If we are ever out together, and you notice that I smell nice and ask me what I am wearing, I will probably lie to you and tell you it is a new shampoo or body wash. What it will really be is Ajax dishsoap. This isn’t your normal orange Ajax that it is in every cafeteria around the world; not common dish soap for this girl! In fact it is called Lavender and Lemon and smells like a scene from Heidi.
I am going to buy some for myself…and my dishes.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Stranger Smiles
I am hoping to add to this section. It will start here with three accounts, but I want it to grow.
I like to smile at people when I am in public, and I like it when people smile back at me. This section is dedicated to people who show their pearly whites to strangers.
One person I worked with described that he had two smiles: one was a flirty smile and one was a nice—but professional—smile. He then told me that he would make sure that when buses went by—that were usually filled with elderly people—he would flash his big flirty smile at all the old women on board. I liked that and developed two smiles for myself.
My first smile is my normal smile. It usually shows my top row of teeth—about nine of them. My second smile is my old people smile (I don’t know how it got this name, but that is what it is). This smile forms a fuzzy rectangle shape with my lips and shows two rows of teeth, about 23 teeth in all. It is not conventional, but is still a smile.
Account One.
One day I was driving my car on a city street and was stopped at a red light. The traffic coming towards me had a green light and a green arrow, and so they began to move slowly. I saw an old man in a bright yellow VW Beatle. I dazzled him with my old person smile, not thinking about it because it has become somewhat common for me to do. While giving him this smile, we made eye contact. He then reciprocated my smile: he turned his head to look straight at me, stretched his lips back to their corners, and showed me as many teeth as possible as he drove past me one lane away in his bright VW Beatle. I laughed out loud. I know my smile is funny but I had never had it mirrored back to me, and in such a quick moment! His old face looking straight back at me as he zips along in his yellow beetle is a clear picture in my mind and makes me love that old man.
Account Two.
I was in the Holy City. We were walking around the Old Town in Jerusalem on the historic cobblestone to get to another holy site. Coming towards us was a Hasidic Jew. He was wearing his black pants, white shirt, black suit coat, and black hat. He had dark features, his dark brown curls tried to keep up to his fast past. As our trails neared we made eye contact and he offered me a smile that was as large as the western wall. This wasn’t a halfhearted smile of closed lips with corners that barely pointed to the heaves, This smile was one that took effort; the top lip had to separate from the bottom as the sides of his mouth pulled even further away from each other to form a gap that would display his top row of white teeth. It was sincere, contagious, and had to be duplicated. Instantly I told the corners of my mouth to pull out and up, directing them to point as far as they could above while insisting that my lips separated to allow a gap where my teeth could be seen.
He tread on, we continued to wander, and that thought of a shared smile in Israel is a warm memory of my travels.
Account Three.
I was holiday shopping. The store had many people roaming the aisles in search of gifts. I tire easily of shopping with so much competition and chaos. I was looking at some food items and saw a toddler sitting in the seat of a shopping cart and I’d guess that the child was younger than two years of age. The child looked at me and I at him. When making eye contact, I smiled my normal smile and at the same time I lowered my head, just slightly and my eyes widened. The child looked back at me for a few seconds and slowly, a smile grew on his face. It was a slow process. It was not an instantaneous recognition and counter smile. It was deliberate and was produced in slow measures. Soon after he had shown me his full smile of all his baby teeth, his father pushed him away, but I stood in the isle, and smiled at the cereal boxes.
I like to smile at people when I am in public, and I like it when people smile back at me. This section is dedicated to people who show their pearly whites to strangers.
One person I worked with described that he had two smiles: one was a flirty smile and one was a nice—but professional—smile. He then told me that he would make sure that when buses went by—that were usually filled with elderly people—he would flash his big flirty smile at all the old women on board. I liked that and developed two smiles for myself.
My first smile is my normal smile. It usually shows my top row of teeth—about nine of them. My second smile is my old people smile (I don’t know how it got this name, but that is what it is). This smile forms a fuzzy rectangle shape with my lips and shows two rows of teeth, about 23 teeth in all. It is not conventional, but is still a smile.
Account One.
One day I was driving my car on a city street and was stopped at a red light. The traffic coming towards me had a green light and a green arrow, and so they began to move slowly. I saw an old man in a bright yellow VW Beatle. I dazzled him with my old person smile, not thinking about it because it has become somewhat common for me to do. While giving him this smile, we made eye contact. He then reciprocated my smile: he turned his head to look straight at me, stretched his lips back to their corners, and showed me as many teeth as possible as he drove past me one lane away in his bright VW Beatle. I laughed out loud. I know my smile is funny but I had never had it mirrored back to me, and in such a quick moment! His old face looking straight back at me as he zips along in his yellow beetle is a clear picture in my mind and makes me love that old man.
Account Two.
I was in the Holy City. We were walking around the Old Town in Jerusalem on the historic cobblestone to get to another holy site. Coming towards us was a Hasidic Jew. He was wearing his black pants, white shirt, black suit coat, and black hat. He had dark features, his dark brown curls tried to keep up to his fast past. As our trails neared we made eye contact and he offered me a smile that was as large as the western wall. This wasn’t a halfhearted smile of closed lips with corners that barely pointed to the heaves, This smile was one that took effort; the top lip had to separate from the bottom as the sides of his mouth pulled even further away from each other to form a gap that would display his top row of white teeth. It was sincere, contagious, and had to be duplicated. Instantly I told the corners of my mouth to pull out and up, directing them to point as far as they could above while insisting that my lips separated to allow a gap where my teeth could be seen.
He tread on, we continued to wander, and that thought of a shared smile in Israel is a warm memory of my travels.
Account Three.
I was holiday shopping. The store had many people roaming the aisles in search of gifts. I tire easily of shopping with so much competition and chaos. I was looking at some food items and saw a toddler sitting in the seat of a shopping cart and I’d guess that the child was younger than two years of age. The child looked at me and I at him. When making eye contact, I smiled my normal smile and at the same time I lowered my head, just slightly and my eyes widened. The child looked back at me for a few seconds and slowly, a smile grew on his face. It was a slow process. It was not an instantaneous recognition and counter smile. It was deliberate and was produced in slow measures. Soon after he had shown me his full smile of all his baby teeth, his father pushed him away, but I stood in the isle, and smiled at the cereal boxes.
Mimo
I changed the name of this blog. Mimo is a Czech word, a preposition. It means besides, by, past, or despite. I heard this often to describe neighboring towns: Long Beach is ‘mimo’ Seal Beach.
In a different context, I heard someone excuse themselves with an apology and say, “I was ‘mimo’”. This was, to me, amusing. I could completely relate to this idea. I know how I can be in a conversation and one aspect of it catches my attention, and I will skip behind the synapses in my mind to a new thought and eliminate the background noise, or, unfortunately, a conversation.
Sometimes I feel this way in general about myself; that I am close, but not quite in the same town. That’s okay; it’s petty good over here, too.
Thus, the new name of the blog has been created.
In a different context, I heard someone excuse themselves with an apology and say, “I was ‘mimo’”. This was, to me, amusing. I could completely relate to this idea. I know how I can be in a conversation and one aspect of it catches my attention, and I will skip behind the synapses in my mind to a new thought and eliminate the background noise, or, unfortunately, a conversation.
Sometimes I feel this way in general about myself; that I am close, but not quite in the same town. That’s okay; it’s petty good over here, too.
Thus, the new name of the blog has been created.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Quotes from one of my favorite days subbing; Junior High, English
Student: Are you a cool sub or a mean sub?
Miss Mariner: A mean sub
Student: Aww man!
Miss Mariner: No…She’s a cool sub, I’ve had her before.
[my heart could have melted]
Student: Miss Mariner?
Miss Mariner: Yes?
Student: Can I call you Debbie?
Miss Mariner: No!
Student: Awww.
Student: Miss Mariner, did you know this room has a ghost…
It’s the ghost of Miss Brown’s husband!
Student: Miss Mariner did you know Kobe Braynt?
Miss Mariner (showing a peace sign): Yeah, we are like this
Student: He’s my uncle.
Student: Are you writing my name down?
Miss Mariner: Should I be writing your name down?
Panic
Student: Did she leave you any special notes of students you need to watch out for?
Miss Mariner: Maybe….what’s your name?
Panic
Miss Mariner: A mean sub
Student: Aww man!
Miss Mariner: No…She’s a cool sub, I’ve had her before.
[my heart could have melted]
Student: Miss Mariner?
Miss Mariner: Yes?
Student: Can I call you Debbie?
Miss Mariner: No!
Student: Awww.
Student: Miss Mariner, did you know this room has a ghost…
It’s the ghost of Miss Brown’s husband!
Student: Miss Mariner did you know Kobe Braynt?
Miss Mariner (showing a peace sign): Yeah, we are like this
Student: He’s my uncle.
Student: Are you writing my name down?
Miss Mariner: Should I be writing your name down?
Panic
Student: Did she leave you any special notes of students you need to watch out for?
Miss Mariner: Maybe….what’s your name?
Panic
Things I think about
Should I really use a plate? If I am going to need to wipe down the counter after I eat/prepare my food, and if it is clean from before—why bother? If I use a plate and then wash it after I use it, but also wipe down the counter why not save a step and just slap my food straight on the counter? I can see how a plate may be less of a mess, like for food such as spaghetti, or on occasions when you need to cut your food on your plate but for everything else, why not save some steps?
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Sound
I had a dream a few weeks ago. I was at a place I knew to be the Jerusalem Study Abroad Student Center. I was on vacation and I could hear a slightly irritating sound in the center. We went outside and the sound became louder and more irritating. I looked around and found the noise: it was snowing (not usual Jerusalem weather) and people were crunching around in the ice. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The racket continued as we drove around looking at a few nearby sights.
We returned to the school and a few girls took me into the cafeteria. The noise here was the same. They explained to me that because of current food markets, all their food had to be brought with them. This involved planning menus in advance. They further explained that most mornings they have toast with cinnamon but unfortunately the cooks here often burn the toast. That sound! It was the same sound but now in the form of people scraping off their top layer of bread. Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! I looked around the cafeteria and saw the students, hunched over their trays, tuning up their breakfast, and producing horrible music.
This was the last part of my dream that I remembered before waking up. I woke up with the dream in my mind and thinking it to be odd. Until…that sound! I was awake in my dark bedroom at three in the morning and that sound scraped and crunched into my dozy confused mind. I sat a minute and listened for the sound….it was coming from the wall my bed rests against that is directly behind my head. Gophers! My basement bedroom was hearing the nocturnal burrowing of gophers in our garden! They were destroying our garden and raising havoc in my dreams!
I pushed my covers to the side and hazily stood up. I faced the wall and knocked at the epicenter. The sound of crunching snow continued in my room. I knocked louder. Silence. Four seconds later the sound of a person scraping burnt toast took control of my dark living quarters. I knocked again, with real intent, banging hard on the wall using both hands. Silence. I paused, smiled to myself, and fell back in bed. I was moving pillows around when the sound began again. I sighed, took the pillows by my head, and made them the bread of a face sandwich that muffled the sound of a gopher burrowing in my garden at three in the morning.
We returned to the school and a few girls took me into the cafeteria. The noise here was the same. They explained to me that because of current food markets, all their food had to be brought with them. This involved planning menus in advance. They further explained that most mornings they have toast with cinnamon but unfortunately the cooks here often burn the toast. That sound! It was the same sound but now in the form of people scraping off their top layer of bread. Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! I looked around the cafeteria and saw the students, hunched over their trays, tuning up their breakfast, and producing horrible music.
This was the last part of my dream that I remembered before waking up. I woke up with the dream in my mind and thinking it to be odd. Until…that sound! I was awake in my dark bedroom at three in the morning and that sound scraped and crunched into my dozy confused mind. I sat a minute and listened for the sound….it was coming from the wall my bed rests against that is directly behind my head. Gophers! My basement bedroom was hearing the nocturnal burrowing of gophers in our garden! They were destroying our garden and raising havoc in my dreams!
I pushed my covers to the side and hazily stood up. I faced the wall and knocked at the epicenter. The sound of crunching snow continued in my room. I knocked louder. Silence. Four seconds later the sound of a person scraping burnt toast took control of my dark living quarters. I knocked again, with real intent, banging hard on the wall using both hands. Silence. I paused, smiled to myself, and fell back in bed. I was moving pillows around when the sound began again. I sighed, took the pillows by my head, and made them the bread of a face sandwich that muffled the sound of a gopher burrowing in my garden at three in the morning.
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