We laughed at the trouble you got yourself in the time you ran short of “ dittos.”
This past week I was late for my class because I did not get to the Cannon shop in time. When I got there I realized that I didn’t have enough tugricks ($) to make the number of copies that I wanted. So I was late and short on dittos for my students. I was pretty mad at myself for not preparing better because my lesson was really exciting.
So I stormed into class and said, “Let’s get started. Open your notebooks.” I was so mad I could have spit nails. My counterpart looked at me and smiled. She would never say anything to me during the crisis, (very quiet sort of gal) but later she mentioned that she was worried about me. (I laughed and said that if you see steam coming out of my ears that just means that my engines are running on full speed.) I knew my first class was the smartest and fastest, so, I thought, “I will have them skip the dittos and copy every sentence from the board and they will do okay.”
Just as I was starting somebody poked their head in the door and said that all my students are needed at the clinic for checkups. So everything worked out all right. I had forty minutes to prepare for my next class and since I did not use the dittos for my first class I was set. What a day! I taught two of my best lessons to my next two classes. That’s a day in the life of a PC teacher.
Your mother and I howled with laughter at this.
Other news: Enkhtuya broke the lock on our training center door by jamming the key in the wrong way. It is easy for me to get flustered when work piles up and you are working toward different objectives all at once. Then this happens and we can’t enter our center because the door is locked and broken. Then someone said to me that some of the Russian teachers were coming by—any minute now—to see our center.
Well, dig me a hole and throw dirt over me! Right about now I started up a good conversation with the wall in front of me and then I ran to find some pliers, but the Russian teachers didn’t come. They have threatened to come twice before and, truthfully, God only knows why they did not come. Our door is open now, but we can’t lock the center. Fortunately, our center is inside our English classroom, the door of which we can lock. Isn’t it funny how live fits together in the oddest way.
You may remember a prior journal entry a few weeks ago about and ambitious student who broke our classroom door lock while trying to break in so he could clean. Hey look—nobody is perfect and I am counting my blessings. At least they had the grace to not break both locks at the same time. If they had done that I would have checked for my suitcase.
I laughed out loud at your moving experience. Then I had to marvel at your colorful description of life in Mongolia.
I now have a new place to rest my head. Yes, I have moved across town. My school finally sold my big old apartment to a family who can really use the extra rooms. I am now in a two-room apartment and getting along just fine. It has taken about three weeks to get everything set up. Moving is always tough no matter where you live, but moving in Mongolia is somewhere between the blind leading the blind and a traveling dog circus.
After teaching all day the movers and I loaded all my worldly goods on a pickup truck and drove across town to the new apartment. When we started to move my stuff inside the apartment I discovered that the place had not been swept or the carpet cleaned. It was too late now to say, “No, take all my stuff back. The apartment is not clean.” So they moved all my stuff in and assured me that the cleaning ladies would come “tomorrow” and help me clean. “Tomorrow” never came so I went to the school and found the intrepid leader of the cleaning ladies who happens to be the school accountant. I basically called them all liars and said that I did not have time to waste and that they were responsible for taking me away from my teaching. Within thirty minutes four cleaning ladies trooped over to my apartment and cleaned the carpets. We had a blast talking and laughing.
Such is the contradiction and sometimes the frustration of life in Mongolia. The people are lively and warm if not the most organized. I have to remind myself that Mongolia is still a “third world” country, a very ancient country whose views on life and thinking are very different from our own. This is still a place where people still take off their gloves to shake hands no matter how cold it is. Mothers still wrap their babies in swaddling clothes and the people sing. They sing at parties, in homes, on horseback, etc. Mongolian women are known for their ability to carry a tune and their ability to harmonize with one another easily. It is a most beautiful part of their culture.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Black Hills Gold and a Model T
Michael...Your Aunt Shirley almost didn’t get a present for her twelfth birthday.
Snowmelt and heavy rains in the month of April invariably turn our normally placid little creek into a raging muddy torrent. Here it is May 1 and the occasion is your Aunt Shirley's birthday. This is her first birthday without our dad. Our mother is determined to get out and get your Aunt Shirley a present, but the now raging creek has washed out part of the road and our little ’35 Ford Coupe will be unable to get past the washout. They put on raincoats and boots and off they go to town. The creek overflows it banks for several hundred yards, but they are able to trudge through and then it is clear sailing to town.
When they arrive in town they go straight to JP Thorpe and Company, the jeweler who originated “Black Hills Gold Jewelry.” JP Thorpe, himself, waits on them and your aunt picks out a sparkling gold ring. On the way back home they get a little bit smarter and climb up the hillside to avoid the still raging torrent.
In your Aunt Shirley’s own words here is what she told to me about that ring.
I have treasured it ever since. Once when I was hiking with my family I managed to get it caught on a stub of a branch by falling backwards while I was resting on a log. The band broke and bent badly. I took it to a jeweler to have it repaired, but he said that it would cost more than it was worth. It rested in my jewelry box for many years until I asked my husband to have it repaired for a birthday gift. I decided that since it was one of the original Black Hills gold rings it certainly was worth repairing! Now I am proudly wearing it again.
My sister was only seventeen when she married my brother-in-law.
My future brother-in-law cuts quite a figure in his starched khaki United States Air Force uniform. He has this big blue Chrysler that he drives all the way up to our house from his air base to see my sister. The Chrysler is impressive, but the sticker pasted on the bottom left hand corner of the windshield still sticks out in my mind to this day. There were two lightning bolts held together by an upraised fist and the words Strategic Air Command imprinted on the sticker.
He takes us on a tour of the air base and we leave convinced that the red menace cannot prevail against the mighty forces arrayed there. I remember that there is some discussion about the possibility of a communist being there on the air base. We hold this discussion in hushed tones.
A heavy snowfall begins on February 2, 1952, and by the evening of the wedding day of your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene the snow is piled high. The guests arrive at the Deadwood Episcopal Church for the ceremony clad in their heavy coats and boots.
Because of all the hubbub I spend a few moments lost in the back of the church. I am rescued just in the nick of time to see two beautiful people joined in Holy Matrimony. The snow is now at least two feet deep and getting out of the church and getting up the long road to our home, where the reception is to be held, is very difficult. Many cars get stuck in the wet snow on the way and the minister has to turn back. However, most make the journey and the young couple is off to a grand start.
Your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene have the coolest car ever built
My grandfather invests some money in stocks and when the stock is sold the money goes to your Aunt Shirley. She and your Uncle Gene use that money to buy a brand new 1953 Studebaker Champion. There are only 5000 Studebaker Champions built that year. It is sleek like an arrow, built low to the ground and painted crimson red. There is a powerful V8 engine under that long low hood that makes this automobile pulse with life. It also has door locks that will keep the doors from flying open in an accident. This is something the big three automakers have not begun to think about. I would have killed to have this automobile.
Seven of us pile into that little car one summer day. There is my mother, my stepfather, myself, your aunt and uncle, and my two nephews. There is not a lot of room to move or breathe.
We stop for gas on the way to Glacier National Park and your Aunt Shirley gets out to go to the bathroom. All those present pile back into the little Studebaker and off down the road we go. Several minutes pass and my nephew, Ron, starts whining about the fact his mother is not in the car. Your Uncle Gene whips the little Studebaker around and goes back for your Aunt Shirley who is now standing out by the gas pumps looking rather forlorn. She piles in and once again we are squashed, barely able to breathe or move a muscle.
It is significant that I am writing more paragraphs about your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene’s automobile than I am about them. What is wrong with this picture? Now, revealed for the first time the true story about the old Model T Ford that she and your Uncle Jim once owned.
My grandfather, upon his passing, left those two the grand sum of $50.00 to be divided evenly. They decide to pool that grand sum and purchase an old Model T Ford. Now this joint ownership arrangement causes a number of squabbles between those two. I can still remember, to this day, the arguments about whose day it is to drive, whose turn it is to drive and where it is going to be driven. One day your Aunt Shirley allows her boy friend to drive the old Model T and he promptly runs into another car and causes a lot of damage to that car.
The only damages to the Model T were a few scratches on the front bumper. There is a lot of hollering about who is going to pay for the damage to the other car. Your Aunt Shirley’s boyfriend didn’t have any money, so he can’t pay and your Aunt is bereft of funds, so that leaves only my mother to pay for the damages. Our mother finally has to come up with some money to pay for the damage to the other car.
Snowmelt and heavy rains in the month of April invariably turn our normally placid little creek into a raging muddy torrent. Here it is May 1 and the occasion is your Aunt Shirley's birthday. This is her first birthday without our dad. Our mother is determined to get out and get your Aunt Shirley a present, but the now raging creek has washed out part of the road and our little ’35 Ford Coupe will be unable to get past the washout. They put on raincoats and boots and off they go to town. The creek overflows it banks for several hundred yards, but they are able to trudge through and then it is clear sailing to town.
When they arrive in town they go straight to JP Thorpe and Company, the jeweler who originated “Black Hills Gold Jewelry.” JP Thorpe, himself, waits on them and your aunt picks out a sparkling gold ring. On the way back home they get a little bit smarter and climb up the hillside to avoid the still raging torrent.
In your Aunt Shirley’s own words here is what she told to me about that ring.
I have treasured it ever since. Once when I was hiking with my family I managed to get it caught on a stub of a branch by falling backwards while I was resting on a log. The band broke and bent badly. I took it to a jeweler to have it repaired, but he said that it would cost more than it was worth. It rested in my jewelry box for many years until I asked my husband to have it repaired for a birthday gift. I decided that since it was one of the original Black Hills gold rings it certainly was worth repairing! Now I am proudly wearing it again.
My sister was only seventeen when she married my brother-in-law.
My future brother-in-law cuts quite a figure in his starched khaki United States Air Force uniform. He has this big blue Chrysler that he drives all the way up to our house from his air base to see my sister. The Chrysler is impressive, but the sticker pasted on the bottom left hand corner of the windshield still sticks out in my mind to this day. There were two lightning bolts held together by an upraised fist and the words Strategic Air Command imprinted on the sticker.
He takes us on a tour of the air base and we leave convinced that the red menace cannot prevail against the mighty forces arrayed there. I remember that there is some discussion about the possibility of a communist being there on the air base. We hold this discussion in hushed tones.
A heavy snowfall begins on February 2, 1952, and by the evening of the wedding day of your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene the snow is piled high. The guests arrive at the Deadwood Episcopal Church for the ceremony clad in their heavy coats and boots.
Because of all the hubbub I spend a few moments lost in the back of the church. I am rescued just in the nick of time to see two beautiful people joined in Holy Matrimony. The snow is now at least two feet deep and getting out of the church and getting up the long road to our home, where the reception is to be held, is very difficult. Many cars get stuck in the wet snow on the way and the minister has to turn back. However, most make the journey and the young couple is off to a grand start.
Your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene have the coolest car ever built
My grandfather invests some money in stocks and when the stock is sold the money goes to your Aunt Shirley. She and your Uncle Gene use that money to buy a brand new 1953 Studebaker Champion. There are only 5000 Studebaker Champions built that year. It is sleek like an arrow, built low to the ground and painted crimson red. There is a powerful V8 engine under that long low hood that makes this automobile pulse with life. It also has door locks that will keep the doors from flying open in an accident. This is something the big three automakers have not begun to think about. I would have killed to have this automobile.
Seven of us pile into that little car one summer day. There is my mother, my stepfather, myself, your aunt and uncle, and my two nephews. There is not a lot of room to move or breathe.
We stop for gas on the way to Glacier National Park and your Aunt Shirley gets out to go to the bathroom. All those present pile back into the little Studebaker and off down the road we go. Several minutes pass and my nephew, Ron, starts whining about the fact his mother is not in the car. Your Uncle Gene whips the little Studebaker around and goes back for your Aunt Shirley who is now standing out by the gas pumps looking rather forlorn. She piles in and once again we are squashed, barely able to breathe or move a muscle.
It is significant that I am writing more paragraphs about your Aunt Shirley and Uncle Gene’s automobile than I am about them. What is wrong with this picture? Now, revealed for the first time the true story about the old Model T Ford that she and your Uncle Jim once owned.
My grandfather, upon his passing, left those two the grand sum of $50.00 to be divided evenly. They decide to pool that grand sum and purchase an old Model T Ford. Now this joint ownership arrangement causes a number of squabbles between those two. I can still remember, to this day, the arguments about whose day it is to drive, whose turn it is to drive and where it is going to be driven. One day your Aunt Shirley allows her boy friend to drive the old Model T and he promptly runs into another car and causes a lot of damage to that car.
The only damages to the Model T were a few scratches on the front bumper. There is a lot of hollering about who is going to pay for the damage to the other car. Your Aunt Shirley’s boyfriend didn’t have any money, so he can’t pay and your Aunt is bereft of funds, so that leaves only my mother to pay for the damages. Our mother finally has to come up with some money to pay for the damage to the other car.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Just try reading this without laughing till you cry!!!
Just try reading this without laughing till you cry!!!
>> Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.. A guy who purchased
>> his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:
>>
>> Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that
>> sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was
>> looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie . What I came
>> across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse- sized tazer. The effects of
>> the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse
>> affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to
>> safety....??
>> WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought
>> The device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn
>> thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned,
>> however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal
>> surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting
>> back and forth between the prongs.
>> AWESOME!!!
>> Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is
>> on the face of her microwave.
>> Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that
>> it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?
>> There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently
>> (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking
>> that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving
>> target.. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction
>> of a second) and thought better of it.. She is such a sweet cat. But,
>> if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself
>> against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as
>> advertised. Am I wrong?
>> So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
>> glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one
>> hand, and tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second
>> burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was
>> supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a
>> three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the
>> ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds
>> would be wasting the batteries.
>> All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5"
>> long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and
>> (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself,
>> 'no possible way!' What happened next is almost beyond description,
>> but I'll do my best.. .?
>> I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one
>> side as to say, 'don't do it dumbass,' reasoning that a one second
>> burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I
>> decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I
>> touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and .. .
>> HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!
>> I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me
>> up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and
>> over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the
>> fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples
>> on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under
>> my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs? The cat was
>> making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture
>> frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid
>> getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
>> Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a tazer, one
>> note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you
>> zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged
>> from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor.. A three
>> second burst would be considered conservative?
>> IT HURT LIKE HELL!!!
>> A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at
>> that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and
>> surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of
>> the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so
>> from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples
>> were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with
>> Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the
>> drooling .
>> Apparently I pooped on myself, but was too numb to know for sure and
>> my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head
>> which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and
>> I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!
>> P.s... My wife, who can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the
>> gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
>> If you think education is difficult, try being stupid !!!
>> Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.. A guy who purchased
>> his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:
>>
>> Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that
>> sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was
>> looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie . What I came
>> across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse- sized tazer. The effects of
>> the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse
>> affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to
>> safety....??
>> WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought
>> The device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn
>> thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned,
>> however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal
>> surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting
>> back and forth between the prongs.
>> AWESOME!!!
>> Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is
>> on the face of her microwave.
>> Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that
>> it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?
>> There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently
>> (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking
>> that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving
>> target.. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction
>> of a second) and thought better of it.. She is such a sweet cat. But,
>> if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself
>> against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as
>> advertised. Am I wrong?
>> So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
>> glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one
>> hand, and tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second
>> burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was
>> supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a
>> three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the
>> ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds
>> would be wasting the batteries.
>> All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5"
>> long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and
>> (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself,
>> 'no possible way!' What happened next is almost beyond description,
>> but I'll do my best.. .?
>> I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one
>> side as to say, 'don't do it dumbass,' reasoning that a one second
>> burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I
>> decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I
>> touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and .. .
>> HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!
>> I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me
>> up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and
>> over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the
>> fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples
>> on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under
>> my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs? The cat was
>> making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture
>> frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid
>> getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
>> Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a tazer, one
>> note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you
>> zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged
>> from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor.. A three
>> second burst would be considered conservative?
>> IT HURT LIKE HELL!!!
>> A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at
>> that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and
>> surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of
>> the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so
>> from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples
>> were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with
>> Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the
>> drooling .
>> Apparently I pooped on myself, but was too numb to know for sure and
>> my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head
>> which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and
>> I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!
>> P.s... My wife, who can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the
>> gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
>> If you think education is difficult, try being stupid !!!
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