New phase starts now

This new post comes as I start a new phase in life. This because two major changes have taken place (or, well, one is in the process of taking place): 1) I got a new job; 2) a week after signing the contract, I was surprised to find out I'm pregnant. This next year will be an eventful one, interesting to say the least. I think I have finally felt the urge to write here again because I feel like I actually have something to write about, which I didn't while I was at my old job, wasting away behind a computer doing things I really couldn't care less about to make money for a company that I didn't believe in... I think these changes bring much more to my life than a new work place and a growing waistline.

I've started my new job, my first day consisting mainly of following like a lost puppy the girl who will be acting as my mentor for the next few months. She is a day younger than me, we figured out, and years ahead of me in experience at the job. This job is so totally different in every way from my previous job that I get excited and just a little bit shit-scared (yes, shit-scared) at the same time every time I think about it. My new job is at an old folks home, specifically with patients with advanced dementia. The work philosophy is 'give our clients as pleasant and fulfilling a life as possible while they are with us'; there is nothing commercial about this place. The manager of the region told us he would be the first manager to tell us to slow down, take time to be with the clients, and leave the paperwork for later. I can live with that approach. My new boss is very involved in the work of all the employees under his management; he welcomed me with flowers and checked in a couple times during the first day to see how I was doing. Most of my colleagues are women and I will work directly with several teams from different sections of the organization (as opposed to me being the only woman in a team of 8 who I worked with daily). I will actually be applying my education as a psychologist - in a field that I did not specifically study for, elderly care and dementia treatment. Eventually, I will take over the work of my mentor at three locations, which will involve everything from intake-interviews with clients, communication with families, training/classes on psych topics for nurses and 'verzorgenden' (which is a specific kind of job for the non-medical care-givers; who are, by the way, all women with very strong...personalities).  Essentially at the moment, I have been given the space and time to get used to the new job and learn the ropes before I take it on myself; I will be working closely with my mentor until we both feel that I can do it on my own.
I looked for a job like this for so long! I am, of course, incredibly impatient to prove that they hired the right person and wish I could do everything, perfectly, immediately. And at the same time I am overwhelmed by how much I so obviously need to learn yet before I can be any good at the job I am expected to do. I want so badly to touch the lives of each patient I work with, to be part of giving them a good and happy life while they are with us; the idea that I could have any sort of influence on their lives is intimidating. Hence the shit-scared part. Also, it doesn't help that as I start this new job, I have to find a moment to tell my new boss that he just hired a pregnant lady who will be needing 4 months off work starting January, probably just about the time she would be getting the hang of things and able to lessen the load for her mentor as intended.

Ah, but it's good. Let it be. This glitch cannot dampen my happiness at the though that there grows inside me (inside me!!!) a whole new little life. Amazing.

So, welcome, new phase. I have been waiting!

rewarding behavior.

so, i'm trying this new thing, based on stuff i'm getting out of my coaching class, where i try to modify my behavior by rewarding myself for desired behavior. for after all, we learn that way as kids, why wouldn't we still learn that way as adults? i'm combining my personal experimental behavior modification with desperate attempts to make my job more interesting and keep myself motivated. but, i'm keeping it small and simple, one step at a time.

this week, i have set for myself the goal of becoming more disciplined in my work behavior (read: spend less time doing other things on the internet). my mini-goal is to exceed the daily expected minimum of 12 accident analyses by 3 accidents. to reach this goal, i have decided that i should have met the minimum by 3pm, giving me plenty of time to complete another 3 analyses in the next 3 hours before going home. if i have stayed focused enough and worked hard enough to meet the goal by 3pm, i reward myself. with a cookie. not just any cookie. an american oatmeal raisin cookie. the best cookie i have ever had in holland (cookie making is not their strongpoint).

i got my cookie today for making 12 reports before 3pm, both yesterday and today (sorta, one of the reports doesn't actually count cause it turned out to be in the wrong category...but who's being picky these days?).
yesterday i missed it cause they closed early.
today i ran down immediately at 3, to make sure i didn't get distracted and miss their closing time of 4pm. (yes, that's how much i want this cookie...)
i got more and more excited for my cookie, the closer i got to the counter.
mmm, feels so good to get a job well done, and fast. to meet a goal. to see progress. and now to reward myself with something small.

they don't carry the american oatmeal raisin ones any more.
they are the only ones i like.
they are the reason i chose 'cookie' as my reward for meeting my goal.
they are my incentive to help me change my work behavior!
they are practically the reason i get any work done at all at this point!

so i took the new brand. the only type of cookie available. a chocolate chip cookie.
it's bigger. it's soft. it has lots of chocolate chips in it.
i'm sure it's worth it. i'm sure it's just as rewarding....

it taste like cardboard.
with sawdust and butter.
the chocolate chips are small. i can barely taste them.

what a disappointing cookie.

working days

A man in the building I am currently working in every day looks like Dilbert. I say hi to him whenever we pass in the hallway. He barely looks up when he mutters a hello in response, walking a way in a very busy, important sort of way. He makes me smile.

Today I am sitting in the office that faces the inner 'court yard' of the office building. We are on the 6th floor, so all I see is brick wall and windows and the glass elevator on the other side. I can look into other people's offices though, which proves entertaining occasionally. Usually the entertainment amounts to watching people pick their noses, however, which isn't a particularly pleasant way to pass time between reading accident reports. Ah well.

Some days I wonder if this could possibly be what anyone was created to do: taking the over-crowded train (in lieu of braving the crawling traffic and 3x the amount of travel time) to get to the office to spend the whole day sitting behind a computer screen drinking tea and snacking on things that will inevitably make one gain a few kilos no matter how healthy, only to rush back to the over-crowded train (or sit in slow traffic for more than an hour, either singing loudly or swearing more loudly) and make it home in time to make supper and crash on the couch, too mentally drained to be motivated to do anything other than watch South Park or Law and Order reruns all night.

Egh. It's not that bad. I'm getting used to it. And finding ways to avoid the demotivated slump to attempt to actually do something with the little free time I have over. Actually, I rarely spend an evening watching tv. It's a lucky week if Luuk and I have dinner together more than one evening. And once I decided to like my job and make the best of it, things actually got alot better. Or well, actually, nothing changed, 'cept I don't mind it as much. Which is less brain-draining.

Still not sure this is what I, or anyone else for that matter, was created to spend my precious hours doing, but till I figure that out, I will enjoy it any way I can.

Thank you Dilbert and nose-pickers. You make my day.

Got a job and fell of the face of the earth for a bit.

Wow, it's been a while.

What's happened in the last six months? Here's a quick review:

-Started my job.
- Super excited about my job.
-Spent the first two weeks reading stuff.
- Less excited about my job.
- Job feels like limbo.
-Was asked to write a report in Dutch, took me forever and came back from the secretary full of red marks and notes on the side (will be looking for a Dutch writing course as soon as I finish my coaching course, boss is paying). Haven't been asked to write much since...
-Called my boss a lucky bastard before I could catch myself, after he described his sunny vacation in Spain during Holland's rainiest wettest summer in decades. Still hoping he didn't hear it.
-Visited friends in England for a weekend, drank beer and ate pub grub as often as possible and enjoyed the rolling hills and quaint countryside. Played 'Ticket to Ride' for the first time in ages.
-Visited Prague for a weekend. Drank beer (half liter glasses!), ate lots of wholesome Czech food, admired the Czech men, took many many many pictures of gorgeous Czech architecture, enjoyed Czech jazz.
- Came home from work one day to find Kitty with one fat leg, possible reaction to a bee-sting, took her to the vet without her cage cause she hates it, met three dogs in the waiting room, went home with many scratches and a drugged up Kitty. She survived.
- Spent months working on the same project every day, 5 days a week, 8 hrs a day, reading and analyzing accident reports and clicking on the right boxes in a computer program that I hate.
- Less than excited about my job.
- Two close friends had miscarriages in the same week.
- Bought tickets for a Christmas visit to Iowa/Michigan!
- Was assigned to phase two of the same project, 5 days a week, 8hrs a day, reading and analyzing accident reports and clicking on the right boxes in a computer program that I hate.
- Determined to not let my job take over my life.
- Considering looking for new job.
- Asked my boss for a user-guide to said computer program. He told me to write one. Done with part 1 of 30.
- Renewed excitment about my job.
- Went to Romania with 64 other people from our church to build houses for the Roma gypsies living on the garbage dump just outside of Cluj Napoca. It was intense. I've seen extreme poverty before, but this was different. The affect on me was not what I expected. I'm still digesting.
- Came back from Romania. The world here looks different.
- Determined to waste less, work harder, enjoy more, share more, love more.
- Signed contract for another 6 months with current employer. Got a raise.
- Determined to learn to love my job.

And that's where I am right now.

Tomorrow I go to Winterberg in Germany for a weekend away with Luuk. Fall in the mountains, must be fantastic. Can't wait!

Theodore Dalrymple

From the man who wrote that 'the British youth are the most unpleasant and ugly that exist', a critique of modern British, if not all modernday western, culture:

http://www.spectator.co.uk/print/essays/7157308/its-fun-to-smash-things.thtml


"It is one of the tasks of civilisation to tame our inherent savagery. But who, contemplating contemporary British culture, would recognise in it any civilising influence, or rather fail to recognise its opposite? It is a constant call to and celebration of degradation, not only physical but spiritual and emotional. A culture in which Amy Winehouse, with her militant vulgarity and self-indulgent stupidity, combined with a very minor talent, could be so extravagantly admired and feted, is not one to put up strong barriers against our baser instincts, desires and urges. On the contrary, that culture has long been a celebration of those very urges. He who pays the savage never gets rid of the savagery; and this is only the beginning. "

This strikes a chord that I cannot help but appreciate. Perhaps he is one more of the many old farts muttering about how the youth of today is so much worse than before. Or maybe he is tainted by his years of working with the lowest parts of various existing societies. But his many papers, books and articles on society and culture are an interesting read, to say the least.

imposter

probably like any one starting something new and unfamiliar, i feel like the biggest newbie in the world. i'm just waiting for someone to finally realize that i have no idea what i am doing half the time and the other half of the time only think i know what i am doing and am constantly surprised when my work isn't sent back with red scribbles all over the page. but this isn't Prof. Dengler's classroom any more and i am no longer a student working my way through a neatly organized world of deadlines, papers, exams and clearly stated expectations. this is the world of consultants and large companies and ministries of government. this is the world of working professionals, where expections are not explained but must be met, in which one simply figures it out and gets it done, while making some profit for bureau.

i hate this phase. from this end, it looks like it stretches on forever. from my desk facing the window facing the inner courtyard of the grey block-and-glass ministry of social affairs and employment building, this phase of being the clueless, lost, inexperienced and slightly nerve-wracked beginner feels like it will never end.

i'm a freshman all over again, walking through the classroom building for the first time, wondering how the hell i am going to find my classrooms on time for the next four years in this huge and confusing maze of halls and stairs. i cannot imagine that four years from now, the short halls and few turns in this small building will be permantently imprinted in my mental map and i'll be able to find the proper classroom through the half-conscious haze resulting from all-nighters, workshift hours and/or hangovers with no effort beyond that required to put one foot in front of the other. at some point, i'll know what's expected of me without having to ask. i'll follow the discussions around me and understand the content. i'll feel confident enough to defend my point of view and discuss the fine points that come up. i'll not only get things done when asked but will manage to occasionally impress. i'll become an expert in my field, i'll grow and the world will grow with me.

at some point.

for now, i'll chew my nails, sweat a bit more than usual, and stick it out. this cannot last. it will not. i can make it through this. i have before. i'll survive and in a year i'll look back and smile.

What happened after the interview.

I got a job.

No one was more surprised than myself. The interview that I was fully convinced that I had bombed apparently was more favorably perceived by my interviewers.

They didn't hire me though.

They said I'd make a nice addition to the team and I seemed very enthusiastic and prepared (ha!), but that I didn't have enough experience and they didn't want to train me.

Fair enough, I responded, I have little to no experience, and I'd like to change that, so what do you think of an unpaid internship in which I follow people around and do their annoying little tasks and try to learn by observation and then we talk again in 4 months?

So, we met again to talk about the possibility of doing an unpaid internship for 3-4 months. They started by explaining that the real reason they didn't hire me was cause they didn't think the job was something I'd like, given my extensive experience taking care of people. This job doesn't involve taking care of people. But, they were impressed with my apparent very strong interest in working for them. Four months was too short, they said, so they offered me a six month contract.

Umm, a contract for a six month internship?

No. A job. With a salary. And after six months, we'll talk possible extension. And raise. Interested?

I have no idea how I maintained my composure, but I did. And I accepted the job. I waited till I got in the car, drove halfway home, called Luuk, told him the story, and then burst into tears.

I start Monday.

Fear of Failure

I'm never going to get a job. Some people were granted the natural gift of interviewing - I was not. It's even worse than public speaking. My face gets warm, most likely red too, but I can't see it so I wouldn't know. My hands sweat, making the introductory handshake somewhat uncomfortable; not a good start. We sit down, I try to find a comfortable yet professional looking position, and end up sitting with my back straight and stiff, arms on the table in front of me in an attempt to look relaxed until I realize that I am nervously picking at the pages of the notebook I brought along to write notes in that will inevitably go home blank. I try to concentrate on what the Human Resources girl is saying but get distracted by my racing thoughts: "Stop fidgiting! Look natural! Focus! You're clicking the pen, put it down! Shit, what'd she just ask?" What kind of work do I see myself doing here? Blank stare. I practiced answering this question. I wrote it down so I would know what to say when it came up. I know what I want. Suddenly it sounds so silly in my head, compared to the work described at this company. Maybe I should say something else. No, it's not an exam, just tell her what you hope to do here. Not so hard. Why am I fumbling over my words? Did I just stutter??? My answer is full of 'um's' and hesitation. I hear myself speaking and can't believe how unprepared and stupid I just sounded. I try to fix it. I realize I'm rambling. I answer more questions, ask some of my own, throw in some friendly chitchat. At least I have managed to refrain from giggling. Fuck, I couldn't giggle if I wanted to. I have resorted to fake-laughing to the manager's jokes by this point.

"Alright, well thank you for coming. We'll think about this for a bit, you think about it, and we'll call you on Monday, ok?"

Maybe it wasn't as bad as I think it was. Maybe it's like my public speaking experiences; I hate every minute of it and am usually convinced it was a total failure and find out later that I did just great. Maybe it's like that. On Monday they'll call and tell me how impressed they were and could I please, please come work for them.

Maybe not.

sometimes waking up is disappointing.

I dreamt last night that I met the pope, who happened to be a forty/fifty-something-year-old Asian dude who looked like the guy in Inception... I was there to steal something from him. But he saw that my hands hurt (apparently they did, in my dream), and asked if he could heal them for me. So he pulled on my hands, leaning back with all his weight. My knuckles cracked and then smoke streamed out of my nails. The pope's face turned dark and crazy, and I felt the pain leave through the tips of my fingers.

Many other things happened in that dream, including me fighting off a group of ruggedly handsome ninjas and then kissing the only one who had a bit of a baby face and then getting chased by a giant black bull with a hump on his back and huuuuge horns and then 'tasting' food in the grocery store because we didn't have anything because of the apocalyptic weather that had destroyed everything we had.

It ended in Italy, where I've never been, walking down a tree lined road, enjoying the late afternoon sun.

It all, of course, made complete exhilarating sense until I woke up.

blow

I had my first personal encounter with Dutch police yesterday. I noticed a cop car following me and said aloud to my two passengers "Haha, it's silly but I can't get rid of this American fear of cops! Every time I see one, I immediately slow down 5km/hr and frantically start reviewing my driving over the past 10 min to find anything they might have caught me doing. So silly." And I kept driving.

Then I noticed that on top of the cop car was a sign flashing "Stop, Politie" in red.

Ah! Shnitty.

I pulled over and proceeded to roll down my window. The window, however, has a tendency to get stuck, so by the time the cop walked up to my door he found me giggling and snorting in my efforts to get it to move down to a decent talk-through level while trying to stay serious and look responsible to the approaching officer.

He smiled at me and said a typical Dutch thing which translates roughly to "Tough work".

I giggled (oh why does my giggly silly bit come out at the worst moments?).

"Did I do something wrong?" (smile, snicker).

"Nope. We're just on the look out for drunk drivers tonight; cars with several people in it, driving around at this hour, are likely to have come from a bar."

"Oh man, what a relief! I was freaking out thinking I did something wrong without knowing it! I was trying to figure out what you caught me at!"

The cop just smiled and put the breathalyzer in front of me. "Blow."

I should have taken a deaper breath, you have to breath long into that thing! Finally it beeped and I could stop.

And that was it.

"Have a good night ma'am."

I was almost disappointed.

God loves ugly puppies?

a few years ago, just around the date of our wedding, my parents' dog got mange or some skin disease of the sort. she's a pug-poodle mix, and apparently poodles are genetically predisposed to skin diseases, result of years of inbreeding. the vet said that there was nothing he could do and she would end up suffering for quite a while before dying of some infection resulting from the disease. he suggested putting her down before it got to that point.

my youngest sisters love this fugly little beast and were, of course, very upset. mom suggested waiting till after our wedding, using the three weeks spent in Holland as time to get used to being away from her so they would be more ready to say goodbye when they got back. but one wise little sister scoffed "Oh you of little faith!", and the two girls proceeded to pray every day that their ugly little mangy dog would be healed.

would you believe it if i told you that the dog actually got better? her sores disappeared, her hair grew back, and she has not had skin problems since.

not funny.

I just remembered another time I was the only one that thought something was hilarious.

This was before we got married, three years ago. We had just rented an apartment. It needed quite a bit of fixing up. We were basically living at Luuk's parents' place, about 20 min away. Every night we could, we'd drive to our little place in The Hague to ready it for moving in in the next couple of weeks. That night we were going to start putting in floor boards in preparation for the cheapest decent-looking carpet we could find. Luuk's dad went with us. So, Luuk, his dad, and I jump in the car, drive all the way to the house, get there and all stand waiting at the door for one of the others to pull out their key to open it. We each have our own set. And we each forgot to take it with us.

I thought this was pretty damn funny. And I laughed. Hard. For a couple of seconds. Before I realized that the other two were both not amused. Pissed, in fact.

Yes, we had to drive back to get the keys. Yes, it was a waste of a good hour, and yes, we didn't have a whole lot of time to waste to get the place ready before the wedding. Yes, gas is expensive. Yes, the unnecessary two way trip back to their house to pick up the keys was going to cost us. And, yes, we should have checked if at least one of us had a key before we left.

But come on! That's worth laughing at, right?!

Inevitable?

I'm debating calling the latest place I've applied to. I know I should; it gives the impression that I am proactive and interested, and it's more personal than black 'Times New Roman' size 12 on a white page. But, the longer I let it sit, the longer I can think my resume is actually doing something all by itself and the longer I can think I have a shot at the job I applied for. And the longer I can feel satisfied with myself for having tried.

But, then again, the longer I wait, the less involved, proactive, and interested I seem. And the less likely I am to make a good impression. Or any impression of any sort. And the less likely I am to get hired. Thus, the more likely I am to feel dissatisfied in the end. And disappointed, again.

I guess I'll call.

Homesick.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of filling in at the "multi-culti" activity room at the old folks home, serving coffee for an hour. It's not really multi-culti, it's Marokkan. Just ladies; the men come on a different day. They greeted each other affectionately, stretching their hands out to each other and holding each other's face before planting a kiss on the other's cheek or forehead; this to each other woman in the room. Two of them spoke a little bit of really broken and difficult for a Dutch-as-a-third-language speaker to understand. Occasionally they would break in their converstation to say something like "So sorry, we speak Dutch for you. You cannot understand Arabic, eh?" And I'd smile and say something like "Oh, don't worry! I enjoy hearing you talk to each other." Which was true. This group is very unlike the Dutch ladies. They talk loudly, constantly, in and over each other's words, and laugh after every-other burst of rapid tongue-rolling pieces of speech. I immediately felt at home and realized that this was something I had missed for years and didn't know it. If they took off their headscarves and suddenly started speaking in Spanish, I would be back in Yucatán, listening to a conversation about a hundred equally unimportant and hilarious little things in life.

For the first time, a difference in my background and the Dutch culture became clear to me. I remembered a Christmas a few years ago when we had just finished decorating the tree at my in-law's and the tree fell over. I burst out laughing, and then realized I was the only one. A few of the decorations had broken, some were expensive and some had history. Of course, the breaking of the Christmas tree decorations was not actually funny. I think I've possibly slightly offended people who've just told me something serious, by giggling. And Luuk is much less amused when I shrink his favorite sweater or get lost when driving somewhere than I seem to be. I used to think it was a nervous thing, this laughing. Now I think maybe it's the Mexican in me, to laugh at everything, even in the face of things less humorous. Or maybe I'd just like to think that.

My hour with the Marokkan ladies ended, and I went back to my Dutch folks. They were knitting and chatting away, quietly and contentedly, with an occasional chuckle here or there. Mrs. S. complained about the temperature and wished the weather was brighter, then smiled at me and went back to reading the newspaper. Mr. H. nodded off; he'd slept horribly the night before. Mrs. F. started a story about something back in the day when she was a little girl, talking loudly and expressively; the other ladies listened politely and occasionally responded, sometimes leaning toward each other to comment quietly so as not to interrupt. I knew that when they all headed to their homes, they'd wish each other a pleasant evening, maybe rest a hand on one person's shoulder before waving to the rest and walking out.

I went home with a smile on my face. I'd enjoyed the day. But I missed Mexico more than I have in a while.

introducing mrs. s.

the heater at the old folks home is messed up. it never turns on when we want it to and it turns off when we don't want it to. the two rooms we use for activities with the old folks are often a bit cool, particularly if you are an 80year old lady who settles into your unofficially claimed seat at the table and only move if absolutely necessarily thus reducing activity and bloodflow to about null. we do our best to keep the ladies and occasional gentleman warm, but there's only so much we can do when the heater is unresponsive.

mrs. s. is a... - how to put this nicely? -....a colorful lady. personally, i find her extremely amusing. some of my colleagues are slightly less amused after years of working with her full time. we'll see how i fair after a few more months.

this is a short replay of my conversations with mrs. s. yesterday; the heater was fixed a couple days ago and seems to be responding properly.

"it's so cold in here!"

oh, i'll turn up the heater a bit. just let me quick finish this card.

"you'd think warmth would be more important here with all the old ladies in the room."

just a minute mrs. s....on my way.

*mrs. j. on the other side of the room mutters not-quite-under-her-breath: "there she goes again!"

"it's still cold in here! this morning it was so nice and cosy when we came in. but the heater is cold to the touch, it's not working any more."

well, mrs. s., we set the heater to a temperature, and it turns itself off once that temperature is reached. we've set it to 22degrees, so it must be 22degrees in here.

"well, obviously the thermometer is in another room, cause it certainly isn't 22degrees in here!"

would you like the stola (big thick shawl)?

"certainly not! i'm not the only one that's cold in here so why should i be the only one to get a stola? you (the caregivers) should make make sure there are enough stolas here for everyone!"

are you offering your knitting skills, mrs. s.?

"me? knit!? phaw! never."

well, i think you are the only one who is cold in here. i'm sure no one would mind if you wear the stola. would you like me to get it for you?

"no. i don't want it."

*mrs. j.: "what a whiner."

"ugh! it is still so cooooold in here."

really? i am sweating! i've set the temperature to 24degrees now.

"there's no way it's 24 degrees in here. you're just warm cause you walk around doing things."

would you like to do some exercises?

"i can't exercise in this wheelchair!" (she can walk but sits in a wheelchair with her legs straight out, something to do with her back. she also wears a brace).

we could do some arm exercises, get some blood flowing.

"you can't warm up from just moving your arms."

perhaps mr. s., you should consider wearing warmer clothes when coming here since you always find it so cold. or maybe bring a scarf?

"do you know how many layers i am wearing?! i have nylons on, wollen socks, slacks, boots, and a flannel shirt! i am packed in, but still cold, so it must be this room!"

but you are still cold. an extra sweater might still be a good idea.

"no, then i'll be too hot in the bus. you should make sure it's warm enough in here! old ladies in the cold, we'll all get sick. you just don't believe we are cold. "

*this followed by a chorus of "oh, but i'm not cold at all! it's quite cosy here." by all the other ladies...

oh, i believe you are cold, mrs. s. but i can't really do much more that turn up the heat and offer you the stola or some exercise.

"well, if i'd known it was going to be so cold here today, i would have stayed home!"

*mrs. j. (under her breath for the whole room to hear): "well, why didn't you then you old grump!"

i should be more humble.

today I took parts 1 and 2 of a 4 part Dutch exam which, if I pass, allows me to show the Dutch government that I am either willing to or at least capable of adapting to the Dutch culture. if I can speak the language, I can adapt, right?

the first part consisted of 8 short answer questions. that is, I had to write a full sentence or finish the one already started in a way that made sense. that took me all of 15 min. then I had 45 min to answer two questions with a full page of Dutch. followed by 1 hour to write 1.5 pages about whether I think violence on tv increase, decreases, or does not effect violence in children's behavior . the answer doesn't matter as long as it makes sense, is written in a structural manner and of course contains grammatically correct Dutch. one theory given to use in the answer was that violence on tv acts as an outlet for children with built up aggression therefore reducing aggressive behavior; I answered that if porn doesn't work that way, why would violence on tv...I kinda wish I could see what the bored government worker who has to grade the exams thinks of that.

maybe somehow my natural ability to bullshit my way through exams in English helped me work my way through this one without difficulty or I am really just that much better than everyone else in the room who ran out of time and complained about how hard it was. I felt pretty good about myself when I left the room for the hour long lunch break in the middle of Rotterdam with the nearest cafe a bitter 15 min walk through the freezing cold...

part 2 was a listening exam. for some reason I always thought of myself as a good listener. apparently, I'm not. I caught myself drifting off and thinking about what to make for dinner when I was supposed to listening to Jaap's answer to the question Jitske asked about playing piano in a band.

and my recognition of my inability to read maps was reinforced when question 27 required me to figure out from the conversation which map they were talking about. now, exactly which bit was supposed to be path and which bit was supposed to be road was completely unclear to me but apparently essential to the answer. bugger. I might have actually failed that part of the exam, despite my obvious superiority to everyone else in the room. pff.

at least, once I pass the exam, I can ask the Dutch government for a €650 refund for the €250 euro course. so if I have to take the exam twice, I'll still be able to reward myself with a nice pair of warm winter boots and a thicker scarf.

mr. t.

old people are far from boring.

mr. T. is close to 90 years old. he has had a long, not always easy, life. he has a tendency to drool, for which he carries around a white cloth handkerchief. the result of ageing and a stroke years back. when he reads the paper, he lays it on the table in front of him and leans over it with his face 5cm above it; it's the only way he can still see the letters. sometimes he falls asleep in this position, his back hunched, his arms stretched out holding the top corners of the paper, his head held just above the front page. he does everything slowly. very slowly. he's still 'all there', just at a slower pace than the world around him. but he talks alot (slowly of course) and he smiles alot. and he plays Triominoes every wednesday. he watches the others make their move, then looks at his board, he mutters to himself, he slowly picks up a tile and lays it next to one he thinks might match, it doesn't, he slowly picks it up again and puts it back on his board, he picks up another, lays, picks it up. painstaking. deliberate. he misses the clear match that i see sitting on the corner of his board, but i don't point it out. he's not a child. he's played this way for years. he hardly ever wins. and he loves it.

today his drool was red.

first the corners of his mouth were pink. i thought maybe he had eaten a coloured candy. then i saw red drops on his cake plate. and red swimming in his coffee. we checked his mouth for missing teeth or open sores. he wasn't coughing, it couldn't be from his lungs. he wiped his chin with his white handkerchief. he muttered that we should stop fussing about him. he seemed fine. so we let him alone and kept an eye on him.

it didn't stop. his handkerchief is spotted and streaked. his collar and sweater have large dark blotches on them. he'd soak it in warm water, he said.

we checked his mouth again. this time we found the source. he'd bitten his tongue. and he's on blood-thinners, his blood won't clot, so it just keeps bleeding. i wiped his mouth and hands with a warm wet cloth. he chuckled at me. this afternoon when he left for home, he spit on the handkerchief and showed it to me. 'See! It's clear! Now stop worrying!'

we're on for Triominoes again next week.

loving the cat

Kitty killed a bird yesterday. She ate it's guts and then puked them up all over the floor. This is the third bird in the past two months. The last one I found lying headless at the door. No guts lying all over the place at least. Never found the head. I'm assuming it re-appeared in the litter box.

She has this spot on our coconut-fiber rug that she likes to claw. The rug is 2x3 meters in size. But she claws only the one spot. Now there's a big fuzzy spot, right by the door, the first thing you see.

I made a little hut for her last month. She likes small dark corners. Whenever there is a box in the room, she jumps in it. If I open the closet, she hides in it and I usually only find her hours later when I realize I haven't seen her for a while and then I hear her meowing but can't figure out where it's coming from. When I'm on the couch, she crawls on my lap and tries to get under the blanket. I thought the little hut would be her new favorite spot. It was. For a day. Now she's back to perching on the end of the couch or sprawling out on the one white cushioned chair which as now turned a brownish yellow from whatever dirty stuff she leaves behind.

Every morning I almost fall to my death when I walk down the stairs and kitty appears out of nowhere right under my next step. She likes to be close to us. Real close. She especially loves to run little circles around our feet. It's particularly fun when we are walking. I think she gets a sadistic pleasure out of our stumblings. Even the times we step on her tail, kick her in the head or send her sprawling across the room before falling on our own faces is not enough to gain some space.

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We are looking for a kitten. Why? To keep kitty company while we are both gone all day. Now I will have two piles of puke to clean up on a regular basis. Two ugly spots on the rug. Two dirty spots on the furniture. Two cats constantly running under my feet. Yes, this is a completely rational decision and I won't regret it one bit.

november

we woke up to fog this morning. which means no wind. which means an easy bike-ride to work. only to find out that i'd been scheduled on someone elses hours...so i got sent home, so no work today. or well, no official paid work. will be doing house-wifey work instead. maybe i'll finish up that picture album from our Alberta vacation this summer. printed waaaay too many pictures and i hate to throw any away, which makes for some rough cut-and-pasting.
maybe i'll find some awesome job opening in the paper today. or online. or in my weekly email from city unemployment offices. or maybe i'll hear back from that one awesome interview i had weeks ago. or maybe this will be the beginning of my latest mental breakdown... it is november, which means winter is coming, which means my tendency to seasonal meloncholy and depression is about to be encouraged by 4:30pm-8:30am darkness and incessant misty rain for the next four months. i do, however, have one major high-light to look forward to. christmas tree setup! and my four 100+ classic and cheesy christmas hits cds! i have to wait at least three more weeks, but then the shiny balls and stars and ribbons are coming out of the box, baby!

gipsies are people too.

I brought some clothes to the dry cleaners at our grocery store today and while I was there, picked up some fresh orange juice. Walking out, I pass the group of boys who wait at the door to ask anyone leaving with a grocery bag if they got any "foesjes", the latest gadget the store gives away for every 20euros you spend on groceries. No, I don't have any, sorry. They look away, disappointent, to badger the next buyer. As leave, I notice that the boys are now hallo-ing and waving at someone in the doorway. One boy walks up, turns around, lifts his coat and shakes his butt before laughing loudly and running back. Then he waves angrily, probably responding to a reaction, before yelling "I'll tell them in the store!". He comes back, "I told them! Ha!", and then they all start grunting and hallo-ing. I notice the gypsy woman sitting in the doorway. She sells the Streetnews, a newspaper run by and for homeless people. Three boys, who look like immigrants themselves, continue to yell at her; a blonde boy giggles and laugs at them. I walk up to them and ask "Are you being nice to the lady?". The blond boy looks guilty and blushes. One boy starts defending himself, "but she did it first! She swore at me!". "I'm sure you did nothing to deserve that," I say. "You should be nice to her. She's a person too."

I don't know why I said that. She's a person too. As if I needed to remind them that she is human. She probably did swear at them, not that they didn't deserve it, I'm sure they were annoying, but that's beside the point. Of all things I could have said, maybe something about respecting elders or something, "she's a person too" pops out. Well meant, I suppose. But degrading. Have I so little respect for her, this gipsy woman?