Find a Quiet Spot and Breathe

I have been complaining too much about the weather.  Today, it was time to look at the situation differently. This morning was a decadently slow Saturday morning. I made myself a homemade latte and oatmeal and actually sat at the kitchen table to eat my breakfast. 

 The colors in this picture soothe me. I love the vibrant green of the plants and my chitangi material, the bright yellow of the lemons. Although the picture doesn't show it, our Saturday snowfall had begun, and fluffy tufts of snow were swirling outside the windows.  

I am undeniably a warm weather woman. A perfect day, in my opinion, is one when the sun is blazing, windows and doors can be thrown open, and shoes are optional. Even in wintertime, I can't help but open the windows sometimes, just to freshen the air. A Swiss friend of mine told me that her family opens the windows for a few minutes every day, regardless of temperature, to bring in fresh air. I like that habit. I read that that we inhale 12,000 liters (that's over 3,000 gallons) of air into our lungs. We inhale and exhale 20,000 times each day. However, 90% of our day is spent inside.

That "90%" must be a cold climate percentage. When I think back to my childhood in Zimbabwe, I'm sure that my time spent outdoors was significantly more than 10%!

My kitchen is a peaceful little place for me. It isn't quite the spacious gardens of southern Africa, but it's a start. It's my little oasis of green in a wintery grey world. 

Did you know that NASA began considering using houseplants for air purification on space stations in the 1980's? I started reading an article about their top ten choices. They include aloe vera, peace lilies, African violets, and spider plants, which are all in my kitchen! :) 

Pinterest is one of my favorite websites for quotes, projects, recipes and ideas for just about anything. I recently came across this "Manifesto for a Simple Life." I don't know the author, Kelly, or anything about her, but I like her words! This Saturday, my part to remember was to find a quiet spot and breathe. It helped to turn my complaining into thankfulness, to remind me to be thankful for green plants, warm coffee, candles, and even pretty snow.

 

Nonverbal communication

Monday was President's Day, and a holiday for my class. Tuesday's class was cancelled because of winter weather. Somehow, after only two days of class, the week still feels exhausting. 

I went to get my students this morning, taking a snap of Moby and I as I waited for the massive vehicle to warm up at least a little bit. Yep, you can see four rows of seats, two car-seats, and just out of the picture is the most unhelpful ice-scraper ever made. The ice scraper might be more helpful if I 

could fully reach the windscreen when standing on the ground.

Most of the caseworkers don't like to drive Moby, so I typically get the pleasure of driving him. At first, I was afraid, I was petrified (...Did you start singing too???) but I've gotten used to it. It makes me chuckle when I turn the ignition only to have our solitary cassette tape start blaring Nepali music.

Most of our students/clients live in a housing complex not far from my teaching site. We've established a meeting point at an old gas station. Almost every morning, I pull up to the gas station and see two of my most faithful Bhutanese students, waiting stoically in the cold, occasionally smoking a cigarette. 

For the entire first month, their faces were always serious and almost dispassionate. They rarely came to class in December. Their caseworker called them finally, asking if they would come to class in January. The caseworker (who is from the same cultural background) told me, "They said they will come. But you have to remember, they might not come. Culturally, they will always say yes, but that doesn't really mean yes." 

That first day in January, I drove to the gas station, wondering if I would have any students at all. It always makes me smile to see my students standing in a line outside the gas station, patiently waiting for me in front of the "No Loitering" sign. The men dress in Western clothes, although sometimes they are wearing the traditional cloth hat called a topi. The older women are always awash in colors, wearing traditional cloth wrapped around their thin bodies in blues, reds, and yellows.  

Since that day in January, there have always been at least two men waiting for me at that stop. Sometime in January, despite the arctic temperatures, something thawed in our relationship. Now, Naina Singh and Sher Man return my smile and wave as they finish their smoking and climb into the van. As new students arrive, these two men shepherd them into the van, showing them how to buckle seat belts or open the door. They proudly say, "Good morning, teacher!" 

I should add that my conversations in the van are hilarious. By the end of my trip to collect students, there are normally at least two languages being spoken, and sometimes as many as five or six. Most of our students live in proximity to others who share their language. If absent students are part of the Nepali community, I'll normally ask Sher Man or Naina Singh if they know if they are coming. The response is a flurry of Nepali directed at me, which is completely incomprehensible to me, and then a much more helpful "Go" or a hand gesture to wait longer. 

There are several new students who live in a housing complex adjacent to the apartment block. One woman, Dil Maya (which is an incredibly common Nepali name judging by how many Dil Mayas are in our program), has been running late most days. As a result, I've begin to drive by her building on my return trip, hoping to hurry our departure a little bit. She wasn't at the gas station today, so I asked my regulars if she was coming. I got shrugs in response and gestures to drive past her house. I acquiesced and slowed down as I drove by her house. A man was standing on the stoop, smoking a cigarette, watching us with mild interest. Sher Man caught his eye, and through entirely non-verbal communication, managed to communicate that we were wondering if Dil Maya would join us today. The man went into the house, came back out, responded with a hand wave of his own, and Sher Man informed me, "She not come today." There was no need for a cell phone! 

I had to share this last picture. I keep reminding myself that I need to slow down. I have misread a number of things because I'm reading really quickly. I was substituting for another English teacher a few weeks ago. Her class is held in a local Baptist church. As I got on the elevator, I glanced at this sign:

At first glance, I thought it said, "Please do not pray on the elevator!" That seemed a trifle odd, particularly in a church! 

On cold days like today, I'm especially thankful for a roof over my head. (For those not in this area, today is a chilly -12 C.) I certainly will always have one with my family, but another roof has also been provided. At the end of January, I contacted an organization I used to work for, that has two apartments for international staff who routinely return to the USA. Since one apartment was empty for the next few months, they agreed to let it to me. So, on Feb 1, I moved into a "new" apartment. Ironically, it is the same apartment I moved into on February 1, 2012, when I moved back from the UK. (Could that have been three years ago?) This will be home for another two months. After that, we will see what doors open!

Classes are going well, as ever changing as always. My regulars are doing really well, truly making me proud of them. On Tuesday, I might have as many as eight new students, nearly doubling my roster. Several of my students have progressed to being able to hold simple conversations with me, which is a vast improvement from when I would get blank stares in response to anything I said.

I don't teach on Fridays. Instead, I supervise intakes and assessments for new students. It is nice to at least get to meet my students before they pitch up in class, and I think it reassures them to know it will be a familiar face. This past Friday, I wore a necklace from India, one with several strands of small blue beads. Two caseworkers, both originally from Nepal, commented on my necklace. The first man, Lol, looked at my necklace in shock and said, "Where did you get that?" I told him that I bought it from friends who live in Goa.  "Wow," he said. "In Nepal, a man would give that kind of necklace to his wife when they are married.  Usually, it's green, but it's like that."  He proceeded to introduce me to the two students I would be testing, who were both Nepali/Bhutanese. They looked confused by my name, until he said in Nepali, "Aasha."  Both faces lit up with smiles as they nodded approvingly at me.

After I began the assessment, a different caseworker popped his head into the conference room.  "Can I say something to them quickly?" he asked. Interruptions work both ways between our departments of Employment, Resettlement, and ESL, so I nodded. He had a quick conversation with my future students, and then did a double take when he saw my necklace.  "Can you wear that necklace?" he asked me teasingly. We rehashed essentially the same conversation, ending with Rohit telling me that my Nepali students would all think I was married.

As I've been writing, another friend has been messaging me on Facebook. He speaks Arabic and always calls me Amal. I love having a name that translates into other languages. Inevitably, my students' faces light up when they hear my name in their language. To my Spanish-speaking students, I can be Esperanza. To my Nepali speaking students, I can Aasha. To my Arabic-speaking students, I can be Amal. I haven't had any Somali students call me by my Somali name, but I believe it is Rayeyn. Some of my newest students speak Tigrinya (from Eritrea) and Kurdish, so perhaps I can learn how to say Hope in two more languages soon!