Bon Voyage, To Me

In a few hours, I'll be flying across the ocean on Friday the 13th, which may or may not be the dumbest thing I've ever done. I'm not overly superstitious, but then I don't try to spit in superstition's face, either.

Heidi told me she'd be there waiting at Charles deGaulle airport--somewhere--for me. She doesn't have a cell phone, and I'm leaving mine with Mark, so I'm just crossing my fingers that we will connect. Of course, by then it will be October 14, which I'm pretty sure increases my chances of having success.

And Then There Are My Own Zucchinis...

Bring on the Killing Frost

My incredibly generous students have gifted me with all sorts of thoughtful things, but Mark and I can hardly wait for tonight's predicted frost, as it will no doubt mean the end of the cucumbers. "Hmong cucumbers" as my students call them, taste just like normal cucumbers, but have yellow skin and are the size of small watermelons.

Neither Mark nor I were huge cucumber fans to begin with, but at first these behemoths presented sort of a challenge; how many different ways can I serve cucumbers? Come to find out, other gardeners (or friends of gardeners) must have faced the same challenge, because the internet is chock-full of creative cucumber recipes. Spicy cucumber and pepper cous-cous salad, cucumber lemonade, cucumber limeade, hot cucumbers in cream sauce, we've been eating it all.

But last night, Mark, who so far has yet to complain about one single thing that I've cooked in three years, dumped his hot cucumbers into the disposal.

"I'm done with the cucumbers," he announced. "Tomorrow I'm bringing the rest of them to my co-workers."

The gift that keeps on giving. You, dear reader, if you act quickly, could too score a Hmong cucumber. First come, first serve!

Can One Ever Hope to Truly Learn Another Language?

My students aren't the only ones who are learning about language in my classroom. I am constantly aware of the idiosyncrasies of English, wondering why we do say "headache" but not "armache." Why "ph" sounds like "f" and why we "take a walk" (try explaining the logic of this verb choice!) and "go for a run." But I'm also learning about their language, and what I've always been told about how language influences thought is becoming quite clear to me. In Hmong, for example, their word for "woman" is the same word they have for "wife." During our classroom unit, they couldn't believe how many different words we have for what they simply call a "book." In their language, a folder is a book. A binder is a book. A notebook is a book. And I imagine, in a preliterate society, one word is probably sufficient. It's no wonder that my efforts to learn French have gone nowhere; I am acutely aware of how incredibly complex and culturally intertwined language is, and the task just seems impossible...