They took my three!

Life was as usual until I tried to send a text. Typing the word "weekend" became a battle of will, as my "e"s quickly ate each other and the preceding letters. "D" was, of course, impossible, so I ended up with "wkn." I'm mostly a fan of the T9 texting system, but it was FAILING me today. After spending maybe, oh, 8 minutest or so struggling to produce "wkn," I finally realized that I also couldn't use the "space" button and that pressing "next" (which usually changes either the word or the punctuation) was actually sending me to a menu to change my phone's settings. An agonizingly laborious 20 minutes later, I sent off a text that read, "This wkn isn't going to work, but how about coff somtim? My phon is jack up..can't push th thr button...grr."

Thinking that my little Samsung just needed a coma, I did all the standard, I-don't-know-how-to-work-technology failsafes, like turning it off and on, taking the battery out, blowing on it, but to no avail. I started mentally running through all my options...I didn't want to buy a NEW phone to use for three months, my old phone isn't compatible with Bluetooth (which you Californians know is necessary in a mere four days for driving), I can't get a pre-paid phone and switch numbers, etc. I signed onto my Sprint account as a last act of desperation, to which I was greeted with the following message: "Restrictions have been placed on your account due to an unpaid balance."

Now, I really like Sprint about as often as I like T9. Without exaggeration I tell you that I have logged onto my Sprint account to pay my bill three times in the last month, but have never been able to because either the system is "performing routine maintenance" or I'm temporarily logged out or whatever. Without thinking much about it, I paid off the balance, left my phone in "coma" mode, and went off to tutoring. A few hours later, and to my deep and abiding joy, I turn my phone on to discover that life has indeed righted itself, that my three has resumed its regular activities, as have my T9, "space" and "next" functions.

And then it dawns on me.

"Restrictions"?!?! They took my three!!! Who does that?!

Borsch, vodka and English!

My Peace Corps placement is in, folks! I'm off to Ukraine! I found out last Friday and after the initial 35 seconds of pure joy and excitement, the tears took over. Once those settled, I called my dad first and my placement officer second, the first to share the news and the second to say "YES!!! I'll go!" (the letter I got was really just an invitation; volunteers have to respond to it within 10 days). After that, I called pretty much everyone else I know. And they would all ask the same thing: "Are you happy it's Ukraine?" I had no real other answer than "Yes....?" Flipping through the info book was the first time I'd ever really thought about Ukraine as a country, and so I really didn't know if I should be excited. I really didn't have any expectations or hopes, so I don't feel disappointed. I knew wherever I ended up, it'd be where I'm supposed to be.

It's taken me exactly one week to finally put this blog together. I guess it's more the words and thoughts that needed to be processed and formed. But in that week I've learned the Ukrainian alphabet, the "food" and "transportation" words in my Ukrainian lesson book, begun shopping around for REALLY REALLY COLD WEATHER gear and even imagined myself giving my "first day of school" speech (I plan to rely heavily on hand gestures). I have 3 books about Ukraine's history being transfered to my library so I can pick them up. I even started to post something on Craig's List about finding a Ukrainian conversation partner before I thought better of it and decided I don't know if I can be that naieve and trusting.

The point is, Ukraine is already in my heart. I can't wait to discover life's lessons taught there. I hope that I will be able to offer them as much of myself as they will certainly give to me. What a thrill!




Ah, and the specs.
Departure date: 28th Sept.
Duration: 27 months
EXACT location in Ukraine: TBD
Job title: Teaching English as a foreign language
Weather: REALLY FREAKING COLD
Quantities of vodka to be served to me: TBD
Time frame to start eating meat again: Soon
Internet availability: TBD
Pounds of "insulation" I plan to gain: Undetermined

Check out the Peace Corps website for more info about its role and Ukraine's history!

http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=learn.wherepc
(sorry it's not a click-able link...I can't figure out how to get Blogger to cooperate!)

Moving on...

From a 2004 to a 1991. Tinted windows to scaly paint job. Power everything to most power things work. CD player and AM/FM Radio to tape deck that won't eject the iPod converter. Owned (well, sort of almost) by Sarah Berson to owned by dear friends Jill and Seth. Pleasant blueberry smell upon entry (really don't know where that one came from) to bag of cat litter in the back. All this to say: I've sold my car.

Now, there are a couple of significant things about that statement. First, USE AUTOTRADER.COM. I had my Civic on there for four days before I had a buyer. Let me be some testimonial or something of some sort...it works!!!

Second, the car itself. After my rather unpleasant driving experience in which I walked away with a few bruises and a totaled '93 Accord, my dad, rockstar that he is, drove out to California that following weekend to help me buy a new car. After a day of haggling and hemming, I drove home in my new Civic, who was shortly thereafter named Penelope. This was the first day that I had driven since my accident, and an incredibly loving gesture from my dad. We got in some quality time, and he was able to assist me in the car-buying process like nobody's business. Plus, this car was my first real, big-girl thing...my first car payment, my first car less than a decade old (it was preceded by my '87 Dodge Colt and a '93 Honda Accord). And I named her Penelope, the strong and faithful wife of Odysseus who overcame obstacles in his absence and celebrated his triumphant return. So you see, there is some emotional attachment to this car.

And finally, selling my car marks a huge step in my imminent commitment to my 27 months abroad in the Peace Corps. I still don't know exactly where yet, but rest assured, it will be shouted from the rooftops in due time.

As the Indian guy drove away in my baby, I was overcome with unexpected tears. It was what I wanted, selling my car, but I couldn't help but feel such tremendous loss when she was finally gone. The whole process couldn't have been smoother...I very much trusted the guy, he took care of everything as far as having checks ready, he had purchased financed cars many times, etc. But still, in all the commotion of getting her ready to send off, I pushed off the enormity. And when she was gone, it came. A good friend said, "and can you imagine what it's going to be like when you finally get overseas, and all the excitement of travel and settling and all is gone, and then you'll BE there." I can't. I ask myself questions like that ALL THE TIME...if I feel lonely here what's going to happen when I'm there? If I feel disconnected here what's going to happen there?

I honestly have NO idea what's going to happen over there. But I do know it will be enormous. And I know there will be joy and there will tears. It will always be more than "just a car," it will always have greater significance.


So, in the grand scheme of Penelope to Crap Wagon, I'm from car payment to none. From "on my own" to gettin a little help from my friends. I went from one loving act of generosity to another loving act of generosity. It might be a little ugly on the outside from time to time, but I LOVE it. And I can't wait to see where it takes me....

From stalking to monitoring to good ol' fashioned critical thinking!

So a few months ago, there were flyers EVERYWHERE for a missing cat named Dusty, replete with description and color photo. Kelly and I put ourselves on a relentless quest, interrogating various stray cats and checking under cars at the flick of a fluffy tail. At first, the reward was a measly $100, but it grew to $500, and then $1000. In our semi-unemployed state, we thought it might be a good idea to take up professional "lost pet" hunting. Alas, weeks passed, it rained a couple of times, the wind blew, leaves turned, children grew up and moved away, something about a cat (not Dusty!!!) in the cradle and a silver spoon, and the "Lost Cat" posters disappeared.

Well, I was traipsing down Argonne the other day, and saw the tell-tale flick of the grey fluffy tail under a red Jeep. For kicks, and mostly out of habit, I crossed over and peeked under the Jeep. Sure enough, a rather sickly-looking semblance of Dusty appeared and implored me to help it find its rightful home. It was clearly sick...some sort of goo was oozing from one eye, his back left paw was broken, and he was just generally quite mangy. What to do!!! I happen to have a cat-bag in my car, and I thought about going to get it, but then I'd be stuck with this dilapidated cat for who knows how long. He was so pitiful I wanted to drive him to a vet right away and get his various injuries tended to, and I don't even like cats!

Instead, I set out on a quest to find his owner's posters. These posters proved quite elusive; as mentioned before, the passage of time had borne nakedness to the telephone and light posts. I did, finally, about 8 blocks later, find one tape-strip that had the bottom half of the phone number on it. SCORE! I rushed home to find my math-oriented roomie who could help me decipher its meaning...after all, $1000 was hanging in the balance!!!

Every possible combination for the number was written out, and I started calling. Mostly I got voicemails.

"Hi, my name is Sarah, and I might have the wrong number, but I was wondering if you are missing a cat named Dusty? If this is the correct number, and you're STILL missing your cat, please call me back at 555-5555, as I think I just saw him on Argonne and First. Thanks! Bye!"

A few people answered, and one lady even went next door to her neighbor's house because her neighbor was missing a cat (alas, that cat's name was "Miko," and there was no mention of a reward...).

With determination, I persevered. About 17 calls later, VICTORY!!!

Me: "Hi, my name is Sarah, and I might have the wrong number, but are you missing a cat named Dusty?"
Lady who answered: "Why, I'm Dusty's owner! You've got the right number! But he's not missing any more."
Me: "Are you sure he's not missing? I think I saw him..."
Lady: "I'm really sure he's not missing; he's sitting on my lap!"
Me: "Oh, well, I'm glad he made it back."
Lady: "Thank you! And I do so dearly appreciate all the concern and help from people like you...it means a lot to me."
Me: "Yeah yeah. I was really just after the cash...." (I didn't really say that. I said something else that was a lot nicer. But I was THINKING it...)

Well, it's over. My career as a professional pet-finder has ended. Owners will continue to wonder and worry, various pets will wander and frolic. I will keep my day job.

Except, walking up for a coffee yesterday, I saw a flyer for a mini-pincher named "Bubba....."

"We're all of us alone anyway"

There are few concepts I have encountered in various ways that I have rebelled at ferociously. For one, I still can't get this pre-destination/omniscience of God. Or why people still prefer Myspace over Facebook. Or why almonds and chocolate are a very special gift from God. Or how anything past algebra works and who the heck invented all that crap anyway?!?! When a very dear friend told me I was in control of all my emotions, I fought him so passionately, until I realized he's right. I'm ok with everything else being a mystery, though. Except one other concept: "We're all of us alone."

As many of you are probably at least semi-aware, I loooooove P.S. I Love You. I think that by the time it left the dollar theatre, I had spent a whopping $8 on that movie (and probably triple that in gas!)...you can only do the math to figure out just how much I love it. But towards the end, Holly (Hillary Swank's character) finally realizes that her husband is really dead and really gone forever. She freaks out about it a little, and cries to her mom who replies, "Well, we're all of us alone."

Ever since, I've been milling the concept around in my mind. Is it true? If it is, it's terribly depressing. What a worthless existence if we're all just all alone all the time, no matter what or who. But it must be true to a certain extent, because I'm the only one to experience what I've experienced, just as you are the only one to have your experiences by nature of existence itself, so of course we're all alone in our own experiences.

But still, why is this quote still so depressing? I sit here on my futon in my apartment, having been "alone" since about 4:15 this afternoon when I left work. My apartment building has 10 total units, and all but two (mine and Kelly's) are single-tenant only. And from my excellent "monitoring" skills, I know that many of my neighbors spend their evenings inside their apartments, alone. Alone in their experiences and alone in the more pragmatic sense. The thing is, I would love to get to know them. I'd love to have them over for a beer, for a piece of this tasty Cinnamon Butter Bread I just made. Across history and culture, humans are inherently social creatures. We need contact with other people...hence the reason solitary confinement causes insanity and that the family-unit structure has remained intact.

You see, there is something in me that tells me I'm not quite as alive if I'm by myself for long periods of time. It becomes depressing...like I'm only living to work. I go to school, am surrounded by hundreds of people I don't know and who don't know me, and then I leave and do my "thing," until I wake up again and do it all over. It's funny, because I actually saw plenty of people on my post-work run and have been chatting on IM and leaving Facebook messages. I'm listening to Third Eye Blind, and was recently watching a new facet of my family/friends base, Beverly Hills 90210. So why do I still feel alone?

It's thoughts like these that have finally helped me "label" myself. All through college, waaaaay back when I was still a DCE major, it was all about the What Color Are You? and the Myers-Briggs and the What Animal Are You? and the Introvert or Extrovert? tests. And as in our last presidential election, just over half the opinion swayed red and the rest blue...leaving one very confused and unhappy nation of me. One particular bone of contention was intro- or extro- vert? Finally realizing that I really do need to be around people has helped, but also completely freaked me out, because of how often I feel alone. What am I ever going to do in the Peace Corps where not only do I not know anyone or speak the language, but I won't even understand the process of buying a bus pass? Aside from having to take cold/lukewarm/low/no-pressure showers, loneliness is my biggest fear about taking off for two years. If I feel lonely here where I DO speak the language and I have all my people at least within a phone's reach, how will I combat that loneliness?

In order to reconcile this terrible concept, this isolation intrinsic in being alone all the time despite being surrounded by people and their lives, I'm realizing that though I'm alone in experiences and that pragmatically I even feel lonely, I'm never actually alone. I'm built by all the interactions I've had. I'm shaped by my experience with humanity, both good and bad. There is always something new someone will teach me based on their own alone-ness of experiences. And we will all continue to build each other always.

After Holly's mom makes the comment that we're always alone, she adds that "even if we're all alone, then we're together in that, too." It's because of each other that we're not alone and it's because of each other that we're who we are. Loneliness will come and go, but the experience of being me will always be flavored with you, my dearest friends and family, and that's something I can take with me anywhere.

Courtesy of the Best of Craig's List

This has to be one of my all-time faves...


"To the guy sailing across Mission Bay with a porch umbrella


I suppose you were windsurfing. I've never seen anyone windsurf with a porch umbrella for a sail, boldly charging across the bay like a cross between Admiral Nelson and Mary Poppins. I was amazed -- you didn't just sail downwind, I swear I saw you tacking. You, sir, are my hero. I wanted to tell you so, but alas, I was on the shore. I had so many questions. No, I really only had one question (why?) but it seemed like a really, really good question. Every time I went back, I hoped to see you again, Umbrella Man, but alas, I have not seen you since. Should you happen to read this, could I trouble you for the story behind your brave voyage?"

(http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sdo/590709564.html)


and this is why i love america.

I just remembered something....I'm a Jr. High teacher

I'm sitting here on my futon on a Saturday night working on a project for my student teaching/credential that I didn't know was actually due over a month ago and I now need to submit on Monday, and I'm writing about all this teaching I did over the last months, and a thought hit me:

I am a Junior High School teacher.

When people ask me what I do (and now that I'm all grown up and stuff and get to answer that question with something REAL) they tend to sort of cringe and turn inward to their happy place as soon as I say, "I teach Jr. High." I can't imagine why. After all, what's so horrible about having to endure 7 hours surrounded by 25-ish 12 and 13-year-olds who haven't yet realized that deodorant could potentially be the solution to the monkey-house smell in the room after lunch? What's wrong with having to confiscate notes of "I dnt no y ur mad at me. I luv u n dnt say nething 2 him bout ur crush. Ask ________ cuz she said he dnt no y ur not talkng 2 him nemore. K? Les b frends n not mad, k? Luv u 4eva!" multiple times throughout the day and having to decipher their code to ensure that it truly is just a great work of genius and that there isn't anything of serious consequence happening amongst the students? Who wouldn't want to have to constantly remind recently-gangly-limbed boys that they can't sit on a desk like that? Or remind them that it is actually inappropriate to discuss bathroom-related functions in anticipation of one day hoping to have a girlfriend? And speaking of those girlfriends, who wouldn't want to have that heart-to-heart about what clothes communicate and why it's really not a good idea to wear that top with those pants? And after the forty-fifth reminder in one 50-minute period to stop talking and listen while I explain this, why would a person feel compelled to throw a shoe or coffee mug or any other easily-accessible object at the primary instigator of said annoyance?

But then, without those 5 days a week, 7 hours a day exposure sessions, I wouldn't know quite as much about the nature of humanity. I wouldn't have as many good stories, either. I get to see students react to each other and situations with grace and maturity. I learn what interests them, and discover just how different each worldview can be. I get to marvel at the fact that they're really just people, but not as big and not as jaded, and very lacking in impulse control. They still think the world revolves around them and are stunned to realize not every experience is the same as theirs. They have personalities and strengths, and they are struggling to figure out who they are, and as scary and impossible as that definition of self is, they pursue it. These chatty, absent-minded smelly little people remind me of where I once was, where I am now, what I wanted then, what I want now, what I knew then, what I know now.

They remind me that I am, from time-to-time, in need of a command to stop talking to learn something new. They remind me to evaluate my presentation of self to ensure I communicate what I mean to. They remind me to keep drama to a minimum and to avoid making enemies. They remind me to use furniture correctly and try to not annoy people in charge of me for fear of flying objects. And the most important lesson I've learned thus far: they remind me to take showers on a regular basis.