A tradition of Giving-A Christmas Angel

For many people, the day after Thanksgiving is a day for shopping. Black Friday. But when my children were small, it was our day to head to the mall, not to shop but to pick out angels. We visited the Salvation Army angel tree each year. My daughter would pick a girl angel and my son, a boy angel. We’d search the tree for angels about the same age as my kids. Then it was off to do our shopping. My children would fret over which toy to pick and then which articles of clothing. It was a time for our family to give to those less fortunate. I remember one Christmas morning, as my daughter was unwrapping her gifts, she looked up and quietly said, “I hope my angel likes her gifts.” In the midst of my daughter’s receiving, she thought about the gift she had given.

Another favorite activity during the holidays was to listen to “Christmas Cash for Kids.” The radio was tuned to the appropriate station the first few days in December each year. We listened to heart-warming stories of how people opened their hearts and gave what they could to help others in our area. My son and daughter would collect money in jars or boxes and then we would drive over to the radio station to present our donation. Sometimes our scout troop pledged money and we’d pile all the kids into cars and head to the station office. The girls giggled at the thought of their voices on the radio as they encouraged their schoolmates to give as well.

We’d also shop for gloves, hats, and mittens to add to the trees at church or at the school. My daughter was fond of pink hats and mittens. Those items would be bagged up, taken off to their destination, and clothes-pinned on the tree. It felt good to know that the people in our community would be helped to keep warm during the cold winter months.

Another holiday tradition was helping with the Boy Scout Scouting for Food drive. Father and son would head off early one Saturday morning to deliver the well-known plastic bags to homes in our neighborhood. The following week, we would all get in the truck and head out to help with the collection. Items in our area were taken to the Brunswick Food Bank. It was always heart-warming to see all the young people who came out to help weigh and sort the copious donations of food.

During the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I like to take time to do something for others. We have so much, and we are always thankful for that, but my favorite holiday tradition is the tradition of giving. I hold dearly to the old adage that it is far better to give than it is to receive. The true gift of Christmas is the gift of giving.

A tradition of time with loved ones

Bob’s Your Uncle-a tradition of time with loved ones

A few years ago, after many distant years, my uncle Bob and I sort of re-united. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but all of a sudden, he was a hugely important part of my life. He’d call and we would chat about all sorts of things. Then we’d schedule an outing. My aunt, uncle, husband and I would head out for a day on the boat, or out to a nice restaurant for a lovely dinner. Many times, my uncle would share his culinary skills with us by preparing a gourmet dinner. At one point, my uncle shared with me his love for the Christmas holidays. “I’m sort of sappy about Christmas,” he confided. “Me, too!” I exclaimed!

And thus, another holiday tradition was born. Each year, around October, my uncle calls so that we can make our Christmas date plans. Our first Christmas double-date was an evening in Washington, D.C. We bought tickets to see the Nutcracker ballet at the Warner Theater. I was thrilled to see George Stephanopoulus, one of my favorite newscasters, as part of the cast that day. He made a great party guest in the first scene! After the show, we hurried in the cold to a restaurant not far from the theater. There we sat and talked and laughed and just enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company.

We’ve been to Ford’s Theater to see “A Christmas Carol” a few times, once during the theater’s renovation and another after its completion. Whenever we see a theatrical production, my uncle will always ask my “professional” opinion of the performance. At the end of “A Christmas Carol,” there is always a tear in my eye when the company of actors shares that Scrooge kept Christmas in his heart and to Tiny Tim he became a second father. Something tells me that there’s a tear in my uncle’s eye as well. He’s sappy like that.

My uncle has taken the position of respected elder in my family. If I’m talking to my daughter about a particular concern, she’ll tell me to “ask Uncle Bob, he’ll know.” I turn to him now as a surrogate parent. I know I can count on him and depend on him. He shares stories with me of my childhood, things I don’t remember. He tells me about my grandfather and my great-uncles. There’s family history there. Our special times together have become increasingly important to me, and our holiday outings have become our tradition of showing how much we care for each other.

Dissertation Update

On Monday December 6th, I met with my dissertation advisor, Dr. Brenda Murphy. We reviewed what I had submitted for my proposal...all 60 pages. She agreed to submit the document to my reading committee! The defense of my proposal is scheduled for Monday January 17th at 1:30pm. I'm really on my way!

Less than a month ago, I had great doubts about being able to complete the task at hand. I had submitted a rough draft of my literature review and received an email from Dr. Murphy saying "We need to meet. The lit review needs some major work." Major work! I panicked at the thought. When we met, she handed me the pages I had submitted. It was a bit difficult to see what I had written through all the red ink she used to mark where changes needed to be made. On the way home from our meeting, I decided that everything we had scheduled for Thanksgiving break needed to be cancelled. I had some major work ahead of me.

For the four days of Thanksgiving vacation, our dining room table looked like a disaster. Books and papers were everywhere. By Saturday I had made great progress. I could see light at the end of the tunnel, so I decided to attempt an all-nighter. I had delusions of finishing before I went to bed. By 1:30 Sunday morning, I was fading, so I decided to head to bed and finish up in the morning. By noon on Sunday, the document was completed! I thought about emailing the finished product to my advisor then, but decided to wait and proof it a few more times. Finally at around 8pm Sunday, I hit the send button to email the proposal to Dr. Murphy.

It was both relief and panick. I was terrbily afraid that the next time I saw that document it would be loaded with red ink. I waited an entire week to hear something, some hint from my advisor about her thoughts. I heard nothing. It was a long ride to Winchester on the 6th. I took a deep breath as I climbed the stairs to Dr. B's office.

But my proposal was accepted and sent on! Now, on to the next step. I might just get to my goal!

I Am Fifty

I am Fifty. Well, almost. Officially, I have a little over two more weeks of “youth!” At fifty, I will hardly be middle-aged. A crisis then, at this time, would not be appropriate. I should be elated as I have moved up the ladder of life! I’ve moved up a grouping, so to speak. But am I elderly? I think not, but sometimes, it’s the little things that make me feel that way.

I don’t feel elderly, most of the time. Except when I go to the State Highway Administration meeting on the expansion of Route 15 and they talk about the thirty year growth plan. In thirty years, I will most certainly be elderly. If I make it that long! When they talked about the plan, I felt old.

Each spring, as we purchase our new flowers and bring out the patio furniture, I feel youthful. I get excited about setting up our backyard living space, and I look forward to the beautiful colors the flowers will bring and the festivities of summer. But at the end of a day of yard work and planting, I feel elderly. My muscles and my joints tell me that I am not as youthful as I would like to believe.

Every eight weeks, when those gray roots start popping back and I have to head to Baltimore to the salon to have my roots “treated,” I feel a bit over the hill. As I leave the salon, people always comment on how nice my hair looks. I feel youthful! But when my students look at the pictures on my desk and say “Look, Mrs. Jarman, your hair wasn’t blond in this picture.” No, I think to myself, that was way before the gray set in. Sometimes, in moments like that, I feel older.

I love to sport around in my little sports car. That car came just before I turned forty-seven. A bit of a mid-life crisis, if you will. I wanted to abandon sedans and anything that looked remotely like a “family” car. My children were grown and moving out of the house. It was time to celebrate with a two door sports car. Well, every now and then, when I try to climb out of my beloved little car, my knees stiffen up a bit. It’s then that I don’t feel as spry as I used to.

When my husband and I go ballroom dancing on a Saturday night, we are youthful as we leave the house all spruced up for an evening of dance. Dating my husband is such fun and I feel like a young girl! We hurry out to the dance floor to try out new steps learned in our lessons. But on the drive home, after I have removed my dancing shoes and am rubbing my feet, I don’t feel quite so youthful.

It’s during moments like these that I sometimes think about wine, and how a wine ages to gain a full body flavor. Perhaps I’m in that aging process, still fermenting…and gaining a full body! But I’m becoming a richer person. Those lines I see appearing around my eyes are hopefully telling the story of a person who gets great joy out of life, who enjoys what she is doing and the people around her. It’s those little things that are making be think that fifty could be pretty nifty.

Half a century

Half a century

In November, I will be fifty. It’s a somewhat difficult number for me to say, to deal with. No longer can I justify being mid-life, not unless the life expectancy for women suddenly jumps to the age of one hundred. In a few short days, I will no longer be in my forties. It’s been a tough pill to swallow.

What’s really been tough is that now in my advanced age, I have no grandchildren! There isn’t even one on the horizon. At this moment, there are no possibilities. That concerns me. I believe I am ready for grandchildren and I think I would make a good grandmother.

My grandmother was forty-two when I was born and my mother was only thirty-nine when my daughter, her first grandchild, was born. I’ve put in my time, now I believe it’s time for my reward!

I have two grand-dogs, but I’m not sure they really count. I do buy them treats and spoil them on visits, but you just can’t take your grand-dog to an amusement park for the day, and a trip to Disneyland is certainly out of the question.

I’d make a great grandmother! I’ve been preparing our house for grandchildren for the past several years. Every time my husband threatens to close up the pool, I urge him to leave it open for our future grandchildren. I tell him that those kids will love the horses down at the barn and the stream in the back field. He thinks a condo would be more practical for us. Practical, yes, maybe, but grandchild friendly, I think not. So we have not yet moved into that condo. I’m holding out.

We were recently visiting friends who have two small daughters. I was able to occupy myself for much of our visit entertaining the two young girls. I kept the baby quiet, we bounced and smiled and giggled. I played games and read with the older one, although she was much more adept with an Ipad than I was. My friend commented about how good I was with the kids. “I’m practicing,” I told him. Then my son chimed in that I had plenty of time to practice because there was not a great likelihood that those skills would be needed any time soon!

My thirty-fifth high school reunion will be held in 2013, and I will be 52 at that reunion. Several of my classmates were already grandparents at our last reunion. I assured them that by the thirty-fifth I, too, would join their ranks. The clock is ticking away.

Who knows? Maybe I will live to be one hundred and this is just my mid-life crisis. Some people want sports cars, others crave exotic travel…my crisis is grandchildren!
I will be printing copies of this column to give to my children as Christmas presents.

Niagra

For some reason, I thought that a Labor Day weekend trip to the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY, and a visit to Niagra Falls was a great idea. And it did start out that way. Bright and early one Saturday morning, we piled into the car to begin our drive to Cooperstown. There was a special tribute to Charles Schulz at the museum, and I was eager to see the exhibit.

We arrived at the museum and spent a few hours visiting the exhibits and wandering through the special area dedicated to the work of Charlie Brown’s creator. There were images of Charlie and his baseball team and Charlie Brown as the manager. There were also photos of Charles Schulz and baseball memorabilia. We had a wonderful visit. After we left the museum, we headed to a quaint little diner on the main street of Cooperstown. Lunch was typical diner fare. There were burgers and fries topped with catsup. We ordered iced tea to drink and then sat and enjoyed our meal in a most pleasant country setting.

It was after five o’clock when we hit the road for Niagra. We wanted to get as close to the falls as we could before we stopped for the evening. It looked like it would be about a four and a half hour drive. It was a little after nine when we decided to start looking for a hotel for the night. Yes, I decided not to make reservations in advance. I thought that there wouldn’t be that many people on the road for Labor Day weekend. Boy, was I in for a surprise!

At each exit off the highway, we were told the same thing at every hotel, “Sorry, no vacancies.” My husband came out of one hotel to tell me that the desk clerk said there wasn’t a room available in any hotel for five hours! We would be in Ohio before we found a room for the night.

We pulled in to one hotel parking lot. It was a rather run-down, seedy looking place. The front desk clerk was a very large man sitting on a lawn chair on the porch of the hotel. I would not have been surprised if he had downed a six-pack of his favorite brew before he began manning the check-in “desk.” Yes, he had a room! For $250.00 for the night! We were desperate. The family convened for a conference in the car and we decided that none of us would feel comfortable spending the night at that hotel.

Then my husband made a suggestion. “What if I find a place that looks safe and we just camp out in the car. We can find a restroom to wash up for the evening and get what sleep we can.” He was right. It was already almost one o’clock in the morning. We weren’t going to get much sleep wherever we stopped. So we bathed at the next rest stop we saw and then settled down for the night in an elementary school parking lot just outside of Niagra.

The next day at the falls we had a wonderful time. We donned raincoats for the tour under the falls and we walked the bridge from the U.S. into Canada. We were a bit groggy and the kids and I slept most of the ride home, but it was a wonderful weekend. I would do it all over again, but I would most definitely make a hotel reservation before we left!

Tokyo Disneyland

When my husband was serving in the Navy and stationed in California at NAS Moffett Field, he had two deployments to Japan. The second one occurred around the time that our daughter was about a year and half old. We decided that Tiffany and I would join my husband for the middle two months of the deployment. She and I packed up and flew across the Pacific in the middle of August.

We stayed in an apartment just outside of the base in Misawa, Japan. In September, we decided to take a vacation. A trip to Tokyo and Hong Kong sounded like the break that we all needed. So, we packed up and flew first to Tokyo for a few days.

Since our daughter loved Disneyland so much, we thought that an excursion to Tokyo Disneyland would be something she would enjoy. The park was a short train ride outside of the city, so early one morning we set out for a day of fun and park attractions.

What we did not realize was that the main attraction that day at the park was going to be our 18 month-old blond haired, blue-eyed little girl. Once we were inside the park, we headed to the Country Bear Jamboree. Back in the U.S., that had been one of Tiffany’s favorite spots in Disneyland. It took a few minutes to adjust to the fact that the bears were singing in Japanese with country accents! But we enjoyed the show tremendously.

On our way out of the Jamboree, a Japanese family motioned us over to them to take their picture. We grabbed their camera, and they grabbed our daughter! They wanted a picture with Tiffany! “How sweet,” I told my husband as we walked to our next event. I was touched by the fact that this family wanted to include our daughter in their memories of Disneyland.

While we were waiting in line for the ride through “It’s a Small World,” a Japanese woman handed us a small bag of treats and motioned that it was for Tiffany. Once again, I exclaimed to my husband about the hospitable nature of the Japanese. “They are so kind!” I told him.

As we walked through the park, people gestured to us to allow them photo opportunities with our little girl. She was like a rock star let loose in the crowd. “Hon,” I told him, “I think that our baby is absolutely the most perfect child on the planet, but I am her mother. I cannot understand the Japanese fascination with her.”

My husband took a deep breath and said, “It’s really quite simple. Look around the park. How many blonds do you see?” he asked me. As I stood there and took in all of the visitors to the park that day, it finally dawned on me! Our Tiffany was the only blond in the park, and probably in Tokyo for that matter.

My realization was almost a let down. I scooped my baby up in my arms and whispered to her that she was truly a very special little girl. What I thought was a global adoration of my little angel was simply that in that particular place, she was unique. For me as her mother, that uniqueness would be forever.

His Native Language

My son-in-law is Dutch and Dutch is his native language. While he was growing up, he also spent some time living in France and so he is fluent in French as well as Dutch. As a teenager, he joined a Boy Scout troop where meetings were conducted in English and he soon became fluent in English. I marvel at his ability to rapidly switch between the three languages. At a holiday gathering that included guests who spoke all three languages, Bram communicated with each person in his or her native language. It was truly impressive.

As a linguist, I was impressed with one particular instance of my son-in-law’s language usage. We were invited to my Uncle Bob’s for dinner one evening. My aunt and uncle take pride in preparing gourmet meals and then elegantly serving them to their guests. Of course, wine and the selection of the wine are important components of the meal. Uncle Bob makes sure that his guests never have an empty wine glass.

That was also the case on this particular evening. It was Bram’s first experience with an Uncle Bob meal. He didn’t realize that the faster he drank his wine, the faster Uncle Bob would refill. There were several times when I think Bram wasn’t even aware of the refilling. In any case, he was feeling quite happy at this family gathering.

Conversation flowed just as easily as the wine. We laughed and shared stories. We told Bram all about Tiffany when she was growing up. My son, Tim, filled his future brother-in-law in on special experiences he and Tiffany had shared. It was well after midnight when we finally got up from the table to head home.

As we had brought two cars, my son volunteered to be the designated driver for one of the cars. He had to be up early the next morning and hadn’t had any wine, so he drove my daughter and her then fiancé home. With the happy couple seated in the back, my son served as chauffeur.

On the ride home, while my daughter slept, the “boys” conversed about a bunch of things. It was a good time for them to get to know each other better. But at one point, whether it was because he was tired or had had too much wine, Bram said something in Dutch. Tim thought that Bram was mumbling because he was tired, so he asked him to repeat what he said. It wasn’t until that point that Bram even realized he had switched languages.

It just goes to show that when we are not 100% ourselves our brains revert to what they know best. In this case Bram’s brain went to the language it knew best. My son still has not learned any Dutch, but there have not been any major communication differences between the two since then. My son recognized that his brother-in-law doesn’t mumble, he just speaks words that Tim doesn’t understand!

The Man of Her Dreams

As my daughter was growing up, I knew that some day she would move off and live on her own. What I never dreamed of was her moving so far away! While she was a college student, Tiffany worked as a performer at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. Each year her role in the festival changed and ultimately she was selected to perform the role of Katherine Howard. The festival follows the story of Henry VIII of England, and Katherine became Henry’s fifth wife.

In the fall of 2007, Tiffany was playing Lady Katherine Howard. In the story line, the king had not yet selected her to be his bride, but Katherine was a member of the court. Tiffany was thrilled to once again be part of the cast as many of the players had become close friends. One of those friends was Melissa.

Melissa met her real life Irish husband online and they had been married for several years. During the festival that fall, the godfather of Melissa and Colin’s daughter was visiting. His name was Bram and he was visiting from the Netherlands. You see, Colin and Bram had grown up friends while both of their fathers were working in Belgium. They maintained their friendship even after both had moved on.

Between shows at the festival, Bram was introduced to the Lady Katherine Howard. The introduction lasted just a few minutes, but on the ride to the airport the following week, Bram questioned Melissa about the young actress who played Katherine Howard. He even asked for her email address.

Melissa quickly phoned Tiffany who agreed to the exchange. About ten days later, my daughter received an email that would ultimately change her life-and mine, too.

“What harm can come of an email correspondence with someone in Europe?” I told my daughter when she asked what I thought. “If nothing else, you’ll develop a friendship.” So I actually encouraged this.

Well, emails led to skype sessions and telephone calls. In November, my daughter set out on a trip to Amsterdam to really meet Abram Johann Jansen. When I dropped her off at the airport she told me that over the two months of correspondence with Bram she felt like he was her best friend. “Mom,” she whispered in my ear, “I think he might be the one and this trip will let me know for sure.”

That was on a Friday. I was to pick her up four days later. Sure enough when I met her again at the airport, she hugged me and said, “I have found the man of my dreams.” Almost to the exact day one year later, they were married. In the twenty-five years that I had known my daughter, I had never seen her as happy as she was with Bram.

Just as in the old world, explorers headed to the new world for adventure and treasure, my son-in-law came the U.S. to find his queen. And now I have three children. My son, my daughter and my son-in-law, who is worth his weight in gold for the happiness he brings to my first born. I just wish he brought her all that happiness a bit closer to home.

And so we begin

In May of this year, I passed my comprehensive exams for my doctoral program. I was assigned a dissertation committee chairperson and we had our first official dissertation meeting in August. Just this week, I submitted to her about seven or eight pages of my writing. We met, she gave me some feedback, we chatted and developed a time line for my progress.

My dissertation committee is in place. Three women whom I respect and trust. Three women who are dedicated to the instruction of language. Three women who dedicate themselves to being the best teachers so that their students will learn and grow. How fortunate am I. I have a husband and family who are supportive of my work. My husband listens as I rattle on about studies and methods. And I have students who are eager to bestow upon me next year the title of "Dr. J." I can do this.

I sit at my computer and realize that I am actually in the process of writing a doctoral dissertation. It's a bit overwhelming. When I look at what I must complete, I ask myself if I can really do this and am I completely crazy. Why at fifty years of age would one do something like this! And then I consider all that I have already learned from my program. My teaching has improved so much because I have implemented methods that I have read about and studied. The implications of my research will improve that.

But wow! Three chapters by the end of November and it is now September 11. And so I begin...

More language barriers

An International City

When my husband was flying the Navy P-3, he was deployed to Misawa Japan for six months. We decided that my daughter and I would join him for two months of the deployment. He left in June, and in July I was on the phone with the travel agent making my plans to go to Japan.

Since there was no direct flight from the U.S. to Misawa, the travel agent convinced me that my best option was to fly from Tokyo to Sapporo, spend the night there, and then head to Misawa the following morning. I shared with her my concern about communication since I spoke no Japanese. She assured me that I would be just fine as Sapporo was an international city. “After all,” she said, “The winter Olympics were held there, so there should be loads of English speakers in the city.”

In August, I headed to the airport in D.C. with my eighteen-month old daughter and all of our luggage. We would be spending the next two months in Japan. As we boarded the first of several flights on our journey to Japan, I was feeling very confident in my abilities to navigate the two of us through the long trip.

I arrived in Japan with a somewhat cranky child. It had been a long flight from Chicago. She howled when the people at immigration attempted to help us. She howled when we boarded the flight to Sapporo and she continued to howl the entire flight. When we arrived at the Sapporo airport, I think most of the passengers were ready to see the two Americans go.

Miraculously, Tiffany stopped crying in the airport so I was able to search for English speakers to help me find my way to the hotel. I was really looking forward to a nice hot bath. It was then that I realized my difficulties were just beginning.

I stopped several people to ask for assistance, even if it was to simply point me in the direction of the information booth. No one seemed to understand what I was saying. After what seemed to be a very long time spent trying to find anyone who could speak just a few words in English, I made a rash decision. I decided to stand in the middle of the baggage claim area and just yell the name of my hotel at the top of my voice.

Now you can imagine what a sight I must have been. A young American woman in the middle of a Japanese airport with a toddler in her arms just yelling over and over the name of a hotel. Some kind Japanese man must have taken pity on me. He guided me to a bus just outside the airport, said something to the driver, and indicated to me that I should sit down with my daughter. He was even kind enough to put our bags on the bus.

At every stop, I looked at the bus driver and repeated the name of my hotel. And at every stop, he nodded his head. Finally we reached the hotel! The one whose name I had become intimately acquainted with. I scooped up my daughter and struggled off the bus with all our baggage in tow. Once I got off of the bus and it had pulled away, I tripped and fell to the ground. I sat there and started to cry. My daughter gently wiped away my tears as the bell hop from the hotel gathered all of our things and showed us to the entrance of the hotel.

We finally made it to our room, took that hot bath I had longed for and then I did the one thing that made me feel the best. I called my Mommy and I asked her to please just speak English to me! International travel lesson learned: it is important to learn a few basic phrases in the language of the country you will be visiting.

Language Barriers

Siteseeing

During the summer of 1983, my husband was on a deployment with his Navy squadron in Okinawa, Japan. My infant daughter and I were able to spend one month of the six month deployment with him. Traveling from Washington, D.C., to Okinawa, Japan with a five month old baby was not an easy task, but somehow I managed!

While we were in Japan, my husband and I decided that we would visit some of the historic sites on the island. We went to the USO office at Kadena Air Force base and asked for information on how to get to the suicide cliffs. The cliffs were where Japanese officers and soldiers committed ritual suicide rather than surrender to the U.S. and Allied forces. The woman at the information desk gave us explicit directions on which public buses to take and where to get off. Our journey from Kadena to the cliffs would take us through Naha, the largest city in Okinawa, where we would have to change buses.

Loaded up with our directions and tourist information, the three of us-husband, wife and baby-set out on our excursion. Without being able to read a thing in Japanese, we managed to find the first bus stop and made it to the bus terminal in Naha. We then changed buses and the real excursion then began.

We were excited as we took our seats in the middle of the bus. Our baby, Tiffany, looked out the bus window and cooed. For quite some time, we were treated to beautiful scenery out that window. At each stop, passengers got off the bus, but very few got on. We continued down rolling, winding roads.

At one point, my husband glanced around the bus and noticed that there were very few remaining passengers. “We must be getting close,” he said to me. “There’s almost no one left. Just us tourists, I guess.” And we continued the ride.

Finally, the bus driver pulled off to the side of the road. The American trio was all that was left of a bus full of people coming out of Naha. He got out of his seat and came back to greet us. He said something to my husband. Speaking no Japanese, my husband politely responded “Naha. We want to go back to Naha.” It was about this time that we realized we had probably taken the wrong bus.

As a language educator, I find what happened next very amusing. The bus driver repeated what he had initially said, but this time it was in a volume about twice as loud as the first time. Then, taking his turn, my husband did the same thing. The shouting match continued for several minutes. I suppose each man thought that if he expressed himself slightly louder he might be understood.

I believe that my husband won the shouting match. The bus driver reluctantly returned to his seat and drove us back to the bus terminal in Naha. Exhausted from the experience, we decided to take the bus that we knew would return us to Kadena.

We never did see the suicide cliffs and for the remainder of our stay in Okinawa, we stayed very close to the gates of the base. The lesson we learned for international travel is that louder does not mean better. Increased volume will not necessarily improve your chances of being understood, but you must stand firm in your desires!

A Steady Job

After he graduated from the Naval Academy, my husband was off to Navy flight school in Pensacola, Florida. He spent six years as a naval aviator, and in the summer of 1987, he was hired by Delta Airlines. This summer he will begin his twenty-fourth year with Delta and I simply cannot fathom where the time has gone!

During the summer of 1987, the airlines were heavily recruiting military pilots from the Navy flight school in Florida. We had two small children and the idea of another sea deployment was not sitting well with me. My husband and I discussed the pros and cons of raising children in a military career. I really wanted them to grow up near extended family. So we compromised. He would try to get an airline job-we both knew that career also meant time away from family-but with the caveat that we would choose a home close to the Washington, D.C., area so that our son and daughter could be raised near family. An airline job would be a dream come true for us. Tim loved flying and I so desperately wanted to be near family and back home in Maryland.

Tim started the job application process. He had to get a commercial aircraft rating which involved private flying time and a new license. Once that was acquired he sent out applications to all of the major airlines. We were elated when Delta called him for an interview. He headed off to Atlanta for his interview and I waited anxiously for news about how things went. The day of his interview, I woke at 4:04am. I glanced at the clock at precisely that time. It had to be a good omen, 404 was the area code for Atlanta. So I fell back to sleep.

I heard my son moving in his crib and woke again. This time it was 7:27am. Another omen! If my husband were to be hired by Delta, he would begin by flying as a flight engineer on a Boeing 727! I was feeling very lucky and gleefully went to get my now cooing baby boy from his crib.

As the hours in the day went by, I decided to call my mother in Maryland to pass the time. I told her Tim was in Atlanta and I was waiting somewhat patiently for his call. She told me she had dreamt that she saw Tim in an airline uniform and how strange the dream was. We giggled about how the dream might be some sort of omen. I confessed to her my experiences with the clock. A few hours later, my husband called to say that things had gone well. We could expect to hear something in the next few weeks. And so the anxious waiting began.

I remember a morning in early August when my children and I were in the kitchen having breakfast. My husband had left earlier to go to work. The phone rang. I had been so engrossed in the morning routine that I really didn’t give any thought as to who might be calling. My heart began to pound when the woman on the other end said that she was with the human resources department at Delta Airlines and could she please speak with Tim Jarman. I took a very deep breath and calmly explained that he was at work, but I would get a message to him very quickly and have him return her call. My hand was shaking as I hung up the phone.

I dialed the phone as quickly as my shaking hands would allow. “Call her fast,” I said, “And then call me right back.”

Almost twenty-three years have passed since that day. How did they pass so quickly?

Where does time go?

Where does time go? Can it be possible that it has been thirty years since I met the love of my life? Saturday July 19, 1980, seems like it was a lifetime away and yet it seems like it was just yesterday. It was the summer break between my sophomore and junior year of college. My dear friend, Rose, and I decided to drive to Annapolis on a hot Saturday evening to check out the plebes (the freshmen) at the Naval Academy. It sounded like good sport. Little did I know that that evening would forever change my life.

For about an hour, Rose and I strolled around the campus, but if there were any midshipmen there, we surely did not see them. So we decided to leave the academy grounds and head into Annapolis. Maybe we would find people there. As we were walking through Dalgren Hall, a young man who was obviously part of the grounds crew or janitorial staff at the academy passed us and greeted us with an “Evening, ladies.” He was wearing green corduroy bell bottom pants and a faded Farrah Fawcett t-shirt along with his brown suede leather boots. His attire was quite outdated and quite inappropriate for a hot July evening. Rose and I knew immediately that this ill-dressed but kind young man could not have been a midshipman and so we assumed he was some sort of academy personnel.

When we went to exit the lower level of Dalgren Hall on our way off the academy grounds, that ill-dressed grounds crewman was at the door to let us out. He told us that he was on his way into town to mail a letter. As we walked and talked with this kind young man, we learned --much to our surprise-- that not only was he a midshipman, but he was a member of the senior class! We continued our walk and our chat and he introduced himself; Tim, from North Carolina. The next thing we knew, we stopped in front of a bar and grill appropriately named “Timmy’s” and our new friend invited us in for a drink.

We sat down and continued our conversation. We laughed and talked, and I quickly realized that I very much like this ill-dressed young man. Soon the three of us decided to head into Baltimore and visit the inner harbor, but I told Tim that we would only go with him if he changed his clothes before we left. I gently explained to him that his outfit just wasn’t suited for the big city! On our way to Tim’s car, we met another midshipman, Terry, whom we invited to join us. Tim offered to drive, and I was quick to take the seat up front by him.

The next several hours flew by. We ended up sitting on top of Federal Hill looking down at Baltimore’s harbor. And we talked and laughed. When we finally realized what time it was, we had to make a mad dash back to the academy. Tim and Terry had missed curfew! Funny though, the young man who I thought ill-dressed and a member of the academy grounds crew, knew how to sneak back into the school through a window on the first floor of Bancroft Hall!

It was 4am when Rose and I finally left the Naval Academy. When I got home, I didn’t sneak up to my room. I went straight into my parents’ bedroom and I woke my mother. I had something extremely important to tell her. “Mom,” I whispered to her, “Tonight I met the man I’m going to marry.” “That’s nice, dear,” she said. “Now, go to bed.”

That was thirty years ago. Tim is still the love of my life, and he still has fashion issues!

Our House

After my son graduated from college and had packed up to move into his first apartment, we were sitting on the sofa talking. From out of the blue he said, “You know, this is really the only home I have ever known.” He was almost twenty-two and we had moved in just before his fifth birthday. Seventeen years in the same house. I hadn’t thought about it. That was two years ago and so this summer we celebrate nineteen years in our home. Where has the time gone?

In the fall of 1990, we began searching for our dream home, but my husband and I were dreaming of different things! I was dreaming of raising our children on a small farm with a restored old farmhouse. Unfortunately, everything we found that was already restored had a price tag that was way beyond what we could have afforded. My husband was dreaming of a house with no maintenance. The compromise was a four acre lot in the southwest corner of the county and a house that was partially under construction.

Since the house was not yet finished, we were able to make some adjustments to the design to make it more compatible with our lifestyle. We moved in the day before settlement which was scheduled for June 1, 1990. It felt so good to be settled. We were in our home-the place where we would establish our family traditions and raise our children. Our daughter was eight years old and our son was four. The thought of their growing up and leaving home never crossed my mind. That was a lifetime away.

We spent our first summer planting grass and trying to establish things like a lawn and flower beds. My kids discovered that their favorite place to play was at the stream near the end of our lot. They made friends with the neighbors and I painted rooms and hung curtains. Eventually, we began adding things to the house like a deck and patio. Years later a fenced yard and a barn for the horses my daughter and I had always dreamed of having.

The grass took root as did some small trees. The bulbs I had so carefully planted that first year continued to produce beautiful flowers each year. Summer, fall, winter and spring each held household traditions. Summer was for play and for swimming. Fall was back to school and Halloween. Winter brought snow storms and snow days. And every spring our little place on earth sprouted bright green once again.

There were happy days and sad days, busy days and lazy days. The trees and the flowers grew, and so did my children. When they left for college, I wondered how the time had gone by so quickly. The house changed. It had more quiet times. There were still those bursts of activity and noise each holiday break and summer vacation, but the quiet days became more frequent.

Today as I sip my coffee and look out at our property, the tall trees shade the backyard. My flower beds are beaming with brilliant color. The lawn is a beautiful lush green and well trimmed, the way my husband likes it. The house is quiet except for the thumping of the tail of a very contented dog. And I wonder where all that time went.

This post appeared in my column "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday July 4, 2010.

My Miss Belle

I thought I would share something about my baby. While in Argentina, I missed my puppy dog so very much, so I decided it was about time I dedicate a blog to her.

In November of 2007, we were forced to make the very difficult decision of putting down our dear friend, Pongo. Pongo had been part of our family for thirteen years but had lost the use of his hind legs and was no longer able to hold up his own weight. He was a rather large Dalmatian and was clearly beginning to suffer. It was a very tough time for the whole family. There were tears through laughter and tears through silence, but I knew deep down inside that I could not live in our house without a dog.

My husband and I began to review different breeds of dogs to make sure we made the best decision for our lifestyle. I needed the companionship and he wanted to make sure our new dog would be compatible with our boat. We were beginning to spend more and more of each summer out on our boat, so the breed we chose had to be well-suited for that. On Thanksgiving morning we watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and the dog show that followed. We had been leaning towards a schipperke dog and were excited to see one in a class of small dogs. As we watched the competition, my husband said, “That dog doesn’t have a tail! I can’t have a dog without a tail!” I assured him that if he didn’t want a tail-less dog that we didn’t have to get one. The schipperke after all was his idea because he had heard they were good water dogs.

Fortunately for us there was an adorable beagle in that class, a dog with a tail! “What do you think about a beagle?” he asked me as we continued to watch the show. A beagle sounded just fine to me. I just wanted a dog, a buddy, someone to spend time with when my husband was at work. During the commercial breaks we talked more and more about the possibilities of a beagle. He seemed to really like the idea. We agreed, however, to wait until Christmas when we both would be home for about ten days straight. It would be much easier then to bring a new puppy into the house.

That Sunday as I was reading the morning paper, I happened to notice in the Want Ads a small ad for beagle puppies. I told my husband about it. The breeder was right in Frederick County. “I thought we were going to wait until Christmas,” he said. Not wanting to get into a “discussion,” I clipped out the ad and slipped it in my wallet. My husband left the next day on a three day trip to Europe. Almost immediately, I retrieved the ad from my purse and called. I made an appointment to just look at the puppies the following day.

Well, you know you can’t just look at puppies. When I got there the woman’s son and daughter went to get the puppies from the pen. The next thing I knew this beautiful little pup with the floppiest ears I had ever seen was running towards me. That was it. I pulled out my checkbook and asked how much! Our boat’s name is La Belle Vie, which essentially means “the good life” in English. I decided her name would be Belle. And we were off. I was taking my baby Belle home with me.

It only remotely dawned on me that I had promised to wait until Christmas and it wasn’t even yet December first. I checked in with my daughter on the phone who was in New York awaiting a flight to Amsterdam. “She’s gorgeous!” I gushed! “What did Dad say?” my dear daughter asked. He was due home that night and had mentioned to her that I had better not have bought a “damned dog.”

When he walked in the door that night, that “damned dog” wiggled right up to him and curled herself around his feet. She knew precisely that she needed to win this one over. And win him over she did. My dog is now his dog. The two of them are inseparable.

Our children might be out of the house, but we are not without a little one. Our baby girl, who has been deemed the favorite by the other two, keeps us busy and lights up our days.

Tribute to a Student

When my children were growing up, I loved being their teacher. I taught reading and writing and coloring and finger painting. I planned each lesson with care, and it gave me such joy to see my children learn. There were field trips and sporting events. My teaching didn’t stop when they reached school age. I became a parent volunteer in their elementary school, and ultimately I was called to teaching as a profession.

Just as certain teachers touched my children’s lives during their schooling, so have some special students in my classes touched my life. One of those students came to my French class as a freshman, eager to learn and quite enthusiastic about it. She grasped the concepts of the French language so quickly that I accelerated her through two levels in one semester. Katie was like a sponge! Often after class, she would share with me about the connections she had made from her French class to her other classes. We’d talk about the derivation of certain words, about French painters and architects, and we shared our thoughts about all sorts of things; especially our favorite, Marie Antoinette.

In the summer after her freshman year, Katie was able to join me on a student trip to France and Italy. One of the highlights of the trip for me was watching Katie; her reactions to various pieces of art in the museums we had visited, her joy at seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time, and her pride in being able to communicate in French. I watched as Katie was transformed into a young woman; her confidence in handling being lost in Paris and her pride as she navigated herself and her group back to our meeting place. She was growing up right in front of my eyes.

When we returned to school that fall, I watched as Katie became a campus leader. She took leadership roles in several school activities and she even served as our French Club vice-president. Katie continued her studies of French and developed a special fondness for “The Little Prince.” Both Katie and I were elated when she was able to travel to Europe for a second time with me in the summer of 2009. This time, however, Katie was a teacher. She shared with the other students her experiences and the lessons she had learned. In the museums, she shared her knowledge of art and history. Katie had indeed grown up.

I didn’t see much of Katie during her senior year. She was pursuing other areas of interest and French didn’t fit into the schedule. She did, however, serve as our French Club president. She would stop by my room and we’d discuss various literary works being studied in her Advanced Placement literature course. She shared with me some of her work in photography. Often during these visits we would reminisce about our trips to Europe and she’d tell me about her hopes of studying abroad when she gets to college.

Katie will graduate from Catoctin High school this year. In the fall, she will be off to college to study wonderful and amazing things. You can see it in her eyes when she talks about her future. I feel truly blessed to have been a part of this amazing young woman’s life. Her enthusiasm and her burning desire to learn will take her far. I’m envious of the faculty at Washington College for they get to spend the next four years with her. Antoine de Saint Exupery wrote in his work The Little Prince that “you risk tears if you let yourself be tamed.” That about sums it up when I consider how I have come to feel about my students over the years. Katie would understand.

My last day in Argentina

It seems like the past three and a half weeks have flown by. We have been kept incredibly busy with the program at UCEL. Final exams were yesterday and even though some of us were concerned about the difficulty of the test, I have no doubt that we all passed with flying colors!

The "chicas" or "girls," as we are often called, have grown very close during our Argentine experience. We have traveled together, studied together and shared a life changing three weeks. It will be difficult to say goodbye to everyone, but somehow I think that we will manage to stay in touch.

My Spanish has greatly improved over the past three weeks. I feel much more confident in my abilities to carry on a conversation. I have spoken with people here about politics and government, raising children, teaching and travel. I have learnd a great deal about the Argentine culture and have grown tremendously as a person during my experience.

That being said, I also cannot wait to return home. To be with my husband and my "babies"-my dear pets. I look forward to walking the dog and caring for my horses. I'm not sure I'm looking fowared to cleaning the litter pan! But it will be nice to be in my space once again. Home, sweet home. Hogar, dulce hogar!

La Clase de Tango

Last night, we were treated to a tango lesson at La Casa de Tango. There were about forty people in the class, so the dance floor was cramped! My husband and I have learned to tango in our ballroom dancing classes at home, but this tango was quite different.

We were taught by a couple who has been named the national tango champions in Argentina three times. We started out with the basic step which is counted quite differently than in the States. We were solo dancing for about the first twenty minutes of the class, but then we had to partner up. Since there were eight of us from the UCEL program, we all partnered up with each other. There was definitely a shortage of males in the class!

We partner-danced through the basic step and one additional dance, dancing across the length of the dance floor. Then we made a dancing circle. There was a lot of bumping and crashing, but for the most part, we all managed to maneuver our way around the floor.

The ninety minute class flew by, but when we were finished, we all agreed that it was a great time and well worth the effort! Bravo!

A Tour with Nani

This afternoon, Nani met us for lunch at El Paso Sport restaurant. I had an extra meal ticket, so I "treated" her to lunch. Then she treated me and several other students to a wonderful tour of the downtown area. It was an area of the city that we had not previously visited.

We passed by the only synagogue in Rosario while we were walking down Corrientes Street. It was a beautiful structure, so we all started taking pictures. A few minutes later a man came out of the synagogue and another from the side of the building. They informed us that pictures of the synagogue were prohibited and that we had to delete all of the photos we had just taken. They stood by each one of us and watched us as we deleted them. Nani tried to argue a case for us, but the men were insistent.

As we continued along the street, Nani explained to us that there had been some attacks against the Jews in Rosario in the 1990's and that since then they had implemented protective programs for the synagogue and its surrounding areas. She showed us the barriers that had been placed along the side of the road for the protection of the synagogue. She said that if we came back later and not in a group that we could probably sneak pictures from across the street!

Our next stop was at the chocolate shop that Nani used to own. She sold it when she retired two years ago. We were treated to a tasting and a visit to the back room where the chocolates were being made. Then it was on to San Martin square. Nani pointed out the police headquarters and the offices of the army. Nani told us that during the military regime there were many protests in the San Martin square and that many protesters "disappeared." Nani hesitated to spend a great deal of time in this area because she said she lost many friends during this time and the loss was still too fresh. She said there are concerts and shows in the square, but she is unable to attend them because of the emotional response the square still brings.

Then we were off to visit the birth place of Che Guevara. Rosario's claim to fame with Che is that he was born in the city. Eventually he moved on to the city of Cordoba. We took some photos at the house and then we were all off in our separate directions.

Nani told me on our way back to the apartment that she will miss me on Friday when she has to have dinner alone. She gave me a gift, a small drawing with the name Rosario above it, to put in my house so that I would always remember her and my time in Rosario. It's hard to believe that the three weeks have gone by so quickly.

La Capital

This afternoon we had finished our classes and lunch, the group headed downtown to visit the offices of the newspaper, La Capital. La Capital is the largest newspaper operation in Rosario. It would be like visiting the offices of the Washington Post in D.C.

We were greeted at the entrance by our guide who shared with us some of the history of the newspaper. The first edition ran on November 15, 1867. We were able to view a copy of that edition in the newspaper's museum and we received our own souvenir copies at the end of the tour.

The guide then showed us through the history of the printing presses in Rosario. We saw equipment from the beginning of the newpaper's operation all the way through the press that ran until the end of the 20th century. We then watched a brief film where we were introduced to some of the writers, editors and photographers of the paper.

The last part of the tour was through a gallery of major front pages from the history of the paper. They included the German occupation of France, Neil Armstrong's landing on the moon, and the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, DC, on September 11, 2001. We then strolled through a hands on activity center based on newspaper production.

It was a really nice visit and our guide was most accommodating.

Argentine Festivities

Cultural note today. Last night at dinner, Nani was telling me about a special holiday here on July 20th. She asked me if I knew what historic event happened on July 20th, and I honestly had no idea. I was a bit ashamed when she said it was the day that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I remember watching the moon landing and Armstrong’s walk on television with my family, but I didn’t know the date. Apparently everyone in Argentina does.

July 20th in Argentina is Día del Amigo (the day of the friend). It is to mark "the giant leap for mankind" that Neil Armstrong took on July 20, 1969. The people in Argentina believe that event linked mankind together forever as friends in one world. There are big celebrations all over the country. Nani even showed me a magazine she had recently received with articles about some of the festivities for the upcoming holiday.

I found it somewhat sad that it was an American who first set foot on the moon and we hardly recognize that historic event. I felt guilty when Nani told me the date’s significance because I was absolutely clueless.

Another celebration here in Argentina is “Gnocchi Day.” There were many Italian immigrants here in the late 19th century. Italian names, food and other cultural aspects are all over. Gnocchi is also the slang in Argentina for slackers or those who don’t have jobs. The tradition is to eat gnocchi on Gnocchi Day and put money under your plate so that you will be blessed with a job and income. Nani teased me because when she told me to bring money to the table I grabbed a two peso bill. She said I wasn’t hopeful for great income! She placed a 100 peso bill under her plate!

Six Days Til Home

In six days, I will be home. While I have thoroughly enjoyed my experience here in Argentina, I cannot wait to go home. I was thinking about it yesterday, and there are so many things at home that I miss. I decided to compile a list. So, here goes:

1-I miss my husband! He is my best friend, and I miss not holding him and kissing him every day. While we are typically apart from each other for a few days at a time because of his work, three weeks has been too long!

2-I miss my puppy dog! I miss having her greet me when I come home. I miss snuggling with her and I miss watching her play out in the yard.

3-I miss baseball with my son. Every time I call home and he and my husband are watching a game or going to a game, I miss being there. Who would have thought that I would miss America's pastime so much!

4-I miss stop signs. Here in Argentina there are a few stop signs at some intersections, but it is not mandatory for drivers to stop at intersections.

5-Along with number 4, I miss pedestrian right-of-way. Here when a car is turning in to your path, you had better run, because cars won't yield to you.

6-I miss the presence of police. At night, you can't find them. If you are robbed, you're out of luck. The police do nothing. As a matter of fact, I have only seen one policeman since I have been here. I've also heard stories about the corruption within the police department. The pay is low, so bribes and "tips" are most welcomed.

7-I miss clothes dryers! Here in Argentina only the laudry mats use them. If you want to dry your clothes, you hang them. And with the humidity here, it can take up to three days for a pair of jeans to dry. Even then they feel damp.

8-I miss vegetables! They're not a big part of the Argentine diet. The diet consists predominantly of meat and potatoes. Carne con papas. Sometimes you might have onions or peppers with your meat, but that's about the extent of the vegetable servings.

9-I miss the Humane Society and Animal Control. They don't believe in spaying and neutering animals here, and there are stray dogs everywhere.

10-I miss clean air. The exhaust fumes here are awful, and most of the white buildings are gray from pollution. Some of the cars on the road here are older than I am, and that's pretty darn old! Apparently there are no emissions regulations.

In short, I believe I am ready to go home. It's been fun, but, I think it's time for the fiesta to be over.

Saturday in the Park

Today after classes, a group of us ventured out in the rain to the Independence Park. Several of the museums in Rosario are located in this park and we thought that wandering through exhibits in a museum was a good way to spend a rainy day.

The first museum we visited was the Rosario Museum of Fine Arts. There was a temporary exhibit on the people of Argentina in celebration of the Bicentennial. The scenes in many of the paintings were of the gauchos in the fields with horses and cattle. Many of the landscapes included pueblos situated among rolling hills. There was a contemporary art exhibit on the second floor, and I am afraid that it was much too contemporary for me. Stacks of colored paper placed on pedestals had little effect on me. There was also a display of used plastic two liter bottles and what appeared to be trash. It was not, shall we say, "my cup of tea!"

We strolled rather quickly through the park on our way to the history museum. The park was just beautiful. There was a small lake with picturesque foot bridges, and lots of ducks. If it had not been for the rain, we would have spent much more time with our stroll in the park.

The man at the front desk of the history museum asked where we were from when I purchased our tickets. I told him the United States, and he asked which one. When I responded with Maryland, he said, "ah one of the original thirteen colonies." It was nice to have someone in a history museum who knew something about our history as well!
There were of course more displays about the revolution and Argentina's independence from Spain. There was also an exhibit about the indigenous people of Argentina.

We enjoyed the items in the gaucho section of the museum and finished our visit by looking at some magnificent pieces made of Argentine silver. Then we were out in the rain again, off to the main intersection to hail our taxis back to our apartments. It was a very nice, wet day! A Saturday in the park.

La Paz is Peace

This morning we had the distinct honor of visiting La Paz school in Rosario. The escuela is located about twenty minutes from the downtown area. The neighborhood is, as Eliana described, "the slums of Rosario." We had no idea what kind of experience we were in for, but it was an experience I will never forget.

We were warmly greeted at the gated entrance to the school by the school´s director. She began by telling us that first we would be visiting a fifth grade class. She let us know that the class had been discussing sexuality and discrimination. We were told that the students learned that hands are good and bad. They can touch us warmly and they can also hurt us. When we entered the classroom we were met with the smiling faces of about 30 uniformed students. The teacher asked the students to share with us what they had learned in today´s lesson. It seemed like a very normal classroom setting, but in reality, it was not.

Our next stop was to an empty classroom where we gathered, sitting in very small chairs at small tables. We shared coffee and coffee cakes and listened intently as the director explained the mission of the La Paz school. She told us that the students came from very poor families. Most of their homes don´t have indoor plumbing. The students come from homes where they experience violent abuse and the school provides a shelter and haven for them. They eat at the school, wear the school uniforms and use the school bathrooms. She said the students knew that we were coming today and wanted to be very clean and proper for our visit. As a result, part of the week was spent with students bathing and cleaning up at the school.

Then the director explained the application process for the school. On the day of registration, families line up in the street. The first twenty children in line are accepted into the school. The other five students in the class come from families who were in line but have the greatest needs. Sometime it is economic need, sometime it is psychological need. The first grade welcomes 25 students each year. The school provides many of the physical and emotional needs for the children. They buy toys and food.

Friday mornings are workshop days. The students have hands-on experiences in which they can apply what they have learned. They use math skills in cooking and music. We had an opportunity to visit the radio workshop. An employee at a nearby radio station comes each week to help the students prepare news items for a radio show and a newspaper as well.

All morning, there were hugs for the students from their teachers. The director hugged students and staff as she walked through the halls. She said the hope at La Paz school is that they are able to change the lives of their students-to give them opportunities. One of their mottos is ¨because you have less, does not mean that you are less.

We walked a few blocks to their new gymnasium. With funding from the Universidad del Centro Educativo Latinoamericano and from the United States, a gym was built two years ago. There is a public city club that the school can use, but the director told us that often there are drunks who come in during the day and they wanted a safe place for the students to play and have gym classes.

We all hugged the director when we left. I truly felt like I had met an angel. Her dedication, her love of those children and her dream that they would have a better life because of La Paz. She truly is an angel of Peace.

Learning is a Game

This morning's class started out very slowly. There was a brief lecture on grammatical structures and we did some oral practice exercises. When I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only 9:10, I began to panic. Only forty minutes of class had passed, and we had another hour and twenty minutes in the first session plus another two hour session that would begin at 11am. I wondered how on earth I would manage to stay awake for the next four hours!

Then we began playing games. We started with charades, which led to a lively discussion. Then we played two guessing games. All of the games were related to vocabulary in the chapter, but we were up and moving and having fun. The time seemed to fly by! The next thing we knew, it was five minutes until one and the teacher was assigning homework for tonight.

The games had everyone engaged. We were motivated and were learning at the same time. The instructors at UCEL are truly engaging multimodal practices in their lesson planning, and it is working in terms of instructional methods! Learning was fun today!

A Cultural Difference

Today I had a bit of a melt down. There is a cultural difference here in Argentina that I have been having a very difficult time with. There are stray dogs. Everywhere. They lie in front of restaurants and sometimes follow you down the street. They're in the parks, lying on doorsteps.

When I first arrived, I questioned my host about it. We had seen them in Buenos Aires as well. Nani said that the stray dogs are not really strays; they are the city's dogs and it is the responsibility of everyone in the city to care for them. She showed me cardboard bedding under shrubbery in the parks. She also told me how people set food out for them and they sometimes get scraps at restaurants. Somehow that didn't appease me.

They have sad eyes. They're homeless. I seldom see them wagging tails. And they are not spayed or neutered, so they keep reproducing. I have told my husband almost every night that we have spoken to please tell our beagle, Belle, how spoiled she is and what a good life she has. I'm so proud that my son and daughter have both adopted dogs from no-kill pet shelters. Turner and Titus both now have good lives. I wish that every dog here in Argentina had a good life.

Walking to classes in the morning and back to the apartment afterwards, is a heartbreaking experience for me. I walk past at least a half dozen dogs in my five or six block walk to the university. For me, it is distresing, but I suppose it's a cultural thing.

Bicentario Continued

This afternoon, several of us "Chicas" decided to have a picnic in the Flag Memorial park to celebrate the bicentennial. There was cheese and bread, dulce de leche and fruit. We had a wonderful time sitting by the river and watching all of the people in the park.

There was a craft fair in the park today as well, and we spent over an hour strolling past all of the stands. There was jewelry and wood products, games and hair pieces. I think everyone bought something. The prices were very good. It was hard not to buy gifts for people back home when everything was so inexpensive.

After our little shopping excursion, we stopped at a bar by the river and sat to have a drink. Some of us had Quilmes, an Argentine beer, and others opted for coffee. We sat for about an hour watching ships and boats go by and chatting. We were interrupted frequently by beggars, both adult and children. It was quite different from sitting in a cafe at home.

This evening the city of Rosario hosted a grand fireworks presentation. I have never seen so many people gathered in one place at one time. Nani wanted to be in the passion of it all, so instead of observing from an apartment balcony, we were in the midst of the mob. Once the fireworks had ended, the streets and sidewalks were jammed with people. A typical ten minute walk back to the apartment took over an hour! But it was indeed special to be a part of the Argentine bicentennial celebration. And now, back to the old routine. Classes begin at 8:30 tomorrow morning!

Bicentennial Celebration in Argentina

For a group outing, UCEL (Universidad del Centro Educativo Latinoamericano) booked us on a two day excursion to Buenos Aires. What a wonderful idea! Except they booked us for the weekend of the Bicentennial Celebration in Argentina. Not a good idea.

We boarded our bus bright and early the morning of Sunday May 23, only to find out that there were not enough seats for all thirteen of us. The university had forgotten to include a seat for our guide. So with the guide standing in the aisle of the van, we headed off to the bus company office to exchange for a larger vehicle. By 8:40,we were on the road.

After about a two hour drive, we arrived at the ranch "Cinacina." We had been told our visit would begin with a short trail ride on horseback. With the pouring rain, thunder and lightning when we arrived, the ride didn't seem like such a good idea. So for about an hour and a half, we amused ourselves in the gift shop, sipped wine and watched the local dogs.

Lunch was served at 1:00. Mealtime was announced with the ringing of a bell. We took our seats and began to feast on the food that had been prepared for us: beef, chicken, sausages, salads, potatoes and bread. After we finished eating, the show began. There was music and dancing. By the end of the show, many of the people in the audience were up on the floor dancing, too!

After lunch, we headed outside under a misty rain to watch the horse show. The gauchos set out in a jousting competition. Cheers rang out from the very appreciative audience and afterwards, there was time for photos. We returned to the dining hall for a mate and postre. Then we loaded up the bus to head to Buenos Aires.

Once we had checked into the hotel, we all showered and changed in order to go to the Tango Show Piazzolla. The theater was beautiful and we were escorted to our balcony seats. Dinner was served at 8:30 and the show began at 10:15. Once again, we were treated to music and dancing and singing. We all had a wonderful time!

The next morning, after breakfast, we were off to the Puerto Madero area of the city. We stopped along the way to do some necessary shopping. I bought a small sculpture of tango dancers made of Rodocrosita. Rodocrosita is the national stone of Argentina and has a beautiful pink color. It is a volcanic stone found in the Sierras Capillitas. The name rodocrosita comes from the two Greek words for rose and color.

We had lunch in an Italian restaurant in the Puerto Madero. I had a crepe with dulce de leche for dessert that was wonderful! Then we went to meet our city guide for a tour of Buenos Aires. The problem was that the travel agency booked our guide for Sunday the 23rd, and so we were without guide. Our representative from UCEL, Fabiana, did a wonderful job of covering.

First we visited the very crowded Plaza de Mayo. We managed to wiggle in to see the Cathedral and were able to sneak some views of the Casa Rosada and the Cabildo (the site of the colonial viceroy government). Back on the bus, we headed to the La Boca district and had a brief visit in El Caminito. The brightly painted buildings in this region were once tenement housing (conventillos). Many are painted a variety of colors. This was because the immigrants could not afford paint and used leftover paints from the ships coming into the port.

We left El Caminito at 3:40 and spent the next hour and a half trying to cross the city. Some roads were shut down, others were backed up with traffic. We waited patiently for pedestrians to pass in front of us. Once we arrived near the Recoleta area, our bus driver got lost. We ended up walking some distance and finally arrived at the Recoleta Cemetery at 6:00. Unfortunately for us, the cemetery had already closed! Feeling a bit defeated, we crossed the park and stopped at an ice cream shop where we treated ourselves to dulce de leche ice cream

Then it was back on the bus for our return trip to Rosario. We arrived at the university around 10:15pm. It had been a long two days. On the bus, we planned our own bicentennial celebration. This afternoon, we are all going to meet at the Flag Memorial park for a picnic. Fortunately for us, the weather in Rosario was so bad yesterday that the evening concert and fireworks were rescheduled for today! So it will indeed be a special bicentennial celebration for us!

A Day Off

Today is Saturday and we did not have classes, so I planned to spend the day with my host, Nani. I slept in this morning until about 8:00. We had breakfast and then headed off to the Estevez Museum. In honor of the bicentennial of the country, the museum was offering a walking tour about the history of Rosario and how it related to the country's independence. We had had a similar tour on Wednesday with a guide from UCEL. That tour was in English, and today's was in Spanish. It was a very good listening activity for me.

We arrived a little early so we took some time to look at the special exhibit in the museum. Mate is an Argentine drink, somewhat like a tea. It is consumed from a specific type of cup called a Mate. The exhibit at the museum was of Mates in porcelain. It was quite interesting and some of them were very beautiful. The tour began at 10:30, so we joined the guide just outside the museum. She explained much of the history of the buildings around the Plaza de Mayo. The Estevez Museum was actually the former home of Firma and Odilo Estevez in the early to mid 20th century. Senora Estevez bequeathed the mansion and its collection to the city of Rosario when she died at the age of 90. The mansion was acquired by the city in 1966 and opened as a museum in 1968.

After our visit at the museum, Nani and I continued on to Cordova and San Martin Streets for a bit of a shopping adventure. In class, I heard about the special cookies made at the Havanna Cafe with dulce de leche, so we stopped there first to get some of those famous cookies. Delicious!!! Then we were on the way to search for boots, a CD and a book on Argentine history. We stopped for lunch at El Cairo. Nani said it is one of the oldest bars in Rosario. It was very nice and the food was very good. Our waitress was kind enough to take our picture. We took the bus back to the apartment, since it was easier to do that than to walk with packages.

Tomorrow, the group from UCEL is off to Buenos Aires. We'll visit an Argentine ranch, watch a tango show and have a tour of the city. We return to Rosario late Monday night. Tuesday May 25th is the National Holiday, but this year it will be even more special as Argentina celebrates 200 years of independence.

Hasta martes! I'll write more on Tuesday.

An English Class

The English class last night was wonderful. It was actually a combination of three English classes together in the auditorium of the University. The first part of the class was in English and the second part in Spanish. There were about 25 Argentines in the class and the 12 three week program students as well as a few students who are studying at UCEL for the semester. In total, there were about 50 people in the auditorium.

Our first activity was to greet each other; introduce ourselves and tell a little about why we were studying the respective languages. English learners were to speak in English and Spanish learners, in Spanish. At first the English students seemed a bit hesitant. I suppose the native English speakers had already overcome some of the fear of actually speaking the second language. We were already in an immersed situation and forced to use our new skills. However, once the students began speaking, the ice really broke.

After introductions, we were split into new groups. Each group received a sheet perceived cultural beliefs about the culture whose language we were studying. The statements were true/false, and we were given a few minutes to individually complete our sheets. Then we got together as a group and those from the U.S. checked the responses from the Argentines and they checked ours. If there were errors, we were to discuss the misconceptions. I believe this activity might have been more difficult for the Argentines because both cultural sheets were written in English. The sheet that we received on Argentine culture was in English and not in Spanish. We found that we really did not have many misconceptions; that our respective study of language had given us greater cultural knowledge.

The final activity was a faux amis activity. Words that looked similar in both languages were listed. Native English speakers described the word in English and the Spanish speakers had to write the Spanish word that corresponded with the meaning. Then we reversed roles. This particular activity was challenging and quite fun. It forced each team to really think about meaning and how to explain it in words that the others would understand.

Throughout the evening, there was a variety of activity and movement, and lots of speaking! At the end of the class, which came, it seemed, rather quickly, we posed for a group picture. The U.S. students were invited to come to any English class we wanted during our stay to help in speaking activities and to observe.

After the class, I had the opportunity to speak to one of the instructors. I commented on the variety of activities and how all of the students seemed to be engaged. She confided in me that several of her very weak students were actively participating and proud of the fact that they were able to communicate in the target language. She said that the real life situation was quite motivating for her students and she was surprised by the amount of participation on their part.

We then discussed multimodal instruction in the classroom and she reiterated its importance. She said she tried to incorporate a wide variety of activities with varying skills required during each class session. We also talked about the idea of immersion study and we agreed that immersion with guidance really seemed to be the best way to acquire strong second language skills. She said that she believed language acquisition could occur without that guidance but that it would require a highly motivated student in an appropriate setting.

Today also ended our first week of classes. We are all making progress, but we're going to take a well deserved vacation. In honor of the bicentennial celebration here in Argentina, we do not have classes again until next Wednesday. Sunday we are off for a two day excursion to Buenos Aires.

Hasta luego!