Semafor

Happy Birthday, Mom!!

Sfantu Gheorghe has one four-way stop light and I can be found there at least once a day, waiting with my fellow pedestrians for the light to change. Sometimes it takes 30 seconds of waiting, sometimes 2 minutes, but it's always a pause in my walk that I enjoy. The streets are so crowded and everyone is either hurrying by, nearly knocking me out of the way or is teetering along, dependent on a cane and left well behind within a second, that I hardly get the chance to see a face let alone wonder about the mind within. I love to walk, especially quickly. My mind never works better than when I'm swiftly walking alone with no particular destination. It gets lost within itself and tells stories and comes up with bizarre scenarios and gets thoroughly into its own thing, all while deftly maneuvering around slow moving or motionless objects, dodging rapidly approaching obstacles, leaping over man-holes left ajar, and changing directions with such dexterity that contact with the wobbly toddler, the little old lady, and the pile of dog poo were completely avoided. It gets into a hazy zone of surreality, a mixture of walking and mental talking, and doesn't quite emerge from it until the pattern of left-foot-right-foot is broken. And this nearly never happens until arriving at the stop light. It's a relief, almost. A break. From thinking and walking. The obstacles and objects I had been planning my route around morph once again into people and the white background noise returns to conversation, despite the fact that I still can't understand it. Faces appear across the street, awaiting the same signal as myself and I take full advantage of this brief moment where it's ok to stare fixedly at a stranger, to wonder what their life is like and to question why they are buried so deeply in their jacket. And to not mind that they are staring back, wondering why my brow is furrowed and why I'm wearing such strange shoes. It's a moment that can't occur while walking or otherwise doing things - it's a moment that belongs solely to a stop light and to the pedestrians waiting patiently at its side. It's a moment I sometimes wish wouldn't pass. Then the light changes, legs are put back into motion, the faces you were staring at start to blur by and become simple memories. We could stop eachother. In the middle of the intersection, we could introduce ourselves. I could put out my hand to shake and ask them why they look so worried. We could go get coffee and become friends and not be strangers staring at eachother from across the street anymore. But that would take too much effort and would spoil the beauty of a stop light.

Breath

I've noticed that the longer I go without posting, the harder it is to do. Partly because things start piling up that I'd like to put on here and it seems like too much to do, and partly because I feel like I have forgotten how to put together a decent sentence. So bear with me. Or is it bare?

Things that have been going on:
1. Thanksgiving. I spent the holiday with other volunteers and a few Romanians in a small city called Campulung Moldovanesc, which is pretty far north and near the Ukrainian border. We ended up going through three turkeys, four pumpkin pies, five loaves of bread, and all the mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and candied yams to match. We spread it out over two days and had Thanksgiving 1 on Thursday and Thanksgiving 1.2 on Saturday. And kinda on Friday. It was excellent and I didn't think about missing home on Thursday until we turned out the lights to go to bed and everyone grew real quiet with sleep and I suddenly realized that Thanksgiving was just beginning back home.

2. Romania's National Day. On the 1st of December in 1918, the three regions that now make up Romania were finally, after centuries of battles, united, and the first of December has since been honored every year. The holiday is kind of like our 4th of July; it's the celebration of being a part of a country. To enjoy the festivities, I traveled from Campulung Moldovanesc to Ploiesti (an eight hour trip) with Suzie, the volunteer placed there. We attended the traditional military parade, featuring lots of armed vehicles and face-masked soldiers, followed by lunch at her counterpart's recently remodeled apartment. If your memory is sharp (and if I ever mentioned it on here), you'll recall that Suzie's counterpart was also my group's counterpart for the practicum and that Ploiesti is the city where we all spent our first 2.5 months of training. It all seems so quaint now.

3. Christmas Craft Market. This past Friday through Sunday (5th-7th), I helped out at a craft fair that was put together by two nearby volunteers. The market was in a tiny village called Nagyaita (Aita Mare in Romania...Big Aita in English) in my very own Covasna County. I was blessed with a front seat maxi taxi ride both on the way there and on the snowy trip back. Just when you begin to not notice how beautiful it is here, you get the front seat. Awe is swift to return. My task for the market was to paint little faces and hands and it was thoroughly enjoyable until all they wanted were scorpions and spiders and something on each cheek and each wrist. Then it started getting a little annoying. I also bought a felt purse for only 25 lei and a bunch of hand made Christmas cards. I'm all about handmade lately and this market was the place to find it. Oh, there was also a pig-sticking, which is a tradition here this time of year and it involves a pig...and a sharp stick and results in lots of meat for everyone to eat. It is actually something illegal according to EU standards because it's considered inhumane, but people still do it for tradition's sake. Luckily I was painting faces when it happened because, as much as I love learning about Romania, I don't think watching an animal die would do me any good right now. I'm a pansy and I feel a bit ashamed to admit that the pork I had for dinner that night was delicious.

4. Drama Club. We're meeting tomorrow (Saturday) to run through the skit three or four times and to hopefully get something presentable ready for the show on Thursday and Friday. It's gonna be good, darn it. And hopefully fun for them as well. It's been a pain in the arse to work on a play with variable actors, but I'm learning. Next time around, it's monologues.

5. Quasi American Corners. I met a librarian here recently who worked with a volunteer in the past on an American Corners project. I say quasi because it's not officially recognized by the embassy and it's really just the current volunteer talking with students about America. The volunteer he worked with left three or four years ago and it was fun watching him pull out all the old materials, brush off the dust, and get excited about restarting the project. Yesterday (Thursday) I gave my first presentations in the quasi American Corners to two classes. I talked with them about Thanksgiving and then we compared and contrasted Christmas traditions, which I'm pretty sure was a learning experience for both sides.

Here are some differences:
1. December 6th. This day is considered Saint Nocholas' day and the children carefully polish their boots and place them by the front door so St. Nick can come around during the night and fill them up with small wrapped presents, fruit, and candy. We don't do this, but I'm willing to bet that the tradition of our Christmas day stockings, which aren't hung here, originated from the boots. Oh, and if a kid is bad, instead of getting candy, he or she'll get a silver painted stick to be beaten with.
2. Christmas music. I have yet to hear a Christmas song in a public establishment. I miss it.
3. Shopping. Nobody died here in shopping stampedes. Nobody goes nuts over the next Wiitendo. No lines outside of Macy's at 5am. All good things.
4. December 25th. Not sure how exactly it will go, but so far I know that Saint Nick does not come on Christmas day because he came on December 6th, so the angel comes instead (not sure what that means). This is the day for exchanging gifts with family members and friends and my landlord has kindly invited me over. It's a day that I'm looking forward to with both curiosity and apprehension. Kinda hoping to skype with family on that day, too. I'd like to see my little brothers open their Christmas presents and maybe share a Christmas hot chocolate with my mom.

K, this is all I can coherently do for right now. Time to sleep.

Pick a card, any card

Thursday seems to be the blog day as of late.

There's a wonderful craft shop here that I go to at least once a month to buy a little hand-made trinket or a gift to send home. There are three reasons why I love this craft shop dearly: 1) the stock is mostly made up of the works created by local artisans from the Sfantu Gheorghe region, 2) the shopkeeper is just about the nicest little old lady I've ever met, and 3) it's magical. Yes, magical. From the moment I open the door and walk inside, Romanian suddenly decides to make sense and for some mystical reason, I can actually understand about 75% of what the sweet little shopkeeper says. And if that's not enough, I am miraculously able to say things (very simple things) in Romanian that are comprehensible, at least to my little older lady friend, even if it does sometimes take a couple of tries. I don't even know her name, or the name of the store for that matter, but she is one of those ladies and it is one of those places that I know will tug on the heart strings five years from now, even if I were to leave tomorrow. I know this because thinking about it right now, thinking about not having the option to go buy a scarf that was knitted by a little local bunica, or not being able to go practice my lousy Romanian with someone whose personality makes me smile for the rest of the day, already does tug on the heart strings. There's something she always says to me as I'm leaving the shop, which I never really understood until today. It means something along the lines of "thank you for supporting our community". Well, that's why I'm here, but I think the shop and its keeper do far more to support me than I do to support them. Buying stuff is easy, even on a volunteer's budget, but making an outsider feel welcome and comfortable? That takes far more skill. Maybe it even takes a little magic.

And all is good

I know my posts on here have been fairly down lately, and I apologize for that. I'm not providing a very accurate image of my life here right now because the majority of it is surprisingly nice, knock on wood. I think part of the sorrow that's been coming out is due to the fact that I only update at night, when I am feeling my lowest. During the day, I am as happy as a clam, but after about 8pm on evenings when not much is going on, I get down and all I want to do is type out my blues. I've actually been resisting the urge lately to jump on here every time I'm feeling down because I don't want to give everyone the impression that my life here is bleak and difficult, but I don't have many other means of relief. It's getting too cold to jog, I can't find a piano to play for the life of me, I'm tired of turning plastic bottles into flowers and spiders, I am unable for some reason to focus on any book, and I don't want to live a life of pestering people on gmail chat. So I type.

On Tuesday, I handed out the roles for the Christmas skit the drama club is going to put on. Last week I had only 11 people show up, this week I had 15...it's hard to prepare a play when the participants vary so much, but everyone who was there this Tuesday said they were dedicated, so we'll see. Actually, I need to write two more scenes so everyone will be able to have at least two parts. They're surprisingly, wonderfully into it and I bless the day that I mentioned my (minimal) drama experience to my tutor. This week was particularly fun when I put them into groups of 4, gave them each a line (four lines for the whole scene) and then asked them to perform the scene without actually saying the words, so they had to pantomime. It was great to see what they came up with, clever kids that they are.

Another fun moment happened when Dan, a very kind man at my agency who has been coming to the English hour, proudly held up his pencil and said "This is my chair!" after the this/that these/those lesson. He's never had English classes before, while most of the others have, and he's generally pretty quiet in class, but he tries. He was so proud and sure of himself, it broke my heart to tell him the truth. "Sorry, Dan. That is a pencil, not a chair. But it is yours." "Oh...this is my PENCIL!" he then points at his chair "this is my CHAIR!" he says with a smile as he lightly punches the air in victory. I love people.

just out of reach

I don't like my last post. It's a Debby of a downer, but that happens once in a while.

My tea arrives. Finally. Something to focus on. I pull it in towards me, scoop up some honey from the little pot, then watch it slowly swirl down into my drink, forming a little layer on the bottom of the mug. A treat for later. There are three other people at the table with me and they are deep in conversation. Their faces light up with humor at something said, they lean forward, backs stretching in towards the speaker as a confidential detail is quietly described. Hands fly through the air to provide additional explanation, air is sharply inhaled as they gasp at something too bizarre to believe. Laughter erupts and faces turn red as they try not to laugh too loud, suddenly embarrassed. A happy silence follows, with little sighs of comfort and memory. Everyone is reflecting on something, it seems. Something funny from the past, a funny person they once knew, an embarrassing night out on the town, perhaps, when a few too many tsuicas were consumed. I can only imagine. One of them glances at me and hesitates; I know what's coming. "Uh, it was a joke", he says in English and then proceeds to explain the joke to me, in English. It takes about twenty seconds to tell me the five minute ordeal I had just witnessed. The joke ends abruptly and the speaker looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to get it. It's not funny. To me, it's not funny, but I proceed to make the sounds and gestures that resemble laughter and everyone politely joins in. It goes on far too long, I think, this fake laughter, but we all fear what we know will follow. Slowly, silence ensues. It's not the satisfied silence from before, instead it's a silence endured with sideways glances, oddly stretched smiles, and tangible attempts at resuming some sort of conversation. I take a sip of tea, trying to maintain a smile. My hand shakes slightly, tea drips on my shirt, it’s not sweet enough. I take a napkin from the table and busily dab at the spot on my shirt and as I dab away for what feels like decades, someone discovers a suitable topic and gratefully breaks the tension. I resume my role of the clueless observer, wishing deeply that I could understand, and wishing that the honey was not now on the other end of the table, just out of reach.

Tomorrow

The future always appears brighter than the present (I seem to be stuck in the tenses lately, my apologies). It's a curse of optimism and an inability to accept the possibility that things could get worse. When looking at the future, you often assume that it will be better than today and you've been taught to think like this since elementary school. Teachers pep you up with phrases like "when you go to college", "when you get married", "when you have your own house", not with phrases like "when you're smoking a pack a day", "when you get divorced", "when you're staring at your reflection in disgust", giving you a false sense of future brightness and refusing to admit that parts of your life could potentially suck. You grow up envisioning your adult self as being shrouded in happiness, surrounded by opportunities, thinking things are going to be great. And then you get there and you realize, though it's not awful, life just isn't the shiny little nugget of wonderment they had made it out to be. It's disappointing. Life is disappointing.

Or is it me? Am I doing this right or am I failing at making this little nugget shine?

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up, turn on the computer, and check the results. But no matter how great either candidate may seem, I'm not going to expect much. I'm learning.

Ramble with me

I have a very clear memory of being 15, standing in the locker room after PE class, and discussing the future with my friends. We were talking about when and how we thought we would die. One girl said forty-three from a car accident, the next girl said thirty-one due to a faulty parachute, and I said seventeen. I didn't know how I would die, but I was convinced that I would not live to see what life beyond seventeen years was like. It meant graduating. It meant college and the eventual "real life" and career. And I was incapable of fathoming that, of seeing beyond the high school walls, and I took my inability to envision as a sign that this world would soon reject me and end what had been a rather favorable childhood. I truly believed it. Then 17 came and went and nothing too horrible happened and I started making more and more complicated decisions - going to college, moving to Eugene, moving back, graduating, choosing a job, signing up for the peace corps, and setting foot on the plane that brought me to where I now sit. I've been thinking about the seventeen year old me alot lately. We have both been confronted with the most difficult adjustments in my life so far, and not much to picture as an outcome of our actions. I am yet again faced with the inability to see myself on the other side of something. Now instead of highschool, it's peace corps. It's tomorrow, it's next month, it's mid service training and close of service and my eventual return home. I just can't picture it. Six months ago, when our country director was telling us what to be doing before our In Service Training, I had a hard time listening because I couldn't picture me in Romania, let alone alive, for IST. Not that I saw myself dead, I just couldn't see me being a part of it. Being here has made me appreciate the passage of time and how eventual it is. Six months have gone by while at site. My tutor's baby waves and smiles at me now. My friend's pregnant stomach is tripled in size. The sheets I bought are fading and the plants my landlord gave me seem to have new blooms every day. And IST is over. Things that I couldn't remotely picture just 6 months ago are going by without hesitation and even though I'm an adult, I'm pretty sure I'm going through another stage of growing up. As a kid, Christmas would never come. Now I can't slow it down and can't decide if I'm happy or sad that it's going by so fast. I remember waiting for the day when applying to the peace corps wouldn't sound like a good idea, and on that day I would retract my application. When I think about how delicate my decision to join was, I'm surprised I'm here and surprised that the future is simply fabricated out of the little ideas that we have and decide to put energy into. But I'm even more surprised that I can't picture doing anything else right now. I'm set for the next 1.5 years, but beyond that, who the heck knows. Currently, I can't picture myself beyond the ripe old age of 29.

A little bit of nothing important

I bought an air sport gun today. I meant to purchase a cute little toy gun to go with my Halloween costume (one of the Charlie's Angels...not my idea, just going along with it), but for ten lei and a trip to the toy aisle, I accidentally ended up with the quasi-real thing and I'm quite repulsed with myself. I should have read the details more closely, I shouldn't have grabbed the first fake gun I saw, and I really shouldn't be supporting the toy gun industry. Have you ever had one of those moments where you immediately regret buying something as you're handing the money over? My hate of guns didn't occur to me today until the ten lei bill was out of my hand and the clerk was settling back into her soda and chips. Guns terrify me and I therefore hate them. I don't see how anything remotely good could come out of something that was created for one purpose: death. And we make toys out of them for children! And I bought one! And then I write about how annoyed I am that I bought one!

Stage fright

Darn my nerves! I'm holding the first drama club meeting in just over an hour and I'm more nervous for it than I was to present at the symposium. I guess that makes sense, though. I'm in charge of this, the one to be blamed if the kids find it horrible, where I was just a participant in the symposium and didn't really care if people were enthralled or bored to tears. I hope this works. Drama made high school semi-enjoyable for me...I have very few memories from that time of anything but.

So what's my plan for the meeting today? Here it is:
Introduction - introduce myself and what the heck I'm doing here. Discuss my experience with drama and what I hope the kids will get out of the club.
Interviews - students will pair up and take turns interviewing eachother with some predetermined questions and will then present that info to the group (I know, I hated this activity back then, but can now see the benefits...oh to be wise)
Two truths and a lie - first acting activity! Each person will come up with three statements about themselves - 2 will be true and one will be false. Each will present their three statements to the group and we will try to guess which is the lie. The goal is to trick the audience into guessing the wrong statement. I love this game and play it for fun with friends.
Wrap up.

The end! Whadya think? We'll see. I'll know more in two hours. Yipes!

Plus, I have a miserable headache of a cold. Bah.

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2 hours later:
Well that was fun! I had 22 attendees (more than I had expected) and they all seemed to enjoy the activities, especially the two truths and a lie game. I'm excited. This'll be a lot of fun if I do it right and keep the kids interested and engaged. For our next meeting, I asked them to be prepared to discuss who they think is a strong actor and why that person is good at what they do. I hope there aren't any "because she's pretty" reasons, but I'll figure out a good response for that. I'll be ready. That's the key, I think. Be ready. But still a little spontaneous. And not sick.

I'm on my 5th cup of tea for today. Tea tastes delightful when ill. Especially apple berry tea with a little sugar.

Today was the day

I finally saw one today. I've been wondering if I would see one here and was beginning to doubt it, but today was the day. Perhaps it's a good sign? Maybe this is the beginning of an onslaught that will lead to air that doesn't stink, eyes that don't itch, and throats that don't scratch. They're everywhere in the US, probably more so now than when I left, but seeing one today made me want to run up and give it a peck on the passenger window. I've missed seeing hybrids. Funny how you don't realize you miss something until you see it, in its sleek little nonpolluting silhouette with an exhaust that smells of only mildly tainted air. The sad thing, though? I saw my first (and undoubtedly not my last) Hummer H3 within a month of being in Romania. But I'll hold tight to my little hybrid memory and simply hope for more.

Feeling Indecisive

And a little bit out of it. Every now and then, while I'm going about my day, something relatively minor happens that reminds me of my foreignness. And it often comes almost as a surprise. Like oh, yeah! This isn't home, I almost forgot. A lady my age will stare fixedly at my shoes as she passes by; somebody on the street will ask me a question and I'll have to break my train of English thought to stammer out a likely unintelligible response; a sign will be posted on my apartment building that I can't decipher and two hours later the power's out and I don't know when it will return; a lady at the supermarket will get annoyed that I don't have exact change and give me a stick of chewing gum instead of 90 cents; a man will give me an odd, almost offended look as I open and hold the door for him. My shoes get stared at so much, with looks of true intrigue, that sometimes I want to stop and ask the person just WHAT is so curious about them. They're shoes! Not space-age foot rockets. Old brown lace-up shoes that I did not realize would stick out like sore toes here. It never crossed my mind that from the ankles down would be my biggest give-away. Also, as far as I know, I am the only person in Romania who is wearing a toe-ring and this fact, when combined with my odd looking chaco flip flops, leads to curious stares that can last the whole length of a street. I think people would recognize me more readily by my feet than my face.

I don't know why I started this entry. It went somewhere I hadn't planned. Towards my feet. Seems to be the norm. Oh well. I'm sleepy. Night.

A Recap

I kind of wanted to go with toamna colors here, but I'm not sure if it worked out. At least it's more Octoberish than all that green watery goo. October's one of my favorite months...the weather finally starts to get chilly, the leaves start to get rid of all that green sameness, the books I read get more engrossing, the hot chocolate tastes a little sweeter, and the cookies bake a little higher. Good news all around.

The past two weeks have been a bit busy. I had a site visit from my program manager and, although I feel pretty decent here at site, it was still something to stress out about. The visit went well and coincided nicely with the completion of the rough draft management plan for Reci, our nature reserve. I've also recently changed my schedule, so instead of working from 8 - 3 Monday through Friday, I'm going in on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which will allow me to pursue other projects on Tuesday and Thursday (other projects do include blogging it up, like right now...but only occasionally). I feel much more free now. I like the agency I'm working with, but a nearly 40 hour a week job behind a computer is not what I had in mind for my time here. At all.

Following the site visit, I had a good friend stay with me for a couple of days and, as much as I like visitors, I'm constantly worried that they're not having a good time and that I'm not being a good host. And I'm not a good host. I know it. I can't cook, I don't have a TV, all I have is floor space for extra sleepers, I only have two bowls and two plates, my shower leaks horribly, and the only thing in the fridge is some old cheese and a couple jars of jam...and some chocolate. But I don't tell them about the chocolate. Because I'm a bad host.

My unfortunate guest and I traveled together to a small city in the Transylvania region called Turda (pronounced "tourduh", but still mocked by many), where we were both scheduled to volunteer for a little somethin' called Turda Fest. Turda probably doesn't mean much to the average person, but it is now the home of the world's longest onion chain (check out the pictures on my flickr, if ya feel like it). Little did we know it when we arrived, but the main task of every volunteer was not only to set up, run, and tear down the festival, but also to prepare nearly 6 kilometers of onions for measuring. Not a small task. There were many moments during the weekend when we would all kinda stop for a second and think about what a stupid waste the whole ordeal was - there was no plan for what would happen to the onions after the festival, the work that went into it greatly overshadowed the enjoyment of the festival for anyone involved, and who really gives a darn about which city in the world has the longest onion chain, anyways? But, as we labored on with the assistance of the ladies who not only grew the onions, but braided them together, too, I sensed a bit of pride going through the group. It's amazing just how much work, no matter how trivial and meaningless, a few people can get done. And, at the end of the night, as the measuring wheel rounded the last corner that would make Turda's small fame official, we all cheered a little bit and I caught sight of some happy tears in the eyes of the ladies who had been with these onions since day one. Pride can come in strange forms, but as long as it's there, bringing a group of people something to smile about, who cares if it's comprised of onions instead of Olympic gold medals.

The day following Turda Fest, I was off to Covasna City for a two-day conference I helped (minimally) to organize. I gave a presentation on Desert Tortoise monitoring and tried not to smile too much at the snores coming from the back of the room. Mine was the last presentation of the whole conference and it was understandable, though a bit amusing. The people who were awake at least seemed interested. Now life's a bit calmer and I'm spending today not doing a whole lot. It feels nice.

what i miss

because i feel like being sentimental.

i miss playing. i would kill for a piano right now, with no one around to hear. i'd play la dispute first and second. maybe even third. then i would play moonlight sonata followed by fur elise and anitra's dance. of course they'd all sound like crap because i haven't played in seven months, but that certainly would not stop me. i'd play comptine d'un autre été followed by sur le fil and to finish with flare, i'd pound out a solid hall of the mountain king. then repeat.

i miss pulling up to my dad's house on sundays and seeing tj, bare foot and big grinned, opening the front door and running out to me, making me hurry to park the car and undo the seat belt and get out there. adventures sure to abound.

i miss the solidity of saturdays. kickboxing in the morning, lunch with my mom in the afternoon followed by a walk with ozzie around the lake, coffee at my favorite shop, a show with friends in the evening. a day well spent without any questions of what i *should* be doing. i miss those saturdays alot.

i miss the desert and the high, dry sun, the emaciated landscape of sage and dirt and the smell that matched. reno from snake mountain. reno from any mountain. a downtown of casinos that bumped into a university and the interesting mix of people that resulted. home.

i miss a relatively well defined job and the fluffy dogs and diet dr. pepper that went with it.

other than people,
i don't miss
much else.

pay back

After living in Ploiesti for about a month, a couple of little kids tried to steal a water bottle right out of my hand. I had been walking home from training, feeling content with what was going on in my life, when I passed by a couple of grubby, dirt-smudged kids, both of whom were smoking a cigarette, neither of whom were over the age of ten. The older of the two said something to me that I couldn't understand and, from the tone of his voice, wouldn't want to understand, so I continued walking. A few seconds later the smaller one ran up from behind and tried to grab the water bottle I had just purchased out of my hand. I don't know if I naturally have a death grip, or if I was on edge already because of the negative tone in the other boy's voice, but the bottle didn't budge and the little guy nearly fell over trying to get it. I was determined to maintain my course as he continued trying to pry the bottle from my hand while the older one walked slowly behind us, still talking in that deep, frightening tone, which to me sounded unnatural for a child. This went on for maybe thirty seconds until I finally stopped and turned abruptly to look at them both because I didn't know what else to do. The little one didn't expect this and decided the best solution was to plant a poorly aimed kick on my leg and run away, while the older one just stopped. Stopped walking and talking. I stared at them with the meanest eyes I could muster until they reluctantly turned the other direction. On my way home, I felt miserable. Somebody tried to steal something from me, I denied a thirsty kid water, six year-olds are smoking and living in filth, and I'm getting kicked for it.

About a month after moving to Sfantu Gheorghe, I was heading home and was about to pass by a very similar-looking boy, maybe 6 or 7 years old, tattered jeans, dirt-stained t-shirt, grimy discarded dress shoes about 3 sizes too big. He was walking towards me, hands in his pockets, head down, and I recalled my past experience with a similar child and the recently purchased bottle of water sitting in my bag. Unconsciously, I slipped my hand in the bag and around the bottle and just as he was about to pass, I pulled it out and, not really aware of what I was doing, held it out to him. He looked up, took the bottle of water, said a very pure "multumesc", twisted off the lid, took a big swig, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth on his arm, then went about his day with one less thing to worry about.

Two weeks ago, I went to Sighisoara to visit some friends. I was waiting at the train station to head back home when a grown man started harassing some of the little kids sitting around the station. The little kids were part of the Rroma population, as the other kids from above most likely were, too. The Rroma, or "gypsies", are often seen as the root of all of Romania's and many other countries' problems. They are discriminated against, treated poorly, and excluded from much of the society and culture of Romania, but they make up a big part of what this country is. It's a tricky situation because many of the Rroma don't want to integrate and want to maintain their autonomy, and due to this they remain jobless and turn to stealing and panhandling to survive. They have a very interesting history not only in Romania, but in much of Europe, and if you are looking for something to read, Bury Me Standing by Isabelle Fonseca provides a good insight into their lives. Anyways, this grown man was accosting a group of children who were sprawled out on a section of the train station platform. At first he was just yelling at them, probably asking them to move (I couldn't understand all of it), but after getting zero response from them, he started kicking their bags and belongings onto the train tracks. This got a bit of a reaction as they gave him dirty looks and hopped onto the tracks to get their things, but the man was still not satisfied with his display of dominance, so he started making movements like he was going to hit the kids. They scattered, all of them but the littlest. He was maybe 5 and he just sat there, obviously confused and not sure what was going on, and, surrounded by adults waiting for their trains, got dragged by the collar of his shirt by this "man", than slapped, than finally kicked in the face. All because he wasn't quick enough to move. I was screaming in my head, standing on the other side of the tracks, not sure how this could possibly be happening. A man, a grown man probably in his 50's, is actually beating up a five year old IN FRONT OF PEOPLE and NO ONE is doing anything about it, including me! In fact, most people didn't even seem bothered by it. I couldn't think of what to do, being on the opposite side of the tracks...yell? I should have yelled. Finally, somebody else yelled at the guy to find someone his own age to beat and he let go of the little kid, who was bawling and probably blind with tears. He ran back to his friends, where his cheeks were inspected and his shoes were retrieved from the tracks and hisses were aimed at the “man”. I spent the next hour glaring at him, until my train arrived. When I got on the train, I found a seat so I could glare at him through the window. I wanted to glare at him and spit in his face and kick his shins, but all I did was glare.

A couple hours later on the same train, I was calmly looking out the window, thinking about other things, and munching on some mixed nuts. When the train made a stop, a group of Rroma kids got on and sat down in the booth next to me. It took them maybe two seconds to realize that I had food and the oldest of the group jumped up and started asking me for some. Va rog, va rog, va rog, he repeated. Please, please, please. It's an inexplicable moment of shame mixed with annoyance, when a group of starving, impoverished kids asks you, the well fed and happy American, for food. For one minute, I just want them to go away and leave me alone with my nuts, which I bought and are rightfully mine, and the next minute, I feel ashamed for being so annoyed by KIDS. Hungry kids who've known nothing else but this life, the life they are begging for out of the bag in my hand. I'm torn. Then I remember a little boy getting kicked in the face just for being in the wrong spot at the wrong time and, with that thought and a little sigh of annoyance, I thrust the bag into the boy’s hands. His face lights up, he says "Thank you", not "multumesc", but the English phrase. I didn't say anything to him. How'd he know? Anyways, I spent the rest of the train ride watching this group of kids thoroughly inspect each nut and excitedly talk about the different varieties before eating them. It brought me immense pleasure. Much more so than saying no.

...but...how?

Just want to share a couple of videos that make me both love and fear people.

Exchange

Time to focus on the positive. You know how I often make cookies for people just for the hell of it? Just because I love making cookies and knowing that people enjoy them. I feel that it's one of the simplest forms of giving - the offering of a delicious home baked good. Well, every now and then I'll bring a little bag of cookies to my tutor or in to work or whenever I'm meeting people and have extras and in the past week, the gesture has returned itself in the form of two different types of traditional vegetable spreads. Apparently, this is the time of year to make Salata de Vinete (eggplant spread) and Zacusca (bell pepper spread). My tutor and a friend at work were talking, on separate occasions, about how they were going to make both spreads last weekend and they're the two locals I talk the most with, so according to basic deduction, last weekend was the unofficial Sfantu Gheorghe Veggie Spreads weekend. Anyways, my friend from work was telling me about the Vinete on Friday and how to make it and I said "wow, that sounds delicious!" as I offered her a chocolate chocolate chip cookie and, after taking a bite, she said "wow, this is delicious!" and I said "thanks!" and then went about my work. On Monday, I arrived at the office to find a little tupperware container carefully packed full of Vinete on my desk. I couldn't help but grin and immediately pull out the bread I had brought for lunch and took a big bite and ran to find her and tell her it was delicious. Later on Monday, I went to my tutoring session and she had several big bowls of veggies in different stages of processing out and proceeded to explain the preparations and ingredients that go into Zacusca, and I said "Mmm, that sounds tasty!" as I handed her a little bag of cookies. She immediately ate one and said "mmm, this is tasty!" and I said "multumesc!" and went about my lesson. Today, I showed up to tutoring and saw a little jar filled with red peppery Zacusca on the side of the table, but didn't want to get too excited, maybe it was for someone else, or sitting out for her own use. As she sat down at the table, she slid the little jar towards me and, in a very kind voice, said "for you. For all your cookies." I don't think I can explain why, but it was difficult to say "multumesc" that time. When I got home tonight, I made dinner out of toast spread thick with the contents of that little red jar and I could have cared less what it tasted like. It was delicious.

From our Pofta Buna cookbook:

Salata de Vinete/Vinete Salata

Time: 1 ½ hr
Servings: 8-10

Ingredients:

1	Eggplant (large)	1
1	Onion	1
3-4	garlic cloves (optional)	3-4
2 Tbs	Oil	2 Tbs
1 tsp	Vinegar	5 ml
To taste	Salt	To taste
To taste	Pepper	To taste

Instructions:
1. Roast eggplant over an open flame until blackened all over (don’t forget the ends).
2. Place blackened eggplants in cold water to cool them quickly. As soon as they are cool enough to handle, peel them and rinse off any bits of charred skin. (If they sit too long in their blackened skin the flesh will begin to taste bitter and burned).
3. Place clean eggplants in a colander to drain for 10 min.
4. Chop eggplant very fine with a wooden or stainless steel knife. Put it back in the colander to drain 10 min (or until its done dripping).
5. While eggplant is draining, finely chop onion and garlic (optional).
6. When eggplant is ready, transfer to a large bowl (not metal). Add chopped onion, garlic (if using), vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. If using mayonnaise, add now and blend well. Taste again and adjust as needed. Serve cold.

Notes: This spread can be found EVERYWHERE in Romania and it is delicious served with bread, veggies or eaten plain. If you are in a hurry, you can find eggplant in jars in most supermarkets. Or if you make your own, it freezes well. It is well worth roasting your own eggplants for the good flavor. Here are some tips:

To roast the eggplants outside, you can use a grill (just place the eggplants low over the flames and cook – turning frequently – until blackened and soft), or you can roast them directly on hot coals. To use the hot coals, wait for the fire to die down and consolidate the coals. Place the eggplants directly on the coals. Turn the eggplants every 10 min or so (depending on how hot your coals are) until they are soft and blackened all the way around.

To roast the eggplant inside, you can use your stovetop or your oven. Doing it over the stovetop is a bit tricky and messy. You must place the eggplant directly over the burner flame and carefully turn it until it is blackened and soft all the way around (including the ends). It is a bit easier to use your oven – to do this, remove the bottom panel of the oven (that covers the flame) and cover the whole burner with tin foil (be sure the flame can still come out the sides). You should also put tin foil or a large pan in the bottom of the oven to catch the eggplant juices. If you don’t protect your oven, you’ll spend all day cleaning it - otherwise your apartment will smell like “burning” for a long time. Once your oven is protected, you can light it, and place the eggplants on the oven rack at its lowest position. Adjust the oven flame as needed and turn eggplants until they are blackened and soft.

Variations: A very popular “creamy” variation on this recipe is made using mayonnaise. For this option, omit oil and vinegar. Instead, add 1 Tbs of mayo at a time until you like the flavor and consistency of the salad (everyone uses a different amount). For a fresher flavor, use the original recipe with green onion instead of regular onion and replace the vinegar with lemon juice. Very tasty.

The recipe from our online Pofta Buna book for Zacusca is wrong, so here's a replacement. I have no idea how true or tasty it is!

For zacusca, a Romanian recipe for a great hors d'ouevre, we use sunflower oil, onions, red peppers, carrots, and tomatoes. This is a mild pepper spread that is great for a quick snack when spread on bread.

1 qt sunflower oil

2 kg onions

50 long red peppers

3 kg carrots

4 kg of tomatoes

Finely shred the carrots, onions, and peppers. Crush the tomatoes. Put the onions, carrots, and peppers in a pan to simmer slowly. Then add the crushed tomato and simmer until the oil rises to the top. Salt to taste. Can be bottled and conserved for months.

Down

A while ago, before I left for Romania, I wrote something relatively cheesy about how much I liked my group (24!) without having met them and how just knowing they were out there, preparing for this big adventure we were going to undertake together, helped me get through packing and saying goodbye. I used the word assiduously in the entry and it sticks out like a sore thumb to me now. I don't even know what assiduously means out of context...musta been the word of the day on my mom's calendar or something. Anyways, now, of course, my ideas about 24! have changed a bit. There are people I enjoy spending time with, people I tend to avoid, and people I don't really know, but after enduring so many afternoon hours in the same little classroom with the same group of people every day for nearly 3 months, you become accustomed to the group's synergy (as much as that word annoys me) and even start to crave it. Even now, while at site and disconnected from those that I'm closest to, every member of the group is on my mind. I keep this map of Romania on my wall and it has a little piece of a post-it note on it where every 24! volunteer is placed and sometimes, when there's not much going on, I'll just stare at it for a while, my eyes shifting from site to site, wondering what each volunteer is up to and how they are doing and what their little corner of Romania is like. I'm sad, though, because I should technically take one of the little post-it notes down, but I can't bring myself to do it. A 24! volunteer has unexpectedly decided to go home and end his service early and it's especially tough because our group was one of the very few who made it through pre-service training and all the way through 3 months of service without losing a single person, strengthening our cohesion. I fully understand his decision to go home, though. I feel more sad over him going through such a hard time than over our group no longer being complete. Thursday was probably one of the worst days I've had so far, just knowing that members of our little 24! group are having a hard time and that the solidity I felt when looking at my post-it note map really wasn't all that solid.

But, I have running water and 35 other 24! members to harass, so I think I'm doing okay.

How are you doing?

oh, the irony

It's pouring outside...pouring. The abundance of water falling from the sky is keeping me from setting foot out there, while the lack of water in here is making me compulsively test the taps every 30 minutes. To no avail. It's a cruel, cruel world. I want water where there isn't and where there is only makes me grumble.

Water......water

I really want to wash my hands right now, but I can't. I'd also like to take care of the pile of dirty dishes in my sink and brush my teeth, wash my face and maybe flush the toilet. But I can't. I can't because my water is not working, which I discovered at 9:30pm and I only have half a bottle of water to get me through the night and no stores are open past 9. Something that continues to keep me on my toes here is the question of which utility will not be working next, for no obvious reason and with no explanation. My hot water didn't work for a week, the internet was out for 2, last month the electricity went out for a couple of days, now neither the hot nor cold water works. If I could have any utility over the others, it's running water of any temperature, and I didn't realize that until tonight, at 9:30pm. I really really want to wash my hands. All you have to do is take away half of what a semi-compulsive hand-washer needs to feel happy and you've ruined their night. It'll be ok, though. Live Tom Waits, Sleater Kinney, and Fleet Foxes concerts are helping me to forget about the communities of germs that are staking their claims and taking up residence on my palms right now.

ps - happy birthday to my sis (yesterday)!

And here's to being in a different country for over six months. Weird.

an outsider's view

I've never been much of a religious person, calling myself agnostic and feeling anxious when people start talking about any one of the many faiths out there, but something more than beauty exists within the churches here. I think it's the sheer age of them, the musty scent of ancient stone and decaying wood mixing in with the holy incense, the aged and barely visible life-size paintings of forlorn women holding sleeping babies in their faded and tattered frocks, the bowed benches that have supported generation upon generation of worshipers, and the stillness of it all combined. The silence that emanates from the stones, the paintings, the benches - all older than any living thing - is captivating. It's overpowering. I was walking through the city on a particularly hot day and was getting tired of the sun beating on my shoulders and the wind pressing grit into my sweat, so as I approached one of the Orthodox churches, I decided to go in. Churches have always had a cooling affect on me. I climbed the steps and walked through the doorway, a gust of old but pleasant smelling air brushed away the grit and calmed my shoulders down. A woman sat at a kiosk in the front room, selling various religious items, but was too busy reading a book to notice my entrance. I slipped through another doorway and into the main part of the church and walked straight out into the middle, relishing the fact that I had an arena of faith all to myself and breathing in the centuries of lives that had passed through the very same sliver of space. I turned around in a circle, taking in all those faded ladies carrying all those tired babies and, instead of wondering who they were, I pictured their creation, hundreds of years ago, on the walls before me. The silent space comes to life as people on precariously placed ladders carefully take trays of paint from a helper down below, gently dip their brushes in and let them soak up the proper amount of color, and then, as they bite their lower lips in concentration, they give their Saints the gift of sight. As the ladders and their occupants fade and the vividness of their paint disintegrates, I look up. He's there, staring down at me, much larger than life. I hadn't noticed him when I walked in, but I should have known he'd be there. He's always there. High up in the top of the tallest dome, bathed in golden sunlight and untouchable by anything. I nod at him slightly, as if to say "well, of course it's you". If he's as wonderful as they all say, he'll forgive me and my decision to disagree. A ray of light is illuminating bits of dust floating in the air just below his gaze, giving him a holographic and even more distant appearance. I can't picture the person who made this painting. It's too high up and too old to fathom its creation. I stare. He stares back. It could go on forever like this and at that moment, it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The two of us just staring at eachother, observing, questioning, the church silently aging around us, the stones eventually crumble, the paintings dissolve, the benches deteriorate until nothing is left but a silent, inquisitive stare. Forever. After an unknown amount of time, a cough and some movement comes from the doorway and my head automatically snaps towards it, breaking what I thought was permanent. The lady who had been reading when I entered was shuffling and sniffing through my arena, flipping through some papers in her hand and taking no notice of me, still posed beneath the highest dome. It's work to her, it's her life. By the time she reaches the back of the church, I am shading my eyes from the sun and thinking about ice cream.

the good, the bad, and the dirty

While I was working at the G-Lab, I had a colleague from India and occasionally I'd hear Indian coming from his office as he spoke with his wife or family on the phone, but I never really thought too much about how he could also speak English. I never really thought about how cool it was that a person from a foreign country could speak my language and how much work must have gone into learning it and how difficult it is, even when you've got the basics down, to really understand a language that is not your original. Nearly nobody in America gets excited when a foreigner can speak English. It's almost expected of them and, if anything, they're looked down upon if they can't communicate well.

Now I work in a biodiversity department with people who communicate with me in English, but when I do try to speak in Romanian (or Hungarian), they are overjoyed. They find it simply amazing that I'm trying to learn Romanian and it makes me sad that if they were to visit America, rarely a second thought would go towards the fact that they can speak English fluently, and yet they discuss and congratulate me on my vocabulary that any 2 year old could beat.


About a month before I moved out of my apartment in Reno, my kitchen sink would backup and overflow every time the upstairs neighbors ran their dishwasher. After this happened 10 or so times (I'm always hopeful that plumbing problems will just magically dissolve), I called my landlord and the next day a plumber showed up. He spent about two hours there setting up his equipment, tinkering with the sink, running up and down the stairs because it involved both my apartment and the apartment above, and cleaning up after his work. When he left, not only did the sink drain properly, but it had been cleaned of all the gunk that had accumulated from the neighbors' previous dishwashing session. Plus, he smiled, shook my hand and said thank you when he left.

Two days ago, as I was getting ready to leave my apartment for an English club meeting, a man knocked on my door and, from what I understood (I understand so little), told me that he was going to cover my door so he could paint around it. That's fine, I said, I'm leaving in five minutes. Two minutes later there was another knock on the door and a different man told me, in English, that I needed to cover my door so they could paint around it. I need to cover it? I said. But I don't have anything to cover it with. Well, he said, neither do we. And that was that. They both went back to painting around the already covered doors upstairs and I left for the English club feeling surprisingly frustrated. I need to cover it? I don't even want them to paint it and I need to cover it and I have nothing, no plastic sheeting, no old sheets, nothing to cover it with. I asked the people at the club where I could buy something that would do the trick and one of them suggested newspaper. That's a great idea, I said, remembering the stack of 5 or so newspapers my tutor gave me sitting under the sink. After returning home at 10pm, I spent the next hour covering my door with Romanian newspapers and I haven't seen the painters or a drop of paint since.

Now that I think about it, when the first man was telling me, in Romanian, that I needed to cover the door, I didn't really listen to what he was saying, I just assumed that he would cover it. Growing up in the birthplace of friendly and thorough customer service has not helped me much here and I still find it disconcerting to walk into an adorable touristy boutique, of the likes you'd find in San Francisco, and be greeted by an annoyed "Spuneti" or "Tesik", which basically means "What do you want?", followed by a never ending stare of impatience as you wander around the store, feeling more and more nervous and finding the store less and less appealing. Oddly enough, I've found that the crummiest looking places generally house the most pleasant clerks, and the more chic and fashionable shops have the rudest. Maybe it's hip to be unpleasant. I guess that could be said about many stores in the US, too. Remember my "SEVEN bags" incident a while back? No? I sure do.


Speaking of bags, in the fall of last year, I participated in a Truckee River clean-up event where we walked along 4 kilometers of the Truckee and picked up every little bit of trash that we could find. There were about 7 of us and we collected 11 bags of trash. As we searched, the main items retrieved were little gum wrappers, cigarette butts, an occasional beer can, and a very rare glass or plastic bottle. The bottles almost felt like a lucky find, like something to be proud of. There were maybe 9 or 10 of those.

I spent the first part of today participating in an Olt river clean up event that was hosted by a couple of environmental NGOs from Bucharest. They arranged the supplies, the logistics, the 20 students who helped out, and the food that was donated. They even gave us free t-shirts and hats. We walked about 5 kilometers of the river and collected close to 50 bags, which were filled mainly with glass and plastic bottles. And dirty diapers. The gum wrappers and cigarette butts were overlooked. Actually, I picked up a few still burning butts that a couple of volunteers threw on the ground. With time. It'll change with time and the cigarette butts will become the hunted while the bottles become the lucky finds, the rare little trophies of a job well done.

The efficiency and effectiveness of today's clean up was quite impressive and it's great that Romania is able to clean itself up. Again, why am I here?

ps - The backpacking/eco-center rebuild trip has been just about my favorite event of the summer so far. We spent three days hiking and relaxing and three days working hard and building. And by building, I mean moving very large and very heavy lincoln logs from one side of the river and up the hill to the other side of the river and down the hill. The logs magically fit together to make a house, but we didn't get to see the finished product because we had to leave before the roof or floor were completed. Oh well, maybe next time. Pictures from the week will probably be posted some time in the next two weeks, if I post at my current picture posting pace. There are new ones up, by the way. From a coupla months ago. Tomorrow morning I am meeting with someone who runs a local craft work shop. I might get to take some classes and learn something traditional, which'd be cool. Maybe that's why I'm here.

Two, please

1. I'm getting ready for a semi-backpacking slash eco-center rebuilding trip and I FINALLY get the chance to use the backpack I won for what it's meant for - backpacking. Not storage. I've never really gone backpacking and, although this is a lighter version of backpacking than the typical out in the woods and carry everything journey, I'm still a little nervous. I just tried the stuffed pack on and it's heavy...oh well, I can survive anything for 6 days, right? Right.

2. I have lived here in Sfantu Gheorghe for just shy of three months and today I realized there is a way from my apartment to the outdoor market, where I go at least once a week, that takes only 15 minutes instead of 30. One little left turn and surprise! It's right there. Three months. I've been walking twice the necessary distance for three months, thinking the whole time I knew what I was doing. This is where I'd deserve a "you didn't know that?"

one, please

Please forgive me, but I have something I'd like to spew forth unto this blog and it has very little to do with Peace Corps or Romania. It has to do with interacting with people and how I often suck at it, but so do other people. One thing I have tried very hard to do ever since high school has been to appreciate what a person knows instead of questioning and focusing on what they do not know. For whatever reason, people often find it invigorating to discover that they know something somebody else does not, which is fine, but then they feel the need to rub their little one-up in the unknowing person's face. One of my least favorite questions on the planet is "you didn't know that?" (topped only by "a table for just one?").

Sample conversation:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students...you didn't know that?"

From this point, there are only two responses Person B can logically give: 1. No, I did not know that. That is why I asked; and 2. Actually, I knew that, just messing with ya. Or they can attempt to ignore the condescending question and move on to another topic or, if their pride is strongly intact, they can continue asking questions about the LSATs, but are probably less motivated to inquire as fully as they'd like. It's unnecessary and it stops the flow of conversation.

Sample conversation without condescending question:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students."
Person B: "Interesting, I didn't realize they had a separate test. Did you have to study?"
Person A: "Yeah, alot. It was a tough test, but if I make it into law school, it'll be worth it."
Person B: "Cool...what kind of law do you want to study?"
And the conversation continues, pleasantly, while the two sip hot chocolate with the sun slowly setting in the background.

My main beef with the question is that it implies the questionee is suddenly inferior to the questioner simply because they don't know the same information. Nobody knows the same information, that's what's so awesome about this world. I know alot about cookies. I'd love to share that information with you and it's totally cool if you know nothing about cookies. Actually, I think it's more fun that way. You know alot about German Shepherds and I certainly wouldn't mind hearing a good German Shepherd story or two, especially if you don't think it's odd that I know nothing about the breed, other than its obvious country of origin. Conversation is supposed to be about information exchange, right? Then where did that aggravating question come from and why is it so commonly used? The only answer I can come up with is to subtly one-up somebody. It's subtle because making a person admit to their own lack of knowledge is a little less obvious than telling them "I can not believe you do not know this", and maybe it makes them feel like they've just gained a touch more power in this power-hungry world without openly hurting any feelings. Wrong. I'm not going to pretend that I've never asked it. I clearly remember working in a cookie shop, talking about music with another employee, mentioning Miles Davis, and being so shocked that she had never heard of Miles Davis that I let a variation of the damn question slip. "You don't know who Miles Davis is?" She handled it well, a simple "no", and the conversation moved on, but I remember feeling awful afterward. Maybe the conversation could have led to a new musical discovery for her, but instead I simply made her feel dumb and, like I mentioned, this is something I've worked on since highschool because I am very familiar with how stupid that question makes me feel. I don't want to do that to others, even if they could care less.

Now. I am not writing this to make every person out there who has ever asked "you didn't know that?" feel bad about themselves or that I'd criticize and secretly dislike them simply because they say it. It's an automatic response for many people when somebody doesn't know something, more like a filler than a cheap shot, but it still gets my goat every time I hear it. Then again people don't view conversation the same way I do. I think I dwell on it a little too much, hence the table for one.

Hokey!

I'm finding it surprisingly enjoyable to work with kids. Enjoyable because it's fulfilling. I could make maps of every nature reserve on the planet and not influence one person out there, but with kids, I actually get some sense of accomplishment, and some sort of happiness I don't think I've experienced before, even as a latch key leader. I think that's because of two things: 1. I am older and see things differently than I did as a self-conscious 17 year old and 2. The kids here nab up every little creative tid bit you offer them and simply run with it. All you need to do is say "write a poem about nature", hand them a pencil and a piece of paper, and watch a poem unfold itself. They crave active, creative thinking like nothing I've seen. In school, they are lectured to and treated, from what I've heard, like sub-humans who need nothing more than bread, water, and 50 pages of reading to survive on. Not all, of course. My Romanian tutor teaches English and I can tell she is different than the majority of teachers, which is hopefully a sign that things will slowly change. But after a semester of being yelled at and read to, what kid wouldn't love to do the hokey pokey? Or draw their own super hero? Or come up with their own theme song? Things that were generally met by groans of annoyance from the kids I worked with at Latch Key. "Do we have to?" they would ask, instead of my new favorite "how many colors can we use?" All of them. Use them all. They're your colors and you can do whatever you want with them...followed by a smile of satisfaction and a burst of imagination across an empty sheet. Perfect.

In case you haven't done the hokey pokey in a while:
You put your right hand in
You put your right hand out
You put your right hand in
And you shake it all about.
You do the hokey pokey
And you turn yourself around
That's what it's all about.

Best when completed with a couple little kids around. Since that's what it's all about.

photos

New photos are up on my flickr site, if you're interested. I also created a photo map and wasted way too much time fiddling around with it. Internet is such a time suck, but I'm a big fan of maps, so oh well. This is the first weekend in well over a month that I'm staying at site and it feels a bit weird...I kinda feel like I can't enjoy the moments of "not much to do". More on that later, I'm super tired. Good night and happy belated 4th!

Boink!

New design! I like green. And trees. And plants and stuff.

I decided to forgo the password idea for this blog. It turns out I can't really password protect it, but would have to invite via email every person who wants to read it and that's not my style. I like the idea of people I've never met reading this thing and I wouldn't want to make strangers send me their email address so I can invite them. It's a blog, if you're feeling offended by it, please either contact me or stop reading it. Gata.

I don't wanna jump the gun, but I got very excited today when I spoke to my Romanian tutor, who is on maternity leave from teaching English (they get two years of maternity leave here - two years!), about the possibility of starting up a drama/English club at her school. If there's one thing I truly miss from high school, other than friends, it's the drama club. One of the best ways to form strong camaraderie with others is through being on a stage with them, in front of hundreds of onlookers, whom you can not see because ridiculously bright spotlights are shining right into your retinas, dressed up as a bunny, and singing badly out of tune while dancing slightly off beat of everyone else. At least that was my experience. Good times. Seriously, despite the oddly harsh teacher, I loved every minute of my drama years and have always wanted to get involved in it again. Maybe this'll be my chance. Anybody know of any good Halloween-themed plays, as that'll be about the time for our first production :)

Gotta go bake cookies. My hopes are to make at least two batches for vineri, patru iulie, to share with my colleagues in honor of the great country I'm observing from afar. Speaking of which, it's quite embarrassing when your new Romanian friends know more about the history of your country than you do. I met some new people last night and they went into a big discussion about several of the past presidents and what they contributed to the country and who was good, who was bad, etc etc. Stuff that makes me snore. Sorry, but it does. I can not help it and I know many people out there are suddenly wishing I'd password protected this blog and not invited them. I have tried so many times to get interested in politics and read about what all the past presidents did for this country because I know it's important stuff and I hate being in situations where people are talking about something that I know nothing about, but I'm asleep by page ten. And about ten minutes into this conversation, I started noticing how lovely the park looked and how cute all the kids running around were and wondering which tree a nearby dog was going to pee on, and not listening to what my new friends were rather passionately discussing. They're from Romania, we're sitting in Romania, and they're debating my country and its past presidents and I have NOTHING to add. Shameful? This is something I've thought alot about...forcing yourself to memorize material and be interested in a subject because others deem it as necessary, basic knowledge to know. Should I really be embarrassed by the fact that I cannot list off all the presidents, or even half of them, and their parties, and that I don't care if you or your grandfather can? Somehow I managed to get through high school and college without knowing the names of any of the Supreme Court Justices and my question is: is that sad on my part or sad on my schooling's part? Or both? I seriously lie awake at night thinking about this and wondering if I'm a bad and ignorant American. I try to stay up to date on current political happenings. I vote. I caucus (even though I still don't fully understand the process). But I will never be able to dive into a conversation about Theodore Roosevelt and Richard Nixon and Abe Lincoln and how awesome and/or horrible they were and feel even remotely confident in what I'm saying. Never. Sure, I could do some research and write a ten page paper about it, which I've done in the past, but does any of that info stick? Nope. Because I write the paper, get my A (or B...), and never think about it again until I'm surrounded by people who are discussing something I wrote about five years ago, and can remember nothing of. Yes, it's a very important part of history and who we as a nation are, I know, and I'm very glad there are people out there who are quite interested in it and have the ability to read about it and actually retain the information. They'll have all the conversations for me while I take a walk in the park and smile at the dogs and hope that people don't hate me for my incurable ignorance.

Wow...off into the tangents. Too late now for cookies. Tomorrow. Two batches. And I'll do it to the tunes of Nina Simone.

Dates Re-visited or Peace Corps as a Jar of Pickles

I bought a jar of mini-pickles today and the expiration date is May 17th, 2010. If all goes according to plan, I'll be finished with my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer when those pickles are officially deemed inedible. Oddly enough, there are 23 pickles (yes, I counted them because I could...I also ate two to make it exactly 23) in the jar. One for each month of remaining service. It seemed so small sitting on the shelf, 25 little pickles packed into my one jar amongst rows and rows of other jars, some with more pickles, some with peppers, some with beans, a few peas. Some will be purchased this week, some next week, some next year, but all of them will go to a person who will do with them what they can, whether they go towards a spaghetti sauce, a minestrone soup, or a chicken enchilada. I'm not sure what I can make with a jar of pickles, but I'll do my best. I've got two years to figure it out.

Maybe you're curious about how the camp with the kiddos went. It went well. I did the Time Warp for the first time in about 7 years, didn't catch the ball once during a vicious game of kickball, nervously narrated a native American legend, convinced some kids that I can understand EVERY language, even Martian, and ate the best food I've had since swear-in. Also, I saw an awful lot of staggering beauty, played cards with a Birds of Pray deck in a room that felt like Dracula's personal bar, said Jo Reggelt/Napot/Estet (good morning/day/evening) to every unexpecting soul who passed me and my group of lovely friends. I'm pretty sure I learned more than the kids did, but that's how things work in this pickle jar.

There's another package at the post office awaiting my open arms! I'll be able to pick it up on Tuesday, from 10 to 12. It's all about waiting here.

being american

Tomorrow through Wednesday I'll be helping out with a youth camp and will probably have very limited access to the internet and email. Not that anyone will notice. I'm a little nervous about working with kids again. Haven't really spent much time around them since I was a Latch Key day care leader, and my memories from that involve alot of boogers, mopping up some barf, and being asked whether I was a boy or a girl. But that was ten years ago and I can hopefully handle all situations with a bit more grace and dignity. At least this time around, I won't really be able to understand what the kids are saying because they're Hungarian, so if they're questioning my gender, I'll just smile and nod and give them a pat on the shoulder. No hard feelings whatsoever.

When I was little, I remember walking around and saying random, nonsensical things to myself and wondering "wow! I wonder what language I'm speaking!" and being fascinated by the thought that somewhere out there was a country, maybe a planet, full of people who would understand my "bing boop sluie bop" to mean "this cookie is delicious". Only when you actually try to learn a new language do you realize how silly you were as a little kid. Seriously, I want to learn Romanian so badly, but the more I learn, the harder and more convoluted it seems. During PST, we didn't get into the confusing grammar too much, just brushed the surface, but now...nothing makes sense. There are about ten different ways to say "this", depending on the gender and the number and the location of what you are referring to. No bing. No boop. And there isn't an exact translation for cookie, which makes me sad. Add on top of that very little time to actually study and co-workers who speak English very fluently and nearly refuse to speak Romanian with you (because they're Hungarian) and gladly translate every little thing for you and you simply don't progress. If anything you regress. And the two different languages thing is getting annoying. I don't know how to greet anyone and I feel bad if I talk to someone in the wrong language and I feel guilty that I'm not learning Hungarian. Bah.

Yesterday, towards the end of my Romanian tutoring session, we some how got onto the subject of ethnic background (in English, of course...cause half the tutoring session is in English) and I mentioned that I'm about 3/4 German. "Really?" my tutor asked, "Do you speak German?" This took me by surprise, nobody has ever asked me about the language when I proudly state that I'm part German. "Uh...no. Nein." I said, feeling clever. "Why not?" She asked and put me on the spot...I suddenly felt that I needed to justify my German-ness. "I've never studied it," I said, honestly. "Didn't your parents speak it at home?" I almost laughed at that question because the idea seemed so strange. "No...not at all. My dad studied it in college, I think." "And you? They didn't offer it at your school?" "Well...they did, actually, but I took French instead..." "What about your grandparents, didn't they speak it?" And this is where it hit me as to why I had no clue about the German language. "I don't think they were allowed to." My response stopped her flow of questions, to my uncomfortable relief, but has been bothering me ever since. Either my grand parents or my great grandparents immigrated here from Germany long ago and I'm sure they maintained their heritage in their cozy German house and kept up their daily German routines and spoke in their native tongue, until a war came along and made them unpopular. They no longer wanted to appear German so they ceased all German activity in public and became so ashamed of their heritage and the horrible things their people were doing that they stopped being German, even at home, refusing to respond to the children when they said "guten morgnen". Now, generations later, I proudly state that I'm 3/4 German and yet I have NO clue what that means. I've had so many ethnicity conversations with friends in the past, where we all sit around and one by one go around the circle and share our heritage and I would say my usual, "I'm 3/4 German, nearly 1/4 Irish, and a tiny bit of Cherokee", and I was so proud of this, my background, my roots, it was something that invoked images of a different time and life, milking cows in the German mountains, watching the waves crash on an Irish shore, listening to the wind sweep across the open plains. All of which I now realize has nothing to do with me. All of which has been lost over the past generations and the never ending, dehumanizing wars and the ongoing loss of heritage. War both creates and destroys history and thanks to it, I'm now simply American and clueless.

Small Dent

I just posted 21 photos for your viewing pleasure on my flickr site (link on the right). Still have about 500 more photos to go through. Squee.

Today was awesome and perhaps I will write something more about it when I'm not so tired, but I will say that it involved jogging, hundreds of frogs, charging wild boars, fleeing deer, intimidating men with chains and chainsaws, a rousing game of "how many pinecones can you get in the boot?", an amazing swamp-bog-woodland-lake-type place, and cheese puffs.

Routine

I can sleep in tomorrow morning so I'm going to splurge and stay up till at least midnight! Bwahahaha. Just for fun, here's a break down of what I did today:

6:15 alarm goes off, I hit snooze repeatedly
6:30 get out of bed, stumble around for a bit, brush teeth, wash face, hair and the necessities, dress
7:15 eat breakfast, which consists of yogurt and granola
7:30 pack myself a lunch and wash dishes
7:45 leave for work
8:00 arrive at work and say "buna dimineata" or "servus" or "jo reggelt" to any staff that I run into
8:30 drink coffee and check the 15 emails that somehow accumulated overnight, take care of any internet or peace corps-related things that need to be done
10:00 the main guy in the biodiversity department asks me to show him how to do a few things in ArcMap; I agree, happy to fulfill one of the peace corps goals: transfer of skills
10:30 realize he doesn't really want me to show him how to do stuff, just wants me to do it. So much for that "transfer of skills" goal
12:30 create 931 randomly generated points that represent possible locations of Carpathian Brown Bears, buffer the points by 1km and 5km, intersect the buffers, dissolve the intersection, calculate the area of the dissolved intersection, dissolve the 1km buffer and calculate the area of the dissolve, add fields to the attribute table, digitize a few roads, and make a map of everything done for the day
3:15 leave work, drop computer off at home, head towards tutoring
4:15 arrive late for tutoring because my knee hurt from running the day before, tutor doesn't seem to mind
6:00 finish tutoring, stop and get an ice cream cone on my way home from the only place in town that makes the ice cream in the store
7:00 arrive home, make dinner
8:00 start mixing 2 batches of cookies to take to a party this weekend
9:30 finish mixing, start baking
10:00 decide to fiddle on my own internet while cookies bake
11:00 cookies finish baking, internet still fiddling

Same life, different country. Why am I here? To bake cookies and make maps? Just like I did in Reno? I have a washer, a water heater, internet in my apartment, a cell phone, ArcGIS at work, I ride in a car every other day to the nature reserve, where I strap on my water boots and have a good time looking for frogs and taking GPS points. I buy big jugs of Danon yogurt and packets of Nestle's hot chocolate from the supermarkets. I take colorful pictures of interesting buildings with my shiny Digital Elf and I listen to the music I find enjoyable on my iPod while I sweep my laminate flooring and scrub my porcelain sinks. Isn't there something else I should be doing? Aren't there stories waiting to be written, kids waiting to be taught, trees waiting to be saved? I know there are, but I haven't had time to find them and I'm scared I won't have the perseverance or ability not only to find them, but to help them. If all that Romania wants from me are some cookies and maps, maybe I could just ship them over from home.

No, I'm not thinking about coming home, I'm just questioning my role here. I thought this was going to be different and as broad as I try to keep my expectations, sitting in an office all day working on maps has never been high on my list of volunteerism goals. How do you tell someone who asked for your help that you don't think they're asking for the right kind of help? Is there a right kind of help? Would my time really be better spent presenting information on how to save the forests to classes of highschoolers instead of making hypothetical Brown Bear territory maps?

Despite all these rhetorical questions, I am quite happy here. I can't describe the feeling of community I get when I walk around downtown in the evenings. People are everywhere, children running around giggling without a care in the world, parents watching with careful eyes and high hopes of a childhood brighter than their own, teenagers trying to find their name in brand clothes and interesting hairdos and indulging in their freedom, bunicas resting on the benches and watching a world that must look indescribably different than the world they knew only 20 years ago. The memories they must have. I watched out the window today as it poured harder than I think I've ever seen it pour, settling the dust from the never ending road construction, washing the dirt from the sidewalks, and fueling the green sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. A world in transition in every way and all I can do is watch.

There's been some commotion about volunteer blogs being insensitive or offensive to host country nationals (i.e. Romanians) and, although I truly hope mine is not one of them, I'm going to password protect it on July 1st. The password will be Sfantu24. Once service is over, I'll open it back up to the public.

Internetul

I am proud to announce that finally, after two and a half weeks of impatience, I have internet in my apartment. But I'm not sure why exactly I was so impatient...what did I do on the internet before? What should I do now? Hmmm...what. to. do. I'll figure it out tomorrow, noapte buna!

Antici...........pation!

Ooooohh! I got a slip on my desk today that says there's a package at the post office waiting for me to come and pick it up!! I can only pick it up on Thursday between 10 and 12, though. Why? I don't know...but there's a package there and I have no clue who it's from because my mom hasn't sent hers yet and I'm not sure who else would have sent me one in such a short amount of time and I wanna know what it is and who it is from! SQUEE!

My colleague caught a really stinky snake at the reserve today. I think his hands have been permanently tainted because I can smell the nastiness from here and he's washed his hands about ten times and is sitting 10 meters away from me. Bleh. Who knew that snakes stink? In other news, I'm getting better at catching frogs. I've only caught three, but it's getting easier each time. It's all about the sneak and surprise method. Sneak up and hunch quietly and still over the frog for about 15 seconds, then SURPRISE! smack you hand (cupped, of course, as to avoid hurting the poor thing) over the frog and carefully scoop it up and play with it (nicely, and only for very short amounts of time). Then release back into the wild and watch it leap, terrified, away.

I've got Hungarian tutoring in about 5 minutes, so I better go...just passing a few minutes in the office. I've decided that today's going to be my last Hungarian lesson for a while and I'm going to focus on Romanian for the next 6 months. Two languages at once? That's just nuts and counter-productive. Besides, I'm picking up random Hungarian words with my work and everybody's very supportive of me switching to only Romanian.

Adjusting

Here's some stuff from the past couple'o days.

27 May 2008

Man, I can’t stop judging myself. Every little thing I do, from baking up some chocolate chip cookies to hiking with a colleague through one of the nature reserves to drinking tea with some new friends to getting out of town for the weekend, I keep the question “is this what it’s supposed to be?” in the back of my mind. One of the main goals of every peace corps volunteer is to integrate into their community, but just what does integration mean? I feel like I can survive here for two years, but does survival have anything to do with integration? And now that I think about it, just how integrated into Reno’s community was I? After living there for nearly 18 years, was I anything to Reno? It didn’t depend on me nearly as much as I depended on it and I doubt it’s taken any notice to the fact that I’ve left. Just one less car plugging up the interstate bowels.
Is community integration less likely to occur for somebody who relishes baking cookies “singura” (alone) and curling up with a good book in the evenings over someone who is happier hanging out in smoky bars with friends and snapping up new “contacts” every few minutes like they were gummy drops. Who’s more likely to fulfill the goals of peace corps? Me or Mr. Gummy Drop? Should I really worry about this or can I get the go ahead to live my life how I’m used to? I’m not saying I don’t like social contact, I thoroughly enjoy it, but I know if I get too much of it, I shut down. The occasional evening “singura” is necessary and if it doesn’t happen, I turn all icky and no-fun.

29 May 2008

I don't think I was in a very good mood on May 27^th, but it’s something I felt at the time (and, honestly, am still thinking about), so I’ll keep it as is and put it out there for the world to enjoy. Actually, this past week has been a bit rough mainly because I have not been feeling well. Ever since I got back from Onesti, my tummy has felt the need to cramp up every 20 or so minutes in a really weird, quite painful way, luckily without emitting any solid (or liquid) results, but still making me not want to smile at the clerks or even think about how to ask for a bottle of coke in Hungarian. Feeling just a little bit ill in an unfamiliar place is like being a kid who’s lost his binkie - a very minimal, no-panic-necessary problem that evokes nail-biting fear, a sense of helplessness, and a pinch of woe-is-me. Today, finally, I am feeling a bit more in line with my properly operating stomach and can once again smile at the lady I buy a coke from nearly every day.
Part of my heightened spirits may also be due to the fact that I just bought a kilo of strawberries that were grown in this region for 4 lei (somewhere around $2 – a kilo! That’s like 50 strawberries!). I also spent the day wading through water at the nature reserve (which I found out is where parts of Cold Mountain were filmed) looking for frogs (my sister should be here) and taking GPS points that actually, after hours of frustration and adjustments, lined up correctly on the map (nothing in this world will ever make me understand or enjoy working with projections. Nothing.), ate ice cream and drank tea with “the girls” from the office, had someone ask me if I’d like to go to a couple of plays with them, came home to a drying rack full of finally dry clothes and a bag full of sugar cookies that I forgot I had baked, and, last but not least, realized that the word “elephant” is phonetically the same in English, Romanian, AND Hungarian. It’s my new favorite word. This was a good day. I like these good days. And no matter how difficult it is for me to do, the busier the day, the better it seems to be and the less I feel like judging me and my volunteer abilities.
Something really cool happened last week. I was finishing up a tutoring session when one of the girls who occasionally helps out asked me where I was from. I responded with the usual: “Nevada, it’s on the west coast next to California. About a seven hour drive north of Las Vegas” (EVERYBODY knows Las Vegas…grumble grumble). She responded with “Really? Which city?” I said Reno and her eyes immediately lit up with a big smile across her face and another girl in the room looked astonished and said something high-pitched in Hungarian that I couldn’t understand and I suddenly felt my eyes water up a bit because obviously Reno meant something to them and usually people just vaguely smile at me when I tell them which city. Turns out she lived there for two years, all of 2003 and 2004, with some friends and worked at various places around the city and I probably crossed paths with her at some point. Funny thing, too, because she looked familiar the moment I met her, but I never even thought to say anything because it’d sound silly. We then proceeded to chat about different places around Reno and what we enjoyed doing there and how curious it is that our roles are now reversed and even though it was pouring rain outside, everything felt right with the world.

I think I’ll go for a walk. Pa for now.

From the first week

Below are two posts that I've written at home and saved to update when possible. I'm really tired today and it's cloudy out and I just feel like napping. It's been too busy. But busy is good.

16 May 2008

New plan. Because I don’t have internet in my apartment yet and I would like to update a bit more frequently for your possible enjoyment and my future reference, I’m going to start typing stuff up in Word at home and then taking one or two minutes to upload the saved entry from my work site, where there is internet. Since I’ll be using my laptop to hook up to their internet and do work for them, I think it’s fair to take those two moments for such purposes. Right? Not illegal or anything, right? We will see.

That phrase, by the way, has become my new motto in Romanian, o sa vedem. We will see. I’ve said it probably thirty times in the past week (as well as “poftim?” which means “can you repeat that?”). “We will see” is in the future tense because everything is very unclear right now and difficult to distinguish, but I’m hoping over the next few months, these cloudy waters will clear up…and we will see. What will we see? If I knew, it’d be in the present tense and the knot in my stomach would dissolve. I hate not having a clear path to follow, but this is volunteering in the Peace Corps and I’ve known the whole time that a well-defined project would not simply be handed to me and I’d go on my merry way, I know that instead it will take some searching and lots of self motivation, not to mention time, but it’s scary when you’re sitting at a desk in a room with people whom you can barely hold a five minute conversation with in their own language and whom you can’t help but think are watching to see how much you, the American who’s supposedly well qualified and able to solve problems, maybe even move some mountains, will be able to accomplish. But that American is just sitting there. Timidly flipping through some environmental brochures that she can’t really understand because they’re in Romanian and she doesn’t know much Romanian, but she’s flipping through them anyways because she doesn’t know what else to do.

That sums up this week in the office. Yes, there was the occasional minute or two where I felt slightly purposeful, but on the whole, I have no stinking clue what to do. And they’re unsure what I should do, too. But it’ll be ok. It’s only the second week here at site, the first week in the office, and there is time. Time to search something out.

On the upside, I visited the nature reserve that falls under Covasna EPA’s protection twice this week and it’s beautiful there. Both times I forgot my camera, of course, but I’ll be spending lots of time there in the future and can’t forget my camera every time. I keep getting these random ideas that just bubble mercilessly into my brain and I play them out to their fullest and most dramatic extent, an example of which is creating a summer camp at the nature reserve where kids will come from all over the county to learn about nature and participate in clean up activities and learn how to make their own compost and realize how awesome and underrated worms are and learn the basics of growing their own fruits and vegetables and, after the camp, they return to their city and go on to start up their own environmental clubs, spreading all the information they received to others, and thus initiating the environmental revolution here in Covasna county. That was my vision during my first five minutes of walking around the nature reserve. The intensity of the vision slowly faded away and now it’s just a pleasant thought in the back of my mind, a thought that I hope I remember when the time comes to get serious about a secondary project. We will see.

There is something that the organization needs my help with and I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it. To meet the standards of the European Union (which Romania joined in January of 2007), it is necessary for each county’s EPA to establish a network of nature reserves, known as Natura2000, which will consist of well-documented and protected areas of biodiversity importance and Covasna County has already determined which areas to place under this EU protection. Now they just need to document and protect those areas and that, supposedly, will require a bit o’ good ol’ GIS. I very nearly let out an audible sigh of relief when I found out that I’d be working with ArcGIS again because it wasn’t something I was really expecting to use over here and it wasn’t something I had expected to miss…is it weird to miss a software? I think so. I also really miss Adobe Illustrator. It's such a friendly, intuitive, and helpful program. That’s what a life spent on a computer will do to you. Anyways…four of my new colleagues will be attending training sessions for ArcGIS 9.2 next week (they have some experience with ArcView), after which they will (hopefully) receive the software, and off we go. With our one little Garmin GPS unit that we haven’t quite figured out yet and a whole bunch of old paper data…and maybe a backpack full of cookies. We will see.

I’ve been at site for nearly two weeks. They were right; it is a different world after PST.

17 May 2008

Something that I’ve really started to miss over here is music. There’s music everywhere, from the man singing to himself as he drives his horse-drawn cart home, to the local flavor of machismo-filled manale bumping out of run-down dacias, to everybody’s favorite Justin Timberlake tainting every restaurant and bar atmosphere in town, but so far nearly none of it has been my cup of tea (except during that funeral procession a while back…and when our language professors serenaded us with Romanian Christmas carols). There has been some traditional music people have played for me on their computers that sounded awesome, and I know great music exists here somewhere, I just haven’t found it yet. It’ll be a small project of mine over the next two years. Where is all the music?

Oh, whoa…I forgot about the symphony I went to about half-way through training in Ploiesti. It was one of the most moving concerts I have ever been to. Ever. That’s the problem when you don’t update often, the intensity of all these great experiences starts to fade until you forget what it really felt like to be there. Won’t go into detail about the whole shebang, but I will say that my eyes watered up in the first ten minutes of the program. My ears had forgotten what live, intense music sounded like and for a few minutes the fears and anxieties that had been crowding my brain found something meaningful, beautiful, and familiar to focus on and shut up. I was me again. Especially during the 1812 Overture :)