Baby You Can Drive My Car

I got the driving licence some three weeks ago.

Let me put it into a context for you. I'm not one of those people who have practiced driving on bylanes since they were teenagers and for whom the driving licence course is just a matter of making things legal. As recently as last summer, quite honestly, I couldn't tell the break from the accelerator. So I started from zero. 

And let me put the other end of the course into a context, too. We have an odd double system in Estonia which means that I had to take two theoretical exams and two driving exams. The way it works is that once you have completed the school's exams (one theoretical, one practical) you can move on to the national ones. I don't know if that's a reasonable system but this is how things are done over here. It also means that when you fail an exam or two, this process can drag on for months on end. I know a colleague who took a whole year to get her driving exams done. I passed all four exams on the first attempt over the course of 3,5 weeks. I started my Christmas break in mid December with the first theoretical test and passed the last one, the national driving exam, one day before my classes resumed in school in January. It's probably not a national record but it can't be too far behind, either. Everything went so fast and so smoothly I could hardly blink an eye and I already had the pink plastic licence in my wallet. 

The penny is yet to drop. To this day I cannot fathom the fact that I could just hop on a car and drive anywhere. I'm still mulling it over. 

The process itself was rather tiring, though. It takes up so much mental energy to attain a new practical skill. The theoretical part I waltzed through because, well, I'm a nerd and that's what nerds do. It takes very little effort for me to sit down and absorb knowledge and pass exams (I think I took a hundred theoretical mock exams while studying, some even on Christmas Eve - home alone, as I was, it helped me pass the time). But to my great dismay, I couldn't just read a book on driving and then drive. I had to learn it the hard way. And the beginning was very slow and painful. I remember distinctly one day in the beginning of October when I walked home from my driving lesson, thinking to myself, "Not everyone could or should drive; maybe I'm just one of those people. There's no shame in that." It sounds funny now but it wasn't funny back then. The other thing that is funny only in retrospect is the way I braced myself for the driving exams. Only 50% of people pass the national driving exam on the first attempt so I was trying to console myself in advance, telling myself that failing these exams is just the normal part of the process. And it's true. But the thing is I've never failed an exam in my life so deep down I knew I would kick my butt and be so terribly melodramatic about it if I were to fail. Ah, I'm such a sissy! But - thanking the heavens above! - I still don't know what it feels like to fail a test. 

Right now, we have this most glorious winter in Tallinn with loads of snow. I really love it but at the same time, it puts my plan to get my first car on hold for a bit. There's no way I would go and plod my way through all that snow. It's safer for everyone if I waited until spring. But once the snow is gone, I'm SO getting myself a car. Actually, K., the sweetest little brother in the world, is helping me buy it. Since he drives an awful old pile of American rust that is almost eaten up by worms, he can't drive it in winter. But he's very fond of his Buick (for reasons totally beyond me lol) so he's getting a second car to drive around during the winter months. And as soon as the weather gets warmer, he gives it to me to drive until next winter. Sounds like a plan to me! So we're all so businesslike these days, sending each other countless car ads, some reasonable, some totally silly. At this point, I have no idea what we will settle on (I want a tiny car, he's into stuff more, uhmm, masculine) but it's fun to banter with each other, and I know I will settle with whatever he wants in the end. 

During the autumn months when I had to motivate myself endlessly to get through the driving course, I had this one specific picture in my head that helped me a lot. It was a picture of myself getting into a car at 4.30 a.m. on a midsummer morning to go to a nearby moor to listen birds sing and watch the sun rise. I'll take my camera and a sandwich and a thermos flask, I'll toast the sun, and be terribly pleased with myself. Deal. :)  

Happy New Year and the Other Nice Words

I am slowly and somewhat reluctantly emerging from my cosy winter sleep and coming back to reality. I will sorely miss the sweet nothingness of Christmas holidays but if I stayed in that half-hibernated state for longer, I might not come back to life at all.

These past three days I have been wrestling with my school work. It’s tough. My brain is rusty, my academic muscles not exactly in a good shape. Plus the desperate loneliness of the process – and I don’t mean someone should hold my hand while I write my doctoral thesis, what I mean is that I have heard nothing – nichts, nada, ничего – from my supervisor for 2+ years. It’s difficult to motivate oneself, knowing that you are in the abysmal bottom of someone else’s to-do list. But onward I press and I am determined to turn in my next chapter on time (March 1st – say a prayer for me, phew!). 

I'm writing a week’s worth of morning devotionals for the National Radio again. Recording on Friday morning. The post-Christmas rustiness of my brain isn’t exactly helping.

The school ought to resume next week but at this point, it’s not clear in what form. I am afraid I won’t physically see my pupils in a classroom for a while. But I try to stay calm as there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And the fact that the first weeks of my lit class for the 5th graders are all about Astrid Lindgren makes me kind of giddy. : )

So to Zoomland I will move and on Zoomland I will stay. Next week the new semester starts in the Seminary, too, and my first homiletics classes are scheduled for Wednesday. As with my pupils, I’m saddened for not being able to see my students face-to-face but the joy of teaching homiletics again is overwheeeeeelmiiiiing! And I’m very much looking forward to my old lecturer’s habit of buying myself a box of favourite truffels (only take-away, of course, we’re in a half-hearted lockdown in Tallinn) after each lecture.

Oh, as it is the first post of a new year, I ought to talk about books. It was a good reading year, that wretched 2020. I managed to get through 42 books and as always, there were some real jewels among the less shiny stuff. So if I had to come up with the Top 5, it would look like this:

- Arabs by Tim Mackintosh-Smith

- The Oblique Place by Christina Söderbaum

- Flights by Olga Tokarczuk

- Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov

- And everything and anything by my real literary love, Frederick Buechner (my notebook informs me I read 4 of his books last year)

The sweetest memory is from reading Arabs – the sweeping, 3000 year history of, well, Arabs. A. N. had advised me to read it as soon as it was published, and sure enough, it was just as brilliant as his other books. I happened to read it during the lockdown in March, and with its 650 pages it kind of felt like it would never end. And I loved the sense of reading it forever just as the lockdown seemed to drag on forever (which, of couse, it didn’t). I can’t stop marveling the talent of Mackintosh-Smith, if there was ever an X Factor for writers, he would surely win it. Because he’s got it all – he knows his subject thoroughly, he has this amazing ability to see connections where a mere mortal couldn’t, he uses beautiful language, and on top of everything else, he’s also so wonderfully witty! He's such a rock star of a writer!

So. That’s pretty much it. Happy new year, folk! It will not be an easy one but we’ll manage – I mean, we survived 2020!

Oh, just one more thing (sorry, my blog posts are getting so random). Today history was made in Georgia because Rev Rafael Warnock and Jon Ossoff were elected the new members of the US Senate and it feels like some light and dignity and sanity has returned to the world. Earlier today I read Rev Warnock's speech where he talks about his 82 year old mother who used to pick cotton as a teenager and who now sees her youngest son off to Washington DC as a senator. And I teared up properly because stuff like this makes you realise such a thing as redemptive history actually exists! What beauty!

Home Alone

These days I’m like Kevin from Home Alone. Well, minus the silly burglars. Thankfully, no-one’s trying to break in. J

What I said in my last post I feared the most – spending the Christmas alone – came true, of course. But for different reasons and with a very different attitude from what I had anticipated. The story is quite simple, really. I had promised to participate in the recording of the conference’s online church service for the last Saturday of the year, I had promised to preach there. At first, all looked good and merry but at some point the whole thing started to disintegrate since so many people from the media team or the worship band were locked up because of Covid. So they postponed the recording day and at one point it started looking like they could not pull it off at all. And I knew my role became critical as I couldn’t allow myself to have a random contact with someone with a positive Covid test and be locked up – without a sermon they would have had very little to record. So I told the media guys I’d self-isolate until we got the sermon recorded. And I did. We recorded the sermon yesterday afternoon and then it was already too late to make any Christmas plans for the evening. So home alone I was.

I don’t think I’ve ever given up so much for a single sermon.

But there’s nothing heroic about it. It’s just that I am learning things about myself through this experience – for instance, what I think is worth certain sacrifices, what I think comes first. And I’m surprising myself. After the terrible spiritual burnout of the last 1,5 years, after a year when I’ve barely spoken to God, I never thought I’d care so much about preaching the Word…

The self-isolating bit is fine, actually. Once I realised I would not meet up with anyone this Christmas, I just calmed down. Even more, I had this inexplicable and surprising peace in my heart, and that, I believe, is pure and direct grace of God. I’ve only cried when thinking about missing my niece and nephew and godson. All else is well. And I’ve realised something over the past week or so: things that are usually nice Christmas extras have become bare essentials. I need candles and I need good Christmas music. I need good books (rereading Vladimir Nabokov’s Speak, Memory at the moment – a book made of pure beauty), and long walks in my favourite, Kadrioru park. Just like this morning – the three first things I did when I woke up was to take an ice cold shower (that’s not a Christmas routine, though, that’s just a life routine), put on my favourite Christmas CD and light some candles. On Christmas Eve, on top of these extras-turned-into-essentials, I also painted my fingernails and put on a pretty dress before watching the online Christmas service, had some cake and phoned my dad. And I really was fine.

So with gratitude for good things and with hope for better ones – Merry Christmas, dear friends!

Surviving

It was Thursday evening. I had come from my last driving lesson, the bread was baking in the oven, the worktop was full of freshly iced ginger bread (for my pupils - cheap popularity always helps), the brand new Christmas CD by my very favourite choir was on repeat, I had just opened a new novel by Olga Tokarczuk (a recent Booker Prize and Nobel Prize winner) when the sweet realisation hit me - I think I'm going to survive 2020. Against all odds.

Oh, and just on Wednesday I had received another negative Covid test result. That helped, too.

The beginning of the week had been somewhat rockier. I had a sore throat, the aching being mild but persistent. And thinking of all the family and friends I had spent time with over the weekend - driving lessons with my dad, Monopoly and popcorn and Polar Express with close friends - made me kind of itchy. Might have I infected someone I care about? So I did the only thing I knew would put my mind at ease - I phoned my head mistress and told I would miss two days of school, and booked a Covid test. Then I sank into sweet oblivion for a couple of days, chucked out my alarm clock, sat in my PJs and shamelessly watched all five seasons of Shetland (nothing beats a good British crime series when isolating, trust me).

These two PJ days weren't enough, though. I need a longer break. The school is just about to close down for Christmas, and I am looking forward to more days of oblivion and PJs. I like my pupils and all, but my tiny little school teacher muscles and nerves are reaching their limits now. The fact that an overtly eager parent sends me emails, telling me how to do my job isn't exactly helping either. 

The Covid situation is bad and getting worse, as it is everywhere else. And my worst fear is that I would have to spend Christmas in isolation without a chance to see my family. I managed it in March but I doubt I would manage it now without sinking into sombre gloom. There are times when being single and living alone really is difficult.

But hell or high water, we will survive this year. Especially since every day is taking us closer to the vaccine. Also, every day is taking me closer to January when I will start lecturing in the Seminary again. For some mental health reason, their usual homiletics lecturer had to drop out, and they turned to me. Would I be able to step in? WOULD I??? OH, GUYS, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? I might have sounded too eager, but I don't care. So there is good stuff to look forward to.

We should all give each other a gold medal for getting through this year. 

There are better days ahead. Far better. 

--

Wilder Woods, Mary, You're Wrong  

Photo Therapy

A couple of years ago when I bought a nice camera, I promised myself I'd take a photography course one day. Then, of course, I forgot all about it.

It was in the beginning of October that I accidentally stumbled upon Eesti Foto's (Estonian Photo's) web page and with great surprise I realised they were JUST about to start with another beginners' course. The timing felt perfect. So I took a deep breath and signed up. This meant a photography feast every Thursday evening for two months. 

There are a couple of things I learnt. First, my camera turned from this obscure and spooky thing into something I actually understand. I have a million miles to go when it comes to taking really good pictures but at least I'm no longer afraid of my camera. That's a big one!

Then a myth was busted. I thought of professional photographers as introverted people who work alone and who are maybe not the best of public speakers. But, oh my days, they all turned out to be very different from that picture in my head. They were witty and sharp and talkative and it was a pure joy to listen to them and go through hundreds of their photos with them. I was thoroughly impressed by the lot!

And I've also learnt that a good distraction from the horrors of the world is sometimes a pure blessing. I've gone a little crazy about this photography thing - I watch videos and read articles and make everyone pose for me and just yesterday I purchased a program called Capture One for photo editing (I called it an early Christmas present). And I suspect this craziness is not only a harmless hobby but also something that offers me an escape from the world. It's as if taking pictures is a tiny world in itself, a world untouched by psychopath presidents and apocalyptic viruses (although I did test negative just a few days ago!) and November mud and school life. And man, if there ever was a time one needed an escape... 

So here are a handful of photos from recent times. I used some of them in our last class where we analysed our homework. Some of them got shot down, of course, but that's ok, that's a part of the progress.

The Good, The Bad, and The Elections

My nerves can’t take the tension of the US presidential election so in order to distract myself and to stop myself from hitting the refresh button on The Guardian’s vote count for the hundredth time, here’s some bloggin'.

Time flies. It’s already the second school week after the mid-term break. I remember how the first school weeks dragged on endlessly because everything was so new and scary and bumpy. Now I can hardly get to work and the next moment it’s already another Friday afternoon. It's beginning to look a lot like high time for Christmas music. 

I really enjoy that rhythm – the rhythm of working during the week and NOT working during the weekend. It’s one of those things I’m still a little euphoric about, some five months after closing the church office door behind me. Resting and working are much more separate now while in the past they were aways dangled up and muddled. But now, ah! I love those Friday afternoons when I can wave my pupils goodbye and hit one of my favourite cafes. I always make sure I have a good book with me when I go there. Sometimes I sit in that cafe for two hours straight, just enjoying the feeling of freedom, reading Ryszard Kapuscinski (one of my greatest literary crushes) and watching people. There’s absolutely no hurry, there’s no Sabbath school class to be taught the next day. Instead, I often get on a train on Saturday morning and go see friends or family. For example, I try to go and see my dad once a month. When I’m at my dad’s, we drive around (that means I’m driving and my dad is trying to look calm – I’m practicing for my driver’s licence exam and still have a loooong way to go), go to the woods and pick mushrooms or blueberries, and just chill. Until five months ago, I didn’t know such weekends even existed. I’m also trying my best to see my godson in Tartu once a month. Did I tell you that I became an official godmother in the beginning of September (meaning, there was a special church service and a silver cross and a fancy family dinner and all)? The little cutie is 9 months old so he probably doesn’t care too much about my visits but I care a lot about pushing his pram and babysitting.

As to school life, I really like my pupils. They can be a handful – I mean, they’re 10 and 11 and 12… But we get along well and every day I’m happy to see them. But other than that, the school life is very stressful. The Covid numbers are up and up and there’s this silent dread in the air. The government keeps telling us that the schools can stay open but there’s also a whole horde of panicky parents we need to deal with. It’s all very tiring. They will start testing teachers for Covid from next week onward, I’m on the waiting list, too. This constant source of stress, the endless November gloom, plus the never ending responsibility and worry for one’s health (I really don’t want to be the one who causes my school to shut down) is getting to me. I long for life to be ligther. I want snow, I want more light, I want more laughter. I want the American nightmare to end and the virus to pack its bags. And I wish someone lifted the weight of the world from my shoulders sometimes.

It’s really about balancing the wonderful stuff and the not so wonderful. The whole life is so much about it. And yet, the balancing act has never been easy.

Or as my favourite author Kapuscinski puts it in The Soccer War, „There is so much crap in the world, and then, suddenly, there is honesty and humanity.“ So elegant, so subtle, lol!

OK, I’m back to The Guardian now. Bye!

I Don't Know What Hit Me

Sometimes things happen so fast we don’t even know what hit us.

Since 1st of September I am a school teacher – I teach grammar and literature – in one of the elementary schools in Tallinn and to this day I have a quizzical expression on my face. I still don’t know how it happened.

Truth be told, I can trace it all back to a jazz concert in the beginning of June after which I met a young woman who almost demanded I’d become a teacher in the school she worked at. Five days later I was sitting in the headmistress’ office and pretty much signed the contract. It really did happen that fast. I never looked for a job. In fact, I don’t think I even prayed for one. The job sort of dropped from the sky. Or was dropped from the heaven (depends on a viewpoint).

So I just finished week 4 of teaching. And in this short period of time I have gone through a good number of phases. First the „being afraid of children“ phase. I mean, I am teaching 10-12 year olds! Me who has disappeared every time volunteers are asked to teach a children’s Sabbath school class. Me who observes any and every 11 year old with suspicion. Me who has never studied pedagogics. Fortunately, this phase seems to be over now. Then that was followed by panicky phase when it would take me every free moment to search for materials and make slides for classes. My kitchen table would be constantly covered with all sorts of text books and printed pages and I would send frantic messages to my closest colleagues, asking for help. Things are quieting down on that front, too, it seems. And then I had a very short phase of „I am going to be a perfect teacher and tell those kiddos everything I know about life. And they will sit still and look adoringly at me every day“. That phase took only two days to disappear. Oh, well. Now I seem to have entered the phase of „Okay, I have as much to learn from these kids as they have to learn from me. And the kids are wonderful one day and the next day they drive you absolutely crazy, don’t let that throw you off balance. The progress is slower than you expected, don’t let that bother you too much, either. The homework is not always done nor the books read, that’s okay. And the telling of all your wisdom needs to wait because first we need to get through the boring basics of grammar. Breathe. All is fine. The school holidays aren’t far any more.“ I will probably stay in that phase for a while (maybe for the whole school year).

The colleagues are really nice. The school itself, too. It’s a Catholic school situated in the middle of our wonderful Old Town. So the classrooms are only some 500 years old. During the past two weeks a massive film crew has taken over our school yard with their trucks and equipment (they’re shooting some scenes for a medieval detective movie) so some mornings I am greeted by medieval monks when I go to school. Not bad, I say, not bad at all. :)

It’s just about the worst year to try out teaching, of course. There is so much fuss about the virus and PPE and what not. I get tired of the news. I get anxious about my own health (is this my throat that's aching???). And I get tired of waiting for the inevitable – the instruction to move from my beautiful classroom to Google Classroom. One day it will happen. But until then, I try and enjoy the messy school life, the never ending gossip in the staff room, the morning walk to the Old Town (no public transport, we’ve been advised) and the coziness of Old Town cafes. Oh, and free Sabbaths with no preaching. *high five*