The nun was right, we should climb every mountain. Like a horse.

It’s hard to believe I finally launched myself 7 months ago with such propulsion that I didn’t make like one of those early planes and crash just a few feet away. Admit it, there was that possibility.

Instead, I’ve been on a journey of incredible heights and vistas.

I have tried to figure out what allowed me to catch air, to balance weight and speed in such a way that I could reach a cruising altitude where even the turbulence was manageable. Honestly, even with my exhaustive uber-analysis skills, I just don’t know, and I don’t think I will know. This is the part where people start thanking God, or luck, or themselves. But I’ve decided to just maintain a general attitude of thankfulness. Thank you Divinity, thank you luck, thank you me, thank you tree, thank you air, thank you life, thank you Bangkok. Thank you, you.

It’s not that I’m trying to cover my bases. It’s that I think everything plays a role in our lives, and for me, the convergence of good friends, loving support, divine intervention and cosmic order, a caring family, amazing opportunity, pretty awesome kids, and a willing spirit to follow my instincts and take chances all deserves gratitude.

This week some big events have given me more fuel, more energy, to ensure me that I’ll have what I need, when the time comes, to make it back in one piece. Things that seven months ago didn’t seem possible, even two months ago made me cringe, and the attempts to figure out how I would sort them out made me lie down and hug a pillow. What I’ve discovered by tackling these things one step at a time, though, is that the cursed, crazy horse I rode through the mountains of Mexico was right. I fought with that thing for two days as Lillian and I tried to find, ironically, the promised land of Jordan. Seriously, it was called Jordan, and we were lost.

And that horse kept going without getting caught up in all the obstacles around us, without noticing that there were slippery rocks around us that could send us sliding down the side of a steep mountainside, or miles ahead of us with liquid heat waves and no oasis of water in sight. He didn't know we were lost.  He didn’t care. He just went forward, with no reverse throttle. If he had found he had no next step, we were screwed. But somehow, he always found one, and on we went.

Not to give away the ending, but (spoiler alert) we all survived and made it to Jordan and back. And I swear, as I got off and said goodbye and thanks for the near-death-experience stories I get to tell now, he gave me that look that could only be described as,“Oh, ye of little faith in me.” Then he turned and clopped away.

So, what’s happened this week? I’ve crossed three big mountain tops, one step at a time. I finally got my certification to teach in South Carolina, despite red tape snafoos and poo poo headed policies. We finally sold our house in Virginia, despite last minute changes and craziness. And Adam and I have come to peaceful, even caring, terms on our divorce and settlement. I am, of all those things I mentioned above, most thankful to him. Without his willingness to let me go on amicable terms and offer his support for my choices, the fall out would be different. I don’t even want to think about how much different, much less speculate in writing. Suffice it to say, “shudder.” I’ve been honest with you my friends about our problems, but I hope I’ve also maintained that our problems are not because he is a bad person. Because his generosity of heart and spirit, as I told him I needed to leave, are hard to find in this world, and it gets so much worse than this when families separate.

So now that he and I have settled our terms, and he knows all that is happening, I can share with my friends one other nice thing about this week as well. I got to spend a few hours on Valentine’s Day talking with someone I’ve grown very fond of over the last several months. You might notice a change in my status, I was a little unsure about doing that, but it makes sense now to put it out there. Some of you know him, and might be quite surprised that 23 years after I turned down his offer to go to prom together (note to Jeff: don’t wait until last minute to have a brilliant idea), I am crushing on him like I’m 16 again.

We are old friends, finding new reasons to appreciate and like each other. Don’t ask a lot of questions, because there’s not a tremendous amount to tell, as like he puts it,“it’s complicated.” But so are most meaningful things in life.   

I’ve given up trying to figure out what’s going to happen in the coming years, at least, for now. I had a plan for about the last 10- and it was all focused on getting to a great school abroad. I didn’t know what it would entail, exactly, but I knew how to pave the road, buttress my resume, get a master’s degree, and play the game to get me here. Then, come to find, I get just one year. So as I contemplate how that happened, I keep asking myself,as I have in my last blogs, are we all on a journey to a fixed destination, or are we actually all just thinking we’re looking for Jordan but actually, the journey itself is the point? And while I was sitting on that horse, cursing and poking it, tugging on the reigns as it snorted in righteous indignation, which one of us got that point?

Sawatdi bi mai, or HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A few obvious hints dropped by well meaning friends over the past couple of weeks to "update" this blog got me thinking about what I'd write if I actually sat down to lay it all out.  So many things came to mind that I had a sort of 'analysis paralysis' attack, and if you know me well, you know what a disaster that can be.  So I have been putting this blog off for several reasons, not the least of which was to save myself from having to sort through the last couple of months to find a theme, a topic, or even just an idea that I could articulate.But, then I realized that with all the constant change that we've been going through, and the upcoming changes as well, the only consistency that I can identify has been the inconsistency of our "home."  We left a home to make a home here, and are now leaving this home to make a home somewhere else.  In all of this, the kids and I are sometimes caught feeling like we're a guest in our own dwelling.
I love that Chinese expression (at least, a fortune cookie I once had attributed it to the Chinese), that "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."  The thing is, tho, that expression assumes that a journey is a linear event, with a closed distance and measurable markers.  An example of that kind of journey would be driving along a highway and using the mile markers as your benchmarks.  "I'll stop to pee and gas up in 30 more miles," or "Yes, Cracker Barrel in 15 miles..."  Or even, "HOME in 500 miles!"
But the best, most worthwhile journeys we've all taken can't be reduced to such quantifiable and mapable (if that's not a word, let it be known, from henceforth, 'mapable' is a word) measures.  At 41, I can look back and see where I have extricated myself from places I've been with a single step, but that the journey I then embarked upon was longer, more complex, and covered greater distances each time than I could have imagined.  And usually, at one point or another, I was waylaid, detoured, even completely diverted from where I thought I was headed.  And at no point am I sorry about any of that.
So I thought, well, to be cliche, I could just be all meta-analytical about the changes that 2011 brought, or waxing philosophical about the coming changes of 2012, but instead, I just want to express my complete amazement that even after 41 years of incredible and unexpected journeys, I'm still enough of an asshole to think I can still chart my own course and see the future.  I still think that when I take that single step of what I know is out of something, with a quick consultation of my map of expectations and calculation of the distance to arrival point, I can of course also predict when I can expect to get there, as if I'm driving from DC to Jersey (hollah, Reimers!).
Case in point:  A year ago, I set about making myself known to this school here in Bangkok.  Then a few months later, I ended up taking a helicopter down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon to accept a job offer with the Havasupai Indian Reservation.  That's when I started this blog.  Some people I saw over the last couple of weeks in the states were shocked to hear that all this time I've been in Thailand, not Arizona (clearly, they're not on Facebook).  Because at the last minute, I was rerouted to this school here in Bangkok after all.  Go figure.  Did I learn anything?  Did I embrace the fact that one cannot truly predict our destination when take that first of a thousand (or more) steps?  Nope.
A month ago, my principal came to me with the news that I would not have a contract in this coming year.  As a special, late hire, my contract was only for this year, and continuation was contingent upon budget and enrollment.  Neither the budget nor enrollment for the coming year looked promising to him, so he told me this now so I could begin planning my next step.  My single step of a thousand miles, on a new journey.  A quick check of the map, my budget, and talking with the kids, and our plans have now changed to that of moving to Rock Hill, SC with my sister Jessie.  But where we end up I suppose is where we end up.  How we get there, the route and the obstacles, are yet unknown.  Where I work, where the kids attend school, how I will navigate the divorce and custody with Adam, and so many other things that I can't even wrap my head around right now.  Daunting?  Try, fucking daunting.
I am happy to enjoy the results of years of amibtious stepping, of confused and bewildered stepping, of nervous and cautious stepping, and of bold, courageous and defiant stepping as well.  I know that where I am right now is one step further than I was before and one step away from where I'll be, and I'm trying to embrace finally the idea that until I need to take that single next step, where I am is the result of all my efforts and the springboard for what is to come.

That said, all that cloying feel good sentiment as genuine as it is, I'm still tempted to take Talia's Snufflebunny from her while she's sleeping and curl up with it myself, as the expression "scared shitless" sometimes comes to mind.  Such a simple remedy, but one that yields about as much productivity as laying awake in bed wondering why I haven't figured out what this whole "BEING HERE" thing is and how it works, really.  Because I'd really like to know for sure where we're going to be.  It really would be so nice to see on map where my kids get to go to a decent school and I get a job that will pay the cookie bills, without having to ask Adam for anything but that he'd figure out what being a Dad actually means to his kids.  There'd be little icons that show where perhaps I can get really nice vistas of safety, joy and gratification.  But I know I'm not alone in this.  I know there are friends who want an icon that says their Cancer is gone, or that their loan is approved, or their husband comes home from the war zone.  There are an infinite number of little icons we would add to our maps if we could, but admittedly (every once in awhile) we can't.

So off we all go, at various times from various places, taking our single steps.  I'm just glad that at some point, long ago or recently, or both, our paths crossed.  Because if you've stuck with me through out this whole blog blah blah, then most likely, you're sticking with me through this journey and you are much appreciated.  Who needs Snufflebunny when one has such good friends.  Thanks for asking for this.  I'm so glad our paths have crossed.

testing the audience

I'm debating about how honest I'm going to be with this blog.  I've really gotten into The Bloggess, and her sassy humor, and I think, I could do that.  I've actually been compared to her, albeit by someone I consider a 10 on the sassy scale of 1 being "are you dead?" and 10 being, "get the fuck out, no, really, GET.THE.FUCK.OUT!"But then, there's that sweet side of me. 
Really, there is a sweet side of me.  The inside.  (Awwww.  See?)
But, I really don't like being all "these are life lessons" and shit.  I'm really not the kind of person to want to connect my writing to greater works of art, by writers much more brilliant than myself like Rumi, or Coehlo, or, maybe, God.  I just want to write, and write about the things that matter right now.  And I've heard enough over the past couple of months to really tell you something, and have you agree with me.  And that is, at 40, we just don't have our shit together.  And if you think you do, and you like to read other people's Facebook posts and have a good chuckle at their lack of got-shit-togetherness, well, f-off.  This isn't the place for you.
I will tell you this- I've finally at least gotten all my shit piled up in the same general area.  That's a lot to claim, considering a few months ago I thought I was going to lose my mind.  You know that feeling that you're living the wrong life, and that you need that chord that says "STOP THIS THING NOW!" so you can apologize to those around you as you try not to crush their toes as you go screaming to the doors to get out?  Yeh.  That was me.
And now I'm in this place that seems way too good to be true.  I had to ask my sister on the phone tonight if I'd actually died, and people were just too nice to actually tell me this little tidbit of info.  This seems like the place I'd go in between eternity and life's burdens.  It's actually the perfect place to sit with a cigarette you really don't want to smoke in the first place but feel like you should, because you're finally alone on the patio with a bottle of wine and that's when ciggies are the best.  But then, you realize, you now feel sick to your stomach and really REALLY don't want to be smoking, and it makes you wonder, who am I trying to be now anyway?
So that's really the question.  At 40, are we still allowed to ask that question?  Are we still allowed to be figuring things out, like what kind of glasses we really want to wear and what kind of food do we like to eat, or should that have been determined in our 20s?  Because I'm pretty sure in my 20s I was asking the same questions, and then, I guess, just got distracted.  For about 15 years.
But now I find myself a little disgusted with myself for not knowing that I am not, once and for all, even a casual once-in-a-few-months smoker, even when it seems like it would be the cool thing to do.
So, I've decided that I want to at least be honest if I'm going to keep up blogging.  I'm going to use words like "fuck" and "shit," for sure, because I use them almost on a daily basis anyway.  And I'm going to ask really tough questions, like, "what's this smell coming from the fishtank, and where is the fish, anyway?"  (more on Moby some other time, but he's definately blogging material).
And if no one ends up reading it, then that's ok.  And if people get offended, then I'd have to wonder how you made it all the way to this part of my blog in the first place if you are (or actually, how it is you even know me).  And so it is.  The new Intrepid Educator. 
Boldly going where actually, quite a few women have gone before, and are still going, in order to express their actual honest opinions that divorce can be liberating, the world is a divine creation with endless things to catch your imagination, and smoking on your patio at night with a bottle of wine is way.way.way overrated.

"It's complicated"

For all it's faults, Facebook got one thing right, and that is to add the option of "It's Complicated" to our list of choices for being in, out, or somewhat around relationships.  I just changed my status tonight, after almost a month of living alone with the kids.  I think to some, it begged the obvious question a few months ago even when I started posting about the epic changes in my life and mentioned just the kids were coming with me.  The reality is, Adam and I have separated.  It's been in the works since January, official since March, and now a reality since August.
I know where we will be one day, which is divorced and living in separated residences, but I don't know how we will get there legally, or when.  I just know that for now, I did the only thing I really needed to, and that was leave.  More poetically, I set out to create an environment in which I could be a single mom without going completely underwater while trying to make ends meet, schedules coincide, and watch as the kids drifted away from Adam.  It might seem counter intuitive that I took the kids to Thailand in my attempt to preserve their relationship with Adam, but that's because you've got to know Adam.  By bringing them here, they are learning the language, the culture, and the names of all 1,000 people in their family here.  They will some day be able to visit their dad here, when he retires out here in the next decade or so, and be completely at home in their second country.
More over, I've noticed that he spends more quality time talking to the kids a few nights a week on Skype than he did in months on end when we were all under the same roof.
I'm not going to go into the reasons why we're splitting, or try to convince anyone that it's the right thing to do.  If you know, you know.  If you don't, it doesn't matter.  You know what these things entail, anyway.  It's not like we go lightly into these things in whimsical ways.  Or at least, I didn't. 
I anticipate some complications, but so far, Adam has been completely amenable to our move here.  He misses his children, but I think he appreciates his time to legitimately climb inside his head and be left alone.  As for us, the kids have never had such a technicolor life than they are living here.  We have the opportunity and finances to do things we've only talked about before, such as stay at a resort on an island or even, simply, go bowling.  Our time together has gone from hectic, frantic and scattered to purposeful, meaningful, and peaceful (well, mostly, can't say we never lose our tempers....).  I think I've gained 10 years back to my natural lifespan, and intend to make those 10 years count.
So, "it's complicated," really just means, "we're done, but not yet final."  "It's complicated" also means, I'm coming to terms with it and am now ready to let everyone know that life doesn't offer a compass for complex navigation.  Understanding and support are much appreciated.

There are no smiling assholes in Thailand

There is a reason why Thailand is called the Land of Smiles.  It's because everyone smiles, except the King.  And assholes.  And since I know what the King looks like, that combined with the fact that he is so not an asshole and doesn't drive taxis, I have now decided I will not go with any taxi driver who doesn't smile.  Because they're an asshole.  Doesn't matter if they are a motorcycle taxi or a traditional taxi car, life is too short to go anywhere with assholes, much less pay them for the time you spend with them.
The other night, I took the kids on a long walk and as a treat, got them fruit smoothies.  I had asked a guard to please radio the gang of motorcycle taxi drivers outside Farang Village so that we could have a ride back, both because the kids were whining and because there was an impending monsoon downpour.  Two men showed up and had to wait perhaps 4 minutes for us to finish paying and make our way over to them.  With Talia, that could take longer than just a few adult steps.  I watched as one smiled at her, the other checked his watch and loudly complained when I confirmed that the price was 30 baht to get to our home.  He said something about waiting forever for us.  I asked him not to yell in front of my children, and that if he didn't want to take us, then he was free to ride on into the sunset.  He didn't, so I let him take us home.  Angry about his attitude, I paid him 30 baht and he took off, revving his engine.  As for the other guy, who smiled still, I paid him 100, and thanked him profusely for being such a nice guy.  He said, "no problem!" and went off, hopefully to tell his buddy that he got a 70 baht tip.
Unsatisfied with myself that I even allowed him to take us home, I swore that never again would I even do that.
I was tested just this morning.  I had gone to the local hardware store to pick up some crap for the house (they were playing Christmas music...another blog for another day about the wildly inappropriate use of American music in Thailand).  Laden with about 4 bags of miscellaneous but heavy things, I went to the taxi stand and took the next driver in line.  Walking to his cab, I wanted to be sure he knew how to get back to Farang Village, because I sure didn't.  I had heard that sometimes they'll take you down the road a bit and then ask, "so, how do we get there?"  Or they drive around forever until you say, "shouldn't you take that road over there?"  I thought at the time he hadn't heard me, so I repeated it twice until he turned around, frowning and snapped, "Why?" 
WTF?
Because in my shock I didn't have an answer, so he repeated, "Why would you ask me that?"
Again, WTF?  "Because some people don't know the way.  Like me."
"Why do you think I wouldn't know the way?"
Stare down.  Long five seconds.  He doesn't return my smile.
"Ok.  Never mind.  I'm not going with you.  You have a sucky attitude."
The motorcycle taxi driver about five feet away was more than happy to drive me home.  I would have flipped the bird as we pulled away, but alas, my fingers were holding onto my bags and I just couldn't get it free in time.

Back in the US, when people don't smile back at you, it's not a big deal.  In fact, I don't know that I approach many strangers with a smile myself.  If it's business, it's business.  But in Thailand, the business comes second.  A smile is first.  It's a way of showing that you're alright with the state of the world, that you're a nice person, or that simply and frankly, you're not an asshole.  In Thailand, if you're an asshole, you're a scarey asshole.   It's like everything else in Thailand that seems to be on steroids- if it's spicy, it'll hurt like hell and make your eyes pour water.  If it's sweet, it is so over the top sweet that even my kids turn up their noses at whatever it is.  If it's a celebration, a death, a show, a costume, a bouqet of flowers, or anything else, it's so over the top you wonder how in the world anyone has time or energy for such exaggeration.  So why should assholes be any different?  So when a Thai taxi driver is willing to put his or her energy into not smiling, just say, "Mai pen rai" (rough translation, fu-gedabowdit), because worse things are behind that sour face. 

So, my new promise to myself- Life is just too short to go with assholes, ever.

Middle Class

Sorry, everyone.  See, I have totally misled you.  Maybe, perhaps, at least just temporarily.  But you clearly thought the blog from Thailand would be about this misplaced teacher, gingerly attempting to manage her life as a single mom in a third world country.  Perhaps you thought there would be stories of weird food, comic miscommunications due to strange customs and language barriers, and so forth.  You know, like the time I ate a duck's head, or had to spend the entire day (8 hours) in excruitiating boredom watching beauty pagents, without a book even, because I thought my Thai host was taking me some place entirely different.  But that was 13 years ago.  This is different.

See, tonight, I took the boys to a Cubs Scout recruitment meeting.  In our group were three working dads who were really excited about taking their boys fishing, me, and someone's maid.  Then afterwards, we went to get ourselves a smoothie down by the lake.

Now does that sound like I'm in Thailand???  Maybe if I told you I transported the boys there on a scooter, and that while we drank our smooties we counted geckos on the wall, you would believe again that I really did leave the country. 

But it turns out, my blogs are turning into life as a middle class Westerner.  Albeit, that is a totally different lifestyle than what I'm used to.  I'm used to working two jobs to make ends meet, and would never have had time to go to a Cubs scout meeting much less recruitment meeting, much less have been able to pay for the uniform fees and outtings.  I mean, how much would a weekend swimming with Dolphins cost in the US?  Here, it should put us back a whole $200.  For me and the three kids.  Maybe less.

So the only weird food that I'm encountering so far are the european cookies on the shelf next to the oreos, and the biggest comic miscommunication has been...well, I suppose there hasn't been one.  Everyone speaks English. 

But this adventure is not without its ways to scrape off the superficial level of things and get to what lies beneath.  I have a special relationship with the morning guard at the school, who quickly spread the word throughout the grapevine that I speak excellent Thai.  So custodians, library assistants, and office workers know me by face and name and are outgoing and friendly to me as I go from place to place in the building.  I benefit by finding out from there where the best fresh vegetable market is, where I can buy black beans for cheap instead of processed in the farang supermarket, and I can count on immediate help jacking up the motorscooter and jump starting it when I leave the keys in the ignition and drain the battery.  (Cut me some slack.  I've owned a motorscooter for 8 days. It totally throws me off that the engine quits when you put the kick stand down.)

But today I got a grandiose treat that only being in Thailand could afford.  The school hosted a special Khon Performance- the traditional Thai dance, in fabulously sparkly Thai silk costumes and masks.  They explained how each movement meant something, and then performed a scene from their major production.  The scene involved the Thai Monkey-God Hanuman talking with a very sassy monk.  It was elegant in nature, but crass and SO Thai in performance.  At one point in a mock argument the monk called Hanuman an asshole.  In Thai.  You could tell where the Thai middle school students were sitting in the audience from their screams.  Try that in America, I say.

So, I apologize that this isn't about getting lost on a river taxi, or eating fried insects, or whatever else blogs about living in developing countries involve.  I'm woefully and suddenly upper middle class.  But I'm trying to find out what advantages that affords me that will add color and vibrance to our lives, without numbing our senses and dulling our edges with luxury.  Because I ask all of you to promise me, if I end up like this parent I talked to at the smoothie restaurant, come and get me.  She's been here for 19 years, has a driver, a cook and a maid.  She said, "I can't go anywhere else.  What would I do without them?"  If I can't answer that question with substantive, meaningful answers, take me home.

Norming

As I write this, the evening monsoon is pouring down it's greatest attempt ever to cleanse this city of cities.  It's as if a special effects man is standing on my roof literally heaving buckets of water over the edge, while thunder rumbles across the sky.  And I think to myself, ok.  Rain.  That's normal.  Monsoons, that's not normal.
I do this as an exercise, so I can start to see how I can "normalize" life here in Thailand.  I think it helps to identify those things that are "normal" (such as internet, Cartoon Network, and my iTunes playing Ani DiFranco) and juxtapose them against the things that are not "normal" (such as riding a scooter to work, the Thai soap operas ...they've gotten worse... and this apartment as 'home').  The hope is that eventually, my list of "normal" starts to get longer as I get used to things here, and "not normal" remains a fixed list of those things that I recognize as those things to which I can't or won't normalize against.
In case you were wondering, it's quite unlike being here as a Peace Corps volunteer.  Then I was clearly a stranger in a strange land.  The token "farang," Western within the door of my home but constantly adapting to Thailand whenever I stepped outside.  It took me a while, but I got used to that life- my soy milk lady knew when I had been away for a few days ("maksidad, mah deh sai?  by nan luy, dur!") and the MeKong River was always welcoming when I came to see what color the water was that day.  This norming happened to all of us, all you guys who lived with me here at that time.  Dare tell me you don't occasionally jones for some sticky rice and grilled chicken, I'll tell you "ya gohok, se." Didn't we all learn to live without tv, no phone, no internet...when we learned to live closely with ourselves, exercise unimaginable patience in unbelievably boring situations, and develop some language skills that totally kicked "dooh" by the time we all left, specifically because we never wanted to go through life without knowing what it was like somewhere totally different?
Well, it's not like that here in Farang Village, aka "Nichada Thani."  Within the gates, we farangs are the lords and ladies of the land.  It is where Thais become invisible and dismissable.  Cable tv with an abundance of channels, gyms, a Starbucks, a western grocery store...it's all in here.  And if that's not enough, then you can go just outside the gates and encounter Big C (think UBER Wal-Mart) or Central Mall with its western gadgets and prices.  You could seriously live here without ever having to speak Thai.  You could live among other Westerners, eat Western food, and just get by totally without speaking a word of Thai.
Hmmmmm.  It's funny.  It makes me think of the Hispanic communities back in Virginia.  You know the ones, where people come here from Guatemala or El Salvador, move in together, huddle together at the bus stops, shop together at World Market and eat together at Pollo Loco.  They're the ones that don't learn American history, the English language, and are just there to take advantage of the economy that allows them to live by a higher standard than they would ever have back home.  And they're looked down upon for that...
Yet here in Thailand, it's wonderfully ok.  In fact, it's been my observation that it's the "norm" here to live as one would in the US, Canada, Australia, or wherever they are coming from.  And there are no Thais demanding legislation or requiring us to learn their constitution or language in order to reap the benefits that their economy affords us.
Ok, that was a total deviation from where I was planning on going...just thought...interesting.

So, I have been wondering for quite some time, how do I normalize?  What's my "norm"??  Am I a westerner that orders in pizza and surfs Facebook every night?  Undeniably.  But is that all?  I know I'm not a Thai, of that I'm sure.  I don't think fart jokes are funny, especially when grown men perform acts of farting as a joke on national television.  I don't ever plan to go without my bra with a mouth full of beetlenut.  I also just don't know how to read, no matter how hard I try to decode the letters.  But you can easily find me out "kweeing" with the guards, nannies, mae bahns at the school, and of course, those fascinating taxi drivers that seem to never get over the fact that a farang is speaking Thai to them.  We cook a pot of rice every day, and bring home "gap kao" every night from the markets outside the gates.  I hang bags of pineapple from my scooter handles and occasionally, drive too fast, too slow, on both sides of the road, and stop at random intervals-all within 50 yards along any given road.  I forget that teachers around me aren't my PC friends who could speak Thai often much better than I could, and have found myself more than once actually a little annoyed at them for living here for 2, 3 even 10 years and still unable to appreciate a play on words in Thai, of which there are many.

And when, if, I normalize, how will my kids normalize?  They have even farther to go than I do.  They have actual family members here.  They will be inextricably tied to this country long after I am able to return to the US and blend back in with my own family.  They are biologically linked to this country.  How far will they need to go to "norm"?

Or maybe, what we need, is to get to the point in which "not normal," is just simply "normal."  Where there is no abnormal, everything abnormal is...  Woa.  I think I just had a flashback to college, there.

We've only been here 2 weeks.  I think these adjustments are normal (there we go again) and the struggle to find who I am in all of this was something I went to with eyes wide open.  So I'll continue to keep you posted about adjustments, norming, and life on the otherside of the world.  Thanks for all your genuine support!!