De Lieve Goede Sint

Wordless Wednesday

(and only 2 sleeps until the Sint drops by!)

And So It Goes

Vacation complete

I am out of my pj's

It is time for work.

I have combed my hair

And even put on make up

(But no shoes just yet)

Next week will be kids

And all that random chaos

A new year of school!

***********

More Better haiku here

Celebrate Good Times

School's Out for Summer!
Too many words for a Wednesday (which clearly is a Tuesday)
Wordless Wednesday

Countdown: 10 School Days Remaining

sigh.

click here for the rules.

Sympathy in the comments section greatly appreciated.
As always, leave your link if you're playing today.

Synmpathy Players:

Goofball

Flower Child

Kate

Res

Anneke

A Sass Act

From an email exchange between my boss and me.
(Yeah, this is how I speak to my superiors)

From: Pjer
To: Jenn (and some other people whose names are being protected)
Subject: vergadering
Importance: High

Ladies,…..

I like to invite you to my party
Wednesday at 14.00 uur sharp…..
Are you to [sic] late; eigen schuld dikke bult, the door is closed and you get a penalty

From: Jenn
To: Pjer
Subject: RE: vergadering

Is the penalty a long story all about me? I will take it.

jenn

From: Pjer
To: Jenn
Subject: vergadering

No, you have to bake a nice tart and all the slices are for us and not for the person who received the penalty! Scary…….boehoe!?

Groetjes.
Pjer

p.s the leader is always in time

From: Pjer
To: Jenn (and some other people whose names are being protected)
Subject: vergadering

Ladies,

I’ll send you a nice agenda…
Jenn says: ”I (shall) want to bake a tart for the first time”!
Thank you Jenn on behave [sic] of all.

Groetjes
Pjer

From: Jenn
To: Pjer
Subject: RE: vergadering

Hahahaha! Sure. But beware, it just might be a booger tart.

Cheers,
jenn



NO REPLY RECEIVED. NO TART DELIVERED.
Weird that.

From My Vantage Point

I work in an office.
I have a desk and a chair, a computer and a phone.
It's possible that sounds like the makings of the world's-most-boring-job-on-the-planet but trust me when I tell you that the moments in a day wherein I actually get to light in that chair and stay for any extended period of time are few and far between.

Everyday is a whole new adventure in chaos at the office.

Just the way I like it.

When I do get to sit and *ahem* work at the tedious tasks which are indeed included on my list, this list following is part of what surrounds me to make my desk space my own, and dare I say, meaningful to me.

1. My psychedelic sock monkey, hand made with love and stellar skill by Leslie of My Mommy's Place. He is the talk of all who spot him tucked perfectly underneath the computer monitor sitting cross legged and still, smiling at me constantly. He's been named by the children: "twilight" and I dare say he's coveted daily, but that doesn't worry me. I know he's all mine.

2. On the wall near the monthly calendar (hand-highlighted for all holidays!) hangs the tag from a set of flowers delivered to my co-worker and I early in the year. We had been effective in assisting someone through a nerve-wracking crisis, and after all had settled the family sent us thanks by way of a bouquet. The tag reads: Cartier & Taylo. We have long thought these variations on our last names were most fitting to our super-power prowess, and if we ever reveal our cape-clad-world-saving-inner-selves, this just may be the name of our famous duo.

3. Two water bottles sit sentry at the edge of my desk. I wish I could tell you they were empty because I fill and drain them multiple times each day, to keep the waterworks clear and all, but in spite of my recent descent to bladder infection hell (Level 9) I sometimes mostly forget to drink the water. Somebody shoot me.

4. Next to the photos of my husband and my children hangs a postcard. It's an Edward Hopper print sent to me spontaneously from a friend in Boston (have I mentioned her before?) and I love it. I carried it around for months in my bag so the edges are soft and frayed. It now hangs with pride in my office and every time I see it, I grin.

5. Underneath that postcard hangs another, freshly arrived, from Texas. Meaningful on several levels to me, this new card from a dear friend reminds me that friendship, once discovered, is a forever thing.

6. Tucked away inside a tin which once held delicious shortbread cookies (thanks Kate!) personally delivered from the Isle of Wight, is my secret stash of chocolate and other treats. Okay, it's not so secret really, since most of the staff is on to me and more than once in any given day someone will stand at the office counter with puppy dog eyes full of longing, and ask 'if isn't there please somewhere something a body could eat?' and I drag the tin out from it's hiding place and share the goodness within with any and all who ask.

7. No list would be complete without mention, real mention, of the woman who works opposite me in this shared place. She has been not only mentor and teacher to me this year as I have learned the ropes of the job and all it entails, but she is ultimately and at the heart of it all, my friend and an incredible support in my personal life. I feel lucky, nay, blessed, everyday to sit across from her and share the frustrations and the triumphs of the little and the big moments in our day. She is a friendship treasure.

So, there you have mine. Show me yours?

********************************************

Newly on display: A photo blog

She calls it Project 1 Picture a Day

and the redundant rules state:

1. post 1 picture

2. everyday

3. for one year

Please take a minute to visit, bookmark and return to watch her complete the challenge.

Help me welcome her to the neighborhood.

Say something about her photos.

Go. Click here. Click-click-click.

Beneath the Wings

The first performance I have much cognitive memory of I was six years old.

Surely, there were others which preceded it. The in house shows at the end of each semester in the dance studio. Each class of budding young artists had paraded in front of adoring parents their polaroids and their generous applause. But this would be my first moment on the professional stage. I had been chosen to perform in a suite of choreography and I, along with the others in the cast, had spent weeks, possibly months, in rehearsal every Saturday morning in the army barracks building turned dance studio. I remember so much about the sights, sounds and smells of the place; the very way that the dust looked in the forgotten corners, how the sunshine came in at a slight angle through the partitioned windows and the way the records on the player scratched and skipped.

That experience is a moment frozen in time in my memory. The whole of each individual gesture and exercise, the sound of the choreographer's voice, the sight of watching the grown-up dancers work through the movement while we few young ones played in the corner of the room, is wrapped up in one eclectic and extravagant memory package.

But what I remember most--after the rehearsals, the costume fittings, applying the makeup and waiting an arduously long time backstage--is the moment I sprang out from the wings and entered that magical world of lights. It was the first time I felt that incredible connection between expression and reception. I couldn't have named it then and am not certain I can explain it at all well now, but there is this something deeply connective between an artist and her audience; an energy which, could it be contained just might power peace on the planet. Or if not that, at least could increase the happiness level of an individual exponentially.

I gave it my everything that night, pouring my heart into every movement. Whatever nervous butterflies had been flitting in my belly up to that minute, they were instantaneously gone when my bare feet touched the marley flooring; and the energy of the thousand flapping wings was pushing me forward to share my best; my all.

You well may wonder how I can recall it all so clearly. That's easy. In the 25 years of performing which was to follow for me, it happened every time.

I haven't been on a stage as a performer in a good many years and instead have found the magic occurs for me now by watching my young students find that moment themselves. The mystical connection and energy exchange between s/he who is on the stage and they who are in the audience rarely disappoints and I love to watch as a child experiences and processes such an incredible moment.

Part of what I personally left behind when our family moved to The Netherlands was the performing arts program I had built and nurtured in our Arizona community. It wasn't the easiest thing to let go and truth be told, I miss teaching very, very much. I have snuck in a class or two here and there in the past couple of years and have enjoyed those moments very, very much.

And this week, I got to get in on it all over again.

The music teacher at our school is organizing and directing a musical for the children. Someone, somewhere whispered something to her and she approached and asked if I could help with the choreography for the show.

I answered.

And in a few weeks time I will be watching a whole new crop of budding performers enter the stage (some for the first time ever) and touch that moment where they pour their hearts into the song and the movement and are received by an adoring audience--replete with camcorders--who will signal approval with the thunderous sound of applause.

Indeed, several stars will be born.

And I will be there to see it all happen.

**************************************

See what else is happening at 42 where you'll find the links to more memories.

Once a performer

Now a teacher for children

I watch from the wings

*For Leslie's contest

affirmative

I work in an International School. Daily, I am surrounded by multiple languages. I communicate in two.

I communicate well in only one.

As English is the working language of the school community, I conduct most business in person and by phone in my native tongue. Sometimes I forget that it is not the native tongue of everyone in my community.

Part of the variable every-day-is-a-new-adventure job I do is to coordinate the door to door mini bus service of the school. As applications arrive, I process the information and liaise with the taxi company that provides the vans for our "bus" system. Currently, we are in process of a new sort and so it has come to me to call the applicants who have moved up the queue and will be given a seat on the bus. The question/answer session generally consists of me telling them that their application has been processed and their place approved, and would they like to accept this spot in the service on this date specific? They then answer yes or no and we move forward from there. Or the application stops.

Simple.

Kind of.

As I spat out my speech today, reached the end and managed the perfunctory pause to hear the answer to my question, I was met by audible hesitation, and then a single word reply. YES. But the inflection on the statement was unmistakably a question: YES?

And in a moment it was all perfectly clear to me.

I know the sound of this YES.

This YES? that means 'I think I gathered about 25% of what you've just blathered at me, and I can tell from this pause in conversation that it is my turn to speak and the best response at this moment, just might be YES so I am going to throw it in there and hope that you won't start sputtering more rapid fire conversation at me before my brain can process what you've just said and what I have in essence agreed to since I have now uttered a positive pronouncement to your question, which I think was indeed a question, but I can't be certain since I actually, in truth and honesty, have absolutely no idea what you are saying.'

I have used it before.

The day to day reality of speaking Dutch is at best an exercise in futility. I have mentioned before the fact that the Dutch are incredible linguists and most speak not only fluent English, but also at least one or two (or three, four or five) other languages in addition to their own Mother Tongue. Because they are such excellent English speakers and because the accent of an English speaker on the Dutch is so obvious, the most likely scenario in conversation with a Dutchie is that s/he will switch to English to carry on the conversation with ease. I always, always let that happen, because, well, I am just that lazy. So, while I can speak Dutch I am far from fluent, and the bottom line here is I probably will never be. Simply because I don't have to be.

Lest you get the wrong impression of me, please rest assured that I do try mightily to speak the language of my host country and I do study it and engage in (albeit simple) conversation as often as I can. The payoff for my effort is that my receptive skills are strong, and while I cannot prattle with proficiency, I can listen with comfort. Most of the time.

My position however is unique in that I am an English speaker. And that alone makes my experience as an expat in this country entirely different from many who travel here; those for whom learning at least one if not both of the dominant languages of this country is imperative. Like some friends we had in Leiden, who came from Russia (they have since returned to their home country) for whom the negotiation of all things Dutch was next to impossible until they mastered a common language. And people like the woman on the phone today who is working hard, exponentially harder than I have to work, and grappling with a language that is not her own in order to communicate.

People like that impress me deeply.

The phone conversation today really taught me something. Perhaps the lesson is an obvious one, but that doesn't make it any less an epiphany for me. Knowing that I needed to repeat my message caused me to simplify my sentences, to pull back on the rapid fire delivery and in every way possible to SLOW DOWN. And slowing down in that single conversation, taking that breath as it were, made me step back and consider just what it is I do and am doing.

And just how much I like it all, my life.

And maybe, just maybe, how I sometimes rush through it all a little too fast.

I liked that moment of fresh air and deep breathing and I think I should very much like to find that same kind of moment tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that too. Because I don't know everything, and sometimes I only understand some things. But all of the time, I know I am alive, and here, and happy.

And that, friends, is worthy of affirmation.

On Top of the World

Hangin' with friends Wednesday

1. letha 2. Digital Flower 3. The Paranormal Blog 4. Comedy Plus 5. Jim 6. jams o donnell 7. SandyCarlson 8. cheerio 9. SexyMom 10. Detroit 11. CK Go Places

12. Natalie 13. Janet 14. Kristi 15. Andrée 16. napaboaniya 17. Wholly Burble 18. Mariposa 19. Enhance Life 20. Yummy 21. eastcoastlife 22. Res

23. TRICOTINE 24. CHIKAI 25. 4 Day Win 26. La Bellina Mammina 27. Utah Mommy 28. Jan 29. ewe_are_here 30. Little T Post Op 31. Amy Shipp

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Hello, I Love You, Won't You Tell Me Your Name?

Andrew's (incredible, stupendous, amazing, fantastic) preschool classroom has a self-check-in system in place wherein the children find their name card on the door and by use of sticky back velcro attach it underneath a picture of themselves, thus enabling not only a register of who is in attendance on a given day, but also the added benefit of early letter and name recognition for the child. Cool, huh?

Standing above the child's name on each card is a greeting--hello, to be exact--customized to each according to the language which they speak. For the English speakers 'Hello' graces the tag, except for the tag of the Australian child, whose tag reads 'G'day' (Truth be told, I really wanted Andrew's card to say 'Hey, y'all' but couldn't convince his teachers that the southern vernacular was really his by right)

With new children arriving weekly to his class I sat down with the classroom teachers yesterday to create a list of the new names and the appropriate greetings.

Here then is a small sampling of the ways our class says hello. (Thank goodness for Google search with a task like this.)

Hungary: Szia

German: Guten Tag

Dutch: Dag

Marathi: Namaskar

Spanish: Hola

Mhroroi: Shona

French: Bonjour

So, lay it on me. Add to the knowledge base here. How do you say hello?

Home is Where the Feet Rest

First week back to work Wednesday

Get Your Kicks

From a conversation at school between me and a young student, age 9.

"Miss Jenn, are you from America?"

"As a matter of fact I am."

"I knew it!"

"Did ya now?"

"Yes. You sound just like an American and you look just like an American. I just knew it."

"I look like an American? Hmmm... I am not really sure how to take that, but okay."

"I really love your American accent."

"Ah, that's nice."

"I really like the way Americans talk. I like Americans so much. I like everything about America."

"You do, huh? That's really awesome to hear you say. Tell me buddy, what is it about America that you like so much?"

"Oh, that's easy. Route 66!"

Now That's What I Call Action

Yesterday, a letter went home with the students which read in part like this:

The school day ends at 15:00 on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and on Wednesdays at 12:30. Children who are not picked up timely from the playground will be brought to the primary office to wait. We ask that you make every effort to arrive promptly at the end of the day. The week before half-term our office staff were not able to work after 15:00 as they had over 10 children waiting in the office every day (on two consecutive days it was 20 children!) As the office is not staffed to watch your children at the days end, habitually late pick up will incur charges as follows:


Pickup between 3:15-3:30 (12:45-1:00 on Wednesdays): € 15
Pickup between 3:30-3:45 (1:00-1:15 on Wednesdays) € 30
Pickup between 3:45-4:00 (1:15-1:30 on Wednesdays) € 50

It was then signed by the headmaster.

And we held our breath here in the office and waited.

I am writing this post at 3:25 p.m. and you want to know how many children are in my office awaiting pick up?

Z.E.R.O.

Can you hear the strains of my hallelujah from there?

A Day Like Any Other

"Good Morning, International School of The Hague. This is Jenn, can I help you?"

"Hi. Yes, I have a question."

"Sure."

"Is the school closed on November 1st?"

"No, the first will be a regular school day."

"Oh, okay. I was just wondering if the school would be closed because in Belgium the schools close for All Saint's Day."

"Um. Right. Okay. But this is Holland."

"So it will be business as usual on the first?"

"Indeed."

And Everything In It's Place

There are exactly 422 students enrolled in the primary school at The International School of The Hague.

I know, because I have counted every one of them.

And then I counted them again.

The last few weeks at work we (meaning my colleagues and I) have had the pleasure of been documenting each and every child attending the primary school. This accounting which is crucial to the Dutch government includes knowing interesting information about each of them such as their name, birth date, address and phone number. Obscurely enough part of the required information is the nationality of each student's parents. Not so obscurely the way to find this information was to open each of those 422 paper files individually and find the information.

Ah.

You are already picturing the painstaking fun.

Heads bent over paper we have employed multiple techniques to get the information fast. (Of course there was a deadline for this monumental project. What fun would an impossible task be without it?) We filled in temporary forms with information, we read aloud to one another the facts and figures, we deciphered the scrawls of international parents filling in English forms. And we input data as fast as our fingers could fly.

Trust me, it's been a real party.

Today we sat down with the class registers, the printed database and a highlighter pen, to count, recount, and account for all the children attending our school.

And you know what?

We. found. them. all.

Including the 7 children who we knew were attending school (according to class registers) but did not show up on the database. (Like computers know everything? Please.) Something akin to a needle-in-a-haystack search we compared name for name and counted them each and every one. To our delight the missing surfaced and our happy dance began as soon as those names were entered into the computer and the whole file was winging it's way electronically to those who had been breathing down our necks about it need it.

My new favorite number is 422.

And my favorite Dutch word this week?

Compleet.

Shiny Pretty Things

In spite of the fact that I have been spending it now for two years running, I have never really come full circle to appreciate the Euro as money. Notwithstanding the harsh, bitter truth that my paltry and boring monotone green American dollar is weaker than weak against the Euro right now, I have yet to lose the sensation that the euros I carry around in my purse or my back pocket are something of a pretty plaything intended to entertain and delight as I gaze upon the happy colors, varied sizes, shiny bits and pretty pictures of each bill.

It took me months to understand that with a pocket full of coin I actually had A LOT of money to spend. Instead of the U.S. quarter or ten-cent dime occupying space in my wallet--or again, my back pocket--I now carry 1 and 2 euro coins in their place. And let me tell you, it doesn't take too many of those jingling together creating rhythmic accompaniment for my step before I have some serious buckaroos!

I remember a time during our first few months in Leiden when the weekly student budget was wearing thin. We really needed some basic grocery supplies and I was wondering just how I would make the 10 euro bill in my purse stretch to meet the expense. As I was walking to the neighborhood shops I peeked inside the coin holder of my bag and counted the euro coins within. Score! It was an additional 12 euros! In coin! That moment of realization still makes me grin and I remember the lightness of my step as I carried on toward the supermarket. Not only would I be bringing home milk, bread and bananas, but hey! With 12 extra euros in my pocket there would be cookies in the bag for sure!

It doesn't take much to please me.

With the first session of After School Activities at the International School now underway, I brought some work home with me tonight. I needed some space and quiet to finish my lists and sort the fees paid so I can in turn pay the teachers for the various classes they offer. Let me tantalize here and tell you that all the fees for the activities program comes in in cash. Yup. Cash money in all those fancy euro bills.

Look, I will show you.

Can you imagine the fun I have been having?

The best part of all of it is that all the money came out just right. In spite of the craziness that is my office at the Primary School, I managed to keep records straight, write accurate receipts, track ALL THAT CASH that dribbled in this week, and count it out into lovely little large piles of payment for the teachers. Whatever else it was, it certainly was fun rolling in the money tonight.

I can't quite decide now whether it was like one large Monopoly game where I win everything or perhaps something else. As I stuffed bills into unmarked envelopes and folded the seals over I couldn't help but imagine that I was in some sort of fantasy mafia world with the arranged pay-offs accumulated on my living room floor.

Yeah, I think from now on you can call me Jenny Soprano.

Sink Your Teeth Into It

You remember my shadow? Here is another simply-must-be-shared moment with Maia. As told to me by her Mom.

"Mum, I want to bite my teachers."

"What darling? You want to bite your teachers? Whatever do you mean?"

"You know, I want to bite them over to my house."

"Oh, you want to invite them to our house! Well, that sounds lovely."

"Yes, I want to bite them over. My class teacher and my Dutch teacher and that one teacher with the perfect nose."

A Matter of Taste

From a conversation with 5-year-old Maia, my new friend (and shadow) at the ISH.

"Maia, I have to go down to the storage area right now, do you want to walk with me?"

"Oh, yes!"

"C'mon then. Can you carry this?"

"Okay."

*walk, walk, walk, walk...

"You know, Maia, I sure like your red hair. It's beautiful."

"I don't grow red hair! I only grow brown."

"Hmmm. Well, it sure looks strawberry to me."

*Maia pulls a lock of hair forward to look closely at the color then touches the strand to her mouth.

"No, it's mostly chocolate."

Points of Light

The brand new campus for the International School of the Hague is something of a monumental wonder. I cannot account for the years of planning and designing, I wasn't around for that. I was neither nearby at the groundbreaking nor at hand during the bulk of the construction. I was around for the finishing touches as the school opened in 2006, while construction was still underway for a good portion of the massive building. I also was there for the ultimate Grand Opening Celebration, which was attended by the Queen herself. That was a seriously cool moment. A glorious morning of pomp and circumstance, and a glimpse of Her Majesty Queen Beatrix.

Seriously cool.

I have attended various events over the last school year, and certainly have been in my daughter's classroom multiple times. (Not my son's though, a Mama cannot hover around a middle schooler's classes, no! That is seriously NOT cool.) Each time I am in the building or on the grounds I have discovered something new and unique to its architecture. Every time I see it, I am in awe.

This week has been no exception. It is an impressive place.

Without rival in my mind, the best bit is the massive amount of glass used in the design. Large windows let the light pass unabated through the corridors and classrooms. Offices are divided by glass walls, and even classrooms offer a streak-free peak inside through wide glass doors.

In the center is an area dubbed "The Glasshouse" where all-school assemblies are held. It is a perfect venue for activities and social events like school festivals, or science fairs. Quite often the area is used as the rainy-day playground so the children can move their big muscles on those days when outside play just isn't possible.

The Glasshouse is named such as it is nearly surrounded on all sides by windows--three stories worth--beckoning the sunlight to enter and play on the polished wood floors inside.

It is my favorite place to linger.

Especially just as the afternoon sun wanes toward the west and the light floods in and dances along the walls, over the staircases and splashes out over the ground.
Seriously cool.

I really think I am going to like this place.

That's My Name

My feet are tired.
My shoulders are a little sore.
My eyelids are on the heavy side.
I am ready to pull the covers to my chin and dance off to slumber.

But. My spirits are high.

I love my new job.

The week has been hectic and crazy busy. I have been sorting, filing, tossing, rummaging, painting, stapling, labeling, cutting, taping and LEARNING.

Learning, learning, learning. And I have to admit, a little bit of faking.

"Good afternoon, International School of the Hague, this is Jenn. May I help you?"

"Yesh. Hallo. It is Jan here. I must speak to KT."

"KT?"

"Yesh. I think my pronunciation is correct. KT."

"Um. Okay, I am looking at the extension list now. I am new here. Very new. And I admit I don't know everyone. Could you possibly spell the name of the person you need to speak with and I will find them for you?"

"Shure. KT is spelled K-A-T-H-Y."

"Oh! Yes! Kathy! Excuse me. KT! Absolutely! I will get her for you. NOW."

Ah, me.

The children will begin arriving at school next Wednesday. I have roughly a single week to get my act together to be ready to pull off this new role as OFFICE LADY EXTRAORDINAIRE! (You think I could get that on a t-shirt? ) I am looking forward to the chaos and the energy of the students in school.

In the meantime as I memorize the layout of the school building, learn how to operate the coffee machine, commit the teachers' names to a permanent place in my memory and prepare the mailbox/lockers for the staff, I have had the chance to meet a few new-to-the-country-kids as they have come to school to get a look around this week.

I don't know if I can express the ultimate joy of meeting an eager new face and after a few minutes conversation hearing the sound of absolute music to my ears. A small voice which says:

"Miss Jenn, can I show you something?"

Yeah, kiddo. Say my name, I will follow you anywhere.