An old biddy

Today I feel old. Really old. Usually I go through life thinking I’m hip. I mean I have rap songs on my i-pod, know all about the latest shows on Nickelodeon, and steer away from “mom jeans” as far as I can. But today I feel anything by hip and young. And it’s not because I feel more than tired than usual this week. It’s also not because I discovered a new wrinkle. Nope. No, the fact that I feel old today is all my students’ fault.

Today in class we were talking about the civil rights movement, and one student mentioned that her grandparents were actively involved in that when they were younger. Her grandparents! When they were younger! In my world, your parents took an active role in the civil rights movement, and maybe some older siblings, while grandparents did little more than chant on the sidelines. They were, after all, older, settled in, and not as likely to get riled up. Moments like that happen far too often and are just plain depressing, simply because they make me feel old.

You know, I’m going to just stake my claim here and tell you that there should be a rule against students getting younger and younger every year. Do you realize that this year’s freshmen were born in or after 1990? That the upperclassmen (juniors and seniors) are maybe from 1987 or 1988? These are people who don’t remember there being a cold war. Kids who did not watch the Challenger explosion live on television. Actually, many of these bitty ones barely know what the Challenger is or was. Kids who know shows like “The facts of life” or “Diff’rent Strokes”, but from reruns only. And the most shocking part? When I ask my students questions like “Where were you when 9/11 happened”, do you know what they will reply? “In 7th grade language arts”. Seventh grade?! When I was in seventh grade, the Berlin Wall had already come down, an event that some of my students treat that as though it’s ancient history, on a par with the 1918 armistice.

And it’s the same with your own kids. I vividly remember babysitting for other people. It was really only yesterday. But now our oldest is old enough to start babysitting too. Not to mention the fact that they’re talking about driving, cute girls, and things that I think can wait another two decades or so. How and when did all this happen? We should still be looking for worms in the grass, and catching lightning bugs. Sure, every once in a while, they’ll bring in a frog or a cockroach, reminiscent of earlier days. And a feat which now actually excites me.

I guess that in my world, I’ve only just gotten out of high school, and all these new developments are telling me that that really is only in my world. But is this such a crazy feeling? Is there anyone else who feels like they’re stuck in, say, 1992? I’ve gotten better – whenever I read or heard that someone was born in 1983, I used to think they were six. I’ve now moved up in time; someone born in 1983 is now no older than 13. At least in my world. Scarily, I think that one of my highly-esteemed, knowledgeable, and pretty much indispensible colleagues was born in 1983. Wow.

I know there’s no stopping time. I know my students are going to get older and know less and less about moments that were defining to my life. The kids are going to grow up and move out. But can I then, at least in my head, still pretend that Madonna is in her True Blue phase, the Backstreet Boys are something of the future, “Who’s the Boss” is the hottest show around, and the kids still want to be a superhero like their dad?

Retro-expatriot

Denkend aan Holland besefte ik me vorige week in een keer dat ik geen idee meer had welke partijen er momenteel in de coalitie zitten. Ik kon met moeite nog net bedenken dat Balkenende de minister-president was (na enige twijfel of het toch niet Wouter Bos was), maar verder kwam ik niet. Ook heb ik eerlijk gezegd geen idee hoeveel medailles Nederland heeft gewonnen in de Olympische Spelen, en als ik op de website van de Volkskrant iets lees over Holleeder, moet ik heel goed nadenken wie dat ook al weer was. Voor iemand die het dagelijks nieuws op de voet volgt, is dit een schrikbarende ontwikkeling.

En het is niet alleen mijn kennis over het Nederlandse nieuws dat minder wordt. Ik merk ook dat ik steeds beter zonder typische Nederlandse dingen zoals lekkere jonge kaas, appelstroop, en drop kan. Ik heb al weken geen appelstroop meer op, terwijl het toch echt in de kast staat, en alhoewel mijn dropvoorraad al op is, loopt het water niet eens in mijn mond als ik er nu aan denk. Ook al weer zoiets vreemds

Nederlandse tijdschriften vind ik nog steeds erg leuk, maar ik merk steeds meer dat heel veel dingen me niet meer aanspreken. Soms omdat ik de mensen gewoon niet ken (het “wie is dat nou weer?!” gevoel), en soms omdat ik, met mijn vast al lichtelijk ver-Amerikaanse geest, de onderwerpen niet meer interessant vind. Ik bedoel, noem me conservatief, maar waarom zouden viva-lezeressen alles willen weten over de ins en outs van een scheiding? En Nederlandse televisie heb ik al maanden niet meer gekeken. Ik voel me soms net een buitenaards wezen als ik een satirisch programma kijk waar ik vroeger altijd gek op was, en er nu de helft niet meer van snap.

Aan de andere kant kan ik enorm genieten van programma’s die ik vroeger keek. Zo heb ik me van de zomer vermaakt met een DVD van “Thomas en Senior”, en zou ik ook echt heel graag “De Zevensprong” nog een keer zien. Ook Nederlandse muziek uit die tijd spreekt me opeens veel meer aan. Zo heb ik hele autoritten lang uit volle borst zitten meezingen met een CD van Willeke Alberti , en sinds kort wil ik ook nog een CD met allemaal Nederlandse eurosongfestival liedjes. Misschien is het gewoon een kwestie van slechte smaak, maar als ik me bedenk dat ik in Nederland moest ik niks van die muziek hebben, terwijl ik nu soms onbewust “waar blijft die tijd” aan het zingen ben, dan weet ik het niet hoor.

En het is ook niet alsof ik me niet meer verbonden voel met Nederland. Ik heb een “I love Holland” koe-kussentje (compleet met “boe” geluiden) in mijn auto hangen, op de koelkast hangen meerdere molen- en klomp-magneetjes, mijn theezakjes houder is Delfts blauw en de klok heeft een schildering van (alweer) Nederlandse koe in een Nederlandse landschap erop. Allemaal dingen waarmee ik in Nederland niet doodgevonden zou willen worden.

Gelukkig heb ik ondertussen heel goed door wat er aan de hand is. Ik ben geen buitenaards wezen, en ook lijd ik niet aan een of andere gecompliceerde vorm van Alzheimer. Ik ben gewoon een retro-expatriot aan het worden. Dat zijn mensen die niet meer in hun eigen land wonen, er ondertussen steeds minder vanaf weten (hoezo inburgeringscursus?), maar wiens liefde voor dat zelfde land alleen maar toeneemt. Vroeger associeerde ik dit altijd met de wat oudere mensen met permanentjes die ik altijd tegenkwam op konninginedag borrels op het consulaat. Ze droegen allemaal oranje strikjes in hun revers, luisterden naar de Wereldomroep, maar als je ze vroeg wie er nu in de Top 40 stond, of wie de meest populaire Nederlandse cabaretier was, dan begonnen ze over Heintje Davis en Toon Hermans. Maar nu heb ik door dat ook frisse vlotte mensen zoals ik hieraan ten prooi kunnen vallen. Ik heb dan wel geen permanentje, en ook ben ik niet echt bekent met Heintje Davis, maar ik lees wel de wereldexpat website, en ben dol op Royalty bladen. En ik zie mezelf echt over twintig jaar op 30 April op een of ander consulaat ergens staan, oranjebitter in de hand, kek oranje hoedje op, terwijl ik vrolijk het Wilhelmus meezing met een rollende “r” en “Lang leve de Koningin!” roep. Oh nee, want we hebben dan een koning. Maar ja, dat doet er eigenlijk niet toe. Liefde komt uit het hart, niet uit het verstand.

Tornado warning

I know I like to point out things that are different, odd, or just plain annoying about life in the south. I like to whine about scary bugs and plants, the way people talk, how long it takes to get anything done around here, and the crazy bumper stickers put on their cars. But on the whole I would argue that that was all there was to worry about down here: innocuous nuisances.

Until yesterday anyway. As I had just started on my 90 mile-drive home, both my husband and a friend called me at the same time to let me know there was a tornado warning in effect in our town. Not a watch, where the “conditions” are right, but an actual real-live warning. As in, someone somewhere has seen a tornado race around. And mind you, this was not in the big semi-city that includes the base, the mall, and endless subdivisions, no, it had been limited to the little bitty unincorporated hamlet that sits south of all of this. The one where we live. We’re talking an area of maybe ten square miles, where circular winds had been sighted, and all they were doing was waiting for the funnel cloud to hit the ground. Great.

Now slap me upside the head and call me an idiot, but as far as I know, we did not move to Kansas, and our dog is not called Toto. Our neck of the woods has a lot of bad things (poison ivy! Poisonous snakes! Confederate flag-waving rednecks!), but tornadoes are technically not one of them. Well, was I ever wrong. As I was on the phone with husband-dear who was also on his way home, he could see black circular clouds swirling around overhead. As he got closer to home, he told me they were converged right over our neighborhood, and were coming closer and closer to the ground. It was not pretty, and apparently he has never covered the eight miles from base to our home that fast.

While I’m hearing all of this, I’m driving down a sunny interstate, with not a cloud in sight, wondering if my house and family will still be there when I get home. The boys had hidden in our walk-in closet with Zoe, and closed and barricaded the door. They assured me over the phone that they “had it under control”, and knew exactly what to do. But when they said they had to hang up because they now had to put their hands over their heads as they had learned in school, momma felt anything but reassured.

I’ve often cursed my endless commute, but nothing like yesterday. I wanted to fly down the highway, but decided that the last thing anyone needed was a speeding ticket or worse. So all I could do was hope and pray things would be alright. And fortunately, the circular clouds decided to stay up above the ground. When my husband called me half an hour later, they were all standing on the back porch, admiring the second (!) circle of clouds and winds passing right next to our house.

That little experience took at least two years off my life, and makes me yearn for little nuisances like cockroaches and yellow flies, and people who can’t say “no”. Now excuse me while I go and enjoy a good luck at the truck with the confederate flag on it parked, I’m sure, not too far from here.

Southern what?

First of all, I would like to apologize to my dog. Because there is, as usual, something I need to get off my chest, her picture will no longer be at the top of the page. And that is something that warrants a heartfelt apology. So sorry doggy!

Anyway. I have a confession to make. I'm not big on pride. I don't mean that I can't be proud of people around me; husband, kids, students, because I can be. I also don't mean that I don't like where I live or where I'm from, just not in a "my child is an honor student" bumper sticker, Air Force tag or "God bless America" ribbon on my car sort of way. I show my pride in a subdued kind of way. If I'm proud of you, you'll know it, but please don't ask me to honor you on my car, on my clothes, or with flags waving in my yard on regular non-special days.

I realize that I'm definitely not the norm in this part of the world. Here people genuinely like to show their pride, and support for each cause, and person, they feel attached to. I think it's great. Sometimes I wish I could be more like that. I mean, it took me two days of agonizing before I decided to post pictures of the best puppy in the world on my blog. I love living in a state where a lot of people seem to think that an inch of visible paint on their car is wasted space. Honestly, I get a kick out driving behind people whose car allows me to figure out they're retired military (the tag), served in the Vietnam war (the "Proud to be a Vietnam vet!" bumper sticker), support the Democrats (an "Obama 08" magnet) and the troops (the famous yellow ribbon), and believe in God (although the "I am proud to serve a Jewish carpenter" sticker did throw me for a loop there for a moment).

But there are some forms of pride that I'm not too sure of. Like the two bumper stickers I saw just yesterday, both of which featured the confederate flag. One of them read: "Welcome to Dixie. If you don't like our flag, leave", and the other one said"No matter how hard they try, this flag will never die".

Now I realize that some southerners view the confederate flag as a way to show southern pride. And sure, there is no reason why someone shouldn't be proud of the place they come from. I mean, the south has produced some wonderful writers, politicians, artists, some of the tastiest food around, and heck, where would we be without front porches and sweet tea? Very stressed out probably. But I'm not sure I would express this pride using a symbol that, well, many people associate with, well, the losing side in the civil war. And now I know that there will be southerners who will tell me that they don't mean that when they wave their flag, and everyone just needs to understand that, but you know what, I'm not sure I agree with that anymore.

You see, I have another confession to make. I used to be very much a "live and let live" kind of person. And in some ways I still am. If you want to do something, and it doesn't hurt anyone else, go for it. I may think you're a freak, but by all means, go for it. I mean, what do I know.

But having taught at an HBCU for the past year has really opened my eyes, and made it clear that although some things are OK, others very clearly are not. And the confederate flag would be one of them. My students, who are all African American, tell me that that flag to them symbolizes everything that the south can not, and should not be proud of; its history of slavery, the civil war it started, and its attempts to halt the civil rights movement. I've had students tell me that when they have to interact with people who display the confederate flag, they are truly afraid of their lives. If a flag holds such negative connotations to a large group of people who have had enough wrong done to them, why keep flying it? Why keep claiming that they "just don't get it"? If something doesn't work to making a society a more cohesive unity, all it does it pull it further apart. And with all due respect to all the white southerners who are not racists, but I think that that is the last thing we need here in the deep south.

So I suggest we all pull together to design a new way to express southern pride. Maybe a bumper sticker that reads "You may be a Yankee, but at least I'm nice", or "Sunny all year round!", or little cherry blossom magnets, or pictures of sweet tea with the words "Have y'all had your fix today?". You bet I won't be putting any of those on my car, but y' all will know I'm just secretly proud:)

It's a doggy dog world

Just because I think my puppy is the cutest dog in the world, I felt the burning desire to share some pictures with y'all.


Everybody, meet Zoe. Zoe, meet everybody. This was a few hours after we picked her up.




When Zoe gets tired, she will fall asleep pretty much anywhere. She particularly likes sitting on my laptop right after I turned it off. She may have also felt that there was no reason for mommy to work after she had just spent over twelve hours away from home. And she is right.


And sometimes when mommy gets home from work and is tired, she and Zoe will fall asleep together. The downside is that a seven pound puppy takes up a lot less room in the kitchen than a full-grown woman.


Have a barkin' weekend!

De eerste loodjes

De eerste week van colleges is bijna voorbij, en veel meer dan een zwak “joepie!”komt er op dit moment niet meer uit. Als ik morgen alvast meetel, dan heb ik 13 colleges gegegeven, zo’n pak en beet twintig studenten advies gegeven over hun “drop and add”, één vergadering bijgewoond, vijftien uur in de auto gezeten, en gemiddeld zes uur per nacht geslapen. Oh ja, en een de puppie getracht op te voeden. Maar afgezien van het feit dat de Red Bulls nu echt op zijn, en ik nog een dag moet werken, ga ik niet klagen. Ik heb volgens mij enorme wallen onder mijn ogen, en mijn haar heeft ook wel eens betere dagen gekend, maar het gevoel om weer helemaal terug te zijn is geweldig.

Zo heb ik weer ruim drie uur de tijd om naar (on)zinnige nieuws achtergronden te luisteren op NPR. Zo ben ik dus weer helemaal bij wat betreft de geschiedenis van de Praagse Lente, de grant die een medical college in Georgia binnen heeft gehaald, en Obama’s laatste uitspraken. Ook kan ik eindelijk weer zien hoe het katoen in de velden langs de weg gegroeid is. Ook zijn enkele schuurtjes nu echt veranderd in “shacks”, terwijl sommige shacks van vorig jaar echt helemaal ingestort of soms zelfs verdwenen zijn. Tot mijn grote vreugde staat Bryce’s BBQ shack er ook nog steeds, compleet met drie enorme grills voor de deur. En dit jaar ga ik echt een keer ribs op halen om mee naar huis te nemen.

Ook zijn de studenten nog voor geen steek veranderd. Gelukkig. Ze komen er nog steeds op het laatste moment achter dat ze zich nog “even” moeten inschrijven voor een bepaald vak, en vergeten het meteen wanneer ik een quiz ovr de syllabus aankondig. Ze mopperen nog steeds als ik uitleg dat ze echt twee papers voor mijn vak moeten schrijven, en spelen het in de eerste week al klaar om te laat te komen. Ook zijn er nog altijd de studenten die je komen vertellen over hun grote plannen; terwijl anderen je vol trots komen vertellen dat ze al een baan hebben terwijl ze nog niet afgestudeerd zijn. Ook zijn er weer freshmen die het allemaal maar heel erg eng vinden, en om de haverklap langskomen voor advies over computers, bijbaantjes, en wat te doen als een docent om een “personal essay” vraagt. En vandaag nam een student van mij onverwachts een vriendin mee naar een van mijn colleges. Achteraf vertelde ze dat het meisje op haar 16^e met school gestopt was, en nu helemaal geen zin meer had om ooit nog terug te gaan. Mijn student wilde haar overtuigen dat studeren toch ook heel leuk kon zijn, en had haar dus meegenomen om een van mijn lessen bij te wonen. Het meisje had het geweldig gevonden. Op zulk soort momenten, die altijd net plaatsvinden wanneer ik zo moe ben dat ik bijna de trap naar mijn kantoor niet meer op kom, herinner ik me altijd weer waarom ik lesgeef.

Kortom, ondanks de wallen, het huishouden dat nu echt achterloopt, en het feit dat ik van het weekend zeker twaalf uur wil slapen, is het goed om weer terug te zijn.

Princess Zoe

I know I dish out a lot of semi-important advice in my blog, but after two sleepless nights, please take it from me that if you're hesitant about acquiring a dog, make sure you avoid your local PetSmart on those infamous "adoption days". Because unless you have a true heart of stone, there is no way you can walk away without one of their cute and fluffy puppies. I thought I could, which is why I agreed to accompany my husband to just "look" at some of the animals the local shelters had brought in this time. However, the black furry proof that I was wrong is currently asleep in her crate in our bedroom.

Yes, we are now the proud owners of a 9 or 10 week old mutt named Zoe. We're not sure how old she is, or even what kind of dogs her parents were, because Zoe was abandoned. She and her brother were found in a box by an animal control officer and brought to one of our local shelters. It's a sad story, and it's even sadder when you realize that all the tens of animals that are at the adoption days have similar stories, as do the hundreds still in the shelters. Some dogs are brought in hurt, like the little chihuaha mix nicknamed "Gimpy". Gimpy couldn't walk properly because his owners had let his broken leg heal improperly before abandoning him. He was now waiting until enough money had been donated so he could have surgery to fix his leg. Others have been taken away from careless owners, while others are found in plastic bags alongside the road.

See, I told you, all those stories combined with the big brown eyes, wagging tails, and fuzzy puppy scent is enough to melt anybody's "inner mother". So as of Monday, we are the proud parents of our own little lab/husky/something vague princess. While timid and shy at first, she has now completely taken over our house. No one's feet are safe from her nibbling, shoes are meant to sleep on, kibble definitely needs to be eaten (and left) all throughout the kitchen, balls are always meant to be thrown, and don't count on sleeping when little miss princess feels lonely. Our house training program is in full swing, but there's no need to carry out any effectivity studies yet, I'd rather you go out and replenish our stock of Lysol Wipes. And we're not sure if this is an effect of her being abandoned, but don't think you can have some quiet alone time; where you go, Zoe will go too. Whether it's the bathroom, the laundry room, or your car, Zoe has to be there. Oh yes, and please don't read magazines when you could just as well spend your time playing tug of war with her favorite purple ring. I mean, please. Yesterday, our new family addition discovered Gertie, our guinneapig who has had little peace since. We've thus decided that a "meet your fellow pets" orientation is probably in order this weekend. Fortunately little puppies need a lot of naps, and Zoe is no different. She will get tired, wobble on her skinny little legs, and lie down wherever and whenever she is tired. She's fallen asleep with her face inside a shoe, with her nose up against the stove, and in front of wherever we happen to be sitting.

She's great, she's funny, she's exhausting, she's sweet, she's stubborn, and we wouldn't trade our little princess for the world. Pictures will follow as soon as she leaves me enough time at the computer without threatening to either get tangled in all the cords or chew on them.