Designer fraternity

Ludolph McGaffin is the named opaquely emblazoned on the glass window of the shop i walk past on my way to work. Its a symmetrically square shop/house. It boasts a well manicured, though tiny, yard and an inviting glow from within. Centrally located cement stairs lead up to the main door while two show windows on either side display the designer gowns of the week on cotton muslin mannequins, one per window. Its a rather classy shop. Surrounded by doctor's office buildings, a police station, St. Mark's Church, a rival preschool and what appears to be a house taken over by alcoholic cockroaches. It sits immediately next to Ludolphs, separated only by shrubs. The yard seems to never have less than 36 beer cans and/or bottles. An abandoned couch sits on the half porch and a pinic table takes up what little lawn the property affords. Graffiti covers the windows and a crack runs through one of them. The first couple times i passed it i thought it was abandoned. I decided it wasn't after noticing how the bottles and cans rotated and the recycle bin on the edge of the sidewalk was always on a new level of full. On the morning after St. Patty's day i had to step over a puddle of puke that appeared to have projected across the lawn and onto the sidewalk, probably originating 5 hours before my daily trek to work. I wondered at how a designer shop ended up next to such a frat pad. I noticed something on the windows of the rubbish abode, the opaque font, identical to the design shoppe next door. I asked the girls at work. Turns out that the designer used to rent what was now the trash house and then the lease ran out so they moved next door. They weren't sure of the details but apparently the previous site of the afore mentioned shop had been left in pristine condition and then decimated about 3 hours after the new tenants moved in. They thought that either the new guys were relatives of the owner or the owner was overseas and was clueless to the demise of his property. Either way, they had sufficiently demolished the place, making it look days away from being condemned. Way to go guys. Bringing down the property value for everyone, even in Newmarket.

What it tastes like

If you want to know what horse feed tastes like or perhaps shredded cardboard with bits of dried sour apricots mixed in it...Buy this box, if you are lucky you'll find a semi-sweet raisin. Good news is its 98% fat free and currently on sale. Bad news is it was no Delite to eat. You'll have jaws so muscular after just one bowl that even Arnold will be jealous.

We are petitioning the company to change their name from 'Sunreal' to 'Sureal'. Or just to simply omit their product off the market entirely...it really wouldn't be that much of a loss. Eating competition athletes have been banned from eating this because it gives them an unfair advantage, its like steroids for your cheeks.

Sounds of my daily commute

Paul usually leaves for the university, or 'Uni' as the peeps refer to it here, 20-30 minutes before i leave for work. I putter around our dime sized apartment, finishing my breakfast, watching the morning news with Paul and Pippa and count out my train fare for my pocket. Then, its out the door to Bear Park, learning center for little ones with small legs and arms and in the process of graduating from nappies to knickers.

The glass door slides shut and a key locks it.
My rubber soled sandals squeak on the slate bridge echoing between the glass sides.
The exit security door beeps its release and i use my entire body weight to push it open.
It slams behind me and re-beeps the lock.
The gravel crunches as i cut across the parking lot.
My soles slap on the stairs as i descend below Britomart and the tunnels and the trains beneath.
The train screeches and clicks on the tracks as it pulls up.
The brakes groan as it stops.
Clinking, moaning, grating of the train as the cars pull and resist one another.
The beep beep beep of the door alarm sounds the ok to open.
The clatter and squeak of the temporary footpath scaffolding as all the pieces groan under the weight of the busy crowd heading off in a myriad of directions.

The espresso machine whirs and steams and i listen for the clink of the ceramic on the wooden table surface as i pass Organic Nutmeg.
The rev of the car engines accelerate up the hill.

The crosswalk chimes the go ahead to go.

The woman with the hula skirt purse and bubblegum pink lipstick's high heels rhythmically click clack on the cement we pass each other.
The miniature button springs squeeze as i push the code to get into the school.
Door hinges noisily protest on rusty hinges.
As i enter, a wave of cries, playful screams, talking, laughing and quietly in the distance, Jack Johnson sings from the cd player in the far corner of the toddler classroom.

My day has begun.

Yeah, that's right, these little kiwis listen to surfer music...

Bear Park

As some of you may have heard, I finally got a teaching job. 'Officially' they have offered me a job as an early childhood educator for the process of my work permit. 'Unofficially' i've been hanging out with little kiddos for a little over 5 weeks now. I work with a team of three other teachers in our classroom since we have the highest count of little persons. We have anywhere from 14-18 kids depending on the amount of time and day of the week the parent wishes their tyke to the come. The way the early level schools work here is the child is transitioned into the classroom at the time of his or her birthday. It has its pluses and minuses. Say you have a couple 5 year olds who have birthdays in January, they'd all start together. Then you have a kid that doesn't turn 5 till March or even April, they wouldn't transition into that class until then. So, while they are now closer to being developmentally equal, they could possibly be socially behind since those kids have already formed relationships with each other. For the most part though i really appreciate their teaching philosophy here and this place, like a good number of European countries, is more family orientated and they take their vacation days religiously. One week, maybe 2 kids are 'on holiday' with their families and the next week another kid is, regardless of actual holiday days. One little girl has been gone with her family the entire time i've been at the learning centre but we get updates from their trip to South Africa that we share with the kids who squeal with delight when they see pictures of her and who fight over who gets to wear her sun hat in the playground.

We apparently have a sister school in Boulder, CO that we have a teacher exchange program with. One of my co-teachers will be heading up there soon for the rest of the year pending her US work visa. I'm not sure how strict they stick to the 'exchange' aspect since i haven't heard news of them sending one down here but small world anyway, huh?

And now that you probably learned more about the education system of a small school on the under, yet beautiful, side of this planet than you ever wanted to know, over and out.