The 9th graders are studying the French Revolution. One of my students handed me this document (link at left) to see my reaction. I read the first few lines and burst out laughing.
Wayne (history teacher) later told me that it's a primary source from a revolutionary newspaper written by the "sans-culottes". He said that he introduced it by telling the kids "you may be offended by this, so I won't give it to you unless you raise your hand." They all raised their hands.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Emergency sweater
The busiest streets of Kyiv have pedestrian underpasses, many of which are markets for people selling coffee, batteries, socks, flowers, beer which some men drink like coffee on their way to work, Victoria's Secret-type bras, etc.
I walk through one of these underpasses every morning. There might be an opportunity to buy something to cover up my undershirt from a vendor who seems to sell sweaters, though her stall is barely visible through the crush of commuters. Would her stall be open so early? Would she have sweaters, or only thongs?
But she was open for sales--I was able to get a big purple sweater (which smelled of cigarette smoke from being hung in the smoky underpass for, probably, weeks)
My friend Pat of Ukrainian descent told me that I'd brought the vendor good luck. A big sale first thing in the morning ($10, 7 a.m.) is, according to local lore, a harbinger of good sales the rest of the day. So it was a stroke of luck for both me and her.
"You just went and BOUGHT something, you're such an American!" another friend said. Well, yeah.
I walk through one of these underpasses every morning. There might be an opportunity to buy something to cover up my undershirt from a vendor who seems to sell sweaters, though her stall is barely visible through the crush of commuters. Would her stall be open so early? Would she have sweaters, or only thongs?
But she was open for sales--I was able to get a big purple sweater (which smelled of cigarette smoke from being hung in the smoky underpass for, probably, weeks)
My friend Pat of Ukrainian descent told me that I'd brought the vendor good luck. A big sale first thing in the morning ($10, 7 a.m.) is, according to local lore, a harbinger of good sales the rest of the day. So it was a stroke of luck for both me and her.
"You just went and BOUGHT something, you're such an American!" another friend said. Well, yeah.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Dressing (or not) for the weather
On Friday people kept complimenting me on my sweater. "This sweater has a STORY," I told them.
Kyivian winter weather has arrived, and I'm still walking to work (30-35 minutes). It just takes longer to get dressed in the morning. Underwear, polypropylene long johns or wool tights, long undershirt, socks, more socks, top layer of sweater, skirt, pants, whatever, scarf, headband, hat, glove liners, mittens, coat, boots. I'm puffing before I even start walking.
Last week it snowed every day. By Thursday the snow had been compressed to solid ice in a lot of places (sidewalks are cleared sometimes, but not often). I tried walking but realized it would take twice as long as usual, so waved down a marshrutka (local minibus, cheap: 50 kopeks or 10 cents, expensive where you might actually get a seat: 1 hrivna 50 kopeks or 30 cents).
Patty had given me a pair of black rubber straps studded with spikes that fit over boots. I decided to try them out on Friday--one more thing to put on, but they worked! no sliding or slipping as I clattered over the ice!
But more than halfway to school, too late to turn back, a dreadful realization: under my coat, above my waist, I was wearing only my long undershirt. In the glee of donning black rubber and spikes, I'd forgotten my sweater.
What to do? wear my coat all day long? borrow something from Victoria, the grade 1 teacher next door? she has a couple of extra sweaters, but she's a size 0. wear the science teacher's lab coat? bluff my way through the day wearing an undershirt?
to be continued.
Kyivian winter weather has arrived, and I'm still walking to work (30-35 minutes). It just takes longer to get dressed in the morning. Underwear, polypropylene long johns or wool tights, long undershirt, socks, more socks, top layer of sweater, skirt, pants, whatever, scarf, headband, hat, glove liners, mittens, coat, boots. I'm puffing before I even start walking.
Last week it snowed every day. By Thursday the snow had been compressed to solid ice in a lot of places (sidewalks are cleared sometimes, but not often). I tried walking but realized it would take twice as long as usual, so waved down a marshrutka (local minibus, cheap: 50 kopeks or 10 cents, expensive where you might actually get a seat: 1 hrivna 50 kopeks or 30 cents).
Patty had given me a pair of black rubber straps studded with spikes that fit over boots. I decided to try them out on Friday--one more thing to put on, but they worked! no sliding or slipping as I clattered over the ice!
But more than halfway to school, too late to turn back, a dreadful realization: under my coat, above my waist, I was wearing only my long undershirt. In the glee of donning black rubber and spikes, I'd forgotten my sweater.
What to do? wear my coat all day long? borrow something from Victoria, the grade 1 teacher next door? she has a couple of extra sweaters, but she's a size 0. wear the science teacher's lab coat? bluff my way through the day wearing an undershirt?
to be continued.
Subway
Snow came late this winter but there's been a lot of it, transforming the city and giving it a festive air. People seem more cheerful.
My friend Steve and I were stuck in a claustrophobia-inducing jam of humanity at the subway station on our way to the opera the other night.
The subway system is fast and efficient in most ways, but not in channeling passengers from arrival platforms to departure platforms at transfer stations.
Trains arrive every two minutes. Hundreds of people get off and then squeeze through a narrow tunnel with the same number trying to get through from the other direction. It gets worse with the arrival of every new train. You feel as if you're in a soccer mob or that Who concert in Cincinnati where 23 fans were trampled.
But everyone pushed through an inch at a time, patiently, even jovially. A man in front of me held up his cell phone camera to take a few "Hail Marys." "Dobre!" I said (good!). He grinned at me. The man behind me said something with a smile, too bad I couldn't understand a word of it. Then someone broke into the chorus of "Volga Boatmen" (which you'll know if you ever took piano lessons "yo, ho, heave, ho") and there was general laughter. Laughter under (literal) oppression! For me, it was a new view of the people of Kyiv.
My friend Steve and I were stuck in a claustrophobia-inducing jam of humanity at the subway station on our way to the opera the other night.
The subway system is fast and efficient in most ways, but not in channeling passengers from arrival platforms to departure platforms at transfer stations.
Trains arrive every two minutes. Hundreds of people get off and then squeeze through a narrow tunnel with the same number trying to get through from the other direction. It gets worse with the arrival of every new train. You feel as if you're in a soccer mob or that Who concert in Cincinnati where 23 fans were trampled.
But everyone pushed through an inch at a time, patiently, even jovially. A man in front of me held up his cell phone camera to take a few "Hail Marys." "Dobre!" I said (good!). He grinned at me. The man behind me said something with a smile, too bad I couldn't understand a word of it. Then someone broke into the chorus of "Volga Boatmen" (which you'll know if you ever took piano lessons "yo, ho, heave, ho") and there was general laughter. Laughter under (literal) oppression! For me, it was a new view of the people of Kyiv.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Family vocabulary
Earlier this year I did a "family" unit with my fifth-graders. We started with "who's in your family? This is how you say mother, father, brother, sister." Some of the advanced kids wanted to know the words for "the sister of your grandmother, the daughter of your cousin, the brother who has the same mother as you but a different father."
One kid (luckily towards the end of class) raised his hand to inform everyone that his uncle had married a man, and what was the word for that man? I wasn't really paying attention because this kid ALWAYS has his hand up in the air, and I said something like "your uncle's married, you want to know the word for your uncle's wife?"
"No! He has a husband! What is he called?" Most of the kids were oblivious, one or two smirked, and I just said "oh, he's gay, he married a man, that's possible in some countries. He's your uncle."
This kid is from the Netherlands where, of course, gay marriage is legal.
The classroom teacher had come into the room and heard this exchange. I saw him later in the day and he said "nice teachable moment! you handled that very well! I think in the Netherlands it's not only legal, it's required!" "Yeah, like those cafes in Amsterdam where you HAVE to smoke dope" I said.
Later on this kid told me that he shouldn't draw a line connecting his parents on his family tree because they aren't married.
"Geez, what's going on in your family?" I thought, but didn't say. "Your straight parents aren't married and your gay uncles are?" I felt very conservative.
One kid (luckily towards the end of class) raised his hand to inform everyone that his uncle had married a man, and what was the word for that man? I wasn't really paying attention because this kid ALWAYS has his hand up in the air, and I said something like "your uncle's married, you want to know the word for your uncle's wife?"
"No! He has a husband! What is he called?" Most of the kids were oblivious, one or two smirked, and I just said "oh, he's gay, he married a man, that's possible in some countries. He's your uncle."
This kid is from the Netherlands where, of course, gay marriage is legal.
The classroom teacher had come into the room and heard this exchange. I saw him later in the day and he said "nice teachable moment! you handled that very well! I think in the Netherlands it's not only legal, it's required!" "Yeah, like those cafes in Amsterdam where you HAVE to smoke dope" I said.
Later on this kid told me that he shouldn't draw a line connecting his parents on his family tree because they aren't married.
"Geez, what's going on in your family?" I thought, but didn't say. "Your straight parents aren't married and your gay uncles are?" I felt very conservative.
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