Emma in Mongolia

Snow in the Gobi

2012-03-03T04:16:00.005-08:00

Шүршүүр means "shower"

2012-03-03T03:59:00.007-08:00

I learned a very important word this week. Шүршүүр, pronounced "shoo-shoor" means "shower" in Mongolian!

The shower house

The foyer which contains doors to the various shower rooms.

The shower house has six shower rooms total.

This is the entryway to the biggest of the six shower rooms. Some of the rooms are tiny closets, but this one even has windows! (I got to use the big shower room today because the power was out & the lights were flickering in the other rooms. Oh & no one else was at the shower house when I went.)

Shower with a friend!

Day Six Hundred & Thirty-four

2012-02-29T06:09:00.005-08:00

The hills yesterday. Today they are snow-capped.

Day Six Hundred & Thirty-four
Wednesday, February 29th 2012

Whatever progress was made during these past few Nines has been erased in one fell swoop by a trifling of snow showers last night. For those of us keeping score (me, & pretty much just me), the seventh Nine is when the hilltops blackened, lasting from February 15th to February 23rd. The eighth Nine, which lasts until March 3rd, is when the ground becomes damp. Well, uncheck those both for the time being because it seems that we've taken a few steps backward. Tonight's weather forecast? More snow showers! Winter, you win. But as long as it isn't in the negative temperatures, snow is fine by me, I guess.

It's okay, really, it's good, great even. Almost. The power has gone back to being out for twenty hours per day, & though this literally weighs heavy on my brow, it's fine. No, literally, I'm just in a bad mood when the power is out. Today, I was surrounded by smiling & adoring fifth graders & though I was glad in the moment, this little part of me (above my eyes & below my forehead) felt a tremendous sense of disparagement. It's not even that I want to use devices that require electricity every waking hour of the day. It's the fact that I could, if the power plant were functional, yet can't, since apparently after a decade of constant repairs, us lowly citizens of the South Gobi can't possibly expect reliable power, can we now? But hey, at least it isn't in the negative temperatures, so hey, progress, right?

The fifth grade homeroom teacher up & left, effectually abandoning a couple dozen eleven & twelve-year-olds without a mommy figure in their lives for a few days until a new teacher arrives. Because Mongolia is still a country with a nomadic herding population, & because Mongolia is also a developing country, many children are sent away to school to live in the dormitories at ages as young as six. Their families continue to live in the countryside while the school age children are spirited away for some good old-fashioned book learnin'. Each grade is assigned a homeroom teacher who basically acts like mom (or dad, but 99.9% of the time, it's mom) to these children as they progress through the grades. If you see a child misbehaving, you don't ask “Who are your parents?” but instead, “Who is your teacher?”

In any case, with the fifth grade teacher gone, it appears as though after English class with yours truly, the kids are free to do whatever they wish until the day when some semblance of a normal schedule is restored. Today, Otgontsetseg followed me home. Even with the power being out (dislike, dislike, dislike), I used my camp stove to boil water so I could make coffee for me & tea for Otgontsetseg. I even made us some popcorn with popcorn kernels I bought in UB that don't always pop very well (the moisture content is wonky, perhaps), but she seemed very impressed anyway. Today I learned that the word “popcorn” is difficult to pronounce for twelve year old Mongolian girls.

I went to the post office in the hope of finally picking up a package I have been waiting on from my grandparents that my mom told me included peanut butter. This would have been perfect, since I ran out several weeks ago, but sadly, the box was not there. Instead, there was a box upon which my father's scrawling handwriting was juxtaposed in black against the brown-paper-bag packaging. Within this mystical parcel was not peanut butter, not a gifting of lovely Americana in the form of oh, perhaps some treasures stamped with seemingly methodical precision with the unmistakable words “Trader Joe's” or even “USDA organic,” but instead, I became the somewhat willing recipient of a brand spankin' new economics book complete with study guide! For, you see, if I am accepted to the Peace Corps Fellows sociology graduate program at Illinois State University, I will be required to make up the only known deficit in my transcripts, an economics class. Lucky for me, I have Harper College at my disposal, & it certainly doesn't hurt that father dearest is the chair of the economics department there. I stand a fighting chance to say the least, & irregardless, I've got nothing but time.

The delgoor owners were kind enough to take a food order from me on Monday because they were going to the aimag to restock, so now, the local store in town has four bags of dehydrated soy meat for me to purchase as I please. They also bought some canned beans, peas, & corn, which are rare luxuries in these parts. Supposedly, though only another trip to the store will tell for sure, apples & mandarin oranges are being restocked today, so if I go tomorrow, perhaps I can buy way more fruit than any one human being can reasonably expect to eat alone. If, & this is a big if that bridges the gap between hope & despair, the peanut butter actually does come in the mail tomorrow evening, then by this time on Friday, I should be happily snacking on apple slices with peanut butter. It's the little things in life, really, the little things.

In other news, tomorrow is March. I know I'm jumping the gun a little bit by saying this but thank goodness for March 1st & honestly, February, just go away. It's not so much that March holds any significance in my life whatsoever or that I even particularly like the month in any way, but it's the change & newness of the thing that really holds merit at this point. Plus, there are things to look forward to. March 8th is Women's Day, a Mongolian holiday whereby we may or may not have school (at this point no one really knows either way). On March 11th the clocks in America “spring forward” for Daylight Saving Time (at 2:00AM in case you were previously uninformed). Darhuu said that after March 15th, she & I can start working on sewing a del jacket together with some gorgeous silvery-gold fleur-de-lis fabric I bought in DZ over Christmas. March 17th is Saint Patrick's Day, & though I don't have anything personally invested in shamrocks or snakes, it'll be fun to celebrate with English club & introduce the kids to some Irish music. Then, on March 20th, we can all celebrate the Vernal Equinox & Ostara, & on the 21st, supposedly a two week school break ensues! I've decided to stop crossing off days on my calendar. Doing that made February draw out like a death rattle.

Yesterday I stopped by Darhuu's house. I gave her some money & asked if it would be possible to get meat for Chicago. Darhuu is kind of like Chicago's guardian angel & grandmother, since she has so graciously stepped into the role of helping me to get meat for him to eat. As a vegetarian, I'm not very learned in the meat-procuring process, but several times this winter, Darhuu has been a saving grace because as a village elder, she happens to know all the local news, such as who is slaughtering which camel & when. Every time I see her, she is sure to ask if Chicago has meat, & she has been extremely helpful in finding some for him. Even though Mongolia seems to be a predominantly meat-eating country, the truth of the matter is that actually finding meat is really difficult.

Later in the day, I went with Darhuu, Sadie, & Brian next door to Darhuu's neighbor's house to meet the new baby! As per Mongolian custom, we were all offered a bowl of milk tea (which I admit, I have really come to enjoy). Afterward, shot glasses of vodka were offered (but you don't have to drink if you don't want to, you can simply touch the glass to your lips, & pass it back in your right hand with your left hand supporting the elbow of your right arm), as were small glasses of white wine. As we left, the woman of the household offered us gifts of chocolates & gum, which was a very sweet gesture on her part, & I wondered if it was perhaps a remnant of Tsagaan Sar since we had not yet visited her home this lunar new year.

We bade our farewells, & I walked home in the falling evening, surprisingly absent of bitter cold, though it may have been due to the calming of the winds which had earlier been more prominent. Something in the air reminded me of autumn, perhaps the coming of snow. As I walked home, I felt a sense of tranquility. Only earlier that day, I had seen two young boys wearing traditional Mongolian del garments riding horses bareback. Somewhere in the distance as I walked, someone was singing. The dusk was otherwise quiet & calm, the aimag glimmered with its faint lights in the distance, & I asked myself silently when else in my life, particularly my future in the next few months & years, when else will I experience such peace?

My First Shower in 2012 & Other Tales

2012-02-26T22:28:00.015-08:00

The shower house! (Cue the Heavenly chorus!)

Day Six Hundred & Thirty-two
Monday, February 27th 2012

Tsagaan Sar went really well. Sadie & Brian invited me to accompany them to Erdenechimeg's ger (the woman who runs the post office), & then we stopped by their home & Darhuu's house as well. I spent several hours at Darhuu's enjoying the ebb & flow of various friends, family members, & students as they made their way to the house. Eventually, Darhuu's sisters from the aimag came as well, with their children & nieces & nephews. It was really nice to be a part of someone's family for such a family-oriented holiday.

After I went home, I heard a knock at the door. By this point, I was already well on my way to a metaphorical sugar coma, as Tsagaan Sar does not lack in sweet things to eat. Every home had dish after dish of candy, candied fruit, dried fruit, real fruit, wafers, cookies, gummies, sugar-coated peanuts, & on & on & on. I opened my door to none other than Haliunaa, asking me to come to her house for Tsagaan Sar, too. She took me by the arm & walked me to the other side of town (diagonally to the northeast of where I live), with little Puli dog Jake trotting at our heels. I asked Haliunaa how Jake got his name, & she responded “Jackie Chan!”

When we arrived, I was taken to the back room of Haliunaa's home that I had never seen before. It was complete with a miniature kitchen, a coal-burning stove, & a very comfortable living room with rugs (even rugs hung on the walls, as is common in Mongolia), sofas, comfy chairs, a grand table with the traditional Tsagaan Sar setup, & the obligatory TV in the room as well. My best guess is that this secondary room is the children's room for Haliunaa & her two older brothers, Chuluunbat & Batchuluun (aren't the boys' names creative?). Haliunaa was so eager to prove her worth as a good hostess that she literally handed me nearly every dish on the table in quick succession. Have some sootay tsay (milk tea), & some airag (fermented camel milk), some Coca Cola, some fruit salad, some candy, have some chocolates, have some bow (cookies). I kept laughing & telling her “Bi hoyer gartay bain!” “I only have two hands!”

I hung out with the kids for several hours at Haliunaa's house. Some other children were there that I had never met before, though I believe they were Haliunaa's cousins in some manner. The kids instructed me in many cultural things, such as how during a traditional Tsagaan Sar greeting, only the older person is supposed to sniff the younger person's cheeks. They also brought out a cupping set, traditional eastern medicine whereby cups are adhered to the skin by either burning out the air underneath the cup or pumping it out (with a more modern set). The cups suction to the skin, & it is believed that the suction will draw out any toxins. According to the kids, children can leave the cups on for 10 minutes, while adults can leave them on for 15 minutes. It is actually quite common to see students, teachers, strangers, & friends alike in Mongolia with tell-tale circular bruises on their bodies alluding to the strong belief in this practice.

Yesterday, I took my first shower of 2012. Hanhongor recently got a large money donation (presumably from one of the mining companies) to renovate one of the buildings in town & convert it into a shower house. It recently opened, & for a mere 1500T (a little over $1 in U.S. Terms), a shower can be procured. I say “mere” in jest, because this is expensive in comparison to a tumpen bath, which can be had for free. For those curious, the cost of a shower is .5% of our Peace Corps Volunteer monthly allowance. I have been reticent to go to the shower house these past few weeks for several reasons. First, the shower house is only open Friday through Monday, & I was unsure about the hours of operation until Sadie told me that they were conveniently posted on the door. Secondly, I figured that since there were only four shower stalls, & since my village has a swarming six hundred people or so, surely no one could ever get an elbow in edgewise, non? Thirdly, I was simply timid – aversive to the idea of getting my hopes up, trotting over to the green-roofed building with my bag of toiletries swinging as I skipped along, blue bath towel rolled under my arm, only to be met with a locked door, a line out the door & halfway around the building, or worse, a shower consisting of a freezing weak stream of water dribbling onto my head while I shivered & choked back tears.

Never fear, little cricket! The shower house is next to godliness. By godliness, I do not necessarily mean to imply that the water has the best pressure ever, nor do I mean that it is hot as though procured from the thunderous underbelly of some hidden volcano, secreted away deep beneath the rugged terrain of this barren desert landscape. I do not even mean to sound as though Hanhongor has running water. We don't, folks. Apparently, there is a large water drum that is wheeled or driven over to one of the town wells, filled with water, wheeled or driven back to the shower house, & then somehow the water is fed into what I assume to be a system of pipes that wind & wend every which way, their serpentine metallic tendrils forming unseen patterns & at one point making their way past some source of heat, presumably a hand-fed fire.

I don't know how to describe it. Taking a shower made me feel so... so... human. There is a fairly simple way of understanding exactly what I'm talking about. Simply go without showering for three months, instead, opting to bathe from a bucket whereby the water must be carried by hand & heated somehow. If you start to smell, simply carry some water, heat it up in a water boiler, hot pot, or over the fire, dump it with some cooler water into a plastic bowl the size of a large popcorn bowl, & bathe to your heart's content. Okay, now try it when the power is off. Pretend you have no running water whatsoever, no shining silver taps in your home, & find the nearest lake or stream if you have to! Gallivant outside with a bucket & go collect your bathing water. Feeling ambitious? Try bathing out of a bucket when the temperature outside is -25°F, the power is out, & the heat is off. Go ahead, try it. If you're gung-ho, feel free to find a place to live where you don't speak the language, & if you're really going for the gold, try not seeing your family or friends for oh, say, twenty months. Then take your shower. That is what I mean when I say that showering makes me feel human.

Dearest Old Man Winter, I'm done with you. We've had a rocky relationship these past few months, & if I can be honest for a moment, I'd say that we have had problems with one another for years. You're so cold & heartless, sometimes I wonder if I ever loved you at all. How dare you prevent me from enjoying my day to day outdoor activities? How dare you prohibit my cat from going outside? Our relationship is nothing short of abusive. Instead of being comfortable, I can't even go out dressed like I want. You force me to wear layer upon layer of clothing until I look like I weigh at least fifty pounds more than I actually do. You know what? It's over between us.

The seventh of the Nine Nines of winter ended on February 23rd. Theoretically, by this point, the hilltops should have blackened, but due to a little thing called snow last Thursday, I cannot report bare hillsides at this juncture. However, as it is the eighth Nine (& will be until March 3rd), & since this is the Nine when the ground will supposedly dampen, I find some strange joy in coming across mud. Though there are patches of fresh snow that still cling to their last vestiges of existence, the influence of white upon the desert sand is quickly fading. Bon voyage. I took great pleasure in rolling up my sleeping bag & artfully putting it back into its respective bag (an undertaking that literally involves each of my four limbs). Today, I wiped down my Mongolian winter boots, oiled them, & put them in a bag in my closet, ready to be packed away in a suitcase.

Some grand executive decisions have been made in the past two days or so. While I will be bringing my Mongolian boots home, I won't be bringing the brown boots I currently have home with me. Thus, I am free to wear them down to stubs, if I so wish. I'm leaving behind my black ballet flats (that I bought in Zuunmod), my knee-high heeled boots (that I bought in UB), & whatever is left of my flip flops (I've only held onto them this far for use at the shower house anyway). What I still haven't decided is whether or not I want to bring my Danskin running shoes home, but they're not that big of a space investment anyway. I'll be wearing the black cloth slouch boots home with me on the plane, & I'll have them tucked away until I leave to keep them looking nice.

I'm most likely going to be leaving behind one of my box suitcases (though they're both travel-worn enough to be thrown away, so the end decision simply will come down to how much space I really need). I plan to check my large traveler's backpack (from the Army surplus store). Chicago will come with me on the plane in his little cat box (courtesy of Sadie & Brian), & the only real issue I have left to ponder is the carry-on bag for all my technology. Sadie has a large tote bag that zips across the top with sturdy-looking handles that initially inspired my online search for similar bags. After finding that no such bags exist (more to the point, no such bags were in my price range & I am stubbornly unwilling to pay a lot of money otherwise for a bag I do not consider to be aesthetically appealing), I figured that the duffel bag that came with my luggage set would suffice. After my parents emailed me a picture, I started thinking it might be too large & not structured enough for my purposes.

What on earth could be the solution? Could I sew a cloth tote bag just for the travel? No. Could I cram all my technology into the green messenger bag I currently use when I go to school? Nope. Could I stand on top of a really tall building & throw my computer in the general direction of America & hope that it makes it there safely? What about building a suitcase out of clay? Fashioning my laptop into a hat? What I decided upon was simple: a backpack. A backpack, why not? & if you're going to buy a good old-fashioned backpack, you're going to buy a JanSport backpack. Online I went, doing my research along the way, until Amazon led me to the most glorious of glories.

Who's gonna lose her backpack in the airport? Not this girl!

Цагаан Сар

2012-02-24T00:43:00.002-08:00

In America, we have different sayings to mark the passage of time. “March comes in like a lion & goes out like a lamb.” “April showers bring May flowers.” “Knee-high by the Fourth of July” (in reference to how tall your corn crop should be, naturally). If I had to invent a saying for January, it would certainly include phrases like “never-ending,” & “bitter cold,” & February likewise might include choice words like “doldrums.” Luckily for those of us living in Mongolia, there is a remedy. Цагаан Сар, or Tsagaan Sar, which means “White Moon” when translated into English, is the Mongolian celebration of the lunar new year! While some people translate it as “White Month” (because “sar” can mean both “moon” & “month” in Mongolian), White Moon is a much more appropriate title for the holiday, since it is lunar in nature after all.

Tsagaan Sar is a holiday which incorporates some familiar aspects of American holidays like Halloween, Thanksgiving, & Christmas. It mirrors Halloween in the sense that Mongolians dress up in their traditional national costume, known as the дээл (pronounced “dell”). In preparation for Tsagaan Sar, Mongolians will often sew new dell garments for the entire family. Children go from house to house with bags & they are given candy, chips, & other small gifts. Tsagaan Sar is much like Thanksgiving because food overflows from various tables, including luxuries like fruit which can be scarce & expensive during winters in Mongolia. Like Thanksgiving, Tsagaan Sar is a time for family & friends, & people visit homes of their loved ones. Mongolians will often visit one another & stay for several hours, watching Mongolian wrestling tournaments on television instead of the American tradition of watching football. Elements of Christmas can be seen in the Tsagaan Sar tradition of gift giving. At the end of a visit to a home, the host gives gifts to the visitors. There are cultural notions which dictate this gift giving, such as giving multiple gifts (never just one), & making sure not to gift someone with knives or other objects that could bring bad luck. When giving a gift that is meant to hold something, such as a wallet or mug, it is proper to put something inside of it (like money or other trinkets) before it is gifted.

Because Tsagaan Sar is based on the lunar character, which was originally utilized by the Tibetans, its date changes from year to year. It is a three day celebration that begins on the day of the new moon that occurs two full months after the first new moon following the winter solstice. It can fall anywhere between the end of January & the beginning of March. Each year is represented by an animal, & this animal has its own unique set of characteristics. This past year, 2011, was Туулай Жил (pronounced “too-lay jil”) meaning “The Year of the Rabbit” & was characterized by starting off favorably & peacefully, but ending with disaster. This year Tsagaan Sar begins on February 22nd & ends on February 25th. It is Луу Жил (pronounced “loh jil”) meaning “The Year of the Dragon.” Folklore associated with this year predicts rain & possible floods. Next year, 2013, is known as Могой Жил (pronounced “mo-roy jil”), or “The Year of the Snake,” & according to tradition, it will bring many worries & difficulties.

Tsagaan Sar is a traditional holiday, & comes with a myriad of cultural practices. In each home, there will be a tower built from long pieces of hard, sweet, bread known as боов (pronounced “bow” as in “bowtie”). The “bow” are oval in shape, about seven inches in length, perhaps three inches across, & are usually stamped with a design on the top before baking. The size of the tower depends on the size of the family, but towers must have an odd number of levels. A younger couple with no children might have a tower that has three pieces of “bow” on each level & is three levels high. An older & more respected member of the community might have a tower that is nine levels high with five or more pieces of “bow” composing each layer. These towers are built upon the edges of large metal bowls, laying the “bow” in an overlapping fashion. At the top of the tower, a round, large piece of sweet bread like an oversized cookie is placed. On top of this, an arrangement of white foods is often exhibited including: sugar cubes, candy-coated peanuts, dried dollops of meringue, arrul (a Mongolian milk product that can be hard or soft, depending on how it is made), orrum (the sponge-like byproduct of boiling milk), smaller pieces of боов, & other edible items.

Greetings are important during Tsagaan Sar. People ask one another “Та амар сайн байна уу?” (“Ta amar sen ben oh?”) which translates to “Are you well-rested?” (“Ta” is the Mongolian proper form of “you,” while чи or “chi” is used more informally, such as when addressing children.) It is customary that you greet the eldest member of the household first, then the younger & younger members respectively. Younger individuals will ask “Амар сайн уу?” (“Amar sen oh?”) which has the same meaning, but is less formal & more familiar in nature. When greeting someone for the first time during the lunar new year, it is customary to grasp arms at the elbows. The younger individual grasps underneath the older individual's arms to show support & respect for their elder, & both people put their faces next to one another, cheek to cheek, much like the petits bisous (“little kisses”) practiced by the French & other European cultures. The elder party will sniff the cheeks of the younger person, inhaling their scent, & the younger person might kiss the older person's cheeks lightly.

Sometimes, these greetings are coupled with хадаг (or hadag, pronounced much like “haduck”). Hadag are ceremonial scarves, most commonly found in a light blue color which represents the color of the sky. They are used for greetings, religious or spiritual purposes, departures, & to provide symbolic meaning to significant events. In Mongolia, hadag scarves can also be found in white (representing water), red (representing fire), green (representing the earth), & yellow (representing the sun). One hadag is folded lengthwise three times and is held by the giver in both hands, outstretched & facing upward, about shoulder-width apart. The side of the scarf where the folded material opens is held facing toward the recipient to represent openness, welcoming, & peacefulness. The recipient takes the scarf in a similar manner to which it is given, with both hands outstretched. After the scarf is received, it is folded over & over again to make it smaller, & it is then placed in the front pocket-like flap of the recipient's дээл (“dell”) for safekeeping. During Tsagaan Sar, scarves may also be held as symbols of graciousness & hospitality as the traditional greeting is preformed.

In preparation for Tsagaan Sar, families not only sew new дээл clothing, but they also clean their homes in the spirit of what Americans call “Spring Cleaning,” going to so far as to dust every item they own. They spend the preceding weeks or months making бууз (or buuz, pronounced much like “boats”). Бууз are small, meat-filled dumplings that are comprised of a flour wrapping which is pinched & twisted around the meat before being steamed. Hundreds & hundreds, if not thousands, of бууз are made in advance (& these can easily be stored in a shed outside because of the cold temperatures, keeping in mind that many herder families do not own refrigerators & may not have access to electricity). In the wintertime, гэр dwellings (also written as “ger,” & pronounced “gair” – the Mongolian word for “yurt”) are fitted with an outdoor shed known as a пин (pronounced “ping”) which is placed in front of the ger's single, south-facing door. The ping acts as a buffer to the cold winter winds and also provides a storage space for items that require refrigeration such as meat, or in the case of Tsagaan Sar, бууз. Cultural lore states as you visit various homes on Tsaagan Sar, you must eat three бууз & drink three shots of vodka at each home.

When you visit homes for Tsagaan Sar, you will often be offered a bowl of сүүтэй цай (pronounced “soo-tay tsay” & literally meaning “milk-with tea,” or simply, milk tea). You may also be offered a bowl of айраг (or airag), which is a fermented milk product made from the milk of a mare, or more commonly in the Gobi desert, camel's milk. Airag tastes much like unsweetened yogurt, somewhat tart yet rich, & it is similar in consistency. Your host will have vodka available, but if you do not wish to drink it, you may simply accept the shot glass with your right hand (with the elbow of your right arm supported by your left hand), touch the vodka to your lips, & respectfully pass the glass back in the same manner. Men must first dip their ring fingers into the vodka, flick their fingers in the four directions (north, south, east, & west) before either drinking it or passing it back to their host. Some hosts will provide sweet fruit-based wine (such as cherry wine or sangria) to their female guests. There will be dishes of candies, chocolates, & other finger foods available to you, & you may be offered them by your host, or you may just take what you wish. Before you take something from a dish, be sure that tap the outside of the bowl with your right hand, & take any food with your right hand as well.

Mongolian families spend a great amount of time & money in preparation for Tsagaan Sar. It is easily one of the most important holidays in Mongolia, & families pride themselves on being as gracious as possible. The spirit of Tsagaan Sar can be found in every home, where guests are treated in a manner that beautifully incorporates both welcoming & respect, & all who enter the home are bestowed with a bounty of food, drink, & gifts. Tsagaan Sar exemplifies the qualities of hospitality & willingness to give for which Mongolian culture is so famed.

Tsagaan Sar Pictures

2012-02-23T22:10:00.026-08:00

Here is Erdenechimeg's ger (the woman who works at the post office). Darhuu is in the back wearing a blue dell, & Sadie's husband Brian is in the foreground also dressed in traditional Mongolian clothing.

This is the боов (pronounced “bow” as in “bowtie”) tower in Darhuu's house. As you can see, the tower is an odd number of levels in height (seven, in this case). The table is spread with various candy dishes & fruits for guests to take as they please.

Here is a depiction of various white foods that are included on top of the боов tower. There are sugar cubes, candy-coated peanuts, as dried meringue dollops, arrul, spongy pieces of orrum, & smaller pieces of боов.

Here is one of the pieces of hard, sweet bread called боов with a symbol stamped on the top. While the symbol may resemble a swastika, please keep in mind that this symbol predates its Nazi affiliations, & has served as a representation of peace for many cultures throughout history.

Here, Darhuu (in purple) is preparing to greet her sister with a хадаг (or hadag, pronounced much like “haduck”) ceremonial scarf.

Here, Sadie is greeting her elder (Darhuu's sister), by grasping underneath the elbows to show her support (both figuratively & literally). The greeting continues as both parties lean their faces into one another, & the elder party sniffs the younger person's cheek, inhaling their unique, individual scent.

Tsagaan Sar often involves guests receiving gifts provided by their host or hostess. Here, Sadie & Brian have been gifted with wonderful homemade camel sweaters, complete with shagai (pronounced "sha-guy," Mongolian for "ankle bone") shaped buttons. Gifts can range from candy, to make-up, to perfume, to cigarettes, to more elaborate & expensive presents like the ones you see depicted here.

Бууз (or buuz, pronounced "boats") are a staple in traditional Mongolian cuisine. They are steamed, flour-based, meat-filled dumplings made by the hundreds (& sometimes thousands) for Tsagaan Sar. Please note the artful ridges on the top of each buuz, made by a very specific "Mongol Pinch" that few foreigners (myself excluded) have mastered.

Haliunaa & her cousin, serving airag in a bowl

Well woes

2012-02-23T21:00:00.001-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Twenty-nine
Friday, February 24th 2012

Having a key to the water well was not the blessing I thought it would be. For the past few days, people have been hammering on my door asking for it, & I really don't like to be bothered, particularly during the Tsagaan Sar holiday when answering your door could result in an encounter with a drunken fool. (Mongolian holidays & vodka go together like peanut butter & jelly.) I wish I could express how annoying it is to live in a fishbowl like I do – I'm an American in a very mono-ethnic country, so naturally I am already a curiosity. Couple that with living in a small town where everyone & their uncle knows where I live, & I often get a lot of unwanted attention. Most of it is well-meaning, particularly the little kids who are just bored out of their minds & think that I won't mind them bothering me, but it still is grating. Whereas most Mongolians seem to welcome unannounced & unplanned visits as just a normal course of events in their culture, Americans value a certain level of privacy. How rude would it be for coworkers, students, children, neighbors, & random strangers alike to knock on your door at any time? Multiply the feeling you get of your privacy being intruded upon by the phrase “all day, everyday” & you're not even close to feeling like the zoo animal spectacle I seem to be. “Don't tap on the glass” does not apply.

In an attempt to remedy the situation, I put the well key on a piece of ribbon, hung it on my door handle, & put a note on the door that says something like “Well Key: After you get water, return the key to my door,” but written in Mongolian. Did it work? A few times I heard some footsteps approaching my door & the key being taken, about three minutes later I heard the key being returned. Ah-ha, I had thought naively. Well, this morning at a ripe hour of about 7:30AM, someone pounded on my door with all their might (the logic, I think, being that 1. Mongolians rarely encounter locked house doors to begin with, particularly when someone is home, so to come across one is an unfamiliar situation for them, & 2. Since I try to answer my door as infrequently as possible, I think people have started to believe that maybe I can't hear them, & that if they only just pound harder in a manner that threatens to crack the flimsy plywood from which the door is constructed, surely I will answer with a smile on my face & a song in my heart, non?). Not only did this person once again invade my privacy, casting a shadow of annoyance upon my morning (I had, after all, been snuggling with Chicago, & we were both irked at the intrusive noise), but they then seemed to realize that the key was there (as apparently the note hanging at eye-level was not enough of a tip-off), because I heard the sound of it being taken from the door, & footsteps walking away.

What this person did not do, however, is return the key to my door handle. I made this discovery when another hammering session finally goaded me into answering the door in utter exasperation. I had waited a full three minutes or more thinking “It's just kids. They'll leave if they don't get a response,” but when an adult woman's voice said “Emma... Emma...” I decided I couldn't continue my futile attempts at ignoring the situation. One of my fellow teachers was there & asked me for the key, & when I opened the door to see what the problem was, I realized that the key was gone. “It was here,” I told her, pointing to my door handle & gesturing to the note. She seemed to realize that someone had taken it & had not returned it, & went on her way. Stupid me, that's all I can say. Stupid, stupid me. What I should have done, since everything is clearer in hindsight, was unlock the well at daybreak, keep the key to myself, & then re-lock the well at nightfall. As far as I am concerned, there is no need whatsoever for the well to be locked. No one has given me an explanation or a reason why the well gets a lock in the wintertime, & if a darned good reason does exist, then I'll eat my hat if I ever hear it. I have heard not so much as a whisper explaining why, why, why amidst the difficulties of living this kind of lifestyle, why in the throes of daily power outages & subzero temperatures coupled with blistering winds for months on end, why is access to the single most important factor for the sustaining of human life – water – being restricted?

Happy Anywhere

2012-02-22T19:06:00.001-08:00

Boston in the springtime

Day Six Hundred & Twenty-eight
Thursday, February 23rd 2012

I'm beginning to understand why my father is the person he is, seeming as though he could be happy anywhere. Before Peace Corps, I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the affinity for small towns. Where was the charm? Now, after going without the little things, I am beginning to comprehend. There is a blessing in being surrounded by family & beloved friends, the simplicity of experiencing content in enjoying a Mike's Hard on my aunt & uncle's front porch in the lazy glow of a summer afternoon in Red Lake Falls. There is something beautiful in knowing the local store owners, something charming about recognizing one's neighbors. There is a beauty within waking up early, starting a fire outside in our brick fireplace, & making coffee on the patio the old fashioned way. The spiraling drifts of little cotton puffs from dogwood trees in the springtime as they dance along the wind, the scent of freshly-mowed grass in the summer, raking leaves in the autumn, the twinkle of homes in my neighborhood decorated with lights for the holidays in the winter, snow-capped & appearing as little gingerbread houses in their own right – small town charm? I think my heart understands now.

I used to think it was sophisticated to cling to ideals big city life, but now I see that life is relative. Home is anywhere one chooses to seek happiness. Some of my fondest daydreams involve memories of wandering the streets of Paris in August like a troubadour, the sounds of the city enveloping me, the sights enchanting me. Tucked away in unexpected corners & obvious in sprawling courtyards alike, farmer's markets dotted every aspect of the city. The scenery was composed of tables covered in white cloths stacked high with wooden boxes, a proverbial waterfall of colors & scents overflowing them in the form of ripe fruits & crisp vegetables, each emitting their own personality & each beckoning to passersby with an almost scandalous pleading. Paris evokes memories of my roommate, Katie, & how we held hands as we choked back tears while walking through a memorial of the Holocaust commemorating the children who had perished. Paris sprawls in my memory in the fragrant scent of bread from the local boulangerie, so popular that patrons lined up early in the morning, the queue turning around the block as French nationals waited inexplicably patiently for their daily baguette. I am brought back, time & time again in my day dreams to the rush of colors & movement in Saint Michel, Notre Dame cathedral providing an eloquent backdrop to the restaurants placed with artistic precision alone the Seine river.

I remember the beauty of Boston, the happiness I experienced there when I visited my cousin, Allison, in the springtime before I came to Mongolia. Her apartment was shared with several other people, her bedroom was littered with art supplies & esoteric tomes, & I felt home, I felt familiar. We would visit Haymarket together for groceries, the American mirror to those Parisian food stands, covered tents & bustling shoppers, tiny aisles & allies created by tables placed at juxtaposing angles, the scene inspired by the heavy, salty, yet refreshing scent of the nearby ocean. We bought bagfuls of fresh produce, starfruit, imported cheese from France, fresh-baked bread loaves & naan, tomatoes so large & juicy they appeared as though they could burst at any moment. We walked through some of the oldest cemeteries in America, stumbling upon the gravestones of famous figures from history. We drank Newcastle Ale at her favorite dive bar, where I too soon became a regular. Every street, every cobblestone, every alleyway possessed some whisper of history. Buildings firmly rooted amidst the newly-paved roads boasted their origins as the first pub in America, the home of Paul Revere, the old church where once lanterns hung to denote “One if by land, two if by sea” would determine the fate of our nation. Boston has the essence of European sensibilities, swirled together with the modernity of a metropolis, bustling with the spirits of generation upon generation of living, breathing, people, each imprinting their own story upon the cityscape.

Happiness can be found on a cold winter's night in the Gobi desert with negative temperatures & a sky full of stars where my cat nudges the blankets aside so he can crawl underneath the covers to sleep in the crook of my arm. I have experienced moments of intense joy at something as simple as a letter or parcel waiting for me in the post office, sent nearly a month earlier from the western world. I marvel at the kindness of family & friends who take the time to write to me, & I relish the days when my phone lights up with an unfamiliar number, perhaps more than a dozen digits of length, & I answer it knowing instinctively that it is my parents calling me from America using Skype. On summer evenings, I have walked outside & looked across the barren landscape to the province center. It is as though I am looking across a great expanse of ocean to a sparkling otherworldly place, the fluorescent lights appearing as jewels in winking tones of topaz & amber & crystalline white, the air nearly visible in undulating waves through the distance. I have heard the drumbeat of a shaman, I have felt the rain of a desert thunderstorm, my eyes have reflected the spark of lighting as it blazed across a rolling backdrop of clouds. I have seen the red floating lanterns of a Buddhist ceremony disappearing into the heavens, I have witnessed landscape after landscape dotted with awaa spiritual stone piles decorated with brightly colored hadag scarves in sky blue, white, maroon, yellow, & green. If I can find happiness here, I can be happy anywhere.

Day Six Hundred & Twenty-six

2012-02-21T02:21:00.000-08:00

The locked well, the bane of my existence.

What's that in the upper right-hand corner? By golly, it's a bird!

Day Six Hundred & Twenty-six
Tuesday, February 21st 2012

Hidden amidst the last vestiges of winter & nestled between the final pages of February, there are wonderful things to celebrate. Today marked the first day of 2012 where the temperature was above freezing, a entire 36°F according to the online weather website I use (which conveniently offers the choice of Fahrenheit & Celsius, because though I have lived abroad for over a year & a half now, I still think in Fahrenheit).
For those curious, see how we're faring here in the Gobi:
http://weather.yahoo.com/mongolia/omnogov/dalandzadgad-2266548/
After what seems close to an eternity of negative temperatures, having one day above freezing is something very special. The snow is just beginning to melt, the sixth of the Nine Nines is over, & on February 23rd, the seventh Nine will come to a close as well. The seventh Nine is when the hills are supposed to blacken, much more interesting in my opinion than the sixth Nine when the roads are supposed to blacken. I have no idea what that means, because the roads here are certainly not paved, & are themselves more of a mere suggestion over the gently rolling desert landscape.

The weather today for the first time divulged its true springtime nature with the hints of a sandstorm. Though most Mongolians (& Peace Corps Volunteers alike) will say quite plainly that spring is the worst season because the winds are incessant, the sandstorms are plentiful, & there are scarce budding daffodils to be found (if any), I must admit, I find sandstorms to be somewhat enchanting. In a country where I like to say “There is no weather” because the forecast is sunny ninety-nine times out of one hundred, experiencing a sandstorm is truly something unique. The skies darken to heavier tones of gray as though they would like to threaten rain, though the threat is as dry proverbially as it is literally. The desert, where visibility usually allows an observer to glance for perhaps hundreds of miles, becomes blurred at the edges. The Gurvan Saikhan mountains to the west disappear. Such an event is incredible.

The weather report claims that the sun is going to set at 6:38PM this evening, something that pleases me greatly. When I first started paying attention a few weeks ago, the report said 6:21PM, & as far as I'm concerned, any progress is a good thing. Incrementally, I can't wait until the big patch of browned snow in front of my building melts completely. I can't wait until I can read by the light of the sun when the dorm kids go to dinner around 7:15PM each night. & I can't wait until the sun continues its journey though the sky as darkness approaches & sets not behind the Community Center, as it seems to now, but behind the Baruun Delgoor instead.

In the spirit of newness, I was given the incentive I needed to rearrange my apartment when one of my power strips inexplicably died (or perhaps the explanation is the electricity here is unpredictable & the power strip was already overloaded when the electricity just so happened to surge). Though the power strip was expensive (around $12, which in Peace Corps Volunteer terms is a full 6% of our monthly allowance –take that GRE math prep book, I can do percentages!), the fact that it stopped working was a blessing in disguise. Since my counterpart Nasaa moved back to the aimag last year & I moved into her apartment, which is a full two times as large as my old one next door, I have had the same basic furniture arrangement. Now that things are rearranged, I feel refreshed, reawakened, & re-energized. Perhaps it seems a bit strange that so much joy can be obtained from moving furniture, but reorganizing living spaces is one of my favorite things in the world to do.

Since my village is without running water, I must carry water everyday, rain or shine (but more like subzero temperatures & shine). In the winter, inexplicably, for reasons wholly unknown, the well in the schoolyard that I use is locked. Since my receptacle for water is a big plastic bucket with a lid & handle, & since the building I live in is located in the schoolyard, using the school well makes sense. When it is locked & I have to trudge inside to find the person with the key, I get frustrated, especially when the key is nowhere to be found. I hoard water in my tumpen (a big, wide-mouth bucket about 1 ½ feet in diameter & maybe 10 inches deep) whenever I get the chance.

Because of the school holiday for Tsaagan Sar, & since everyone is gone, I have been worried about how I will get water. I have been using the new well across the way (a “stone's throw” from where I live, as one of my volunteer friends would say) whenever I see that someone is there inside the building to push the water button or do whatever they do to make water come out of the spout. The past few mornings, I've awoken early because the electricity has come back on, & aside from the beauty of the Gobi sunrise to dazzle me from my slumber, I've been putting my bucket outside at the well with a note that reads “Эма багш ус хэрэгтэй, баярлалаа!” taped to the lid. (In Roman letters, it transliterates to “Ema bagsh os heregtei, bayarlalaa” & means “Emma teacher needs water, thank you!”) I had hoped, & correctly so, that if anyone unlocked the well, they would be kind enough to fill up my bucket. (You must be wondering why my name in Cyrillic only has one “M” & I will tell you plainly that it is because in the Mongolian language, where vowel harmony exists with an almost musical perfection in a grammatical sense, that consonants are rarely found that repeat themselves. Thus, Ema.)

Today, after my bucket had been placed outside & I was going about my morning reading a great work of fiction & enjoying some Trader Joe's French roast coffee, I heard a knock on my door. After jumping down from my perch in the windowsill (where I had been reading by the warmth of the sun) & scooping up Chicago to answer the door, there was a fellow teacher with my little green bucket in her hand. I thanked her profusely as she stepped inside. Then, something amazing happened, something so astounding & magical that I can barely believe it myself. She gave me the key. I don't know if it's mine proper or if I'm borrowing it for the next week or so until the village resumes its normal routine once again after the holidays are over, but for now, I have a key of my very own! I can fill up my water filter & do laundry all in the same day! To celebrate & as a treat to myself, I washed my hair.

Infamously, the Өмнөговь (Omnogobi in Roman letters, but honestly, this word is unpronounceable to most people who haven't lived in my province for a year & a half. It sounds something like “Omen-goy-v” but with a kind of half-choking intake of breath between the invisible sounds you can't identify with English attuned linguistic tendencies) has really horrible electricity. I don't know whether it's been on here all day (knock on wood, for the love of all things wooden!) because of the holiday, but it has certainly been on long enough for me to bake some pumpkin bread from a mix my parents sent in a care package a few months ago. My oven has been missing the temperature adjustment knob since I got it (& perhaps since the day, long, long ago, when someone first bought it), & I can't set the oven to any specific temperature. It doesn't matter too much, since it still works. The degrees are in Celsius rather than Fahrenheit anyway (though I might know the Celsius system better by now if my oven did have a temperature gauge), but I have noticed that it takes roughly three or four times longer to bake something. The banana bread I made last week took three hours, & the instructions said 50 to 60 minutes, but it was worth every second.

Because of Tsagaan Sar, I'm not sure if the postal service will function as per usual, but my guess is that it will probably not. Either way, I am expecting a package from my grandparents in the mail this week containing, conveniently, peanut butter. Funny how things work out, because just this past week, I ran out of peanut butter completely. It's the little things that make life better, & since the дэлгүүр (delgoor or store) has been carrying luxuriously crisp apples lately, my favorite snack has been pairing apple slices & peanut butter. That aside, I've made some progress on the overabundance of spices & herbs in my cupboards, mostly making fragrant soups & chili (though my dried bean supply just ran out as well). It's nice to see the shelves becoming slowly more bare, because it means that I am another spoonful of lemon pepper or another dash of cinnamon closer to going home.

After this week, Tsagaan Sar will be over & school will resume. A half week later, February will draw to a close. Three weeks after that, I have heard tell that another school break occurs (though no one ever really seems to know the dates exactly), & though I don't necessarily believe it, this break is supposed to be two weeks long, as opposed to the normal week-long holiday between quarters. Either way, March will fade into the background, & two weeks of classes in April will lead me to the COS (Closure of Service) conference in Ulaanbaatar. Aside from endless Peace Corps logistic sessions about how the COS process works & a presumably mountain-sized array of paperwork, that week will also fly by because it is then that I will book my flight back to America for myself & Chicago. At this point, the countdown to my departure date in June can officially begin, & all that will remain is a steady ticking off of days on the calendar.

Spring Cleaning

2012-02-19T18:06:00.000-08:00

The foyer

The kitchen

The kitchen

The bedroom, viewed from the outside

The drawing room

The office & bedroom

The office & bedroom

Mouse Flower

2012-02-16T08:29:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Twenty-one
Thursday, February 16th 2012

Last week, one of my most precious kiddos, Otgontsetseg, stopped by my home to say hello. When I opened the door, the coat rack that was nailed to the inside of the door came loose, fell, & smashed my pinky finger. It definitely stung (& there's an ugly bruise underneath the fingernail now), but Otgontsetseg thought it was her fault & almost cried as she apologized. I did what I could to make her feel better, but after she left, I was still worried that she felt bad about it. Naturally, I crocheted her a hat, scarf, & matching set of slippers with dark green yarn & a multicolored autumn-themed yarn.

Yesterday after class, I invited her to come over to retrieve her present. I'm not exactly well-versed on the Mongolian gift opening customs, but it seems like this is something done in private. I gave her the present (wrapped in paper left over from some Christmas wrapping paper my parents sent last year in a care package) & she left. Not ten minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. There was Otgontsetseg standing outside my door, & the second I opened it, she rushed inside to hug me around the waist, crying from happiness, telling me “You made me a hat, a scarf, & socks!”

Since the electricity was on, & since she will be returning to the countryside this weekend for our week-long Tsagaan Sar holiday break, I thought it might be nice to bake cookies together. I had some Jiffy chocolate chip cookie mix, & together we melted the butter & mixed the dough. After putting the cookies on the cookie sheet with a spoon & sticking them in the oven, I gave Otgontsetseg the spoon. She went to my dry sink to wash it, but I stopped her & told her “No, you eat it!” To the best of my ability, I explained to her in Mongolian that when I was her age, my mother & I would bake cookies together, & my mom would always let me lick the bowl & spoon. It occurred to me then that perhaps Otgontsetseg had never made cookies with her mom before (or at least not cookies as Americans know them), since most Mongolians don't own ovens. I gave her a Ziploc bag (which itself intrigued her greatly, since those are nonexistent here) filled with all the cookies we baked together.

In class, Otgontsetseg is quiet & somewhat shy. My most outspoken student, Margad, a strapping young lad who surprises me on a near-daily basis with the shocking English he learns from mature television shows & violent videogames, somehow decided that Otgontsetseg's name translates into “Mouse Flower,” even though the literal translation is “Youngest Flower.” I wonder if there's some nickname of hers I don't know, since Altantuul's nickname is Tuulai, & whereas Altantuul means “Golden Passage,” Tuulai literally means “Rabbit.” Either way, Margad calls Otgontsetseg Mouse Flower in class, & the first time he did so, it made for quite an amusing couple of minutes until I figured out what he was talking about.

Otgontsetseg is twelve years old & lives in the school dormitories behind my apartment. When I asked her about her family, she said they live in the hudoo (pronounced "who-dough"), or countryside. She has two younger sisters, one who is just a baby & the other five years old. (Mongolians sometimes count their years of life from the day they were conceived, however, not necessarily the day they were born, so at birth, they are already nine months old.) Otgontsetseg is extremely excited to visit her family this week, since she hasn't seen them since our last school break. The dormitory kids from the countryside only get to see their families a few times during the school year, every several months or so when we have a week-long break between quarters. As far as I know, some of these children are as young as first graders, since the government requires children to attend school at that age.

I asked Sadie about this a while ago, & she explained that the very young children are often paired with an older student, particularly the children who do not have older siblings. For multiple children from the same family, accommodations are attempted to keep them all in the same dormitory room together. The dorms in my village house about four or six people per room, & if I had to guess, I would say that over a hundred students live in the building we have here. Since there is a shortage of adult supervision, homeroom teachers (who follow the classes as the students move up each grade so that the students have the same teacher for the majority of their schooling) act as surrogate parents during the school day. Even still, I can't imagine how difficult an existence this must be.

Otgontsetseg asked me when I am returning to America. Even though the students already know full well that I leave in June, I have been encountering this question more & more often as of late, & I expect that I will continue to encounter it as the summer edges nearer. Even today, some of my other fifth graders stopped me after class to ask “Are you leaving this year?” (in Mongolian, of course). When I told Otgontsetseg, she immediately became very quiet & wouldn't say anything for a few minutes. “What is it?” I asked her, “What happened?” When she finally got the courage to speak, I understood the full weight behind her words with more depth than I've understood anything she has ever told me, despite the language barrier. “You're leaving.”

My heart pangs with sadness & simultaneously rings like wind chimes when I think of the bittersweet departure looming ever nearer. I miss America. I miss the sound of thunder. I miss the sight of a blue sky flecked with soft clouds reflected in the water of a lake. I experience little bursts of memories I can barely place, like going to the flea market with my parents on a dusty Saturday. I remember strange things, like driving to Eagle Square very early in the morning, a gas station in the town where my Dad grew up & many of my relatives still live. I want to go to the Bristol Renaissance Faire again, I'd love to see Old World Wisconsin, I want to go canoeing with my Dad again & stop by one of our favorite dive bars afterward. I miss the ease with which my parents could invite me out to dinner with them & how the simplicity of just being able to see my Mom's smile or hear my Dad's laugh is worth more to me right now than gold.

I'm nostalgic. I dreamed a few nights ago about a childhood friend who passed away last summer. I recall a girl I knew all throughout grade school who is now married. I think of the McHenry Public Library with a sense of glory, especially when lit by the truth that many Mongolians don't own books simply because not many books exist for them to own. I think of my life here, & I cannot take for granted that everyone knows me, that to my village, I am somewhat of a celebrity of sorts, & to my students, I am “My Emma.” It's a contrast between memories of Harper's campus blooming in the springtime, the desert spanning around me for hundreds of miles, gas stations & stoplights & interstates & roadmaps, dirt trails that intertwine leading off in seemingly random directions. Red, white, & blue flags hang proudly outside banks & federal buildings, owoo stone piles dot the Mongolian landscape as spiritual markers, decorated with blue ceremonial hadag scarves blowing in the wind.

You can go out to breakfast, lunch, & dinner anywhere, anytime in America & be served everything from the menu if you so wish. In Mongolia, you ask the restaurant what food they have available that day, & nine times out of ten, you will find that they don't have something. My Mom told me about the beautiful new furniture she purchased for our living room, whereas Sadie laughed when she realized that she owned the same exact rug, chairs, & table that I now have when she was a volunteer here nearly a decade ago. Midwesterners are all too familiar with spanning fields of corn, soybeans, endless idyllic & picturesque landscapes. Something like less than 1% of the land in Mongolia is arable.

I don't know any of the popular songs on the radio in America anymore. I haven't been in the driver's seat of a car in over a year & a half. Sometimes when I watch films, I'll see a driving scene & remember “Oh yeah, the double yellow line means you can't pass,” or “The left-hand green arrow illuminates first when you're waiting at a stoplight” & marvel at how I haven't thought about that in so long. The mail here in Mongolia itself can take several weeks to get from place to place. In America, you can procrastinate in sweet bliss until mere days before Christmas & still have time to post a card or gift.

In America, you are blessed the luxury of problems like leaky faucets & dripping taps. You have obligations of a charmed life: mowing the lawn because you are fortunate enough to have grass to mow, taking out the trash because someone will actually drive directly to your house & pick it up for you & take it away, vacuuming your carpet because you own both carpet & a vacuum cleaner. (For those of you who are curious, I sweep the only rug I own with a hand-held broom.) You pay the water bill because your home has running water. You move the clothes from the washer to the dryer, you load & unload the dishwasher, you clean your shower & bathtub, you have to take the car to Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed, & you consider these things to be chores. Chores? These are privileges.

Trying

2012-02-13T10:13:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Nineteen
Tuesday, February 14th 2012

I've been trying to improve upon a lot of things lately, some more pertinent or worthwhile than others. Of the less consequential, I've been attempting to cut out minced oaths from my everyday speech. This is because the children who hear me say them under my breath when I drop something or make a mistake on the board during class don't understand I'm not actually cursing – how would they know the intricacies of the English language well enough to differentiate between “shoot,” or “darn it” & the real thing? I don't want my kids mistakenly thinking I have a foul mouth.

I have been trying to rectify within myself why I am sometimes confronted with greatly varying levels of caring in my personal relationships & friendships. I am more often than not the one who seems to, at times, care more (too much perhaps) & because this is somewhat blinding, I am at a loss to understand why the other person isn't as eager to write, email, talk, chat, make arrangements, whatever the case may be, as I am. I could be alluding solely to romantic relationships here, but I believe the issue is much broader than that, touching facets of every social interaction. I wonder sometimes if in the modern era of conveniences (an email is nearly instantaneous, whereas the Pony Express in days gone by must have taken ages) that we forget to appreciate one another. Perhaps it takes such distance as this to truly begin to understand that fact.

I'm trying to bring more of a sense of balance into my life overall, particularly because my last months of living in the Gobi are the proverbial calm before the storm. In the foreseeable future after Peace Corps, I don't believe I will be able to find bliss in simplicity so readily, experience solitude so abundantly, evoke peacefulness so naturally. I am trying to get my affairs in order to make the transition back to America as grounded as it can be. I read often, journal when the muse descends, I eat as imaginatively as possible (with the limited options available), I practice yoga daily, I am delving deeper into my spirituality. I am focusing on developing myself as a person, cultivating certain aspects of my personality such as patience, mindful speech, silence, forgiveness, & allowing myself to experience life more fully, even though the experience brings me as much unresolved sorrow & hurt as it does excitement & joy.

I am trying to intensify the moments of inspiration I discover when I remember something beautiful in my life: walking with my Dad around the block of our neighborhood as a child, sitting on the dock at the cabin watching the sun rise, the endless hours of conversations spent outside on the deck of a friend's home, my mother's love for her beautiful garden & how she seems most in her element alongside the flowers, the dreams I've been having recently where I have been able to find peace with those beloved souls who are no longer in my life, the scent of the rain falling softly outside my open bedroom window at home, sitting with my brother by the firepit on our patio & singing “I Will Follow” together before I left, the grey Tuesday in September of my first year here when I met Chicago as a tiny kitten wrapped in a brocade scarf, the little pine tree I used to call my own as a child, proclaiming that it had been planted on the day that I was born. The more intensely I allow myself to open to the happiness, the more intimately I find myself opening to the bittersweet thoughts, & the more tenderly I am able to hold & cherish the sad memories as well. They make my heart feel as though it is expanding infinitely.

I'm trying to identify the things I'll miss about my life here. I think of my children in particular & a part of me wants to slip away into the night when I do finally leave so that I won't have to see them watching me as I go. They're still far too young to understand how much their unconditional love has meant to me, that for the entirety of my time here some of my most understanding interactions were with people half my age, that their tears at my departure will make me feel so guilty for wanting to go back to America, & I wonder if it might actually tear my soul apart. If it does, at least I'd have a piece of me to leave behind to comfort them.

I think of Enkhbat, the new kid from UB, & when I saw some of the boys with their arms around his little shoulders only a few days after his arrival, as though they were all long lost brothers. I think of Otgontsetseg & how timid she is, away from her countryside family & only twelve years old living in the school dormitories – I've wished several times that I could adopt her. I think of Margad, far too smart for his own good, who tests the very depths of my teacherliness by repeating unrepeatable English phrases he learns from adult-rated “shoot 'em up” computer games. I think of Haliunaa, so intelligent, so beautiful, so selfless to give me the kitten meant to be hers. She is my very best student & is incredibly talented, & she even surprised herself one day while singing to me with the amazing capabilities of her own voice. There's Altantuul whose nickname, Tuulai, literally translates into English as “rabbit” (but I think of her as Bunny in my mind). This girl is so exuberant & so cunning she has employed ruses such as bringing me chocolate & pretending to be busy with her math homework just to win the favor of my company. There's Zaya, the quiet girl in the trio of herself, Haliunaa, & Tuulai, but a loyal darling nevertheless. I remember she was the first to demonstrate her prowess on an imaginary catwalk when I tried teaching the girls how to walk like models.

I'm trying to stay present as much as I can because now more than ever, I could blink & miss the next three & a half months. From this side of January, though it seemed ceaseless in its duration, I am intrigued that I lamented how much time I had remaining here in Mongolia, when now it seems a precious little. I wonder if perhaps after I return home, if I will recall Mongolia so vividly, so fiercely, so vibrantly as I recall America now. I wish I could become two people because as it is, a part of me will always remain here.

My Favorite Things

2012-02-13T07:49:00.001-08:00

My Favorite Things
By: Эма Багш (Emma Teacher)

Наадам (Naadam) & Шинэ Жил (Shin Jil) & Nine Nines of winter
Building a fire with two hands full of splinters
Felt tents called гэрs (gers) that are fitted with пинs (pings)
These are a few of my favorite things

Cream colored camels & short stoutly horses
Хуушуур (hosher) & бууз (boats) always are the main courses
Vodka shots that when drunk surely will sting
These are a few of my favorite things

Эмээs (em-mays) in дээлs (dells) outside blowing snot rockets
Cell phones in boots 'cause our clothes don't have pockets
Subzero winters & sandstormy springs
These are a few of my favorite things

When there's someone
In the жорлон (jorlon)
& you have to go
Just simply remember your favorite things
& then you won't feel so муу (mo)!

Translations:●Наадам (Naadam) – A summer festival including the three noble sports: archery, horse racing, & wrestling
●Шинэ Жил (Shin Jil) – New Year's Eve
●Гэр (ger) – Mongolian for “yurt”
●Пин (ping) – A shed-like entranceway attached to a ger during winter months which acts both as a buffer to the cold & as a temporary freezer
●Хуушуур (hosher) – A Mongolian dish consisting of rolled-out flour dough circles filled with meat or vegetables, & each is folded in half & pinched together in a half circle shape before being fried
●Бууз (boats) – A Mongolian dish consisting of meat or vegetables wrapped in flour dough which is twisted at the top to make a dumpling & then steamed
●Эмээ (em-may) – Grandma
●Дээл (dell) – The traditional clothing of Mongolia
●Жорлон (jorlon) – Outhouse
●Муу (mo) - Bad

Day Six Hundred & Eighteen

2012-02-13T05:37:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Eighteen
Monday, February 13th 2012

The old adage “Time flies when you're having fun” doesn't necessarily apply to each & every aspect of Peace Corps life, but I have learned that time is much more likely to fly when the electricity is on, as opposed to when it is not. After a twenty-four-plus hour power outage & a measly near two hours of electricity this evening, I am exhausted. It is difficult to explain, but I can say that the constant on-off-on-off, but more often off-off-off-off-off-off-off-on-off-off-off-off, has inspired each & every single one of my stress headaches this year.

Imagine making dinner. The power goes off. Imagine finally sitting down to unwind & watch a film. The power goes off. You're in the middle of making rice in your rice cooker. The power goes off. You're boiling water in your electric hot pot to wash your hair for the first time in nearly a week. Your power goes off. You are trying to get something accomplished on your computer involving your outlet-dependent external hard drive. Your power goes off. You're in the middle of bathing out of a small bucket, the parts of your body not in the warm water are covered in goosebumps, & you look forward to huddling, wrapped in a towel, in front of your electric space heater afterward to warm up. Your power goes off.

When the power goes out, I don't know when it will return, or even if it will return. This time may just be the time that the power plant in Dalanzadgad really does explode into a fiery inferno. At least people living nearby can step outside & warm up as they watch the blaze. (One night when the power was out, I almost accidentally lit my curtains on fire with a candle. I was so cold that I seriously thought to myself “Well, I wouldn't grab the fire extinguisher right away. I'd at least warm up my hands first.”) Rarely, the outage lasts a few minutes or so. Often, the outage spans on for greater lengths of time, hours, or more commonly half days or more. Sometimes, the power is on all day, & this is when we all get really anxious, because we never know when the luxury will be taken away, & we never know if we'll be punished later on with an outage lasting half a week.

I've been thinking more & more about COS (Closure of Service) & more specifically, the Site Recommendation Form. Volunteers are given the opportunity to suggest that a future volunteer is placed at their site, & this form provides a medium for a volunteer to detail the good, the bad, & the ugly. When I spoke to my Regional Manager on the phone a week or so ago, she indicated that a volunteer might directly follow after me (an M23) this coming year, & she asked me whether or not I would recommend my site. Of course I would. From the bottom of my heart which glows almost golden at the thought of my community, I most definitely recommend that a volunteer be placed here.

Hanhongor is an amazing village. We are so close to the province center that getting supplies, groceries, or going to visit fellow volunteer friends there is easy. My village is about as safe as it gets. Aside from overeager children hammering on the door, I haven't encountered insurmountable annoyances or problems with drunkenness or crime in town, & I wholeheartedly believe that my neighbors & my community would come to my aid if need be. The town is getting access to more modern conveniences due to the monetary influence of the mining companies. Even the dogs in town are friendly (& Peace Corps had warned us to beware, be very ware!), & the people are welcoming.

The qualms I have are faint in comparison to the overall positive qualities my village has. The complaints I have revolve around the constant electricity problem (which existed long before I arrived, & will continue to exist long after I leave), & the fact that the schoolyard well is locked in the winter, which requires me to wander around the school with my bucket looking like a right fool, trying to find the person with the key. But I really cannot diminish how much not having electricity is an upsetting issue. I would regret feeling as though I condemned another volunteer to my same fate, my same stresses, my same frustrations, but I would certainly regret not suggesting my village as a potential community for a future Peace Corps Volunteer. It's a double-edged sword.

The fact of the matter remains that in a developing country like Mongolia where electricity is becoming a norm, people are less & less accustomed to going without it, & this is reflected in the way that the local bank relies on power to run its computers, that the post office has a scale to weigh outgoing letters & parcels that plugs into the wall, the computer teacher at my school relies on electricity to simply do her job, the buildings (like mine) with radiators for heating in the winter make electricity a necessity to pump the water through the pipes which would otherwise freeze in our subzero temperatures. In a country without electricity or without electricity most of the time, there would be work-arounds for all of these things. People would have ways of doing things & getting things done that do not rely on electricity. Mongolia is moving forward, constantly growing & adapting, & electricity is a part of this. I say with no hint of a smile that the Omnogobi province has the worst power of all the twenty-one provinces in Mongolia. It is no small matter.

Today, I realized something childishly simple: It doesn't take much to make me happy. Simply remove the power for a day or so, leave me with a gigantic question mark hanging over my head, & then turn the electricity on again. I'll be so happy, I might even do a little dance. What I can say for certain is that when I fill out my Site Recommendation Form, congratulations Mr. or Ms. M23, you will indeed be living in a ger.

The Nine Nines (Again)

2012-02-13T04:26:00.000-08:00

Here is a guide I composed (more for myself than anyone else, but sharing is caring!) of the Nine Nines & their respective dates for this year. Counting down to spring? You bet I am!

The Nine Nines (Again)
~~1st Nine~~: December 22nd 2011 – December 31st 2011
Shimijn arkhi (mild alcoholic beverage made of mare's milk) congeals

~~2nd Nine~~: January 1st 2012 – January 9th 2012
Arkhi (vodka) congeals

~~3rd Nine~~: January 10th 2012 – January 18th 2012
The tail of three-year-old ox freezes

~~4th Nine~~: January 19th 2012 – January 27th 2012
The horns of four-year-old ox freeze

~~5th Nine~~: January 28th 2012 – February 5th 2012
Boiled rice does not congeal anymore

6th Nine: February 6th 2012 – February 14th 2012
The roads blacken

7th Nine: February 15th 2012 – February 23rd 2012
The hilltops blacken

8th Nine: February 24th 2012 – March 3rd 2012
The ground becomes damp

9th Nine: March 4th 2012 – March 12th 2012
Warmer days set in

Hanhongor Theme Song

2012-02-13T04:05:00.000-08:00

Hanhongor Theme Song
By: Эма Багш (Emma Teacher)

If having power is a bore,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If you like chills right to your core,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If you wear mittens while indoors,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If you like sand deep in your pores,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If you want pounding on your door,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If orange is what you'd paint your floors,
Then come on down to Hanhongor!

If you like camels, hear them roar,
& come on down to Hanhongor!

Day Six Hundred & Seventeen

2012-02-11T17:37:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Seventeen
Sunday, February 12th 2012

Last night, Sadie & Brian invited me to their ger for a lovely dinner of homemade pizza (topped with tomato sauce, onions, garlic, canned mushrooms, green olives, & capers). We watched the first episode of Downton Abbey & enjoyed gin & tonics. Since I read predominantly British news, I have heard a lot about Downton Abbey over the past few months. Apparently, the show is rather popular, & now I know why firsthand! We all had a really wonderful evening.

We had classes yesterday in order to take an extra day off in little over a week for the national Mongolian holiday, Tsagaan Sar. I didn't mind too much, since the classes made up for a Monday, & on Mondays I have my fifth grade kiddos. According to the weather report online, it was a whopping 22 degrees outside. Is that possible? The sun was shining, & I swear, I even saw some of the patches of snow beginning to melt. So comparatively warm was it that students were walking around in hoodies & sweatshirts!

The electricity is still an issue, as it has been since my arrival in the Gobi & at least since Sadie was a volunteer here about ten years ago. I find that whenever the electricity goes out, I fall into an almost automatic bad mood. It has less to do with “I can't use my computer!” (because I can, thanks to battery life) & more to do with the loss of control I experience. I told my Regional Manager at Peace Corps that future volunteers placed in the Omnogobi province should most certainly be placed in ger housing where making a fire is a possibility. It is exhausting, particularly in my situation during the colder months where a power outage signals the outage of the radiators as well. Though my village invested in a generator for the coal buildin (I believe the electricity is required to pump the warm water out to the buildings in order to heat them), it is understandable that this is used as sparingly as possible.

The days are getting longer. The weather report website I check said that sunset was at 6:21PM at the beginning of this week, but yesterday, the sunset was said to be at 6:24PM. My dream is to be able to read by the light of the sun when the dormitory children go to dinner (around 7:15PM each night). This, for me, will be a signal that winter is finally over. Little landmarks in the near future certainly help with the passage of time. (Mongolians are very intelligent to have their Nine Nines by which they can check off the eighty-one days of winter.) The Daylight Saving Time switch happens, I believe, on March 25th in America. Although Mongolia once participated in DST, it does not participate any more. Thus, the time difference between here & home will soon become thirteen hours as opposed to the current fourteen.

We received an email from Peace Corps telling us that the COS (Closure of Service) conference has been scheduled for the week of April 16th, with the actual conference taking place the 16th, 17th, & 18th, & then our final medical examinations scheduled either the 19th or the 20th. I already booked my room at Mongol Steppe (behind AB&F) for the 13th, 14th, 15th, & the 18th through the 23rd or so. I made reservations early because I really want a private room for myself, even though the cost is three times as much (15,000T per night as opposed to 5,000T per night for one of the dormitory-style beds in a public room). This essentially means that I have to save up 120,000T from our monthly allowance of around 250,000T for lodging alone, but honestly, the privacy is worth it. I'd rather spend 15,000T for a private room than spend 5,000T & not be able to sleep due to drunk volunteers partying late at night or due to someone snoring.

I also have to save around 80,000T for the paperwork processing costs of getting Chicago, my cat, to America. Since I have to buy my plane tickets in April, & since the paperwork needs to be processed ten days before departure, I've spoken with the veterinary office to see if I can just get the ball rolling while I'm in UB. They have said that I don't even need to bring Chicago with me in April, because they can give me a vial & syringe of his rabies shot, his “cat combo” vaccine, & Ivermectin, an injectable de-wormer. They'll teach me how to do it myself, but I think I'll ask the local vet here in my village to do it instead. In any case, aside from the money issue, everything is as in-order as it possibly can be at this point. (Sadie & Brian did mention last night that I can ask my bank back home to see if I can get a larger line of credit, just in case my current $2,000 line doesn't cover the cost of the plane ticket to America for whatever reason, so this is another thing I can get done in the near future!)

After sending our Living Allowance Surveys to Peace Corps Washington several months ago, Peace Corps has decided to give us a small raise starting next month. The raise is only 20,000T per month in our living allowance (around $17 or so), & while I can't imagine it will make any significant difference, every little bit does help. In January of last year, however, our living allowance was increased from 190,000T per month to around 250,000T per month – a 60,000T increase. I suppose I was hoping for something more substantial this time around. This month, though I've been especially careful with my spending habits, I haven't bought any units for my cell phone, & I've been more or less rationing everything, I've somehow already spent over 100,000T.

The groceries I've bought should last me until next week or beyond, but I really can only go shopping again one more time (next Friday) until March. Next Friday, I also have to spend 11,000T on my internet plan, so in addition to groceries, I don't really know if I'll be able to save as much this month as I wanted to. Sadie & Brian invited me to go to Dalanzadgad with them on Tuesday, but since DZ has bigger stores with western products (like mustard, for example, a luxury in a place like the Gobi), if I did go, I'd only spend a lot of money there. If I save now, then I can have more to spend in UB – & I prefer my experience there to be as I detailed it, with a private room, & with Chicago's paperwork on the way to being complete.

Actually, thinking about it now, I'm shocked at myself for not having foreseen this dilemma sooner. If I want to save enough money in time for the COS conference mid-April, all I really have is the rest of this month & the month of March to do so. For someone who enjoys meticulous planning as much as I do, I'm confused as to why I didn't say to myself in December “Well, that's it for those little luxuries, I have to save for April's trip to UB!” (although what little luxuries I might be talking about absolutely elude me at the moment). Thinking back, I guess there was nothing I could have done. I went to UB last time in November, draining my bank account on rare items like dried beans to bring back to site with me as well as dining at restaurants. December, as I so quickly just forgot, brought with it the holiday season, & I was spending a lot of money on presents & postage then (a thing I don't regret by any means!). I guess the only time I could have been more attentive to my bank account was in January.

In any case, I foresee the remaining months of my Peace Corps service with much, much, much tighter purse strings. Even in UB, I will have to be smarter. Instead of going out to dinner, I can cook at the guest house. (This is no sacrifice, honestly, since the same five or so restaurants frequented by volunteers in UB aren't as exciting a prospect as they once were to me.) I don't really have to focus on restocking anything (except a few bags of Great Northern dried beans), & I don't have any need to make any extravagant purchases (though Chicago would look quite dashing in a new collar & harness for his grand journey to America). By the time I go to UB for the last time in June, maybe I'll have a little extra cash on hand with which I can buy as many souvenirs as possible. It's better to do so at that time anyway, because I will already have all my luggage packed & I'll know what space I have left for little trinkets.

I don't lament the incentive to live more simply (a kinder way of saying “more cheaply,” which itself is a kinder way of saying “more poorly”). It's almost a welcome challenge to see how little money I can live on in the Gobi. Unfortunately, I think I am obligated to spend 15,000T on my cell phone this coming month just to keep it activated (I still can't figure out what Card Plus means or why I must buy 15,000T monthly subscription units instead of paying as I go in smaller increments). I can still send small postcards & letters fairly easily, but I won't be doing so in the bulk that I have been over my second year of service. Honestly, what can I expect? People don't join the Peace Corps believing that they'll be able to save money.

Dandelions & Fireflies

2012-02-09T20:44:00.000-08:00

A picture of Glacial Park, Illinois, in the wintertime.

Day Six Hundred & Fifteen
Friday, February 10th 2012

Whereas January seemed to trudge on in an exhausted state of lethargy, February seems to be trotting along at a comfortable & more enlivened canter. As it turns out, life is made all the more sweeter by having events to look forward to, particularly those in the near future. After next week's classes (& 30 minute sessions on Friday the 17th, instead of our normal 40 minute lessons), we are given a full week (plus two weekends) of vacation time for Цагаан Сар, or Tsaagan Sar, translating into “White Moon” from Mongolian. Afterward, several weeks of classes will result in another week-long break near the end of March or beginning of April (I don't know yet) to mark the end of another quarter. Shortly thereafter, I will be traveling to UB for the Peace Corps COS (Closure of Service) conference, which falls during the week of Monday, April 16th lasting through that Friday (but I will probably leave on the 13th & return something like the 23rd if I can manage it).

By my shaky calculations (counting being by no means my forte), I believe we are currently in the sixth of the Nine Nines, a Mongolian system of cultural lore used to pass the agonizing sub-zero deluge of freezing temperatures for seemingly insurmountable periods of time. The Nine Nines are nine sets of nine days which begin on the winter solstice (which this year was the 22nd of December, 2011) & commence with the end of winter. If I am not mistaken, we entered into the sixth of the Nine Nines this past Saturday, & we should be moving right along into the seventh Nine on Monday. Suffice to say, the worst is over, & that is nothing short of divine.

The Nine Nines
1st Nine: Shimijn arkhi (mild alcoholic beverage made of mare's milk) congeals
2nd Nine: Arkhi (vodka) congeals
3rd Nine: The tail of three-year-old ox freezes
4th Nine: The horns of four-year-old ox freeze
5th Nine: Boiled rice does not congeal anymore
6th Nine: The roads blacken
7th Nine: The hilltops blacken
8th Nine: The ground becomes damp
9th Nine: Warmer days set in
To read an article on the topic, please visit:
http://www.mongoliatoday.com/issue/2/winter.html

Speaking of the Nine Nines, I can safely say that from my particular vantage point smack dab in the center of the Gobi desert during the 6th Nine, I do not anticipate that the roads will ever blacken. Why? Because there are no roads. However, according to this folklore, some time in the next few weeks, the hilltops are supposed to blacken, & being situated near the breathtaking backdrop of the Gurvan Saikhan mountain range (which translates to “The Three Beauties” from Mongolian), I will be on the lookout for darker peaks, though the current snow-capped appearance is quite picturesque. With a little help from an online day counter calculator, it appears as though winter's grand & welcomed conclusion is set for March 12th, 2012.

I am thinking about America in a more or less balanced manner lately, attempting to reconcile my sense of anticipation for my return with the reality that life is not quite the idyllic fairytale I imagine it to be, & my return might not be as romantic as I hope. I spoke with a close volunteer friend of mine, Sarah, on the phone last night a little bit about this. She mentioned a very good point in saying that it won't really “hit us” until after we've been home for a while. This makes sense. I imagine the first few days, weeks, or perhaps months will be exciting & new. However, after the novelty wears off & life sets in once again, it might be the case that we (myself & other returning volunteers) will find ourselves disliking those very same things we gladly left behind when we came to Mongolia nearly two years ago. Consumerism. Advertisements. Fast-paced life. Reading news headlines about who was murdered & how, what new super-virus will certainly destroy us all, why you & I & everyone should be afraid, be very afraid.

To quote from Jack Kornfield's “A Path with Heart” once again: “The impoverished myths & songs of our culture are sold everywhere: they myth of materialism & possessiveness that says worldly goods lead to happiness; the myth of competition & individualism which produces so much isolation; the myth of achievement & success, which leads to what Joseph Campbell called 'climbing the ladder only to discover it was against the wrong wall'; & the myth of youth, which produces a culture of eternal adolescence & advertising images as our model of reality.”

I mentioned to Sarah that I felt old here, as though I came to Mongolia looking younger than my age, & now I look easily four years older. It helped to hear her say that she felt the same (using colorful adjectives like “haggard” in her description), but it helped even more to hear her say that the effects of this dry & barren climate, this dull & unimaginative diet, this difficult & at times nearly impossible lifestyle – the effects are not permanent. She recently took a wonderful vacation to Malaysia, & she told me quite clearly that the positive effects were immediate. A little humidity in the air, a couple dozens of degrees warmer, a diet rich in vitamins, minerals, & nutrients, hydration, & the ability to relax really does the body good.

Today the temperature hovers somewhere around 9°F, though I have some mild doubts about how accurate this reading is (I check a website, & I cannot be sure it is updated with any veracity). When I happen to see that Chicago is enjoying temperatures in the mid-30s on some days, I must admit, I find myself twinging with mild envy. Temperatures even slightly above or below that point would feel warm to me these days, particularly after experiencing nights where the temperature outside is easily -25°F. Fifty degrees warmer back home at 25°F? I'd take that any day.

I have been experiencing sudden bursts of thought lately, completely unrelated to what I am currently doing or thinking. I'd liken them to flashbacks, but they are overwhelmingly positive & hope-filled in nature. I had forgotten about the scent of the spring rain, the way the air feels heavy & electric just before a thunderstorm, the earthworms escaping from the soil. I can picture a street in Woodstock, one of my favorite places in the world, from the perspective underneath a canopy of tree branches, a gentle rain softly falling onto the road. It must be spring, because the pavement is covered in the pollen from a certain type of tree whose name I do not know.

I had forgotten the coming of summer marked irrevocably in the emergence of dandelions by day & fireflies by night, bright & radiant. They remind me of childhood, & I can remember the day my mother informed me, much to my dismay, that dandelions were considered weeds. I recall the feeling of being barefoot, the grass soft & new & alive beneath my footfalls. I can almost experience the taste of a vine-ripened tomato, still warm from the sun, picked only moments before from the crescent moon-shaped garden in the front yard of the house where I grew up.

Excerpt from Slaughterhouse-Five

2012-02-09T20:35:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Fifteen
Friday, February 10th 2012

In his work, “A Path with Heart,” Jack Kornfield writes “In Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slaugtherhouse-Five, there is a description of what happens when one night a World War II movie is accidentally shown backward.”

“American planes, full of holes & wounded men & corpses, took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets & shell fragments from some of the planes & crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, & those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, & lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. . . . There were still a few wounded Americans, though, & some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything & everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to the base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks & shipped back to the United States, where factories were operating day & night, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did the work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody again.”

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen

2012-02-08T06:08:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen
Wednesday, February 8th 2012

The following quotes are excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield.
“While it can be good to give beyond our means, if this is done unconsciously & repeatedly, it will become unhealthy. Whether it is generosity with our time, our possessions, our money, or our love, the principles are the same. True generosity grows in us as our heart opens, grows along with the integrity & health of our inner life.”

“Many of us are so out of touch with ourselves that we can easily lose a sense of what is a skillful action in a situation. We can be so intent on caring for others or on pleasing them or pacifying them or avoiding conflict with them that we don't clearly face our own needs, our own situation.”

These are things I struggle with on a daily basis. Because of my fervor to include others in my life & my deep love of friendship & human connections, I sometimes find myself making undue sacrifices. Later, I become resentful, insecure, questioning myself & the other person, wondering why I don't matter or why I don't mean as much to others as they mean to me. I find myself overenthusiastic in writing letters, responding to emails immediately, answering the phone in the middle of cooking dinner (putting my meal on the back burner literally as well as figuratively). These things are done out of the inspiration I gain from communication, from connecting with others, from sharing a bond of humanity.

However, it behooves me now to act with a sense of independence, rather than seeking energy from others, to exhibit maturity rather than exuberance. Though I have always internally feared the reality that I might lose myself by not acting on my inspirations, particularly where others are concerned, I have come to find that if anything, withholding has awakened me more. (On repeat in my head is a quote from a dear friend “People don't value what they don't have to work for.”) I don't need to ask how high when I am asked to jump. More striking a revelation is that I don't even need to respond immediately or at all. I can ask myself “Do I want to?” & that is okay. It is truly like opening a window for the first time after the completion of a cold winter & taking a breath of fresh air.

“In the paradox of life sometimes our compassion requires us to say yes & sometimes it requires us to say no. These may seem like opposites but they are not. Each can express a respect for all beings, including ourselves.”

It strikes me as amusing in a more or less bittersweet manner that I really needed to read those words in order for me to realize that I can give myself permission to be silent in life. I have always been a highly reactive person. I take action rather than do nothing. Yet for the sake of tiptoeing around failing friendships, difficult situations, the potential that someone should confront me for a perceived wrongdoing or that I should be met with some arduous conflict where I may be forced into a position of having to defend myself to another person or group of people (& defending myself in this manner is something I simply will not do), in the past I have rather risked myself, my comfort, my body, my time, my love, my friendship, my goodwill. I have been taken advantage of, I've driven to friends' houses late nights, traveled between states at times inconvenient to me to provide comfort or council, I've collected hours & hours of “Are you okays?” instead of asking “Am I okay?” Funny, that I now realize I can say no, I can say nothing. I can excuse myself from a situation with myself in mind, rather than staying uncomfortable to avoid upsetting others. I can choose not to answer the phone. (In fact, I am contented to leave my phone on silent, plugged in at my computer desk. I check it whenever the muse descends).

“Try responding only when your heart is open & kind. When you don't feel this way, wait & let the difficult feelings pass.”

Perhaps one of the greater gemstones of advice from Jack Kornfield, this new spin on the old “Bite your tongue & count to ten” adage strikes me in a very deep way. If we can't respond with love in our hearts (even in the face of anger, anxiety, pain, stress, worry, or harm that we have been done by someone), we don't have to respond at all.

Meditation on Forgiveness

2012-02-08T05:21:00.000-08:00

Meditation on Forgiveness excerpted from "A Path with Heart" by Jack Kornfield

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should fine in each person's life sorrow & suffering enough to disarm all hostility. -Longfellow

". . . Forgiveness does not in any way justify or condone harmful actions. While you forgive, you may also say, 'Never again will I knowingly allow this to happen.' . . . Forgiveness does not mean you have to seek out or speak to those who caused you harm. You may choose never to see them again.

Forgiveness is simply an act of the heart, a movement to let go of the pain, the resentment, the outrage that you have carried as a burden for so long. It is an easing of your own heart & an acknowledgment that, no matter how strongly you may condemn & have suffered from the evil deeds of another, you will not put another human being out of your heart. We have all been harmed, just as we have all at times harmed ourselves & others.

For most people forgiveness is a process. When you have been deeply wounded, the work of forgiveness can take years. It will go through many stages -grief, rage, sorrow, fear, & confusion- & in the end, if you let yourself feel the pain you carry, it will come as a relief, as a release for your heart. You will see that forgiveness is fundamentally for your own sake, a way to carry the pain of the past no longer. The fate of the person who harmed you, whether they be alive or dead, does not matter nearly as much as what you carry in your heart. & if the forgiveness is for yourself, for your own guilt, for the harm you've done to yourself or to another, the process is the same. You will come to realize that you can carry it no longer.

To practice the formal forgiveness meditation, let yourself sit comfortably, allowing your eyes to close & your body & breath to be natural & easy. Let your body & mind relax. Breathing gently into the area of your heart, let yourself feel all the barriers & holding that you have carried because you have not forgiven, not forgiven yourself, not forgiven others. Let yourself feel the pain of keeping your heart closed. Then after breathing softly into the heart for some time, begin asking & extending forgiveness, reciting the following words & allowing them to open your forgiving heart. Let the words, images, & feelings grow deeper as you repeat them.

Forgiveness from others: There are many ways that I have hurt & harmed others, betrayed or abandoned them, caused them suffering, knowingly or unknowingly, out of my pain, fear, anger, & confusion. Let yourself remember & visualize these many ways you have hurt others. See & feel the pain you have caused out of your own fear & confusion. Feel your own sorrow & regret, & sense that finally you can release this burden & ask for forgiveness. Picture each memory that still burdens your heart. & then one by one, repeat, I ask for your forgiveness, I ask for your forgiveness.

Forgiveness for yourself: Feel your own precious body & life. There are many ways that I have betrayed, harmed, or abandoned myself through thought, word, or deed, knowingly or unknowingly. Let yourself see the ways you have hurt or harmed yourself. Picture them, remember them, visualize them. Feel the sorrow you have carried from all these actions, & sense that you can release these burdens, extending forgiveness for them one by one. Then say to yourself, For each of the ways I have hurt myself through action or inaction, out of fear, pain, & confusion, I now extend a full & heartfelt forgiveness. I forgive myself, I forgive myself.

Forgiveness for those who have hurt or harmed you: There are many ways I have been wounded & hurt, abused & abandoned, by others in thought, word, or deed, knowingly or unknowingly. Let yourself picture them, remember them, visualize these many ways. Feel the sorrow you have carried from this past & sense that you can release yourself from this burden by extending forgiveness if your heart is ready. Now say to yourself, In the many ways others have hurt or harmed me, out of fear, pain, confusion, & anger, I see these now. To the extent that I am ready, I offer them forgiveness. I have carried this pain in my heart too long. For this reason, to those who have caused me harm, I offer you my forgiveness. I forgive you.

Let yourself gently repeat these three directions for forgiveness until you can feel a release in your heart. Perhaps for some great pains you may not feel a release, but only the burden & the anguish or anger you have held. Touch this softly. Be forgiving of yourself in this as well. Forgiveness cannot be forced; it cannot be artificial. Simply continue the practice, & let the words & images work gradually in their own way."

A Piece of Paper

2012-02-08T05:13:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Thirteen
Wednesday, February 8th 2012

The Nature of Selflessness excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“In teaching, the Buddha never spoke of humans as persons existing in some fixed or static way. Instead, he described us as a collection of five changing processes: the processes of the physical body, of feelings, of perceptions, of responses, & of the flow of consciousness that experiences them all. Our sense of self arises whenever we grasp at or identify these patterns. The process of identification, of selecting patterns to call 'I,' 'me,' 'myself,' is subtle & usually hidden from our awareness. We can identify with our body, feelings, or thoughts; we can identify with images, patterns, roles, & archetypes. Thus, in our culture, we might fix & identify with the role of being a woman or a man, a parent or a child. We might take our family history, our genetics, & our heredity to be who we are. Sometimes we identify with our desires: sexual, aesthetic, or spiritual. In the same way we can focus on our intellect or take our astrological sign as an identity. We can choose the archetype of hero, lover, mother, ne'er-do-well, adventurer, clown, or thief as our identity & live a year or a whole lifetime based on that. To the extent that we grasp these false identities, we continually have to protect & defend ourselves, strive to fulfill what is limited or deficient in them, to fear their loss. Yet, these are not our true identity.”

This is one of my most profound & ongoing challenges in Peace Corps, defining myself. Living without sitemates during my first year of service, & not having as decent a grasp on the Mongolian language as I now have, I found myself defining myself not by others, but by my own solitude. In other areas of my life here in Mongolia, I realize that I have only known my friends here (particularly other volunteers) since June 3rd 2010 when we all first met. I believe that as social creatures, human beings define themselves by other people. What implications does this hold for my own concept of self? For the majority of my service, I have juggled whether or not to ingest the labels & conceptions that others here had put upon me. Perhaps it is most pertinent to mention that fellow volunteers do not truly know me, not in the sense that time & familiarity would breed. With the majority of our service spent at separate sites, face-to-face contact limited to once or twice per year, how could I claim that anyone here knows me? Now, nearing June & my return to America, I have begun to step back into myself.

The Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh expresses the oneness of everything with the example of a piece of paper. Holding it up, he said “If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud there will be no water; without water the trees cannot grow; & without trees, you cannot make paper. So the cloud is in here. The existence of this page is dependent on the existence of a cloud. Paper & cloud are so close. Let us think of other things, like sunshine. Sunshine is very important because the forest cannot grow without sunshine, & we as humans cannot grow without sunshine. So the logger needs sunshine in order to cut the tree, & the tree needs sunshine in order to be a tree. Therefore, you can see sunshine in this sheet of paper. & if you look more deeply, with the eyes of a bodhisattva, with the eyes of those who are awake, you see not only the cloud & sunshine in it, but that everything is here, the wheat that became the bread for the logger to eat, the logger's father–everything is in this sheet of paper.”

Jack Kornfield further illustrates this concept by recounting the following story. “The emperor of China asked a renowned Buddhist master if it would be possible to illustrate the nature of self in a visible way. In response, the master had a sixteen-sided room appointed with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that faced one another exactly. In the center he hung a candle aflame. When the emperor entered he could see the individual candle flame in thousands of forms, each of the mirrors extending it far into the distance. Then the master replaced the candle with a small crystal. The emperor could see the small crustal reflected again in every direction. When the master pointed closely at the crystal, the emperor could see the whole room of thousands of crystals reflected in each tiny facet of the crystal in the center. The master showed how the smallest particle contains the whole universe.”

At some point nearing the one year mark of my service, something in me shifted. I started to feel like a part of my community. At the time, I described it to myself that “I stopped seeing Mongolians around me & started seeing people.” Now, I am beginning to realize that my self concept comes from within more than without, that I am not simply a product of my possessions or experiences. Who I am is a constant state of transition & change, a never-ending striving for betterment, a continual drive to move forward, an insistent seeking of inspiration & improvement.

“When we are silent & attentive, we can sense directly how nothing in the world can be truly possessed by us. Clearly we do not possess outer things; we are in some relationship with our cars, our home, our family, our jobs, but whatever that relationship is, it is 'ours' only for a short time. In the end, things, people, or tasks die or change or we lose them. Nothing is exempt.”

Happy Imbolc

2012-01-31T22:11:00.000-08:00

Imbolc, also known as St. Brigid's Day, is an ancient Celtic festival to mark the beginning of spring. Brigid is the Celtic goddess of poetry, healing, & smithcraft, & she is also associated with holy wells & sacred flames. Imbolc falls roughly halfway between the Winter Solstice & the Spring Equinox, & symbolizes the early signs of spring & the gradual lengthening of daylight hours. Imbolc is celebrated by lighting candles & fires which represent the increasing power of the sun & the coming warmth.

Near Enemies

2012-01-31T22:07:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Six
Wednesday, February 1st 2012

Friend, hope for the truth while you are alive.
Jump into the experience while you are alive! . . .
If you don't break your ropes while you are alive,
do you think ghosts will do it after?
--Kabir, Indian mystic poet

Near Enemies excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“The near enemy of loving-kindness is attachment. We have all noticed how attachment can creep into our love relationships. True love is an expression of openness: 'I love you as you are without any expectations or demands.' At first, attachment may feel like love, but as it grows it becomes more clearly the opposite, characterized by clinging, controlling, & fear.

The near enemy of compassion is pity, & this also separates us. Pity feels sorry for 'that poor person over there,' as if he were somehow different from us, whereas true compassion, . . . is the resonance of our heart with the suffering of another. 'Yes, I, too, together with you, share in the sorrows of life.'

The near enemy of sympathetic joy (the joy in the happiness of others) is comparison, which looks to see if we have more of, the same as, or less than another. Instead of rejoicing with them, a subtle voice asks, 'Is mine as good as his?' 'When will it be my turn?' –again creating separation.”

I have found that the existence or lack of sympathetic joy is a profound way to reveal who my true friends are instinctively. With true friends, I find myself experiencing no jealousy or envy from either side, neither within myself nor from the other person. When, for example, Rachel, one of my extremely close friends & confidantes, accomplishes something or has a reason to be proud of herself, I find myself truly, genuinely happy for her. I can share in her joy, & I can share in her pride, free entirely from the stain of envy. I personally believe that this is because Rachel & I are equals and perceive ourselves & one another as such in our friendship.

Contrarily, there are times when I do find myself experiencing jealousy toward another. If my hypothesis is true, people in my life or friends with whom I share equality do not inspire this negative emotion. Thus, I can conclude that instances where I am wanting or find myself lacking in comparing myself to another person deem that other person to not be a close friend. Perhaps in such circumstances, little possibility actually exists for a true friendship to ever evolve. This logic works both ways. When I sense jealousy or envy from another person, likewise, that person is not a close friend & there is little hope of him or her ever becoming one. It is a sad truth in my life that I sometimes find myself sensing these negative emotions from certain individuals, particularly in light of my accomplishments, self-growth, or something else that warrants being coveted.

“The near enemy of equanimity is indifference. True equanimity is balance in the midst of experience, whereas indifference is a withdrawal & not caring, based on fear. It is a running away from life. Thus, with equanimity, the heart is open to touch all things, both the seasons of joy & sorrow. The voice of indifference withdraws, saying 'Who cares. I'm not going to let it affect me.'”

Though I do not personally struggle with indifference (perhaps because I am a very passionate & inspired person by nature), I do find myself challenged by this issue. Should I include some people in my life? No, particularly those who have hurt me & who continue to harm me. Am I afraid? Yes, & I admit that I do withdraw on a very physical level. I know that I cannot control others, I cannot force understanding up anyone, I cannot open a person's eyes to see my perspective, I cannot bludgeon another person with reason, & I cannot take responsibility for anyone else's reactions, emotions, beliefs, or anything else. I would rather distance myself from those who cause me pain by willfully misinterpreting my actions, who choose to think poorly of me in a given difficult situation, or who put me in the position of having to defend myself. Defending myself is something I simply will not do. A true friend is someone who believes the best in me, who does not put me “on the defensive” if there is a misunderstanding, but who comes to me from a place of love & gently asks me to open up, allowing me the chance to explain myself rather than forcing an explanation.

I cannot simply say “I'm not going to let it affect me,” as the voice of indifference would, but equanimity is difficult to attain when I believe that someone else feels they have been wronged, that another person feels justified in their anger or hatred toward me. Were I really that awful, spiteful, vindictive, evil, it would imply that the other person has not only the right to abhor me, but that he or she is flawed in some way for having engaged in my friendship at all. It is incredibly difficult for me to walk away, to create that distance between myself & another person, to protect myself by not responding or by ceasing contact altogether. But by no means am I indifferent. However, I can only hear screams directed at me from another person so many times before I find myself not wanting to speak.

“Each of these near enemies can masquerade as a spiritual quality, but when we call our indifference spiritual or respond to pain with pity, we only justify our separation & make 'spirituality' a defense. This is reinforced by our culture, which often teaches us that we can become strong & independent by denying our feelings, using ideals & a strength of mind to create safety for ourselves. . . . Even the Buddha had some relationships that were easier than others; the most difficult ones brought him enemies who tried to kill him, troublesome students, & problems with his parents when he went home to visit.”

I take comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this struggle. If the Buddha could weather stormy interpersonal situations with such grace as he is now remembered for, then it is my hope that so may I. In the words of Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, “I'm not okay, you're not okay, & that's okay.” I am thankful that Mongolia seems to have acted as a natural filter for people in my life, easily separating those who care from those who do not. The separation is easy only in its apparent nature, however. There is nothing easy about confronting the sense of abandonment & disregard I experience in thinking about friends in my life before I embarked upon this journey, ones who have not proverbially traveled with me, friends to whom I thought I mattered. There is nothing easy about discovering I mean very little to the very people who mattered very much to me.

Irregardless, I am thankful. I am thankful for this experience, as I am thankful for the revelation of who has fallen by the wayside, as I am thankful for the searing pain of separation, as I am thankful for the distance on this path, as I am thankful for the sometimes choking sorrow at the thought of those who I have lost along the way. I am thankful because for every person who is not in my life today, there are endless more individuals who have stepped into my heart to fill the void. There are countless more who took root in my heart long ago, only to blossom during the time I have been so far away from them. There are friends that I have found, uncovered, & rediscovered in the most obvious & most unexpected of places. There are people who genuinely believe in me, who hold the thought of me with tenderness, who enliven my life, who provide me with a beautiful vision of hope. To both the broken friends & the radiant friends whom I cherish beyond even my own ability to comprehend, I love you. I love you so much.

“If you had a limitless life, it would be a real problem for you.”
-Zen master Suzuki Roshi to his students as he lay dying

Clouds Passing through an Empty Sky

2012-01-31T10:04:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred & Six
Wednesday, February 1st 2012

It's finally February, & I have been waiting on tenterhooks for what has felt like nearly an eternity for this month to arrive. January, for whatever reason, seemed to drag, to stutter, to crawl, to move at an imperceptible pace, particularly toward the beginning & end. By my calculation, this Saturday marks the end of the fifth of the Nine Nines, a system of nine sets of nine days by which Mongolians measure the passage of winter, beginning on the winter solstice (which this year fell on December 22nd). The fourth nine, rumored to be the coldest, is over, & now the fifth is coming to a close. Though we're not out of the proverbial woods yet (& though being in any woods at this point, proverbial or otherwise, seems like a welcome change of scenery), the knowledge that the sixth nine is upon us come this Sunday is a blessing. Being past the halfway point brings with it a sense of relief & completion.

I believe that January passed in such a stupor of convoluted time because I was focusing so much on my own fantasies of America. I am a romantic at heart, as evidenced by my misguided & charmingly naïve visions of Europe, dashed upon my first visit to France when I was met with graffiti & dog droppings in such a plethora that to walk with my head held high would have inevitably resulted in soiled shoes. January had little to offer in the way of hope, it now seems in hindsight. February, however, is marked by events other than the mere passage of time. After this week, we only have two full weeks of school before the week of the Mongolian holiday Tsaagan Sar, translated as “White Moon.” This holiday is celebrated by visiting homes of friends & family members, consuming (supposedly, though last year I abstained from partaking) three shots of vodka & three buuz at each ger. Buuz, transliterated from Cyrillic but pronounced more like “boats” are a small dumpling-shaped Mongolian food, generally consisting of meat wrapped in a thin layer of flour-based dough & pinched or twisted together at the top before being steamed.

Time will continue its strange meandering, moving in both overt & indiscernible ebbs & flows as it does in Mongolia. After the reprieve that Tsaagan Sar offers, March will soon follow, & mid-month, the official completion of the Nine Nines & the end of winter will take place in theory, but preferably in reality as well. If anything, having small landmarks, holidays, & events to look forward to is key. I have been doing a lot of self-searching as of late, reading Buddhist literature & indulging in various podcasts (from zencast.org, recommended to me by a friend last year such that I downloaded a myriad whilst in UB over the past several journeys there). I feel much more present, centered, & conscious of my life.

To quote a passage from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield, “Buddhist cartography & the map of the Elders describe six realms of life that can be experienced by consciousness. The most painful of the six realms is a variety of unending hell realms, domains characterized by an intensity of pain, fire, icy cold, & torture. The highest of the realms are the heaven realms, states filled with pleasure, angelic beings, rapture, celestial music, delight, & peace. Between these extremes are two visible realms, the animal & human realms. The animal realm is often characterized by fear (eat or be eaten) & dullness, while the human realm is said to have the right balance of enough pleasure & pain to be optimal for spiritual awakening. The final two realms are realms of spirits. One is a realm of power struggle called the realm of the jealous & warring gods, a domain of territoriality & titanic struggle. The other is a realm of intense desire called the realm of the Hungry Ghosts, characterized by beings with pinhole mouths & enormous bellies who can never be fulfilled in their seeking or longing. In a simple way, all these realms can be seen as mythological & poetic descriptions of human experience in this very life. Great anger & rage put us into the hell realm, strong addictions make us into hungry ghosts, & wonderful sense pleasures of beautiful thoughts transport us to heaven.”

I essentially interpret this knowledge as somewhat of a floor-plan to a house with many rooms. The house is my current experience, & the rooms are the realms, each containing a different interpretation of what is happening around me, to me, within me. According to the book “Zen & the Art of Happiness” by Chris Prentiss, everything in our lives can be interpreted as something meant specifically for us. Every downfall or difficulty can be seen in the light of “This is happening for a reason. This event is exactly what I need in my life right now, for better or for worse. What can I learn from what I am experiencing? What good things will these circumstances lead me to?” Sometimes, the best lessons in life are found in the challenges rather than pleasantries. More to the point, some of the best teachers in life come from the difficult people (miserable creatures though they may be).

As Kornfield writes, “...the true path to liberation is to let go of everything” [italics in original text] which echoes a pertinent teaching from Achaan Chah, “If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have even more peace.” The passing of events, emotions, circumstances, & moments of happiness or great suffering can be experienced “like clouds passing through an empty sky,” held in a kind & interested attention, noticed rather than judged, acknowledged rather than forsaken or condemned.

During a conversation with one of my closest friends yesterday, we began to wonder why certain people affect us so much in life in contrast to the people who don't. We concluded that it must have to do with some level of personal investment. We are affected by others not because particular people are more powerful or more persuasive, but because we choose to care about certain people over others, permitting some into our lives on deeper levels while not making the same allowances for others. We are affected, in essence, because we allow ourselves to be. I have found myself to be almost inexplicably apt at distancing myself completely when an angry boss takes his anger & frustration out on his employees. These situations, I regard with objective distance. I am able to step back & view the situation from a standpoint of “your problem, not mine” –perhaps because as a subordinate, I don't have to take on the immense responsibilities that the role of boss entails.

In a family or friendship situation, it isn't always so easy to be a bystander. That same boss could chastise employees for one reason or another & I find myself silently attuned to an emotion akin to subdued amusement à la “You're kind of cute when you're mad!” noting how childlike, not to mention unflattering & unbecoming, such anger is when it is expressed aloud, particularly in a public forum. If similar utterances were directed at me by a family member or friend, the effect is suddenly much different. Is this because I care more? Is it because I tend to regard those I choose to surround myself with as equals? I am learning, albeit with much difficulty, that equality is not necessarily the case, nor is it merely in the eye of the beholder. In the beholding eye of yours truly, I wish everyone I love in my life were an equal. I wish all the people I care about had the ability to love themselves, to express themselves fully & succinctly, to be able to solve their issues creatively, to disrobe their bindings of insecurities & self-doubt, to meet issues & others from a place of love rather than a place of fear, distrust, or past hurt. The list goes on, & I have come to find that this particular level of inter-friendship equality is not a birthright, but an achievement. Understanding, in other words, is not born, it is made.

Loving myself means putting myself first, an unfortunate contrast to my nature. I feel at peace & as though I have purpose when I am helping others through problems, when I am a shoulder to cry on, when I am an inspiration both to others as well as myself. I am the friend who will be there for you at 2AM even though I might have a final exam the next day. Unfortunately, as I am coming to discover, loving myself does not include these sacrifices, or at least not to the extent to which I have made such sacrifices in my life. Loving myself means protecting my time, my privacy, my body, my home, my health, myself. Loving myself means saying goodbye first on the phone if dinner is ready, though I admit to being that person who will set everything aside for someone else. Putting myself on the so-called back burner, even so simplistically as in situations like answering the phone when I'm otherwise busy, has done me no favors.

Advice from a friend years & years ago resonates with me now. “People don't value what they don't have to work for.” Little wonder, then, that the friendships in which I had invested so much & for which I had made great sacrifices no longer survive to the present intact. No wonder at all that I haven't heard from certain people (during my time here in Mongolia in particular) when, for years of our friendship, my actions were training them into a state of complacency. Oprah once said “You teach people how to treat you,” & looking back, I now realize that I taught people how to take me for granted.

Another example of my past behavior happened when I was in UB last spring, staying at a fellow volunteer's apartment on the far side of town from the centrally-located usual Peace Corps haunts. A friend called me to say they had just gotten into town that morning, & that they were at a cafe by the State Department Store, easily several miles from where I was staying. Could I come meet them there? Of course I could. “Well, hurry up!” I was told, & I barely gave myself time to breathe as I walked as fast-paced as I could to the cafe. Though my arrival there a breathless forty or so minutes later was well-met, looking back, I wish I had saved myself the sadness I now feel remembering the situation. Not ten minutes later, the group of volunteers who were there including the one I was supposed to meet decided to leave. More to the point, the volunteer went back to the guest house to take a shower –while I waited.

Another excerpt from “A Path with Heart” reveals “In his last words, the Buddha said we must be a lamp unto ourselves, we must find our own true way.” Perhaps, in the example I just described, if I had valued my own time more enough to say “What are your plans for today?” or “Why don't we meet for lunch at 2 o' clock instead?” then my time would have been valued by the other person. If I had shown respect for my time, perhaps by time would have been respected. I have stumbled countless times into periods of sheer suffering due to my inability to push past my perceived boundaries of what is considered polite just for the sake of another person. I effectually have given others permission to take myself, my courtesy, my time, my willingness to help, my creativity, my friendship for granted. If in the past I had simply clarified “What time?” “When?” “How long?” “Can you give me a better idea of when that might be?” when a friend said they'd call me “sometime later maybe,” I could have saved myself a lot of waiting, a lot of self-doubt, & I could have avoided feeling used or abandoned by someone I cared about.

A meditation described by Jack Kornfield in his work helped me to gain some clarity today. He writes “After you have read through the next three paragraphs, close your eyes & picture yourself in the middle of an instance of one of the greatest difficulties in your life. It may be a difficulty at work or it may be in a personal relationship. You can remember it, picture it, imagine it, think about it, feel it–whatever way your heart & mind best sense it. Let yourself reexperience the scene vividly, the people who are there, the difficulties & how you react to them. Let it reach its worst height. Notice how your body feels in the midst of this & how you act & what state your heart is in.

Then imagine that there is a knock on the door that you must answer. Excuse yourself & step outside, where you find waiting for you someone like the Buddha, Mother Mary, or the great Goddess of Universal Compassion. One of these beings has come to visit you. They look at you kindly & ask, 'Having a hard day? Here,' they suggest, 'let me trade places with you. Give me your body & let me show you how I might handle this situation. You can remain invisible while I show you what is possible.' So you lend your body to the goddess or Buddha, Jesus or whomever, & invisibly follow them back into the thick of your difficulties. Let the conversation & problems continue as before, & simply notice what you are being shown. How does Jesus, Buddha, Mary, or whoever respond to the situation? With silence? With what energy? What words do they choose? What is the state of their body? Let them show you the way. Stay with them while they teach you.

Then they will excuse themselves again for a moment & walk back to the place where you met them. They lovingly return your body to you, & before they leave, they touch you gently in the most healing way & whisper a few words of advice into your ear. Listen to these heartfelt words of wisdom & kindness. Hear them, imagine them, sense them, know them in whatever way you can, & let them be just what you need to live wisely.”

To be honest, my first reaction to this meditation was “No, I don't want anyone else to get hurt” when I thought about reliving a difficult experience & trading bodies with another being. It was then that a part of me realized I was trying to protect someone else before myself, the very lesson I am struggling to grasp, & even in the circumstance of meditating where no person could be harmed in any way (least of all someone like the Buddha or Earth Mother). I closed my eyes, remembering, noting how my breathing became more strained, how my body tensed, how restless my mind seemed to become. Letting go, the cheek of my spiritual face held lovingly in a soft & pleasantly cool hand, I received the following advice: “You are better than other people's problems. You are worth more than your perceived failures through the eyes of others.”

Day Six Hundred

2012-01-26T01:40:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred
Thursday, January 26th 2012

Every day is another step closer to America. I am making a lot of progress in my own small ways. Whenever I look around my apartment, I see something that can be moved, something that can be consolidated, something that could be used in some other way, something I want to bring with me, something I plan to leave behind. I have gathered all the letters I have received together, I have put all my pens & pencils into one pencil case. I have sorted out the good paint brushes from the bad, & set the nice ones aside. I am making a lot of headway on all the spices & herbs I have here (though it will be some savory miracle if I am able to use them all before my departure). Each day, I have a small luxury to include in my life, whether it is a soup mix, a Ghiradelli chocolate square, Bath & Body Works lotion, or the sense of completion I find when I finish something.

I have been satisfying my meticulous planning habit by rearranging, reorganizing, & reordering my life. I take comfort in going through the motions of setting something aside to bring home with me. I enjoy the freedom that I have gotten from knowing that I no longer have to be stingy with my resources. I can use those envelopes I've been saving. I can write pages & pages if I am inspired to do so without thinking about the paper. I can enjoy the Great Northern beans I brought back from UB without worrying about how or when I can possibly restock them. I have enough of my favorite soap to last me the next few months & then some.

I decided to put together a small binder with plastic sleeves, saving various food & candy wrappers, Mongolian money, & even the Woodstock Independent newspaper article (my dad sent me a hard copy in the mail) I wrote last month. Before I came to Mongolia, I spoke with some school children at my father's old elementary school in his hometown, set up by my Grandma Anne & one of her tenants (who just so happened to be the teacher of this class). Perhaps someday I can speak to them again, although if I'm not mistaken, they're in 8th grade this year & I might not be able to catch them before they all go to high school. I think it would be fun for the kids to be able to see things like a Coca Cola label from Mongolia, Snickers & Mars candy bar wrappers, & other things that they are used to having in America, though with labels written in Cyrillic. These things will probably interest them more than the foreign items, like the plastic sheaf in which dried seaweed sheets are packaged, or the wrappings for Super Kontik cookies.

Yesterday, as I walked outside to do some of my daily chores, I got my first sense of spring. I cannot quite describe what it is, but ever since I can remember, I have been able to identify the distinct aura of a coming season. Each season has its own unique texture, flavor, its own scents, its own essence. For me, winters are warm & remind me of home. I envision quilts & hot cocoa, I picture window sills brimming with snow. Winters are a time for re-reading the entire Harry Potter series for the umpteenth time, enjoying hearty soups, & crocheting my heart out. Yet only yesterday, I awakened to spring. Perhaps it was that the weather felt warm, though it could not have been more than 10°F or 15°F outside. After months of negative temperatures, anything above zero feels warm to me.

In my mind, spring is a time of new beginnings. For years, I have relished the first time I have been able to open the window all day. The air seems so fresh, & those first few days of opened windows & milder temperatures, the scent of spring seems to permeate everything indoors until I become accustomed to it. Spring in America means that the skies are beginning to paint themselves blue once again after having been a wash of dreary gray for so long. To me, it includes memories of my childhood where lilies of the valley & bluebells would bloom in the tiny grove at the bottom of the hill where I lived. Mongolian springs are perhaps less idyllic, if only because of the sandstorms & incessant wind. But the gradual yet steady increase in temperature brings hope, & I distinctly recall the first time last year I discovered something growing outside. It was a tiny, stunted weed, but it was one of the most beautiful shades of green I have ever seen.

Nothing quite beckons to me like the thought of standing in my bedroom at home barefoot, my feet feeling the soft carpet beneath me, looking toward my bedroom window as the summer night descends. In this daydream, the window is open, & a gentle breeze floats through by room, bringing with it the scent of June & a sense of calm. I can hear my parents downstairs playing with our three small dogs, laughing as Buddy & Sami Jo wrestle some toy, calling for Princess to come join in the fun. My brother is in his room across from mine, maybe typing on his computer or strumming gently on his guitar. The fire in the firepit is blazing outside on our patio, & we're all getting ready to go sit around it & enjoy a beer together.

Insistent Visitors

2012-01-26T01:34:00.000-08:00

Day Six Hundred
Thursday, January 26th 2012

Insistent Visitors excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“...Very specific & often painful sensations, thoughts, feelings, & stories...arise repeatedly in our consciousness. These are called sankaras in Sanskrit. . . . Of course, certain patterns that repeat will call for a response, some wise action on our part. We must recognize these situations, & as one Zen master put it, 'Not just sit there like an idiot.' However, many insistent visitors, even when we have named them or responded to them, will continue to repeat themselves, arising again & again.”

“Repeated thoughts & stories are almost always fueled by an unacknowledged emotion or feeling underneath. These unsensed feelings are part of what brings the thought back time & time again. Future planning is usually fueled by anxiety. Remembering of the past is often fueled by regret, or guilt, or grief. Many fantasies arise as a response to pain or emptiness.

“...The pain of anger & hate can lead us to a deep awakening of compassion & forgiveness. When we feel anger toward someone, we can consider that he or she is a being just like us, someone who has also faced much suffering in life. If we had experienced the same circumstances & history of suffering as the other person, might we not act in the same way?”

In his book “After the Ecstasy, the Laundry,” Jack Kornfield writes “to forgive we must face the pain & sorrow of our betrayal & disappointment & discover the movement of the heart that opens to forgive in spite of it all. . . . Our process of forgiveness may include speaking out & seeking justice, but in the end it also requires a compassionate letting go for our own sake as much as for others.”

After talking with one of my very close friends in America today, I realize that forgiving people from my past is more a personal matter than one requiring external gestures. Reopening a door to friendship that I did not close is not what forgiveness entails. Rather, forgiveness is something that I can do for myself, a way to put my heart & my mind more at ease with who I am & what I have experienced. In “A Path with Heart,” Jack Kornfield talks about naming his demons, & mentions that there are a handful or so in our lives that will continue to repeat, cycling through our minds as worries. He cleverly named his own with titles such as “Mr. Achiever,” “Baby Jacky,” or “Fear of the Dark.” Doing such a thing makes it possible to simply acknowledge these feelings of hurt or sorrow with a kind attention when they arise, which they will. Instead of playing through the film of these common stressors, we instead can greet them.

I'm beginning to say goodbye in a lot of ways. In a few short months, everything I know will change. I will leave Mongolia & return to a place where change may not be visible, perhaps regrettably so, or perhaps small cracks exist beneath the surface of familiar locations & people. Some cracks have been left alone & have collected dust since I left. Other cracks contain seeds which have grown & flourished, flowering into something more beautiful. I will continue to build fences around my poisoned trees, & I am doing so in such a way that the gates can only be opened from within. Forgiveness is me gently dropping the key inside & walking away gracefully. It is not up to me to decide whether these doors stay closed.

Happy Day 600!

2012-01-25T17:01:00.000-08:00

The Chenngis Haan statue in Tov aimag, the largest equestrian statue in the world.

Thursday, January 26th 2012
Happy day 600 in-country to my fellow M21 Peace Corps Volunteers!

The Wanting Mind

2012-01-25T04:23:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Ninety-nine
Wednesday, January 25th 2012

The Wanting Mind excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“When the wanting mind first arises we may not recognize it as a demon because we are often lost in its allure. Wanting is characterized as a Hungry Ghost, a ghost with an enormous belly & tiny pinhole mouth, who can never eat enough to satisfy his endless need. . . . When we look at wanting, we experience the part of ourselves that is never content, that always says 'If only I had something more, that would make me happy' –some other relationship, some other job, some more comfortable cushion, less noise, cooler temperature, warmer temperature, more money, a little more sleep last night– 'then I would be fulfilled.' . . . For the voice of wanting, what is here now is never enough.”

This past month has been challenging for me mainly due to the change in year from 2011 to 2012. After that, the realization truly struck me that this is the year I will go home after living in Asia for what seems like such a long time. I have focused so much energy & so many of my thoughts on America, tangling myself in a web of romanticism & idealizations. Only recently have I begun to seek balance through Buddhist teachings. I must admit that the more excitement I have been developing regarding going home, the slower the days pass. I almost want to return to those carefree (in hindsight, at least) times this past autumn where the days bled together & the weeks ran by me like a stream, flowing but barely noticed.

Several things are bringing be back into the present. I have continued my outreach toward America in the form of letters, postcards, & emails to long-lost friends. Last month, I sent a letter on a whim to my pen pal in Australia who I hadn't talked to or heard from in easily over a decade. Just this past week, he reconnected with me once again. What an incredible feeling this is, something truly amazing given the fact that I am not on Facebook. If anything, instances like these reaffirm to me that results are gotten by the amount & quality of effort put forth. I will continue to invest all the love & effort I possess into friendships that truly matter.

I'm learning to tune into the little things here. Instead of cursing the freezing nights where the electricity is out & I could probably see my breath indoors were there any light to see it by, I have begun to cherish these nights. I cherish them because Chicago, my cat, politely paws at the sleeping bag (rated for -15°F temperatures) & snuggles in close to me, his head resting on my arm, as I zip the sleeping bag around us. In the warmth of wherever I will call home this coming winter in America, perhaps Chicago won't be as inclined to snuggle next to me.

“When we look, we see that wanting creates tension, that it is actually painful. We see how it arises out of our sense of longing & incompleteness, a feeling that we are separate & not whole.” It isn't that I have yet been able to stem my wanting to return & experience all the luxuries America has to offer. A part of me, however much a dreamer, still fantasizes about the little things. Today I fell into a memory of Rachel & I driving to the family cabin one night & overshooting our turn. We ended up in the parking lot of a small, solitary, white church. The scene was lit by the moon, the stars, & one streetlight. I didn't appreciate the experience then, because then it was only a means to an end, a stop along the way, a place in which to turn the car around. What if I had told myself then that the very scene I was experiencing would strike me as so beautiful some years later?

I fully anticipate that I will fondly recall the little unexpected memories of Mongolia as well. Because the school well is locked all winter, I have been going into the school to find the jijuur (a custodian who has a lot of keys) to procure the key to the padlock. Her name, as I have learned, is Tunga. Though she & I have never so much as introduced ourselves & have never had a conversation beyond “Bi ohs heregtei,” it occurred to me today that goodness, I will miss her. I'll miss walking around the small school to find her. I'll miss stumbling upon her diligently tending to her work. I'll miss the way she always smiles when she sees me. Everyone needs a Tunga in life.

“There are two great disappointments in life. Not getting what you want & getting it.” -George Bernard Shaw

Current Publications

2012-01-24T19:49:00.001-08:00

Look for my article about Mongolia in this week's edition of the Woodstock Independent, to be published January 25th 2012 though January 31st 2012!

The Poisoned Tree

2012-01-23T22:14:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Ninety-eight
Tuesday, January 24th 2012

The Poisoned Tree excerpted from “A Path with Heart” by Jack Kornfield
“On first discovering a poisoned tree, some people see only its danger. Their immediate reaction is, 'Let's cut down this tree before we are hurt. Let's cut it down before anyone else eats of the poisoned fruit.' This resembles our initial response to the difficulties that arise in our lives, when we encounter aggression, compulsion, greed, or fear, when we are faced with stress, loss, conflict, depression, or sorrow in ourselves & others. Our initial response is to avoid them, saying 'These poisons afflict us. Let us uproot them; let us be rid of them, let us cut them down.'

Other people, who have journeyed further along the spiritual path, discover this poisoned tree & do not meet it with aversion. They have realized that to open to life requires a deep & heartfelt compassion for all that is around us. Knowing the poisoned tree is somehow a part of us, they say, 'Let us not cut it down. Instead, let's have compassion for the tree as well.' So out of kindness they build a fence around the tree so that others may not be poisoned & the tree may also have its life. This second approach shows a profound shift of relationship from judgment & fear to compassion.

A third type of person, who has traveled yet deeper in spiritual life, sees this same tree. This person, who has gained much vision, looks & says 'Oh, a poisoned tree. Perfect! Just what I was looking for.' This individual picks the poisoned fruit, investigates its properties, mixes it with other ingredients, & uses the poison as a great medicine to heal the sick & transform the ills of the world. Through respect & understanding, this person sees in a way opposite to most people & finds value in the most difficult circumstances.”

A part of me wants to say that I am that second or third type of person, but the truth is that I am no more extraordinary than many of us in the rest of the world. When we are met with difficult situations or conflicts, we tend to react – or perhaps worse, shut down. In reflecting upon my friendships before I came to Mongolia & in anticipating my return to America, I am beginning to wonder how to navigate these murky & arguably unsettled waters. With some, particularly those who are convincing in their acts of supposed change (but underneath those new layers, one still may find the same tendencies toward moodiness & disagreeableness, much like a person wearing a Halloween costume), I have begun to build my fences. Within these fences, I find that it is possible to cultivate small gardens, but I am starting to learn that I need to begin stepping over to the other side of the fence when the true personalities begin to bleed through.

Jack Kornfield states “Healing is necessary . . . . Unhealed pain & rage, unhealed traumas from childhood abuse or abandonment, become powerful, unconscious forces in our lives. Until we are able to bring awareness & understanding to our old wounds, we will find ourselves repeating their patterns of unfulfilled desire, anger, & confusion over & over again.” With certain people in life, particularly those from whom we cannot escape, we must endure those times of hardship & embrace the moments where peace prevails. With others, such as friends who have wronged us in some way, we often can choose to simply walk away. I'm beginning to question myself about whether walking away, particularly from those who have harmed me, is the best path to take. Is forgiveness a better path, or would that lead me back toward harm once more? Better still, what good does forgiving from a distance do?

“As we become more conscious, we can see yet more clearly the inevitable contradictions of life, the pain & the struggles, the joys & the beauty, the inevitable suffering, the longing, the everchanging play of joys & sorrows that make up human experience.” For those who have wronged me in some way & for those who I have been able to find some forgiveness in my heart, the contradictions still exist. Can a friendship ever be gotten again? What if I have healed but they have not? How might an open door benefit us both, but how might an open door be a hindrance to my own life? One of the most difficult challenges for me is waiting for others. I am repulsed by memories of friends who have left me waiting, who said they would call but did not, who did not have the courtesy to respect my time. The fault is in part, my own, because had I been more protective of my time (had I, for example, asked specifically when we would meet, or been more adamant about scheduling) I may not have been let down. I can move past these instances, but what good is forgiveness if I am the only one who is aware that I have forgiven a person?

“When we set out to love, to awaken, to become free, we are inevitably confronted with our own limitations.” I have to continually remind myself that I cannot change others, & that some people haven't changed. While I myself have undergone profound self-discovery during my time here in Mongolia, the truth may very well be that I am an exception (once again) rather than a rule. Wisdom & insight would have us believe that embracing change is good, & that change is inevitable. I expect to find this advice striking in its irony when I return home to find that no, not much has changed at all. Perhaps there will be a great deal of comfort in that, but perhaps also there will be a great deal of sadness. According to St. Francis de Sales, “What we need is a cup of understanding, a barrel of love, & an ocean of patience.”

Unfortunately, I believe that the best thing I can do is to separate myself, albeit with love, from certain people or past friendships in my life. I aspire to be that third type of person, the person who welcomes the existence of challenges, the person who can pull diamonds from wreckage, who can immerse themselves in the danger of a poisonous tree (or friendship) & remain somehow elegant in their own objectiveness, who can navigate amongst the rocks without getting shipwrecked. It's a lesson I need to learn, but right now, I feel far too flammable to play with fire.

“It is not the perfect but the imperfect that is in need of our love.”
-Oscar Wilde

Day Five Hundred & Ninety-four

2012-01-19T18:39:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Ninety-four
Friday, January 20th 2012

I had my interview for the Peace Corps Fellows sociology program at ISU last night on the phone at 10PM Mongolia time, 8AM American central standard time. Some of the questions certainly caught me off guard a little bit. I was asked to provide examples of when I had troubles with a past co-worker or boss & how I resolved them, instances of my own independent initiative, talk about where I see myself in ten years, & other things along a similar vein. I gave it the absolute best I could (despite the fact the the electricity went out not halfway into the interview – I had candles & a lighter close by & on-hand – & despite the fact that in order to get somewhat steady cell phone reception, I am often relegated to standing on a chair perched near my window). There is nothing left for me to do by wait until the end of March for a decision to be made.

The interviewer (an RPCV from Bulgaria who also went through the Peace Corps Fellows sociology program at ISU with a research interest into women's issues) did mention to me that since I have never taken an economics course, that I will need to make up this deficit before classes start at ISU in August. This essentially means that I will be taking an online economics course through Harper, & ideally, I would like to do so from Mongolia if I can manage it. A lot of puzzle pieces must fall into place over the next few days, & I have been contacting various parties for information.

I started re-watching Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman last night, since I brought the digitized first two seasons with me here to Mongolia on my hard drive. (Those who know me & who know me well are aware that I own all six seasons in boxed sets on DVD at home in America.) Starting from the very first episode of the very first season, I was suddenly struck by how very much like Dr. Quinn I now am. Funny, because I can remember idolizing her since I was a child, at least since second or third grade. When my dad first introduced me to the wonders of thrift stores around that time, I would even buy long skirts & button-down shirts (for the cost of a mere few dollars) to wear. I had a little bag that I would carry onto the playground which contained band-aids & hand sanitizer in case of any jungle gym emergencies.

How truly like her I turned out to be. Like the beloved Dr. Mike, I moved away from the creature comforts of home (in her case, Boston, where her wealthy family had servants & even plumbing) to a distant land without running water or electricity (let's be fair, it's been off for at least 50%, but most likely more, of my service here). Unlike Dr. Mike, I didn't befriend a woman named Charlotte with three kids, so luckily, I haven't been landed with budding young 'uns after Charlotte went & got herself bit by a rattlesnake. However, the similarities are more than a little striking. Sure, I don't wear petticoats, sure, I don't have the beautiful Colorado scenery around me, & sure, Joe Lando, the eye-candy who plays the character Byron Sully, isn't hanging around for the opportunity to woo me off my feet (sadly), but in my adulthood, I see where my tendencies come from. My friends tell me that I'm the type of person who wears her heart on her sleeve. If I disagree with something, people know. If I find an issue morally questionable, I am not afraid to speak up. I am who I am, unabashedly so, & I am comfortable with that. If Michaela Quinn had ever really existed, I would have been her in a past life. (Trivia: Did you know that Jane Seymour was forty-two years old when Dr. Quinn first aired, despite the fact that she looks little older than half that age? Did you know that she turns sixty-one on February 15th of this year? Did you know that Jane Seymour's real birthday & Dr. Quinn's fictional birthday are one & in the same?)

I have begun to discover a sense balance with my last several months as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Though my heart yearns to count down, & though I shiver relentlessly when the power goes out & Chicago & I seek shelter in my sleeping bag (he mewed balefully last night as we huddled together for warmth), it has occurred to me that I should try my best to relish the time I have left. Part of this realization comes from a Buddhist teaching by Achaan Chah. He advises “Just go into the room & put one chair in the center. Take the one seat in the center of the room, open the doors & windows, & see who comes to visit. You will witness all kinds of scenes & actors, all kinds of temptations & stories, everything imaginable. Your only job is to stay in your seat. You will see it all arise & pass, & out of this, wisdom & understanding will come.”

In Mongolia, taking the one seat brings me a life full of visitors & curiosity, it means that people try much harder to understand me & to be understood by me, it includes the love of children who give me their kindness & adoration out of the purity of their own hearts. My life here is one such that I am special, perhaps still somewhat an oddity, but I have been accepted wholeheartedly by my community. There is scarcely an inhabitant of my village who doesn't know my name, though I sadly do not know many of theirs. From my experiences in the one seat I have taken in the past in America, I now find myself fearing loneliness upon my return.

To quote from Jack Kornfield's work “A Path with Heart,” this next passage provides a lot of insight into American culture. “Anne Wilson Schaef, author of 'When Society Becomes an Addict,' has described it this way: The best-adjusted person in our society is the person who is not dead & not alive, just numb, a zombie. When you are dead you're not able to do the work of the society. When you are fully alive you are constantly saying 'No' to many of the processes of society, the racism, the polluted environment, the nuclear threat, the arms race, drinking unsafe water & eating carcinogenic foods. Thus it is in the interests of our society to promote those things that take the edge off, keep us busy with our fixes, & keep us slightly numbed out & zombie-like. In this way our modern consumer society functions as an addict.”

I am beginning to realize that I can't change people, & to a bittersweet extent, that some people haven't changed. Though I want to put faith in the belief that because I myself have undergone something momentous & have changed, that others too must have likewise grown & flourished. However, I cannot apply this truth to many people in my life who I knew before I embarked upon my journey here. Those who were moody & passive-aggressive in my life before I left, though they may tout the virtues of happiness, are still the same individuals underneath those layers. Their true selves lie like monsters in caves, waiting to be coaxed out snarling, nostrils ablaze, by a stressful situation or a period of difficulty. I believe firmly that the true character of a person can be determined by actions undertaken not in times of peace & tranquility, but during times of hardship. One of the Japanese JIKA volunteers here, Nana, is prone to laughter & humor when times get tough. This speaks novels about who she truly is.

Friends who were unreliable, distant, in crisis, or absent when I left America are still broken, lost, & unable or unwilling to heal. The people who haven't kept in touch, despite our pasts together & despite my predisposition to continually reach out, are unlikely now to deviate from their chosen paths where I am concerned. These are blessings, rather than curses, because in many ways, the slow detraction from friendship leading to an unfinished ending simply due to circumstance is an ideal. What better way to depart from someone in life but by choosing to walk down a different road & not immediately noticing that the fork takes either of you in very opposing directions? But it is admittedly disheartening to think that many people I once knew, particularly people whom I truly loved, did not choose a path at all. They are stagnant where we parted, & I only need double-back to find them again, though this is an impossibility if I wish to continue to move forward.

It is not the act of change that defines who we are, but the will to change, the desire to change for the better.

Миний хайртай Америкийн хоол

2012-01-14T19:59:00.000-08:00

За! Well, I recently went through my cupboard to do a little early spring cleaning, & what I discovered there was essentially a large hoard of delicious American foods that have been sent to me in care packages throughout the past year & a half or so. After decoratively arranging them & snapping a picture (naturally), I have happily begun a grand foray into better living through better eating. For example, several nights ago after the devastating news that the power plant may very well have exploded for how broken it is (perhaps there was no literal explosion per se, but there could have been since the electricity here is worse than a hillbilly's oral hygiene), I decided to use my gas stove to whip up a batch of fluffy just-add-water pancakes using a mix sent courtesy of my beloved grandmother & grandfather. At the prospect of not having electricity until September (which has since been disproved, mind you), a little "breakfast for dinner" was the salvation I needed.

Last night, treating myself to glorious cuisine yet again, I indulged in kembab, essentially seaweed sheets rolled with rice inside which resemble sushi. But was this ordinary, short-grain, round rice only too common in these parts? Nay, for it was jasmine rice, procured by yours truly during my November excursion to UB! In addition, I enjoyed a wonderful Indian dish, dal bukhara, of lentils & beans in a tomato-based sauce, thanks to a care package Sadie sent me over a year ago. I can think of no more lovely a dinner to enjoy on a chilly January evening in the Gobi desert of Mongolia.

But wait, there's more! Thanks to my dear friend Rachel, I also find myself somewhat awash in a several-jars-deep slew of Trader Joe's organic peanut butter made with Valencia peanuts! (More special than those regular peanuts by all stretches of the imagination.) Couple said nutty delicacy with the simplicity of but a small winter apple, & you have, my friends, pure bliss for the taste buds.

What have I to look forward to in the coming days & weeks? Rice-A-Roni, French onion soup, vegetable soup, yet more just-add-water pancakes, two different chili mixes, palak paneer, minestrone soup, Southeastern Mills gravy (goes great with biscuits, apparently), Southeastern Mills cheddar cheese sauce mix, gluten-free organic soybean "chicken" (also courtesy of a care package Sadie sent long ago), Trader Joe's chili spiced mango slices, roasted garlic & cheddar mashed potatoes, dried great northern beans, dried lentils, oatmeal, & more. What more, you ask? In addition to my stock of tinned tomatoes, a can of mushrooms, cans of peas, & cans of corn, I also have a collection of various baking mixes courtesy of my parents. Blueberry muffins, oatmeal muffins, chocolate chip cookies, corn bread, banana bread, pumpkin bread, & fudge brownie mix. Other delicious treats include Ghiradelli 86% "Intense Dark Midnight Reverie" chocolate squares, baby candy canes, smoked almonds, roasted & salted almonds, Santa Fe party mix, dried banana chips, & more spices than I can ever hope to finish while in-country.

Now, for a gal like me trying to save a buck where I can, this hoard-then-indulge strategy seems to have worked out in my favor. Even by just enjoying one item for one meal of the day (generally dinner so that I can look forward to it), I am saving money for the cost of that one meal. Aside from purchasing fresh produce (namely potatoes, garlic, onions, the occasional carrot, oranges when I can get them, & apples when they're available) & a few other little nuances (candles & butane gas for my camp stove, since the power is almost always out), I might actually be able to save some money for the next few months of my service.

This, my friends, is perfect, because I have already reserved a private room in UB for the days before & after the COS (Closure of Service) conference at the end of April ---quite the expense, granted that a private room costs three times as much per night (15,000T as opposed to 5,000T). However, take heed from my sound advice: Beware the Snory. The Snory is a weather-worn traveler who smells like feet, & the Snory, borne from the bowels of Hell, infests dormitory-style rooms guest houses with the sole intent of massacring your dreams with raucous, moist, choking snores several decibels louder than a jet engine that make you question whether or not it is possible for human face to experience flatulence. Believe me when I say this, I loathe the Snory.

Миний кошка, Миний хүү

2012-01-14T19:25:00.000-08:00

Chicago, Chicago, Chicago! I have been tirelessly trying to get things in order, at least mentally, for my great return to America in T-minus five or so months with this gorgeous kittyman in tow! Sadie & Brian were kind enough to give me a pet carrier (AKA cat box) that is the correct size & has the correct dimensions for taking a cat on a plane.

Here's what needs to happen, as I understand it... Because Chicago is due for his shots in April, & because I will be going to UB in April for the COS (Closure of Service) conference anyway, the vet there said I could simply pick up the shots & bring them back to administer to Chicago myself, since I won't be bringing him to the city with me. (Read: The local vet here in my village will be asked to give him the shot, not I!) After I pick up the materials from the vet's office & the assistants update Chicago's passport, I must then trek to the Peace Corps office. Here, I need to scan in Chicago's passport (& print several copies, just in case), scan in my passport (& print several copies, just in case), as well as get these items notarized. Where on earth can I find a notary?

Then, there's a little bit of trickiness that comes into play. I must go to the travel agency to book my Korean Air flight to America for sometime in early June (granted my early COS request is approved prior to these April endeavors). To book the ticket, I have to check, recheck, & re-recheck with the Peace Corps office that if I buy a ticket for a certain day, that the office can have me processed & my end-of-service doodads stamped & completed before that day happens. Of course, months before all of this, my parents will have sent me my new Visa credit & debit cards in the mail, because they are set to expire in April, so I re-ordered them early.

Now, after I book my ticket, I must then call Korean Air & say something to the effect of "Howdy ya'll, I gots me a cat!" just to make sure that they're aware. According to Sadie & Brian, there may be a limit on how many pets a certain flight can have, & though they have never had an issue with this, it's good to let the airline know as soon as possible. I will also mention the cat at the time of purchasing my ticket, but you never can be too careful. After several more words & a double check with the airline, I'll traverse to Peace Corps once more. Now, I must type up a letter of request (in English with certain necessary Mongolian-isms added as illustrated in the example letter that the vet emailed me) stating my name, that I would like to take Chicago back to America with me, what my address is in Mongolia, what my address is in America, where I will be flying from, where I will be flying to, when, & then sign away either my soul or first-born child. (This is, of course, a rough outline of what will transpire.)

Check, check, check, now I go to an ATM & withdraw an exorbitant amount of money (well, in Peace Corps Volunteer terms), roughly 75,000T (perhaps about $67). I will take said money, said photocopies, & said letter to the veterinary clinic once again where I will thrust all of these materials eagerly upon them, several of my business cards haphazardly paper clipped to everything, & then I will probably be asked to fill out some paperwork for the office records. Bada-bing, I should now be able to sleep a little better at night knowing that the veterinary clinic will take care of all the necessary forms, translation requirements, & whatnot.

When I go to UB in June (presumably June 1st or 2nd, depending on plane tickets, a stressor in & of itself because Peace Corps likes to play the procrastination game), I will have to fly EZ-nis will all of my luggage to go to America (thusly, a small box suitcase, a large travel backpack, a shoulder bag with all my technology inside, plus things to return to Peace Corps like my water filter, smoke detector, electric heater, & whatever else I'm forgetting ---plus cat), & Chicago will sadly be put into cargo. Somewhere before this time, I will definitely have to contact the EZ-nis people & tell them about the cat plus all the additional luggage I will have (this I learned from the COS handbook!).

Then, I get myself a swanky private room at Mongol Steppe 1 or Mongol Steppe 2, rush on over to the veterinary clinic (they're open til 6 on Saturdays!), get Chi-town his final check-up, check, recheck, re-recheck, double check, & re-double check that everything is in order, & perhaps find a moment to take a deep breath. Then I have to go to Peace Corps, do paperwork, do more paperwork, get the thingy signed by the person who just so happened to decide to go on vacation this week, do the other thing, interview with the country director, possibly do some more stuff that needs more signing by more baikhgui people, spin around in a circle three times, do ten jumping jacks, draw a red X next to a green circle, fold a piece of paper in half, & then maybe I can enjoy a last supper or two at a Peace Corps hotspot (à la American Burger & Fries).

My concerns now? I need to find someone to notarize the documents I've already mentioned. I am also awaiting the arrival of my credit & debit cards in the mail (both Visa & MasterCard as a matter of fact, since they all expire). Lastly, I need to purchase (perhaps on Amazon for my parents to mail here ASAP) a large shoulder bag in which to carry my regular-sized laptop, my small laptop, a mouse, all the accompanying cords, my Kindle & its cord, my digital camera, my MP3 player, & an envelope with various computer discs inside as well as SD cards & jump drives. Once this is in order, the worry still does not quite cease, because I don't now whether or not it is actually possible to take both Chicago on the plane (his cat box can go under the seat) as well as my bag of expensive technological toys, though I can't concede either of these to the cargo hold. (For the sake of the mental health of my poor cat, & for my own sake of mind to not have to stress over whether or not my computers will get smashed to bits!)

I am nothing if not a meticulous planner.

Peace Corps Mongolia 20th Anniversary Commemorative Book

2012-01-12T06:08:00.001-08:00

The Peace Corps Mongolia 20th Anniversary Commemorative Book, edited by my fabulous, beautiful, talented training sitemate, Alex Hill!

For more information, please visit:
http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/invited/2325248/5fe22012411d73e966e8d269290b2ecf08759dff

Excerpt from a letter home...

2012-01-12T04:45:00.000-08:00

The patio

Thursday, January 12th 2012

COS (Closure of Service) is a temptress, a yearning made all the more sweet by the nature of the wait, a tantalizing essence of June & summer & shades of green –gentle winds & cool waters & rebirth, of freedom, of hope. The future is a riot of colors & senses, a glimmer of opened windows & calm nights lit by the moon & stars. . . With each passing day, the American skies will paint themselves more blue. The flowers will begin to awaken, the birds will yield to the will of instinct that pulls them home.

But I can dream. . . I definitely oscillate back & forth between waiting & ecstasy, between the boredom of the prospect of five more months & the carefree nonchalance that a tree-hugging, barefoot, tie dye wearing hippie might exude –if there were any trees to hug. I sometimes shy away from & yet become more intrigued by Sadie & Brian who make this life look & seem so easy. If I had to choose a mantra for them, I'd certainly risk the cliché of “Don't worry, be happy.”

Perhaps these next five months will further solidify the patience that Peace Corps has thus far instilled within me. I waltz through the three week long wait for a much anticipated letter or care package from home. I'm okay with quiet nights & days in my village. I have little drive to cavort off to the aimag, & less desire still to visit UB (currently plunged into a glory of -40°F). Yet if I'm being truthful, I will say that I wouldn't miss the lost time if I were to blink & awaken in a haze mid-March.

I revel in throwing finished things away. It's as though each used-up spice container, each too-holey sock, & each burned-down candle are conspiring with me to leave this place. Every tea packet, empty bottle of hot sauce, every vacant vitamin container, every dead pen –its ink spilled into flowing cursive upon a page– it's as though I'm somehow moving closer. I become more free, less burdened, I can congratulate myself on watercolors well-painted, envelopes well-addressed, shoes well-walked, as I lessen the amount of material items that surround me.

I look forward to going home, heading to my dressers with trash bags in hand, & tossing clothing I haven't worn in two years into them. I won't miss the countless jeans & T-shirts as I haven't missed them at all while I've been here. I can't wait to donate them to charity. & my shoes, my wonderful & mostly impractical collection of shoes! Albeit a small menagerie consisting perhaps of twenty-odd pairs, I relish the vision of my old Chuck Taylors flying from my hands, the worn second-hand boots making their way back to the thrift store, my final farewell to the plaid ballet flats & the Puma gym shoes. Adieu, adieu, but goodness knows my red heels, knee-high moccasins, & sage green wedges aren't going anywhere (except perhaps out to dinner or to the bar).

I'm coming home! I'm going to relish a hot shower every night & then drench my skin in Bath & Body Works lotion. I'm going to sleep on freshly-laundered sheets, I'm going to relax by the light of a Yankee candle. I'm going to visit friends & colleagues & favorite restaurants & bars with joy in my heart (& laden with souvenirs in my open arms). I'm going to go to that little dive on the lake in Wisconsin with my Mom & Dad, & eat a salad with a big, cold glass of Guinness while chatting with the smiling blonde waitress who bade me luck before I came here. It was the same meal I had when I went there last. & we'll laugh & look out the big windows onto the water, clouds reflected in the waves as the sky softens to allow the sun to lazily dip below the trees, & a warm breeze will gently lift the napkins on the table & cause the tealights to flicker, dancing lively in their glass holders.

I'll awaken to the warm light of a patriotic summer sun & walk barefoot downstairs to the patio where Dad & Jim have coffee already brewing on the fire, just like cowboys would make it, in a blue speckled camping kettle. I'll interpret the sound of lawn mowers as music. & I'll sit on a cushioned lawn chair & smile. I'm coming home.

Faraway dreams...

2012-01-11T22:09:00.000-08:00

Summit county, CO

A tipi made by various wanderers who have walked the foot-path near our condo

The beach near my house where I grew up & spent many long summer days

Grandma Anne's

The dock at the cabin

Day Five Hundred & Eight-six
Thursday, January 12th 2012

According to thermometer now in our English classroom, Sadie & I have been enduring 50F temperatures all winter. Technically, the thermometer reads 10C, but conversions must be made for the sake of my own comprehension. The radiators don't radiate, & Sadie pointed out today that she could literally feel a breeze seeping in through the window. There is nothing to be done. Sadie is right in saying that if we were to move classrooms, it might only condemn another teacher our freezing room, & that simply wouldn't be fair. The radiators in our classroom have apparently never worked, & the only other empty classroom in the school is even colder than our own, though this has yet to be scientifically verified via our new thermometer. Lo, because the power is often “baikhgui,” even an electric heater is not a viable possibility.

I'm still convalescing from what very well may be the worst cold I have ever gotten in Mongolia. It started as a mere tickle in my throat & digressed into a upper respiratory infection that left me coughing all night to the point where I had barely slept in four days. This cold (though the terminology “plague” seems more appropriate) was multi-talented, causing my nose to simultaneously run whilst being congested, & sneezing all the while. Needless to say, I didn't attend school for over a week, & to this day, I can't use my voice fully. Coughing up bits of phlegm is not my idea of a good time.

I do, however, have a phone interview for the Peace Corps Fellows graduate program in sociology at ISU next Thursday at 10PM! After being so immersed in the application process, engrossing myself in a thirty-five plus hour endeavor that resulted in my finely-tuned statement of purpose, editing a piece of sample writing (which I was advised should be my best piece of sociological writing ever in the history of sociological writing I have ever done in my whole life ever), & emailing various inquiries like an inquiry fiend, the interview definitely crept up on me. The little voice in the back of my head says things like “Yeah, but the deadline isn't until March 1st!” whereupon another little voice nudges me saying “Right, so when else would they be conducting the interviews if not now-ish?”

Some of the teachers from my adult English speaking club talked to me yesterday before I went to the students' English Club & asked if I would go to the community center to dance with them at 5:30. Thinking to myself “Why the heck not?” I agreed. What ensued was a rather awkward hour & a half of learning (or should I say relearning) the Mongolian Waltz, amidst two other dances that seem more Russian than anything. When the teachers were trying to explain the names of the other two dances to me, I may have misheard them, because they told me that one of the dances was the Department Store Dance, & that that other dance was the Bread Dance. The ballet teacher (who is featured in the film “Story of the Weeping Camel,” which was filmed in my village!) is quite an impressive lady, both in stature as well as in her classic approach to dance. Admittedly, I have no idea if she was complimenting my form or if she was criticizing me. However, I trust that in her capable hands (& by the complicated motions of her tiny feet in high heels) that I too shall dance, or at least tomorrow's class will lead me a step closer in that direction (pun intended?).

Indeed, my mind is flooded with idle dreams of faraway places. Where typical Americans tend to daydream of the exoticisms evoked by words like Paris, Rome, or London, I, on the other hand, find myself fantasizing wildly about places like Super Wal-Mart, large expanses of paved parking lots, hanging stoplights swaying gently in the breeze, & aisles upon aisles of tchochkies, their plastic bottoms stamped with infamous phrases like “Made in China,” or more alluring still, “Hecho en Mexico.” My idea of a getaway at this point is to close my eyes for just a moment & imagine myself sitting on the dock of my family's cabin, the sun on my face, my feet in the water, & an ice cold cooler full of Newcastle perched eloquently between myself & my best friend Rachel, my brother wandering somewhere nearby. My escape these days is to imagine myself driving through Colorado, where every glance looks picturesque enough to be on a postcard, going out to dinner with my parents at the Dillon Dam Brewery, & walking the dogs along the foot-trail winding near a crystal clear stream staggered by tiny waterfalls near our condo. I equate the sense of summer, however distant, with hope.

The English Club decorates cookies!

2012-01-11T21:49:00.000-08:00

In a Christmas package from America I received last month, my parents included Betty Crocker sugar cookie mix, cookie cutters, food coloring, & cream cheese frosting. Sadie & I put these to good use by decorating cookies with our English Club!

Day Five Hundred & Seventy-six

2012-01-02T02:14:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Seventy-six
Monday, January 2nd 2012

I spent Christmas Eve with the Omnogobi volunteers in DZ. I brought some of the Rose's Lime Juice that my grandmother sent me to make drinks lovingly referred to as “One of Anne's” which are essentially glorified vodka gimlets. Ben even brought a little Christmas tree that we decorated, & we had a White Elephant type of gift exchange where I got the coolest toy gun imaginable, complete with lights & sounds. I named it “Chimeegui” (which means “Be quiet" in Mongolian).

Sadie & Brian returned to the Gobi today. These past three weeks have certainly been a challenge without Sadie here, but I'm really glad she's back. One major improvement in my life that has happened is that Darhuu & I sewed a winter del for me (well, Darhuu did most of the sewing) which I basically live in now, it's that warm. Because our classroom is so cold, teaching has been less-than-ideal & I've been wearing my winter coat, scarf, & gloves indoors all day. However, with my new del, I can now be warmer, & still look decent. Mongolians also get a big kick out of the fact that I wear a del, & whenever I go anywhere I hear passersby saying in Mongolian something to the effect of “That foreigner is wearing a Mongolian del!”

Ben came to stay in Sadie & Brian's ger over the weekend, since his living situation has been rough the past half year or so. His director seems convinced that foreigners aren't able to live in a ger, & even though Ben lived in a ger all last year & all last winter, his director moved him into the student dormitories where he has been bothered nonstop by students who take some sick pleasure from pounding on the door & running away. (They do that to me, also. Or at least they did until I told their homeroom teachers & got them yelled at.) Luckily, Ben has found an apartment to move into.

When Ben arrived, Oka (Darhuu's live-in nephew) had accidentally taken the ger key to the aimag with him, but since Oka didn't realize he had the key with him until the next day, we literally turned Darhuu's house upside-down looking for it. Darhuu finally motioned for Ben & I to follow her outside with a tool that resembled a hammer in her hands. I couldn't help but laugh a little bit because the idea of a tiny Mongolian woman breaking into a ger in her front yard was hilarious. All apologies to Sadie & Brian, their sturdy lock, & the clasps through which the lock was laced, because these things were thoroughly destroyed in the process. However, Santiago, Sadie & Brian's beloved dog, was trapped inside (& Oka didn't return for a few days!) so it was all for the best.

New Year's Eve was lovely. Ben & I went to Darhuu's house, & even though the power was out, I love going there to sit by Darhuu's coal-burning stove to warm up & talk with her. The space right in front of the stove has unofficially become my spot, & Chicago & I sat there for hours. Darhuu made potato buuz (a small Mongolian dumpling-shaped dish, whereby flour is wrapped around a filling & twisted in a complicated “Mongolian pinch” that I haven't yet mastered). I decorated Chicago with some of the glowsticks my parents had sent in the mail a while back, & everyone was very entertained by him. The power came on right before midnight (a great sign for the year to come) & the neighbors even lit off fireworks. It was a really wonderful way to bring in 2012. We even had “One of Anne's” cocktails each & cake!

An incredible package arrived this week from my grandmother & grandfather (on my Mom's side of the family). They sent the most beautiful Italian scarf, which is almost too pretty to wear here. They also sent precious American things like popcorn, pancake mix (just-add-water, how perfect, since it's sometimes tricky to find eggs or things like that here), assorted nut mixes (even chocolate covered ones), tea, a big bag of dried banana chips, flavored coffee, & some other food-making mixes (like a self-contained bag of alfredo noodles, & even a nice meat-free gravy mix). Even though it didn't make it in time for Christmas, it really brightened my week. What a great thing to receive right at the end of 2011.

Well, 2012 has kind of hit me like a ton of bricks! Aside from the moments of pause I take whenever I have to write the date, I can't believe a new year is already here. The fact that I'm leaving Mongolia is becoming more & more of a reality, so close, but it seems so far away. The winter is literally upon my small village here in the Gobi, as I awakened yesterday to a blizzard raging outside. The thought of summer keeps me going, the dream of sitting on the dock at the lake cabin again, taking a road trip with one of my best friends, Rachel, and the knowledge that I will soon be reunited with people I love.

Current Self-Publications

2011-12-27T03:39:00.000-08:00

Beauty
My first handbook, written in 2009, with advice regarding various aspects of personal beauty.

Green Ideas
The sister book to "Beauty" which details recipes & other suggestions for homemade beauty remedies & eco-friendly home cleaning techniques.

Apothecary Grimoire
A compilation of various herbal references, planetary correspondences, & other information regarding colors, the zodiac, moon phases, etcetera.

Little Ger in the Big Woods
My handbook to ger living, written with the intent of constructing a ger at my family's cabin.

If you are interested in reading any of my handbooks, please email me for more information.

Ger-y Christmas!

2011-12-26T05:18:00.000-08:00

Ger-y Christmas! This year, I painted scenes of various gers & mailed them out to family, friends, & loved ones!

Peace Corps Mourns the Loss of Volunteers Elizabeth Alden Landis and Lena Jenison

2011-12-22T20:51:00.000-08:00

I am sobered to share with you the following press release about fellow Peace Corps Volunteers in Mozambique:

http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.media.press.view&news_id=1934

Please keep their families in your thoughts, especially throughout this difficult time. I implore each of you to cherish the loved ones in your life right now, & be thankful for each moment that you have. During the holidays, remind yourself of your blessings & acknowledge that you have families and friends who care about you, whether or not you can be together with them this year. Please be safe, make good choices, take care of one another, and to be grateful to the fullest extent of your ability. Don't be afraid to tell someone that you love them.

Thanks, Barack!

2011-12-22T20:40:00.000-08:00

President Obama wrote the following letter to Peace Corps Volunteers:

"Michelle and I extend our warmest wishes for the holiday season to Peace Corps Volunteers serving around the world.

As ambassadors of hope and goodwill, Peace Corps Volunteers embody the American spirit of compassion and generosity. During the holidays and throughout the year, you carry forward our country's proud tradition of service, encouraging progress and fostering mutual respect and understanding across the globe. All Americans can draw strength from your example, and as a Nation, we are grateful for the inspiring work you do each day.

I wish you all the best for a joyous holiday season, and for continued blessings in the year ahead."

Books & Festivities

2011-12-22T20:08:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I received an incredible shipment of books written in English from the Darien Book Aid!

My ninth graders in 9B were so excited, they could barely stop reading them long enough for me to take a picture!

Our school is getting into the festive spirit of the holiday season...

Yesterday, some of my students wanted to decorate our English classroom for Шинэ Жил (pronounced "Shin Jil"), Mongolian for New Year!

Day Five Hundred & Sixty-five

2011-12-22T06:13:00.000-08:00

I came across this picture while reading the news, & something about it touched me. I can't quite describe why, but it embodies something about America that is very meaningful to me right now. Highways. Street signs. Perhaps it somewhat reminds me of the drive home from Alpine Valley that I used to take with my Dad years & years ago. This photograph looks almost exactly like the underpass where we would turn. Almost inexplicably, this is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

Day Five Hundred & Sixty-five
Thursday, December 22nd 2011

I received a wonderful package in the mail from my family back in America. It contained a plethora of incredible things, including but not limited to: Bath & Body Works lotion, Yankee candles, paper towels (of which I have not seen so much as a roll anywhere in Mongolia), soup mixes, cookie mixes, frosting, Christmas-shaped cookie cutters, food coloring, Andes mints, Ghiradelli dark chocolate, Extra gum (in amazing flavors like mint chocolate chip, strawberry shortcake, apple pie, & even orange creamsicle –this gum is perfect for Peace Corps Volunteers because we can't often get the real thing), a lovely zip-up Danskin fleece pullover (Danskin is one of my favorite companies for fitness attire, good job Mom!), a black button-down knit sweater (another ten points to my mother), & a plethora of other little do-dads.

I couldn't help myself & I opened it. I know Christmas isn't for a few days, & I could make the excuse that today is the winter solstice, but to be fair, this has been a pretty rough week. The power outages (for three days consecutively several days ago, & we've been consistently without power for about twenty hours per day or more for the past month) weigh on me like a constant headache. It's hard to describe how draining it is to live cringe by cringe at each outage. Luckily, I purchased a gas burning stove in the aimag last month, & my friend Lauren was so kind as to name it Gabby for me. This means that I can cook. However, I can't bake, because I never know when the power might go out or how long it will disappear for.

In other news, I received a very encouraging email from one of my former professors at ISU who has been helping me with my Statement of Purpose for graduate school to revise, revise, revise, & revise it again. I have easily put in over twenty hours (twenty-five, thirty perhaps) on what would otherwise seem to be a simple two-pages requiring me to write about myself. It is somewhat more complex than that. However, I know that Dr. Gill has really high standards, & I have been extremely blessed to have her as a resource. I think that with her suggestions, I stand the best chance possible of getting accepted. My fingers are crossed irregardless.

Some of the little things my parents sent me really make me feel human again. One simple thing is the hand soap, which came in a little pump bottle shaped like a snowman (wearing a hat). I haven't had hand soap in eighteen months. Such a seemingly inconsequential thing makes all the difference to me right now. I'm allowing myself a little luxury & am currently burning one of the candles. I haven't had such an expensive candle since before I left America. I admit, a lot of the things I have been sent, I've hoarded. I have a cupboard filled with little treasures from home: Jiffy muffin mix, Rice-a-Roni, Jell-O pudding mixes, packets of gum, cake mixes, frosting, the list goes on.

My COS (Closure of Service) date is officially six months from now. I have exactly six months left as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mongolia serving in my little town of six hundred people in the Gobi desert. I've been spending a lot of time with Darhuu lately. She taught me how to sew a del, has taught me how to make various Mongolian foods, has been kind enough to allow me to follow her with my camera, & who has been providing me with the patience & understanding it takes to understand another human being with a language barrier. With her deep sense of intuitive comprehension (perhaps from her forty years as a teacher –she started teaching at age fourteen!), I feel more fluent in Mongolian than I ever have. I feel understood.

After this year, I don't think I want to go another holiday season without my family. Things have been trying, but in unexpected ways. The way time moves here is strange, serpentine. It jerks & leaps, slows, pirouettes, jumps forward, stumbles as though it were a living entity, it dances to a macabre & unheard melody. It tempts me. I miss the things that few else would think to cherish. The thought of someday seeing a leftward-pointing arrow illuminate as I'm waiting in the turn lane is a faraway dream. I had almost forgotten about the ballet that shoppers enact in the supermarket whereby they instinctively choose the shortest check-out aisle. I forget sometimes that there are people in the world who can simply put their dirty clothes & dirty dishes into respective machines, that plastic is a form of currency, that cars can be driven containing only a single individual. Someday, I can drink water straight from the tap, because I will have a tap from which to drink.

Mongolian Donuts: Bortsig

2011-12-20T01:47:00.000-08:00

Bortsig (Боорцог), also known as боов (despite how it looks, it's pronounced "Bow"), is basically the Mongolian version of donuts! To start you will need:
1 bag of flour (or half bag, to halve the recipe)
1 bowl of sugar (half bowl)
1 package yeast (half package)
Some warm water
Sunflower oil

Mix the ingredients together, making an indentation in the middle of the flour to add the sugar, yeast, & some warm water

Mix these together to form a dough. The dough should be tough and not sticky. Let the dough stand under a bowl for 30 minutes to 1 hour.

Heat half a container of sunflower seed oil over a fire in a big metal bowl, or if you prefer, in an electric wok.

On a well-floured surface, roll out the dough until it is about 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick. (For the larger version of the recipe, it may be easier to cut the dough in half before rolling it out two times separately.)

Cut the dough into approximately 2 inch long, 1/2 inch wide strips. Here is where you can get creative with your shapes. To make a donut shape, use a large circular cookie cutter, and then a smaller one to cut out the inside hole.

To begin frying, drop one piece of dough along the side of your wok (so as to not splash the hot oil). If the oil boils around it, it is hot enough. Continue to add the dough, dropping it in along the side.

Cook your bortsig until it is golden brown.

Remove bortsig from the wok with a strainer.

Enjoy!

Mongolian Food: Manto

2011-12-12T19:44:00.000-08:00

Manto (Мантуу) is a steamed, layered bread product, that tastes much like a large, moist dumpling. To begin, you mix two bowls of flour, one small spoonful of yeast, & water together to form a dough. Let this dough set under a bowl for twenty minutes.
Roll out the dough into a thin, large circular shape & add a dash of oil.

Spread the oil around. Then, you want to roll the dough to form a log shape, & cut the dough lengthwise into about 3 inch sections.

To form a manto shape is somewhat tricky. You want to grab the two exposed ends (where you can see the spiral rolled shape) with one hand on each side, & then quickly twist the dough in opposite directions, bringing the two initial sides together at the top. A little twist, & you have your manto.

Prepare to cook your manto by placing them in a steamer.

Darkhuu has a very handy steamer with different racks that are placed inside. She can simultaneously steam cut vegetables also.

Steam your manto for thirty minutes. Darkhuu places her steamer in a large bowl on the stove with water inside.

& now you have your manto!

Note: This recipe yields about 8 manto.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manti_%28dumpling%29
This Wikipedia page refers to manto at "manti," but describes the different places in the world where it can be found, as well as how it came to be included in Mongolian cuisine.

Dels by Darkhuu

2011-12-11T02:17:00.000-08:00

The vision for my winter del.

This chalk trick absolutely amazes me...

Darkhuu has a little bag filled with chalk dust with a string running through it. To make a straight line on the fabric, she simply holds it taught, & then has someone give it a little flick which leaves a line behind.

A del is a garment that literally makes use of nearly every inch (or should I say centimeter?) of fabric. Darkhuu first taught me how to match the pattern, a fashion skill I am in dire need of learning. Then, using chalk & a measuring tape, she drew the general del outline.

The pieces are coming together quite nicely...

Here, Darkhuu is once again matching the pattern for the sleeve cuffs.

Darkhuu's sewing machine has a hand crank on the side & can be used when the power is out (which it often is). I was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the sewing techniques I've been so accustomed to throughout my life are actually the same or very similar in Mongolia.

Upcoming Publications

2011-12-06T22:34:00.000-08:00

I will be featured as an overseas correspondence writer in next week's edition of the Woodstock Independent. Be sure to pick up your copy, & continue to look for my column about my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mongolia!

Edit: The article will be released the following week (the week of December 21st).

My article, entitled "Based on True Events: Inaccuracies of the Dillinger Story in the Film Industry" will be featured in this year's edition of the Harper Anthology! For more information, please visit: http://www.harpercollege.edu

Book Review: “The Body Project” by Joan Jacobs Brumberg

2011-11-24T02:25:00.000-08:00

Book Review: “The Body Project” by Joan Jacobs Brumberg
Thursday, November 24th 2011

“Not surprisingly, there is more self-hatred among women than men, and women tend to be especially dissatisfied about the lower body –the waist, hips, thighs, and buttocks. To put it another way: when an American woman dislikes her thighs, she is unlikely to like herself.”

Brumberg's “The Body Project” is a fascinating account on how women have treated their bodies from the Victorian era through the modern day. Her research is largely based on primary source documents such as newspaper articles, advertisements, and most importantly, the diaries of real women who have dealt with body image issues throughout the ages. Brumberg looks at the history of the feminine form and the female ideal of beauty. “In the Victorian era,” she states, “beauty was thought to derive primarily from internal qualities such as moral character, spirituality, and health.”

Brumberg further looks at a topic that is still somewhat taboo even in the modern day, a woman's menstrual cycle. Brumberg traces the experience of menarche throughout recent history. “In the early nineteenth century, menarche–first menstruation–typically occurred at fifteen or sixteen. . . . Today, however, the average age is just over twelve. . . . We now know, on the basis of historical records kept by public health officials and physicians, that the age at which menstruation begins has declined over the past 150 years in both the United States and Western Europe. In the twentieth century, it has become increasingly rare for girls in these countries to begin menstruation at seventeen or eighteen, but the lower limit of the range–nine or ten–still holds. This means that there is no need to worry about precocious menstruators of seven or eight: there seems to be a biological floor that limits the decline in age, and authorities confirm that the downward progression actually came to a halt thirty years ago.”

Brumberg makes the argument that particularly in the Victorian era when the facade of propriety was of the utmost importance, mothers sometimes neglected to inform their daughters about a menstrual cycle. This, Brumberg postulates, is vastly different from some other cultures of the world. “The Asante of Ghana place a menarcheal girl beneath an umbrella and then sing and dance in her honor; the Yuork Indians of California expect her to isolate herself from her family. Americans, by contrast, generally have no community rituals of initiation or exclusion.”

Brumberg's research puts forth a staggering melange of facts. “By age thirteen,” she writes, “53 percent of American girls are unhappy with their bodies; by age seventeen 78 percent are dissatisfied.” However, “before World War I, girls rarely mentioned their bodies in terms of strategies for self-improvement or struggles for personal identity. Becoming a better person meant paying less attention to the self, giving more assistance to others, and putting more effort into instructive reading or lessons at school. When girls in the nineteenth century thought about ways to improve themselves, they almost always focused on their internal character and how it was reflected in outward behavior. In 1892, the personal agenda of an adolescent diarist read: 'Resolved, not to talk about myself or feelings. To think before speaking. To work seriously. To be self restrained in conversation and actions. Not to let my thoughts wander. To be dignified. Interest myself more in others.'”

At the heart of Brumberg's book is the idea that the modern woman undertakes a body project with socially-defined specifics for perfection. “A century ago, American women were lacing themselves into corsets and teaching their adolescent daughters to do the same; today's teens shop for thong bikinis on their own, and their middle-class mothers are likely to be uninvolved until the credit card bill arrives in the mail. These contrasting images might suggest a great deal of progress, but American girls at the end of the twentieth century actually suffer from body problems more pervasive and more dangerous than the constraints implied by the corset.”

Joan Jacobs Brumberg is a social historian and a Professor Emerita at Cornell University. “The Body Project” was first published in 1997.

Day Five Hundred & Thirty-three

2011-11-20T02:46:00.000-08:00

Yes, we do have tumbleweed in the Gobi.

Day Five Hundred & Thirty-three
Sunday, November 20th 2011

GRE дуусан! I am elated, ecstatic, waxing poetic that never again in my life will I ever have to encounter the gruesome atrocity & stress-inducing shenanigan that is the General Requirement Test. Supposedly in six weeks I will receive my scores in the mail (when in reality, my parents will receive them, & presumably open the envelope to tell me how well I did). I know with absolute certainty that the writing portions (both analytical & opinion) will boost my score immensely. In terms of math, well, I've come to a comfortable place whereby I am merely a conscientious objector. No, mathematical problem, I do not understand you, but I acknowledge your existence & the importance to others that you may have in the world.

I've taken a very Buddhist approach in accepting that there are some things I simply cannot do well, such as setting up an equation to a question akin to “Two speeding trains are headed to Switzerland, one going 345 miles per hour, the other going 1,000 kilometers per hour in reverse. If the first car of the green train has two young twin boys named Bill & Johann respectively, & the twelfth car of the green & red striped train contains their grandmother, what are the chances that Johann will receive apple juice from the conductor as opposed to a packet of cookies?” The GRE study books would make you believe that this is simple. Obviously, you need to divide the number of juice boxes (J) manufactured by Apple Juice Incorporated (I) by x, while simultaneously multiplying x cubed times the number of years that Granny spent married to her late husband Harold, when in reality, it was Wilhelm who caught her fancy initially when they were both innocent teenagers. Take Wilhelm's age when he was drafted into the army during WWI & subtract it from how many blue ribbons Granny has won for her famous peach cobbler, & you will find the value of y.

I received a melange of text messages wishing me luck on the GRE from friends, family, & even Natsaga who owns Mongol Steppe II guest house! I'm very lucky indeed to have had so many well-wishers. Natsaga's sister, Eiggy, who owns Mongol Steppe I guesthouse behind AB&F (American Burgers & Fries) even allowed me to stay in a private room for the two days proceeding my test for the same rate as a normal dormitory bed would have cost. Such acts of kindness warm my heart, truly, even though the temperature at night here in UB has been hovering somewhere in the vicinity of -10F below.

I got Cago some medication from the vet's office. He needs the dewormer every three months, & I wish I could say this were an easy feat, but for all the good it does, Cago does not tolerate me squirting blue liquid in his mouth via an irrigator (think syringe with the needle removed). In or around April, Cago will require another round of vaccinations, & because the Peace Corps COS (closure of service) conference will fall during this time, it would be unwise to bring my kitty to UB. Hence, I can simply pick up the vaccination at the vet's office, & oh, just do it myself. (Here is where my clever enlisting of my village's veterinarian will come in extremely handy. She's a charming woman, really, & unlike many Mongolians, she does not openly display a fear of cats.)

I'm beginning to realize how intricate a process it will be to get Chicago out of the country with me. I am willing to pay what it will take (meaning that I certainly won't be back to UB before April for any sort of a vacation, & that I must begin to save my money now), but the process is exceedingly detail-oriented. But my mind is made up, & no, I will not (cannot) leave him behind. Even being in UB for less than a week as I have now, I miss him terribly & see him in my dreams. So, Kittyman, you're coming to America.

As I'm sure none of you can quite imagine, I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off since I landed in UB around 18:00 on Wednesday evening. Some of my more notable errands have included several runs to the Peace Corps office, buying Yardley soap (my favorite, & in the new pomegranate & rose scent!), picking up Cago's medications, buying dried beans, buying popcorn kernels, stopping by the Peace Corps some more, somehow managing to feed myself, a celebratory brunch with Bob after my GRE, lunch with PCMO Amy this afternoon, downloading, uploading, printing, scanning, emailing, & more.

I have, however, managed to procure a vibrant plethora of fanciful gifts to bestow upon family members & friends alike. I absolutely love gift shopping, not in the sense of shopping in general or in the sense of Christmas crowds, but the simple & satisfying act of picking out presents for others. I am so excited to send these things to my family, especially the choice items that I know they will particularly appreciate. So, Mom, Dad, & Luke, get ready for a taste of Mongolia, coming to you (from me!) this holiday season.

A random end to a random post: I happened to meet a long lost cousin, Devon Healy, here at the guesthouse in UB. His parents hail from England, honeymooned in Devon, go figure, & we are probably related. (Unless he's one of those Cornwall Healys. I'm not related to them.)

Би стресстэй байна

2011-11-13T00:54:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-six
Sunday, November 13th 2011

Би стресстэй байна. The GRE is in six, count them, six days. I'm more stressed every day. A few things brighten my spirits. The first of which is that Lauren came to the Gobi from Selenge to visit, & she & Ben were in my village for a few days. Unfortunately I have to study, & I wasn't the most entertaining hostess. But Lauren did point out that the version of the GRE that is currently out is the revised version. Thus, according to Lauren, when universities state that the minimum requirement (oh, let's just say, for a graduate assistantship at ISU) is a combined verbal & quantitative score of 1,000, well, since the test is new, it doesn't necessarily compare to the previously determined minimum requirements. However, I also qualify for said assistantship because I had over a 3.0 GPA for the last 60 hours of my undergraduate work regardless.

My Mom & Dad have been asking if I have applied to ISU yet. Every time I am faced with this question (or errant statements about me, presumably, already in the throes of the process), I cock my head to the side much like a confused dog & think to myself “No?” I thought that perhaps focusing my attentions on the GRE for the next T-minus five days, fourteen hours, & fifty some-odd minutes would be most appropriate. But, you see, the little responsible devil on my shoulder said “Momentarily eschew the GRE! Apply!” & the little angel replied “But no, you should study right now...” “No! I'll make you worry so that you lose sleep if you don't start the application process!” “That's a good point,” the angel replied “& in that case, you should apply.”

So I started the application process. So stressed am I that when I came to the point in the application description where it instructs prospective graduate students to acquire three letters or recommendation via a handy dandy form, I nearly spat my tea on the computer upon realizing I am theoretically supposed to print the form out, fill in my personal information, sign & date it, & then, oh, casually give it to three or so recommendation writers. No, no printers here. Funny, that. Funnier that it would take roughly, well, a month or so minimum for any such piece of paper to reach its destination in the United States. Good thing I started the application (thank you, little shoulder devil), because if I didn't notice this hitch now, I would not have already formulated the plan to go to the Peace Corps office in a few days, print off the form, fill it out, sign & date it, scan it into the computer, email it to myself, & then later send out the (completed!) form to prospective recommendation writers all proper-like.

Now that reality is staring me straight on, I'm realizing how much I want this. I can see myself at ISU again, I can see myself being a graduate assistant. I even started looking at university housing. When I originally attended ISU, I lived in the university housing at Cardinal Court. It was a quiet place, filled with a lot of graduate students, & I never really had a complaint about noise. Unfortunately, Cardinal Court has since been thoroughly dismantled, reassembled, & when it opens in autumn of 2012, it will offer only two, three, & four-person apartments. No thank you. I'm looking at Shelbourne, I suppose, since it's the other apartment complex that ISU owns. It would be nice if I could live in a place like that, because when I graduated in the winter of 2009, I was able to get out of my lease early without having to sublease for the remainder of the school year.

Things will be extensively groovy if, when, I get my acceptance to ISU & I can rest assured that I will be in a good place, continuing my research (which is incredibly important to me), & I can look forward to moving my life in a positive direction with Cago in tow.

Yes, this guy.

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-two

2011-11-09T04:48:00.000-08:00

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-two
Wednesday, November 9th 2011

I can't believe the GRE test date is in only ten days. I have been studying between a half hour to an hour everyday since the start of November, focusing mainly on mathematical theory. After a while, my brain starts hurting, & I haven't even gotten to actually doing practice questions yet! Will the workload ever cease? In a mere week I will go to UB (if the Peace Corps staff doesn't procrastinate their sweet time away to the detriment of my stress levels). When I return, I have to start applying to Illinois State University as soon as humanly possible. From what I've already seen of the application process, it is going to be very arduous. I was looking forward to the school break coming up this next week, but now I realize I will spend most of it immersed in numbers with a throbbing headache. I need a real vacation. I need a bubble bath.

My good friend Lauren (who is also my 13th cousin, consequently) is coming to visit from Selenge province. Her soum is literally on the border of Russia, & in a country with minimal lengths of paved roads, you can imagine what travel must be like. She luckily can get to her province center within an hour, as it is the same distance that I am from my own province center (roughly fifteen miles). From there, she takes an overnight train (at about eight or nine hours) to UB. Then, she must catch a morning or evening bus, a whopping twelve hours (average) on bumpy terrain with little to look at but sand & sky. Goodness knows I don't envy her journey, but I am very glad she will be here soon.

I am aiming to have my ISU application in by mid-December. I don't anticipate being too busy during the holiday season for the normal reasons (since Christmas isn't celebrated in Mongolia), but since Sadie is leaving to return to America to defend her thesis, I will certainly be busy with classes. If I can just get one graduate school application out by the end of this year, I will be satisfied. Theoretically I should also apply to the University of Maryland Baltimore County before the deadline in March, but I don't know if my heart is entirely in it. I should keep as many doors open as possible, I suppose.

Lucky for me, I send out my last Christmas envelopes today. I've sent out about ten of them over the past month or more, & this was my strategic way of not only ensuring they'd arrive in America on-time (knock on wood), but also because they're really expensive to send. I honestly spent about half of one month's allowance on postage alone. I'm not bothered by the cost, really, but it is ridiculous how much the post office charges these days. In any case, I think I get some good karma points at the very least.

The English Club makes sunprints!

2011-11-09T04:25:00.000-08:00

Here are some students putting together their designs with various trinkets.

Making sunprints outside!

Sadie shows the students how to wash the paper.

More sunprint designs...

Another couple of sunprint designs (mine is on the right!).

More students are putting their artistic talents to good use.

The finished products! (Mine is on the bottom row, second from the right.)

Harper College Students!

2011-11-06T03:28:00.000-08:00

Hello, or should I say Сайн байна уу? My name is Emily (lovingly referred to as "Emma bagsh" or "Emma teacher" by my students) & I am currently serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in the Gobi desert of Mongolia. I live in a small village called Hanhongor, which boasts a whopping six hundred people. While we don't have luxuries like running water, flush toilets, or even a shower house, the people here are absolutely wonderful. My assignment is to teach English to students at the local high school, which has students ranging from first to eleventh grades. Mongolia is currently switching over to a twelve year school system.

Yes, yes, there are camels here. We have bactrian camels, in fact, which are easily recognizable because they have two humps instead of one. I'm sure many of you imagine the desert landscape to be quite flat & uninteresting, but I am lucky here to have a beautiful mountain range, the Gurvan Saikhan (Mongolian for "The Three Beauties") bordering us to the west. I am also lucky in the sense that I am only about fifteen miles from the province center, Dalanzadgad, which has about 17,000 people. My province is called the Omnogobi, which literally translates to "South Gobi."

Another fun fact you should know is that Genghis Khan is actually pronounced Chenngis Haan. The reason why the "G" spelling is used today is due to a mistransliteration of the old Mongolian script by the Phonecians, I believe, who lack a "Ch" sound in their alphabet. The "Khan" is a result of the hard pronunciation sound of the "H" in Mongolian, which comes from the back of the throat. Though old Temujin (his birth name) may be known now as a ruthless tyrant, he is a tremendous source of Mongolian national pride.

I encourage you to ask questions by commenting to this blog post! I will respond to the questions as soon as I am able. Don't be shy, ask me anything!

Teriyaki Tortillas

2011-11-05T03:31:00.000-07:00

The process begins...

I re-hydrated some dehydrated soy meat, cut up carrots, chopped onions, slivered some garlic, & mixed it all into a pot with hot sauce, a dollop of barbeque sauce, & some Thai chili sauce. Mixed together, all of these ingredients combine to taste like teriyaki sauce.

Tortillas are really easy to make! You simply mix flour & water together, then roll out small circles on a floured surface until they are thin. I toast mine directly on my stove top.

A stack of tortillas!

Bon appetit!

My Village

2011-11-05T00:53:00.000-07:00

Here is a view of the center of town from a distance. On the left, the large white building is the back of the community center. The building next to it is an abandoned "delgoor," or store. The building with the flag on top is the government building. The two buildings (one in front of the other) on the right are mystery buildings as far as I'm concerned.

Here is our school, depicted in the hustle-bustle of the school day.

Here is a view of the buildings near the hospital on my side (the east side) of town.

The "Old People Store" as Sadie & I refer to it, which I also call the "Abacus Delgoor" because the owners actually use an abacus to tally up the prices!

A view of the desert & the Gurvan Saikhan mountain range (which means "The Three Beauties" in Mongolian).

Mongolian

2011-11-05T00:35:00.000-07:00

Camels wearing coats! How precious.

Day Five Hundred & Eighteen
Saturday, November 5th 2011

It occurs to me now that I've been too hard on myself. “Minii Mongol hel mash jarkhan bain,” I've been telling people, informing them that I only know a small amount of Mongolian. What I should be saying is “Minii Mongol hel gagui,” because honestly, my Mongolian language is okay. Fortunately for me, but unfortunately in the grander scheme of things regarding human nature (namely, the ability some people have to affect others by using tactics to keep their friends in a rightful place, which is all too commonly below them), I can trace where this lack of confidence originated.

While I struggled throughout pre-service training with Mongolian, I never necessarily felt that I was at a lack or loss for resources. My learning style continues to be vastly different from the way Peace Corps approaches teaching us the language. We were thrust into Mongolian immersion style, where the classroom was conducted entirely in Mongolian (by our language & culture facilitators who spoke not a word of English). Consequently, I was immersed not in a thriving learning environment (because this particular tactic does not address my learning style), but instead, I was immersed in my dictionary. Now, I have the uncanny ability to find both English & Mongolian words very quickly. This has come in useful.

I told myself not to worry, because I'd eventually learn through osmosis. While many of my training site peers excelled, nay, even studied Mongolian, I trotted along oblivious & fairly defeated. The stress of going to language class for four hours each morning (five days a week) was something I dreaded with a passion. By the end of training, I could greet others, name a few basic food items, introduce myself, tell people that I came from America, & I had a great grasp on the Cyrillic alphabet (which can be credited to the help of my little host cousins). I could say words like “tsetseg” (flower) & “moor” (cat).

The only reason I wasn't happy with my language abilities was because of the comparison to those around me. An ill-fated self-defense mechanism came into play, whereby I told other volunteers that my Mongolian wasn't all that hot. For every time I said this, I solidified even more my apparent lack of abilities. It remains the case that many people view my language abilities in this lacking & negative manner. How foolish I was.

I first proved my ability to communicate when I traveled to UB alone last April in order to get Chicago vaccinated & neutered. I was able to get myself there & back with relative ease, & I recall the taxi driver who brought me into the heart of the city from the airport commenting on how my Mongolian was very good. However, when other volunteers are around, I find myself shutting up & closing down. It is as though I am perpetuating their false notions of my inability to communicate.

Yesterday, some of my fifth graders stopped by, curious as to the results of their English test. They stayed & we chatted for a good fifteen minutes in Mongolian. I told them that I was busy (as I always seem to be) because I have to study for my graduate school test. Today, a random Mongolian woman saw me as I was doing chores outside, & invited herself over. In her hands, she held a skein of yarn & a few knitting needles. She also had knitting patterns which were written in Russian, & she asked me if I knew Russian. She told me that she has six children, one of whom is named Munkhoo, & that he was currently in the library. She asked whether I knew him, but I told her I didn't. (Even if I did know a Munkhoo, there have to be at least half a dozen in our school alone.) Asking whether or not I had any kids, I told her I had one: “Minii hairtai moor,” my beloved cat. She laughed & we shared one of those rare moments of human connection that makes Peace Corps so worth it.

This is me publicly reaffirming my Mongolian abilities. There is no reason why I should feel bad about myself, just because of what another volunteer has commented. (One volunteer in the past has even gone so far as to say that I can't speak French, on the grounds of this particular volunteer being very competitive as well as the fact that this person perceived my Mongolian skills to be less than their own.) Well, excusez-moi de vous avoir dérangé mon ami, mais vous êtes une personne qui êtes très méchant. (Et non, je ne veux pas votre amitié.) Je viens d'écrire une lettre en français à mon ami qui vit en Pologne, donc je pense que je connais très bien le français. To put it mildly, I'm more than slightly irked.

If Peace Corps has taught me anything, it is how to better identify people who I simply do not wish to include in the more intimate circles of my life, namely, those who continually seek self-gratification by putting others down. I'm in my mid-twenties now. I've had a lifetime's worth of this nonsense, & I certainly will not be wasting any more of my time where I can avoid it. If only to reiterate to myself for the thousandth time, I must remind myself of advice given to me by my dear friend, Rachel. She said to focus my energy & love on those people who are worth it, the positive people in my life who care about me. So, while I may not frequently discuss the philosophical debate surrounding the question of the meaning of life in Mongolian, I am certainly capable of connecting with others on a significant level by using my linguistic skills. & this is, after all, the purpose of Peace Corps.

The Great Feline Dilemma

2011-11-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

Day Five Hundred & Eighteen
Saturday, November 5th 2011

Chicago, Chicago, Chicago. My cat is one of the most precious things in my life. A few months ago, I realized that to bring him home to America would be a potentially foolish endeavor. My mother is allergic to cats, it was only out of the kindness of her heart that I grew up with our cat, Snoopy, whom my mother had rescued on her parents' farm. Snoopy, a Balinese, lived well into her twenties. Suffice to say, however, that it was a relief for my mother (particularly her sinuses) when Snoopy's time came. We now are proud owners of three small & mischievous dogs, each one with a very distinct personality.

How then, with my future so uncertain, could I bear to bring Cago home with me? Even still, with my future only somewhat gaining clarity, I question the possibility of how to maintain the presence of my feline companion in my life. I talked to Haliunaa over the summer (whose family here in our village owns Chicago's mother) if I could possibly leave Chicago here. She said it would be okay, but then, of course, asked when I would come back to Mongolia.

I can't leave him. I love him too much. The thought of departing Mongolia without my precious little guy in tow breaks my heart, & I have spent far too much time already in mourning for that potential loss. He's my darling, & he has been with me since the second week I arrived in the Gobi.

It is now that I must think of clever strategies for maintaining Chicago in my life. I fear that I must do something I don't normally relish in doing, in asking others back home to essentially cat-sit for me while I figure my life out. Next summer will be a particular point of necessity in terms of friends, former coworkers, & the good graces of those who are willing to help me with my dearest animal friend.

Chicago is a good cat. He adores me, which may be part of the reason why I hold him in such high esteem. During the day, I allow him to roam free outside in the schoolyard, & he waits for me patiently until I emerge from the front doors of the school building at the end of my work day. A simple call of “Cago! Cago!” & he comes trotting over, pleased as pie to see me. In the wintertime, he even snuggles under the blankets with me.

How could I possibly entertain the ability of leaving him behind when he knows me as well as I know him?

Day Five Hundred & Seventeen

2011-11-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

If Disney knew about this, they'd sue my little village of six hundred for all the money we're worth & more... Thank goodness Disney doesn't know!

Our local kindergarten, which has just undergone many, many improvements!

Day Five Hundred & Seventeen
Friday, November 4th 2011

Eureka! I'm one step closer to answering that unanswerable question “What do I want to do with my life?” This moment happened around, oh, let's say, 12:35 this afternoon. Sadie was teaching & I was painting with watercolors onto tracing paper (to make window decals to celebrate Easter –yes, I plan this far in advance. I started compiling Christmas gifts for my family in March). & suddenly, somehow, it hit me.

I'm going to apply to go to graduate school at my alma mater, ISU. ISU happens to be a member of the Peace Corps fellowship program in my department, sociology. I know many of the professors there, which means that my thesis proposal is more than likely to garner support (I can only hope). I loved being at ISU, & I think I'd love being there even more as a graduate student with an assistantship, effectually, being a G.A. (graduate assistant). I love to teach (obviously) & I love being in an educational environment. I also enjoy helping others, particularly when it comes to sociological issues.

Yeah, I have done a bit of questioning in the past about ISU, & I'm sure that these questions are likely to persist. However, I'd like to thank Lauren (my 13th cousin & a fellow Peace Corps volunteer who lives in Selenge) for this light-bulb “Ah ha!” moment. Lauren, who currently has unlimited Mobicom to Mobicom calling, called me a few evenings ago. Since she already took the GRE in October, I asked her about it. I'm in the throes of my GRE studying at present, & I wanted to know what to focus on. After hearing “The math portion was awful” & having my deepest, darkest concerns confirmed (as though I couldn't've guessed it already), I pressed further.

“What about grad school?” I inquired to her, grasping at straws for any semblance of a hint of what I could do with my life. Turns out, Lauren has already begun the application process (to various Peace Corps fellows program schools, of course). We dillied, we dallied, & rounded the topic until for some reason, Lauren made me realize something important. Perhaps it was the way she said it. Perhaps it was the context in which it was said. Perhaps Lauren just has an uncanny ability to verbally beat me over the head with a Reason Stick. How on earth am I going to fund such an endeavor as graduate school?

My heart sank a little & my mind reeled as this financial hitch took hold. So I decided to run around in that wide circle that I tend to run so often. I could work for a few years teaching English in Asia, potentially saving $20,000 per year. Saving that much money would be nearly impossible to do in America, especially in such a short amount of time. Coming around the stretch, my mind lands on the idea of moving back home for six months to a year, getting a job perhaps at Harper or elsewhere, & attempting to save money for graduate school all the while. The idea here is that living with my parents (which doesn't really appeal to me, especially not in my mid-twenties. Sorry Mom & Dad!) would enable me to save more. It would also allow me to bank some time researching potential graduate schools (Colorado, Washington state, Boston), jobs in those respective places, & apartments.

But if the whole point of this labor is to work toward grad school, taking several years to get there (think: a year at home plus two years working in Colorado to get residency for in-state tuition) seems a little counter-intuitive. I could effectually spend more years trying to get to graduate school than I could potentially spend actually being in graduate school. I'm a Peace Corps volunteer. I may as well take advantage of the fellows program if I can. There is nothing I try to avoid more in my life than being in debt. The mere fact that I have student loans (albeit not very much) hangs over my head like the Sword of Damocles.

I recall myself saying something to the effect of “When I want to go to grad school, I'll just apply to a bunch of different schools, & go to whichever one gives me the best deal.” Well, I guess I should apply to ISU then. & perhaps the University of Maryland Baltimore County as well, since it's the only other Peace Corps fellows school with sociology that actually interests me. So, for now, case closed.

The "First" (Substantial) Snow!

2011-11-03T00:13:00.000-07:00

Our lovely school, deceptively quiet in appearance...

Our new pond, looking rather festive.

My beloved home, appearing quite Christmasy indeed.

Chicago, appearing quite regal, whilst pondering "This stuff again?"

Our November-themed Classroom

2011-11-02T23:52:00.000-07:00

The door is where students can learn important holiday-related words. For Thanksgiving, our holiday words include: a pilgrim hat, sun symbols, an ear of corn, a cornucopia, a turkey, the Mayflower, a buffalo, a tepee, a totem pole, & a headdress. (For those of you who beg historical accuracy, I'm fully aware that the Native American tribes in New England did not live in tepees. I'm also fully aware that totem poles were invented by Native American tribes in the Pacific Northwest during the 18th century. Ho hum.)

Our classroom window depicts a charming colonial scene. The Mayflower floats in the distance, as a father & son are reunited at last. Pilgrims in the village wave hello to the newcomers. Meanwhile, a pilgrim woman sneaks into the Native Americans' corn field, while two armed gunmen stand watch outside the tepee village. The Native Americans are oblivious of these transgressions for the most part, & Squanto puts a fish into the soil in order to start growing corn. However, an wizened Native American cannot be fooled by the settlers' ruse, & sits horseback looking out upon the scene with an expressionless face.

Our chalkboard is bordered by an array of various Autumn-themed pictures, including apples, squash, leaves, & ears of corn.

Here is one page of tracing paper upon which I painted with watercolors. The tracing paper was then laminated with clear packaging tape, & the shapes cut out to make sun-catcher window ornaments.

Here, you can better see some of the players in our little Thanksgiving colonization window scene!

Here, you can better see some of the tepees that make up the Native American village, & other players on our window stage!

Day Five Hundred & Fourteen

2011-11-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

Colorado...

Oh, Colorado...
Photo credits: My Mom or Dad

Day Five Hundred & Fourteen
Tuesday, November 1st 2011

I sat down & wrote a few letters today, one to my mother, & one to my dear friend Rachel. After doing so, I feel a little better about my future. In a very sweet email, my Mom said a few things that resonate very clearly with me. The first was “Don't worry so much,” & the second, “You are very much like Dad & something will fall into your lap.” I'm taking this to heart, & it's like a breath of fresh air. I don't think anyone has actually given me permission & a reason not to worry before. Good things do tend to come my way (& to those that wait, so it's fitting that I still have another eight months or so here in the Gobi).

I've been doing some thinking lately, & perhaps graduate school isn't in my immediate future. However, I have come to like the idea more & more of moving to Colorado. Perhaps my eyes are tired & weary from the desert landscape. Perhaps they thirst for something mountainous, where errant glances out of windows yield postcard-quality picturesque views. Perhaps it's that Colorado is the healthiest state in the U.S. Perhaps it's that my family visits there frequently enough that I would never be left missing them for too long. I like this idea.

A few things come to mind after Peace Corps, the first of which being that I need to go to both Minnesota as well as Colorado to visit family & to spend time with my family. It's when September rolls around that I start to wonder what will happen. Perhaps the best thing for me to do is find a job (or reacquire an old one), work for a while, & in six months to a year, I'll have had sufficient enough time to research jobs & apartments in a new area, whereby I can rent myself a good old U-Haul & drive off into the sunset à la some western B movie.

Or there's always Europe...

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T01:54:00.000-07:00

My parents sent me a foam pumpkin to carve for Halloween!

Here is our English Club in their Halloween costumes.

Pocahontas & a dog.

A student trying to viciously hit the piñata! The other side of it is decorated to look like a jack-o-lantern.

Sadie made scary boxes with human eyeballs & brains...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

The New & Improved Teacher's Lounge

2011-10-29T01:11:00.000-07:00

In the past few weeks, the teacher's lounge has undergone a miraculous new change!
Don't worry, old Mona's hanging on the wall these days, not on the floor!

Speaking of floors, please note how fancy & new this one is.

Please also note the fancy new ceiling with new light fixtures!

Day Five Hundred & Eleven

2011-10-29T01:03:00.000-07:00

Day Five Hundred & Eleven
Saturday, October 29th 2011

The past few days I have been sick, once again, with food poisoning. This is certainly one aspect of Peace Corps life that I will not miss when my service has ended. My bismuth tabs ran out on day one & my calcium carbonate ran out long ago. Luckily, Sadie & Brian were willing to spare some Pepto Bismol tablets. However, the entire affair was abysmal & I have barely eaten in three days.

This past month, I toyed more & more with the idea of staying a third year. A friend of mine had mentioned she was thinking about it, which got the cogs in my head turning once again. Now, however, I'm leaning away from this decision. I fear that I am once again opening the doors of the “Mid-Service Crisis” that no one ever told me about. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? What am I supposed to do with the next three years of my life? Two?

The most logical step is graduate school, although this brings an onslaught of worry in & of itself. First of all, I cannot finance such a venture, & while the possibility of a Peace Corps fellows scholarship exists, I find myself weary at the thought of relying on such a fantastic game of chance to pull through. I have certainly thought that the idea of teaching abroad in Korea would sate this financial distress, since I simply cannot stand being in debt, but the loss of language once again, the unfamiliarity of surroundings, & most importantly, the distance from my family weighs heavy on my conscience. However, if I were to attend graduate school in, say, Washington state, Boston, or Baltimore, would I not be distant from my family likewise? ISU, my Alma Mater, is still a possibility, but one I do not necessarily always revel in thinking about.

I think that two years of Peace Corps service is an adequate amount of time for me to do what I want to do, to exercise my love for volunteerism, & to be able to experience first-hand another time, another place, another land, another culture, & another language. I am thankful for every minute I've been given here, but a part of me feels extremely unprepared for what lies ahead. How many times has my mind retreated to the idyllic idea of perhaps living with my Grandma Anne for a few months in hopes of writing her biography? How many idle dreams have comforted me in the thought of attending ISU again, though that magic may have since disappeared entirely?

I know for certain that America is extremely expensive. In a way, this broadens horizons rather than limits them, because since the expense will exist anyway, I may as well make my next move to a place where I will be happy (prospectively Washington state or Boston, though wouldn't Colorado be divine?). I know for certain that I have no interest in places like Los Angeles or New York, so at least my choices are within reason. Give me a Boston or Seattle-sized city of 600,000 & I might be happy. I need a change of scenery. I don't think I'd be happy right now getting a Real Job with a Real Salary. That's not me, though money would alleviate much of my self-induced anxiety. (It can't be helped.)

Is there a high-paying job that allows me to travel at will, crochet my heart out, sew, write letters, read news articles, experience new cultures, eat Trader Joe's food, see my family on a regular basis, blog, have access to sparkling silver taps where hot water flows freely, paint, touch the keys of an actual piano daily, have a window garden, be in an educational environment, & meet wonderful people? I'm willing to email my résumé at any time. Honestly.

& now I'm back to that round-about argument in my head of healthcare, transportation, housing, & all those other nuances. If not for those pesky regulations, I very well could just throw up a ger anywhere I pleased & live relatively cheaply. So, what's more important? If I could see my family on a regular basis, would I? Yes, of course. But this would be much more stressful if I were in a situation where I had to worry about health care costs & making ends meet with rent (preferably not in a shabby little apartment in downtown Big-Box City where you drive down Main Street & under a barrage of stoplights you are confronted with Wal-Mart, Target, McDonald's, Burger King, Starbucks, Noodles & Co, Wal-Mart, Target, McDonald's, Burger King... Am I repeating myself?).

So why not just up & leave for Korea or a similar location then? It's only another year or two, right? But my youth is fading quickly. I'm surprised I don't see gray already. & while round-trip airfare sounds nice in theory, & while a $30 pair of prescription glasses would be brilliant, I wonder sometimes if I'm limiting myself. In spite of my exterior of independence & individualism, I don't want to be alone.

I think I make a great journalist-blogger-podcaster extraordinaire, which would be all the more inspiring if only I could get paid to do so. Archimedes once said something to the effect of “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.” Well, give me a decent salary & a fast internet connection, & I shall criticize the world. Why, oh why, am I still battling the ultimate “What do I want to be when I grow up?” question in my mid-twenties? The moment is imminent where I will throw up my hands, unable to decide with any semblance of reason, & I will simply move to Europe. This, of course, is the logical solution to any harrowing quandary, non?

Бүүстай

2011-10-19T09:13:00.000-07:00

Here's Бүүстай (pronounced "Boostay"), otherwise known as Chicago. His Mongolian name means "boy," which definitely clarified things when he was a kitten. He also goes by such names as: Cago, Boo, Ticky Tack, Kittyman, Honey Bear, Snuggle Bug, Mohay Moor (Mongolian for "bad cat"), Mister, Circle Kitty, Baby, Boy-o, & lastly, Mustache. Bi minii moor hartai! (I love my cat!)

Happy Day Five Hundred!

2011-10-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

Day Five Hundred
Tuesday, October 18th 2011

Today marks the five hundredth day that I have been in Mongolia, & consequently, the five hundredth day that I have been outside of the United States. With that, I wish my fellow volunteers a happy day five hundred in-country!

The Grand Tour

2011-10-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

The kitchen & dining room, viewed from the foyer

The drawing room

The drawing room, music room, & library

View of the bedroom exterior

The bedroom & office

The bedroom & dressing room

The bedroom & office, viewed from the dressing room

The bedroom exterior, closet, & foyer

The foyer & dining room, viewed from the drawing room

Welcome to our classroom!

2011-10-17T03:20:00.000-07:00

The Solar System, designed by our English Club. (Yes, Pluto is in there too, he just got accidentally cut out of the picture!) Soon, we'll include nametags for the planets, as well as moons, spaceships, & even aliens!

Here's our big wall of many things, including a poster for each class with test review sheets, review sheets for the Concourse test, a few maps, & pictures!

The front of the classroom, where most of the magic happens...
(Picture features Miss Sadie)

Our brand spankin' new bookshelf!
(Picture features Miss Sadie)

Window decals I made by using tracing paper, watercolor paints, & clear packaging tape (to laminate the finished product for durability). Think these are impressive? Wait until Thanksgiving! I have plans in the making for an entire window village...

Russian Red Dog

2011-10-15T06:33:00.000-07:00

Day Four Hundred & Ninety-seven
Saturday, October 13th 2011

This morning, I caught a ride to the aimag center with my director & his daughter Enkhmaa, along with a spattering of other various students & teachers. As I was walking out of the Galaxy Theatre lobby (currently the home of Khan Bank while the other building undergoes construction), Haliunaa (my favorite fifth grader), spotted me & ran up to me. She led me over to the community theatre & for the first time, I actually went inside. The interior is exquisite, & it was highly unexpected. It reminded me of a smaller version of the Woodstock Opera House. Immediately upon entering, a staircase in grandiose style can be seen leading to the balcony seating section. The mezzanine level consists of typical theatre seating, albeit without a center aisle. We watched for some time as the local music students practiced their Mongolian Horsehead Fiddles, or Morin Khuur, for an upcoming concert.

I visited my favorite fabric store once again, intent upon purchasing more of the gorgeous cotton-based plaid fabric. I have the intent of sewing a duvet cover for my bed to match the plaid sheets I sewed (by hand, mind) last weekend. The shop owner is one of the sweetest ladies in all of the Gobi. She informed all of her incoming customers that “Our American friend is here!” I also purchased some ribbon which I just finished sewing onto the gift bag I sewed for Darkhuu, whose birthday is next weekend.

I met up with Joe Wheeler, & he made a delectable concoction of re-hydrated soy meat, diced potatoes, & eggs. As always, food cooked by someone else inevitably tastes wonderful (especially when topped with barbeque sauce or Thai chili sauce). Some of his students from his weekly English speaking practice showed up. Joe runs this with Ben on Saturday afternoons, but unfortunately it is scheduled when my car to return home usually leaves. Joe was kind enough to give the students guitar lessons. I must say, I'm enlightened to now be able to say I have a peer & an equal in my life in terms of music theory. I've never met someone else for whom this comes so naturally as it does for me.

My car to return to my soum was supposed to leave & 15:00, but lo, it was decided that we all make an impromptu stop at the sports center to watch a volleyball game. From what I gathered (also known as what Enkhmaa told me with her far-above-average English skills), today was a country-wide competition of sports teachers from the different aimags in Mongolia. I decided to watch for a while, & then quickly ducked out to make a last-minute stop at a craft store to buy more yarn.

When I returned, Enkhmaa & her friends were standing outside. I decided to sit on one of the new benches & finish crocheting a hat I had started that morning. As we sat & talked, a darling puppy with a gorgeous red coat (think Irish Settler) wandered over. “Oros nohoi!” someone exclaimed, informing the group at large that this must be a Russian dog. “Sain-oo nohoi!” I greeted the puppy, much to the amusement of my students. “Chinii ner Oros Ulaan Nohoi bain!” Your name is Russian Red Dog!

The first half of October has been a blur of teaching, projects, clubs, planning, crocheting, painting, sewing, making gifts, writing letters, & doing chores. I have very few (if any) complaints, because each day is more meaninful than the one before. Being bored has never been an option for me, & here especially, I choose to fill my time with constructive tasks. It is the means, rather than the ends, that make my life here worth every moment.

Day Four Hundred & Ninety-six

2011-10-14T02:44:00.000-07:00

My favorite kiddos!

Day Four Hundred & Ninety-six
Friday, October 14th 2011

On Wednesday, the English Club finished designing the nine planets (Pluto included) to be hung as wall art on the big blank back wall of our classroom. With the help of some very eager fifth graders, the planets were all hung today along with a spattering of stars. While Sadie & I still have to make nametags for the planets, the brightly-colored spheres do make our classroom look much more cheerful. The end goal is for the students to design spaceships for each class which can then fly through space toward specific destinations. If everyone turns in their homework for a week in a row, for example, the spaceship can move toward a planet that comes with a prize (such as English game day).

This part week, there has been some confusion with my fifth grade class. Though I have been primarily responsible for them, my counterpart stepped in this week wanting to teach them himself. In light of this, I am probably going to start a club for them (or at least some of them) so that we can work on speaking practice, reviewing their lessons, as well as working on activities useful for language learning. It is sometimes a trend in English classrooms across Mongolia that students copy, verbatim, from the book. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing this teaches students is how to copy, verbatim, from the book. Since I taught these children last year during their first year of English, I am seriously hoping to limit their exposure to rote learning, especially during the formative years of their language studies.

We got a rather unexpected weather front over the past two days which included, goodness gracious, snow! It has been very windy the past couple of days making (what I consider to be) otherwise relaxing chores such as doing laundry by hand a thing to be avoided, because doing so involves multiple trips out-of-doors to carry & dump water. I'm expecting a visit from the laundry fairy any day now.

Day Four Hundred & Ninety-one

2011-10-09T03:59:00.001-07:00

Day Four Hundred & Ninety-one
Sunday, October 9th 2011

This weekend I hosted my first dinner party in the Gobi. Attendees included Sadie, Brian, as well as Ben & Joe from the aimag. It went very well! I made a big pot of vegetable soup in a tomato-based broth with onions, green peppers, carrots, peas (from a can), soy meat, cucumbers, & flavored with oregano & chili powder. I also made baking soda biscuits, as well as garlic mashed potatoes. For desert, we dined on apple pie hushuur (very similar to apple turnovers). We began with Red Rocks rooibos loose leaf tea (from Colorado) as well as butter cookies (from Russia) before the main meal was served. It was really quite lovely, & I have my Grandmother Anne to thank for the inherited penchant I have for being a hostess.

Yesterday, the radiators were finally turned on. This prospect seemed really exciting, & I recall noting with pleasure the smokestack boasting black plumes of smoke as I walked across town. However, the weather today was so temperate for autumn that we very well may be experiencing an Indian Summer, save for the evidence of the turned leaves on the few trees we actually have here. I'm not sure what the logic is, but I really wish that the coal house would shut down on unusually warm days like today. I am practically sweating in my home while wearing summer clothing.

I have decided that I was much mistaken about being able to lift approximately fifty pounds in the weight room. While Nymka insisted that the Bow Flex type machine used kilograms instead of pounds & thus, I calculated that twenty-five kilograms is approximately fifty pounds. I am now certain that I am physically unable to lift anything above thirty-five pounds while maintaining any level of comfort. However, the fact that I'm working with twenty-five pounds on the exercise machine is quite impressive! Today I also bench pressed around fifteen pounds rather comfortably, as well as doing some ab work. I am really glad that I decided to spend roughly $1.50 on a new lock with multiple keys for access to the fitness room next door. It may be the best dollar fifty I ever spent.

Day Four Hundred & Eighty-nine

2011-10-07T04:57:00.000-07:00

I have been making resources for my fifth grade class. Our next unit is on families, so I decided to make a family tree!

The world!

Day Four Hundred & Eighty-nine
Friday, October 7th 2011

Stuff Sadie Told Me, Third Edition: Apparently the aimag is being plagued with what Mongolians are referring to as the “yellow sickness.” I have been rather confused by this notion for at least a day now, & my imagination led to me to ponder the possibility of the zombie apocalypse beginning right here in the Gobi desert. It turns out that the yellow sickness is hepatitis, spread apparently by fecal matter on food. Thus, we must all take extra care to wash our vegetables. Why is it referred to as the yellow sickness? Well, hepatitis can lead to jaundice, which basically makes your skin yellow. Think Ooompa Loompa, but not quite. (What I wouldn't give for a chocolate river. What I wouldn't give for any river.)

Word also has it that there is a gas shortage in Dalanzadgad. This potentially means that I will not be going to the aimag this weekend, although Cago has already exhausted his bloody slab of camel & finding meat for purchase in my village is a challenge. I wasn't planning on going tomorrow anyway because, according to Miss Sadie, tomorrow very well may be aimag clean-up day. I've been to the aimag on such days when the government has mandated that shop-owners close down & essentially sweep dirt on the ground. It seems to be a waste of everyone's time, mine included.

Lastly, Sadie once upon a time mentioned kimchi ramen noodles that happen to exist in my soum. Not only are they vegetarian, but they are delicious. I finally tried them for the first time yesterday. Keeping in mind that since my decision to eschew meat nearly a decade ago, I have not experienced the wonders of ramen. I am now, however, very much addicted this new noodle discovery.

My artistic ventures have been going swimmingly, as per usual. I finished the shawl I was making for Darkhuu. I also used my fancy new mushroom-print fabric to cover my tables. I used the additional fabric to sew dainty napkins (to go with my tea set, of course). I still have quite a few projects to complete, but I am making a lot of headway on Christmas gifts!

Yesterday, I finally talked to Nymka about changing the lock to the fitness room, which is literally next door to my apartment. I bought a new lock at the delgoor with three keys. One key, I gave to Nymka. One key, I gave to Sadie & Brian. One key, I am keeping for myself. After procuring the old key from Nymka to unlatch the original lock, I am now partisan to a great resource! Instead of using a 1.5 liter Coca Cola bottle filled with rocks (& covered in tape to make a handle) for a hand weight, I now have access to what is essentially a Bow Flex. Tonight I was able to work with 24 kilograms (roughly 52 pounds). A part of me doesn't believe it, but I guess I'm not keeping in mind that the weight is distributed to both arms. I bench pressed eleven pounds (though I know I could comfortably have done more). In any case, it turns out that we have a treadmill that plugs into the wall. It seems a little strange (& certainly circa 1980-something), & I have yet to discover whether or not it works, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

Day Four Hundred & Eighty-seven

2011-10-05T04:24:00.001-07:00

Day Four Hundred & Eighty-seven
Wednesday, October 5th 2011

Yesterday, Sadie went to the aimag in hopes of completing her in-depth interviews for her master's thesis. I decided to tag along because in this country without one's own vehicle, acquiring goods is a multi-step, multi-day, multi-everything process. Thus, I can always use an extra trip into town, if only to carry around more stuff. Luckily, Sadie had a list of school supplies we needed for the classroom, so while she was interviewing away, I was procuring colored paper, whiteboard markers, gluesticks, whiteout, scissors, posterboard, plastic sleeves, rubber bands, & a wealth of other useful items.

Ben had shown me a fabric store months & months ago, but yesterday was the first time I ever ventured to actually buy fabric. I began by purchasing a polyester blend in lavender, which I intend to use to back the shawl I'm making for Darkhuu. (As we're all aware, winters in Mongolia are quite cold, & a crocheted shawl might not provide very much warmth.) I also bought some lavender frog clasps (any seamstress will understand what I just said), which, I was disappointed to find, are simply called “tobch” or buttons in Mongolian.

I ventured to another fabric store with a much wider selection & made friends with the shop owner. She just happened to have a wonderful cotton blend plaid in cardinal red & Columbia blue. I bought five meters of it & also learned that a meter is very much like a yard. That makes my life so much easier. I plan to sew this fabric into a massive sheet for my two-beds-pushed-together-to-make-a-bigger bed. I also stumbled across a hilarious bolt of fabric in subdued yellow, whose print boasts a variety of mushrooms, all spotted or plaid in various patchwork designs of yellow, orange, olive green, & violet. The shop ladies got quite a kick out of my exclamations of “moogtay!” (with mushrooms!).

I later spent some time reading in the park (& eating bananas) until Joe was free at 2:00. Upon going to his apartment, I was greeted with the much-needed offering of substantial food! Joe is quite the connoisseur of Mexican food in Mongolia, & made fajitas with home-made tortillas, rehydrated soy meat (covered in a rhapsodic concoction that involved barbeque sauce & hot sauce), as well as various stir-fried peppers. Needless to say, it was delicous. We later visited the monastery in town as well the museum. Aside from a rather disgruntled monk who yelled at children hanging on the prayer wheels & a femur bone of a vegetarian dinosaur, there isn't much to say.

Today, I gave my fifth graders a review session for their very first test, which is tomorrow. I basically gave them all of the test questions with other questions mixed in, & explained the concepts once again. I assigned it for homework, & I am hoping that this helps them. If not, I see many extra credit opportunities in the future, because I simply do not want these children to fail. I'm still debating whether or not to allow them to use their notebooks on the test, but I think I probably will. If anything, this will reinforce the fact that in my classroom, note-taking is not only required, but can be a vital resource for studying. (Who'da thunk it?)

Sadie & I had our very first English club this evening at 5:00. The back wall of our classroom is essentially a large, blank canvas. Sadie & I decided that we would have the kids make planets & other pieces to make a solar system. On the planets we plan to put plastic sleeves so that this large mural will be useful in that we can more easily hang activity worksheets & student work on the walls. Though it will take several English club meetings for it to be completed, today we made headway on the sun, part of Mercury, Earth, some of Venus, a rather spotted Mars, none of Jupiter or Saturn, half of Uranus, Neptune, & an adorable polka dotted Pluto. We also had what Sadie referred to as a “star-making factory” in our midst.

I am still desperately searching for some free time. I am lucky to have made as much headway on Darkhuu's gift as I have. In fact, I'm very lucky I even got the chance to wash some laundry today. Honestly, I don't know where the time has gone, except to say that many resources have been made in the classroom lately. Perhaps if I weren't so old-fashioned & didn't garner so much enjoyment from writing letters & handcrafting gifts, I would have much more time on my hands. However, it is purely for those reasons that I want more time to myself. Christmas may as well be tomorrow, for how quickly it will arrive. & because the next time I'll see my fellow volunteer friends will be over Thanksgiving, the gifts really should have been started yesterday.

The electricity is back to its old, devious, stress-inducing ways. For the past several nights, it has conveniently excused itself from existence right around the time that I would like to make dinner. (However, it is on consistently during school hours, when I have no use for it.) With this, I give you the next edition of Stuff Sadie Told Me! According to several little birds, our power is soon to be routed through Dundgobi (the provience directly north of the Omnogobi), who apparently get their power from UB. These twittering rumors are running amok with promises of steady electricity for ever & ever. I'd be happy with just one straight week of being able to cook three, wholesome, warm, square meals each day.

The Great Honkh Adventure

2011-10-03T03:58:00.000-07:00

Day Four Hundred & Eighty-five
Monday, October 1st 2011

On Saturday, I went to the aimag in search of some much-needed supplies. Because my unbreakable French press broke, I opted to purchase a much smaller one that Sadie had pointed out a few weeks before. Other notable purchases include a new duvet & sheet set for one of my many comforters (I basically sleep under a mountain of blankets because the radiators won't be turned on until October 15th, or so I'm guessing). Furthermore, I was able to acquire the perfect shade of lavender yarn with which I am currently crocheting a lovely shawl for Darkuu, whose birthday is October 23rd. Last but not least, I found a charming teacup & saucer set that has given my Gobi life a sense of propriety. When in doubt, pinkies out! (However, anyone who has ever read Emily Post or Debretts would know better than to drink tea with their pinky in the air. How uncouth!)

Joe Wheeler & I made a scrumptious lunch of puntuz (long, clear noodles), crushed peanuts, Thai chili sauce, as well as some bell peppers he procured. I make this dish so often & have taught it to so many people, I feel that it needs a name. (Other notable toppings for this vessel of deliciousness include curry & peanut sauce.) He decided to try frying the concoction after boiling the noodles, & the dish turned out quite well, while very pad thai-esque.

We wandered the bustling streets of DZ for some time afterward in search of what I had earlier acquired the name for: honkh. Whilst purchasing the aforementioned yarn, I inquired with the saleswoman as to whether or not her shop possessed, & I quote: “What is it? Hmmm... Tiny... Um... Ball... Silver color... Er...” At this point, I made a motion of holding a baby in my arms. “Little people shoes with... Is it here?” Basically, I was trying to explain that babies & toddlers wear them on their shoes, that they are small, round, & sometimes silver. “Honkh-oo?” the saleswoman asked. I pretended to hold something small in my fingers near my ear while making a “Dee dee dee dee dee!” noise. “Teem,” the saleswoman replied in agreement, mimicking my motions while also making a “Dee dee dee dee dee!” noise.

Honkh, my friends, means “bell” in Mongolian. Mr. Wheeler & I searched high & low for any signs of honkh existence, using our honkh radar skills, & simultaneously pondering the potential use of honkh scrying in our dire situation. Luckily, through combined efforts, we were eventually pointed to a small touristy & Buddhist-esque shop that had many a honkh. Mission accomplished. Now, Chicago wears his honkh with pride, & looks quite dapper indeed.

Later, we went to the meat market to get a juicy slab of an unidentifiable body part for Cago. (Lucky cat, no?) One of the meat ladies, recognizing me from my many Saturday afternoon forays into this abattoir of carnage & also fresh produce, called me over with promises of “Timay!” or, as it is more colloquially known, camel. The other meat ladies were quite impressed that this particular meat lady seemed to know me, as she boasted in rapid-fire Mongolian that I not only am an American, but am also an English teacher who happens to live not a stone's throw from where we currently lay our scene.

The magic happened when, upon spying yet another white person standing in close proximity to your dear author, Miss Meat Lady herself had the prurience–if not sheer curiosity, to muse aloud “Is he your husband?” This is quite an understandable question, as whenever I see two people from the same country standing abreast, I often assume them to be betrothed.

In other news, I have been inexplicably busy as of late. From the time I get home from teaching until at least 8:00 at night, I find myself consumed with the arduous drudgery of chores & other time consuming activities. My near daily dossier of chores includes pumping & carrying fresh water, dumping out the dirty water bucket, throwing out the trash, doing laundry by hand (which involves several more fresh & dirty water trips), cleaning out Chicago's litterbox (sandbox, really), shopping, running post office or bank errands, cooking, doing dishes, cleaning in general, as well as pilates, yoga, lesson planning, resource designing, letter writing, blog updating, email answering, & news perusing. With a little book reading, phone calling, & film watching, my day disappears like a bat out of hell. Obviously, it is not a husband I need, but a wife.