Worst updater ever. But...

After mid-June I will be blissfully free for a month, during which I promise to post the things saved on my computer, write more for you all, and, oh yes, frantically do all those real-life things I've put off for far too many months.

In other news, my computer is working! Well! The internet too! I took the laptop to the cell-phone/internet service store in Kirovograd, where the people are super friendly (best customer service in Ukraine) ...and was promptly frustrated. The man did everything I'd ALREADY done and, when it inevitably didn't work, told me to go home and try to log on in an hour and throughout the day. Then, the clincher. When I asked him what to do if it didn't work, he said, "It must work." Cue me: "There's no MUST about this." "It will work." "It's not working now. Why will it work in an hour? What have you done that's different from what I've done over and over for three days? Why will today be different?" "I've entered in all the settings. It must work." Exit me, doubtful and bad-tempered for spending my day off on a bus for nothing. But lo and behold, it works today! I'm ecstatic, but... WHY does it work? I am aware that computers are fickle and temperamental creatures, but why must it make me spend hours finding someone to fix it who does nothing that I do not do? God humbling me, I suppose. It's probably good for me to swallow my pride and go look and sound like an idiot in a Ukrainian store every now and then to keep my hubris in check.

To top everything off, my computer began charging once I got it home! My computer hasn't charged properly for months, but it's back to normal now.

Clearly, the cell phone store man is magic. Also, kudos to him for trying to speak English to me. Always much appreciated.


Also, today was Last Bell. Last official day of school. I asked to present some awards to students who had worked after school on English projects throughout the year, so got to stand on stage with the important administration people. Because the audience was not only students, but teachers, parents and city government officials, I gave my little speech in Ukrainian...complete with a dramatic pause and deep breath after every paragraph, during which my kids cheered me on. It was unnerving. But my Ukrainian tutor was standing just to my right (she was a class teacher {like a don for secondary school kids} for the graduating class this year and so standing up front). I could hear her muttering "Good. Good. Right" throughout, which helped. My goal was to refocus the attention usually directed at me as the strange American teacher onto the students who had displayed extra effort this year and encourage others to participate next year, but somehow the moment made ME the "event" of the ceremony. Students typically bring bouquets for teachers to Last Bell, and as I was thanking the school, students, and teachers, a few kids ran up with bouquets for me, which cued more students...and very soon I was buried under peonies (peonies have just come into bloom and most of the flowers were gathered from the garden). So I stammered out a "thank you, everyone" and went back to my spot, where the bigwig administration guy who came to the ceremony gave me the bouquet students had given him a few minutes earlier. Kids I've never even spoken to wanted photos. (I wish I could get my hands on one to show you all the mountain of flowers. I could barely get my arms around them.) I got thumbs-up and handshakes (handshakes! No-one's shaken my hand for AGES.)

Afterwards, I got to sit around and get tipsy with the other teachers at the celebratory lunch. Which, of course, is nothing exceptional. It seems that after every methodological meeting this year, I sent e-mails to various friends with, "We sat around and ate sandwiches and candy and I drank three glasses of wine...and then went to teach my 3rd period class." What was exceptional was that this time I was really a part of everything. Usually I'm just on the edges of faculty meetings. They even toasted me twice. The principal had me pour his vodka so he could say an American poured him a shot. There were also toasts to the teachers, the graduates, the class teachers, women, love... etc, as per usual during Ukrainian celebrations. No singing this time, though.

One of the English teachers said I had 'studied' Ukrainian -- perfective tense, meaning "studied thoroughly and completely." Of course I haven't. There's no such thing. I think the fact that my Ukrainian is still elementary is proved by the fact that I stood there and conducted myself while I spoke, my hand at my stomach, waving in little circles to propel my voice forward and get the cadences right. They THINK my Ukrainian is better than it actually is because my accent is good. Just because I can say things prettily does not mean that I can say a lot.

I was puzzled a bit by all the attention. Parents moved around to the front of the courtyard to watch me talk. They took pictures of me. I think, when I was planning my presentation and intending to honor students, I overlooked the impact that speaking Ukrainian would have on everyone. My kids either find it exasperating or cute. They are engaged in their own linguistic struggles and empathize with mine. My language difficulties are a point of similarity -- "she's like us." Plus my students and I understand one another. They know me, I know them. They like me. I realize now that it's different for the school community that does not interact with me daily and who are not my students. I usually think that people see me and my struggles to form a complete sentence as something different -- something sort of funny. I usually assume the attention comes from the novelty of it all. I forget that here I am both me and my country. When I stand up and speak in Ukrainian, I am the American who speaks fluent English, the language so many in the world study...and who yet took the time to learn Ukrainian. Not Russian. Ukrainian. I am not just cute. I thank them for helping me learn about their language and way of life when I could have easily stayed in Amercia. I am me, but the "me" I am here is inextricable from my nationality -- from the power and influence of my country. I am interesting not just because I bumble, but because I didn't have to try, and I did. They are gratified that someone from so far away sees the value of who they are and how they live. And are proud of me for doing so.

Or so it seems to me.