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| UCA Faculty, Students, and Staff at the Kuz Demi race. |
Saturday, October 14, 2017
What I did last Sunday: Cheering our students on
Last Sunday was the Kuz Demi Half Marathon and road race. Our students, staff, and faculty from six countries ran 5K and 10K races. Everyone did an outstanding job. Proud of this tremendous group and their stellar effort. Hope they keep running so that they'll be ready for the Spring race.
Subbotnik, Shashlyk, and....Cricket?
Today was our annual fall subbotnik. A subbotnik is a Saturday work project. The subbotnik was instituted by Lenin in the early days of the Soviet Union and serves in Kyrgyzstan as an example of community involvement still utilized today. For our subbotnik, students, faculty, and staff picked up tons of litter and garbage from a local park. We also picked up garbage at the panorama point up in the hills overlooking the Naryn Valley.
After our subbotnik, we had a delicious picnic of shashlyk: chicken and beef on skewers. It's become a fall tradition at the Naryn campus.
The new element of our day was a cricket match organized by our Pakistani math instructor. What was cool is that students from all countries, male and female alike, participated.
Our lives take us along unexpected pathways. When did I ever imagine that I would be working with students to clean a park in Kyrgyzstan with a Pakistani version of baseball as our entertainment when our meal was done? No, I never imagined it, but I am so glad to be doing it. Unexpected journeys give life as golden a hue as the aspens in a cleaned-up Kyrgyz park.
After our subbotnik, we had a delicious picnic of shashlyk: chicken and beef on skewers. It's become a fall tradition at the Naryn campus.
The new element of our day was a cricket match organized by our Pakistani math instructor. What was cool is that students from all countries, male and female alike, participated.
Our lives take us along unexpected pathways. When did I ever imagine that I would be working with students to clean a park in Kyrgyzstan with a Pakistani version of baseball as our entertainment when our meal was done? No, I never imagined it, but I am so glad to be doing it. Unexpected journeys give life as golden a hue as the aspens in a cleaned-up Kyrgyz park.
Top Ten Things Donald Trump will Never Say (or Tweet)
10. "I've always wanted to go on one of those Silent Buddhist Retreats."
9. "Those camping trips I took my kids on were definitely the highlight of my life."
8. "Heavenly Father, please forgive me for my sins."
7. "I married my wife because of her intellect and inner beauty."
6. "Martin Luther King Day has to be my favorite holiday."
5. "Changing diapers really made me a better father."
4. "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country."
3. "Kindness and love conquers all."
2. "It's not about me, but the principles I stand for."
1. "I'm sorry."
9. "Those camping trips I took my kids on were definitely the highlight of my life."
8. "Heavenly Father, please forgive me for my sins."
7. "I married my wife because of her intellect and inner beauty."
6. "Martin Luther King Day has to be my favorite holiday."
5. "Changing diapers really made me a better father."
4. "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country."
3. "Kindness and love conquers all."
2. "It's not about me, but the principles I stand for."
1. "I'm sorry."
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
What October 5th looks like in Kyrgyzstan
It looks like snow. It was sticking on the ground at our Naryn campus when I left for Bishkek today. Let's hope that this day will not be the last day I will see the green of the campus lawn until April.
On Dolon Pass (elevation 3050 meters) October 5th really looked like snow. And it will, most likely, until the 5th of May, that I am reasonably assured of.
As I traveled, October 5th looked like a traffic jam along the road to Bishkek as we wound toward Kochkor. This traffic jam consisted of endless herds of livestock heading for lower pasture land. It wouldn't surprise me if we had to evade 5000 sheep in the middle of the road, not to mention assorted cows, goats, horses and donkeys along the way.
If you were in some other land today, I bet October 5th where you are didn't look at all like this.
On Dolon Pass (elevation 3050 meters) October 5th really looked like snow. And it will, most likely, until the 5th of May, that I am reasonably assured of.
As I traveled, October 5th looked like a traffic jam along the road to Bishkek as we wound toward Kochkor. This traffic jam consisted of endless herds of livestock heading for lower pasture land. It wouldn't surprise me if we had to evade 5000 sheep in the middle of the road, not to mention assorted cows, goats, horses and donkeys along the way.
If you were in some other land today, I bet October 5th where you are didn't look at all like this.
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| Campus Snow |
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| Near Dolon Pass |
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| Kyrgyz Traffic Jam |
Saturday, September 30, 2017
September Snowfall
My cellphone gave me the first warning yesterday, as there was teeny little snowflake embedded in the weather icon that sits in the upper right hand corner of my phone. I stared at the little snowflake for a minute or two. "Can't be," I muttered to myself.
Oh, but could be. I remembered one of my co-workers who, on almost the same day a year ago, was traveling back to Naryn from Bishkek on a marshrutka and got caught in a blizzard on Dolon Pass. The marshrutka driver hadn't yet put snow tires on his vehicle, the vehicle couldn't quite make it to the top of the pass on the slick roads, so the passengers, at great risk to life and limb, were forced to jump out of the marshrutka and push it up over the summit. Oh, most certainly, definitely could be!
When I got out of bed this morning, I found that the snowflake embedded in my phone wasn't "can't be" but instead "UNDOUBTEDLY!"
Yes, there was snow: not in the distant heights of the mountains surrounding our campus, but directly in the foothills right on top of us. And when I went outside to take a picture of this frightening sight, I felt the cold drizzle had a bit of solid substance in it--rain and snow were mixed.
Winter in the Kyrgyz mountains is not for the weak or whining or for those unwilling to face the long haul. It is the season that defines this place in where I reside. And it defines the people who must endure this tough, unyielding season. Just as the herders have brought their animals down from the summer pastures, I must get my winter refuge ready. I have my supply of tea, provisions for baking hearty winter breads and cooking thick and heavy stews, my wool Canadian mittens and my warmest furry hat. And I must also search through the recesses of my soul for the spirit I must adopt to survive the six-month stretch of unrelenting snow and chill. Must I dig out my calm and peaceful, Zen-like countenance? Perhaps I need to find a fearsome, defiant spirit that can fight any adversary? In reality, I must find both as each day will determine which spirit requires summoning.
And as another year advances toward its finish, I gaze up into the hills and the dusting of snow upon them and I am startled by the majesty of this precious little planet. I realize, more than anything else, it is a spirit of wonderment and gratitude that will keep me going along the way.
Oh, but could be. I remembered one of my co-workers who, on almost the same day a year ago, was traveling back to Naryn from Bishkek on a marshrutka and got caught in a blizzard on Dolon Pass. The marshrutka driver hadn't yet put snow tires on his vehicle, the vehicle couldn't quite make it to the top of the pass on the slick roads, so the passengers, at great risk to life and limb, were forced to jump out of the marshrutka and push it up over the summit. Oh, most certainly, definitely could be!
When I got out of bed this morning, I found that the snowflake embedded in my phone wasn't "can't be" but instead "UNDOUBTEDLY!"
Yes, there was snow: not in the distant heights of the mountains surrounding our campus, but directly in the foothills right on top of us. And when I went outside to take a picture of this frightening sight, I felt the cold drizzle had a bit of solid substance in it--rain and snow were mixed.
Winter in the Kyrgyz mountains is not for the weak or whining or for those unwilling to face the long haul. It is the season that defines this place in where I reside. And it defines the people who must endure this tough, unyielding season. Just as the herders have brought their animals down from the summer pastures, I must get my winter refuge ready. I have my supply of tea, provisions for baking hearty winter breads and cooking thick and heavy stews, my wool Canadian mittens and my warmest furry hat. And I must also search through the recesses of my soul for the spirit I must adopt to survive the six-month stretch of unrelenting snow and chill. Must I dig out my calm and peaceful, Zen-like countenance? Perhaps I need to find a fearsome, defiant spirit that can fight any adversary? In reality, I must find both as each day will determine which spirit requires summoning.
And as another year advances toward its finish, I gaze up into the hills and the dusting of snow upon them and I am startled by the majesty of this precious little planet. I realize, more than anything else, it is a spirit of wonderment and gratitude that will keep me going along the way.
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| The view from campus of approaching winter |
Sunday, September 24, 2017
The meaning of napkins
When I was in my twenties and started living on my own, I adopted a very minimalist style of home decor. Martha Stewart I was not. In the living room of my first apartment, I had a lawn chair, a tv tray, and a small television that sat on a milk crate. That was it.
I occasionally cooked, but often I just threw a pre-packaged, plastic-encased dinner into the microwave. No frills dining. When I lived in that first apartment of mine, I certainly did not purchase something as luxurious as napkins. Rather, I might pull a sheet off a roll of paper towels if my face needed wiping. Or maybe I would take one of my hand towels I used for drying dishes and use it, if I had forgotten to purchase paper towels. In dire circumstances, I recall that I might have even once or twice, not wiped my face off at all while eating, and I just waited until the end of the meal to wash my face in the bathroom. Or maybe even used my sleeves. This is how twenty-something men live, when they live alone, untouched by the civilizing influence of more sophisticated companionship.
Now many years later, I have realized that I have undergone a peculiar transformation. When people come to my apartment now for meals, one of the things they comment on are my napkins. I have become renowned for the napkins I dispense at mealtime. When I entertain guests no dull white napkins for them, but instead they get to wipe their mouths on serviettes I have spent many minutes contemplating the purchase of at Mia Home, the swankiest kitchen store in Bishkek. People even bring me napkins as gifts: a very dear colleague brought me special napkins commemorating the 150th Anniversary of Canada after returning from her vacation in the Great North, because she knew her gift would bring me tremendous satisfaction.
What has happened to me and why did this bizarre personality switch take place? When was it that I started channeling the personality of my late Great-Grandmother Julia Wells, queen of napkins, vinegar cruets, Hors d'oeuvre forks, decorative salt and pepper shakers, and pickle trays? Really shouldn't I be purchasing power drills and hammers and nails and adjustable wrenches like my Grandfather Krauss, handyman about the house? I am simply baffled.
I have no plausible explanation for this phenomenon. Perhaps the passing of time washes away one's barbaric impulses and steers one toward refinement. Or maybe all my years of working in higher education and my constant exposure to the liberal arts has truly brought me enlightenment in all realms of life. Or maybe I just got tired of laundering stains out of my dish towels and off my shirtsleeves. Who knows?
I wish I could go back for a moment to meet that twenty-something person I once was. I wonder what other radical changes, besides what I use to wipe my mouth, I would notice between this me and that me. How many more subtle changes in my behavior have I not even perceived over time? People change like the face of the mountains; the change is imperceptible on a daily basis and is usually never noticed unless the shift in personality is something dramatic like an avalanche. As I sit and look at my napkins, I wonder about me and hope that the gradual changes in who I am have been somewhat graceful and for the better. If nothing else, I know that the quality of my dining experience has improved inexplicably, and every so slightly, over time.
I occasionally cooked, but often I just threw a pre-packaged, plastic-encased dinner into the microwave. No frills dining. When I lived in that first apartment of mine, I certainly did not purchase something as luxurious as napkins. Rather, I might pull a sheet off a roll of paper towels if my face needed wiping. Or maybe I would take one of my hand towels I used for drying dishes and use it, if I had forgotten to purchase paper towels. In dire circumstances, I recall that I might have even once or twice, not wiped my face off at all while eating, and I just waited until the end of the meal to wash my face in the bathroom. Or maybe even used my sleeves. This is how twenty-something men live, when they live alone, untouched by the civilizing influence of more sophisticated companionship.
Now many years later, I have realized that I have undergone a peculiar transformation. When people come to my apartment now for meals, one of the things they comment on are my napkins. I have become renowned for the napkins I dispense at mealtime. When I entertain guests no dull white napkins for them, but instead they get to wipe their mouths on serviettes I have spent many minutes contemplating the purchase of at Mia Home, the swankiest kitchen store in Bishkek. People even bring me napkins as gifts: a very dear colleague brought me special napkins commemorating the 150th Anniversary of Canada after returning from her vacation in the Great North, because she knew her gift would bring me tremendous satisfaction.
What has happened to me and why did this bizarre personality switch take place? When was it that I started channeling the personality of my late Great-Grandmother Julia Wells, queen of napkins, vinegar cruets, Hors d'oeuvre forks, decorative salt and pepper shakers, and pickle trays? Really shouldn't I be purchasing power drills and hammers and nails and adjustable wrenches like my Grandfather Krauss, handyman about the house? I am simply baffled.
I have no plausible explanation for this phenomenon. Perhaps the passing of time washes away one's barbaric impulses and steers one toward refinement. Or maybe all my years of working in higher education and my constant exposure to the liberal arts has truly brought me enlightenment in all realms of life. Or maybe I just got tired of laundering stains out of my dish towels and off my shirtsleeves. Who knows?
I wish I could go back for a moment to meet that twenty-something person I once was. I wonder what other radical changes, besides what I use to wipe my mouth, I would notice between this me and that me. How many more subtle changes in my behavior have I not even perceived over time? People change like the face of the mountains; the change is imperceptible on a daily basis and is usually never noticed unless the shift in personality is something dramatic like an avalanche. As I sit and look at my napkins, I wonder about me and hope that the gradual changes in who I am have been somewhat graceful and for the better. If nothing else, I know that the quality of my dining experience has improved inexplicably, and every so slightly, over time.
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