Today is

Hallowe'en.

And by far the best part of elementary teaching.

Yes. I am well aware of the fact that there is not a single student to be seen in these photos. They were, in fact, taken after the students had gone home for the day.

And before our professional development began.

Dear Report Cards,

Even in México, you still suck.

Sincerely,

I-just-don't-want-to-anymore

For Becky

because she is no longer a reader of the book of face and therefore can't creep my pictures.

The aqueduct that runs through Querétaro's downtown core.

One of the many fountains in one of the many squares in the centro.

Aztec statue in the centro.

Brad feeling festive on Independence Day.

The elementary school.

The little kids' playground.

The little kids' soccer field.
And some more of the elementary school (my classroom is on the top floor, on the faaaarrrrr left).

San Miguel de Allende (weekend trip)

San Miguel.

Outside after a Gallos soccer game.
It's appropriate to pose for photos with the riot police, right?

Praise the Lord for the Corner Oxxo

In the greater scheme of life, I suppose that running out of tortillas probably wasn’t THAT big a deal.

Except that no tortillas means no fish tacos.

And no fish tacos means, well, no fish tacos.

And we have all this homemade salsa verde.

I know, right?

Some Awesome (A), and Not-So-Awesome (NSA), tidbits pertaining to Mexico.

Awesome: hardly anyone speaks English, so it’s easy to practice your Spanish.

Not-So-Awesome: I’m still struggling with basic communication, meaning I don’t have a large enough vocabulary to practice my Spanish. Frustrating.

Awesome: enchiladas. gorditas. tacos.

NSA: there is no NSA equivalent to this A.

A: I’ve discovered that I’m actually a better-than-average cook. (Brad may disagree. You can check in with him to see if he’s commenting on it.)

NSA: my delicious food is still no match for the irresistible pull of the nearest taco stand.

A: it’s hot and sunny every day.

NSA: it’s freezing cold in the mornings. And I mean FREEZING. COLD.

A: I finish work at 2:30 everyday.

NSA: Mexican lunch is at 3:00.

A: our grocery shopping list regularly consists of mango, guava, papaya, pomegranate, nopal and limes (not the huge nasty limes we usually have in Canada either. Tiny, juicy, DELICIOUS limes).

NSA: cabeza.

A: micheladas.

NSA: tequila (I don’t care what you say. I’m stickin’ to it.)

A: I can find pretty much all the food I love from home.

NSA: I have to soak all of my fruit and vegetables in iodine before I eat them.

A: we have a laundry woman. Yes, it’s exactly what you think. I woman that does our laundry.

NSA: we also have a water delivery man. Seeing as we can’t actually ingest any of our tap water, we have to have it delivered. Which is great until you don’t have any water left.

A: crappy busses don’t exist here. They’re pretty much all better-than-greyhound quality. Also, super cheap as a form of travel.

NSA: Mexicans LOVE speed bumps. Like, really LOVE them. Shouty capitals love them. This would be fine if it didn’t result in half of the bus (the teacher bus) arriving to the school with a serious bout of motion sickness every morning.

I’m thinking that, thus far, the Awesomes far outweigh the Not-So-Awesomes.

Twenty Days Of México

I’m not entirely sure that I can sum up the past twenty days in a relatively-brief-yet-still-marginally-entertaining post, but I’ll give it a go and see what happens.

I can’t say that this little adventure really began in the most positive of lights.  Not that it was dark and murky, nor even dimly-lit. It’s just that our flight left Toronto at six am, which essentially meant that we had to be at the airport by three. Which we were. Because I woke up at midnight.

I didn’t wake up so much as I was woken up. Terrifyingly.

Generally speaking, having your bedroom door thrown open and a person launching themselves onto your bed, where they proceed to bounce up and down like a three year old at five am on Christmas morning is not the serenest of ways in which one can be woken up.  But what can I say? Brad was super excited and I was convinced that he wasn’t coming until 12:30, which in Murray time (certain zones of Murray time, anyway. Especially the one in which Brad generally resides) really means one or one thirty. This time he was early. Go figure.

The coronary didn’t kill me, but the waiting at the airport just about did. 

Figuratively.

It turns out that whatever airline we were flying doesn’t open their check-in booths until four am.

Once we finally checked-in, the customs agent also just about did us in.

Literally.

Well, sort of literally. For a nanosecond, or a trillion, we felt as though he was going to. It turns out those American customs agents just don’t like it when people who are traveling together, but not part of the same family, attempt to access their little booths simultaneously.  Thankfully he and Brad had the same haircut and the resulting sense of comradery allowed us to escape unscathed.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful, right up to the point where one of the wheels on one of my suitcases broke (thereby forcing Brad to rig up a contraption to right this issue) and yet another customs agent asked me if I would prefer a body search or a body scan (as if that’s even a valid question).

We were the first to arrive and had managed to successfully collect and corral a few other new recruits at the Mexico City airport before our school representative arrived and, in turn corralled all of us, onto a comfy, Greyhound-esque bus bound for Querétaro.

That’s about it for tonight; I’ll carry on with the story of our first few weeks in a few days.  Suffice it to say that, upon our arrival in Querétaro, we were pleasantly surprised with our apartment.  Furthermore, the food is amazing, I have yet to get sick (although I’m fairly certain I’m only one of a pair who have managed, thus far, to avoid the event affectionately termed “the monster”), our Spanish is coming (albeit painfully slowly) and we are all settled into our classes (which began a week ago already!).

Needless to say, I’m missing everyone at home: friends (of both the two and four-legged variety), family and colleagues alike. Hopefully you are all happy and healthy!

More pictures, and stories, to come!

xxoo

Una Semana

until we make the move!

I'm practically mexicana.

The Overcoming of the Jet-lag

Thanks to melatonin, gravol, ear plugs, a super-amazing eye mask and a very acquiescent Jeremy (who, despite having just returned from New Zealand, gave up his bed for me) I've had a rather excellent sleep and am beginning to feel almost human again.

In fact, my body is adjusting so well that I'm terrified to see what's going to happen when I return home.

No worries, I'm a pretty big fan of surprises.

Last night I was introduced to the evening routine of E-53 (Emma, Jeremy, Vince, Mike, Casey, Dan and Stef. Apparently there are two others as well, Denise and Chris, however they have, thus far, proven to be the more elusive members of this particular species and therefore appear to not partake in the evening routine). This ritual has but one name: MasterChef Australia.

It's highly addictive and airs EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. Ok, not EVERY night, but six out of seven. It pretty much dominates after 7 pm.

Yesterday (during the day, clearly) we toured around Brisbane and basically just hung out. It's a cute city, similar to many others. It's been nice to see Em again and just relax. I got on a plane immediately after signing off on report cards and therefore haven't had much downtime yet.

It's actually hard to believe that summer break has begun, let alone remember that I'm on holiday on the other side of the world, as far from home as physically possible.

Today we're going for lunch at the restaurant where Jeremy works. It's a pretty amazing place with what sounds to be a ridiculously delicious tasting menu. After that we're heading to a pub to watch the final game of State of Origin, an annual rugby match between Queensland and New South Wales. I've been told to expect ridiculously amazing rugby (although my rugby experience is limited to Ontario high school rugby, so I'm not sure how high my standards are. I suppose I'll find out soon). I'm pretty excited seeing as this appears to be the summer of sports in my world (I watched my first football game in June as well!).

After that we're off Cairns for a few days with Stef, Dan and Vince. I'm also quite looking forward to this as I get to scuba dive for the first time, and at the Great Barrier Reef at that!

That's it for now... More to come! :)

Holy Doodley

Now THAT was one hell of a trip.

Five hours to Vancouver, three in the airport, fifteen to Sydney, two in the airport and one more to Brisbane.

I'm exhausted (I never sleep on planes), dehydrated (the price you pay for only peeing in airports, NEVER on a plane), in serious need of caffeine (see last point) and kind of feel like I'm going to die. 

That being said, I've arrived!

And now I'm going to sleep.

Last-minute Packing

Maynard's Sour candies? Check.

A year's supply of maple syrup? Check.

An iPod full of music? Some academic reading? A Dance with Dragons?

Check. Check. Check.

Off to Australia-- let the awkward hand-holding begin!

Ya, that's pretty awkward.

Authoring

Today was my last day of work. I've been looking forward to this day since we signed our contracts for Mexico in January. I thought that I would be relieved and excited and optimistic; looking toward the future, starting a new chapter, yadda yadda yadda. And I am. I just didn't ever think that it would be as emotional as it proved to be. In my defense, it's been a crazy couple of weeks. I've had to seriously analyze and (re)evaluate my life and career choices in the hopes of making the right decision; balancing needs, wants and (perceived) responsibilities. I knew that I would find it difficult to say goodbye to my seriously amazing students, incredibly supportive staff and overall amazing school community. Essentially it came down to the knowledge and understanding that leaving is what I need to do. Which, unfortunately,  didn't make it any easier. To top it all off, I'm a crier. So clearly I was tearing up regularly throughout the day, when I wasn't beating the living snot out of an inanimate object and contemplating how best to transport the various flora I've acquired over the year. Ultimately, the time came to lock up the classroom that is no longer mine, turn in my key, say my good-byes and close that chapter.  As I drove home that day, for what was to be my last trip home from JFR, I began drafting the next chapter beginning with, logically, what to pack?

Of Birds and Birthdays

This one's yours. 

El Perro Rojo

Once you get past the guns, the gangs and the “sweet, sweet Mexican Black Tar Heroin”, there are a lot of positive aspects about moving to Mexico: the opportunity to wander again, to experience a new culture, meet new people, grow as an individual and an educator, learn a new language, eat Mexican food… the list goes on. I’m pretty excited. All parties concerned are (insofar as I am aware) pretty excited. The only thing that really has me worrying (other than the packing… I’m not particularly adept at squashing my entire life into a suitcase...two?... three?…) is the learning of the new language.

Crazy, right?

I know, I know. I’m into languages. I like to talk. I enjoying knowing stuff, being able to do things. This should be right up my alley. And it is, except…

I really dislike doing things I’m not good at. I’m highly competitive and just want to win. At everything. Because in my head, everything is, on one level or another, a competition.

And I’ve never actually had to learn a language before. Both French and English have always just been there. Sure the grammar may not have been overly accurate, but at least I knew enough to get my point across. Even my brief foray into German proved to be relatively successful (if success can be measured in knowing how to say “potato chips”, “hi my name is Jacquie and I live around the corner” and being able to sing not one, but several, Beatles songs in German...). Furthermore, it wasn’t all that difficult. 

This, clearly, is because none of these languages incorporate a rolled “r” into their phonemes.

(this is where someone inevitably pipes up with the comment that I’m Canadian and have a serious caffeine addiction… “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroll up the rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrim to win” and all that. Ya. Sure. Whatever. I’m a Starbucks girl.)

I can handle the verb conjugations (love it), the memorizing of new vocabulary (my flash cards are unparalleled) and the fumbling-through-the-languages-already-co-existing-in-my-head-when-I’m-desperately-attempting-to-string-words-together-to-form-a-sentence-that-expresses-something-that-somewhat-reflects-what-I’m-trying-to-get-out (“My prima heiß Emma y ella habite en Australie…”). What I can’t handle is the fact that no one can tell whether or not I’m trying to say “pero” or “perro”.

I can’t decide if the Spanish teacher at my school, Sra-Mme-Ms VH, finds this hilarious (she keeps trying to get me to say things like “el perro rojo”) or painful (deduced from the confused-painful facial expression that surfaces and is quickly masked when I attempt to say things such as “Querétaro”). However she feels, she has assured me that this is a common problem for anglophones-whose-second-language-is-French and that my issues are the same ones experienced by just about all of the Immersion students who try their hand at LWS2D1.

El Perro Rojo

And my Spanish instructor Sra Susy (yup, I went there) is, I’m sure, in the same boat as VH. Every time I have to pronounce anything with a rolled “r” I stop, take a deep breath and… try. After which Sra Susy repeats the word and I… try again. Usually this happens three or four times, after which she pauses awkwardly, contemplates the eager-yet-overly-enthusiastic-and-far-too-competitive blonde sitting before her and says something along the lines of “Good. That’s getting better. We’ll keep trying”.

Needless to say, this doesn’t usually satiate my inner perfectionist. Which makes me not want to attempt to speak Spanish to native Spanish speakers, which means that I’ll never improve and will not be able to take the bus for the entire time I live in Mexico. The obvious solution to this problem would be to find a (relatively?) fluent-yet-not-native-Spanish-speaker with whom I can practice.

So I did.

And THAT is why I’m flying to Australia at the end of June.

Where I Spend Most of My Time...

There's a distinct possibility that I've stolen this off of Emma's blog. That being said, thank you. It's made my year thus far.

On Writing and Traveling. Or a lack thereof.

You may have noticed that I haven’t been writing much since, well, I got back from Italy. Three years ago.

 *sigh*

 It’s just that not much happens when you’re working and living a so-called “normal” life. I’m a responsible adult now, with bills to pay and wine to drink (moderately) and young minds to mold. Ok, so that’s not exactly true. Well to some extent some of it is… But really, what it comes down to is that after having spent the greater part of a year teaching in Asia and traveling your way home, comparatively little happens in South Western Ontario when you’re working and living a “normal” life.

I’ve hardly traveled since my return (thank-you OSAP), with the exception of my and Mandy’s little foray into the world of all-inclusive living last March and a brief skip over to Montréal from time to time… The point being, there just hasn’t been much to write about in recent… years…

Well, we are going to Kingston for a weekend at the end of the month. Bear with me. It will hopefully prove to be more exciting than it sounds.

The point being, I was hoping to find some inspiration and write somewhat more regularly in the months to come.

And then I acquired a PlayStation 3.

I can’t decide if it should be considered an incredibly sweet gift, or a rather sneaky way to get the message across that perhaps we need to see less of each other. I suppose there is always the possibility that it could be both.

The point being, I’ve been spending more time than is strictly necessary running around the roof tops of digital Damascus, Acre and Jerusalem, saving civilians and pickpocketing when the desire/ need arises. It makes me think a lot about my Master’s programme and that essay I wrote on Historical Accuracy in Video Games (ya, it actually happened. I’m sure I have a copy of it somewhere...), which inevitably makes me think about going back to school and pursuing the ever-elusive PhD (which would be great, except that I’m too busy being an assassin and trying to prove my worth and dedication to the Creed to realistically contemplate writing a doctoral-level thesis. Also molding young minds. That takes time as well.).

Come to think of it, that’s not actually the point at all. The point is that I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been traveling and now we’re going to Kingston.

Which will, with any luck, prove to be more interesting than it first appears.

Today is November 26...

so I set out to finish my Christmas shopping.

That's right, FINISH.

Reduced-Fat Eggnog Latte in hand, I bundled up and headed out.

Then I took off the hat. And the mittens. And the coat.

*insert confused-emoticon here. It's November 26. In South Western Ontario. Why isn't she wearing a coat?*

**just wait. It gets better.**

I then proceeded to open my sunroof. And roll down my windows. And turn my music up.

Why?

Because it's November 26. In South Western Ontario. And it's FIFTEEN DEGREES AND SUNNY.

This weather almost makes me consider sticking around.

Almost.

Big Willy Style

The school where I'm currently working is incredibly socially conscious. Our kids volunteer and conserve and generally fundraise like it's nobody's business. It's scary, in an indescribably super-amazing way.

Right now our Me to We group (a Craig Kielburger creation) is trying to generate funds to help with the drought in East Africa. Students have been organizing fun African-inspired activities like a drumming parade, water walk and bracelet making, in addition to your typical baked-goods-and t-shirt-sales. They also had a teacher karaoke "competition" (which, if I may be so bold as to point out, has absolutely nothing to do with Africa... at least not insofar as I'm aware...). in which students paid to see their teachers sing a song of their choice in the caf at lunch. In front of the whole school.

Of course this would be the time that my grade nine homeroom, who hasn't shown a drop of interest in anything all year, busts out the school spirit and I somehow find myself with a mic in my hand and Will Smith lyrics flashing across the karaoke screen.

Boy did I ever "Get Jiggy With It".

This is the point where I should probably mention that I got off lightly, seeing as their initial choice was LMFAO's "Sexy and I Know It".

I won't get into the details seeing as I'm positive that before long it will be on YouTube, but suffice it to say that I did Will Smith proud. And also that I'm more than a little embarrassed.

the thing about driving around with a box of Starburst in your back seat...

... is that you eat it.

All of it.

Even the yellow ones.

Argh.

Water Under the, Whatever.

It’s all Ancient History.

Or rather, my present and recent past have been all about Ancient History. My immediate and not-so-immediate future(s)(?) will most likely be all about ancient history too. As if this weren’t complicated enough as it is.

I suppose it’s easiest to begin at the beginning, if not somewhere around the middle-to-end.

In grade eleven I began an irrevocably passionate love affair with ancient history. I’m that person who willingly spends every possible minute on holiday in a museum (Berlin’s 170 museums/ galleries all but blew my mind), who can determine the historical significance (to say nothing of cause and effect) of a single rock, who stares reverently at “old stuff” in general... And so what if I have been known, from time to time, to shed a tear or two at particularly moving or influential historical sites? Temple Church, Canterbury Cathedral, Stonehenge… big things have happened in these places. Monumental things. THINGS that FOREVER changed the course of history!!!!

Let’s put it this way: if you ever lose me, chances are pretty good that I can be found in the History section at Chapters. If I’m not there it’s because I’m buying a one-way ticket to the poorhouse, courtesy of nationalgeographic.com

Fortunately I have several amazing friends who not only support my inner (ok, who are we kidding here… general all-over) historical fanatic, but who actually embrace and nurture it.

At the very least they’re willing to roll their eyes, pat my hand and inform me that they’ll be at the nearest gelateria when I emerge from my historically-induced coma and decide to rejoin the land of the living. After all, that Marks and Spencer picnic in Hyde Park won’t have itself.

The point being: I love history.

And this year I’ve been given the opportunity to teach it.

CHW3MI is the Holy Grail of courses for historically-minded individuals who find themselves working in our province’s secondary schools. This semester, it’s mine to cherish.

In language classes I tend to get confused looks and threats of visits from “the nice men in white coats” from my students whenever my eyes gloss over with reverence and passion whilst discussing a grammatical point (verb tenses get me EVERY TIME). But in CHW3MI, when I look out over those 31 smiling faces in my class and the fervour hits me, I realize that half of them are right there with me.

The other half are at least smiling pleasantly, dreaming of gelatto no doubt.

I feel like I could do this for the rest of my life and be completely happy.

(once the insane prep that is the… joy… that every teacher experiences their first time through a course subsides anyway.)

Except that it’s coming to an end.

It has been my experience that perfection tends to be short-lived and, being the Holy Grail, another teacher, one labelled as a “History teacher” (which, despite my qualifications, I am not) will soon be returning from maternity leave and reclaiming what is “rightfully” (technically?) hers.

Although it has lasted but a mere term, this short period and, more importantly, the students I have had the privilege of working with since September, have reminded me why I got into education in the first place. In many ways it’s been a breath of fresh air, revitalizing and re-energizing me, providing the positive reinforcement I needed to help get me to the next leg of my “professional journey”, so to speak. When I step into my classroom on the other side of the world next summer, as far from these students as I could possibly be, I’ll know that I owe the experience, at least in part, to them.

In the interim I suppose I’ll have to rely on that historically-induced coma. After all, it’s not a bad way to pass the time.

Another year

come and gone.