all in one day

There was rain. Then there was thunder. Then there was an earthquake. The streets are filled with rushing water, the air is sneezing up bolts of electricity, and my cheese is sliced in waving lines to match the waggle of my apartment building. And I feel really good about all of it.

This news article makes the quake sound much more "violent" than anything I experienced, but here's proof: http://guardianlv.com/2013/12/earthquake-5-8-violently-hits-turkey-egypt-and-cyprus/ 

This article will also be used (by me) as part of an introduction to the passive voice on Monday. Two birds, one storm. Or something like that.

On the weekend

On the weekend, I make an egg-in-toast sandwich for breakfast instead of yogurt with granola. I open the drapes in my kitchen and leave them open all day. I listen to Christmas music instead of the BBC news. And I put two little heart-shaped cubes of sugar in my morning coffee instead of just one. Somehow, that makes all the difference.

a moment of real

if you could just get your students to sit down, things would be okay. but they just keep standing there, grumpy that you made them move into new groups and talking in turkish. in a recent written assignment in which you asked them to tell you what they thought teachers should do in class, to practice modals of advice, they all wrote about how teachers should be funny, teachers should be friendly, teachers should play music, teachers should play games all the time, teachers should speak turkish, teachers shouldn't assign homework, teachers shouldn't make class boring. you think about this advice as the students stand there in the middle of the classroom, not sitting down, not even hearing what you're trying to say because they won't stop talking turkish. so you stop. you just stop. and stare. and wonder what anyone else would do in this moment. not a single student is listening. not a single student cares that you spent an hour planning this thing that it turns out they hate. not a single student is learning anything. tired of trying to talk over them. tired of trying to explain things. tired of the students' wish for fun and amusement all. the. time. tired of the assumption that it's your fault if it's not fun and amusing and it's your fault if the students do poorly on the test and it's your fault if they're not engaged in class and it's your fault if they check their cell phones every 2.5 seconds. it's all your fault. as you stand there, dumbfounded, tired, staring at the floor. this moment of chaos is all your fault.

and you kinda don't care cause it weighs way too much to care all the time. and you kinda start looking at other jobs. and you kinda hate yourself for being incapable of sticking with anything, anyone, anywhere.

i feel like i've been thirty two for a decade.

Story Birdie

Most teachers here have an extra class called Creative Use of English (or CUE) in which they get to pursue their interests and design a fun, one hour a week activity to do with students who share the same interests. It would work great if we had more time to dedicate to it and if students weren't so busy and had more enthusiasm to put...well, enthusiasm into it. Last module I did a drama CUE that was kinda chaotic, but, in the end, fun. This module, I'm doing a story writing CUE that has been a bit of a drag so far just cause I don't know what to do with it. BUT, tomorrow I'm showing them how to take the story they got from an old relative and turn it into a digital story on story bird. I'm really excited about it, probably way more than the students will be, but that's ok. Here's the story I'm going to share with them and hopefully it will inspire them to get excited about story bird and sharing stories, too:
http://storybird.com/books/lost-at-sea-how-my-great-grandparents-met/
(who knows, maybe it'll even inspire you to share a story.)

btw, the story is based on truth (it involves the Titanic!), though I added in some details and embellished things when I didn't know exactly what happened.

Finally, today is my lovely mother's birthday. I think the story is a good one to share on her birthday. Maybe she can help me straighten out the details if I'm way off. Sending across the ocean birthday hugs and kisses and cookies.

In Training.

I wasn't very nice yesterday. Usually, I consider myself a pretty alright person when it comes to being polite and considerate, but yesterday's a different story. I was rude. I was a bad student. A student who mutters unpleasantness about every task and roles her eyes and doodles incessantly and stands up to leave the moment it seems possible to do so. And now, of course, me being me, I feel a little guilty about it. One thing I've always wondered about is breaking points. In myself and others. Just how many insults can a person take before they strike back? For some it may be 1, for others it may be 90. How many punches can one withstand before they either run or retaliate? And just how many asinine and pointless activities can I, or anyone, be asked to do before we start flinging chairs across the room and overturning tables? I still don't know, but came the closest I ever have to finding out yesterday. Looking around at my colleagues faces, some calm and resigned, others confused and frustrated, and feeling the red tinge of anger rising in my own, I realized my fuse may be shorter than I'd like it to be. Imagining the glass walls of the cell surrounding us shattering or the heaters warming the room catching fire or the sea swelling up and engulfing the city or an earthquake tearing a whole in the ground and swallowing the building, just to escape inanity, are thoughts better left unthunk. At times like that, I wish I could escape myself and enter the minds of the resigned and think the thoughts that look pleasant and calm on their faces, instead of my own thoughts that probably leave me looking ugly and ready to fling chairs.        

The Others

Sometimes when I walk down the street with a group of people, I imagine us turning into a herd of monsters. Our shoulders bubble up into huge hairy bulges, our necks become thick and knotted ropes, our shirts split at their seams, our backs hunch and twist, and our knuckles scrape along the ground, searching for boulders to break. We slowly pound the length of the earth with our moldy feet, as though it did something wrong, and we gather our strength for a fight. Our deep grunts rise up and out of the decaying depths of our intestines and spread through the air, incomprehensible and offensive. The others cower behind their closed doors, praying the sound of their twisting lock is lost upon our wax laden ears. And it is. We do not hear them, we do not see them. But we do smell them. And oh what a stench.  

conversation of the week

It's getting cold here. Coat, scarf, mitten, boot weather. Sadly, I'm short on appropriate footwear. Yesterday, I wore my little thin flats to class and one of my students noticed and here's the conversation that ensued:

Student: Teacher! Aren't your feet cold?
Me: Actually, they are a little cold. I need to get some new shoes.
Student: Yes. It's so cold out....teacher! You can borrow my socks if you want.

As kind as his offer was, I didn't take him up on it.

not to post twice in one day

but i want to remember the things that i discovered today because they all make me really happy.

1. i can see the sea from my apartment. i discovered this when i opened a curtain that i had never really opened before.

2. instagram on the internet (see previous post).

3. i can magically send and receive text messages from my family and friends all the way back home on my iphone. i'm not sure how, considering that i don't have a sim card installed, but in the last 15 minutes, i've texted with my mom, dad, and little brother. and i've seen a picture of my sister with my little brother and it's nice to feel connected to home for the first time in a while. if you have an iphone and my phone number, it'd make my day to hear from you.

that's all. time to finish lesson planning.  

instagram

This makes me happy. I haven't really used Flickr much since coming back from China. When I got my iPhone, I started using its camera to take all of my pictures and about a year ago, I got Instagram. I've been putting my favorite pictures up there and just now, literally 1 minute ago, I discovered that you can access Instagram photos on the internet, without a smart phone. So here's the link: http://instagram.com/aldricherin. Now you can have some visuals to go along with all of these scintillating tales. Ha.

in reno

It's midnight and snowing in Reno. Little white flakes drifting lazily to the ground, getting caught here and there in a current of cold, dark air. Blankets and mittens are keeping hands and feet warm, tea and hot chocolate fueling everything else. I would wake up in the morning, Saturday morning, a day off, look out the window, and do a little hop of glee. I'd strap on my boots and wrap myself up in a big winter jacket and help tackle all the cars stuck in the snow downtown. Shoving with all my might on the count of three and then simply walking away once the car skids free. With shouts of thank you following. I'd buy a coffee and a cookie at Bibo and read in my favorite corner for the afternoon, watching the city burrow deeper under its white wintery blanket. At the moment when the hidden sun has nearly set and things seem just a touch dangerous outside, I'd wander home. Sliding around on the back alleys and avoiding strangers and tripping over buried potholes. I'd shake the snow off my jacket and stamp my boots four times each on the sidewalk and go home, where I'd bake cookies and think about all the Christmas decorations I'd like to put up, but never actually will.
But I'm here. Not in Reno. Trying to master the art of creating equally fine winter days, minus the snow. Minus the Bibo.

dream ink

In my dreams lately, my shoulders are being tattooed. Again and again. Tattoo ink is being pressed and pinched into the skin running along my shoulder blades and I can hear the buzz and feel the sting of hundreds of needles. It doesn't bother me, though. I can't see the tattooer or what they are permanently etching into me, but I know that it's profound and perfect. When I wake up, my shoulders itch and I wonder what it was my dream tattooer left there. Perhaps my dream shoulders are now covered in tree branches and blooms. But I know that that's somebody else's tattoo, not mine. Perhaps it's the night sky inverted - the white sprinkling of stars tattooed black and my back creating the vast expanse of nothingness in between. Or could it be excerpts from Moonlight Sonata? Or would Hall of the Mountain King be a more appropriate fit? None of these things seem right. A beautiful quote from a favorite book? No. It bothers me that when I wake up every morning, I can't fathom the image that was just being placed there. The image that I feel close to and understand when I'm asleep, but lose track of the instant the dream ink retreats. I don't even want a tattoo on my shoulders, anyways.