Bad idea

Those giant Milka Bars? They are not good for people with little self-control around delicious chocoately things.


noted.

All's Well That Ends Well

...let's just hope this ends well, eh?


Today has been quite a day.
(written Tuesday, Aug 23rd)

_________________________________________________

Oh my, had my first battle with bureaucracy on Tuesday... thought for a moment that I might be deported, but surely if they didn't kick out Sam Greenberg, they will not kick ME out...

So what happened, eh? I arrive to Slovenia 2 weeks ago. It's been a bit chaotic- afterall I have made a few friends in the past 2 years that I love very dearly and have been eager to visit in addition to the pseudo-family. Plus I had to relax on the seaside, make new friends, explore nature, and form a crush on a charming young Slovenec... these things take energy... (don't worry, potential suitors- the crush is dissipating)

In the midst of all of exhausting wonder, I received a phone call. This phone call, in fact, came at the perfect time to destroy my ecstasy at purchasing a bike (which, btw is BEAUTIFUL. I will attach a picture soon- it's a men's Hybrid, blue and silver... perhaps would prefer a woman's bike, but the price was unbeatable). I couldn't make out everything in the phone call, only things like:
''Your work permit was rejected''
''We have to get these things Apostilled''
''We can't pay you until October''
''You might have to go to Washington''

Huh? Are you serious? I sent all of the documents, along with multiple clarifying emails.

Luckily, I am the most blessed woman in the world and have people taking care of me at every corner. So thankful, dear parents- mom, thank you for your incredible organization that allows me to know exactly where documents are even from 7 time zones away, Oče- thank you for being a knight in shining armor and letting this Apostille issue eat up your morning at work (and then afternoon? Evening?) without a single complaint, for taking everything to the post office, and for making photocopies to send to me (remember! Do not unstaple!!!).


I think it's all going to be ok. At least, that is what people keep reminding me. Fighting against the typical-nicole-panic-state, trying to keep calm and carry on...

Love you all.
-Nika

ps. I promise- future posts will be more entertaining.

Why hello hour 39 of traveling.

My watch says 7:47am. It's 11:47pm in Kansas. 6:47 in Slovenija. 1:47am in Nova Scotia. I am in Helsinki. Why? I don't know... I'm too tired to remember anything- I have not gotten a good night's sleep since Sunday. Is it Thursday? Thursday.

Apparently I can only sleep at really inconvenient times on this trip (while I am waiting in line for the bathrooms, while they're serving meals on flights, moments after my tea was delivered to my table in Manchester). Give me a solid chuck of time in a relatively-quiet airport after a full-energy fight just to stay awake on the airport shuttle bus, and I will defeat all odds and stay up throughout the night.

Still, I am safe. In 5 hours or so I will be at my somewhat-new home... and I cannot wait explore that place and figure out what that means. I'll probably let you know.

That Wasn't the Whole Point... Longing for Home, part II

Frederick Buechner is wonderful- I used to want CS Lewis to be my grandfather (in addition to those that I already had, plus Mr. Wickman, my high school Calculus teacher), but now I think that the extra-grandfather-that-is-a-phenomenal-Christian-author spot is going to have to be filled with Mr. Buechner (ok, I'd take either).

The used copy of Longing For Home that I was given from Jon Birney a few years ago is now marked up with colored pen, pencils, and food smudges (the latter being unintentional). And it's a book wholly appropriate for me at the moment, for several reasons:
1. I have no idea where I will live next year
2. There are 3 places that have very much become home for me (Kansas, Slovenia, Nova Scotia), but those are not the places I want to teach for now.
3. Graham Ripple, who knows me (though not in the biblical sense) wrote me this question a few months ago: "Do you feel like you are supposed to find "home" or create "home" for people."

Both, Graham, both.
I want to be present where I am, and in order to live fully as myself, I have to be myself, and to do that, I have to feel at home.

It's strange to be home at the moment: Here in Kansas. It's wonderful- I love my family, and I love my friends, but of course home has changed. It's strange to sit around the table and feel the absence of grandpa, dedek, babica, and in a different circle: Brianna, Kevin.

Buechner, in a beautiful chapter entitled "The Journey Toward Wholeness" writes of visiting his grandmother in a nursing home- it turns out to be the last time they see each other, and everyone is aware of that from the get-go. Her name is Naya, and he describes how she is able to see them without being overcome with grief at possibly seeing each other for the last time. Frederick writes:

She did not lose sight of us by focusing on her own predicament, as I am quite sure that in her place I would have done. Instead it would be more accurate to say that she lost sight of her own predicament by focusing on us, and I believe that the capacity for doing that is another mark of her wholeness.
To be whole, I think, means among other things that you see the world whole. She wrote of the ignominy of having become an old woman in a nursing home instead of the Naya of legend, but because she was able not only to identify the ignominy but also not to be overwhelmed by it, she revealed herself as still the Naya of legend even so. At the same time she identified what she called the joy of seeing us without being overwhelmed by that either, overwhelmed, that is, in the sense of losing track of the joy in the realization that she was never going to experience it again. In other words, she was "all there," as the saying goes. She saw both the light and the dark of what the world was offering her and was not split in two by them. She was whole in herself and saw the world as whole.
-page 108-109

I wish that I had words that were equally beautiful as Buechner's to describe how this section makes me feel... However, Buechner never did become my grandfather, and I am simple folk :) Still, I want to live in this beautiful truth when I grieve death and change. To take grief at loss and joy in memories as a part of the same stride and still not feel lost in my emotions.

Longing for Home

It's Christmas.

For those of you who know me well*, you probably understand that when I enjoy things, I'm a bit extreme about them. I might
be a little extreme in general. Christmas time = a lot of reminiscing (especially seeing as I am friends with Jessica Heath), and it's been nice to revisit those things that I used to be extreme about, and see how they've changed**.

Christmas was one of those things. I sincerely apologize to anyone that was once blinded sitting behind me in class with Christmas lights (battery powered) winding around my hair. My apologies also for the others with lockers on the second floor of MHS East Campus who had to endure the clogged hallway from visitors to the "Holiday" locker. I was a Christmas extremist, I'll admit it.- I listened to my Christmas cassette tape all through the year- I had a 3 digit Christmas countdown shirt- I marathoned every cartoon version of "A Christmas Carol". And somehow, I lost that extreme passion somewhere in between being super-emotional about the imminent high school graduation and finding new obsessions to replace the old.

I would like to say, my love for Christmas is back- but not for the same reasons... Gifts annoy me at times, I feel a little more guilty about eating 3 dozen sugar cookies, lights seem like an utter waste of electricity, I do not care about Scooby-Do being haunted by the ghost of Christmas past.
I do however love coming back here- To my wonderful family, to my beloved friends. To the soup Christmas dinner at my house, and to sitting at the kids table even though we now have a bottle of wine instead of a carafe of Kool-aid.

What's the point? I like Christmas, even though I no longer make a paper chain with 365 links, as in years past.

Schmidt/Orazem family Christmas quote of the Year:
2010: "Will you assholes stop sending me this shit? I don't even know what the hell we're talking about"
2009: "Hmmmm, maybe this explains some things (-Derek, while pulling 6 bottles of wine and an empty bottle of whiskey out of the recycling bin)








*which I realize is everyone that reads this blog...
**there are SOME things I prefer to not revisit, but inevitably will be brought up. So, Graham, let me jump ahead of you and mention Hollywood, "Amen", hyperhydrosis, and the variety show. I REGRET NOTHING!

Ms. Schmidt Goes Hard in the Paint

As most of you know, I finished my first batch of student teaching 3 weeks ago.

"What? Ms. Schmidt? You finished and you only posted 3 times during the whole experience? And now it's been 3 weeks and you're just now getting to us???"

Forgive me. Teaching was a crazy whirlpool of not sleeping, learning Earth and Space science concepts days before teaching them, making lesson plans to meet the needs of 155 different learners, and teaching myself how to speak Slovene and dance the dougie in my free time.

But now enough time has passed that I can post stories as they come back to me... every day something will remind me of that time that De'von intimidated me, but then came in after school to practice his cursive, or that time we... deviated from the mandatory "Second Step BS*" curriculum and learned teamwork and sportsmanship by ripping apart that other homeroom.

But this story comes up several times each day, mostly after I do something embarrassing [or borderline detrimental], and need to redeem myself by showing how awesome I am.

Do you remember this?

*Note: Second Step teaching students important skills, in the most unhelpful manners possible. BS was my own addition.
The football players in high school would get each other to look at it, and then punch each other in the shoulder or stomach? (I know, I know; clearly not the typical football hand)

Well now, it's this:


Except, there's no punching. The whole goal is go get each other to look at your hand in this position, and then just make the "Oooooh dang!" sounds when you get people to look.

And I'm AWESOME at it.

We're talking, 100% legit. Ask me stories about all of my pure ownage, I've got tons... but this is the best one.

Ms. Schmidt learns how to discipline, Case #1: So there's a gentlemen named Reuben (note: I never give real names) in my class... a pretty odd kid, though also incredibly endearing. Well, Reuben gets picked on a lot for being a little out of the ordinary. One day, he says to me:
"Ms. Schmidt, someone stole my stuff"
I quickly look and see it under the table.
"No, Reuben, someone just moved it."
I look around- Tyree is sitting close... notorious for this sort of thing, but he's pretty nice to me.
"Tyree, did you move Reuben's stuff?"
"No! I didn't do it Ms. Schmidt, you didn't see me do it!"
"You're right, I didn't see you do that, but I did see this.

It was perfect. Reuben went crazy, winning, but without being beaten up after school. Tyree knew I didn't approve, but in a way that just showed Reuben how to positively dish it back.

Best part of all? Two rows back, Justin turns to Alexander:
"Dude, Alexander... Ms. Schmidt goes hard in the paint"


FACT.

Only My Students

Sept 24th, SURVEY:

#15: If you could be any flavor of Jell-O, which would you be, and why?

-"I'd be pimp, cuz it's pimp"
Great answer, sir.