Sunday, November 28, 2010

Bii-Ribla

The title of this post means “boy” in my Local Language and describes how I’ve been feeling these past few weeks. Part of this sentiment comes from reminiscing about my own mostly happy childhood as ma famille gathered around the Thanksgiving table. We shared stories about growing up, proving that we each privilege different experiences depending on our circumstances and our states of mind. « Les souvenirs perdent leur reste de fraîcheur si on les évoque parmi la foule. La mémoire ne peut être qu’un exercice solitaire » [Memories lose their remains of freshness if one evokes them among a crowd. Memory can only be a solitary exercise.] Furthermore, I’ve had quite a bit of undirected creative time with which to read books and articles, write poems and short fiction, watch TV shows and films. Let’s not forget Christmas music! December was always a mad dash to vacation, made bearable by warm treats and anticipation.

Childlike freedom, however, can also lead to notions of impuissance (helplessness). Especially during this hectic holiday time, when everyone tries to cram in shopping amidst end of school and calendar year activities, it just feels malséant (unseemly) to rest on one’s laurels. I do my exercises three times a day, but there really isn’t much else I can do to speed up my recovery process. Where once I neatly fit into family and social networks, sometimes I feel maladroit (awkward) when making decisions. I will be leaving nindaare (one of these days), but I make contingency plans until then. Today’s Advent reading centered upon the idea of anticipation. “So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come” (Mt 24:37-44). During his homily, the priest differentiated between tense expectation, such as when awaiting a relative and being receptive in a qué sera, sera mode. My goal for the week is to focus on the latter interpretation. Thankfully, I’ll have more news later this week after several appointments – the holiday rush stops for no one!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Random Reflections

- I went to see the Radio City Rockettes with my family last weekend. It was quite enjoyable and festive, though I could have done without the harem dancing mice. Still, it was nice to see so many multigenerational families gathered together to celebrate the holidays.

- Holiday shopping is upon us! I prefer the JCPenny’s model at our local mall (customer service kiosks distributed throughout the store) to the Dillard’s model (cash registers nestled within the departments, staffed with very friendly clerks who hail all passersby). Perhaps my friendly conversational side takes over when I’m broke, lost and alone (see this post).

- One of my favorite attractions at the mall is the large indoor aquarium. Not only is it stocked with fresh-caught fish, they always try to keep one albino catfish at all times. In recent years, management has added more lighting to improve visibility. It’s a very relaxing spot, though the adjoining play area does not add to l’ambiance tranquille.

- Physical therapy is going well. I have an appointment next week chez l’orthopédiste, who will give me a realistic timeline about return dates. The brace has done wonders for my range of motion and lifting those heavy bags of Thanksgiving fixings and holiday gifts isn’t quite as burdensome as it once seemed.

- Happy Thanksgiving to all! May you be surrounded by loved ones and full of good cheer and delicious food.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Je Veux Qu'Il Revienne (I Want Him to Come Back): Memory Edition*

Title Song

Just a little further, almost there [other inspirational phrases like “I think I can” and “It’s the CLIIIIIMB!!!”] and…oomph! Thankfully, my physical therapy regimen has switched to gentler, longer stretches which have produced amazing results (2 extra cm of motion yesterday). No, that first phrase describes the Sisyphean agony of recall from long-term memory.

While in college, I enjoyed exploring foreign languages and science simultaneously. It felt nice to give my brain a break from studying pages of Organic Chemistry reactions to work on some création littéraire. Conversely, I enjoyed explaining the lac operon to students after a night of fitfully tussling with the gender/number accord of past participles followed by infinitives. Yes, the French language really is that pointilleuse (fastidious with shades of anal-retentive).

After my sojourn is this all-you-can-eat buffet of academia, I went on a foreign language binge for a year in Europe. J’ai parfait (I perfected) my French, built up my Spanish and learned some conversational German (Ich möchte ein Bier!). I then moved to West Africa with the Peace Corps and was asked to combine my previously disparate sets of knowledge into one harmonious presentation. The French came easily – dredging up the scientific details from the recesses of my long-term memory was far more difficult. As an exercise while home on break, I pulled out some notes from Organic Chemistry and Mammalian Physiology and was astounded that at one point I was capable of doing that work. Heureusement, I’ll be teaching middle school but it’s still nice to have a better idea of context that one’s students.

Now that I’m back in AmericaLand, I’m trying hard to maintain my language skills. Popular songs, conversations with friends, Facebook updates, newspaper articles and books all play un rôle important in this endeavor. I can still get caught up on little things – verbs that take different objects in English, using pronouns to the fullest extent. Finding materials for my local language, par contre, has proven far more challenging. Little written material exists and since most of Host Country is not on the Web, there aren’t a lot of sound files either. I’ve been reviewing my language notebooks but that a) becomes intensely boring after awhile and b) only does so much to jog my memory.

Local Language is certainly not boring. It’s a tonal language which deletes verb endings before direct objects. Par exemple, “Maam yũudame” (“I drink”) becomes “Maam yũuda bisap” (I drink bissap juice). It’s also heavy on the y’s, such as in the phrase for “Where are you from?”  “Yamb yita yɛ?” The consonants d and r are interchangeable at the beginning of the word. “Market” can be translated as “raaga” or “daaga” depending on the speaker’s home region and dialect. My language classmates and I used to exploit this property while reciting the “Buying things at market” dialogue for the fiftieth time. It paid off though, as I’ll be able to purchase virtually anything upon returning. I say virtually because off course I’ll head to my site and discover that we make some as-to-unheard-of wonder.

Remembering some of my favorite experiences from Host Country is becoming easier every day, as more and more of my stagemates download photos to Facebook. Most of the literature for future PCVs talks about the challenges you’ll face upon arriving and how the heat/bugs/food will matter less than connections. With a bit of distance from Host Country, my sensory memory recalls the sensations of sweat covering my clothes, of . But my souvenirs of great conversations with friends and getting to know people who led very different lives from myself hearken to me from afar, singing like humpback whales from the watery depths of ma vie jusqu’à présent (my life until now).

*Courtesy of Françoise Hardy, chanteuse extraordinare of the 1960s. This song talks about wanting a lost love back, even though you've suffered enough. Not the healthiest sentiment to have, but a very human one.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Linearity II

Body Lines
Good news! Using the brace has helped my arm to reach its greatest extension yet. Bonus: working on extension has also lead to gains in flexion. I’m amazed at how far my arm has progressed since August, but am très enthousiaste about maintaining this rate.

Timelines
In my last post, I pondered the seemingly convoluted evolution of my academic interests and career paths. Today I wanted to zoom in on a section of my lifeline and reflect on how this little incident interrupted my supposedly linear Peace Corps experience. Our medical team and administration in Host Country stressed the cyclical nature of the experience (emotional highs and lows, periods of frenetic energy and others of dormant torpor) and that each Volunteer’s experience was unique. Stuck in my competitive goal-setting ways (the dangers of inspirational posters!), I thought quand même that I had a pretty good idea of how my time would go. Secondary Education seems to have a pretty defined rhythm which corresponds to l’année scolaire (the school year).

Coming back from site visit, I was blown away by how different everyone’s living and working situation would be. Some were matched with eager counterparts who offered opportunities à gogo, while others would have to do some more digging to find out what the community wanted and how they as Volunteers could help. While recovering in Unbloggable Events LandTM, I spoke with other Volunteers who suggested mille et une variations on how to “make it your own” - working with your site to develop children’s camps, improve healthcare facilities, nurture nascent small enterprises.

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a bit apprehensive as to how I’ll fit in since I’m off the calendrier normal. Heureusement, everyone has been very supportive and this little detour will just add some more spice to my future stories.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Linearity

October was a rough month for most of my friends in law and medical school. Each suffered a unique case of system overload, but the frantic messages promising communication later and complaints of 16 hour days. Still, they were all glad to have satisfied another requirement to advance in their rather linear degree paths.

I first heard the word “linear” in my 7th grade Pre-Algebra class. We were trying to figure out solutions to equations of the form “y=mx+b.” Never a big fan of math, I was surprised to see the concept again in my English courses as a way to describe narrative arcs. While my own life seems to be a random set of méandres (twists and turns), the end result is actually quite linear.

When I first entered college, I was set on attending veterinary school immediately after undergraduate and stepping onto the fast track to personal and financial success. Then I took Mammalian Physiology. Lots of interesting information, much of which got drowned out due to sheer volume. That was the same semester that I decided to take Honors Organic Chemistry II, Contemporary African Art, Introduction to French Literature and a seminar about elephants. With the clarity of time, I now see that I had made my college major choice into une crise d'identité and had decided to throw myself onto everything and see which held me afloat.

After jumping off the pre-veterinary track, I decided to keep my position as an undergraduate teaching assistant in biology and added another job as a peer leader. Teaching was something new and different that gave me a) authority and b) instant feedback. It’s a lot easier to read a 19 year old’s glazed over eyes of boredom than a calm professional’s visage impassible as she hands back your latest paper. Those gigs lead to my year in France as an English teaching assistant, which helped me to prepare for my eventual job in the Peace Corps which combines language/cultural expertise with technical knowledge.

The sense of this evolution made sense to me while talking to friends and family who had suffered through my pre-test freakouts. Explaining it to most other people isn’t that hard, as they either see the scribbled lines of coherence or decide that I’m just out of my mind. One friend’s mother still believes that I’m a great con artist convincing government entities to shell out vast amounts of cash for exotic trips (coupable!). Et pourtant (and yet), some acquaintances and family members keep asking me, “What about your career? When are you going to figure out what to do with your life?”

For awhile, I kept a hazy list of graduate programs running on my laptop and was fond of discourir de my grand future plans. Thankfully, cultural adjustment doesn’t leave a lot of spare processing energy for non-immediate challenges so training was a break from this worry. Since returning to the US, I’ve had more time to think as I do my physical therapy stretches and procrastinate on finishing short stories. The list expanded in depth and breadth as I found more scholars whose “intellectual communities” I wanted to belong to. I was chatting with one friend who’s thriving in the medical school marathon about future anxieties. She reminded me that I’ve already made steps on the career path and that I’ll have graduate options available when and if I need them.

Having grown up in the “gotta have more 90s,” I was used to making plans of success and modest fame far in advance. I have been known to make extensive spreadsheets detailing future courses, working hours and career plans. So the list is still there, but I’m not freaking out about it anymore. I’ll figure something out, even if I don’t feel called as if by a siren song streaming through a sea shell. In keeping up with other PCV’s blogs, I’m surprised at the range of projects my colleagues are undertaking and how they’re adjusting to radically different expectations. Mieux vaux plier que rompre (better to bend than to break)!

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Community

My last post on the great holiday of temporary community, Halloween, started me thinking about individualism and communities in my own life. The great French classical philosopher Pascal said “Le moi est haissable” (basically, “The ego is destable/obnoxious). I thought about this quote during my Sunday morning routine: reading the local newspaper, going to church with my family and eating brunch with my father at one of our favorite local restaurants. Shopping and church are the activities that I use most often to form my own communities.


En feuilletant
(while browsing)the Christmas ads, my father reminisced about how my sister and I used to circle our desired objects when we were younger and more openly with our greed. But it went beyond the Target circular – the JCPenny’s Christmas catalogue was a tome to be reckoned with. Dolls, keyboards, computer games, soccer balls. I remember bundling up in my thick winter coat and going to the customer service desk at our local mall for late December pickups. Now that I’m a bit more raffiné (refined) as well as connected to technology, shopping is one of the few experiences that forces me to leave the comfort of my own home and interact with the wider community. Last year in France, I got to know a few of the street vendors at the Marché de Noël and was excited to see students and colleagues in a different setting. Markets in Host Country are intense affairs with complex negotiations and a strong reliance on social trust. Plus, FedEx Ground has yet to take off.

L’Église fulfills my need for interaction in a different way. In a global sense, I feel connected to so many other Catholics around the world when I go to Sunday Mass. It gives me great comfort when abroad to know that my family in Kansas will recite many of the same prayers, struggle with the same problems and sing many of the same hymns as I do seven hours before them. On a local level, we also share la paix du Christ with each other before taking Communion. Shaking the hand of a fellow human being creates an instant connection whose power is magnified when one feels adrift and alone. Watching the same faces process towards the altar each week to receive la hostie creates a sense of familiarity.

But these activities alone are not enough. As social critic Robert Putnam argues in “Bowling Alone,” Americans have become a more intensely individualistic nation over the past few decades. There are some definite benefits to focusing on the individual (self-satisfaction, empowerment, seeing nuances rather than groups) but disadvantages as well. Polite greetings and smiles of recognition are great but cannot take the place of genuine human caring and interaction. To saluer someone properly in Host Country takes a few minutes of sustained conversation and contact. We are encouraged to get to know our neighbors on a deeper level than “Heya Bob, great weather, eh?” This has never been easy for me and as my friend Valerie writes at Exit Anytime, putting oneself out there for recognition and display can be profoundly uncomfortable. But as caterpillars must endure the chrysalis to become butterflies so too must I find my own critical point to begin metamorphosis.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Fall Food, Films and Fiction

Tout d’abord, good news! We had a breakthrough on the healthcare/insurance front and I’ll soon be receiving my orthopedic device which will help physical therapy go much faster. I’ll still have to wear it for quite awhile before returning to Host Country, but each step brings me a little closer.

We had a few trick-or-treaters this year, more than I expected. Our neighborhood has changed over the years, but we still don’t have many families with young children running around. Oh well, at least Maman had bought licorice and animal crackers for treats instead of tempting candy bars. During my time at home, I have discovered a new passion for strawberry-yogurt covered breakfast bars. There was an attempt at instant mashed potatoes, which reminded me of le tô, the traditional dish par excellence in Host Country. I wish I could say that these memories imbued the dish with a taste akin to Proust’s madeleine, but alas, ‘twas not to be.

As for films, I’ve watched “Robin Hood,” “Perfume” and “The Girl Who Played with Fire” among others. I enjoyed listening to the Australian lead actors in Robin Hood chatter away in their British accents and was glad to hear a bit of French when the characters were a) in France or b) talking to a French person. Such historical realism was not to be found in “Perfume,” the story of a young man blessed with an over-stimulated sense of smell and cursed with a lust for possession. It was, cependant, still an enjoyable film with great acting by Dustin Hoffman. Quant au dernier film, I was a bit shocked as to how much of the book the production team had cut out, but they managed to keep the essential threads. What I’m really looking forward to is the third film. Sex crimes and murderous lairs reeking of criminals make for good dramatic cinema, but a psychologically-torturous courtroom drama will be a big change.

Enfin, I’m working my way through Lettres philosophes by Voltaire and Half-Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls. Both possess a key characteristic that keeps my reading interest: short units (letters and vignettes, respectively). Voltaire’s reflections on the relatively freedom of English reason and nobility compared to the stuffiness of Louis XV France are quite interesting in light of les Révolutions (Française et Américaine). It’s been a great vocabulary-enriching exercise to read tracts on religious philosophy and meditations on the composition of the cosmos while at the same time grappling with new verbs in the passé simple and arcane adjectives. Walls’ novel draws from her grandmother’s life and depicts a young woman’s growth in a period of great technological and cultural change. Each vignette about key episodes in Lily’s life is punctuated by reflections regarding family responsibility and savoir-faire. Fascinating read and a great follow-up to 2005’s The Glass Castle.