November 14, 2014: The Reality of Winter

I played with the cats today at the local animal shelter. A sweet, but "cage-crazy" tabby called Azalea kept me company for at least 30 minutes. She kept up a cat monologue the whole time, and I felt extremely distressed for this animal, who has been there for 30 days and just wants a human companion. Actually, I think she would make an excellent companion for a senior citizen who lives alone.

Eventually, she calmed down, and even began to chase me around the room - picture, if you will, a chubby-cheeked brown tabby cat chasing an overweight middle-aged woman around a small room - and then plopped on my lap. When she finally settled down and seemed calmer, I put her back in her cage. She hissed, spat, and glared at me from the corner of her cage, making irritated cat noises the whole time. "BITCH!" she seemed to screech. And I felt oddly guilty.

But I also understood her. I am also feeling my cage right now - snarly, grumbly, and generally pissed off at this week. When I am working, I generally feel at peace (this week was the exception though), but then I come home to nothingness. Most of the time, the nothingness is a relief - I am an introvert, after all - but it can also be numbing, and even sad. This is why I prefer living near major cities, where there is always something to do. Here, there is a pretty good chance of getting snowed in - the nearest real city is 2 hours away.

The extreme cold and lack of sunlight isn't helping either. Truthfully, when I left California, It hadn't even occurred to me that I would have to deal with the physical reality of winter weather in a smallish university town. But I've made my home - such as it is - here and will have to learn to deal with it. I think the hardest thing will be spending Thanksgiving alone, but I will likely volunteer at some soup kitchen to keep my mind off things.
Sincerely,
The California Exile

June 22, 2014: Dallas Hospital Adventure, Student Edition

On Friday night, I volunteer, along with another teacher, to accompany a group of our international students into Dallas to go see an art exhibit and street festival. The bus ride is uneventful, aside from the second bus’s air conditioner mysteriously quitting. I am on the first bus, so I only hear about the other bus later. We arrive at the art museum and began queuing up to get tickets for the exhibit. Actually, because the new activity coordinator is a little inexperienced at “cat herding” international students, I step in, using my best teacher voice. In spite of our best efforts, some members of the group “escape” to buy dinner before we can give them their tickets, causing much confusion when they arrive later. We get the remaining students lined up (more or less) and begin counting heads. As I confirm the ticket purchase with the coordinator, she mentions that there is “kinda-sorta” an emergency call – a student has passed out from the heat but is now conscious and talking. I offer to go check him out, as I have the most updated first aid/CPR certification, and the coordinator needs to deal with the stragglers. The other teacher accompanies me. When I get to where the student is staying, he is sitting on the ground, outside the museum in the heat. One student is feeding him half of a Kit Kat bar, and the other student is holding a bottle of water; I caution the student with water to only let him sip it - it is not ice water, thankfully - but that turns out to be unnecessary. He seems a bit dazed and confused, but assents when I ask if I can touch him (as Red Cross protocol demands). His roommate says that the student had not eaten that day and had stayed up all night studying for a composition exam. I touch his forehead, and to my surprise, discover that he is cool and clammy. I instruct his friend to keep a cool, wet paper towel on the back of his neck to keep the intense summer heat at bay. He is able to say his name, date, and day of the week. He then starts trembling all over. By this time, a security guard is on the scene, and the security guard and I lift him gently and walk/carry him inside. As we lower him to a seat, he blacks out again, and his eyes roll back in his head. He starts trembling again, but his breathing is normal. The shaking – fairly mild at this time - continues, so I have a student hold his head gently in the correct position for clear breathing. In between seizures, his eyes remain at half-mast and stare in different directions. The security guard calls an ambulance. When the ambulance arrives, the student is really beginning to have a bigger seizure. I ask his friends if any of them are Level 5 or 6 – high enough English to translate if needed. His roommate and another friend volunteer to go with him as translators. I send his roommate with the ambulance, and his other friend goes with me in a taxi. The paramedics tell us to go to Baylor Hospital. What they don’t tell us is which Baylor Hospital to go to- there are three. The first taxi we hail refuses to take us – I got the impression he doesn’t like Arabs - but the second taxi knows exactly where to go. In the ER, the agent has some difficulty finding the young man, who has an unusually long “foreign” name. Eventually, the clerk locates him, and we go to his ER cubicle. He is in full seizure when we get to the hospital. In between the first two seizures, he is able to “appreciate” the cute nurses fussing over him, but can’t really speak or think clearly. The doctor expresses some serious concern over his condition, and the decision is made to move him to the ICU for “life support.” It takes three hours to get a bed, and he continues to have seizures throughout the night. During one seizure, the student becomes quite delirious, muttering “go away!” in Arabic and pulling at his IVs. He then starts crying, still not in his right mind. I cautiously lean over him to reassure the poor boy, placing one hand on his forehead, like a mother would if her boy were suffering. This is quite out of character for me, as I hate touching people I don’t know, but it seems to be the right thing to do at the moment. He suddenly grabs onto my other hand firmly …and promptly blacks out again. He has exceptionally long fingernails, so every time I try to pull my hand away, he digs into my hand with his nails. He doesn’t let go for 30 minutes, and my arm falls asleep. Finally, he relaxes into a deep slumber, and I am able to retrieve my hand. When he wakes up again, he is quite clear-headed. I re-introduce myself. “Do you know who I am?” He thinks hard, then smiles a bit, “Mom?” I explain that I am a teacher in his program. He is silent for a minute, then asks for “Miss Patria Teacher. I like her.” A few moments later, he says, in English, “I can’t control my body.” I tell him what has happened, but he doesn’t remember any of it. He goes back to sleep, but starts shivering again. The nurse brings a warm blanket, and this time, the shivering stops. Not a seizure. He turns on his side and begins to snore gently. His two friends are fairly calm during the episodes, and I am really proud of them for dealing with the situation as well as they did. They are both only 19. Actually, one of them really can’t deal with the medical procedures at all, but he always returns to the room once the medical staff leaves. The other one stays by his side, makes some phone calls (as do I), and finally connects with the patient's father through the Oman embassy. Two hours later, the orderly from ICU comes down to move him. “Como estas, Mr. Al******?” I gently explain that he isn’t a Spanish speaker. “Does he speak English?” “Yes. Well, as a matter of fact.” I guess he could pass for South American. Honestly, I am so used to dealing with people from other countries that the thought hasn’t occurred to me he might be mistaken for someone coming from a different country. He is a nice looking boy, I think a few minutes later, as I pray silently over him. I haven’t noticed before, but he has very chiseled features, with strong and regular bone structure visible under his tawny complexion; he also has a rather nicely shaped nose. A bit on the thin side, but he is still a teenager, so that may change. No wonder the nurses like him. I go up to the ICU with the patient to assist with answering the attendant’s questions. I chat with his friends quietly for about an hour as he settles in. We have one of those deep, serious conversations one tends to have at 3;00 am in a hospital room – Buddhism, Henry the 8th, and silly wars fought over camels, if I remember correctly. At 4;00 am, I leave the hospital, his two companions remaining as sentries in his room. I take a taxi back to the town I live in and have a delightful conversation with the driver from Ghana, who offers to go back for the boys later. I crawl into bed at 6am and do not wake up until 2pm.

July 10, 2014: Trying Times

As of July 31, I am homeless. As of August 1, I am jobless. God is laughing at me. My student reviews are "higher than average." All except for three rather unmotivated students are passing at a "higher than average" GPA and overall rate. My students actually show up to class regularly, which is an ongoing battle for almost everyone else. The Big Boss eviscerated my teaching and ranked me "fair" to "poor" in most categories. Granted, he saw me on a suckish day. I followed the previous teacher's lesson plans, as advised and actually required, even though I didn't feel terribly comfortable with the idea of using "stations" for teaching beginners - ESL teachers will know what I mean. He first said I didn't explain enough, then later said I over-explained. Whatever.  My students are still fasting, and also happen to be passing around a bad summer cold - which I now have - that has caused them to drop like flies. Their energy level is pretty low, and Tuesday was actually the worst day of class ever. Oh, and did I mention we still have no functional air conditioner in the classroom - in a warmer than usual Texas summer? We all STINK at the end of a class, especially one poor young man who has gotten severe gas and diarrhea from Ramadan fasting; I let him sit by the window and run to the bathroom as necessary. The A/C issue has been reported many times, but no one has come to take care of it. The Big Boss has offered to observe again, my other class this time. I will take him up on the offer, but only to prove I don't suck. Some of his criticism was just, but it couldn't be helped due to the trying situation. I DID have some issues that day - which reminded me of some of the ridiculous teaching methods expected at a certain for-profit learning center -  but they have resolved now that everyone is back and actually doing their homework. The irony? My students were very energetic today and had a blast. Not incidentally, they learned something. We almost got yelled at again for too much noise!

July 17, 2014: How to Convince Your Students You Are Crazy

So, a rather shy student student was frantically trying to get my attention during a rather chaotic "educational activity" (game). There were people scrambling around the room, and this student is rather soft spoken, so I didn't hear him at first. Finally, he whistled at me as I went by - like you whistle at an animal, not a cute girl, to be clear - and made the universal "come here" hand wave. Without thinking much about it, and in the spirit of the game, I walked over, and BARKED at him "Arf! Arf!"

He stopped, stunned...then apologized profusely!

The other students razzed him a bit, but he took it pretty well.

August 11, 2014: To Be a Comedian

When something tragic happens to a person, he or she can get angry, get sad, or find the humorous side later. Even soldiers in war-torn countries make light of their situations with what we call "gallows humor," as they do in the movie WALTZ WITH BASHIR. Comedians tend to be people prone to "laugh at it later." But all those "laters" do eventually add up to a whole lot of "nows," and then there IS no funny left, only oneself. Some of the funniest people in the world are also the saddest people. A comedian is often the slightly eccentric individual who finds the humor in the most tragically ridiculous life situations - death, innocence lost, insufficient parenting, and poverty can all seem humorous in a certain light. These are the characters that Mr. Williams played - a doctor who used humor to deal with the fact that most of his patients were dying, a sad little man who has lost his childhood and sense of wonder, an embittered professor dealing with the loss of his wife, a man trying desperately to win back the family he has lost. This is the true man that many never noticed - a man trying to cope with some kind of loss, inner demon, or tragedy in the only way he knew how - through humor. What happens to a human when there is no humorous side? What if there is nothing left to laugh about? What if you lose the ability to laugh at yourself? What if all people see is the Pagliacci mask that you portray to the world? What if no one ever sees that you are hurting? The genius of Williams is that he showed his pain through his laughter, at least, to those who were watching closely. It should be no surprise to his most intuitive observers that he was a deeply unhappy man. RIP, Robin Williams. La commedia è finita!

September 15, 2014: A Delegation of Nations

I think I startled a Yemeni scholar today by shaking his hand. Actually, he took it pretty well, which I appreciate. I get the impression that they are kind of conservative in that country.

There is a delegation of international teachers and scholars on campus. They are from the most random countries you can think of... I am completely fascinated! I hope I get to meet some of them. They are here to learn about American teaching styles and education - its through some kind of government outreach program, I think. If I am wrong, I will edit this post tomorrow;)

Actually, I am just honored to MEET someone from Yemen. I have several students from Panama as well, which, oddly enough, some of my Saudi students seem to find fascinating. There are also Iraqi, Emirati, Omani, Brazilian, Chilean, Swiss (he's a watchmaker!), and Senegalese students.

How often does THAT happen, meeting and working with people from so many different corners of the earth? This is why I love my job and cannot give it up. I may have had to give up travelling...for the time being, at least, but at least I can still experience other cultures.

2011 - A Year in Review

As I try to sort out "the rest of my life," it occurred to me that writing is an outlet I tend to return to time and time again. Even if no one reads my writing, "putting it out there" ensures that at least I have spoken, even though the tree has made no sound when it has fallen through the forest of trees. I won't lie - I WANT to be heard. I spend way too much time alone - not by choice, but by the limitations of this new body I have been given.

2011 was quite challenging physically and emotionally, but I think I came out on top, at least in some aspects.

THE GOOD :)
The Job: Prospects are actually quite good. The learning center I was working at went under after the owner underwent an absolutely brutal and unfair divorce. Fortunately, I was hired for 30 hours of teaching at Olivet University, a seminary which trains Chinese students for missions and the church. My students are some of the best and most interesting people I have ever taught, as it happens. The program is very new, so the administration still has a large learning curve, but the slightly chaotic, last minute change atmosphere doesn't bother me too much. I will also be teaching a class, "Teaching Asians at Home and Abroad," at UC-Santa Cruz Extension. This is an intensive TESOL training program for serious ESL teachers, not a fly-by-night online TEFL scam, so I must always be on my toes. I am hoping there is full time work (with benefits) in my future, so cross your fingers.

THE NOT-SO-BAD:/
The Body: The Body is still not functioning as it should, but it is functioning at least at a basic level. My legs still get me where I want to go, and my feet don't particularly hurt, even after five hours of solid teaching. I will return to the gym this month to get my "base" training back up to speed. I was firmly rejected by CrossFit gyms, where I was assured even 80-year-old-grannies could do what I could not... on par with taking PE with the special ed kids in elementary school (due to "delayed motor skill development") - that is, total HUMILIATION! I received another "rotten egg" lecture from my "girl stuff" doctor - I am now in the "advanced maternal age" category, and Dr. N offered, during this same visit, to introduce me to a round of fertility doctors. Sigh. My gastroparesis has flared up a few times, but the flare ups are getting less intense, though they are still quite inconvenient. My figure is starting to "bag and sag" in strange places - my "baby face" will not last much longer, I'm afraid.  All that said, I will NOT go out with a fight...Aja! Fighting! I think I'll join a hiking club (too many psychos in our local hiking park) and start saving for a mountain bike. I miss hiking so much...

THE UGLY:(

The Love Life: Kaput. Done. Finished...for now. The relationship ended "not with a bang, but a whimper." Mr. M (who featured in How Not to Be Sexy, Part II - he DID call back, and we dated for several months) turned out to be incredibly self-centered, short-sighted, and emotionally immature. I usually don't date "younger" for this very reason - it has only worked once for me, and this was NOT it. There were also some cultural things that didn't work for me - Mr M was very tight-lipped about his cultural background, but I pieced the clues together and I have deduced that he was Sudanese. I am not overly feminist, but I do expect to be treated as an equal - he really hated when I stood up for myself and my beliefs. He stood me up one too many times (didn't bother to call)...and that was that.

I do try to be optimistic, but the truth is "the one that got away" was "the one." We only find a "soul mate" once in a lifetime, but the Master of the Universe chose to take him away from me. Three years later, he turned up in my world again, but in the cruelest twist of all: "Thou hast made of me an adulteress." Everyone that comes after will always pale in comparison, but maybe it is time to "settle." It is one of the greatest ironies of life that once a woman has grown up enough to know both what she can give and what she needs in a relationship...the ocean of possibility is no bigger than a puddle. My biggest and ONLY fear, like many single women of "advanced maternal age" (mid 30s) is to live alone and die alone - as we watch our friends, one by one, get married, have children, and chase their "happily ever afters." No one's life is perfect, but spending that life always fighting completely alone to just stay alive is just plain exhausting.

2011 was a year of learning about what I could do and what I couldn't - I gained a bit more self-respect, but lost a little more faith in humanity. I am facing the New Year with strength, if not enthusiasm. That has got to count for something.