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Month: September 2005

Yesterday’s Visitor

Friday 30 September 2005 | 2 Comments

We had a shiny black visitor last night. There was a cat wandering around the parking lot when Kinga came home from shopping – for clothes, which is why it wasn't "we" coming home from shopping – and the scrawny little thing followed her right up to the door of our apartment. Then into our apartment.

Fairly obviously not a wild cat.

She was small enough that she looked to be just a still-growing kitten. When I petted her, I was shocked at how thin she was. We decided to give a bit of food: some cheese and turkey. She devoured it, then drank from the dish of water we put down for a good five minutes non-stop.

“What is this cat?”we asked each other. Wild cat? Behavior ruled that out immediately. Homeless? No, too clean, and no odor at all. And yet, if its home is near, we reasoned, why did it drink so much water and eat everything in sight?

We tossed her out when she began scratching around on the carpet as if to make a mess there, then went for a walk to see if she’d follow. She did her business, then followed us a little way, stopping under a car and watching us walk away. When we returned, she was nowhere to be seen.

After a movie and “Telexpress” (a news show from Poland), we started getting ready for bed. For some reason, I was moved to go check if the cat was still around. I opened the door and there she was – walked right on in as if she were at home.

So we wondered what to do. Letting her sleep in the apartment was out of the question, having nothing for her to use as a litter box. We decided to open the storage room off the balcony and put make her a little bed there, with the door closed partially. I put some water in there and made a bed of some towels on a shelf in the storeroom.

Setting her down on the bed, I partially closed the door and darted back into the apartment. She stayed in for some time, but then left, only to return to our balcony door and begin meowing. We let her back in for a moment, then put her back out, this time waiting to see if she went to her little bed on her own. She did – we were elated. Then she left again.

This morning, there’s no sign of her. Still, there’s a can of tuna waiting for her if she shows up again, and a dilemma waiting for us if she shows up regularly and we can’t determine who, if anyone, owns her…

First Impressions II

Wednesday 28 September 2005 | 0 Comments

Back straight, chest out, shoulders square, hands folded behind the back. Greetings, warm but firm, as everyone comes in.

The Speech, highlights:

I will treat you as an adult, which means that I will respect you and speak respectfully to you. When I speak to you, I will not simply bark an order, but I will speak politely. I use “please” and “thank you.” Most importantly, it means when you speak to me, I give you my full attention. I expect the same. Is that clear? Does everyone understand?

A quick survey shows that some indeed are not listening. Time for the sergeant act.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I asked you a question, and when I ask you a question, you will answer it. When I speak to you, you will listen.”

It’s the best drill sergeant voice I can muster, and I deliver the words in a loud and firm voice.

Silence.

“Do you understand?”

Heads nod, a few “Yes sirs.” A hand up. “Were you in the military, sir?”

Sometimes it’s amazing how well I can act the role.

Help II

Tuesday 27 September 2005 | 0 Comments

It can be a look -- eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly askew, or the opposite: eyebrows raised with eyes opened Bambi wide. It can be a sound -- smacking licks, a gasp of exasperation. It can be body language -- a staunch refusal to look someone in the eyes, shoulders turned perpendicular to another’s body, a tapping pencil. It can probably be even a smell -- pheromones released, but undetected by the blunt human nose.

There must be a thousand ways of telling someone, “I don’t want your help, and I think you’re a fool for offering it” without uttering a single word.

At some point we all need help, so the theory goes. But there are a few stalwart individuals who would rather drown than take a proffered hand. There are a few who will refuse swimming lessons even as they stand on the ever-vertical deck of a sinking ship, not take a parachute in a spiraling plane.

Help

Monday 26 September 2005 | 2 Comments

"We give help to everyone in the world! When do they help us!? We help bail out this and that country, send aid here and there, notably saved and re-built Europe in WWII. What do we get for our efforts? Hatred."

Thus complained someone once about how hated America -- saintly, in this person's view -- is in the world. Poor us. What do we do when we do get that help?

Hundreds of tons of British food aid shipped to America for starving Hurricane Katrina survivors is to be burned

US red tape is stopping it from reaching hungry evacuees. (commondreams.org)

That's right -- we burn it.

(Thanks to Chhavi for this.)

Greek Festival

Saturday 24 September 2005 | 0 Comments

Français sans filet

Thursday 22 September 2005 | 0 Comments

Je ne parle pas bien français. Je me souviens très peu de ce que j’ai appris à l’université. En fait, j’ai écrit cela en anglais et je l’ai traduit à Babel Fish. Cela explique la bêtise de ce texte.

I don’t speak French well. I remember very little of what I learned in college. In fact, I wrote that in English and I translated it at Babel Fish. That explains the silliness of this text.

Not speaking French didn’t stop me from being a French teacher for the day today. Fortunately, I had two bocks of first-year French and only one block of third-year. Even more fortunately, the planning period fell between the third year and first year blocks, so I had plenty of time to do a bit of cramming.

Oh, for a real Babel Fish, though. Think of the problems that might solve — instant intelligibility. Think of all the translators and comparative literature scholars out of work.

Teaching something while not being entirely sure that you’re teaching it correctly is a little like the Engine that Could — I think this is right, I think this is right.

A few tips for those embarking on teaching a foreign language you barely remember:

When in doubt about translation, be honest: “I don’t know.”
When in doubt about grammar, be honest: “I don’t know.”
When in doubt about spelling, be honest: “I don’t know.”
When in doubt about pronunciation, mumble.

And thank the maker for an assembly that cuts half an hour off your last lesson.

Treasure

Wednesday 21 September 2005 | 0 Comments

“I’ve been sifting through the layers” since this weekend. I’ve thrown away large chunks of my past that I never thought I’d part with. I’ve seen a Gary I had forgotten about, whom I almost didn’t recognize.

Kinga and I spent the weekend at my folks’ place, and I spent some time Sunday going through things that have been packed up for ten years, things I’d saved throughout my adolescence and my parents dragged from house to house as they were house-hopping the last few years. It was all stored in the giant blue plastic storage boxes you see towering above the isles in K-Mart and Wal-Mart -- all the Marts, I guess.

Amazing how treasure can turn to trash with the passage of time. In the end, I emptied almost three whole boxes, throwing out everything from old letters to college papers and most everything in between.

Most of what remained were toys from my childhood, things that my mother had saved long after I’d wanted to toss them out. “Fine,” I laughed Sunday. “You’re responsible for storing them, then!”

What was shocking was the number of letters I’d saved. When I was growing up, I had a friend who, after answering a letter, would throw it away. Me, I’d stash it in a box specially for that.

“Why? You’re not going to reread it,” my friend exclaimed.

“I might!” I never did, but throwing out something as personal and intimate as a letter always seemed sacrilegious. A private, lasting conversation with me, and no one else -- how could anyone toss that out?

Very easily, I discovered Sunday.

Also among the treasure and trash was an old notebook that I carried about during college, scribbling random thoughts here and there -- a sort of portable journal, for I’ve always kept that on the computer. To flip through it for the first time in probably nine years was to look at myself more directly than I’ve done in a long time. Random thoughts inspired by bumper stickers and books, quotes, silly attempts at being witty, sillier attempts at being deep -- it’s all in there:

I blow moisture from my mouth and nose at 200+ mph and receive a benediction for my efforts.
Ollie North lost his bid for Virginia Senator, restoring some of my hopes that we are an intelligent species.
“God is my co-pilot.” Bonhoeffer would hate that. God should be the pilot, not co-pilot. “Co-“ means shared control.
Perhaps we should spay and neuter some humans.
If reality bites, can I get rabies from it?
A poorly organized protest is more likely to appear as a temper-tantrum than a legitimate protest.
All new cars are beginning to look the same.

One entry in particular was striking, for it took up a few lines and a few moments to write it, but ended up affecting nine years of my life. Indeed, the rest of my life:

I am sending away for information about the Peace Corps. It would be a huge commitment, but I think it would teach me a lot, more than could be learned around here… (Wednesday 20 July 1994)

I ended up staying three and a half times as long as the two year minimum. I met my wife there. I found a second home.

With the Plants

Saturday 17 September 2005 | 0 Comments

ESubL

Wednesday 14 September 2005 | 1 Comment

Being bilingual can really be a troublesome affair when trying to teach English – if your student’s L1 is different than your L2.

Today, while subbing, I worked with a student of Latin origins who spoke very limited English. I speak even more limited Spanish, though I’ve decided I must learn that language. At any rate, I found that while working with her it was a constant and very conscious struggle not to lapse into Polish. “She doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” a voice was screaming in my head, “So use another language.”

Unfortunately, Polish was not terribly helpful.

The world of ESL is frightful in some ways. The responsibility is enormous.

As an EFL teacher, I was teaching a foreign language, which means it’s not going to be used that often. It’s not often going to be the basis of all other learning. And teaching English as a foreign language also affects the skills stressed. My primary goal for my students was verbal communication. Writing is important, but not nearly as important as speaking.

I confess, then, that I probably didn’t spend enough time with my students working on writing, until the national testing standards changed and forced my hand.

ESL is an entirely different animal. The goal is simple: get students’ English up to a level where they use it as their primary language for instruction. Think about it: it’s re-wiring a house, re-pouring a foundation. No, wrong analogy. It’s adding a second set of wires to a house, putting a foundation within a foundation.

And what do students do in the meantime? If they have limited English, how do they learn science? The idea solution is bilingual education, with L1 gradually being phased out. But the ideal is often just that.