Mornin Joe

Mornin' Joe (aka A Sip at a Time)

Sometimes, When Life Hands Us Lemons, God Passes the Sugar

On the way home I looked up and saw a rainbow glowing through the sky in a perfect semi-circle. “Caspita,” I thought. (Another one of those times when I want to say something in Korean, but only Italian rushes to mind.) I stood at the intersection waiting to cross for home. I stood on the corner that had the perfect view of the colorful bowl swooping over the road, over the buildings, and dipping behind.
Gods shoot arrows from this bow. Pulled back, the horizon its string, an arrow could pierce the stars. I stood in awe. The light changed and I went across, only to find that the rainbow had an end. It fell in front of the mountain in the background. I’ve never seen the end of a rainbow. I couldn’t help but smile, teeth showing, at the majesty. I rushed home, grabbed my camera and took to the streets, but the rainbow was gone.
(That's where the rainbow ends... sometimes.)

I decided to duck into an electronics store, as I’m searching for a tape recorder presently. No recorder, I stepped back out.
I wanted to go to that mountain where the rainbow disappeared and while waiting for the crosswalk again, I noticed two people crossing toward me, perpendicular to the way I would go, holding their cellphones up in front of their faces. “Boy,” I thought. “People are always texting here, or doing SOMETHING on their cellphones.” Then a truck drove past with a man hanging out the passenger window holding HIS cellphone in front of his face. “Something must be down that way,” I thought, but couldn’t see. I noticed people down from me all facing the same direction with cellphones in front of their faces. And people crowded on the pedestrian bridge. I crossed, looked to my right, and there was the widest, most pronounced rainbow casting up from the middle of the road in the far distance, up and across and over buildings again. It stopped short of the mountain; I rushed to the bridge.
People stood everywhere on the bridge. People never stop there. But there they stood, cellphones in front of their faces; or if they were lucky, their point-and-shoot.
I walked among them and shot and shot and shot while everyone else did the same, and for those who crossed having not yet seen the phenomenon, they saw one of us, kept walking, then saw the pack of us, and looked. Some of them stopped. For those of us who paused, we felt a part of something. We stood there quietly and lost ourselves in the colors. As for me, my eyes teared when I heard deep breaths drawn in reverence, wonder, awe-struck gasps and “Look!” in Korean tongue. It seemed that everyone stopped, if only a stutter-step, to take in the sight for a little longer. Couples stopped to take a picture, friends stopped and passed the camera as each other gave a Peace sign and smiled excited, myself thinking, “My God,” but unable to say anything beyond that. Moments earlier I sat in the school office thinking how nothing seems to truly make me happy here. Yet, when life hands you lemons... God passes the sugar.
The rainbow was slowly smudged away and the sun had by that time fallen behind the opposite horizon.
I stopped for tea and, on my way home, something held in the air. It would have felt ominous had it not been for the blessings passed to us by that rainbow. The streets were quiet. Many people walked about, but conversations were hushed and no cars passed, no whining mopeds, and of nothing else, John Lennon sang “Imagine” from the speakers of the corner store.


"Going Home"


"It Takes Two" (If you look closely, you'll see a second rainbow faintly on the outside of the first.)


Does anybody notice the lady wearing violet and the man wearing green? :D

For those of us who look back at the past, it sure is hard that time seems to gain traction and speed up as the years progress. I'm realizing, we don't always take advantage of the bliss that is our youth. Having said that, we're young until we die, if we want to be. I hope for this. But hoping is pointless if I don't take actions to make it so. What I mean is, I don't want to get caught in the twisted vines of everything people expect. There's a clear path somewhere. Taoists call it "The Way." It's nothing more than a spiritual path - a connection with God. I hope we all find that clearing eventually - sooner rather than later.

Lest we forget

Sigur Ros tends to isolate me, which can become very lonely. But sometimes, it puts me in a field of sunflowers under a blue sky with cotton-ball clouds. Then, the flutter of dove wings taking flight throw dandelion seeds into the air, and all wishes come true, and all I can do is smile, maybe eyes tear with overwhelmed joy. Maybe you'll like it. Maybe not. But there's a story to go with it. Maybe play it, and lay down on the carpet with your eyes closed. Try it? (If it causes you to cry, like it has me, I say accept. Life is about joy and a good cry, if you ask me.)

I love you :)

brian

Sigur Ros

Week2? Only 50 more to go!

Hello Everyone! Ready for class?!


This is where I go to school.

This is the produce market just outside my apartment.

Trucks full of fruits and veggies drive around blaring advertisements through bullhorns. First time I heard, I thought there was some sort of security crack down and I was in big trouble cause I can't understand what they're saying! :P

People take these carts around to gather cardboard. I don't know why. Maybe they get money for it...

This is my kitchen. The photo is taken from my bed...

This is the meal I made for lunch. Pretty killer. Rice and pork wrapped in cabbage with fresh garlic and/or onions, marinated tofu (cold) a sweet potato and corn. Not a bad lunch!

I've yet to be able to say "Coffee with cream and sugar." So in this situation, instead of drinking coffee with cream and sugar among other Koreans with the hopes of conversation, I sat alone in a curtained room with a TV, ice cream, tea, and a waffle...

You might think waiting for fast food to be delivered would negate the "fast" part... but I've seen these guys drive!

Like this guy... He had a red light, so did donuts in the middle of the intersection. All these crazy drivers, and I've not yet seen a wreck!

Rush hour traffic from the bridge I use to cross the street.

It rains in South Korea too!

Wires EVERY which way!

At Chonung Market, you can get ANYTHING.

Like a pig's intestines, or ears....

Or smiling face... Looks rather peaceful, doesn't he...

I like Anyang Market... just wish I could talk to all these girls! This is where a man greeted me on a bench and eventually took me to dinner. It was a delicious dinner! He was very kind with a great laugh. He'd just bought gifts for his wife and baby girl. He's a laborer in Anyang.

I like the stairs in this building, if you can see them there through the windows. Just kinda neat.

So much fun watching these kids have a ball in the fountain.










I'm finishing the week of summer vacation, then I begin teaching. I think it will go well. The students are enthusiastic and rather taken to me (for no reason other than I'm tall and white..?). So that should make things easy...... maybe.........
Of course I'll keep you all in the know.
I hope you are all having a great day doing whatever you're doing. Blessings.

Love y'all,
brian

Korea, week 1

1. Welcome, Brian
For months I prepared for the move. It never clicked in my mind, “I’m going to live in Korea.” But I would, and the date drew closer and closer and there was minor anxiety, but still, it never settled in. I ate goodbye dinners and made the final trip to leave things at Dad’s place; even to the night before my flight out, the party with my friends, the drive to the airport, the shuffle through security, the steps to my seat on the plane, I thought nothing more than, “Welp, here I go,” and I went.
Now I live in Anyang. I arrived and thought, “My God, I’m in Chinatown!” Not quite. This is Korea. These people are Korean. These streets, these buildings, the grocery store – no bigger than a convenience store – that sits on the corner one hundred feet from the step of my apartment are Korean.
It took me twenty minutes trying to figure out how to use the phone at the airport before I called work for Mr. Cho to pick me up. I stood in line for the bus that took me to Anyang (Beum-gye) bus terminal. Of all the seats on the bus, I snagged the one that reclined back on its own, so I couldn’t get comfortable. It was a constant battle to keep the seat upright. As soon as I was off the bus, Mr. Cho greeted me, grabbed my bags, told his best friend to get the car, we loaded my things, and went off to my apartment.
My apartment is one room with a bed, desk, fridge, rolling closet, and kitchen. The bathroom IS the shower, with a toilet and sink installed. THAT’S efficiency.
Mr. Cho took me by the GnB school, where I teach, to meet the other teachers and students. I met two students. One girl was so cute. She couldn’t help but giggle to herself, and turned away, bashful, into her hand covering her face. I went upstairs with Mr. Cho, met the other girls who work at the school. Jenny, Nicole, Franny, and Wendy are the native teachers. The students and teachers all have English names. I’m the only foreigner. After brief introductions, Mr. Cho took me to dinner with his wife and two sons. Before we were handed a menu, servers brought two enormous trays of food: kimchi, peppers, onions, sliced garlic. Mr. Cho asked me, “Do you like dohc?” I thought, “Am I eating dog the first night?!” And I thought of what else he might mean. “I’m sorry?” I said. “Dohc, have, uh, you eaten dohc before?” “Oh, yes. I’ve had it once. I love it.” Mr. Cho ordered duck.
His sons ran around the restaurant, which had open windows and a very large outside area, playground included. The older son Eric showed his dad the new cut on his leg, pouting about it. His leg was cut and bruised up and down, as boys’ legs tend to be.
The table face was taken up mostly by a hole where coals are placed with sweet potatoes wrapped in foil, then a grill on top, and the meat they brought was raw. We cooked it ourselves. Mr. Cho showed me how to eat. He spread a piece of kimchi (fermented cabbage) in my bowl and placed a piece of duck, a slice of garlic, onion, and a pepper on top, then rolled the cabbage. I took the piece between my two metal chopsticks and shoved the whole piece in my mouth. The duck was incredible – and there was so much. They served us the whole flock!
Mr. Cho and I shared Korean whisky, which has a nice sweetness and is not too harsh. He tought me ettiquette, which includes me serving, and accepting drink, with both hands around the cup. When he tought me, “Ol-ma-ye-yo” (“How much is this?”), he said, “Your Korean is very good.”
We finished dinner around 11.
– So began my life here in Korea.

2. School
The first few days, my eyes fluttered shut at school. “Okay,” Mr. Cho told me, “you come home now. Tonight, uh, no alcohol. You are very tired.”
The boys in class, restless, wander the room and push back and forth. The girls stay proper in their seats, answering questions. One girl finished her work and got up only to see what the others were doing – wanted something to talk about, I imagine. Two girls at the front of the class raise anxious hands and chatter, “Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!” trying to be called before each other. Two boys who forgot their school books were made to do squats in the hallway for punishment. In the doorway to the teachers’ office, I looked up to see five girls staring in at me. They laughed and hurried off. During lunch, Ann opened the door and said, “Brian, they want to meet you.” She swung the door wide and stepped to the side and the boys and girls all yelled “Ooohh!” “Aaaahh!” and laughed and stared.
Except for the consistent flattery by the student’s intrigue, my first days were incredibly boring. I sat and reorganized my pencil jar.
I feel weird grading students. They’re so young and speak so well. They do better with my language than I do with theirs. I nearly got caught on the “I before E” rule by the word “receive”. It looks different when I have to teach to someone else.

3. My Life
Four days after arriving, it finally hit me: “I’m in Korea.”
This is the Land of Morning Calm. I hear no traffic in the mornings, no sirens. It’s quiet and peaceful. People stroll about the narrow roads and shops are slow to open. For breakfast, I eat grapes, bananas, trailmix, cookies, pretzels, cereal, and drink instant coffee or tea. Then I get ready for the day and head off for whatever lays ahead.
I can’t cook because I can’t read the directions. The only bad meal I’ve had was the one I made myself.
I spoke to the clerk at the grocer the other day. I said, “Como-e-yo,” (“Thank you”), which isn’t much, but he appreciated it, smiled, and, in his own tongue, said, “Yes, you’re welcome.”
A man greeted me at the intersection near my apartment. He asked “Are you a fisherman?” I said no. He said, “You need Jesus Christ. I want you come to my church on the corner.” We kept walking and stopped to go different directions. “You need Jesus Christ,” he told me. Trying to get out of the awkward conversation, I told him, “My family goes to church. I use to go with them.” I would normally divulge my philosophy, but I can’t do that to someone who won’t understand. “You come to my church,” he replied. I told him, “No, thank you.” “Okay,” he said with a smile, and we went separate ways. I went for coffee.
The girl at the coffee shop, Grazie, wore Pumas, similar to these I bought before coming here. At the coffee shop I realized, when I don’t know a word, which is (too) often, there is utter disconnect. That is, there is no point to trying to mouth words. There are no similarities between these two languages. It’s annoying how much Italian rushes back when I try to speak to the girl who wants to know if I want cream and sugar in my coffee. The back and forth, clumsy, befuddled empty air, is like ping pong with a three year old and all the two of us can do is laugh, shake our heads, and say “Sorry” in our own tongues, which still neither of us understand. So I drink black coffee.

("Does anyone speak English? I would like to learn some Korean")
I discovered the marketplace. Clothes, vegetables, fruit, meat, fish, chicken, pigs’ feet, smiling pigs’ faces lined the left, the right and the middle of a grand foyer in downtown Anyang. I tried my hand (or mouth?) at Korean here. “Cho-ge mwo-ye-yo?” (“What’s that?”) I ask. "Why’d I bother?" I ask myself as the person responds helpfully, but with lost cause, in Korean.
Boy, this ain’t Europe, where there’s hope someone around knows English. But I knew that before I came. Why SHOULD I expect someone to know English here? I’m in KOREA.
I stood staring at a tank of clams with odd appendages poking out of their shells. A man wearing a messy white apron came to me and said something I couldn’t understand, pulled a clam and squeezed the shell. Water squirt from the protruding arm. “Whoa!” I exclaimed with a laugh. “Co-map-sim-ni-da,” (“Thank you”) I told him. He put it back, walked back into his booth, and I walked on.
I discovered Anyang proper, where the streets are lined with trends and fads and hangouts. They love capitalism here. Ground level clothes, downstairs bars, upstairs restaurants and any variation of these options in every building. I found an arcade. I found a pool hall below the street. I found a basement vintage store. Girls stood outside of some sort of club wearing skirts that stopped upper-mid-thigh (but cleavage is a no-no in Korea) and I moved on. I looked left and saw shops. I looked right and saw bars. I looked ahead and saw a bus coming at me through the traffic of pedestrians.

4. Back to My Old Ways
Last night I returned to work late to help remodel. I worked until midnight. Mr. Cho told me “You may not teach English, but you are a good worker.” He was so impressed by my ability to put six classrooms worth of chairs into the tiny bathroom. I thought it was funny. I thought, “I’m an American. I’m use to fitting a lot of crap into a small space.” And the fact I just moved my entire life in a guitar case, a suitcase, a carry-on, and a backpack, this is nothing new.
On my walk home, which takes seven minutes, the green pedestrian light turned to let me cross the intersection. Two cars, two more cars, a taxi following behind went barreling through the red light, honking to let everyone know, “I’m not stopping.” I looked further down the road to make sure and saw three lanes of stopped traffic, then crossed.
I woke early this morning and returned to continue help remodel. Mr. Cho said, “You come sleep with me in the car.” He’d worked til 5. He got in the front of his best friend’s car. His best friend was already snoring. I got in the back, and there I was, working labor, sleeping in a car again…

5. So Here I Am
Things aren’t all that different here. Cars beep their horns; teachers console crying students; the girl behind the counter drops an occasional glass; straws gurgle when I slurp the last of my smoothie; it’s like home here, I just wish I could talk to somebody. But the discomfort caused by confusion at the checkout line, stares that say, “You must be lost,” the smiles from faces that pretend to understand my English, so I keep talking, but they actually have no idea; the difficulty of conversation, even with the English teachers; not knowing what there is to do here, so I wander aimlessly and discover a mall, a marketplace, the “Mockingbird Station” of Anyang, South Korea – this is why I came.

Life Ain't Perfect, but It's Beautiful

I went out on my own – just followed the open road that led me into the unknown.
Sometimes, when life gets numb, you gotta take heed to the feelings that come and follow em.
Come across slick streets and beggars at truck stops, all-night girls and lovers at bus stops, comedians in bars drinking their jokes down.
Find the grey skies or where trains sigh by, where you’re lost but lovin’ it, sad but can’t cry, away from what’s known, friends and loved ones, all on your own and fallin’ snow’s your lullaby.
Cause I’ve seen a tennis match and I shouldn’t live like that. I oughta wander like a stoic cat and watch the rain pitter-pat.
When you fall asleep on a pitch dark road and you wake up in your car to mountains that glow under the risin sun reflectin off the ice and snow;
where it rains so much steps are covered in moss, where the fog’s so dense you’re lost in your own backyard;
when you coast down a mountain into plains that roll across an arid desert that formed long ago, and everything you see is sun-burnt red or gold;
where wind cyclones down through pines or you pick grapes through a New Mexican sunrise,
do you see God?
Somewhere out there beyond routine; somewhere paddlin through the jet-stream; somewhere growin in a forest of pine trees, somewhere farther than any hawk could see, somewhere closer than you are to me and everywhere in between, do you see God?
When you’re tryin to get to shelter and it’s seven degrees, and that don’t even matter cause she’s just so sweet, and her smile peaks through her chattering teeth;
where expression’s just a cloud or a child that points and says, “Daddy, don’t that look just like a unicorn?” and Daddy see’s it too, cause Daddy never gave up.
He pays the bills after playin with his child; his marriage ain’t perfect but disagreements are mild; and at least once a week the whole family does something wild.
Where church is a treehouse, God is a chapel mouse, to pray we roughhouse and love is worship.
When we realize the sun shines even behind cloudy skies and with each rain we’re baptized, we’ll all be saved.

Perch