Friday at last

Another work week has drawn to a close and a weekend island hop awaits. Shao Lui Chui, here I come - where the water is salty, the air humid, and the pace of life just right for a relaxing weekend.

Off to the store to pick up some snacks, drinks, and a camping and beach essential, nail polish. Oh, you think I jest, but sadly, I do not. Spending a length of time outdoors means a whole host of gangly stuff is going to take up residence under your nails and try as you may to be hygienic, it's somewhat of a losing battle, so I'd rather just not see it. Out of sight, out of mind. Ignorance is bliss. (Okay, I'm not really that gross.)

Also on the packing list, some New Zealand Beauties, my new favorite apple. I've found munching fruit a helpful way to keep hydrated. Now time to catch a whopping 2 hours of sleep before an early morning drive and boat ride. It seems as though the fumes of the insecticide sprayed at my apt. complex yesterday have finally seeped inside so I think my planned escape could perhaps be saving me from finally being done in by toxic city life. On that happy note, have a great weekend!

Spring Green

asparagus, Granny Smith apple, shamrock, inch worm, fern

Have you toured a crayon box lately? Things sure have changed since I was a kid. As I worked on a project with students that involved a bit of coloring, I began taking notice to the names on the broken bits of color sticks that comprised our giant Crayola box.

Today's names come in an imaginative variety from macaroni-and-cheese, to wild blue yonder, fuzzy-wuzzy brown, outer space, Purple Heart, purple mountain's majesty, wild strawberry, and tumbleweed.

A quick visit to the Crayola website revealed many of these colors were not as new as I thought them to be, thanks to the handy chronology of colors. What began as 8 colors in 1903 has expanded to the present 120 hues. Even more interesting was seeing how changing times in the U.S. have influenced the names of colors.

A lift in spirits has recently accompanied my days of city dwelling as two of my favorite colors, blue and green, have become more prevalent during daily commutes and outings. The usual grey funk that rules the sky has given way to blue made all the more lovely with the addition of white clouds.

Not only is spring in the air but on the plants and trees that line the roads and fill the parks. I had almost forgotten about that tint of green that exists with the newness of life that blossoms this time of year. In a place with year round greenery and subtle season changes, the radiant color of spring green highlighted by warm morning light reminds me of what it means to have spring return.

Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's wife for me and the tale of 7 virtuous ladies

My wardrobe selections have been getting interesting reactions at work lately though i haven't been wearing anything out of the ordinary or even new. However, here are some of my favorites from the past few weeks:

the pirate's wife- Something about the skirt I wore had a whole class declaring I must have married a pirate since the previous day.

Cinderella- Wear a choice bracelet and suddenly you're Cinderella, though later in the class I was demoted to the step-mother.

Thailand vacationer or beach mystic - While part of the class thought I looked as though I'd just returned from a weekend in Thailand, a few others thought I could pass for a beach fortune teller. Ahh yes, I can see homework in your future. On this particular day as I entered school everyone sort of paused and stared until one secretary declared, "It's your birthday!" No, but thanks. Seriously, do I dress that poorly the other days of the year?

Greek statue - Okay, this one was not based on something I wore but rather a suggestion for the future. My highest level class has been studying ancient Greece and the Olympics lately and during class one boy had the brilliant idea that if I were to dress as a Greek statue and pose outside the school we'd suddenly gain new students by the droves. Why? Because they'd all stop and think, "what interesting and funny teachers they have there. I must go to that school." I can't help but think my appearance as a Greek statue would have the reverse effect on the school.

And now coming full circle to the topic of pirates (arrrh!), here's something interesting I recently came upon flipping through the pages of a Taiwan guide book:

Cimei Island, the southernmost of the Penghu archipelago, is named after seven legendary local beauties who threw themselves down a well rather than have their virtue despoiled by a gang of marauding pirates. The simple Tomb of the Seven Virtuous Beauties at the island's southern tip honors their sacrifice; the tomb is built over the well. - taken from National Geographic Traveler Taiwan

the fine art of text messaging

One benefit to living in Taiwan is that cell phone service costs far less than it does in the U.S. As a result, friends and I take advantage of text messaging, however, user beware, you never know what you're going to find when you open a message. My personal favorite thus far this year reads as follows:

"Just found out that a new sign in my elevator says, 'please take your garbage down to the dumpster and do not just throw it out your window.' "

Life in Rewind

It's hard to believe I haven't blogged in about 2 months! I guess for part of that time, too much was happening that I didn't have time to write and for the other part, there wasn't much worth writing about. Without some freak catastrophe occurring at my building, I suppose life can be a bit dull, but that's okay. Between things falling apart at will, the living room floor cracking open, and the gas explosion, I've perhaps learned to start expecting the unexpected around here. For awhile I found myself approaching the elevator with caution wondering if a cable snap would be the next big surprise in store for me. Where did I put my Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook?

Basically, to recap, since my January entry we've had a few holidays in Taiwan, starting with Chinese New Year, or Lunar New Year. I enjoyed 2 weeks of vacation between the end of January and the beginning of February. The first week of my time off I spent at home doing very little. I did enjoy catching up on sleep, movies, things around the house, and catching up with friends here. I got to hike one of the mountains near the sea that offers some great viewpoints as well as cool banyan trees perfect for climbing.

The second week of vacation was spent in New Zealand. Though I had been wanting to go there for awhile, my trip was actually planned quite last minute, as in I bought the tickets one day and flew out the next. Until I actually got there and got settled, I couldn't help wondering, "Did I just make a huge mistake? What am I getting myself into now?", but it was great! A week is certainly not long enough so I definitely hope to go back one day. I spent most of my time touring the South Island but spent a day and a half sailing and sight-seeing in Auckland before returning to Taiwan.

As 9 rolls of film might suggest, for a trip that was only a week long, there's a lot to say about New Zealand. I'll spare you from most of it right now, but I did want to share a few journal entries.

1/31/2006

Where am I? My body is currently at rest on a most comfy bed at a hotel in Queenstown, N.Z. My body, however, feels as though it's still in motion aboard a bus or a boat, two places which I spent the day.

Where am I? Right here and a thousand miles away. Transfixed on the scenery before me, a feast for the eyes, my thoughts are free to roam from what I am seeing to what I saw this time last year and from the possibilities of the future to the memories of the past. Thoughts drift from old desires to new, old friendships to new ones, the old year to the present.

One day, a million thoughts, indescribable beauty. Lakes, streams, mountains, plains, hills, glaciers, fiords, palms, pines, lowlands, highlands, sheep, deer, cattle, ostrich, green, grey, yellow, blue, white, clouds, rain, and sun. It was a full day, nay, it's been a full few days.

2/3/2006
I look out the window. Colors and lighting seem perfect here. The sky's always a perfect blue. The lighting has a way of making things look amazing. Yellows, greens, and blues are so rich, not washed out. Even the clouds look amazing. They have an almost unnatural quality about them, as though they're from a painting.

What a whirlwind week it's been. The days have been so full they've felt like more than single days. I don't mind though. It's great to be back somewhere with long summer days, where there's still light until 9-9:30pm.

Today's been a day of planes, trains, and automobiles not to mention buses and vans. This morning I left Franz Josef to complete my circle of the South Island. From there it was travel by bus to Greymouth, stopping at some scenic spots along the way. Once in Greymouth, I boarded the Tranz Alpine Train for a 4 hour trip from the west to east coast across Arthur's Pass. We went through numerous tunnels, one extending for 5.6 miles and taking 15 minutes to get through. We also crossed over several viaducts - high train bridges through the gorges. Arriving in Christchurch, I was met by a shuttle van to get back into the city where I transferred to a cab to get to the airport where I presently find myself still waiting for a flight that was scheduled to depart 40 minutes ago.

About a week after Chinese New Year was Lantern Festival, generally one of my favorite holidays in Taiwan. I've always enjoyed an evening stroll along the river checking out the lanterns. This year I was a bit disappointed. I think the displays have been better in the past, but it was still nice.

Since then it seems like it suddenly became March and now here we are nearing the end of the month already. Last weekend I got to enjoy the company of 2 old roommates who stayed over on the weekend. It was a bit like old times again, only better. Last Sunday we celebrated Becky's birthday outdoors at the Youth Activity Center where the young at heart can act like kids again while the kids, at least the jr. high ones, rolled their eyes at our childishness. It was a great afternoon complete with water fights, cargo nets, suspended rope bridges and chair swings, and crazy group activity obstacle things like we had back in the days of summer camp.

Hopefully this will fill you in a bit as to the past 2 months and hopefully it won't be another 2 before I write again.

An Odd Sort of Wednesday

Odd discovery: toothpaste expires
Odd piece of knowledge acquired: how to pop an eyeball back into place should it happen to fall out
Odd contrast: while driving to work bundled in layers: t-shirt, sweatshirt, winter coat, I pass another foreigner wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals
Odd rival: having to contend with karaoke music from a nearby streetside wedding reception while teaching class
Odd sighting: on my way home from work, being passed in traffic by a man riding a motorcycle, clad in motorcycle garb and a bear head (?)
Odd timing: within an hour of picking up the apartment key, my former soon-to-be-new-roommate's boss called to inform her she's being transferred to Taipei in a few weeks
Odd way to end the day: having a Nudge war on messenger

Pieces, Paper, Pictures, Peace

Monday was a more difficult day than I had expected. I thought cleaning up the pieces Sunday night would have me feeling more whole by the next day, but as I shared on Monday, I couldn't escape reliving the event in my mind.

I'm glad to say that with each passing day, the thoughts of Sunday night have become less frequent. In my memory, the force of the blast lessens, the sounds dampen, and the images dim. I hardly even thought about it yesterday and today unless, for some reason, I've had to. I can move about the apartment with confidence again and even going onto the laundry balcony at night doesn't bother me. The quiet of my afternoons and evenings at home is once again full of peace rather than uneasiness.

Like a breath of fresh air, good news recently came from a friend back home and from friends here. Such glad tidings have been carrying me through the week as well as God's grace.


News of what happened did reach the local papers with front page color photos. With the aid of some students translating the Chinese, I learned the story of what happened, most of which I already knew from the rumors and speculations flying amongst the neighbors Sunday night. The basics: gas explosion in home behind my building, 3 people injured - one inside the home and 2 passing by on the street (though this didn't take into account the people injured in my building), husband and wife had been arguing, wife left the home and man attempted suicide by turning on the gas. I got back some photos this week, a few of which show the broken glass at my house and a view of the damage at the home of the explosion, looking directly down from my kitchen window (and one looking up at broken glass awning).



On a final note, this morning I got to ride the elevator with the man from my building who was injured by the explosion. His hands were bandaged and his walk was labored. In fact, he could only walk with the support of someone. Still, he managed a faint smile as he exited the elevator. I'm sure his life will not be the same for some time yet.

Stuck on Replay

I thought I wouldn't sleep well last night after what happened, but I did. As I soon discovered, it's not my sleeping that's haunted, it's my waking.

How do you forget something that, in every recess of silence, replays itself? A scooter beside me in traffic backfires and I nearly jump out of my skin. Someone closes a classroom door too hard and I hold my breath waiting for shattered glass to fall. Even the soft sound of water flowing through the upstairs neighbor's pipes makes me nervous as it sounds too much like the hiss of gas.

Home can not be the sanctuary it once was. I used to consider this place a treasure because it's rare to find places in the city so quiet. Now the once peaceful silence is uncomfortable as every sound seems magnified. Even as midnight approaches the day after the event, I can still hear the occasional sound of glass hitting the pavement below. In the daylight, things are better, but at night I approach the kitchen with hesitation.

It really is stuck on replay in my mind. I could feel it, hear it, and see it over and over again all day. I can now begin to imagine what it must feel like to live somewhere effected by war and bombings. I've had only a glimpse of this - the surprise, the force, the sounds, the commotion, and that was more than enough.

an explosion, shattered glass, darkness, alarms, screams, crying, blood, panic, sirens, questions. This was my Sunday evening ...

...but now, Monday morning has returned. It's raining outside as though to wash away the thoughts of what happened last night, but the memories of such will not be so easily forgotten, at least not until the clean up is finished. For now, the sound of broken glass being swept and gathered can still be heard from the street below.

It occurred sometime near 6:00 pm. The evening was suddenly disturbed by an invisible force- a loud blast, an explosion, and the sound of breaking glass, shattered and raining to the floor. Darkness seemed everywhere. Evening had already settled in outside and the lights inside were off except for that of the tv. Was that a bomb? Get out! Those were the first thoughts I could process. Flinging on my coat, shoes, and purse, I fled. Outside the door, fire alarms were ringing and flashing on each level. Proceeding down the stairwell 9 floors, I was met by neighbors. Glass, plaster, and mortar crunched underfoot on the landings between floors. Outside we waited. The sirens of approaching fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances filled the night, as did the voices of panic, yelling, and crying.

I reached for my phone to call Becky but what do I say? "I'm okay, I'm okay" is all that comes out at first. I must have sounded crazy but it was the first time in all of this I was forced to pause, process, and vocalize what had just happened. And what had just happened? I still didn't know. How do you describe something you've yet begun to understand? Looking around, windows and glass doors were gone everywhere from lower level apartments and neighboring houses. The sounds of glass falling could still be heard through the commotion. Look! There was one of my downstairs neighbors, someone I've shared the elevator with a number of times. Tonight though, he was staggering from the building, shirt-less, shoe-less, and still in shock, cut and bleeding all over, no doubt from flying glass.

Eventually the crowd dwindled until mostly only those from my tower remained, awaiting instruction. By this point we had learned that a gas explosion occurred at a home directly behind my apartment building. Once things were under control at the source, firemen came to inspect our homes, the building manager came to take photos, and friends came to be of support and help clean up. What amazing friends I have here! Having a better idea of what transpired and knowing that I was okay should have been enough to make me feel okay again. However, I suppose emotions operate on a sense of logic all their own. I sent Becky a message that things were okay now, we could even go back into our homes, so she didn't have to come over, but she still did, along with Rick. I can't tell you how much of a help it was to have them around, not just because Rick cleaned up most of the glass and Becky contacted the landlady to notify her about what happened. Their presence alone was a comfort to me and it was nice to have someone to babble to about what happened. At that time, I think conversation was the only thing saving me from having the event replay in my head. I hadn't realized until later how much I needed the diversion that they provided.

We got the glass cleaned up rather quickly, headed out for some fresh air and a bite to eat, and then came back and watched a movie. Dinner and a movie with friends - seems like such a normal way to spend a night on the weekend - an ending so different from how the evening began.

life, death, and the heaviness of uncertainty

Where's a rooftop when I need one? No, I'm not thinking about jumping. The rooftop has become a place I associate as my safety when the weight of the world and the heaviness of the day become a bit too great. At my previous apartment, the roof became my place of solace where my roommate, and friend, Becky and I could escape the day for a bit at night. On the rooftop I could release my burdens, casting them into the night without knowing where the wind would carry my words, my cries, my tears, my songs. On the rooftop, burdens shared became burdens lightened. What joy there is in having someone to confide in, someone to dump on, someone who continues to want to listen, and someone who will pray with you and for you.

Though I moved from that place 2 years ago, there are still nights when I miss those evenings on the roof. I think this past week in particular was a week made for the roof. Each day seemed to bring bad news from some direction back home - news of death, hardships in life, and uncertainty for the future. My heart was heavy this week with a burden for those I'm far from but feel so near to. However, there's comfort in knowing I don't need a roof to cry out to God and that good friends are still close by.

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

This morning I discovered that if I ever long for adventure, I need bound no farther than my own back door. The back gate opens to narrow streets and alleys, often dead to the world except for the activity in the schoolyard. Though on its sidewalks and streets I may have stepped a hundred times, give time a twist and none of that matters. Containers of live shrimp that one can select by hand and strange fish I've not seen the likes of before are presented for purchase. Tables of beautiful tea boxes and long rows of incense easily catch one's eye, as does a feast of colors at fruit stands. Behold, freshly picked oranges with leaves still attached.

It was clear as I turned the corner, I was entering a world that was not mine. It was clear that I was seeing an old place for the first time. It was clear that I was going somewhere many foreigners did not venture. Neighbors moved about from table to table aquiring fresh ingredients for afternoon and evening meals. And there I was, in the middle of it all, feeling completely out of place in a place I thought familiar. Before me, a feast of curiosity for my eyes and yet, an overwhelming sense that I didn't belong. Not even my hat and sunglasses could disguise that I was not the typical sort to frequent this early morning market, yet I was glad to have had an opportunity to see a world I never knew existed beyond my own back door.

when the brakes go and other tales of broken things

Scene 1: road. female scooter commander maneuvering like something out of a video game in effort to survive another afternoon commute to work. a row of traffic lights, red, then in a wave, green. without haste, traffic regains its pace. taxi driver, 2 o'clock, disregards his own red light and attempts to proceed through the steady stream of on-coming traffic. nearest to kissing yellow metal, yours truly. brakes applied. unfamiliar snap. no slowing, no halting. left hand brake makes contact with handlebar and does not recoil.

make a face and brace for impact. this is gonna hurt.

or not.

freeze. for the next second or two, surrounding world appears to have paused during which time the current situation and inevitable fate become apparent.

enter plot twist. impending doom rejected. taxi slows and a last second duck and dodge save the day.

new hobby, dodgeball. after all, if you can dodge a taxi, you can dodge a ball.

Scene 2: kitchen. after a long run, thirsty apartment dweller seeks glass of H2O refreshment. open cabinet door below sink to check water filter. cabinet door falls off.

Scene 3: bathroom. afore mentioned apartment dweller seeks post-jog shower. turn on tub faucet. turn on shower. shower head falls off into tub below.

* Side note: In the story of the brakes going, under normal circumstances, the right hand brake (front brake) would have come to my aid. However, it just so happened my scooter was due to have the oil changed and front brake tightened that week, so I really had basically no stopping power. What a time for the brakes to go, when faced with what appeared to be inevitable impact! Thankfully things worked out differently.

the song in my heart and on my lips as I awoke this morning:

Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and put a new and loyal spirit in me.
Do not banish me from your presence;
do not take your Holy Spirit away from me.
Give me again the joy that comes from your salvation,
and make me willing to obey you.

(Psalms 51:10-12)

as I enter the new year, I find this to be my prayer, my cry, my song

God forgive me for approaching what you ask of me unwillingly, provide a peace in taking on new challenges, and please accept what I do as it is now done with a willing and joyful heart.

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.

Fish heads, fish heads, roly, poly, fish heads

A few weeks back a friend came for a visit to bestow my balcony with some greenery and a grill. Snazzed up balcony + grill = time to barbecue with friends. Since this is Taiwan, I thought I'd offer some seafood options for the make-your-own-kebob shin-dig and I headed to the grocery store to pick up some squid and shrimp.

Now normally at the grocery store as I pass by the meat and fish departments on my way to produce, my eyes are greeted by a variety of fresh fish and seafood. However, on the day I need to buy things, all I can find are fish and fish heads. That's right, fish heads on ice, fish heads on trays wrapped in plastic, big ones, small ones, fish heads, fish heads, fish heads! For about $5 or $6 US, you could be the proud owner of a fish head.

Needless to say, 5 stores later I finally found what I was after and headed home for a fish head free barbecue. Of course as I headed back to the grocery store this week and once again passed through the fish department, I couldn't help but notice they were once again fully stocked with fresh squid and shrimp. Why is it that my endeavors in cooking rarely require a trip to fewer than 3 stores to obtain necessary ingredients? Grrrr...

P.S. While you may fish heads at the super market please note that roly poly fish heads are never seen drinking cappuchino in Italian restraunts with Oriental women.....yeah....