Clara maybe not as much...but at least not seasick-green.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Maggie Turns 9
Here's Maggie and her cake at Pizza Romano, a pretty good pizzaria in Erdenet Mongolia.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
More Hats!
The second-place basketball team from a tournament Jeremy
hosted also asked for some of the hats from America!
At the Local Skating Track
Maggie and Lydia with friends from the local skating track;
handing out hats on Christmas Day. The hats were all
handmade in the colors of the Mongolian flag by a sister in
Christ from California!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Down Side of Winter
The good feeling about snow and winter dissipates pretty quick when you see this -40 sign outside your window.
Not to be too dramatic, but technically it's still fall.
Even the Mongolians say the real cold is still to a week or so away.
Working against the weather
Maggie and Lydia thought we needed a trail around the yard to keep the middle all nice, white and untracked.
Winter Wonderland
Lydia waves while wading through and shovelling still-falling snow. The flakes were big and piled up quickly. I'd say we had at least 8 inches here.
Monday, November 15, 2010
T-bone
One of those days...today was one where nothing much encouraging and noteworthy happened until dinner.
Through a near-miracle chain of events, certainly an act of God, we were able to have T-bone steaks on the grill and table tonight.
About dinner time, the neighbor dropped in, locked out of her house. So Clara invited her to have dinner with us.
This neighbor is one who is learning English and joined in conversation a time or two at the table. I think instant mashed potatoes may have been a first for her too.
Then she said 'I can't eat this', in Mongolian. I was surprised because I thought she said she can't eat meat. Then I thought maybe she meant she doesn't eat beef, as most Mongolians eat more mutton than beef. Then she said something like 'it's lacking' in Mongolian. And I was aghast again, thinking she didn't get a big enough piece. But Renee understood the term to mean 'undercooked'.
I guess since the meat on the t-bone was pink, it was not edible to her.
On reflection it makes sense for Mongols to be used to eating brown meat only, because they mostly always boil it. Grilling it to a nice medium rare pink and juicy and to us perfection, to them must seem a bit barbaric. But from our perspective, it pure glory from God.
Thank God for T-bone steak!
Through a near-miracle chain of events, certainly an act of God, we were able to have T-bone steaks on the grill and table tonight.
About dinner time, the neighbor dropped in, locked out of her house. So Clara invited her to have dinner with us.
This neighbor is one who is learning English and joined in conversation a time or two at the table. I think instant mashed potatoes may have been a first for her too.
Then she said 'I can't eat this', in Mongolian. I was surprised because I thought she said she can't eat meat. Then I thought maybe she meant she doesn't eat beef, as most Mongolians eat more mutton than beef. Then she said something like 'it's lacking' in Mongolian. And I was aghast again, thinking she didn't get a big enough piece. But Renee understood the term to mean 'undercooked'.
I guess since the meat on the t-bone was pink, it was not edible to her.
On reflection it makes sense for Mongols to be used to eating brown meat only, because they mostly always boil it. Grilling it to a nice medium rare pink and juicy and to us perfection, to them must seem a bit barbaric. But from our perspective, it pure glory from God.
Thank God for T-bone steak!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Haystack Horizons
There was hours of fun to be had between the pup and the
haystack. Soaking in Indian Summer--today, a little over
one week later, we have had several days of snow!
Smiles all around
Maggie, Lydia, and Johanna have been waiting and counting
the days for Clara's celebration! The excitement is contagious.
Puppies! Puppies!
Lydia holds up the latest visitor at our house. The school yard seems to be abundant with these furry friends but they are transient visitors!
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
House Call
My phone rang tonight. It was my neighbor. “Have you ever given someone a shot?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t seen your son”, I replied. (Understanding Mongolian is hard enough in person. By phone, the gap between what was said and understood can be even wider.)
“Can you give me a shot?”, he said more simply. “Yes”, I said before thinking about it too much. “Come on over”, he said, and hung up the phone.
On the way over our shared back yard fence I pondered my answer: “I’ve given lots of shots to horses and a few to cows…I used to give my self allergy shots, so I’m able.”
I walk into his house. People are watching TV in the front room. They ask if I can give an intravenous injection. I start to feel creepy. What if there are narcotics here?
The man of the house is laying on his bed in the other room watching his own TV. “What’s the matter, friend?” I ask.
“Allergies,” he says flatly. “Here in my nose”. “Sometimes it’s plugged or runs, sometimes it’s okay” he explains.
“So where’s the medicine?” I ask. He motions. I pick it up. On glass viles is written in Mongolian letters the name “Dexamethazone”. The name comes rushing back to my memories from working at my father’s veterinary clinic. “We used to give this to horses as an anti-inflammatory and pain reducer,” I announce suppressing shock and surprise.
His wife walks in. She picks up a bag of IV fluids. “You’re supposed to put the medicine in here”, she explains. The man of the house chimes in “it’s supposed to go in this vein here,” touching the back of his hand.
“I’m not doing this!” I exclaim. “I’ve never given IV shots to anyone. Isn’t there a nurse that lives right across the street? If we have allergies we just take pills, you want some?” I ask. So I go fetch the nurse, and send Renee over with a bottle of Benadryl.
“No, I haven’t seen your son”, I replied. (Understanding Mongolian is hard enough in person. By phone, the gap between what was said and understood can be even wider.)
“Can you give me a shot?”, he said more simply. “Yes”, I said before thinking about it too much. “Come on over”, he said, and hung up the phone.
On the way over our shared back yard fence I pondered my answer: “I’ve given lots of shots to horses and a few to cows…I used to give my self allergy shots, so I’m able.”
I walk into his house. People are watching TV in the front room. They ask if I can give an intravenous injection. I start to feel creepy. What if there are narcotics here?
The man of the house is laying on his bed in the other room watching his own TV. “What’s the matter, friend?” I ask.
“Allergies,” he says flatly. “Here in my nose”. “Sometimes it’s plugged or runs, sometimes it’s okay” he explains.
“So where’s the medicine?” I ask. He motions. I pick it up. On glass viles is written in Mongolian letters the name “Dexamethazone”. The name comes rushing back to my memories from working at my father’s veterinary clinic. “We used to give this to horses as an anti-inflammatory and pain reducer,” I announce suppressing shock and surprise.
His wife walks in. She picks up a bag of IV fluids. “You’re supposed to put the medicine in here”, she explains. The man of the house chimes in “it’s supposed to go in this vein here,” touching the back of his hand.
“I’m not doing this!” I exclaim. “I’ve never given IV shots to anyone. Isn’t there a nurse that lives right across the street? If we have allergies we just take pills, you want some?” I ask. So I go fetch the nurse, and send Renee over with a bottle of Benadryl.
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