Man, I've taken one long break from doing this. I think the knee injury, sudden move from Kosovo, surgery, the loss of Grandma Helen, return to Kosovo, directing three weeks of camp and coming back to Minnesota for real . . . for good has all been a bit more than I could keep up with. No excuse I know. And now that I am marginally employed and staying in the extra beds of family and friends, well, the exact opposite seems to be the case and there is next to nothing to write about. But that doesn't mean that things aren't on my mind and there aren't good stories to tell.
Since I've been back in 'Sota, my time has been spent with family!! From being the live-in nanny for my nephews, Shane and Will - 5 and 3 respectively - to time with my sister-cousins Tess and Polly, cooking dinners with Dad and seeing movies with Mom, I have had things to fill my days. Being able to spend a few days with them all and say good-bye while knowing that I would likely see them next week has been a significant and welcome change for me. I have strong family bonds and the value of them has not dwindled with distance.
I have also tried to be "professional" with applying and receiving my Minnesota State teaching certification. Once that happened, I became eligible for real teaching jobs here. Too bad there aren't any openings in October. To fill my time and my bank account, I have taken on the not-so-coveted job of substitute teaching. Every day it's finding a new school, meeting new "colleagues," learning 30 new names and earning the respect of eight-year-olds . . . or eighteen year-olds who never saw you before and will likely never see you again. Challenging and draining, yea, but definitely full of some chuckle-worthy stories.
While teaching a third-grade math lesson on great-than/less-than, I had a bit of a mind melt and forgot that zero times anything equals zero. Now, instead of calling me out in front of the entire class, little Tiera igot up out of her chair and walked up to me. My first response was to insist she sit back down. However, in the most tactful way possible, she walked up to me and whispered in my ear the root of my error. "Miss S. the answer is < because zero times anything equals zero." What else could I do but admit fault, and have the students come up one-by-one and correct my mistakes on the board.
In another third-grade class the following week, the teacher has me read a book during math that was all about 1,000,000 and contemplating how much that really was. When I asked the students what they would buy if they had a $1,000,000 (so wish I had my Bare Naked Ladies music with me) they had the predictable answers of iPods, Wii's, cars and houses. One girl said that she would buy a castle. "Where would your castle be," I asked. It took her about a second-and-a-half to come out and say with confidence, "Apple Valley!" Now, nothing against this southern Twin Cities suburb, but if they are building castles in Apple Valley these days . . . well, although they might not quite fit in with the typical neighborhood style, I guess they might be affordable with current real estate prices.
So here I am, making my transition back into the twin Cities after nearly ten years of being away. It will fall into place eventually. i'll get myself my own classroom to return to every day, and I just might be building the first castle of Apple Valley!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The ACL Injury
This article i quite timely and strange to read. I mean, it's my story, sort of. When I first read the headline and the first couple of pages, I was a bit upset at the idea that women need to be taken care of more than men because of the injuries they suffer while playing sports. I mean, come on, the bench of the men's team has the same injuries, right? Well, as you read on the statistics show up saying that a larger percentage of the girls' bench suffers the knee injuries as the boys bench. Only the boys football team has similar percentages rates of knee injuries.
I think just about every team I played on from high school on has someone on the team that had the surgery. At St. Olaf we called one girl "blue-knees" because she wore the braces on both legs! I have been able to make it through 35 years without the injury. It was the injury I always feared most. The popping noise, the knee going out of whack, the surgery. In the back of my mind, though, I knew it was just a matter of time. And here it was in Kosovo with a Frisbee. The same jump I've made thousands of times and it just took one to make it happen. Nothing different than the previous thousands, as the article states. Just one.
So I've taken the business class flight back to The States in order to get it all taken care of. Although I had to leave Kosovo way too abruptly, I'm glad I'm here to deal with it all. I'll be recovered and back in action in no time!!
I think just about every team I played on from high school on has someone on the team that had the surgery. At St. Olaf we called one girl "blue-knees" because she wore the braces on both legs! I have been able to make it through 35 years without the injury. It was the injury I always feared most. The popping noise, the knee going out of whack, the surgery. In the back of my mind, though, I knew it was just a matter of time. And here it was in Kosovo with a Frisbee. The same jump I've made thousands of times and it just took one to make it happen. Nothing different than the previous thousands, as the article states. Just one.
So I've taken the business class flight back to The States in order to get it all taken care of. Although I had to leave Kosovo way too abruptly, I'm glad I'm here to deal with it all. I'll be recovered and back in action in no time!!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Is it getting any better?
One minute it seems as though the dust is settling and hands are reaching out. The next minute it appears as though those hands are holding rocks, grenades and Molotov cocktails. March 17th was the 4 year anniversary of riots carried out by Albanians on Serbian communities where 19 people died. It was also the 1 month anniversary of Kosovo's independence. There was bound to be some sort of excitement on that particular Monday. People were expecting something, anyway.
The prior Friday, a group of Serbian protesters entered a courthouse in North Mitrovica to symbolically take over the institution from the EU. The following the UN police and KFOR troops organized a operation to reclaim this courthouse. In the process of this at least one was killed and over a hundred sent to the hospital wounded. The link above is a good international news perspective. Mitrovica, the "flashpoint" for the majority of the newsworthy conflict due to its proximity to Serbia itself, is at least 50 miles away from Prishtina. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, the Serbs near hear, the Serbs that participate in my class, are geographically quite far from the country they claim as their own. they are in an isolated pocket surrounded by the majority Albanian population without a river and a bridge separating them. This could either make them easier targets to crazy Albanians around them, which many of them fear they are. For nearly four weeks, I prepared for my entire class to be there. The Albanian kids showed up, we waited, and decided to wait until next time. Maybe they'd come then. For nearly four weeks, I talked to the Serbian students who told me, "tomorrow, we'll be there." The Albanian kids, showed up . . . and we waited. It was discouraging for me and for the Albanian kids, who felt they had been given up on. As frustrated as I became every day, I saw hope in the fact that Serbian students were even entertaining the idea of coming. Even though they usually didn't show, they said that they would, which meant that they wanted to. So, eventually, maybe they would.
Well, the effect geography and isolation seems to be one of the many of the Serbs near Prishtina realizing that they have to face reality. They do and always will say that, "Kosovo is Serbia." However, in many cases, I think some are realizing that no matter how much they say it, it doesn't make their daily lives any easier. And so believe some of my Serbian students . . . maybe I should say a FEW of my Serbian students. Most of them have not returned, and I don't expect them to ever come back. There are quite a few reasons for it. Some may say fear of those crazy Albanians in Prishtina, but most of them would say that wasn't a major issue. For most of them I think it's pressure. Government, parents, teachers and friends, although probably not threatening them if they do come, are telling them that coming to Prishtina to be in a class with an American teacher and a bunch of Albanian teenagers is wrong and is contradictory to the Serbian cause they are fighting for. That could be a whole lot of pressure on a sixteen-year-old.
The beauty is that, despite any pressure, there are about seven of these kids that don't care. Seven of these kids still want to see their Albanian classmates, still want to come to the American Corner of the National Library, still want to see their American teacher and still want to work together and have a good time. And for about three classes we have done just that, almost like nothing had ever happened . . . almost. There is still some whispering, some looking over shoulders, small sighs of distrust. But that is all easily forgotten when they are facing each other with the task of telling each other what their "highs" and "lows" of the day were. We've all got them and very few of us don't want to talk about them, and to share them with each other once again puts everyone on the same level, on the same page, facing very similar daily ups and downs.
The prior Friday, a group of Serbian protesters entered a courthouse in North Mitrovica to symbolically take over the institution from the EU. The following the UN police and KFOR troops organized a operation to reclaim this courthouse. In the process of this at least one was killed and over a hundred sent to the hospital wounded. The link above is a good international news perspective. Mitrovica, the "flashpoint" for the majority of the newsworthy conflict due to its proximity to Serbia itself, is at least 50 miles away from Prishtina. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, the Serbs near hear, the Serbs that participate in my class, are geographically quite far from the country they claim as their own. they are in an isolated pocket surrounded by the majority Albanian population without a river and a bridge separating them. This could either make them easier targets to crazy Albanians around them, which many of them fear they are. For nearly four weeks, I prepared for my entire class to be there. The Albanian kids showed up, we waited, and decided to wait until next time. Maybe they'd come then. For nearly four weeks, I talked to the Serbian students who told me, "tomorrow, we'll be there." The Albanian kids, showed up . . . and we waited. It was discouraging for me and for the Albanian kids, who felt they had been given up on. As frustrated as I became every day, I saw hope in the fact that Serbian students were even entertaining the idea of coming. Even though they usually didn't show, they said that they would, which meant that they wanted to. So, eventually, maybe they would.
Well, the effect geography and isolation seems to be one of the many of the Serbs near Prishtina realizing that they have to face reality. They do and always will say that, "Kosovo is Serbia." However, in many cases, I think some are realizing that no matter how much they say it, it doesn't make their daily lives any easier. And so believe some of my Serbian students . . . maybe I should say a FEW of my Serbian students. Most of them have not returned, and I don't expect them to ever come back. There are quite a few reasons for it. Some may say fear of those crazy Albanians in Prishtina, but most of them would say that wasn't a major issue. For most of them I think it's pressure. Government, parents, teachers and friends, although probably not threatening them if they do come, are telling them that coming to Prishtina to be in a class with an American teacher and a bunch of Albanian teenagers is wrong and is contradictory to the Serbian cause they are fighting for. That could be a whole lot of pressure on a sixteen-year-old.
The beauty is that, despite any pressure, there are about seven of these kids that don't care. Seven of these kids still want to see their Albanian classmates, still want to come to the American Corner of the National Library, still want to see their American teacher and still want to work together and have a good time. And for about three classes we have done just that, almost like nothing had ever happened . . . almost. There is still some whispering, some looking over shoulders, small sighs of distrust. But that is all easily forgotten when they are facing each other with the task of telling each other what their "highs" and "lows" of the day were. We've all got them and very few of us don't want to talk about them, and to share them with each other once again puts everyone on the same level, on the same page, facing very similar daily ups and downs.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Other Side
If February 17, 2008 was the best day in the lives of Kosovar Albanians, it was the worst day in the lives of Kosovar Serbs. The exact same flags that were waved in Prishtina with pride and gratitude were burnt in Belgrade in hatred and spite. Although Serbs are the minority here, they say it is their cultural and historical cradle. The battle of 1398 where the Serbs and other Balkan nationalities fought and lost to the Ottoman Empire is what they keep referring to. The beautiful Serbian Orthodox churches with deep cultural meaning here are also something they are holding on to. Right now, the biggest thing they are holding onto is their pride.
On February 21, the Thursday after the declaration of independence, there was a massive protest in Belgrade. The Serbian government declared all public transportation to Belgrade on that day to be free of charge in order to encourage people from all over the country to come and show how important it was for them to hold onto Kosovo. Official totals range from 200,000 to over 500,000 people that gathered. The government insisted the protests be peaceful and without violence, but they obviously insisted that it be loud as well. However, apparently the government didn't insist that the embassies of independence supporting countries be protected by police. A crowd of about 1,000 people broke away from the larger group and headed straight for the US Embassy and others. They were able to break in, ransack it and start it on fire because there was no one to stop them. It took police 45 minutes to arrive and do something to stop the mob.
On the same day I had every intention to go to see my Serbian students in Gracanica. They have not been coming to Prishtina and probably won't be coming soon. In order to connect with them, to show them that I want to know how they are doing, I worked out with the US Office here to get a ride there in order to spend some time with them. At 10.00 that morning it was all set. At 12.00 I got a phone all from my contact there who said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, US Office security was saying that I could not go. She said she tried to fight for me, but security section would not allow it. I asked my UN friends to see what their security was saying about Gracanica that day, and they got nothing. I have no idea what happened that made the US office decide this, but I had to call the students there and tell them the change in plans.
I called Milica and told her that for reasons I didn't understand, I couldn't go to see them. She didn't understand. "Did someone tell you it wasn't safe? No one knows you're coming. It's quiet and safe for you here." I had nothing to give her other than, "I'll try again next week." When we said good-bye she said, "Will I ever see you again?" All I could say was YES and hang up. That 's when I broke down. This girl is barely 10 miles away from me and there is a real chance that I will never see her again. Maybe her family will move to Belgrade. If they don't, there is a good chance that none of the students will ever come to class again. As I write this, it sounds to me to be a bit extreme. If I get a chance to go and talk with them, I know I can get them to come back to class. I know that I can convince them that, among us, nothing has changed from one week ago.
In my mind, if there is to be any chance for these people to ever live together, it will be in these kids. I have been telling them that from the beginning. I want to keep telling them that. But I don't know. Maybe their hate and fear is too deep. Maybe it's over.
On February 21, the Thursday after the declaration of independence, there was a massive protest in Belgrade. The Serbian government declared all public transportation to Belgrade on that day to be free of charge in order to encourage people from all over the country to come and show how important it was for them to hold onto Kosovo. Official totals range from 200,000 to over 500,000 people that gathered. The government insisted the protests be peaceful and without violence, but they obviously insisted that it be loud as well. However, apparently the government didn't insist that the embassies of independence supporting countries be protected by police. A crowd of about 1,000 people broke away from the larger group and headed straight for the US Embassy and others. They were able to break in, ransack it and start it on fire because there was no one to stop them. It took police 45 minutes to arrive and do something to stop the mob.
On the same day I had every intention to go to see my Serbian students in Gracanica. They have not been coming to Prishtina and probably won't be coming soon. In order to connect with them, to show them that I want to know how they are doing, I worked out with the US Office here to get a ride there in order to spend some time with them. At 10.00 that morning it was all set. At 12.00 I got a phone all from my contact there who said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, US Office security was saying that I could not go. She said she tried to fight for me, but security section would not allow it. I asked my UN friends to see what their security was saying about Gracanica that day, and they got nothing. I have no idea what happened that made the US office decide this, but I had to call the students there and tell them the change in plans.
I called Milica and told her that for reasons I didn't understand, I couldn't go to see them. She didn't understand. "Did someone tell you it wasn't safe? No one knows you're coming. It's quiet and safe for you here." I had nothing to give her other than, "I'll try again next week." When we said good-bye she said, "Will I ever see you again?" All I could say was YES and hang up. That 's when I broke down. This girl is barely 10 miles away from me and there is a real chance that I will never see her again. Maybe her family will move to Belgrade. If they don't, there is a good chance that none of the students will ever come to class again. As I write this, it sounds to me to be a bit extreme. If I get a chance to go and talk with them, I know I can get them to come back to class. I know that I can convince them that, among us, nothing has changed from one week ago.
In my mind, if there is to be any chance for these people to ever live together, it will be in these kids. I have been telling them that from the beginning. I want to keep telling them that. But I don't know. Maybe their hate and fear is too deep. Maybe it's over.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A New Country is Born
For the past few weeks everyone was talking about it, but no one knew for sure when the dates would be. They had narrowed it down to a Sunday. That way, those opposing Kosovo's independence in the UN Security Council couldn't call an emergency meeting on the international day off. Then, on around the 8th of February, people were quite seriously talking about it being the following weekend. By Valentine's Day the talk was that it would be that Sunday and the schedule of Independence Day celebration events for Sunday the 17th was unofficially set.
The tapestry of national flags was apparent everywhere from Friday on. The red and black Albanian flag was the background and the flags of any country that showed support for Kosovo were scattered throughout. No doubt the red white and blue US and British flags were the most abundant. Kosovar Albanians are fully aware that none of this would have happened if it hadn't been for the support they have received from their allies. I can't begin to count the number of times that I have been thanked for supporting Kosovo and its independence. "We would be dead if it wasn't for the USA. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for the USA." At one point during the celebrations I felt like I was witnessing the 1980 US Hockey Team win the gold medal. Chants of, "USA USA USA USA," were echoing louder than the traditional Albanian music at moments.
One corner of town was dedicated to the idea of Kosovo being reborn. A giant structure spelling out NEWBORN in yellow letters standing about 8 feet tall was unveiled on Sunday night. I watched from above as the crowds surrounded a big blue blanket. The event was choreographed perfectly with a motorcade of police, diplomatic and government cars driving down the hill with their blue lights flashing. They stopped in front of the blue blanket and the crowds split like they were making room for Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to come out of their limo onto the red carpet. Just as the crowd split, the blanket was removed releasing hundreds of yellow and blue balloons and the sunshine yellow letters. The president and prime minister were lead by their posse through the crowd up to the structure, and with black sharpie in hand, they signed the giant B. Just as quickly as they arrived, they were swept away and the crowds were released with their own black sharpies to make their mark on their new status.
Thousands of people from all over the Balkan region showed up for the party in Prishtina and in major cities around the world. As we watched the declaration live here, we also saw online that in Skopje, Tiranna, Stockholm, Vienna and New York City all had thousands of people gathering to recognize and celebrate the historic event. Although there were some signs of showing spite towards Serbia that included words starting with F and Y, there were no obvious incidents of hate or revenge. Not a flag was burned and not a person was nor has yet been intentionally hurt. The feeling is pure joy and hope.
Seeing my students on the Tuesday after was pretty cool. They walked in the room with the biggest smiles on their faces, of course thanking me and my country for our help. It was of course obvious that our Serbian classmates weren't there, and they wanted to know why. I told them that I couldn't speak for their classmates, but I told them that the feelings of their friends was most likely the exact opposite of what they were feeling. Emotions like fear, anger and humiliation were very likely to be in the minds of the Serbian kids. Form the point of view of the Albanians, this independence is their reward for living through hell. Living through Serbian attacks, living through ethnic cleansing and horrific crimes that were committed by Serbs. For most of them, it's a relief to have come out on top. What they would like is for the Serbs that live 10 miles away to feel welcome in this new country of theirs. They want it to be a place where they can all live together. They don't understand the fear and don't know why things have to be different this week from what they were last week. I'm not sure I can answer that either.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Excellent weekend!!!
I don't have pictures and I don't have a link, but I do have the memories of one of the best weekends in Kosovo that I've had in a long while!!! Started with a Friday night dinner with my favorite ladies here at one of our favorite restaurants, which is nothing new. But it nice to be able to have that group of great women to spend a Friday night with. That night, Gail had the inspiration to try the local ski resort, Brezovica, out on Saturday morning. After a couple of bottles of wine and a long week, we were all less than ambitious about the venture and went home giving Gail unenthusiastic maybes.
At 7.30 the next morning I had just woken up and Gail called looking out the window at a blue sky and doing what she could to convince me. Sofia had said no and I was the last chance at a ski partner for her. My bed, book and a cup of coffee were just too attractive of an option at the time. We hung up and I went to my reading only to get bored after about 20 minutes. I went to my closet to pull my skiing gear out and the thought of hitting the slopes for the first time this year became much more appealing. I called Gail back and we were on our way in 30 minutes.
Brez is a socially owned Serbian run ski resort that hasn't been updated since Tito, I'm sure. Gail and I arrived by 11.00 to a small amount of eager skiers waiting for a chair lift to start running. We went to a cozy little restaurant, had a coffee and some eggs and asked when the lift would get going. We were assured that it would be running by noon and sure enough, we were heading up the mountain by 12.30. When the lines at Brez are long, they are deadly. Proper queing techniques do NOT exist here. Instead the often get into line, take their skis off and PUSH their way to the front. But not on Saturday. There was no need because there was no waiting. Just a massive white mountain with almost a food of fresh powder to ski on. Skiing can bore me after a while, but this was like learning all over again. I felt like an absolute clutz, but I was skiing like I had never skied before. AMAZING!!!
Saturday night brought another great dinner to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. A day of fresh air, tiring skiing and a few drinks had me sleeping like a baby. Sunday morning I was invited by a Swedish friend to the Swedish KFOR camp where they serve waffles on Sunday afternoons. He got me in and when we walked in, the MESS was packed with soldiers eating their waffles, drinking fresh brewed coffee and listening to an incredible live military band singing U2 and Van Morrison classics. Young blonde, buff military men were every where so my senses will delighted by music, men and waffles! Then it was off to the Sunday ultimate game and a dinner out after with the team. The power was out when I got home, but who can complain about a candle lit shower?
I complain a lot about this place. More often than not I feel like there is something seriously missing and blame it on the Kosovo and the people here. After the past couple of months I have felt like it's even gotten worse with being sick and dealing with the deaths of people I love. But the months of blah that I've recently seem to have forced me to really recognize the positive things that I have. This weekend wasn't really unusual or special. These are all things that I have had here for the past year and-a-half. The difference is that I'm realizing that, despite power cuts and bad drivers, there is very little to really complain about here and truthfully quite a lot to be grateful for. I don't write like this in the blog too often, but I want to remember this weekend and felt it was worth sharing it as well.
At 7.30 the next morning I had just woken up and Gail called looking out the window at a blue sky and doing what she could to convince me. Sofia had said no and I was the last chance at a ski partner for her. My bed, book and a cup of coffee were just too attractive of an option at the time. We hung up and I went to my reading only to get bored after about 20 minutes. I went to my closet to pull my skiing gear out and the thought of hitting the slopes for the first time this year became much more appealing. I called Gail back and we were on our way in 30 minutes.
Brez is a socially owned Serbian run ski resort that hasn't been updated since Tito, I'm sure. Gail and I arrived by 11.00 to a small amount of eager skiers waiting for a chair lift to start running. We went to a cozy little restaurant, had a coffee and some eggs and asked when the lift would get going. We were assured that it would be running by noon and sure enough, we were heading up the mountain by 12.30. When the lines at Brez are long, they are deadly. Proper queing techniques do NOT exist here. Instead the often get into line, take their skis off and PUSH their way to the front. But not on Saturday. There was no need because there was no waiting. Just a massive white mountain with almost a food of fresh powder to ski on. Skiing can bore me after a while, but this was like learning all over again. I felt like an absolute clutz, but I was skiing like I had never skied before. AMAZING!!!
Saturday night brought another great dinner to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. A day of fresh air, tiring skiing and a few drinks had me sleeping like a baby. Sunday morning I was invited by a Swedish friend to the Swedish KFOR camp where they serve waffles on Sunday afternoons. He got me in and when we walked in, the MESS was packed with soldiers eating their waffles, drinking fresh brewed coffee and listening to an incredible live military band singing U2 and Van Morrison classics. Young blonde, buff military men were every where so my senses will delighted by music, men and waffles! Then it was off to the Sunday ultimate game and a dinner out after with the team. The power was out when I got home, but who can complain about a candle lit shower?
I complain a lot about this place. More often than not I feel like there is something seriously missing and blame it on the Kosovo and the people here. After the past couple of months I have felt like it's even gotten worse with being sick and dealing with the deaths of people I love. But the months of blah that I've recently seem to have forced me to really recognize the positive things that I have. This weekend wasn't really unusual or special. These are all things that I have had here for the past year and-a-half. The difference is that I'm realizing that, despite power cuts and bad drivers, there is very little to really complain about here and truthfully quite a lot to be grateful for. I don't write like this in the blog too often, but I want to remember this weekend and felt it was worth sharing it as well.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
THOR!!!
A small world brought these two Oles together in a place far far away from The Hill. Their St. Olaf ties made the only three months of them being in Kosovo together seem like a lifetime of friendship. Just over a year after their first meeting, it was a big ugly world that ended the life of Thor Hesla.
I've talked to most of you about this big Scandinavian man I met when I got here. I wish I had done more than just talk about him though. I'm sorry most of you will never know who Thor was. Those of us that did know him are better people because of it, honestly. We play Ultimate Frisbee because of him. We go eat forbidden pork because of him. We are surrounded by more and better people because of him. We love American politics because of him. We spent 5 days standing in pee mud listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and The Who because of him. But Taliban terrorists in Kabul, Afghanistan won't allow any of you to meet him.
I promise you, though, I'll tell you all about him!
I love you Thor!
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