What a beautiful day it is! I really hadn't wanted to come to this camp – as in
really hadn't wanted to come. The powers that be, however, dictated otherwise, and I was rather grudgingly compelled. Now, though, I dread the moment when the kids will leave this afternoon. I had so much fun with them, and really got close to a small few. I'm amazed at God's determination to bless me in spite of myself.
How strange! An ambulance just pulled up, and two RNs (or what ever they're called over here) rushed into the training center and up the stairs with a stretcher. No one seems at all concerned, and people keep milling about, laughing and chatting as though nothing is at all out of the ordinary. So I keep writing. I wonder if alarm is as shameful to express as is emotion?
Olivia wrote a note that she slipped into my hand this morning. Fortunately, most Koreans are much more skilled with their non-verbal than verbal English skills:
"First of all. thanks to you. I'm very pleased. I think that I seem to make a good friend and good teacher. I hope to speak with you a first day in here. So I was pleased speaking with you. You was help and worried for me. I can know your mind is true. You are good teacher. I think that you can become good teacher to everybody. So I hope that you give a helping hand for children that need encouragement of other people. You can do very well. Lastly. Thanks teacher and I hope to keep communication take advantage of internet. good luck your life."
At lunch I sat across from her. "I pray to Jesus first time this morning," she said, "I start to believe little bit."
The day grows warm, until even I am compelled to admit to being uncomfortably hot. But, and even though the AC is on, all the doors and windows are open. 'Inside air' is exceedingly unhealthy, I've learned. No matter how extreme the outside weather, one must not be permitted to breathe only inside air for any prolonged period of time, lest unspeakable ills befall that foolish offender. Needless to say, the AC is rendered quite superfluous in such case, and I can only suppose is left on strictly for the psychological value thereof.
My shoulders and neck have been causing me a lot of grief lately. They haven't hurt this badly, nor this constantly, in a great while. The muscles in my chest are beginning to stiffen and be sore; I suppose because they are over compensating. This concerns me a bit, besides being extremely uncomfortable. It always hurts worse when I'm sedentary, so I'm somewhat apprehensive about beginning my nearly fulltime office job. I'm more glad than ever, now, that I opted to forfeit a ride to work in favor of walking. Ten minutes each way isn't much, but it's certainly better than nothing. Perhaps the state of my back is somewhat due to the state of my mattress. If there is one spring hidden within its stubborn depths, I have yet to discover it. I've never slept on such a rock hard bed. When I sit on it, it resists with a cracking that sounds more like plywood than plywood does. My pillow was of the same caliber. That is, uncomfortable but not, thankfully, like plywood. I often woke with a headache that worsened as the day progressed, until the Dubes discovered their cause and found me a new pillow - bless them! I shall have to break down and by myself a mattress pad, too, though that will cost, I understand, upwards of W100,000. Yikes!
We ate dinner out this evening. I always have fun with that, because there are such a plethora of interesting experiences involved. One removes ones shoes at the entrance, as is done upon entering any abode, and sits on a small square mat, usually not very padded, at a very low table, just far enough off the ground for one to scoot his legs under, if he should so desire. Then begins the fun. Two or three waitress begin to carry out very small dish after very small dish of food. The first time I witnessed this phenomena I was amazed. Through the course of the entire meal, the dishes never stop coming. Pretty soon, the table is completely filled, and dishes begin pyramiding, then spilling over onto the floor. No several dish contains the same food, so each is quite communal, and much reaching, sharing and passing is conducted. This manner of consumption pleases me, because of course, it makes it so fantastically simple to avoid some of those not so appealing dishes – i.e. raw crab saturated with soy sauce, or live octopi (though I haven't yet been so privileged as to personally witness this later delicacy). Yesterday I tried a pepper that everyone swore was not hot. I, trusting creature that I am, took a large, Korean style bite. The sensation that flooded over me is indescribable. My tongue hurt. My gums hurt. My teeth hurt. My entire head exploded with a rushing, fiery heat. I brought my hands to my face, and in doing so, held aloft what was left of the pepper. Exclamations of surprise and remorse fell on my ringing ears, "Oh! You got the wrong kind. Even we can't eat those plain! Much too spicy." A gross understatement. The various reactions were amusing. Some laughter, and picture snapping (I don't want to know how those turned out), some remorse and water offering. Eventually my mouth cooled off enough for me to be able to eat again. Apparently the damage hadn't been irreparable. The rest of my meal consisted of very the safe dishes of rice and bulgogie.
Bulgogie is the very best part of any meal. In the center of each table, within everyone's easy reach, is placed live coals over which is cooked, as we watch and partake, bite-sized cuts of brilliantly flavored beef. This is either eaten alone, straight off the grill, else wrapped in lettuce with rice, garlic, bean dip, or any other food that appeals to the individual. Both are equally to die for. After dinner ice cold rice noodle soup is often served, and pieces of watermelon with those transparent, green toothpicks which are later to be employed in a rather inconvenient manner.
To pick ones teeth in public is embarrassing, but apparently my teeth are not the only ones that trap bits of food. Toothpicks must, of necessity, be employed, however timid one may be. To shield oneself from the view of others is second best, so one hand covers the mouth while the other clumsily maneuvers the toothpick around this self-constructed obstacle. I, unfortunately, had left my purse behind tonight (and hence, thoughtlessly, my floss), so I was compelled to attempt this toothpick-behind-the-hand routine, but found that it requires a greater dexterity than I have at my disposal to construe. I later learned, though, that it wasn't merely my own coordination at fault. Toothpicks here are not made of wood. Somehow, perhaps with food scraps, pigs also have access to toothpicks, but apparently consume, rather than employ, these utensils. Such usage tends to puncture the stomach, so the Koreans devised a solution: soluble toothpicks. Toothpicks, in fact, composed of cornstarch and sweet potato. Unfortunately, though necessarily for the sake of the swine, it doesn't require much coaxing to persuade them to dissolve. One has several seconds, at best, to do what one can with the worst of the food, before the tip disintegrates into a nub, and is thereby rendered useless. I finally surrendered in mock despair, and began to eat my toothpick, experiencing a momentary sense of mutual camaraderie with those lower caste of the animal kingdom. After all, one must either laugh or cry!
I'm quite exhausted, but content. God has taught me many things this last week. I have been lonely, and desiring companionship. Through this God has caused me to see my soul's need for Himself. If oneness with Him will be the result of my temporary loneliness, then I am satisfied.
Thus concludes another lengthy, randomly irrelevant missive. Thanks for putting up with my ramblings. To put my thoughts on paper is to take them out of my head where they would otherwise be spinning in endless, chaotic circles. It is therapeutic. It is restive.
My love to all of you...
And then to the right:
I love this pic...don't know why.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to the other side!
Halla Mart, where I do most of my weekday shopping (note the escalators).
And the outdoor market that I love walking through every day, on my way to work.
This particular place, needless to say, always smells to high heaven. But it does carry such an assortment of food, and I like that. Squid, octopi, stingray, etc. 
This guy was a little embarrassed when I took the picture. I like this place, too. Someone is often shouting to attract attention to their wares, and then they chop it up and weigh it out right there.
The fruit is pretty inexpensive, but I haven't bought any at the market yet. I'm impatient to learn how to bargain.
Not sure what any of this is, but I thought it looked pretty interesting.
Dinner with Joanna, Paul, Saul and the rest of the gang.
Ice cream...not real, but yum!
Adults small group
