Floor Update:
It's getting repaired tomorrow - yeah!

Not a Typical Evening At Home

Finally, an apartment story worthy of topping the $300 imported toilet seat. Despite the Christmas busy-ness that begins this week, my life is obviously not exciting or full enough. I though the highlight of my day would be the lovely new hairbrush I purchased, but oh no, that would not be the case. Something more groundbreaking would take place, literally. While there was no earthquake this evening, at least none that could be felt, my living room floor would give the impression otherwise.
There I was, minding my own business, watching A White Christmas and organizing gifts when suddenly, there was a loud 'pop'. I was startled, for I hadn't noticed knocking anything off the coffee table. As I leapt to my feet, I noticed some small particles fall to the floor. Immediately I looked up expecting to see a crumbling ceiling, but the disturbance had not come from above, but below. There, across the length of my living room, was now a 2 ft. x 6 ft. 'v' shaped mound of popped up, cracked tile.



More than anything, I think I was stunned and baffled as to why my floor would choose this moment to erupt. The following hour or so went something like this: I called my friend Becky who then came over, we checked with the neighbor below who, as it turned out, had no damage, the security guard checked out the floor, and finally, we contacted the landlady who came over to survey the damage. Oh, somewhere in there, while waiting for Becky to come over, I called home to talk to my dad who suggested, among other things, that I should throw a rug over it. Thanks dad.

Apparently at some time in the past, this had happened before, explaining the mysterious section of replaced tile on the opposite end of the living room. That time, however, the damage was the result of an earthquake. It's believed that pressure below the surface forced the floor to break on this occasion. It was explained to me that the floor was laid too tight, not allowing room for shifting. As there are no pipes running under the floor, I was assured the cracked floor presents no danger, however, it may be a week before it can be repaired. In the meantime, I'll be here, unless the floor should open and swallow me up. Okay, not funny.

Hey Baby It's Cold Outside

That about sums it up as a cold chill has imparted itself upon us this week. Whether it's the onset of winter or just a teaser remains to be seen. However, there's no mistaking it's downright chilly outside and inside too as most places are not equipped with heaters. It's currently a blustery 64 degrees.

What! The 60's cold? I know, I must be turning into a wimp. While I embrace the cold and gladly welcome cooler temps that reflect the winter season, well - winter in Taiwan at least, it's hard to imagine that it's already been feeling winter-like for quite awhile back home. As the temperatures here were still climbing into the 80's until a few days ago, I've found the need to remind myself that we're actually approaching winter, not summer.

Again I've returned to:
- tiptoed sprints across cold tile floors
- piles of blankets upon the bed
- wool, fleece, sweats, sweaters, gloves, and hats
- Winter Love (an imported chocolate only available in the cooler months)
- hot chocolate
- shoes over sandals
- waiting for the water to fully heat before jumping into the shower
- deliberating over whether to drive home faster and get the cold commute (on scooter) over with quickly or slow down in an effort to reduce the speed by which the biting air passes

Lamenting Things Lost

Warning: Should you choose to read on, your likely to find the confessions of a foolish girl who cares too much for the things of this world.

The news came this past weekend confirming something I've allowed myself to be in denial about over the past 4 months. Luggage an airline lost on my trip home this summer is indeed lost for good. As my mom read the letter which had just arrived in the mail, the desire to hurl the phone against the opposing wall welled up inside, as though stopping the news from being heard would somehow stop it from being real. I wanted to get out, to go back out for another run until my legs could no longer move, until I'd given way to exhaustion. But I neither pitched the phone nor went for a run but laid in a sort of stunned silence. It could not be a surprise to me that this news would eventually come. I guess I had just hoped a more favorable message would take its place.

Sure, it's a bit of an over-reaction to some lost luggage but it's not just a lost bag, it's a bag that's been with me on nearly every excursion abroad and domestic. It's contents were not just things, but things carefully selected from Nepal, Thailand, and Taiwan; things not only for myself, but mainly for others. Gone with the things are the stories of where they were bought and those I met along the way. It's as though by losing the tangible reminder of people, places, and days gone by, somehow the memories will be lost forever too.

My thoughts drift to a particular pashmina shawl I had selected for a friend. I know that she would have not only like it for it's warmth, softness, and design, but for the story that came along with it of a woman I met on the side of a mountain after a sunrise trek in Nepal. Her pashmina creations, beautifully woven and depicting her original designs, were handmade on a specific kind of rickety old loom, one of 2 of it's kind still around in that region. I can still remember the smiles on the faces of her children who are fed, clothed, and sheltered by the hard work of their mother and the generosity of strangers who stop to purchase her handicrafts. I suppose my loss is still her gain, and that is, perhaps, more important.

My gaze now passes to my feet, propped up and clad in thick, wooly socks, one of the few remnants of my travels earlier this year. I'm suddenly reminded of the ancient kingdoms I visited where locals now peddle their goods outside crumbling palaces and guarded city walls. As my mind wanders back to a place much different from the one I presently find myself, I can still recall the shopkeepers who seemed as eager to engage the sparse tourists in conversation as they were to sell their goods. And how could I forget the pair of Tibetan refugee women who invited me to visit their village and my ten-year-old tour guide who saw the opportunity to escape boredom and to practice his English for an afternoon. Invitations were extended to tea, to trek, to trade.

I guess I'm proving that not all my memories have been lost with my things, though some will be a bit more difficult to preserve. Some favorite photos from my childhood and a travel journal were also among my vanished possessions. Weighing on me more than the 70 lbs. of missing baggage, is my hang-up with loss in general. Each visit home brings reminders of those no longer there and fears of those who may no longer be there the next time I return. As with my most recent journey home, the summer, too, quickly passed and with the autumn came the reminder of an aunt who died and with the previous month came the news of two relatives who passed away. Buried in work once again, I've been too busy to give it much thought, but somewhere my mind has been processing all these events and I think the most recent news, though not as significant as the loss of a person, served as a reminder of things lost throughout life and the sentiment that I've grown weary of losing.

Then, as I rode back to work this afternoon, I watched a boy with crippled legs labor his way across the crosswalk with his grandmother. Once again my world was brought back into perspective and I was reminded I have nothing worth complaining about. For the first time in 4 months I was able to let go of a foolish hope and a bitterness I'd been holding onto. I was finally ready to accept that the things lost were just things.

Flaming Stick Arms

With Christmas less than 20 days away, I elected today as the day I'd start preparing my kindergarten students for the approaching holiday. Since science was one of our subjects for the day, I thought we'd talk about winter and snow. As a treat, I brought in a snowman story book and found a corresponding activity in their math book - a dot-to-dot snowman. Surely by the end of class they'd be experiencing those warm, fuzzy feelings that this time of the year brings.

Umm, NOT! As our final morning activity progressed, the dot-to-dot snowman with subsequent coloring, I observed that the snowmen were becoming more sinister looking than jolly, including a snowman of death - colored all black, and a snowman with wounds. Two even set their pictorial snowmen ablaze by coloring flaming stick arms. So much for displaying their artwork to make the classroom look more festive.

I suppose I cannot profess to being entirely surprised by their askew view of the holiday. Despite seeing an increasing number of festive displays over the past 4 years, it was just last Christmas that I came upon a startling discovery. While perusing the tables of Christmas cards at the stationary store, I discovered a whole table of Christmas cards gone wrong. At first glance, it would have appeared as thought the table top was covered in Halloween cards, as those are something we all find ourselves rushing to send out each Fall. Peering up for the cards were faces of ghost, vampires, pumpkins, skeletons, Frankinsteins, and other ghouls with a banner of "Merry Christmas" splashed somewhere on the card. Okay, I know Halloween and Christmas occur within 2 months of each other, but really, you just shouldn't cross the two. A contender with these misguided message bearers where the cards with some cartoon figure guy giving the middle finger while yelling "MERRY X-MAS" and the ones decorated with cartoon piles of poop, plungers, and flies. With this in mind, it's not surprising that many here seem to have no idea what Christmas really is, other than a time of year they should be buying more stuff and apparently sending disturbing cards.

My Black Hole

My stab at blogging started out the way every one of my journals has - full of good intentions. This time around, I had hoped I'd be a bit more successful at writing more faithfully knowing that someone besides myself would be reading it. Alas, that would not be the case.

A quick scan of my apartment reveals that other areas of my life have been getting a bit neglected over the past 2 weeks too as evidenced by the clean laundry piled on a chair, an unpacked bag from a weekend trip, dry goods in a grocery bag waiting to be put away, an inbox full of new messages, and plants wilting on the balcony.

So what do I have to say for myself? Two words - Harry Potter. Every now and then something comes along that occupies my interest for a spell. Up until this year, I've ignored and dismissed the Harry Potter mania but after watching the third movie last year (the only one I've seen), my interest was peaked. So, from the beginning of this year, I began working my way through the book series.

Over the past 2 weeks however, I've not only read books 4 and 5, I've been consumed by them. They've become my personal black hole as though, from out of nowhere, I've been sucked into something I could not have imagined or foreseen. At break times at work, you can find me curled on the sofa or tucked away in a classroom reading. At night I've found it easy to make excuses to skip my evening run in order to get in some extra reading time. And though tiresome mornings of kindergarten have me longing for a nap on my lunch break, the thought of resting has already been replaced with the excitement of reading by the time break time rolls around.

I can still remember the summer when book 5 came out and how my roommate suddenly seemed to vanish, submerging into the solitude of her room to read. I was thankful that we worked together because that was becoming the only time I saw her other than the occasional retreats to the bathroom or kitchen. I remember, too, how sick she was feeling that week and even had to call off from work for a day, though I don't think she entirely minded a day at home confined to her bed reading. What I could not understand at the time, I finally understood about 2 weeks ago as I became captured by book 4, probably my favorite one. I too would not have minded a sick day to have a little extra time to spend reading.

Though I began book 6 yesterday, I've decided to give myself a bit of a break this evening to come up for air and connect again with the outside world. In some ways I'll be glad when I've made it through book 6 but saddened at the same time. While there's a satisfaction in completing each of the books and knowing more of the story, there's a sadness too in leaving behind the excitement of racing through the book to find out what happens. One great thing to come out of it is that I've been returning back to the book loving days of my youth. I'm happy I've taken the initiative to read more this year.