My first posting after starting language class was a bit frantic. I had some regret at committing to seven months of this intense study. I felt that I may have gotten myself in for more than I could handle. The next day - THE NEXT DAY - I was excited. I loved it. I was inspired. I was energized. I can do this! A few days later, I was back down again, defeated.
This trend has continued and has somewhat fallen into a predictable pattern. Take this past week, for example. I was uncomfortable heading into class Monday because we had to interview a native Russian speaker. I had not spent too much time practicing the questions because of all the other homework. To save time, our teacher had each of us take turns asking a question which took the pressure off asking 10 questions in a row. It was much more relaxed. I was down; I was up.
I am always nervous on the shuttle at the end of the day because I have just been given a load of homework. I often start it while riding home. I try to keep working until Doug comes home so I can spend a little uninterrupted time with him (which, truth be told, is dinner while we watch a program - oh, well, can't talk with food in our mouths, can we?). I always finish the work in time for class and we review it together for clarification and reinforcement. Also, the answers are in the back of the book - I just keep forgetting that they are there so I can check my own work. My nerves are settled again.
Another panicky time is just before lunch. Again, we are given a load of work to accomplish during our two hour "break" (which, we have pointed out to our teacher, ceases to be a break once we are assigned two hours of work; this does not matter to her). My stomach is growling and I have priorities. I also have responsibilities and the two fight each other. I wind up eating while I work and often finish with time to spare.
The peak of panic is Wednesday/Thursday. This is when we are assigned to memorize the dialogue of the week and deliver a narrative on a given topic to the class. Last week I had to describe the airport in detail. This was not easy - not because I had to do it in Russian but because I don't pay too much attention at the airport. I read signs and I follow them. Or I follow my nose to Cinnabon, my travel treat.
Friday was the day all this had to be done. The dialoge was easy, I did fine. My narrative was actually quite good. Whew! I had a (rare, lately) glass of wine when I got home Friday night. I was high (not on the wine). I boasted to Douglas. I called my mother and told her. By Saturday, I remembered the take home test. Yikes! So back down I went.
I'm surprised I don't have motion sickness all week long.
I am learning to appreciate and be okay with the 'downs' of my weeks. Sometimes my reaction to them is to forget Russian and read or watch a movie; needed time off. Sometimes my reaction is to study more, breathe and try to relax. I never neglect exercise and I'm keeping up on praying because, as I said in the past, I believe this is a package and, in keeping it complete, I will succeed.
When I'm riding on the highs, I have, outwardly, the same reactions. I'll take some time to relax since I'm feeling good about things or I'll study to keep the highs coming or to get ahead.
If I ever return to teaching piano, I'll be such a better teacher because of my being a full time student now. I will better recognize the panic in my students and be able to ease it. I will teach them to remember the highs when they are low to know that they will rise above this challenge. I will teach them to remember the lows when they are high so they aren't blindsided by them.
I like the mood of our classroom. Everything we do is for progress, not a grade, not to be judged (not yet, anyway, though judgement day IS coming, I'm told). When we want to stop and better understand something, we take only a little time for it. "We will keep moving forward as a class." Sophia tells us. That brought on another panic in me a few weeks ago. Now, I see the wisdom of continually moving forward even when I may not FEEL completely ready. We never leave anything completely behind, there is review along with new material. There is freshness in new material. Knowing we are moving forward regardless is oddly comforting. Today I took the take home test and I was lost in a great deal of it, I'm sure I did poorly. But instead of soaking myself in that feeling of failure, I'm moving on to this week's new chapter assignment and practicing the interview questions. This I know I can do well. I'll be high again pretty soon. (No wine.) If these highs and lows get to be too much I can always duck my head and scream.
What I'm about to write is gross. So if you gross out easily consider this the end and skip the last paragraph.
I had a drama teacher who gave us some good (though gross) advice once. He gave it to us after a particularly bad rehearsal. People were forgetting lines and blocking and didn't know what to do. He told us, "If you have a brain fart don't stand there and smell it - keep going, move ahead." He's right.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Perspective
One of my favorite things to explore as a reader and a writer is perspective. I love when known tales are retold from another viewpoint (like in Wicked or The Mists of Avalon). It can bring about sympathy and understanding where bitterness and anger once ruled. Or it can bring to light shock and disgust where apathy and acceptance once were content. This is, I believe, one of the many reasons we do not each live on our own little island. This is why we must live amongst each other - the good, the bad and the please, God, no; tell me you didn't make that.
I was recently given a perspective of the earth that I find intriguing. This is scientific and is being written by a (former) piano teacher so procede with caution, a sense of humor and give it a chaser of a conversation with someone who knows what they are talking about. Okay.
I was walking today and watching the tall, bare trees being blown against each other in the wind. I love the clickin sound that makes. I thought of how spiky and sharp they make the earth. I thought of how spiny and ridged the mountains make it. Then I realized that (according to what I heard) that if some enormous being were to hold the earth in it's hand like a marble, the earth would feel as smooth as a marble does in our hand. (Think Horton Hears a Who.)
Some of you may remember that I broke a finger several years ago and had it in a splint for a month or more. When I finally took the spint off I was amazed at how much I could feel with that fingertip. I could touch my hair and count individual strands by feel. I wondered at how textured paper was. Disappointingly, this lasted only about a day.
Did overuse numb my senses or was I so used to the feelings that I didn't notice them? I really tried hard for days after that to feel the pores of my skin that I had felt for the first time that day, but I could not.
We may not be able to physically feel everything; we may not be able to emotionally feel everything. Maybe that's another reason why we aren't here alone. What makes me laugh makes you shudder so, if we don't reject each other for our differing reactions, we can experience something from multiple perspectives. If I don't get too caught up in my own way, I can see one situation turn into a spiderweb of stories full of characters bringing in their own life experience to what may be mundane or terrifying to me.
I'm not in charge for good reasons. I have a list, if you ever want to see it. But one of the reasons is that my ideas are so simplistic they would be laughed at rather than tried. Many disputes happen over misunderstandings (duh, I know). It stands to reason that probably some wars have misunderstandings at their roots. If we do not practice (there's that word again) gaining perspective as individuals, how can we expect the same of a nation? Here's my Oprah show idea that I've never sent her: If adults had pen pals (text pals? e-pals?) from countries between which relations are tense I believe most misconceptions would be brought to light and possibly eliminated thus bringing about a better chance at peace.
I'd better quit, I'm starting to sound like Miss America. Mrs. America. This is what happens when I have a half day off. Any thoughts?
I was recently given a perspective of the earth that I find intriguing. This is scientific and is being written by a (former) piano teacher so procede with caution, a sense of humor and give it a chaser of a conversation with someone who knows what they are talking about. Okay.
I was walking today and watching the tall, bare trees being blown against each other in the wind. I love the clickin sound that makes. I thought of how spiky and sharp they make the earth. I thought of how spiny and ridged the mountains make it. Then I realized that (according to what I heard) that if some enormous being were to hold the earth in it's hand like a marble, the earth would feel as smooth as a marble does in our hand. (Think Horton Hears a Who.)
Some of you may remember that I broke a finger several years ago and had it in a splint for a month or more. When I finally took the spint off I was amazed at how much I could feel with that fingertip. I could touch my hair and count individual strands by feel. I wondered at how textured paper was. Disappointingly, this lasted only about a day.
Did overuse numb my senses or was I so used to the feelings that I didn't notice them? I really tried hard for days after that to feel the pores of my skin that I had felt for the first time that day, but I could not.
We may not be able to physically feel everything; we may not be able to emotionally feel everything. Maybe that's another reason why we aren't here alone. What makes me laugh makes you shudder so, if we don't reject each other for our differing reactions, we can experience something from multiple perspectives. If I don't get too caught up in my own way, I can see one situation turn into a spiderweb of stories full of characters bringing in their own life experience to what may be mundane or terrifying to me.
I'm not in charge for good reasons. I have a list, if you ever want to see it. But one of the reasons is that my ideas are so simplistic they would be laughed at rather than tried. Many disputes happen over misunderstandings (duh, I know). It stands to reason that probably some wars have misunderstandings at their roots. If we do not practice (there's that word again) gaining perspective as individuals, how can we expect the same of a nation? Here's my Oprah show idea that I've never sent her: If adults had pen pals (text pals? e-pals?) from countries between which relations are tense I believe most misconceptions would be brought to light and possibly eliminated thus bringing about a better chance at peace.
I'd better quit, I'm starting to sound like Miss America. Mrs. America. This is what happens when I have a half day off. Any thoughts?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Snowmageddon/Snowpocalypse - A Rose By Any Other Name . . .
That is how our circumstance is being referred to by local columnist Petula Dvorak. We aren't in Minnesota anymore. As I understand it, six inches of snow cripples this area. Last week we got over 20 inches of snow and, as I write, we are getting another 10-15 inches. I was in the gym tonight studying on the treadmill when part of the ceiling fell in.
It's going to be a long week.
So how long do you think two people can share 500 square feet of living space before playing hide-and-go-seek sounds like a great challenging pastime? (I know - I could hide in the oven! It's nice and warm and he'll never find me!) How many days in a row can one spend looking out the window at the dog poop station without turning into a - GASP, CHOKE - cat person? How much longer before I "accidentally" confuse the gin with the bottled water? I'll let you know.
I'm trying to be creative. I practiced Irish Jigs on my recorder today. Poor Douglas. I will NOT let the closure of the gym get in the way of maintaining all the progress I have made. So tonight I exercised during a program we were watching. Doug held up his hand to block the view of my lunging and flapping my arms throughout the show. Poor Douglas. We have some pistachios left over from our gathering the other night. We could throw the shells on the kitchen floor (wood) and host Country Western night at the Rose's. Yee-haw!
I remember learning about the fish at the bottom of the ocean in science class. Some of them glow since there is no light down there - they compensate. Some have no eyes since there is nothing much to see. They supposedly lost them through evolution. Maybe it's kind of like long term atrophy, I don't know. Here's my concern. How long will it take before Doug and I start losing things that we still consider important like the ability to walk more than 12 steps in a row? When I get out of here, will I still be able to interact with others? Will I awaken in the morning with my legs sealed together like the Little Mermaid in reverse? If I ever get out of here, will my lungs reject the fresh air? Or will they remember what breathing was really like? I haven't mentioned the hallucinations have I? The carbon dioxide build up in here is THICK let me tell you. I lay in bed wide awake as Douglas slept and I swear it was snowing on him. If I ever leave these walls again, will I be able to stand the excitement? Right now taking out the trash means drawing straws - the winner gets to go to the trash room! Or will I continue living life in thought only; vicariously, so to speak, via myself.
I have taken a couple of walks through the cemetery in the thick of the blizzard. It was eerie. Friday night I walked over fresh, smooth, blowing snow. As I rounded a loop with in the cemetary, I noticed footprints in front of me. I thought nothing of it then stopped. I looked behind me. Nothing. Where had the come from? I followed them. The led to a tiny structure of some sort and circled directionless then continued on the road. I continued to follow them until the disappeared. No kidding. They just vanished. I don't mean the snow blew them away 'vanished'. They were there, deep, and then they were not. Eerie. Today I walked and more snow had fallen and drifted over the headstones making Whoville-like shapes all around. Once in a while just a name would be peeking out from the pile: "Hummer" "Small" "Whistler". The ground claims the headstones over the decades; the snow can claims them overnight.
It's going to be a long week.
So how long do you think two people can share 500 square feet of living space before playing hide-and-go-seek sounds like a great challenging pastime? (I know - I could hide in the oven! It's nice and warm and he'll never find me!) How many days in a row can one spend looking out the window at the dog poop station without turning into a - GASP, CHOKE - cat person? How much longer before I "accidentally" confuse the gin with the bottled water? I'll let you know.
I'm trying to be creative. I practiced Irish Jigs on my recorder today. Poor Douglas. I will NOT let the closure of the gym get in the way of maintaining all the progress I have made. So tonight I exercised during a program we were watching. Doug held up his hand to block the view of my lunging and flapping my arms throughout the show. Poor Douglas. We have some pistachios left over from our gathering the other night. We could throw the shells on the kitchen floor (wood) and host Country Western night at the Rose's. Yee-haw!
I remember learning about the fish at the bottom of the ocean in science class. Some of them glow since there is no light down there - they compensate. Some have no eyes since there is nothing much to see. They supposedly lost them through evolution. Maybe it's kind of like long term atrophy, I don't know. Here's my concern. How long will it take before Doug and I start losing things that we still consider important like the ability to walk more than 12 steps in a row? When I get out of here, will I still be able to interact with others? Will I awaken in the morning with my legs sealed together like the Little Mermaid in reverse? If I ever get out of here, will my lungs reject the fresh air? Or will they remember what breathing was really like? I haven't mentioned the hallucinations have I? The carbon dioxide build up in here is THICK let me tell you. I lay in bed wide awake as Douglas slept and I swear it was snowing on him. If I ever leave these walls again, will I be able to stand the excitement? Right now taking out the trash means drawing straws - the winner gets to go to the trash room! Or will I continue living life in thought only; vicariously, so to speak, via myself.
I have taken a couple of walks through the cemetery in the thick of the blizzard. It was eerie. Friday night I walked over fresh, smooth, blowing snow. As I rounded a loop with in the cemetary, I noticed footprints in front of me. I thought nothing of it then stopped. I looked behind me. Nothing. Where had the come from? I followed them. The led to a tiny structure of some sort and circled directionless then continued on the road. I continued to follow them until the disappeared. No kidding. They just vanished. I don't mean the snow blew them away 'vanished'. They were there, deep, and then they were not. Eerie. Today I walked and more snow had fallen and drifted over the headstones making Whoville-like shapes all around. Once in a while just a name would be peeking out from the pile: "Hummer" "Small" "Whistler". The ground claims the headstones over the decades; the snow can claims them overnight.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tube-o-dough
I'm late with this posting because of the incredible amount of studying I've had to do to keep up in my Russian classes. Forgive me.
I have been experiencing something that has my attention. We all know what it is like to crave something (like chocolate - I, personally, know THAT one well). For about two weeks I have been fixated on painting and drawing. Let me say, for those of you who have never seen me draw or paint (and I don't mean the rooms in our house) that I have no talent in those areas. None. So why this urge to paint and draw I have been wondering. It's been such a strong pre-occupation that I mentioned it to Doug. Finally, the other morning, it occurred to me that, since the turn of the year I have done nothing buy study Russian. I have done absolutely nothing creative. My piano has been in storage and I have no access to one. I have done painfully little writing except this blog which is somewhat creative but quite factual and more like a report sometimes. I sing around the apartment a little (not much) but I guess that's not enough. I'm guessing that the artistic side of me is getting rather anxious and is begging for an outlet. I may need to pick up a pencil and sit and sketch (when no one is looking, of course).
We are supposedly in the middle of the STORM OF THE CENTURY now. People (including our own government) are going CRAZY. School was cancelled before the first flake fell (which was microscopic and not until about 10:15 this morning. By the time the kids could have had a full day of school about 1/2 inch of snow had beseiged the city. Good thing they were home watching TV. I had to go grocery shopping yesterday because we had been out of bread for a day and we are trying to be conservative and pack our own lunches. I finished early and walked to the store where there were no carts available since the entire city was there in a panic. Shelves were being literally emptied. I had to buy crappy bread. I decided that if this was indeed going to happen (the STORM OF THE CENTURY) that I was going to enjoy myself while holed up. So I bought what I lovingly refer to as chop-chop cookies (rolled, plastic-wrapped cookie dough - half of which MUST be consumed raw) and whack-'em rolls (cardboard tubes of dough that you smack on the edge of the counter to open - scary). When I showed Doug it all looked pretty disgusting even though I was (am) thorougly looking forward to indulging in it. I said something like "We're going to be eating tubular food this week like the astronauts. Tube-o-dough." Maybe it was funnier when I first said it. I don't know.
Well I must quit and study. Tonight I learn the days of the week and the months of the year. I am reviewing to take my first take-home quiz. I have learned to count (slowly) and tell time and cost. I have learned three cases in Russian (Nominative, Prepositional (or Locative) and Accusative). I can write them pretty well since I have time to work and figure. They haven't all worked their way comfortably into my speech. This week we learn past and future tenses. Anyone who wants to hear some Russian can call me. I would be good for me to be put on the spot to speak. Apparently I'll not be going anywhere anytime soon. STORM OF THE CENTURY, you know. . .
I have been experiencing something that has my attention. We all know what it is like to crave something (like chocolate - I, personally, know THAT one well). For about two weeks I have been fixated on painting and drawing. Let me say, for those of you who have never seen me draw or paint (and I don't mean the rooms in our house) that I have no talent in those areas. None. So why this urge to paint and draw I have been wondering. It's been such a strong pre-occupation that I mentioned it to Doug. Finally, the other morning, it occurred to me that, since the turn of the year I have done nothing buy study Russian. I have done absolutely nothing creative. My piano has been in storage and I have no access to one. I have done painfully little writing except this blog which is somewhat creative but quite factual and more like a report sometimes. I sing around the apartment a little (not much) but I guess that's not enough. I'm guessing that the artistic side of me is getting rather anxious and is begging for an outlet. I may need to pick up a pencil and sit and sketch (when no one is looking, of course).
We are supposedly in the middle of the STORM OF THE CENTURY now. People (including our own government) are going CRAZY. School was cancelled before the first flake fell (which was microscopic and not until about 10:15 this morning. By the time the kids could have had a full day of school about 1/2 inch of snow had beseiged the city. Good thing they were home watching TV. I had to go grocery shopping yesterday because we had been out of bread for a day and we are trying to be conservative and pack our own lunches. I finished early and walked to the store where there were no carts available since the entire city was there in a panic. Shelves were being literally emptied. I had to buy crappy bread. I decided that if this was indeed going to happen (the STORM OF THE CENTURY) that I was going to enjoy myself while holed up. So I bought what I lovingly refer to as chop-chop cookies (rolled, plastic-wrapped cookie dough - half of which MUST be consumed raw) and whack-'em rolls (cardboard tubes of dough that you smack on the edge of the counter to open - scary). When I showed Doug it all looked pretty disgusting even though I was (am) thorougly looking forward to indulging in it. I said something like "We're going to be eating tubular food this week like the astronauts. Tube-o-dough." Maybe it was funnier when I first said it. I don't know.
Well I must quit and study. Tonight I learn the days of the week and the months of the year. I am reviewing to take my first take-home quiz. I have learned to count (slowly) and tell time and cost. I have learned three cases in Russian (Nominative, Prepositional (or Locative) and Accusative). I can write them pretty well since I have time to work and figure. They haven't all worked their way comfortably into my speech. This week we learn past and future tenses. Anyone who wants to hear some Russian can call me. I would be good for me to be put on the spot to speak. Apparently I'll not be going anywhere anytime soon. STORM OF THE CENTURY, you know. . .
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