I was feeling kinda depressed when I got up this morning, and I was kinda achy also. That was annoying and confusing, because several weeks ago I'd had my first bout with the flu since college. I only took one day off because I hadn't accrued any paid sick leave yet this year. My company advanced me a sick day, but I'm glad I only took one off (I still waited a full day after the fever went away), because it's scary to know you can only get sick four days out of the year before worrying about making it through the month. Go America! I think my pain this morning must have been somewhat psychosomatic, because I'd just learned things weren't looking up for the candidates who support expanding medical care to as many Americans as possible, and this just a few days after learning about this new sickness landing in New York. Maybe people will understand that the health of society affects their own health.
Anyway, I went to work as usual. I haven't been this mindful of what I touch and how much I wash my hands since I was in India. Talk about a journey through memory lane.
When I got to work, where all these people from around the world are jam packed in small rooms together, I watched the students give speaking presentations. I finally got to teach Listening and Speaking again, after a two year hiatus, so I'm enjoying that again. A Japanese woman who researches dementia taught us about her area of expertise. I thought of my grandmother who'd battled Alzheimer's for ten years. I thought of the candidate who had succeeded on so-called Super Tuesday, and how he tends to forget what he's talking about by the end of his sentences. I hope they're just verbal foibles.
Everyone left the room for break, except for a Russian student. She has very white skin and long blond hair. She noticed Gary Shteyngart's Lake Success on my desk and asked what I was reading. It's mostly about a rich white man and his Indian wife in New York. Had she asked on Monday, the answer would have been Alice Walker's The Color Purple, which is about a poor black woman in the South and the people she knows, mostly the woman she loves.
Well, it turns out she loves reading fiction. I asked her if she discusses books with her friends in St. Petersburg, to which she replied, "Yes, all the time. People get busy, but one must make time for books." I'm very aware of her country's rich literary tradition. I know that newspapers want me to think that all Russians are out to get us, but I'll never forget the lesson from Egypt: "people aren't the same thing as their governments." If she is a spy, I don't have any government secrets to offer, just grammar and spelling tips, encouragement and smiles.
I love discussing all manner of subjects with my friends, some of whom are more educated than others, but very few enjoy reading or talking about books. Even when we had free time in college, I got made fun of by my friends for being a "book nerd" while they were busy being "War Craft nerds." They actually had the order mixed up though. They got addicted to that game they never play anymore, so I started reading more often because they were so busy with that game. I'm thankful it's worked out this way.
Anyway, the woman eagerly discussed books with me for the rest of the break, including how the smell if the paper makes them Superior to screens, and I started to feel better.
I wasn't going to write about that, but a curious thing happened twenty minutes ago at the grocery store. I was waiting in line to get an apple and some tea, when I noticed a guy a few rows down turn and cough, not into his hand, but kind of away from his hand. Then the cashier at my row coughed as well, but into his jacket collar. So then I'm saying hi to the cashier, because he often rings me up. By appearance, he's the opposite of the Russian woman. He's African-American with short black hair. He asked me if he could ask me a question, because he knows that I read. I was kinda confused, because I didn't think I was often holding books in my hand, and the book I read on the train is usually in a pouch in my bag in between my back and the bag. But maybe I've carried them on a few occasions. Either way, he asked me if I knew where the nearest Barnes & Noble was. I told him to go to 82nd and Broadway, where I spent hundreds one day in September. He thanked me because he'd been reading a book about mindfulness, but someone had stolen it. I told him that now he'd be more mindful of where he left his books and that wouldn't happen again. We did a fist bump, as we often do, which I suspect is about to be more en vogue with people of all skin colors.
Now I feel much better. Thank you books, and thank you readers
Anyway, I went to work as usual. I haven't been this mindful of what I touch and how much I wash my hands since I was in India. Talk about a journey through memory lane.
When I got to work, where all these people from around the world are jam packed in small rooms together, I watched the students give speaking presentations. I finally got to teach Listening and Speaking again, after a two year hiatus, so I'm enjoying that again. A Japanese woman who researches dementia taught us about her area of expertise. I thought of my grandmother who'd battled Alzheimer's for ten years. I thought of the candidate who had succeeded on so-called Super Tuesday, and how he tends to forget what he's talking about by the end of his sentences. I hope they're just verbal foibles.
Everyone left the room for break, except for a Russian student. She has very white skin and long blond hair. She noticed Gary Shteyngart's Lake Success on my desk and asked what I was reading. It's mostly about a rich white man and his Indian wife in New York. Had she asked on Monday, the answer would have been Alice Walker's The Color Purple, which is about a poor black woman in the South and the people she knows, mostly the woman she loves.
Well, it turns out she loves reading fiction. I asked her if she discusses books with her friends in St. Petersburg, to which she replied, "Yes, all the time. People get busy, but one must make time for books." I'm very aware of her country's rich literary tradition. I know that newspapers want me to think that all Russians are out to get us, but I'll never forget the lesson from Egypt: "people aren't the same thing as their governments." If she is a spy, I don't have any government secrets to offer, just grammar and spelling tips, encouragement and smiles.
I love discussing all manner of subjects with my friends, some of whom are more educated than others, but very few enjoy reading or talking about books. Even when we had free time in college, I got made fun of by my friends for being a "book nerd" while they were busy being "War Craft nerds." They actually had the order mixed up though. They got addicted to that game they never play anymore, so I started reading more often because they were so busy with that game. I'm thankful it's worked out this way.
Anyway, the woman eagerly discussed books with me for the rest of the break, including how the smell if the paper makes them Superior to screens, and I started to feel better.
I wasn't going to write about that, but a curious thing happened twenty minutes ago at the grocery store. I was waiting in line to get an apple and some tea, when I noticed a guy a few rows down turn and cough, not into his hand, but kind of away from his hand. Then the cashier at my row coughed as well, but into his jacket collar. So then I'm saying hi to the cashier, because he often rings me up. By appearance, he's the opposite of the Russian woman. He's African-American with short black hair. He asked me if he could ask me a question, because he knows that I read. I was kinda confused, because I didn't think I was often holding books in my hand, and the book I read on the train is usually in a pouch in my bag in between my back and the bag. But maybe I've carried them on a few occasions. Either way, he asked me if I knew where the nearest Barnes & Noble was. I told him to go to 82nd and Broadway, where I spent hundreds one day in September. He thanked me because he'd been reading a book about mindfulness, but someone had stolen it. I told him that now he'd be more mindful of where he left his books and that wouldn't happen again. We did a fist bump, as we often do, which I suspect is about to be more en vogue with people of all skin colors.
Now I feel much better. Thank you books, and thank you readers
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