St Andrews in Focus: Day 14

A majority of the older houses have two doors, an outer door which is often brightly coloured and an inner door which leads into the house proper.  Cultural tidbit:  According to custom, the outer door is opened in the morning and left open until evening, assuming it is warm enough.  I have no idea why though.  In the States, opening the outer door like this would serve as an open invitation for friends to pop by, suggesting to any guests that the owner is home and would welcome them.  However, British people don’t just stop by, ever.  Always, always an invitation is made or a phone call before someone goes to another’s home.  I’ve definitely broken this rule a few times with some of the locals from my church.  Somehow they all seem to recover from it just fine!

‘Dark. Dark is all I find for metaphor’

You’ve all been aware now for several days.  Weeks perhaps.  But little ole’ me over here in Scotland, well… I’m just hearing the news now.  And I’m absolutely devastated.   Devastated, I tell you.

*It is similar to when I learned about the earthquake in Haiti… some 4 days after it happened… when asking for prayer requests in church one Sunday morning.  Someone suggested that we pray for Haiti, and I, ridiculously, said, “Oh, what’s wrong with Haiti?’  I know, right?   (Hey, don’t judge me – I had neither TV nor radio and the internet had been out that week… and no one in town mentioned it!)

Okay… the news isn’t quite as devastating as the earthquake in Haiti, but eet steel breaks me wee heart. 

Hostess is No More.

Going out of business.

Never to be seen again.

The symbol of my childhood.

And teenage years.

And adulthood.

Well, the first ten years of my adulthood.

My life may as well end here; for what is life without a HoHo or a Fruit Pie on the convenience store shelf greeting you upon your entrance, silently screaming to go home with you, or into you?

I’m not sure how they’ve gone bankrupt, given how much I’ve contributed to their sales over the years! 

Oh, the Twinkie and the CupCake and the HoHo and the Ding Dong, the delectable Fruit Pie, the Snow Ball, and who can forget the Mini Muffin?  What a sad, sad day it is, this 19th of November on which I’ve heard the news. 

‘Dark. Dark is all I find for metaphor’. (Name that poem, Kristi, Kim or Naomi? Think Owatonna Public Library!)

I’m pretty sure Hostess was my first word, and the Wonder Bread/Hostess Outlet Store is definitely one of my earliest shopping memories.  Along with the weekly trip to the grocery store would be the weekly stop at the Hostess Outlet Store.  Mom would buy dad’s White Wonder Bread for the week and would restock the freezer with everything else Hostess that was good for the soul, and the stomach.  You see, as children we didn’t drink Kool-Aid or Pop.  We didn’t have fresh baked brownies and cookies or other desserts at night… or ever.  Ok, rarely.  (Thanks mom.)   We had Hostess Snack Cakes with a red marker slash over the packaging, indicating that they were next-t0-expiry and needed to be purchased at a lovely discounted price.  They were only going in our freezer, and in our family, when it comes to chocolate, expiration dates mean nothing.  Especially if they’ve been in the freezer. 

There were three staples in our deep freezer while growing up:  venison, Wonder Bread, and Hostess Snack Cakes.  After school Brandon and I would grab out a package of CupCakes or Ding Dongs, or sometimes, if we were feeling particularly ‘healthy’, we’d go for the Blueberry or Apple Cinnamon Mini Muffins.  Though the 4 or 5 Mini Muffins were never enough.  The CupCakes were usually my first choice.  Then a HoHo.  Then a Ding Dong.

My Great Grandma and I shared a birthday, and one year we had a Ding Dong pyramid birthday cake with candles coming out of each DingDong.  (Mom’s type of baking back then.)  I remember no other birthday cake I’ve ever had. 

But I do remember eating loads of Fruit Pies—biting into their oily crust that would fall everywhere, with their cherry or apple or blueberry filling.  The corners were always the best—biting into it and realizing it wasn’t as full of filling as you expected, but loving the pastry nonetheless.

And the CupCake—gently peeling the chocolate frosting off the cake and holding it in one hand while shoving the cake into my mouth with the other, just to top it off with a slow nibbling around the white swirls, finally eating them at last.  These were my scientific method projects of the day.

And let us not forget the HoHo!  Like every person who thoroughly enjoyed the HoHo experience, I would eat all the chocolate off the top and sides (it always stuck to the cake more on the bottom) and then slowly unroll it and eat it nibble by nibble until the very center where it would no longer unroll and was filled with creamy goodness. 

Oh help!  What ever will I do? 

I am in Scotland and will potentially never taste these iconic forms of sheer goodness that characterized my childhood. 

Perhaps someone will send me a CupCake for Christmas.  Or a HoHo.  Or a Twinkie.  Or a Fruit Pie.  Or a Ding Dong.  Or a Mini Muffin. 

Oh to taste them just once more in my lifetime…

Perhaps. 

Just perhaps.

Memorial Day in Scotland

Memorial Day in Mazeppa is a special day in my storehouse of childhood memories.  In fact, I bemoan the fact that in the last ten years I’ve been away more frequently on that final Monday of May than I have been on the fourth Thursday of November.  Whether in Kyrgyzstan, Lithuania, Massachusetts, Yellowstone or Montana, the traditions of home inevitably captivate my thoughts on that day. 

So I always love it when the foreign places I’m in hold their own Memorial Day traditions.  Somehow I feel a bit closer to home, if only for a moment or two. 

This past weekend was Remembrance Sunday here in St Andrews in celebration of Veteran’s Day around the world.  And like most places, St Andrews has their own Remembrance Sunday traditions.  They don’t take long, they don’t extend far, they don’t seem to attract many people, but they warmed my heart that day. 

After a morning church service at Holy Trinity, the participating veterans march out of the church preceded by the color guard.  In the street, they join the band of bag-pipers and several different military groups in uniform.  At the sound of the pipers, the ensemble marches through the cobblestone streets of St Andrews the distance of approximately 100 yards to the War Monument.  Once there, poppy wreathes are laid at the foot of the monument, patriotic songs are sung by the onlookers, numbering no more than fifty, and after a mere ten minutes, the celebration is over and the parade participants are dismissed.  For those ten minutes though, I felt like I was in Mazeppa.

We didn’t proceed to walk through the cemetery or throw flowers over a bridge or come together for a town potluck at the American Legion, but it was a wonderful day of remembering the cost of lives the wars over the last century have had on Scotland.  It’s easy on Memorial Day to remember our own fallen veterans.  It was good to be reminded this Remembrance Sunday that nations around the world have sacrificed greatly for the freedom we share throughout the west. 

On a side note… I’m not in Montana anymore!

Ake Tu Sau!

In preparing for this rather substantial move overseas, I ran around Rochester picking up odds and ends yesterday.  One item on the list was an adaptor plug for the Scottish outlets.  Since I also had a few computer-related questions, I stopped at Best-Buy, the only store I thought might be a one-stop-shop. 

As I was looking at the adaptor plugs available, one of the employees came up to me to offer assistance.  This is the dialogue that ensued.  No joke.

Employee:  Are you finding what you're looking for?
Me:  Not exactly.  I'm looking for an adaptor for Scotland, but all I see that is available here is for Latin America and Continental Europe.
Employee:  I'm not too good with the whole geography thing.  Where is Scotland, exactly? 
Me:  (Trying not to sound amazed, but failing terribly).  Scotland? Really? Hm.. Well, that's interesting... huh. (Collecting myself). Ah, well, it's north of England, part of the United Kingdom.
Employee:  So is it in Europe then?
Me:  (In my head:  are you joking?  this is unreal.  how in the world...)  Ah... yes... it's in Europe, but it's not part of "Continental Europe," which is what this plug is for.  It shares an island with England.
Employee: Oh. Ya, I don't know. Sorry I can't help more.

As Lithuanians know how to say... ake tu sau!  Loosely translated, "Did that really just happen?"

Kyrgyzstan, I can sort of understand.  Even Lithuania, a little.  But Scotland?  Where else would Scotland be?!

We might need to step up our prayers for the upcoming leadership in this country.  I see darkness ahead.
 

To Atlanta and Back

The day before I left: You can see moose tracks on both sides of the unplowed road!

Last week I was in Atlanta for the annual Society of Biblical Literature conference.  Never before have I had culture shock from transferring from one American culture to another... until now.  My life in Cooke City and my time in Atlanta might as well be on two different continents.  

Cooke City                                                                               

The highest building is a two story house                                       

The temperature is holding steady at 0                                          

There is 3-4 feet of snow on the ground                                        

There are zero stoplights and maybe four stop signs        
People drive cars with 4 wheel drive and snowmobiles      
There was no electricity for four days last week                           
Two grizzlies were spotted in the last two days                            
Blizzard warnings were in effect on my way home                        
On my four hour drive home, I saw asphalt for maybe ten miles   
Has approximately 70 people in town and no one for 60 miles      

Atlanta
The highest building is forever high
The average temperature was 65
The trees are beautiful shades of fall
I wondered if I would get caught for jaywalking
People ride the city train, buses, taxis, and bikes
The city lights at night were blinding
I saw a squirrel
Sunshine, sunshine, sunshine
Yellow stripes, White strips
Over a million?

The list could surely go on!  Not only these environmental things, but during those four days I was surrounded by some incredibly intelligent, well-versed, respected scholars, many of (most of) whom had gray hair.  I saw friends from seminary who were my age and love Jesus (no one like that here) and ate fast food every day!!!  It was so great to be there, but also wonderful to get back and stay put for a few months!  You can see by the pictures of the two hotels where the conference was held why I felt the need to take pictures!


The Marriot Marquis Hotel



The Hyatt Regency Hotel



Halloween and Other Scary Stuff

Before I never get around to it, here are a few pics I've mean meaning to post for a couple weeks.  The first one here looks like nothing more than a sidewalk leading to my house.  But if you look closely, on the left side of the sidewalk are grizzly tracks... tracks that lead right up to the edge of my porch.  At that point, I couldn't tell if he went onto the porch, but I don't think so.  I hope not. The rascal only comes at night though when I can't see him!

And these are two pictures I snapped on Halloween afternoon.  Tradition in Cooke City is that all the kids (this year, all nine of them, minus a baby) gathered together at a designated time, at which point they made their rounds together to all the different homes and businesses that pre-signed-up to be ready for trick-or-treaters!  In the picture above you can see (from right to left) Scooby, Daphne (whose parents I might add were Velma and Shaggy), a green princess, a hunter man, Velma (mom of Scooby and Daphne), the wife of Joseph, another little princess, and mom who was herself.

But don't forget about Buzz Lightyear and baby sister who was a frog.  They were so adorable. 

Christmas Festivities

Things are finally beginning to pick up around here now that snow has been falling non-stop and Christmas is approaching.  The road out of town is officially unpassable with a vehicle and the snowmobiles have flooded into town. 

This past weekend the church people gathered to decorate the Chapel for Christmas.  It looks very elegant and festive inside. 

This past weekend we also had a visitor in town!  Santa came on his snowmobile!  I was told that he had to leave the reindeer on the edge of town so they wouldn't be scared by all the snowmobiles.  This boy made a very long list for Santa and walked him through everything written on it! 

There was time for the boy with the list to give Santa explicit instructions, because these are ALL the kids in town, most of which are too young to talk or not be afraid to talk!  The Cooke City public school is made up of the two boys on the left who are in Kindergarten and the two older girls on the right, one of which is in Kindergarten and one in 3rd grade!  And that's the whole school!  As you can see though the numbers will double within a few years, assuming all the kids still live here.

This morning I found myself being taken back to the Osh Bazaar, my old stomping grounds in Bishkek... the place where I learned to be one with a crowd, to push and to be pushed, to scan a table for what I wanted before some other hand reached in to grab it first, and to barter. Sadly, there is no market around here like the Osh Bazaar, but there is a Christian Book distributors warehouse about ten minutes away, and luckily for me and the other poor seminary and Bible college students around here, this morning was their bi-annual book sale.

In a way, it felt like Black Friday two weeks early. I found myself outside of the building at 6:30 a.m. in a line that at that time had probably 100-150 people in it. You could pick out the regulars to the sale and the newcomers. The newbies had coffee or maybe a purse in their hands. The regulars, however... some had backpacks, some mesh bags, some suitcases, some empty strollers, some boxes, and one even had a garbage can bungeed to a dolly - no joke. At 6:45 a.m. the doors opened and the people flooded in. It was a perfect picture of Christian consumerism. Thousands of books with genres ranging from lexicons to concordances to Christian fiction and everything in between lined tables on two levels of the warehouse. IT WAS CRAZY. And just like at the bazaar, there was often no rhyme or reason to where the books were placed. Other than the fact that several tables were solely Bibles, most were a combination of everything one could imagine to be found at a Christian book store. Thankfully, the crowds were slightly more civilized in their rush to find the books they were looking for than what I often experienced this past year in the bazaar. People were polite and generally patient with one another, but there were some that made you think the world was ending if they did not get the book they were searching for. Quite sad, actually.

So it was a good morning in the Christian version of the Central Asian bookstore bazaar. The best part of the morning, though, was my one purchase from the madness. I bought neither a commentary, nor a lexicon. What I did buy, however, was a brand new, hard to find, world renown box of Dutch Blitz cards. That's right. I now posses a brand new Dutch Blitz deck. And that alone makes the morning time well spent.

Baseball and Destruction (a.k.a basketbol)

Class was excellent this week for a couple reasons. The first is that since the schedule has changed, I am teaching all the students that I absolutely love teaching. These are the ones that have found our class helpful or maybe just fun and have decided to take the class for one last month. The second reason is because of the week’s subject matter: American baseball! After teaching the word “obsession,” I explained how my mother is obsessed with baseball and therefore, it was always around me. The students watched a clip from The Sandlot, learned a few of the rules and positions, listened to “Who’s on First?” and even sang, “Take Me out to the Ball Game!” Despite the fact that “Who’s on First?” is incredibly fast, The Sandlot did not show a great baseball game, they couldn’t quite understand what the players did with the ball once it was hit, and they had to listen to me sing “Take Me out to the Ball Game” first, they had a lot of fun! And, this coming Sunday we are organizing a baseball game at a field just outside of Bishkek and they are all invited to come play if they would like. Three students said they would come for sure, but promises mean nothing here. So, we’ll see who comes! My coworkers have also invited their students, so it should be a lot of fun!

Another part of the week that was a bit unusual was a one-week, inter-league, church basketball tournament that took place! I and about six other people from the international church formed a team. Let’s just say that we were not very good. I played two out of the three games scheduled for us, and anyone who knows me knows that I like sports, but am not very good at them, especially basketball. With this in mind, I tell you that the final game ended with a score of 50-20, with me scoring about 20% of our points. Everyone else on our team was just as bad as me, or even worse! We were beaten badly, but had fun nonetheless. The first game we played, on the other hand, was a different story. Destruction and death were the only words I could think during that game. It was church league so you would think that the better teams would show mercy. Not this one. They beat us with a score of 82-6. Yup. Destruction and death. No mercy. My only consolation was that I scored 4 of the 6 points and had a 100% shooting percentage for the game! Ha! Oh, it was terrible! Oh well. The tournament is now over and we came in last, but (for the most part) had a lot of fun doing it!

Contract? What is that?

Why is it that no one here understands the purpose or necessity of a contract?

Last week the director of my community classes asked me to meet with her about creating a final one month class at the school. According to our contract, we are to teach two semester of 16 weeks each, but the community classes were arranged by the school to be three month classes. This means that come April 14th, the three months are over and five weeks remain. Some of the students will stay for the final leg of the semester, but many have decided not to continue. There are no longer enough students to fill two classes, so the remaining students must be combined into one class. Gulnor, our director, has never cared about the contract and therefore, has never followed it... until now.

My supervisors have decided that now is the time to lay down the law of the contract. I was told to communicate, in a respectful manner of course, that we will not participate in the formation of a new 5-week class, which from my perspective, is both good and bad. Being asked to do tasks not called for, or sometimes called against, in our contract is something I do not like to experience. She could not care less that it even exists, which is typical of every Kyrgyz citizen. Future teachers will hopefully reap the benefits of this first "laying down of the law" with her. At the same time, however, it is bad for us this year. From April 17th through the end of the school year, my teaching load will be reduced from the already below the contracted amount to even less. This means nothing but more free time for me and less time spent with students in the classroom. I am saddened when I think about how often I will see some of my students, which will sometimes be limited to once a week!

This all made me think about the culture I have grown up in--a culture that upholds contracts to the highest degree. Our perspective is completely opposite of the Kyrgyz perspective, who seem to feel the need to make a contract simply for the sake of having one, but feel no constraint to uphold it. Evidence of this is found quite blatantly in the political system and corruption therein, the family life and divorce rate, and the business arena, all of which only serve to foster the very slow economic and moral development of Kyrgyzstan. To me, upholding a contract is of utmost importance. Not only because our American culture elevates honesty and faithfullness to an agreement, but because God commands it. He expects us to be faithful to the contracts established, because He has been faithful to those He has established and will always be faithful. This is a concept I have not yet seen introduced into this culture... a God who cares enough to keep His promise to His people. Hopefully it will not be long in coming.