Dear Friends and Family,

One December day, a statue of pig – a humungous golden pig – placed itself a downtown shopping intersection.

“What can it mean?” we exclaimed as we rushed over to pose for pictures with it. Our puzzlement only deepened when golden pig merchandise began to appear simply everywhere. My current “students” informed me that in dreams, golden pigs symbolize extraordinary good luck. Hmm… I also did some research and read that…

The Myth of the Year of Golden Pig
2007-01-01

The year 2007 is the ‘Year of the Pig,’ based on the lunar calendar. But it is not just an ordinary pig, it is a ‘golden pig.’ According to some fortunetellers, it is going to be the ‘Year of the Golden Pig’ which comes every 600 years.

Babies born in the ‘year of the golden pig’ are believed to have good fortune and will lead a comfortable and wealthy life.

However, most fortunetellers and folklorists doubt the belief. According to a member of a fortunetellers’ association, they don’t know where the myth came from. It is only a saying among people and there are no grounds for it.

People who believe in the year of the golden pig say the special year comes every 600 years. They came to this conclusion through calculations, using a combination of the Chinese zodiac and the yin and yang theory.

However, a folklore professor, Joo Young-ha, at the Academy of Korean Studies rebuts the theory. He explained that if the year 2007 is the golden pig year which comes every 600 years, there should be records about the special year written in the ‘Taejong Sillok,’ archives of King Taejong. King Taejong ruled the Joseon Dynasty 600 years ago. But there are no such records, which makes him believe the myth was made not long ago.

Also, Baek Woon-san, head of the Korean Fortune-tellers Association, thinks the whole thing is an exaggeration. However, he said that there have been many people with good fortune who were born in the year of the pig, when the energy of bright light and clear water are harmoniously joined together.

Some even believe the myth was created to boost the ever-decreasing birthrate in recent years. In fact, Korea’s birthrate is expected to increase this year. Many obstetrics and gynecology clinics are actually providing more pregnancy counseling these days.

Whatever the belief is, marketing is already in full swing. You will notice golden pig items everywhere you go in Korea. Gold colored piggy banks are selling well and are also a popular promotional item for companies. They are actually very cute.

Some businesses, including banks, are even presenting gold bars as a lottery prize to people who open a bank account these days. Also, demand for gold is increasing as more people are using gold as gifts for relatives and friends, wishing them good luck.

Baby product companies are also quick to jump on the gilded bandwagon. For example, toy companies are making various toy pigs. – KBS News

Hmm… anyway, this morning I awoke from a vivid, pigless dream regarding wedding announcements. I think that I’ll now return to bed… hoping for visions of golden pigs, dancing in my head.… --Laura

PS: This aricle came from Korea’s KBS news at http://world.kbs.co.kr/english/town/town_seoultoday_detail.htm?No=296. Not an impressive news site, actually. And my first golden pig pic came from http://static.flickr.com/28/63892758_7167705566.jpg. My second pic is the genuine article!

Dear Family and Friends,

“Sleep be damned!” I muttered to myself when our alarm later sounded on January 1^st. I continued to mutter grumpily even as I pulled on my warmest outfit; I continued muttering grumpily even as we trudged through the darkness to the subway. The train was already filled, people clinging to high handles as the cars screeched to a halt at the station. The crowd compacted itself as we plus more stepped aboard and each minute of that ride was filled with shallow breaths of crowded air and the careful clenching of muscles so not to injure the people that we were crammed against. Then we, with hundreds of others, were mostly silent as we alighted from the train and began walking towards the Gwangalli Bridge.

The morning air was cool around us, the city lights kept jarring me into wakefulness, and as we got closer to the bridge, the crowd grew thicker. Stella broke our silence to explain that Koreans, mostly children, attach written hopes to helium balloons and release balloons at sunrise. The child in me glommed on to this notion so we stopped to scrawl hopes onto a scrap of paper, which was then attached to a pink balloon for the bargain price of 1,000 Won (about a dollar). We continued to walk, switching from the sidewalk to an already emptied freeway while the wind battered the balloons against us.

It was still really dark when we arrived at the bridge but by the time we selected our place in the crowd near the center of the bridge, light had begun to streak the clouded horizon. We, like the family next to us, sat down to await the sunrise but as 7:32 am approached, the crowd behind us began to press so we stood up to jockey for a position in order to watch the sun rise.

We might not have bothered – the sun never appeared from behind the clouded horizon. But at 7:32 or so, the crowd cheered a bit and we whipped our heads from side to side to watch balloons take to the air. I looked at my pretty pink balloon and the five-year-old in me wanted to pout and refuse to release the balloon. But the thirty-year-old in me allowed the balloon to the end of its tether, smiled, and then released the balloon. My friend did the same. And while the sun stayed resolutely blanketed, our hopes, attached to helium balloons rose and gathered with other hopes before vanishing into the gray sky.

We didn’t see the sunrise from the bridge that morning but it didn’t really matter. Our beginning had been more beautiful than I could’ve imagined; we had celebrated New Year’s Korean-style, with bells, with balloons, and on the sea. We had released our hopes into the New Year and satisfied, we sleepily turned towards home.

Roughly translated, the Korean statement “say hay bok mani pah du sae yeo” wishes you much good fortune upon the New Year. And indeed, a belated Happy New Year to you all; may you be most fortunate during 2007.

Love,

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Koreans have a beautiful tradition for New Year’s: many Koreans find it propitious to greet the New Year’s first sunrise over the sea at the eastern-most point of their peninsula, near Pohang. I couldn’t think of a more beautiful beginning and decided to join them. However, based on pragmatic terrible traffic, my prospective companions balked at Pohang and offered me a compromise: Busan has an impressive bridge and we could greet the sunrise from it. The decision of shivering by myself ‘til sunrise versus going to Busan with two friends was a no brainer – so hours after my sister departed on her jet plane, I found myself in the back seat of my friend Stella’s car, on a toll highway to Busan.

In the interest of fairness, I must confess that I was not at my best physically, emotionally or mentally. I was a mite blue, barely constrained due to exhaustion. My sister and I had slept less than 3 fitful hours before we bundled her off to the airport although upon my return home, I fell into my bed for another 2 hours. The result of this fractured sleep was not pretty because frankly, I’m old and severely Starbucks-undernourished, and I cannot stand sleep deprivation like I once used to. But my friend Julie bribed me from my bed with the promise of a nap - although I had to promise to not be cranky in the meantime.

It was mid-afternoon when we arrived in Busan city with a rough idea of where to stay, what we were doing, who we could hang out with, although unfortunately after placing our cell phones at our ears, our idea only became rougher. So we pulled out our guides and settled on my favorite little secret of Busan: the Angel Hotel, central and affordable. I was gratified to be recognized upon check-in (maybe I wasn’t as physically bad off as I thought?) and then we took ourselves out for a spicy lunch, a meal in which our seafood curled on the grill in front of us while Stella, who is a determined Korean teacher, undertook educating us on how to say the Korean version of “Happy New Year.” A tall order! The New Year’s wish was the longest Korean phrase that I had learned yet and parts wouldn’t stick. Stella eventually conceded that I could have part of a gold star sticker – for effort. Stella is a tough but scrupulously fair teacher.

Time flew after lunch: my friends journeyed to Busan Tower while I pulled a crisp white comforter over my head for another two hours of sleep. And then, quite naturally, it was dinner time. More phone calls were placed, inclinations were checked. We did not rush to our dinner destination; instead we discovered a Starbucks, danced with large Rice Wine bottle mascots and finally took the subway to the Jagalchi Fish Market, famed all over Korea for the freshness and variety of its seafood. As we walked down darkened streets where vendors were pulling tarps across their stalls, we quietly wished we had rushed. Hungry, we found a running escalator and rode up through a worn plastic tunnel to a vast concrete room, with aisles between raised platforms covered in aged linoleum. We were divested of our shoes and ushered to a low table and scant minutes later we found ourselves dipping our chopsticks into my newest favorite Korean meal: raw fish + soju.

My first experience with raw fish + soju ended in a disaster of Bridget proportions, my second experience added to my tank-riding high, and my third was hole-in-the-wall charming. First placed on our table was a large bowel of broth-steamed mussels along with a platter of pickled onions, rich seaweed, whole steamed shrimp in shells, oysters divested from their half-shells, broccoli, garlic, and quails eggs. Next came pumpkin jon, which we pulled to pieces with our chopsticks while red chili sauce was squirted into small bowls, soju was poured, sesame leaves were moved into reach, and finally a platter of finely sliced raw fish was placed between us. I did not bother containing my excitement as I pinched my first piece of fresh, fresh fish and lifted it to my mouth. This fish is good anyway you eat it. Sometimes I lift a plain piece to my mouth, the taste rich on my tongue. Other times I select a sesame leaf and lay it on the palm of my hand before plucking up a length of fish, gathering a dab of chili sauce at the end of my chopsticks, next adding a clove of raw garlic and then wrapping it all into my mouth. Raw fish + soju is the most Korean of meals – and I suppose that most of you will just have to take my word for it – it is bliss. And the perfect taste on my tongue to nod farewell to 2006 and meet 2007.

Oh, and for those who have caught the pattern of a Korean meal. Yes, there was kimchi, rice, and the meal’s soup was fish bones simmered on a rusting burner on the side of our table.

As we ate time began to speed and soon we were forced to speed with it. After counting bills with our friendly waitress, we rushed to the subway with long steps and then urged the taxi towards the hills. In Korea, the New Year itself is often marked with a Buddhist bell ringing ceremony and we had made the easy choice to forgo the throng of tourists at Busan Tower public square and instead enjoy the genuine article – a temple bell ringing ceremony… and then free soup.

The city lights were at our backs as we climbed from the cab and our fingers itched for our cameras. Again with hurried steps, we walked uphill to the brightly lit temple, bowing up the stairs to temple elders. Our shoes shifted from our feet to painted wooden shelves as we stepped into one of the most beautiful Buddhist temples I’ve ever been to – and I’ve been to Thailand! The wooden floor was waxed shiny smooth, Korean silk cushions were stacked against the walls, murals colored the walls, the ceiling glowed with lotus-shaped lanterns, and hundreds of gold Buddhas presided upfront. My eyes wide, my demeanor respectful, I found a spot to descend to my knees, silently greeting Buddha, soberly contemplating a year that marked actual change in my life and celebrated the thought that this was the mere beginning of my journeys – where ever they and I would take me. But midnight was approaching and the sanctuary was emptying as people climbed the side stairs so my friends and I returned shoes to our feet and climbed too. At the top we received many smiles as we situated ourselves near the staircase, kneeling so that we and others could perfectly see an enormous suspended brass bell. A gray-robed monk pulled on a pair of white gloves and pulled back a pendulous wood log while a black-suited man marked midnight utilizing his cell phone. Spontaneously the crowd smiled as the monk freed the log to bong the bell. The resulting sound was sweet and deep… it reverberated my breastbone, reverberated my entire being. I closed my eyes. And snapped them open again as people began to clap.

The New Year’s clapping inspired me to let out a long-conditioned New Year’s “wooo-ho////,” that I quickly truncated when I realized that woo-hooing was not en vogue in this crowd nor appropriate. Several people beamed to silently tell me that I was forgiven and that they were glad that I was happy – but I was (and should’ve been) mortified. However we soon returned all our attention to the monk as he again rang the bell and then again, a total of three times in succession, pausing between each strike as the bell vibrated, magnificently, its sound indescribably lovely.

I was still entranced with bell when several dark-suited men pulled white gloves on and gathered around the log to, as a team, to ring the bell three times in succession and afterwards descend the staircase. More white gloves and this time it was a group of smartly brooched women ringing the bell, three times, before disappearing downwards. The crowd shifted towards the basket of gloves and the bell and we followed. I had a momentary qualm about my non-Buddhist self ringing the sacred bell but was reassured by an older lady shoving a pair of gloves into my doubtful hands. Stella handed her camera to my glove lady while she, me and my friend Julie joined the hands of others on the rope and the log and clumsily rang the bell three times in succession. Up close, the sound oddly diminishes but you can feel the bell to your toes.

Our bell ringing complete, we also returned downstairs to the sanctuary and joined the crowd now kneeling on silken cushions. The monk lead from just to the side of Buddha, sometimes chanting, sometimes bowing, sometimes sermonizing. Stella did her best to translate but I mostly imitated the crowd and let the monk’s words Korean flow over me. When the service was over, we were ushered into our shoes and a kind lady lead us to a side building, where we were ushered out of our shoes, seated at a low table, and metal bowls of a traditional rice cake soup and a huge mounds of a dessert rice cake were placed before us. The crowd watched us from the corners of their eyes and intermittently queried Stella about us, one lady told Stella that we were the first foreigners to join them for soup and that they were honored. Neither Julie nor I have the words to insist that we are the ones that should be and are honored by their hospitality. But happily for us a respectful bow, a “kamsa haam ni dah” (“thank you”), and a smile that reaches into our eyes goes a long way. A cab then returned us to our hotel for a three hour pre-dawn nap.

Wishing you all grace similar to that of a brass Buddhist bell. --Laura

New Year’s 2006 – Vegas – 11:15 pm. I finished buttoning my cutest pink satin top, wound a long string of pearls around my throat, pulled on jeans, zipped up my heeled boots and covered my “Sex in the City” cuteness with a coat. My friends did the same. Then we gathered around our hotel room table, each selected two bottles and tipped liquors, vodka, Baileys, etc. down our throats. Then, giggling, we walked out of the hotel, found a place on “The Strip” – cleared of cars – and upon the New Year, fireworks rocketed from the tops of casinos. Our celebrations didn’t stop there – but we were in Vegas, so my description of them will.

New Year’s 2007 – Busan – 11:15 pm. I was in a cab, wrapped in layers, we were speeding towards an unfamiliar corner of the city. My friends and I eventually arrived at one of the most beautiful Buddhist temples that I’ve ever seen and dazedly, we walked into a brightly lit sanctuary, paid our respects to Buddha, and then joined the crowd wending up to the roof for a ceremonial bell ringing upon the New Year. Our celebrations didn’t stop there - a description of my Korean New Years celebrations is in the works.

Two truly memorable but diametrically opposing New Year’s celebrations! And the sound of this year’s bell is still reverberating in my breastbone....

Dear Family and Friends,

I forget, sometimes, that I am in Korea.

When I first arrived in Daegu, I was always lost: amongst the streets, amongst the language, amongst people, amongst every aspect of everyday life. Every step was about discovery: uneven bricks here – don’t trip, this road leads to the big university, what the heck does (*&(*&** mean?, and oh, yes!, there is a subway stop close. Yet I was keenly aware that I was always lost - and that I was strange. When I walked down the street, people said “hi” to me because they could – or just stared because nothing about me looks or speaks Korean: my red hair waves at angles, my body is large and comparatively voluptuous, my nose is long. Going to the grocery store meant being hit on by Pakistani guys or nice Korean ladies intent on snaring me as a private tutor. Running in the park in the morning meant girding my courage to brave rows of old ladies on benches who would turn one by one, with Rockette-precision timing, to unabashedly stare at me as I puffed by.

One day early on, we had taken a number at the bank and I was seated on a padded bench with my guiding teacher. Seemingly out of the blue, he quietly said, “You’ll be ok. You’ll meet people. You’ll be fine.”

At that very moment, I had been brooding about my inability to withdraw money from the United States – and was surprised by his comment. “Thank you.” I replied in all sincerity. “But I am fine. I have all of you at school. And I am likely to make other friends. But I am fine, truly fine, as I am now.”

But later I felt the full import behind his concern when I momentarily visited the States while watching “To Kill a Mockingbird.” At the end of the film, the camera pulled away from Atticus cuddling Scout, shared love and a history of palpable in their embrace. Suddenly I became breathless, jerked back to Korea from imperfect 1940s America, with my inquiring mind demanding to know who loved me enough to hug me. I counted the relationships that I had formed around me – lovely unto themselves – but none, I felt, that were kindred or deep. Everyone I loved, shared a history with, was scattered, continents away. Never had I forgotten how important relationships are, how important love is (in all its forms), but at that moment, I re-learned love’s importance. I flung my mouth into my hands as I gasped and sobbed. I wanted to shout in pain, I wanted to cry aloud, I was immeasurably pleased to be sobbing. And I alternated muffling my sobs and hugging myself while I paced my dark room, tripping over my low table, knowing everyone I loved – and who loved me – was inaccessible, a world away.

Consequently, the full import of a visit from my sister Emilie was not just the celebration of a holiday, not just the visit of family. It was the first history-bound love that I had experienced in 5 months. A hug from Emilie was the first touch of affection that I had had since... since... Her visit, amongst other things, became a respite from missing those I love.

As a result, the dark Sunday morning of her departure had me in red-rimmed eyes and flowing tears, not just because she was returning to her home, but because I was returning to my home without. She walked through the airport gates, waved good-bye and disappeared. I waved back before fleeing to the bathroom and then took a taxi home, tears blurring the city lights all the way home. That dark morning, I couldn’t forget that I was in Korea, on a continent where no one truly loved me – and I truly loved no one.

But that was momentary sadness. Do not feel sorry for me; I am surrounded by wonderful people, with great generosity and open hearts. My constantly being lost and constantly being strange has diminished a little – to the point that I truly do sometimes forget that I am in Korea. I navigate Daegu with a certain amount of confidence - my mental city map has become shaded in, in parts. And I am experienced with everyday life - my grasp upon the language remains weak, my ability to communicate what I need is growing. I am now simply accustomed to being strange – and I don’t go running in front of old ladies any more.

Korea is Korea – and despite my strangeness in it, despite my longing for love, I have enough to feel that Korea is home, at least for the time-being.

With the strongest affection for you all,

Laura

PS: Today’s pic: a corner of my local market. About 5 blocks from me, the market opens every morning and closes beyond dark. Some vendors are wrinkled and bent and spend hours peeling garlic or ginseng and only minutes actually selling their wares. Others vendors remain upright near their tables piled with cabbages, apples, radishes, peppers. Still other vendors hawk row upon row of gleaming fish & squid (fresh when the weather is mild, fish ices over when the wind blows). My favorite vendors (surprise) are the food vendors with stainless cooking carts steaming with rice cakes or Korean-tempura or pajon or cinnamon-sugar filled pancakes. I am neither lost nor (these days) strange in this market!

Dear Laura’s Friends & Family,

This posting, as I believe you will immediately notice, has a slightly different “voice.” This is Emilie, Laura's youngest sibling “speaking” - and I have been commanded to... I mean... given the privilege to write a blog entry about my holiday adventures in South Korea. Frankly, I hardly know where to begin. My time in Korea was short (I was there for barely a week) - but there was certainly no shortage of adventures.

A full 24 hours had lapsed between the time that my morning alarm went off in Berkeley, California and the time that my morning alarm went off during the taxi ride in Daegu, on the way to Laura's apartment. And perhaps the journey seemed longer than 24 hours as I greatly anticipated seeing my sister. Constant turbulence stretched every minute of the flight and caused me great concern for the pristinely dressed flight attendants, all wearing high heels!

When at long last I arrived at Daegu airport, words cannot express how wonderful it was to exit the airport terminal and rush into the arms of my sister. We both exclaimed and hugged and just savored being together again. That moment remains prominent in my memory - things are rather a blur after that, in fact, almost my entire visit now seems blurred. If one only has 1 week in Korea, then each day and each evening needs to be lived to its fullest potential.

On Christmas Eve morning, we hailed ourselves a taxi and I found myself learning to speak what would become the extent of my Korean vocabulary: hello (anyan haseo), thank you (cum sa hanida), & yes (nay). Laura and I began the holiday festivities by attending a party at a fellow English teacher's apartment, an Australian named Kirsty. Kirsty’s apartment could be considered rather large in comparison to Laura's mini-studio apartment...but fitting 12 people into a couple of tiny rooms, created a squeeze.

At that point, dear friends, I had yet to understand the true value of western delicacies. Laura and I made an anti-pasta of sorts...perhaps not the most authentic, but it certainly was popular. People constantly asked if I had brought the cheese with me and when I responded that I hadn't, they exclaimed, "Wow, so that means you can actually buy this stuff here!" By 6 pm, we were full and ready to head back to her place. But of course we had to do some last minute shopping...although last minute shopping in Korea doesn't quite have the same meaning because most shops and restaurants in Korea are open on Christmas Day as well.

Christmas Day was another grand affair with friends dining and gifts to open and of course our favorite story, “A Year Without a Santa Claus.” In search of a favorite family custom (bagels for breakfast), we found ourselves at Dunkin’ Donuts on Christmas morning. We splurged on donuts and crossed the street for coffee. Coffee in hand and holiday spirits high, we headed back to prepare for our company. Okay, so we missed the traditional mark, but it was still fun! We had five guests and a Thai feast for dinner: the Pumpkin soup was so good that everyone was practically licking their bowls clean and the curries were heavenly. Ohhh, what a feast...it's making hungry again just thinking of it. After dinner and guests, Laura and I opened our Christmas stockings and watched our favorite Christmas film classic – although Laura put me to work helping preparing for her next day’s class. But who said I'd come to Korea for a vacation? I knew better.

Tuesday. Just because I had been put to work, didn't mean I couldn't play hookie. So while Laura went to work on Tuesday, I decided to explore downtown Daegu. My big goal was to visit Seomun Market, a giant outdoor market where they have everything from bedding, to clothing, to cooking utensils, to live chickens, to fresh octopus. I wandered through the various buildings and streets for hours...enjoying the sights, buying various gifts, and trying some of the street foods. Surprisingly, I never got lost or turned around the entire day. As dusk began to fall, I headed to actual downtown from the market - and Laura and I had arranged to meet at 6:30 - we met & went to get me my first real Korean meal of babimimbop and kimchi (one of the few Korean vegetarian meals). After dinner, we roamed to some of Laura's favorite places, snapped a few photos, and then headed home.

On Wednesday morning, Laura dragged me out of bed for school. Believe me, at 8 am I was wondering why I had ever agreed to go to work with Laura. But with coffee in hand, we walked the whole 2 minutes it took to get to campus and began the introductions. That was the day that I began to understand why Laura loves her life so much. The students were wonderfully motivated and attentive, the faculty so welcoming and kind...I found that it didn't matter that with some people I could only exchange smiles...the universal attitude was a welcoming, unlike any I have ever experienced before. So many times, Laura had said that the true beauty of Korea is found in the hearts of the Korean people and I quickly learned to whole-heartily agree with this sentiment. My day at Taegu Foreign Language High School was just delightful. Laura then dragged me out to dinner at an Indian place with her friends. For details...you'll have to wait for my memoirs...or at some point, corner me.

By Thursday morning, the weather had turned bitter cold, but I reluctantly ventured out anyway as Laura had booked me into a Daegu City Tour. I took the subway and flagged a taxi to get me to the tourist center. Laura had been on a similar tour, but where her tour had a bus packed full of visitors...we had a group of 5 people. The kind tour guide was desperately worried that I wouldn't enjoy the tour without some English, so she personally walked with me a bunch and made certain to find me English translations whenever possible. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable with all the extra attention, but soon found myself joking with the tour guide. That day we visited Yangneongsi Medicine Market, the Daegu Confucian Academy, the Daegu National Museum, the Medical & Missionary Museum, and Dalseong Park. It was a fun day, but I was worn out and chilled to the bone by the end of it...the tourist center was way off the main drag, so I couldn't avoid the cold by catching a cab back...plus there was the added problem of not knowing the Korean word for subway. And for the first and only time on my trip I got a bit lost...the map indicated what looked like a short way back to the main road...but well the map showed a road that in reality didn't connect to anything else so I had to double back and take a longer way. I managed though and rushed gratefully into the subway station.

Thursday evening Laura and I decided to hike to a church on Kiemyung University campus for what promised to be an excellent view. The day had been cold, but the night was even colder...being famously wimpy about the cold, I had bundled up as much as possible while Laura, who is much tougher than I am, shivered a bit too and was grateful for remembering her scarf. However, the view of Daegu was breathtaking, so we did what any tourist would do...snapped pictures. While in the midst of photo taking fervor, a security guard came around to inspect the premises... he knew about as much English as we knew Korean so communication was fruitless. He motioned for us to follow him, we obeyed wondering if we were going to be arrested. But no, this kind gentleman wrapped on some glass doors to attract his partner and brought us into an office to warm up. He and the other security guard proceeded to attempt communicate something to us - which we never fully understood even with drawings and gesticulations. But the generosity of the experience thoroughly warmed us so we abandoned the idea of getting coffee and marveled about Korean kindness all the way home.

Friday was not as cold as the previous day (naturally - because I was not scheduled to spend the day outside). I had promised to return to Laura’s school again but I declined to arrive on time and instead slowly drank my coffee before heading to campus about 30 minutes behind Laura. Again, I spent another day chatting with Laura's sweet students, listening to delighted squeals as we passed through the halls and even crashed the home economics class while they made what seemed to me the most unorthodox pizza with shrimp, pepperoni, corn, and green pepper. This, incidentally, was the last day of school for the Korean school year (which runs from March to December) - so Laura and I had all sorts of errands to run around school.

I don't have the words to properly express life at the school, but I want to impress you faithful readers that Laura has truly scored... she teaches at a great school with fantastic students and superb faculty members.

Saturday, my last day in Korea, we decided to head out of town... and traveled further than I had ever before to simply take a bath. Specifically, we took a train to visit the public baths in Busan, the second largest city in Korea. The Korean countryside looks similar to the New Jersey terrain, but the architecture is certainly different (last I recall, they don't build giant cement skyscrapers in the middle New Jersey fields).

The public baths themselves reminded me a bit of Hearst Castle... I think that this impression perhaps came from the dome in the center of the main room, or perhaps the combination of white & blue tile was vaguely reminiscent of Hearst Castle. We spent roughly 3 hours exploring, soaking, eating, being scrubbed until our skin was pink, and relaxing. It was the perfect way to spend a day, especially since I was fairly worn from a week’s worth of adventures. And before we got on the train to head back, we dropped into a Korean fast-food chain where I tried a Kimchi burger - which I would order again- it was different but good.

And that about sums of my one week whirlwind Korean adventure. There certainly were lots of high points (those described and more) and maybe a few low points – it was certainly difficult being a vegetarian in Korea and large amounts of red ginseng did not agree with my system. Also, visiting a time zone that has a 17 hour difference is a bit challenging (I was grateful for sleeping pills). But the Korean people were incredibly warm, I have never been more welcomed by a society. And I found the Korean culture proud and remarkable in so many ways. And the shopping! I loved the light-hearted “Hello Kitty” found everywhere. But there is so much more to Korea than cutesy slippers and fluffy hats. The inescapable energy and optimism is infectious and at the heart of the country are the fantastic Koreans...the true Korean treasure.

I returned to the States, safely, happily, and the journey took a bit more than 24 hours. I know because my alarm rang… Happy New Year to you all!

With harmony,
Emilie the Drumm

Dear Friends and Family,

After several weeks of provocation, one November evening I lost my temper. Not in public. Not even rudely. But I cannot deny that I snapped - and unleashed the part of me that would make a stellar litigator but that I hold back because I believe that it makes me a poor human being.

Shall I explain?

You may recall that besides conversation classes, I was co-teaching English Reading Comprehension with a diminutive older Korean teacher whose teaching and grasp of the English language were not impressive. This arrangement was decided upon after just after the semester started and in her class sessions, I was set-up as a walking/reading/proof-reading authentic dictionary – primarily intended to back up what she told the classes (wrongly or rightly). This is not teaching - but respecting her as an elder teacher, knowing that her solitary life hadn’t been easy, and for cultural face-saving reasons, I abided by this arrangement with (albeit less than perfect) patience. But classes did not go well and usually enthusiastic students were apathetic – participation was minimal, heads slumped over desks.

My “co-teacher” did not seem to notice the apathy; I optimistically tried to encourage change and while pessimistically simmering.

Things got worse when she decided to veer from the class text, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry, to Percy Shelley’s poem “Mont Blanc” – did you find it as beautiful as I did? But “Mont Blanc” is also a long and hard poem that the students just couldn't grasp; those who paid attention in class were frustrated. My patience slid notches lower with each class session and fell to record lows when my “co-teacher” didn’t show up for two class sessions, leaving me to teach material that I strongly disagreed with. The “Mont Blanc” classes were bad. Really bad. And she didn’t seem to care. That marked the end of my patience.

I actually cracked just after the final “Mont Blanc” session – seeing red while counting a record fourteen student heads on desks. Per my usual after class habit, I returned to my co-teacher’s lone office with her – but the moment we walked through the door, temper overcame respect for an elder and I fervently suggested that the poem was too hard and out spewed a serious of constructive suggestions.

Her reply was that the students were too lazy to understand but that the poem was an experiment – and assured me that the only part she planned to test on was vocabulary. That didn’t simmer me down much but I took a deep breath and resolved to stay through a peace-making cup of tea. And found myself the recipient of unsolicited advice regarding my marriage prospects.

“You could be pretty every day.” She began.

I sipped bitter green tea but couldn’t restrain my curiosity. “Really? How?” I inquired.

I was then advised that my marriage prospects would improve if I ate 3 servings of green vegetables a day, took on "professional hair advice" (she found my hair dreadful – taking particular offense to the curl). I also needed to loose weight by running two hours every day (my 45 minutes a day wasn’t cutting it), wearing more polished clothing, and she advised me that I was "unfeminine." When I finally extracted myself from her office, my chin dropped from its proud angle, my shoulders slumped and I was deflated. Did all Koreans think that I was that hideous? I retreated to my own office and ran the conversation by my friend Cathy, whose laughter was so merry that I quickly discarded the seriousness of what was said and became merry about it myself.

“You could be pretty every day” became an incident that I recounted with relish and it provided an amazing number of chuckles – especially for my British co-teacher and the laughter handily carried me through several more incidents of this nature with her. A few Wednesdays later, I sat down for a class planning session and was immediately informed that I was a tomboy, that I lacked tenderness, and was "like a man." I emphatically replied that I was not (demonstrating my strong personality, that I suspect she actually objected to) and told her that in a US corporate workplace women are expected to behave more akin to men. She discounted my argument and heaped evidence on her own by pointing out that I was wearing slacks and a jean jacket and that I have short hair.

I patiently smiled through this for a few minutes until I lost my patience and asked, “Ms. Park, how would you feel if someone said that you are like a man?”

“Ha ha. That wouldn’t happen.” She laughed.

Undaunted, I pressed, “Would you like being equated to a man?

She laughed and conceded that she would not. I informed her that she was insulting me and asked her to stop.

She again laughed and said, "Oooh, I didn't realize that I was insulting you.” A very suspect response – because her whole line of conversation would be highly insulting to Korean women. I sighed and suggested that we get to work.

An American friend of mine dubbed these incidents “Korean bitch slaps.” I laughed while pondering: was this sort of behavior Korean?

My first theory was that my “co-teacher” was a product of the Old Korean ideals that were in conflict with Younger Korean ideals. But my younger Korean teaching friends, who were horrified by her behavior, assured me that this cannot be. I eventually concluded that in every culture there are, shall we say, aged, life-experienced females who love nothing more than the practice of giving unsolicited advice. And my co-teacher was one of those females.

My co-teacher’s pearls of wisdom also inspired me to begin the process of keenly observing Korean femininity and masculinity – subjects that I cannot yet write fairly about. Someday, I hope…

Anyway, the final jewel from my “co-teacher” was imparted in the final days of the semester when I pleaded busy in order to avoid a leisurely tea with her. She smiled and told me that she thought it was good that I was so busy because that would help me become thin – like her. I cocked my head at her, gave her a toothy smile and informed her that actually, I am just fine the way I am. And then I politely excused myself and turned away.

Hmmm….

Laura

PS: A picture of my two co-teachers playing a game of parking lot kickball… I’ll let you decide which is the British gentleman and which is the… shall we say, aged, life-experienced female who loves nothing more than the practice of giving unsolicited advice.

PS II: What did my Korean “co-teacher” kindly gift me for Christmas? A flat iron!!!

The following is a beautiful, English romantic poem by Percy Shelley – a work of art that inspired much frustration in my next story. As you read this poem, please consider what the visceral meaning of the poem is, what the allegorical meaning of the poem is, and the poem’s level of difficulty.

[groan] And yes, I know that this assignment makes me sound like a stuffy English teacher. Ahhhh!

* * *

Mont Blanc

Lines written in the vale of Chamouni

1

The everlasting universe of things

Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

Now dark--now glittering-no", reflecting gloom

Now lending splendor, where from secret springs

The source of human thought its tribute brings 5

Of waters-with a sound but half its own,

Such as a feeble brook will oft assume

In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

Where waterfalls around it leap forever,

Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river (10)

Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

2

Thus thou, Ravine of Arve-dark, deep Ravine-

Thou many-colored, many-voicéd vale,

Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail

Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene, (15)

Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down

From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne,

Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame

Of lightning through the tempest; thou A lie,

Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging, (20)

Children of elder time, in whose devotion

The chainless winds still come and ever came

To drink their odors, and their mighty swinging

To hear-an old and solemn harmony;

Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep (25)

Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil

Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep

Which when the voices of the desert fail

Wraps all in its own deep eternity;

Thy caverns echoing to the Argues commotion, (30)

A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;

Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,

Thou art the path of that unresting sound-

Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee

I seem as in a trance sublime and strange (35)

To muse on my own separate fantasy,

My own, my human mind, which passively

Now renders and receives fast influencings,

Holding an unremitting interchange

With the clear universe of things around; (40)

One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings

Now float above thy darkness, and now rest

Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,

In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

Seeking among the shadows that 'pass by (45)

Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,

Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast

From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

3

Some say that glean-is of a remoter world

Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber, (50)

And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber

Of those who wake and live. I look on high;

Has some unknown omnipotence unfurled

The veil of life and death? or do I lie

In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep (55)

Spread far around and inaccessibly

Its circles? For the very spirit falls,

Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep

That vanishes among the viewless gales!

Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, (60)

Mont Blanc appears-still, snowy, and serene-

Its subject mountains their unearthly forms

Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between

Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,

Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread (65)

And wind among the accumulated sleeps;

A desert peopled by the storms alone,

Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,

And the wolf tracks her there--how hideously

Its shapes are heaped around! rude, bare, and high, (70)

Ghastly, and scarred, and riven. Is this the scene

Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young

Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea

Of fire envelop once this silent snow?

None can reply-all seems eternal now. (75)

The wilderness' has a mysterious tongue

Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,

So solemn, so serene, that man may be,

But for such faith, with nature reconciled;

Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal (80)

Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood

By all, but which the wise, and great, and good

interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

4

The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,

Ocean, and all the living things that dwell (85)

Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,

Earthquake, and fierv flood, and hurricane,

The torpor of the year when feeble dreams

Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep

Holds every future leaf and flower; the bound (90)

With which from that detested trance they leap;

The works and ways of man, their death and birth,

And that of him and all that his may be;

All things that move and breathe with toil and sound

Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell. (95)

Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,

Remote, serene, and inaccessible:

And this, the naked countenance of earth,

On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountains

Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep (100)

Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,

Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice,

Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power

Have piled: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,

A city of death, distinct with many a tower (105)

And wall impregnable of beaming ice.

Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin

Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky

Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing

Its destined path, or in the mangled soil (110)

Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks ' drawn down

From yon remotest waste, have overthrown

The limits of the dead and living world,

Never to be reclaimed. The dwelling place

Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil (115)

Their food and their retreat for ever gone,

So much of life and joy is lost. The race

Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling

Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream,

And their place is not known. Below, vast caves (120)

Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,

Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling

Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,

The breath and blood of distant lands, forever

Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, (125)

Breathes its swift vapors to the circling air.

5

Mont Blanc et gleams on high-the power is there,

The still and solemn power of many sights,

And many sounds, and much of life and death.

11, the calm darkness of the moonless nights, (130)

In the lone glare of day, the snows descend

Upon that Mountain- none beholds them there,

Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,

Or the star-beams dart through them-Winds contend

Silently there, and heap the snow with breath (135)

Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home

The voiceless lightning in these solitudes

Keeps innocently, and like vapor broods

Over the snow. The secret Strength of things

Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome (140)

Of Heaven is as a law, Inhabits thee!

And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,

if to the human mind's imaginings

Silence and solitude were vacancy?

- Percy Bysshe Shelley (July 23, 1816)

Dear Family and Friends,

“A peaceful teacher such as yourself couldn’t want to drive a tank.” one my Korean teachers told me a few weeks ago.

Just before that comment, I had been sitting, steadily tapping at my desk keyboard, riveted on my own words when my British co-teacher dropped by with news: “We are going on a staff field trip...”

“Oooh goody.” I absently and rather rudely replied - still not taking my eyes away from the screen.

“…to a Korean Military Tank base.”

My head jerked up, he had my attention now. “Sorry. Did you just say that we are going to visit Korean military tanks?”

He confirmed.

“Wow!” I exclaimed – immediately picturing us in the midst of military maneuvers. “Hey, does that mean that we’ll get to drive the tanks? I wanna drive the tanks!”

My reaction hadn’t been missed by the male teachers around me and that was when it was suggested that “[a] peaceful teacher such as yourself couldn’t want to drive a tank.”

My eyebrows jumped to my hairline while another teacher genially suggested that I wasn’t qualified to drive a tank.

Hah – as if I’d let a little thing like that stop me. “Oh, yeah???” I replied. I ducked into my bag and pulled out my driver’s license and waved at it at my surrounding skeptics. “I have a driver’s license! And really how different could driving a tank be from driving my Honda Civic???”

A little translation and the teachers around me roared with laughter at that – and again when my witty co-teacher told me that if I planned to drive the tank, that he wanted to operate the gun.

Oh, boy, we’d make quite a tank-drivin' team – the brash American lady tank driver in her periwinkle Gortex and the consummate tweed-clad British gentlemen gunner. I could barely wait.

* * * *

Mid-day a week or so later, our adventure began like other past outings in that my British co-teacher and I climbed into a beautifully tended back seat for a ride. Me being me, I couldn’t resist asking the kindred driver whether he had crocheted his own doily-like seat covers and promptly discovered that I was outnumbered as none of the men in my company understood that to be a joke.

I wrinkled my nose and muttered to myself, “Uhh-oh… strike one.” Martha Stewart is not well known in Korea.

As we drove away from the school, I caught sight of most other teachers climbing into a large red motor coach with lady bugs painted on its side (lady birds according to the British gentleman). When I inquired why we were driving, I was told that there wasn’t room in the bus for all – but did I want to ride in the coach? I hastily assured my kind driver that of course I didn’t want to ride on the bus. I wasn’t about to commit strike two in that rapid of succession.

The hour or so drive to the near sea-side base took us through my discovery of the concept of private highways (speedways built, run and profited on by private companies), regular government run toll booths, a very clean rest stop, and typical, interesting yet rather unlovely countryside. We were waved through chain-clad gates by two very young, camouflaged, machine gun-toting soldiers. We wound past trucks, faux plant-covered tank shelters, and gravel crunched as we parked in a gravel field dominated by personnel filled tanks, about five minutes into a presentation to the teachers by an important-looking soldier.

It beats me what was said – although we were allowed to crane our necks through the back entrances of two tanks, were shown a table of serious guns, and while the lecturer showed the attentive audience uniform and food rations (including “Brave Man Underwear,” and star sugar candy), several male teachers behind me couldn’t resist handling the guns. Presumably the barrels were empty and the men were competent – military service is mandatory for all males in Korea - but this still made me jumpy. And I could not restrain a shiver when my attention strayed from the camouflage winter face masks and I was handed a cold, heavy handgun. I quickly handed it back. The men chuckled.

The presentation ended with a rumble that reverberated through my spine as two of the tanks were fired up. We gathered to one side as one tank positioned itself for a run – barrel steady on us (this is actually rather intimidating in real life) - and then the tank advanced towards and past us, not especially speedily, but fast enough to spit gravel and a thick cloud of dust. The giant looped around the field, did a bit of showy revolving and then parked in front of us with another smaller tank pulling behind it. A wooden ladder emerged and there was a rush to climb aboard the big tank. Don’t think I didn’t join the rush – but I didn’t make the first run. But I made the next two – clinging to the side rail of big tank and wedged, jack-in-the-box-like out of the center of the smaller one. “Ridin’ cowboy!” I found myself happily exclaiming.

I haven’t seen pictures of my tank-riding debut (sadly, I was not allowed to drive) but I am certain that my smile was huge and crinkled the rest of my face. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that my Asian adventures would include tank riding. Horseback riding, could be. Elephant riding, yes. Tank riding, uh, no.

Anyway, we were next taken on a tour of the barracks – my favorite part was a badly needed test-drive of a toilet – before we trooped back to the car but were forced to pause behind the coach while everyone waited for two mischief makers who came running towards the bus clasping large black bags. Soju is a heck of a bargain on military bases.

We next drove to a tiny sea-side village. After pausing for lungfuls of sea air, we walked into a restaurant, assembled ourselves around low tables, took up metal chopsticks, and spent an excellent few hours consuming newly caught seafood: mussels in broth, oysters on half shells, steamed + pieced purple squid, kimchi (duh) and my newest favorite Korean dish: savory raw white fish, sliced, layered onto heaps of gentle shredded radish, consumed by itself (perfect) or with anything at the table including a dark red chili sauce, or sssaaam soy bean paste, sesame leaves or rich seaweed. I eagerly took up my first piece of fish, only to drop it, immediately pluck it up and then guiltily glance around to see if anyone had noticed. I got a knowing smirk from my guiding Korean teacher as I grimaced and plopped the fish into my mouth anyway. And naturally washed it down with soju, carefully poured and received with two hands.

The Korean word for delicious is “mah sheet sayeo” - a handy word, easy to recall and say because the middle is pronounced much like a certain English four letter swear word. Dinner that night was the most mahsheetsayeo of maysheetsayeo-ness. The meal finally ended with soup from the bones of the fish that we just consumed, alcohol reddened faces, coffee, and a game of impromptu kickball in the parking lot before we drove home.

On the way home, I again discovered myself outnumbered – this time as both the only female and the only political liberal – and probably committed strikes two, three, five, and twenty thousand – but that is another story for another day.

LOL - Ridin’ cowboy!!! --Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Unhampered by a Thanksgiving celebration, the first signs of Christmas in Daegu cropped up mid-November. Fully decorated and lit (plastic) Christmas trees appeared in the subway stations, the Nordstrom-like Lotte department store became bedecked with gigantic shining snowflakes, cheesy Christmas music blared from sidewalk speakers, and the chill in the air deepened.

Daegu took on a festive appearance but I did not or could not detect a noticeable change in the air. No Christmas parties were imminent, in the school halls there was no chatter about what would appear under Christmas trees, no free wrapping was offered at the big stores, there were no brightly decorated cookies in bakeries, and no beaming Santa Clauses with children perched in their laps. As the holiday itself approached, I began to inquire into how the 3-day weekend/holiday would be celebrated. I learned that children receive gifts from their parents, that having a boyfriend or girlfriend was the social equivalent to Valentine’s Day (with Christmas decorations), and that singletons often headed downtown to eat cake or go to the movies with friends or family. It didn’t take me long to realize that while the trappings of Christmas have been adopted and while the holiday is celebrated in the multitude of Christian churches; in Korea, Christmas is not, as the clichéd song goes, the most wonderful time of the year.

Nonetheless, Christmas and the coming close of the school year was the busiest time yet for me. First came the afore-mentioned troublesome planning + manuscript, then hurried Christmas shopping, bit of a struggle to reconcile Korean Christmas customs with my own observations, as well as preparations for my sister’s arrival. At school, I was determined to end the school year on a fun note and prepared a secular American Christmas celebration for my conversation classes by setting up 3 stations: at one station my students followed English directions to cut snowflakes, at another station they sat at computers and watched the beginning of "A Charlie Brown Christmas Special" on YouTube, and at the final station, they were given candy canes and instructed to discuss what they’d do over the Christmas/3-day weekend. Overall, this worked although I did often find myself barking “English Only!” to the conversation table. At the end of each class period, I thanked the students and read them my favorite Christmas story called "A Year without a Santa Claus." Although my classes found the vocabulary antique and story long, they seemed to enjoy the reading itself. I sent each student away with a copy of the story, a list of favorite music/books/movies, and a fond farewell.

My last group of students before the Christmas weekend came rushing into the classroom and one by one began to hand me beautifully hand-written Christmas cards. And as the day wore on, other students would shyly advance on me in the cafeteria, at my desk or in the halls and hand me sweet Christmas cards. In return, I could only give them my brightest, sincerest smile. The appreciation in each card was an invaluable gift and I was utterly touched.

Soon I found myself waving “Merry Christmas” to my co-workers and the much-anticipated weekend had arrived. I spent Saturday spending an indecent amount of Korean Won on bedding and food and taxi cabs and cleaning. My sister arrived Saturday night bearing two stuffed bags – the vast majority of which was for me. That night, I fed her a traditional bean Korean soup and we slept, kind-of. Next, after puttering early on Christmas Eve, my sister and I hailed a taxi and the streets of Daegu flashed by on our way to my friend Kirsty’s place. When we arrived, we did our best to compile 3 plates of Italian anti-pasta and as the day progressed, Kirsty’s place became packed with “native English teachers” of Australian, Kiwi, Irish, British, Canadian and American descent. We all chatted (savoring the English), ate, drank mulled wine, snapped pictures, enjoyed a Secret Santa gift exchange, ate more, and enjoyed.

Finally, Emilie, me and my friend Jules snuck away and while Jules headed away to pour her heart into a microphone, Emilie got her first glimpse of downtown Daegu while I did some last minute shopping. After thoroughly photographing the decorations, we took the subway home, opened a few presents, looked at some funny pictures that my sister Sara had thoughtfully sent, and chatted as long as we could hold our eyes open.

My sister Sara called to wish us a Merry Christmas – at 4:30 am - and as Emilie put it “was wished as merry a Christmas as one deserves at that time of night.”

After sunrise on Christmas Day, after a few more presents, hunger stirred us into thoroughly wrapping ourselves and walking down to Dunkin’ Donuts – for bagels – although we were too easily tempted into donuts as well. We popped into Sleepless in Seattle for mochas and walked to the fresh food market for some eggplant and sesame leaves. Although I cannot regret a minute of our stroll, we neglected lunch preparations for too long and while we chatted with our parents and our mother read “A Year without a Santa Claus,” we did a fair bit of rushing to have lunch on the table by the time my 5 closest friends began to arrive. We didn’t make it as two of my friends arrived 25 minutes earlier than expected and caught me in the shower! However, all’s well that ends well and we enjoyed a feast of Thai pumpkin soup, followed by a green vegetable curry, chicken sauté + peanut sauce, odd snackies, accompanied by a Spanish rosé. Dessert was compliments of my friends Jules and Stella, who took my directions to heart and found a beautiful chocolate cake complete with a plastic serving knife, festive Christmas decorations, and candles. Inspired, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus, sipped a sweet Korean raspberry wine and laughed heartily when we learned that the wine is favored for virility purposes!

After more presents, some good-bye hugs, and lots of clean-up, my sister and I settled onto my warmed floor to exclaim over stockings, piece together my next day’s lesson (a game), and watch our annual Christmas favorite: Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas.”

Closing our eyes on Christmas that night was sad – as always – but it had been a wonderful celebration – made especially so for me by Emilie’s company. The anticipation of her arrival cheered me through my rough Thanksgiving and her presence deepened the holiday celebrations with my friends. In fact, I daresay that our celebrations lasted the entire week.

Love,

Laura