469: Hello, Microbes

As a teacher, you learn one fact about changing your job. You are going to get sick. Not of life, or of the job (though sometimes that does happen), no: literally, you will get physically sick. See, here’s how that happens:

When you work in one school for a number of years, your body develops antibodies against all the local germs that the darling kiddies you are working with (regardless of their age) bring to school and share with all and sundry – including you. So, after a few years, you manage to stay reasonably well, because you have already suffered thorough all the local varieties of common cold, influenza, etc., etc., etc., and now you are mostly immune and can stay mostly healthy.

When you change your job, and go to a new school, guess what you are meeting along with all those interesting new people? Yep. All those uninteresting, new, local microbes. You are going to get sick. The fact that you are working with children, and lots and lots of them (nearly 800 in this new school) does not help that situation. Children are still learning to wash their hands and blow their noses, and when to stay home and be sick in private, and when it is OK to be sick and come to school (like, virtually never). So you quite literally shake hands with lots and lots of new (to you) varieties of germs. Now multiply that truth by the interesting complexities of germ adaptation in totally new countries in different parts of the globe.

Yep. *cough*

*sniffle*

You got it. No, actually, I got it.

*sigh*

468: Dancing Horizontally

Dancing is courtship in action.

The entire process of selecting your partner, negotiating non-verbally as you fit your bodies together gracefully, holding hands, beginning to move in rhythm, matching pace, catching the personal scent of your partner as you move closer – all of that, and more besides, mirrors the courtship that occurs

when the dancing is not vertical, but horizontal.

 

 

467: Hope Flowers

I’m wrapped a little too tight.

You are tugging at my layers, gently

slowly, easing the shields aside

opening up the flower

that I could become

in your hands.

You are bringing forth hidden dreams

and igniting the hope

that this time it won’t

come crashing down into another twisted wad of tangled tears.

You are scaring me

please don’t stop.

466: Processing Me

At any new employment, there occurs the process of processing the new employee. There are papers to sign and forms to fill out, medical checks to complete, introductions to be made, and orientation tours to be taken, among other processing tasks, like training the new person.

I am right in the middle of that process of processing me. Every one else here has been employed since the start of the academic year in August. I am replacing a person who departed mid-year, so I am being processed all by my little old self. This is interesting, since previously, I have always been part of a group of new hires. I have never been THE (one and only) new hire. Hmmmm.

Easier to fade into the crowd. Hard to fade into a crowd of one.

465: Welcome to Kazakhstan

Well. It’s been one whole day in my new country: Kazakhstan! I finally got the work visa approved, and since you must have your visa in hand before you can fly, that took some time and doing. The Kazakhstan Embassy in Washington, D.C. does not accept mail, or other deliveries like Fed Ex or UPS. Because of this, you either have to GO there and take your documents in person and then go back a week later and pick them up (from ATLANTA), or, you have to pay for a courier service to do that for you. Easy decision, that one.

It was two full days (48 hours plus about 10 more) to get here, what with three flights and two lengthy layovers, one in Amsterdam and one in Almaty. Almaty is in Kazakhstan, and is one of its two largest cities. The other one is Astana. One is the capitol, and the other one is the largest city. I forget which is which, but I am sure I will learn.

The one funny thing in Almaty’s airport terminal, while I waited over eight hours on my next flight, was that workers came around prising up from the benches (where weary travelers were sitting, waiting on their flights), the CUSHIONS from the bench seats. ???? They did not ask any of us who were seated to move, but they scarfed the cushion right next to me…..? Interesting, I could not help but giggle over it.

The other thing I will get to learn is some Russian. Seriously. The other language they speak here (could not be just one, huh?) is Kazakh. *sigh* And, like Arabic, this one has another new alphabet, too.

Well. At least the apartment the school furnished is nice. It is pretty bare in the kitchen, which I will have to remedy, but it will certainly do, and it is free – a perk of the job. No complaints, believe me. I can buy a few dishes.

This morning, a colleague at the school who is named Georgia (! my home state, what a great good omen) came to take me shopping for a few necessities to get through the first week. The stores are only a couple of blocks away – no bus or taxi fares! The school is only about a mile and a half away, too – shared taxi should be reasonable, too.

My first dinner consisted of one of the new grains in the supermarket – I think wheat berries, plus carrots and potatoes. Root crops are very reasonably priced. Packaging is interesting. More glass jars than cans. Good for reusing. I like it, except for when (not if) I break one getting them home.

Yes, it  is cold (15 degrees Fahrenheit), but the apartment is warm. Tomorrow is the first day at work, so I am excited enough to be uninterested in sleeping, darn it. Clothes laid out, Panama cell phone set to Kazakh time as my alarm clock/watch, since I forgot to pack any watches and the darn cheap thing does not work here in this country, anyway.  Makes a good alarm clock, though, so I’m keeping it. I bought an electrical adapter today, so my laptop, tablet, Kindle reader, cell phone and tablet are all charged. Woo Hoo! New job, new life, here I come!

464: Being Southern and Female

Southern women are a chaotic blend of practicality and helplessness. Our problems often stem from being successful at both concurrently. Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone With The Wind, understood this dichotomy quite well and clearly, baldly described it for the rest of the world (not living or raised in the South) in her character description of Scarlett O’Hara, villainess/heroine (whichever view you take, both are equally valid) of that splendiferous novel.

Scarlett had a helpless streak that she used every time a man was around, because, of course, that was what a southern belle was supposed to do – depend on her man. SHE is too feminine to be subject to distasteful things such as bad language, financial difficulties, boorish manners, or anything else she wants to avoid. She gets a pass, solely based on possessing ovaries. Every southern man knows women are delicate magnolia blossoms that bruise at a firm touch. This view is pervasive in the south even today. You can still be publicly castigated by all and sundry for using foul language in the presence of ladies. Even if no one is willing to speak up and say anything about your public display of boorishness, you’ll get dirty looks for abusing feminine sensibilities. Imagine. This puts a lot of pressure on southern ladies, too. We know we are not supposed to swear, even when the situation warrants it, which occasionally does happen. We are also not supposed to sweat. Hello. The south is not noted for temperate climate. It gets freaking hot, especially in summer. There is an old saying about how horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies “glow.” WTF is “glow?” ??

Scarlett also had a ruthless streak of practicality, when her men were not falling into line with what she had predetermined she wanted them to do. She did it herself, by God, and damn the consequences. I personally like and prefer this aspect of femme fatale Scarlett’s dual personality. I can identify with it more easily than the helpless personna. It requires less acting on my part. It’s also a damn sight less embarrassing, too. And it permits discreet cussing, under the breath.

Works for me.

 

463: Hallelujah

 

Life is good. It isn’t perfect, not my any means, but it is good. Why is it not perfect?

Well. There is that whole issue of being alone in a crowd. Going it solo is not exactly the preferred option in living, at least not for most people. There are a few who consciously choose it, but let’s face it, most of those who are doing it did not choose it that way. There is the drive to be paired. Even those who have determined for themselves that they prefer their own gender still have the desire to be paired.

So, where does that leave me? Looking, that’s where.

Pass the communion wafers. I am ready to partake in the blessings.

462: Slap in the Face

Wow. Sometimes it takes the astute observation of another person to make you realize you have not been honest with yourself. I like to think that I am honest with myself (who doesn’t?), that I am fairly logical and think things through. Well. NOT. Looks like I have some work to do.

I am divorced.

Nobody likes admitting and looking at failure, particularly when it is their own failure. I skirted around this issue, being divorced, because it’s just easier, and there is less to deal with socially, if I just don’t mention it. That is a form of lying to myself, and to others as well. My marriage ended, formally on paper at least, about a year ago.

The problem with loyalty as a character trait is that sometimes it gets in the way of taking action that you know that you need to take. Especially when it involves people you care about. The person you cared enough about to marry is a prime example. When a divorce is amicable, with the good of both partners considered, no fireworks or screaming, it can be another problem all in itself. Screaming and anger makes it much easier to walk away – run away, probably. We did not do that, even though I did move, on my own, to another country.

So, for a time after the paperwork was finalized, we communicated, and continue to do so. I don’t hate the man. I just could not continue to live with him. Being friendly, even on a long-distance basis (we were in different countries, for Pete’s sake) led to the idea that possibly, somewhere down the road, the relationship we had (mostly a good one) might be resurrected. I toyed with it, I considered it. I know better. I always knew better. I just wasn’t facing it.

As time moved on with no change in his circumstances, and as part of my own process of moving on, I took a new job in a new country. And, I joined an online dating site – determined to do something concrete to begin the search, once again, for a life partner (by long-distance, written communication first, where there was no physical attraction to gum up the works). I hoped that getting to know someone intellectually first, discovering common ground in interests, values and goals in advance of a face-to-face meeting, might make for a more secure foundation for a long-term relationship that what I had done in the past. So far, so good. Nice theory, and I hope it works.

It took an astute comment from someone I met online (who is thoughtful and wiser that I), however, for me to finally come face-to-face with my own intellectual dishonesty – to myself and to others. I was still referring to my ex-husband as my husband, and I have been doing that for some time. Even when I met with him one last time to discuss the future and how I did not want it to include us as a couple, I continued to refer to him as my husband….not my ex-husband.

Damn. I am not liking what I see in the mirror today. It stinks being ashamed of yourself, especially when it was something you did to yourself. and you have absolutely no one else to blame but your own stupid self.

461: Beginning Yet Again

 

*sigh*

Starting over again. In some ways, this is exciting,with a world of new possibilities and opportunities out there, just waiting to be experienced and enjoyed. This is the way I want to view the process – bright with hope and joy, looking for bigger, better, more beautiful things and people. Positive thinking (and the power that comes along with it), is certainly the best choice, and choosing is what is happening right now as I look up this new trail with all its intriguing overlooks, new scenery, side trails leading off to scenic, hidden delights, and fascinating passers-by just waiting to be met and to become new friends. Starting over. I have the chance to start over! It is an opportunity denied to many. New horizons, here I come!

Still, with all of its advantages and possibilities, starting over is a time to be prudent. Take time to get to know the place, the people and the possibilities before leaping, willy-nilly, off of the cliff. Don’t get me wrong, cliff leaping is not a bad thing in and of itself. As an enthusiastic, roller-coaster fan of old, I certainly am not one to denigrate the feeling of excitement and the thrill of adrenaline as your feet leave solid ground and you launch out into clear blue sky. Having said that, I prefer launching out when I have at least some clear idea of what awaits at the landing zone. Cactus is not my idea of clear sailing.

Still and all, even with the faint threat (discounted, certainly) of disaster, I am launching myself into a brand-new beginning. Hey, you can drown in your own bathtub, for Pete’s sake! I prefer to test the waters, sail the sky and seek the wind. Then, at the end of the day, I can settle in front of the fire with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate, and be happy in my own skin. Cheers!

460: Bird’s Eye View

I have just experienced a bird’s eye view of professional truck driving. It was only a week and a half, so that is why it is a fly-over view only, but it formed some definite opinions within me about driving professionally in general, and federal bureaucrats in particular.

I am a 25 year teaching veteran (MS and HS mostly, domestic and international, all-but-dissertation status on a doctorate in education), and I am a reflective person. This means I tend to ruminate upon my experiences, seeking deeper meaning and thought behind what appears upon the surface of things. Not everybody does that, unfortunately.

What I learned in a week and a half as a passenger in a big rig traveling the roads of America is that our lawmakers are genuine, slobbering, drooling idiots. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why they made the laws that they made that all truck drivers now have to follow. They did it in a pathetic, uneducated attempt to reduce highway fatalities due to truck/car accidents, where, let’s be real, generally the car loses. What lawmakers failed to take into account when they made the new laws about how many hours trained, tested, certified, commercial truck drivers are allowed to drive is that most (80%) of all car/truck accidents are the fault of the car driver. http://www.trucking.org/ATA%20Docs/News%20and%20Information/Reports%20Trends%20and%20Statistics/02%2012%2013%20–%20FINAL%202013%20Car-Truck%20Fault%20Paper.pdf

http://www.overdriveonline.com/report-car-drivers-at-fault-in-nearly-80-percent-of-car-truck-crashes/

So, like the morons they ARE (I am a teacher and have had lots of experience with uneducated federal lawmakers trying to “fix” education, too), they added new, restrictive laws to truck drivers, instead of to the people who are causing all the trouble with those truck/car accidents in the first place. JUST LIKE EDUCATION, they played the only string they could see to play. I am a career teacher, and I am good at it. But, you know what? If you (as the student) are not interested in learning what I have to teach you, guess what? I can take you to that water and hold your squirming head under it until you DROWN, and you as the student do not have to drink it. I present it, and give you opportunities to experience it, discover it, and practice it until you learn it – get that? Until YOU LEARN IT. I cannot learn it for you – I already know it, because I paid attention in class, nitwit. The teacher is not entirely responsible because you did not learn. Just like the trucker is not entirely responsible for all your accidents, either. BUT – as a federal lawmaker, you are playing the one string you can play and trying to call it a symphony.

What lawmakers have done with their new driving hours law is tempt normally safe drivers to drive tired (unsafely) because of your new regulations. It used to be when a trucker was tired, he could pull over and sleep, whether he had been driving 11 hours or only four hours. Not anymore. Now, he has to drive, tired or not, because of the allowed hours per day. If he pulls over for safety reasons, he is penalized monetarily for losing some or all of the day’s allotted drive time. How many times do you think his freight company will permit that before he is fired? Thanks, federal lawmakers, for making the roads genuinely less safe because of a few spectacular truck accidents where the driver might actually have been at fault (it does occasionally happen), just exactly like you try to make every safe and legal gun owner pay for the crazy, irresponsible few. Just exactly like you punish every caring, hard-working, skilled teacher for students who choose not to study and do their assignments and homework.

New idea – how about we just get rid of the lawmakers and see how we do all by ourselves?