you know you live in mongolia when...
...you ask your elementary English students what the date is at the start of class and they easily get through the day of the week, month and date, but when it gets to the year they pause and look at each other.
After some whispered conversing they turn to you and say:
"Monkey."
It took me a minute to realize they were referring to the lunar year and then I couldn't help but grin as I shook my head and told them that I was looking for the answer of 2010.
(also, for those of you who care, 2010 is not actually the year of the monkey. it's the year of the tiger)
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
a fleeting fall
a little over a week ago, I took a much needed break and walked the hour down to the river and up the (many) stairs of Saison, the Russian war monument.it was a gorgeous day and the walk was therapeutic in more ways than one. I couldn't help but stop and soak in the trees, the water and the sunshine as I walked across the bridge- it was as if fall was just shouting from every part of the city.
I sat at the monument and re-read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for a good two and a half hours that Friday. It was time that I could have felt guilty for, time that I could have not allowed myself to have because there is always other stuff that needs to be done. Yet I didn't.
I needed the sunshine and the trees and the breeze and my perch on the mountain with Harry. I needed the two hours of walking and the climbing of the stairs and the sitting.
And after that afternoon? There was a part of myself that was whole again in a way that wouldn't have been possible if I hadn't taken that time.
It snowed on Saturday and Sunday- bringing with the flurries cold winds and winter jackets and the end of a fall that only lasted a handful of days.
I'm wearing long underwear again and piling on the blankets on my bed and contemplating purchasing another space heater for our apartment.
The moments, the seasons, the days- they have been for me in the past few months both fleeting and drawn-out.
And I'm learning the importance of dwelling in both of those places- in both the parts that are hard and feel like they will never end and those that are full of delight and joy and practically pass by in the blink of an eye.
Mourning the end of fall and turning to the familiarity of winter- knowing that both are a part of my soul.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
things that are diffferent: food edition
Almost a year (more like 11 months in) has past since I moved to Mongolia. Things that were once abnormal and strange have long since become normal, every day parts of my life.
I've started thinking about all of the things that are different about my life now and thought it might be fun to share some of them with you all.
And since making lists is one of the things I do best, I've made some lists (for different categories) about the differences between what was normal and what is normal now.
Things That Are Different: Food Edition
1.) I eat garlic and onions almost every single day.
Prior to Mongolia I don't think I had even ever seen raw garlic and I certainly didn't know how to cut it or what food to use it with. I didn't dislike onions, but I never just bought them when I went grocery shopping. Now you can pretty much count on us having both garlic and onions in our kitchen at all times- they are staples that we use constantly.
2.) I use seasonings beyond salt and pepper.
I like seasonings, but have always been a tad afraid of them. Basically, unless I was following a recipe that called for them in exact amounts, I didn't use them or own them. I can thank Holli for this change in cooking- as she has proven that it's ok to bravely use seasonings in all sorts of combinations. Not to mention we now have a very large bottle of red pepper flakes sitting in our cabinet- thanks Korean influence!
3.) I eat mutton and goat and horse.
Yeah, we currently have a frozen hunk of mutton in our freezer. And we eat it/cook it/prepare it pretty frequently. I still don't LOVE meat and would much prefer a big bowl of vegetables, but that's not exactly possible here.
4.) I can make soup broth from scratch.
5.) I routinely make bread, tortillas, etc.
Homemade foccaccia bread, tortillas, English muffins, pita bread, bagels, pretzels...all on the can and have made list.
6.) I rarely if ever drink milk.
I really like skim milk. I drank a decent amount of it in the States. There is no such thing as skim milk here. I use milk in baking and cooking but have drank a plain glass of milk maybe twice this past year. Instead, I (when I remember) take calcium supplements.
7.) I can use chopsticks and eat Korean food on a semi-regular basis.
We've had a lot of Korean mission teams visit us. As a result, we've eaten at a lot of Korean restaurants. I used to have ZERO ability to use chopsticks (as in- please can I have a fork?), but now I can totally eat with them with relatively few mishaps. And now I know I like pulgogi, bibimbap and chop chae.
8.) Chicken is a special and occasional treat.
I like chicken. It's probably the biggest reason why I would hesitate to become a vegetarian. And here....it's expensive, not eaten very often and rarely of good quality. We buy packages of it from a friend of a friend every few months and keep them in our freezer- cooking only little portions at a time and eating it very rarely so it will last for a long as possible.
9.) I drink a LOT more tea.
I drank tea frequently before, but now...now it's a multiple cups a day kind of thing. What else are you going to do when it's -40 degrees outside? We have more tea in our kitchen than you could possibly imagine.
10.) My fruit consumption is way more limited.
I love fruit. On a weekly basis in Dallas I would eat one bunch of bananas, 5-8 apples, one bunch of grapes and a container of blueberries or strawberries. Here, fruits are expensive and difficult to find- especially during the winter months. We usually can find apples, but everything else is way too expensive/non-existent. During the summer we did occasionally get some bananas and nectarines. I miss fruit!
More Things That Are Different lists to come as the one year mark approaches.
What things have changed in your life since this time last year?
I've started thinking about all of the things that are different about my life now and thought it might be fun to share some of them with you all.
And since making lists is one of the things I do best, I've made some lists (for different categories) about the differences between what was normal and what is normal now.
Things That Are Different: Food Edition
1.) I eat garlic and onions almost every single day.
Prior to Mongolia I don't think I had even ever seen raw garlic and I certainly didn't know how to cut it or what food to use it with. I didn't dislike onions, but I never just bought them when I went grocery shopping. Now you can pretty much count on us having both garlic and onions in our kitchen at all times- they are staples that we use constantly.
2.) I use seasonings beyond salt and pepper.
I like seasonings, but have always been a tad afraid of them. Basically, unless I was following a recipe that called for them in exact amounts, I didn't use them or own them. I can thank Holli for this change in cooking- as she has proven that it's ok to bravely use seasonings in all sorts of combinations. Not to mention we now have a very large bottle of red pepper flakes sitting in our cabinet- thanks Korean influence!
3.) I eat mutton and goat and horse.
Yeah, we currently have a frozen hunk of mutton in our freezer. And we eat it/cook it/prepare it pretty frequently. I still don't LOVE meat and would much prefer a big bowl of vegetables, but that's not exactly possible here.
4.) I can make soup broth from scratch.
5.) I routinely make bread, tortillas, etc.
Homemade foccaccia bread, tortillas, English muffins, pita bread, bagels, pretzels...all on the can and have made list.
6.) I rarely if ever drink milk.
I really like skim milk. I drank a decent amount of it in the States. There is no such thing as skim milk here. I use milk in baking and cooking but have drank a plain glass of milk maybe twice this past year. Instead, I (when I remember) take calcium supplements.
7.) I can use chopsticks and eat Korean food on a semi-regular basis.
We've had a lot of Korean mission teams visit us. As a result, we've eaten at a lot of Korean restaurants. I used to have ZERO ability to use chopsticks (as in- please can I have a fork?), but now I can totally eat with them with relatively few mishaps. And now I know I like pulgogi, bibimbap and chop chae.
8.) Chicken is a special and occasional treat.
I like chicken. It's probably the biggest reason why I would hesitate to become a vegetarian. And here....it's expensive, not eaten very often and rarely of good quality. We buy packages of it from a friend of a friend every few months and keep them in our freezer- cooking only little portions at a time and eating it very rarely so it will last for a long as possible.
9.) I drink a LOT more tea.
I drank tea frequently before, but now...now it's a multiple cups a day kind of thing. What else are you going to do when it's -40 degrees outside? We have more tea in our kitchen than you could possibly imagine.
10.) My fruit consumption is way more limited.
I love fruit. On a weekly basis in Dallas I would eat one bunch of bananas, 5-8 apples, one bunch of grapes and a container of blueberries or strawberries. Here, fruits are expensive and difficult to find- especially during the winter months. We usually can find apples, but everything else is way too expensive/non-existent. During the summer we did occasionally get some bananas and nectarines. I miss fruit!
More Things That Are Different lists to come as the one year mark approaches.
What things have changed in your life since this time last year?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
scene from a morning run and thoughts on culture
I sat around a table of gorgeous senior citizen women yesterday afternoon, listening to them sing traditional Mongolian songs as we played cards, drank tea and ate cookies.As they remembered songs and wrote down lyrics and joined in the sing-a-long, I started pondering my own identifications with culture. They have these songs, these traditions, these stories and cultural landmarks in their lives. And I....well, I'm not really sure what I have.
I know that the majority of my ancestry is German, along with some other mixings of Western European roots. I did not grow up doing culturally German things (unless occasionally eating bratwurst counts for something) and choosing to study German throughout high school and university was less a cultural choice and more of an "I'm a nerd and find this fun" choice.
Which begs the question, what culture do I claim as mine? By not being sure am I (falsely) acting as if my culture is so dominant it need not be defined? By not knowing am I saying that my culture is the standard (also NOT TRUE)?
And then this morning, I read this post on Rage Against the Minivan.
I read her words to Holli and we had a brief conversation about it while we got ready for the day. Living in Mongolia has certainly given me a new understanding of the parts of ourselves and our values that are different from those held here.
It's also made me ask a lot of questions about how these cultural values and traditions are formed and what they are rooted in. Why do we value them? Why do we keep practicing them? Are there certain ones we've let go of over time? Have we developed new ones?
And for myself, how do my values and traditions shift and change as I live in a different culture and create a life here? Will these changes remain for the rest of my life or are they only temporary adjustments born out of the need to live and function here and now?
Read Kristen's post and let me know your thoughts. And make sure to check out the comments on her post- Holli and I particularly related to the comment about the use of an oven being a part of white culture, or as the commenter put it, "My oven makes me white!"
Monday, September 13, 2010
without voice
Walking through fields and pastures
looking at the clouds
watching the green mountains creeping closer
the rain drops falling briefly as we move.
A sleeping bag on my head,
an admittance of being stubborn on my lips,
and a friend's declarations for me to wait as we walk onward.
Thinking about the silence I can't break and of how my words are not enough to start a conversation or even to maintain one for any length of time (Mongolian is hard, friends).
Have I lost my voice? Does that mean I have lost myself?
Words, communication, conversation are so very important- these precious pearls among the dirt. They are a part of me.
And yet I'm not convinced that they are the same as who I am.
They are ultimately a means of expression, of telling what we are thinking and feeling.They let us and others see into ourselves. But are they me?
I spent that hour-long hike thinking about my silence. Wondering if I had lost myself in it, if it was a wall that could not be torn down, if it was nothing but the big stumbling block I felt it to be in that moment.
As I walked next to my friends, listening to their words, I thought about my own lack of syllables and sentences and phrases. Often I glare at my silence from the corner, angry that it can't be replaced by what I want to say easily and without having to mentally conjugate verbs in my head.
But that hike made me think about how the silence isn't always bad.
It made me think about how words can also be an audio track that does not match the picture, a proposition of who we are that is not always echoed in our actions or our choices. That sometimes our words create contradictions instead of truths, jumbled identities instead of honesty.
Have I lost myself?
Monks take vows of silence and solitude, spending months and years in the absence of words and conversation. And I would bet that they would say they walked away from those times with a deeper sense of self and identity rooted in Christ- not that they lost themselves.
But I am not in silence, nor am I solitude. I live in a city. I spend my days with people. People who I love and long to share and communicate with.
Yes, maybe I have lost my voice.
The voice that I used to have, the one that used words and conversations and a vocabulary that went beyond verbs like "to eat" and "to drink" and "to go."
It's frustrating and it's painful and sometimes it makes me want to stomp my feet and scream.
It is also forcing me to look at my actions and my choices in a whole new way. To look at my actions without the shield of words around to create my own version of myself to present to the world.
Without the masks I create for myself out of sentences and punctuation and elegant phrases.
When my actions are the only things speaking for me, when they are my only voice, they take on a whole new level of importance .
Suddenly what I do is so plainly evident. It is everything. And it shouts into the silence about who I am and what is important and what I care about.
It points to what I value and who I serve and who and how I love.
Suddenly who I am is not constructed out of words but out of actions. And there is no room for disconnect, no place for a gap between what I say and what I do.
All there is to know is what I do. All there is to me is the choices I make each day- of how to respond, of how to love and of how to serve.
I have found in the silence the reality that words are not everything. That they are not all of me.
I have found in the silence the truest voice I have.
looking at the clouds
watching the green mountains creeping closer
the rain drops falling briefly as we move.
A sleeping bag on my head,
an admittance of being stubborn on my lips,
and a friend's declarations for me to wait as we walk onward.
Thinking about the silence I can't break and of how my words are not enough to start a conversation or even to maintain one for any length of time (Mongolian is hard, friends).
Have I lost my voice? Does that mean I have lost myself?
Words, communication, conversation are so very important- these precious pearls among the dirt. They are a part of me.
And yet I'm not convinced that they are the same as who I am.
They are ultimately a means of expression, of telling what we are thinking and feeling.They let us and others see into ourselves. But are they me?
I spent that hour-long hike thinking about my silence. Wondering if I had lost myself in it, if it was a wall that could not be torn down, if it was nothing but the big stumbling block I felt it to be in that moment.
As I walked next to my friends, listening to their words, I thought about my own lack of syllables and sentences and phrases. Often I glare at my silence from the corner, angry that it can't be replaced by what I want to say easily and without having to mentally conjugate verbs in my head.
But that hike made me think about how the silence isn't always bad.
It made me think about how words can also be an audio track that does not match the picture, a proposition of who we are that is not always echoed in our actions or our choices. That sometimes our words create contradictions instead of truths, jumbled identities instead of honesty.
Have I lost myself?
Monks take vows of silence and solitude, spending months and years in the absence of words and conversation. And I would bet that they would say they walked away from those times with a deeper sense of self and identity rooted in Christ- not that they lost themselves.
But I am not in silence, nor am I solitude. I live in a city. I spend my days with people. People who I love and long to share and communicate with.
Yes, maybe I have lost my voice.
The voice that I used to have, the one that used words and conversations and a vocabulary that went beyond verbs like "to eat" and "to drink" and "to go."
It's frustrating and it's painful and sometimes it makes me want to stomp my feet and scream.
It is also forcing me to look at my actions and my choices in a whole new way. To look at my actions without the shield of words around to create my own version of myself to present to the world.
Without the masks I create for myself out of sentences and punctuation and elegant phrases.
When my actions are the only things speaking for me, when they are my only voice, they take on a whole new level of importance .
Suddenly what I do is so plainly evident. It is everything. And it shouts into the silence about who I am and what is important and what I care about.
It points to what I value and who I serve and who and how I love.
Suddenly who I am is not constructed out of words but out of actions. And there is no room for disconnect, no place for a gap between what I say and what I do.
All there is to know is what I do. All there is to me is the choices I make each day- of how to respond, of how to love and of how to serve.
I have found in the silence the reality that words are not everything. That they are not all of me.
I have found in the silence the truest voice I have.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
dietrich and a prayer
"When the morning mists of dreams vanish, then dawns the bright day of Christian fellowship."
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, pg 28-29 "Life Together"
Re-reading "Life Together" is a necessary thing I think. It never fails to smack me in the face with reminders of what it means to live together in Christian community- and to do so in a way that reflects what community is meant to look like- full of the mess and sin and redemption and forgiveness.
Never easy and yet always beautiful. Never without struggle and yet always worth it.
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, pg 28-29 "Life Together"
"The peace of God-from the Wee Worship Book, pg. 35
the peace of God's people
the peace of Mary mild
the loving one
and of Christ,
King of human hearts
God's own peace...
Be upon each thing our eyes take in,
Be upon each thing our ears take in,
Be upon our bodies which come from earth,
Be upon our souls which come from heaven,
Evermore and evermore,
Amen."
Re-reading "Life Together" is a necessary thing I think. It never fails to smack me in the face with reminders of what it means to live together in Christian community- and to do so in a way that reflects what community is meant to look like- full of the mess and sin and redemption and forgiveness.
Never easy and yet always beautiful. Never without struggle and yet always worth it.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
ykylimw #24
you know you live in mongolia when...
...you make pierogies with the senior citizen group and when they tell you that the oven is not working so you can't bake them, they suggest steaming some and frying some.
Which means the pierogies basically become the two Mongolian national foods (steamed dumplings and fried meat pockets) except minus the meat. And then the adorable grandmas who are busily folding the pierogies start referring to them as "byy3" and "horscher" and you realize that instead of making Polish food, you've just made a potato-variation of Mongolian food.
Be proud my fellow Pittsburghers- the members of the Chingeltei Senior Citizen group are totally fans of pierogies, both steamed and fried.
...you make pierogies with the senior citizen group and when they tell you that the oven is not working so you can't bake them, they suggest steaming some and frying some.
Which means the pierogies basically become the two Mongolian national foods (steamed dumplings and fried meat pockets) except minus the meat. And then the adorable grandmas who are busily folding the pierogies start referring to them as "byy3" and "horscher" and you realize that instead of making Polish food, you've just made a potato-variation of Mongolian food.
Be proud my fellow Pittsburghers- the members of the Chingeltei Senior Citizen group are totally fans of pierogies, both steamed and fried.
Monday, September 6, 2010
I don't want to be too old
Ya'll, I have a confession to make- and not a particularly surprising one at that.
I want to be in school.
Classes started here on September 1st and I've spent the past few days watching all of my school-age kiddos put on their super adorable school uniforms (little suits and ties for the boys and skirts and jackets for the girls) and trot to school with their new backpacks and stockings and notebooks. Not to mention the GINORMOUS hair bows the girls put in their hair. Seriously, I'm not kidding- it is as if 80's big hair lives on via BIG bows here in Mongolia.
I've watched as my university students pack their conspicuously cool schoolbags and put on their new skinny jeans and t-shirts and discuss their class schedules and fret about professors and homework. (Three of my most dear students are starting university this year and it just turns me into this anxious mother who wants to hear all about everything from them)
One of my just-starting-university boys and I even went to the market on Saturday so I could help him pick out a new backpack. It took us a bit to find one that was appropriately manly (ie no decorations, weird zippers/pockets/words or any color other than black) but I had fun acting as school supplies consultant :-)
And then I realized that I am 6 years older than him. And that I am already finished with university. And have been for a while now. Oi.
Today, our friend came over in between her classes. As she pulled out her class schedule to check when she would be done this evening, I was filled with this incredible longing to be a student again.
To be figuring out my schedule and attending lectures and taking notes and studying and choosing professors.
I know logically that I can go back to school someday. But there is just something about not being a part of the back-to-school culture this year that has me longing for packages of new pens and fresh notebooks and used textbooks.
It is strange to have spent 17 years of my life with the milestone of the first day of school as a part of each year and to now no longer have that. Now time is not marked by semesters or winter breaks or finals or summer vacation.
Now time has other markers, other milestones, other steps that show the progression of time. I'm ok with that. Most of the time I'm grateful for this new part of life.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I really wish I could buy a new backpack and go to the first day of classes again.
I want to be in school.
Classes started here on September 1st and I've spent the past few days watching all of my school-age kiddos put on their super adorable school uniforms (little suits and ties for the boys and skirts and jackets for the girls) and trot to school with their new backpacks and stockings and notebooks. Not to mention the GINORMOUS hair bows the girls put in their hair. Seriously, I'm not kidding- it is as if 80's big hair lives on via BIG bows here in Mongolia.
I've watched as my university students pack their conspicuously cool schoolbags and put on their new skinny jeans and t-shirts and discuss their class schedules and fret about professors and homework. (Three of my most dear students are starting university this year and it just turns me into this anxious mother who wants to hear all about everything from them)
One of my just-starting-university boys and I even went to the market on Saturday so I could help him pick out a new backpack. It took us a bit to find one that was appropriately manly (ie no decorations, weird zippers/pockets/words or any color other than black) but I had fun acting as school supplies consultant :-)
And then I realized that I am 6 years older than him. And that I am already finished with university. And have been for a while now. Oi.
Today, our friend came over in between her classes. As she pulled out her class schedule to check when she would be done this evening, I was filled with this incredible longing to be a student again.
To be figuring out my schedule and attending lectures and taking notes and studying and choosing professors.
I know logically that I can go back to school someday. But there is just something about not being a part of the back-to-school culture this year that has me longing for packages of new pens and fresh notebooks and used textbooks.
It is strange to have spent 17 years of my life with the milestone of the first day of school as a part of each year and to now no longer have that. Now time is not marked by semesters or winter breaks or finals or summer vacation.
Now time has other markers, other milestones, other steps that show the progression of time. I'm ok with that. Most of the time I'm grateful for this new part of life.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I really wish I could buy a new backpack and go to the first day of classes again.
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