Blog #10 FLTA

"Willst du gerne wissen, was ich zum Fuehstueck habe?" (Would you like to know what I am having for breakfast?) Plopping myself down on the black leather couches located inside the Center for Languages and International Collaboration seems like a waste of the rare sunshine that is shining through the windows. Anna has already been waiting for ten minutes and was finally able to enjoy an 11:30 breakfast. Yogurt, apple slices, Baby Carrots, thin cucumber slivers with Brie smeared onto two slices of airy american wheat bread, 20 oz orange juice. "Oh, and coffee." She raises up her Einstein Bagel Coffee cup. Dressed in a red-pink and white stripped long sleeve and blue jeans, she has abandoned the thought of a lightweight complementary shawl, since the weather is so wonderful. Her black leather boots with gun-metal clasp reach mid calf as she sits cross-legged on the sofa next to mine. Upon first glance, she could be easily confused with a Scandinavian, due to her blonde hair, fair skin, height and sky-blue eyes. But she is disappointed when   Trimet riders cannot correctly identify her with her actual nationality, Germany. Today is a typical day for Anna. "I first get to eat at 11:00," taking a drink of the orange juice. In the morning she wakes up, gets ready to go before making the 1/2 mile walk to the 8:00 German 102 class. At 9:15 she is involved in my course, German 485: Survey of the Roma and Sinti People in Germany. She occasionally attends the second 102 class at 10:30 and finally gets a break at 11 or 11:30. "At 10:00 I get hungry and when I finally get the chance, I eat a lot." Why does she dedicate her time and health at Pacific University, you might ask? She is a Foreign Language Teaching Assistant, or FLTA.

Blog #9 Down the Road

"That's right. My first day of rehab was the last day I used."

What a splendid day it was to ride the Line-57 from Forest Grove to Beaverton Transit Center. The sun would even shine through the dusty windows if it managed to beam through the intermittent cloud cover. Some guy was typing up notes in the seat across the isle from me and the boyfriend girlfriend couple on the back row found nothing better to talk about than cell phones. About half of the seats filled up as we waited at the Hillsboro Transit center and the couple that I was attempting to eavesdrop on decided to transfer. Even from the inside of the bus, the continuous whap whap whap of the diesel engine had been a set back in my conquest.  I even tore paper out to start writing! Drat!
I decided to casually change seats to be behind two new riders who were easily the loudest on the bus. Tara sat on the isle in a gray sweater, jeans and black sunglasses, casually perched on her spiked bleach-yellow hair. As she spoke with her friend, her partial pink highlight put up today in a side part caught the sun's rays but not as much as her hot rod blue eye liner and mascara. Ears flavored with Pac-Man cherry studs and top ring on the right side, she filled the other with an I-phone ear bud. Her neck has a black tattoo of music notes.
"Did you hear about the bombing?" a man in a Beavers ball cap chimes in. He sat across the isle, donning a GET name badge on his olive green collared shirt. He was mid forties, in black work shoes, khaki jeans, blue jacket and eyes. He clutched his black reading glasses in his worn hands has he scratched at his once black now graying facial beard.
"No," said Tara quickly continuing to look at the road ahead.
"In Boston?"
"No."
"There was a terrorist attack at the Boston Marathon," he continued as he adjusted his position on the seat to face his audience. "The Manager of the Forest Grove Dollar Tree was running in it. He called and said he was ok."
"Why does this happen," inquired Kathie, the rider seated next to Tara, taking a swig of her 16 oz Rockstar. Kathie wore not one but two sweaters, a black covered by an army green with one of those annoying fuzzy hoods. Her thick dishwater hair was done up in a black pony tail that didn't cover up her black gauges. As she turned to the man her green eyes catch mine and reveal a lip ring. More metal cover her pointer, index and ring fingers.
"The government sucks," butts in a black haired teen seated in front of the two women.
"Ya, it is Bush's fault," Tara exclaims as she looks back at her I-phone.
"I can't wait for WWIII, WWIV and WWVI," exclaims the teen once again. Even my eyebrows raised.
The Beavers man calmly rebuked the sentence, "No war is cool." He continued on about kids and grandkids with Tara and Kathie as we passed Tuality Hospital. The topic quickly shifted to the Rockstar clutched in Kathie's ringed hand. "I never got into energy drinks." The pink off of the can caught my attention as we turn the curve onto TV Highway and we halted. A large Latino group was about to get on.
Beavers man to Kathie,"If it gets crowded I'm gonna sit on your lap."
"No, I will sit on your lap," she fired back to Beavers man and then to Tara, "and you will sit on my lap."
We whap whap whaped down the road. They ask what each other's names are. Beavers man to Kathie, "you should get a shirt with your name on it." They all chucked.
The teen turns around one last time. "You know what they call me? The guy with the face." Ok.
Beavers man headed out at Murry Blvd and the two women at 185th. "That's right. My first day of rehab was the last day I used," said Tara as they stood up. She is missing a front incisor.
A regular joe takes their place as the ride continues down the road.

Blog #8 Randell Cook, Bombardier

After my meeting for Boy Scouts was over, Rebecca, Azadae and I decided to stop at the A&W/KFC on Beaverton-Hillsdale Hwy to take part in the $2 Any Size Root-beer Float deal that is currently being offered there. I had originally planned on asking the late-night cashier what animal he would be after he took my order, but another customer hovered behind me to partake of the services and I decided to wait. I'm very glad I was met this crossroads because I spoke with someone much more interesting. An elderly gentleman sat by himself, two booths away from the door, next to the window announcing the special painted on the windows. He too sipped on a large $2 Float along with his creamy mashed potatoes and 3-piece chicken dinner. He picked up one of the chicken wings and began to gnaw on the meat, freeing it from the bone. I could see his gold filling flash as he took another bite off of the wing, careful not to drop a single crumb onto his plum-colored sweater, on which an American Flag lapel pin was attached. I wandered over to him, unsure how my approach would be accepted. "Excuse me, sir, but may I ask you a few questions for a school project that I am doing?"
"What sort of questions?" the gentleman responded, slightly squinting at me through his glasses as he lowered the wing from his lips.
"Well, a few questions about yourself and if you could be any animal, what would it be and why?"
He fired right back at me with the answer, as if he had been expecting to tell someone all night, "Husky."
I quickly scribbled down the answer on the back of my German thesis that I had been reviewing, "and why?" I prompted.
"Because that is where I went to school. I went to University of Washington." This I hadn't expected. I was looking for a trait or advantage that an animal might have.
I decided to pry a bit more. "What did you do in college?"
A half smile crinkled up his face. "I did a lot of stuff."
Randell Cook is a native to Portland but decided to go to UW for college. While he attended, he was part of the Crew Team. "This is a great sport," he expanded, indicating that I knew little about the art of synchronized rowing. "It is all about coordination and working together. If one person gets off the rhythm, everyone has to stop and restart." This was not the only recreation that Mr. Cook took part in. He was a member of the ROTC at the college and joined the Air Force in June of 1941. Only six months before the bombing on Pearl Harbor during WWII.  During his military time he instructed Bombardiers. "Do you know Doolittle's Raid? I flew after that and helped with the training of bombers taking off from carriers." Mr. Cook did see some action during the war. "I flew in a B-29 on bombing runs over Japan."
"That was the Super Fortress?" I inquired.
"That is correct," Mr. Cook continued. "We couldn't see much of anything when we flew though. Sometimes the clouds would be so dense that we couldn't see the ground. Only the lead plane would be able to see and tell us where we were."
"Wow," I interjected dumbstruck. My page of scattered notes was starting to fill. "I bet you have some amazing stories."
"Oh I do." He said humbly. He then proceeded to ask questions about me, if I was an Oregonian, what I studied in college, how old my daughter was in the car seat. I'm sure I could have spoken with him for hours, about the war, about his job and family after the war, why he was at KFC alone, but I knew that I had to leave. Before I left I brought my daughter over to see him. "What is...oh, I thought that she just had a ton of hair." He was referencing the flower headband that Azadae was wearing as she stared back at him. He continued to eat his meal as we parted. "God bless you," I said to him.
"Did you get enough for your project?" He quickly asked.
"Oh yes, I think I have enough," thinking I probably had far too little. "May I take a picture of you for the project."
"I won't call my lawyer," he chuckled. "Would you like one with me looking right at you or off to the side?"