Should be homeworking

Amanda and I have started language classes and while I should be journaling my day in the local language, I need to process a bit. (I figure I can't pour anymore in until I pour some out.)

So here are some random experiences/thoughts from the other day:

I thought I saw a trolley on Monday, only to hear honking moments later. The bus had managed to snag a low hanging phone line and pulled it half a block before the bus stopped. The driver got out, unsnagged it, pedestrians moved it off the road, and the journey continued.

Had a great language lesson on the minibus Tuesday. Some kids got on with a Spiderman comic book. They taught as I pointed to Dr. Octopus and other villians. I think they tried to teach me the word for "webslinger."

I have one major project I've been attempting but with no success - a light cabinet. Because of the humidity here, people put a five watt lightbulb in the their warddrobes, spice cabinets or whatever they want to make a bit drier. The light stays on all the time and dries the space without creating too much of a firehazzard. The problem is, how do you explain what four or five parts you need from a hardware store when you have none of the language? I'll try again today.

The most terrifying part of language class comes at the end when we are expected to roleplay without a script. My language ability is squarely in between the abilities of my two classmates - one has already been using a tutor for a month or two and the other is still jetlagged with three kids and is in the process of moving to a less infested house. Stagefright has never been one of my favorite things.

We've had our semiautomatic washing machine for less than three weeks and already the spinner doesn't work. This is a fact that the houseworker has known about for sometime but didn't mention it. Or if she did, it was somehow lost in translation. The repairman will come out today (he was supposed to yesterday).

For at least the next 17 days, I am taking morning classes while Amanda meets in the afternoon. We see eachother for breakfast and in the evenings. Lunch will consist of us exchanging important information like if the washing machine got fixed, if @ pooped in potty, or if water got delivered. If I walk home, that gives us about fifteen minutes to talk. Not cool since we're used to spending about 16 hours a day together.

I was excited the other day when at language orientation they expalined that "next we will introduce our power tools." Come to find out what they meant was a poster showing how to ask questions in the "local langauge" (a phrase from here on out to be abbreviated however I feel like next time I use it.

I had my first motorbike experience yesterday. One of my teachers lives near here and he gave me a lift home. I want one! But we agree with our friends that we won't be making any vehicle purchases until we have enough language to talk ourselves through an accident.

But I think I'm sort of enjoying this. It'll be better once @ is pottytrained. And I can spend more time exploring with my wife. And we learn the language. And we're out of the rainy season. And the roof gets fixed...

Random Thoughts of life here

Just some things that have popped into my head since arriving here on The Island:

We have a pink plastic bathroom door that has a red "occupied" indicator when you close it and a green one when it's available. I think it may have been salvaged from the short-lived Virginia Slims airline from the 1970s. We've come a long way baby.

They sell Pepsi Blue. I haven't tried it but will. On a related note, soda always tastes better from a glass bottle.

It is hot - like Florida hot - but totally liveable with a fan and a cool washdown.

Within days of arriving in a new country, I almost always feel more at home than I do while in the US. I love Singapore but could never afford to live there.

I think our houseworker ironed my underwear yesterday. I don't have enough language to tell her to stop.

I once again am Yonatan or Yonathan.

My wife is in rare form when has a goal - like putting together a house. Amazingly talented woman.

Our new favorite store is Jimmy's. No sign out front of this ordinary house. In the livingroom are things like Dr. Pepper and cereal and Maple Syrup - whatever expats like most.

Price Check:
Bus to downtown - .30
Double bacon cheeseburger - $2.50 (Note: Must find out where they sell bacon.)
One game of Time Crises II or Dance Dance Revolution - .30
Hotel in Singapore when nothing else is available - $175
Cost of a better room at the YMCA - Under $100
Spaghetti with chicken on top - .90
Nerf Hoop and ball at Subway - Free with a Kid's meal
Mini multi-tool - 2.00 after gift certs. from Singapore Air

We live in a neighborhood cut from the jungle. It feels a lot like the Grandma and Granpa Bunkers home in Venice, Fl that started out on the edge of the swamp only to end up in the middle of the subdivision.

Got a couple of dinner invites already. Odd that a person we spent a summer with in Africa has been a bit more standoffish.

Am looking forward to walking to language school with my wife in the mornings. Maybe we'll hold hands or I'll offer to carry her books.

I really look forward to learning to ride a scooter/cycle. I may get a bike once I have a better feel for the rules of the road and see if I can buy a bike helmet for my big noggin.

I'm reading Finn by John Clinch - a story of Huck's dad. I think I'll be recommending it but no call yet.

Oh, I need to find out if there's an English book store in town. But a bookshelf is first.

Amanda video messengered with her mom today over the internet. It was a bit like talking to the space shuttle but you can't beat the price - only the cost of our internet service. Who else has a web cam? (Mom or dad - you'll have one coming sometime soon. Pete can show you how to work it.)

We've fallen into the rut of using our African when we don't have the local word for things. We still use Italian to say goodbye.

Lots more thoughts but enough for now.

Things int'l travel and hospitals have in common

Before you leave:
You never know exactly what to pack or how to dress.
Sure, pack reading material or work from the office but know you won't get to it.
All your expectations will be wrong.
Despite great scheduling on your part, once you get out of the car all bets are off.
As simple as the procedure is supposed to be, you make sure your will and house are in order.
You hear a lot of "we'll be praying for you."
Lots of paper work. Pull out the plastic. Try to remember dates and numbers that you need for no other occasion but this one.
Excuses: Can I afford it, does this really have to be done now, by you?

During:
You're told to get some rest only to have the lights turned on, be poked, prodded or fed every few hours.
You can't use your cell phone until it's over.
Rarely does your sleep pattern and the person's next to you match up.
Light-headed, nausea or general groggyness is part of the deal.
The light is anything but natural.
Do I talk to the person next to me or keep quite.
Meals come with limited choices.
You rarely eat everything on your tray. It looks better than it tastes and could probably use more salt and sugar.
There is never enough butter or jam.
Catsup is only offered with breakfast.
Silverware is just a bit wonky - too flat, too small or just oddly shaped. Sometimes there are sporks involved.
Not everyone you encounter will end up in the same place. But everyone will end up somewhere.
The batteries for your electronic devices won't last long enough and there is no place to charge them.
The music isn't your choice.
The people waiting on you look prettier at the beginning of their shift than at the end.
Bumps.
Parts of your backside fall asleep when the rest of you isn't.
You weren't sure how to dress but by the look of everyone else you see, neither did they.
Getting up to use the bathroom involves calculation, timing, some help and a bit of luck.
Entertainment is temporary.
How long things are supposed to take and how long they do take are two different things.
Nothing is in your control.

After:
The world looks different, bighter, louder, busier.
You have to relearn to walk.
There is an odd taste in your mouth.
More paperwork.
People are happy to see you but aren't sure how to hug you.
You can't carry your own bag.
There is a change in perspective that can't quite be pinned down but that you don't want to risk losing too quickly.
As long as you can walk away, it was at least somewhat successful.
People can relate but few will truly understand what it was really like.
You are thankful it is over.

Who is out there?

I've done something I'll likely regret. I've removed the "bloggers only" feature on my comments. But there's a reason:

I have a map that shows me the general locations of where people are viewing me from but not who is looking. And I know that there are some of you who probably don't have blog accounts. Like many of you, I don't comment very often on the blogs that I read, even those I read daily. But I really have no idea who is reading this. So...

If you're reading this, please comment.
1. Let me know who you are.
2. Tell me where you are (Some of my map dots really run together).
3. Tell me how often you check this blog.
4. Optional: Come up with a better name for this blog than the current one.

I hope this didn't sound too weird.

More books

Consider this more of a personal post-it note.

A character in Ngugi wa Thiong'o's The Wizard of the Crow thinks we should read:

Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta

Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga

So Long a Letter by Mariam Ba

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Fault Lines by Meena Alexander

Women Writing in India, We Were Making History by Susi Tharu

I can't confirm it but I think a couple of those names were either made up or invented when someone dropped their latte on their keyboard.

Another List

The following is another top ten literature list - this one compiled by J. Peder Zane. He had 125 living authors come up with their top ten and then, using statistical analysis came up with the following:

1. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
2. Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
3. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
4. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. Hamlet by William Shakespeare
7. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
8. In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust
9. The Stories of Anton Chekhov by Anton Chekhov
10. Middlemarch by George Eliot

What bothers me most is not what is included on the list but how little of it I've read. I know I've read three of them, maybe as many as four - didn't I have to read Middlemarch while in college?

Thankfully, no Ulysses.

Beyond Mondo

Following Amanda's lead, here is my list of "things for the future I'd really like to do, some of which seem beyond me while others might really be possible" - also known as my Mondo Beyondo List:

1. Be down to 210lbs by Christmas 2007.
Beyondo: Reach the middle range for my optimal weight - somewhere around 175.
2. Be proficient enough in our new language to be able to teach basic ESL.
Beyondo: Be able to read the next Harry Potter book in the new language.
3. Begin playing a brass instrument again.
Beyondo: Relearn to sightread both the bass and treble clef.
4. Climb either Mt. Kenya or Kilimanjaro for my 40th birthday. (Only 7 years to train! Anyone want to join me?)
Beyondo: Climb/hike a major mountain on each continent other than Antarctica.
5. Purchase a gift for my wife that will make her cry.
Beyondo: Actually surprise my wife with the above-mentioned gift.
6. Learn to ride a motorcycle.
Beyondo: Not get in a motorcycle accident or cause serious injury to myself or others.
7. Eat tofu...by choice.
Beyondo: Order and enjoy squid, octopus or any organ-based dish at a restaurant.

More to be added as they come to me.

Sad

First Jim, now the Cowboys. Is anyone not let down?

Citizen Jonathan

As I was getting the newspaper this morning I heard the rather disturbing sound of a smoke alarm going off in the distance. Somewhere there was that shrill, piercing noise that can only mean that somebody burned popcorn or boiled water.

So in an act of heroic thoughtfulness, I came back inside. (Don't worry, I didn't stay there.) I tracked down my slippers, woke my wife, got my coat and grabbed my keys. Because every hero needs a dorky sidekick or, in this case, a sexy partner in stretch leather, a cape and boots, Amanda set out with me in the wet morning to find the source of this noise.

Together we narrowed it down to not coming from any of the apartments in our complex. It sounded like it was coming from the neighborhood beyond our back wall, which was out of view. Resolved that we couldn't see or smell smoke and that we really didn't know what to tell the fire department if we did call 911 (no idea what the name of the street behind us is), we were ready to give up. Until...

I realized the sound was actually coming from the apartment complex's dumpster. Sitting on top was a mound of replaced smoke detectors. No one had taken the batteries out of them when they got upgraded to smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. I guess the rain shorted one of them out, thus the shrill noise. Battery removed, we went back in for breakfast.

Daily heroic duty accomplished.

Kevin Moon Party??

I feel like it really should happen since we got a Christmas card from the man himself. Johnny D had suggested it but I don't think anyone was able to coordinate things in time to have it done before Christmas (Or we were snubbed). So let's set a date now.

How about mid or late January? People will have recovered from the holiday rush. Amanda and I will still be around (although possibly relocated to my folks' house in Lexington). Location? If we really wanted to take it to the extreme we could do it on location - Starved Rock, for instance? Or someother resort where we might be able to get off-season rates for those who'd like to spend the night? Depending on when Kess and Jen start school in Iowa, I think a Friday/Saturday might be best for them. Other schedule issues/preferences? Time?

Let's see if we can't get this nailed down by the new year.

Oh, and if you are reading this and have even the foggiest notion of who Kevin Moon is, you're invited.

Christmas Card Revelations

One of the great parts of (Amanda) sending out something like 200 Christmas cards is what we learn from the responses. We get the usual family letters where you get the sentence or two about each of the two-legged members - and often the four-legged members as well. The photos quickly found their way to fridge. Amanda and @ have strung the first wave of cards and they will soon decorate the windows. But there are also the suprises.

We found out that someone we've always sent cards to has been dead for three years.

Someone else responded that they've gotten cards from us twice but don't really know who we are.

Phil, yes Phil, now has a beautiful blonde toddler. To my dissappointment her name doesn't rhyme with either Phil or Jill. (First Jo and Joe crush my hopes, now this). Umm, I know I've been out of the loop but she looks like she'll be entering college soon. They grow up so fast...

It's great hearing about new jobs and growing families and life. I think I'm a bit desparate to cling to this normality since we'll likely be spending Christmas in 90 degree heat next year.

New name???

Every few years I find myself searching for, or getting, a new name. I was Jon-Jon when I was little. I took on the short-lived Bob in gradeschool. Juan (say it quickly along with my last name and you may get the sixth grade quality joke) was ironed on to a souvenir t-shirt. In college I took on the more "adult" Jonathan. Kenya, I was Ekai meaning "house," due to my relational size. A certain significant someone who just turned 30 would occasionally simply refer to me as Boy. @ started out calling me something sounding a lot like Doggie. In our last permanent home I was Mr. Yonatan. And now it is time for yet another change.

But not for me.

I need a new name for this blog. Geographically, it won't make sense soon. I need something not bound by location. Unique, but not so much that it looks like I'm trying too hard. Easy to remember. Short. Normal spelling. No punctuation. Somehow connected to who I am but without offering too many incriminating details.

Suggestions???

America's Most Influential 100

I just love lists! And with this one, I'll admit, I'm all but clueless. How does a person really guage influence on American culture? Sure, at this moment, in some aspect(s) of American life, in some geographic areas, based on some particular worldviews, this might true. But then again, it might not.

In addition to the usual questions of whether the order is right, or if certain people should/shouldn't be included on the list, what I'd really be curious to hear is how high up the list does your cultural intelligence reach? At what number do you admit "I've heard that name but couldn't really tell you for sure who that is"? (For me, it's #36.) And at what number do you just respond "Who?" (#69).

Given the lack of comments I've seen recently, maybe I should tag some of those of you who have been around a bit: Josh, Johnny D, Barry (of course), Just Pete and anyone else who'd like to chime in.

Lessons from the Amazing Race

As travel junkies, Amanda and I have really loved watching the Amazing Race. The stunts, the exotic locals, the food, the chance to meet new people...

And though I'm hardly a novice when it comes to travel, the Race shows that I must be doing something wrong. So I've come up with some Travel Truths gleaned from The Amazing Race:

No one ever looks gross after a twelve-hour flight - except for Rob and that's because he's apparently lost his razor.

Even after eating cowlips, no one even gets traveler's diarrhea. Or even has to use the bathroom during the entire length of the race.

Jetlag is a myth.

There are no beggars in other countries.

Getting through customs is simple.

Police officers in other countries are always nice and sometimes even let you follow them to your destination.

No one ever asks for a bribe.

It is perfiectly safe to drop your backpacks anywhere along the streets while running to your destination.

People always love Americans.

You can always find two seats together even when you manage to get the last seats on an airplane.

Powerbars are available everywhere.

Bottled water is available everywhere.

There are no ridiculously long lines in airports.

You can ignore dress codes, lines, social customs and basic manners as long as you wear a sports bra.

(Am I missing some?)

Now that I know the above, travel will be much easier.

Where I've been in the US

I found this map generator the other day. I figure posting it on the web will have to do until I either get a camper or the nerve to have it tatooed on my back.

In mourning...again

We just got news that another friend is being asked to leave Elsewhere. This friend has spent the last five decades teaching, working with orphans, leading girl scouts and giving of herself to a country that has given her less than a week to leave.

Put this in perspective: Imagine a parent or grandparent (she is in her seventies) being uprooted from their friends and family. Posessions accumulated since the 1960s have to be sorted through and discarded unless they are small enough to fit in one of a few suitcases. Hundreds of goodbyes will have to remain unsaid because there simply isn't enough time. Every meal will be with loved ones and there still won't be enough time. (And there hasn't been a shipment of good food imports in months anyway). Favorite places will have to remain unvisited because even if there was time, the permits to travel would never be granted. "This will be the last time I..." echoes. Absolute exhaustion hits even before getting on the plane. Tears will have to wait until Germany when the flight over the Atlantic will start. Sure, the move will be to a place where the language is understood but will never really be home.

I guess what hurts most is that there is simply nothing I can do to help solve the problems going on there.

PS - I just found out that another friend, born in Elsewhere but now an American, has been imprisoned since Oct. 4. He has two children and an American wife who are both currently in the US.

One step forward...

For the last several weeks, I have been writing. A lot. That thesis that should have been finished nearly a decade ago is progressing and regressing at remarkable speeds. Some days I will write nearly three hours worth of material, only to edit it down by a third. And while I realize I shouldn't be so self-critical, it's tough not to when I reread errors in logic or see that the rabbit chase I just went on really has nothing to do with Ngugi - the subject of my research.

At the same time, I'm really enjoying it. The ideas, too topic-specific to bore you with here, are stretching me. They are also spilling over to my own feelings of Elsewhere and Africa as a whole. I find myself moving back and forth from a "western culture is horrible" to "yeah, but not everything/one who travels to Africa is negative".

This, and hearing about some of our friends being kicked out of Elsewhere, has really crept into my dreams. I'm in one of those phases where I wake up sometimes more mentally and emotionally exhausted than when I went to bed. But it's a good kind of exhaustion. It's usually cathartic and sometimes even valuable for my paper. This can spur me on a bit to actually want to write more. What this also means is that I can't spend quite as much time with @ as I'd like to.

The boy is really becoming quite fun. He pottied using his chair for the first time the other day. He's developing a real sense of humor. He is finally using some basic sentences - even if his vocabulary is a combination of real and his own words (he doesn't use "farm," but "EIO" and "I'm sorry" is conveyed by stroking to arm of whomever he hurt and repeating "nice"). Hopefully, I'll have my work finished by Thanksgiving so I can spend some American time with him.

We're still looking at a move to Asia in late January.

A favorite place

This is one of my favorite places on Eastern's campus. It's a silly sculpture and I can only imagine how much it cost. But I like it.

Just a photo

A quick photo of Elsewhere. I'm working on a major paper about Africa and I think that the writing, along with a desire to be finished so we can move on to Asia, and news about our friends making me a bit...homesick.

Rumors

So Amanda ran into one of our neighbors yesterday and it appears that the consensous is that we must be building a house. Huh? I guess the girl pieced together that 1. we would only be renting for a few months. 2. We had a kid. And 3. We're old. So apparently that means we're building a house.

I guess we make those types of leaps all the time using what we know.

I suppose I'm just let down that she doesn't think we're superheroes.

Last King of Scotland

Looking for something else, I discovered that Giles Foden's novel The Last King of Scotland is due out as a movie soon. Such a great book. If the movie is done well (like The Constant Gardener or Hotel Rwanda) it should be well worth the ticket price. But it could be difficult to show Idi Amin's sense of humor without making him less than the monster he really was.

It stars the guy who played Mr. Tumnus in Narnia, Forest Whitaker and Gillian Anderson - that X-Files girl. It's just a shame they couldn't get Rachel Weisz...

Watch the promo and tell me what you think.

Obligatory 9-11 Posting

It was tragic. Lots if of people died. Lots of people survive without those loved ones who died.

But it didn't really have an impact on my life in any way beyond the superficial. I've never been to New York or the Pentagon so the new highschool in Heyworth seems more out of place than the construction site in New York. I knew no firefighters or office workers or Penagon officials or ambulance drivers. I didn't watch the 9-11 telathon.

This may sound insensitive but this is how my life has been impacted: I take off my shoes at airports. Honestly, that's about it.

Maybe it's about proximity. When I hear "New York" I have about as much personal connection to it as many people do when they hear "Africa". I get sad when I hear about college kids getting jailed for doing nothing more than forgetting their IDs. I dream about starving families living within sight of the Intercontinental Hotel. That's where my heart aches. But New York is fiction to me.

Veggie Tales on TV

It was only a matter of time before Veggie Tales sold out to corporate America. That time was at 9:00am this morning on NBC. I sit here watching "Asparagus of La Mancha" as part of the new "Veggie Tales on TV". They make a point of saying that this is different from the DVDs. So far nothing "Christian" but also nothing the least bit offensive.

I reserve passing judgement...for now.

Doppelganger

Last night I was watching National Treasure there was my brother Pete acting as FBI sidekick #1. I was reminded that we all have a doppelganger somewhere in the world. The eyebrows were a bit too thick and he stood up straighter but it was almost Pete. Sort of a Hoolywood transformation of Pete, like when Hulk Hogan suddenly became Hollywood Hogan.

In college I found mine, or at least others found me as him. I was traveling to speech tournaments throughout the midwest when, gradually, people started complimenting me. At first it was nice, especially since by then I had decided to coast through the sunset of my scholarship years and simply be happy to be traveling and not care about actually doing well, but soon it became disturbing. People would come up to me and start into the middle of some previously begun conversation. They would make inside jokes that I didn't understand or reference some tournament I had never been to. It wasn't until they started congratulating me for a speech I never gave, in an event that I didn't compete in that I realized what had happened. And also someone asked why I had changed into my casual clothes right before awards (Note: those were my competition clothes.)

His name was Jeff Archibald and he was a much better speaker than I was, dressed better, and was much more popular than I was. He was also about five inches shorter than me. I think he might have been from one of the Kentucky schools or maybe Middle Tennessee State. But he could have been my movie double if he had a step to stand on. Assumming that some movie, of course, called for a better looking, more talented version of me with a slight southern twang in his voice.

I'm also playing with the idea that we all have not one, but several. I think it might be continental. Or racial. I have an Indian friend who looks like a Bollywood version of Dustin Hoffman. I once met a Congalese version of Jason Rennert. My father once made a breakfast appearance as a Singaporean businessman. And I know I've seen others.

We all have one. He might not sound like you or act like you but he looks like you...from a distance...when you squint...in the right light...with different hair...and clothes...and maybe glasses.

Talismen

We went to Uncle George's funeral today.

In his hands were a deck of cards. Next to him was his yellow thermal coffee mug from Hucks. Those were the things I associated with him most. There were photos of him and his haulin' truck, a framed "Dad" written in Susan B. Anthony dollars and lots of funeral flowers - some of which were sent by people who really couldn't afford to.

I think I'd like my funeral to be held in a bookstore. Maybe in the travel section. Or in the "Recommended by Our Staff" area. Or in "Favorites."

And for that truly overdramatic element play the Beatles "Yesterday".

Tennis

So much of the great times in my life have involved tennis. I really can't remember much of my grandpa Tony without thinking of him on a court. Even when there weren't toys when we visited relatives, we wouldn't be bored as long as there was a court near by.

I can't remember the names of most of my gradeschool teachers but I can remember most of the names of my tennis rackets. Jack Kramer, the Weed, the Urge. (I always tried to avoid the Everett.) Trying Gretch's "composite" or Dad's new aluminum one. The old rackets with the screw on braces that were supposed to prevent them from warping. The new Prince just lacks the character of the old wooden ones

As a family, the sport was one of those things that connected us. Even when Ben and then Pete were too tall for me to really play basketball against them, we could get out on the courts and play. Ben's spins confused me for years.

In gradeschool, I first really felt independent biking off to BHS for lessons during the summer. In highschool, Scott Noth and I would play a couple of sets before walking to Hucks for a Big Gulp and wasting a dollar in quarters playing Bad Dudes. Then there was the summer when Aaron Bird and I played tennis or racquetball almost everyday.

Finally I'm healthy enough to play again. Just getting out and hitting with Barry at the Carmen courts the other day was great.

Travel log

In the last six weeks I have been to:
Atlanta
Colorado Springs
Chicago
St. Louis
Dallas
Charleston
Indianapolis
Mineapolis
Singapore
Hong Kong

Amanda, @ and I will move to Charleston this weekend where I'll finally finish that thesis. Hopefully by Christmas I'll have that degree in hand along with tickets for a January or February-departing ticket for Asia.

No offence to you all but I'm just eager to get back to that elsewhere where I belong.

Moving back for school

So Amanda and I will be house hunting...again. We thought we had a place lined up in Mattoon but that fell though. Tomorrow we'll go down and look for a couple of days and see if we can't find a place that will rent to us through the end of the year. Hopefully I will have finished my degree by then and we can move on to Asia.

Speaking of...

Our ten-day trip there was great. We got a chance to see where we'd likely go to language school and even a couple of possible places where I might work. It was hot but not Turkana hot. The food is good and there are enough of the conviences we've come to depend on to make the move a realistic possibility. I will have to dress nicer but on the up side, Amanda is in favor of us getting a motorcycle if we move. The problem might be finding a helmet big enough for this noggin.

Off to Mattoon/Charleston tomorrow and Texas on Friday.

My father, my son

One of the things I frequently say about my son is that he has never met a stranger. He, like most kids, just shines when he's around new people. Peakapoo, waving, smiling, raspberries blown to stewardesses or Singapore security.

Like his curly hair, tendancies to pick up colds and inability to stand still in airports, I wonder how much of this is from me. And yet I see it even more so in my father.

Dad will talk to anybody. I learned about how to catch crawdads in the Current river because of overhearing him talk to...anyone. It's a very Donald Miller sort of thing. Why thinkwe can only learn from books or in classrooms? It used to bother me but I've learned that the worst people will do is pretend to read or ignore you. I wonder what Dad learned in his years of simply talking to people he didn't yet know.

So much can be picked up by zooming in on someone who might just know something you don't. We found a hotel room here simply because Amanda noticed a westerner reading Blue Like Jazz. The city was booked but we followed this expat to where she was staying and it was amazing! We could see Malaysia from the rooftop pool. We walked the beach and at Jacob's Cafe. We slept. It was great.

Now I'm off to see if I can find a particular stranger on this plane who is going to the same place we are and might know the friends we're staying with. Lisa? Are you out there???

Back to school

After some paperwork, persuasion and a lot of prayer, I managed to get the OK to finish one of my degrees. This means Amanda, @ and I will be moving to Mattoon for a short while at least.

We leave for Asia tomorrow morning to scout for jobs (for after the schooling).

Keeps us in your thoughts.

All until July...probably

Leaving tomorrow for Colorado, then on to Asia until mid July.

Some things:

I love eating with chopsticks. I own four sets of them from Pier One and keep a disposable pair in my backpack. Anything involving rice is fair game.

My wife has me eating and enjoying food I would, as a kid, have tried to hide under a napkin or tried swallowing whole with a gulp of milk.

I am seriously considering moving to a place where I won't need to own socks.

I sometimes don't want to sleep for fear of dreaming of Africa too loudly.

I have officially started wearing my American (read: fat) wedding band.

I drink hot tea (not coffee) every morning from one of two cups, both have roosters on them.

I am a charter member of an organization I have never participated in or can even pronounce the name of correctly when I say it quickly. Illinois Philological Association.

I used to tell lies. Now I tell stories.

I have never lived in the same house longer than seven years.

My wife looks great in button down dress shirts.

I watch the same movie more than once only when I have to.

What's on my bookshelf is more important to me than what is in the fridge.

I don't have any of my t-shirts from college. I still have a tie or two from highschool.

I am over a hundred pounds lighter than Shaq. My junior high free throw percentage is slightly better than his is currently.

I do not remember my highschool locker combination but I do remember my phone number from when I was six.

When I think of childhood, I think of the farm and the hours I spent in the pasture and barn thinking of brilliant things I would one day do but haven't (mostly because only superheroes can do them) .

My son is charismatic and caring. Only sometimes is he trouble.

I spend a lot of my day thinking.

A slight twist???

Amanda, @ and I were planning on moving from Indy sometime near the end of August but may not need to if the friends who were going to use the house choose to take a Residency during the fall semester. As much as I would love to be closer to our Illinois friends, it would be nice to stay put until we permanently move overseas.

We leave Saturday for what will be something like a 20,000 mile trip. In the course of 3 weeks we will go to Colorado and Asia.

Mmmm...frequent flier miles.

Toddler CSI

Odd event this morning. Walked into @'s room after hearing the normal sounds of him talking to his stuffed animals, shaking the rails of his crib and greeting the day. When the lights came up, Amanda and I noticed blood on his face. Not graphic, "jump into the car, we're going to the emergency room" amounts of blood but any amount on a 20 month old is too much.

As Amanda begins cleaning the otherwise contented baby we begin looking for clues. Blood on his face, head and hands. We look to see the cause (his nose) and check him for other wounds (none). I begin to examine the splatter pattern on the bed, taking note of the small amount located in one corner, the dried fingerprints nearby. No signs of foul play, no signs of undue trauma. Time of accident - recent. Cause of accident...hey it's a bloody nose. No big deal.

Given his cold and prior iron problems, we decided on a quick trip to the doctor. No problem. He's fine.

Ah, the joys of fatherhood.

The buzz...

For the last few weeks things have been relatively slow around the ol' hoosier homestead with only the scattered obligation. Amanda, @ and I have fallen into basic routines of trips the gym, the odd trip into the city, a treat before bedtime. It really felt nice just to be static.

But now the chaos begins.

In mid June we have a week long speaking gig here followed the next day by a trip to Colorado Springs for basically the same thing. The real fun starts a few days after that near the first of July when we fly to Asia to look at a possible new home. After ten days there we'll fly home only to begin relocating somewhere new (our house will be passed off to some friends in September). We're thinking Springfield or Charleston areas. And somewhere in here we'll be making trips to Texas and southern Illinois.

Oh yeah, and I'll be trying to finish up some grad school things before we make any permanent moves overseas too. (I figure I hold the family tennis title, I can't be left behind Gretch in the "smarter than thou" event.)

All this means we'll likely be Stateside through the end of the year, depending...

Travel Question

Amanda, @ and I are doing a lot of traveling this summer and wondered if anyone has a preferred way to book flights online. Suggestions for the BEST site for the CHEAPEST prices???

Thanks in advance.

Cincinnati Question

My older brother and his family will be relocating to Cincinnati this summer and I told him I'd see if anyone could help with this:

Suggestions for a good church in the Cinci area? They have three kids and would probably be looking one with a MOPs or MOP-like program as well as the usual prerequesites of community, activism and, oh yeah, Christian stuff.

I'll pass on suggestions.

Our Oil Solution

I've held back on this hoping that I could somehow profit from the idea but now I feel I owe it to America to offer my solution to America's dependence on foreign oil.

We need to buy more, not less, oil from the Middle East. I mean really buy...a lot...right now. As the great global consumer of things we really don't need American's need to start all but bathing in the stuff.

Run up your credit cards. Fill every bucket, pot and pan in your house with petrol. I mean Mickey Mouse when it rains kind of containers. Think of new and ingenious ways to use crude. Strip the paint off your walls with it. Barbecue with it - not as charcoal starter but as a replacement FOR charcoal. Kill off unwanted dandelions. Make your own fireworks. Be creative. Embrace America's natural giftedness in finding ways to waste fuel and light things on fire.

So drive to your mailbox. Take trips just to watch your odometer spin. Hit the road whenever you want to listen to the radio. Drive back and forth over the central and eastern time lines just to see if you can somehow disrupt the space-time contineum. Try and outrun the sunset - or if you're from Indiana, the approaching stormfront. Drive to California and try to catch a glimpse of TomKitty. Consume, consume, consume!!!

The quicker we use the world's oil, the better. Since this is all non renewable, the world will run out of it eventually. Let's just hurry up the process. When the Shieks and oil barons run out of the stuff, so does their power. What's Dubai without oil? A desert with a bunch of shopping malls and a palm shaped subdivision. Sand and camels. Oh and the foundation of human civilization - but let's face it, that's not really important.

And when there's no oil left? The world will have to start looking at ethanol. It goes without saying that the Middle East will never be able to produce enough corn to contend with our farmers. Europe? To borrow a term from an animated hero of mine, those "cheese eating surrender monkeys" would never dig up their wineries (or "whineries" in the case of their international involvement) to have them replaced with corn. And America knows all about producing too much of the stuff.

After all, this is is the home of 4H. We have towns with names like Farmer City and Heyworth and Ethanolia...good, American, farm towns. We have corn festivals and put things like "Soybean Capital of the World" on signs welcoming people to our cities.

So it would come full circle back to the American farmer. He feeds the world now. One day he will fuel the world. But only if we help waste oil.

Goodbye do-overs

Every few days I catch myself reflecting over our last few weeks in Africa. Recently I've been drawn to something a bit less geographically defined.

Are there people in your life you would like to say goodbye to again...differently? Maybe you simply didn't get a chance to say goodbye because you missed crossing paths one last time. Maybe you saw the person but you were too busy to give them the attention they rightly deserved. Perhaps you were in a bad mood because you hadn't slept in days and their country had invited you to leave. Maybe someone else was there so you couldn't be as open with that person as you would have liked. Maybe you didn't understand how valuable that person was until later.

And now I wouldn't know what to say if I could do it over.

Ahead of the curve?

Since moving to Indy, my wife and I have been internet nomads. We go next door to use the wireless at PCCC - often resorting to borrowing one of the neighbors' waves when our first choice thwarts our attempts; we go to the public library; I've even wandered throughout the backyard hoping that some signal would come floating by so we could connect without leaving the general vicinity. Because we have our own cell phones and don't plan on staying in one place very long, we've been reluctant to get DSL or dial-up access in our home.

The problem with this nomadic lifestyle is that we are rarely able to look at the internet at the same time. If we're at the library together, Amanda or I need to be watching "@". Sure, we could take him next door but do you know how many places there are to hide in a building that seats 1200 on a Sunday?

So after much stalling, we broke down and decided to get an aircard that would allow us to use the internet from our laptops anywhere. Verizon had a nicely priced plan and since we were already customers, we decided to byte the bullet. After a day of frustration spent calling tech support with both Dell and Verizon, it became clear that it wasn't going to work.

In our attempt to get newest, most cutting-edge computer we could - knowing that in three years even that would be obsolete - we actually bought a computer that uses a newbe "express card" drive. They don't even make aircards for it yet.

Thankfully, Dell reassured us that someone, somewhere, would be coming out with one...sometime.

Note: This seems eerily similar to the time Dad purchased a Texas Instruments 99 4a computer for the family just before the computer division of that company went bankrupt. Gosh I miss Munchman.

Infant Game Ideas?

Just wondering if anyone has a suggestion for "My First Video Game" for my son. He's shown a real interest in using the laptop and I figure that it wouldn't hurt to get him started with something educational now - maybe that way he wouldn't start messing with Civ.

True, I may have timed this poorly since he has discovered that outside is an absolute blast. We had ducks in our yard yesterday after he went outside at the gym and we had a picnic at the local park. Today he ran to the gate and indicated, through sign language, that he wanted "more outside." Translation: He wanted to go to the church's jungle gym next door.

So any non-online game suggestions would be appreciated. Especially if they could encourage his vocal language use.

What if Indonesia...

What if Indonesia is just one giant Chinese restaurant? That's what I dreamed last night. I was in Asmara's world famous China Star restaurant and went out through those back doors I'd never had to resort to using (they lead to the bathroom and since there are only about a half-dozen public toilets I'd willingly use in all of Africa...). On the other side was a huge generic version of every American Chinese buffet but instead of food, society was available for the grazing. It was a smorgasborg of life. There were markets in one nook, what appeared to be a United Nations Meeting in another, people having their Easter Church services, an old man and his grandson fishing in the koi pond/bowl, a wedding (red-dressed bride no less) near the mall entrance...It was amazing. All you can experience for only $4.95.

Sorry, beverage not included. Ribeye and lobster only available on the Sunday buffett.

So maybe I was wrong

Despite what I said in my last entry, apparently I CAN'T indulge in an extra thousand or so callories a week. Amanda and I went in for our "six week checkup" at the fitness center and while I did gain an extra pound in muscle mass, I also gained a couple of more. I blame all the extra weight on the fact that I haven't had a haircut during those six weeks. And I haven't shaved in a couple of days. And I needed to pee. And I my fingernails are getting a bit long. Oh, and I've been reading alot recently so my brain is full...

The good news is that I now need an additional 100 calories a day just to keep up my muscle mass.

I think it's time for a Cadbury Egg.

Jellybeans

Not a profound entry. Just wanted to know if anyone has a favorite jellybean - brand I mean. I don't care about flavors. (Face it, nobody born since 1960 actually likes the black licorice ones.) Since Amanda and I have been working out, I feel like I can indulge in an extra 496 calories three times a week and I figure Easter candy is as good of an empty calorie, nutritionless snack as any. I just don't want to waste it. Are the Starburst ones any better than Smuckers or Jolly Ranchers? Or do I just stick with Brachs?

Or maybe I'm just better off sticking with my Peeps.

Africa Movies to see

Hopefully you've seen these already but I thought I'd suggest a couple of "recent" Africa movies you might want to see.

Hotel Rwanda: Less gore than you might think but still a pretty intense movie. I think the genocide that took place there will eventually come to mean more to world history than what we traditionally think of as THE Holocaust. After the European event, the world made sure that such a slaughter would never, could never happen again. Rwanda showed that the world was wrong.

Lord of War: Nicholas Cage as a weapons dealer. Not just about Africa but it certainly gives a lot of insight as to why/how those African conflicts are able to continue in countries where the average person can barely buy enough to feed and cover themselves. How can they afford guns? This explains it.

The Constant Gardener: The best of the three movies listed here. Rachel Wiesz and Ralph Fines (sp?). Beautifully shot. Great insight. Amazing character development. And, of course, that beautiful woman from the Mummy movies acting alongside Lord Voldemort. See this movie before you go to Kenya. It will either break your heart or make you desparate to go.

How NPR set my car on fire

Ok, maybe "almost set my car on fire" or even "could have set my car on fire" would be a bit more accurate.

Recently I've been listening to NPR since 1. We don't have a good listener supported Christian radio station in the area, and 2. I want to be just like Just Pete. This should not be a problem in and of itself except for the fact that I really find their stories to be interesting. Liberal, sure. Overly intellectual? Definitely. But where else will I get to listen to a story about Darfor in the Sudan followed by a piece about the 40th anniversary of the release of the three clawhammer banjo LPs?

Because of this, I ofen find myself listening so intently to the radio and then ruminating over what I've just heard that I forget to turn off the car engine when I get home, when I'm pulling into a parking space or getting gas. Recently I had almost gotten the gas tank cap off before realizing that the car was still running. Thus the title of this entry.

I just wish it'd happened while I was listening to "Car Talk."

The Menthol Room

What Amanda didn't say about our new health club is that in addition to the sauna and usual types of machines, they also have a menthol room next to the sauna and steam room. It's like walking into my room as a kid when all three boys had the croup and were lathered up with Vicks Vap-O-rub. Your eyes water, your skin burns, it's great. You're supposed to use it for around three minutes at a time but next time I may risk four. There are warnings, however, that "prolonged exposure can...gula, gula" (that's African for "yada, yada").

But now that it's practically illegal to smoke anywhere within a hundred miles of Indy, where else am I supposed to get that "just spent the night in one of O'hare's smoking rooms" smell in my clothes?

PS. - Anyone know if Tina Lowry had her baby?

Reach 1997 Photos

I know nothing about search engines or how they work but I'm throwing this out in the hopes that someone googling their own name or googling someone they know might find this.

I was going through some print photos the other day and realized that the time has come to either throw them out or give them to someone - so they can throw them out.

If this is you or you know these people, I'd love to pass off random photos from the CMF Reach trips that took place during the summer of 1997 - these people were in Turkana, Kenya:
Heather ???
Scott Bodem
Renee Price - now married with a new last name
Brenda Boardman
Melanie Lyrene

Also, if you were in Maasai that same summer, I may have photos for you as well.

Oh, and I also have a couple of photos for Jessica Burgard and Jo Kruse but I think I can track those two down myself.

Just leave a comment if you can help me track those people down.

Books

Books have always been dangerous for me. I had my first all-nighter not at a slumber party but while reading "Battlefield Earth". I am still in love with Daisy Miller and Lady Brett Ashley. I have a crush on Harper Lee's Scout. I mourn Kiowa's death and that of Ted Lavender and the other men who fought with Jimmy Cross. All the science I know comes from Kurt Vonnegut and my copy of the Guide to the Galaxy. Owen Meany helps my find God or at least purpose.

I can watch violence and gore on television without much impact but a copy of "Cujo" will get me locking doors and leaving lights on at night. First person novels have me feeling guilty over things "I" never actually did.

I have just finished Sting's "Broken Music" (interesting story, bad writing) and have just started Alice Steinbach's "Without Reservation". That, and the fact that we've been in the same house for the last few weeks, is really getting me restless to travel. And right now it really doesn't matter where. England would be fine. Travel to Europe and find every bar played by the Pogues or Morrisey. Flow down the Yellow River with Amy Tan. Watch "Apocolypse Now" and read "Heart of Darkness" and then off to Asia by way of the Congo. Now that I've reclaimed "We Regret to Inform That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed Along With Our Families" even Rwanda looks good.

I'm hoping that picking up Rick Warren will redirect my perspective. Our current church home is great and we're getting plugged into a small group but my books are putting my focus a bit further out.

RSVP???

I'm curious to know who of you will be at Karen's wedding next weekend. I know that the three of us will be there but may not go on to the reception - Atticus isn't much into swing dancing. Something about Brian Seltzer, a shared taxi and having to hold a tuba...

Christ, Christmas and Coca Cola

I don't normally write in response to news or editorials because I normally don't get access to any news magazines until months later. But Anna Quindlen had an interesting point in her Jan 2 column in Newsweek.

One idea she touched on was that it is ridiculous to think that a religion that has lasted 2000 years is somehow at risk if it isn't acknowledged in an advertisement at OfficeMax. Actually I'd rather not have WalMart use "Merry Christmas" to sell plastic Santas or toys or loads of junk. I'd much rather have McDonalds sell us special holliday shakes and local bars have holiday specials. Does tooth rotting cans of Coke really need nativity-visiting polar bears on them? Does that really lead to a greater spiritual understanding - even by a postmodern definition?

Keeping Christ's name sacred has value. There's something to be said for the people who holiday is know Him being the ones who share His name. Wasn't that what "thou shall not take the Lord's name in vain" all about? Keep it separate and sacred. I know that some would take the view that any publicity is good publicty but does the King of Kings need greater name recognition or just greater understanding of what His name means?

10 Days in December

Now that most of the Christmas festivities are over I'm just beginning to process (mourn?) the loss of a city I was falling in love with and in. To let you know what we went through I offer an abbreviated day by day account of the last few days we spent there. Or at least as best as I can remember it.

December 8 - Called in by Immigration where we were informed that we had until Christmas to leave the country. Applied for exit visas (basically asking for permission to leave a country we were told we had to leave). Began looking for plane tickets out but could only find tickets to Dubai for the 21st. Began informing friends about our departure. Told the University I would be unable to complete the semester's courses. Started packing. Started organizing an everything must go garage sale. Didn't sleep much and wonder what I may have said on people's blogs during my 3 am surf.

December 9 - Continued packing and organizing the sale. Paid for and picked up our exit visas. Had our resident permits taken from us. Packed up my office at the University. Began to let our local friends know about our departure. Friend found us tickets all the way to the US - only three days earlier than even our 21st tickets. Met with several early shopper friends as we loaded our carport with all our household furnishings. Ate lots of our saved-up treats like bacon and chocolate chip cookie dough - often at the same time.

December 10 - Were nearly overwhelmed at our garage sale with people waiting half an hour before we opened the gates. Most of the puzzles were opened and destroyed. Lots of theft but ended up selling almost everything we put out in the three hours of the sale. Realized how much we hadn't put out for the sale. Turned away people for the rest of the day wanting to know if we had anything left or if we would be willing to give them things we no longer had. Sold a few thousand dollars worth of things. Moved into a furnished place with at least some of our remaining possessions. Were fed a wonderful Indian meal just when we needed to be cared for.

December 11 - Spent our last Sunday at the international church. Began saying goodbyes, often to people we didn't know. Double checked with our landlord's son that he had told his mother we'd be moving out. I began outlining a sermon for that night's service. I had not told Amanda I'd be speaking that night for fear that she might talk some sense into what I was planning to say.
Amanda (noticing that Jonathan has his Bible open while surrounded by unpacked
laundry): What are you doing with your Bible out? Are you preaching tonight or
something? (Snicker, snicker)
Jonathan (having not told Amanda he'd be preaching one last time): Er...yeah. I am.

Spoke on Esther and "For such a time is this..." at the int'l church. Only got in a little trouble for mentioning that we had been thrown out of the country. More goodbyes.

December 12 - 14 - More packing. Dividing things into "must keep," "forgot to sell" and "who would pay money for this?" piles. Think we can get things home in only 11 pieces of luggage. Prepare for sale #2 - this time a couple of tables at a group sale with the international school on Thursday. Begin the more formal visits with friends to say goodbye and accept small gifts. Giving away books and teaching materials. Trying to come to terms with saying goodbye to W., our houseworker who became family. Attempting to keep Atticus' room warm enough to fight off the cold he's suffering through. Spending some time at the university to let the seniors know what will happen with their final projects. Gave my rendition of Roger's "You've wasted four years" speech to my Public Speaking students. Met a former student's fiance and gave my blessing on their marriage. Think I may still know where my Palm Pilot is. Know I can't find my sanity.

December 15 - Was double-parked and still got boxed in while trying to sell a computer monitor. Stuck for 40 minutes. Continued to clear out old house. While doing so I ran into our landlord. It turns out that her son never did tell her we were moving out. I think the empty boxes may have clued her into it but not entirely sure. Ended up having to show her the door after she sat down in the hallway and watched me pile things into Dave's pickup.

Took two carloads of unsold items to the international school's sale. We were the main attraction. Sold everything including a beautiful bench that meant a lot to us (sorry Matt). Now down to junk and the items we'll try and pack.

December 16 - Finally able to see some of the furniture in our temporary dwelling. Have pretty much decided to take an extra bag with us rather than have it shipped later. Handed back the keys to our old house now that everything is cleared out.

Said my final goodbyes at the University. One of which will be the subject of a future blog. Sad to meet with the Dept. head one last time. Finally crashing from a week long adrenaline rush.

Met one last time with Son - godly Indian who prayed with us. Other visitors stopped by to say goodbye.

Went to a Christmas/farewell party at a friend's house. Said goodbye to good people. I hope Emily likes "Thirteen Things About Ed Carpolotti". I hope her parents (Dad is a Presb. Theological prof.) don't disown us for putting "Blue Like Jazz" in her hands. We'll miss AN's 50th anniversary of her arrival in Africa. Wonder how long some of those there will remain. This was really the first time I started processing that some of these people I will never see again.

December 17 - Day of departure. On the way to taking bags to be weighed at the grain market got a flat tire. Layed in the dirt to change it. Got all bags within a pound or more under weight. Found a closet of dress clothes that still needed packing. Went to find zip ties to secure bags. Lots of visitors saying goodbye.

All the power in the city goes out with three hours before we need to leave.

Had to stop off at Department Head's house one last time. Picked up a gift from the department and a letter of rec.

Packing up the last few bits for the carry-ons. Trying not to leave anything important behind (we left Amanda's pregnant wedding ring and a wireless card for the computer). Took a shower in the dark as visitors continued to stop by. Loaded up the trucks with bags. Counted garage sales money.

Thankfully only a couple of friends met us at the airport. Steve helped us move our bags to the terminal. After only some confusion over how to put luggage tags on rubbermaid containers and what to do with the stroller, we get on the plane just before midnight.

December 18 - Arrive at O'Hare only to find that our tickets to Bloomington are for Monday, a day later. Get most of our bags through customs. See Mohammed Ali and realize that he had probably been on our plane from Germany. Rearrange tickets so we can arrive Sunday rather than Monday night. Get Gretchen to make sure someone can meet us.

Crashed out at my parents' new house.

So if we ignored your email that week or didn't send you a Christmas card, that's why.

Back in the US

Friends,

So we've made it back to the US with almost all of our luggage and sanity intact. We're still missing a suitcase, two bags, a $200 stroller and any real sense of where we currently are living. I'll go back to the airport this morning and see about the bags. Hopefully going there in daylight might help the more geographic problems.

Atticus, it must be said, was just amazing. He had his squirmy moments on the planes but really didn't have much in terms of tantrums. He didn't run away at the airports and despite throwing up on Nana as we waited for our bags at our final destination, was a gem.

Now the tasks before us include renting a car for the next few days, setting up our cells so you all can call us, getting those remaining bags, and, oh yeah, Christmas.
We'll look at relocating after the new year so if anybody knows of an available (cheap) house and has a need for us to be near them, let us know.

I'm thinking Kevin Moon party sometime in February.

Jonathan

And the hits just keep on comin'

I've really come to terms with leaving but I feel a bit guilty for the reason. If you know where we live, do a news search. Entire organizations are being split based on nationality. Tensions are rising. Police seem to have gone home but Tuesday and Wednesday things were a bit tense. Diplomats are not allowed to leave the city

It's a bit like realizing you don't have enough money to supersize and then you see the homeless guy outside.

Our plans now are to be home for Christmas then take some down time in New Orleans in January to figure out where God wants us. (Yes, I see the irony in being kicked out of a country only to leave for a hurricane disaster area. But it is a step up.)

Oh, a plug for Tina Lowry. I bet if enough people bug her, she'll post one of those pregnant belly pics. Now if only Phil Stowers or Sheri Storer would start blogging...

Three million people can't be wrong

So we're leaving. It’s official. We’re out. Or at least it looks like we will be within a week or so.

Our meeting on Thursday was short and to the point. The gov’t wants us out by Christmas. No explanation was given. No, we can’t know which gov’t office gave the order. No, you can’t have an extension through the New Year or until the semester ends. And yes, you’ll need to pay for the exit visas and a departure tax at the airport.

On the plus side, we at first thought we’d have to be stuck in Dubai for a while and try to find a way home from there but now it appears that we’ll be able to fly from here to Frankfurt and then home. Even with a delay or two, we’ll definitely be home for Christmas.

The negative is that we now have a total of 8 days to close up things here.

Our gate opens in five and a half hours for our garage sale and I still haven’t priced my tools.

Could the last one to leave the country...

Please turn off the lights?

It’s Wednesday which must mean we got our weekly call from Immigration. Tomorrow at 8 am (an hour earlier than the two previous meetings) we will sit in a room that probably is not really the office of the man asking the questions. We will tell them the truth and then get frustrated when they can’t understand what a check is or why Amanda doesn’t work. This time they didn’t even pretend that it was because of my poor handwriting.

This, along with some recent int’l developments, confirms that the garage sale we’re having this weekend is the right thing to do. Maybe tomorrow we’ll have a better idea of just how much we need to try and sell.

During my freshman year at Eastern, I got in the habit of simply not sleeping on Sunday nights throughout speech season. We’d normally get back too late on Sunday and since we missed our Friday classes I’d need to play catch-up. Now I’m getting in the same habit only on Wednesdays only I spend my time reading and reflecting and wanting to sleep.

Keep us in your thoughts.

A Victim of Prophecy???

I remember in college hearing someone (maybe Pete H. or Jason Hel. or one of the Johns) tell me about an encounter he had with someone who knew all sorts of things about him that this person shouldn’t have known. I don’t remember details but I do remember coming away from the conversation skeptical. At the time, I think I could have accepted supernatural acts of healing, vague glimpses of the future, or even the odd David Copperfield miracle but that particular act wouldn’t qualify.

In the last few years, I have come to accept that the Spirit does more than offer nudges in the right direction. While the voice isn’t loud yet, I have no doubt that it does speak when I’m in the right place and listen.

So several months ago when Tor and his wife, two internationals I’ve known since arriving, told Amanda and I that they’d had visions about us, I listened openly but with some of that past hesitation. In the visions, it was clear that Amanda and I would be having this problem with Immigration. In Tor’s version, it included another international friend. Ignoring the obvious fact that everyone has problems with Immigration sometimes, it does bring up an interesting dilemma.

If it is a true prophecy, what should my response be? What can I do about? Nothing. Neither of the two people were given the discernment to offer a direction for Amanda or I. Does the vision mean that we should pack up now? Not from what they said. Does it mean we should move or stop doing what we’re doing or distance ourselves from our friends? No. Did it really offer anything in terms of guidance? Not really.

So we continue to be light and salt. We attempt to be good stewards and be prepared without being led by fear. We use the wisdom we have been given and continue on with life. We listen. We try and take the opportunities presented. We try and grow and learn.

I guess that’s all any of us can do anyway.

Update

The past seven days have been a bit of a whirlwind around here. On Wednesday we received a message that immigration would like to see us on Thursday. So in addition to trying to coordinate a Thanksgiving gettogether we had the stress of the unknown hanging over our heads.

Thursday’s meeting was…curious. In addition to refilling our an immigration form we’d already filled out nine months ago, we were asked a series of questions ranging from our educational background, to our past travels, to our known associates, to our financial status.

Since then we have been looking at ways of downsizing our lives. We’re selling off major pieces of furniture. We’re giving back things we’d been storing for other people. We’re looking at ways of possibly getting things home. Basically, we’re gleaning our lives downs to what we need.

It seems more than coincidental that at the same we’re coming to terms with getting rid of stuff, John is talking about having a greater dependence on God and Jake is talking about existentialism and an old episode of “Ed” (remember the bowling alley lawyer?) is talking about Walden and the need to simplify. Songs like Remember Surrender by Sarah Groves and references to “Be still and know that I am God” keep running through my head. My conclusion – we are not in control but know who is. We can attempt to focus our dependence on Him but we still need to realize that no earthly methodology or formula can prepare us for the unpredictable and absolutely abundant blessings He will be giving us

Yesterday afternoon, a week after we were first called to the Immigration office, we again received a message that we needed to come in. This time it is to follow up on the questionnaire we initially filled out. Apparently it is because they had problems reading my handwriting.
The “B” I got for handwriting in the third grade may finally be coming back to haunt me.

For your immediate concern

Just a quick request that today as you're thanking God for your turkey or turkey shaped soy substitute, think of Amanda, Atticus and I. We'll be meeting with some gov't officials today for an unexpected meeting. A similar meeting took place with some of our friends this summer and they were asked to leave.

Please lift this up.

Hopefully we'll have an update for you before your dessert is served.

Blessings

An Unemployed University?

Imagine what would happen if all of us had a sudden, fair and accurate job evaluation. It wouldn’t look at qualifications or past performance, just are you doing what you’re supposed to be doing. And are you doing it well. A positive evaluation (say C+ or better) would allow you to keep your job. A lower mark would require immediate retraining and a failure would result in your termination. Would you still have a job?

Or more importantly, would any of your colleagues still have a job? (Since anyone reading this is, of course, the perfect employee.) I’m frustrated with teachers who don’t teach or seem to want to. I have a friend who recently complained that students taking his graduate course, a course he specializes in, were “horrible”. Ah, it must be the lack of preparation; the poor standards set while they were undergrads; the rotten teachers from years before; the third and fourth year classes that failed to challenge, prepare or accurately familiarize them with the material…Except for the fact that he was their professor for those preparatory classes. His field of specialization is unique enough that only he could have taught them, or failed to teach them, the relevant material.

Another colleague rarely uses English to talk to majors or graduate students in the subject. Imagine two people trained in the field of English talking about a paper written in English that outlines problems with teaching students how to use spoken English effectively only the whole conversation is taking place in some other language.

And of course there are stories of PhDs bought through the internet, sold A’s, sexual harassment, non existent office hours, fifteen minute class sessions and so on.

In all fairness, there are those I work with who are still interested in helping students learn. There is my boss; an underpaid, overworked mother of three, underdog opponent of the Indian boy’s club. And the one who works for free since the gov’t decided that they’d been mistakenly paying her an extra couple of dollars a month for the last couple of years. And the graduate students who would love to think for themselves but know that if they challenge their professors too much, they might not get the grades needed to go for their PhDs elsewhere. These, along with the students so desparate to learn, are why I am able to continue teaching.

I accept that I may not have the credentials of some of the staff I work with but I do actually love teaching. I enjoy having students come to me to discuss what they’re learning and interested in. I love showing them that it is ok to have original ideas. And that it’s even ok to change those ideas. I suppose that since I’ve only been teaching a few years, I shouldn’t be so critical about those who may have burned out. But I’d like to think that when I do burn out, I’d have the grace to allow myself to be replaced rather than hold on to a profession I should be fired from.

After the Scramble

So I’m finally back in the land of the blogging after being stuck in 738 pages of literary purgatory. A while back a friend picked up a copy of Thomas Pakenham’s “The Scramble for Africa” and, like any idiot, I figured that since I live here I should read it. How difficult could it be? The whole book covers less than forty years (1876-1912) and in pages is shorter than most of the Harry Potter books. Over fifteen years ago I conquered my first one thousand page book, and that was during junior high basketball season. Piece of cake.

But L. Ron Hubbard didn’t write with a British accent. And Rowling doesn’t make obscure references to 16th century British parliamentary history. And neither is printed in a ten point font. With the exception of Ulysses, which I still haven’t gotten through, it may have been the most difficult book I’ve tried reading. (Barry, how goes your attempt?) Too many names and difficult to name places. Lots of anecdotes that seem insignificant until three chapters later by which time you’ve forgotten the details. Lots of blood, hands and ears but not nearly as graphic as “King Leopold’s Ghost.”

But the book was insightful into how the lines got drawn here in Africa. Some negotiation but a lot of it was determined by minor battles, when the supplies of scouting parties got low or when disease simply destroyed caravans. People like Churchill and von Bulow and quite a few others I’d largely forgotten about, got their starts in dealing with the “savages” – normally by killing off entire villages of those who wouldn’t allow themselves to be bought off by blank treaty forms or rolls of velvet cloth. Other leaders who could have come to power because they had the right sort of pedigree or professional background became obsessed with, ignored because of, or financially destroyed by this last unknown place on the planet.

If you’ve got some time on your hands – like while in prison or stuck in a hospital room with three channels with a hacking insomniac for a roommate – it’s worth the read.

Don't Stop Giving

It 's the fallout that results a short time after any tragedy that really motivates people to act. They pull out their wallets to help the less fortunate, be them victims of 9/11, the typhoon-tsunami in Asia or Hurricane Katrina.

Those are all worthy causes but what normally happens is that people don't give more, they give differently. They stop giving to their normal charities and simply shift that money over. Most of those groups that depend on consistant funding to remain afloat see their accounts dwindle after a tragedy like Katrina.

I'm not saying don't give to the victims, I'm saying that we need to be sure that we don't forget about those who still need our support. Give sacrificially. Dig deeper.

Please, keep giving to your church, to campus house or CSF, to the local shelters (for animals and people) to the schools and little leagues. Don't forget them.

Friends and stuff

I’m trying to come to terms with my friendship with a man based almost exclusively on the fact that he has stuff that I want. We started meeting because I had some political questions that he had answers to. His wife and daughter were out of the country and he needed to vent some culture-shock stuff so we had tea.

Come to find out that they have some baby food that their daughter has outgrown so, sure, we can take it off their hands. Oh, and since they are leaving the country soon and have stocked too much food ordered through the embassy commissary, we get first dibs on purchasing their American toilet paper and sugar and ziplock bags and vegetable oil and…Would we be interested in buying an older computer? – No – but it comes with a media card and a satellite dish – Absolutely.

I genuinely like the guy but I doubt we’d have become friends if he didn’t have more than I did. Like the kid in the neighborhood with the Atari or ping-pong table that kids used to hang out with because he had all the stuff…(Isn’t that from Seinfeld? “He had a ping-pong table! I would have been friends with Satan if he’d had a ping-pong table.”). He and his wife just don’t seem happy here. They don’t seem to enjoy the people or the culture or the food or the weather. They seem like they’re just here to do a job. It’s sad.

On most days, this would be a “There but for the grace of God go I” or “What good is it if a man gains the whole world but loses…?” entry but what is most disturbing is that even as I view his life as unhappy, his purpose less fulfilling than mine, I find myself envious. I want to be able to have meat and cheese shipped in from the states on dry ice. I want to be able to get Hershey’s chocolate syrup whenever I want. I want a job that, at least by the title, appears prestigious. I want to know ambassadors and world leaders. I want a fountain in my front yard and a guard on the other side of the gate. I want the stuff he has.

So even though I’m truly happy, even though I love my jobs, even though I couldn’t ask for a better family, even though I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now, I still want the stuff of this world.

Some days I just feel shallow

Gas

For all those growling about the cost of gas:

Our price for regular: $6-7 per gallon. (If they have it.)

Stupid Katrina!!!

The Birthday Boy

Just a photo or two (depending on how many they'll let me load) of our beautiful birthday boy.

Birthday Thoughts

Atticus is now officially one year old. It only took two visits to the hospital, thirty-six hours of labor, several thousand miles of travel (some of it by plane), three continents and two scrape/bump-leaving falls to get this far.

The party was simple. Local food and a cake. Presents and cards. No traditional white suit or stick. Maybe twenty-five people covering four nationalities. Atticus got banana cake with a taste of the chocolate one when mom left the room. After everyone left, some additional friends stopped by to break a loaf of bread on Atticus’ back to guarantee strong bones (maybe that’s what went wrong with mine). He was down for a nap three and a half hours after the festivities began.

I wonder how different it would have been in the States. It would have been hotter. There would probably only be one language used as people sat in their little groups. The cards would have been Hallmark. The toys would have been from Wal-Mart or Kaybee’s or Toys R Us. Nobody would have been concerned about which water was safe to drink but somebody might be concerned about the potato salad. Mostly it would have been the same except all of you would have been invited. Consider this your invitation for next year.

Not giving away the ending...

Just over a week ago I finished reading Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What. Earlier tonight Amanda and I finished reading The Half Blood Prince. I don’t know with which ending I am most disappointed.

One peaks with an analysis of Romeo and Juliet as a deeply profound retelling of Christian reconciliation. (For those of you who haven’t read either Miller’s or Rowling’s books, I won’t say which one. Oh, and climb out from under your rock.) I loved the book and was a bit let down by this “let me prove I was an English major” stretch that, while I could accept the premise, seemed so unlike the rest of the text. Having forced my share of comparisons – Ngugi/Wordsworth, Mau Mau Rebellion/Industrial Revolution, The Tick/The Nixon Presidency – I proudly admit to the plank in my eye but offer my disappointment nonetheless.

The other book was an equally engrossing book that I also loved reading. My disappointment came with the “now you’re forced to by the next book whether you want to or not” ending. What kind of Back to the Future II kind of closure is that? And now I have to wait another six months to, maybe, get some resolution.

Oh, and if you dig Miller’s lifeboat metaphor (which I really did) you might want to try reading Yann Martel’s Life of Pi. Better yet, skip the whole lifeboat thing and take an elevator with Colson Whitehead’s The Intuitionist.

Finally, a Picture!!!

This may or may not be my son's residual self image. Let's hope he grows out of it. Or at least learns how to crawl bakwards.

A Tail of a Residual Self Image

This is hardly an original idea. For those of you who don’t live under a rock (or some developing country), you might remember The Matrix brought up the idea that we all have a true image of who we are. My wife and I have discussed this and Tammy’s blog reminded me that even as we grow up (and out), there is still a kernel of who we are that really doesn’t change. On a recent Sunday as I was getting ready to go out, I looked in the mirror and saw my (almost) exact residual self image.

Thin, metal-framed glasses. Ancient, huge, Ironman watch. Khaki pants with a brown belt. Brown shoes. Long sleeve dress shirt in a solid primary color (sometimes blue but in this case white). Sleeves rolled up. Unremarkable tie, loosened slightly.

If you have a picture of me at some planned, even remotely formal gathering, I probably am dressed in some variation of that. Maybe I have a suit jacket on. Maybe I’m in a polo shirt or have jeans on (likely with a suit jacket). The watch might be different. But those are just variations.

When I really think about it, though, I’m missing a tail. My residual self image needs a long tiger tail curled around to the front. When I was something like five I used to wear a tiger costume whenever I could. I would chew on that tail. Maybe it was some fascination with the Wizard of Oz – I would also jump out from around corners and try to scare people when I wore that. I think that’s part of me that I just can’t shake. And I don’t think I want to get rid of that part of me.

Yeah, even now, I’m pretty sure I need a tail.

Missing Home...r

Today I was watching my son play with his favorite toy and I realized how much I miss my family. There’s something to be said for visiting every night, or at least every Sunday night, with those you truly love.

I miss living in the shadow of the power plant. I miss riding my bike up to the lemon tree – or where it used to be. Or listening to the Lovejoys on Sunday mornings. Remember what we used to learn at the chalkboard after school? We gave Principal Skinner such a hard time. I miss visiting Moe at his tavern and Grandpa Simpson at the old folks’ home. I hear that a certain someone finally came out of the closet. I miss Maude (may she rest in peace). I miss stopping by the comic book store.

I wonder if Bart and Lisa and Maggie have changed. I wonder if the Mayor has finally been charged with a crime…I wonder if Barney is okay. Is Crusty still funny? Is does life continue there without me? Does everyone still remember me there? And would they call out my name when I come to visit or would I be like every other Cliff who stops by?

I miss my Springfield.

Getting older

I got older this week (Thanks Jessica for pointing this out.) But it has little to do with age.

We don't get old simply because we live longer. Days, weeks, months, years really don't matter. I got old when I moved out of my parents' house. I got old when I stopped being mistaken for a student at Eureka. I got old last year when I fell out of a tree and a month later was back in the hospital for the birth of Atticus (if I was a different person this might have confirmed my immortality but that was determined only by an invitation from someone else.) We get old when events force us to leap from who we were to who we are to who we will be.

Two people who Amanda and I are very close to left this country on Wednesday. They taught us a ton by loving us and putting up with us. They were and are amazing, talented, gifted people who will do great things whereever they are. We continue to be busy with work but now so much of what we do will lack their counsel, insight and passion. We have to grow up.

Their absence will mean that Amanda and I have some growing to do. Atticus will have noone to call him Gizmo. The learning curve will be steep for a while as we grow into the next part of our lives here. Sitting at lunch yesterday, it was clear that two chairs were empty. During a meeting, two voices weren't being heard.

I clearly still have some grieving to do.

My point is that getting old is much more than counting coffee spoons.

Juggling porcupines

One of the things I love about my current home is that "porcupine quills" really are one of their major exports. You can get them on ashtrays and bowls and nicknacks. It's great!

But for the last week I feel like Amanda and I have been juggling live, hyperactive porcupines. Suddenly I am not just a professor and father and husband. I've had to learn to fix computers, calm the nerves of two college visitors and one mother-in-law, practice my pediatric dental expertise by reassuring my wife that that our son is fine even though it appears that he will be getting forty-seven teeth in at the same time (it's like he's getting multi-row shark teeth or something). I'm also becoming an expert packer/mover/papershredder. It's a good thing that my car's odometer doesn't work because I've been making runs all over town. Today is the first day I've been in the office in a week.

So what I want to hear is your most stressed out, porcupine juggling story. I'd tag some people but I'm too busy. I figure it'll be good for me to hear somebody else's stories. Revisit that time in the airport, snowstorm or being locked in your grandmother's bathroom...

Anybody can juggle chainsaws. Let's see Sheri Storer do this.

Running for cover

I teach at a university where many students don’t have a mailing address. Fewer have email addresses. So at the end very semester, grades (often handwritten are) are passed out individually. If students are unable to pick them up, they can stop by in at the beginning of the fall semester in September or October. During the next week students will decide whether to accept the grades or, for about $4.50, have the grades reviewed in hopes of receiving a higher grade. Rather than going to a committee which would determine whether the grade was fair based on examination of the student’s quizzes, homework and exams, the appeal consists of a group of people double-checking the professor’s math. At no point is the student allowed to present evidence, question the teacher or in any way explain why the grade should be changed. The student isn’t even allowed to look at his/her final exam. If the appeal is successful, the student’s money is refunded. Grade changes are rare.

Even with the cards obviously being in favor of the teacher, most will stay away from campus for the next week. It’s a conflict avoidance thing. Those who do come in to work on summer projects will hide within the confines of their offices, scurrying from doorway to doorway hoping to avoid detection by their students. We look like rodents peeking out of our tunnels, watching the skies for predators which might swoop down on us at any moment.

Suddenly I have a craving for cheese…

Me, A Heart Breaker???

While walking across campus today I was stopped by a young man who, after inquiring about my health and the health of my family, my summer and the weather, began to explain that "My heart is breaking because of you." While slightly flattered but more disturbed by the comment, I needed an explanation. You see, I am straight, married and hopelessly in love with my partner.

After discussing the concern in my office with the door open (a must whenever a conversation with a student might involve matters of the hear), it became clear that his heartbreak had nothing to do with my khaki pants, Cub Scouts conditioned sense of humour (all my jokes, even now, come from old issues of Boy's Life - the official publication of the Scouts), or flatlander accent. It was all about the grade the young man had just recieved in his sophomore English class.

Yes, I'm a hard grader. At Eureka College I frequently heard from students that I expected too much from them or that I required too much work from them. My papers were written on obscure topics or bizarre comparisons ("Compare one of the central characters in Death of a Salesman to your favorite Neal Patrick Harris mini-series character). I would often spend more time grading a paper than most students spent writing it. I would take some degree of pleasure in writing essay questions that even I wasn't sure how to answer. But since moving to Africa, my standards have fallen significantly. Spelling is overrated. Grammer is just an artificial construct of rules. Sentence and paragraph structures should be fluid and fit into a jellyfish shaped outline. So it is a surprise when students complain to me about grades.

But here is does make a difference...sort of. If a student is removed from the university or simply never attends, he or she immediately begins working for the government. This could mean a job with the post office or telephone company but it also could mean teaching highschool in a village ten hours from home. Or it might get you a spot on the front lines digging trenches in 100 degree heat. It certainly would mean something more difficult than sitting in a classroom listening to some American or Indian talk about the beauty of language.

But it is only a delay. When a student does graduate, his or her fate is the same. In this case they may be digging trenches with a diploma in hand. A 3.75 doesn't keep the sun off your back any more than a 2.0 or a highschool certificate. After 18 months or two years or six years a person is released and typically placed or directed to a job a bit more suited to his or her degree. Usually.

And my grades are justified. Walking into the final all my students should be aware of what grade they will likely recieve. My syllabus is clear, my scale is defined, my requirements are logically explained. Objective and "fair" (whatever that means).

So I guess I really shouldn't feel guilty about being such a heart breaker.

Altered Perspective

This morning while on the phone I had one of those Santa Claus epiphanies. Or maybe it was more like learning that Pete Rose gambled on baseball. Or that the "Sunday Morning" guy had a secret family nobody knew about until he died.

It's tough when your perspective about someone is shattered but even more so when you realize who else is being hurt. I was bothered that Jesse Jackson had an affair not because I like Jesse Jackson or because I thought he was an exceptionally good man. I was bothered those years ago because I was thinking about his wife and if he had kids and what it would be like for them when they went to school. I wondered how much of their life together she also questioned. I thought about those people who did look to him as a moral role model.

People with secrets can claim they were decieved into decieving or that the lies they told were necessary or sacrificing. They can blame addictions or events in their past or chemical imabalances. And I do sympathize and accept that sometimes people have little control over their own thoughts or actions. But it still hurts.

I'm thankful that my wife has nothing to hide from me. Neither of us have the time or energy to be deceptive. We're barely smart enough to correctly spell charade - I know we could never pull one off.

When a perspective-altering event occurs, it's tough not to rewrite history or second guess past actions of the individual...

I don't know where else this needs to go...

So much for writing a blog saying why Pete Rose should be allowed into the Hall of Fame!?!

Money for Nuttin'

I feel like I need to start by saying that I am a skeptic about anything on the Web proclaiming "free" or "money" but I do think this site put out by the State of Illinois is worth looking into. Cash Dash is where financial institutions go when they can't find you. The government will require some paperwork but eventully you'll get your money. I found it when I was looking for my sister's blog and realized she had money owed her (or at least to her husband).

I haven't found anything due me but I think Ken B. has between $10 and $100 owed to him.

Let me know if you have any luck. I may even waive my finder's fee.

For Wafflers Only

This will make no sense to anyone who does not use a waffle maker.

My overly-simplistic global division of people is that there are waffle makers who pour in too much batter (thus, spilling batter out the sides of the waffle maker) and those of us who pour in too little (thus leaving underdeveloped half waffles with holes). I don't like having to clean up the goo. I suppose those in the other waffle camp have something against imperfection.

And I guess there are those who simply pop an Eggo into the toaster instead.

I dunno. It's just a theory.

Blessing others on accident

Sometimes Christ's love shines through me in spite of me. Last night was one of those times.

Duane (another American) and I teach a spoken English class at the university together. Since there are only six students in it we decided it'd be nice to have them over for an end of the year meal. I didn't think much of it since Amanda and I had done the same thing in Eureka for a couple of classes. But I guess it did mean something to them.

After the simple meal of local food, one of the students stood up to present us each with a gift from the class. What they gave us didn't matter; what he said did:

The night before Christ died, he invited his friends to share meal with him. This was the
most intimate connection he could offer them. Thank you for inviting us into your home.

I hadn't thought about the fact that most of these students had never been invited into a teacher's home before. None had ever been invited to the home of a forengi before. I didn't think it was going to be meaningfull or significant or important in any way. Now I wish I had invited them earlier.

I thought it was just a meal. To them it was a blessing.