December 20, 2007

Here’s one of the nicest Christmas greetings I’ve ever gotten. It was written in a card by a small class of pre-intermediate students and given to me after our last class on the 13th.

The front of the card said, “Christmas Greetings for Someone Special,” and inside was one of those innocuous card poems no one ever reads. Then they wrote, “Merry Christmas Mr. Peter… We love you… We always miss you Sir… We are sorry, because we always made many mistakes. Thank you to teach us with very patient. God bless you!! Wish you have a wonderful Christmas with your family & wife.”

Isn’t that sweet?

I also had two classes of 6- and 7-year-olds just finish the other day too. Their last test had some of my favorite mistakes. Our latest unit covered pets and animals, and they had to answer questions about their pets. Here a few especially good ones.

For the question, What does it look like? one said of her dog, “it look like a cat.”

Also for, What does it look like? one boy said of his fish, “it look like medium.” Hmm.

Entering the world of magic realism and poetry… For, Where does it sleep? one boy answered of his pet dinosaur, “it’s sleep of ocean.” Quite beautifully put.

For, What does it do? one boy answered of his cat, “it do like a thief.” Yes. Don’t they all.

And there were two really good answers for, What does it like to eat? “it like to eat plankton,” one boy very logically said of his fish. And another said of his hamster, “it eat born.” Yes. Even this close to Christmas the harsh realities of life have not escaped this child.

Hope your Christmas season isn’t too stressed out. For those of you in retail… my heart goes out to you. I feel your pain all the way across the oceans and hemispheres. For those of you who aren’t in retail, be nice and tip well to those who are. Santa and the baby Jesus are watching.

We miss you all. Merry Christmas!

December 13, 2007

If you’re ever in Southeast Asia, try this at Black Canyon Coffee.

“Hot Espresso with Coffee: Creamy coffee, tasty forming of the Viennese people since their ancestors, a cinnamon stick spices destroying the unpleasant taste of cream, specially and incomparably fragrant.”

It’s pretty good.

Well, it’s time for another update on life in Indonesia – specifically Makassar, Sulawesi and its affect on your friends Peter and Sarah.

We’ve pretty much settled in now near the four-month mark. We’ve gotten through the culture-shock/rage-and-anger stage without offending anyone significantly. (Though there was that driver I splashed with water that got too close and honked at me as I tried crossing an intersection. Hey. I had the green light and he had red… But you should’ve seen his face, dripping with water.) We can now give directions to a taxi driver, order food without being laughed at, and shop at a grocery store without much confusion.

Life has fallen into a routine here. Sarah spends her mornings at the gym, and I spend mine writing. Indonesia feels far less overwhelming now. At school, part of the ceiling fell in (no one was hurt, thank God), my air conditioner has quit working and the power still goes out still, though it’s for a multitude of reasons now… not just one. But these are things that are just part of the scene in Makassar. We just kind of shrug it off now. The ceiling fell in because half-inch thick sheetrock was glued up instead of nailed or screwed. The power went out one day because someone was putting diesel in the wrong opening and it ran out of fuel; another time it went out because an electrical box was sparking and wires were melting. I’m no longer surprised. This is Indonesia. And I don’t feel like my life is in danger.

I’m finding out from observing Indonesian culture – the driving, the construction workers’ conditions (they work barefoot mostly, use ladders and scaffolding made of bamboo), the kids in the street, the infants carried on motorcycles – a lot has to happen before things really go horribly wrong. Americans are way too afraid. Sarah saw some barefoot guys using a concrete saw on a sidewalk the other week. I’ve seen motorcycle passengers carrying ladders and chairs. Somehow everyone seems fine. I have not yet seen an accident where anyone was hurt.

I would not have tolerated lizards in my home in the West either. Now I find myself talking to the geckos here. The one who spends a lot of time under our toaster oven is named Phil. Phil’s all right. We used to have an ant problem in the kitchen. Not anymore, thanks to Phil. But sometimes Phil tries to sneak a taste of Sarah’s cookies when she bakes. We have to talk firmly with Phil then. The other night Phil or one of his little cronies was trying to get into a box of chocolates. Little pieces of chocolate were left on the floor. We threw that box out. There are limits to this alliance.

Oh yeah. And when I get back to the States someday, my ceiling better not collapse. After all, I’m still an American.

December 9, 2007

This is a public service announcement.

And by “public service” we mean you could help Sarah and me. We had to leave behind our cats Spike and Mixy Mae in the States. Trust us, Indonesia is no place for domesticated animals of any type. Before leaving, we tried believing we could have them sent after us, but that was a foolish dream. Now we need to find a nice foster home for them to stay until October. Sarah’s brother Andy, who’s watching them now, is willing to drive down from Olympia to Portland to deliver the animals.

We do not want to find a permanent home for them. We want them back. They’re good cats. Mixy (11 years old) is de-clawed and Spike (almost 3) does not claw things if you keep his claws trimmed. Both are affectionate (especially Spike). Mixy sleeps a lot.

Our deadline is Christmas. If you can help us out, we’d love you forever. Let us know as soon as possible. Thank you.

November 30, 2007

Well, Thanksgiving came and went. Sarah and I celebrated on Saturday the 24th, instead of Thursday the 22nd of course. We had to work on Thursday. I guess the Indonesians don’t care if adjusting to life in the New World was difficult. Plus, they had a bit harder time shaking the Dutch than we did the British, I guess.

Anyway, we had eight guests for our dinner party. We were the only Americans. The list included Bill (our Australian neighbor and co-worker), his girlfriend Rany, Steve our Scotish co-worker, his girlfriend Silvia (owner of our building), our jolly English co-worker Rod and his wife Lini, and their two kids Matthew and Jonathan. The kids sat inside and watched cartoons and ate, while the adults sat on the balcony and drank wine – an Australian shiraz.

They didn’t eat the way they were supposed to on Thanksgiving – that is, all day – but that’s OK. They weren’t really familiar with the holiday. Steve only had one other Thanksgiving experience and that was about four or five years ago in France with his girlfriend of the time, an American. It was not a good experience. He said it was at a strict vegan’s house and he wanted to contribute his special chocolate truffles for dessert. When the host found out the truffles had milk in them, she almost did not let him enter the house. True story. I guess strict vegenism might be some strange, bastardized practice of Puritanism or something.

Now Sarah and I, being the crazy vegetarians we are, did not threaten to throw anyone out. Bill and Rany brought chicken for the meat eaters (turkey is hard to find here) and it was a hit. Sarah and I made our traditional pasta with mushroom sauce and it smelled like the holidays to me, even though it was in the 80s outside. I also made garlic mashed potatoes and Sarah made chocolate chip cookies. Then after a while we all sat on the balcony and watched the thunderstorm move in.

We had to retell the Thanksgiving story, because most guests were a bit foggy on it. They wanted to know exactly what we were “thankful” for anyway. I suppose New England and the winters there and things like religious freedom and actually owning property haven’t been all that important to people from the UK for a couple hundred years or so… since they lost the Revolutionary War (or as they call it the “Civil War.”) So we told them. And I added they could stick around as long as they all were thankful our forefathers survived and then demanded their independence from all of them – except the Indonesian guests, of course. We’re actually muscling in on their turf. They didn’t think all this irony was quite as funny as I did.

Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving. We’re thankful for all our friends and family and wish you a great holiday season.

November 27, 2007

Sarah and I have been putting this one together for a while…

Here are some highlights of students’ work that we’ve collected. We should say that the intent of this is not to laugh at the mistakes made by people learning English as a foreign language however. Some of these examples are bizarrely creative ideas that can only come from someone trying to make learning more meaningful. Others are just simple mistakes made by someone working to understand a very difficult language. (Note: Indonesian has virtually no verb tense.) Therefore, we have more of a sense of laughing “with” them. Afterall, English sometimes makes little sense. We’ve haven’t changed what follows, so some of them are pretty rough… Take a look.

- Sarah’s class: 6 & 7 year-olds learning past simple tense, a project to make a list of the days of the week and events that happened thereon
“Luther lost his ball
Luther ate glue
Luther drank wine
Luther killed people
Luther flew into hell
Luther married the devil
Luther died (had the devil’s baby)”

- Peter’s class: 6 & 7 year-olds drew an imaginary creature made of many different animal parts (a “following instructions” exercise). They then had to name it. Some names include:
Impulse/Speedy
Spade
Leonardo
Peter
Peterpan
Brownies
Super Santa
Dinotrodon Advantage Spit [my favorite]


- From another of Sarah’s class’s dark imaginations: They were told to write a scary story (Indonesians love a good – or bad – ghost story):

One day there was a ghost named luciver. There is a man who wanted to killed the ghost. Because there was an a evil hand (the ghost’s hand. The man look and Find a virus and a magical sword to killed the ghost. And cup to desapere the ghost. After the ghost killed (the man’s name was garreth) he return the ghost in to the cup [by Ivan]
###

1.) Once upon a time there was a alien.
2.) The alien was so strong.
3.) So he wants got all
4.) But there was a knight
5.) From heaven and killed king alien.
6.) 100.000 died
[by Billy]
###

One day Irene went to the forest. She saw a very old house. And then a crazy grandpa said to Irene “Don’t looked the house because the house is very scary”. But Irene already looked the house. After that the ghost came to Irene. Then Irene killed the ghost. [by Regina]
###

One day, in the forest there is a ghost named ghosty. All ghost friend with ghosty. But if ghosty and another ghost said a people, ghosty and his friend will killed us and ate us. The first people be killed is a girl named Regina. Regina dead and friend with ghosty. Even Regina family. Regina killed them and all people will killed by the ghost. [by Irene]
###

November 18, 2007

Here’s another sure-fire way to give your self-confidence a boost while in Indonesia: take part in a labor walkout. It feels good. Trust me.

Now before you think I’m ready to pick up the hammer and sickle, let me explain.

Many of you know that I worked for a newspaper as a reporter shortly after receiving my English degree. I was one of, like, 3 recent English/writing degree recipients in America using their degree that year. It was an amazing experience – I’m still not sure how I got that job – and that is where I began to learn what true writing is. It’s where I discovered the world outside academia does not use introductory paragraphs or thesis statements or foot/end notes (whatever the latest MLA Handbook’s whim may be). It’s where I learned academic writing, well, isn’t really writing. To borrow a phrase from Truman Capote… it’s just typing.

Anyway, after a year and a half of reporting on the exciting world of Huntington County, Indiana’s county commissioners and county council I decided to take another step to bigger and better things in writing. So I moved to Portland. The plan was to do freelance writing for the many papers there. Well, the writing was very hard to come by and the pay even harder… and then I got divorced a year and a half later. That’s when, before I really knew what was happening, I was managing a Starbuck’s store. I’ll spare all the details, but thus began my almost 11-year career in retail coffee.

I know what you’re thinking. You know where this is going, but let me just preface this by saying there are far worse companies in the world than the Bucks. I got a 401(k) started there – benefits, stock at discounts, a little bit in stock options too. Those are all nice, but still not preferable to having a soul.

There were a few times at Starbuck that really I wanted to walk. One example was when our hours got cut and we were told it was our fault: “Well, if you all would sell more, we’d get more hours.” (The store was doing about 1000 transactions a day, and bringing in about $50,000/wk. and I hadn’t had a pay raise in two years.) Or being told – not asked – that I was in charge of organizing all my store’s volunteer activities (outside work) and not get paid for it. I called it free PR for a $2 billion company. Or how ‘bout when all labor was cut 5%, co-workers were wondering how to make rent (literally), and only to be thanked by Howard Schultz buying his very own NBA basketball team and getting a $1.2 million bonus? Yes. All those are really great memories of a drone. But why did I never walk? Because. I was disposable, of course. It wouldn’t have mattered. They would’ve just replaced me with two 19-year-olds that afternoon… like every American corporation would do.

Now fast-forward to about four weeks ago. We’re finally in our new school building. It looked great, except two problems: all of our teaching materials were still in boxes all over the place and no AC. I’m no meteorologist, but I noticed it’s hotter closer to the equator than it is in Oregon. AC is necessary in Makassar.

So all the teachers got together and went to the school owner. We said, “We have no materials yet and it’s too hot.” He said, “But kids are already arriving. I can’t just send them home. Their parents paid for a certain amount of classes. How will we make up the lessons?” We told him they weren’t going to learn anything today regardless; we’re going home. Now, we did make a couple well-played moves that made it sound like it was his idea, but we were not going to be treated poorly. He’d have no business were it not for us.

Sarah and I went swimming that afternoon. I saw one of my students there at the pool.

I felt for the first time since I worked for the Huntington Herald-Press that I was needed and not just a cog in a vast machine. There was a certain obligation to make me happy and not a sense of “You’re lucky you got a job and work for us. And oh yeah. Before you clock out could you also…”

I don’t regret coffee or retail. (Peet’s was an especially good experience.) It gave me time to work on my writing in a way working in journalism would not have allowed. And living in Portland… Well, I got to work with great authors (Whitney Otto, Charles D’Ambrosio, Kevin Sampsell), go to Tin House magazine workshops and meet and work with other great writers (D.A Powell, Susan Bell, Aimee Bender). Things I could never do in Indiana or working for newspapers. Those years were a turning point, but at times very difficult because I felt of no worth really.

But now I have some real pride in what I do. I don’t know of anyone who thinks being a teacher is unethical or below me. And for that I really do feel lucky to have the job I have. Thank you, English First Makassar!

November 12, 2007

This weekend I ventured out to get highlights in my hair -- it has now resumed a non-monochromatic state. And, although the back of my head resembles a leopard, I like having my hair lightened a bit… I may try red the next time around….

A couple of weeks ago, our Director of Studies informed Peter and I that we have finished our probationary period and are “actual teachers” now. This has led me to realize that Thanksgiving is only about 10 days away even though I still feel as though it’s August.

As the only U.S. citizens at our school, I believe that it is up to Peter and I to host a Thanksgiving extravaganza. We have figured out the guest list and have realized that we may be having the largest Thanksgiving gathering that we’ve ever had. This should be quite an adventure given our living situation and our almost non-existent kitchen… let me explain…

Our apartment in comprised of one very large room -- furnished with a bed, 2 chairs, a wardrobe, a vanity and a TV., a much smaller room that we’ve converted into a “kitchen” of sorts – there is no running water or sink or anything, and a bathroom. Our “kitchen” has a gas stovetop, a toaster oven and a refrigerator.

We cook many of our daily meals here, but we have not yet tried our hand at hospitality…. I have managed to figure out how to make chocolate chip cookies and scones using our toaster oven, Peter makes a fabulous potato dish moving from the stovetop to the toaster oven and this weekend, we mastered the art of a nacho dish.

Our plan is to make our traditional Thanksgiving dish – cheese ravioli and a wild mushroom sauce and allow others to bring meat dishes and other additions to the meal. We‘ll cover our bed with a large tablecloth and transform it into the food smorgasbord and see how many chairs we can round up within our apartment building. We figure if we open the door to the balcony and let people wander into our Australian neighbor’s apartment, it may not feel too crowded. Even if it does, no one really cares – it’s the food and company that really count.

And, really, if I wax poetic for just a moment, isn’t that what it’s really about anyway? We’re a long way from home and if there is anything I miss, it’s my family and friends and the people who make my life the rich experience that it is. And, even as I meet new people and make new friends, I realize that there is nothing that can compare to those I’ve left behind.

So, thank you for being such loyal and supportive friends. We miss you and wish you the best as Thanksgiving approaches.