I’ve been cleaning house, getting rid of some old things, and came across these.
I given this Care Bear for Christmas 1986, I am fairly sure. It was the Good Luck Care Bear and I loved its winking eye, which reminded me of frosting! I think it’s time to let it go.
Good Luck Care Bear
And then there was my beloved Cabbage Patch Kid, also received sometime around 1986 (although I don’t think for Christmas). Look at her, she’s dressed in the very first thing I wore as a baby. Awwwww…
Cabbage Patch Kid
But if you look closely, you can see the destruction that happened to her at the hands of my brother. He decided to drag fangs on her with an ink pen. Then, some adult (Mom, Dad, a babysitter who smoked like a chimney and had white walls stained yellow?) decided to fix the fangs by covering them with White Out. Yes, really.
And tell me, what in this world do I do to her poor hair??
I work with a woman whose parents immigrated from Korea before she was born. We weren’t on the same team last year, but this year we are, and we’re getting along quite well. I gave her some kimchi last year and she later told me her aunt and mother were amazed a white woman made kimchi so well.
It’s nice having someone on the team who “gets” my experiences in Korea. She complained that a hat was too small and I said, “Yeah, cause your head is big.” The rest of the team thought I was joking, but I was just pulling out that old Korean line about how Koreans have big heads and she understand.
“I know, because Koreans have big heads!”
A few days ago she saw my fish pastry, and begged for one. I didn’t have any extras, and she put her hands together, and whined, “Nuna, Nuna…” (Yes, she calls me Nuna and not Eonni.)
The next day I stole into her room when she wasn’t there and left two ham and cheese filled fish pastries on her desk.
Twenty minutes later, I got an email.
Shut up! Omgeeeee, ham and cheese! AUGHHHHH! =D I CAN’T WAIT TO EAT IT!
My students asked me, “Where did you get the fish?””
Yes indeed, yesterday I bought an iron to make red bean paste fish pastries! Yes, I spent $20 on something completely ridiculous, and I don’t care!
Long time readers might remember this flash card. In Korean, when two people look alike (like a mother and daughter), you say they look like these cakes, because the cakes are made with a mold.
While I was fawning over the iron, an older white male, Korean female couple (I presume based on his Korea War Vet baseball cap, her accent, and the fact that we were in a Korean grocery store) stopped. The woman thanked me because she had been looking for an egg mold and my exclamations over the fish grill helped her find the egg mold. Then the man looked at Good Man said, “Do you generally let her buy what she wants?”
Good Man laughed and nodded, “Yes.”
“That’s what I do, too,” he said.
The wife laughed and said, “That is the key to a happy marriage!”
Today I made some fish pastries using banana waffle crusts and chocolate filling and cream cheese filling. Ooooh, so delicious.
I finished two sewing projects today, so now Good Man has a Dopp kit since he travels so much (and carries his toiletries around in a plastic grocery bag!), and a coworker’s baby will get a soft color book.
Today I also spent two hours becoming best friends with my seam ripper to take out 20 minutes worth of work because I rushed and didn’t read directions.
I took my time and slooooooowly hand turned the wheel over a metal zipper and for the first time ever while sewing over a zipper, didn’t break a needle.
Last night was Good Man’s work holiday party. It was in Georgetown and the dress code was no jeans, which meant I got Good Man into one of his suits. As he always says, I win!
When we got there, Good Man introduced me to a few people. Without fail, every single one said something like “you can not believe how much time your husband has saved me,” or “oh, we are so happy to have [Good Man], he is awesome.”
I always knew Good Man was a good man, but it’s nice to see how much other people see it, too. He is a hard, dedicated worker (you can’t overcome 30 years of conditioning) and he is damn good at what he does.
(Yes, I know this song is about a guitar. I don’t care.)
Good Man’s Coworker came with her brother, who is visiting from Korea. He doesn’t speak much English at all. I introduced myself in Korean and he stared at me.
I repeated myself.
He stared at me. “You speak Korean?”
“I lived in Korea for two years. Gwangmyeong, Anyang, Bangi-dong…”
“I live in Anyang!”
I told him where I’d worked and then Good Man introduced himself in Korean. Brother asked how we knew each other. “We’re married,” Good Man said.
Brother looked at Good Man for a minute and said, “Are you Korean?”
Coworker, Good Man and I all laughed, but when they left to get a drink, Good Man turned to me and pouted. He didn’t have to say a word. I patted his shoulder, “I know, babe, Koreans don’t think you’re Korean. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I am not Chinese! Or Japanese! Or Vietnamese!” (Those are the three he gets most often. In fact, a few months ago he was at the bank on his lunch hour and some tourist walked up to him and started prattling on in Mandarin.) He jutted out his lip, “Why don’t Koreans even know I’m Korean?”
Shortly before we left, a woman said, “Oh my God, someone I know!” and grabbed my arm. I looked up to see someone from the GT (gifted and talented) department in my district standing in front of me. That was a nice surprise, and we chatted for a bit.
To top off a nice evening, on the subway ride home a stranger tapped my shoulder, told me she loved my dress, and asked where I bought it. I win!
I play music in my classroom a lot. I usually stick with instrumental music or music in other languages (that my students don’t speak) to prevent any problems. But today I decided that Bing Crosby should be just fine.
As soon as my students grew silent (in order to do a multiplication Mad Minute), “Pistol Packin’ Mama” came on.
I looked around the room and my kids were bopping their heads around.
“Why are you crying?” Good Man asked at Gettysburg.
I shook my head, “I don’t know. I have too much jeongwith dead people. Is there a Korean word for ‘jeong with dead people?’ It seems like there would be.”
Good Man thought for a moment, “Confucianism, dude. No lie, Confucianism.”
The last day of our weekend trip to Pennsylvania for Good Man’s birthday was a visit to Gettysburg National Military Park. We planned to just go for a short walk, but when we got there we ended up paying to see a movie, view the cyclorama, and visit the museum.
Good Man Hanging with Lincoln
The cyclorama was really neat, and I was glad Good Man talked me into buying the tickets.
During the experience (show?) I spotted a very young child of about six dressed in Union Blue and holding his hat over his heart, watching the cyclorama very intently. And I started crying. There was something so touching about what he was doing. It reminded me of a young JFK Jr at his father’s funeral.
The museum was extensive and exhausting. About halfway through, we both looked at each other and sort of nodded. It was time to move on but every exit sign we followed just led to…another room in the exhibit. We eventually ended up doubled over, laughing, wondering when it would end.
Afterward, we bought some lunch and then walked down to the cemetery. It was quiet, cool, overcast, and beautiful.