life – Page 217 – hannah ananas

Snow in Houston, Texas (and t-rex Christmas cards)

Last night, it snowed here. In Houston, Texas. It happened yet again. What miracles lie before us? It began after I went to sleep, and didn’t begin to stick until after I woke up for a bathroom break in the middle of the night. So, I woke up to snow covering everything that wasn’t concrete this morning. Which, when you think about it, is kind of the best kind of snow – you don’t have to shovel or worry about tire chains or anything, but you get to have beautiful snow everywhere around you.

The hit of the morning was arriving to school. My mom drove me in, because we were going to a Christkindlmarkt (German Christmas market) together after school, and the market was too far away for me to drive home first and then go, and it didn’t make sense for us to drive two cars out there. She was staying for a bit, because we had Mass at school for the Immaculate Conception, and this was a chance for her to see the school a little bit. Pulling into the parking lot (vacant of teachers, because we were so early), we discovered a sort of snowball fight happening in the picnic table area next to the lot. We didn’t have much snow on the ground, but the kids were making some snowballs out of it, and throwing them around at one another. It was adorable.

Naturally, my mom declared that I had to make a snowball, as we were leaving the car. I grabbed an already-made snowball from the ground, which had lost only a bit after originally falling there, and showed it to her. As she eyed me up while she finished off her own snowball, I realized that she intended to throw hers at me.

And so the fight began.

My mom and I, shuffling around a parking lot and a small grassy area with snow about it, picking up and throwing odd snowballs at one another, practically screeching with delight. When I was turned away, a snowball hit her square in the back of the head. No one was too near us, though, so it had come a long way. And these were a little tough for regular snowballs, so it definitely hurt her a bit in the moment (stung, perhaps, is the appropriate word here). It didn’t ruin out fun, of course, but merely added to the silliness of the whole affair – one of my students had attacked my mother with a snowball*. No part of that declaration makes sense for living here, in Houston, Texas. 😛

In class, before Mass, kids lined up at the windows to stare at the snow in the courtyard below and on the roofs within view. This was only the second time in their lives that it has snowed here, so their fascination with it was completely understandable, and utterly adorable.

Today had some magic, that’s for sure.

*I found out later that the student who hit my mom actually was a student of mine. He asked me ‘who that teacher was, walking with me earlier,’ and, when I asked for clarification, he described the morning snowball affair. “That was my mom.” In shock, he declared that he thought it was a teacher and asked me to tell my mom that he was sorry for what he did to her. (My mom and I laughed at the thought that he apologized for having hit my mom, but that is seems to be the case that he willingly would hit a teacher in the head with a hard snowball, without question.)

P.S. My task today was to “[d]raw a Christmas card”. So, I drew one on the roof of my mom’s car tonight as we were leaving the Christkindlmarkt. Frost had begun to reappear all over the place.

Post-a-day 2017

Writing, math in life…

I’ve been on the phone with my college flatmate tonight, talking about writing. Apparently, I actually do have some fun and crazy ideas that would be really interesting for people to read – she didn’t even understand how I got to the sorts of ideas that regularly come to mind, simply as the normal order of thinking in my head. So, I guess that’s not so normal as I’d thought it to be, having such ideas so casually and regularly.

The thing is, I haven’t set up sitting down to do it. Not yet, anyway, and not for long enough. I’ve noticed that writing at night is not the way to go for me. For other things, sure – I can do loads of physical movement at night. For writing, however, I’m next to hopeless, it feels. I don’t feel much like writing anything in the first place at night, and so I struggle to find something to write, and then I make loads of errors in what I do finally write. It just isn’t a good combination.

Speaking of combinations, I was talking with students in my geometry class today about how math can be useful in life in cool ways. One example was from a show my stepdad watches about the TV show “The Walking Dead”. It’s sort of a behind-the-scenes sort of show, and this particular bit that I saw was talking about everything they had to do in order to set up a car crash. It was really cool, seeing everything broken down, all of the things they had to organize to make it work. The best part, perhaps, was seeing how it was pure geometry and physics that made the crash work flawlessly.

The other example was in a little photo shoot I was witnessing (and had to abandon for distress), in which the photographer said that they were supposed to be sitting in a Christmas tree formation. But she didn’t do anything to make this happen. She didn’t even seem to know what needed to be done for this shape to happen. (The people in charge definitely seemed to be lacking in general crowd control and effective instructions arenas, too.) It occurred to me that she never considered just getting the number of people – I’d have done it ahead of time, but on the sport would have worked just finely, too – expected in the photo, and dividing them up into the necessary number of people per row, based on the exact shape desired and the number of rows available. I was about to begin the calculations as I watched, but then realized that no one was going to listen to me anyway, so it was better if I just left the stressful situation, since that was the only thing I actually could do in the situation. So, I left. But it proved to be a good example to the kids in class at how math is present in life in ways that people don’t even consider. Had the photographer thought about math, – and it is likely that she didn’t, because she wasn’t very confident in or in love with math while in school – the whole photo shoot could have gone loads better than it did. And they could have had the Christmas tree, and even decorated with “lights” or an outline, using the different shirt and jacket colors present and available. But she didn’t, so none of that happened.

Post-a-day 2017

Free/Me Time…?

My cousin wants me to start work on this work-out plan, with a very unique tie into a specialty of mine. The idea itself sounds like something totally awesome not only to create, but also to use once it is created. The task, though, feels almost daunting right now, in the midst of my minimal free/me time. I hardly get enough sleep to function decently right now, I have so little time to accomplish anything that has me feel accomplished, satisfied with my day, I have to do it all late at night before I pass out. I hardly have the time to exercise the way I want (Actually, I don’t have the time and energy to do it the way I actually want to do it, but I am finally getting in some exercise (at last!), though it has me getting to bed even later, which doesn’t help on the muscle restore front after the exercise).

I love the work I am doing right now, and I am dearly grateful for it – it is a blessing in and of itself. I am very much looking forward to what comes next, when this current job is finished. I will miss this, and I will be grateful to have moved to the next thing. It will be time. (I think that is really the main thought behind all of this right now.)

Anyway, goodnight…

Post-a-day 2017

Moms and being young at heart

My mom came home late tonight, and walked into my room with a surprise for me. Bop It Extreme (R) with newly replaced batteries. I asked if she was teasing me, because it was actually just going to make some absurd sound after sitting for over a decade, but she declared that she had found it today and had put in new batteries specifically because she recalled that I had liked the game.

I showed her how I always held it, told her about the sounds for scoring, and convinced her to play the group version with me, passing it back and forth together. We were both laughing like little kids. It was fabulous.

Afterward, we began discussing family activities for our family open house the Saturday before Christmas, while we have family all in town. The main topic of this discussion was cooked decorating. As my mom listed off the number of dog houses, campers, trains, houses, sweaters, and ninjas she had, we couldn’t contain our growing smiles. She ended with, “and a partridge in a pear tree,” and we both laughed while she figured out what she actually had not yet listed (there is no partridge and no pear tree). I said that it sounded more like a “The dog, in the camper, with the nunchucks,” kind of scenario. She argued that the dog goes in the doghouse, though, but then declared that that is why the dog is in the doghouse – because he was the one in the camper with the nunchucks…

Can you tell we are young at heart? I sure love it. 😀

Post-a-day 2017

The Lingering Effects of Culture?

I have noticed two behaviors of mine that linger still (and consistently), despite my having been in the USA and out of Japan for almost four months. They are 1) constantly looking right first before crossing the road, naturally walking to the left, and casually beginning on the left side of the road when riding my bike; and 2) silence.

The first has been improving significantly, and is almost never present when I am driving a car (though those two-lane, small town style, empty roads do make me think twice before I pull out onto them). It is mostly just my bicycle riding and walking that is still in the habit of Japan’s side. Seeing as how I am aware of the road-crossing issue every time I approach a road, I feel confident that things will be fine there – even if I must continue constantly checking both directions over and over again, because I don’t trust myself as to from which way the cars actually will be coming on which side. The second is a bit different.

I wonder if the silence is something about which I need to worry. I feel like it is no big deal, however, when I look at it from an outside, USA perspective, I seem almost oppressed in the action. The silence comes in the regular everyday passing of people at work. I often only smile and nod when we make eye contact, and I regularly say little-to-nothing in group conversations. Partly, I have no interest in discussing the present topic with the present company most of the time. However, I wonder if part of that is because I am not accustomed to discussing things with people like I once was.

My distress tied to living in Japan significantly affected my desire and will to learn Japanese. Therefore, I really didn’t put forth almost any effort in the language beyond the absolute necessary, until I was on the rise from all of the depression, only a few months before my departure. This means that I was not able to participate in most conversation around me. Yes, I could understand a good amount of it, and often all of it (though, occasionally almost nothing), but I usually was unable to respond. It was my first experience with what I previously had only heard other people say they did, and the development of which I couldn’t understand: understanding a language, but not speaking it.

So, I grew incredibly accustomed to speaking very little and to listening a lot. And this was not a conscious decision, necessarily, though I had intended to observe for the sake of learning all about the culture and language. My goal was to learn, not to separate and somewhat exclude myself. Transferring the same behavior over here to the USA, my native country, has the behavior occur quite differently. As mentioned, I seem somewhat oppressed, like something is preventing me from speaking. All I notice is a lack of desire to say anything most of the time. But I also don’t even consider whether I want to speak or not – I just don’t speak… So, I am wondering about this, whether there is something more there, something in the way for me, preventing me from full self-expression.

Post-a-day 2017

Christmas Music and Photos at the Beach

This afternoon, I headed down to Galveston to visit my cousin. We had discussed meeting at Dickens on the Strand, but I didn’t have a costume, and I was too far behind schedule for that really to work. However, we could still hang out when she finished at the little festival. Plus, I felt that I could really use some time in Galveston, and preferably some time on the beach.

I arrived about two hours before sunset, and as much time before my cousin would be finishing, so I headed straight for the beach. We made these advent calendars for one another, with a tea for each day, as well as a quote/bible verse and a sort of task for the day. My tea yesterday was spectacular, but today’s flavor was not to my liking. However, the task for today was fabulous. It read, “Learn a Christmas song on a string instrument”. And so, seeing as I had a phone for the research and a ukulele in my trunk, instead of reading my book, I headed down to the sunny sand to play some ukulele.

While playing, people passed by, going about their business. Some just walking in light jackets, others exercising with the dog, and one family had three little boys sprinting into the edge of the water, playing. After a while, it started getting quite cool, thanks to the wind and the setting sun. My fingers began to struggle against stiffness. As I paused to warm them (I think that’s what it was, anyway), I glanced out to my left. The rising moon was spectacular. I had noticed it big and sneaky a while before, hiding behind the haze so close to Earth’s surface, but now it was beginning to glow.

And what was just under the now-glowing moon, but the three frolicking boys, looking quite adorable. The scene was set, and I had to take a photo.

Unfortunately, they were just far enough away that I needed to zoom, if I wanted to have the photo focus on what I was naturally focusing…, and the zoom is not so great on a phone.

So, I made another essay, and went for a different perspective. To get it to be perfectly straight, I would have had to get down on my belly and align it, and that just felt a little too conspicuous.

Nonetheless, after I took the photos, I really enjoyed them. I knew that I would have loved for someone to take an awesome shot of me and then actually give it to me. So, I checked out the parents to see if they seemed at all of similar minds to mine.

And they did. They looked young and open to things. They even were taking photos of the kids and of themselves on their own phones, so they were likely to understand the value of a good photo. Or, a neat one, anyway.

I figured I might as well go for it, so I set my stuff carefully to the side, and stood on up. I approached them comfortably and confidently and in my best ‘I am a sane person, please don’t freak out,’ manner. They gave me odd looks when I mentioned how this might be a bit odd, – wouldn’t you, if a stranger walked up and started saying something like that? – but their brows cleared and they were all about it, when I showed them the photos I’d taken. The mom asked me if I could send them to her, if she gave me her number.* Of course, of course… And so, I sent them to her, and she was incredibly grateful. They had been seeing about doing a Christmas card, using their beach photos they were taking then, so they completely understood fun and neat photos, and they were not at all weirded out. phew

And so, I went back to my ukulele for a little bit longer, until the sun was almost hidden, and the wind was too chilly, and I headed back to the car and over to my cousin’s house to wait for her there.

As I ast on the beach, and then again after I was back in my car, I contemplated the experience of being on a beach. I hadn’t gone into the water, and I hadn’t even touched the sand, really – just to wipe off the bottom of my bag afterward. What was beautiful and almost magical about it, though, was the wind and the air and salt, the feeling of it all on my skin, and the view. I love the feeling of my hair after time at the beach (not to touch, but the feeling from within), that salty, windblown feeling. I had that today, and it was truly refreshing. And it had me wonder, if I didn’t want to give a brief time living there. I at least need to go down there, just to hang around the wind and the ocean more often than I have done lately. At least once a month, if not once a week or every two weeks… that would be brilliant…

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got to share for now. Sweet dreams, world (and good afternoon and evening to the other side of it)!

*I chuckled inside at this when she asked. Let’s be real, why else would I have been showing her the photos? ‘No, you can’t have them. I just wanted to show you these awesome photos I took of your children, and then leave you to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.’

Post-a-day 2017

A letter to Santa and a new perspective

I wrote a letter to Santa today. Well, I typed it. I 21st Century wrote a letter to Santa. I felt a bit odd at first, realizing how long it had been since I had written him, as well as the fact that I always just asked for things from him, but never offered him much, and never really got to know him. I realize that this is Santa, but it calls to mind how I might relate to others in my life. Have I taken the time I normally would want to take to get to know someone, or have I learned just to ask for things, because of that someone’s understood role in my life? How can I turn my unintentional and unnoticed selfish into selfless in my relationships with others?

Post-a-day 2017

My well-worn boots

Tomorrow, I am to wear boots. They are cowboy boots. I got them in Vienna, while I lived there a few years ago. For my best friend’s wedding, the bridal party all wore cowboy boots. The night before the wedding, we had a fire outside in the cool, January first air. I had my foot resting on the edge of the ring around the fire pit, not realizing that it was a metal pit (as opposed to a ring around a dirt pit), and the edge was connected to the part holding the fire. I felt a stickiness when I adjusted my footing, and checked my boot to see what its cause was. No, it was not tree sap, but rather the melting of the sole of my boot.

To this day, I recall the incident every time I think of the boots, and I smile goofily (or so it feels to me, anyway) when I see the deep line going across the forward sole of my one boot. I am also grateful that I noticed it when I had, and that the sole still remains entirely functional, despite the sort of gash – I could have burned my foot if it’d gone through the sole much farther!

Just an interesting story about my boots, I suppose. 🙂 Oh, and they’re from a store called something like “New York”.

Post-a-day 2017

Bring your parents to work?

Do you remember showing your parent(s) around your classroom when you were little? Perhaps this is a little too American white bread, but I certainly remember it.

I was all too excited to show them my sleeping mat and cubby hole when I was in kindergarten, and then my desk and the hook for my backpack as I got older in elementary school. In middle school, it became my locker, where I sat for lunch, and my favorite classrooms and teachers, but with just a little less enthusiasm each year. By high school, I was not so animated as I had been as a little girl, but I still loved getting to show my parents or family members around my school. Grandparents Day was one of the coolest things, because I got to do just that with my grandparents. College was a little different, because it’s college. However, I still totally loved showing my parents around my campus and dorms, and introducing them to all of my friends and acquaintances and teachers that I could find. Even when I studied abroad, I reveled in showing them my stomping grounds.

And it was normal at each stage to be showing my parents around the areas. But it is not normal now. Why does that suddenly stop when we become “adults” and being “real jobs”? I don’t know of anyone who shows his or her parents or family members around his/her office.

But now that I am an adult and I have a job (I’ve had many already, actually), my desire to show around my parents and family members hasn’t changed. When my brother was visiting from Japan, I desperately wanted him to come see my classroom, see my apartment. I giddily showed my mom around my first school (for my first full-time teaching job), when I convinced her to come to a dance performance there one evening. My desire to have my parents be able to relate to my everyday has not lessened, not at all. I still want them to see my everyday stomping grounds. And, for the most part, I’ve been able to get them to see a decent amount of it these past few years. Even in Japan, where guests aren’t typically allowed on campus, I got to bring my mom to both of my schools, and she helped teach a cooking class for the English Club at one school, and helped out with English classes at the other.

So, I guess my concern isn’t all too valid after all… I somehow manage to make it happen for me, anyway. However, I do still wish that it were more of a cultural standard to bring one’s parents and/or family members to work, at least for a coffee or tea hour, or something like that, just so they can have a real glimpse of what it all is. I just think it would be way awesome. Kind of like how Open House used to be, where I’d go meet my teachers with my parent/s, and show my parent/s around my school. Man… this would be neat. It also would be very helpful in cross-(whatever the word is for work areas – I’m tired, okay?) interaction and understanding. My dad works in computers and oil & gas. He would be amazed to see my work, and I to see his. They are just such different worlds that we have much to be learned from interacting with one another’s worlds.

I imagine loads of people would be utterly uninterested in this idea, but I hope that loads also would be in full support of it.

Post-a-day 2017

My very own “Pretty Woman” scene

You know the iconic shopping scene in “Pretty Woman”, where Julia Roberts tries on loads of fabulous outfits, and it just plain looks like a photo shoot? Right, well, if you don’t, I suggest you get on that cultural tidbit, because it’s fabulous. Anyway, so I remember a Cameron Diaz film having a sort of spoof on the scene, and, though I was somewhat unimpressed by the scene, I noticed a sense of something nigh to jealousy… envy with a little something more. I want to do what they were doing. I want to have my own BFF fake photo shoot at the clothing store, trying on amazing outfits, my subconscious cried.

And I’ve always remembered that, though I’ve never remember to do anything about the silent wish I’d had that day. Tonight, as I was thinking of this one particular store where my family has shopped occasionally for most of my life, – it’s a discount outlet-type high-end clothing etc. store – I recalled a particular jacket that my cousin and I loved. And then I remembered how we had both put one on in the store, and taken photos together. And then, like a rush of memory, I recalled a whoosh of different pieces we all had tried on together, and the loads of photos we took. We had done our own “Pretty Woman” clothing store photo shoot, and I hadn’t even noticed. Why? Because we were just being ourselves. We were attempting to recreate something we’d seen elsewhere. We were just doing our own thing, being silly and fancy with high-end discount clothing etc. and having a wonderful time.

How cool is that? I had hoped one day to copy the scene in my real life, but knew that it would be always that: a copy. Instead, I got the real deal, and we had an actual spontaneous in-shop clothing photo shoot together. Wicked. I love life. And family. Especially family.

Post-a-day 2017