mele kalikimaka

career objective: learn to surf while wearing sandals to work everyday.

new words i know (but don't always embody)

grown-up (noun) 1. a person who recognizes responsibilities and places personal happiness/ impulses at bay to meet them. 2. one who acts responsibly even when one does not want to.

responsiblity (adverb? i've always been confused about parts of speech) grown-ups have them. usually they involve things that are less fun than the opposite-- non-responsibility.

non-responsibility (something) self-indulgent fun without consequences (well, if there are consequences, somehow they don't matter). should be balanced with responsibility to discover happiness.

happiness (i embody, i imbibe) balance of responsibility and non-responsibility to discover ideal mix of weight and light, usefulness and immediate gratification.

i heart my america (too)

last night i felt like a domestic goddess. ordering groceries, preparing a delicious dinner, starting a fire in my wood-burning stove. this morning, as i walked down to the teacher’s lounge to put my leftovers in the fridge, i glanced at the tv. MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL!! a tingling sensation overcame my body as my love for fall football, the vikings, cheering for pretty much any team, hot apple cider and dome dogs returned. although my third untraditional thanksgiving was amazing, filled with delicious food, ultimate frisbee and unique definitions of family, monday night “american” football (as my students call it), brett favre (whom i usually hate), john madden and snow-covered turf made me recall just how much i adore the united states.

whenever i return to the u.s., people ask me, “do you notice things you hate here a lot more? is it hard getting used to life in the u.s. again?” studying abroad and living as an ex-pat over the last few years has (of course) heightened my awareness to fat americans, gluttony, laziness, giant army-sized suv’s on highways, over-consumption and other byproducts of the overabundance of american culture. my time away has also shown me inadequacies in foreign and domestic policy in a new, more critical light. however, the longer i am away, the more i love what is unique about the united states. the little stuff and the larger principles. target stores, whole foods markets and the abundance of caramel-filled chocolate, produce in any season, caramel lattes, myriad cheeses and wines and foreign food (wait, is all i love about america concerned with my nature as a gastronome? even in singing american praises, i am an american glutton). multiple radio stations with new music (though, thanks to robyn topic-humm, entertainment aficionado, i have missed little in the means of music and movies over the last two years) and varying political perspectives. the changing of the seasons. the proliferation of culture, languages and ideas in american cities. the overarching beliefs concerning democracy, freedom of speech, etc. that, even in times of conflict, impel people to speak out. the incredible sense of movement and opportunities afforded to those with the financial and educational means.


what i ascertain again and again as i live in foreign countries is that each place has myriad faults. the united states and india are no different. but, time and again, i also remember that each country also has beauty, that which is inherent and that which must be unearthed. i love finding beauty in new places: france, italy, south india, etc. but i also adore remembering the splendor of the united states, faults and all. an intrinsic responsibility comes with any form of citizenship. i am glad to take mine, faults and all.

footnote: i use "america" here in place of "the united states of america." i hate when "america" connotes what i have used it to illustrate, u.s.a. versus all of north america or even central and south america, but it just sounds better. i am part of the problem. i know this.

postscript: the picture of jenell, ash, beth and i is a joke.

i heart my india

volume v: skipping stones, shooting stars, stoking fires, studying cricket, schooling chefs (subtitled: activity week in the village)

approximately a month ago woodstock school "celebrated" activity week. activity week is meant to be a week spent learning about india first-hand. however, for the most part, activity week is a week of vacation, spent getting to know a group of students and, if you're lucky, enjoying india. my trip to upla sirwa actually served as the impetus for this entire i heart india volume of blogs. i arrived in the village following three days in the fetal position on my couch, drinking ginger honey lemons, blowing my nose and sleeping. my rebirth in the village was surely glorious, how can't it be a lovely awakening when our campsite is right on a river and the skies are filled with stars?

the campsite was deserted when i arrived, so it was just me (with my four hindi phrases under my belt) and 10 village children. racking my brains for entertainment options, i settled upon duck, duck, goose. very important clarification: this does not mean that i believe "duck, duck, goose" is the correct nomenclature for the game. it is simply an easier version for non-english speakers than the true version, "duck, duck, grey duck." (so no beth, dave, ash and jenell, the duck, duck, goose debate is not over). duck duck goose became a cult classic in upla sirwa among not just children, but also my students and some of the village women. an afternoon spent skipping stones in the river with my students and a few village kids solidified the translation of some elements of greatness across cultures. who can refuse chasing one another around a circle or jockeying to see who can skip their stone the farthest?

while much of our time in the village was spent playing cricket against the villagers (another thing that translates across cultures is "yo mama" jokes... one of my students almost rushed the mound with the cricket bat...), sitting around the campfire, dancing with the villagers, teaching my kids to play phase 10 and mafia, we actually went to the village to complete a service project, learn about rural indian culture and teach the villagers something about ourselves. my most enjoyable moments included teaching 5 students (who had never cooked anything before) to make brian's famous pasta sauce, playing mafia by the light of the campfire, villagers tutoring me in hindi and making friends with the village kids. i am a sucker for the shorties.

separated from everything i typically derive happiness from reminded me how much i really love my students... my life in india. listening to darab read tales of tiger attacks by the campfire, and searching for shooting stars with my students marked a simple, intense-yet-unforced happiness i forgot existed.

so long, friend

whitey got eaten by a leopard. we like to think he was protecting a pack of dogs, small children, helpless elderly women or something else equally heroic. walking home at night from brian's is lonely now, no dog to lead the way, barking off predators or possible attackers. whitey's bowl, with his name on it, will be retired. brian likes to imagine what he would do if he met the leopard that ate our friend. i am just sad that the leopard didn't eat a monkey or less wonderful dog. there will never be another whitey, walking us home from school in the dark, warding off oncoming pedestrians or cars, scratching at the door or barking at monkeys to wake us up in the morning. thanks for being a good doggy, whitey.

cute as a bug's ear

nothing is as universal as love for puppies and babies. these are my neighbors, josef krishna and his brand-new baby sister aloisia saraswati. i love their little toes the most. babies are perfect because they aren't cynical like the rest of us. they're perfect because everything they see is new, and nothing will surprise them. they're perfect because they don't cover up their emotions and laugh and cry freely. they're about the best teachers any human could imagine.

know thyself (subtitled: past, present, future or, convenient theories on a friday morning)

work is hard. recommendations are difficult to write. i am tired of grading and writing exams. surveys and quizzes are fun. especially when you can find your pirate name (surgeon busty bertha) or your italian name (enrica ferrari). or a convenient theory to support a long-held fantasy (you should get a phd. and become a writer / professor) .

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Kind Fortune Teller. Where You Lived: Portugal. How You Died: Natural causes.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

You Are Sunrise

You enjoy living a slow, fulfilling life. You enjoy living every moment, no matter how ordinary. You are a person of reflection and meditation. You start and end every day by looking inward. Caring and giving, you enjoy making people happy. You're often cooking for friends or buying them gifts. All in all, you know how to love life for what it is - not for how it should be.

What Time Of Day Are You?

You Are Mexican Food

Spicy yet dependable. You pull punches, but people still love you.

What Kind of Food Are You?

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher. You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

close to home (subtitled: the dangers of anthropomorphism)

rodents are a consistent problem in my house. finding nibbled food in the cupboards, pellets of poop in the corner, and hearing noises coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night are some of the hidden perks of living in my apartment. however, exterminating rodents has become this year's overcome-fear in the way that last year's task was killing huge spiders.

this morning, i killed my second rat and fourth rodent (one mouse, one shrew and two total rats). the first time i drowned a mouse (the trap i have is a live trap that slams shut when the critter grabs the prototypical cheese) i felt like a terrible human being for killing a mammal. however, now i just feel a unsettling proximity to two of my favorite story books. the wrench in the well-oiled machine of overcoming this fear is children's stories.

i love reading story books to my students to illustrate lessons. it may seem silly, reading story books to ninth and twelfth graders. but you haven't seen their faces. the little child living inside all of us awakens, wonder returns to cynical eyes and the-almost-grown-ups hang on every word. two of my favorites are chrysanthemum and frederick. chrysanthemum is a lovely little mouse who is taunted at school for her unique name. when my students are taunting one another, i often begin my reprimand with, "what am i going to say?" "chrysanthemum..." they sigh, knowing that they have been mean like little victoria and ms. chud. frederick is a poetic little mouse who "gathers sun rays for cold winter days."

aman, one of my ninth graders, saw me in the hall this morning and said, "you look depressed, ms. humm." (thank you for this, aman). when i told him that i had to drown another rat this morning, he pronounced, "well, you killed frederick. or chrysanthemum, ms. humm. too bad."

it may have become easier for me to kill the little vermin, but i still can't help but think i am robbing a little mouse house of their poet, or their blossoming chrysanthemum. i would willingly house frederick, if he didn't chew through tupperware or shit all over my kitchen. stupid anthropomorphism.

i heart my india

volume iv: "keepin' it realer" (subtitled: the cubicle-less profession)

i've already been over the whole spectrum theory. my vocation is yet another example of the sour and the sweet. one improvement over my views on teaching since last year are that my sweets most certainly outweigh my sours. (this doesn't mean that i don't need a cigarette and diet coke occassionally over lunch. and, hey, how 'bout that american flag on brian's couch?) the candy moments: the students who ask for hugs or come over for dinner, "rock on" inside jokes, staff-student dodgeball, simon says and dance breaks, kidding around with students and having way too much fun in class. the sours are mainly pragmatic: late-night study hall duty, working in the teacher's lounge, mornings without coffee, paperwork hoops and hurdles. reecently, the sweet has virtually obliterated the sour, reminding me, again, why i heart my india.

many of these photos were taken on "friendship day," a.k.a. initiation of freshmen. the senior dressed all of the ninth graders in costumes, my favorites were mulletted-aditya, barbie-hannah, stitch-dai, jolly green giant-louis, and teletubby-ennuri, most of which are featured here. god, i love these kids...

in many ways, i am no different in the classroom then i am outside. there is of course some line of "business," but my laugh and voice often boom through the halls, my students and i sometimes talk like napoleon and loud music isn't unfound. i gave my kids teacher evaluations to fill out after first quarter and one of my favorite comments concerning the environment in my classroom was, "ms. humm's class is warm and welcoming, i never feel bored and i usually walk out of class with a smile on my face. overall, it's a friendly, studious atmosphere with a few minor screwups." i love that, a few minor screwups. those would likely include when i hit a kid in the head with a marker that was meant to land in the garbage can, ms. humm's occassional no-tolerance-for-anything temper and the ever-present "technical difficulties" with frickin' computers and projectors.

a few fridays ago, a.k.a. friendship day, i found this red hat in the hall and realized that i absolutely couldn't get through the day without it-- and some sunglasses. so my ninth graders, including frakensein and a knight, and i discussed the differences between medieval and renaissance art with ms. humm playing the role of dumbledore (with a knight's sword as a pointer). at the end of the day, my friend dave played a few ben folds songs in the quad, and jamie and i danced it up. dancing, laughing, listening and analyzing music and art, discussing interesting things.... not a bad profession. i think i'll keep it.

footnote: ella, one of my students, is to thank for the "keepin' it realer," which her preffered greeting. and my friend chris for the "cubicle-less profession" thing... a reason in-and-of-itself to stick with my current career choice.

i heart my india

volume iii: diwali (or, christmas + new year's divided by indian irresponsibility)

diwali is the most important hindu festival in india. diwali/ deepavali is celebtated on the 15th day of the hindu month kartik and falls on amasvasya, no moon day. according to legend, on this day ram was coronated the king of ayodhya after he returned from exile. during his exile, ram rescued sita and engaged in battle with a demon. unfortunately, this particular battle was won thanks to hanuman and his monkey army, and is the reason we can't truly deal with the monkey problem in india. people celebrate by lighting diyas and candles. in the evening, people observe lakshmi puja. lakshmi is the goddess of wealth. and night is when the fun begins.

cole blume, my student-teaching-husband, used to say the following concerning our much-loved subcontinent, "typically, india is like anywhere else. but there is much more irresponsibility involved." the wonder that is indian irresponsibility, systematically and individually, is highlighted on diwali. brian and i went into the bazaar the saturday afternoon of diwali to rediscover our love and wonder for our home. after a year in india, the irresponsibility of everyday life-- indian driving practices, unreliable shopkeepers and train schedules-- can bog anyone down. but the irresponsibility demonstrated in fireworks is something that any true-blooded american can understand.

bred and i, kids in a candy store, spent more than we had planned on any firework that looked loud, dangerous or appealing. the storeowner selling fireworks, typically a grocer, turns his grocery store into a fireworks business for 2 weeks yearly to satiate the indian yearning for diwali fireworks. brian and i pushed and shoved along with the indian women, children and men in the shop, tightly packed to the brim with explosives. we bounced through the bazaar, stopping for chai, links of merigolds and other tacky leis to adorn our necks.

we returned to the bazaar hours later to take some hindu students to a temple. (yes, this picture of children bearning arms was taken at the temple. man, if you ask me, more kids should have guns-- please hear sarcasm before judging my lack of humanity). the stores, now adorned with strings of lights, glowed like christmas-style marshall field's window displays. we walked through the buzz, slipping students poppers (think of the poppers in america and then put them on an excessive amount of steroids= cock brand indian poppers) and feeling like the cool adults allowing the kids to partake in the forbidden fruit of firework goodness. as the night progressed, as did the level of inebriation and consequent amount of fireworks shot off, without warning, in various directions in the middle of the street. after scarcely manuevering past a few explosions, we made our way to mt. hermon to partake in the fireworks brian and i had bought that afternoon. we laced giant bottle rockets together with sparklers, blew off the overly powerful roman candles from our hands and acted just as irresponsibly as is necessary on the most important indian holiday of the year.

highlights:

1. "hold the line!!!" ethan, jamie and brian firing roman candles at the wall. the video on my camera looks like it was taken from a warzone. (see photo exibiting mt. hermon will never be the same).

2. the stupid comments made from the danger zone. i.e. , when we were all shooting off roman candles, i said the following, "don't point them at anyone!" and brian, "don't let go, because you will want to when it shoots with force out of your hand." i guess in lieu of demonstrating common sense in our actions we felt the need to make up by pointing out the obvious.

3. looking down the valley into dehra dun and seeing hundreds of fireworks exploding simultaneously for hours.

it's a wonder no one lost a hand, or, for that matter, an eye during our shennanigans. here's to you, ram. thanks for rescuing sita from the demon so we could suffer minor burns and live to tell the tale.