Nature or Nurture?

My mother used to make fun of our last name when my parents were still married. She claimed it was a derivative of “Schultheis”, only she’d pronounce it “Schul-theis”, emphasizing the ‘Schul’ or ‘school’ part. It certainly seemed fitting: pretty much everyone in my dad’s family was somehow associated with school or university. My grandfather used to be a teacher, then the principal of the school my father went to. Dad’s eldest brother was a professor at the local university, the middle brother a teacher in Switzerland. My dad himself had planned on attending uni for teaching, except I came along, and plans, well, changed.

As a kid, I always thought being a teacher seemed kind of boring. And a lot of work. In other words, not a job for me. If I couldn’t marry Prince Edward and be a princess, I’d be the singer in a rock band, and if that didn’t work out, there was always the option of becoming an adventurer in Australia. Naturally, I married a man who considered teaching as a career after retiring from the military… *cough, cough*

Many people seem to feel nostalgic about their time in high school. I look back upon mine with fear and loathing. After I was held back a grade, what remained of my less-than-stellar scholastic career comprised some of the shittiest years of my life. You can imagine my surprise when I, for lack of a better idea, enrolled in college in the US and actually started to enjoy learning! Decades passed, education happened, professional development occurred, but nobody ever mentioned the T-word again.

Until the husband decided to consider a degree in TESOL. He even did some observation and student teaching, from which he quickly gathered that, on second thought, this was not really the right path for him. But somewhere along the lines, the acronym TEFL kept popping up like a cartoon speech bubble in my head. I have always enjoyed language learning. English was my favorite subject in school. And if you do it right, you won’t be stuck teaching a bunch of kids. Right?

It turned out that a friend of mine had gone the TEFL path and very much enjoyed it. I had also become aware that an unreasonable percentage of my Facebook friends were in education, as teachers, principals, deans, tutors. It was beginning to look like a setup!

It took some soul searching and some serious consideration of pros and cons, but finally I signed up for an online TEFL course. Living in the vast wasteland of, well, anything as we do, of course there were no classroom courses available in my area, and being unemployed (or less than optimally employed) didn’t allow for the financial folly of spending  a few weeks in a more educationally aware place like, let’s say, the Big Windy. Again, surprisingly, I enjoyed the course. So much so that I decided to add on a specialized certificate in Teaching Young Learners. And while I’m on the topic, why not tack on Teaching Business English? Oh, there’s a sale, let’s pick up Preparing for the IELTS. And what the heck, might as well get an idea about Teaching English Online…

I see that superior smile you’re cracking: sure, sure, that’s a lot of pretty papers, but that doesn’t make you a teacher. No, you’re right, teaching makes you a teacher. When I signed up for the TEFL course, it did not include a practicum like other courses do. And even the one that did basically said “arrange for your practicum, and we’ll give you extra credit for it.” Instead, I started to look into what types of jobs were available. When I stumbled over postings for ESL School Assistants, I knew I was on the right track. Within a short period, I had interviews lined up at the elementary, middle, and high school level. The principal of the elementary school never called me back (which is, by the way, unprofessional and bad manners – always call back, even if you decide to hire someone else!). The AP of the high school was really nice and seemed to really like me, and just as importantly, the guidance counselor sitting in with us also really liked me. They were so enthusiastic, they offered me the job that afternoon. I was so elated, I accepted. The interview with the middle school never happened.

On my first day, I got to shadow one of the other school assistants. After my five hours there, I was sure I had made a mistake. These kids were loud! They didn’t know the difference between active and passive voice in tenth grade! They didn’t work! They were unmanageable!! The school assistant’s job seemed to primarily involve yelling at people to be quiet, giving them talks in the hallway, or cajoling them into doing something resembling school work. I went home, shell-shocked. When I told the husband, he said “well, it’s an inner city school. You could just quit.” I went back the next day and decided to visit my own classes instead of doing another tag-along. And then, I stayed.

In the beginning, it was indeed a lot of yelling. Amazingly, teenagers are ill prepared and quite unwilling to stay welded to their seats and pay attention quietly for seven hours a day. The classes were huge, having close to thirty kids in the classroom was the norm. Most kids spoke Spanish as their first language. A great number spoke Karen. A few spoke Arabic. No allowances seemed to made for those ELLs, everyone was taught the same content with the same material. The ELLs had English class before everything else, and naively, I assumed that meant they were being prepared for the academic skills they needed to succeed in school. When in Government class I asked my kids what was meant by “the right to bear arms”, they flapped their appendages. They really didn’t know! At this point I realized that yelling and talking-to would not do with these kids, most of whom really wanted to do better scholastically. I would have to assume the role of tutor and, you guessed it, teacher.

This summer, I hope to attend a four-week CELTA course back home and afterwards, get a job as an actual English teacher overseas. Now ask yourself: have I always had the propensity to teach? Is there a teaching gene? Or was it enough to fall in love with the process and possibilities of learning at college? My mother, by the way, decided to switch gears and go into senior care after my parents divorced. As she advanced in her profession, she did a long-term stint as an educator for the next generation of care-givers. Her husband, who used to be her professor, now runs the care facility where she works. “Schul-theis” indeed.

Where am I, and what am I doing there?

Well, the answer is pretty easy: I am, physically speaking, still stuck in Hoosierville and as yet remain unemployed. Which doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything; not at all. When I’m not in the kitchen, womanhandling my cooking equipment, I’m -of course- reading. And because nobody ever asks me my opinion about what I’ve read, I’ve decided to set down my thoughts in a new blog. Visit me at Stop and Smell the Pages, read book reviews, leave me a note, give me suggestions for the to-read pile. In short: don’t be a stranger!

And when something happens, and you can wiggle a little deeper, do so… what Eric Schiffmann means in this particular instance is, as soon as life throws me a frickin’ bone and circumstances become a wee bit more blogworthy, the Better Life will be better again. Promise!

Battling the Troll: I Become a Deadly Flower

Work and struggle and never accept an evil that you can change.
Andre Gide

It’s been a week since I embarked on my quest to wrangle the troll into submission. Any statistician will tell you that this is too short a period to have collected significant data. But I thought I’d check in with you and share my thoughts.

My current regimen includes three doses of St. John’s Wort a day. I can’t be sure if this comes as a result of the herb, but I have been sleeping better. St. John’s Wort helps regulate serotonin levels, so that makes sense. Honestly, I was expecting a longer waiting period before anything noticeable happened. I have not experienced any side effects, so I’ll stick with it. There are two things I’ve since learned about St. John’s Wort, as well: 1) don’t take it if you are taking prescription depression medication. If you are about to start medication, advise your doctor! Most depression medication also influences your serotonin, so be sure to let your physician adjust the dosage correctly. 2) If you have been taking St. John’s Wort, you need to taper it out; no quitting cold turkey. Wasn’t expecting that.

As I currently exercise six days a week, I haven’t been too stringent about the yoga. If I don’t exercise for a few days, I get antsy, but that’s been independent of the depression issue. When I remember, I do a few poses in front of my window in the morning. The room faces east, and there is just something about getting those early morning rays of sunshine.

I will admit to slacking on the meditation two days in a row this week, with the result that yesterday afternoon, I had a very sudden and most unwelcome anxiety attack (we have elderly pets with health issues, and that triggered it, apparently). I do open ended meditation because I have the time, but it really takes very little time to ground yourself every day. I have been practicing from the book “30 Days of Meditation” by Inbar Shahar which I very highly recommend if you are interested in learning more, but don’t want a lot of esoteric mumbo-jumbo. Each week focuses on something different. You will learn a variety of mediation techniques and have at your disposal daily meditations of varying lengths, the shortest being three minutes long. There are also video version available but I cannot see those on my Kindle, and when accessed from Ms Shahar’s website, these videos cost money (the bundle for around US$ 4, which isn’t much). However, as the instructions are pretty straight forward, I haven’t really needed video. I purchased the Kindle version of the book for US$ 3 and consider that a wise investment.

On the days I do meditate, I feel more even tempered and grounded. Grounding is a term you will yourself confronted with frequently when approaching depression. Although I do not consider myself a flighty person by any means, consciously seeking to ground myself seems to help. It also leads to funny images. Today’s meditation asked me to imagine roots sprouting from my base chakra (that’s about as esoteric as it’ll get), connecting me to the earth. Now, as I go about my daily chores, I imagine trailing these roots like some slightly stunted triffid.

Key term for this week: finding balance.

Rubbing Out the Darkness

Inner peace is a currency that is hard to come by. Recent weeks have shown that to be painfully true. Some years ago, I experienced my first bout of depression; it was unpleasant but didn’t last too long. This last one, however, was what we colloquially call a humdinger. I’ve never had suicidal thoughts but I can understand why eventually one would come to the conclusion that anything, including dying, would be preferable to the daily battle with the troll. What brings it on, I haven’t got any idea, but I will start observing that a bit closer. With me, it might well be a hormonal issue. Since Sunday’s full moon passed, I have felt better.

In any case, I refuse to just lie down, count to a billion and wait for this thing to pass. Fortunately, I have an arsenal of zen weapons at my disposal. First: yoga. There are poses for literally anything, including those that help alleviate anger and sadness. Nobody can claim they don’t have ten minutes a day to practice some poses. As a lovely side effect, one gets more limber and experiences much less back and knee pain (for example).

Second: meditation. It’s hard to remember when in the middle of an anxiety attack, but focused breathing exercises actually do help calm you down. I enjoy being calm. Aside from keeping the inner spark lit, meditation also helps me stay organized throughout the day.

Third: St. John’s Wort. I’ve never given this a try but I’m willing to, after those last couple of weeks. As with all natural remedies, one must take St. John’s Wort regularly for several weeks before a noticeable effect occurs. If you are on birth control pills, you should not take St. John’s Wort, as it can interfere with the hormones.

Finally: on those days where the sun peeks out, I’m going to make more of an effort to actually spend some time in it, i.e. outside.

For all of you who actually read this blog occasionally, please be aware that during periods where I seem to disappear for any length of time, I may be busy clawing my way out of the hole.

New Year’s Greetings from the Bad Poets’ Society

In the mid-nineties, I began a poetry cycle ominously entitled “Lamentations”. It contains all of three poems. I guess one could form the conclusion that I’ve never had much to cry about. However that may be, the first poem is called “Eulogy”. It began its life in September of 1995 and is dedicated to “J.B.” What I find interesting is that I literally wrote it on the spur of the moment, didn’t bother to edit it at all -as evidenced by a grammatical error- and yet, even today every line rings true. The occasion was the sudden and tragic death of actor Jeremy Brett, who remains the one true Sherlock Holmes to me, but astute observers may notice that with a mere few changes in wording, it would be equally fitting to an equally sudden and tragic loss only four years later. I’ve left it in the slightly odd formatting that comes from being crammed into a tiny notebook.

EULOGY

You never knew me, and yet it

feels as if I’d lost a friend

Your face was so familiar…

I wish I could have told you somehow;

there was so much life

Though half of you was fictional

Thank you for being special enough

To make me cry for the death of a stranger

Maybe you know, maybe one day,

Someday, I can say it myself

Till then you hold my hand as they

Scatter your ashes.

Each tiny particle containing a grief unexpressed,

Misunderstood, because “what were you to me but an actor”

Just let me say that your sparkle wasn’t lost on me

It’s still here, I can feel it

Almost touch it…

Thank you

Fields of the Nephilim

I have to confess something today: I loathe January. Really, I do. After all the magical buildup to the holidays, it’s inevitably a horrid let-down. Add to that spicy details like today’s weather (grey, dry, very cold), and you have a recipe for depression disaster. Seriously, though, if I wanted to live in perpetual darkness, I would change my name to Thortensen Finlandson and move to Scandinavia for the winter months… what does that have to do with fictional fallen angels or giants? Biblically speaking, not a dang thing. Musically speaking, however, the band of the same name has often given me the doldrums as much as this awful month has. And since anything is better when it’s shared, here you go:Fields of the Nephilim, Moonchild

I dare you to tell me what your recipe against the blues is…

On with the Motley

Or so says Jeremy Brett, sadly departed. I’ll tell you this, my dear readers from days long past, because you come stumbling in here during those occasional drunken wanderings, looking for who knows what and wondering, perhaps, if my not writing means not doing.

Hardly. Blogging is like Facebooking, only without the comments. Which you would know, were we connected on Facebook. But that’s not necessary. The past is the past. I never came looking for you, believe me. I don’t miss any of you. The amazing thing is, not only have I done, I’ve been done to! Life’s had some surprises in store for me, and though apparently only those lessons learned the hard way are of any real value, I’m glad that what happened happened. I am better for it.

So, if you still want to know, you can always go back to Flickr, the miniverse (literally. Inside-inside joke). Or try to find me on Facebook. Stranger shit has occurred.

Scheduling Conflicts

Some of my gnattish readers have stopped by in the past months, probably desperately longing to find out what I’ve been up to all this time. Of course, it would’ve been too much effort to simply leave a coherent comment, but I’ll tell you buzzards, anyway. Such is my caffeine-induced generosity this morning.

In actuality, I have not only not had any inclination to post anything, I’ve really not had much time. You’d think that after a rip-roaring New Year’s party, we’d have let things slow down for a bit, but that is not so. The first social event was a reading with Russian author Vladimir Kaminer, who was billed as reading from his newest book, “My Ukrainian Mother-in-Law”, which he did not do. Instead, he read us from a stack of short stories, which was both pretty damned funny and enlightening. Typically Kaminer. During the break, he diligently signed books and CDs, and we got out of there with a new piece of cultural education, the compilation CD “Ukraina do Amerika”. Now picture two blondes in a tiny red Fiat, windows rolled down, blasting Ukrainian music next to a black Mercedes occupied by a bunch of young Turks blaring rap music. The evening was a total success!

One reading seldom comes alone, as we say, and just recently, we mastered this year’s Crime Week with several readings in unusual locations, such as the State Criminal Justice Department and a S&M Club, which I sadly missed because I was living it up in spring-like London. More vacations are in the acute planning phase, such as Hamburg in June and Tallinn shortly thereafter. I have also successfully celebrated a round birthday; none dared to stay away, as hell truly holds no fury like a 40-year-old’s scorn. 😉 Oh, and I’ve unexpectedly come into money; alas, not enough to retire to a castle in the mountains or buy the town of Monterey. Instead, I am now the proud co-owner of a house somewhere else, nowhere near the Golden State.

That’s as caught up as you need to be. If you want to know what else I’ve been up to, stop by for a session at bodyrock.tv and try it on for yourself.

Today’s special greetings go to London. I have no idea who you are, but it’s neat that you’ve stopped by.

The Invisibility Cloak

I know at least one desperate reader has been wondering where the heck I have been recently, so to assuage your fears I may have been eaten by a shark – I’m back. I’m even well and in good health. I was, however, on vacation. Yes, Anke and I spent four glorious days in sunny Hamburg. Nowadays, if you want summerlike weather in Germany in August, you have to go north, you know. If you care to see what we did up there, check out the pics on Flickr.

Last weekend, I visited my folks not quite that far up north and again, the sun beat down on me both unexpectedly and without mercy. Should’ve known to pack an emergency t-shirt and a belt. I’d like to claim that the belt was necessary to due my strenuous workouts finally paying off, but alas, I had merely packed my fat jeans by accident. Hanni lent me a bright orange belt, which thankfully, nobody saw under my sweater.

And how has that exercise thing been working out, you ask? Just fine, thanks! I’m starting to do much better on the Wii and have been able to really put some effort behind those dreadful squats and lunges. It actually surprised me to find out I’m halfway through the six week challenge! Yesterday, I started the Fitness 5K Prep training in addition to the Wii. It’s really too early to tell, but I’ll give you a first impression by Sunday, after week 1 is completed.

So, while I may still be working towards that enviably hot body, run, run to the newsstand and get your own copy of Men’s Health mag; internet rumor has it that ambiguously sexy Jeremy Renner is the featured cover model (I gotta get that issue just for the interview -ha! I promise!!- since I couldn’t make heads or tails out of those blurbs I read online. Just can’t believe he’d suddenly turn into some babbling idiot who doesn’t make any sense when he opens his mouth).

Now you’re caught up. 🙂 And you, my dear reader in California, can now rest assured that all’s well in the old country…