Armknechts Abroad

Something New

noreply@blogger.com (Travis) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 03:54:00 +0000

Erin & I bought a new computer in January. The old Dell laptop was beginning to die again and it was obvious it wasn't going to last much longer with regular use, so we went to the Apple Store and bought ourselves a Mac Mini. It's a nice little computer for a very reasonable price, especially since Apple offers student discounts. If you're thinking about getting a new computer, I'd highly recommend a Mac.

One of the cool things the computer came with is a very easy web publishing software called iWeb (yes, much like the iPod and iTunes, many programs have the ubiquitous 'i' as part of their name). I've been playing around with the program lately and a couple weeks ago, made this. It's not much and our trial to the .mac web host ends in about ten days, so it's hard to say if we'll keep it up. In the meantime, have a look around.

Happy Hallowienerdog!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 00:28:00 +0000

This afternoon, we went to our local dachshund society's 2007 Howl-O-Wiener party. Charlie was a lobster. It. Was. AWESOME.

Sorry we haven't updated in a while--we've been awfully busy with full time grad school and a full time job (Travis) and two part-time jobs that add up one one full time job and then some (me). In addition to that, I've been able to pick up some freelance feature writing with our suburb's local weekly newspaper. In case that wasn't enough to keep me out of trouble, I'm also going to be doing some volunteer work (mostly public relations stuff, writing press releases and doing some photography) with the Gateway Pet Guardians, an area organization that helps find homes for homeless cats and dogs.

We're doing well, though. Travis has been doing extremely well in his grad classes (I'm so proud of him!), we've finally finished unpacking and are 100% settled in, and the dog and cat are playmates and, dare I say it, friends. Because it's getting colder (FINALLY), the cat has been sleeping in a tightly-wadded kitty ball at the end of our bed every night. Charlie sleeps under the covers, always making sure he's touching both of us. It's cozy, two people and two pets to a bed, but we wouldn't have it any other way.

I'm still planning to blog about our last few weeks in Indonesia and our wonderful trip home, where we flew Cathay Pacific's incredible business class all the way from Jakarta to Los Angeles. (Best. Flights. EVER.) I'll do it soonish, I promise. In the meantime, I hope everyone is having a fabulous autumn, and I will leave you with these lovely photos of our fuzzy "kids" in their Halloween finery. Charlie, as I mentioned, is a lobster and Beans is a business cat who sells paper for Dunder-Mifflin. He's assistant to the assistant to the regional manager. Dinkin' flicka.

Turn, turn, turn

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 18:06:00 +0000

This whole changing seasons thing is fascinating.

I know that sounds weird. I spent the first 24 years of my life in the Midwest, where there are four distinct seasons. In Indonesia, there was a rainy season and a dry season, but where we lived the two tended to blend together. We lived near Bogor, affectionately (or not) known as the Rain City. It averaged something like 335 thunderstorms per year, and since it was about 10 minutes down the road, we shared a lot of its weather.

There's nothing like a tropical thunderstorm in the hills of Sentul. The lightning posed the only real danger, but as long as a person wasn't standing outside with a metal pole, there was no major threat. (As for appliances and electronics...well, you might remember that we lost a brand new desktop computer to a particularly mean-spirited lightning strike.) The thunder, unlike any I've ever heard, would shake the very foundations of the houses. Usually the storms occurred later in the afternoons and evenings, but occasionally one would roll in before school let out for the day and the sky would grow so dark that the automatic light-sensitive lamps in the courtyard would turn on. The rain would come in violent torrents, and usually the storm would pass as quickly as it had arrived. I always said I loved the tropical thunderstorms so much because there was no need to worry about tornadoes.

Anyway, it's been three years since we've experienced any real seasonal change. Sure, we came home to visit for our first two Christmases, but there wasn't any changing of seasons--when we got on the plane in Jakarta it was warm and by the time we got to our second-to-last stop in Chicago, it was obscenely cold. When we went to Istanbul we experienced gorgeous spring weather, but again--no actual, gradual change. When we got on the plane in Jakarta, it was hot. When we got off the plane in Istanbul, it was chilly and drizzly.

For the past few days I've watched the Weather Channel with newfound fascination. It's getting cooler! Like, a LOT cooler! And the weirdest thing? It's going to stay that way for a while. I had no idea that something I'd taken for granted for all of my life would seem so amazing after having missed out on it for three years. I can't wait for fall. I feel like a little kid. I'm going to step on every crunchy leaf I see, and drink apple cider and carve pumpkins...and I'm going to appreciate every minute of it.

"...let men label you as they may." -Mark Twain

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 19:46:00 +0000

Not sure this was what Mr. Twain was talking about, exactly...

We got a new label-maker. It's quite useful.

Erin and Travis return to America, part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 04 Sep 2007 02:49:00 +0000

Yeah...remember when I said I was going to blog again soon and then I kind of didn't? Sorry. I promise I will try to be better. I really will. So here, in a nutshell (or a number of bulleted points) is what's going on with us.

-We're now into the full swing of working and, in Travis's case, going to school. Travis is working full time at a nearby Target, mostly in the electronics department. The job's not glamorous, but it comes with good benefits for both of us and will be a great job to get him through grad school. Plus, it comes with a discount, and Target is fabulous!

-Travis is currently working on his Masters of Arts in Teaching at Webster University, which is right down the road from us. He's a full-time student, which for this program means he's taking two night classes that last for eight weeks, then another two for another eight weeks. He's only had two weeks of class so far, both education classes (one history and one more psychology-based), and he seems to like them quite a bit. I can tell he's learning--yesterday we drove past a Presbyterian church and he started spouting off the history of the education system in America and its links with Calvinism and Puritanism.

-It is quite difficult for one to type when one has a dozing, purring cat laying across one's arms, mostly immobilizing one's hands and partially obscuring the keyboard. I should know. Yet I press on...

-I'm working as an online writing tutor, which is challenging but fun. The best part is being able to work from home--or from anywhere with internet access, for that matter. OK, maybe that's the second-best part. The best part is a toss-up between being able to work in my pajamas and not having to attend staff meetings. It's a part-time job, and so I'm also working 15-20 hours a week at the St. Louis Bread Company (Panera, for the rest of you) that's about four blocks up the street from our house. I work weekday mornings only, with the exception of a couple hours on the occasional Saturday afternoon. Again, not a glamorous gig, but I actually kind of like it. I love the two women I work with in the mornings, Stella and Barb--more on them later, but for now let's just say that if I actually enjoy being around them rather than wanting to kill them at 6 a.m., they must be fairly amazing people.

-If all goes according to plan, I'll be starting massage therapy school in January. There's a nearby college that specializes exclusively in medical careers, and massage therapy is one of their biggest programs. It's a reputable school, and with the program I'm enrolling in, I will finish in 30 weeks, or about 7 1/2 months. That means by this time next year, assuming the anatomy and physiology courses don't kill me, I'll be a licensed massage therapist in the state of Missouri. We've looked at it from all the angles, figured things out, and we'd be able to make it work if I started in January. I'm pretty psyched.

-Beans and Charlie are getting along swimmingly. They moved past their initial suspicion of each other and, for a long time, seemed content to coexist peacefully. Lately, though, they've even moved past that stage and have become playmates. They make a regular game of chasing each other through the house. Admittedly, this doesn't take very long because our house is tiny, but if you're a cat or a small dog, there's lots of room to race about. Last night Beans was disgruntled because Charlie was more interested in eating than he was in playing. As soon as Charlie finished his food, Beans walked up behind him, swatted him on the butt and took off running. Charlie, realizing he was It, joined in. Earlier this evening, Charlie was laying next to me on the couch with his head on my lap. Beans jumped up on the other side and, after tiptoeing forward to sniff at the dog's head, settled in on the other side. Their noses were about three inches apart. Of course, no one was home but me and all cameras were out of reach.

-We're officially crazy pet people. We have joined the Gateway Lo-Downs, which is the St. Louis-area Local Dachshund Owners society. Yes. We're members of a wiener dog society. You thought we were cool before...

-Our shipped items from Indonesia arrived unscathed a few weeks ago. We're almost unpacked now. Almost. We were worried that everything would look too cluttered in our small living spaces, but it actually looks very cozy and inviting. (I can't lie--it's the Turkish hookah that makes it so inviting...)

-We continue to adjust to living in St. Louis. We're getting around the city pretty well now. I'm capable of getting to a number of important places all on my own--Kristin's house, Nate and Alli's house, Matt and Lisa's house, the post office, the library, the grocery store and no fewer than three major malls. I like city driving, except for the fact that nearly every single day seems to be Drive With Your Head Up Your Ass Day in St. Louis. Stop signs are mere suggestions, and the general rule seems to be that if you are old and/or drive a fancy European car, you always have the right of way. Still, it's nothing compared to Jakarta driving!

-We LOVE our neighborhood. There are coffee houses, excellent restaurants, unique shops, cool pubs and nice little cafes within walking distance. The library is so close it would be crazy to drive there, and right across from our driveway is a little sno-cone shop. There's even a doggie boutique nearby, which was having a "long dog special" the day we visited, so we received 10% off any dachshund items we purchased. The homes surrounding our humble apartment complex are gorgeous. We went on a long walk with Charlie Friday evening and nearly tripped over ourselves trying not to obviously ogle the stately homes set back on vast, manicured lawns, each one more beautiful than the last.

-We love St. Louis in general. I always teased my college friends who hailed from the area about their unabashed obsession with their hometown, but now I really understand it. It's a fantastic city, with a million things to do and see. I feel like I could be a tourist in my own town forever.

-As much as we love it here, we miss Indonesia so much. Homesickness comes in waves, much like it did when we moved there from Nebraska. The first fall I was in Indonesia was horrible. I was so miserably homesick. I wanted to close my eyes and, upon opening them again, be sitting on my front porch in Nebraska. I was so lonesome for the fall weather, my friends and family and everything familiar to me. If I imagined hard enough, I could hear the jingling of the tags on my dog's collar. I could feel the brisk, fall breeze on my face and smell the crisp, clean air.

Now it's almost fall in Missouri and sometimes I miss Indonesia so much it physically hurts.

My heart literally aches. I wonder if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, I'll open them to find I'm sitting behind my desk in my classroom, the warm tropical sun streaming through the big windows. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can hear the lobby fountains, the idle chatter of students whose mother tongue was once foreign to me but now is soothing and familiar to my ears. I want my desk, my room with blank walls waiting for cheery seventh-grade doodlings to decorate them, a brand-new gradebook waiting to be filled with marks of the new year. I want my coworkers who became friends and family. Most of all, though, I want my students-my wonderful, funny, bright stars of students, all of whom I loved so dearly.

Erin and Travis return to America, part one

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 16 Jul 2007 21:12:00 +0000

Hi. Yes. We're alive. Yes. We'll keep blogging--reverse culture shock is an odd thing and certainly deserves being written about. Sorry for the obscenely long lapse between posts. I'll get a nice, long update on what's been going in the last two months posted soon--very, very soon.

Until then, please enjoy this nice tale of how we narrowly avoided living in Crazy Cat Lady Trash Heap Hell.

***********

So, up until we moved to St. Louis, we'd been pleasantly surprised by how well things were going for us with our Indonesia-to-America transition.

Friday morning we headed down the road with a fully-loaded 17-foot U-Haul truck and arrived at our new apartment by 5 p.m. We'd never even seen the place, and were a little nervous.

Right.

The apartment itself was fairly cute--the living room had nice wood floors and there were plenty of big windows. The rest of the building, however, was an absolute disaster. It was a small brick fourplex, and apparently the other three apartments were rented by complete lunatics.

The rickety wooden stairs to our second-floor dwelling were covered in dead plants and cobwebs. The hallway between our door and our neighbor's was almost completely blocked by an assortment of junk-cat litter tubs, broken furniture, stacks of newspapers and boxes and other unidentifiable crap. Our lovely new neighbor had been thoughtful enough to leave an eight inch space for us to squeeze into our front door.

There was no way we were getting anything, not even small boxes--let alone furniture--up the stairs. Upon further inspection, the basement was even worse. We'd been promised by the real estate agent that there was "ample storage space, PLUS washer and dryer hookups for each tenant" in the basement.

Um.

In reality, the basement featured junk piled at least seven feet high, filling every single corner so that there was only about two square feet of space to walk amongst the heaps of trash. Additionally, there was a rather inexplicable pile of chicken feathers and dog poop in one area.

I burst into tears. My mother burst into tears. Travis's mother stood looking horrified and as if she could also burst into tears at any moment. My father, on the other hand, was furious.

I called the real estate agency in a frenzy and played the powerful "I just moved from Indonesia, and today I drove nine damn hours with a huge moving truck and cannot move in" card. Within 25 minutes, one of the real estate company's brokers showed up--not ours, but another woman. Ours, I think, does not really exist. We've only been able to correspond through e-mail, as she apparently has neither office hours or the courtesy to return phone calls. A few minutes later, the owner of the entire realty company arrived.

Long story short, he's a powerful man. He says "jump," his employees say "how high?"

He, too, was appalled with the condition of the building. I have a feeling our real estate agent is in some serious trouble for basically lying to us about the building and not taking care of her properties.

He said he would have the basement and the rest of the place cleaned up within a week, and that if we weren't satisfied them, his company would personally find us a new place and pay to move everything for us. We told him that wasn't good enough.

Somehow it was mentioned that we were on a tight budget because Travis was starting grad school at Webster University. The owner said, "Oh! We do have an apartment complex in Webster Groves, not even a quarter mile from the university." He offered to show them to us and, if we liked them, we could move in. The rent was quite a bit higher, but he said he'd drop the price just for us because the one we'd initially rented was so awful.

Within 60 minutes of this offer, we had a new place to live. It's PERFECT.

We live in Webster Groves, which is probably one of the most gorgeous, fascinating areas of St. Louis. The houses are gracious, charming and ludicrously expensive. The historic downtown is too adorable for words. We are a five-minute bike ride from Webster University, a five-minute walk from a Starbucks, a St. Louis Bread Co. (Panera, for you non-St. Louis folk), and so close to the most amazing boutiques, bars and cool little cafes and restaurants. I am head over heels in love with this place.

Even better, our apartment is wonderful. Sure, it's small, but that's OK. It's on the ground floor of a very secluded, quiet complex. For its little size, it has a TON of storage space. There are three closets in the bedroom, one of which is a giant walk-in. There's a front and back door, with a little patio/yard just outside our bedroom for Charlie to sniff around and do his doggy business. Our neighbors are friendly, and the property's manager is on-site. The guy who oversees it has his office in the apartment two doors down from us, and is incredibly nice.

It's so funny how things work out. If we'd never signed the lease on that horrible apartment, we'd never have found this great one. We wouldn't have ended up in Webster Groves, either, mere minutes from almost everything we need.

I've always said God has a weird sense of humor, but He does seem to know what He's doing, and for that I am infinitely thankful.

Big bag o' crazy

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 10 May 2007 11:59:00 +0000

Beans has a new, fancy imported cat toy: a paper grocery bag, sent all the way from the States. I don't know why people spend a lot of money on cat toys--this one was free, and it hardly took up any room in the FedEx package it was sent in.

As you can see, this bag is nearly destroyed. The reason is because it's actually two toys in one--little bits can be torn off, and then can be swatted around the living room floor like a kitty hockey puck.

I'm hoping that moving to the Land of Paper Bags Aplenty will ease Beans' transition to life in the U.S. Maybe if he has a few dozen bags to hide in, to jump out of and terrorize the dog, he won't hate us so much for the traumatizing move.

Beans had his final visit from the veterinarian two days ago. For the move, his vaccinations all need to be current no more than one year and no less than 30 days before the move. Dr. Diah, our wonderful vet who makes house calls, came and updated his shots and carefully recorded everything in his little official kitty passport. Beans used to love the vet because she has a big leather bag he could climb in. He didn't even mind the shots. Then, one fateful morning in May 2005, she took him away in a green plastic kennel and brought him back a few hours later, a little less of a man. Now no amount of convincing will get him to believe that she won't do it again. We have to wrap him up in a blanket like a furry, angry little burrito. Once the shots are over, he retreats to either under the table or the landing on the stairs, where he blends in with the shadows and appears only as a big, frightened pair of bright green eyes. Then, for the rest of the evening, we're treated to the Nobody Loves Kitty Show. Poor Beans.

On a completely unrelated topic, I had a seriously entertaining Abbott and Costello moment with some of my 10th graders the other day. They're reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and they're working in reading groups a large amount of the time. The exchange went something like this:

Boy: Mrs. Erin? What do you call this thing? (He points to the cover of the book, which is an illustration of various objects sitting in the knothole of a large tree.)

Me: Knothole.

Girl: See! I told you it was not a hole!

Boy: So what is it?!

Me (confused): A knothole!

Girl: It's not. A. Hole. I'm right. Told you so.

Boy: But Mrs. Erin, if it's not a hole, then what do you call it? What is its name?!

Me (laughing): It's a k-n-o-t, knothole. Not "n-o-t."

Later in the same period, the students were supposed to be in their groups, reading out loud to each other. One kid, notorious for being a little...different, started out by shouting. His group members were more confused than alarmed, and shushed him quickly.

"No! No, I'm supposed to do like that!" he insisted.

I looked over at him. "What exactly are you doing?" I asked.

"Reading loud!" he told me, in complete seriousness.

I tried my best to ignore the giggles and eye-rolls from his group members, and avoided eye contact with them so I didn't crack up.

"You're supposed to be reading out loud, not loudly. Out loud means you read to your group instead of silently inside your head. You only have to read loud enough for them to hear you."

"Oh..."

I honestly don't know what I'll do with myself when I don't get to teach these kids anymore. I try not to think about it. I'm formulating a massive, heartfelt, outpouring of a blog in my head, but I have to wait until I'm ready to write it. That might not make sense. If you're a writer at all, even just in journals, it will. I have so much I want to say but it's still in my head, getting itself together. The words have to be just right. I can't sum up the enormity of leaving with just any old words, so I have to wait. In the meantime, I'll keep posting random, everyday stuff like usual.

For now, please enjoy the photo of His Royal Loudness in his Big Bag of Crazy.

Don't forget to breathe

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 01 May 2007 13:13:00 +0000

Sorry I've been so crap about blogging lately. When I actually get a chance to sit down and write anything, I'm just too tired, too strung out and there are so many words in my head but I can't get them to organize themselves just so.

Getting ready to move back to the U.S. is exhausting. Every single day is a rollercoaster. Things that only mildly irritated us before are now infuriating and make us hiss, "I CANNOT wait to get out of here!" to each other and mentally count our remaining days in our heads.

At the same time, I'm now prone to misting over and getting all choked up over something as small as standing in my classroom, watching my kids work. Leaving our students is going to break our hearts. It's already starting to. The kids are tactfully pretending they don't notice my new habit of quickly wiping away tears at any given second during class, but I know I've been caught more than once.

It's no different when we're with our friends here, either. Just the other night, my friend Julia--who will still be here next year--started to tear up when we talked about the quickly-approaching end of the year and within seconds my own eyes were welling over. Yeah, there is a lot about the school itself that's frustrating us right now, but as far as our friends and our students go...I can't even bring myself to write about it.

Moving back is scary. I don't know how to describe it so that anyone can begin to understand why. In theory, it shouldn't be scary--we're moving back to our home country, to friends and to family. We're Americans, we're moving to America.

It's the same, but it's not. Reverse culture shock has a reputation for being a real bitch. People often don't expect it--it's moving home. But it's real. It's there. We experience mild bouts of it just visiting for a few weeks at Christmas. The girl who left home three years ago is not the same girl who's coming back. She is but she isn't, if that makes any sense.

"Prepare to feel like a total foreigner in your own country and prepare for no one else to really understand why," we've been told. "Your really good friends will be patient and will love you anyway."

OK, well, the last part I knew. I guess the rest, the culture shock and homesickness (yes--homesickness...this is home, too), we'll just have to ride out. I figure if I survived my first six months here, which were brutal, well enough to want to stick around a year longer than I had to, I'll be OK.

I know it in my heart, but that doesn't mean I don't lose sleep.

Six weeks. In six weeks we leave. We move to St. Louis mid-July. Travis is officially a grad student at Webster University. Jobs, cars and home will get figured out and I have to tell myself that worrying about these things doesn't help. Things will fall into place. I have to tell myself that.

Kelly tells me to "schedule time to breathe, too." I know. I am. I try. I'm sorry if this doesn't make a lot of sense, if it seems disjointed and rambling. I guess if it does, it's fitting. I just felt I owed some sort of explanation for the prolonged periods between new blogs. I'll write more, I promise.

Right now I'm just taking time to breathe. It's all I can do.

Little blessings

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 12:51:00 +0000

On a Friday morning a few weeks ago, I went to the local baby orphanage with a few of my friends from work for an hour before school. They'd started going during staff chapel time on Fridays, after our headmaster had (thankfully!) decided that we could organize small groups as an alternative to the increasingly weird main chapel services. I'd considered joining with the orphanage group but joined a book study instead.

I chose the book study partly because it was something that genuinely appealed to me and, honestly, partly because I'd been scared to go to the orphanage. It's overwhelming and I wasn't sure I could handle it--even though I knew how much extra help was needed.

There are six or seven babies per little tiny room and about one staff member to every 12 babies. They get attention when they're changed and fed, otherwise there just aren't enough workers to do much more. Some of the tinier ones are in metal cribs that look so cold and unfriendly to little babies. The babies don't have much in the way of toys, they rarely get to go outside and most of them don't bother crying very often because they know there's very little likelihood that someone can spare the time to comfort them, anyway.

Katie told me to just jump right in and find someone to hold. Ruben was laying in his crib looking around the room when I walked in. He broke into a wide grin when he saw me, and when I picked him up he instantly snuggled closer. I sat on the floor with him--there were no rocking chairs and very little floor space, as the room held five cribs already, as well as a bassinet. He seemed happy just to have human contact. His little fingers closed tightly around one of mine and he eventually nodded off as I rocked him.

After I put Ruben back in his crib, I picked up Nathaniel, who was already old enough to scoot around on the floor. He was at least a few months older than Ruben and kept twisting around so he could look at me. I walked into the hallway and stood with him by an open window. There was a nice breeze coming through and I could immediately tell that he liked the fresh air. He burbled a little at me and I made him laugh by counting his toes and fingers and tickling his tummy. I made up a story about an imaginary monkey living in the banana tree outside the window. While I talked to him, he listened solemnly, occasionally reaching one chubby little hand up to touch my face.

When it came time for us to leave for school, I put him back in his crib. He started whimpering and stretched his little arms up toward me, waving his hands. I promised him I'd be back very soon. It nearly broke my heart to turn around and walk out the door, leaving little Nathaniel crying to himself.

I decided at that second that, while I enjoyed the book study, this was something I needed to do instead. It's so simple--show up, occasionally help change a few diapers or feed a few babies, and just give some love. That's it. I only wish I'd gone sooner, but at least now I can make the most of the time I have left.

The boat

noreply@blogger.com (Travis) — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 07:50:00 +0000

I found a few pictures of the fishing boats up in Amed. As you can see, they're not much more than an outrigger canoe. The seats aren't much wider than your butt and they can fit three people. This is what the local fishermen take out every morning and evening. You can charter one for a sunrise or sunset cruise or to take you out to a nearby wreck for snorkeling. It costs around $20 to charter. The fishermen don't usually use the sails, but opt instead for a small gas-powered engine that's not much bigger than a trolling motor. The first picture is one I took on our first trip to Bali in October of 2004. The other three were taken by Doug or Laurel when they visited us in March of 2005. We're really gonna miss that place.

What we've been up to

noreply@blogger.com (Travis) — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 13:54:00 +0000

Last week we had our quarter 3/Easter break. Erin & I went to Bali for what will be the last time for a while (a long while, sigh). We took a sunrise boat tour and didn't get rained on this time. You may remember we went to Bali over Christmas and had took a Christmas Day sunrise tour then and got completely soaked in a storm. Thankfully, that didn't happen this time. Here are a few pictures from the trip.

OK

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 15:05:00 +0000

We're still alive. I promise. We are--or at least we were--horribly busy for the last month. March is typically a beast because we're dealing with a long quarter and with getting things ready to send off to the International Baccalaureate Organization for Middle Years Programme (yeah, I know, but that's how they spell it across the pond--with extra letters) moderation. It basically means we send samples of graded student assessments off to the IBO to make sure we're doing things right. Sounds simple, but there are a lot of particulars for each subject area and lots of little tiny details to worry about.

It's a massive undertaking and it's always a huge sigh of relief when it's done. This year was no exception, except on top of all that we got to throw the added stress of making arrangements to ship ourselves, our cat and our furniture and other household goods back to the U.S. Fun times, kids, fun times.

Thankfully even that fell together last week. We got a decent quote for shipping our stuff, and the good news is our school-provided shipping allowance should cover it, with a teensy bit to spare to use on shipping His Royal Loudness, Sir Beans, home.

That, in and of itself, has been an adventure to organize. We found out we were able to save, oh, a few thousand dollars by booking with a company in Jakarta rather than booking with a U.S. pet relocation company which we'd just be paying to book through the Jakarta company anyway. Then we found out that Beans gets to fly KLM from here to Amsterdam (special catnip, anyone?) to Chicago, but that getting him from Chicago to Omaha is a problem.

It turns out that once he gets past the major, major airports in the U.S., he can only be sent on by plane if the forecast temperature is below 85 F. That's a pretty big toss-up in the middle of June. We looked at the possibility of meeting up with him there since we're also flying through O'Hare and then carrying him on the plane for the last leg, but the best option is going to be driving.

We get into Chicago in the morning and will rent a car, stay overnight in a hotel about 90 minutes outside of the city, get up early the next morning and drive the 20 minutes from the hotel to the kitty boarding facility where Beans will have been staying for a couple nights. They're located right off I-80, so then we'll just drive the rest of the way home. It's really not too far, especially since we'll already be 90 minutes closer to home by then anyway. In the end, it's not any more spendy that shipping him to Omaha or flying with him there. Besides, we like road trips.

Anyway, since it's been so long there's a lot to blog about. I've started volunteering at a local baby orphanage and it's quite an experience. I'm about three-quarters of the way done with a blog about it, but I have to be in the right frame of mind to finish it. I'll post it soon, I promise. (Oh, and don't go getting any ideas about us bringing home an Indonesian baby, either--the bureaucratically heinous adoption process for foreigners takes about two years, and that's after the foreign couple has been married five years already. We're going on four and leaving in June. Do the math.)

We have this entire week off from school for third-quarter break. I'd call it Spring Break but there's no such thing as spring here. We are, however, going off for some time at the beach. We leave for Bali tomorrow morning and get back Friday. We'd meant for December to be our last trip there but since I spent the entire time in bed, sick with a terrible cold, we figured we'd better go back for a few more days. Don't worry-we're flying a good airline so we won't fall out of the sky or spontaneously combust on the runway. Fly is Safe.

I promise to blog more as soon as we get back. I need to tell you about the babies at the orphanage, about how little Ruben grins when he sees me, how Nathaniel likes to hear stories about monkeys in the banana trees outside his window and how Oscar tries to eat my ponytail. Sorry again for the long blog drought. We were just far too busy, but now that third quarter is over we can breathe again.

Fly is Bad

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 07 Mar 2007 02:57:00 +0000

Indonesia is not having any luck with airlines.

Around New Year's, an Adam Air jet fell out of the sky and ended up somewhere in the ocean. No one survived.

A couple weeks ago, yet another Adam Air jet landed at the airport in Jakarta and promptly cracked in half, its back end slumping sadly on the runway like a bent cardboard tube. No one was hurt.

The country's budget airlines always seemed a bit dodgy. There are endless angry letters to the editor of The Jakarta Post about how people paid for tickets only to find out at the counter that their payment had mysteriously disappeared and they'd have to pay again. Safety regulations and standards have been questioned. Budget airlines have budget airlines--the photo above is of Wings Air, which is a budget carrier for the budget carrier Lion Air. As you can see by the carefully worded slogan the airline has chosen to represent itself with, Fly is indeed Cheap.

This does not mean Fly is Good.

When planning school field trips, there has been pretty much only one Indonesian airline that parents will allow us to use--Garuda, the national carrier. Still, when flying overseas for school field trips, travel agents still suggest using foreign airlines. I'm currently making travel arrangements for about 30 8th graders and four teachers to Singapore, and the travel agent is pretty adamant that we use Singapore Air, even though it's only an hour or so flight. (I'm not complaining--Singapore Air is pretty much the Rolls Royce of airlines.) Still, we've flown Garuda plenty of times. Any time we travel within the country, in fact, we fly with them. It's always been quite nice, except for the time when a really fat guy sat next to us and Travis and I had to pretty much share one seat. (Indonesian airlines don't have the "if your butt can't fit into one seat, you have to pay for two" policies that U.S. carriers do...gee, I wonder why...)

Today a Garuda flight from Jakarta landed at the Yogyakarta airport and burst into flames. Photos accompanying news stories have shown charred bits of airplane, which is never a good sign. So far eight people have died.

No one really knows anything else at this point, but because it's the third airline incident in three months, and the fifth or sixth major transportation disaster since Christmas (a couple ferries have sunk and/or caught on fire) it doesn't look good.

I've never been afraid to fly before--I reason I'm far more likely to get killed by some psychotic trucker on Interstate 80 than I am to have my plane hijacked by a terrorist--but this is kind of alarming. Airline maintenance and safety is one of those things I think I just kind of take for granted. I always kind of, perhaps naively, figured that it's an absolutely top priority to have qualified technicians and mechanics making sure that the plane's wings won't start flapping or fall off mid-flight, and the like. Recent events kind of lead me to wonder if maybe this isn't every airline's top priority--if perhaps making and saving money are a little more important than the personal safety of passengers.

We might be steering clear of Indonesian airlines for a while. Maybe Fly won't be as Cheap, but at least it will be Safe.

On martini brunches and imperative pooping

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 12:03:00 +0000

*Some of our male students have taken to having the legs of their uniform pants tapered at the ankle. I realize this is done in an attempt to make them look like the angry, angsty, eyeliner-enhanced emo rockers they're all such big fans of, but in reality it kind of makes them look like big posers in 1987 Mom Pants. The only thing they're missing is the waistband that hits mid-torso and the ever-flattering front pleats. It's entertaining. I will say this, though--if I see even one kid walk into school with tight-rolled pants, that's it. Surely that will be a sign that the apocalypse is upon us.

*Our HR department, which is always a picture of efficiency and professionalism (please take note of my sarcasm here), has kind of forgotten to prepare our income statements for us this year so that we might file taxes with our government. We mentioned it to them today and the response was a baffled, "What? You need those this year, too?" Um. YES. Just like every other bloody year EVER that you have employed expatriates. I wonder if I can take this mentality into my own work. "What? I had to fill in report cards THIS semester, too? Students just got grades last semester!"

*Our favorite champagne brunch location, the fancy French restaurant in the Shangri-La Hotel, has closed and reopened as a swank nightclub. Alas. Now where will we gather together to drink obscene amounts of bubbly before noon? We have found a suitable replacement. This weekend in the Jakarta Post, the Ritz-Carlton's renowned steakhouse had a big ad for its new Sunday feature--the martini brunch. Free-flowing martinis and wines, plus an a la carte menu and appetizer, cheese and dessert buffet--all inclusive. There you have it. Martinis before noon? Why not! It's BRUNCH. Katie pointed out that it's a fancy excuse for just going and getting good and tipsy well before it was normally socially acceptable, but that it's a good excuse. Plus, we figured, it's in the Ritz-Carlton! It's classy, therefore it's OK. Any buffet at the Ritz is surely a far cry from, say, waddling up to the U.S.A. Steak Buffet for a fourth helping of cheesy grits 'n' ham, so martinis are practically proper.

*We bought Beans a kennel for his long trip to the U.S. It's an airline-approved carrier and it's a good thing for two reasons--one, it saves us from having to pay the pet relocation company upwards of $200 in overhead if they supply the kennel and two, Beans can have almost four months to get used to it. He likes it so far. Every now and then we'll find him curled up on the little blanket we put inside, sleeping. Mostly, though, he just likes to hide in it and wait until an unsuspecting victim walks by so he can shoot out and scare them, like some sort of kitty cannon ball.

*Sorry we haven't updated in a while. We've been busy and, sorry to say, not very exciting. Eat, sleep, work, watch TV, read a book, repeat. Fascinating!

*Today one of my students, the same kid who decided to clip his toenails in Travis's 10th drama class last semester and seems to have learned most of his social skills on an entirely different planet from our own, came twitching up to my desk with his hands placed over his posterior. "Madam!!! I must poop!" he informed me in what was most certainly not a stage whisper. Great. Thanks. I responded with a vague "OK." Seriously, kid. Next time a simple, "May I use the restroom?" will suffice.

PDA--Public Display of Awkwardness

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 08:36:00 +0000

Travis insisted that we oversleep this morning. He said it was important that we be late to school.

"Ten minutes should be late enough," he said.

We were about 12 minutes late. It wasn't enough.

This morning we had a special staff meeting. Staff meetings are usually special enough as it is, but more in an "is this over yet?" sort of way than a "dear God, WHY?" sort of way. This morning, things were extra special.

The male teachers had to read poetic verses and quotes about love to the female teachers, who were seated in a circle around the edge of the room. Then they had to sing along to a CD of Elvis love songs, walking along the inside of the circle and "serenading" the ladies. The whiteboard in the meeting room was covered in drawings of hearts and sayings like "Together forever!" In theory, I suppose it might've been a bit amusing, but...it was just kind of weird.

One of my friends/coworkers was goofing around and trying to make the best out of a painfully awkward situation by just kind of yelling the words to the song, which in turn cracked up a good percentage of the women sitting within earshot.

Upon seeing this, the mastermind of this little V-Day show was inspired to start singing at the top of his lungs and trying to dance. At one point, he was laying on the floor.

Have you ever watched The Office on NBC, or the original British version of the show on BBC America? (If you haven't, you SHOULD--it's comedic genius and has awkward silences down to an art.)

This morning's meeting was like an episode of The Office. It reminded me of times when adorable office drone Jim would do something genuinely hilarious and his wretchedly uncool boss, Michael, would chime in and also attempt to be funny.

Michael's attempts at humor and wowing the crowd at best result in painfully awkward silences. It literally hurts to watch. However, because we're in Indonesia and Indonesians are infinitely polite, instead of uncomfortable silence there was uncomfortably polite laughter.

It wasn't pretty. I guess I should just be thankful there weren't any mimes.

My day did improve, though, especially after our grade 7-12 Valentine's Day party. It was pretty amusing to watch my 8th graders whapping each other with balloons for an hour straight. It seems that this was the preferred way to flirt if you're a 13-year-old: either whap the girl you like with a balloon or, if you're too shy, impress her by showing off how hard you can whap your guy friends with a balloon.

The 7th graders still stayed mainly segregated, as it's still "icky" to even be near someone of the opposite gender. This morning in my 7th grade homeroom, the headmaster came to give the kids a talk about how PDA wasn't really acceptable at school. (We've been having some issues with older couples groping in the halls and whatnot.) My little ones listened patiently and nodded respectfully. After the headmaster left, they turned to me with worried expressions.

"Mrs. Erin? Why can't we bring PDAs to school? Are regular cell phones OK? What about iPods?"

Oh children, stay young and adorably innocent for as long as you can. It's awfully cute.

Just a little bit "special"

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 06:54:00 +0000

My youngest students are 7th graders. I assumed that by not teaching elementary school, I was spared having to ever tell children not to eat glue.

It's best to not assume things.

One of my 7th grade classes this year is significantly more, um, special than the other. As usual, the majority of 7th graders are quite cute and amusing. A few, though, are just...odd. Last week they were working on a project that required some cutting and pasting. I've learned to keep an eye on them ever since I caught one kid eating stickers a few weeks ago.

My good friend Mindi also teaches middle school, and she said she had a kid lick a scratch-and-sniff sticker to see if it tasted like it smelled. For the record, it did not. "Normal, productive citizens of society generally do not consume anything including adhesive material," she told him.

Indeed they do not. At one point I looked over and my little sticker eater was munching happily away on a glue stick. When this kid isn't eating things not intended for human consumption, he can usually be found with one or both index fingers firmly implanted into his nostrils. For him, nose picking is an art form. This time, however, since he was busy ingesting paste, the nose picking was left to an apprentice who was thoughtfully digging in one nostril with a gluey finger. A few desks over, yet a third child was busily styling his hair with glue stick.

"Boys, we don't put glue in our hair, up our noses or in our mouths," I said as patiently as I could.

Katie teaches these same kids for science. Every year, at the beginning of the year when she's going over lab rules and regulations, she goes over how it's not a good idea for one to put random things in the science lab in one's mouth. Usually this elicits a good giggle from the class because, well, normal people don't eat things they find in science labs. This year she gave the speech and trailed off as she noticed my little glue-eating nose picker licking a random substance on the table. He also ingested a mouthful of baking soda during their first lab experiment, which frustrated Katie but made her thankful the 7th graders' labs consist of simple, nontoxic materials.

Still.

One of these days that kid's going to crap a science fair project.

Mother Nature: 5,438; Indonesia: 0

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 15:05:00 +0000

Once again, our beloved adopted country has gotten smacked around by nature. How fun.

Reports started coming in on Sunday about entire areas of Jakarta being under flood waters. Some news agencies were saying one-third of the city, others were saying as much as 75 percent. (Turns out the bigger estimates were right, unfortunately.) We started text-messaging any students we had numbers for who lived in the city, just to check up on them.

Most cheerfully reported that they were fine and oh, Mrs. Erin, do we have school tomorrow or will there be a holiday? A few responses, though, were decidedly less happy.

"My house has water up to an adult's waist!" one of my 8th grade girls told me. Another 10th grade girl said pretty much the same thing. A few others reported having to evacuate their neighborhoods because of flooding, though thankfully their homes hadn't been affected at all.

We didn't have our rain day Monday, and most students and teachers were able to make it in. Our kids who were flooded out will be fine--their parents have insurance and that sort of thing. They've temporarily relocated to their "other houses" or to five-star hotels. The people who don't have it so well, the majority of those affected, have a lot to worry about.

Thousands of people lost everything they had, and Lord only knows how long it'll be until they have clean water and hygenic living conditions again. It's dengue fever season here, and nothing attracts nasty, diseased mosquitoes more than standing water.

A lot of people here tend to assume that, when things like this happen, God is punishing them. The belief that God smites people with cancer or other diseases and sends natural disasters to punish those who aren't being good enough is quite popular. One rather psychotic woman we work with gave a "testimonial" at chapel about how she didn't get cancer because she prayed enough and was spiritually good enough to get something out of our increasingly bizarre chapel services. Right...

Travis was scheduled to speak to the 9th and 10th graders at student chapel this morning, so--armed with research and ideasfrom the trusty official LCMS website--he spoke about how God does do everything for a reason, but instead of standing around when bad things happen and crying, "Why?! What have I done to deserve this? What is God punishing me for? How come I'm not good enough? Boo hoo, me me me, why is God picking on me?" we should say "What can we do to help? What lessons can we learn from this? What opportunities is God presenting to us with this?" Our wonderful I Can Make a Difference club is already brainstorming for ways they can help. I love our kids.

It finally stopped raining on Tuesday. The sun came out and I was so happy to see it I nearly cried. We've had a few dreary days since then, but thankfully not the deluge we had last week. I hope the rain can either hold off or continue in normal amounts so things can start getting put back together. Some areas of the city are still pretty much inaccessible, but other areas are fine. Our driver took some friends of ours to the airport tonight and it took him two hours each way--not bad at all for a Friday night. We may brave the toll roads tomorrow and go into part of the city that didn't flood to catch a movie or something.

In other news, we're starting to prepare for our move home. There's only so much we can do now since it's still only February, but we're getting some things started. Travis is checking out options for school next year and I'm looking into (surprise!) massage therapy schools in the St. Louis area. It's been in the back of my head for a while and I decided to scope out my options. We'll see, I guess, it's just an idea for now. If it were something I could do in the form of night school while working at a regular day job, that would be great. I know I'd have plenty of willing guinea pigs for all the practicum hours I'd need.

In some ways it's a little scary to be five years out of college and considering yet another huge career transition. Journalist, teacher...massage therapist? Dog-walker? Journalist again? Marketing or PR? Online tutor? Office drone? Kept woman? (Kidding!) We'll see. It's fun to think of the possibilities, though.

Once again, please keep Indonesia in your prayers. Pray for some sunshine--we need it!

Rain, rain, GO AWAY. Seriously. Please?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 03 Feb 2007 08:15:00 +0000

We don't get snow days here, but we may get a rain day on Monday. Apparently 50% of Jakarta is under water. There's massive flooding there, so it's almost impossible to get around or in and out of the city. Half of its schools were closed today. Phone lines are also messed up, which means we don't have internet access at home even though our phone line is OK for now. We haven't tried to dial internationally yet, though, and that may not work because we dial through Jakarta. Our school has satellite internet service, so thankfully it's working.

We aren't flooded, and I'm not too worried about it. Our house is situated so it's pretty much flood proof. We do have leaky bits here and there, but nothing too bad.

We drove home from the staff retreat today and it took two and a half hours--a journey that took 25 minutes the night before. It was MISERABLE. I've never been in such awful traffic, and that's saying a lot because I've lived here for two and a half years already. It hasn't stopped raining for days, and all of the rain is running downhill from here and the nearby mountains into the low-lying areas of Jakarta. A good part of the city is reclaimed land, too, so that's not helping. I'm so thankful we don't live in the city right now!

In the meantime, we'll stay inside where it's warm (yes, warm, it's 72 degrees Fahrenheit outside--FREEZING for here, though I know everyone in the midwest is wanting to slap me right now) and dryish. Poor Beans is furious. He hates rain, and considers it a personal insult. Poor kitty. Lucky for him he's an inside cat.

Well, who knows when we'll get internet back at home. No Skype for us this weekend, I guess--we'll have to keep our fingers crossed that we can dial out internationally if we want to talk to anyone back home. I guess we'll see, and keep hoping for that rain day!

Shake it up

noreply@blogger.com (Travis) — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 06:32:00 +0000

I was going to post this earlier today, but I taught all morning then had a lunchtime meeting.

I guess there was an earthquake here last night. I found that out this morning when Angela, one of our teachers asked if we felt it. Apparently, around 3:30 this morning, things started shaking. Not enough to knock stuff of shelves or anything, just enough to make it seem like someone was shaking the bed. A couple of other teachers said they felt it, or had relatives who did.

Erin & I did not, we were sleeping like the dead. Erin did say that the cat woke her up being unusually snuggly and weird, but that's not that unusual. Beans is always unpredictable and weird, so I don't think he'd be a very good gauge of changing weather patterns or upcoming natural events.

I was a little disappointed though. I've never felt an earthquake and from the sounds of it, the one last night would be one to be in. Just some mild shaking with no threat of damage or death. That's not to say I hope we have some more, because I really don't, but I guess this just comes from that irrational guy side of me. You know that side. It's the side that thinks it would be cool to get some sort of heavy off-road vehicle and go chase tornadoes.

Ironically, stuff like that sounds like fun, but you could never get me to bungee jump or skydive. My wife is the complete opposite. She was sort of freaked by the knowledge that we slept through mild tremors. Tornadoes and bad weather like that scares her. But she would be completely willing to strap an oversized tablecloth to her back and throw herself out of a perfectly good airplane.

Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

World on fire

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 26 Jan 2007 10:04:00 +0000

This is how great our students are. Check it out. Be inspired. Smile. There's hope for this planet yet.

Just be here now

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 13:28:00 +0000

Today was parent-teacher conference day. I usually don't mind these days, because the parents who come talk to me all have students who are doing fairly well in my classes. Truth be told, aside from the evil 11th graders my first year and the psychotic chair-thrower last year, most of my kidlings are great.

I arrived in my pre-assigned room prepared--I had my gradebook, my bag contained things to grade, and I was armed with a travel mug of hot coffee and my official school blazer to protect me from the room's notoriously Arctic air conditioner.

What I wasn't prepared for was parents asking why we're leaving at the end of the year.

Oy.

The parents who asked me were all very kind and said they wished I'd stay. They asked why we'd decided to go and I found myself telling them that we were just ready to be closer to family and friends.

As I said that, I remembered that it's true. That's the honest-to-goodness reason why we're leaving. The minor inconveniences I've been letting grow into major irritations are things that can be overlooked and probably happen in most schools around the world. We're not leaving because we don't love Indonesia. We're not leaving because we don't love the school. We love both of those things--we've just kind of forgotten.

One mother asked me if I'd told her son's class yet, my 8th grade English class. I sat for a minute and gave her my honest answer.

"No. I haven't yet because I'm afraid when I do I'll cry."

She smiled and patted my hand.

"I think they will be sad, too."

The other night I was listening to my iPod while Ibu Neni, the wonderful masseuse who comes to our house once a week, attacked my tense back muscles with her bony little elbows. I had a relaxing playlist on shuffle, and my absolute favorite song in the entire world came on--Colin Hay's "Waiting For My Real Life to Begin." The song's lyrics are beautiful, and so is the accompanying acoustic guitar.

As I listened to the words I'd heard so many times, I was struck by the fact that we really are coming home soon. But this is home, too, and we don't have that much time left.

I can't spend much more time being irritated and frustrated. I can't devote hours on end to worrying about what life will be like when we get back, what we'll do with ourselves--I know we'll be OK. God hasn't left us high and dry yet.

Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
Don't you understand,
I already have a plan

The song doesn't have religious undertones, but that verse reminds me of my friend Kristin's favorite Bible verse, Psalm 46:10--"Be still and know that I am God." It's going to be OK.

I have five months left to have sunsets behind volcanoes out of my front window and banana trees in my backyard. I have five months to enjoy 90-minute, $10 massages in my own home. I have five months left of the fabulous Jakarta lifestyle, good friends and fellow teachers, and an incredibly rewarding job.

I have five months left to enjoy each minute I get with some of the greatest kids on the planet, because once June gets here, I have to say goodbye to them. They make me laugh, they make every day interesting and they teach me as much as I teach them. I cannot waste any more of the time I have with them.

Just be here now, the song says.

OK. I get it. Here I am. I am here.

Take a picture, it'll last longer

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 08:58:00 +0000

I don't blend in here. Being tall, white and blonde doesn't exactly lend itself to going undetected in a crowd in Asia. Imagine that.

Getting stared at here is something a lot of expatriates or tourists have to get used to. It depends on where you go, really--in bigger Jakarta malls or certain parts of the city with large expatriate populations, no one pays any attention. In spots not often frequented by foreigners, though, one might run the risk of feeling like a zoo exhibit.

If I'm somewhere I know isn't often visited by tall white girls, the staring doesn't really bug me too much, especially if the people staring at me are mostly little kids. They're kids. Oh well. It can still be kind of irritating, especially when people stop in their tracks and I nearly trip over them, but it's tolerable.

There are places where getting stared at nearly infuriates me, though. Earlier in 2006 a Hypermart department store opened up in our town. (It's like a crappier version of Wal-Mart, if you can imagine.) The store is incredibly convenient because it means we can get most of our groceries without having to drive into Jakarta. We still buy meat and milk and some produce in the fancy western stores in Jakarta because Hypermart's selection of those items is downright disgusting, but for almost everything else, it's decent enough.

I love the convenience of the store, but I hate shopping there because of the stares. I know it's harmless, but it drives me absolutely crazy. People will literally stop in their tracks in the middle of the aisle and just stare like we're some sort of circus freaks. Sometimes I stare back, sometimes I say loudly, "Oh my God, Travis, LOOK! A WHITE PERSON!!!" and then I point to myself. The people staring usually can't understand what I'm saying, but it makes them uncomfortable enough that they move on. It's probably incredibly rude of me, and all kinds of culturally insensitive, but getting stared at like that is awful. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt and buying a freaking bag of apples! I'm not going to put the apples up my nose, or strip down to my underwear and do a magical white person apple-buying ritual dance! Back the hell off!

Getting stared at while on school grounds is probably the worst. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes the school hires day laborers to work on the grounds for a week or so and then holy crap! Foreigners! Better stare at them, because you never know the next time we'll see such an amazing phenomenon! I think it bugs me so much because I feel like school is my turf. Don't stare at me, I belong here!

My classroom and the three surrounding it are also subject to frequent inspection by visitors. Our odd little admissions woman will parade them back and forth past our windows so they can see the exciting phenomenon of foreign people teaching children. It's like how Concordia always managed to put every single remotely non-white student on its brochures and catalogs to create an atmosphere of "multiculturalism," when in fact something like 95% of students are WASP-y kids from the Midwest. Honestly, this doesn't really bother me, though. I understand that the idea of native speakers teaching English classes is a big selling point for the school. Plus, our block of rooms is right next to the office and reception area, so it's kind of impossible to not walk by and have a gander if you're on a school tour. No big deal.

The unabashed leering does bug me, however, and I think that my limited tolerance for it is growing increasingly less as we approach the end of our time here. Getting stared at in public is one of the things I'm getting so incredibly sick of. Yesterday's events pushed me over the edge.

While Travis and I were in Jakarta yesterday, near the expatriate-heavy district of Kemang, we decided to stop at a little outdoor market we'd driven by many times but never explored. The market was full of things to look at but not buy--giant brass Arabian oil lamps nearly as tall as I was, colored glass lanterns so big they'd need two-story entryways, wall-sized brass peacocks--and just as Travis and I were debating whether or not to hop in the car and head home or check out the furniture shop next door I noticed a guy sitting about 30 feet away from me.

He and his three friends were filming me on a camera phone. They noticed me noticing them and started laughing--and kept filming. Travis yelled at him to stop, which just made him laugh harder. I angrily got in the car and slammed the door shut, thanking God for our dark tinted windows. I made Travis get in, too, and insisted on leaving immediately. The shopkeeper, disappointed in the loss of what he felt was going to be a certain sale of giant brass objects, went over and yelled at the men, but by that point we were driving away.

It completely ruined my day. What a bunch of horrible, slimy bastards. In retrospect, I wish I had done more than get mad and hide in the car. I wish I'd taken the phone and demanded he delete the photos, or taken the battery out and smashed it under my heel. I wish I'd spit at them and asked if their mothers taught them to treat women that way. I wish I knew more swear words in Indonesian. None of that would've made any difference, though, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

Yuck.

I'm so ready to come home.

Crazy cat lady

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 02:03:00 +0000

Estimated cost of shipping one small cat across the world: $8 gazillion

Estimated cost of shipping an entire house full of large, heavy furniture across the world: significantly less than $8 gazillion

Estimated value of cat: priceless

When we came here we couldn't bring our dog. He was going to live with my mom and dad while we were gone, and we knew that they'd love him and take care of him as if he were their own dog. We also knew we'd be back to stay relatively soon. If we hadn't had somewhere for Charlie to go, if we'd had to give him away, we wouldn't have come here. Leaving him was probably the hardest part about leaving home.

That might sound crazy. It probably is.

Our first pet-shipping estimates showed up in my e-mail inbox this morning, and it's becoming increasingly evident that Beans is truly the world's most expensive free cat. As I look at the estimated costs, I envision him curled up on a poofy pillow in a first class seat with caviar and fancy European mineral water being served to him on antique China dishes. On a seat next to him will be his own personal flight attendant, on hand to scratch that favorite spot just under his chin, dangle a shoelace for him to swat at or (Beans' favorite) to be meowed loudly at and then promptly ignored.

Our friend Steve recommended that we drug him and I just drape him over my shoulders like a fur neck pillow.

"It's faux," I can say, and toward the end of the trip when the drugs wear off and the person next to me asks why my neck pillow is hissing at him, I will explain that the pillow has sprung a leak. Foolproof, right?

Sometimes I wish I were a person who could just give Beans one last hug goodbye, pass him off to a new family who promised to take good care of him and leave him behind forever. There isn't anything wrong with this kind of person; in fact, most sane people would probably say, "It costs what to move a cat? That's ridiculous, forget it, we'll just have to find him a new home."

Unfortunately, I don't happen to be that kind of sane. I've made my peace with that.

No, my girlfriend is hot enough as she is, thanks

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 18 Jan 2007 13:41:00 +0000

It's that time of year again--time for crazies to come out and audition for American Idol!

I particularly loved the montage of crazies singing Pussycat Dolls, daring every sane person on the planet to admit that, "yes, yes I do wish my girlfriend was hot like you!"

I think a good rule of thumb is this: if the increasingly drunken Paula Abdul thinks you're a few frijoles short of a full burrito, you probably are.

Also, "I'm cooler than Carrot Top" is a very broad statement, somewhat equivalent to saying, "I have better hair than Donald Trump," or "I am less annoying than Richard Simmons."

Continent-hopping cat

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 18 Jan 2007 03:09:00 +0000

I'm researching pet relocation companies online so we can start getting quotes and plans made for shipping His Royal Loudness, Beans, home to the U.S. when we move in June. There seem to be a wonderfully vast array of companies specializing in just that--moving beloved furry family members across the country or across the world. It's comforting to know. Many of the companies have been around for decades, and all of the websites I've looked at so far have made me feel so much more at ease about shipping kitty home. It's nice to rest assured that he will be fed, watered and handled with TLC all the way from Indonesia to the Midwestern United States. It does also mean, though, that he is turning out to be the world's most expensive free cat. Not a bad lot in life for a former starving street urchin, huh? (The photo above is from his first flea bath the day after we rescued him, back when we could still get him into the bathtub without risking bodily harm.)

The process for importing pets from Indonesia to the U.S. is surprisingly easy. As long as Beans is updated on all of his shots, declared medically sound (not mentally sound, thankfully--he's rather off in that department) and has his little government-issued kitty passport that the vet updates every time she sees him, he doesn't have to stay in quarantine or anything. He gets to come straight home.

Since the pet moving companies provide door-to-door service, all we have to worry about now is protecting our eyes and limbs from an angry black furball of death when we open his carrier door once he arrives. Kitty hates even five-minute car rides with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He claws his way to the far back of the car, squeezes himself as far under the seat as possible and lets forth such wretched yowls that one would think he were being drawn and quartered. Beans has a flair for the dramatic, which I suppose comes from being raised by two theatrical individuals. He's quite good at the Nobody Loves Kitty routine and has Dead Cat on the Stairs down to a science.

I don't even want to know what he's going to think of us once he meets his new best friend, the dog.