September 30, 2008

  • Big Chunks ... Hook, Line, and Sinker

    Dear Folks,

    Reasons for Breeding 101:

    Well, Smell ... after much caulking, caulk-removal, re-caulking, filling, emptying, filling (read "wet floors" and "breached bedtimes") the large classroom show aquarium is finally fixed, to the distinct displeasure of my faithful abiding wife. 

    I reckon if Sweetie had her druthers, all animals would exit the house forthwith, and be told in no kid gloved terms to be careful lest the door hit them on the way out. 

    My Flagship (oldest son) is now setting up the new arrangement inside the aquarium.  I always knew there was a good reason that I had bred.  Now he does much of the work I used to do.  I never was on great terms with spiders, unlike the way he is. 

    He catches them and feeds them to his praying mantis.  I draw the line at allowing him to let spiders crawl about on his palm the way one of his buddies does.  Still, when Mom or My Dandelion shrieks "Spider!", I do not rise from my chair, but rather send My Flagship to the rescue. 

    Revlife Baiting:

    I often read Revelife when I log in to Xanga and from time to time i respond to their questions.  However, I can't help but sense that many of the questions are not genuine at all, but rather are a form of baiting, and perhaps even contrived for pedagogical purposes. 

    That makes me all the more warm-hearted towards and appreciative of my True Blue Xangan friends who never bait, and seem to have no agenda other than the sharing of the love in their lives.  To that I say to myself a hearty soft and warm fuzzy, "Hallelujah!" and "Amen!"

    And you know, it may not be true at all, meaning many of the "baiting questions," as I see them, may be merely written from young people who genuinely are that messed up, clueless, and honestly, at least in part, desire to know some way out of that mess.  But somehow, I doubt it ... lived too long, can't no more swallow big chunks of meat hook line and sinker.  

    Beautiful Piano Sounds Wafting on the Common Air of my Humble Abode:

    My Flagship now plays piano in the center of the house.  It is beautiful.  I don't know how he got to where he could play something beautiful.  I suppose I'll have to kick in some money to restart his lessons.  We've not paid for piano lessons in nearly two years.  I ask my students whether having your boys do art and music will increase their odds of choosing to follow a homosexual lifestyle.  You know

    Then, on the other hand, it might be better to leave well enough alone, not mess with a good thing, don't fix what ain't broken.  He is getting lots of practice right now, sitting down at that thing to just play because he loves it.  When he took lessons, he didn't like it because they pushed him too much tried to make him play music that was too much above his level. 

    For South Koreans it's all about the appearance of accomplishment.  Teachers grade themselves on just how difficult is the music their charges can handle without mistakes.  They never stop to consider the value of the inherent beauty of the music.  My son just finished playing Brother John in a way that was more beautiful than I had heard it before, and that is a simple song to be sure. 

    I started out as a music major at Chapel Hill, so it's not like I'm a complete idiot on music.  I just don't want to do it anymore, at least not as a career. 

    In The Quickening of the Fall:

    Well, dudes, this here is the last day of September, I write while many of you, in the Americas, sweetly slumber in God’s care.  I love the Fall season, like no other.  I suppose it is the clear skies and crisp air which I most enjoy, quickening my spirit with a sense of change, saying, “Let’s get it on, approaching the death of winter.  For a Christian, perhaps nothing is more exciting than his death, and Fall invariably portends death. 

    Smugly Comparing Musical Exploits:

    When my students begin talking about their musical exploits (many here play the violin, which honestly sounds much like a sick cow when I lay my hands to one), I puff up a bit and tell my students that I used be very good on the triangle and the spoons.  "I magine I could still probably get a pretty good sound out of them, if I had time to practice, warm-up, you know."   They get a kick out of that, that is, after they realize that I am joking.  For a good while, they look at me kind of weird-like, as I maintain my practiced teacher/poker-face, and keep right on teaching, elaborating on just how great it is to be proficient at some musical instrument, and how we should thank God in our prayers just how our parents thought it fitting and meet to set aside money for lessons when we were knee-high to a grasshopper and all. 

    Just a Wee Bit Pregnant ... Yeah, Right, Bucko!:

    Well dadgummit!  I done messed around doing too many thangs at oncet and now my cherished one-cup-a-day coffee is done gone cold on me.  Dadgummit!  Well, that can't be helped.  Oh yes, it can.  I got me a micro-wave oven, but somehow re-warmed coffee doesn't taste quite the same.  Kind of like it's either "steamy hot," fresh coffee or it's not ... not unlike how you're either pregnant or you're not.  "You know, I believe my wife's done gone and gotten hersef just a wee bit pregnant.  You can see it poking out right there below the navel... wanna take yersef a peek?"  Yeah, Right! Nobody ever talks like this. 

    But, by doggies, I'm gonna go in there (the chicken) and warm it up right here and now, just stop everything I am a doing and get on the stick regarding one of my number one priorities.  Is there anything wrong with that, shifting a hot cup a jo up to the top of yore list of things to do?  I have five children and one wife who would answer that in the positive, as each of them has a list of things for me to do for them. 

    “Snapping Brood” versus “Dibs on the Goodies”

    And I'll just take this moment to share with you, dear reader, one thing here ... one thing that not a nary one of them is privy to just yet, and may never be.  That is the sterling little fact that I have a small packet of nacho's corn chips left over from my break time yesterday at the college where I teach a TOEIC class on Mondays.  I carried it home thinking to give the leftovers to my snapping brood, when I just forgot about it until this morning.  Heh, heh.  I suppose that is one of the many perks of being a househusband/father.  I do all the shopping.  That means I get dibs on the goodies, creme de la creme, scrap it off the top before they ever knew just how much was there.  Heh, heh, heh.   

    Okay, the warmed over coffee is hot, but it's too hot to drink just now.  Let's hope I don't forget about it again as I hop up to service a child, bop in the next room to clean out some newspaper-filled boxes (or merely pretend to myself that I do indeed make some concerted, sincere effort in that regard)

    Mister Pack Rat Gets His:

     ... I've been working on this pack-rat effect now for years, talking about how I'm going to get in there and rid my house of paper, organize and copy the titles of all my favorite newspaper articles on the internet and on my computer, give the demanded hard copies to my students, and chuck the rest. ... yeah, Right!  You believe that one, and I've got some land just off the coast of Florida to sell you, and at a good price, just for you, my good friend."   It's always funnier when my brother tells that joke.  I have never been deep down much of a joking type and have trouble pulling things like that off, especially where I have to smile and clearly evince the tone of sarcasm to make the joke come off as intended.  I do OK with deadpan for my students, but that is it, and I deep down see it as necessary to keep them interested, keep them on their toes, so to speak. 

    Fork it Over:

    Right now, My Dandelion is in the kitchen whistling while cooking eggs.  She does not whistle great in her fledgling efforts, but then whoever did at that stage of his life?  My Shining Knight called me into the living room to see his "tree house."  His older brother, indicating with a foot, accidentally broke a clay robot which Knight had just made.  He was most upset about the destruction of his creative work.  Then, like making lemonade from lemons, he turned that broken robot into a fine tree house.  I would snap a photo of it, but it seems that we are out of batteries, as it were, and I keep buying the four dolllar Ever-Ready AA nickle-cadmium rechargeables, to no avail, as the needs of my children seem to soak up supply just like that, which keeps me earning money and forking out the dough, my raison-d'etre so it seems.  I make money turn around and pay someone, as often as not some food supplier. 

    Shut Up and Smear that Red Ink, Dude:

    Funny thing is, I'm getting stuff done.  After riding out the storm of the wrath of my wife about me taking a day off from school to work, when to her it seems like I am not working, merely cleaning the classroom, vacuuming the rug, re-outfitting the new aquarium to suit my students, moving the table and rug over long-side beside the table, and reorganizing the mess of newspapers in the student waiting room.   She wants to see me red pen in hand, even in an unattractive (to students) messy classroom, like some eccentric professor, checking papers because there is clear immediate demand to the tune of 15 dollars a page for me to finish the 170 page thingie within two weeks.  Actually, it was a month, but I've put it off and am just now starting. 

    The Best Education (If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.):

    My kids seem to be getting a better education here at home, with me doing the hands off routine (intervening only when they squabble, need food, or to clean up a mess), than they do at their public school, where they are regularly harrassed and bullied and subjected to low level educational content well below their maturity levels, in a language they barely understand.  The thing is, homeschooling is still illegal here.  Never mind that we have done it for several periods of time, and my wife continues with their English education each afternoon.  

    Despite the presence of tall shiny buildings and manifold hand phones, another thing that still smacks of what you might call "backward country culture" is that South Korea still refuses to grant dual citizenship for adults.  That will change, to be sure, but when?  I would like to be South Korean, given that I have learned the language perhaps better than my children ever will, and spent about half of my adult life here so far. 

    Rustling up Some Coffee:

    Now let's see if we can't go rustle up some more coffee, albeit this time, decaf, but we'll pretend.  What's it going to be when I go to America, though, where they don't really pretend?  Everybody is keen to just what the difference is between decaf and the real thing.  I walk into a bona fide coffee shoppe, true to form, with my beady small eyeglasses, knickers, yellow thick wool soccer socks, black patent leather shoes, sturdy tattered oversized writer's brief-case, waxed and pointed double goatee, scarf, and not-to-be-removed-except-in-case-of-fire artisty tam-ish beret hat.  Hang on, I'll be right back with a false cup of jo.

    Milk Galore:

    Milk seems to be getting out of hand in our house, what with a whole line of eight or nine 1-liter boxes in the door of our fridge.  However, everything is not as it seems.  The truth is, we consume a lot of milk.  My oldest son likes milk.  My daughter likes milk.  My wife does not particularly like milk, but firmly believes that she needs a daily dose of it to round out her health.  My second son likes milk to be sure.  My third son, now carving on the back of my neck with a plastic clay-modelling tool, giggling when he pokes me hard enough to elicit a "Ouch! That hurts, bud!" ... he likes milk like it's going out of style.  My fourth son, shux, he don't drink nothing else.  Heck, I like the milk, too.  Everybody drinks milk.

    7 Sept 2008 025 Blurry Photos are My Shining Knight's Specialty

    7 Sept 2008 001

    Here's Momma, what with her brand new Baby, Delight! 

    Nibbles and Grazers Par Excellence:

    We got a lot of mouths, and as we don't eat meals per se, but rather take after the habit of yours truly, Father of all these little ones, adhering to a steady, day-long here and there nibbling and grazing diet pattern, not unlike perhaps the hunters and gatherers, but necessitated by the lifestyle of heavy triathlon training, and now mere entrenched habit to carry me to my grave.  Fact is, I can't sit down at a table anymore and stuff myself the way most people do.  Rather nibble all day long, which is my wont, the warp and woof of my dietary patterns. 

    If'n day was to write me up on one page of my son's animal classification books, they would have a picture of this skinny old balding man hunched over a typewriter, mumbling something to himself that only he thinks funny, and note as a caption:  "Diurnal Nibbler:  the warp and woof of this denizen's dietary existence." 

    The only thing I wish they would not do is to drink straight from the carton.  That is one habit which they take after me when I wish they would not.  So I tells them, "Do as I say, not as I do!"  And I mean that.

    Now My Clever Lad (standing behind me on my captain's chair, rubbing my hair and playing with the dangling light string in front of me) says, "I want to go to Carol's house." meaning the humble abode of my older sister.

    Getting Towards the Light at the End of the Cheese Block Tunnel:

    Hey! Hey!  Pretty soon, before you know it, I'll be finished with my 907 gram pepper jack cheese block I got from the COSTCO a few weeks back.  Steady nibbling'll wear it down every time.  And a bottle of wine don't hurt to wash it along the way.  If I had batteries for my camera, I would not deny you a look at the scattered remnants of that block. 

    I must needs get myself in another gear and take My Shining Knight and My Clever Lad out for a round about walk to end up suddenly at the ... Public Health Center!  We never go there unless we are about to get some free shots.  My children do not like shots any more than I did when I was about their age.  And I fought the nurses, doctors and aides.  They always called in a team to give me a shot, pinning me to the floor.  So far, knock on wood, I can wrestle down each child of mine by myself.  Don't know how long that'll last. 

    Below we have My Clever Lad with a soldier.  He likes soldiers very much and shakes their hands.  This one agreed to pose for a photo shoot.

    7 Sept 2008 006 7 Sept 2008 005

    Above are my co-workers in the administration room.