:: p-dog ::

Land of 600,000 Buddhas OR Death by Tuktuk

I love Bangkok. If you can get over the rancid-with-exhaust air and embrace the $5/hour massage, you'll love it, too. Catie and I arrived at our hotel at midnight in Thailand and I have no idea what time in the US (I found that not thinking about it helped my peace of mind). All I know is, we left on Tuesday at 1:30 and got in on Thursday morning.

Today, it seems, is Buddha Day in Buddhist Thailand. It's lucky! Very lucky day to come to Bangkok! See the Buddhas! Over 300 temples in the city! All temples are open (including the ones that usually aren't) and free to the public. We were so told by no less than four extremely friendly passers-by as we strolled through the street markets early this morning. So we enlisted a tuktuk driver to show us the sights. A tuktuk, fyi, is a 3-wheeled canopied motorcycle that carries 2 short passengers, runs on a lawnmower engine, and, as you'd imagine, ignores traffic laws. Our sweet driver ferried us to endless gold Buddhas in various postures of repose, from the giant (45m) to the mini (45mm), and waited while we walked around, trying to be respectful while covertly snapping pictures of orange-robed monks talking on cell phones. By noon, we'd seen about 15,000 Buddhas and circled a stupa (I know this will mean something only to Clare), which, in addition to being very spiritual and allowing me to ring a bunch of bells, also afforded us an amazing panormic view of the city.

For this privilege, we paid our tuktuk driver 50 cents each. Which brings me to the third thing I love about Thailand (after 1 - the Buddhas and 2 - the insanely friendly people): how crazy cheap everything is.

After the Buddha-watching, we decided it was time for a Thai massage in the ancient tradition, to loosen our muscles stiff from the airplane and our unusually firm beds. Although quite different from any massage I've received before, it was amazingly relaxing. And thorough. At various points, I was bent into yoga postures and stretched, my legs were stepped on, and my butt was massaged by the lady's knees. Catie said it was more action than she'd seen in quite a while. We plan to go back for some foot reflexology before we leave Bangkok.

We enjoyed a delicious and leisurely lunch at some random restaurant, saw a few more Buddhas, and now we're kicking it in a blissfully air-conditioned internet cafe/facial waxing venue. Life is sweet.

Tomorrow we voyage down the River Kwai, so I will be out of touch for a while. But I hope to have a chance to blog again in Chiang Mai in the annoyingly exhaustive detail you've come to expect.

:: Leslie H - 2:44 AM - ::

I am off. This is it. If you haven't submitted your "bring me X from Thailand" request, it's too late now.

This past week just disappeared behind me. I did a lot of lounging, packed up half the house, saw some friends, started on some projects, ran some errands--somehow the time just slipped away. It was great, very relaxing and all that, and I could definitely do it for another week or two before feeling worthless. But I'm glad I'm leaving for Thailand today and not losing another week like that.

I will do my best to post updates from seedy Bangkok internet cafes.

:: Leslie H - 9:10 AM - ::

Tidbits:

On my return flight, I leave Tokyo at 4:30 pm on July 14 and arrive in San Francisco the same day, at 9:30 am.

My STA travel insurance covers "repatriation of remains" up to $250,000.

:: Leslie H - 11:17 PM - ::

I leave for Thailand on Tuesday (suggestions for what to do on the 14-hour plane ride are appreciated), so I am packing like crazy. What's not going in my hopefully light backpack is going into boxes, because we move out of this apartment a day and a half after I return. Since I've finally gotten around to doing a little research about what we're going to see/do, I've gotten increasingly excited about this trip. So exotic! So new! So dripping, filthy hot!

I may post again before I leave, but likely not. I will do my best to make use of the (slow, miserable) internet cafes in Bangkok and Chiang Mai to give sporadic updates of my travels. Failing that, allow me to provide: my itinerary and the weather report (in case you were in danger of envy).

:: Leslie H - 10:31 AM - ::

Yikes! Are you in the right place? Yes, puddledog is getting a make-over. It's in honor of my 200th post and the end of Stage 1 of Leslie's Adult Life (teaching middle school--did that really happen?), and made possible by my new free time. Plus I was really tired of green.

The design is still in the works, so let me know what you think, if the colors look weird on your computer, or if you have any suggestions. It's been pretty exciting to poke around in the html innards of this bad boy, and I don't think I'm ready to quit.

:: Leslie H - 5:43 PM - ::

I fear I've reached the point at which there is so much to tell that I can't possibly do it all justice, so I'm tempted to write some bullet-pointed list rather than anything meaningful. Thus, two installments. In the last two weeks, I have ended my teaching career and gotten my little sister married. There has been much rejoicing.

First installment: Ms. Hall is dead, long live Leslie


[Teachers celebrate before graduation ceremony. Check out all the pictures on gallery.]

For the 8th grade, the last week of school is all about celebrations. And for 8th grade teachers, that was also pretty much the case. The kids graduated on Tuesday night after spending all day Monday and Tuesday lining up in alphabetical order and practicing walking when their name was called. I spent those days packing up/giving away everything in my classroom. Graduation was nice, though not as meaningful (for me) as last year's. Which makes sense, as this year was not half as hellish as last. Wednesday and Thursday I chaperoned the 8th grade trips--the first a few hours of picnicking in a park, the second a full day at the Santa Cruz boardwalk. On Friday, we fed them all greasy McDonald's breakfasts, handed out diplomas, and dismissed them at 11 so they would go home and not egg our cars. It was cute to see how emotional some of them got. I find boys crying to be extra-sweet. Then I returned to my very empty classroom to wait for my 7th grade class to come in for the last 20 minutes of the day. I played bingo with them to keep them calm (they were sick to death of movies) and to clean out my prize drawer. And then they were gone.

I found it difficult to leave my classroom. I was sure there was something I hadn't done, and I was hesitant to turn in my key. Too symbolic. I needed closure first. So I sat in my empty room for an hour and a half, forcing reminiscence. It was full of ghosts.

But I finally managed to leave. I met a few friends for happy hour. So many of my TFA friends are staying in teaching (god bless em), that it was really nice to be able to talk to a couple whose careers, like mine, were ending. I came home just before seven to find Bryan and George cooking like mad for the celebratory dinner party Bryan had planned in honor of our new freedom from 13-year-olds. It was amazing. About 20 people showed up at one point or another, and we ate, drank, and made merry as befitting the start of summer break. George was working so hard in the kitchen that some of my friends thought he was the help. And a few hours into the evening, Bryan dumped $1000 in one-dollar bills on me. He and his friends had put together the money to help pay for my trip to Thailand with Catie this summer, in celebration of me finishing TFA. I still don't know what to say about that.

While there has inevitably been sadness about the death of Ms. Hall, the end of teaching has been mostly joyful. I will miss my students, but I've already gotten some emails from them. I did not accomplish everything that I set out to, but I am learning to be content with what I did do. If I did nothing at all for the children (and I don't believe that), these past two years were worth it simply for the changes in myself, the experiences, the incredible people I have met and been able to work with. And if I taught them nothing (but I don't believe that either), I sort of loved them, and that has been important, too.

Mostly, I feel that a weight has lifted and life is easy again. What could be hard after this?

:: Leslie H - 10:43 AM - ::

Second Installment: Cameron's Wedding
*spell check wants to replace "Cameron" with "Sumerian"


[Bridesmaids Leslie and Emily practice dabbing their inevitable tears. Check out gallery for pictures of the whole week.]

Programs! Dresses! Fans! Wedding wands! The week in Dallas was an orgy of celebrations and monster craft projects. As soon as I arrived, Cameron and her bridesmaids headed out to the mini-ranch/lake for her bachelorette party--jetskis, cow-feeding, DDR, and the inevitable sunburned shoulders. Like good maids, we all got Cameron some slinky underthings. I also gave her some reference books for marriage (not that I've been married, but living in sin is awfully close): The Joy of Cooking and The Joy of Sex.

The next day we returned to find Mom hemorrhaging craft projects. Programs were cut, and folded, and tied delicately with ribbon. The hand-fans (an attempt to prevent guests from dying of heat stroke during the 97-degree ceremony) had arrived without handles, so we improvised by painting and gluing 200 paint stir-sticks to the back of the fan cards. And since rice-throwing was not allowed at the site (and it causes birds' stomachs to swell and explode), we tied red and white ribbons to sticks for people to wave as the happy couple made their exit from the reception. So we did that. And we also got facials.

On Thursday we slept late since Bryan had gotten in at about 3:00 that morning (after a delayed flight in Denver). We ran various errands and puttered until the rehearsal (hot) and rehearsal dinner (tasty, with truncated toasts) that evening. And on Friday we rose for a brunch hosted by at least 15 of our mothers' friends, at which we got to wear feather boas and clumsily lick the frosting off charms pulled from a cake while everyone watched. Good times.

We bridesmaids killed the afternoon getting our hair and make-up done. While Cameron and Mom had their turn, we went back to the house to watch incomprehensible sci-fi movies. Brittany warmed up on her trumpet for the bridal march, and I made wedding clothes for an ancient, mutilated dog toy of Murphy's that has somehow become an important character in our lives. And then we were off.

The ceremony itself was very special and personal. Not only was practically everything hand-crafted (dresses, programs, wands, etc), but the every moment and element had been chosen for a reason. The groomsmen were piped in by Matt and Cameron's old bagpipe teacher. The bridesmaids were wearing dresses sewn by the bride's mother. Cameron walked down the aisle to the trumpeting of one of her maids (an old band friend who's studying trumpet at Northwestern). The Unitarian minister who performed the ceremony mentioned all sorts of personal details about the couple. Plus he didn't invoke Jesus once! And you can guess how my heathen self approved of that.

The reception flew by--so many people to small-talk to, so little time. I did manage to dance like an idiot when they played Copacabana, and like less of an idiot to some other songs. Before we knew it, Cameron and Matt were making their fake exit for their wedding night. (They actually circled around back to change and pick up their things at the dressing room.)

The next day, we brought them some things for their new apartment (like a bed), played with Piper the cat, and had a moderately giant post-wedding BBQ, which afforded us the chance to actually talk to all the people we'd waved to across the room at the reception.

The only other important thing to mention is the incredibly vast amount of presents they couple raked in. Seriously. If I were open to bribes, that haul alone might persuade me to get married. (But I do feel I should stick to my principles.)

:: Leslie H - 10:42 AM - ::

So much to write, so little time. I'm in Dallas, getting not quite enough sleep and madly preparing to Celebrate the Love and Lifetime Commitment of Cameron and Matt. By tying ribbons to sticks and assembling hand-fans (because an outdoor wedding, in Dallas, in mid-June, is going to be sweaty). All I can do is promise loads of details when the madness ends.

:: Leslie H - 7:09 AM - ::

Today is it. The last day of my teaching career. All my emotions have averaged to numbness. But a few things are certain.

1) This morning, I unset the alarm clock for good.
2) At 1:30 today, I turn in the key to room 55.
3) With the exception of grocery store check-out clerks, no one will call me Ms. Hall for the foreseeable future.

:: Leslie H - 7:13 AM - ::

This is probably just because it's first period, and I haven't had to deal with crazy children yet. But today feels like the end of the year. 8th graders are hardly here next week. Tonight is the equivalent of the prom. I'm cleaning out my classroom. We passed out the last issue of the newspaper. And I am officially nostalgic.

My *milk* now expires after my teaching career.

:: Leslie H - 8:49 AM - ::

Inspired by the realization that we both wrote papers about Waiting for Godot at age 18, Bryan and I had a mini-festival of looking through high school and early college papers last night. We read each other sonnets we'd written. We laughed at our high-flung vocabularies (him: "abnegate" me: "phatic"). We marveled at how smart we thought we were.

God bless the computer age, which allows us to tote around these souveniers of our past lives indefinitely.

:: Leslie H - 6:48 AM - ::