THE HOUSE THAT BUILT ME - St. Louis, MO 2011

Took a road trip 10/2011 to St. Louis to find the home where my parents lived when I was born through age 5. Nice visit with present owner.

Paddling down the Illinois River on the Spirit of Peoria. Utter bliss!

Kegger with keg

Kegger with keg

KRUSER

He came late into my life
This shy engineer
Understated and kind

Clad in Docker jeans, K-Mart tennies
And company shirts. logo removed.

Thoughtful and reflective
Cautious and OCD-ridden

My yin.

And he told me a story
About rescuing a spring robin
From his backyard drain
By attaching a paper cup
To a bamboo pole
And coaxing the frightened fledgling
To above ground safety.

I listened.
And I felt love again.

Teaching English to Bhutanese Refugees = Hope

I follow a catacomb of halls to the church classroom where I'll make my debut as a volunteer ESL instructor for Des Moines, IA Bhutanese refugees. Though equipped with flashcards, magic slates, and visual aids, I'm racked with incompetency.

Then they bound into the classroom, energetic and hopeful after a three-switch public transit trip from eastside apartments. Beautiful people with bronze skin, huge dark eyes, and bright smiles. Mothers, fathers, and children, many of whom have been in bamboo hut refugee camps for 18 years.

Name tags read Myat (Better), Thuza (Angel), and Ye (Brave).
We hold hands in a circle and introduce ourselves—reveal our names and where we are from. These upended persons say "Hey lo, Kati" and grip my hand tightly.

I teach the best that I know how. We write the alphabet on erase boards. Then, like I did with my toddler children, I sing the ABC song. They laugh, they sing, they mispronounce "W" and "F." They love the L, M, N, O, P part. I demonstrate tongue placement, how I move my lips. They mimic.

We work on simple goals: full name, address (please no "S" in Des Moines), phone number (though few can afford phones), hello, good-bye, please, thank you.

I long to be fluent in their Nepali language. Communication is so frustrating. I have them teach me simple Nepali words like "good," "hello," and "how are you?" They laugh at my pronunciations. We understand each other's struggles.

My students come to the United States via the UN and Catholic Charities as refugees, as people without a home. They are far, far braver than I. They astound me with their courage, hope, and intelligence. I love my new Thursday venture because I have been given so much in a world where so many are given so little. I do my very best to teach my students the difficult language of a country that perhaps one day will feel like home.