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.

The News (Which Ain’t Much)

It’s a postcard snowfall. You know the kind: medium-sized flurries driven across the bare backyard by a cold wind,while the blue and red specks in the naked bushes can only mean that the birds have decided to give it a rest and simply watch. They’ve had a good breakfast, the birds. We do try to please everybody.

PeeWee guinea pig is feeling tops today, so I’m holding off taking her back to the vet, though we’ll likely have to drive over soon anyway. The cat’s still scratching, and that’s not good.

A superficial glance across the living room will reveal that my furry males have decided to settle down, finally. The dogs are stretched out on their beds while the up-and-coming author (let’s call him Papi) is doing his homework on the couch: reading about the details of writing. Upon closer inspection, however, you will find that the rabbits have chosen this exact hour of the morning to explore the possibility of denuding more of the wall near the bar. Alternatively, they will likely chew on the cardboard boxes left up there for them, all the while plotting how to best get into the bedroom, where of course they are not allowed.

As for me, I’m feeling pensive today and glad that my to-do list is mercifully short. There’ll be a workout later this afternoon, as on most days. I’m pleased to imagine that it is doing me some good, although I find that assumption somewhat difficult to verify. Most likely, I will take some time to continue working on the surprise I’m making for my sister. That, in turn, has given me an idea for something for my mum. Ideas are good, as long as you remember them. I frequently need to remind myself to write things down these days. Too much going on in the old noggin.

Last night I started a new cycle of poetry, titled “Seven Lifetimes”. So far, I have a rough draft on how I want to set it up and the beginning of two of the poems. I recently learned that Sylvia Plath frequently wrote with a thesaurus at her side. Perhaps I will give that method a try. I rather like the notion of fine tuning wording.

And that, for those of you who actually read the blog to keep up with the Joneses, is all the news I have for today. Do feel free to drop me a line and let me know how you have been. Snowy greetings from Deerfield Manor!

Crud, Sweat and Tears

Today is St. Niklas Day, a day to hold introspective, finish the holiday mail and sing “Silver Bells” and “mistletoe” with Mr B-B-B-Bing Crosby. Unless you live in my universe, where the day starts inocuously enough with breakfast at IHOP. In the kitty corner, because you’re a “party of one”. Oh, don’t you know it! After partying with a tasty Belgian waffle, crispy bacon and inexplicably undercooked eggs over easy, I’m so full of holiday joy that I hold the door for an elderly couple, tweet “good morning!” into the crisp December air and exude good will while doing the weekend shopping.

Mr Crosby, the Andrews Sisters and I are entwined in a complicated harmonical manoeuvre when the cat joins me in washing the vegetables. My initial aww-reflex turns to disgust when I discover that she’s utterly failed to wipe her behind upon exiting the litter box. Who knows where she’s been spreading her poopy contributions, and now she’s ON MY KITCHEN COUNTER! I consider whacking her with the Blarney Stone while Bing warbles about Christmas in Killarney but then just wipe her hiney instead.

Next, it’s off to feed the nagetiers. Having firmly (!) wedged the baby gate into the kitchen corners to prevent rabbit interruption of the vacuuming routine later, I am more than mildly surprised and annoyed when not five minutes later, there’s the unmistakable tipitty-tappity of little furry feet, and who should appear but no tiny Santa and two fluffheads hell-bent on gnawing everything I tell them not to? 

I decide to ignore them for now, mainly because I need to make a run for it and reach the bedroom before they do. Blam!, the door shuts in Rufi’s perplexed face, just before Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum can get into the boxsprings. Leaving them to think about new misdeeds, I bring out the vacuum cleaner to finish the living room area. I nearly end up finishing myself instead: that stupid thing weighs about 500 kilos, every single one unwieldy, the hose keeps popping off at the most inoppportune moments -which is always-, and it absolutely refuses to suck up anything from the area rug. Hence, my declaration: I will not, upon return of my straying and Christmas-marketing husband, EVER vacuum another rug with this monstrosity again! Not one! Mind you, I wanted the sleek, practical, easily disassembled, reaching everyplace super vac. Never mind that it cost in dollars what this sucker upper weighs in pounds. Thanks to frugality, my attempts at becoming a domestic goddess are thwarted once again. At least I’ve managed to briefly hide the dog slobber stains on the laminate by wiping them vigorously with a damp sponge. (here a side note to said laminate: slobber of any kind will never, ever come off, ever again. No kidding. You may THINK you’ve cleaned your floor, but at a disadvantageous angle, you’ll see that the stains have merely found different lighting to hide in)

Tiny Terror and I will now finish the mail. Meanwhile, please enjoy some gratuitous shots of our wintery, yet snowless yard.

 

The front side, decorated.

Spaceballs? Christmas ornaments? Actually, hedge apples!

Not yet a snow angel

 

When the Postman Rings Twice

We’ve barely skated into an unseasonably warm and humid October, and here I am talking about Christmas already. Yes folks, consider this an early warning system because I am at it again! Last year, I unveiled the Christmas Card Project (CCP), which is a no-strings-attached reciprocal idea for those of us who enjoy receiving real mail once in a while (for you youngsters: we’re talking snail mail here). “Snail” being the operative word because I hope for lots of participation which does require a little planning on my end. Here’s how it works: you send me your address. Please don’t leave it in the comments, I’d hate for you to have to expose yourselves unnecessarily! If you are not connected to me on Facebook and don’t already have my email addy, you can email me at vyvienn@gmail.com. I will then compile a list, add you to it and send you a Christmas card. Easy peasy! Caveat, though: if you do send me your address, I’ll return you mine, and yes, I’ll be just a touch cranky if I don’t get a card from you. After all, this is all about the joy of a raised flag on the mailbox, to employ an American image here.

Don’t celebrate Christmas?  No worries, you can still participate. I’ll let you in on a secret: I do, but I’m not a Christian. Paradoxical? Sure, but not if you know me. 😉 Just let me know you’d prefer to get a secular mailing instead. I’m not someone who condems “Season’s Greetings” as a sentiment.

Can you invite your friends to this shindig? Of course! The more, the merrier! As long as they understand how this is supposed to work.

A final note: you, my darling friends and relatives from back home in good ol’ Germany don’t need to do anything. There’s no way for you to escape the card, sorry. So get those ink bottle refilled and print yourselves some cardstock, because I WILL be extra cranky if I get nothing from you. 😛

Of a Sunday

TRADITION RETURNETH

Today, on our second weekend here, we officially revived the tradition of going out for breakfast. Not that we haven’t been eating out lately, far more, in fact, than we’d really like, but with the kitchen now back to a functional state, we can resume a more normal eating schedule. And on weekends, that means brekkie out. I’ve noticed that unlike in Maryland, it’s somewhat difficult to get away from the big chains around here. There really are only two potential candidates for something different, and one of them caters to the business district and is thus closed on Saturdays and Sundays. But I do love my Cracker Barrel! In the olden days, IHOP was my favourite; these days, it still comes in a close second.

One favourable new trend is the emergence of healthier food options, be it smaller portions, the exclusion of heavy cheese and cream, or simply substituting veges or fruit for fries. As Weight Watchers programmes seem to be all the rage, some restaurants include point counts on their menus (Applebees, for instance).

LUTHERANS RULE

America, land of creeds… just near our house, we have Baptists, Lutherans, Presbyterians and Methodists, but any other Christian sect you care to mention finds a home in this city, as well. My former religious cohorts, however, have a firm grip on the area, certainly where medical care is concerned (toss in a church or two plus a school for good measure): there is a large general hospital not ten minutes down the road, along with assorted smaller Cratchits, eh, specialty clinics, like a clinic for vein surgery, a large heart centre, and even a clinic for cosmetic surgery. There are also Amish nearby, who seem fairly invisible, but remain highly prized for their carpentry skills.

Whichever denomination we have to thank for this grand idea, we live in a dry state, meaning you cannot purchase alcohol on Sundays (somewhat ironic considering communion). Anything else, though, is up for grabs; if it’s commercial, it’s open for business seven days a week. Many stores do curtail their shopping hours on Sundays, at least somewhat.

You can already guess how we spent our morning after breakfast! At least the fridge, freezer and pantry are stocked again, but I find shopping rather exhausting these days and was glad to take a rest by the pond, the Kindle, a brew and the dogs in tow.

On the way home, we were stopped at a traffic light from where a wide road led up a hill and around a bend to disappear into a blue sky. If you were in Swanbourne, you could walk up that hill and there’d be an ocean on the other side. Now where did that come from?

Rufus on Holiday

Enjoying the beach and testing the waters. Good thing that shark warning is just a joke!

View to the house with our birdfeeder tree:

In fact, we do have a lot of trees. Like these lovely walnuts

 

Next year, there’ll finally be some of that walnut liqueur, for sure!

Today was a beautiful autumn day, with a cool breeze and plenty of sunshine. Perfect to set up the new patio furniture… but for that, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow!

Breakfast in America

We’ve arrived. Today, it’s been one week exactly since we completed the most horrible travel day of my life – and by the way, United, you BLOW!- and stepped into our new house for the first time. All furry critters made the trip in one piece and are doing fine, thanks for asking. Now let me take you for a small tour of the pad, though I don’t really have any pics yet. My reasons for that will be partly revealed below.

THE HOUSE

It’s huge. Truly. Our front entrance faces east, the picture windows west, so we get plenty of sun all day. The master bedroom and my future palace are located on the south side, along with the master bath (again, huge! Jacuzzi!!) and a full guest bath which I’ve recently had the pleasure of decorating. Right next to the entrance is the future man cave. From here, step into the parlour, if you please, or draw up a stool and have a sip at the wine bar. Or continue in a northerly direction to find the future exercise room, dining room, wintergarden, kitchen, yet another hallway/laundry area, and finally, the last bedroom which the pack of rodents gets to dominate as it wishes. Repeat after me: space is good.

As always, space can be made better. For one, there is wallpaper literally everywhere. The house was only built 13 years ago, and I don’t understand this odd need to make it look like a daggone Hallmark movie house on the inside! The wallpaper project will, however, be postponed until the new year, because first, the carpeting has got to go. We’re looking at hardwood or laminate – I kind of like the new snap-and-glue hardwood because it doesn’t require putting subflooring in, but even that costs twice what laminate would cost, and there is some nice stuff out there. Finally, and I apologise profusely in advance, I HATE the well water. On the best of days, it’s got a metallic smell to it, on the worst it smells like the devil’s arsehole. I remember not liking it up at my in-laws’ place at the lake, and I don’t like it here. Nothing I can do but get used to it, I suppose, but it’s gonna be a while. Sorry. Again.

Now let’s step outside… yes, the deck is red. And yes, it’s in sad shape. We’re considering having it torn down and replacing it with a stone patio. Apart from looking better, it would also make maintenance a lot easier.

Please disregard the weeds. Hard to do? Well, the garden hasn’t been tended in a couple of months, you know. But we’ve got plans. Sadly, they’ll all start with a lot of weeding (obviously). Ouch. But just give it a while and check back in, let’s say, May or June. Chances are, you’ll be surprised. Right now, let’s head over to the pond…

Now, that sign’s been here as long as the pond, I reckon, but so far, I haven’t sighted any fins yet. DH wasn’t deterred:

The pups were a bit more skeptical (until today, when a deer showed up, splashed around in the pond, peed in it, then hopped off back into the field. The dogs were entertained for hours!).

Life will become a bit more normal on Friday when some new appliances and a riding lawn mower will arrive. With nearly 5 acres of land, most of which is grass, it’s just a bit much to tackle otherwise. Meanwhile, we remain surrounded by boxes. Not my favourite way of living but not everything will be unpacked until the floors are done. I was shocked to see how dirty the place is! Since the house had been rented until July, I’d hoped it would basically be ready to move in, but the walls, where they aren’t covered in ridiculous wallpaper, are dirty, full of nails and/or nail holes, there are crumbs and dirt in every cabinet, and in the bottom of the oven, there is ash! Gross, gross, gross…

THE SHOPPING

Is a pain in the arse. Let’s not beat around the bush. We’ve been shopping every single day with the exception of two of the three days that DH was gone to pick up the Jeep. It sucks. What I do enjoy is going out for breakfast. Because there are options here, people! And I’m happy to see that a lot of restaurants now also offer smaller portions or modified breakfast options with fresh fruit, reduced sugar content, etc. The same goes for dinner places. It’s a step in the right direction.

Ok, I’m pooped. This is the longest I’ve written continuously in a while, and I’m having trouble staying focused. More updates will follow soon, promise!

 

 

 

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.

Living a Girl’s Adventure Tale

Let’s start with the good news first: attempting to do a headstand yesterday, I managed to not break my neck. There, I thought you’d be happy! 😀

Now, on to the adventure part… my grandmother has, not exactly unexpectedly, decided to abandon our travel plans which leaves me to go to Estonia on my own in June. One might say, I don’t really HAVE to, since the flight’s not even booked, but one would not know yours truly if one actually expected me to pass this up! Me, in a foreign country where neither the first nor second language is English, with exotic foods to be tasted and new territory to be explored… you see how this has to end. Of COURSE I’m going!

The fun thing is that this trip follows closely on the heels of our annual visit in Hamburg. That’s what summer is all about!

And speaking of faraway cities in the northern areas of Germany: although Mr Renner’s secretary has so far still not gotten around to sending his itinerary (excuse me, while I unstick my tongue from my cheek!), I do know where he most likely was on April 3 – and possibly still is today! Yes, he’s been filming that weird sounding Hansel and Gretel movie in Braunschweig, Germany. I feel obligated to point out two things: 1. Braunschweig is nowhere near here, and 2. it is, indeed, rather in the middle of nowhere. If you look at a German map and find a large area of nothing but tiny country roads and green patches, that’s where it is. They probably don’t have network out there, or somebody in his hometown should’ve known where he was… ok, enough insane speculation.

Aaaaaand speaking of insanity, it is about time for my workout… see you lovely people later!

’tis the Season

If you’re a Grinch or a grump or hate the holidays, don’t come by for a few weeks. You’re gonna hate it here. Me, I’m a sucker for Christmas cheer and snow and hot mulled wine, long snowy walks with my dogs, sparkly lights and fancy ribbons and decorated trees. Love it! If ever there was a season invented for me, this is it. Now, the grand opening is already over (twice); we celebrated Thanksgiving being cooked and catered for at some friends’ house, then again with a smaller crowd of our own at our place. Incredibly, not only has it snowed here already, it’s actually sticking! So, having rung in the holidays in the real world, let’s have the Man do it in Blogville: