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| From left to right, Katie's fiance Quinton as Robin Hood, Katie as a turtle, Pam the Pirate, and nobody's really sure what Elizabeth is supposed to be... Betty Crocker meets Laura Ingalls Wilder after a recent trip to REI? |
November 7, 2012
My housemates - I like them
July 24, 2012
Summer Snapshots
Summer has been a wonderful time of relaxation and preparation. I've been hired as a seasonal employee for Cooperative Agricultural Producers and am waiting for harvest to start. I'm also gearing up for grad school at Gonzaga in the fall where (have I mentioned it in a blog post?) I'll be getting my MA in teaching English as a second language. Here's what I've been up to in the meantime.
I swore to myself that I would never take the natural beauty of the Northwest for granted again, and thus I have been trying to take advantage of the many great hikes in the area. Here's my friend Karen on a short hike near Couer d'Alene.
I've been hiking a lot with family too. Here's my sister and her fiance near Liberty Lake. My sister's engagement has been one of the big developments of the summer and we are all looking forward to her wedding in June.
My sister also went on a short visit to Mexico for the first time since her return to the States, leaving us to look after her cat. Here he is sharing the fruits of a hunting expedition with us in our kitchen. Blech.
Our annual summer book club spent some great afternoons eating pastry at "Petit Chat" bakery in Spokane, as evidenced by my friend Elizabeth here. We read Mark Twain's "The Prince and the Pauper," and tackled Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice," but mostly we just talked about life.
I've also been able to go on a couple of family trips to the lake. Here my brother is initiating my nephew into the solemn rites of lake veneration.
It's been great to spend more time with my niece. She doesn't look to thrilled at her overly-affectionate auntie, but she'll just have to deal.
July 7, 2012
A collection of ESL moments I have used as facebook status updates
(and a YouTube video)
"Today in class we are doing locations. I show my students a picture of a jail (I don' know why, it's just part of the curriculum). Me: Where is this? Students: Office."
"According to my students, bowels are very important."
"So we are studying the seasons and weather in class. I hold up a picture of a snowy landscape complete with snowman and ask, "what is this?" The students look at the snowman's broom and say, 'clean?' Which brings me to the question: why do snowmen have brooms?"
"ESL sentence for the day: Yes, I am very understand."
"ESL Question for the Day: Are you marred?"
May 16, 2012
Late Mother's Day Post
I don't usually read poetry and when I do I definitely don't understand it. Sometimes I still like it though. This is a poem by Billy Collins that I like and wanted to share. I thought it was appropriate for Mother's Day.
The Lanyard - Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
The Lanyard - Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
February 12, 2012
Job Update
I just wanted to post an update about my new job. I’ve landed a temporary part-time job as a teacher’s aide at the community college. I’m helping in a classroom of Level 1, pre-lit refugees as well as doing some tutoring on the side. It is very challenging and demanding! Things that I take for granted aren’t obvious to these students, who in some cases come to their first class day without knowing how to hold a pen. Since I’ve been hired in the middle of the quarter, it’s hard for me to gauge what they’ve accomplished and what the class is aiming for, but I'm starting to figure it out.
As I mentioned, the class consists of refugees who have been placed in Spokane. The majority of them come from Bhutan, but we also have students from Afghanistan, Iraq, Burma and Eritrea among others. I say that because class membership varies day to day. Often students have appointments or circumstances that prevent them from coming.
They are all very motivated and a delight to work with. Most of them are older, from 40 to 60 or so. One day a student told me “Teacher, go slow. Students old. Not young.” Another student was trying to give me a small gift (there are some perks to being a teacher) and finally said “I’ve been trying to give you this, but you move kinda fast.” Hm. Well this is understandable since they are all constantly asking for one-on-one help. The more advanced ones are almost worse than the newer students because they are always wanting me to check things for them. “Teacher! Teacher! Here teacher! Is correct?” I feel like their pet doggy. I am trying to learn how to prioritize their needs, but still find myself tearing around the classroom at 50 mph. I should get one of those anklets that tells you how many miles you’ve walked.
They all have funny little mannerisms that I can’t help smiling at. One of my older students has a hard time keeping up with the younger, highly motivated students in my small group. She will hold her head in her hands and sigh, “Ooohhhhhhhh, teeaaacheerrrrr, Iiiiiii dooooonn’t knooooowwww” in a high, cracked voice. It cracks me up every time. Many of them seem to be cold and not only refuse to remove their coats but also sit through class wearing some very colorful hats. One older man answers most questions addressed to the class with “no… no… yes!” reminding me of Jim from the Vicar of Dibley.
It is so strange to walk off the streets of little, whitebread Spokane into classroom filled with hats, hijabs and colorful ethnic clothing. In addition to that, half the staff seems to be Russian, which means they all sound like they could be in a James Bond movie and have awesome names like Tatiana . The other day I was eating lunch in the break room when a woman walked in and asked me in a thick Russian accent if I would like some Russian cake. As far as work environments go, it could be worse.
In addition to work, I’ve been enjoying the company of a refugee family from Burma after signing up to volunteer at a great little organization called Global Neighborhood. I like it because it’s relationship based and focuses on empowerment. In all honesty I don’t do much more than go and hang out and maybe teach them a little English. It’s a large family and I have yet to figure out how many people actually live in the house as it seems a different set of people are there every time I visit.
The last time I was there, they needed to go to the store to buy some rice. I offered to take them in my car since they only have bicycles and bus passes. We pulled into the parking lot of Spokane’s “Best Asian Market” where I felt somewhat conspicuous as I examined aisles of egg noodles, pocky and soy sauce. The oldest son, who I’ll give the generic Asian name of “Lin,” signaled that he was finished shopping and began to wheel out some puppy-chow sized bags of rice. I watched in disbelief as he heaved five 50-pound bags into my trunk. I could feel the weight of them as I drove back to their residence where he carried each one into the house, making a waist-high stack. I guess if I start to miss rice, I’ll know where to go.
As I mentioned, the class consists of refugees who have been placed in Spokane. The majority of them come from Bhutan, but we also have students from Afghanistan, Iraq, Burma and Eritrea among others. I say that because class membership varies day to day. Often students have appointments or circumstances that prevent them from coming.
They are all very motivated and a delight to work with. Most of them are older, from 40 to 60 or so. One day a student told me “Teacher, go slow. Students old. Not young.” Another student was trying to give me a small gift (there are some perks to being a teacher) and finally said “I’ve been trying to give you this, but you move kinda fast.” Hm. Well this is understandable since they are all constantly asking for one-on-one help. The more advanced ones are almost worse than the newer students because they are always wanting me to check things for them. “Teacher! Teacher! Here teacher! Is correct?” I feel like their pet doggy. I am trying to learn how to prioritize their needs, but still find myself tearing around the classroom at 50 mph. I should get one of those anklets that tells you how many miles you’ve walked.
They all have funny little mannerisms that I can’t help smiling at. One of my older students has a hard time keeping up with the younger, highly motivated students in my small group. She will hold her head in her hands and sigh, “Ooohhhhhhhh, teeaaacheerrrrr, Iiiiiii dooooonn’t knooooowwww” in a high, cracked voice. It cracks me up every time. Many of them seem to be cold and not only refuse to remove their coats but also sit through class wearing some very colorful hats. One older man answers most questions addressed to the class with “no… no… yes!” reminding me of Jim from the Vicar of Dibley.
It is so strange to walk off the streets of little, whitebread Spokane into classroom filled with hats, hijabs and colorful ethnic clothing. In addition to that, half the staff seems to be Russian, which means they all sound like they could be in a James Bond movie and have awesome names like Tatiana . The other day I was eating lunch in the break room when a woman walked in and asked me in a thick Russian accent if I would like some Russian cake. As far as work environments go, it could be worse.
In addition to work, I’ve been enjoying the company of a refugee family from Burma after signing up to volunteer at a great little organization called Global Neighborhood. I like it because it’s relationship based and focuses on empowerment. In all honesty I don’t do much more than go and hang out and maybe teach them a little English. It’s a large family and I have yet to figure out how many people actually live in the house as it seems a different set of people are there every time I visit.
The last time I was there, they needed to go to the store to buy some rice. I offered to take them in my car since they only have bicycles and bus passes. We pulled into the parking lot of Spokane’s “Best Asian Market” where I felt somewhat conspicuous as I examined aisles of egg noodles, pocky and soy sauce. The oldest son, who I’ll give the generic Asian name of “Lin,” signaled that he was finished shopping and began to wheel out some puppy-chow sized bags of rice. I watched in disbelief as he heaved five 50-pound bags into my trunk. I could feel the weight of them as I drove back to their residence where he carried each one into the house, making a waist-high stack. I guess if I start to miss rice, I’ll know where to go.
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