Host family update and my new bag of tricks

Getting "crabby" with my family

I had a breaking point last week that I didn't share about on my blog. (I don't to weigh my readers down with complaints.) After weeks of failed negotiations with my host family, I came to my wit's end when Hyunsuk brought a giant plate of crabs to the table for dinner.

She had asked me if I liked lobster at lunch time, and I said I did...remembering one time I tried a bit of my friend's mom's lobster when I was twelve and eating with her family at Red Lobster. Not only was the plate far different in appearance from what I remembered, a strange flood of mixed emotions plagued me during the dinner. I felt excited to give them a try, nervous because I didn't know how, and ticked off at the thought that my gigantic food fee was going to pay for a family-sized serving of a delicacy that's not much cheaper in Korea than in the U.S. I hated myself for thinking it. It seemed like an unfair thought.

"We only eat this once per year," Moxanim said, "because it's so expensive."

Throughout the meal, I couldn't help but react outwardly to what I was about to do. "Omigosh!" I kept saying. Hyunsuk swooned at the golden organ inside that she translated as the crab's eggs. My Korean family did not react or even flinch by any of it.

You see: Americans like to forget that their food was ever alive. We fry it, dress it up, add a garnish or two, and do whatever we can to make our meat look like a meal rather than an animal. But Koreans don't mind recognizing and even celebrating the once-alive factor of food. Restaurants advertise their specialties with cartoon images of cows, chickens, or octopus giving customers a thumbs-up! The crab on my plate was undisguised.

It dawned on me that the fancy meal might have been intended to win me over--to dissolve my displeasure with the food arrangement. This interpretation seemed to make sense. I noticed the curry rice and potbingsu dessert--two of my favorites. I hated myself for always pondering their intentions, for always wondering what they said to each other in Korean at the dinner table. If my interpretation was true, then I felt manipulated. The incident nursed my already bitter heart.

By Friday, I decided I should move out. I started to dream of having a place of my own, about cooking for myself again, and having a place to invite people to, in case I made some friends in Jilyang. Called my boss' wife and told her I should move out. Spent my weekend in Jeju, where my friend's encouraged me. But when Monday came, Jean called me back and offered to help me with the cost of food, confirming that I wouldn't be moving out because "it's not in my contract." Or at least she wouldn't be helping me. I was furious.

Then, I found myself in a situation with a Korean where, for the first time, I spoke my mind. I pitched the rules of indirectness and spoke from my heart. I told this person that I was angry. I told the truth. It was such a relief that I wondered what might happen if I sat down with my host family and talked it out.

Finally, Hyunsuk and I, with the help of Jihey's translation, talked about the food issue face-to-face for the first time on Wednesday night. I explained the hospitality rule differences that I wrote about earlier. I told her that while I liked Korean food, I want to have the freedom to cook for myself sometimes. I told her that I felt hurt that she didn't want me in her kitchen because I felt she didn't trust me. She told me my food fee had been prayed over for two weeks after I arrived. She said that I, too, had done things that hurt her without knowing it. Like old friends discussing first impressions, we confessed our cultural interpretations and misinterpretations of one another throughout the past few weeks. After laying down a few kitchen rules, she consented to me cooking in the kitchen.

I need to remember these are good-willed folks, who have the same Father. They're not out to rip me off. I'm a little ashamed of myself for thinking as such.

New bag of tricks

My care package from Kaio has become a new bag of tricks for me to test on my students. Dum-dums are the newest carrots to be given away during class. I feel better about giving away the small, cheap, fruity suckers than the chocolate I'd been giving away from my package from Nick. (Started to feel greedy about the Hershey's Extra-Creamy-Milk-Chocolate-with-Toffee-and-Almonds Nuggets. Too delicious to give to a nine-year-old that did their homework.)

Also, I'd forgotten how motivated children can be by stickers! Korean girls flipped through the little booklet of wow's, thumbs-up's, stars and animals and exclaimed, "Yepuda!" Beautiful! A few students, when given the choice, even picked a sticker over a dum-dum. Others started asking, "Teacher, sticker please!" just as they had asked for candy before. This is great news! It's a good idea to diversify my reward systems a bit.

We read Amelia Bedelia in four different classes this week. I stopped after each chore on Amelia's list and asked the students two questions: 1. What did Mrs. Roger's mean by "change the towels?" (for example,) and 2. What did Amelia think it meant? The book required more explanation of idioms than I anticipated. I guess phrases like "dress the chicken" and "draw the drapes" can't be found in any practical English language textbooks. But Amelia Bedelia has great pictures, and many of the students chuckled at the challenge of pronouncing her name--Amelia Bedelia!

Though I didn't know what to do with the mega pack of play-doh, this trick quickly found became an important part of classroom fun. I had the students mold animals, foods and other objects out of the colorful clay for team members to guess...in English, of course. The game fostered a lot of laughter, creativity and competition. Like the stickers, I'd forgotten how fun, and messy I might add, play-doh can be.

Personal treats highlighted my week as well. I surprised myself by reaching first to the box of pop tarts--something I rarely ate in the states. Made a significant dent in the Triscuits. Saving the Oreos for later this month.

My new booklight helped me finish A Thousand Splendid Suns, which wasn't quite as good as The Kite Runner in my opinion, but still an excellent read. I couldn't read it before bed because it made me feel righteous anger toward the lewdness and cruelty of men in a seemingly chaste Muslim society. I had to read Love and Respect to help restore my faith in male integrity.

I was trying to decide what to read next in my free time, but I'm thinking I might spend my extra time trying to learn some Korean. Maybe I'll get hooked to a Korean drama with English subtitles.

Jeju Island and gifts from home

When I arrived to work on Thursday, I learned almost immediately that classes had been cancelled on Monday due to Chusok--Korean thanksgiving--leaving me with a four day weekend. Throughout my work day, I wondered what I would do all weekend, hoped I wouldn't get bored. I had Oobang Land plans with JiMin for Friday, but wished to use the holiday as a chance to travel. (I think amusement parks lose their amusement when you get older.)

At 9 p.m., Eli called me with an invitation to join her, Tharene, Elise and Rob for a trip to Jeju Island-- the "hawaii" of South Korea. The island emerged as a result of volcanic activity thousands of years ago. The volcano is no longer active, but the land mass bursts with energy brought by tourist attractions.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, doubting the possibility that I could attend. Eli told me they were getting ready to purchase plane tickets online and would meet at their apartment at 10 a.m. the next morning. I wanted to go so bad but feared disappointing JiMin.

"This might be the only four day weekend you'll have," she persuaded. Guiltily, I explain the situation to Jimin, hoping to make myself understood and free from culpability. She didn't seem to care and said t

he trip to Oobang was supposed to be for me anyway. So if I wanted to go to Jeju, then I should go. Like a child on Christmas eve, I showered and packed my bags with excited anticipation.

We flew into Jeju Island on Friday afternoon and took a taxi to the other side of the island, settling on Sugar Beach pension as a reasonable accommodation. Generally, tourists must loosen their grip in order to enjoy weekend vacations to sandy beaches like Jeju. But the weekend convinced me of financial benefit of traveling in groups. A $30 taxi fee becomes $6 per person in a group of five. A $100-per-night pension with Korean-style bedding, two bedrooms, a clean bathroom with family-sized amenities, a kitchen area with refrigerator and stove top, and a location that's a decent proximity to the beach is only $20 per person.

On Friday night, we walked down to a local market to purchase breakfast groceries, snacks and soju.

Tired from a day of travel, we hit the hay early after watching a Chinese kungfu comedy on our cable television (also included in the pension stay.) The picture above is Eli, Elise, Me and Tharine (L to R) on the porch of our pension at Sugar Beach. The picture below is us at the first beach we went to. I can't remember the name of it.

Saturday was a whirlwind of sights to see. Families celebrated Chusok by dressing their little ones in Korean hanbok and eating chop-che and songpyeon. We celebrated the four day weekend by visiting a stunning waterfall and a sandy beach, playing hide-and-go-seek in a life-sized bush maze (more challenging than you might think,) eating Korean barbecue, and experiencing the shameless nudity of a Korean spa. (Don't worry! Rob went in the men's bath. He was a good sport about the whole idea.)

We went first to a sauna, which was co-ed and required clothing and then to the bath areas, which were separate and required nakedness...you know what I mean. Koreans, especially older women, say it's good for your skin and your health to sweat all the toxins out of your body and then rinse them away with a hot bath. As Americans, we wondered about the sanitation of having dozens of sweaty, naked women in the same steamy pool. (I hope this post doesn't embarrass anyone.)

On Sunday, we took a taxi to the northern half of Jeju and settled into a sketchy but cheap hotel. Ten bucks per person! It was what Tharine would call "dodgy" in her cute, South African accent.

We went to Samyeong Black Sand Beach to see the famous black sand. Koreans also say black sand is good for your skin, and according to one of the signs I read, it helps with obesity. Eli said they actually sell the sand in little black bags for people to buy.

The beauty of the dark lava rocks, teal water, blue sky and grayish powder between our toes made me feel like I was in a movie. At any moment, I might turn around to find a mermaid propped up on one of the boulders.

Elise had been craving a crab dinner only to find out from one of our taxi drivers that there were no crab restaurants in Jeju. She got a fair share of mini crabs on Samyeong Beach, though.

In addition to the black sand and the crabs, I couldn't help but notice how much of the debris washed up on shore looked like something I'd seen on a plate or in a bowl of soup. Hmmm...

The picture above is Samyeong Beach. Tharine was taking some pictures of her own.

We enjoyed a free history lesson at the Jeju National Museum and a not-so-free lesson at an O'Sollac Tea Museum, though our small fee included tea sampling at the end of the tour. Again, Rob was a great sport. He left shortly after the tour to catch his early flight back on the main land. The girls decided to go out for a night on the town.

Korean bartenders do more than mix drinks. First, we went to "Magic Bar." We were the only customers, but the bartender performed a couple of impressive card tricks for us with the help of Eli's excellent translations. Next, we went to "Island Stone," where the bartenders performed "cocktail shows" every once in a while. They twirled rum bottles like light and durable batons. They tossed them over their shoulders and caught them from behind, spinning and swaying to the music. One guy suspended a glass in midair while pouring the drink. Other wetted their fingers with strong drink and lit them on fire, and then blew fiercely to create a dragon breath effect. Another time, a bartender covered a small tower of margarita glasses with hot, blue flames. The color glimmered in the dark room and wowed us daringly.

We stayed out most of the night and slept only one hour before rising to meet our taxi to the airport at 5:30 a.m. It turns out our cheap hotel served us mostly as a place to hold our luggage while we savored Jeju Island to the last drop. It was a blast! I'm so blessed to have great friends in Korea!

I'm really blessed to have great friends at home, too. I was reminded of them when my package finally showed up via a less-than-happy FedEx man. Let me explain briefly. Angela thought it would be sweet to send me colorful reminders of Iowa autumn by putting a ziplock bag full of leafs in my care package. It was a great idea! I would have loved it, Angela.

But the people at Korean customs in Incheon Airport didn't think the bag looked so innocent. When I finally confirmed with them that the leaves were maple leaves, not tea leaves, and definitely not something more dangerous, then they proceeded to tell me that I would need to pay 30,000 won to hire a human being to reopen the package, which had obviously been opened once, and throw the bag of leaves away. At first, I think I actually told the woman on the phone that I thought that was ridiculous. After simmering down, I decided to transfer the money from my account, but the funny part is this whole process has lasted more than a week because I kept getting a busy signal when I called FedEx. Not only that, but each busy signal reminded me of the corporate hypocrisy with it's promising jingle:

WE'LL GIVE YOU 90,000 PEOPLE,EIGHT MILLION MILES A WEEK.
WE'LL GIVE YOU HEARTS THAT BEAT DEEP PURPLE,
AND A WHOLE NEW WAY TO SPEAK.
WE'LL GIVE HANDS ACROSS THE BORDERS, BIG CITIES, LITTLE TOWNS.
WHERE THE HUMAN RACE IS RUNNING WE'LL BE FOUND.
WE'RE THE BEST WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE...
... FEDERAL EXPRESS...
...FROM THE DAWN THROUGH THE NIGHT
WE'RE IN THE AIR...
...FEDERAL EXPRESS...
...WE CARRY CONFIDENCE
'CROSS THE CONTINENTS.

WE'RE THE BEST`WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE.
WE CARRY DREAMS AND PLANS TO A HUNDRED LANDS.
WE'RE THE BEST WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE

For several days, I called FedEx to no avail. My blood started boiling, but in my mind, I couldn't stop myself from singing, "We're the best way to ship it over there!" Jingles can be frustrating when you're trying to hate a company.

Anyway, I'm happy to say the package brought me much warmth through gifts and greetings. I can't wait to introduce my students to Amelia Bedelia and to reward them with "great!" and "excellent!" stickers. I think play dough will be a hit for the younger kids, too! I look forward to baking brownies and smelling the aroma of my mulled cider candle when I miss Iowa. Though I saw no bag of leaves in the mix, I laughed when I uncovered a plastic bag of FedEx pens. Haha!

I appreciate all of it! Thank you very much, brothers and sisters. I feel loved though I'm miles and miles away.

Hospitality

Some of my readers, if I can call you that, may remember that I've been trying to work out a different food arrangement with my host family. I wanted to renegotiate an arrangement that would give me more freedom to budget my food money as I please. I wanted to do more of the shopping, cooking, and eating. At the heart of the matter was a cry for independence. My boss has been negotiating for me, so every complaint I have has kind of gone through his discerning filter. On Friday, I asked my boss for an update on the situation. He told me the suggestion of a new food plan had not gone over well with my host mom.

"In Korea, we usually provide everything for our guests," he explained. My host mom wanted to do the same. It's hard for me to understand why they would refuse the new offer, which would require less work and effort, not more.

Ugh! I've started to miss simple things like sandwiches and peanut butter toast. (Woke up one morning from a dream about peanut butter toast.) Plus, I'm starting to lose my will to eat foods that don't look appealing to me such as soups with walleye eggs or pumpkin-black bean stews for lunch.

My friends from Dongshin Church hosted a women's international potluck in place of our Bible study last weekend. The event gave me a prime opportunity to practice my cooking skills and exercise my independence in the ways I've hungered to exercise it. Potluck attendees were supposed to bring a traditional something from our home country or any country of our choice.

I wanted to bring an Italian appetizer--Italian, because it's the proudest part of my heritage, and appetizer because I didn't want to haul a giant pot or pan on the bus or the subway. Bruschetta seemed like a pretty good, low maintenance option until I discovered that my host mom hadn't heard of basil, and that the spice was rare and expensive in Korea. So I settled on a curried tuna dip--not Italian, but all of the ingredients were available at a local market.

I purchased the ingredients Saturday morning and whipped it together after my afternoon class. While I worked, I thought of all the cultural implications of a potluck. I mentally juxtaposed the Korean hospitality next to American hospitality and noticed stark contrasts.

In America, we have a "mi casa es su casa" kind of hospitality. I know we don't all speak Spanish, but perhaps, we've been influenced by South America in this regard. We like to tell guests to "make yourself at home." This phrase recognizes the attitude a guest might have about being a guest. As Americans, we like to have space, and we assume that our guests feel the same. We assume the guest feels more comfortable rummaging through the kitchen for a bite to eat than waiting for service that might be inconvenient, overwhelming or less than what they had in mind. The host doesn't refuse to provide for the guest out of laziness or a lack of concern, but often times, out of respect for the guest. (I admit I used to scoff at the American need for independence, and now, I understand and appreciate it.) We let our guests do their own chores because we think they prefer it that way. And often times, they do.

In Korea, concern is a love language. People comment about your zits and your weight because they're concerned for your well-being. They want to feed you themselves because they're concerned that you won't get fed otherwise. They take over the laundry, the chores, and the food.

Potlucks are a microcosm of American hospitality. When I worked at the university, we always introduced it to international students as an American, but I didn't realize just how American it is until recently. In America, we don't want one person to bear the burden of feeding a crowd by themselves, so we make it lighter on host by proclaiming a potluck. If everyone does just a little bit of the work, we figure, then everyone will bear the burden, and everyone will be satisfied. It makes perfect sense! Potlucks encourage everyone to do their part.

In Korea, feeding a crowd is not a burden. A few women at Moxanim's church feed the congregation every Sunday after service. Hyunsuk quietly discourages me from doing my part by helping with the dishes.

I remember how TJ told me that I would like Korea. "The people are really hospitable," he said. Don't know why that stuck with me, but it did.

There's no doubt in my mind that the Korean people want to make sure that I have a good time here...

With these thoughts bubbling in my mind, I packed up for the weekend potluck. I couldn't help but laugh when the "low maintenance" curried tuna dip appetizer included two boxes of crackers, a plastic bag full of chopped red, yellow and green peppers, and the featured dip, which had to be kept cool by ice cubes in a larger plastic container. The dipping items went in a backpack on my back, my purse went around my shoulder and the dip with it's makeshift cooler in my bare hands. I looked silly walking to the bus stop and even sillier trying to squeeze past an old Korean lady on the bus.

The "harmoni," a respectful term for older women in Korea, didn't speak much English, but she looked curiously at me and my dip. I opened the outer concentric tupperware to reveal a potent aroma. Not having said much of anything, she reached into her grocery sack and handed me two orange-colored persimmons.

"For me?" I asked. She nodded. I wished I could speak Korean, so that I could make conversation with her for the rest of the ride. But I don't think that's why she gave me the persimmons in the first place. As a Korean, I think she was simply wishing me a happy time in her home country. She didn't have to speak. She didn't have to understand. She just wanted to send her good fortune through a simple gift to a foreign stranger.

The potluck was a blast! My curried tuna dip went on a Korean-style coffee table in the middle of the living room, accompanied by a giant pot of spaghetti, a seven-layer Mexican dip with tortilla chips, two generous bowls of chop-che and duck-booki (Korean specialties), a potato salad, a tropical cocktail beverage and milk tart, a traditional dessert prepared by my friend from South Africa. It was delicious! The dip went over pretty well, which reminds me of another reason I think we like potlucks in America: A chance to test our culinary charms on hungry crowds.

(This is me with some of my "Dongshin buddies" at my birthday party last weekend. The puppy, Noona, belongs to Tharene, Elise, and Eli. Cute, isn't she?)

Packages and precious moments

My birthday package from my parents arrived on Tuesday by lunch time. My schedule on Tuesday includes 6 classes in a row, starting at 2 p.m., the first three of which are phonics classes with small children. Tuesday shocks me out of my weekend orientation, forcing me shift gears from easy living to lesson planning. During the past few weeks, Wednesday became a day to rebound from Tuesday's classroom failures. Assuming this week would be the same, I decided to hold off until after my classes to open the package--a sort of pity token to ease away the quagmires of the day. Fortunately, my classes went well on Tuesday, and instead, I unwrapped it as a reward for a day of modest victories.

Inside the brown box, I found three neatly-wrapped presents and a pink envelope with a singing "Hello Kitty" card. I surmise the cartoon puss was chosen because of it's popularity in Korea rather than any known interest I've ever had in Hello Kitty. (Good one, Dad.) Behind the pink wrapping paper, I uncovered "A Thousand Splendid Suns," Khaled Hosseini's sequel to "The Kite Runner," a nifty book light and a bag of candy corn. I've already started reading the novel, and I'm really enjoying it so far. It's helping me to learn about Afghan culture as well as to incorporate words like "surmise" and "quagmire" into my vocabulary . Thanks, Mom and Dad!

Today, I used the candy corn as carrots to motivate my students to volunteer for reading or sharing their homework aloud. I explained that the candy is popular during the fall and especially around Halloween time in the United States. Many of the students noticed my jar of mysterious orange and yellow triangles and seemed eager to try them. Wide-eyed with curiosity, they held out their hands for a colorful piece of "corn" and then gingerly placed it on their tongue, biting down with equal carefulness. Some of them made suspicious faces. Some thought the taste resembled caramel. Some didn't like it. But most of them responded with "Mashisoyo!" Delicious! And then asked for more.

One cute girl named You Rim asked, "Teacher's mother make?"

"No, no," I explained. "She just bought it."

I'm happy to report that I think I love my job now. There are too many priceless moments to dislike it for any huge length of time. Last night during a vocabulary drill, a few girl students couldn't stop laughing at me as I asked them to repeat after me, "culture...culture." Finally, I asked them why they cracking up, and through much sign language and spotted English, told me that the word culture in English sounds a lot like the word for booger in Korean.

I've been able to recover a lot of the exercises and teaching tools used in my language arts classes when I was in grade school. For two of my conversation classes, I wrote a mad lib and arranged the paragraph so that, when students filled in the blanks with adjectives, verbs and nouns, they were telling a humorous story about their own morning routine. One of the students pushed the snooze button "700" times! Another student "slept" when she looked at herself in the mirror because she looked so "smart."

Yesterday, in another class, I used the Venn diagram (you know, those two overlapping circles) to have students compare themselves to a deaf, Mexican character in one of the stories. I wanted the exercise to demonstrate that although they are different from Rosina in several ways, they are also alike in many ways. After assigning it as homework, I offered a chocolate reward for the student with the highest number of points on their diagram. We listed all of the points from their work on the white board today, and those giant circles were so full of ideas that I had to write more outside the lines. I was so proud of them!

Justin asked me the other day how I get the students to be interested in learning. He said it seems like a lot them are having a really good time in class. I was baffled by the question. Me? Is this the same me that half-hated my job a few weeks ago and managed a zoo-like classroom on most days?

Yet, I have a lot to learn. Justin wants me to teach a research project for some of the reading classes, and I'm really not sure how that will go. Also, it's difficult to balance vocabulary lists, graded homework, online resources and report cards and all of that teacher stuff that teachers do. Heck, I'm trying to get the Korean names straight in two of my classes. But I think loving my work is a good step in the right direction. I'm starting to feel more like a teacher every day.

A Happy Birthday

I was highly distracted during my last several classes on Friday evening. The week had passed surprisingly fast. But I couldn't decide if I should make the hour-long trek to downtown Daegu for a midnight Bible study or if I should start my birthday weekend with some rest. In the end, I decided that being alone was not what I wanted for my birthday. I've had plenty of alone time in Korea.

By bus and subway, I journeyed out to the Friday-night Bible study, which refreshing rather than exhausting. Again, it's just refreshing to be in the company of people who care for each other and speak English fluently. I stayed the night with my friends and woke up early and naturally on Saturday morning. I helped myself to cereal and juice, trying not to disturb their new, not-yet-house-broken puppy, Noona, and found my way back to the subway station and eventually, back to Jilyang.

When I walked in the front door, a big brown box with the familiar handwriting of my fiance greeted me and wished me a happy birthday. I grabbed the box and ran up the stairs to my room where I saw the face of it's sender and opened the package in his "presence" on Skype. Four boxes of crackers, three bags of chocolate candy, a "Camera Obscura" cd, a movie titled "Bella," and a mini flashlight for reading purposes. An entertainment box of sorts, filled with warm wishes from the man on the screen in front of me. I felt loved.

I brought a birthday cake to my Saturday class, and we sang happy birthday to me and MiRae, a student whose birthday is next Friday. My high school class is pretty shy most of the time, so it was a little bit cute to hear one of them softly protest when I proceeded to cut the cake without candles.

"Song." she said. "We need the song." We sang the birthday song in English as was fitting for the class, and in Korean fashion, clapped on the down beats. (Still getting used to that one.)

On Saturday evening, I attended a one-year-old party for my friends, Andy and HyunJin, and their daughter Sienna. Andy, a native of St. Louis, is the pastor of the English service I attend. When Andy and Hyun-Jin first started dating, she spoke very little English, and he spoke very little Korean, but they somehow got to know each other.

Once upon a time, Korea had a really high infant mortality rate, so people began to really celebrate one-year birthdays. The small ballroom in New Youngnam Hotel resembled a wedding reception or a ritzy restaurant. Hyun-Jin and Sienna were wearing matching princess dresses--white with pink sashes. A display of purple balloons, candles, and fruit baskets brought our attention to the front of the room where we participated in games and traditional one-year customs.

In the back, a buffet table snaked around the edges of the room with trays of sushi meat, fruit, and hoersdevours as well as pots of interesting soups I'd never seen. It's kind of fun to be at someone else's party on your birthday, especially a glitzy one with delicious food.

One-year birthdays, in case you can't tell from my description, are a big deal in Korea. After we ate, Sienna had the opportunity to foreshadow her future by reaching for certain items on a tray. A cup of rice represented a life without hunger. A long piece of yarn represented a long life. A pencil marked the life of an intellect, and 10,000 won bill marked a life of wealth. (Andy earned the bill by selling rice cakes to the crowd of guests in between games.) Then, there was a plastic stethoscope to denote a future doctor, a plastic microphone for a musician or actress, and a computer mouse for a future computer genius. The female emcee, who seemed to work for the hotel and spoke in Korean, waved each of the items in front of Sienna initially as a trial run to make us all hypothesize which item she would choose. Then the baby's father hoisted her above the tray, giving her just enough room to reach out and grab any of the items.

We watched intently as Sienna reached out, and after skimming over a few possible picks, settled on the plastic microphone. Our applause broke the silent anticipation as she grasped the cylinder with her baby hands.

"I thought she might pick that one," said the guy next to me. "I saw her playing with it earlier."

Having witnessed child development stages through other babies, I concluded later that the baby's choice probably had a lot more to do with the size, color, and tangibility of the microphone than some inner pop star destiny. Obvious, maybe, but we were all on the edge of our seats anyway. What a fun custom!

After the baby birthday party, my new friends at Dongshin church hosted a small birthday party for me at their apartment. We enjoyed soju and birthday cake while playing wii baseball as well as one of my all-time favorite group games: signs!

I stayed the night at Eli, Tharene and Elise's apartment and went home after church the next day. The trip home seemed longer than usual despite the fact that I left earlier, skipping out on the afternoon activities. The sun's warmth shone in my bus window making me feel even more sleepy. I counted the landmarks approaching my stop in Jilyang.

My host mom fixed a long-anticipated meal of sushi, watermelon, and potbingsu. We sang Sang-il chukha habnida (the birthday-congratulations song,) and I opened a few small gifts from my host siblings. It was surprisingly serene and anti-climactic, but I was okay with that. I wiped out at 8 o'clock and woke up this morning at seven, feeling well-rested and ready for the week.

A tribute to Millie

After a chilly night, Hyunsuk changed my light pink bed spread with cartoon girls and trendy English to a light pink comforter with Peter Rabbit characters. I couldn't help but feel a bit childish at first, but it's without a doubt the cutest, fluffiest, little-girl-comforter I've ever seen. Peter Rabbit paraphernalia is popular in Korea. And rabbits are a popular pet.

News of animal trauma came to me from both my American and my Korean family at about the same time. Three of the four rabbits living in the rabbit cage outside were massacred when a neighborhood dog bit through the fence and attacked. Moxanim confronted the owner of the dog he suspected, who denied that it was his dog. He just recently got new rabbits. I suppose he didn't want the leftover, and probably shell-shocked, rabbit to be lonely.

A day or two before the incident, my mom told me that our family pet, Millie, had a tumor in her nose and was going to die. The tumor was treatable for a human-sized price, but my parents decided to just let her be. Just like a human, Millie had a "few months to live."

In the midst of Millie's few months, my grandparents' dog, Bootsie, came to live with my family. I totally understand why this move was necessary, and don't worry, Grandma and Grandpa Hester, we'll take good care of her, but I feel bad that Millie spent the last few weeks of her life trying to fight her territorial tendencies. I worried about her. But Mom said they got along ok minus a few dog food skirmishes. Millie doesn't like to share her family and her home with other dogs. It's not that she's unfriendly. She's just a jealous dog. She gets cranky. Worries that she won't get fed.

Millie was also a great dog. And I don't think coming home...in six and a half months...will be the same without Millie. I like Bootsie, but I don't think she will replace Millie. It may take me some time to warm up to Bootsie in the same way.

A tribute to Millie!

Here's to the many walks she took. Here's to the many times she perked up at the sound of "walk," "balk," "chalk," and many other rhyming words.

Here's to the time she tried to play the piano. Here's to the

times she barked protectively when an ex-boyfriend tried to hug me. And to the way she sat peacefully when my fiance held me, and even jumped to protect him if I got an itch to tickle him.

Here's to the day when she was too small to master a basketball in the backyard, to her prime, when she ran to and fro along the fence with her other dog friends, and to her older days--she kept chugging even when a nasty tumor clogged her air passages.

Here's to the way she chased milk cartons across the kitchen floor or ran after slippery grapes and eventually enjoy their sweet juices.

To the way you would bring pieces of dog food into the family room, just so you could snack with us while we watched a flick!

To the family reunions she endured with Lola, Brian and Sarah's great dane, and Bootsie, around. We never meant to threaten your position as top dog, Millie. Here's to the bout of shame you felt when you started to lose control of your bladder and peed on the carpet. We never meant to hurt you when we scolded you.

There are dogs in Korea, Millie, but none with your character and personality!

You were a good dog. You were a great dog. And I,...we,...will miss you dearly. Goodbye, Mill-dog!

If you were close with Millie or were touched by her in some way and have something you'd like to say, then feel free to leave a comment.

Lazy days and small victories

Shortly after I arrived in Korea, I promised Jimin that I would go with her to Oobang Towerland, an amusement park in Daegu, on September 12th. She circled the date on the small flip-calendar the rests on the Kim family kitchen table. It's been a while since I've been on a roller coaster or eaten a funnel cake, so I'd been looking forward to it. But my Saturday course pushed our departure time to 4 p.m., and ultimately, Moxanim and Hyunsuk decided it would be better for us to reschedule because they didn't want us traveling back at night. Now, we circled October 2nd--a national Korean holiday called Chusak--as the Oobang Towerland day. I wasn't terribly disappointed to wake up on Saturday morning to an unplanned and uneventful day.

The weekend became a chance for me to recover from my insomnia. (My biorhythms are back to normal.) I taught a short conversation class, wrote a letter to my future mother-in-law, visited Su Jong's apartment, read a few chapters of "Love and Respect," played badminton in the kitchen with Minwoo (surprisingly, we didn't get into trouble for that one, maybe because the birdie is light and harmless when it hits the low ceiling) and in the front yard with several mysterious neighborhood kids, and for the most part, I kind of just went with the flow.

I skipped the Friday evening Bible study in anticipation of Oobang Towerland plans, and then I skipped a party on Saturday night in anticipation of meeting Nick on Skype and getting a good night of sleep. The party was a major conversation topic at church the next day, and I momentarily regretted my laziness. But I think resting was a good idea.

Despite my recent bouts of homesickness, there are small victories keep me going, keep me wanting to be here. A successful bus trip home from Dongshin service, without the help of a bus driver or passenger, was a small victory with great joy. For weeks, I've needed minor assistance getting around, particularly in knowing where to get off the bus in Jilyang. Finally, I've established some landmarks for myself. I've figured out that the bus drivers don't automatically stop at every bus stop, especially if there's no one to pick up, unless you alert them by pushing one of the red circular buttons on the side of the bus, which makes a buzzing noise and cues the driver to pull over. Like a child on a diaper commercial, I feel like a big kid now, rejoicing in all-by-myself, everyday tasks.

Small victories come from unexpectedly successful lesson plans. I don't care for teaching phonics, but today, I taught the "ch" sound to three elementary-aged students. To help them practice the "ch" sound, I had them repeat after me: "Chuga, chuga! Chuga, chuga! Choo! Choo!" I moved my arms to create the image of a train, chugging and chooing. They ate it up! I heard them chanting to themselves and dancing as they packed their things to go! "Chuga, chuga! Chuga, chuga! Choo! Choo!"

At the health center, I successfully recited Korean numbers one through ten to count my repetitions with the barbells. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to master the numbers, but I've finally got it. Small but sure victory!

On Sunday, Su Jung and I met for a Bible study for the first time. Every time I meet with a nonbeliever to read, I have a new and different experience from the time before. We're reading Mark, and she seems to know a bit more about Christianity than I expected. Probably because Christianity is more popular in Korea than in Japan or China, for example. In fact, it may be more popular in Korea than in the U.S. (I read a bio for a famous Korean pop musician who said that one of her favorite things to do was read the Bible. Caught me by surprise.)

Anyway, I believe my meeting with Su Jung, regardless of the outcome, is another small victory--a tiny reminder that I just might be in the right place at the right time.

Here is one of my Korean favorites: Potbingsu!

Here is the Sahan and Eva of Korea: