Tiszaújváros

This’ll have to be a short entry, because I’m in the process of - wait for it, wait for it - I’m in the process of cooking something. Oh my god, I’ve become so domesticated... wait, maybe that’s not the word. But it works that way too.

Anyway, I went to Tiszaújváros. It was great. Yes. As much fun as the weekend itself was the travel adventure involved: Gaines and I needed to switch trains in Nyékládháza, with a planned 6-minute layover (being the two people we are, we had multiple backup plans in place). The train was nagyon late, and then made up some time, and then was really late again, and then I had to try and talk to the conductor, and he told me that the connecting train would wait, and I said, “Biztosan?” and he shrugged. Long story short, we had exactly a one-minute wait in Nyékládháza. But we made it. The trip home also involved switching twice, but with longer waits, so all successful.

I have to say Tiszaújváros gets two prizes: Most Well-Designed, yet Hardest To Reach. In addition, Liz’s flat is much nicer than mine... shocker. And that’s it; really; nothing else happened of any interest that hasn’t happened every other weekend. Well, we did go ice-skating, so that was new for some people. Sorry for the gloom; I’ve been teaching personality adjectives to the 8th graders, and I can now describe my life as dull, boring (but not bored, there’s a difference!), stubborn, unchanging, and unstimulating. And I’ll stop now, ’cause I’m smelling burning, and post more later.

No wait, just before I hit the post button there was a knock on my door, so I have to record that I just got out of listening to a speech about Fidesz with a smooth, “Bocsánat, de nem magyar vagyok.” After which he asked me what I was (“amerikai”) and gave me a, “Clinton (thumbs up); Bush hanem nem jó (hands making the so-so gesture).” Oh, the glory of American politics correctly and precisely summed up by two hand gestures. Although, if it were me, I’d have used a different gesture for Bush. But whatever. I do hope that canvassers (or whatever they’re called; I’m using that word because I sort of vaguely remember it from my West Wing-watching days) won’t be making a habit of knocking on my door. Because the elections aren’t until April, and that’s gonna get tiring. Hm, maybe I should just paint a huge American flag on my door... ’cause that wouldn’t be obnoxious or crude...

Winter Wonderland... ugh

After a perfectly acceptable snow-less winter, Szolnok has finally caught up with the rest of Hungary and allowed itself to be blanketed by snow. I had a theory going, which was something along the lines of: Szolnok is so ugly, it is physically impossible A) for it to snow at all, or B) for snow to stick around any amount of time. Because either of these things would improve the appearance of the city, and that just can’t happen, because Szolnok is and must remain an Ugly City.

But I’ve been proven wrong on both counts. It snowed Tuesday evening and night. It snowed overnight Wednesday. It snowed overnight Thursday. There’s snow on the trees, snow on the streets, snow on the buildings and snow in the gardens. Szolnok has become, I certainly won’t use the P-word, but I’ll say it has become Almost Not Ugly.

However - the clever city has found other ways to manifest its inbred ugliness. The snow turns brown and wet. It migrates inside. The students throw snowballs at me, usually at times when I’m clutching my bag, or pile of notebooks, and can’t fire back. One hit me in the face. Had I seen who it was, I wouldn’t have been above tattling on him to the director. My shoes are wet, my pants are wet, my socks are wet. I don’t want to walk anywhere, so I’ve been eating stale bread with nothing on it.

The best part is, back during the cold spell a few weeks ago, I told everyone who would listen about Minnesota weather (“Temperatures like this, but with more snow”). So now everyone is telling me, This must be just like home for you! Yes, indeed. Just like Minnesota.... grrr.

Oh well. Spring is soon enough. It’ll be all the more appreciated now. This weekend I’m off to Tiszaújváros for Liz’s Olympics-watching party. Should be interesting.

Pancake Day!!!!

Holy God! There was a Pancake Day, and I missed it! Today, my private student Lili, in the course of reciting the holidays she had to know for an upcoming quiz, listed off “Christmas, New Years, Easter, Pancake Day-” wait, what? She explained it was a British holiday when they make pancakes, eat pancakes, exchange pancakes, and generally revel in the glory of pancakes. The second she left, I looked it up and damn if she wasn’t spot on:

For centuries, the English have celebrated Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent, with merriment and antics and, especially, great quantities of pancakes. In fact, the fried flat cakes became so important to the holiday that is has also been called Pancake Day, or Pancake Tuesday.

Long ago, strict Christian Lenten rules prohibited the eating of all dairy products, so keen housewives made pancakes to use up their supplies of eggs, milk, butter and other fats. They could be easily made and cooked in a skillet or on a griddle. Families ate stacks of them, and pancakes were popular with all classes.

Yum! I love it when serious religious holidays can also be about eating massive amounts of food.

On a related note, I don’t think it’ll be feasible for me to give up alcohol for Lent this year. Stop laughing, I really did it last year: 40 days without a drop (with a foreseen St Patrick’s day exception). As interesting an experience as it was, it just won’t happen this year so it’s pointless to try. In addition to not having a motivating factor as I did last year (that factor being the disgustingly indulgent drinking for Jenny’s birthday in early February), this year the truth of my life is that for better or worse, it revolves around alcohol. Besides, I think I’ve already done my penance for this year by living CWO (cold water only) for two months. And yes, I know that that’s not technically an act of penance because it wasn’t self-imposed, but what do I care? I’m not even Christian.

Because I Spent the Afternoon Lesson-Planning...

Oh, I wish there were some better way to type laughter, because just writing title above made me crack up. Really, I spent the afternoon putzing around the internet, blog-hopping and most recently, taking an absurd number of mindless, pointless quizzes to learn completely random, insupportable trivia about myself. To spend your very own afternoon “lesson-planning” as I did, check out Blue Pyramid, Quizilla, or just Google. In the meantime, here’s what I learned about myself... because I know you’re all as fascinated with me as I am.

*What state are you? The Panama Canal (since when is this a state?) because I’m all about the shortcut.
*What animal are you? A Ladybug, for my quiet dignity and soft demeanor.
*What book are you? Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha, because I’m willing to try anything once. Apparently, I’ve spent some time in every camp, but still don’t have any idea which camp I really belong in. Hm... that’s thinky.
*What railroad are you? I’m the Hogwart’s Express. But this quiz doesn’t seem very scientific. Unlike the others, I mean.
*How will you die? Cancer. Charming. Something to look forward to.
*And my favorite (equally for the topic and the obvious fact that it was written by a non-native speaker): If you were a teacher, would students like you? Answer: “The students loves you!” Does they really? Awesome.

The Graves in the Woods

So I’m still thinking a lot about Erfurt. I don’t know why; it’s something about Szolnok that pushes the right buttons in my memory, but it seems like there’s nothing that happens to me here that doesn’t remind me of Erfurt. Anyway, since last month I’ve been dwelling on the following story:

One town over from Erfurt is Weimar, near to which Buchenwald Concentration Camp was located (the good and innocent townspeople, of course, had no idea what was going on up on the hill). To the puzzlement and sometimes disgust of the Germans I knew, I visited the camp several times. It never upset me, it’s just such an interesting history that I wanted to know it completely. One beautiful spring day, Kaitlin, Wag and I decided to make a trip. Long story short, the bus we got on did not end up in Buchenwald, but instead on the other side of the hill. We asked the bus driver what to do. He pointed at a trail through the woods and told us it was half an hour’s hike. We gamely started walking through the cool, green forest. After a while, Wag revolted and turned back. Kaitlin and I continued, figuring that as long as there was a path, and only one path, we had to come out somewhere. Eventually, the path became more cared-for. We saw a short fence and a gate which had a Buchenwald sign on it. We went into the fenced-in area. Gradually, walking through the thinning forest, I realized that scattered among the young trees were narrow metal poles. They were silver and the sun glinted on them - otherwise, they blended with the forest.


The picture here doesn’t really do it justice; when the forest is green the poles aren’t instantly visible. My storytelling can’t really do it justice either, because I can only describe the feeling in a most basic way: imagine walking somewhere, somewhere innocent enough like through a field or a forest, then gradually realizing that something you’d been noticing all along, those rocks on the ground maybe, were actually human bones. Even if you’d never been disturbed by death before, it’s the feeling of being caught unaware, of death creeping up on you in a place you weren’t expecting it.

The end of the story has a small twist: it turned out that the inhabitants of the mass grave in the forest were not in fact concentration camp victims. They were Germans. They were some of the 7000 Nazi war criminals and other political prisoners who died while Buchenwald was being used as a prison camp by the NKVD from 1945-1950. Although the first memorials at Buchenwald were established in the 1950s, these Soviet mass graves weren’t discovered until 1989. There was some intense discussion about how or if the two histories (Buchenwald Concentration Camp and Soviet Special Camp #2) should be portrayed together in one memorial. Eventually the Thuringian Ministry of Science came up with the following guidelines: "Both the Nazi concentration camp and Soviet Special Camp No. 2 are to be commemorated. The concentration camp is to be the primary focus. The commemoration of Special Camp No. 2 is to be subordinate. The commemoration sites are to be separated spatially...” etc. Hence the unobtrusive poles in the forest, in a separate fenced area behind the camp and down the hill, best reached by a hike through the woods.

Weekend in the Tropics

... and by tropics, I mean Kiskunhalas, where Janos has the most gloriously warm apartment (I, on the other hand, spent half my time at home reading in my bathroom, which is the only truly warm place, or in my living room huddled as I am now in sweater, scarf, and layers of blanket). Despite the lack of a keg and two unsuccessful bars, there was still an abundance of other good things including beer, hot wine, paprikás krumpli, the regular market on Saturday and the giant market on Sunday, lots of Viva, Kill Bill 1 & 2 (in Hungarian) and other bizarre after-midnight TV, a snowfall, and a mission to find the Howling Beast, which lives down the block and is the creepiest sound in the world to wake up to. Or fall asleep to. Or hear in the middle of the night. Or, really any time. Yeah, just plain creepy. Anyway, we went on a mission to track down is whereabouts. Unfortunately, the devilish creature knew we were coming and decided to shut up. Hm... diabolical.

But other than that, a great weekend. The superbowl party about which I was so enthusiastic turned out not to be so great - a bunch of people I didn’t know. Liz, Chad and Julie were exhausted from skiing all weekend; by the kick-off at midnight, they were falling asleep in the bar. So shortly after, Liz and I came home. After she left this morning, I was planning to use my free day to do some lesson planning... and I’m sure I’ll get around to that any time now...

TGIF

It’s Friday, and I’m off. In more ways than one, probably. Check out my favorite new music video. It's so great I had to share it. Don't try it at work, though, because there's no way to stop it or turn down the volume (that I could find).

Rachael is Amazing

Today, by some miracle of time I managed to make it to school at 7:24. This meant I had 5 minutes to savor the peace, quiet, and solitude that occurs in the teachers room before the other teachers pour in 30 seconds before the bell rings at 7:30. I used these minutes to enjoy the surprise waiting for me on my desk: yet another wondrous package from homefriend (and former-fellow-Townhouse-F-roomie) Rach. This is the 4th package I’ve gotten from her, which makes her my second-best person to get mail from (after parents, of course).

So far, my loot includes: cards, both the playing type and the Hallmark type; 2 DVDs (Huckabees and Practical Magic); a Friend of the plush variety; and countless, irreplaceable collaging supplies. Rach, you absolutely rock. In your honor, two cards from my newest project, which I’m un-originally calling “e-collage.”






































See, they’re not great. But I challenge you to make a couple and put them up on your blog.

The Final Battle of the Water War, and the Demise of My Nemesis (aka Evil Old Water Boiler)

Three random men (none of them were Páli or Szabolcs, the handymen from my school) showed up at my flat yesterday afternoon to install My Ally, The New Water Boiler. This process involved them mumbling and joking a lot in Hungarian as I hovered in the bathroom doorway. There was also use of power tools, including a metal-shavings-and-spark-throwing circular saw, with no sort of goggles or gloves. Wow, does Hungary do workers’ comp? I’ve noticed construction and highway workers here don’t wear helmets either.

Right, tangent. So... I have hot water! It’s beautiful. I had resisted the temptation to tear open the box and inspect it as it waited in my bathroom, but let me tell you now that it’s sleek and shiny, clean white with smooth gray knobs. After the men left, I cleaned up the mud and soot deposited by boots and power tools. My bathroom was sparkling and warm. So I turned off the light and basked in the warm glow of the crisp blue flame reflected on the pure white surface, and a feeling of warmth, love, and peace with the earth came over me to such an extent that I pressed my cheek against New Water Boiler while running my fingertips gently over its caressable smoothness.

Wait, no, I didn’t. Maybe my brain really has been frozen. I counted up the days, and for the 5 months I’ve lived here, I’ve been CWO (Cold Water Only) for about two of them. Ouch. Anyway, if I never have to write about the the hot water in my flat again, other than to occasionally mention that it’s working perfectly, and how blessed and grateful I am to have it, I would be so happy. Today, it seems like a viable possibility.

The absolute endnote to this story is that when Páli and Szabolcs showed up this morning to lug away the old machine and inspect the new one, I had just gotten up, was dressed in awful old clothes, and my vacuum was parked in the middle of my hall. “Oh, you’re in the middle of cleaning?” they said, nodding approvingly. So I hope they carried that story back to the school - I know they think I live in filth. Which may be true... but still.

Sorry I’m weird today. I’m picking it up from The Kids. Plans for tonight include Soproni Time, followed by going to see some English movie which looks incredibly boring to me, but Chad is fired up about it - and he has reasonably good taste in movies, so we’ll see.

Martin Moll's Monday

A few weeks ago when I was bored and Google-ing old friends, I found a web page with the poems of one of them. Since I’ve been thinking about and feeling Erfurt a lot lately, seemingly every time I turn around, here’s my favorite:

Monday
The start of another week
and a pack of cards in the mailbox.
They are dealt but aren't read.
Though the future might be promising.
But as we know
things are not always what they seem.
Like the shadow in the dark
or the bustle in your hedgerow.
People could lie and people could cheat.
and people could never find out.
But as long as the cards aren't put on the table
the chances of having a good hand remain.

Hell has not frozen over

... but yes, it's Laura in a skirt. A hippie skirt. And a frilly shirt. And she let us take pictures of her... sort of willingly.

LacigolonorhcitnA

Song for the weekend: Eminem, Lose Yourself
... because that damn club wouldn't play it. Among other reasons.

Today I boarded the train from Nyíregyháza to Szolnok, snagged a compartment to myself, and settled into my book. Before we left the station, I was joined by a jovial middle-aged Gypsy woman, who promptly cracked a Soproni, offered me some (declined), showed me her backpack full of perfume, tried to sell me some, smoked like a factory, offered me pogácsa so persistently that I finally had to take one, and complimented me on my Hungarian. She got off in Debrecen and was replaced by much more staid and quiet travel companions.

This morning was calm. We woke up to a heatless house, but quickly remedied the problem by turning on the stove burners and shutting the kitchen door. After running to the Csemege for bread, bacon, and more eggs, we had a hasty breakfast (thank you, Jenna!) before packing and departing.

Saturday evening, we ate a fantastic dinner of spaghetti and Jell-O. This, along with other fun activities such as dressing up in Mariah’s clothes (pictures of Laura in a skirt will be posted as soon as I get them) kept us busy until it was time to head out to the bar/club. We abandoned plans of The Atlantis in favor of a much closer place, which turned out to be two floors of bar and an attic dance floor, where we took up residence. The evening went as it usually does: us dancing, Hungarian gawking, us demanding good American music, the DJ complying for a time before devolving to mediocre Hungarian techno. Still, it was a good time. That place, whatever it was called, is now one of my favorites yet.

On Saturday morning, our main goal for the was making it to the store before it closed at noon. This turned out not to be a problem, as we were up and coffee-infused by 10 at the latest. We spent a good chunk of midday and afternoon watching Sex and the City before the Nyíregyháza contingent (Jenna and Yerik, plus Tim and Jen) arrived. Mark also stopped by for a while, but cut out early (pre-spaghetti, although not pre-Jell-O) to attend some school-related event.

This was my first trip to Kisvárda. Mariah’s flat is, shockingly, much nicer than mine. Although she suffers from similar hot water problems. After a long, cold walk from the train station (during which my new scarf from Juli played a vital role in keeping my face not frozen), Mariah, Laura and I decided not to brave the cold any more than we had to, and stayed in. It proved a good choice, although a relatively early evening.

Friday afternoon, I made it to Kisvárda despite being on a freezing cold and extremely bumpy train. Mariah, bless her heart, was waiting for me at the station with hot chocolate. We waited for Laura at a bar down the street which has to win the award for Sketchiest Bathroom Yet in Hungary. The lights in the back part of the building had gone out (I think the owner told me it had happened just that afternoon), so a trip to the WC involved a candle. The candle, set into a pool of wax on the sink, shone light into the doorless stall. Nice. I love small town Hungary.

I WON! I WON! I WON!

... the hot water war. Well, not yet. But victory is in sight: I see it in the distance... Monday-ish.

So allow me to tell what will be, I hope to God, the penultimate chapter of the Water War: yesterday, after I had written the “Bitter” entry, I was sitting in my bathroom reading (don’t laugh, it’s the only warm room in my house), when I noticed the smell of gas. I examined my nemesis, the water boiler, only to find that in a new and disturbing maneuver, it had managed to extinguish one of its two flames. No flame = no gas being burned off. Thus, gas filling the room, replacing the oxygen, Emily can’t breathe, Emily is dying. That is one diabolical machine. I went for the quick execution: I shut the whole thing down. Then I marched straight over to my school and reenacted the various Battles of the Water War for everyone standing around the teachers room. Since all the English teachers were busy with some performance that I had never been informed about, this involved a lot of my broken Hungarian and grandiose gestures. No hot water (me shivering). Gas filling the room (waving arms around). Deadly! (me clutching my throat and coughing).

So once again, the handymen took my keys and went over to inspect it. I had no idea what they did, because my keys were returned to my desk but I didn’t see either them nor an English-speaking teacher for the rest of the day. When I came home, the boiler was still off. Hibernating, waiting, I know. Plotting something worse - a way to drive me permanently crazy, freeze me to death (has anyone seen Sunshine? Do you remember the camp? The human icicle?)... or gas me once and for all.

But! Just now at my door appeared the two handymen plus an unknown third man, carrying a box... a new-water-boiler-shaped box. We established that Monday would be a good time for them to come put it in. Meanwhile, it sits on my bathroom floor waiting: a box filled with the promise of reliable hot water, no hitting or fiddling involved, no gas leakage, no threat of death. Blissful.

I feel as though writing and publishing this might be tempting fate. I have visions of that damn evil machine, despite being turned off, still finding a way to kill me in the next few hours before I can escape. Or maybe the new machine will be even more demonic in some terrible, as-yet-unimaginable way. Oh well, I’ll risk it - besides, by now I think fate owes me big time.

Today I'm Bitter

Currently, I fulfill two of the three meanings of bitter, the second and third. The first one will happen soon enough, if I don’t get a shower.

This morning I gave in and decided I couldn’t make it another hour without washing my hair, at least. I turned the tap, hoping beyond hope that by some miracle the hot water would have restored itself. No such luck. I took advantage of the 2 seconds of lukewarm water to wet my head. I lathered up, took a deep breath, and stuck my head under the water to rinse. It was icy. Gaspingly, painfully, brain-chillingly, hand-numbingly icy. I may have shed a tear or two of pain and frustration (at least they were hot). Rinsing seemed endless. It did take twice as long as normal, because halfway through I had to stop to let my hands thaw.

On the plus side, I do love a drink of cold water. And, I tested, the water from my tap is colder than water from the fridge. Great. At least I won’t get dehydrated this week!

The World Through 8th Grade Logic

If I were a bitter person, I could use this entry to complain about how my hot water isn’t working. Again. Even after they came and “fixed” it earlier today. Again. During the coldest week of the year. They told me when it malfunctions, I should “just hit it.” Believe me, I tried. A lot.

But I’m not bitter. Really. So instead let me relate an extremely bewildering conversation I had on Monday with one of my 8th graders. Actually, it wasn’t really so much a conversation as it was him offering a theory and me gaping at him. I don’t remember the context (if there even was one), but he told me that teachers don’t drink. My life for the past 6 months flashed before my eyes, and I gaped. He explained that teachers don’t like alcohol. I asked why. He replied, because students do like it. Before I could puzzle out this bit of logic, my attention was called elsewhere, and I’d forgotten the incident until just now. He was dead serious. Any insights? Especially from those of you who’ve been drunk in your schools?

Crackdown, Day Two

Continuing my Shock and Awe campaign to whip my students into shape, today’s step took the form of shopping: I bought a notebook. And with its help, I devised a viable, sustainable, and logical grading scheme to use for the rest of the year. Basically, for those of you who will share and/or appreciate my sense of organization, the plan goes like this: each page of the notebook is one class (see my lovely example below). Since I only see each of my classes once a week, every time we meet I’m going to find something to grade them on. Even something small - I talked to Kati yesterday about grading and she told me that although technically I’m not allowed to grade the students’ behavior, I am allowed to give them grades on “class work,” ahem, wink.

So they get four “small” grades each month (or 5, some months). These average into a “big” grade, which I can write into the big class napló. I’m pretty pleased with this plan. So I just wanted to share it.

It’s “Cold” Here

Current temp in Szolnok: -12 C. Which seems deadly, but that’s in puny Celsius. It’s really about 10 of our bulkier Fahrenheit degrees.

So I’m not going to be a tough-guy Minnesotan and scoff, “Cold, ha! I remember back in the winter of 1993 when it was 40 below and the windchill was minus 62...” Because it is cold, I can appreciate that. And I do feel for the Southerners in the group for whom this is particularly painful (the look on Chad’s face... “Wait... it can actually get too cold to snow??”). But 10 F is completely within the range of normal Minnesotan winter. And that’s not even counting windchill.

Shock and Awe

Yes, that’s right. Inspired by the US government, I’ve begun a Program of Terror at Kassai. It’s a double-edged attack: first I give them legitimate activities to do as class work (I admit, my lesson plans to date have sometimes lacked substance), and then I give them 1s when they refuse to sit down, shut up, and work. Just today I’ve made a 4th grader teary-eyed, a 5th grader bawl, and an 8th grader pout. A good first day.

Newbie Weekend

Song for the moment: 50 cent, In Da Club. For both the awesome bass and the irony in the lyrics today.

So... yet another weekend in Budapest. Actually, this might have been my favorite Bp weekend yet. Despite our supposed goal of meeting thenewbies, a majority of us oldies spent very little time with them. Eh, oh well.

So it went like this: Friday afternoon, Chadwick and I hoped a train to the City. Conveniently (and preplannedly), it was the train Gaines was on. We made it to the hostel, the Mandragora. Yerik had recommended it. If I can describe it in one sentence (one very long sentence), it would be this: It was two beautiful rooms (the Zen Room and the Indian Room), a huge bathroom, nice kitchen with free coffee and tea (although only two kinds, which Gaines proclaimed was “not very Zen of them”), wonderful kind owners (lax, in both the positive and negative connotations), extremely reasonable prices, and one of the nastiest, most painful, springiest mattresses I’ve ever had the agony of sleeping on. But beautifully decorated. And the others informed me that the beds were tolerable.

We headed over to the Kollégium in time to catch the end of Hajni’s Cultural Differences speech. We sat in the back and studied the newbies. At the time, there were six (three more with visa problems are coming later): Jennifer, Jillian, Bill, John, Nicole, and Tara. After answering some of their questions, without scaring them too much (I hope), we met up with Janos and all of us (except Bill) went out for dinner. After stretching our legs a bit, we ended up somewhere over by Vista. Best part of that dinner: when Nicole asked for “beer. A big one” and the whole side of the table said “me too.” Oh, they’ll fit right in.

Later we went to Irish Cat (which, just for future reference, is on Kálvin tér, NOT Astoria. I had to buy Janos a Guinness for being wrong on that one). As we stood in our circle talking, the weekend’s oddest event (from my perspective) happened: in my mind I’m referring to it as The Auction. This boy standing behind Mariah (his name was Bahran, but I’m going to call him Iranian Boy) insinuated himself next to her and asked if she or one of us would teach him to “Spanish dance.” Mariah gracefully declined, but suggested that one of us other girls might help him. She made a gesture in our direction, more specifically at whoever was standing on my left. “No,” Iranian Boy said. “Not her... (pointing)... her.” Because apparently I have a sign on my forehead... of what a good dancer I am.

So that was Friday. Wow, three-day weekends take forever to write. Anyway, on Saturday, other oldies straggled in. Ambitious Kat arrived pretty early, not much later than 10. We went to fortify ourselves with lángos before hitting H&M. I picked up 3 sweaters for about 30 bucks. Two are black and gray, but one is in a Gaines-inspired “happy color,” pink (tame dark pink, not bubblegum or anything impossible like that). Very happy about sweaters in general, since it’s going to be frigid this week.

We met Harpswell there, reconvened with the boys, and after a failed attempt to visit Chad’s Writers Store, walked home. Met up with Laura, Liz and Mariah. Met up with some wine and snacks, and spent a good chunk of the afternoon lazing around the hostel. Hey, it’s what we do best.

Later in the evening, we got productive and made it to the Kollégium... or only to the front steps of the Kollégium, for some of us. Then back down the hill to the Snooker club. Then to a place on Kálvin tér. Then to a place on Ráday utca. In retrospect, the evening can be boiled down to three elements: lots of beer, lots of pizza, and lots of calling everyone whose number we had to try to make them make the newbies come out with us.... unsuccessfully.

So, Sunday. Birthday. It wasn’t particularly celebratory. On the other hand, I do a lot of celebrating other weekends, so I don’t feel in any way cheated. I did get an awesome birthday SMS from Juli (thank you!) which almost made up for the non-birthday-related phone call I got at 3:41 AM. Grrr.

Later this morning we did That Which We Do Best at the hostel until 11 or noon. Laura and I struck out Kollégium-wards in order to find Hajni and pay her, and so Laura could meet the newbies. Hajni wasn’t there. So after talking to newbies and Mária for a few minutes, Laura and I spent the next few hours jaunting around the City. Got lots of exercise. It was a little cold, though.

After meeting up with the others, we found a hole in the wall, Rókalyuk (I have another story for another time about another bar called Rókalyuk in Transylvania, where the Demeter brothers and I taught Heron NOT to yell out, “meleg vagyok” or “kurva vagyok”). The point of that aside was that places named Rókalyuk have been good to me, and this one didn’t fail. After finding out it was my birthday, a kind, slightly drunk old man (not Janos, I mean actually old) named Sanyi took it upon himself to play for me a variety of Hungarian music. At one point, Chad and I danced, much to the delight of Sanyi, the bars owner, and the two other patrons.

On the train home, Chad, Mariah, Tim (friend of Yerik, thus friend of CETP) and I hung out in the dining car and made yet another friend. This one was a young Kisvárdan named István. He did not speak much English, thus most of his conversation was directed toward me. On the plus side, I’m proud that I managed to carry on a “conversation,” if I can use the term loosely, in Hungarian for over an hour. Yay, Emily.

So that’s all I can remember to write right now. I’m sure more will come later. I realize that this entry, like the weekend, has remarkably little on the newbies. But really, we spent very little time with them, other than Friday night. And I’m hoping they’ll appear more in later entries. I feel like many of my entries end with the following sentiment, but it’s valid here: time will tell. The End.

Anarchy is Dangerous

My grand lesson plan for this week was entitled “Five Things That....” Simply, you make up a list of adjectives you want the students to know (or if you’re a Super Lazy Bad Teacher like me, you use the same list in all your classes). Put the kids in groups and tell them to write five things that are green, five things that are dangerous, five things that are difficult to understand, or whatever. When they’re done, have each group read their answers. If another group has the same word, they cross it off. If no one else has it, they circle it and get a point. Simple. Some of the better answers from various classes included:

* things that are green: cannabis, Green Day, greenhouse effect, greenhorn, Greenland
* things that are fast: my mind, our group, “meep meep” (Roadrunner), rappers
* things that are difficult to understand: why you tell us to be quiet, American accent, American football, boys, driving for girls, global warming
* things that are hot: our blood, love (I had to explain in every single class, usually to uproarious laughter, that ‘hot’ is NOT the same as ‘meleg’. For those of you in the dark, in Hungarian when ‘meleg’ refers to a person it means they’re gay.)
* things that are delicious: people, for the cannibals
* things that are small: the stars, from here
* things that are expensive: I want to buy a country
* things that are painful: boiling oil, getting a bad mark, life, love, death
* things that are more fun to watch than to do: school

And my favorite:
* things that are red: red letter. When I read this, my logical brain knew what the 5th grader meant: the bad, red marks that his napló probably has an abundance of. The rest of my mind, the part which far outweighs the logical side, immediately snapped back to 8th grade English and the tragic adventures of a woman named Hester. So I started laughing hysterically; after a brief and ruinous attempt to explain why, I gave up and just spent the rest of the lesson giggling to myself, murmuring, “Red letter - ha!” under my breath, and my students probably all went and mystified the other English teachers by asking them why “red letter” is so funny to the crazy American.

A Productive Day... mostly

This is a picture of Harold Road Junior School, in Abergavenny, Wales (not really, it’s actually my high school in Hastings, MN. I couldn’t find a picture of Harold Road). It’s the partner school of Kassai (Harold Road, not Hastings HS). I don’t know exactly what they partner on, because today was the first time I ever heard their name (and earlier this week was the first time I heard we even had a partner school). I do know that for some mysterious reason, various teachers and/or administrators from Harold Road (but no students) will be visiting Kassai next week Monday.

So this has put everyone into a flurry of activity. The English teachers are all planning their Best Lessons Ever to be observed. The principal and secretaries are working on writing handouts about Kassai, lauding it’s wondrous programs (programmes) and beauty. Which I find funny, because after all, the visitors are going to SEE the school. My favorite line so far has to be the one about Kassai’s “green courtyard” (dusty and brown in the summer, slushy and gray currently), “downtown location” (the one place even close to qualifying as Szolnok’s downtown is nowhere near here), and situation “at the intersection of two major avenues” (just laughable - and still wrong). Anyway, this is where I come in... because when I said they’re writing handouts, what I really meant is that they wrote things in Hungarian, then gave them to Kati to translate, who then passed them on me to retype in actual English, and then worried aloud to everyone who would listen that I didn’t do it right.

Not that I mind - really, please don’t construe this entry as any type of bitching on my part. I love translating. And, even if I hated it, I do have too much pride in my school to let them fob some crappy translation off on native speakers. Plus, I’ve been getting all sorts of smiles from the normally scary school admins. I guess I’m okay in their books, now that I’m FINALLY making myself useful.

Number two act of productivity was the fact that I stayed at school for 2 hours after I could have legitimately run away (as I usually do at the end of the day) in order to write my end-of-the-semester grades in 8 different naplós. Wow, I sure wish I had peeked inside those wondrous yellow-and-green treasure books earlier. In addition to all sort of nifty bits like whose parents are not living together and who has siblings (or parents) at which school, each page also has every single grade the student has gotten for the whole year. In pen. Sometimes red pen. It’s glorious. Oh, the power... which of course I DID NOT ABUSE... too much. No, I really did restrain myself. Although after seeing what grades they get from the other teachers, next semester I’m not going to hesitate the give them the 2s and 3s they deserve. No more of this I’ll-give-you-a-5-because-I’m-afraid-you’ll-start-bawling crap.

When I came home, I was so fired up that I actually started making lesson plans and worksheets for next week... and it’s only Thursday! Well, I got about half way done, and then succumbed to the call of wine and blog reading and for God’s sake anything other than lesson plans! I know, I fail... but with all the hullaballoo going to be going on on Monday (how’s that for a construction?) no one will notice me. I’ll do them then; I’ll have lots of time since I plan to spend the entire day, even my free lessons, hanging around the school in a desperate bid to catch the eye of and make conversation with another native speaker... even a native British / Welsh speaker.

I’m off to Budapest for the weekend, to welcome the new teachers and to celebrate my birthday as I’ve celebrated all things this year: CETP-vel.

Olive

This is a picture of my grandmother, Olive A. Jenkins (1920-2000). She’s the short one in the middle. She died five and a half years ago today, so today I’m going to blog about her just a little.
This picture was taken September 20, 1940. She was a few months shy of her 20th birthday. That hefty 15-month-old she’s holding is her son, Jerry. If you look very closely, you can see a ring on her left-hand ring finger. I don’t know where she got it, because in 1940 she wouldn’t be married for another two years yet. I never met her parents, but since they were Irish-Catholic and French-Canadian-Catholic, I imagine they weren’t too thrilled with this order of things.

I’m about to turn 23. When Olive was twenty three, she had already had a child, gotten married, and lost her husband to cancer. Mostly I’m just ruminative today because it’s such a stark comparison. Olive at 23: child, one dead husband, waitressing in Worcester, Massachusetts. Emily at 23: college degree, teaching in a foreign country, with no children nor husbands, and no definitely prospect of either. Still, I think it’s more a difference of generation and circumstance than it is of choice and personality. At least, I hope so.

English.... kinda

No, really. One of the things I love about English is that wherever it’s spoken in the world (as both a native language and otherwise) it’s never the same. Today, my 11th grade private student, who has a fondness for reggae and Jamaican hip-hop, asked me to write down the lyrics to a song. The song turned out to be Mattafix’s Big City Life, one of my own favorites, and a personal theme here in Hungary - mostly for the irony: although most of us are trying to beat the system in one way or another, none but one is really living a big city life. And even her, barely.

All right, so here’s the problem: I’ve also puzzled over the lyrics of this song, because even after looking them up, I still didn’t fully understand them. The refrain contains the following lines:

Don’t let the system get you down...
Big city life, me try fi get by,
Pressure nah ease up no matter how hard me try.
Big city life, here my heart have no base,
And right now Babylon de pon me case.

So, (not that this is of any interest to you, but obviously you’re bored or you wouldn’t even have read this far), I spent my evening researching Jamaican English. In addition to having grammatical rules where subject and object personal pronouns are interchangeable, they also have quite a few unique words and cultural references, mostly due to the Rastafarian influence on the language. All right, I’ll stop sermonizing and go to bed. Long story short, Marlon Roudette (the singing half of Mattafix) lives in a big city, with a lot a pressure all the time; he’s just a guy trying to make it by, but the cops are always on his case. And HOT DAMN, have you seen the video?? If Robbie Williams won’t let me be his slave, Marlon is second. Now really, good night.














ps this picture came from a Hungarian website and the caption there was "Változatos és finom." Look it up... it's a useful phrase.

Word Play

I had a terrible day. Being around grown-up Americans has spoiled me so much that I almost broke out in tears in front of my fourth graders today.
Anyway, I was immensely cheered to discover in my mailbox four envelopes from home, each containing the following: one granola bar, one scratch-off lotto ticket (I won a dollar!) and a scrap of paper with a letter on it. On the back of each letter, a notation saying “5 of 20,” “12 of 20,” etc. So some sort of secret message. So far, I’ve got:
_ _ _ _ o _ _ _ _ _ _ e _ _ _ _ _ p o _

Any guesses? I’m pretty sure it’s multiple words, and I’ve no idea when the other clues will come.

"The Fervent Mouse" (Heves and Eger)

First person to get the title scores brownie points.

Contrary to my earlier predictions (suspicions), the weekend turned out to be a relatively non-dramatic one. There were, however, multiple adventures such as fogwalks, bussing shenanigans, a hostel on a hill, wine tasting, 10 liters of wine in two gasoline jugs, a midnight walk over a sketchy pipe “bridge” and down a long, dark windy road, a mutiny and a revolution, hot baths and freezing air, two people with massive bruises, and various other hijinks.

So that’s the weekend in a nutshell. The detailed version goes as follows: Gaines arrived on Friday just before 3, and we made a mad dash through the trains station to buy lángos. We met up with Chad and all three of us got on the same bus to Heves. Jeremos met us at the station - not beer in hand as promised, but close enough. Harpswell arrived shortly after, but at the other bus station. We picked her up and headed back to Jeremos’s place. Small, but nice. Of all the flats I’ve seen, I would say his gets the Best Decorated award.

Some point later in the evening, we decided to talk a walk. Mostly for the sake of meeting Janos at the train station. It was ridiculously foggy and beautiful outside, and the walk was the better part of half an hour, each way. At some point, Gaines, Chad and I fell behind, so we never actually saw the station. We did become intimately acquainted with a field, a tree, and the line of brush which separated us from the station.

Soon after arriving home, the boys darted across the street to check out the non-bar (I think Jeremy said it was some sort of after-school club or something?). They found nothing there, so they, Gaines and I headed out to partake in the Heves nightlife. Meaning, we went to the bar. Jeremy and Janos tried their hand at darts. We explored the dance floor, which was a big, cold, lightless room at the back. Eventually, the bad music and general lack of both entertainment and sustainable drunkenness drove us home. Chad had found some new friends who were buying him drinks, so he chose to stay (free drinks? Who wouldn’t?).

In the morning, after way too much argument and discussion, Janos and Jeremos ran to the store and bought a selection of breakfast foods. We ate fast and headed to the bus station for the second leg of the journey: onward to Eger.

Having time to kill, we wandered around, down through the Cathedral, and met up with Kyle at McDonalds.

Imagine this street, 83 years later, and with the Golden Arches somewhere on the right side.

Um... where was I? Right, various others arrived at the train and bus stations. Some stayed to wait for later-comers, I headed with the group towards Egerszalók, a little village in a valley near Eger. After a brief jaunt in the wrong direction, we found a helpful old lady who was completely unfazed by the group of luggage-laden American tourists and set us on the right path.

And despite being up a massive hill, the Kohári Pince was totally worth it. We had rooms and rooms of space to ourselves, a bed for everyone (although, of course, it wouldn’t really be a CETP get-together without some sort of dog-pile), kitchen and bathroom for each room, and one bigger room where we congregated for dinner and drinking.

As we waited for the other half to arrive, we did a bit of wine tasting, and ended up buying two massive jugs of wine to have for later. Our conversation with the proprietor went something like this:

Us: Can we pay for the wine we tasted?
Him: No, no, it’s on the house.
Us: Great! Then can we buy some wine?
Him: To take away? For later?
Us: Ha ha... yeah, later (tonight is later, right?)
Him: Of course. How much would you like?
Us: Um... a lot. (How much do we need?) Maybe 10 liters?
Him: (Is there any way possible for me to record his expression at this point? Some combination of bemused, gleeful, and just a tad startled.) Of course.
Us: And how much will it be?
Him: 5000 forint.

So that’s $25 for more than 13 bottles of wine. NICE!! And we did manage to polish off almost 8 of those liters (I adopted those two orphan liters this morning). We hung out in the big room, made piles and piles of spaghetti, and eventually the others showed up. Altogether, we were 12: myself, Chad, Gaines, Jeremos, Janos, Harpswell, Laura, Jenna, Mariah, Mark (the other American from Kisvárda), Brent, and Kyle.

We stayed and ate and drank and talked at Kohári for quite a while. My favorite part was after Jeremos reenacted the cabinet-sleeping story, the two of us sat up there for a good long time, chatting and playing God. We had an awesome experiment planned, but the party started to break up. So we hopped down, he much more gracefully than I (but hardly a fair comparison, since his legs are twice as long at mine).

The second point of coming to Egerszalók, after the wine, was the thermal baths. Having confirmed earlier in the day that they were, in fact, open until 3 AM, we headed out in their direction well into the evening. With a confident stride, Jeremos led us across the village, up side streets and down alleys, and across this incredibly dicey “bridge” made up of three pipes laid down across a roaring gorge. I don’t have a picture (if someone does, please tell me), but I found this similar one:

Okay, so it was really more like a small creek, two feet down, and the pipes were flat, not too slippery, and sufficiently wide to walk on. Despite the darkness and drunkenness, no one fell in, or even anything close, although there was certainly some caution, hand-holding, and Janos bashed his leg while attempting some sort of leap.

After the “bridge”, there was still a significant amount of walking - mostly down a long, twisty road, in the direction away from civilization, in total darkness (except for the full moon, of course). Not too far down the long, twisty, dark road, about half of us declared mutiny and turned around. Halfway back, as the leaders decided to take a “shortcut” to avoid the pipe-bridge, Laura and I staged a revolution. This involved us lying on the road in protest. We had convinced Brent to join us and had almost convinced Jenna when Jeremos called me, ecstatic, to tell us that they had, in fact, found the baths somewhere up ahead in the darkness. Laura made a shrewd decision and ran off towards the group going home. Jenna, Brent and I turned around for the second time and headed back to the darkness. And, sure enough, down the long, twisty dark road, around several corners and past vast fields of nothingness, the baths materialized in a glowing, steamy oasis. After the initial horror of being almost naked in below freezing air, they were incredible. By the time we left, my core was so warm that the walk home was barely cold.

This morning, some of the more determined people (Kyle, Brent, and Mark) got up early and left. The rest of us got up whenever, and eventually congregated in the bar downstairs for much-needed coffee. It took a while to clean up the big room and pack. Jeremy put me in charge of collecting money and paying for the rooms. Wow, if there’s anything more pleasing than being in charge, it’s being in charge and getting to demand money from people. Please God, let me be Hajni some day.

Anyway, we paid, we got out, and we got to the bus stop, only to discover that for the first and only time this weekend, my Sacred Green Notebook had failed us (well, perhaps it wasn’t so much the Notebook’s fault as it was the fault of the person who wrote down the information) and there was no bus at 12:06. Hm. But semmi baj, we found a nearby restaurant and had lunch (or breakfast, for people other than Gaines and I). It was good, but the food kept coming slower and slower. Eventually Gaines (such a girl after my own heart) and I decided that we needed to get on a bus towards Eger in order to make our connections. So we and Chad threw down money and left. Now picture this: we leave the restaurant. I hear Gaines, who is slightly in front of me, cry out. Why? Because the bus is closing it’s doors and pulling away. We chase after it madly. Just as we’ve given up, from behind me I hear Chad yell, “Emily!” I stop, pivot, and looming towards me at a great speed is the huge pastel green front of another bus. I squeak, step back, trip over the curb, and fall flat on my ass. Well, not so much “flat” as particularly hard on my right side. Ouch. At least I didn’t fall under the bus.

So we made it to Eger, Chad and I made it back to Szolnok, and Gaines made it onto her bus and I assume home. The others? Don’t know. We tried to speculate who will get home the latest tonight. Votes were cast for Janos and Harpswell, since their routes are the farthest and most difficult. Possibly also Laura, since she might stay overnight with Jenna. But as I told Gaines, whatever stories I make up in my head, I’m sure the truth will be much more mundane. Well, time will tell.

Friday the Thirteenth with 7abT

All week, my students have been behaving slightly worse than normal. I figured it was just back-to-school blues, one week removed, until I talked to my mom yesterday and she reminded me that tomorrow is a full moon. Now, stop rolling your eyes - she’s worked in schools for almost a decade, mostly with special needs children, and I spent that whole time scoffing at her full-moon theory. But... I think there might be something to it.

And today I had my 7abT (Társalgás, aka optional conversation) class. This is the class I’ve mentioned several times, my four adorable, troublesome 7th grade boys. I think I like them because in addition to being hilarious and offbeat, in my project to determine which class’s English is most like my level of Hungarian, I think they win. Our classes are usually them talking to each other in Hungarian and me trying to coax them into English, and me talking to myself in English and them trying to coax me into Hungarian. I love it.

My lesson plan with them today: Circle of Death. Yes, the old college classic is making a comeback as an educational game. Instead of drinks, I used points, explaining that the object was to get as few as possible (just like Beloit - ha!). The rules for each card are a bit modified:

2 - left (the person to his left gets a point)
3 - me (he gets a point)
4 - right (the person to his right gets a point)
5 - table (last person to smack their hand on the table gets a point)
6 - talk 60 (he has to talk for 60 seconds in English. If there’s any Hungarian, he gets a point. The other boys especially loved trying to force the speaker to use Hungarian)
7 - assign (or “give”. He gets to give out 2 points for a red card, 4 for a black)
8 - secret (he should tell the group a secret or take a point. My kids just made up lies)
9 - rhyme (he has to make up a rhyme or take a point)
10 - social (everyone gets a point)
Jack - categories (he picks a category - animals, American cities, etc - and we go around the circle. If he can’t name something in the category, he gets a point)
Queen - questions (going in a circle, keep asking questions. The first person to not ask, not answer, or use Hungarian gets a point)
King - talk 30 (he has to talk for 30 seconds in English)
Ace - freebee (nothing happens. I was considering using this as the “make up your own rule” card, but that would have been too much.)

We played all hour without getting through all the cards. I was tied for first place until one little punk drew a black 7 and gleefully assigned me all 4 points. Grrr... whatever. They had fun. Apparently, so much fun that one extra boy, who had tagged along today to sample the class, decided that he wants to sign up for it. Yay, another recruit!

Now, I have to eat something, then go back and face the rest of my classes. After that, I’m meeting Gaines and we’re off to Heves, Eger and Egerszalók for a nice calm weekend of wine and hot springs. Wait - CETPers, drunk, half-clothed in bathing suits? Oh, how could that possibly lead to any sort of drama?

Orientalist and Autistic

Recently I’ve gotten interested in reading blogs from various parts of the Middle East. Why? I don’t know. It’s certainly not any sort of political interest - yesterday I read something about “Bush, Cheney, and Rice” and my first thought was a Homer-esque, “Yummm, rice.” Maybe at heart I’m just an old-fashioned Orientalist who likes reading about people’s exotic, fascinating lives (thank you, Kim Mills). Some of my new favorites are:

- Saudi Jeans - life and times of a university student in Riyadh
- The Religious Police - if I were funny, this man has the sense of humor I'd want
- Baghdad Burning - a blog so good, it was apparently turned into a book
- A Star from Mosul - jury still out, I just started reading this one
- Tell Me a Secret - I don't like the music, but incredible stories
- Anoniblog - a website which explains how to blog anonymously

It’s scary to think that there are still places on earth where something you write might get you thrown in jail, beaten, or killed. Actually, even though my logical brain knows this is true, the whitebread solid-middle-class American part of me can’t really wrap my head around it. Even as I was writing, “it’s scary to think blah blah blah”, I felt more “this is how I should feel” than “yes, it is truly scary and I do in fact feel sorrowful for people who are oppressed in this way.” Expected emotion rather than actual. That’s autistic tendencies, I suppose. It’s just words. I suppose I can say this because of my complete lack of talent with (or even control over) them.

Birthday Party (not mine, not yet)

Last night, we celebrated Juli’s quarter-century birthday at Jazz. Highlights included:

* In the pre-party category: the fact that I went to Hold and bought Juli’s gift, which included a lengthy conversation with the proprietress Zita on the topic of Juli’s tastes and my budget, all in Hungarian. I rock.

* As I was talking to Ági about her holiday, she broke into a fit of smiling animation when telling me how at the lousy party she and Geri went to, the first song they heard was “Emily’s song.” I spent a brief minute trying to remember what this might be (any guesses, reader....?) before she started humming, yes, “Don’tcha” by Pussy Cat Dolls. Wonderful.

* Watching Anita and Jacek, two fully grown adults, perfectly sober (as far as I know), playfully ruffling each others hair. All together now: aww......

* The Jazz serves a limited menu of food things, so as a birthday treat, Ági ordered for vegetarian Juli a plate of what was basically all the vegetables the cook could round up, deep-fat-fried. I helped her sample them. Deep-fat-fried broccoli? Absolutely amazing.

* Finally, towards the end of the evening, Geri taught us a drinking game which seemed remarkably like Circle of Death played with dice. But with fewer rules: roll a 9, person before you drinks. Roll an 11, person after you drinks. Roll double, you drink the number on one die and assign the others. Roll a four, grab your nose. Roll a 1 plus a 2, you become the Pigeon, and if anyone rolls a 3 on a single die after that, you drink. That’s it, I think. I miss Beloit.

I have also been up to various purposeful activities, such as coming up with new classroom games and discovering some incredible new blogs. But that'll come tomorrow.

First Weekend of the New Year

Gaines, understandably pleading jet-lag, stayed in Mezõberény Friday night but arrived in Szolnok Saturday morning. We had a generally good chill time, watching MTV (which she had feared maybe I would be sick of... silly girl), hanging out with Chad, and eating all three Saturday meals out: gyros, Pizza Pronto, and Fisherman’s Restaurant. Also included in the program were taking in a basketball game (where the Szolnoki Olaj soundly trounced their Kaposvári rivals) and watching About Schmidt, a well-made but generally depressing movie. Sunday morning followed in the same vein: brunch and MTV. And... and that’s it. An excellent way to start off a new season of visiting-weekends.

Speaking of weekends: several discussions with Gaines, trying to remember what happened which weekend, prompted me to make up the following list. I don’t know if anyone else other than me is at all interested in a walk down memory lane, but here goes:

August 27-28 - our last weekend of orientation; on Sunday we departed for our various cities (and villages)
Sept 3-4 - first weekend in out towns; most people stuck close to home
Sept 10-11 - the Gulyás Festival in Szolnok
Sept 17-18 - the Paprika Festival in Kalocsa
Sept 24-25 - I went to Budapest and hung out with Roz; others mostly went to Hernad and hung out in Laura’s school, and later in ditches
Oct 1-2 - Roz and I pleaded poorgirl-ality and didn’t make it away from Szolnok; others were hosted by Yerik and Jenna in Nyíregyháza
Oct 8-9 - Chad and I hosted another Szolnok weekend, which included both mini-golf and a high school party
Oct 15-16 - I was in Szolnok doing laundry all weekend; others...?
Oct 22-23 - weekend in Mezõberény, including the Sausage Festival in Békéscsaba
Oct 29-30 - Erdély, Transylvania
Nov 5-6 - myself in Szolnok; others...?
Nov 12-13 - again in Szolnok, with basketball and squash
Nov 19-20 - once more in Szolnok, getting stir-crazy
Nov 26-27 - wonderful Thanksgiving in Nyíregyháza
Dec 3-4 - I went to Szeged; I think others congregated in Budapest
Dec 10-11 - the great Budapest Birthday Bash weekend
Dec 17-18 - some people flew home; we gathered in Hernad for Jell-O and baking
Dec 24-25 - Christmas, obviously. We were spread out over the globe
And New Years Weekend, which is still too recent to need reiteration.

Egyedül (American-less)

Song of today: Area by the Futureheads

Your area's in ruin, Your area's in... ruin, Your area is free,
When it gets to the point that you're finished with me,
When it gets to the point that you're finished with me and all the first are ready.
Very certain that she has to go, where do you come from, what do you know?

They’re gone. After two weeks of various combinations of Americans living in my flat, the last one left today. Vacation truly over. Back to talking to myself. Back to cooking for one; back to not sharing the remote; back to not sharing the bathroom; back to sleeping alone, pantsless, in my own bed; back to drinking alone; back to amusing myself; back to obsessive text messaging; back to eating on my own schedule, on my own tastes. Back to solitude. Well, for 24 hours, at least - hopefully Gaines will come for the weekend.

One of my goals for the new year, one I have both the means and the will to keep, is to not spend any more weekends moping alone in Szolnok, unless I absolutely need to recharge. I have to either have visitors, or get out. Weekends keep me sane like very little else.

Happy New Year!

Theme song for the New Year: Foo Fighters, DOA

Yeah, you know I did it, it's over and I feel fine
Nothing you can say is gonna change my mind
Waited, and I wait at the longest night
Nothing like the taste of sweet decline
et cetera. And no one's getting out of here alive.

The remainder of our sweet decline, I mean break, played out about like you would think: we sat around, we drank, we watched a lot of MTV and movies. One day, we ventured out of the house to go see King Kong in the theater. Despite being dubbed, it proved to be an excellent movie - it even cured a hangover!

On Friday, Erin arrived, with some minor train-related drama. I had a mini-adventure which involved going to Bp. Keleti at 5 am, then waiting in the freezing bitter cold for hours, for a train that was three hours late, and which Erin wasn’t on anyway. But in the end, I bought a new hat, and she made it to Szolnok all by herself so all's well that... blah blah.

The other arrivals on Friday night were Kat, Jeremy, and Harpswell, freshly returned from their Grecian conquests. We had a relatively calm night without leaving the apartment to brave the nasty wind. Saturday morning, the three of them got up at an absurdly early hour (8 am! It’s still break, people!) to make it to their hostel in Budapest. The rest of us lazed around until mid afternoon, when we finally left the house. A highly entertaining train ride, involving beer, music, dancing, and random blurts of radio, got us into the city slightly before dark. Having not found anywhere better or cheaper, we begged a room at the Kollegium.

After dinner at Marchello’s, we met up with Kat, Jeremos, Harpswell, and Steve, their Aussie roommate from the hostel. After walking up and down the same street a couple times, we found Harpswell’s friend’s Tibi’s flat, where we made ourselves at home. As is usually the case when the Americans go anywhere, none of the Hungarians were dancing when we came in. We changed that.

We danced and drank right up until midnight. Actually, I had forgotten to be paying attention to the time, but the sudden shouting of “Tizenöt!... tizennégy!... tizenhárom!..” got my attention. Proudly, I was able to count backwards right along with the screaming Hungarians (Laura and I had been practicing earlier). Champagne (and beer) flowed. We all puszi-puszi-ed (the cheek kiss). Some people puszi-ed more than others, but hey, it’s holidays.

After Tibi’s, we headed to a bar/club down the street. I’m torn between which was better: the bonfire in the courtyard, the people capering madly around it, or the snowball fight that ensued. Or who knows?

Well, that’s half the story. I’m tired and I need to consider what to write further, so tune in later for the rest.

Movie Madness (and further adventures with my hot water)

First, the continuation of the water saga: for the past few days, once again, my hot water has been working off and on. It finally cut out yesterday, after I had showered but before Laura had. She ended up taking a two-inch bath using water boiled on the stove. Just like a real third-world country!

Today, I decided that official holidays were over, and if my contact teacher didn’t want to be bothered, she should never have given me her cell number. I messaged her, pestered, and she called the school. The vízszerelõ (water mechanic guy, who has been to my house three times, and each time claimed that he had fixed the problem) was unreachable, so the school sent over Páli, the older of the two handymen, who is well used to dealing with me and my lack of knowledge concerning gas, water, and Hungarian appliances. He showed up, tinkered, told me repeatedly how incompetent the vízszerelõ is, explained to me that everything in my flat is old and that's why it keeps breaking, fixed my broken faucet, called up the vízszerelõ to tell him what an idiot he is, fixed my water (for now, at least), and told me to call him if anything else went wrong. Páli is my new hero.

So, about the movies... although Laura and I remained dedicated devotees of MTV (and the newly discovered Animal Planet), we’ve also become great fans of the Turner Classic Movies Christmas Collection, which plays two or three English movies every night. So far we’ve watched the following:

Saturday night: part of The Searchers, followed by Hearts of the West (with link and quotes in the previous entry).

Sunday night: Kelly’s Heroes and Marlowe. The latter included quotes such as:
Marlowe saying to Bruce Lee: “You’re pretty light on your feet. Are you just a little bit gay?” and then Bruce Lee cartwheels off a building in rage.

Thug: Car.
Marlowe: Beep beep.
Thug: Car.
Marlowe: For a guy with a limited vocabulary, you sure do manage to get your point across.

Monday night: Cool Hand Luke and The Big Sleep. I don’t have quotes to back it up, but Humphrey Bogart was hilarious. Mostly due to the fact that racy dialogue of 1946 is still damn funny today.

Tonights is... neither Laura nor I remember. So you’ll have to tune in tomorrow (or whenever) to find out.

Poor Girls' Christmas Festivities, so far

On the first day of Christmas (Wednesday), I spent the day: rediscovering the joy of sleeping in (until 9 o’clock, at least), followed by a midday of collaging and drinking, completed by an afternoon and evening of Christmas shopping with Juli.

On the second day of Christmas (Thursday), Laura arrived for the duration of the holiday. We bought beer and food (including some highly unsuccessful “bratwurst”) and settled down to an afternoon of watching MTV and Animal Planet. We also called and messaged persistently the three unlucky people still in Hungary: Janos, Jenna and Yerik. We convinced the latter two to visit.

On the third day of Christmas (Friday), Jenna and Yerik arrived. As we were waiting for them at the train station, we discovered an amazing secondhand store in the second floor. In Hungary, they sell old clothes by the kilo, and at this particular store, the prices drop each day of the week until Friday (the day we were there), it’s 200 forint. So, for a grand total of 150 Ft (75 cents), I bought two shirts and a pair of pants. Laura made out similarly well.

The couple from NYR arrived. After massive grocery shopping, we came home and made tacos and hot wine. Best holiday dinner yet. In the evening, we headed over to Panorama, where we proceeded to drink, try to play good music between the techno, make fun of the drunken Hungarians (particularly the one who fell asleep on a bench, still wearing a plastic cowboy hat), and try to score free drinks (failed). After a couple hours, when we finally got some good music going, we got up and danced. Then the drunken Hungarians made fun of us. But one of their girls got up on a chair and did a sweet little dance that involved clothing coming off so I don’t think they should laugh too hard.

On the fourth day of Christmas (Saturday), the four of us had further cooking adventures involving the misuse of meat. Namely, some of the saltiest bacon on the face of the earth, and the “bratwurst” from days ago. Even Jenna’s cooking prowess couldn’t save the day. She did make us some great eggs...

Laura and I spent the rest of the day as we do best: watching MTV. We watched the European Music Awards again; just as good this time around. Um... I think we cooked something. In the evening, despite good intentions of waiting ‘til Christmas to tear into presents, we tore most of them open. Then we watched Hearts of the West, a movie which defies description, but contained such wonderful quotes as the following:

Andy Griffith saying about a pants-wearing woman: “Could be that her sexual interests are deviant.”
Random cowboy saying: “I know one tenderfoot gonna get his pecker shot shot off, he don’t turn in.”
Jeff Bridges saying to his girlfriend, after finding another man in her flat: “It’s just like back home - every time we have super supper, I get a peppercorn on the first swallow!”
Mull on that one.

Today, the fifth day of Christmas, isn’t yet over... so I’ll write more tomorrow.

The Sweet Taste of Freedom

I’m free! I’m free! For the remaining days of December, I have exactly one obligation (meeting Erin at the train station). No more school, no more private lessons, no more anything. Just lazing, watching MTV, eating and drinking.

This evening, my school had it’s end-of-the-year-and-Christmas party. We sat at the tables in the teacher’s room, which had been rotated and decorated. They brought out food and poured champagne. We were not allowed to touch either, however, until after students had recited some Christmas poems and played us some music. This was followed by a dramatic reading of a super-long poem, a tribute to Kassai and the teachers. Each teacher was mentioned and his or her various quirks or exploits mentioned. Finally we toasted, and ate. From what I hear, at some schools, the alcohol was flowing: not so at my school. We got one glass of champagne each. It was funny to see the stodgy older teachers get tipsy and jolly off just this. By 7, the other English teachers were standing and saying their good-byes, so I made my exit with them. But not before picking up my gift bags from the school. Everyone got the same selection of gifts, which include: a bag of coffee, a stick of sausage, a bottle of champagne, and a large bag of laundry powder. I pondered the meaning of this last item on the walk home. Is it something traditional? Does it signify the washing away of the old year? Is it a hold over from past times when major laundry was a once-a-year occurrence? In the end, I settled on the most logical explanation: my school is super cheap. But if anyone else received the same present, or has a better explanation, let me know.

It's apt... APT!

As we were trekking from Laura’s flat to the train station yesterday, Yerik made a rather crafty observation: he compared the CETPers to Roma. My immediate reaction (proof that I’ve been in Hungary too long, see below) was hesitation, offense even. But he laid out his comparison cleverly: we walk around in gangs; we drink copious amounts of alcohol; we’re poor; we dress differently; we speak our own language; people frequently stare at us with bewilderment and uncertainty. Really, between us and the gypsies, I’m not sure who the comparison is less kind to.

On a completely different topic, today I got to celebrate a completely inane and pointless event: today was my 119th day here in Hungary. What does this mean? Since last time I stayed for 118 days (yes, I counted), this is now the longest I’ve ever lived in Hungary. What makes it seem so odd to me is the fact that last time, I was already home by now. This time, I’m not even halfway done. If I were in a worse mood, that would depress me. But I’m not. Get thee behind me, gloom!

And because I just killed an entire afternoon reading trivia, check out this website: www.mindlesscrap.com.

Unrelated Incidents

The title is meant as a semi-warning. Just in case you expected me to write continuous, flowing prose: it’s not going to happen tonight. Right now, disjointed paragraphs is what I feel up to.

So how did my second Oxford class measure up to the first? I don’t know, because none of them showed up for class on Friday. Well, Jacek did, but since it was only him, I got to cut out early and make it to Laura’s a whole half hour earlier. It was dark, cold, and snowy. I got about 20 yards (or meters, if you prefer) down the highway and when a car stopped and offered me a ride. I debated with myself, for a good 5 seconds, if getting into strangers’ car, on a dark, cold and snowy night was a good idea. It was, and I did, and I made it to Laura’s. Unfortunately, Laura and Mariah had started walking out to meet me halfway, and neither had their cell phones on them. Long story short, they made it back, we drank, we had Jell-O. I love Jell-O. We called many, many people, some at unacceptably late hours. Sorry, guys.

In the morning, Laura’s bathroom exploded. There was a pool in the bathroom for a while. They shut the water off to the whole building, which was a problem because Laura, Mariah and I (some more than others) were in a certain Saturday-morning state where being able to drink water was crucial. Various town-dwellers stopped by to examine the excitement at the American’s apartment. Eventually, the plumber from Miskolc arrived and fixed the problem. Life went on. Other Americans arrived. We drank, made cookies, watched Monty Python. An excellent weekend.

On the way home, I was on the train from hell. It was as hot as a furnace, filled with people, and many of the windows were painted shut. Maybe the heat fried my brain, because as I was falling in and out of semiconsciousness, for the first time I was hit by a smidgen of Christmas-related homesickness. Part of it was the knowledge that some people (Chad and Gaines) are already home, and that several more are leaving this week. My every-second-Sunday phone call home didn’t help either: I mentioned getting a cat to my mom. She asked what I would do with it at the end of the year. I balked for a second, then blurted out something like, “Oh, well, maybe I’ll stay a couple of years... or maybe I’ll give it to someone else.”

I guess I never realized that she assumed I was only staying one year, because it’s such a given to me now, and to everyone that I’ve met here, that I’ll be staying here pretty much indefinitely. What can I do in the States? I’m not qualified to work as anything worthwhile, I don’t have the money or the scores to go to grad school yet. Here, simply by having had the luck to be born and raised in an English-speaking country, I’ve become a hot commodity. Why would I not take advantage of that?

After that conversation, I banished my gloom by decorating my tree. Yes, I bought a tree, a cheap, plastic, Cora tree. It’s a good size; with the special branches on top, it’s almost as tall as me. I decorated with tinsel and szaloncukor. So it’s scrawny, but shiny. I like it.

Wow, this turned out almost coherent. Good job, Em. I'm amazing.

Merry Christmas to me (or, being corny: The Four Christmas Gifts)

In an earlier entry, I think I promised to stop bragging about working at Oxford school. Fair warning, I’m about to reneg on that promise, but I think I have ample justification. Judge for yourself.

Today was the last meeting of my elementary-level class. It was a small class, only four students today; from the four of them I received four wonderful gifts (and maybe this will get cheesy, but too bad). The first gift was the fact that although I felt under-prepared at the beginning of class, we ended up not even using any of the materials I had. We just talked, simple, wonderful conversation, for the full 90 minutes. I told them about my American holidays, they told me about their Hungarian ones. We explained, we shared traditions, we laughed.

The second gift(s) were the physical, touchable kind (edible as well). They gave me sweets, a candle holder, a box of chocolates, and a bottle of Tokaji that Juli informed me was actually quite nice (read: expensive). Looking over the list, it probably doesn’t seem like much, so I guess to me it really was the thought that counted.

Gift three is the humor (mostly unintentional) and kindness they used in filling out their evaluations of me. Overall, their single complaint - and only from two of them - was that I talk too fast. But I was interesting, I was funny, I was nice, I was good. Which leads to gift number four, the fact that the majority of them will be continuing in the new classes next year. Maybe I oversell it to myself, but to my mind, nothing could verify my abilities as a teacher more than the fact that the students would willingly return for more.

All right, that was cheesy. But I won’t apologize. Besides, I can have some cheese now that I have a kick-ass bottle of wine to go with.

Another weekend, in Budapest

Well, I didn’t die. I’ll pause for a moment to let the obviousness (yes, it’s a word) of that statement sink in... okay, moving on. My gift turned out to be from the big man himself: St Nick, via Juli, gave me a bagful of Hungarian chocolates. Plus a packet of golden branches, which Juli explained is the equivalent of getting coal in America, only the bad children get them. I got just a small bundle. Hmph, St Nick needs to check his list better.

I also received some wonderful gifts on Friday night. First was the fact that both Laura and Jenna decided to show up together in Szolnok for the Oxford party. The party turned out not to be a drag after all (not that I ever thought it would be, ahem). Actually, I think we might have had a better time than the folks in Budapest, because when we drunk-dialled them at midnight, they were still hanging out, seemingly sober, at Roz’s.

But I get ahead of myself. The first part of the party went off as planned: musical performances, little plays, singing, and Chad’s (and Laura’s and my) presentation about American Christmas. After, Anita assigned each of us Americans to sit at a table of Hungarians and force English conversation with them. Oh, fun. Eventually, people drifted home, and Jenna, Laura, and I spent a good chunk of the evening talking to Csaba, one of my adult students, and his friend Geri. We discussed which country has the hottest people, why Hungarian women don’t drink beer, traded slang for various body parts and functions, and other vitally important things. I was forced to do the Gaines-face several times. It was great. If I were grading these classes, Csaba would totally get an “A.” He also gave me a Christmas card, my first one of the season. Another student, Dávid, gave me a pogacsa, because in the last lesson we talked about food and he remembered my raving about them. They’re my new favorite class.

Even after Csaba and Geri took off at midnight, we continued hanging out and drinking and dancing with Jacek and Dóri. I think this was the point we called the flock in Budapest, or they called us... who knows. When we finally left, Chad and Juli took off before we could hitch a ride with them, so Jenna and Laura and I walked a few blocks before giving up and hopping into a cab.

The next morning, we waited around in Szolnok, walked through the Christmas market, ate more gyros, and finally called Chad to make plans, only to find out that the punk had gone to Budapest without us. We plotted revenge. Eventually, we made our way to the train station, but not before stopping at a csemege to buy booze. Lots and lots of booze. And various other things for mixing. Drinking on the train turned out to be a surprisingly good idea; I think I may have to make it a regular habit. So we drank through the train ride. Drank through the metro ride. Drank through the extremely long walk across Árpád híd and to Roz’s. We were very happy to see everyone there.

The rest of the evening played out pretty much like every other time CETP gets together: we drank a lot. Ate pizza. Went to a club. Danced. Various people made out. Same old, same old. I remember thinking at one point (and, according to Allison, saying aloud several times), “I wanna go back to Szolnok. I’m going home now.” But I didn’t.

Sunday morning, again typical. Lazed around. Eventually, everyone was up and dressed. Janos ventured out and brought back Burger King and beer. Hajni stopped by; it was great to see her again. People took trains out at various times. I ended up on the same train with Mariah, Laura, and Jenna. After drama with the train tickets and reservations, we ended up sitting together in the dining car.

I don’t know what else to report. This entry’s really boring, but what I can I say? Nothing interesting happened that hasn’t happened, to some extent, every single other weekend we get together. Small things, sure, but the basic elements are all the same, since they have been from the beginning: booze, hormones, drama. Just sometimes the order changes. Not that I don’t love it, I really do, in all sincerity. I’m just pissy today. I’ve been feeling ‘twitchy’ lately. I don’t know any other way to describe it: it’s like a continuous caffeine high, like I have too much energy buzzing inside me, like I have to keep fidgeting to keep from exploding, like I want to run away. I don’t like it, it feels uncertain. Usually when I get twitchy, it precipitates me doing something impulsive. Frequently stupid.

This is particularly stressy, because my single December goal (other than various food-related ones) was dedramafication. Jenna and Laura agreed that this is an excellent goal, not only for me but for the world in general. I am failing.

English Competition: Day Three

Just a quick note about the final day of the competition phase of English week: today was a game for 5th and 6th graders in teams of 4, like a quiz game show or something. There was a complicated scoring system that involved a lot of adding, and which changed frequently. Despite this (or possibly, because of it) one of Kassai’s teams tied for first place. I don’t remember the other school exactly, either Hunyadi Mátyás or Mátyás Király.

I should write more, but I’m too distracted: Juli sprang it on me, just before they dropped me off, that there is some sort of gift waiting for me at Oxford. We played a super-fast game of 20 questions, from which I learned that it is of indeterminable size, left by a male, either very old or very young, who may or may not be one of my students from Oxford, Kassai, or somewhere else, and who Chad met yesterday; that it’s a present just for me, not in return for something I did but just because. And that I have to wait until tomorrow at 10 am to get it, because after I failed to remind Juli that she had something to give me, she and Chad refused to indulge me by returning to Oxford to get it.

If I die in my sleep tonight, it’ll be from anticipation.

Kassai Úti Á. I. English Competition: Day Two

If day one of the competition was fun and games, today was all business. Today, the judges - who were myself, Chad (aka “Varga’s American”), and Anita from Oxford - had a solemn responsibility: to determine the best English pronunciation from a selection of 6th graders and 7th graders. There were two in each grade representing Kassai. They each recited one story they had prepared, plus one that they had just been given. We picked 1st, 2nd, and 3rd places in each grade. I don’t even remember who got the 2nd and 3rd, because:

Kassai’s students walked away with both First Places.

And just to dispel doubts, I did not rig the jury. Both of the first place winners were just so clearly above and beyond all the other students, and Chad and Anita both independently came to the same conclusions before I even put in a word. So congratulations to Feri and Márton. For the first time, I have a warm and cozy pride-like feeling towards Kassai.

Kassai Úti Általános Iskola English Competition: Day One

I rescind my gloomy statement at the end of the previous entry. I do have something to keep my interest, for this week at least: my school is having a week of various English activities. There are recitals, competitions with other schools, plays and an English newsletter (for which I was interviewed last week, and had mostly forgotten about). And guess who gets to help judge all the competitions? That’s right, yours truly. I think half the reason Kassai organized the events was to show off their native speaker.

This afternoon was plays and poems by the 3rd and 4th graders of Kassai plus three or four (I couldn’t tell) other primary schools. There was no judging, because the children were too young, and they all got certificates of merit for participating. Highlights included:

- the 3rd grade girl in miniskirt and tank-top who recited with a cherubic smile, “I like coffee, I like tea, I like boys and boys like me.”
- when the wolf in “The Three Little Pigs” missed his line and improvised with “Rrrr! I eat you!”
- that Kassai’s 3rd graders chose “Brother John” (“Frére Jacques”) as an traditional English song.
- the big finale of Rákóczi School’s 3rd grade dance number: fire. They gave each little angel and devil (and old man, and granny, and cat, and dog) a sparkler to wave around in the dramatically darkened gymnasium. Amazingly, no one was harmed.

The other highlight of my day was when, in the course of talking about what we want for Christmas, one of my 8th graders offered to be my boyfriend. The conversation went something like:
me: For Christmas, I would like a digital camera, and some new clothes, and-
him: Underwear? A bra?
me, slightly thrown off: Um, yeah, maybe. Maybe my boyfriend will buy me some. I mean-
him: Maybe I can be your boyfriend?
me: I think that might not be legal. Among other things.
him: Yes, yes. I’m only joking.
me: Okay, moving on...

In most cases, this whole episode would make me terribly uncomfortable. Because it was this specific student, it came off as being just sweet and funny.

Weekend in Szeged

Having spent the last two weekends in Szolnok, then Nyíregyháza, this weekend I moved a step further towards a real city by visiting Szeged with Juli, Chad, and Janos. Any weekend that can involve such varied amusements as death metal one day and ice skating the next has to be a great one. Highlights, in roughly chronological order, include:

- Gyongyi, the kind and generous friend of Juli’s who vacated her apartment for a night so we could have it. My favorite part was the fact that she forgot to bring extra clothes to her boyfriends, so we had to deliver them to her this morning, and she came out to meet us wearing only a big, blue bathrobe.

- getting Juli to drink alcohol for the first time (theme song: “Californication”)... and having her admit the next day that she liked it.

- the first bar we went to was this cave-like cellar, in which the walls were covered by the scrawlings and doodlings of past patrons. My favorite: “Az alkohol az emberiség ellensége” (alcohol is the enemy of mankind).

- the four giant men sitting hunched on stools like gargoyles, guarding the entryway of the second club we went to

- the Hungarian death metal band with the trombone player... surprisingly good

- when Janos bought me beer in a bottle, just in case I needed to bash someone’s head with it. Apparently I looked twitchy enough to take someone out. I did try to strangle Chad later in the car, but only because he tried to crush my kneecaps.

- Chad trying to cheer up the depressed Hungarian teenagers sitting in a McDonalds at midnight by giving them his Happy-Meal toy and Coke.

- Janos knocking the picture off the wall at 4.30 in the morning, making a huge crash and nearly taking out Gyongyi’s massive towers of CDs

- Chad wearing Gyongyi’s red and black rayon shirt, two sizes too small... and actually letting us take pictures of him, which will be posted here as soon as possible

- seeing the sights of Szeged with Juli as our expert tour guide - namely, the Dom tér (pictures here and here), then walking around, through the Christmas markets, and drinking hot wine

- going ice skating, not falling, having a beer, skating more, and still not falling. Amazing.

- two fantastic lunches: chili on Saturday, followed by Mexican food on Sunday. My usual diet of pasta, bread and butter has lost all appeal.

To be perfectly honest, after spending such a great lazy, chill weekend, most of my normal routine has lost all appeal. Right now, I’m living for Christmas break. Weekends have to keep me sane until then.

A month in review

First and foremost, I apologize again for the cop-out and general poor quality of the previous entry. I have no excuse but to say once again that the feast-booze-lethargy combination fried my brain.

Getting to the business of the day: if you recall (as I’m certain you all don’t), at the beginning of the month (the 6th; you can read the entry here) I created a list of “November Goals.” How did I do? Hm, not great. I would give myself a 3. Or a B-. The goals and results follow:

- Home repairs and interior decoration. Hot water fixed, check. Furniture moved, albeit slowly and painfully, check. Postcards made into wall art, which I look at every day and still makes me happy, supercheck. I’m satisfied that I’ve fulfilled this goal to the best of my financial and physical means.

- Getting a library card. I had a meeting with a new potential private student, and she chose the library as a neutral meeting place. We met in the library entryway before walking to my place. This was the closest I got. This goal: complete failure.

- Making onion rings. I tried. They were okay. I feel they could only improve with practice, so I’ll make that an informal December goal. Note to self: perfect the art of onion rings.

- Collage and fabric. Obviously, rubber cement made my “Thankful List.” Rach, you’ll be happy to hear that I’m back on track. I’ve made two 4x6s, which I’m sure is pathetic next to however many wonders you’re cranking out. Like the onion rings, this is one to continue next month.

- International Driver’s License. Near-complete failure. The only thing I did was take some passport photos. Whenever they get developed, I can move to whatever the next step is.

- And being a better teacher in general. Well, the whole long month of November had been one long downhill for this goal. The first, second week after break I was good. Oh, I was so good. I had lesson plans, I had attentive students, I even had some days when I was excited for my 7.30 classes. Third week, I was mostly back to normal: some good lessons, some bad. Some preparation, some nothing. This last and fourth week: I’m awful. Apathetic. Unsympathetic. Unplanned. I’m hoping that next week, as a fresh week of the last month, I’ll become inspired again.

So that’s it. I’m working on a list of December goals, but so far I haven’t come up with any that are interesting or publishable. Next week.