignore them in favor of fitting in. I've tried so hard to fit in, much harder than I ever did in Korea, that I feel like I've lost myself. In the past two months, I've been rediscovering things about myself that I felt the need to hide. Little by little, I created this skin for survival. A month ago, I took my first big step to shedding it.

So many people had been complimenting my hair, which was longer than it had been since I was eight and hadn't been cut in a year. But one day, as I was walking home from the train station, I bought a clipper set. I started with the braids, which were not easy to cut off. What I thought would be two snips turned into a few minutes of sawing. Then they were gone. I could have stopped there, maybe I should have. But I continued, with a literal feeling of a weight lifted off my shoulders. It took over an hour to buzz my hair, with Bikini Kill playing in the background and intense nostalgia for that first buzz cut outside of Sessions House six years ago. At first, I had a few regrets. Now I have none. This wasn't so much a choice of aesthetics as a choice against aesthetics. I didn't want to have a more flattering haircut, I simply wanted my hair not to matter. I wanted not to judge myself on my appearance so much. And it's helped. After my birthday, I'm looking in the mirror at my wrinkles and grey hairs less. I choose my shoes based on what's practical. I've stopped caring so much about being, essentially, popular. I'm picking Saturday morning farmers' markets over Friday nights out. I'm remembering what it feels like to lie in a field and watch the grass blow in the wind. I'm waking up in the morning without regrets about the night before, stretching, and smiling at my own armpit hair.

While I'm not moving to a shack in Walden, I'm making a different sort of self-discovery move. Let's see how the anonymity of city life works for me this time around. So, anyone got a room to rent in Prague starting in December?

I Will Live with Empty Pockets

2010-08-17T03:03:00.003+09:00

I've probably mentioned before that I own a bowl and a plate. One of each. No more, no less. I am only one person and I rarely have visitors. When I do, I offer them their preferred dish and take the remaining one. I try to live off of as little as I can. I may be truly settled here, nearing the end of my first year, but I like to feel like should I need to, I could pack my life into two suitcases again and leave behind whatever doesn't fit. I like to think that nothing in my world is irreplaceable. But when it comes to clothes, I'm rather picky. I don't shop a lot; I don't own a lot. I don't feel the need to get new things all the time. I've been sleeping in the same shirts since first year of college. When my old Saucony's were finally put out to pasture this spring, after six years of love, I wanted the same ones to replace them. For the things that wear out, I try to stick with classics in hopes that the company will just continue to make the same. This generally works with tank tops and shoes, but for other things, it's harder. Short of buying all of my clothes from Lands End or L. L. Bean, shops where time seems to stand still, I would have a problem if I replaced my worn-out clothing with identical pieces seven years later.
A few weeks ago, I came home on a Saturday morning to realize that I had lost my jacket sometime on Friday night. This jacket was not classic. It was from Target a few years ago and certainly would not be something I could find again. I was devastated. So much for my simple living, not forming attachments with objects. I really freakin' liked that jacket. Luckily, my jacket was found unharmed at a friend's flat. But I was really careful when I got dressed the next Friday. Nothing irreplaceable, nothing irreplaceable! repeated in my head. I put on a tank top which I felt fairly certain I wouldn't lose as I had no intention of taking it off. Next came a waffle shirt. This particular waffle shirt has a paint stain from when I was painting a pair of shoes when I was fourteen. That makes it about ten years old. Oh wait, it was actually a hand-me-down from my older sister. I have no strong feelings for this shirt, it just seems to stick around because of its practical nature. Waffles are replaceable. I then went to choose a scarf. At first, I assumed that the scarf I just spent a week knitting was a bad idea. But then it came to me: If I make it, it is incredibly replaceable. While the yarn might not always be the same, if I found the pattern once, I can probably find it again. If I make everything, I can always replace anything that is lost or worn out. So, for everything for which this is practical, this is the plan. Make everything myself. If it doesn't fit in a suitcase at some point, the pattern will always be out there somewhere. Nothing irreplaceable, nothing irreplaceable!

10th Anniversary

2010-08-08T21:43:00.002+09:00

When I hang out with any queer friends, we always end up comparing Coming Out Stories. It's so cliché and you know that it's too cliché to talk about, but it's also impossible to resist. Trading our stories becomes more interesting when we are from such vastly different backgrounds. We were talking at a barbecue last week about coming out, trying to describe how our different (Czech/Vietnamese/American) communities handled it. I asked a friend what is the typical Czech response and it seemed to be fairly similar to the American response. Most parents want to say, "As long as you are happy, I am happy" and usually do, but how much they truly believe that is up for debate.

I feel like I've become really wrapped up in telling and learning coming out stories lately because this month is the 10th anniversary of my coming out. They story isn't big. Coming to terms with being a big homo wasn't something that distressed me in adolescence. It was more like, "Well, I guess I like girls." I told my friends and one friend told her boyfriend who worked with my mom. He told her and she confronted me about it. I told her I was bisexual and left it at that. While she didn't immediately form a chapter of PFLAG in my hometown, she didn't seem to mind. It took another year and a half for the final clarification of my homosexuality and her total acceptance. But since then, she's certainly been the ideal mom of a homo. She's never trivialized my relationships and holds my girlfriends to the same standards that she holds my sisters' boyfriends. She never lets a homophobic remark slide and takes every opportunity to tell me how proud she is of me. So, on this big anniversary, I am celebrating love and acceptance. I am remembering to always be thankful for the wonderful lady who birthed me and has supported me ever since. Thanks, Mom!

The Battle with Summer

2010-07-17T23:56:00.002+09:00

My windows are big. When they are open, they are wide open. It's like removing a wall from my room and opening it to the world. It's finally cool enough to have them open during the day, after over a week of mid-nineties in a country without air conditioning anywhere. I can't open them at night until after I've turned off all the lights or I end up with an infestation that leaves thousands of dead gnats on my windowsill in the morning. When I stick my head out the window today, I can see the scorched earth crying out for rain. I can see the darkening clouds overhead, taunting us with the possibility of relief. And I am so angry with them, with the relentlessness of summer. I'm generally a pretty positive person about the world. What could be bad about sunshine? Ignoring the fact that I am actually allergic to being hot, summer is just too demanding for me.

I grew up in a vacation village. Summer always meant more people, longer shop hours, ice cream, and swimming. It meant whole days at the beach, just a short walk from home. As I got older, summer meant more tips, more money, and more time to spend it. From age seventeen on, summer always meant a new job. It was some temporary change that might lead me down another path in life, whether it be as a camp counselor or lock smith's assistant. But this summer, for the first time, I am doing the same job I've been doing all year. I suppose this consistency is part of growing up, but it feels like stagnation. I can't counter the itch to get up and go. In this country, they refer to the whole season as "the holidays" and flee to their cottages. I don't have that luxury. I took this past week off from work just because I wanted some sort of relaxation between now and Christmas. Everyone demanded, "What are you going to do? Where are you going? You can't just stay at home!" But I can't afford to go anywhere, beyond a few evenings in Prague. And I did have a wonderful vacation, swimming in the Vltava and relaxing in the park. But I will be made to feel like I wasted my time, just staying at home. The expectations! Why is this season full of so many expectations?! And everyone wants you to go out, have fun, be with your friends. No one talks about the fact that everyone is making less money and thus this going out thing is becoming pretty difficult. Suddenly you've got time to see your friends, but no money to do anything with them.

And so, the constant cheerfulness that gets me through the winter, through everything, it's been beaten down. For once, I give in to the negativity. I hate summer! I hate being hot! But once I make it through, I will have been here a year. I now know the way that seasons pass here, what to expect every month. So when my brain stops sizzling, I will be able to focus on what lies ahead. The fall brings among other things: my birthday, burčak, fall seasonal vegetables, pies, Halloween, another orphan Thanksgiving, the queer film festival, leaves changing, and hazelnuts everywhere. All of this is quickly followed by the magical two months of Christmas we seem to have.

So for now, I will drink my vastly overpriced seasonal drinks. I will swim in the Vltava and make liberal use of my water guns. I will ignore everyone else's demands, and keep the hope of 70 degree days in mind.

A Day That's Hard to Beat

2010-07-09T04:12:00.002+09:00

It's summer time and that means summer vacation for most teachers. It's odd that I count myself lucky for not having 8 weeks off in the summer, but it means that I don't have to find a way to make up for two months without a salary. So, bring on summer school! Well, it's preschool, so it's not exactly summer school. Each week, we have a theme and fewer kids than usual since most are on holiday. We've got some kids who will be coming for a week or two who normally go to other schools that are closed for the summer. This week's theme was fairy tales. I took an idea my boss had about going to the forest to find a witch and ran with it. I came to school today dressed as a fairy (yeah, I've got angel wings--the kids are 3 and 4, they don't care). I told them I was not Colleen but in fact Serafina. They went with it. If only I could have a preschooler's abilities when it comes to suspension of disbelief! I told them that I needed their help to defeat a witch who was living in the forest. They gathered their magic wands and we walked to the island. We followed a trail of gingerbread to a very big, old tree where the witch was living. We circled around it and waved our wands, shouting, "Abra Kadabra!" and heard the witch cry as she flew away.

"Where did she go? I didn't see her!" asked a student.

"I saw her. She's gone. She's really gone!" replied another.

"Where did she go?"

"To Africa!" (This is their new favorite thing, going to Africa, sending someone to Africa... don't know what that's all about.)

They discussed it for a while until they were all certain that the witch had left. Our work having been completed, we headed to the playground.

Let me tell you, walking around town today dressed as an angel was quite an adventure. I got so many disapproving looks from old ladies. I wonder if they assumed the angel costume was something naughty. Did they think I was a stripper? But at the bus stop (yes, I rode public transportation dressed like that), a grandfather brought his grandkid over to me and told her I was an angel. He asked if she saw a devil around and she said no and that devils are scary. Then, when I got on the bus, he said, "We get to ride with the angel! We are so lucky!" The toddler seemed pleased.

A lot of old men wanted to talk to me, but couldn't figure out what to say. I walked past a lot of toothless stuttering. Someone joked that they were afraid I had come to take them to heaven. "It's not my time yet!" they were trying to say. I'm ashamed to say... I laughed a little.

The best response, however, came from a young gentleman at the park who turned to his friend and said what translates effectively to, "Dude, am I drunk, or is that an angel?"

When we got back to school, I said goodbye and closed the door. I promptly changed clothes and put up my hair. When I came back, I asked where they had been. They told me the story about a fairy taking them to the woods. Again, the ability to play into what is an obvious hoax... so jealous!

After work, I went to pick up the newspaper, knowing that two of my friends were going to be in the Dnes Magazine, but not aware of how prominent they would be. When I saw them as the teaser photo for the magazine on the cover of the newspaper itself, I wanted to say, "those are my friends!" to the shopkeeper. I was back in my angel costume at this point, so I thought it best to give her only one reason to stare.

When I opened the newspaper right outside of the shop, standing in town square, I pulled out this. Maybe I've been reading too many Victorian novels, but I found myself so shocked that I needed to sit down. This is unbelievable! I thought to myself, as I sat in the town square... in an angel costume... holding a magazine with my friends on the front cover. What a day!

Brno Pride

2010-06-29T03:06:00.002+09:00

(Photo from Queer Czech)

This past weekend, my bruised ego and I took a road trip in a car full of Czech lesbians to Pride in Brno. Brno is the CR's second city--think Philly to Prague's NYC. We have all asked why Brno and not Prague. The best answer I got was that people in Brno are bolder. The experience was nothing like I had imagined it.

In high school, I went to Pride in Manhattan (Oh hey, Mom, not sure you knew that but if you ever wondered why your darling daughter had a certain affinity for The City on Sundays in June--that's why) and rejoiced in all the glittery, queen-y splendor of it all. In college, NoHo pride was all about babies and puppies, but I will never forget the Smithie brigade of "Baby-Dykes-on-Bikes" which used a greener kind of bike than the old school Dykes-on-Bikes. Finally, last year, I partook in the incredibly suburban Long Island pride which was a mix of the two, plus a lot of late '90's Oakleys. But Brno Pride was something else entirely.

There were a few hundred people in the square where the march started and ended. We listened to speakers and milled around to appropriately kitschy music. To enter, we had to go through a police blockade and have our bags checked. Pride itself was fairly typical--if lacking in drag queens (and gay boys in general--this is the first queer community outside of NoHo I've ever experienced in which dykes rule). It was the response that I had never expected. I've tried to read articles about Pride but running them through Google Translate only makes them barely comprehensible. The numbers, though, seem pretty solid. There were about 600 people at Pride and 150 protestors. That's 25% of our number. Pretty significant. They had the standard "gay men are gross" and "gays are bad for families" non-sensical posters and cheers. But they also had eggs, cherry bombs, and manure. Overhead, the whole time, was a helicopter observing the scene. The police force was incredible. It even included an anti-conflict team that essentially went up to the protestors and tried to talk them out of protesting. How very polite. The most important fact, however, is that no one was hurt. It seems silly to write about this experience in light of what happened at San Francisco Pride this weekend, but it's still a significant experience for me.

When I read last week that violence was expected, I was totally dismissive. But to see those angry, militant protestors, I was shocked. My main thought was: here? This is my safe-haven. After being told that it was okay to kiss a girl in public, I have had no fear of queer PDA. I've held hands with girlfriends in Prague as well as Kolín. I've never looked over my shoulder going to or from a gay bar. I've snogged like a teenager on those tiresome metro escalators (what else are they for, really?) and I've never had a second glance from passersby. So, if no one minds my PDA, why are they all up in my Pride?

Get ready for my complete outsider's point of view on this. The best reason I've come up with is that this is one of those sex-is-different-from-lifestyle situations. As Nicole said, it was cool to have all the gay sex you wanted in England until Oscar Wilde tried to make an identity out of it. So no one minds if I kiss girls, but when I am proud and want to talk about it, we have a problem. This seems to go along with the ban on gay adoption as well. Sex: fine. Lifestyle: 'nother story.

In the end, it wasn't all that bad. Again, no one was hurt, and we were able to pretty much laugh it off as a group. We literally laughed in the faces of individual protestors who made their way into the crowd. As a group, we were unstoppable. And then I went to the train. As I walked there alone and got stared at for my rainbow face paint, I for the first time in this country, wondered if I should be walking alone. But I blew it off and no one actually said anything.

When I got to the platform, a group of teenage boys shouted at me from another train, "Hey, lesbian!" Me? I thought. But I'm... But I'm someone who usually benefits from assumed hetero-privilege. I don't look queer so how dare you taunt me? For the first time, I thought about how I should have washed the face paint off. I should have washed off my identity! Who is this new person in my body? I have long hair and own five times as many dresses as pairs of shorts. How I have changed in five years! What would the mohawked, hairy-legged babydyke think of this new person? To even think for a second of washing off my face paint so that I could go back to passing, it's horrendous! Has this been what it's really like all along? Have I just been casually ignoring homophobia because it's not directed at me? To think that I was complaining the night before to another lesbian about how I am not respected by the queer community because I don't look queer enough, and here I was, trying to pass. Full of rage, for these boys and what they made me realize about myself, I went down the platform and stood next to some queer-looking dykes. I'm not about to change the way I look to be more gay, but maybe proximity will help. Proximity or solidarity? I thought. Eye contact. Solidarity. And ain't that what it's all about?

Second Wave Culture Shock

2010-06-27T19:36:00.002+09:00

When you first arrive in a new country, the culture shock is almost literally a shock. It's overwhelming and makes the simplest tasks taxing. Grocery shopping makes you feel like you are from another planet. Is this an entire aisle of paté? You question how people could possibly live like this. I am supposed to take a shower... sitting down? And, of course, adjusting to a new language is never easy. That word is seven letters long without a single vowel, is there a synonym for that?

But eventually, you settle in. You develop some sort of normalcy in your life. If you spend a lot of time with expats, you begin to create a new culture combining elements of your native and adopted cultures. After a while, you can carry on a basic conversation and start to eat bread as a meal without thinking anything of it. You are no longer simply trying to survive in this strange place but have the new desire to somehow integrate yourself in it. This happened to me around my seventh or eighth month here. And that was when I found myself with a whole new host of anxieties about living here.

Socially, I felt I was doing fine. I knew the big things. Never just start eating without saying "dobrou chut!" Always bring wine to a gathering. Take off your shoes unless told to keep them on. Look everyone in the eyes when you cheers. Don't use the word "love" casually. Got it.

But it was the way I lived my daily life that started to make me wonder how much I could ever fit in. I just don't dress Czech. I don't know how I would dress to look more Czech, it's an inexplicable Czech-i-ness that I just don't have.

I find myself constantly looking at the forearms of other women. I am always trying to determine if it is true that most women shave or wax their arms--so far, I feel like the numbers are probably 50%, 50%, but they are not blessed with the coarse, dark Mediterranean hair I inherited from my paternal grandmother.

I grew up on the beach and was raised to believe that wearing socks with sandals was a crime against humanity. Meanwhile, I learned that skinny-dipping is thrilling and dangerous, not a way to avoid tan lines. A student of mine went to Florida recently and came back with stories about how in America, you can't swim naked or the police will take your baby. Part of me wanted to tell her that in America, you can't wear those shoes with socks or the police will take your baby.

I will never consider a hair-free lady region to be a matter of hygiene. And that is that.

I feel like in America, I know equal numbers of women who wear some amount of make-up daily and who don't. I know very few who think of it as any kind of necessity.

I accept, albeit grudgingly, my ever-increasing number of grey hairs. I may be salt and peppered by 30, but I'll live. Dying my hair was a rebellious youth kind of thing for me and I cannot imagine being respected as an adult with cheetah print hair. Hair color, again, is so far from a matter of hygiene to me.

All these little things start to add up, especially around election time when no one can properly explain to me, in any language, how Czech elections work nor why Czech youth is so right-wing. Add in a tiring amount of institutionalized racism and it amounts to some serious doubt about my ability to live here long-term. But this is just the second wave of culture shock, when one starts to actually become a part of the culture. And like my distaste for pork, this too shall pass.

A Magical Little Surprise in the Garden

2010-05-19T21:56:00.003+09:00

A few weeks ago, after a week of rain, we went out into the garden on an overcast day to play and do some weeding. I looked at our little flower garden and saw amongst all of the weeds, these little plants. Something inside of me said, "Those are not weeds!" But we didn't know what they were, so I began to pluck them out. I was surprised to find that their roots were fairly short. We had laid down compost and soil, so if they had short roots, they were growing in what we had put down. We reasoned that the seeds must have blown in and quickly taken root.

But then, I noticed this! On top of some of the little plants were squash seeds! At some point in the fall, we had tossed all old squash into the compost without thinking. And now, our compost is basically planting its own garden! I shared this little bit of magic with my students who loved the idea that we will have squash in the fall. We separated the plants a bit so that they will have more space to grow. Who needs a flower garden when you have an accidental squash garden?

Three Train Rides in a Day

2010-05-02T23:46:00.005+09:00

I write a lot about trains, I suppose, because I spend so much of my life on them. Yesterday, I took the train three times. I had slept in Prague on Friday night and came home yesterday morning. Then, I went back into the city for the afternoon and evening, taking a train home at night.

On Saturday morning, I was walking along the road on the way home from the train station when I spotted a gutter-dwelling colony of snails. I crouched down and took this photo, saying softly, "Hey guys, there's got to be a better place to live." As I continued to walk, the colony got bigger and bigger! Snails everywhere! I maintain, the gutter is probably not the most hospitable environment and they could easily move to that patch of grass on the left. But there's such good decomposing plant matter in that gutter!

On the way to the train in the afternoon, I didn't notice any new creatures, but on the way home, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, this little guy scurrying in the bushes. Hedgehogs are nocturnal, so I was pretty lucky to get a picture of him. "You remind me of an old friend, little friend," I said to him. Then, I discovered, I was not alone. It's embarrassing enough to be found talking to animals or taking photos, but the combination was mortifying. The man who saw me asked why I was taking a picture. Our conversation, in Czech, went something like this:

"Why are you taking photos?"

"I'm sorry, I speak little and bad Czech, but it is a hedgehog, right?"

"Yes, hedgehog."

"So, in America, we don't have hedgehogs. I like hedgehogs, but I don't see them. Here, I see a hedgehog so I am happy. So, I take photos."

"Do you want to get a drink?"

"No, I have water."

"Do you want to come to a restaurant with me?"

"Oh, no, no thank you. Good night!"

I'm trying to imagine the thought process that went on there. You take pictures of rodents and don't speak my language. I find that attractive in a woman. ?

Is It That Obvious?

2010-04-29T02:00:00.003+09:00

I was listening to the most recent episode of This American Life, at the point where refugees are talking about the most ridiculous things they had heard about America but could not believe, when I realized I was out of sugar. After being sick for days, I finally feel like my head is my own and my stomach is no longer revolting. In celebration, I decided to bake brownies. The chocolate was melted, flour reserved, eggs cracked. But I had no sugar. I paused the podcast and my baking to run down to the corner store.

The corner store in my neighborhood, which is referred to as Zalabi and seen in Kolín as the equivalent of living in Jersey, is much smaller than any I've experienced in Prague. It's a lot like the shop across the street from my flat in Daegu, except there's no pampered yappy-type dog to step over. There's barely room for one person in each stretch of the U of shelves. But at six-thirty, after the local grocery has closed for the night, the place is usually packed. There are weary workers buying frozen foods for dinner. An old woman is buying bread. A boy pops in to grab a candy and drop a crown on the counter without waiting in line. I listen to the Czech all around me and feel content with my understanding. "How many here?" the shop keeper asks the worker about a bag of rolls.

"Seven rolls and three buns," he replies.

I realize, suddenly, that as far as most people know are concerned, I look the most Czech of anyone in the shop--being neither Romani nor Vietnamese. I am thinking about the refugees on the radio show. Half of these people might warrant asylum because of the way this government treats them while the other half came here in the past in search of a better life. I am not a refugee of any kind. I did not escape the oppression of my government. Yet, I came here seeking something, too. Adventure, maybe. But I have also come a great distance to find happiness. We speak about the same amount of Czech, you and I, Mr. Shopkeeper, I think. This feeling of being an outsider, it's something we share.

As I place my sack of sugar on the counter, I begin to count out eighteen crowns. He asks,

"Vere you from?" in English.

Thoroughly taken aback, I say only, "New York."

"Ah."

I wonder how he knew. Did I look at my coins like a puzzle in my hand? Did I pause somewhere I shouldn't have? How did he know? And while it may seem irrational, a small part of me believes he felt my sympathy and understood all that was going on in my head while he rung up the customers ahead of me in line. This feeling of being an outsider, it's something we share. I thought it so loudly, he heard it.

Singing into the Void

2010-04-27T21:13:00.003+09:00

I've explained before that part of the draw for Czech trains for me is the ability to open the window and stick out one's head. This weekend, I was sitting in a compartment with the door and the window open, as it was quite warm. I was feeling sick (preschool germs have finally knocked me down, missed two days of work this week for the first time in months) and just trying to make it through the train ride. I was sitting near the door of the compartment when I noticed a boy in his mid-teens standing at the open window in the hall. He had his headphones on and was nodding his head along. Suddenly, he stuck his head out the window and sang along with everything he had inside of him. I can't imagine how cathartic it must have been--to be surrounded by people on a full train but able to sing as loud as you want to, answered only by the rushing air around your head.

I wanted to follow suit but instead sat and thought about all the songs that have been so poignant to me lately. Which one would I sing out of the window of a moving train?

I think that I've decided upon "Open Road" by Kris Delmhorst.

"I will climb onto that train

Find a seat that's got no view.

I will take what I need with me

I will not take what I don't.

I will say that I will be back here but I know that I won't.

I will live with empty pockets,

I will live with empty sleeves,

I will know that there is nothing in this world I cannot leave.

I will tell my friends I love them

I will hope that they know

I need nobody beside me on this open road."

Sometimes, it gets draining making up answers to questions like, "When are you coming back to the States?" or "What are you doing after this?" These are questions I don't want to answer. I don't have answers for them. I make up plans to talk about so that I can answer these questions, but I'm not passionate about my answers. I am passionate about what I am doing right now. And my friends may be getting married, having kids, and buying houses. But I am content to live with my empty pockets, with my head out the window of a train.

Měla babka čtyri jabka

2010-04-22T23:28:00.004+09:00

Every day before lunch, we say this poem in English, which I learned from my Waldorf mentor, and an equivalent in Czech. I love the way the Czech poem sounds, even if I can barely pronounce it an only have a rough idea what I am saying. I recently re-discovered a book of Czech nursery rhymes at school and I have a few that I love hearing the kids say. They just sound so magical. I tried to read them and found that I could actually understand them. Then, obviously, I needed to translate them for real. I am always in search of new hobbies--and what better than translating verses from a language I've never studied?

This is my first attempt, and my favorite Czech rhyme:

Měla babka čtyri jabka
a dědeček jen dvě.

Dej mi, babko, jedno jabko,
budeme mít stejně.

Literally:

Grandma had four apples

and grandpa only two.

Give me, grandma, one apple,

and we will have the same.

But this doesn't have the same sort of ring to it. Here's what I came up with, though it clearly needs improvement:

Four apples had Grandma

Grandpa had just two.

Give an apple to poor Grandpa

Dear Grandma, won't you?

So yes, it loses lesson that 4-1 and 2+1 are the same, but it keeps the general feeling of the poem.

My second poem in Czech is:

Foukej, foukej, větřičku,
Shod' mi jednu hruštičku,
Shod' mi jednu nebo dvě,
budou sladké obě dvě.

Literally:

Blow, blow, wind,

knock down one pear for me

knock down one or two for me

they will both be sweet.

This one, I'm more proud of:

Blow, wind, blow through the air
Knock me down a juicy pear
Let one or two fall from the tree
Oh how sweet they both will be!

I'd like to say that there's a practical reason for me to be translating these rhymes. I'd like to say that it's part of a plan to teach my children English using the rhymes they are familiar with. But it's not. It's simply another way to pass my time. And I'm okay with that.

Champagnta

2010-04-21T02:06:00.008+09:00

This is going to be one of those intensely photo heavy, long posts. All photos courtesy of Jess, Andrea, and Sara as I did not have my camera. Most of the best days in my life are those days that I look back on and, in retrospect, realize were absolutely amazing. Some days, though, you realize in the moment that they will be the best days of your life. This is the story of one of those days. **

When I was 18, my main group of friends was referred to as "The Table." We ate lunch and dinner together every weekday while on the weekends we came together for brunch and dinner. The Table was primarily straight-edge, so our Friday and Saturday nights involved going to the movies, candy shop, or playing cards on Jenn and Denise's floor. But brunch on the weekend--that was our time. It was a marathon for us. Ten thirty to one. As many plates as we could eat. Glorious were the days when they had the make-your-own waffle station. Jenn seemed to live for them. Kim could pack in more food than any of us, despite her small frame. But brunch was always bittersweet. We knew we were fighting against the clock, that we had a full day of homework ahead of ourselves and no amount of scrambled eggs would make it go away. We would leave in the early afternoon, resigned to a day of study.

But in the real world, Sunday brunch isn't procrastination's last hurrah, it's the weekend's last hurrah. Whatever happened that weekend, however disappointing, there's still a full day ahead of you to turn it around. There's no homework looming overhead, but there is the knowledge that the week begins tomorrow. Every Sunday is like the last day of summer for a school kid. You know that it's all you've got left and you have to make the most out of it. Our traditional brunch has been referred to as the "Hangover Brunch" but to me it's more of a debriefing session. We gather at someone's flat to cook, eat, and have our last drinks of the weekend. This Sunday, we started with Bloody Marys (my first!) and after we ate our way through a few hours of lounging in the kitchen on the windowsill, we finished up brunch with Magical Mermaid Mimosas. When the pitcher was finished, we finally decided to move to the park to bask in the beautiful weather (in spite of all those warnings about volcanic ash). I looked, calculating, at the empty bottle of twist-off champagne, the full bottle, and the half-empty bottle of Fanta.

"Guys!" I shouted. "We pour half the bottle of champagne into the empty bottle, then top both off with the Fanta, put the caps back on, and bring them with us to the park!" Someone quipped about the beauty of twist-off champagne caps. But then, we did. And it was glorious. *

We went to the park and found the perfect spot in the sun to drink our Champagnta. **

And drink it we did! When you mix in Fanta, you can barely taste the 48 crown (~$2.50) bottle of champagne! *

We decided that the slightly opaque sparkly stuff in the green bottles looked like what they drink in the garden in the movie of Harriet the Spy and this made Champagnta even better. *

I was pretty excited to have dressed so ridiculously for brunch. "I strive to make every moment of my life a photo opportunity" may have been my Champagnta-tipsy quote of the day. *

But while we were laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, an Austrian boy in a photography class actually came over and asked to take pictures, so, really, we made an impression. *

You'll note that most pictures are of the five of us girls. Brunch is usually high in estrogen and any boys who end up with us seem a bit exhausted. There's a reason he's on his own little towel instead of The Blanket (The Definite Article Blanket, as it were). And that reason is girls and... **

PUPPIES! The park is full of them on a Sunday afternoon and the Czechs aren't big on leashes. We called over as many dogs as we could and attacked them with affection, making cooing noises. This dog, however, found us. We noticed her urinating on the head of a guy passed out a few yards from us. Then, suddenly, she was on our blanket. "She likes other people but not me," the owner said when he came to retrieve her. What we did not get a photo of was the pig.

"Is that man walking a pig?" asked Jess. We all looked over and debated whether or not it was indeed a pig.

"Is that pony?" asked Jess, about a very large poodle at a great distance.

But, the porcine leashed animal came closer, and revealed itself to, in fact, be a pig. Eventually, Lauren and I were on the way to the bathroom and I managed to ask the owner if we could pet it. He apathetically agreed. We pet a pig. Its nose was kind of sticky, its fur was sparse, but it was a pig, and we pet it. ***

Eventually, the one bottle of champagne split two ways ran out.

"Guys! We buy two more bottles of champagne and one bottle of Fanta..." I began.

"And split the champagne amongst four bottles and top it off with Fanta!" someone else finished.

So Sara and I went to the same shop where she had purchased the makings of the Magical Mermaid Mimosas to get more supplies. We ended up with the same cashier and Sara gleefully told her to have a good day. We certainly were having one. We returned triumphantly and the crowd applauded.

At this point, the splitting the bottles became an assembly line procedure. Pour the champagne, pour the Fanta, cap it, overturn it to mix but don't shake. ***

In the end, we had four more bottles of Champagnta. "I'll call you breakfast, and you brunch, and you lunch, and you dinner!" **

As we neared the end of the bottles, we did feats to show off how we were still not drunk including hand stands, somersaults, and cartwheels. Throughout the day, friends came and went. There was frisbee and football. There were guitars and surly chihuahuas. As the sun went behind the clouds and slowly began to set, we moved to the beer garden and had a last round of drinks and foosball for the weekend (for some of us, at least).

It seemed to most of us that Monday morning was more brutal after a beautiful Sunday, but I think that on some level we all preferred an amazing Sunday and rough Monday to two mediocre days.

*From Sara

** From Jess

*** From Andrea

We Find Magic Everywhere

2010-04-20T02:56:00.004+09:00

When your job involves reading fairy tales at least three times a day, you start to view the world like one. I used to look for magic in the world, but lately, it just appears everywhere. We had a bunch of short willow branches in water from making pomlazka (willow whips, oh Central Europe) for Easter. I noticed that they were starting to bud and thought they would make a beautiful little fairy house. I stuck them into the ground to make a little hut. I explained to the children that this will attract the fairies to our garden as long as we took good care of it. As soon as I explained this to one student, he went and found flowers to put on top. Another found an empty snail shell while a third (for reasons I don't quite understand) sifted some small stones out of the sand table to put in the house. I then went around and collected the snails from all over the garden. I placed them in the house, explaining that the fairies ride on snails like we ride on horses. This also kept the snails safe from little feet that are wont to trod on them. Accidentally squishing a garden snail is much more heartbreaking than accidentally squishing a spider. The look of horror on one boy's face when he stepped on a chestnut that he thought was a snail was reason enough to corral the little guys.

But the fairy house quickly became known the the children as the snail house. "Šnek šnek šnek!" seems to be all I hear in the garden these days. They love to look in on the snails, give them little things to eat, and place flowers on the top of their house. The snails, to me, are magical little creatures in their own right, even if we've forgotten about the fairies who ride on them. My only previous knowledge of garden snails from Strawberry Shortcake. Snails, to me, were always aquatic and less than adorable. So, to see real life eye stalks is like stepping into a fairy tale!

I watch them and can't help but imagine being a fairy or Strawberry Shortcake riding on them myself. I recognize that in reality, it might be less than thrilling to ride on a snail, no matter how small I might be, but but... the eye stalks! They wiggle around and when they poke something, they go back in or wrap around it. They're incredible! And I've got about thirty more snail pictures, but I'll leave the šneky for another time.

Sometimes, magic comes in the form of an ambrosian Sunday morning cocktail. The Magical Mermaid Mimosa was born out of the desire to have root beer floats at brunch. Unfortunately, root beer does not exist here and vanilla ice cream is scarce (or topped with things). So, I picked up orange soda and strawberry ice cream one morning and figured it would do. It certainly did. We discussed how to make this delightful drink a bit more... alcoholic. Vodka? No. Rum? Perhaps. Tequila? Yes, but it is Sunday morning. So, champagne! Thus was born the Magical Mermaid Mimosa. Champagne, orange soda, and strawberry ice cream. "This is what girls in frilly pink dresses grow up to drink!" said Lauren.

It was hard to get a picture that properly showed the beautiful foam on the Magical Mermaid Mimosa or how it made one feel like one had just stepped into a victorian fairy tale, but this does show it a bit. Lauren coined the term Magical Mermaid Mimosa and later on I thought more about the use of "mermaid" here. In Hans Christen Andersen's original Little Mermaid, sea people live three hundred years but have no immortal soul, as humans do. So when they die, their spirit doesn't rise into the ether. They simply turn into foam and float on the sea. The foam on top of the Magical Mermaid Mimosa is like the sea foam that holds the essence of such magical creatures.

(Thanks to Jess for her M.M.M. photos)

Ahoj, Jaro!

2010-04-18T17:04:00.003+09:00

I was talking to a friend the other day about how strange it is to go from the Northeast to a place that actually has a full season of Spring. We're used to it going from 30's to 60's in a week's time, with some minor fluctuations. I'm not sure I've ever experienced this much 50's in my life. And when the season takes time to progress, you can actually see the different flowers and types of trees because they don't all suddenly bloom at once like an explosion, but slowly like a verdant fireworks show.

And this gives me hope about things that are slowly forthcoming being worth the wait. Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of my bed.

iTunes Recognizes You Are Lonely

2010-04-16T02:41:00.003+09:00

I've been a big fan of the Genius feature on iTunes/iPod since it came out, even if it does give me "Gold Lion" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on every playlist it creates. It makes me question what kind of music I do listen to, in general, if these are the songs that it has decided are related to song X. I generally assume it relates songs based on artist, genre, and tempo. But today, my iPod seemed far too... sentient.

I put on Song X, which, I grant is kind of a lonely/broken heart song, but it's fairly upbeat and not by a band I would describe as music for the broken hearted. And yet, it's like Genius knew what the theme of the song was and provided me with 25 songs in various stages of heartbreak and moving on. Instead of a list of songs, I have composed a letter to "you"--whoever this heartbreaker may be, using the lyrics of the most melodramatic of the melodies on this playlist.

I feel like a fool so I'm going to stop troubling you, but I don't know who I am, who I am without you--all I know is that I should. I wish I could buy back the woman you stole. And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified. I don’t know why but I know I can’t stay. No, this is how it works. I'll be the one who'll break my heart. I'll end it though, you started it. I can be alone, yeah, I can watch a sunset on my own. Take these rings and stow them safe away, I'll wear them on another rainy day.

Seriously, Genius, save it for when I actually get dumped.

Playing Favorites

2010-04-15T03:31:00.005+09:00

Today, I got hit in the face again. Most of the time, it's an accident. Other times, kids get really upset and, being pretty new to this earth they haven't yet found a better way to express their emotions than punching me in the face.

Today was a different story. I was kneeling before a three-year-old boy to put on his unnecessarily large hiking boots. While I was bent over one, double-knotting it to his specifications, he held the laces of the other boot and whipped me purposefully in the face with his boot. The blow was accompanied by the typical blinding white pain that you get when you are struck in the eyes and nose. I didn't even make a noise. I was shocked by the pain and by the action. When I finally opened my eyes again, the boy sat in front of me looking pleased.

It's hard to balance being a preschool teacher with being... human. He's three, I keep reminding myself. But how can I not be upset with someone who just whacked me in the face and enjoyed it so? Another student of mine loves to speak with me in English, he loves to tell jokes, he loves to make me laugh (see photos above). When one two-year-old boy was crying for mommy, another one put on a silly hat and danced in front of him. How can one not favor these kids over those who seem to enjoy causing hurt? I know, I know, children who are acting out are doing it for a reason but when push literally comes to shove, how can a teacher not have feelings?

I guess, what makes a good teacher is her ability to accept those feelings without letting them interfere with her work. This is what I strive for daily.

In Which a Large Rock, Again, Changes My Perspective on Life

2010-04-13T03:34:00.004+09:00

Last week, before a brief bout of second winter hit the Czech Republic, I came home from work and was determined to enjoy spring on my own. I'm still getting used to living on my own (stocking the pantry, being the only one responsible for buying toilet paper) and being on my own (on Friday nights, I am beholden to no one). Korea, in 2008, was the first time I had lived alone during the fall. And though it was lonely, it pushed me to become more independent. Now, I am heading into my first spring alone. I am so affected by the seasons that while I may have learned to live alone in the fall, I feel like I'm starting from scratch with this whole being alone during the spring thing.

A series of jokes has led to a friend and I calling single life "Beartown." The extended metaphor is a comfort. I am watching the trees bud in Beartown for the very first time, it seems. The last time I wasn't living with a girlfriend through the thaw into the summer was 2005--and even then I was in a fairly big relationship with someone a few hundred yards away. I'm used to coming home on a beautiful day to a woman who will hang out in the grass with me. If she was busy, there were usually friends nearby with whom I might sit and watch the water.

But I find myself in Beartown, which happens to exist at around 50 degrees of latitude and thus offers sunshine well past what I am used to in early April, coming home from work with hours of daylight and good weather spread out ahead of me. And, honestly, sometimes when I close the school gate behind me and begin walking home, I feel like I have an ocean to cross before I can lay my head down. I have seconds and minutes and hours to fill up, which in the winter I was fairly content to do indoors, baking and listening to podcasts. But as the sun refuses to go down for hours after I arrive home, I need to be doing something more. Some days, I am exhausted from a long day of Hokey Pokey and battles of will with little people for whom reason is years away. Those days, the couch and a pair of knitting needles don't feel like such an admission of failure. However, after a good day of fort-building and gut-busting laughter, I am ready for more.

So, last Thursday, I decided to take a book outside and read. Having grown up in a harbor, the river pulled me to its banks. I walked along the path, looking for a spot where I could get closer to the water. What made me turn away from the water, I'll never know, but I caught a glimpse of a small cliff covered with grass, moss, and flowers. This was to be my spot. Instead of going lower to find seclusion, I would go higher. This is the direction my life has been taking--I've been picking height over depth for a while now, while not entirely conscious of the decision. This girl who suffered through sandy sandwiches every summer day of her childhood, has picked the mountains time and time again. Up I climbed and settled myself. I could see the river, I could feel the grass under my bare feet. In reality, the glacial erratics of Eastern Long Island and the cliffs that formed some ancient fortress for Prague aren't all that different, if ya' close y'r eyes. It's just rock. Rock, rock, rock. How I wanted to feel the rocks below my feet and the waves pulling the sand from around me. But this cliff, this cliff offered me something new! I could boulder here!

I climbed back down, having only read a few pages, and quickly returned to my flat, dropping the bag full of afternoon reading supplies as I opened the door. I changed, gathered up my gear, and headed back down to the small amount of exposed rock near the river. I'd never been bouldering outside before, I'd never gone rock climbing alone at all. I'm sure I was breaking all sorts of safety rules if not a few actual Czech laws. But I stretched and I climbed up a few feet. I looked to my left and set a goal. Two, three, four times, I got stuck at the same spot. I hopped down and tried to plan my route. I got back to the rough spot and could not find a place to put my left hand. I always like to take a hand hold before moving my feet. I realized that I needed to trust my instincts, moving my feet and allowing my hand to follow. When I made it across, I felt so accomplished. I had conquered so much. I had overcome my fear of going out alone and staked out a new spot for myself where I can read--content to be alone. Crossing that gap in the rock was like climbing Apsan. It wasn't really a goal I had until I found myself with nothing else. Now, beautiful days don't fill me with the dread of loneliness. I can again see endless possibilities instead of moments to fill up.

Now With DIAGRAMS!

2010-04-08T01:53:00.005+09:00

So, I have to admit that lately I have a ridiculous obsession with diagraming things. It started with the hierarchy of expat needs, but now I think of at least ten diagrams a day. I diagram the thesis of a conversation in my head, whenever possible.

I've also been making a lot of color work knitting charts, so I found the strange need to use something equivalent to MS Paint to edit them. I find myself being a self-righteous Mac user, the kind of person Lisa and I vowed never to become all throughout college. But here I am. And as someone who grew up with Windows 95, I knew that everything I needed to do could be done simply in MS Paint. So I downloaded a shareware equivalent for Mac and now... behold the diagraming.

We start off with the old favorite: The Venn Diagram. John Venn, I thank you for your contribution to humanity. My favorite mental Venn diagram lately has been related to how much it sucks trying to learn another language as a native English speaker. There are two things that make English, a language for which orthography is so arbitrary we might as well make it pictographic, a fairly easy language to learn to speak: we don't really have cases or genders for nouns. This means that whether a noun is a subject or an object, it's usually the same word. The bird runs. I eat the bird. Same same. And while we may assign gender to specific (and generally sentient, ships be damned) nouns, these don't affect how we match them with adjectives. I eat the tasty male bird. I eat the tasty female bird. The bird is tasty. Same same same.

So far, I have not studied a language with this ease of use. They all require that when pairing a noun with an adjective, I properly match the case, gender, or both. If I had to pick which, case or gender, was easier to learn, I'd definitely pick gender as there is a maximum of three, double that for singular and plural, and you've got six possible ways to end a word. So, Spanish, your bubble is definitely the easier of the two in this mix. Finnish, while it has an exciting lack of genders even in the first person singular pronoun that makes all of us queermos jump for joy, requires that I decide before placing an ending on restaurant whether I am going up to (but not entering) or going inside of said restaurant. Cases, you are the bane of my existence. I submit. But now, the double whammy: matching case and gender. Latin and Czech, for this reason, are actually more difficult to some extent than the infamously impossible Finnish. I have to decide not only if I am going to be in or at the restaurant, I have to remember if it's a boy, girl, or other.

Trying to learn languages from this perspective makes them all feel impossible. I curse them for having cases and genders, when really, I should be cursing English for its simplicity. Why oh why did I have to grow up speaking such an easy language so now these concepts which exist in most languages are so foreign to me? I might lament. But I wonder what it's like from the other side. I know from experience with English language learners that they do want to gender nouns in English, "The restaurant, she is so nice!" But what I don't know is if you grow up with cases, do you want to say "I will meet you in the restaurant-u"?

An Expat's Hierarchy of Needs

2010-03-19T18:30:00.003+09:00

Based on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, I was having a discussion with a friend on Wednesday about how now having some semblance of stability in our lives leads to us having to worry about all of these things that we had just ignored before. The conversation went something like this:

"I'm having an existential crisis."

"So, what's going on?"

"I'm lonely."

Having a place to live, a stable job, a visa, a forbearance on my student loans, and most other things off my shoulders, I have the time and energy to realize that I'm lonely. I don't have a whole lot of friends here, and even fewer whom I feel like connecting with because I know they'll be here more than another month or two. So, it seems, I'm on level three. Let's take a look at each level.

Level 1: The basics. All those things like health, food, and shelter which are crucial to continuing to live.

Level 2: Stability. Once you have a place to live and food to eat, you need some stable income in order to continue to eat and dwell. For expats, we also need a visa to keep our jobs and stay in this country. This is the level at which most expats in the Czech Republic live for their first three or so months.

Level 3: Community. All people need to have some connection with other people. I believe that people, in general, need connection with like-minded folks. And I don't just mean people who like the same pubs. Community is about more than Friday night, it's also about Tuesday morning or Saturday afternoon, whenever you need a friend. This is particularly difficult to find when people are always coming and going from the expat community. This is where I am stuck and I bet a lot of others are too.

Level 4: Sense of Fulfillment in Your Work. This seems simple enough, but so many people I know are completely unhappy with their jobs and this unhappiness distracts them from everything else in their lives. You don't have to love your job, but you gotta' enjoy the little things at least.

Level 5: Cultural Fulfillment. This is different for everyone. It might be studying Czech or learning about Czech culture. It might be art, dance, or yoga (definitely spelled it joga and couldn't figure out why Safari didn't like this, oh j/y confusion).

I've left out some big things because I can't figure out where they fit in. Dating? Should expats even be allowed to date? Overcoming homesickness and/or wanderlust? Connections with people back home and/or freedom from people back home?

Food Musings

2010-03-14T21:33:00.003+09:00

A topic of conversation that seems to come up a lot lately is whether or not one could kill an animal in order to eat it. Last summer, I lived with these guys. The turkeys wandered around camp, eating little bugs and pecking at anything shiny. When they were still babies, they would hop in my lap and I thoroughly enjoyed petting their feathers. This spunky guy tried to get into my tent.

But I had no amount of disconnect about the reality of the situation. Turkeys are food. When they wandered close to the fire pit, I would joke, "Yes, make yourself ready!" Why can't you play with your food and eat it too? Let the turkey live a nice happy spring and summer and come late autumn, he becomes dinner. But the question always is: could I kill the animal? Could I make dinner out of a living creature instead of a sterilized package?

Two years ago, I would have said certainly not. I also had trouble, for a while, cooking with raw eggs because they gave me the willies. But the more I learn about food, the more comfortable I am with the process by which it has come to me. I remember when I cooked a roaster one night in college and I spent so much time trying not to think about the weight of the animal in my hands or the feeling of its skin. But now, I can look at meat and imagine where on the animal it came from, what the animal must have looked like. I try to thank it for playing a role in the continuation of my life. So, I believe, with gratitude in my heart, I could turn one of my pets into my dinner. I've never had this opportunity, though I haven't sought it out either. Maybe that's a goal for next fall.

But this feeling of connectedness with my food is what makes me a comfortable omnivore. I am content to eat meat with the knowledge that it was at one point an animal. But what about the rest of my food? What WAS all of this at one point? I find myself, after having read so much about the American food industry, sticking to the outside of supermarkets--even here in the Czech Republic where the food industry is starting to follow the American standard. I get fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh bread, meat, and dive into the aisles only for grains and spices. Yesterday, however, I needed to make a banoffee pie. It was an urge I could not control. I had to find condensed milk and digestives. I knew that the can in my had contained milk that had been cooked down, I think, to be thicker. Okay, I can handle that. The digestives were the next step. More appropriately than in American supermarkets, the cookie aisle was one with the candy aisle. I scoured the shelves for something not made by Opavia, a Czech company owned by the one and only Kraft Foods. I pretty much came up empty on that front. So, I headed over to the natural foods section of DM where I was able to find cookies not made by Opavia and with a fairly short list of ingredients.

When I got home, I put away my groceries. I wondered why every week I suddenly felt by Friday like I had no food left. I made two piles of food as I unpacked my groceries: fridge and counter. That's why. Almost none of my food goes into a cabinet to store for later. I buy very few things with any sort of shelf life or which I don't intend to use within a few days. And while it's frustrating because it's not how I've been taught by society to shop, it's actually the most natural way to do it.

Snowdrops

2010-03-04T01:27:00.003+09:00

The first Snowdrops of the year appeared this week! There's still a bit of icy snow left about but the Snowdrops, like the crocuses at home, are persistent. When Jana brought in one from the garden on Monday, I told her my Snowdrop story which I've heard from many Waldorf sources. I could write it out, but it's better told in person. I then told it to Ruza and the kids, who adored it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about storytelling. How is it different to tell stories to adults versus children? How can we learn to tell stories better to both audiences? How can we become better listeners so that we can enjoy a "nice" story? I talked with a friend about it this weekend who said that we, as the audience, want to feel included in the story, feel like we are part of the drama. That's why, she said, "I went to the grocery store and got some yogurt, and it was good," isn't a good story. But I sit in circle every day with children who say things like, "Yesterday, I went swimming and today I am going to grandma's house." The other children are enthralled, they appreciate these stories. They don't need to be part of the drama. How can we recapture that?

I tell stories all the time. I tell nice stories. And another important thing is learning to accept the audience's silence. You need to give them a moment to absorb and not expect something that sounds cliché like, "That's nice." Just let the story fall. And be okay with it.

As the Snowdrops poke their drooping heads through the frozen ground, we are looking everywhere for signs of Spring. Yesterday, we found worms in a pile of old leaves. "It is alive! It is life!" shouted Ruza. How accurate? When everything around us feels dead, it is so good to see life. We moved them carefully to the compost pile and explained how they would be our little helpers, making us magical compost which will bring new life.

Another thing about spring with young children is this:

We as adults have come to understand from many years of experience that though winter can be dreary, spring will follow. We know what to expect. My kids are 2-5. They have had so few winters and springs, and even fewer that they actually remember. So, every winter to them, it must feel like the earth is simply dying--that this is the end of the world! Imagine the wonder of finding a worm living in the dead leaf, his wriggling pink body so vibrant against the darkness of decaying plant matter. It must really feel like Ruza said, but it's the Earth that's alive! The little Snowdrop reminds us of this.

Snow

2010-02-03T21:33:00.005+09:00

Haven't I already waxed rhapsodic about snow? It muffles the noise and chaos of the world. It smooths over the faults and blemishes of the world. You can't help but love the peaceful picture of a city or a farm blanketed in snow. I grant you that snow has some destruction to its nature--but everything needs to be in balance.

Simply Seeds

2010-02-01T23:53:00.004+09:00

This past summer, I spent a few weeks at my father's house for the first time since I was fourteen. It was late August and we were struggling to keep up with the harvest of tomatoes and peppers. My whole childhood, I enjoyed the bounty of our backyard. Being the sixth generation of my family to live on the street meant that our backyard was a paradise of fruits and vegetables. We had rhubarb for pies. Gooseberries and currants were for making jelly. Our pears were really canning pears, but as children, we ate them off the tree and enjoyed their crisp texture and tartness. Red and black raspberries never made it to the kitchen before our pudgy hands would stuff them into our stained mouths. There were plum trees in our yard while next door there was an apple tree that we were welcome to pick from. We also enjoyed our neighbor's blueberry bushes and occasionally picked the June berries from near the road. While all of these plants gave us their delicious fruit year after year, we had little understanding, nor interest, in our father's gardening. Who cares about tomatoes when you have raspberries?

But in 2009, as something of an adult, I had much more respect for the two gardens my father had been keeping. It was difficult not to feel a sense of awe when looking at them. The tomato garden was overflowing--and certainly not just with beefsteaks! "Did you see the yellow plum tomatoes?" my father would greet me as he came in from the backyard. The day that we found what appeared to be a purple heirloom was a day of wonder and delight. I had chopped so many tomatoes and peppers (and not just bell peppers either--"I think this is an orange Scotch Bonnet!") for salsa, roasted tomatoes, and my own bean chili. I felt like we would never keep up. The fruit drawer in the fridge became the tomato drawer, while our windowsill was covered with vegetables awaiting the chopping block. As we looked at the purple heirloom, we debated what to do with it. "I think I'll save it for seeds," my father said. I began to notice the little yellow seed envelopes on the counter--most unlabeled. Of course! This garden, while magical, didn't just appear one day! My father was saving seeds and planting them year after year. The tomatoes and peppers that we eat provide more than just delicious sustenance--they also provide for the future. They are full of possibility! Inside of each one is dozens of possible plants for the future. Our garden was full of surprises not because these things just appeared but because my father has no interest in labeling envelopes. But this is part of the magic of our garden!

My father's crown jewel this summer was the watermelon plant that managed to make its way into the pepper garden. Had a watermelon seed somehow gotten mixed in with the pepper seeds? Had someone at a barbecue spit a seed in the direction of the garden and it managed to germinate there? The watermelon was gorgeous and huge, though I didn't eat it so I'm not sure how it tasted.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I can bring the magic of our backyard to my school. I'm planning out a garden in my head, which is a completely foreign concept for me. I decided to buy a book from my favorite press (Hawthorn) called Gardening with Small Children. I hope it comes soon! I desperately need some guidance on this subject. But at snack today, I was cutting up apples and noticed the seeds. I put them aside and after snack showed them to the children. We put them in one section of an egg carton and labeled it "green apple." I doubt that we'll have any sort of orchard in our small backyard, but if just one of these seeds becomes a tree sometime in the future, imagine having snack time from our own tree in our own backyard! I marveled at the simply beauty of seeds in an egg carton, hoping my students felt my sense of wonder at the magic of the world. These little brown things, that we spit out with a "p-tooey" of annoyance, have the possibility to become trees which will produce more apples for us to eat and more seeds for more trees with branches to climb and leaves to collect! And what more beautiful sorting and storage container than a recycled egg carton? Look how much the earth has provided us with and how it continues to provide!

So, this afternoon, I went to the fruit shop and, using my little and bad Czech, got a few peppers. I cut them open and again felt joy in seeing the magic of nature. All of those seeds, which usually stick to my knife and drive me crazy while I cook, were the start of this summer's vegetable garden. Unlike my father, I carefully kept and sorted them.

I cannot wait to plant them this spring and to enjoy my own pepper harvest this August. Working with children is like observing the evolution of humanity. They make new discoveries every day which our species took thousands of years to come to. So far, my children have been living in the hunter-gatherer stage of human evolution. Agricultural revolution, here we come!

Teaching: "Real Work" with My Little Eskimos

2010-01-27T01:31:00.004+09:00

When I started to read, in earnest, Kindergarten Education, I felt suddenly back in touch with my Waldorf roots. Between this book and Hartsbrook's video, I feel like I'm back on track. I am remembering all the little things that are important to the way that I teach. One of them is creating a world of fantasy. This is not just done through free-play, but also by creating an atmosphere. I want there to be so many things in our school to facilitate this like play silks and play stands, but I need to figure out a way to do this with what we have.

And this winter, what we have is snow.

I put aside my desire for fairies and gnomes and settled upon Eskimos. Ruzenka had been singing a Czech song with them about Eskimos. While I understand that it's not politically correct to be using Eskimos in this way, it's a starting point for further fantasies. I can't help but think of Eskimos, either, as we try to perform triage while getting them ready to go outside and come inside. We put on stockings, fleeces, snowsuits, boots, scarves, hats, mittens, and whatever else their parents might send them with. The end result is some combination of "I can't put my arms down," Eskimos, and astronauts. Christmas is long behind us now and spring still feels quite far off, so we are celebrating winter as Eskimos. We just got an igloo-shaped tent for the classroom and I have taken to calling the children "my little Eskimos." Children love to be called something other than children. It encourages their fantasy, helps them feel like they are part of a group, and is simply fun.

One of the aspects of Waldorf education that has returned to my mind is "real work." As a teacher, my job is to model for children. I shouldn't be telling them all day what to do, but I should do it myself and if they want to join in, so much the better. It's difficult, at first, because traditional education has made it feel unnatural to let children behave naturally. But, I'm getting the hang of it again. While we are outside, I don't believe in constantly telling them what games to play or giving them tasks. Instead, I start doing something, and they can join in or not. I keep following the idea that children do not need constant vigilance. Watching them will only make them anxious and prevents them from coming up with their own ideas for play. So, I work myself and keep watch out of the corner of my eye.

Our igloo has been my "real work" success story. Yesterday morning, the snow was too hard to pack. We couldn't make snowmen or forts. Instead, I started digging a kind of reverse moat to make a wall. When they asked me what I was doing, I said I was making an igloo. They observed. In the afternoon, the snow was so hard that it was breaking into chunks. Perfect! We now had bricks of snow to build our igloo! I started breaking up the pieces and stacking them on the wall. Quickly, the children joined in. When it came time to leave, I completely forgot myself. I was so into my work and so were the children. We are making a structure that they can play in. They have a stake in their work. It's clear and simple.

This morning, they didn't want to come inside at first--they just wanted to work on the igloo. They chipped away at the hard snow, made bricks, and packed them together. During regular outside play time, they weren't so interested in helping, but that was fine, I continued to work myself. Occasionally, they helped. Most importantly, we had a new girl today who reveled in this work. She had not done anything else at school--she wanted nothing more than to go home to Grandma. But when she had work to do, she was completely content. So, above is a photo of the igloo so far. I'm hoping to find a hose or a spray bottle so that we can give it a nice coat of ice.

I thought back to other projects we've done in school. These suet bird feeders certainly count as real work. They served a practical purpose and the children can enjoy them. We spent 20 minutes one day watching a black bird try to eat off of one without landing on it.

During nap time, I read more of Kindergarten Education and remembered the things I did at Cricket that were real work. We all milled apple sauce together, we set the table, we washed the dishes. This afternoon, I decided to test the waters of real work indoors. While the children were having free play, I set out some aprons, a few towels, a bowl of soapy water, and a bowl of clean water. I collected the play dishes which did actually need some cleaning after many months of sticky fingers and runny noses. I dipped the cups in the soapy water and scrubbed with my hands, rinsed them in the clean water, and laid them on the towel. One new boy who has been difficult to entertain and distract watched me, enthralled. I offered him an apron and showed him what I was doing. He washed all of the dishes himself and then looked for more things to wash. This work had purpose. This work was sensory. The water was just the right temperature. You could smell the soap. I made sure to use a fuzzy towel.

I am working to remember the importance of all these things. Work and magic, work and magic, work and magic. Slowly, I'm becoming the teacher I want to be.

Teaching: Searching for the Old Magic

2010-01-27T00:59:00.004+09:00

When everything is starting to fall into place in my life (visa, insurance, flat, etc.) and my weekends aren't a blur (Happy Sober January!), I find that I have so much time and energy to focus on becoming a better teacher. I spent a lot of my Christmas vacation and the time afterward working on a curriculum for the year. I outlined monthly themes, holidays, activities related to themes and holiday, songs, and stories. The appendix for songs alone is 26 pages long. But when I got back to school at the beginning of January, I saw Ruzenka's new curriculum book. It explained every Czech holiday of the year including the origins, traditions, songs, stories, and games. I would be hard pressed to remember a time that I felt so jealous. Why couldn't I have this for Anglo-American holidays? It put my macaroni-necklace encouraging Scholastic brand "Preschool Almanac" to shame. I looked at the two books I had been using to write my curriculum and thought, Foj! I deserve better, my children deserve better, there must be better!
So, I turned to the internet. I searched World Cat; I searched Amazon. Then, I thought, this is a job for a Steinerian press! I pulled out a book about kindergarten education that I had purchased at the Sunbridge book shop but never used. Hawthorn Press. As it turns out, it's an English company which made ordering books online much easier. I decided upon a book called Fesitvals Together because it includes Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, and Hindu festivals. It seemed appropriate, as I am expected to teach from an American perspective and use our holidays--and is the beauty of America not its being a tossed salad of cultures?

I received it only a few days later and fell in love. I haven't read it cover to cover--but it has recipes, stories, crafts, and songs. I feel so much better about my curriculum having used this as a guide. I started to remember the magic that I used to see in early childhood education. I have been trying to organize the school and toys in a way that reminds me of Hartsbrook, so I looked at my own pictures of when I used to work at Cricket and then I searched the website for more. I found this video:

Hartsbrook Early Childhood Enrollment Video from Klituscope Pictures on Vimeo.

My heart swells to remember working there. I could wish for nothing else in life. When I worked there, I felt the endless possibilities of childhood. I felt the magic all around me. We lived in a world of fairies and gnomes and beauty. I try to keep this in the back of my mind all day at work. Remember the magic.

A Most Peculiar Friday Night

2010-01-13T03:51:00.003+09:00

I am certainly the last person who would have predicted that a Friday night in which I do not go Out On The Town would be atypical in my life, but as it turns out, it is. I've slowed down since Christmas, but until then, every Friday was dancing night. As it had been snowing since I walked to work on Friday morning, I thought I would have a rare Friday night in. But it being KT's last day in Prague and Nicole's last weekend before she started her farming adventure, I was coaxed into going to Nicole's flat for a soup dinner.

While you may think that Central Europe would get a lot of snow, this much is really uncommon here. It had only been snowing since 8am, but by four in the afternoon, the trains were a mess. I caught what I think was the 2:26 train at nearly 4 o'clock. When KT was convincing me to take the journey to Prague, I was so adamant that there was blizzard outside and she was being completely unreasonable. She kept telling me it was just a little snow. When I got to Prague, I realized that the reason she kept saying it was just a little snow was that... it was... in Prague. We were certainly getting much more snow in Kolín than Prague was getting.

I'm kind of sad that this is no longer a typical Friday night in my life. Hangin' out on couches, poking each other in the eyes with our toes. That's one of the downfalls of living out in the 'burbs--every time I come into the city, it's for something big, not for casual hang-out-time.

There aren't two people in the world with whom I enjoy casual hang out time more than KT and Nicole. Let's spoon on the couch, okay? 'Kay!

But as the evening progressed, I began to feel more and more sick. Spending hours outside in the cold is starting to get to my immune system, it seems. Between that and the fact that I don't trust CD (the Czech rail system) to get me home late at night during a blizzard, I decided to call it a night early. I headed back to Hlavni Nadraži where I found most trains to be delayed at least 70 minutes. The train I got took nearly twice as long as usual. But eventually, I made it back to Kolín...

...where Rasputin was waiting for me. As was a long, unplowed, snowy walk home.

But the snow clinging to my window (okno, neuter) made it all worthwhile! And it continued to snow for two more days. So look forward to pictures of my town after a snow storm with accumulation totaling more than the past three winters combined! Hurá!

Christmas At School: Beginning to End

2010-01-13T03:27:00.002+09:00

The first holiday in the Christmas season is Saint Borbora's Day, 4 December. As I explained before, on this day, unmarried women cut a branch from a tree and place it in water to see if it will bloom by Christmas. If it does, the woman will be married in the following year. You can see above that my branch bloomed! This means that in 2010, I will marry a Czech. I am not, however, holding my breath.

Next up, the following day, is Sv. Mikuláš Day. This is the day when Sv. Mikuláš (Czech for St. Nicholas) brings an angel and devil into the homes of small children. Those well-behaved children may sing a song and earn a treat from the angel. The little ones deemed too troublesome to continue existence will be taken in a sack down to hell by the devil. Kind of puts our coal tradition to shame. What a way to begin the Christmas season--fear for one's immortal soul!

Then, of course, we have Christmas! This was our Christmas tree at school. It took a long time to string all of those dried fruit rings but it was certainly more enjoyable than stringing popcorn and cranberries (yeah, Mom, you'll never live that down). Our ornaments are made out of gingerbread. It was a very traditional European Christmas tree, though I am told that the Czechs also usually have ornaments made out of straw.

And finally, we come to Three Kings Day, 6 January. This brings our Christmas season to a close. If you think about it, we've been celebrating for over a month straight now it seems, so maybe it's time. A lot of the traditions that were reserved for Three Kings Day have been moved to Christmas Day--like in America. However, Three Kings Day in the Czech Republic is a day when people from various charitable organizations come knock at your door to ask for money. Some of my students brought in change purses and couldn't wait to give a few crowns to the Three Kings when they came knocking! It's good to end the Christmas season with a non-materialistic giving holiday!

A Very Ex-Pat Christmas

2010-01-13T03:11:00.002+09:00

I spent Christmas Eve, which in this country is Christmas, with my Czech friends having a very civilized dinner. We had a Christmas tree, presents, a beautifully set table with floating candles as a centerpiece. While we did play Go Fish, it was still quite a classy affair. Then I went to Christmas with the expats. It was more like Christmas as I know and love it.

We didn't have a Christmas tree, but this tree outside of the flat was decorated with a pool tube and a jock strap. Merry Christmas!

In order to fit everyone at the table, we had to put together tables and desks and overflow into another room. In order to get from one side to the other, one needed to do the Under-the-Table-Shuffle, as demonstrated here by my most nimble self.

We may not have had glasses to drink our wine out of-- but who needs 'em when we each have our own bottles? Also, we had quite the spread! There was not one Christmas feast item that was lacking. Wait... maybe a goose? Do people still do that?

Another example of the Under-the-Table-Shuffle, done the other direction.

Climbing out...
I made it to the couch which was used instead of chairs.

Begin gratuitous posed photos! Aww, friends!

The expat ladies all have some power animal. Mine is danger mouse. I may be small, but I love me some danger?

And what would Christmas be without a little post-wine sing along? There was no "Jingle Bell Rock" but we did sing a rousing rendition of "The Wild Rover" and other unmentionable melodies.

And what is Christmas without a little love?

I couldn't have asked for a better orphan's Christmas celebration!

Sometimes I think Sittin' On Trains...

2009-12-28T03:57:00.006+09:00

I just counted the stack of tickets on my table and I have at least forty train tickets. This does not count round-trip tickets, tickets that didn't end up on my table, international train tickets, or metro/tram tickets. This means that I have ridden the train well over forty times in three months. So, I spend a lot of my time doing this.

About 2/3 of the trains I have taken are exactly like this. Big, red seats in compartments. The outside is green. There tends to be graffiti. But I love them. I love compartments in all their Hogwarts-Express-esque glory. Sometimes, there is even a woman who comes around with a snack cart.

A lot of the time, I get my own compartment. But if I don't, it's just as well. I find that trains make me fairly outgoing. Since they are also often home to young English and American kids backpacking across Europe, I also tend to find people to talk to on trains. "I can't help but notice you're speaking English," is our code for "Please talk to me!" Also, I tend to find a lot of nuns on the train. Why do I love sharing a compartment with nuns so much? I've become an old hat at watching the train as it gets to the platform to see which car is most likely to have an empty compartment or a compartment with a nun. I love the walk up-and-down the car to find the best compartment.

I love the views I get from the train. While I agree with William Pene du Bois that there is no better way to see the world than in a hot air balloon, trains are much more practical. I remember riding all the way from Penn Station to Plattsburgh this spring and how I saw parts of New York that I had never seen before (and also witnessed firsthand the epic failure that is American infrastructure). But I'm enjoying my train travel here as a way to see more of the Czech Republic.

Usually, I am just riding to and from Prague. But, I have now also taken the train to Dresden in Germany and twice to Bratislava in Slovakia. The latter destination provided me with a much bigger picture of the Czech Republic. There are mountains and fields and everything in between!

I also love that in Europe, trains are also so practical. You see freight trains carrying automobiles, milk trains, and best of all--post trains. I was waiting for my 1AM train to Bratislava and I saw a post train pass me in the snow. I imagined the train full of cards and presents going to brighten spirits all around the country on Christmas and suddenly, waiting wasn't so bad.

I also got to experience the first snow (October 15th!) on a train to Prague. I grant you that we did not have accumulation until last week, it was still beautiful!

One of the best parts of the train to and from Prague? As long as you get the usual one, you can stick your head out the window!

There is no better feeling in the world than sticking your head out of a train window!

Though, you have to be careful, there are poles that come mighty close to your face.

Not all of the trains I've ridden have been the big red bench compartment trains. Some of them are a bit swankier--particularly the longer rides. Sometimes, you can catch a train that is coming from a longer journey and get a nice seat for the 50 minute ride to Prague. This was my train home from Bratislava. It originated in Budapest and would take you to Berlin via Bratislava and Prague. It's insane to me that you can go that many places on one train. They're wonderful, wonderful things.

Note the light, temperature, and Muzak controls! Classy! Though, sometimes I end up in a train without compartments and have to ride in a big room with everyone. Not my favorite. I've also ended up on a commuter train that was like I imagine a 19th century LIRR train to be like... in not a good way.

On my way home from Bratislava, I got to see the snow all over the countryside! Unfortunately, nice train meant no sticking my head out the window.

But I could on this one. This was my ride to Bratislava the first time (3 trains, 7 hours... never again). I got to watch the sunrise through the snowfall on this train. That was, I admit, pretty amazing.

I was looking at apps the other day and there are a frightening number of mac apps for syncing your model trains. I thought Goodness gracious! Who cares about trains that much!?
As it turns out, I do, but I would prefer to be on one, not play with it. Don't even get me started on the glory of my Kilometres Book! 2000 km for 1 crown a kilometer. It is glorious.

Naděje, Láska, a Vánoce

2009-12-18T17:53:00.005+09:00

On Tuesday, Jess and I met up to do some Christmas shopping before she heads home for three weeks (what shall I do without her?!). Somehow, we ended up on a walking tour of landmarks near Old Town Square--because I usually don't do touristy things, this was kind of nice. First, we stopped at the John Lennon Wall

The wall has been used since 1980 as an homage to the Beatles. The graffiti is mostly positive--of the peace and love persuasion. A lot of it is also Beatles lyrics.

I believe the story is that when John Lennon died, students painted his portrait on this wall. It became a place for the students to write about hope and freedom under communism. It gets painted over every so often, but the graffiti just keeps coming. Imagine how many layers of hope and love cover John Lennon's face! I think it would make him happy.

After we crossed the Charles Bridge, we came to this canal. It seems that many cities have a place like this. When you find your One True Love, you carve your names into the lock, attach it to the rail, and throw the key into the canal. Some day, I will have a lock on this canal.

So that covers hope and love... now for Christmas! I give Jess full credit for this batch of photos. My hands were too cold to keep taking pictures so I just gave her the camera.

Approaching Old Town Square, again, to wander the Christmas markets.

They have a lot of old fashioned handcrafts at this market, which is really nice compared to Kolín's market! Also, mead! Omnomnom!

There are so many sweets to try in Central Europe during Christmas, how will I ever make it? I still haven't tried Trdelnik, which is delicious looking fried dough with nuts and spices.

The nut stands remind me of Christmas in New York so much! But they are not as hot and fresh as in New York. However, I think the fact that they come from a wooden stall surrounded by so much magic balances that out.

View of the Christmas market from the center.

Oh and what's that, folk dancing? Yes, this is a magical, magical place.

An Adventure

2009-12-16T21:31:00.004+09:00

Last Saturday, I went on an adventure with my friend Eva to Dresden, Germany. It was my first time in Germany and, as always, I expected entering a new country to be like going to another world. I think, though, that once you have lived in Asia, anything in Europe is all kind of the same. As we crossed the border on the train, we noticed the different frames of the houses and decided we must be in Germany. Aside from using Euros and speaking German, it was not too different from the Czech Republic.

Which is to say, it's beautiful and charming--and alive with Christmas spirit. Like in Prague, there are Christmas markets everywhere--selling handmade goods, Christmas treats, and warm drinks. Though, as you can see, there's also a fair amount of kitsch.

We walked through the markets and explored Dresden--and somehow ended up in this neighborhood. I'm not sure what this market was, but it was closed for the weekend. The neighborhood was the kind of place with "retro" photo booths and ridiculous second-hand shops. It would have been heaven to a 15-year-old Colleen, but, I agreed with Eva that when it got dark, we should probably leave.

So we went back to the markets and got mulled wine to warm up. I couldn't catch it in photos, but it was lightly snowing all day. I, again, wanted to use Jess' statement that we live in a magical, magical world. How could I ever leave a place where you can buy mulled wine on the street and drink it wherever you like?

Or a place where you can go on a Ferris wheel at Christmas time! At the end of one market, there was a large Ferris wheel from which you could see the skyline of Dresden. After a few glasses of mulled wine, we were ready to go up.

It was a breath-taking view! The whole city was lit up and twinkling in the snow!

Before we headed back to the train, we got some chocolate-covered apples (no caramel, alas!) and scoured the big market for star-shaped lamps, which we did eventually find. All and all, it was a perfect Christmas adventure.

Tomorrow (hopefully), I am headed to Bratislava, for one of the many trips necessary to secure my visa. So, Germany is officially added to my list of "countries visited" and soon Slovakia will follow suit!

Saint Barbora Day and Saint Mikuláš Day

2009-12-10T23:30:00.004+09:00

Last Friday, 4 Dec., was Saint Barbora's Day. I came in to work to find this branch in a cup of water. I, honestly, didn't think to ask about it. Later on in the day, my co-worker asked me, "Do you know what this is for?"
"Uh, no?" I replied.
"Today is Saint Barbora's Day and in the old days it was a tradition that you cut a branch from a tree and if it--"
"Buds?"
"Yes, if it buds by Christmas, you will be married in the next year."

I looked at the branch and then paused for a second.
"Wait, this branch is for me? Everyone else is married!"
"Yes, and the children are too young. So it is your branch. If you have many boyfriends, you cut one branch for each of them and put a tag on it. Jana said she doesn't know how many you have so maybe we should cut a lot."
Jana walked into the conversation at this point.
"Oh yes, it is your branch. If it buds, we need to know will it be a Czech or an American."
"Well, we could always cut another one and put flags on each," I suggested jokingly. Yet, when I came back on Monday, there was a second little branch in the cup. So, I added the flags. The odds are stacked against the American branch but, what can I say? If I marry a Czech, I can get citizenship!

Today, a four-year-old student of mine was decorating my branch and when it was too heavily laden with decorations, Jana and I feared it might break. She explained to him, "This branch needs to bud so that Colleen can marry a nice, handsome Czech boy."
"Like me?" he asked.

I love my job.

Yesterday, I went to a small Christmas pageant with my students. Part of the Christmas season here is, which I alluded to last time, Sv. Mikuláš Day. On 5 Dec., the Czechs go all out for Sv. Mikuláš. He is kind of Saint Nicholas and has many similarities to Santa Claus. On 5 Dec., he comes to your house with an angel and a devil. If you are a good child, you sing a song and the angel gives you some kind of treat--candy or a gift. If you are a bad child, the devil puts you in a sack and takes you to hell. Sv. Mikuláš wears a tall pointy hat with a cross and carries a book with the names of good and bad children (a bit classier than Santa Claus' list). There are some differences in the portrayal of the devil and angel than in American iconography. The angel doesn't always have a halo, often just a star on her forehead. The devil is not a red beast, he's usually black with red horns. He may or may not have cloven hooves. He has a tail (more like an animal's than a devil's) and chains. He wears dirty clothes. I think it's actually more frightening than the less-believable American devil.

What is truly crazy is that parents actually pay people to come to their houses and scare the be-Jesus out of their children. I've heard tales of my friends peeing themselves as small children when the devil came to their door with Sv. Mikuláš and the angel. But when you're an adult, it's a wonderful holiday! It's an excuse to dress up (which I did!) and something you can hold over children's heads. "Be good! Don't you know who is coming this weekend?!" Getting taken to hell or getting coal in your stocking, which is a more effective threat?

Can We Just Take a Minute

2009-12-01T21:30:00.004+09:00

About a week and a half ago, Jess (above) and I were walking to get dinner in I.P. Pavlova and we saw something magical in Naměsti Miru. There was a Christmas tree and little stalls, with people mulling about in their winter coats. "Can we please take a detour to see what that is?" she asked. When we got closer, we found ourselves in a small Christmas market, which fill many of the squares in the Czech Republic (and as I am to understand, much of Europe) from the end of November until Christmas. The little wooden stalls harked back to a time before plasma screen advertisements covered every inch of a city. They sold mulled wine, Christmas ornaments, handcrafts, and all the things that would make one think of Christmas in a fairy tale world. It was like stepping into the world I imagined Hanzel and Gretel grew up in.
"Can we just take a minute to appreciate the fact that we live in a magical fairy tale land?" asked Jess.
"Yes, yes we can." I replied.

Little did I know that this small market was just the beginning.

While I spent actual Thanksgiving having a small wine-and-chicken dinner party with Czech friends, I spent Friday having a gluttonous feast with expats of all stripes and colors. Jess cooked a turkey (with my assistance via Skype) and we took turns carving the bird. I was quite proud of my carving skills, even if I did hack it to bits. I got the turkey off the carcass, that's what counts! I also brought a very well-received apple pie that I managed to bake in my oven without temperature control. It was certainly no Heaney family Thanksgiving, but we went around the room and said what we were thankful for, and on actual Thanksgiving, we toasted with cherry liquor, so I felt sufficiently at home.

On Saturday, the first day of advent, the holiday season kicked off in earnest. We went to watch the tree lighting in Old Town Square. Luckily, we entered through the least packed street, but it was still a zoo. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The tree in New York cannot begin to compare to Prague's Christmas tree. When it has a castle-like cathedral as a backdrop, what can you expect?

You can see the stalls all set up in this gigantic Christmas market. After the crowds dissipated, we wandered around the market and got some hot chocolate. I look forward to spending every weekend this way until Christmas! This place can only get more magical. On Saturday, I will enjoy my first Saint Mikulaš celebration, dressed as an angel, and look forward to reporting back all of the day's ridiculous events. I'll give this as a teaser: In America, you wait until you die for the devil to take your soul to hell, but in the Czech Republic, they like to nip it in the bud and take you straight away to hell as a misbehaving tot. Or so you are led to believe.

17 Listopadu

2009-11-22T20:20:00.006+09:00

I've been trying to write more than post photos in this blog, but I think that Tuesday warrants a photo-heavy post. Tuesday, the 17th of November, was the 20th anniversary of the student marches that led to the end of communism in what was then Czechoslovakia. On that day 20 years ago, about 30,000 students took to the streets of Prague in a march that was sanctioned by the government because it was officially honoring a student who had been killed by the Nazis fifty years earlier. The protest turned rebellious and the state police assaulted the students, but they just continued to march.

On Tuesday, I met my friend Erin in Wenceslas Square where we saw the beginnings of the day's festivities. Czech flags were everywhere.

We walked to Albertov, the starting place of the 1989 march and where we would listen to (albeit without any understanding) speakers talk about democracy. When we got there an hour before the speakers would begin, there was no one there. We were a bit wary that this might not be as big of a deal as we had been hoping. As we neared 3:00, more and more people came.

This is the "Sweet! We aren't the only people here anymore!" pose.

They came with their flags and their signs, most of which I could not even begin to read. Many of them had to do with the unpopularity of the current Czech president, Vaclav Klaus. It reminded me of all the peace rallies I used to go to in high school, how many variations of "impeach Bush" I had seen. But growing up in a country that celebrated the 200th anniversary of being rebellious crusaders for liberty and democracy before I was even born, it is strange to imagine that in my own lifetime, the country I currently think of as home was not a place where one could even hold such a sign.

After the speakers, we followed the path that the students took in 1989. On the way, we saw performances of all kinds on the street corners.

The march took over two hours as we walked from Albertov to Narodni.

I felt like quite an outsider here. What have I done to earn my place in this crowd? Thanks to America's fear of teaching students anything about communism, I barely even know anything about the history. But this march wasn't just about honoring the people who helped spur democracy in the Czech Republic, it was also about bringing democracy and freedom to other parts of the world where people still live in fear of their government. And hey, that's something I can get behind.

Along the route, we saw many people sticking their heads out their windows to watch the march.

But by far the best was guy-without-a-shirt-wearing-a-gold-chain. That is the sign of freedom: being able to watch a march from your own flat topless if you want.

At first, we thought this was a group of police actually attacking marchers. Then, we realized that they were re-enacting the events of 1989. Way to be cool and scary at the same time, in true Czech fashion. Nevertheless, there were lots of riot police on hand just in case things got a little too spirited, but they wore friendly yellow vests instead of helmets!

One of the biggest symbols of the Velvet Revolution was the jingling of keys by students to represent unlocking the doors to freedom. The whole march, we could hear the gentle jingling of keys in the background.

And so, we rang ours too. Keys have always held such symbolism in my life. I worked as a locksmith's assistant one summer and learned so much about them and their history. I wear a key, that I found in a drawer in my dad's house, around my neck so that I always have home close to my heart. But now, I will never touch one without a momentary thought of how students, people my age and younger, used them to peacefully change the world.

Expiration Dates and Extended Mixed Metaphors

2009-11-10T01:28:00.006+09:00

I drink a lot of milk. This may come as a surprise to people who knew me as the I'm-allergic-to-soy-so-I-drink-rice-milk girl. But the story behind how I became an omnomnivore is for another time. I have learned that in the Czech Republic, expiration dates are pretty accurate. These are not the whimpy American "sell-by" or, worse yet, "enjoy-by" dates. They are expiration dates. They are, "Don't even bother opening the cap!" dates. When I get milk, I always drink a lot of it the first two days and then realize that I am running out and I don't want to go buy more, so I drink it sparingly, then all of a sudden the expiration date is looming and I know that at midnight my milk will turn into a pumpkin.

Last week, nothing seemed to go right. It was probably some time around 00:01 on 1 November that things started to go south, so I was resigned to considering November a bust. But this morning, I woke up and decided, "Dnes je nový týden. Bude to dobré." Today is a new week. It will be good. And it's all about attitude. I went to school, determined to have a good day, and I did! My boss casually brought up what a good job I am doing, which was good because it had been a nagging anxiety in the back of my mind for a week or two now--since I realized that I am here on a three-month trial period and I didn't actually know if my boss even liked me. But now I know that she thinks I am doing a great job and that the kids really love me. She told me that last week when I wasn't around, Ema was shouting from the bottom of the stairs, "Colleen! Colleen!" and would not accept her as a substitute. I had another parent-child class today and though they make me anxious, this one went really well.

As I was walking home, I was thinking about how this is the first time in my life that what I am doing doesn't have an expiration date. I do not have a planned end to living in the Czech Republic or working at my school. I love them both so much that I am content to think of it as an indefinite situation. But it's the first time when indefinite feels... good. I feel settled. I feel like if this were to be the job I take for the rest of my life, I would be happy. I would probably move to Prague and commute out to Kolín for school, but other than that, I wouldn't change a thing. My life has always gone from one definite ending date to another: elementary school, junior high, high school, college, NYSP, Korea, (okay there was that period of unemployment that seemed interminable but that's another story), camp... all of these things, I knew, would end in the near future. It's nice to not be searching for jobs while working one.

But while I bounced along the path home, on autopilot with dance music playing in my ears, I tried to silence the little voice in my back of my mind that keeps saying, "Visa visa visa!" When I got home, though, I had a message from a Czech friend saying that she spoke to a lawyer for me and they will help me. Everything will be okay! How could I ever leave a country where I've met such amazing people? All of the friends I've made, all of the people I work with, everyone tries so hard to make me feel welcome and happy in this country. And boy howdy do I ever!

All the Lies They Told Along the Way

2009-10-27T00:08:00.002+09:00

Sometime in my childhood, it was decided that I cannot draw or paint. It was also decided that my handwriting was atrocious. Thus, I hated drawing, painting, or turning in written work. I would never do it unless absolutely necessary. But in the past few years, I've discovered that, as it turns out, I actually like to do these things, as long as no one is judging me. In my non-language classes in college, I was wont to fill entire pages with doodles of little things that make me happy like starfish and hot air balloons. Yet, when my boss' husband asked me in my first few days at school if I drew, my answer was a definitive, "No." The next day, he found me in one of our miniature chairs at our short table drawing elaborately bizarre sketches for stationary. My boss, later on, requested that I paint a dinosaur on the wall of our science corner. While I recognize that it is a caricature of a dinosaur, it's still distinctly dinosaur-y. His name is Steve.

Steve looked lonely, so I painted little Tommy here.

And then I went for the tree. Granted, my branching patterns leave a lot to be desired and my owl might also be a penguin, you can at least tell what I'm going for. And does it matter that my silly paintings aren't perfect? Does it matter that I cannot for the life of me make a face, human or otherwise? If I love painting and drawing, why do I let memories from early childhood still haunt me, still tell me that I shouldn't?

I know it couldn't have been my mother who discouraged my (in)artistic abilities. So, I have to assume it was a teacher in school. It could have been either my second or third grade teacher, both of whom treated my poor handwriting as a sign of my willful disregard for their eyes rather than a sign of delayed development of fine motor skills. Why was I made to feel so guilty for my poor handwriting and my unclear illustrations?

I try to keep these questions and memories in mind as I shape the futures of my own students. It's easy for a teacher to say they encourage every child, but somewhere along the way, children become seriously discouraged. Whatever is going on in my life outside of school, once I enter that door, those kids are the only thing that matter.

When You...

2009-10-20T23:19:00.002+09:00

A short post to remind myself that when you have friends like this...

And adventures like this...

And this...

And live in a town like this...

And this...

And when you spend your days as a human jungle gym, when your boss' husband calls to make sure that the DVD he sent you works so that he can give you more, when your co-worker invites you to climb hills on the weekends, when you get regular e-mails from your best friends, when you can get fried dough from a stand right outside your apartment, when your commute involves crossing a river and walking through a park, when you are praised for every word you learn, when you spend your Tuesday carving sugar beets like pumpkins, when you are surrounded by so much joy...

Even if you can't see Where the Wild Things Are for a few more weeks...

All is love.

Alright Wellesley Stalkers

2009-10-19T23:11:00.002+09:00

Hey you out there at my alma mater's rival. Yeah, you. I know that you're browsing around and that you've been here more than ten times in the past 24 hours. You, in fact, tend to visit about that often daily. You have created a mystery on my sitemeter that I just can't take any more. Who are you? My curiosity is overwhelming. I just wonder what could be so interesting here to make you visit so often. My only theory is that you accidentally set this as your homepage, but that doesn't explain how I got a fan at Wellesley to begin with.

So satisfy my curiosity. Comment or email me (crheaney at gmail dot com) and introduce yourself!

XOXO
-Colleen

The First Snow!

2009-10-16T18:04:00.005+09:00

It's hard for me, in this blog, to not just let pictures do the talking. I take so many and that's how I documented Korea, but I am committed to actually writing this time. When people ask me my hobbies, I am so hesitant to say that I write. I don't write books, I don't write stories. I write blogs and journals and letters. But I do so with such fervor and dedication. Tweets can take me up to 20 minutes to perfect. A seven sentence LJ post might take the better part of an evening. So it's kind of ironic that in the last post, I was preaching the values of non-verbal communication when words are of such importance to me. I guess you have to find the proper balance.

Yesterday was the first snow in Kolín. I grant you that it did not accumulate, but it did snow most of the day and at times it was quite difficult to see. My camera did not capture it well because the snowflakes melted on the lens, but above was my walk to work. I cross this river every day, next to the oldest power plant in the CR. I've only lived places where I could walk to a fairly substantial body of water (the Long Island Sound, Connecticut River, Sincheon, Lake Champlain) if you don't count those few months in DeKalb. I guess it shouldn't be surprising because civilizations tend to spring up near bodies of water. But I don't understand how one could live without one.

You can kind of see the flurries in this picture of the corner near school. Since the weather hasn't been so agreeable, we've only been taking walks around the block instead of going to the park before lunch. On yesterday's walk, the little ones spent a lot of time sticking out their tongues and trying to catch snowflakes. It wasn't hard because the flakes were big globs of snow. I wished that I remembered the words to that Barney song, all I could remember was the part about rain, not the part about snow. I tried to make up my own in my head, If all the snowflakes were sugar-cubes and honey-cakes were the best I came up with. (As it turns out, it is "If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes" but I kind of like honey-cakes better, even if it doesn't fit the meter.)

Every morning, we put up the day and weather on this calendar that I designed. I'm pretty proud of it, and also the fact that it helped me learn the ever-so-useful Czech word suhízip, or Velcro. The kids love doing the weather. "Is it... sunny out?" "Nooooooo!" I had to take a picture of October 15th, the weather is snowy.

It had stopped snowing for part of the day and I was sad to take a train to Prague in the rain. But as we passed the fields and small villages that cover the 50 or so miles between Kolín and Prague, the rain turned back into snow! While most people wouldn't count that as a change for the better, I relished it. I opened the window to the bitter cold and stuck my head outside to snap a photo. Rain is so dreary and depressing, but snow always feels hopeful to me. There, is of course, the nostalgia of playing in snow as a child and the thought that with snow comes Christmas, but there's more to it than that. While rain assaults you, burrowing through your layers and soaking you to the core, snow tends to just land on top and you can easily brush it off. You only end up a little damp from snow, instead of completely soaked. Also, rain adds to the noise of city life, while snow muffles the sounds. Everything is so peaceful and quiet in the snow. With the first snow in this little town, I can honestly say that I am so happy to be here. I don't want to go home. This is the first time since I graduated that I have actually liked a place I've lived, no less loved it.

I think I am going to be spending a long time looking like this. Totally content in my little compartment on the train, imagining each new day on this adventure.

Learning Languages

2009-10-11T21:43:00.002+09:00

I am learning to live in this country where I don't speak the verbal language. I am learning to trade words for actions and emotions. I am learning to speak the language of friendly faces. I am learning to speak the language of Monday morning sighs as we wait at the cross walk for the light to change, the sigh as if to say, "While I would like a little bit more weekend, I am determined to make this week good." I am learning to speak the language of morning skyward glances and the afternoon quick step. And in school, I am learning to speak the language of wonder when we open up a rosehip to see the seeds inside. I am learning to speak the language of giggles and tambourines. I am learning to speak the language of potty dances and temper-tantrums. I am learning to speak the language of imagination at the sand table. I am learning to speak the language of spaghetti faces and dirty hands.

And I wonder, if we all stopped worrying about our words, how many languages could we speak?

By Day/By Night

2009-10-08T22:55:00.003+09:00

My life by day: mild mannered preschool teacher, prone to saying "goodness gracious!"

By night: after the mosh pit at a concert not fit to be written about here in any way.

This weekend, I went to Prague to visit my friend Nicole. It's amazing to have someone I have known for seven years so close by. She's one $4/45 minute train ride away, which is significantly closer than she was when we were both on Long Island many years ago. We went dancing on Friday night, got one expensive sushi lunch on Saturday afternoon, then spent Saturday night at a show. It's good to know that I don't have to do all the touristy Prague things in one go. Nevertheless, I wish I had taken a few more pictures. I kept thinking all weekend about normalization. How quickly does anything in your life become normal? In Korea, the garlic truck that woke me up every morning with it's dulcet cry through a loud speaker of what I can only assume was "garlic, garlic, get'cher garlic here!" became a party of my daily ritual in a matter of days. Here, it's things like crossing a river and following a winding path through a park as being part of my morning commute. In Prague, it was running to catch street cars. If you do things regularly, you stop thinking about them. I am determined to keep at least a slightly objective eye for these kinds of things, though I know I won't be able to keep the same level of novelty and amusement.

School started on Monday with three children--two girls (the Czech teacher's daughters) and one boy. This is important to note because the boy is not only really the only male in the school, he's also such an outsider because we're all so involved in the creation of the school. I feel bad for the little one but we are doing a good job of including him. Hopefully, we will get more and more children soon. As far as teaching goes, I'm still hesitant because they know so little English and are prone to running away when I speak. I think that as I get more confident and they become adjusted to me, it might be like an average preschool teaching job. I got sent home by my boss yesterday for having a cold and woke up today still running a fever, so I've missed two days in the first week! But again, the school is still a work in progress so it's better to be sick now than later.

I'm learning to balance the two major extremes of my personality and this version of "Daisy Bell" pretty accurately represents it. I want to sing nursery rhymes but also continue to feel comfortable in a mosh pit. But I did learn one thing this weekend, when someone you're dancing with asks you what you do and you reply, "I teach preschool" the reaction of shock and amusement is pretty much universal.

First Week in Kolín

2009-10-01T02:14:00.003+09:00

Welcome to Kolín's town square, where I get my internets at the moment.
This little pink villa is my wonderful school!

So my first week, as expected, has been full of ups and downs. I am moving into an apartment tomorrow and thus out of the small room in the school where I am currently staying. I'm worried about money and making friends, as usual. I can't wait for school to actually start on Monday so that I can get into a regular schedule and start to settle in. I am having the what-am-I-doing-here jitters and mourning the fact that I could not get a job in Philly or Noho. But hopefully, these fears and anxieties will subside soon enough. I think it'll be fine once I have my own apartment and access to the internet outside of the town square. I cannot exaggerate the importance of the internet for feeling connected with life at home and beyond this town. I am determined to stick it out this time! I love my school and I am excited to move into this huge apartment on the river. I also need to make plans, however tentative, for the future to remind myself that I have things to look forward to. And everyone should come visit my totally sweet, huge flat. Come onnnn... Or just move here with me. Your half will only be like $175 a month. You can totally afford that. You know you can.

The Night Before Kindergarten

2009-09-25T04:14:00.005+09:00

Here goes with the storytime aspect.

I think that all the anxiety I should have felt for Korea, Illinois, the Catskills, and all the other big moves in my life has finally come out for this move. I've been reading curriculum books and trying to plan as much as I can. Somehow, even though I know so much more than I did before any of my other jobs, I feel like I'm less prepared. I keep staring at my suitcases and becoming completely overwhelmed. One of my books recommends reading The Night Before Kindergarten to children during the first week of school. I managed to find a copy yesterday at Southold's Library Cottage, along with a bunch of other great picture books, and it's actually had quite a soothing effect on me. So, I share it with you.

The Night Before Kindergarten from Colleen Heaney on Vimeo.

New Blog! Again! But Right Here!

2009-09-25T01:24:00.002+09:00

Hello, friends!

I am moving again, this time to Kolín, Czech Republic to teach preschool. Instead of floating ESL teacher, I will be a real preschool teacher. I leave tomorrow (goodness!) with a suitcase full of teacher-clothes and a suitcase of picture books in tow.

The format for this new blog is likely to be snippets about my life and school with some pictures, but not a full photoblog like last time. There will probably also be a vlog aspect in which I read picture books because sometimes they are the best tool I have to express myself.

New Life, New Blog

2009-03-29T01:51:00.002+09:00

To all my friends and family who regularly checked my blog while I was in Korea, thank you for all your support! I apologize that I never actually posted the last of my Korea pictures, but I can't get the motivation up for it. Instead, I have been working on my new blog about couch-surfing for two months and my new life as a homemaker (for lack of a better term).
Redirect your bookmarks to http://ameriblogging.blogspot.com known as the Ameri-Blog. It's not entirely chronological and not all about any one topic, but you should have come to expect this from me. There will be a lot of food blogging, crafting, ranting, and so on. Enjoy!

Chapter Forty: Bizarre Korea

2009-01-02T00:16:00.005+09:00

In this installment, I bring you some of the strangest things I saw in Korea--which is saying a lot since I think I posted some pretty bizarre things in all of my other posts. Here is the chicken on a leash who lived in my neighborhood.

She's a very disapproving chicken.

In my subway stop we had a book vending machine. How cool is that? It's hard to get good pictures in the subway, but you can vaguely see all it's book-vending glory.

I'm pretty sure there was one in there by Hillary Clinton. <3
I don't remember if I posted this before or not but this sign warns about the drunken and the pregnant women who are not allowed to take on.

Korea <3's Spam. A lot. I've seen gift packs of spam before, all wrapped up with Spam ribbons.

Cartoon white woman grabbing her own breasts in the Seoul subway.

This is my favorite thing ever! Bathroom stalls with little-baby-toilets!

If you try to swim in the Sincheon, you will be sucked down a whirlpool like something out of a really excellent 80's video game.

And this car with Maryland license plates sits on the road near my apartment. It's outside of a wedding studio, so I assume it is for taking wedding pictures in though I've never seen them doing so. But how did it get there?

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Last Day of Elementary

2008-12-30T06:24:00.005+09:00

Tuesday was also my last day teaching the elementary after-school program. Here, they are working on the review sheets for their December exam. There's a lot of table-cam coming, beware!
Above, either Jeff or Chris, I'm not really sure which after my boss switched them between classes, works hard while behind him Rain takes a break.

Jenny and Ben

Rain is kind of hilarious. He's not a particularly good or committed student, but we all love him for some reason.

Sean and Alissa. We think that they will one day get married. They're pretty amazing students and kind of hilarious. Usually, Alissa's creative writing assignments involve her kicking the ass of a vampire.

Roy, Jeff-or-Chris, and Ivy

This is Earth class. They tested my patience like no other class ever but I will still miss them. It was not as hard to say goodbye to elementary as to leave kindergarten but I do adore the kids!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: December Birthday Party

2008-12-30T04:18:00.007+09:00

Another birthday party happened last Tuesday. All the basic elements are the same, but I focused a lot on getting shots of the other kids just being cute. In this one, we are waiting for birthday pictures to be taken, so Sarah was asked to sing. It was so sweet and cute.

Then we had Ryan, Jupiter's class clown, sing just to give him something to do so he would stop causing trouble. It kind of worked?
While we were waiting. I showed this to a friend who asked, "What are they doing?" "Sitting nicely," I responded. Teaching preschool/kindergarten is living in a world of barely-controlled chaos. And I love it.

Birthday line, Liam and Fita at the front are so much bigger than when I first got here!

Apparently the entire school singing "Happy Birthday" is just a little too loud for them.

Emily, Angel, and Amy of Jupiter really wanted to get my slippers off.
They tried really hard. I eventually had to move away to stop distracting them with my slippers.

Stephen has been practicing his candle-blow-out technique. You can see him second from the left.

Cindy, being a ham.

She may love smiling for me, but she is not going to smile for Peter. No, Peter, she is not amused.

But she does seem to be able to put up with Alex.

Everyone wants hugs from Cindy!

"Smile, Lucy!"

"Now make a silly face!" A+, Lucy.

So, these next few pictures got Mars in trouble with Jessie, their Korean teacher for being silly while they were supposed to be eating. She showed them my camera and lectured them. Sorry guys!

Fita, a birthday girl, is probably supposed to have that crown on top of her head and I don't think she needs that much tissue.

And apparently Lucy should keep one hand on her spoon. Who can stop them when they're being so cute?

Another Christmas Post

2008-12-26T02:51:00.003+09:00

I am in Midway, waiting for my flight home (all the way to Islip!). When I got off the flight, it was Christmas morning all over again. I shelled out a ton of money for a cab because the inter-airport shuttle never came and I could not get all of my luggage onto the El. But I am here. And soon I will be home. So far: I said "kamsahamida" and bowed to a lady at McDonald's, but other than that, the adjustment seems to have been instantaneous. Like I never left. (Having been at this gate five months ago could have something to do with it.)
The above photo of me and my favorite four-year-old in the whole wide world is just the beginning. So many photos to post.

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-25T09:24:00.002+09:00

I am in the airport in Seoul waiting to check into my flight (I'm a little confused about how this works). I will be home tonight which is tomorrow night at home. It involves a cross-Chicago airport transfer, but I will be home!

Merry Christmas everyone!

(I've got so many more photos to post when I get home)

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Extreme Abba Musical Chairs

2008-12-19T22:01:00.002+09:00

This promises to be a most ridiculous post. Unfortunately, the whole school is sick right now so I haven't had the chance to take any new pictures of life at Little Genius--but I do have these videos from PE with Jupiter last week.

We played musical chairs to the Mama Mia soundtrack, which they happen to know by heart.

The music in this one is humorously ominous. Towards the end, you can see that two students declare themselves losers without noticing that there is actually an empty chair left.

In this one you can see that they watch me like hawks while I control the music. But the best part is that when I stop the music, many students keep singing.

You can kind of see Mark's high quality air guitar in the background. Where does a five-year-old Korean kid learn to air guitar to Abba?

Remember when I said that was the last "Super Trouper" video I would ever post? I lied.
The best part of the video is Cindy in the background shaking her head along to the music. Her hair is amazing. I tried to get a good video of it every time I saw her doing this dance for the past two months, but to no avail.

I entitled this video "Extreme Abba Musical Chairs: The Final Showdown" and got about 25 hits within the first half hour of posting it to youtube. Then the hits stopped completely. I guess the title was a little misleading, you might expect something a little more exciting--but it's not like I post on youtube for the general public.
The best part of this video is Peter's look of triumph at the end. In the background, you can see Chris trying to do a balancing game with Uranus--unfortunately they were a bit distracted by the sheer awesomeness of Abba musical chairs.

This experience makes me wonder why we stop playing musical chairs as we get older. I mean, it's a pretty sweet game, isn't it? Also, very few alterations need to be made to make it an amazing drinking game. Nicole, I think I have a game to add to New Year's!

Chapter Thirty-Six: End of Year Celebration

2008-12-15T18:29:00.008+09:00

Welcome to Saturday's "End of Year Celebration" which was basically a Christmas pageant and kindergarten graduation combined. This was the snazzy room in Exco where it took place. We had three hours of rehearsal before the performance which was nearly two hours long and followed by an hour of dinner. Looong day for the little ones.

Sharon's pretty jazzed about it.

The adorable backdrop.

"Really, you expect me to wear this?" say Kane's eyes. Nevertheless, everyone else in Mars can't wait to get dressed! Does this not remind you of elementary school plays that always involved wearing a white leotard?

Don't mess with these elves. Lookit Woody's badass face on the right.

Whatever they are doing, Eric, on the left, is horrified.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

"For some reason, I don't believe this is Dior."

Yes, Christy, you can totally be a princess. That will get you all the princes.

Pluto getting dressed as elves. Not nearly as funny as Mars.

Here, Mars and Pluto perform "Winter Wonderland." Alas, no video.

Mercury's "Any Dream Will Do" was introduced by a little skit about what they wanted to be when they grew up. "I love pretty dresses and I want to live in a castle, but my friends say there are no princesses in Korea," says Christy. "I think you are smart and beautiful, any prince would love to marry you. Of course you can be a princess!" responds Nicole. "Yes, I can!"

Here are the three girls who want to be singers, serenading us. "Do you think we can be singers?"

Venus singing "Summer Holiday."

Pay attention to the adorable kissing at the end. "Ah!"

The last "Super Trouper" video I will ever post. I swear.

Each of the graduating classes put on a play that Arthur adapted for them. I continue to be impressed with his drama teaching skills. There were so many great jokes. Here, Uranus is doing Peter Pan. You can see two lost kids, Captain Hook, Smitty, and Peter Pan. Captain Hook, Dustin, was absolutely amazing.

"Joanne" (not enough boys), Michael, and Wendy singing a nursery rhyme.

Jully as Tinkerbell, throwing the mildest temper tantrum ever, walks out while Peter Pan, Tommy, and Wendy, Ariel, talk about the role of a mother.

In this one, just listen to Captain Hook's delivery. A-mazing.

Most of Uranus singing "Boom Boom Ain't It Great to Be Crazy" after scaring way Captain Hook.

The epilogue. "Happy endings make me cry!"

Mars and Mercury sing "Are There Any Cookies in the Cookie Jar?" There was a short period of time during which they thought I would have to dance with them. Luckily, that was sorted out because I would have been awful ("You are going to need a lot of practice, I think," responded Rosie).

Backstage, Jupiter is getting ready to sing "Playground in My Mind." Jake is yawning, but it looks like he is trying to bite Kelly's arm. Meanwhile Steve, behind him, is looking a little concerned about the situation.

Pluto's play, also adapted by Arthur, was The Wizard of Oz. I was running out of video, so I only have a little bit. This part with Rocco as the cowardly lion is my favorite. It matches his personality so well.

The whole cast singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" at the end.

Backstage Uranus and Mercury get ready for "Animal Boogie" which was my least favorite song (see: poorly made rhymes and inability to fit lines to the meter) so I did not take video of it.

They were already so hot and sweaty from singing, dancing, and their Peter Pan costumes. "So hot!" was all Mike said to me the whole night.

"Please, no photos." Mars gets ready backstage in their adorable shiny pink costumes.

Kevin and Harry aren't nervous. They're just four.

What I love about this video of "Zippity Do Dah" is that Fita, all the way to the left, and Liam, in the middle, actually got the dance down. They were having a lot of trouble for a long time. It's also impressive because at age four walking up stairs is a major feat of coordination and these kids can dance!

Finally, we have some more elves--Jupiter and Venus--for "Santa Claus is Coming"

Just a clip.

Afterwards, we had a fancy dinner buffet. It looked like a wedding, seriously. It was in this huge hall, with white linens and covered chairs. Crazy! Nicole brings the class.

While the adults ate, mostly the kids ran around with big lollipops and made us nervous. Here's Stephen on a sugar rush.

Chris enjoyed the buffet style immensely, but he said he feels incredibly awkward at any function like this. I think I lost my ability to feel awkward since coming to Korea.

Tommy, from my second grade class, was there to cheer on his sister. He did a lot of running around, too. Chris, on the right, is the biggest ham and I love him for it.

This might be the single greatest shot of Liam ever taken. His eyes are OPEN. He has more to his face than just missing teeth. He looks like a little man! I am going to miss this one so much.

Back at home, I put the two roses I recieved from my students into my classy beer mug vase. Yeah, I've given up on cleaning since I will be leaving so soon. I'm in the process of packing as well.

Up next, "Extreme Abba Musical Chairs."

Chapter Thirty-Five: Rehearsal

2008-12-12T12:34:00.006+09:00

Tomorrow is the end of the year performance, so expect a ton of photos and videos from that. Here are a few days of rehearsal. Above, Mars and Pluto dance to "Winter Wonderland."

Same group, again, on Tuesday.

"In the lane, snow is glistening..."

I just love this shirt, that's the only reason for this photo.

I know, I have posted a ridiculous amount about "Super Troupers" but it is my favorite performance and the dance is so freakin' cute. They start off in their rockstar poses.

In this video, you can see their excellent new "Super Trouper" head wear. Watch the kid with his in the style of a pirate stash. Rocco reminds me of Napoleon dynamite. He is completely off beat, has no idea what is going on, but is still trying his best. It's kind of how he goes through life.

Meanwhile, Uranus is waiting for their turn. Abba is contagious. They need to see what is going on.

In this video, there are a lot of technical difficulties. They try to roll with it, but they make the cutest confused faces when things don't go as they expected. "Ehhhh?"

See, it's irresistible. You gotta' dance to Abba.

Then all of the graduating kindergarteners will get their diplomas. The practiced walking and bowing, which was apparently hilarious.

I love Lynn's face here.

I have no idea what is so funny because they are speaking mostly in Korean.

Bowing, bowing, bowing.

Dustin just bowed every direction, to ensure he had covered all of his bases. It's what I would have done too.

And then everyone got together to sing our "Little Genius" school song.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Insert Soul/Seoul Pun Here

2008-12-10T21:52:00.006+09:00

More about this weekend in Seoul! On Saturday, after we went to the palace, we decided to go to Insadong where we could go Christmas shopping and get some lunch. We got directions to somewhere with Western food, but it was so cold that we couldn't handle wandering around looking for it. We settled for burger king and enjoyed our first french fries in a long time.
Here Layna enjoys the BK.

The view of Insadong from Burger King. I love that pretty much no matter where you go in Korea, there's a mountain in the background--even in a touristy shopping district, as viewed from a Burger King.

After we were fed and warmed, we headed back into the cold for shopping. On the way, we met two groups of Free Huggers, who unfortunately do not exist in Daegu. Here, Layna gets a hug.

This might be my new favorite photo of all time. Because it is a Western tourist district, this guy totally expected us to take photos--excellent!

Just a shot of Insadong shopping. There were so many Westerners in Seoul that I was having a bit of culture shock. I'm used to actually going out for hours at a time and not seeing another Westerner the whole time--but in Seoul, they're everywhere!

This guy just looked so content with his fish frying stand. I took the picture because I realized that I had no photos of all the little food stands that are everywhere in Korea. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of how Maureen Ryan described Rome during the end of the Republic.

This was the other Free Hugger. She spoke English and after giving us hugs, asked me to sign something. She was incredibly impressed when I wrote my name in Hangul. She asked me where I was from and, as it turns out, she has lived on Long Island! She lived in Manhassett, which makes me wonder...what on earth would cause someone to go from Korea to Nassau?

At night, we tried to get to Namsan Tower, but got lost on the way. Here's one of the shots I got of Seoul at night from the very wrong path. It was better, though, because we were exhausted and ready to go back to Layna's apartment and roast chestnuts!

The next day, when we went out, it was snowing! It's hard to tell here, but there's definitely snow. Daegu had our first snow on Friday, so this was all so exciting. Apparently, we even got snow before NoHo.

Snowy park near Layna's apartment.

All and all, it was an excellent weekend! I'm so glad I got to go to Seoul before I leave. Layna was a wonderful host, as well.