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soccer

Saturday Break

We woke up to rain today. "We probably won't be going for soccer," I think as I poured my first cup of coffee. And the thought didn't break my heart. Still, knowing the Girl had the second game of the day, I decided to drive over to the field, only four or five miles from out house, to see if there were indeed games. I'd heard somewhere that the general rule for determining whether or not to play a soccer game is if the ball bounces when dropped from the waist. If it bounces, the game begins. But I wasn't sure what it would be like for four- and five-year-olds. I arrived at the field in a drizzle to find everyone playing as if nothing were happening. Still, the Girl has a way of getting a nasty cough very easily, so K and I decided it would be best not to go.

No Soccer

We were fairly certain the Girl would be a little disappointed. I saw the patch of dry pavement on the road and thought L would surely see that and certainly use that as justification. "See? It's drying." And so I was a little surprised when the reaction to "Sweetie, we're not going to be able to go play soccer today" was "Yippeee!"

My Math

We ended up staying home most of the morning, with Nana and Papa coming for a visit and then L going to spend the afternoon at their place -- after a math lesson in the kitchen.

Lunch

For E, there were very few changes in the routine. Eating, giggling, pooping, sleeping. Repeat.

Feeding

After some weeks, such a Saturday is just fine.

Autumn Sunday

The sky always seems somehow a little richer, a little deeper blue in autumn. I suppose it has to do with angles and refraction as the Earth tilts the northern hemisphere away from the sun and the southern hemisphere toward it.

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Somehow, though, the light just feels more relaxed.

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We in the south finally begin coming out to play at this point in the year. Triple digit heat indexes don’t do much to encourage the average South Carolinian to spend time in the park, kicking a soccer ball around or playing on the jungle gym. (And even if one wanted to, the equipment would be much to hot to touch, and forget about the sliding board.)

Mother and Son

So today, with temperatures only in the mid-seventies, the four of us went to a favorite park for some swinging, sliding, and soccer practice.

First Swing

The Boy sat briefly in a swing for the first time. The seat seemed still to swallow him, and his general inability to support himself combined with his love of peering forward made the prospect short-term at best.

Three Treasures

But there was always the grass. Fascinatingly green, unfamiliarly scratchy, generally puzzling for the Boy. He’d likely have put some in his mouth if he’d realized how easily it could be done. The whole world would go in his mouth if it could fit, piece my piece, chunk by chunk.

Defense

L and I, though, were ready for some practice. With her speed, she can easily outrun most of the players on the field in her Saturday soccer games, so we worked on a new tactic: running as fast as possible while still kicking the ball.

Offense

“Just kick it out in front as far as you can,” I explained, “then run — run as fast as possible. You’ll beat everyone to the ball. Then just do it again.”

We also worked a bit on defense.

Theft

And the Boy finally got a closer look at that grass.

The Boy in Grass

Hat Trick

When Pele was just over seventeen years old, he became the youngest player to achieve a hat trick — three goals in a match — in a World Cup match. In 1930, Guillermo Stabile scored a hat trick during his debut World Cup game.

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What happens if you combine the two?

All I was hoping for was a successful first game, and I defined success simply enough: enough enjoyment to encourage the Girl to continue with her soccer adventure. Certainly, I wanted her team to win — winning always feels good. But more than that, I wanted the Girl to leave with an eagerness to return. And so among my great fears was the shut-out. “If L’s team doesn’t score a single goal, it might be frustrating to her,” I thought.

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There were other concerns as well. L is not always the most aggressive person, especially in novel situations, and a first-time soccer game is about as novel as one can imagine.

Yet right from the start, the Girl is aggressive. Really aggressive. She charges the ball without concerning herself about the number of kids kicking wildly at the ball, and she often emerges from the pack with the ball.

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And then she scores.

We’ve all seen the typical reactions among the pros — the wild celebrations, the leaping, the shirt front over the head. L seems completely oblivious to the significance of what has just happened. Countless games have finished one-nil, and the sole scorer is automatically the hero.

L, ignorant of all this, simply walks away from the goal calmly, a bit confused even. But my reaction and the coach’s reaction tell her something big has happened.

“It can’t be a more perfect first game,” I think. No matter what happens now, we have something to celebrate. Even if her team loses 5-1, we have that single moment to smile about. “Wasn’t that a great feeling to score?” I’ll be able to ask.

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But the Girl has other things on her mind. She continues charging. She continues heading straight for the goal. She continues shooting.

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And she misses. Once. Twice. And then more lightning: another goal.

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And then a third. A hat trick, on her first time out. As she walks away from the goal the third time, her teammates celebrating, a small smile appears on her face. She knows what she’s done. She’s gotten a taste of athletic greatness. And she likes it.

Not content with having scored the only goals for either team, she proclaims with calm assurance as we walk back to the car, “Next game, I’m going to score five goals.”

Watch out Messi, here comes the Girl.

On the Field

It's perhaps a cliche of parenting, the desire to give more to your children than you had as a child. Unfortunately, it seems our culture equates that "more" materialistically more often than not, but the question of experience seems more important. And to that end, we have to step out of our usual circle and involve others -- for instance, ten others, to make a soccer team.

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Providing the Girl with the opportunity to kick a ball back and forth is easy enough: we've done it in the backyard a time or two. Attention spans, though, tend to be short in such activities. There's always a cat to chase, a trampoline to pull out of the basement, or something else -- squirrel! Somehow, though, things change when kicking the ball in a controlled environment with virtual strangers. Perhaps it's a desire to create a positive impression; maybe it's the drive to conform and kick along with the others. Whatever the case, the Girl's first experience with soccer provided her first and foremost with a concentrated dose of semi-organized sport.

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Still, kicking and even throwing a soccer ball, even in concentrated doses, only provides so much, and it's all physical.

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There's more to sport than the physical. In fact, the physical, at a certain level of competition, is only incidental. World-class athletes have practiced so much that the maneuvering and contorting involved in a given sport is almost a matter of muscle memory. Watch a gymnast doing a routine on the pommel horse and it's hard to imagine he's thinking through every single move, every single flex of the muscle. By that time, the game is mental. He knows he can do his routine perfectly: he's done it flawlessly in practice countless times. It's now a question of doing it when there's something -- everything -- at stake. It's now a question of confidence and mental strength.

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A gymnast can't really take his pommel horse skills into the business world and do much with them. He can, however, take his self-confidence and his ability to perform well under stress into non-sporting life and achieve just about anything he wants. So it's not so much the physical I'm worried about as I watch the Girl run about the soccer field.

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I'm grateful, of course, for the improvement in coordination and strength such an activity brings, but more important is the mental development.

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I'm more pleased when she calmly chases down a ball that's gotten out of her control, maintaining her cool the whole time, than I am when it becomes clear that she's one of the fastest kids on the field.

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I'm more pleased when I see her calmly go get a ball that a teammate has kicked away from her out of childish spite

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than I am when I see a good, strong kick.

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But I'd be lying to deny that the kick makes me feel good, too.

The Cold and the Rain

Rain, ten degrees Celsius -- you might say that it's a perfect Polish summer, but that would be too pessimistic. Yet rain or shine, the cousins must swing.

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And play in the small play house Dziadek built.

Yet there is a bit of frustration. L understands Polish perfectly; her willingness to speak it is a different situation entirely. As they're swinging, S asks, "Dlaczego ciagle mowisz po angielsku?" "Why are you constantly speaking English?" "Dobra pytania" I respond, yet L says nothing. Instead she begins the international language of three-year-olds: she begins making as many odd sounds as possible.

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In the end, the swing was the hit of the day. With aunt Dominika, Kinga, and I, the girls must have swung for ten hours straight. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but not by much.

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In the meantime, Babcia chases the newest member of the family -- a little mixed puppy -- for digging up her flowers, for about the tenth time. "Ja cie dam!" cried babcia, half seriously, half in jest. "Ja cie dam!"

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Poles would call such a day "dzien barowy" -- a bar day. But we're not here to sit in a bar. We're here to visit, and visit with determination. And so we head to the school where I taught for seven years.

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I meet several colleagues with whom I worked even in 1996, but we're all a little older, a little more experienced. The exception is a young lady who was still in middle school when I arrived fourteen years ago (eighth grade) and now teaches high school. My replacement, one might say, but I guess one would be wrong. Time passes and replacement become irrelevant. All things being fluid in the twenty-first century, talk of replacements is useless.

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As we wonder through the school, I begin thinking about how little has changed, which is the nature of teaching: one spends years in the same grade only to realize that, from a certain point of view, one has been running in place. I stay forever in eighth grade now; in Poland, I stayed forever in high school. The results are, more or less, the same.

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There are some things, though, that can't be replaced, like a virtual Mama. After dropping by the school, we stop by to visit the family with whom I lived for some time after returning to Poland in 2001. I'm greeted with hugs and "Synku!" It's like a homecoming. It is a homecoming.

We meet the two chicks my Polish Mother (PM for future references) saved from certain death when they fell from the nest and made just enough noise for her to hear.

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They're the hit of the day.

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A constant, consistent attraction during our visit.

"I want to see the birds!"

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And as a result really get no rest during our visit.

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But panic builds instincts and reaction. Or so I'm told.

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So I've heard, but what do I know? That an evening of football (aka soccer) and assorted liquids makes one less than perfectly willing to blog at eleven o'clock...

Soccer Religion

After having written a short review of Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code (Okay, I admit it – I have to stoop to some pretty low levels in my English reading while in Poland), I recently received the oddest letter from a complete stranger. The subject line: The DaVinci [sic] Code and The DA Revelation of Avatar Adi Da Love-Ananda Samraj

Dear Gary,

My name is John Forth from Melbourne Australia. I got your e-address from Amazon reviews.

The DaVinci [sic] Code is an interesting book on an important theme: namely the suppression [sic] of the gnostic [sic] strain in Christianity. A suppresion [sic] which has turned out to be a disaster for ALL beings on this planet.

With that in mind please check out The Divine Revelation of Avatar Adi Da Love-Ananda Samraj at:

1. www.adidam.org

2. www.adi-da-samraj.org

A Prophetic Criticism of the "Great" Religions (essays on how non-gnostic [sic] essentially materialist Christianity took over) at:

3. http://www.dabase.net/proofch6.htm

Grace Shines

John Forth

My response, after checking out the links he'd provided, was short: "What exactly does The Da Vinci Code – which is a horrid book filled with historical errors – have to do with a New Age cult?" Of course I knew such a reply was antagonistic enough to get another response out of him. In other words, I realized I was childishly provoking him, but I couldn't help it. After all, it's not every day that you get to speak to a cult apologist.

Mr. Forth replied:

Dear Gary,

Thankyou [sic] for your response.

IF you do your hope work you will discover that Adidam or The Way of the Heart created by Adi Da Samraj is not a "new age" cult. Christianity is a cult. Every body belongs to numerous cults. A cult being a group of people from the very small or in the billions fascinated by some object of desire or fascination.

Please check out "Beyond The Cultic Tendency in Religion----" at: http://www.dabase.org/cultic.htm

You could say that the fascination with the Davinci [sic] Code is a cultish [sic] phenomenon [sic]. AS are the cults associated with The Lord of the Rings, the Matrix films, Star Trek etc etc [sic] Perhaps the relevance to Adidam is that Adi Da addresses in a very real way some of the themes, especially the repressed gnostic [sic] elements of early christianity [sic], mentioned in the Davinci [sic] Code.

Grace Shines

John Forth

Leaving aside the question of what "home work" Mr. Forth thought I was supposed to have done, I took him up on his offer and read – or rather, scanned – the piece Mr. Forth recommended, written by none other than the guru himself: Avatar Adi Da Samraj.

It was full of Things Not Normally Capitalized which were written in Capital Letters to express Their Importance (though he did restrain from some cult/sect writers' typographical IDOCYCRIES), and basically filled with nonsensical Eastern guru babble. (I'm not suggesting that Eastern wisdom is just "babble," just this particular "wisdom.") Some choice quotes:

  • The relationship to Me that is Described (by Me) in the Ruchira Avatara Gita is not an exoteric cultic matter. It is a profound esoteric discipline, necessarily associated with real and serious and mature practice of the "radical" Way (or root-Process) of Realizing Real God, Which Is Reality and Truth. Therefore, in the Ruchira Avatara Gita, I am critical of the ego-based (or self-saving, and self-"guruing", rather than self-surrendering, self-forgetting, self-transcending, and Divine-Guru-Oriented) practices of childish, and, otherwise, adolescent, and, altogether, merely exoteric cultism.
  • Just so, the cult of religious and Spiritual fascination tends to be equally righteous about maintaining fascinated faith (or indiscriminate, and even aggressive, belief) in the merely Parent-like "Divine" Status of one or another historical individual, "God"-Idea, religious or Spiritual doctrine, inherited tradition, or force of cosmic Nature.

The piece mainly dealt with the issue of "cultism," which Adi Da claims is endemic in all religions – except his own, of course. His is the antidote to cults. Clever move: take critics' charges and aim the back at them.

Next step, I decided to do my "homework" that Mr. Forth took me to task for not having done – particularly easy with Google. Soon I was flooded with information about Adi Da, Daism, and assorted goodies.

The Guru

I was initially not sure whether to call this charlatan "Franklin Jones" or "Adi Da." Indeed, Jones himself cannot seem to make up his mind as far as names go. (names.adida.org) Continually referring to him as Jones makes his claims seem particularly absurd, but since they are currently published under the name, it seems to make contextual sense to call him "Adi Da." In the end, I just oscillated back and forth.

I found out that – surprise, surprise – "Adi Da" is in fact Franklin Jones, a sixty-something Long Island born "guru" who has been holed up for over twenty years in Fiji , where he dispenses his Eastern-tinged "Crazy Wisdom" (his term, not mine) selflessly. I scanned a bit of his stuff and it was quickly evident that the guy is a fraud.

Jones' religion, his "Crazy Wisdom," is not a Siddhartha-type Western understanding of Buddhism, something which might raise the eyebrows a bit of a true Eastern master but cause no real consternation. In other words, it's not some new meditation method, some slightly commercialized take on yoga (i.e., twelve positions for the supermarket checkout counter). Nothing so insignificant as that.

The claim that Jones make – the heart of his religion – is that he is an Avatar. A human manifestation of God. To frame it in Western terms, Jones makes the same claim Jesus did: that he is God incarnate. As he explains it:

I Am the Divine Heart-Master of every one, and of all, and of the All of all. Therefore, I Call upon every one (and all) to rightly and positively understand My Divine Self-Revelation. And I Call upon every one (and all) to truly devotionally recognize Me, and to responsively demonstrate that devotional recognition of Me in the
context of, and by Means of, the right, true, full, and fully devotional, and really counter-egoic, practice of the only-by-Me Revealed and Given Way of Adidam (www.dabase.org)
.

He is the Set Apart Guide (I can't help lapsing into some Jones-esque capitalization) for All those Who want to Know the Way. The Way, coincidentally, is Jones himself, so his teaching amounts to how to recognize he is God. Indeed, followers are given instructions that the best way to forget about ego is to meditate on Jones, and since he's living it up in Fiji and not physically available to all his followers, they're provided with a photo album to help with the visualization!

Salvation, it seems, is based on fantasizing about a fat, bald, literally slimey-looking (just scroll down a bit) New Yorker with glaucoma.

The only Liberating discovery is that My Avataric Divine Spiritual Presence is Real, able to be tangibly experienced under any and all circumstances. It is not about imagining My Spiritual Presence or manipulating yourself. None of that is satisfying, in any case. To searchlessly [sic] Behold Me and, in the midst of it, to notice My Spiritual Presence tangibly moving upon you in your real experience–this is the great and Liberating discovery, the only Satisfaction. Ultimately, it is the only Satisfaction in life. Everything else is temporary, conditional, ego-based, and disheartening. Only the discovery of the tangible Reality of That Which Is Divine is heartening and Liberating and Satisfactory (adidam.org).

The practice is searchless, ego-forgetting, altogether to-Me-turned Beholding of Me in My bodily (human) Divine Form. When you are not in My physical Company, you can recollect My bodily (human) Divine Form. You can use My Murti-Form, My Padukas, and so on. Persisting in this practice, there is the potential of moving Me to Bless you further. [March 24, 2003] (adidam.org)

I closed my eyes and pictured him for a few moments and the only result I got was a chill running down my back and a brief
paranoia that, like the catchy melody of the latest pop trash hit, the image would keep popping back into my head unwanted.The Suckers and VictimsThe case of Franklin Jones and his AdidDaSes (the name "Adi Da" supposed just came to him; perhaps he just glanced down at someone's athletic shoes) would be more comic than anything if it weren't for the people that follow him. The difference between a cult leader and a raving schizophrenic homeless man in a subway station is that someone has taken the former seriously, and that's a frightening thought. What makes a cult tragic is of course the devoted, mindless followers.Jones' website speaks of "turning to him," of "recognizing him," of "loving him." It's scary stuff. But the words are not half as scary as the pictures – images from the inside workings of a cultic compound. Imagine David Koresh made pictures available of what went on in Waco. It might look something like this:And what's worse is the fact that there are children being raised on this bullshit. Children of followers living on Jones' Fiji island paradise are taught from birth (i.e., primarily socialization) that this snake-oil salesman is God. It's difficult enough to deprogram adults who have surrendered (voluntarily or not) their grip on reality, but these poor kids will never have had a firm understanding of reality to begin with, and they're going to be warped for life. It's nothing short of child abuse, but unfortunately, such child abuse is legal.Thus armed, I dashed off a quick reply to Mr. Forth:

I read the piece to which you sent me the link, and I found this passage:

All cults, whether sacred or secular, thrive on indulgence in the psychology (and the emotional rituals) of hope, rather than on actual demonstration of counter-egoic and really ego-transcending action.

What is the difference between this "indulgence in the psychology [. . .] of hope" and what Adi Da offers? His form of TM simply offers the hope of getting in touch with true reality.

I suppose, to some degree, as an atheist I would agree. Any time we seek from a religion something beyond what we experience in our senses, quantitatively confirmable through science, we are indulging in "the psychology [. . .] of hope."

Further, I would go so far as to say that Da is exploiting this "psychology [. . .] of hope" to build up his own cult. And for the record, I am using "cult" in the sociological sense of the term. Like Jim Jones (though I don't know that Da will go so far), he has holed himself up in a remote corner of the world and refuses contact with outsiders.

Concerning this, Ken Wilber asks,

[Da's] claim, of course, is that he is the most enlightened person in the history of the planet. Just for argument, let us agree. But then what would the most  enlightened World Teacher in history actually do in the world? Hide? Avoid? Run? Or would that teacher engage the world, step into the arena of dialogue, meet with other religious teachers and adepts, attempt to start a universal dialogue that would test his truths in the fire of the circle of those who could usefully challenge  him. At the very least, a person who claims to be the World Teacher needs to get out in the world, no? (www.beezone.com)

Indeed, what does the Dali Lama think of Da? How is he received in, say, India? Yes, yes, I know that some notables (most disturbing, Allan Watts) have given credence to Da's claim, but as far as I know, true spiritual leaders don't have much to do with him.

When I wrote this, I was still unaware of the extent of Jones' claims to be God. As such, it's a little flawed, for there does indeed exist a Gnostic element in Daism – the knowledge that a fat New Yorker is God.

Now, as far as this and some connection to that horrid The Da Vinci Code, I still fail to see the  connection. Gnosticism was not about mystical meditation but instead knowledge. "Gnosis" means "knowledge," not meditation. The Da Vinci Code attempts to rehabilitate the idea of the sacred feminine – goddess worship, in other words – and not Christian mysticism. If that's what Brown were trying to do in writing "DC" he would have written about, say, Father Pio. Instead, he wrote about Mary Magdalene, the "proper" object of veneration in Christianity as it was originally formulated.

In closing, I'd like to thank you for your emails, and encourage you, if you are involved in Adi Da's cult, to get yourself out as fast as possible.

I never heard from Mr. Forth again. I suppose he realized that time trying to convert me was not time well spent, and I imagine he's off emailing other people who submitted reviews of The Da Vinci Code to Amazon.com.The Ultimate Sell: YourselfOne question remains: to what degree does Franklin Jones believe his own nonsense? There are two equally disturbing possibilities. The first is that he simply knows that he's a charlatan and realizes it's all a big scam. This seems unlikely, for a conscious con-man, no matter how good he is, eventually slips up.The second possibility is that he thinks he is God. This simply means he belongs in an asylum. Indeed, the only difference between Franklin Jones and the probably uncountable number of Jesuses, Buddhas, Thors, and Jehovahs sitting around in state hospitals is that  Jones hasn't been locked away. You can almost imagine a large nurse reassuring a pajama-clad Jones, "Yes, Mr. Jones, I know that my salvation rests on perfect contemplation of you. Now be a sweetie and take your medicine . . ."

Various

More Bullets, More Conversations

  • No class but spoke to IIC for a while; will teach tomorrow
  • Matura
  • Sylwu = 2; all but one wrong
  • Teresa W. = 6; told me many times in Quattro that she wanted a 6
  • Lidka = 5
  • Bogusia = 3
  • Marek = 3
  • Before matura talked to Lidka, Bogusia, and Marek about present perfect
  • At Bistro I talked with Maria Kuliga, Beata G., and some from IIA about life, Bucky (“He doesn’t explain anything,” they said) and whether I’m coming back to teach (“No!?) Czemu?”); they — Polish, I — English
  • Last night playing “soccer” in Quattro
  • Conversation with Kamil — told him about Beata and ties and “Keep people out”; wanting Iwona (“Why didn’t you make a move?”)
  • Conversation with Magda today
  • Visiting Greg “Fly”

These crazy thoughts — work for a while, then come back here for another long stay. What stupidity. And what makes me think it’s even vaguely possible? Yet it seems completely desirable and reasonable. I come back, begin visiting Mary a lot, then out of the blue, while we are on a walk somewhere . . .

Comparative/Superlative in Review

  • Names
  • Show and talk about ads — what are they trying to do?
  • Discect one ad together
  • Uses comparative and superalative; review
  • Long word
  • Short word
  • 2 syllables clever quiet narrow
    • ing (Boring) / — ed (more and why)
  • In groups of 3/4 brainstorm some adj and at least one new one; some on the board; quick drill
  • Hand out assignments for adds; five minutes @ end to share with others
  • Herbata Zielona Peach flavor in NT health shop
  • Meet with Halina
  • Give Alina a note for Lucyna
  • Get in touch with Beata P.
  • See about visitng Mary
  • Get letters from classes