A "Real" Teacher

Last year I posted something about how much I love my job. I rattled on about how I don't think that I could do this permanently but I'm glad I gave it a try. The picture of me is an enthusiastic "Fun and Fitness Day" moment with my second graders in the background.

Have things changed?

I'm teaching Media and Information Technology for middle and upper school this year. Before taking on this job, I worked for a month in the lower school art classroom. It's been difficult, especially the transition between the two, but I love it. I've actually decided that I would like to persue teaching as a career. Just look at my face in the picture--I'm thrilled. I love every moment of this job. Even the bits that drive me nuts are vindicated by just one student who says good morning or asks me how my weekend was. I love my students, I love my subjects, and I love my coworkers. Can a girl ask for more?

Cross your fingers and think positive thoughts for me and a job next year--a job where I have my own classroom and a bunch of enthusiastic students.

I know I've been bitter, I've been jaded, I'm alone

"I'm too proud to beg for your attention and your friendship and your time/So you can come and get it from now on..."--Brandi Carlile, My Song

After a rough month of working too much, stressing out about what my next step in life is supposed to be and trying not to let my friends and family's opinions sway me too much, and some really confusing love life issues, (not to mention being sick), I have finally finished a few projects at work, the semester, and turned in my application for a "real" teaching job at ASM. I feel fantastic. It took one last twelve hour workday without stopping for food or drink to get it done, but boy was it worth it! Who needs drugs when you've got endorphins?!

All the stress and confusion led me to be this crazed lunatic person I hardly recognized and had serious trouble respecting. I was damn lonely (not counting when Molly and Mom were around) but when people were with me I felt even worse. I felt clumsy and boring and absurd. Which, of course, made the love-life issues even more ridiculous. Sigh... I know I'm being hopelessly optimistic to think that I'm totally over all of that, but hey, I can't help it.

Hooray for being human again! Hooray for being excited about life! Hooray for having a sense of humor again and not being completely self-absorbed! I want to shake my booty to James Brown or kiss a complete stranger or do a cartwheel. I saw a girl in the metro on roller blades and I had a brief moment of regret for being such a putz. Wouldn't it be so satisfying to glide through the streets in utter abandon?

Anyway, the total irony of all of this is that I'm rocking out to Brandi Carlile today. She writes some very sad, very angsty music that is full of power and life. Isn't it strange that the saddest songs can make you feel so happy? I suppose the angsty "My Song" doesn't entirely fit how I feel right now (my mind is rarely full of razors, let alone right now) but the raw energy and strength of the chords and lyrics make me feel like I can really kick some ass. But the quote at the top of this post... that one fits perfectly.

I'm strong again! I'm me again! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

Real Madrid vs. Malaga

I went to a Real Madrid game. I was giddy. I hadn't watched live professional soccer since I was 10 years old (World Cup preliminary game: USA v. Russia). Taking pictures was fun but I realized later that my lens is too slow to get anything good. I thanked the guy who lent Susan and I his season passes profusely and he said he'd send more games my way. I continue to be the luckiest girl I know.

Indirect PK for Madrid--I also got shots of the header, but they're just as blurry.

This was during the aftermath of Ronaldo giving a Malaga player a bloody nose. That guy is a jerk, but he sure can play. Holy crap, one of his goals took my breath away and it was on the other end of the field. He was pissed off about the red card too. In this picture, he's the guy with the yellow boots and white uniform walking away from the action. He pouted off to the side while the medics and other team members fussed.

The best part was arguing with two of my students about it the next day. First of all, they were really happy for me that I got to go to the game (sweetest, cutest sixth graders ever), but they claimed that Ronaldo is just "too strong" and that it was an accident. We went to Youtube and watched the close-up. I laughed and held my ground--Ronaldo deserves that card.

Spanish soccer players, as a general rule, are total divas. I noticed it first when I was on duty during recess and would have to mediate the little second graders (who were better than many of the select teams I watched growing up) when there was a dispute. There was this one little boy who would wear a full Real Madrid uniform to school at least once a week and cry every time someone got physical on the field. Watching the pros play was much the same: they'd get knocked down and roll around writhing in pain until they noticed that no one was paying any attention to them (including the ref) and the get up and run off without so much as a wince.

My brothers and my teams and I would badmouth players like that to no end. We'd play rough and end up with blackened toes and take it as a point of pride to leave the field with scrapes and bruises. Only truly malicious acts spurred arguments with the ref and even so the players were on their feet if possible. Anyway, it was funny to argue with my students because their viewpoint was so culturally spanish.

At half-time they bring out this giant advertisement to cover center of the field. It looked like a giant caterpiller all rolled up and I was strangely fascinated. People with rakes and hoes came out to mend the turf as well--no astroturf in Europe. In true American fashion, Susan and I snuck snacks into the stadium and munched on junk food the entire time. And surprisingly, Susan and I make a good team because I know a lot about soccer as the game but don't follow the players or the season at all. Susan keeps track of the players (and teases me for not knowing who they are) while I answer her questions about the length of the field and rattle on about the defensive style. Truly, the best way to end a weekend.

For the Love of Spain

Yesterday, while waiting for the metro, I looked up at the reader-board displaying the minute by minute countdown to the next train. There was a special message written above the train information, "Solidaridad con Haiti." My heart jumped a beat as I read this: "solidarity with Haiti". And I thought about what the people who I hear complaining about Spain would say about that message: "of course, and that's all they'll do," or "yeah, but every major city will be doing things like that," or "that's the least we should expect."And it made me sad that I can be so cynical about my own friends.

While traveling the metro I usually listen to podcasts or music on my iPod. Today I was listening to the World Technology Podcast from Public Radio International (I highly recommend it, by the way). Just as I finished having the sad thought about my friends, I learned a wonderful new piece of information. This week's podcast was about the humanitarian efforts reaching out to the victims of the Haiti earthquake. They featured an interview with a Red Cross volunteer who stated that during the worldwide efforts for aid concerning the aftermath of the Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004, the Spanish aid organizations raised close to 5.9 million dollars in 24 hours from text messages alone. (click here) To put this in perspective, Spain's population is around 45 million people, only 10 million people more than California and in 2004 one euro was worth roughly $0.80.

Anyway, it warmed my heart and inspired me to spend some time budgeting so that I can afford some donations to the various causes I've been considering. And I have to admit, I'm a little curious to hear how much money will be raised for Haiti.

Just now, I've heard about another aftershock in Haiti--6.1 magnitude. (click here) With already 70,000 recorded dead, we can only hope that the aftershock didn't hinder the survival of those still waiting to be rescued.

Donate to the American Red Cross

Donate to Doctors Without Borders (the charity I donated to through school--we raised over 500 euros in two days)

City of &%$# Love

Musee d'Orsay

Versailles

Versailles

Monmatre

Tour Eiffel

Sacre Coeur

Louvre

Champs Elysee

Notre Dame

Monmatre

Sacre Ceour

Versailles

Musee d'Orsay

Versailles

Versailles

Tour Eiffel (the very top)

Tour Eiffel (the not so top)

Versailles

Everywhere we went it seemed there were young lovers cooing over each other. It kept reminding me of a very sweet young man who upon hearing I was going to Paris commented, "how romantic!" At the time I was supposed to be alone for most of the trip, but since then my mother surprised me with a visit. It never bothered me that I was in the most romantic city in the world (according to some) with my mother until two gorgeous young lovers would start their vertical wrestling match right beside me. At the line for Versailles we were actually surrounded on all sides by couples trying to "warm up". %#$@& City of Love.

Louvre Years Eve Continued

Bonne Année

"Happy New Year!"

This year for Christmas, I got my wish. Some middle school students had interviewed me for the school newspaper in November asking me, "Ms. Forslund, what do you want for Christmas?" and I answered, "I want my family to visit me." Mere weeks after telling my parents this story, I received an email from Mom saying, "is it still okay if I come?" YES!!! Anyway, it was so wonderful to have her here. She met me in Paris and we traveled back to Madrid--so she was able to see my home and neighborhood as well.

She and I get along so well and I was really sad to see her go. I had no idea we were so well suited to traveling together! And it was really special to have experienced Europe through her fresh eyes. It reminded me of all the little things that had me doe-eyed and rubber-necked during my first few months. Really, the entire experience was like a cozy dream, full of hot cocoa, giggles, and the ease of being with someone who will always love you no matter how grumpy or weird or chatty you are.

New Year's Eve at the Louvre.

My favorite moment:

Mom approaches a statue of Neptune, "Is that Herpes?"
Both of us laughed so hard we were getting dirty looks from the docents.

Mom and the Mime get down and funky.

Marionette window display on Rue Haussmen.

I kind of felt like I was taking pictures up a lady's skirt. There's something satisfyingly french about that.