9/11

It’s 10 years since the 9/11 terrorist attack on the US.

10 years ago on September 11th, I was in the Village, at my in-laws’ to be more specific. It was a workday but Misiu and I were, at the time, apartment hunting and we needed some paperwork from “home” for the bank. I was eating in front of the TV when Tomasz Kammel came on to describe a scenario which sounded like a teaser for tonight’s movie of the week. Then he added the words –ladies and gentlemen, this is for real.

We watched in shock at the gaping, smoking hole in the side of the World Trade Center. It was early and we still had a sliver of hope that it was some kind of tragic pilot error. We went to the other room and turned on BBC. On BBC we learned that it was probably not an accident. Then we saw as the second plane hit and we knew it was not an accident.

My gut reaction was shock, of course, and I wanted to vomit. The reporters speculated about other planes and other attacks. I waited for them to announce tragedies in London, Paris, Berlin, perhaps. It couldn’t be an attack just on the US, could it? And by whom? The reporters continued to speculate.

Dinner was abandoned, needless to say, as we sat glued to the television. We learned of another plane at the Pentagon and another in Pennsylvania perhaps headed to the White House. I was worried that the plane was heading to the nuclear power plant (Three Mile Island) in PA, aware that the fallout would hit my hometown and my family. Not that I was happy that the plane crashed in a field killing all on board, but I was relieved that it didn’t reach its destination, White House or nuclear power plant or whatever it was.

My phone had been ringing and beeping for a while now, but I ignored it. We watched as the towers started to crumble. The ringing and beeping of my phone stopped. It started up again an hour or two later and continued into the next day. The missed calls, voicemail and text messages were from friends and students. One of the first text messages I opened read, “Kryśka, turn on the TV”.  Another read, “Finish your lesson and turn on the TV!” The messages later in the afternoon and the next day were all of sympathy and support for America and for me. Why for me? At my in-laws’, I was probably the safest American on the planet, but for many people I was the only American person that they knew. I really appreciated those messages and I still do today.

When there were no new attacks, the reporters continued their speculation. The international phone lines were not working so I couldn’t talk to my parents. It also meant that my (Polish) brother-in-law and his son who were in NYC couldn’t reach us either. Fortunately, they were alright and managed to find their way home. We drove home and wondered what the next day would bring.

Breżniew is always right

Misiu, a kid at heart, loves to play games with our girls. That works out well because the kids love to play with him too. Misiu’s latest favorite game in entitled “Breżniew is always right”.

Would you like to play?

Misiu: We are playing “Breżniew is always right” and I am Breżniew.

Lizzie: (always agreeable) OK.

Misiu as Breżniew: Pick a number.

Lizzie: 5

Misiu: 6. I win! Pick a number.

Lizzie: 8

Misiu: 9. I win! Pick a number.

Lizzie: (thinking intently the highest number she knows) 17!

Misiu: 18! I win. Breżniew is always right.

Lizzie then tried out the game on me.

Lizzie: Mommy, I am Breżniew. (not a sentence I thought I would ever hear from my daughter)

Me: OK.

Lizzie: (nothing)

Me: Pick a number.

Lizzie: 11

Me: 12! I win!

Lizzie: But Mommy, I am Breżniew and Breżniew is always right.

Misiu to Lizzie: Tell Mommy to be careful. She doesn’t want to find out what happens to people who outsmart Breżniew.

:)

E.T. vs Czterej pancerni i pies

What says Easter more than a good re-showing of E.T.? Our kids are enjoying Easter Monday chilling out, playing play-dough and watching E.T.

Misiu who is watching too, admires the naiveté of the story – that a teen, a kid and a kindergartener can outsmart the government authorities and help E.T. get home. Why not? Didn’t Gajos, his crew and his dog Szarik (which I always thought was Szalik ‘cause he’s wearing a scarf) from the TV show Czterej pancerni i pies outsmart the whole German army AND the whole Russian army. That’s 4 tanks plus a dog and some token female character vs the Nazi’s and the Russians.

Totally believable, right?

April 1st : Elevators and Me, Part Two

When we moved into our 1st apartment in the City, our dirty, stinky 1970’s apartment building without a 90 degree angle in sight, I was excited to find that we had an elevator,well, 2 elevators exactly. In my world, elevators are cool and our building had 2 stairways and 2 elevators and 2 sets of intercoms. Wow! Ameryka!

“Our” elevator exited right outside our apartment door. It was smaller than the other elevator. The other elevator (down the hall from us) was large and had one large door, you opened and closed by hand. There was no sliding automatic door. “Our” elevator was considerably smaller and had a series of doors. You opened the first door by hand, stepped in, the first door slamming behind you. Next, you had to close another set of double doors and press your floor and …usually nothing happened…because the interior doors almost never closed right. You usually had to hold them shut with your hands. Not that there was any danger that they would open and you would fall out, but if they were not closed properly you wouldn’t go anywhere.

My traveling on the lift usually looked like this. I got through the first door, then closed the second doors behind me and held them shut. I pressed the button for my floor and….nothing. I opened and closed the doors again, pressed the button and nothing and so on and so on in some compulsive-obsessive ritual until I finally gave up and walked to the 7th floor. Finally, I just gave up on the lift altogether and walked to the 7th floor (which had its own perils as our apartment building was a popular haven for the homeless…another post, another time).

Early one morning, I decided to pop to the store downstairs to buy something for Misiu and me for breakfast. On my way back, full of morning optimism, I decided to take the lift (or maybe I was just afraid the homeless people I stepped over on the way down the stairs wouldn’t appreciate me stepping over them again on the way back up). The same procedure as always, doors closed, hold shut with hand, press button and miracle of miracles, I’m going up, up I tell you! And then the lift stops…but not at my floor, well, almost at my floor, actually between the 6th and the 7th floors. I ritually open and close the doors, hold them with my hands and press some buttons. Then the lights go out and I cannot see what buttons I’m pressing. I pressed them all, one after another, until I located the alarm bell, which is just that, a little bell inside the lift which serves to do nothing more than to notify you, the person already stuck in the lift, that you are in fact stuck in the lift. The bell was pretty loud though and our apartment was not far away so I decided to ring and ring and ring. Nothing. I wasn’t going to be saved by the bell this time. I began pressing each button and manipulating the doors. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the elevator starting moving again and deposited me back where I had started on the ground floor.

As I walked back up to the 7th floor even the homeless people catching the look on my face got out of my way. I walked into our kitchen and slammed my shopping onto the kitchen table to which hungry Misiu asked, “What took you so long?” I growled back at him, that I had been stuck in the lift. He laughed, “All this time. Yeah, right.” I implored, “I really was. Didn’t you hear me ringing?” “That was you?” he asked disbelievingly. “I wondered what that ringing was.” “That was me,” I said defeated. “Really?” he asked again. “Yes,” I answered exasperated. “What did you think I was doing?” “Well,” he started, “it is April Fool’s Day. I thought maybe it was a joke.”

Happy April Fool’s Day

Here’s Part One of the elevator saga – Elevators and Me – Windy i Ja

Too shy, shy

Last night I spent my evening blowing my nose like crazy and coughing enough to hack up a lung – pre-school virus. I hope you all spent your Saturday night in a much more entertaining way.

I also had a run through all the channels to check what was on and settled in on MTV’s One Hit Wonders from the '80’s. As I remember the '80’s from the first time around, a lot of memories of childhood came flooding back as I listened to those old hits. I also like to watch those kinds of programs with Misiu and hear his memories of the 80’s. We have a lot of similar memories and excluding one crucial potassium iodide incident, you’d hardly suppose we’d been brought up on different continents. Oh, the uniting influence of pop music.

My favorite video from last night’s line-up was Kajagoogoo’s hit “Too Shy”. Who could forget that song? (Who could figure out what they were actually singing?) And who could forget Limahl’s hair?

Misiu has a memory connected to this characteristic hairstyle…and no, he did not wear this style himself, but an older boy from the village did. Can you imagine what an influence music has that young boys in England, in the US, in Poland and all around the world were sporting the same crazy hair-do after one hit video. So it was not Misiu who was sporting this do but rather his friend Tadek. Misiu to this day is convinced that Tadek, armed with his Limahl hair, was able to single-handedly score all the chicks from DDR (Eastern Germany) who were in Poland on kolonia (camp).

Who could resist?

PS Do you know Shakin’ Steven’s song “Kła czas tu lulbe”? No? You’ve never heard Misiu’s friend Danka’s version? The actual title is…..??? Anybody venture a guess?

Integration: A teachers’ trip to the mountains Integracja: wycieczka nauczycieli w góry

Integration – the combining of parts to make a whole.

If you have never worked in Poland, then you remain blissfully unaware of what integration means to the Polish workforce.

It usually means a trip to some location near or far to be forcibly integrated with your work colleagues (sounds painful) in hopes of breaking down barriers and creating a stronger, more productive team. Some variations of the integration meeting include activities such as survival tasks, bungee jumping and in one very unfortunate Moulin Rouge-themed meeting, painting the almost naked bodies of dancers hired to do the can-can and entertain the guests.

In the Village (10 years ago), it meant a teachers’ trip to the mountains.

[Refresher – We are talking about autumn ages ago when I first came to Poland and started work at a high school teaching English. I just happened to meet my Misiu there.]

How could I say no?

I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the prospect of travelling to the mountains (where ever they were) with a bus full of my colleagues, but at least Misiu would be going along. I signed up, paid my money and promptly bought a sleeping bag as I was told it was necessary for the trip.

On the day of the trip, I showed up at school, sleeping bag in tow. I checked out all the teachers who were going along and could not find even one simpatico in the bunch. This was going to be a long weekend.

Finally, Misiu showed up wearing a new jacket. It was really nice and I complimented him on it to which I received a harsh bark of , “Aren’t the sleeves too short?”.

“Ummm, no,” I muttered. Apparently someone in Misiu’s life thought his sleeves were too short. This was going to be a really long weekend.

After all these years, I don’t remember most of the trip. I do remember a visit to a castle (which was lovely) and a question from the geography teacher about castles in America.

I remember that I wasn’t too excited about the mountains as I am from a pretty mountainous area in the US, but was enticed to walk to the top by the promise of beer there.

I remember the feeling of dread as the Principal of our school pulled out his guitar and song books on our first night in the hotel.

I remember the hotel owners whom I will politely call Jack Sprat (with suspicious sexuality) and his wife (who could eat no lean) who would not turn on the heat or unlock the bathroom doors and who called the police on us.

I remember the police arriving (apparently our guitar-playing and folk-song singing was disturbing the other guests…oh wait, there weren’t any other guests) and lining us up to check our passports. When they got to me, one officer said in a serious voice, “Gentlemen, there is a foreigner among us.”

I also remember that the teachers treated me like a child, the Principal even once chiding me to sit up straight on the bus.

I remember that I got to spend some time with Misiu, but it did not go without comment by the other teachers.

Finally, I remember being very glad to be back in my archives room throwing my sleeping bag in the corner where it remained the rest of my stay.

Happy integrating to all!

Integracja – wycieczka nauczycieli w góry

Integracja – łączenie części, ażeby stworzyć całość

Jeśli nigdy nie pracowaliście w Polsce, pozostajecie błogo nieświadomi tego, co oznacza integracja dla polskich pracowników.

Zwykle oznacza to wycieczkę w jakieś bliskie lub dalekie miejsce, żeby tam na siłę zintegrować się z waszymi kolegami z pracy (brzmi boleśnie) w nadziei przełamania barier i stworzenia silniejszego, bardziej wydajnego zespołu. Niektóre odmiany spotkań integracyjnych mogą polegać na zadaniach survivalowych, skokach bunjee, a na jednym nieszczęsnym spotkaniu - powiązanym tematycznie z Moulin Rouge - na malowaniu prawie nagich ciał tancerek wynajętych, żeby wykonać kankana i rozbawić gości.

W miasteczku (10 lat temu) oznaczało to wycieczkę nauczycieli w góry.

[Odświeżacz – Mówimy o jesieni wieki temu, kiedy pierwszy raz przyjechałam do Polski i zaczęłam pracę w szkole średniej ucząc angielskiego. Tam właśnie zdarzyło mi się poznać Misia.]

Jak mogłam powiedzieć nie?

Nie skakałam z radości mając w perspektywie podróż w góry (gdziekolwiek one były) autobusem pełnym moich kolegów, ale przynajmniej wiedziałam, że będzie jechał Misiu. Zapisałam się, wpłaciłam kasę i szybko zakupiłam śpiwór, bo powiedziano mi, że będzie konieczny na wycieczce.

W dzień wycieczki pojawiłam się w szkole ze śpiworem w zanadrzu. Sprawdziłam wszystkich nauczycieli, którzy mieli jechać i nie mogłam znaleźć nawet jednego „simpatico” w całej bandzie. Zapowiadał się długi weekend.

Wreszcie zjawił się Misiu w nowej kurtce. Była bardzo fajna i ją nawet pochwaliłam, na co on ostro odszczeknął „Rękawy nie za krótkie?”

“Ee, nie”, bąknęłam. Najwyraźniej ktoś w życiu Misia myślał, że rękawy są za krótkie. Zapowiadał się naprawdę długi weekend.

Po tylu latach nie pamiętam większości tej wycieczki. Pamiętam wizytę na zamku (który był śliczny) i pytanie od nauczyciela geografii o zamki w Ameryce.

Pamiętam, że nie byłam zbyt podekscytowana górami, bo sama pochodzę z dość górzystych terenów w Stanach, ale zostałam zwabiona do wejścia na sam szczyt góry obietnicą piwa tamże.

Pamiętam poczucie grozy, kiedy dyrektor szkoły wyciągnął gitarę i śpiewnik podczas naszej pierwszej nocy w hotelu.

Pamiętam właścicieli hotelu, których ładnie nazwałam imionami z wierszyka dla dzieci Jack Sprat (podejrzana seksualność) i jego żonę (nie jadła nic chudego), którzy nie włączyli dla nas ogrzewania, ani nie otworzyli drzwi do łazienki i którzy wezwali na nas policję.

Pamiętam jak przyjechała policja (widocznie nasze granie na gitarze i folkowe śpiewanie przeszkadzało innym gościom ... o, chwila, nie było tam żadnych innych gości) i ustawianie nas w rządku, żeby sprawdzić dowody tożsamości. Kiedy doszli do mnie, jeden z oficerów powiedział poważnym głosem „Panowie, jest wśród nas cudzoziemiec.”

Pamiętam również, że nauczyciele traktowali mnie jak dziecko, dyrektor nawet raz zbeształ mnie i kazał prosto siedzieć w autobusie.

Pamiętam, że spędziłam trochę czasu z Misiem, ale nie obyło się to bez komentarzy innych nauczycieli.

Wreszcie, pamiętam jak zadowolona byłam po powrocie do mojego ARCHIWUM rzucając śpiwór w kąt, gdzie pozostał już do końca mojego pobytu.

Wesołego integrowania dla wszystkich!

Giving Is Good

Because of my job, I get to meet people I would otherwise not have an opportunity to meet and do things that I would not have an opportunity to do. It’s really great.

This Thursday evening I had the honor of participating in PGF Urtica’s annual charity auction benefitting children’s cancer wards all across Poland held in the beautiful backdrop of the National Museum in Wroclaw. 

PGF Urtica is one of the largest wholesalers and distributors of pharmaceuticals (to the hospital market) in the country. Urtica dzieciom is the charitable arm of the company which organizes cycles of artistic workshops for the patients in the children’s cancer wards. These workshops are led by a team of dedicated professional artists and art teachers throughout the whole year culminating in the annual auction where we can admire the artistic talents of those incredible little patients.

 

100% of the proceeds from the auction goes to the kids – to support the art program (which is now an essential element in the children’s rehab program) in addition to other programs to help make the children’s stay in the hospital as pleasant as possible. The wards are supplied with paints, paper, glue, books, board game, etc. The wards are also equipped with (in co-operation with the phone company) free “pay” phones so the kids can call home whenever they like.

     

The most fun was had during the “big auction” when the auctioneer and bidders did their best to boost up the prices. The auctioneer even bid against himself and bought a picture for double the starting bid (he was the only bidder – it was really quite comical). There were a few big fish there who entertained the audience with their bidding war. The generosity gave me a genuine warm and fuzzy feeling.

The most poignant and moving moment of the evening was when the President of PGF Urtica purchased the painting of a young patient and then returned it to his parents. This young artist was the star, so to speak, of the annual video shown at the auction. Unfortunately, that young boy died not long ago. His parents agreed to allow his interview to remain in the video and his painting to stay in the auction. They accepted the painting from the President (my new favorite student) graciously. There was not a dry eye in the house.

I was also pleased to provide translation for a guest from Austria. The gentleman, who works for a pharmaceutical producer, came all the way just for the auction. He and I were unable to participate in the “big auction” as the prices were beyond our means, but we both we able to snag something in the “small auction” which was a silent auction. A bit of bidding was required to get the picture that I wanted but I didn’t mind one bit. It’s all going to a great cause.

Our picture - The Stork -  made by a 4-year-old little girl.

The whole evening was solemn and joyful all at the same time. The thought crossed my mind more than once that my own happy and healthy children were at home sleeping peacefully in their own beds.

Hats off to the staff of PGF Urtica responsible for organizing this event.

I know that you all put your hearts into it.

Bravo.

URTICA DZIECIOM www.urticadzieciom.pl

Never judge a book by its movie. ~J.W. Eagan

So we just got back from the movies, the new vampire movie to be exact, all thanks to our good, good friend aka the best babysitter in the whole wide world.

Not much has changed in the world of movie-going since I went last (7 years ago). The movie is way too loud, the theatre is way too cold, the commercials before the movie are way too long, the beverages and the popcorn are way too big. But that’s not why we haven’t been to the movies in 7 years. We haven’t been to movies in 7 years because first I was ill and couldn’t sit in one place for 2 hours. Then I was pregnant (twice) and I couldn’t sit in one place for 2 hours. And then I had little kids who couldn’t sit in one place for 2 hours. But now….all hail the new reign of movie-going in Chris’s household.

Back to the vampire movie…of course, the book was better, except for the fight scenes. The fight scenes with the wolves and enemy army of vampires is way better in the movie. All the rest, the back story, etc. is better in the book. We were decisively the oldest of the viewers. The rest of the theater-goers were in the under-20 age group and all female excluding one young man who I’m sure was only there because his mom had said to his sister on the way out, “You can’t go unless you take your brother.”

One of my students who suffered through the first 2 vampire movies with his girlfriend, declared that he would not suffer through this one. No problem, the girlfriend went with her mom. But she let her boyfriend know that there were quite a few couples in the theater that evening. My student (who has a sense of humor similar to mine) said, “Yeah, because those couples are “before-sex”. We’re “after” so I don’t have to go with you.”

Another of my students, slipped out of the movie to go to Media Markt to watch one of the world cup games on the big screen TV’s. His wife didn’t mind. I guess they are “after-sex” too.

Anyhow, as I watched the movie it struck me that the life of the heroine is so simple. (Simple, not easy ‘cause fighting off an army of newborn vampires probably isn’t easy) No one depends on her so she can make a decision to disappear into the vampire world with no repercussions on the outside world. Sure her parents will miss her, but they don’t need her in order to survive. There’s something to be said for being decisive, knowing what you want and going after it. It seems so simple. It was nice to escape to that world for a couple of hours.

PS1 For Stardust- Yes, we had to pick our seats when buying our tickets. The ticket seller turned the computer screen to us and indicated that the green seats were free and the red seats were taken. As I could only see 4 “taken” seats it seemed ridiculous to pick our seats and then actually sit in them, but when in Rome…or Helios in this case. First, I had to figure out where the screen was in this set up and then I chose 2 seats smack in the middle. But when I touched the screen, they still stayed green. The seats I indicated with my finger didn’t change to red “taken” as I expected. The ticket seller said, “Lady, It’s not a touch-screen. You have to TELL me which seats you want.” I guess movie-going hasn’t jumped as far in the future as I thought :)

PS2 Kielbasa Stories has some new followers. Welcome Emilia and Mama G! Thank you for joining us and thanks for reading.

Nigdy nie osądzaj książki po filmie (na jej podstawie). ~J.W. Eagan

No więc wróciliśmy z kina, dokładniej - byliśmy na nowym filmie o wampirach, a wszystko dzięki dobrej, dobrej przyjaciółce zwanej również najlepszą opiekunką do dzieci na świecie.

Niewiele się zmieniło w świecie filmu od ostatniego razu jak byłam (7 lat temu). Film dalej jest zbyt głośny, w kinie zbyt zimno, reklama przed filmem zbyt długa, napoje i popcorn są zbyt duże. Ale to nie dlatego nie chodziliśmy do kina przez 7 lat. Nie byliśmy ponieważ najpierw byłam chora i nie mogłam siedzieć w jednym miejscu przez 2 godziny. Potem byłam w ciąży (dwa razy) i nie mogłam siedzieć w jednym miejscu przez 2 godziny. A potem miałam małe dzieci, które nie mogą siedzieć w jednym miejscu przez 2 godziny. Ale teraz .... niech żyją nowe czasy – chodzenia do kina w domu Chris.

Wracając do filmu o wampirach ... oczywiście, książka była lepsza, z wyjątkiem scen walki. Sceny walki z wilkami i wroga armia wampirów są lepsze w filmie. Cała reszta, wszystkie historie w tle itp. lepsze w książce. Byliśmy zdecydowanie najstarszymi z widzów. Reszta widzów kina była w grupie wiekowej U-20 i płci żeńskiej, z wyłączeniem jednego młodego człowieka, który na pewno był tam tylko dlatego, że jego mama powiedziała do siostry przed wyjściem, „Nie możesz iść, jeśli nie zabierzesz brata ze sobą.”

Jeden z moich studentów, którzy cierpiał przez pierwsze 2 filmy o wampirach ze swoją dziewczyną, oświadczył, że nie będzie cierpieć przez następny. Nie ma problemu, dziewczyna poszła z mamą. Ale poinformowała chłopaka, że było sporo par w kinie tego wieczoru. Mój uczeń (który ma poczucie humoru podobne do mojego) powiedział: „Tak, bo te są pary „przed-seksem”. My jesteśmy „po” więc nie muszę iść z tobą.”

Inny z moich studentów, wymknął się z filmu, aby przejść do Media Markt do obejrzenia jednego z meczów mistrzostw świata na dużym ekranie telewizora. Jego żona nie miała nic przeciwko. Przypuszczam, że oni też są „po-seksie”.

Tak czy inaczej, jak oglądałam film uderzyło mnie to, że życie bohaterki jest takie proste. (Proste, ale nie łatwe, bo walka z armią nowonarodzonych wampirów prawdopodobnie nie jest łatwa). Nikt nie zależy od niej, tak więc ona może sobie podjąć decyzję o zniknięciu w świecie wampirów bez żadnych konsekwencji dla świata zewnętrznego. Na pewno jej rodzice będą za nią tęsknić, ale oni nie potrzebują jej żeby przetrwać. Coś jest w byciu zdecydowanym, wiedzy o tym, czego chcesz i podążaniu za tym. To wydaje się takie proste. Miło było uciec do tego świata na kilka godzin.

PS1 Stardust- Tak, trzeba było wybrać swoje miejsca przy zakupie biletów. Kasjer odwrócił do nas ekran komputera i stwierdził, że wolne miejsca są zielone a czerwone to miejsca zajęte. Jak zobaczyłam tylko 4 „wzięte” miejsca wydawało mi się śmieszne, aby wybrać swoje miejsca i rzeczywiście w nich siedzieć, ale kiedy w Rzymie ... lub Heliosie w tym przypadku. Najpierw musiałam zorientować się, gdzie jest ekran w tej konfiguracji, a następnie wybrałam 2 miejsca w samym środeczku. Ale gdy dotknęłam ekranu, nadal pozostał zielony. A wskazane miejsca nie zmieniły się na czerwony „wzięte”, jak się spodziewałam. Kasjer powiedział: „Proszę pani, to nie jest ekran dotykowy. Musi pani mi powiedzieć, która miejsca chcecie.” Myślę, że chodzenie do kina nie posunęło się aż tak bardzo w przyszłość, jak myślałam:)

PS2 Kielbasa Stories ma nowych stałych bywalców. Witam Emilię i Mamę G! Dzięki za przyłączenie się do nas i dzięki za czytanie.

We Choose Bronek - Wybieramy Bronka

Today we voted for President. When I say we, I mean Misiu because I cannot vote, but we all went along for moral support.

Last night at bedtime, Lizzie asked her usual bedtime questions –

Lizzie:  Mamusia, how old were you when you were my age?

Me:  When I was your age, I was 4.

Lizzie:  Mommy! I’m 4!

Me:  Yes, I know.

Lizzie:  Mamusia, is tomorrow a school day?

Me:  No, tomorrow is Sunday.

Lizzie:  How many more times do I have to go to sleep and wake up before I can go to school?

Me:  2 nights, sweetheart.

After that, to interest Lizzie in something other than pre-school, Misiu explained that we were going to select a new president. That got Lizzie excited.

So today, in the car all the way to the polling station, Lizzie repeated, “We are going to pick the president. I’d like to see all kinds of presidents. I hope there’s one that looks like Daniel Wojtan.” That’s a very nice boy from her class. We tried to explain to her that you shouldn’t pick your president based on what he or she looks like, but on how well that candidate represents your interests, but she was already asleep in her car seat.

We arrived at the polling station, waited in line and got our ballot. Lizzie put an X in the place that Misiu showed her and then Misiu lifted Lizzie to the place the ballot in the incredibly high ballot box. Lizzie informed the whole hall of people that we “voted for Bronek” and that they should vote for Bronek too. At the same time, Rosie peed all over Misiu.

After we got back to the car, Lizzie explained her disappointment in the whole voting process. What a pity, jaded at such a young age. You see, she thought that the candidates were going to be live and in person at the polling station and that’s how we’d pick. No candidates. What a bummer.

It seems that there will be part 2 of the election (no candidate got more than 50% of the votes) and luckily for Lizzie, Bronek will be one of the candidates.

PS  I’m referring to PO candidate Bronisław Komorowski (acting President after the death of President Lech Kaczyński) who will run again PIS candidate Jarosław Kaczyński (brother of the late Lech Kaczyński).

Wybieramy Bronka

Dzisiaj głosowaliśmy na Prezydenta. Kiedy powiem “my”, to znaczy Misiu ponieważ ja nie mogę głosować ale chcieliśmy dać moralne wsparcie.

Wczoraj wieczorem, Lizzie zadawała jej standardowe pytania przed spaniem –

Lizzie: Mamusia, ile miałaś lat kiedy byłaś w moim wieku?

Ja: Kiedy byłam w twoim wieku miałam 4 lata.

Lizzie: Mamo! Ja mam 4 lata!

Ja: Tak, wiem.

Lizzie:  Mamusia, czy jutro jest dzień szkolny?

Ja:  Nie, jutro jest niedziela.

Lizzie: Ile razy muszę iść spać i wstać, zanim pójdę do szkoły.

Ja: Dwa razy, kochanie.

Potem żeby zainteresować Lizzie czymś innym niż przedszkole, Misiu powiedział, że idziemy wybierać nowego prezydenta. To ją zainteresowało.

Więc dzisiaj w samochodzie całą drogę do komisji wyborczej Lizzie powtarzała, „Idziemy wybierać prezydenta. Chciałabym zobaczyć rożne rodzaje prezydentów. Mam nadzieję, że będzie jeden, który wygląda jak Daniel Wojtan.” To jest bardzo fajny chłopak z jej grupy. Próbowaliśmy wytłumaczyć, że prezydenta nie wybiera się ze względu na wygląd ale to czy i na ile kandydat reprezentuje twoje interesy, ale już zasnęła w foteliku samochodowym.

Dotarliśmy do komisji wyborczej, czekaliśmy w kolejce i dostaliśmy naszą kartę do głosowania. Lizzie zaznaczyła X tam gdzie Misiu pokazał i potem Misiu podniósł Lizzie do strasznie wysokiej urny. Lizzie poinformowała całą salę że właśnie „zagłosowaliśmy na Bronka” i że oni też powinni głosować na Bronka. Na dodatek, Rosie zsikała się na Misia.

Wróciliśmy do samochodu, gdzie Lizzie powiedziała, że jest rozczarowana tym całym głosowaniem. Co za szkoda, sterana życiem w tak młodym wieku. Ona myślała, że kandydaci będą na żywo i w ten sposób będziemy wybierać. Nie było kandydatów. Ale kicha!

Tak wygląda, że będzie druga tura wyborów (żaden z kandydatów nie dostał więcej niż 50% głosów) i na szczęście dla Lizzie Bronek jest jednym z kandydatów.

PS Oczywiście chodzi o kandydata PO Bronisława Komorowskiego (pełniącego obowiązki prezydenta po śmierci Lecha Kaczyńskiego), który zmierzy się z kandydatem PIS Jarosławem Kaczyńskim (bratem zmarłego Lecha Kaczyńskiego).

The end of Kielbasa Stories???

It may be the end of Kielbasa Stories as we know it.

Anticipated comments:

Reaction 1: What? Chris, no! We love you and Kielbasa Stories so much. You are such a clever and talented writer with an amazing sense of humor. It would be a tragedy to end such a fantastically funny and informative blog. You are a national treasure.

Let’s just clarify that Reaction 1 exists only in my mind where I hold myself in very high esteem.

Reaction 2: Who cares? I just read Kielbasa Stories while I’m waiting for Onet’s homepage to open.

Let’s clarify that Reaction 2 exists in a deep, dark corner of my mind where I go when I’m having a bad day and when my hair looks like crap which is much too often these days.

Reaction 3: No more Kielbasa Stories? Bummer. Let’s see what Stardust is doing.

Let’s clarify that Reaction 3 is probably somewhat closer to reality than Reaction 1 and Reaction 2.

Here’s the deal. In order for Kielbasa Stories to exist and make sense, we have to live in Poland. I mean it is the story of how I moved to Poland and survived.

But….if Jarosław Kaczynski wins in the next presidential election, Misiu says we are out of here. I guess I should start preparing Hot Dog, Hamburger and Apple Pie Stories because we’d be going back to America. Or would we? Misiu said the same thing when Lech Kaczynski became president and somehow we survived.

A brief summary for the politically non-interested people: Jarosław Kaczynski is the identical twin brother of the late Lech Kaczynski, the president who died in a plane crash last month. Lech was seen as conservative (by many as ultra-conservative) and he was accused of nationalism on many occasions. Lech also had very strong political ties with the Catholic Church. His brother, Jarosław, is seen as all those things times 10. I mean his campaign slogan says it all - “Poland is the most important” (Polska jest najważniejsza).

Come on, everybody knows that America is the most important ;)

I’m not saying that Jarosław is a bad candidate. If you are very conservative and religious (read: Catholic), then he is the candidate for you. It used to be said that he would never get elected as he is and always has been single. But (and I don’t mean to be crass) in the hearts and minds of the electorate, a deceased twin brother totally trumps a non-existent first lady.

That leaves us in limbo (not really, I’m just kidding about the move) until after the election. Of course, there is a strong chance that the acting president Bronisław Komorowski will win the election as predicted before the death of Lech Kaczynski.

It got to me thinking about my voting habits. I tend to vote moderate to liberal, and since I have moved to Poland I have voted pretty liberal (I’m talking about the US elections ‘cause I can’t vote here). Americans abroad tend to vote like me. Poles abroad are split. Poles in Europe tend to vote moderate to liberal as well, while Poles in the US tend to vote conservative. Perhaps it has to do with age and has not as much to do with immigration. Poles spread throughout Europe tend to be part of the new immigration and are a bit younger, while Poles in the US tend to be from an earlier wave of immigration and tend to be a bit older. They’d probably vote the same way if they still lived in Poland.

A couple of nights ago, I did have a dream that we were moving back to the US. In my dream, I was crying uncontrollably. Yes, yes, I would miss Poland a lot, but that’s not why I was crying. I was crying because I had come to the realization (in my dream) that I wouldn’t be able to pack my Polish pottery collection and take it with me and I would have to…..SELL IT!!!!! And the tears came rolling down. I know that some of you completely and totally understand what I am talking about.

Anyone want to buy a superb Polish pottery collection real cheap? Contact me after the elections.

Other stuff that has happened in the last week or two

Our friends from Burma visited us with their 2 children which is a big deal because Burma is not a free country, it is far away, and they had to travel all that way with 2 small kids without losing their minds.

Misiu found his class picture from Wawel.

Lizzie turned 4. She was very pleased with her birthday cake and hardly noticed that it wasn’t homemade as she requested. Lizzie also received her dream bike which she rides constantly. She would sleep with it if she could.

Rosie’s allergy diet is still going on and preliminary results show that she is not allergic to eggs, a little bit allergic to wheat and very allergic to milk. Next, we are going to check if dairy in baked goods causes an allergic reaction and if yogurt causes as bad a reaction (or worse) than milk.

We have discovered that Rosie can put together her puzzle all by herself. Genius? I think so.

Sandbox season has officially opened and our girls couldn’t be happier.

Both Rosie and Lizzie had their first hairdresser haircuts. Lizzie was very brave and her hair turned out great. Rosie on the other hand wasn’t having it and only got her bangs trimmed.

There was an armed robbery at the deli next to one of our 3 Żabkas (Wow! I know!). As the robbers didn’t made away with much (according to the hairdresser), I think that it may be the first and last such robbery in our neighborhood. (I need to write a post about gun control, I think.)

Two of my clients have changed their office locations, cutting my commute and time spent searching for a parking spot considerably.

We have discovered the benefit of living in such a windy place. It is great for flying a kite.

We put a bird feeder at our house fulfilling a long-standing desire of Lizzie to watch birds in our garden.

Misiu bought me a charm bracelet fulfilling a long-standing desire of mine to see a charm bracelet on my wrist ;)

Life goes on.

I’m tired today…

…so let’s just look at pictures.

Lizzie

Rosie extreme close-up

Our Family as drawn by Lizzie

Vampire Rosie

Zoo with the Monkeys

Gnomes in Wroclaw

At the doctor’s

Kittens in the Village

:)

What did I know anyway?

And what did I know about Polish relationships anyhow? Maybe it didn’t work like in America. I decided to forget about this Misiu guy and I turned my direction to Maciek. I mean, I didn’t have a choice, he was hard to ignore. He was everywhere - waiting for me outside of the school after my classes ended, in the morning outside my building to drive me to school (or to be seen driving me to school) or every Monday at 6:00 pm when he drove me to the next town for dinner.

Yes, he had a car which he tried to impress me with, but I’m American, possessing a car by a 19-year old is nothing impressive for me. By Polish village standards back then he was a catch - a catch set to inherit his father’s business some day and oh, the dimples. I had almost forgotten about those dimples.

Once when I went to the City to visit my friends, he was waiting for me at the station when I got off the bus. He spent the whole weekend with us, and it was really a lot of fun. It was also fun to have other people around us to take the pressure off of me because Maciek couldn’t really speak English, and I couldn’t speak Polish. During our weekly dinners, you can imagine that we ate a lot and talked very little.

He really was sweet and tried to entertain me and take care of me in his own way. If he noticed that I needed something in my apartment, he brought it for me. If I looked sad, he invited me for a walk. He was very thoughtful.

But I was 22 and he was 19 and I thought that was an insurmountable age difference at the time. I was stupid ‘cause now, I’d be all over that Maciek, but then…

Besides the “huge” age difference, I couldn’t get over the fact that I felt like an accessory. Like next to the nice clothes, nice car, fancy dinners, and trips to the City, the next best accessory was an American girlfriend. I know that wasn’t the whole reason for his interest in me, but it was in the mix.

It definitely wasn’t going to work. I wanted to break it to him gently. I really did like him, but before I could even broach the subject, he brought it up himself, in the corridor of my city friend’s apartment. I told him it was the age difference, the language barrier, everything. “But you like me,” he said. It wasn’t a question, just a kind of statement of the situation. I answered, “Of course, I like you. I like you very much.” And it was true. It was a long drive back to the Village, but always the gentleman, Maciek carried my bag up to my apartment. I invited him in. He sat down but didn’t take off his jacket.

He idly thumbed through my yellow dictionary and looked up, “It’s Misiu, isn’t it?”

I was taken aback. I wasn’t the only one who had been observant. I protested, “No, of course not. He’s got nothing to do with it.” My voice trailed off sounding unconvincing even to myself.

He got red in the face and grabbed the dictionary again looking for something he wanted to say. His eyes searched following the lead of his index finger down the page. “He’s utilizing you,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

He handed me the dictionary, pointing to the entry and repeated, “He’s utilizing you.” I looked down at the dictionary entry: wykorzystywać: to utilize, to use, to make us of, to exploit, to take advantage of. I got it. I protested again, “Use me? Why? What for?”

“To go to America,” he answered defeated, deflated, with no spite. He wasn’t angry. He just wanted me to be aware. As much as I wanted to deny it, the idea had crossed my mind before - not specifically about Misiu, but about people in general and their motivations for wanting to get close to me. I mean I was American in a small town in Poland (years ago). I was aware of the attraction of the “nowość” factor. I wondered if it was really so desirable to go to America anyhow. Well, for the time being it didn’t matter. This was over and so were the Monday 6:00 pm dinner dates. Pity. Time to move on.

All my Ex’s Live in Texas

I remember the first time I met Misiu’s ex.

And she wasn’t his ex at the time.

There was the first time I was supposed to meet her. She had invited me through Misiu to go to the swimming pool with them but got called for a job interview at the last minute and had to cancel. Not long after that, I was off for the seaside and had forgotten all about her existence. When I returned from the seaside, she was (conveniently for me) abroad working. For the first 2 months of school, I would have Misiu all to myself. Of course, this “all to myself” business was purely in my head, but so what.

I met Misiu often as we worked together and shared groups of students. It was unavoidable. I was even invited to their (his and his girlfriend’s) apartment which was for me the epitome of what a “European” apartment should look like – white walls, white tiled floors, a lot of glass and black leather. Sexy, huh?

After a short time, the invitations became more frequent and had less and less to do with working together. So with the confidence of an American girl abroad, I indicated that I was interested, and Misiu (surprise, surprise) indicated that he was interested, too. I thought, What the heck. Let’s have an interesting 2 months till his girlfriend gets back.

I know that for some people (especially women) I had broken some secret code of conduct – You don’t go after a taken man and you don’t try to break up a happy home. But in my own defense, they were not married and I wasn’t taking, only borrowing. I had no intention of keeping him and anyway - Chłop nie mydło. Nie wymydli się. I would return him in one piece.

But as the 2 months of Misiu all to myself dwindled down to 1 month and then to 1 week, I started to feel sad that it’d all be over before it even had a chance to start. But oh well, there are more Polish boys in the sea, right?

On the day of her return from working abroad, some friends of theirs were invited to their place, somehow with me included. I was a little excited to meet her and hoped that she wouldn’t be able to read the shame on my face for having so brazenly borrowed her boyfriend. But then something happened. I met her. And I didn’t feel ashamed at all, even though I should have felt ashamed and maybe should still feel ashamed today. I didn’t feel ashamed, not even one iota, for the simple fact that she was beautiful. And I was not. I knew that as one of the beautiful people, she would somehow be alright in the end.

It also helped that I didn’t like her. I didn’t like how she pushed and pulled on Misiu trying to straighten him up when he slouched or prod him on when he didn’t laugh enough. I didn’t like how she flirted with one particular guest when Misiu was out of the room. I didn’t like how long her legs were or how blonde her hair was. You get the picture - I didn’t like her.

It wasn’t enough that she was beautiful, could speak a couple of languages and had Misiu, but how could she, in this room full of friends who were teachers, insult the teaching profession – as translated to me by an English teacher guest. I asked, “But she knows we are all teachers, right?” Anita replied with a sigh, “Yes, she does.” We all weren’t teachers though. There was one young friend, Maciek, who worked in his father’s company and there was one doctor, a very good friend of all, of course.

The conversation turned, and I could see the plan developing by the others to match me with the Doctor. Not that he wasn’t attractive or anything, but he was about as interested in me as I was in him. After a while, everyone let me alone and their conversations started to flow freely again. No one even bothered to translate, but that was alright by me. It gave me a chance to observe. I may not have understood a word of Polish, but through keen observation I was able to pick up some vital information that evening.

With Polish conversations swirling and buzzing around me, I slouched down deeper and deeper into the big, black leather armchair wishing it could somehow swallow me up and deposit outside on the sidewalk with the rest of the guests being none the wiser. Supposing that this was impossible, I waited a respectable amount of time and then excused myself, explaining that I wanted to turn in early. I was heading to the City to visit some friends the next morning, and I had an appointment to call them that evening. Misiu walked me out to the pay phone.

I made my phone call and as we parted, I think I surprised Misiu by telling him matter-of-factly that his Doctor friend was in love with his girlfriend. From the look on his face, I knew that it must be true. “That’s what they tell me,” Misiu said. “Whatever,” I said and walked myself home. And that was that.

Observant as I was, I couldn’t figure out how she felt. She flirted with the Doctor, but she also showed off Misiu like a mannequin she had dressed up for the occasion. From what I could gather, she wanted them both – the doctor part of the Doctor (money, social standing, etc.) and the Misiu part of Misiu (funny, likeable, handsome). It seemed to me that she wanted Dr. Misiu. But Dr. Misiu didn’t exist.

PS1 “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” is a country music song made famous by George Strait. In my hometown (not in Texas), there is a diner with little jukeboxes at each table, and this song has been on the playlist as long as I can remember. I’m not a country music fan, but I’ll always remember this one.

PS2 There is something which Misiu calls Kryśka’s Morality. I guess you could call it my code of conduct, but maybe my code of misconduct would be a better name. In this post you have learned some of the finer points, such as:

• Chłop nie mydło. Nie wymydli się. -A man is not soap. You cannot use him up.
• Beautiful people are always somehow alright in the end.

Not included in this post but crucial elements of Kryśka’s Morality are:

• When I am driving, I am king of the road. Pedestrians look out!
• When I am a pedestrian, I am king of the road. Drivers look out!
• As a teacher, your success is my success. Your failure, however, is all your own.
• Living in America for 10 years and not learning English is totally unacceptable. Living in Poland for 10 years and not learning Polish is absolutely understandable ;)

I could go on and on…

It’s not a love story

I’m not gonna say it was a love story, an epic romance for all time, because if you knew me, you’d have trouble putting together the idea of me, silly me, with the idea of a love story and romance.

Something which will seem even more difficult to imagine is the fact that I knew all this was coming - the foreign life, the foreign romance and ultimately, the foreign husband.

On the surface, in the conscious world, I laughed at the idea that I could possibly meet someone while abroad, although people finding out about my trip (and about my recent break-up with my American fiancé) couldn’t stop kidding me about it. I kidded right back, not giving it a second thought.

Actually, I did give it a second thought, this idea that I could meet someone while abroad because a few years earlier when I was (more or less) happily engaged to my American fiancé, I had had a premonition. As it has only happened to me twice in my life, it is difficult to describe what it is actually like to have a premonition. It is something like déjà vu, but set in the future. It is like your awareness of time slips back for a moment and you catch a glimpse (or sometimes a whole look) of something that will happen in the future…but the picture is so elusive.

While waking in the morning one day in the US, still lying in bed I stretched, and looked up at the bright sun, sky and trees out my window. I took a deep breath and became pre-occupied by a picture in my head. I was waking up next to my husband (somehow I was sure he was my husband and not my boyfriend) and as he rolled over to me and smiled, I could see him, I could smell him, and I could hear him as he spoke a few words in a language I didn’t understand or even recognize. It was so real…and then my consciousness snapped back into place and the picture was gone. It was years before I planned a trip to Poland, and I had all but forgotten about it. Maybe it was a dream after all?

But maybe that’s the reason I couldn’t take my eyes off Misiu the first time I saw him. Maybe that’s why till this day I cannot resist nestling into his neck to smell him. Maybe that’s why I remember so distinctly the thrill I felt the first morning he rolled over in bed to smile at me and ask “Wstajemy?” with me not understanding what he was saying.

Sometimes I have my doubts about the life I have chosen here in Poland, but then I look at Misiu and our girls and I know everything is just how it is supposed to be.

Wyątkowy dzień!

Here’s a postcard recently received by my Misiu, holder of an Orsay Club Card.

Wjątkowy dzień!

Witaj Misiu,

Czas spełnić marzenia. Odkryj siebie na nowo robiąc zakupy z Twoim osobistym bonem urodzinowym

20 PLN + 200 DODATKOWYCH PUNKTÓW

i przeżyj niezapomniane chwile myśląc “Thank God I’m a woman”.

Życzymy miłych urodzinowych zakupów

Zespół KLUBU ORSAY

Dear Misiu,

It is a special day!

It is time to fulfill dreams. Discover yourself anew doing shopping with your own personal birthday bonus

20 PLN + 200 EXTRA POINTS

and experience an unforgettable moment thinking “Thank God I’m a woman”.

We wish you a pleasant birthday shopping!

The Orsay Club Team

Who knew?

By Easter he was with me

When I came to Poland, he was living with his girlfriend, his parents stockpiling vodka for their future (yet unplanned) wedding, but by Easter he was with me and not with her...

...and it had nothing to do with me.

I mean, that he was with me, had everything to do with me, but that he was not with her had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her…

...and him.

I know that now...

...and I think she does too.

Getting Sick in the Village

I learned that as a first year teacher, I was bound to get ill often, and as a first year teacher starting her career on a different continent, I would get ill very often. Mutated germs, I guess.

I learned that the school did not register me as an employee, so I had no right to go to the doctor or to get L4 (sick leave). Every “sick day” was deducted from my already meager pay.

I learned that a thermometer handed to you from the table by a doctor should go under your armpit and not in your mouth.

I learned treatment of a bladder infection po polsku is warm underwear and not antibiotics.

I learned that at the pharmacy all medicine (OTC and prescription) and anything else you want to buy is behind the counter and has to be given to you by the pharmacist.

I learned from a friend that vodka kills germs ;)

I learned that when you get a physical exam you should bring your urine with you.

Ok, that one requires a bit more explanation.

To work as a teacher (anywhere I guess, in the US and in Poland) you have to undergo a medical exam every so many years. My school figured out that I, too, should undergo the same tests after I had already been working there a couple of months. Knowing that it was not something I could manage myself, the principal (the one married to the student he got pregnant) asked Misiu to take me. Not the most obvious choice, but the female English teacher who had been responsible for me was on a 2 or 3 month sick leave. Misiu explained that he’d take me to the doctor for a blood test, a urine test and a chest x-ray. The chest x-ray was supposed to check for TB. I had brought my latest TB test results with me just in case (we need them to student-teach in the US), thus, getting myself out out of a quite unnecessary dose of radiation.

Misiu picked me up from PZU as planned (in case you are just joining us, I lived at PZU) and walked with me to the doctor’s. When we arrived, I saw that there was a long line of people waiting to talk to the lady in the window, the kind of window like in the post office where you have to bend down so the lady can hear you. I supposed she was the receptionist. Actually it was a lab, not a doctor’s office.

We went to the end of the line and waited. Finally, it was our turn and Misiu explained why we were there. Misiu turned to me and asked, “Where’s your urine?” How rude, I thought. Well, I don’t know where you keep your urine in Poland, but mine is in my bladder. “Uh, inside me. Why?” I answered. “You have to bring it with you,” Misiu explained. I explained that in my lab in the US, they give you a container so you can give a “fresh” sample, so to speak. After some explanation, the nurse handed me a container, “organized” me a container would be a better description, and directed me to the WC.

I fought my way past the disgruntled folks waiting in line until I found the WC. I got in there, locked the door, took my pants down and then looked at the container. It was a small glass jar with a cork top, the opening of which had the diameter of about 1/2 centimeter. It looked like it should hold magic potion not urine samples. I am a whole lot of talented, but even I didn’t attempt to fill it. I pulled up my pants and reported back to the nurse that my urine sample was a no-go. That’s when I noticed the other people waiting in line with their samples in little jars, jars like from jam or some other food product. There was even one ambitious young man who had filled a pretty big pickle jar. It was so big it didn’t fit through the opening in the receptionist’s window and she had to come out to retrieve it. The nurse advised me to buy some jam in a jar, empty it, clean and boil the jar and lid and deliver it full of urine, my urine, back to her.

After my blood test, Misiu and I walked to the store, bought some mustard, returned to PZU, emptied the mustard, and washed and boiled the jar. I did my business, labeled the jar and Misiu took it back to the lab for me which then I took as a small glimmer of affection for me, but was probably just his wanting to get away from me for the rest of the day.

PS We have urine sample containers now in Poland widely available at every pharmacy for about 1.50 PLN.

PS2 To “organize” something czyli organizować means to arrange something. In this case, it means to arrange something with a little difficulty.

Happy Birthday Misiu!

It’s my Misiu’s birthday, a big round one. Some people might be affected by that nice round number, but not my Misiu. So what, he’s 40. He’s 40 with a smoking hot wife (hee, hee) and two of the most adorable children you will ever see. Without all that, he would just be 40.

At university I had a classmate, David, who was also about 40. I was 18 at the time, so I thought he was like ancient and didn’t even think about how hard it must have been for him to start his undergrad degree at that age. I mean I had an inkling because I had sat near him during the mathematics placement test. I had just taken Advanced Calculus 2 months earlier in high school, so I sailed through the test. I could see that he was struggling, but that’s to be expected for someone entering college at such an advanced age ;)

When asked by a professor why he had decided to get his degree at that age, someone from the class chuckled, “You’ll be a 40 year-old-college graduate.” David responded, “I’ll be 40 years old anyway and better to be a 40 year-old college graduate than not.” That was a pretty good explanation, don’t you think? He went on to explain that the final decision had come on the urging of his children all of who had finished university and were out of the house. Smart kids!

Misiu, życzymy Ci sto lat

Kochamy cię bardzo!

-Twoje dziewczyny

WWIII started by the English!

The English language that is. I am the first to admit that my English is not perfect. Have you noticed my punctuation issues?Even though English is my first and basically only language, I have been known to make a mistake or two. Nothing serious, but it has happened. For my husband, English is a second language and his English is impeccable. Excluding one unfortunate hyphen/hymen mix-up while giving an address, I can honestly say that I have never heard him make a mistake in English. For that reason, I often pick his brain concerning pressing English language issues that I may have. Yes, our marriage is just that exciting.

What does the proper use of the English language mean for me? Well, most importantly, it means that I have a job. It is my job to help people develop their language skills and to my students I always say - “Your success is my success” – your failure, however, is all your own ;) But those are people for whom the English language is a second language if not a third or fourth. I do a little of teaching, correcting, encouraging and sometimes even disciplining. Even in a conversation lesson, I am constantly “on” listening for mistakes and supplying the missing word or sentence structure. If I were not a teacher, I probably would not even pay attention to subject-verb agreement or double negatives, but as I teach, watch TV or read, I can’t turn off my English teacher ears.

If you are an English teacher and you’d like to pain your teacher ears, I invite you for a viewing of the Jerry Springer Show. While I am not a Jerry Springer fan, I have watched it a few times and am truly embarrassed that it is broadcast in Poland. It is like airing your country’s dirty laundry for all the other countries to see. It has been said that the guests are not genuine, that either they are paid actors or that they tried to get on the show for fun. I disagree because in actuality people’s stupidity knows no bounds and also because I can hear when they speak that they are sincere no matter how crazy the topic is. However, there was one case that I was pretty sure was a fake. I don’t remember the topic exactly but it involved a secret (don’t they all?) in which a young lady had to reveal to her partner that she was in fact a stripper. I became suspicious first by the over-the-top reaction of the partner, but then by the lady’s proper use of the 3rd conditional. Not that strippers cannot have good grammar, but her appropriate use seemed somehow incongruous with her life story. To be fair, even Wolf Blitzer of CNN made a mistake in the 2nd conditional last week (I know, I need a hobby).

If you are rusty on your grammar…

2nd conditional: If I were you, I would not do that.

3rd conditional: If you had not stolen that car, you would not have been in prison. (you are out of prison-the crime and the prison stay are both in the past)

2nd/3rd mixed: If you had not stolen that car, you would not be in prison. (you are still in prison)

There is a language bone of contention in our house. It concerns the use of present continuous over present simple. Present simple should be used for (among other things) permanent states while present continuous is used for temporary states. So, if you haven’t seen me for a long time, let’s say, since high school and you ask what I’m up to, I will say “I’m living in Poland”. And from that one innocent sentence, WWIII breaks out in our house. Why? Because in that one sentence, I have shared with you my deepest feelings about my life in Poland. I have let you know that I see my stay in Poland as temporary. I do not answer, “I live in Poland” which suggests a permanency, but rather “I’m living in Poland” as if I’ve got one foot out the door already. But the rest of my actions don’t say that. I’m married to a Polish man. We have 2 kids together. We have a business together. We bought an apartment and house together with the joint mortgage debt that comes with them. I say that actions speak louder than words, but Misiu says that my words say what I really think.

Who’s right?