Your Feet Deserve to Be Happy (Part I)

I can’t believe how cold it is.  I’m sitting here in my pajamas, wearing a jumper and a winter coat, but my legs still feel like two trunks of ice (admittedly, bent trunks, and trunks that end in feet instead of roots; sorry to disappoint aspiring squirrels embarked on a quest for acorns; just do me a favor and watch out for cats, whose food is you).

After checking my electronic mails I looked up the temperature and found it’s only 2 C.  By “only” I mean that I expected it to be colder, as 2 Celsius translates to 36 degrees Fahrenheit, so it’s not even officially freezing, even though it’s as cold as Iago’s heart or Edmund the Bastard’s frosty eyes (which accounts for his second nickname, used in the rough draft of King Lear–Frosty the Snowman).

Yesterday after teaching children all afternoon with my wife Jina, who did most of the heavy lifting as she usually does, since I can’t speak a lick of Korean and the kids don’t take me seriously as a result (not that they necessarily would if I could, or that I would either), she and I went out for a quick dinner of deokkboggi (tubular rice cakes sauteed in sweetened red pepper sauce; if you don’t like hot red pepper sauce, please don’t come to Korea) and soondae (glass noodles known as chapchae)

To be continued shortly. . .

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