The Mac and I

Late-night thoughts from August 16

Sorry, Josh and Shannon. Sorry everyone else that loves Macintosh
computers. I respect your love of macs, but I hate Macintosh
computers! After spending the evening getting kicked off of the
internet every time I accessed Facebook; after typing away blithely at
one message or another only to find that the computer has short-term
memory loss and can't find where he put my work; after attempting to
comment on someone else's post only to notice that my cursor
is moving but no words are appearing on the page--yeah, verily, after
all of these things, I do
not think that my loathing of Macintosh computers is irrational nor do
I feel that it is hasty. Maybe it
can read my thoughts and is sensing my animosity towards it, but it
certainly can't read my commands!

Late-night thoughts from August 22

I do admit that "Mac" has been trying to behave better for me lately.
But I still find myself typing blind, especially on Blogger. And I
have learned how to navigate the PC world and like the PC world, so
even if it is just that my grandma's Mac needs counseling or some
other professional help, I have to admit that I'd rather not change
this particular paradigm of mine =)

I also have to say to those of you who love your macs and have them
house-trained and even get them to do tricks, I have to say that I
look up to you with awe and happiness that somewhere in this world
there are people who can get macs to do what they want them to do more
efficiently than I will ever get a computer to do what I want it to
do. I salute you--honestly and truly and with all my heart. And I am
VERY glad that you are my friends. Your friendship makes me feel a
little smarter. =)

This is why I hate Macs!

Losing to an Angel

August 20, 2007

First things first: I am moving. Not on the web, but I am physically
taking my things two doors down the street to move in with my
Grandmother. Why? for lots of reasons--for as many reasons as I had
for staying in my aunt and uncle's house. Yes, I prayed over the
decisions (agonized over the decision, in fact), asked advice on the
decision. And in the end, I decided to take this opportunity--no
turning back. But my cousins haven't actually gotten rid of me! No
way! I still have a key to the house =)

My grandmother loves to have company. Currently we have two set of
company for the night: we have a couple girls from a travelling
ministry team that gets neighborhood kids to play basketball and
listen to a gospel message, and we have the Espadas. The Espadas have
actually been here all weekend since they presented their ministry in
church on Sunday. They are a missionary couple from Puerto Rico.
Margaret actually harks from Kansas, and she has the fair complexion
to go with it. Angel, on the other hand, is Puerto Rican through and
through. They are a quiet couple, but we have had lots of fun.
Tonight, we decided to play a game. Grandma's favorite is Scrabble,
but because Angel is not as fluent in English as the rest of us, that
would have been an unfair game to play. So we borrowed Rummikub from
Debbie, our across-the-street neighbor and taught it to Grandma.
Apparently, the Espadas play it frequently at home.

We played 4 games. Angel won three of them--in spite of having trouble
at times telling what color the pieces were (the blue and the black
and the red all looked very alike!). Who would have thought that
losing to an angel could be so much fun?

=)

Sushi

I have finally decided something about sushi: I love it!

Mybirthday and my friend David's birthday were this week, so we gottogether with some friends (Chaiwat and Jenn, Stephen and Mamie, andStan) to go for a walk/hike at Lake Chabot and then go out for dinner.Jenn asked me what I was hungry for, and I gave my usual honest answer,"Anything is fine."

"That's what I figured you would say," she replied, knowing me pretty well.

Thenit hit me: I did have a preference. I wanted something I won't get inSt. Louis. I told her as much. Then it was up to David to decide whatthat something would be. I had ruled out Mexican, Italian, andAmerican. That left Asian food of some sort. Mamie was up for somethingexotic, but David was hungry for something solidly Asian. And that'show we ended up at Ray's Sushi.

(My first introduction to sushicame during my student teaching. On my last day, my 10th graders andtheir teacher--one of my supervising teachers--threw me a good-byeparty. The main food item was, of course, sushi. A California roll, tobe exact. The teacher made the rolls right there: laid out the sheet ofdried, paper-thin seaweed; spread the sticky rice over it; laid thestrips of cucumber, avocado, and smoked salmon on top of the rice;rolled up the whole thing like a rice-and-seaweed ice cream cone; andhanded it to me to try. Somehow I knew at my first mouthful that ataste for sushi would be an acquired one. It took me a long time towork my way through that sushi "cone," but I found by the end that itwasn't that bad. Subsequent opportunities to try sushi have left memore and more in favor of that food.)

I've acquired a taste forsushi--officially. That meal was AWESOME! Everybody ordered whatsounded good to him or her, and we shared. The sushi came in long rollscut into thin, big-bite-sized pieces. Stephen was kind to me and atethe strips of raw fish that were lying across the top of the kinds heand Mamie had ordered. I tried hamachi filling for the first time, atefried eel, and tempura-battered-fried yam, and tasted many other kinds.So good!

I haven't just acquired a taste for sushi. I love it! that is, as long as someone is there to help me order =D
7/26/07

*Drum Roll* Ta Da! Introducing: My Alter Ego!

OK, so actually it's not my alter-ego (I really haven't had one since I was like 3 years old and thought I was Superman--literally, Mom says. Wait, no, I take that back: I had an alter-ego when I was in upper elementary and middle school, but this one sorta faded away and is a memory, a good memory but a memory nonetheless. Anyway . . . *feels old middle-school alter-ego looking at her to remind her of the task at hand*). But it's my other blog.

See, I haven't really figured out how to post permanent links on blogger. Nor have I asked anyone when anyone had the time to show me. Also, I wanted to try both Blogger and Wordpress to see which I liked better. So . . . I post more thought-provoking things on my Wordpress blog (at least, they're intended to provoke thought--they certainly provoked mine before I wrote them!) and post more of my every-day--and especially light-hearted--experiences on this blog.

Probably someday I will combine them before I get a complex. Until then, you can check out the other blog, too, at http://joyousthirst.wordpress.com
Thanks for reading and commenting on my posts--my favorite part of blogging is seeing who has read what I've written and their knee-jerk (or perhaps not so knee-jerk) reactions to what I've posted. Thanks again!

[that's for you, Cindy =D thanks for reminding me to post again! and thanks even more for reading and telling me about it!]

Who talks more?

This article on chattering reveals scientific research on the talkativeness of men and women. It makes me smile--I guess talking is basically a human thing to do! I must confess, though, that I don't like to hear the innocent progression of stereotyping and teasing ("women are chatterboxes") treated as borderline harassment of women in a sexist society--feminism really gets my dander up! I do not believe that societies which take advantage of women or ignore them and treat them as worthless are in any way justified in treating women that way. However, feminism's insistence on female dominance rather than feminine value has left America in the power of many social diseases.

But, really, this article made me smile. And it was nice to hear that we women aren't the only ones who like to talk!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost

It's 12:00pm. The morning services have just sung their last songs and people begin mingling from all of the services: the 2nd hour English service, the 2nd hour Cantonese service, probably the Mandarin service, and the Sunday school classes. I locate my parents and move towards them, stopping to chat with a former student from my first year of teaching who has spent the last couple years navigating the treacherous waters of college classes and lived to tell about it--she still has her quick laugh and wry sense of humor at herself. When she leaves I look around the auditorium, loving the feel of this particular celebration.

The number of Cantonese in this service is greater than normal. I don't know very many of them. The number of people I know, however, is pretty large. The son of someone I know is part of the celebration, too. The excitement is high. People are milling about and chatting as Jay sits at the piano, playing background music of hymns and choruses. Some people have cameras out, some carry bouquets of flowers for those who are part of today's baptismal service. On the stage in front of the closed curtain, three people stand with various types of cameras at the ready. They're the official photographers, I think. The pictures will make it onto a power point presentation at some point, I'm sure. Maybe they'll be posted on the web.

The curtain opens and Pastor Johnny Yue, the Cantonese senior pastor stands in the water ready and waiting. He reminds us of why we are here: we are here to watch as 6 seniors--one a recent high school graduate (laughter ripples through the crowd) and 5 senior citizens ages 76-83--obey Christ by being baptized.

It's not easy for the Chinese believers to do this, I realize. When most of your family members are Buddhist or worship their ancestors (or both), you think far longer and harder about baptism before you "take the plunge". While their families may allow their Christian testimony to go unchallenged at home as long as they still participate in family activities, while their parents may allow them to go to church, the public act of baptism can cause a great stir in the unbelieving family circles. Anything public is seen as a reflection of the family, and public baptism could be construed as public humiliation by many family members. Therefore, the Chinese believers will often wait for years before making such a public profession of their choice to follow Christ.

On the other hand, the senior citizens being baptized have probably been prayed for by their believing relatives for many many years. Their families are present, full of joy and wonder at the transforming power of Christ that extends even to those who are too old to be taught new tricks.

Each time the curtain opens, all talk stops as we watch, almost breathless with the wonder of the scene, another believer being baptized "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." The elderly have a harder time figuring out what to do--Pastor Johnny has to tell them step by step what he is going to do and what he needs them to do. They're so cute! Their baptisms are not exactly smooth: they end up nearly sitting down first and then being lowered back into the water, they come up clinging to Pastor Johnny, and each waves at the crowd with a big cheery smile as the curtain closes. Everyone claps! Applause fills the room, sometimes cheers and cat-calls. And flash-bulbs go off all over the room.

I don't understand half of what is being said because Pastor Johnny is speaking primarily Cantonese. But I do understand that they are following Christ in something very serious and very exciting, something I did many years ago myself. And I cheer and clap and feel a sensation akin to what the angels in heaven must have felt when those souls first accepted the salvation which is in Christ Jesus. There's something comforting about those words: "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, I baptize you now." We all belong to the same family, even though we have come from different parts of the world and speak different languages. We belong and we are loved. There's always room for more.

Whew!

The first week of summer school is over. It FLEW past! But each day was so full that it hardly seems possible we have only been in school for 3 days! To make things a little more mushed in my brain, my other years of summer school keep running into one another and I keep forgetting which year things happened.

It's good to see kids I have gotten to know over the years, especially these last 3 years--kids I have had come to the early morning care each year and smile and remember at least my face if not my name. They crave so much attention and are ready to have lots of fun! On day one we made and flew paper airplanes (well, some of the kids learned how to make a plane that does tricks from one of the TA's) and paper airplanes have made their appearance each morning since. On the second morning, I missed my alarm and barely made it to school on time to open the gate for the first parents, but make it I did. My morning assistant Peter was waiting for me. "I slept through my alarm!" I told him. His reply surprised me: "I did, too."

I am feeling more excited about summer school this year than I remember being last year. Mom says that it is because I am back in the classroom after a year of not being in front of a class. I wonder if it's the product of not being worn out from being in front of a classroom this year--not that this year has not been hard work, but that it has been a different kind of hard work. Maybe it's a better understanding of the curriculum and expectations. Maybe it's a feeling of being more organized. I don't know, but I'm enjoying it =)

No kids were singing in the bathroom on the first day this year. But my two classes of 2nd graders are polar opposites of each other: my first class is quiet, my second is quite chatty; my first class is content to sit and read or write or do other "school" things; my second class is more active (the art teacher commented on that class characteristic the first day, and I found her comment quite insightful and helpful); the first class listens to instructions (usually) and then tries to do them; the second class tries to listen and follow instructions at the exact same time . . . while talking to their neighbors about the instructions . . . while sharpening pencils that should already have been sharpened. But they're quite insightful and eager to learn and love stories--what more could a teacher ask for? A quiet class. Well, if I can figure out the best way to harness their energy, we'll be in business!

I have the best TA's (well, I have had others just as good, some more experienced, even, but these girls are great!)! Pray for them--they are with the kids all day while I only have the kids till lunch. I'm sure they sleep very well at night =)

So, as I get ready to sleep in tomorrow without worrying about the alarm, I feel quite pleased with the week overall and grateful for the chance to do this for another summer. I love it! And it's nice to see ways in which I am becoming a better teacher. What are they? that's my secret! (just kidding)

I should be a grandma

The other day I was testing a new 4th grader for enrollment at Sylvan:

In the middle of the process, he pipes in with "How many kids do you have?"
"None," I answer, ready to proceed with the test.
"Well, do you have any grandkids?"

I'm attempting to take it as a compliment. =)

Where popcorn comes from

Another kid story:

A couple nights ago at my teaching table, I had a 6th grader working on learning to write essays and a kindergartener(?) learning how to read. While Clarence, the 6th grader, was coming up with ideas for his paper about good friends, Darien, the little guy, was about to read a book about popcorn.

It's good to get kids thinking about what they are going to read before they read it so that they can connect their prior knowledge with the stuff they're about to learn, so I asked Darien what he knew about popcorn. Having already read the book in a previous lesson with a different teacher, Darien practically had the story memorized, so I turned his attention to popcorn itself by asking, "where does popcorn come from?"

Darien thought a minute then replied in all earnestness, "popcorn comes from cows, doesn't it?"

What a delight to be able to enlighten someone about something simple for a change! We used the word itself (a compound word, in case you didn't know it, dear reader . . . whoever you may or may not be) to deduce that popcorn came from corn. Clarence threw in his pre-school theory that it came from some fanciful place filled with all good things to eat (a theory he, of course, has not held for a very long time). And the mystery was solved.

A few minutes later, Clarence was still wondering how to put into words what a good friend is like, and Darien was helping him out with such insightful comments as "a friend is someone who doesn't say you're stupid" and Clarence was writing those comments down, too, along with his own.

All-in-all, we learned a lot that night. The next time I saw him, Darien still remembered where corn comes from, and Clarence remembered Darien as the kid who thought popcorn came from cows.

So, what have you learned today? =)

Meet Mr. Backpack

Oops!

I regretted saying it about 5 minutes after it was out of my mouth. By that time, Tammy had had plenty of time to do her best to make the backpack feel like a vital member of our working community.

At Sylvan, the kids are grouped at tables of three students to one teacher. Each student is working on his individual assignments, and the teacher monitors the progress of all three, making sure that the lessons are completed with the maximum success. Today, I had John working on 4th grade math, Abigail working on 1st grade math, and Tammy working on beginning reading. Tammy's a pretty friendly person, and it wasn't long before she was striking up a conversation with Abigail while I was trying to get John started on his work. I could tell that Abigail was going to have a very hard time concentrating on her work, so I instructed her to move one chair closer to John and to put her backpack in the seat she had been occupying so that her backpack wouldn't cause the chair to tip over (it had previously been on the back of the chair) and so that her backpack could "do his work while you do yours." Just a simple, silly sentence--we all knew it was silly!--but Mr. Backpack breathed his first breath in that moment and began disrupting my table as only a child with nothing better to do can disrupt things.

Tammy tried to get him to do some work. She handed him my stack of papers and a pencil (when my back was turned) a couple of times. I managed to put a stop to that by convincing her that Backpack couldn't earn tokens for her, so she should do her own work. I suspect her of trying to have conversations with him, too, when my attention was not with her at the moment. Finally, I threatened to move Backpack to a different table altogether and met with much more success (in fact, Abigail at one point nearly left her eraser in front of him, thought better of it, and moved it to her space on the table--I watched that whole exchange out of the corner of my eye).

One little comment--so simple, so silly, so fateful--changed the course of a table today. Ironically enough, today Tammy was learning about characters in stories: perhaps she already knows more than enough about them. =)

Life is just fun and games!

I love my job! I teach at a Sylvan Learning Center in the evenings this year, and I love it! Tonight, little Tammy came in all excited when she saw that she was going to be at my table. She's gotta be around 6 years old, and for her life is a party. We don't really do "Math"; we play lots of games instead (Math games, of course!):
"Ok, honey, are you ready to play a game with me?"
"Yeah!" wide-eyed and eager, she looks at me. "Can we play Tic-tac-toe-three-in-a-row?" (that's always the name of the game to her; no short cuts, if you please)
"Not right now, but after we play this game we can." I motion to the flashcards or to the counters we are going to use to learn how to add or subract.
And so it goes.

Tonight the game was "How do you say . . .?" She wanted to say everything in Spanish but did not really know any Spanish words (except "gracias" which she thought meant "hi"). So when we were doing flash cards of addition facts, she tried to make up words that she thought sounded Spanish enough for the number she was supposed to be saying. After she had finally said the answer in English, I would give her the correct Spanish word. The conversation went something like this:
me: "OK, Tammy, what's this?"
her: "8 plus 7 is blooshabawshme"
me: "No, sweetie, blooshabawshme isn't a word. If you'll say it in English, I'll tell it to you in Spanish.
her: "Ok. 15.
me: "Yes! That's right! Quince."
her: "Keen-say??" giggle giggle
me: "Here's your next one."
her: after looking at the card, "How do you say nine in English?"
me: "Do you mean in Spanish? Nueve."
her: "New-ev-ay?" giggle giggle
Meanwhile, Peter was working away at his assignment and wishing aloud that he was learning Spanish.

I love my job!

I wonder . . .

A friend e-mailed me an obituary notice for an old mutual acquaintance. He was buried today—12 hours ago. He was someone that many people trusted, someone who used them and abused them, someone who never admitted the terrible wrongs he did but rather moved away to a new place after he could no longer pull the wool over the eyes of those he was harming. Hearing that he was dead was a shock (not nearly as much of a shock as finding out all those years ago what kind of person he was, but a shock nonetheless).

I guess I had thought that he would go on living forever somewhere far away from me, continuing his lifestyle of hurting people while getting everything that he wanted from them. I bore him no hatred because of the grace God gave me to forgive him. Instead I pitied him for the life he chose willingly, a life devoid of truth and freedom. How could he truly have known the Son of God, I wondered, since the Son of God came to earth to free us from our sins and he was embracing and wallowing in his. God’s Word clearly says that those who are not living a life of repentance from sin do not know Jesus Christ. I wondered, too, what would happen to his soul when he died—was he truly one of God’s children or was he merely pretending?

The news media has had far too many tales to tell in this past decade of spiritual leaders who have been unmasked as evil men. But the true picture of Christianity cannot be manifested by hypocrites and frauds any more than the fresh and vital goodness of perfectly ripened fruit can be communicated by its rotten counterpart. Their brand of Christianity is not worth having, and I pity them.

Now he is dead, and there is no more wondering where he is or what he is doing or who else he is hurting. Now I just wonder about his wife: what kind of hurt is she feeling? Does she feel free of him? And I wonder about his children: are they denying the truth still? Or are they becoming truth-seekers?

night

I should be in bed, but I'm not. I'm blogging. Actually, I am getting caught up on some blogs that I haven't visited in a while. I guess it's about time I did. I missed a lot. But then again, it gives me something else to do rather than trying to decide the things that must be decided for tomorrow: what do I eat for lunch? what should I wear? And it gives me something else to do to stay up till late tonight. . . . as usual =) Strange: I wanted to go to bed when I got home.

Sunset and Sunrise

The contents of my e-mail in-box were so completely opposite today that they gave me pause to ponder: one e-mail was a newsletter from the college I graduated from announcing two deaths of people I had some contact with, the other an e-mail from my friend Amy announcing the birth of her son. So different! Amy sent pictures to look at: like most new parents with cameras, they have MANY of him, but having so many was nice since who knows when I will get to see him! So cute! Northland sent no pictures, but I have a few (a very few) in my head from my college days and from being in class with the man whose wife just died and from working for the lady whose father-in-law just died. I think I need to send some cards: both congratulations and condolences. Isn't life strange?

In which Cupid has his day . . . or "Ladies first"

This is just to thank a few people--not that they'll read this, but I am grateful to them anyway!

1. My pastor: he played "Cupid" so to speak this Valentine's Day Sunday at church. The girls had gifts for the guys to show our appreciation to our guys, and the guys had flowers for the girls, and Pastor knew about both of them. He told us to be ready at announcements time and allowed Es to announce from the platform that we were grateful to the guys for who they are and what they do for us and their attitude of service to God. Then, he let the guys have their time to give us the flowers they had ready for us. I think he must have had a great time being the one who knew what girls and guys had planned for each other =)

2. The girls: they worked together preparing the candy leis and the shirts for the guys this year. Es headed up the project and ended up shouldering even more of it than she had originally planned on because I was out in CA to be with my family after Dad's hospital stay with a blood clot in his lung.

3. The guys at church: they thought of the girls of the church and honored us with flowers this Valentine's Day. They even strung ribbon through the itty-bitty holes in the tags they printed for the flowers! That took time and effort! I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I hope that they realize how special they made me feel by remembering us on Valentine's Day Sunday and by the ways that they take notice of us and go out of their way to make our lives a little easier and safer on a weekly and daily basis.

Brake Job

I did it! I changed the front brake pads on our minivan on Monday! I have to admit I was wondering if I really could do it: Dad's done it before, and he was going to walk me through it, but I wondered anyways. Dad asked Uncle Gene on Saturday if he thought I could do it. Uncle Gene's thought: "Does she like getting her hands dirty?" Um . . . not usually. But if I have to, I'll get them good and dirty and take pride in it.

I got them good and dirty--brake dust gets everywhere!--and was quite proud of it! I also wrenched my back a little. But I did most of the work myself and the van no longer squeaks as we drive it. And I have a basic understanding of how the brakes work now with new words added to my working vocabulary--words like "brake pads" and "brake shoes" and "calipers" (though I still don't totally know what those are) and "lug wrench" (I think I knew that one before but forgot it). And I found that spinning a lug wrench is great fun and ever so much easier than taking off or putting on all the bolts by hand.

Funny how doing something so unusual and monumental makes life seem do-able. I had been wondering how I was going to accomplish anything of value this week and feeling very sleepy. After changing the brakes, anything seemed possible and I was ready to tackle the rest of the week. I'd do it again today if Dad was ready to be my partner in crime again =) But hopefully we won't need to change them again for 1-2 years.

Snow days

When I lived in South Dakota as a kid growing up, snow days were eagerly hoped for and welcomed with open arms. I'll never forget the day my prediction of a snow day came true in spite of Dad's belief that we would have school the next day. Living in California close to the coast eliminated the possibility of snow days from my high school years, and living on the Northland Baptist Bible College campus meant that we could make it to class in almost any weather.

In moving to Missouri, I hoped for snow days again. Yes, even though it meant being a little behind in my class schedule for the year, I was willing to pay the price. Isn't it ironic that the first REAL snow days I have seen since my move 2 and a half years ago have come in the year I am not teaching in a regular school classroom?

---

Squirrel-Happy

Squirrels make me happy. I find it fun to stop every now and then to watch them for a moment. For a creature that eats inanimate objects, they sure capture those morsels in the most animated ways. A squirrel seems to sneak up on his food as though he’s afraid the nut is going to run away if it sees him coming.

To a squirrel, if a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing dramatically. Squirrels don’t go from place to place, they don’t run from place to place, they don’t even dart from place to place. Even darting implies taking the shortest distance between two points and doing so with purpose and efficiency and, perhaps, secrecy. Those things aren’t for the squirrel, no siree! The squirrel leaps and bounces from place to place as flamboyantly as possible. He often spirals his way up a tree instead of taking the direct route and skitters across the road only centimeters from deadly tire tread. He’s just asking to be noticed!

Why all the needless energy and effort? Maybe to make us smile and remember that we don’t have to take life totally seriously: it’s ok to enjoy what we do and how we do it. Maybe to make God smile at His creation even when we are all too busy to notice it!

I smell like a guy!

Paul (my 17-yr-old cousin) and I decided that we need to get up early and go jogging in the mornings; so this morning was our first! Wow! it was hard to get my eyes to open so early (pretty sad considering that I used to arrive at school last year at the time I got up this morning!). But it felt good to be up and awake once I finally was!
We wear our Coast Guard PT shirts when we go running sometimes, and the other night Paul accidentally put on my medium shirt after his shower rather than his large one. He made the trade when he realized the mistake, but the damage had already been done: my shirt was clean but it smelled like Paul's Axe brand deodorant. So this morning I smell like a guy. I think I'll go take a shower =)