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.