daintee

revelations of self

2008-07-19T19:06:00.004-06:00

Thanks to Peter at slowreads, I have had the chance to take a very interesting personality profile based on Carl Jung's interpretations.

You yourself can take this test at humanmetrics.com. If your results are as shockingly accurate as mine, I'm sure you'll be intrigued! Here is what I've found out (or, rather, confirmed) about myself:

Your Type is:

INFJ (Idealist: Counselor)

Introverted - 22%
Intuitive - 25%
Feeling - 75%
Judging - 100%

You are:
- slightly expressed introvert
- moderately expressed intuitive personality
- distinctively expressed feeling personality
- very expressed judging personality

Counselors have an exceptionally strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others, and find great personal fulfillment interacting with people, nurturing their personal development, guiding them to realize their human potential. Although they are happy working at jobs (such as writing) that require solitude and close attention, Counselors do quite well with individuals or groups of people, provided that the personal interactions are not superficial, and that they find some quiet, private time every now and then to recharge their batteries. Counselors are both kind and positive in their handling of others; they are great listeners and seem naturally interested in helping people with their personal problems. Not usually visible leaders, Counselors prefer to work intensely with those close to them, especially on a one-to-one basis, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes.

Counselors are scarce, little more than one percent of the population, and can be hard to get to know, since they tend not to share their innermost thoughts or their powerful emotional reactions except with their loved ones. They are highly private people, with an unusually rich, complicated inner life. Friends or colleagues who have known them for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that Counselors are flighty or scattered; they value their integrity a great deal, but they have mysterious, intricately woven personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Counselors tend to work effectively in organizations. They value staff harmony and make every effort to help an organization run smoothly and pleasantly. They understand and use human systems creatively, and are good at consulting and cooperating with others. As employees or employers, Counselors are concerned with people's feelings and are able to act as a barometer of the feelings within the organization.

Blessed with vivid imaginations, Counselors are often seen as the most poetical of all the types, and in fact they use a lot of poetic imagery in their everyday language. Their great talent for language--both written and spoken--is usually directed toward communicating with people in a personalized way. Counselors are highly intuitive and can recognize another's emotions or intentions--good or evil-- even before that person is aware of them. Counselors themselves can seldom tell how they came to read others' feelings so keenly. This extreme sensitivity to others could very well be the basis of the Counselor's remarkable ability to experience a whole array of psychic phenomena.

Mohandas Gandhi, Sidney Poitier, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Goodall, Emily Bronte, Sir Alec Guiness, Carl Jung, Mary Baker Eddy, Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, and Queen Noor are examples of the Counselor Idealist (INFJ).

Ideal Jobs for the Counselor:

The Counselor (INFJ) is a more private person than the Teacher. They, too, can be found in the field of education as a professor, teacher, counselor, or educational consultant. Sometimes they feel a strong calling toward the religious life as clergy, nun, or director of religious education. Social service jobs, such as social worker, social scientist, or mediator can fit their needs. Some Counselors work in human services, marketing, or as a job analyst. Others are drawn to the arts as a novelist, designer, or artist.

Other information about the counselor personality can be found here.

What kind of personality type are you, and do you think this fits? I think this fits me to a tee. It's nice to feel understood ;)

my morning porch

2008-07-17T11:56:00.003-06:00

I've been enjoying Dave Bonta's short tweet-style blog, The Morning Porch for a few days now since I discovered it. I love the simplicity and consistency that his little writing routine establishes, and I have to say that I became envious of his early morning porch patterns a few days ago.

We ourselves have quite a lovely porch on the front of our house--it came optional with the house, and for the minor sum it would cost us, it seemed more than a good deal to add it when we had our house built. Having moved in at the end of November, however, our porch became a glorified dumping ground through the move-in, through the winter, and even now, into the summer. Anything dirty, outdoorsy, oddly-shapen, or decrepit was left to collect on our porch, smashing our home's curb appeal into oblivion. Derek started the big clean up attempt just after the snow melted, building a small brick patio in our muddy backyard and relocating our barbeque back there. The defunct and hideous pair of 80's skis got shipped off to the dump this past week, thus freeing up even more room on the porch. And the outdated, laquer-flaking wicker patio furniture stacked every which way? This week we spray painted it a new shade of chocolate brown, dug the cushions out of the basement, and have set up a nice new little arrangement with it. The furniture looks cleaned and revived, if not, dare I say it, brand new. We purchased two outdoor rugs and set them up, one as welcome mat and one nestled beneath the furniture (loveseat, coffee table, two chairs) set up.

Before repositioning everything on the deck, though, I had a good one hour sweep and hose-down session to clear away the dust and grime that has built up from being in a newly developed neighborhood (you wouldn't believe the dump trucks and flatbed trucks of topsoil, gravel, wood chips, and other variously dusty and grimy supplies that are daily, if not hourly, dumped on all our neighbouring properties!).

This morning was my first little affair with my morning porch. I woke earlier than usual for a teacher on summer vacation, having to wait for a delivery boy who undoubtedly would have trouble finding our hard-to-find house (he confessed on arrival that he had been wandering for some time and only my friendly wave alerted him to the fact that he was at the right place). Having done without caffeine since nearly the end of school, I found I once again had to fire up the old coffee pot this morning to get my engine chugging. I paired my raspberry-flavoured coffee with a fresh saskatoon berry muffin that I baked yesterday morning. My senses were quickly enlivened as I toted my treats outside with me.

On the way, I grabbed my favorite birthday gift--an Anthony Bourdain book, The Nasty Bits, given to me by darling Derek--and then made for the porch, an extra pillow in tow for my back. Nestled deep into the wicker loveseat and its cushions, I kicked off my sandals and let my toes hang out between the spindles of the porch, soaking up the early sunshine.

Right now, two hours later, I feel truly "good" for the first time in several weeks. It is a basic thing, but I dressed nicely this morning for my little date with my book on the porch; I made a point of combing my hair and suddenly felt better about everything. I greeted the delivery boy with a smile and eager chit chat which I was surprised to find bubbled up sincerely, with true happiness finally coming out of me. It's still too soon for a public confession of the hardship I have been enduring for the past few weeks, but it is a good feeling to know that, day by day, I am surpassing this trial, am finding new bits of myself, healed parts that have turned old hurts into new life.

Despite the appeal of sleeping in every day, I think I far prefer an early, quiet date with my morning porch, and I shall keep it up from this day forward. Although I won't endeavor to make it a daily installation as Dave has, I'm sure you can expect more brief tales of contentment to come. Maybe you should join in with me, sit out on your porch or stoop, and drop a comment or link if you've something to add.

amelanchier alnifolia

2008-07-15T17:29:00.002-06:00

I spent my afternoon picking wild amelanchier alnifolia berries. Can you guess what they are?

Answer: here in Western Canada, we know them more commonly as the "Saskatoon" berry, whether or not we are from Saskatchewan (I am not).

Poor hubby has found out that he will soon be passing a kidney stone and is thus keeping himself snowed under with painkillers. Before you think I was horrid to leave him in such a state, I assure you that first I helped to prop him up, give him some water and cranberry juice, and set his favorite show up on the t.v. Other than that, I felt there was little I could do, and he assured me I should spend at least a few sunny hours outdoors.

I decided to grab a mixing bowl (I'm all out of buckets and pails at the moment) and head a few minutes away (by car) to a ravine near the house where I grew up. My mom taught me about this secret berry picking spot as it is also near the house (a different house) where she grew up. I parked my car on the far side of a field and walked a few hundred meters to where the edge of the ravine started. There, I quickly started seeing the clustered little gems, mainly red and not quite ripe, with some perfectly purply-black ones interspersed between, particularly at the tips of the branches where the sun kissed them most. I spent a good forty minutes poking around in berry bushes, which were mixed amongst the rosehips and pines. Upon venturing a little further than I ever have in my past berry-picking excursions, I came upon a gentle cliffside, covered in slanted meadows, wildflowers in various stages of blooming (purple and yellow galore!) and seeding (with one of the largest white puff balls I've ever seen). The flowers were the least of my concerns at that point, though, because as soon as I turned just past the edge of where I'd been before, I found an all new berry grove, chock full of bushes that reached well over 8 feet tall and thus were winning out with gaining all that vibrant sunshine. That is where I found the majority of my purple pearls, depositing them by small and tender handfuls into my mixing bowl, nibbling a few as I went.

The majority were still unripe, though; thus, I plan to make a return trip in a week, and then a week after that. Derek's favorite berries are Saskatoons, and you can't really buy them in stores, so this year I plan to take full advantage of the free stockpiles in that little berry grove.

Until next week, I'll just have to hope that not too many other people (or birds!) stumble upon my secret spot. And next time, I'll take my camera.

Until then, view a sampling of Saskatoons I picked on farmed land several years ago.

it will make you smile

2008-07-15T03:57:00.001-06:00

I'm not one for embedding videos, but this one was too good to pass up! And now that I can see the sun coming up, I suppose I had better hit the hay (at 4 am!). Good night, and enjoy the short clip!

bog dogs

2008-07-14T14:46:00.005-06:00

So welcome to the frustration that has been keeping me perma-perturbed for the past many weeks.

This is what you get when you have two puppies (who need to pee frequently), an unlandscaped yard (due to a building company who will not come and tie up loose ends), and reoccurring rainstorms, perfectly timed out so that your permanent habitation is in a total bog.

I bring you the bog dogs. Only one is shown here in this photo, but Kona (border collie) is no better. Shown above is Banjo, the dog we adopted from a rescue agency. He was found as a five week old puppy, kicked in the head, with a badly broken jaw, and abandoned in a ditch to die. Second Chance Animal Rescue Society (SCARS) found him, gave him three surgeries, and had him live with a foster family during recovery. We met him one day a few months ago at the dog park, jolly little fellow that he was, and fell in love. We put our name on the waiting list to adopt him (we were third), and we were chosen to be his new family.

He is cute here, but looks can be deceiving. I am glad he is all recovered and that his jaw is holding strong and his teeth on his right side are coming in normally, which no one thought would ever happen. In fact, he is so well healed that he has no trouble at all eating the bottoms of our chairs and baseboards! And now, zero in on those muddy paws for a moment. My back entrance, where the kennels reside, is nearly as muddy as the outdoors, and I've had to get myself two pairs of shoes to cope with this mess: the muddy outdoor shoes (seen above), and the muddy indoor shoes, in which I walk on my own tile floor. Every night I go to bed with this restless, irritated feeling, which I then pinpoint is linked to the mud that is in my house and thus tracked all over my kitchen and, occasionally, even the carpet. Thus, every night (as I did last night), I resolve to thoroughly mop and wipe the tile and linoleum the next day. I woke up this morning to thunderous rain pouring against the house, and a flooded, muddy yard. Not too soon after, the whimpering pups started needing to go outside to do their business. Much to my chagrin, I had to let them out, and they pranced and frollicked outside in the swamp that was my yard.

I have decided mopping can wait another day, and the two shoe system will have to continue. In the meantime, I'll just focus on Banjo's straight teeth and ignore the four mudcakes beneath him. Say a prayer for sunshine tomorrow with me?

artsy and appetizing afternoon

2008-07-13T19:30:00.004-06:00

So, we went down to the artsy district today for the annual "Art Walk" that I am sure to never miss. Hundreds of local artists came out and lined the sidewalks peddling their wares and showing off their talents. I love the diversity I saw; some sculpted, others did on-site portraits, others were expert craftsmen of glass, wire, collage, or pottery. We visited our friend, Giselle, who's been doing very well with her career as a budding artist, and I even found out she did a set of paintings based based on viewing my wildflower photos from the dog park (shown left, above, and on my flickr).

Derek and I also grabbed an impromptu lunch at a local rockabilly (50's) type diner, New Orlean's style (although we're in northern Alberta!). I wish I had taken my camera, but I know we will be back. We feasted on our first ever tastes of cajun/southern style food--mini biscuits with jalepeno jelly, sweet potato fries, a blackened chicken po'boy sandwich, and a set of four fritters (sweet potato, crab, shrimp, and--my favorite--corn). It was delicious food, excellent service, and a wonderful atmosphere (we grabbed a window seat and could see all the art-selling going on outside). If you're ever in Edmonton or Vancouver, be sure to check out Dadeo restaurant!

ascension II

2008-07-12T14:12:00.004-06:00

i sunk, face down, into the depths of the puddle--
murky, horrifically bone-chilling,
light-dimming, stealer of warmth--
i lost my sight, could not find a
single
breath
to
catch

a caress, from behind,
on my exposed back,
an opened flank,
ignoring the mud, overwhelming the chill
made me aware
that this
is a puddle;
i stood in my highest stance,
leaving a mere remnant of self submerged
and found the sunshine.

ascension

2008-07-12T13:48:00.002-06:00

“I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.”
- John Greenleaf Whittier

It is truly invaluable to have some friends and companions to lean on in times of a deep, spiritual sort of loss. I think the mark of a true friend is that they themselves feel your hurt so deeply that they descend into the pit of hurt with you and you then help one another cope enough to climb out, hand in hand.

I snapped this photo last week at a construction site not far from my house, and these past few days, as I go through a hurt too painful to talk clearly about at this point, it has such spiritual overtones to me. There are these intersecting staircases in front of a gloomy sky, and I think they speak to which way you can go when you find yourself in turmoil. When in a stormy season, you can descend further and further down, following a set of seemingly endless stairs, or you can choose to slowly climb upward. I like the companionship of the two sets of stairs in this photo. It reminds me that I am not doing all that upward and downward climbing alone.

It must be said at this time that I have married the most wonderful companion that life had for me, and I don't know how I would continue upward without him. Slowly we're making our way up, but some steps are harder to climb than others. Yesterday was very hard, but I think I've moved up a step in waking up this morning and seeing the sunshine and having abundant kisses from my puppies.

For those of you who've sent me kind words regarding this hard time, I thank you for walking these stairs with me.

gray days

2008-07-11T21:37:00.002-06:00

To be honest, I've had a very sad and stormy week and am trying to find the golden yellows again. At least this photo cheers me on to that a little.

obsessions

2008-07-07T23:15:00.004-06:00

A few of my current obsessions:

- cherry popsicles
- snuggling with my puppy, Kona
- whittling down my laundry pile, from the towels to the delicates
- my book of names and their etymologies
- Mug rootbeer
- my new car (dark gray Mazda 3 hatchback)
- oral hygeine (went to the dentist this morning and have made some new flossing resolutions!)
- homemade hummus
- tank tops and skirts
- rap by Kanye West
- So You Think You Can Dance (especially Mark and Chelsie)
- the first crop of canola (seen above) beginning to ripen under brooding Alberta skies

my morning stroll

2008-07-06T20:08:00.002-06:00

I took this photo this morning during my fifty minute walk in the drizzle, at a nearby construction site near my house. This scene seemed to have been laid out just for me.

salad rolls

2008-07-06T00:05:00.001-06:00

I've been eating a lot of these Vietnamese-style salad rolls lately to combat the heat and to get in a bunch of healthy foods.

You can buy about a hundred rice paper wraps for just over $2.00 at the grocery store (look in the "Asian foods" aisle). These can be stored in your cupboard indefinitely. When you want to use one, simply soak it in warm water for 5-10 seconds and it softens up.

Fill your rice paper wrap with some of your favorite vegetables and toppings. Derek and I used:

- chopped iceburg lettuce
- bean sprouts
- juliened carrots
- juliened cucumbers
- juliened brown mushrooms
- green onions
- sliced, cooked pork
- cooked rice vermicelli noodles

Top inside with a favorite sauce. We tried spicy Thai peanut sauce and ginger sesame vinaigrette, both bought bottled from the grocery store. Roll it all up like a burrito and give it a few seconds for the rice paper to stick to itself. You'll be surprised at how tidy these are--no leaks!

You can serve with extra sauce on the side to dip.

These are pretty much completely fat free and super healthy unless you use an unhealthy dip or sauce with them.

Enjoy!

echoes of a dream

2008-07-05T11:54:00.004-06:00

People urge me all the time to get out of K-School because of its roughness, its distance from my house, and all the hard work that I have to put in there (moreso than I would have to at any other school). Last night, despite being far away from K-School both physically and, I thought, mentally--after all, it is my summer vacation--I had a nightmare about it. More accurately, I had a nightmare about leaving K-School. I dreamt that I took a cushy job in a south side elementary school, following my principal who had made me the offer of switching schools to this new site where he had been assigned. He had promised me all sorts of perks, a fantastic clientele, supportive parents, and so on.

Although a dream, the sinking feeling in my gut on the first day of school was a very real one. I remember thinking, as all the faces of my new students arrived in class--all white faces, by the way--that I had made the grandest mistake of my life. I remember having these flashbacks to the students I would be missing out on on their first day of K-School, where I would have been their English teacher for another year--Omar, Mohamed, Obaida, Tariq--and I remember thinking just what a loss I would experience.

In the dream, I went to my principal and begged to switch back to K-School, told him that this new job was not the job for me. He told me that I had signed a six month contract. I told him that I would finish out the six months if I could go back to K-School after Christmas. He looked at me with astonishment and simply said, "Oh no. Now that you've left, you can never go back there."

I woke up literally in a panic, straining to remember if in reality I had actually agreed to switch schools or had signed any contracts for alternate work. After my post-reverie panic had subsided, I remembered that it had all been just a dream. However, that last line of my dream, the one my principal had said to me, was very telling, I think. It's true that I've considered leaving K-School and taking the advice that friends and family give me. But they could never understand the magic of this place, and the love I have for these kids. But I think my fictional principal's words were very true in the sense that once I leave K-School and everything that it means to me, I really do think that it will be impossible to find something like that ever again. It is a school with the best administration, the best staff, and (although often horrid), some of the most loveable teens I've ever known. Although the general response from others in the city is, "Oh, you teach at that school?!" I really do feel privileged to be there.

With other impending changes possibly cropping up in my life in the next few months, I want to be sure that I do make the most of my time at K-School and enjoy the time I have there, because I think it is a certain type of microcosm that can never be rediscovered in a lifetime.

- - - - - - -
As a final note, speaking of dreamlike states, this is one other photo I snapped at the dog park the other day. I find something ethereal and dreamlike about the puple orbs in this one.

breath of fresh air

2008-07-04T13:14:00.003-06:00

So, as you've most immediately noticed, I have finally (whew!) changed up the blog design! Trust me, even I was tired of that abysmal gray layout that brought back haunting memories of winter. Now that I have finally had time to myself, I had a chance to go through oodles of photos on my camera, and I found this lovely purple wildflowers shot from last week.

Weekly, we take our two dogs (Kona: neurotic border collie and Banjo: runty german shepherd cross) to the dog park. In fact, we probably make it there about three to five times a week as long as the weather is decent. We went all winter with the pups, watching them galavant through the snow like little rabbits. In the spring, we did our best to avoid the mudpuddles and melted doggie doo doo. However, now that it is summer, the dog park is in its full glory! I must mention that this park, in a bustling city of about a million people, is paradise! It is several hundred acres of reserved, natural land, nestled on the banks of the North Saskatchewan River. The park is mostly left on its own, aside from the occasional kindly upkeep from city staff, and as such, the grass is left to grow wild and long, with bushes and trees filling in naturally as they please. There are countless numbers of naturally formed trails, the footfalls of others having formed dusty little tracks to follow through the woods and grasslands. Kona has most recently learned to swim in the dozens of clean little ponds in the park, which is her favorite thing to do now that it's summer. My favorite thing to do now that it's summer is to allow my breath to catch in my throat at the beauty of the wildflowers that are cropping up everywhere.

Being a city girl, I have not been overly accustomed to seeing wildflowers in my lifetime. My mom has always kept pristine, perfectly planned gardens that appeal to the senses in a cultured sort of way. But visiting the dog park in the summer brings a real thrillful attentiveness to the raw beauty of nature: there are thousands of daisies cropping up and forming pools of white in the sea of green grass. Yellow petals dot the outskirts of the pond lands, while in the main field, thousands upon thousands of purple wildflowers (their official name unbeknownst to me!) spill around and around the field. They are very tall, reaching between my knee and waist-height, and they tower over the seeding grasses and daisies below them. From the right angle (nestled in a comfy position in the grass as I was the other day), the little purple orbs dangle against the blue sky above, seemingly suspended there by some magical trick. Their heads seem far too large to be supported by such delicate stems!

At any rate, I snapped dozens of photos of these little gems and came across a few that I loved; I've used one for this new layout. With rain forecasted for the weekend ahead, at least I've made myself a small electronic sanctuary with blue skies and wildflowers for my indoor retreats. Feel free to enjoy it with me anytime!

candidly captured

2008-07-04T12:55:00.004-06:00

This shot was snapped last week as I celebrated my final week of school. Friends came and christened our new home with its first summer barbeque--it was a lovely evening, with late afternoon sun gracing us with its presence as we ate and chatted our way into the late evening.

That night also marked the night when I had a huge career milestone: I had to leave the barbeque for a short while to travel downtown to sign my continuing contract with the schoolboard. Basically, with this contract offered to me and now signed, I have a job with this school district until the day I retire, if that's what I want. This type of job security can be hard to come by, I know, and Derek and I feel extremely blessed for what this means for our lives, both now and down the road.

post-school stupor

2008-07-02T11:59:00.002-06:00

So, the day has finally come; school is finally over. I finished out my last day on Friday, having packed up all my teacherly belongings so that my room could be renovated over the summer (goodbye mouldy carpet!). This last stretch was a long haul of ridiculously bad behaviour, rushing through review for finals, and my own summer longing to be out-of-doors in the sunshine. As of Friday at 2:00, I have been free and loving it!

My sister's wedding was two weeks ago, and it was dazzling and beautiful in every sense of the word. Amy and her new husband could not be a better match, and they made their day fun for everyone involved, from the maid of honor (me!) to each and every guest in attendance. Her dress was absolutely beautiful, as was her overall glowing radiance. Just this week they have returned from a honeymoon, opened gifts, and begun setting up a new home in a small, quaint apartment. My vicarious joy for her could not be greater than it is!

I have little other news to report, other than I'm finally trying to catch up on the "normal" aspects of my life. I've made appointments with the doctor, dentist, masseuse, and hairstylist to catch up on all the personal things I've let slip by due to lack of time for myself. I've been taking the dogs on their much-needed walks, as they deserve. I've been doing loads and loads of post-school laundry (no joke; yesterday I did five loads and am not half done! Eek!) and housework. I've been clearing the fridge and restocking. In between I feel as if I finally have time to do the things that I never had time to do while in school: read good books, watch a favorite cooking show on TV, go to the bathroom in the middle of the morning, breathe.

As far as summer plans go, I'm taking it one day at a time, and working hard against my nature to pre-plan my life. I may tutor, or not. I plan on getting a bit of a personal makeover with my birthday money, starting with a hair makeover tomorrow. In August we will hit the west coast to visit family and friends (hello Karel!!). Past that, my immediate plans include cleaning up the shredded Kleenex that my dogs have left all over the house, eating a fresh Vietnamese salad roll that I've so been loving lately, and wandering in to give my napping husband a kiss. I'm keeping life simple these days.

I hope to revamp and update the blog this summer too, but I'm not making any deadlines for myself--I'll merely say: stay tuned!

glimpses

2008-05-26T20:50:00.009-06:00

Daily I catch new glimpses of students I thought I've known.

On Friday, Omar--a boy I've taught for two years now--earned himself a detention for being generally rowdy and a little bit disrespectful. To be honest, he earned himself the DT on Thursday but had it doubled on Friday due to the fact that he skipped Thursday's penalty.

Omar has always been a sullen, cynical boy. He has told me that he likes me as a teacher, but doesn't often show it. He tends to be vain and arrogant and knows it. I've always liked him but have found him difficult to connect with, since he has such a strong guard up.

On Friday, Omar showed me an endearing side of himself. I kept him for a DT in my room for half an hour after school--torture for any fourteen year old boy, to be sure. He was bored to tears, so I got to talking to him about what he might do after junior high (he is currently in grade eight). He shared with me that he has considered dropping out after grade nine as he has always struggled with school and English. I asked him if he still wanted to be a mechanic as I have known for a while now, and he said that he did. I pumped him up a little and complimented him on how well he did on his research report about car parts and motors. He allowed a little of his true pride--the unsure, tentative pride, not the blatant arrogance I usually see--to seep out in his eyes as they softened. He lit up and shared with me that he wanted to have a good job so that he could one day support a family. I told him about the special courses that I could recommend him for after next year--the courses that are geared towards kids who want jobs in the trades. He seemed baffled and excited by this news--news no teacher has ever given him before. Everyone he'd ever talked to had kept pushing him to achieve higher and higher to go into the academic courses and continue on to University to study sciences or architecture or literature; however, this just isn't Omar. It will never be Omar.

It seemed once I told him this, Omar must have figured I understood him, I "got" him, for then he started opening up to me. I asked him if English is still hard for him, even though he normally professed in front of his peers that it's "easy" and just "stupid". He nodded meekly and told me how hard it is. I told him that I've been studying Arabic and that sometimes I, too, feel as if I'll never "get it". He quizzed me on short phrases and letters of the alphabet--I confessed I haven't even mastered that yet. Then, with his young man's confidence, he stood up to impress and dazzle me.

"Do you want to see me write something?" he flaunted.

"Sure!" I agreed. I know that even he has only learned to write in Arabic over the past two years as he has grown up knowing it only orally.

He took my blue whiteboard marker and in the loveliest boy's cursive I've ever seen, he made his way, decisively, through each scrolled letter, starting on the right and working to the left. He stopped to correct himself several careful times, delicately erasing a stroke or a dot with a pinky finger and retracing it more carefully.

"It's my name!" he professed when finished. "Omar A---!"

In all honesty, it was completely lovely. This rugged boy's hand, with dark, manly hairs beginning to crawl on his knuckles as over his upper lip, had created this beautiful script, and I truly was as dazzled as he had hoped I could be, despite the fact that I had started off merely humoring him.

"Should I write yours?" he asked next, having gained preliminary confidence.

"Yes!" I squealed.

He made his way through my name, a completely non-Arabic name, stumped when he came to the two 'p's in my surname. He was puzzled, and I knew why, having just studied these past few weeks and learned that there is no equivalent sound to the English 'p' in Arabic; it gets substituted for 'b' (in fact, as my podcast tutor proclaimed, it's common to hear Arabs yelling: "Go bark the car!" as they are learning English).

"The 'p', right?" I asked him, knowingly.

"Yes," he said, not knowing how to explain himself.

"You must need 'b's," I directed.

"How did you know!" he said, wide-eyed.

"I told you, I've been studying!"

He grinned and reworked my name, saying it aloud with the 'p's substituted for 'b's. We both giggled a little at the foreign-ness of my new name.

Nearing the end of our time together, I told Omar that I will likely be his teacher again next year, and that I'm glad for that. I wanted to encourage him about school a little.

"I might not come back next year," he confessed.

"But why not!"

"I might go back to my village in Lebanon. I lived there when I was little."

"Do you like it?" I asked, knowing some of my kids do not.

"I love it! Wallah, it's the best!" I could feel his sincerity, knowing wallah is the equivalent of I swear to God! which is a serious thing for a good Muslim to say. He proceeded to tell me of the beauty of his village and how superior it is to a big city like Beirut. He spoke of the kindness of the people and the lushness of the beautiful countryside.

"What's your village called?" I asked, already being familiar with a few Lebanese town names. He spoke a lengthy Arabic name that I could neither decipher nor recognize.

"Do you know what it means?" he asked me.

"No--what?" I leaned in.

And then Omar did something so beautiful, in such a tone and demeanor that I have never seen him act before. His eyes fluttered half shut ever so softly, as if remembering something dear to him, and his hand drifted to cover his heart. He spoke with amazing conviction, in his gruff, accented young man's voice. "It means my heart is broken."

And then he looked at me, as if shocked with himself and eager to hear my reply.

Dramatically I played into his keenness. "My heart is broken!" I echoed. "But why? Why such a sad name for such a beautiful place?"

He merely shrugged and allowed his head to nod downward, somewhat meekly. A handsome smile played just behind his lips, guarded only ever so slightly.

And then, like that, our thirty minute penalty was nearly over. He had been with me twenty seven minutes already. The doldrums that this time was supposed to be had long since melted away.

I glanced at the clock. "Omar, go. You have to go to work, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then go. Yallah!" I laughed, urging him in Arabic to hurry up.

"Really?" he looked at me incredulously.

"Yes," I laughed. "Go!"

"Thanks, Ms. E! Have a good weekend!"

"Thanks, Omar. You too!"

blog deja vu

2008-04-27T01:04:00.002-06:00

I've blogged this before, but it is just as appropriate for this "confused winter's spring" as it was when I wrote it several years ago. Last week we had summer temperatures followed by a five day blizzard. We went from long, dry grasses to three and a half feet of snow in my backyard again. It is just starting to melt, and today Derek and I ventured out with Kona to the dog park, our hoods raised to combat the wind that licked away the snow drifts. Enjoy the poem, whether winter or spring in your neck of the woods!

poem for today

if i could make today my own--
dive into confused winter's spring--
i would pack two blankets, one for
underneath my sitting self and one
for my back.

i would let my hair down, would
prepare myself for wind and
sunny squinting, would pack a book
heavy enough for the day,
pack foods inviting enough
for fingertips.

with my camera i could (not) capture
the mystery of today--all
sun and silhouette, with nothing
in between but
wind. can you see the photo now,
all brightly dark, held steady in
a blur, all sun spots and streaks--
can you see today?

can you embrace today? i would embrace it,
caught up in its blinding light,
unseeing all around me, wind licking my ears,
howling me here and there, eyes closed,
down whatever path chosen for my today's feet.

little ditty for today

2008-04-26T01:18:00.004-06:00

I'd like to take this piece of life
and save it for tomorrow
that when I face a day of strife
I'll have some joy to borrow.

Just a little ditty I composed today in quick, contented silence.

The talent show yesterday went amazingly well--it brought tears to my shadow-hidden eyes as I shook my head with pride over my little demons turned darlings. Students that most normally love to (endearingly) crawl all over my last nerve really pulled it together and strutted their stuff, not to mention did everything in their earthly power to please me. There are no words for the preciousness of the nervous grins that my favorite Moe kept shooting me from off-stage as I cued him up with hand gestures from below the stage in my front row audience seat.

The tone of the school was altogether different today at K-School, the day after the show; even the principal and my colleagues noticed it. We were all floating on a sort of high, taking a new pride in ourselves and our own. In the midst of a sixteen year old being stabbed half a block away this week and a pedophile attempting to lure three of my students (on three different occasions) into his truck (yes, that all happened this week), we emerged as a sort of new breed of conquerors in this confusing big city life.

I face the fresh weekend with a deep satisfaction and joy with my life and the beautiful teens that are a part of it. At this point, I'm looking forward to Monday morning on a Friday night, and I say that's a good place to be in! Thought I'd share a slice of zealous joy with you as it still has me floored at 1:25 am! Good night!

P.S. a poem i found and liked at mole via slow reads.

Who's got talent?

2008-04-23T22:13:00.002-06:00

This is a ridiculously funny and cute photo I snapped of Kona over spring break when we played with her on the beach at Whiterock, BC. She was shivering cold from the damp and the wind, but she couldn't get enough of chasing her frisbees through the tidepools, silly girl. She definitely has got that knack--or talent, if you will, to be fitting to my title--to win you over! We played frisbee for well over an hour, me with my ridiculously tight hood up over my head!

Speaking of talent, tomorrow is the first-in-a-long time Talent Show at K-School. My favorite student, Mohammed, wrangled me into setting up this crazy scheme sometime around Christmas. I never thought the day to do it all would actually come. I've been running auditions like a madwoman (American Idol style with golden tickets and everything!), learning how to work soundboards, ripping peoples' backtracks, and having dress rehearsals. Everyone told me that a talent show at K-School would not work; in fact, they said they have tried in the past (although quite some time ago) and that they have always failed.

It must be said, however, that things are going terrifically well, if I do say so myself. We had more people audition than we could allow in, which was the first unexpected item. Secondly, the people who were auditioning were surprisingly hiding these amazing talents! Take this tiny grade 7er I teach, for instance. He can't be more than four feet tall, he is just a tiny Lebanese boy, and yet he secretly has a brown belt in tae kwon do! He got up there and went through these perfectly controlled moves that I swear could kill a full grown man. I was very impressed. We have some amazing singers and dancers as well.

Today we put the finishing touches on a huge banner we've made for the gym, and tomorrow's the big day. Parents and guests from the community will be there to see how we do. I'm super excited, but a little nervous at the unpredictability of adolescents.

Wish us luck!!

diptych

2008-04-22T17:18:00.001-06:00

"Footprints in the Sand" -- just like that cheesy poem, but animal style ;)

Taken from our spring break trip to B.C. when we played on the beach at Whiterock with our dogs.

and the writing continues

2008-04-20T15:29:00.002-06:00

Here is my take to a prompt on an experience that changed my life. Enjoy!

Two years ago I discovered just how small and accessible the world actually is in this twenty first century. The night before I was to start my two day journey from Canada to Africa via England and the United Arab Emirates, I perched nervously in my favorite seat on our couch. Our tiny condominium’s living room glowed with a familiar light as my husband, Derek, and I racked our minds for any last-minute items that we would have to pack. I was a nervous and neurotic mess, although excited to go. I had very little experience with traveling, and the experience that I had already had was less than ideal; in fact, I would have to say it was quite negative, involving homesickness and physical sickness in general. Even my honeymoon had left me hospitalized with a form of dysentery that to this day I do not know how I acquired.

Nevertheless, this trip to Africa, planned ten months in advance, was now imminent, and I was working to convert all my jitters into nothing but positive stomach butterflies. As I sat in my favorite couch seat, I took in all the pleasures of home, all my things in exactly their right places, where I liked them. To leave the comforts of home seemed against my nature, and yet I had signed up to do it. I flipped vaguely through a magazine I had received in a pile of junk mail, then tossed it on my ottoman, where it landed, splayed half open. I left it there, then went to bed to catch a few hours of sleep before our early morning trip to the airport.

Once in Africa, my cautious nature ruled me for the first few days—possibly even weeks. And yet, I managed to loosen up and play in the wintery ocean on the coast of Jeffreys Bay, donning a wetsuit and doing some bodyboarding (I never could master the surfboard), while some local Africans looked at us like we were crazy hooligans as they sported their winter fur-lined. I took a six hour trek to sand dunes nine storeys tall, barefoot all the way (suffice to say, my feet were hardened and swollen the next day, but it was well worth it). I went on a safari and was less than a few arm spans from a male lion, leader of its pride. I slept in a grass hut and did everything possible to keep mosquitos—and their malaria—away from me. I continued to sleep in said hut one night even after we killed a spider double the size of my hand-span in my bedroom earlier that same afternoon. I ate grilled crocodile meat from Lake Kariba in Zambia as we dined on the lake’s edge and were carefully on the lookout for poisonous snakes in the long grass of the yard. I saw a killed black mamba snake, shot dead by a young schoolboy, its carcass stretched out long and thin in the dust. I photographed Derek as he lied beside it, dwarfed by its length. I hugged orphaned children, many with HIV themselves, I’m sure, and helped raise a roof on the orphanage that they or their cousins might one day live in. I played jump rope with village kids while the men tarred beams for the roof of the new clinic we worked on. And then, twenty seven days later, I was back in Pretoria, South Africa, in a mall more modern and flashy than many I’ve seen in Canada, surrounded by elegant restaurants, internet cafes, electronics boutiques, and designer clothing stores. The culture shock may have been greater coming back to what I felt familiar with than going away from it.

Fourteen hours past that, I was in a plane flying over the deserts outside Dubai, the world-class airplane touching down just past midnight in a temperature of more than forty degrees celcius. In the Dubai airport, I was due for a twelve hour layover in the middle of the night. I visited a McDonalds in which the menu was written in Arabic, and I ordered the same chicken nuggets that I could have had anywhere. There was a comfort in these familiar morsels. I wandered past a Starbucks kiosk and wondered to myself whether the milk they were using was cows’ or some other animal’s. I caught a cat nap lying under a bench, as I saw other weary travelers doing. I didn’t mind the floor as the world-class airport’s carpet was immaculate. Curry smells and other exotic fragrances drifted out of travelers’ lounges where, for a few dollars, you could have a cushioned sofa to nap on, and a middle eastern breakfast buffet when you awoke. The floor seemed to be enough for me as I dozed for a few solid hours amidst the hubbub, woken only as the imam gave the public call to prayer, chanting in a foreign tongue as the majority of travelers—men clad in long white robes and women in black burkas and head scarves—laid themselves low before their god.

Within thirty hours more, I was long past the coasts of Africa, past also the deserts of Dubai, and just past the islands of the U.K. I was back to Canada, to my home on the prairies. In an exhausted stupor I hugged and kissed loved ones who greeted us. We were whisked home, helped with our luggage, jetlagged to the max. I dropped off our foul-smelling luggage in the front hallway of our condo, resolving to tackle the stench of our thirty-day soiled clothes later, after a sleep in my own soft bed. As Derek used the shower, I allowed myself to rest a moment on the couch. Without thinking of it, I sat in my favorite seat as I always did, to the far left, stretching out my legs to the ottoman. I had to kick aside a splayed out magazine that was in my way. I inched it forward with my toes, remembering suddenly, in a sort of time warp, that it had been a long thirty days ago that I had tossed that same magazine there, by my own hand. In those thirty days I had been a changed person, had had countless experiences that seemed nothing more than surrealist dreams as I sat in this unchanged space of our condo, a space locked in a month’s old time frame. Without trying to, it was then that I marveled at the smallness of our world, at its accessibility, and at our newfound human ability to jump cultures and span worlds in such a small amount of time.

And where, a month before, nerves and neuroticism had dominated me, now it was nostalgia that flooded my senses. With all the comforts of home at my fingertips, I found it was the uncertainty and the novelty of my adventure that I craved, instead. Luckily, there would be plenty more world, near and far, left for me to explore.

rebirth of a writer

2008-04-13T11:44:00.002-06:00

I used to write all the time. When I was young I wanted to grow up to be a writer--a novelist, more precisely. I started novels left right and center (never finished any, unfortunately) about just about any topic--pesky little brothers, leprechaun villages, and unsung medieval heroes. As I moved into my high school years, I started very thoughtful journals, with observational articles and emotive poetry. The poetry continued through university as it was just about all I could find time to write--I would jot a little ditty as I rode the bus to school, or create some unique similes or metaphors in the margins of my notebooks in a lecture hall. My life as a teacher has seen all but a little of my writing taper off and die. It is ironic that as an English language arts teacher I should not have the time to do any of the reading and writing that I profess to my students has changed and enriched my life. When they say, "Show us some of your poems, Mrs. E!", I realize that I have to delve into a notebook from five years ago to find any of the "good stuff".

Well, I am pleased to announce that I am taking steps to change that!! I have joined Karel's writing club with several other very busy ladies, and we are endeavoring to write weekly even though our lives are horribly busy. The prompt this week was to create a short story containing these three elements: forbidden love, an elephant, and green onions. I am so far at page 11 after only a day and a half (mainly of late weekend nights) of working on my spontaneously thought up story, and I am honestly loving it. I am loving the process, and loving how my characters begin to speak on their own accord, which was a phenomenon I forgot about when writing engaging fiction.

To be honest, I am struggling with the climax and ending right now--which is where I have always had trouble. I explained to Karel that I was always the kid who ended stories with "and then they woke up" so that I didn't have to provide a logical tying together of loose ends. However, none of that cheater's business this time; I will do the thing justice. And so, while Derek sleeps off his exhausting night shift, I will sit with little puppy Kona at my feet and attempt to finish this thing. The deadline is tomorrow anyways.

It feels good and validating to dig up a part of myself that I used to love so much. Perhaps I'll share a teaser with you sometime.

homeward bound

2008-04-05T23:02:00.005-06:00

Well, our little spring break is over, and here's what we're leaving. This is a photo from a day this week when we walked the dogs along a rural canal.

I'm back to school on Monday morning, but this little vacation has done me a world of good!

See you back in Alberta!

(click photo to see a bigger version)

a distant wave

2008-04-02T10:12:00.002-06:00

Hello from British Columbia! I am at my in-laws' house taking a much, much needed spring break. As you might be able to tell from my lack of blog posts, school life has gotten the best of me once again. The general drama of K-School seems enough to suck the life out of anyone on a day-to-day basis, but I have managed to escape to the sunny(ish) reaches of Abbotsford and Vancouver! Today I head to the big city (Van) to do some market perusal and shopping. I will drink my favorite Bellini tonight at the Macaroni Grill and can't wait (it's been awhile!).

Tomorrow Derek and I drive to Seattle to spend one or maybe two nights there. We will take in our favorite sights (Pike Place Market, Claimjumpers restaurant) and hopefully some new ones.

Will post again soon!