An exceedingly boring post that Anika wants...

Dear all,
Anika has asked repeatedly what I do on a day to day basis.
So, here goes:

On every school day except for blessed Tuesdays (my lie in day, as Shelia calls it ), I wake up at about 8:30, get dressed as fast as I can, brush my teeth and my hair, and leave the house before 8:45. School starts at 9 in the morning. Tragically, today is a Tuesday, and in my haste to leave the house, I did not recognize that. So I missed on of the things I look forward to all week. Sleeping in on Tuesday. So, anyway, once I get to school, I go to class. I teach three classes a week with a teacher named Zhana. She speaks very little English, and the kids speak even less. I don't really do much in those classes. I correct a lot of mistakes, and act as the tape player, in reading out English passages in my best slow monotone voice.

The rest of my classes I teach with Ia. We have a lot of classes. Every week they seem to be giving me more. In the classes with Ia I am more involved, but sometimes I really feel like it is pretty pointless, my being here and all. In classes with Ia I am more involved, but I still feel like I don't do much. But it is exhausting.

I spend all day making sure that I do not commit any offenses. And I do anyway. The kids laugh at me for no apparent reason, and no matter what I wear, I am judged. My shoes especially seem to be some sort of village discussion topic. When I wore my Chacos for the first month and a half, every old lady in town would shake her head when she looked at my feet. The kids would point them out to each other. Then, one cool morning when I wore my black trainers, It was like I was an alien. It is because all the teachers here wear these horrible high heeled black boot things. Not only can I not afford them, I also really don't want to wear them. The others will get used to the differences in dress, or at least they will shut up about it. Maybe.

Anyway, after school on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I teach the older kids who never had a chance to learn English. The president apparently initiated a sort of exit exam, that includes an English portion. This really peeved the Russian and German teachers, as well as basically everybody, off. So, pretty soon here I am going to be teaching that class all alone. As soon as my co teacher has "taught them the alphabet" she will abandon them to me. I told her that I did not want to do it and that I have no teaching experience and other stuff. But the administrators think that if one volunteer can do something, we all can. I think there is some sort of heroic super teacher out there, screwing over the rest of us teachers, making us all look bad.

Once I am finally home, exhausted from school, I generally curl up in my freezing room and try to take a nap, or I sit next to the fire and read my book. Not much of anything happens. On Wednesdays I go to Sachkhere and meet up with Shelia, Christina, and Jaime, and maybe a few others, for some food and conversation. At other times throughout the week I do this and that. I may go on a run or a walk, peel a mound of potatoes, pop the corn off dried cobbs for the chickens, or do varous other activities. On the weekends I either stay at home and do nothing, or I travel! I have been to Batumi once, Tbilisi four times, and Chiatura once.

I have been blessed enough to go to church three times already, and I really love it. I am making tons of good friends, and learning a lot.

Love Katie

If prides my only folly, I'm proud that I'm not proud

Dear all,

First, ten points to whoever tells me who sings those lyrics. No internet cheating please!

Next. Pride. I am way to proud. It makes a fool of me. Here is a story which proves what a proud fool I am:

One Friday last I was trying to make my way to Tbilisi. I walked from my house to the nearest off time frequent marshutka stop. (Marshutkas and their mysterious schedules are not a thing to be trifled with.) I waited patiently for a few minutes for a ride to come along. Eventually one of the white minibuses showed up, so I hopped inside. It was fantastically crowded. It started off in a direction I had never gone before. I was under the impression that the marshutka would simply drive a ways down the road, turn around, and take me to my desired destination. But that was not my fate. After about thirty minutes of driving, stopping, people getting on and off, driving, stopping, people getting on and off, driving, and so on, the marshutka came to a stop. A real stop this time. Not the previous idle. The driver had backed the marshutka into what seemed to be a shady little glen. I think it must be his normal spot. Because there was no need to park for shade, as it was raining.

At this point, I was sitting in the front seat of the marshutka, nearest the door. Here is where my pride hit me first. This was not my desired destination. I honestly had no idea where we were. The driver and most of the passengers were staring at me with this look that clearly stated, "Silly girl, she does not know where we are!" But rather than shake my head stupidly and remain seated, I bounced off the marshutka, gave the driver some money, and bounded off down a street. I almost wrote "bounded off down the street" but the article "the" would imply that I had some vauge ideas about it. But I did not. I walked down a street (it was a lovely little walk) for about fifteen minutes, at which time I did an about face and began to walk back the way I had come. I figured that I had walked long enough for most of the people to have dispersed, or that they would think I had completed an actual task. Just as I rounded the corner that gave me the first view of where the marshutka had parked, I saw it driving away.

So I walked. I walked for about an hour and a half, with my backpack and everything. I still had no idea where I was, so I just followed the road most traveled. The man in that poem had more time than I had. Anyway, at one point I can to a T in the road. I was so happy, because I recognized right where I was. But then I did not know if I should go left or right. So I swallowed that stupid pride, and asked this boy sitting on a fence which way to Savane. I am glad I asked, because he told me the opposite of the way I was inclined to go. So, eventually, I ended up back in the right place. Stupid pride.

Katie

*Mom guessed John Gorka. She was wrong. Any other guesses?

Why my Mom is awesome. Also, I am still alive.

This is an email my mom sent me after my last post. It contains the truth:

Katie dearest,
I just wanted to make sure you survived the possible clown invasion. You speak the truth about those varmits and I support your efforts to eradicate their very existence. You see, clowns are the only known zombies that roam in licensed packs. That's why they are kept in tents. That is a natural defense to their venomous breath. OK live well, keep the world free from the notion that clowns can and will stay contained.
MY LOVE TO YOU, MA

Turns out the "circus" was not of the clown variety. Thank heavens. It was a man in a big tie, doing silly little magic tricks. The little kids were all crowded around at the bottom of the auditorium, and they were so cute. They gasped and laughed in all the right places. The older kids and a few adults at the top mostly just laughed. But then the assistant started doing his tricks, and it was not so fun anymore. His tricks were the gross kind. Like laying on nails and knifes and stepping on glass. It was most likely not as bad as I think it was, but I could not actually see what was going on. It turned my stomach. Then right at the end, he jumped on the glass, and it made the exact same sound that was made when I stepped on a beer bottle at the end of the Tomatina. Ew. I was frazzled.

I recovered. Eventually.

10 reasons Clowns are freaky

I found out yesterday that the circus will be at my school today. I have no classes right now, so I am killing time until the shindig starts. I realized last night, with a jolt, that there might be clowns at the circus. I actually then had nightmares about clowns. I hate them. I hate ceramic clowns that people stick in eachothers toilets and Jellos (ask Anika). I hate crying clowns with painted on smiles. I hate the drunken clowns in Dumbo. And most of all, I hate murderer clowns. So, in an attempt to alleviate my fear (possibly ill concieved, as this may result only in terrifying myself.) I will now list ten reasons clowns should not be allowed:

1) They wear to much make up.
2) Their voices are either really annoying, or really creepy.
3) They eat people. (I know this is a generalization, and not all clowns are cannibals, but some of them are.)
4) Their hair is all sorts of strange.
5) They wear weird clothes.
6) The shoes they wear must mess up their posture, making them grumpy.
7) The Fantastics, Goosebumps, Dumbo, and Stephen King can't all be wrong. But clowns can.
8) Jack-in-the-Box. The hidden terror is always a soul stealing clown.
9) Their laughs. Just thinking about it sends a chill up my spine.
10) They play mean tricks on people. Water squirting flowers!? Honking noses?! Cruel visciousness.

So, in conclusions, if I never write again, it means that there are clowns at the circus, and that I died of fright, and probably then they ate me.

Three...Four Topics and Pictures!

Dear all,

I have three topics to address today: 1) A classroom occurence that made me feel really awesome. 2) Church attendance and other outings. 3) Cool stuff I have been thinking about.

So, to begin, I will begin with the beginning. I was in class on Wednesday, and we were learning about words for appearences. Part of the class was to have the kids describe themselves or a classmate. On of the boys (the smartest, and best student in the whole school) asked if he could describe me. I said that he could so he proceeded. "Miss Keti have, uhm, has big wavy blonde hair." You must excuse this star pupil, in comparison to Georgians, my hair could be considered blonde. "Miss Keti has a short nose." I like my nose, so I choose to interpret that to mean my nose is awesome. "Miss Keti has rosy cheeks." I would be very flattered at this point, if it weren't for the fact that every description included that tidbit. Georgi was told he has rosy cheeks, as was the albino kid (There is not an albino kid in my class. That was a joke.) Then the young student added his final sentence that made me recognize his true genius, "Miss Keti is very beautiful." I was flattered indeed, and blushed, so that the rosy cheek part of my description was more true than ever. I am not bragging here, I just felt so happy for the rest of the day, I wanted you all to share in my joy! I will now address my next topic.

In the true fashion of an unorganized writer, I will address my third topic, and let the second fall into last place. I know that this could be easily avoided in this early stage of writing, but I am going to leave it. So, this next topic is cool things I have been thinking about. Anika, do you remember that one time we fixed your ignition? That was so cool. I am especially proud of the part when I scratched your key on the ground, making it work in the ignition, and the part where you were able to get all the panels off and not resort to beating and plastic breaking, like I wanted to. I love you and your car Anika, and I miss you both. Mom, do you remember that time, many years ago, when we drew a picture of ( if my memory is serving me correctly) a Hawk with the head of a butch lady? I recall it making us laugh for no less than an eon. Another cool thing, that was pointed out to me by a cool person, is the mention of Georgia in The Beatles "Back in the USSR." Go look it up! Note: This in no way proves that I am in Russia, I am in what used to be the USSR, but is no longer. Cool stuff is way cool. Also, I want to publicly thank Anika for the cd Grand Street by Matt and Kim. I love it. It is cool stuff.

Topic the last! Church attendance and other outings! I went to church the week of conference. It was wonderful! I am going back next weekend I hope! Church is in Tbilisi, about a two and one half hour drive from Sachkhere, which is a twenty minute ride from Savane, my village! Tbilisi is grand, the biggest and livliest city in Georgia. I am excited for church next weekend! I have also been to Batumi. That was last weekend. My travel companions and I were told that Batumi was a warm and lively city, that was basically always bumpin. I think that who ever told us that is a big liar face who needs to rethink their lives. Batumi was fun, but in no way lived up to our high expectations. We stayed at a midrange hotel, that had a sauna and dunk pool. Warning: Dunk pools are not heated. They might actually be cooled. I thought I was going to die. But then I found the Sauna and I was ok. In addition to turning myself into a human ice cube in Batumi, we also walked. A lot! We walked up and down the abandonded boardwalk, and played on a really cool paddle boat, sadly it was chained to another paddle boat, and weighed approximately 8000000000 lbs, so we did not put them in the water. I did dance on one of them though. That was fun. I stood in the sea, and I wanted to go swimming, but then I saw a broken beer bottle and decided to wait until next time.

Also, on a much stranger note, we went to a Coolio concert. You know, "Gangster Paradise" and "I'll see you when you get there." It was really weird. I would not reccomend Coolio to any of you. Especially not a free Coolio concert in a country where a group of seven non natives is a huge number and they are not at all used to the antics of drunk and old rappers. The "Opener" was this traditional Georgian group, complete with an old man who danced. We seven came to the conclusion that that was the real show, and that Coolio was really just the closing act. Oh, there was also a German DJ playing Club music in the middle. It was the sort of thing where his two songs lasted at least half an hour. Batumi is awesome, we just hit it at the off season I think. Hopefully I will get to go back at the end of my trip here, maybe in May, when the season has started back up!

Oh, hey! I just thought of another topic to write about! News! So, here is what I learn when I watch the news with my host family! First, either Obama's ratings are dropping a lot, or a rocket with his face painted on it crashed. I don't know why, but I know it is a big deal. Also, Hillary Clinton either likes Georgia, moved here, or possibly she died in a freak firework accident. A British Kid moved to Georgia to play soccer, or a Georgian Soccer team moved to The UK to play with that kid. A Georgian girl is the new Miss World, Universe, something. Not really sure, but she was shown repeatedly in a sash and a crown. For what ever reason they also showed Ashwaria Rai, who is not Georgian. The Georgian President, Misha, gave a bunch of laptops to a bunch of little kids. Thats the news, I think.

I am too lazy to do the required research to clear up some of these topics, since news finding takes like ten minutes per topic, so if you have any information, let me hear it! When I say I want news, I am dead serious. From the international revelation, to the personal trivialities, I want it all!

Lots of love!

Katie "Bread Eater" Mitchell

Christina, Shelia, and I at the Coolio concert! They are the best girls to have in Georgia!

Jaime, Christina, Shelia and I at the sea side! This picture was taken by a timer, skills.

Jumping Picture taken by Jaime, also skills, for reals.

The mother of Georgia. She is not based on any one real. She has a bowl of wine to offer guests, and a sword to protect from enemies. I think the wine is poisen, so you are dead either way.

Really cool graffiti in Tbilisi. There is not much graffiti, but it is done very well. Except for the inexplicable "RAP GANG" that is prayed all over the place. We cannot figure it out.

Thats me! So you don't forget.

The Giant Huge Massive Church at the top of a hill in Tbilisi.

Timer pictuer of us girls in Tbilisi in St. Georgi's Square. It is not square though. It is a round about surounded by a polygon formed by the streets.

The goblet is full of the wine they wanted me to drink. The small glass either has antfreeze, or one of Georgias favorite fizzy drinks. It is tarragon soda. If you refuse to drink wine, you must indtead damage your brain with the dye of this drink. Also it tastes funny.

The commencment of my first real Supra. With the teachers from school. The food shown here is less than half of what was brought out over the next four hours. Supras are a gastronomical suicide.

A view of our house, along with the corn we husked, and one of the tarps. The tarp is a banner for a spanish soap opera. I would really like to know how they got that.

*I don't know how I hyperlinked my post to the picture, but I cannot undo it. I feel silly.

Keti is getting into the groove of things....

Dear all,

I have finally devised a system. That's right, I really have. I will bring my flash drive down to the school, load all the emails and things that you send me, so that I can peruse them more freely at home. I will then write my replies, and bring them back to the school to load onto the interweb machine! Look at me, making a plan and stuff! Plans! Yeah!

So, my sweet sister, (Who has yet to email me about her life. (Come down to it, neither of my fair sisters have emailed me anything...(Hint: Anika and Jessica you should both be ashamed of yourselves.))) sent me a hearty complaint of my lack of details as to my exceedingly boring day-to-day (count for count my details are beating your Anika. Katie: a few, even if it is not enough for you vs. Anika: none, zip, nada) life. So, I will try to be better about writing things that will bore you darling people to tears.

Today my alarm clock went off at 7:45. I was terrified by the noise and flailed around in my bed for about thirty seconds before I remembered what, who, and where I was. After I figured out that the horrible sound was emanating from the small black plastic thing next to my bed, I punched a button, and fell back to sleep. Ten minutes later the same thing happened, minus the terror. I lay in bed for a few seconds, working up the energy to fling half off my body off the bed, and try and kneel next to it. I succeeded in the end, and started praying. I woke up about seven minutes later, slumped over and decided that I would have to stand up, or I would just fall asleep on the floor. By Providence alone, I somehow ended up standing. I reached out for my glasses, and grabbed my brush instead. So I brushed my hair. I thought that everything seemed too fuzzy, so I reached up to clean my glasses. But they were not in their proper spot!

"Oh no!" thought I, "what has happened?" I turned around, and in surprise, snatched my glasses up from the vile desk that had some how removed them from my noggin (or so my still 87.3% asleep brain thought.). I put on some clothes. My ginormican brown skirt, my green belt (to hold that brown skirt on; it looks silly), and a Patagonia shirt (in part to hide the totally ridiculous belt thing I have going on.) I put a clip in my hair that I was proud to see was brushed, and walked into the wall. I stood in a stupor for a while, then managed to find the door, open it, and exit the room. I wandered into the bathroom, events occurred, and I walked out. Then I meandered back into my room to throw a few things into my bag, and wander back out again. I walked out the front door of the house, and then walked back in, through the living room, into my room, and got my phone from the recesses of my bed. It was dangerous. That bed has some magic, or maybe chloroform, that wafts from it. Getting to near it makes you yawn, then close your eyes, then want to jump off the Sears Tower, to see if you can fly. That last one is actually a dream I had, meaning the bed makes you fall asleep. I was trying for a joke.

Anyway, I went back outside, slipped my feet into my Chacos (I love my chacos more than I love chaco tacos, which is a lot.). I walked to the gate, went through it, then walked to the end of our driveway. Then I tightened my chacos. I don't know why, but I always wait until I am at the end of the drive to tighten them. I am going to go ahead and make up a reason: I do this so that the chickens, who are at this time generally taking a morning bath in the ditch, can view and appreciate the beauty of my shoes. Then, I walked to the school. It is a really lovely morning walk, just long enough to really wake me up. I went into the school, and began a futile search for Jana (I have no idea how to spell her name, that is a vague guess sort of thing.) who is one of my co teachers. I was under the impression that I was supposed to teach a class with her in the first period. I was wrong. Having no other classes, I went back home. Once there, I told my host parents that I would be "depriving myself of their company so that I could make the journey unto the shining city of hot springs." I actually said something that translates into roughly "I go Tbilisi today marschutka alone for until Sunday." It makes about that much sense in Georgian. It works.After that I ate food. It was awesome. I had bread, stewed tomatoes, potatoes, and water! It was so good! Not kidding. I like food.

After that, I went to my room and packed and fixed up my ipod. I was all ready to go, walked out the door, walked for about ten minutes, then realized that I had no idea what my pin code is. And as I was down to my last few Lari, I needed that information, badly. SO I walked back to the house. Some of the old men I had floated past (I was listening to Beirut as I walked, and could not help but float.) laughed at me as I marched sullenly back to the house. My host parents laughed when I walked in the door and told them (I have become quite an actress and am adept at conveying messages through the movement of my hands and eyebrows.) that I left something. I went to my room, found a number, and walked back out. My host Father drove me to Sachkhere, so I did not go back and wait for the now missed Marschutka. Today was the first time I have ridden in a car that was not older than I am, and also the first time I have seen a Georgian put on a seat belt. Good thing, because he was driving down an almost dirt road at about a gajillion miles an hour. I found a bus to take to Tbilisi. It was leaving in ten minutes, so I ran to a shop and bought some sweet bread, ran to another, and bought some chocolate, and ran to a third and bought some peach juice boxes. Set for the ride. Yeah. I got on the bus, and off we went. I ate a bun, drank a juice box, put on my sunglasses, and passed out. It was awesome.

I came back to earth about two and a half hours later, in Tbilisi. I got on the metro (I have never been on any metro before coming here, other than the MRT in Singapore, and it was awesome. There are these escalators that are miles long. They kinda freak me out.) and rode away. After a few minutes I realized I did not really know where I wanted to go, so I just hopped off at a random stop. Then I walked down the road. I had gotten off the metro in what turned out to be the swankiest part of town, so I wandered down a street of really expensive clothes and shoes. I walked, and walked, and lo and behold, there was a completely recognizable landmark. I knew where I was!

I wandered a bit more, and then wandered to another Metro station. I jumped on (40 tetri per ride. That's about 24 cents.) and rode to the top of the circuit. Then I got off again. It was cool. I got to ride another one of those wicked cool escalators. When I got out, I went to this sweet awesome second hand store that I found last time I was here. I got some shirts. I tried on about seven, and bought two. Then I hopped on a marshutka I thought was the right one, and it turned out to be! Yay! I did not get murdered!I came to this place where I have been for a while, and started to write this insanely long thing. Then I continued. And now I am stopping. Goodnight!

Love,

Katie "The juice-box drinker" Mitchell