A Bumper Day For Packages
Last Friday I received, in a single day:
- My Newsweek
- My Economist
- A letter from my Ukranian relatives
- The pen-pal letters for my 8th and 10th graders
- The package from Amelia
- A package from my parents
O, the bounty that was mine! The workers at the post office remarked to one another, "смотрите как он радуется!" My students were overjoyed at the letters, and I got two easy lessons talking about things like what a "cheerleader" was, how to "hang out", and that Americans might, similarly, not understand what a "dombyra" and "beshparmak" are. Amelia knew precisely what a volunteer needs, having spent time volunteering in Africa herself: new music. CD after CD of magnificent new music, including two CDs from Eddy who - bless him - despite not having lived close enough to one another for many years still has a dead-on sense of what I will like.
And my parents! I've often claimed to get the most opulent, frequent packages in all of Peace Corps Kazakhstan, about which I've long stopped feeling guilty. (My mom once sent me three boxes of Hostess cupcakes as prizes for my students and I ate ALL OF THEM MYSELF. This I feel guilty about.) From the food, to the puzzles for my classroom, to the newspaper clippings (I scan the comics, blank out the words, and have my students fill in their own dialogue), to books for the resource center, to help with mundane financial affairs, to photographs and movies of home, to music, I can't imagine what I could have done to deserve such magnanimous parents. And the frequency of the packages! They must spend most of their free time buying gifts and stuffing them in boxes for me to keep up with their delivery schedule. They are saints! Seraphim! The most elaborate hyperbole can't approach the expression of the magnitude of their generosity! (In case you think I'm overdoing it, you should know that I am not only writing this so they know how grateful I am, but also so they don't feel inadequate next to Lindey Redifer's flowery gratitude towards her own parents. See the link to the left.)
So: to everyone who has sent things to me, thank you all very, very much. The postal workers read me right - I rejoice.
- My Newsweek
- My Economist
- A letter from my Ukranian relatives
- The pen-pal letters for my 8th and 10th graders
- The package from Amelia
- A package from my parents
O, the bounty that was mine! The workers at the post office remarked to one another, "смотрите как он радуется!" My students were overjoyed at the letters, and I got two easy lessons talking about things like what a "cheerleader" was, how to "hang out", and that Americans might, similarly, not understand what a "dombyra" and "beshparmak" are. Amelia knew precisely what a volunteer needs, having spent time volunteering in Africa herself: new music. CD after CD of magnificent new music, including two CDs from Eddy who - bless him - despite not having lived close enough to one another for many years still has a dead-on sense of what I will like.
And my parents! I've often claimed to get the most opulent, frequent packages in all of Peace Corps Kazakhstan, about which I've long stopped feeling guilty. (My mom once sent me three boxes of Hostess cupcakes as prizes for my students and I ate ALL OF THEM MYSELF. This I feel guilty about.) From the food, to the puzzles for my classroom, to the newspaper clippings (I scan the comics, blank out the words, and have my students fill in their own dialogue), to books for the resource center, to help with mundane financial affairs, to photographs and movies of home, to music, I can't imagine what I could have done to deserve such magnanimous parents. And the frequency of the packages! They must spend most of their free time buying gifts and stuffing them in boxes for me to keep up with their delivery schedule. They are saints! Seraphim! The most elaborate hyperbole can't approach the expression of the magnitude of their generosity! (In case you think I'm overdoing it, you should know that I am not only writing this so they know how grateful I am, but also so they don't feel inadequate next to Lindey Redifer's flowery gratitude towards her own parents. See the link to the left.)
So: to everyone who has sent things to me, thank you all very, very much. The postal workers read me right - I rejoice.
1 Comments:
I'll trade you postmarks if you send me your address...
I got a packet of New Yorkers and Wired magazines the other day. I can feel some glimmer of your joy.
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