In the Sweetness Hereof

Well, here we are. My birthday came and went and the predicted Doom's Day came and went and we've all survived. The busy-ness of springtime in my village this past week involved the aid of the good caruta horsies more than usual. They are very sweet-tempered and well-behaved creatures (certainly deserving of Rapture transport as much as anyone!). I took these photos one afternoon from my kitchen window as I baked birthday brownies.****So on Friday, it was all about me. ;-) Ziua mea, my day, my birthday. (Photos) In keeping with the rather nice Romanian tradition of the honoree being the one who gives, I bought bunches of miniature Snickers and Mars bars to give to my students and made brownies with chocolate frosting and sprinkles to put out in the faculty lounge. My counterpart Veronica had organized a surprise for me, however, and I became the receiver more than the giver. All the faculty sang Happy Birthday in English to me and presented me with an enormous and scrumptious cake with a filling of fresh raspberries and strawberries with cream. SO nice! A group of eighth grade students gathered in the media center to sing to me and students throughout the morning gave me little tokens (a rose, a card) and always the double kisses AND hugs. It's hard for me to imagine middle school kids (especially boys!) back in the states being so demonstrative and unselfconscious in their affection. I felt humbled by their sweetness. Later back at my apartment at the English Club gathering of eighth graders, I wanted to do the typically American birthday thing, so I stuck candles into the remaining fourth of my cake and had the kids sing to me in English and let me blow out the candles, but unbeknownst to any of us, they were the kind that kept relighting themselves. The kids were astonished (their first encounter with these), I was surprised, and we all had a good laugh until I finally just dropped them into a glass of water--the only way I could extinguish them.****On my birthday eve, I must mention, I had another treat. Fellow PCV Connie came into town and we had dinner in the courtyard of a lovely Italian restaurant before seeing a fabulous tribute of arias to Virginia Zeani, Romanian opera diva now 87, gracious, regal, and amazingly well-preserved. The best operatic voices of Romania came to the Philharmonic Hall in Oradea to honor her and to entertain a packed house. It was a stunning review, a very special evening for all the opera lovers here. There seemed to be no resentment that she had left Romania in 1984 and has lived in the US ever since. They were just glad to have her back in their midst--the prodigal daughter, their beautiful Romanian nightingale.****And May 20 was also another anniversary--our Peace Corps group arrived in Romania on that day a year ago, so it was my second Romanian birthday, both memorable--the first mostly spent at the airport, all of us bleary-eyed and exhausted. I have to say, I liked this one better!

Growing Season

These are the days of the great green hope. Everyone seems involved in a gardening project, even if it's in window boxes or balcony pots. Romanians seem to draw from the soil a special nourishment that goes beyond the benefits of good food. One could say it has pagan roots (no pun intended) and that the ancient rhythms of the seasons remain spiritually important unto themselves even when anointed with religious labels. No matter the reason--this time of plowing, planting, and tending seems a very satisfying and rewarding season. I was fortunate enough to be invited to a gratar (cookout) (Photos) in a garden setting here in my village last week and was given a tour of the beautifully planned and planted garden--a large one of vegetables of every kind, smaller beds of flowers and herbs, and many fruit trees and berry shrubs. The owners were rightfully proud. Never mind the hard work, there was a real joy in the accomplishment of establishing the garden for another year. And under the blooming chestnut trees we celebrated, of course, with delicious food cooked on the grill and sinfully good little pies and pastries ("little lies" was the translation of the dessert).**** And speaking of chestnut trees (castana), they are in full bloom and everywhere. They're the preferred shade tree here, having thick foliage and growing quickly to maturity. The other blooming tree one sees and smells all about this region is the locust (salcam). It's highly prized both for the tea made from the dried flowers and the honey that comes from their pollen. When I looked it up (Wikipedia to the rescue), I learned that it has been naturalized from the native trees in North America. I know we have Honey Locust in Georgia, and I suppose this is the same, maybe a bit altered by the climate. To my knowledge no one back home made tea from it, but certainly the honey is important (hence the name).The fragrance is fresh and clean from little white flowers that could be flakes of soap.***** I'm missing my visits to the Roma Boys home these few weeks as they work in their villages with a team of Americans from upper state New York. Seeing them on Mondays is always a real pleasure and I wish I and they could work out other times for tutoring classes, but they're busy guys and my schedule is full, too. (Photos) The agency running the home and other such schools and homes in the area are providing a wonderful service and I salute their mission and dedication. As I've said in the past, the complicated issues involving the Roma (gypsy) population in Romania have no easy answers, but certainly working with the children is the most effective approach for lasting change.**** My birthday is this week. It will mark the one year anniversary of our group's arrival in Romania. Sometimes it seems only yesterday and sometimes it seems a lifetime ago. Just as a tree shows by its rings that it grows more or less in a given year, so I believe the human soul has greater or less growth in a year's time. For me, soaking up all I can in this endlessly interesting culture, I think I've added one heckuva broad ring, not to mention a few pounds!

Gandhi, Fresh Gilt, and Blue Sky Days

Just as in the states, the last month or so of the school year is filled with many extra events. Coming up is a Youth Day celebration in the park on Sunday, the 29th (though the actual holiday is on the 1st) and the painting of our peace mural, which has been designed and located (a wall at the school's entrance), but not painted. There are doubtless other events I'll be told about, too. This past Saturday, the National Monologue Contest took place in Oradea and I was asked to be a judge. Thirty students--county winners (ninth-twelfth grades)from all over the country--came to Oradea for the weekend. The topic this year was "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others." (Gandhi) I had judged at the county level, too, and enjoyed it and was glad to be asked for the national level. The other judges, all Romanian, are a terrific bunch of educators who, like so many of their American counterparts, wanted to find ways to honor all the finalists. They looked to me to help come up with titles, so I found myself dictating to the certificate scribe things like "Most Effective Use of Props" and "Most Dramatic Costume," and "Best Singing Voice" (for the one contestant who sang!). I was asked to speak for the judges at the awards ceremony and was able to make a little pitch for volunteerism, something still looked upon askance in Romania since the communist era's twisted version (mandatory volunteerism!). The entire weekend's program was extremely well organized, and I was delighted that it included a "sneak preview" of the National Theatre (Photos) which has been closed for restoration for the past four years. I was stunned at the richness of the interior. Even while the little nagging thought--but what about the country's roads and rails, for God's sake?--kept popping up in my mind, I admired the gold gilt work, the beautiful upholstery, the modern lighting, the deep stage and lovely box seating, knowing that this, too, is a necessity for the hearts and souls of the people.**** I'm basking in the slowly warming weather. Mornings are still nippy and I haven't packed away the blankets from my bed, but afternoons (Photos) are becoming truly springlike and everyone's spirits are lifted. I've had nodding and brief conversations with villagers on my way home from school. They've come out of the barriers of their walled-in homes and are sociable. Some of the grandmothers are out with little ones who are eager to interact with me. Smiles, waves and blown kisses are always easy to translate. Tonight I've been invited to a cookout and I may not even take a coat!

A Different Kind of Spring Break

A young Romanian woman on the train back from Moldavia asked Connie and me if we liked Romania, and before we could answer, she shook her head and said "Disappointing, isn't it?" We had just spent six days seeing the glorious painted monasteries of Moldavia and the old medieval capital town of Suceava, a fine symphony concert and botanic gardens of Iasi. We both leaped to disagree and thought it sad that so many Romanians only see the country's problems and not the riches all around them. But WE certainly enjoyed them, taking our spring holiday on the other side of the country in an ancient area we have wanted to see. Getting there was adventure enough--a long train ride from Oradea to Suceava where we stayed for 3 days and then a bus ride to Iasi for a few more days, and finally a 12-hour train ride back to Oradea. When I bemoaned the fact that we were only going about 350 miles (albeit, over mountains some of the way), Connie pointed out the bright side: slow trains mean photo opportunities. So we lowered the window of our compartment or walked into the hall and lowered one on the other side and took boo-coos of shots. The spring weather was wonderful and we saw the awakening fields and fruit trees, the grazing sheep and horses, and industrious farmers and villagers scroll by.****Being in Suceava this time of year was especially fun because it is the home of the famous Easter eggs of Bocavina. At a craft fair in the town square, earnest vendors sold fine traditional pottery, linens, carved spoons, clothing, and eggs, eggs, eggs! These intricately decorated beauties were being sold for only 5 to 7 lei (about $1.65--$2.30) each. I wanted to buy them all! I settled for 15--all different with symbolic traditional markings. Of further interest in the town was a well-preserved-and-maintained village museum where we saw traditional dances along with authentic buildings and tools from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And then we had to see the medieval fortress, lovingly restored in places, presiding majestically over the city, just as Steven the Great (Stefan Cel Mare who fought off the Turkish invaders) would have wanted.**** The next day we and our interesting fellow hostel guests (a Japanese fellow living in Spain, an Indonesian teacher living in France, a Canadian, two Americans and one Romanian) set out for the tour of the painted monasteries. We only had time for the four most impressive ones, which was enough to absorb, I can tell you. What makes these 15th and 16th century churches so special is that the colors of the frescoes on the exteriors of the buildings have remained vivid and stunning all these centuries. The explanation has to do with the composition of the dyes, of course--all from minerals. The sun doesn't bleach out rocks, so the south sides of the churches are still rich and bright. Driving winds and rain, however, erode the dyes, so the north side paintings are all but washed away. The much-beloved bright blue of the Veronet church, for instance, is made of ground lapis lazuli. The paintings, depicting Bible stories but also the fall of Constantinople, the ancient Greek philosophers, a lengthy poem, and local saints and heroes were intended to educate and instruct the illiterate of the day. Could the artists have possibly guessed how long people would be standing and staring at their artwork?****Our stay in Iasi, a city of 338,000 near the border of the Republic of Moldova, was brief, but we got to attend the symphony (Handel's Messiah)and see the country's oldest public university, a few impressive churches, and many monuments honoring their favorite son, the nationally beloved poet Mihai Emanescu. We also spent a splendid afternoon in the botanic garden and the adjoining beer garden. ;-) All in all, the Romania we encountered in this spring-time get-away did not disappoint in the least!

And Trees in White Stockings

It's spring. Quick! Paint the trees! Everywhere--tree trunks are freshly whitewashed. I (and apparently many others, according to a web search) question the practice. Answers and theories vary widely--many I had already heard from Romanians I asked. Top of the list is that the wash is an insecticide, that it prevents crawling critters from reaching the leaves and fruit to do their damage. Next in popularity is that it protects the bark from "scalding" from the sun, followed by weather-fluctuation protection--bark being damaged by the quick change from freezing temps at night to the daytime warmth of spring sun. But I like the unguarded, honest answer someone let slip out--it just looks neat and tidy, like the trees are cleaned up and fresh. And not just the trees either; notice the concrete communist-era utility poles with their fresh stockings. I really doubt the insects will bother them, right? They just look cleaner. This seems fitting for a country fairly obsessed with cleanliness in their homes and yards and in their personal hygiene. And I have to say that this cleanliness isn't easy here in a country where dish washers and clothes dryers are virtually non-existent, where owning a washing machine is still quite a luxury, where hot water is an iffy prospect, where water pressure is often at the dribble level, and where detergents, shampoo, and deodorant are (relatively) expensive. Recently a fellow PCV wrote this in answer to using her apartment when we visit her city, "the kitchen sink plugs easily and often.... shake the hose under the sink...but know the hose will come out of the wall... it is just resting there...so hold it while you shake...[***] the shower.... you may or may NOT have hot water...some days NO water at all... but saying that you do... the leatherman by the sink turns on the shower water... pull hard .....and know the shower hose leaks and sprays everywhere until you have your hand over the leaks... it is a messy deal taking a shower.... my hygiene has taken a nose dive... here is to your having hot water.." I'm lucky. My apartment always has water, usually hot water, too, if I wait long enough and don't mind dealing with a trickle, and my plumbing is fairly new and in decent shape. I was able to find an expandable rod to install over the tub for a plastic curtain. Romanians don't use shower curtains, managing the hand-held hose with a technique I'd really love to witness. Still, for many Romanians keeping body, clothes and home clean is a major accomplishment and they do it very well. The women take housekeeping seriously and spend inordinate amounts of time making sure the floors and bathrooms--in particular--are clean. No one wears shoes in the home, and slippers are often provided for guests. (If I were an entrepreneur in Romania, I'd start a charming line of guests' slippers in all sizes and styles, washable and snuggly.) Effective cleaning products here are all but canonized, spoken about in reverent whispers--no kidding! So, I salute the clean Romanians and marvel at their resolve. If Cleanliness-is-Next-to-Godliness, then they certainly have a nod from our Maker. Unfortunately, these good habits have not ventured out to where litter abounds at road sides and fields. But then, the white-stockinged trees preside there, giving perhaps a little inspiration.

Bunnies, Anthems, and Cold April Showers

Though Easter is twelve days away, it and Earth Day (22nd) are my focus in lessons this week since our spring/Easter break starts after this Friday. So I'm a veritable cornucopia of Easter vocabulary, Easter Bingo, and Easter cookies this week. And I try to have Easter "conversation" at the end of each class where I ask about Romanian traditions and tell about American ones. Both cultures have the decorated eggs (theirs are amazingly intricate and beautiful) and both have the Easter bunny. I thought they were making a joke when I asked what they eat that's special at Easter and they said "Rabbit!" "Oh, no!" I said with mock horror, "You eat the Easter Bunny?!" They assured me yes, but I'll have to find out if it's true. Lamb is eaten, I know, and in rural settings a lamb is killed with a measure of celebration just as the pig was killed at Christmas. My PCV friend Connie and I will be in the northeastern side of the country next week--the area which was once Moldova--to see in particular the famous "painted monasteries." These small Byzantine churches were built in the 15th and 16th centuries, some serving as fortresses against invaders. Their exteriors are painted with vivid religious scenes, an attempt to educate the illiterate masses about Christianity. It seems an appropriate Easter destination. I'm sure I'll have some colorful photos for my next post.*****As for Earth Day, our school's multi-talented documentarian is planning a video shoot this week of our students running through a field, doing chalk drawings on the school's playground, forming a human peace symbol. Saturday I made wreaths of flowers (silk) for the girls to wear in their hair. We've already recorded children singing the anthem, an original tune by the music teacher--in Romanian and in English with my lyrics, based on a loose translation of the original. It was quite an challenge to write the rhyming, perfectly-metered lines for 3 stanzas and a chorus, keeping the general gist of the original. We're planning to put the finished product on YouTube, so I'll give you the link when that happens.*****Alas, the few days of sun last week are history. I caught some lovely sunsets, but now we are in a solid week of rain with temps in the mid 30's at night and the low 50's in the day. It's supposed to clear by Saturday, which will be wonderful because it's the christening day (or blessing day) of baby Elijah, the son of the foster parents at the Roma boys school where I volunteer tutoring. It will be at the small Baptist Church in our village and I've been invited to attend. Let the sun shine in!

Hands (Music, Friendship) Around the World

Well, I think it's safe to say Spring has arrived even though days are still a bit chilly for me, but there is SUNSHINE and some fresh new green popping out everywhere. Yesterday I had the good fortune to be invited to a garden gratar (cook out). My friend Felicia, a high school English and French teacher in Oradea, invited me to join her and her husband and assorted long-time friends at their summer cottage in the hills overlooking the city. The cottage and garden have been in her family for generations--through communist requisition and restoration--and is surrounded by similar holdings though newcomers are erecting some two-story large homes that she and her friends regret. There is still a rural feel to the area and yesterday, the first visit of the season, everyone seemed to be in a holiday spirit. Food and drink (as at all Romanian gatherings) were abundant. The husband of one of Felicia's best friends was the chef and presided over the grill with impressive--and jovial--mastery. A couple from Italy also joined us and we were quite the international group--talk sliding from Romanian to English to Italian. Most spoke English--lucky for me (though I'm understanding a little more of what I hear now) and another English teacher whom I had met last week at the speech contest joined us, to my delight. Between courses (yes, courses!) the women took a walk while the men cooked and we visited another gathering of long-time friends at a neighboring cottage. I call a day a golden success when I've spent hours in the sunshine, had my hand kissed numerous times, been cooked for and presented flowers. It was definitely a "Life is Good" kind of day. I noted to my friend and she agreed that Romanians--even those who live in the city as she and her husband do--seem to maintain a connection to the soil. Everywhere I see garden work beginning, even if it's a tiny plot in the front yard. Spring means delving into the soil and planting something, an exercise of hope they've learned to count on. **** I must tell you about another international experience. Thursday night I went to the Oradea Symphony concert. I've mentioned them before--a wonderful group of musicians who perform weekly. I rarely can manage to get into the city on Thursday nights, but I was determined this time. The concert was the third and last of a collaboration with musicians (orchestral and choral) from Japan. It was fabulous! The very distinguished Japanese conductor spoke to the audience in English at the start of the program, asking for a moment of silence for those who were suffering in his country. It was very moving. The program was all Mozart and Handel and at one point during the "fragments" of the Messiah, I thought to myself how surreal to be sitting in a concert hall in Romania, listening to the music of a German composer, performed by Japanese and Romanian musicians and sung in English! The encore was the Hallelujah chorus. Indeed! ***** And I should also mention the "World Peace is in Our Hands" display that my students and I put together at school--everyone had a "hand" in it, so to speak (the feathers are fingers) and I was satisfied with the results, an attempt to prime their thinking as we design a peace mural for the school's entrance. Peace to you, dear readers, in this beautiful primavara.

Mixt

I love that word--seen often here on everything from store signs to bags of sweets. It has to be something borrowed and refashioned from English. In Romanian it would be amestecat--mixed. But mixt (meekst) just sounds saucier, doesn't it? Anyway, mixt blessings, mixt reactions, mixt bag. This is my blog entry today--mixt. ***** It's been a good week overall. My session with the Roma boys (that always sounds like a gospel singing group) was terrific on Monday. We concentrated on body parts and after the flash cards and pointing, I asked for a volunteer and handed out little post-it notes with "elbow," "knee," "ear," "hand," "nose," etc. on them to all the others. They had to come up one at a time and stick the note to the proper place on the vol's body. The volunteer--Cristi--wants to be a teacher and loves to be in front of the group. He was quite a sight covered in little yellow notes and loved hamming it up! The director took a picture and promised to send it to me, but I don't have it to show you yet. We also sang and acted the ever-popular "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" song, which I was afraid might be too young for them, but they loved it, especially as we went faster and faster. The boys seem to be learning quite well and remember alot from week to week. I'm going to tackle grammar with them tomorrow--present progressive/continuous. After the weeks of mostly songs and vocabulary, they may balk. ***** There was tension in the air last week at school as the county education inspectors visited classrooms and evaluated teachers. I was not part of their evaluation and just smiled and looked American as they tromped through the media center where I was teaching. **** I introduced the Peace wall mural design competition last week and hope we get a few good concepts turned in this week. We PCVs (several anyway) are doing this all over Romania as a salute to the 20 years in Romania, 50 in the world celebration. Our wall will be right at the front entrance to the school, so it better look decent.(!) Of course, I have a hunch that it might get painted over as soon as I'm on a plane back to the states, but for now they are humoring me and the documentarian, a fine artist, is on board to help with making the design work on a large scale. More later on this. **** Wednesday I was in Oradea for the day at the Main Library, judging speeches in English given by 5th-12th grade students. The 30+ kids did a great job, but what I really enjoyed was hearing them speak about such hopeful and uplifting topics, having to do with volunteerism, serving others, etc. Since the communist era these have not been easy values for Romanians to embrace. The younger generation, however, never having experienced the oppression, seems to have a more positive mindset. I found the experience very encouraging and enjoyed meeting other English teachers, especially the 4'10" dynamo who organizes the event each year--a very gracious, intelligent and highly organized person who is also the only Jew I've met here. (Oradea lost 1/3 of its population--Jews--during WWII when they were sent to work camps and never returned.)*** Friday afternoon the "English Club" of eighth graders who want more practice with speaking English had a good meeting. They come to my place, drink Cokes, eat popcorn and cookies, listen to American music from my iPod and speakers, and we play vocabulary games, debate issues, respond to quotes, whatever will get them talking. **** This morning I attended church service at the largest Baptist Church in Romania and the 2nd largest in Europe (Emanuel). The foster parents at the Roma home where I volunteer took me. Wonderful (all male) choir complete with a brass section. I had headphones with English translation of the service. The beautiful round interior with natural light and plants made me think of my UU church in Athens--only about 10 times bigger! It was quite an experience. I sat with visitors from Korea and the UK. Here in a country where 87% are Orthodox, the Baptists are considered the liberal, progressive religion. **** And the week held some down moments, too, part of the mixt package. It's always true that we alone are ultimately responsible for our own happiness--but it seems that when you're thousands of miles from home, speak little of the local language, have a host of expectations placed on you, and are not even sure what you're doing is really needed that the "alone" part of that gets pretty heavy, and as one PCV friend put it, it's enough just to keep from going crazy. And that's why God gave us chocolate, Vivaldi, poetry, Kindles, and a little Transylvanian white wine.

At Any Moment Now

I'm finally finding a little pocket of time for my blog writing and am feeling some of you may have wondered where I was. I don't know who reads my entries but since Christmas I've watched my "stats" and know that I am about to reach 5,000 hits--probably with this piece. It seems a sort of milestone. I find this amazing, to be honest, and though I know some bloggers have much greater audiences, this reception far exceeds my original thought of letting the "folks back home" know what I'm up to. I'm gratified, too, to think that I'm addressing the Peace Corps' third goal (helping Americans understand the host country better)AND the second goal (helping the host country understand Americans better) since most of my readers are in America and Romania. Many of my American friends have indicated a new awareness of and appreciation for this complex and beautiful country. So here I am back "home" after a short, sweet rendezvous with Lee in Barcelona, and it DOES feel like home--even if it's a rainy, chilly home that seems very resistant to springing into spring. Barcelona weather wasn't terribly different the few days I was there though we had two and a half glorious days of sun, and with the sea, the food, and the architecture and art, it was a happy venue as a get-away with my hubby. I won't elaborate on the city--that's not what my blog is about-- but I'll give some links to my photos (with comments) of the streets and seaside, the cathedral of the Sagrada Familia, and the amazing Casa Bolla, my favorite Gaudi building.****Back here in my village, I'm feeling a bit energized by the longer days, even when they're rainy, and with highs in the 40's and low 50's, I've put away my heavy coat and wear only my all-weather coat. Some of the layering is gone, too. No more long undies. So I'm feeling I'm gradually crawling out of my winter cocoon and want desperately to be able to stretch these wings in warm air. The celebration of Women's Day on the 8th was lovely, by the way, with gifts of flowers, plants, candy, bath products, and glass ware from my students...even some of the adult ones. So my apartment is blooming with pretty plants, which I had to ask the ten-year-old downstairs to water for me while I was gone. I have a score of things on my to-do list; the projects I thought were hopelessly detoured seem to be back on track and demanding some attention. We have another PC report to file in a few days and I've resumed my language lessons on a steady schedule. I'm not only tutoring the Roma boys at the foster home, but have started an English Club for ambitious 8th graders, and am visiting weekly some neighborhood children who attend school in the city but would like some time with me, too. My adult class also meets every Wednesday night. Beyond these activities and my regular classes, I have to cook (no restaurants nor fast food in my village), wash and hang clothes, buy groceries, and keep my apartment reasonably clean. Sometimes when I get up feeling tired and think Oh, fiddly-dee, it's the age thing, I consider all I'm doing (plus walking 4 kilometers a day) and think this could make anyone tired. But, of course, when things are going well, it's a very good tired. When they're not, well, I KNOW spring is coming...at any moment now, and I know a warm breeze will be tinkling the Gaudi wind chimes I just bought. I know I'll be visiting family and friends in June. Sometimes just knowing is enough.

So Let the Sunshine In--Please!

It's been a difficult week. Many disappointments--projects taking unexpected detours, poor attendance in my adult class and in the English Club for my 8th grade students and cancellation of my Roma boys' session, a travel agent standing me up, an expired bank card, my brother canceling his trip to visit me (for good reasons, albeit), technology problems, and many of the little daily irritations that seem to accumulate into ball-and-chain hindrances. And to top it off, the weather was just awful--dreary gray and cold, fog or mist or snow in the mornings, mud and overcast skies in the afternoons. We've had so little sun here in the past few months. I've become fairly neurotic about my sun hunger. If there is a ray peeking through and I'm home, I'll grab my sunglasses and peel off as much as I can get away with without neighborhood scandal and sit on the end of my desk at the big window there. I pretend I'm a solar cell and imagine the light seeping into my bones where it will store. I wrote a poem about a fire eater this week, I read travel guides on Spain, and I taught my students two sunshine songs! Yes, I know it sounds desperate, but somehow singing about sunshine seemed to create the illusion. So I mugged, mimed, and otherwise entertained as I sang "Let the sunshine in, face it with a grin," and "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." Interestingly, they had a difficult time saying "sunshine," which is surprising since the "sh" sound is so prevalent in their language. Anyway, they seemed to enjoy it and paid polite though clueless attention when I tried to explain Seasonal Affective Disorder. (Just get on with the singing, Doamna).****But as with most of my weeks here, this one was not without a few positives--we celebrated the Peace Corps' 50th Anniversary and Peace Corps Romania's 20th. Balloons, banners, M&Ms, and some short videos of Kennedy's original announcement were part of my lessons this week. It was good to hear the original goals again. And Tuesday, March 1st, was also Martisor--a celebration welcoming spring--on which day lovely little trinkets tied with red and white threads are given to girls and women. As with all Romanian holidays and tradtions, much lore and symbolism accompanies the custom--in particular, the woven red and white threads signify the joining of man, wisdom, winter (white) to woman, passion, spring (red) and the various flowers, spirals, icons, and figures (one is a chimney sweep!) have long-held importance in honoring spring. These "martisoare" are supposed to be worn every day from the first to the eighth when women are honored in Romania's version of Mothers' Day (Ziua Mamei), which is International Woman's Day in much of the world. I've heard it's a big deal here and noticed the flower shops stocking up. I'm curious to see how it's celebrated this Tuesday, but mostly I'm just hoping for sunny weather, which, like spring, is promised.

Generosity in Timisoara

With unaccustomed accuracy, the meteorologist got it right last weekend. Timisoara was as rainy and cold as predicted. As antidote to the weather, however, my PCV colleague Connie and I experienced many "sunny" moments of extreme generosity and kindness during our visit. To begin with, we were given a comfortable apartment to stay in and were chauffeured about the city by a sociable young Romanian couple who spoke excellent English. Adi, a computer technician and the son of some of Connie's good friends at her site, and Mirela, his dentist girlfriend, helped us make the best of a short visit to a beautiful city that can only be described as stunning. The amazing variety in the architecture of the secessionist buildings--all unique, colorful, often whimsical--and the sheer size of many of the mansions and cathedrals kept us in awe. The city is grandly laid out with stately squares and small residential parks. It was the first city in Europe to light its streets with electricity, and the large elaborate street lamps in the main square (though only old in appearance) attest to the pride in this fact.****Another point of pride is that Timisoara is where the 1989 revolution against Ceausescu and the communist regime began. What seemed a spontaneous protest by thousands of the citizens had been building and organizing for some time. Their courage was immense as they faced the tanks and guns, and many lost their lives or were badly injured. One such man who walks with a cane due to having taken two bullets in his leg is the curator/proprietor of the Revolutionary Museum. He, too, showed us uncommon kindness as he patiently took us through two levels of rooms surrounding a courtyard, which also housed exhibits, and explained the significance of the pieces. Sculptures, carvings and paintings that depicted the events of the revolution showed both artistry and reverence for the sacrifices and bravery of the people. The curator had a soft-spoken dignity and humility, and it seemed to me HE was the greatest feature of the museum. He seated us in a small theater to watch a video about the revolution and then disappeared to return with a tray holding two cups of herbal tea. I've certainly never been served tea in a museum before and we found it especially nice on a cold, wet day. It was his birthday, he admitted at the end of our tour, and we were invited into his living quarters briefly where we were given more information in pamphlets as we said our goodbyes. I will no doubt forget the murals, the bell of freedom and other tributes in the museum, but I'll never forget this man. Connie captured his back in this photo. He didn't want to be photographed because he said the museum wasn't about him. Oh, but it was, dear fellow,it was. ***In the art museum the day before Connie and I were impressed with the quality of the three floors of exhibits, and we were also impressed--as we have been in Sibiu and Brasov--with how few people visit these excellent museums. Connie was taken by an extensive exhibit of photographs and paintings of the work of a female Romanian architect, but I gravitated to the second floor where a painter's water colors--some whimsical depictions of people, animals and flowers, some bold abstracts--were exhibited along with glass cases holding books of poetry. It took me a minute to realize that this was not just the illustrator but also the poet, herself. I spoke to the hovering docent (in my baby-talk Romanian) who looked rather lonely and she gave me more information than I could possibly fathom, but no matter--I loved this woman's work. Later, as we were leaving the museum after a quick foray into dark Renaissance paintings on the third floor, a docent came running after me and told me to wait. (I thought I must have committed some terrible breach of museum etiquette.) To my surprise, the docent from the poet exhibit rushed out with a beautiful book of the artist's paintings AND on every facing page were her poems in Romanian, English, and French. It was a very fine, museum-quality book and I admired it and asked where I could buy one. "Nu, nu," they both said and made it clear to me that it was a gift. I was flabbergasted and sputtered my thanks and gave them double-kisses. So our weekend may have been soggy and chilly and the bus ride back long and dark, ending in snow, but we sure received some wonderful kindness and generosity to warm our memories of Timisoara.

Of Gypsies, Travel, and Peanut Butter Sandwiches

No, I'm not going to try to speak knowledgeably about the Gypsy/Roma population of Romania, their treatment and management an unsolved dilemma for centuries, except to say that in every underclass there are scalawags and saints, those who wallow and those who strive, and mercifully there are those on the outside who seek to help. I have become involved with such a group, Children of the Son Ministry, who is funded by a US NGO (New Life for Children), various churches (particularly in North Carolina, home state of the founder), and by private citizens. This group works to place orphaned or abandoned Roma children in foster homes and aids in adoption proceedings. They operate preschool programs for five-to seven-year-olds, and after-school programs for 1st to 3rd graders. And, important to me, they have a home for Roma boys, high school students, here in my village. I have begun going there every Monday afternoon to give a tutorial class in English to the six who are now in residence. These are young men who want to finish high school (a rarity, unfortunately) and benefit from the care and attention of the foster parents and staff in this home. They spend the week in the home, attending school in Oradea, and then return to their families in their villages for the weekend. They are terrific kids--eager, funny, responsive. Working with them was the highlight of my week and I look forward to our next session. They got far behind in their English studies while in elementary school, missing more days than attending, a common problem with Roma students, and now are trying to catch up since passing English is mandatory for graduation. The "parents" are a wonderful Romanian couple who have love and discipline to share. The house, built of wood (unusual for this area) from American donations, is cheery, clean, well-organized, and always smells of something delicious from the kitchen. I'm glad to be a part of the team to help these guys reach for a better life. **** On a lighter note, I had fun Wednesday night introducing--in the cultural segment of the adult class period--PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES! Believe it or not, these adults had never tasted them and dutifully, if not eagerly, took one of the quarters I passed around. These were made with crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jam. Grape jelly doesn't exist here because, they explained, grapes are used for wine! Duh! Americans' love of peanut butter is almost a joke here. Romanians like peanuts just fine, but the texture of peanut butter (unt de arihide) doesn't appeal to them in the least. We tried to come up with an equivalent staple in the Romanian household, something to always have on hand to spread on bread, and decided it was zacusca, the wonderful roasted pepper concoction. As one class member said, "Maybe that's why we don't need peanut butter." Good point. *** I'm finally off to Timisoara this weekend. (Read about this interesting city here.) Weather and conflicting interests of my companions kept us from going a few weeks ago. The forecast is not so great for this weekend, but we have the offer of a friend's empty apartment and a tour of the city by two very nice Romanian young people, so Connie and I are taking a bus this afternoon and will arrive there four hours later in the evening. Right now the sun is shining and I'm hoping the forecast is off. Stay tuned!

My "Heart Attack"

Walking into the office of my friend the Documentarian (media specialist) this afternoon, I threw up my hands and laughed, "I used to love Valentine's Day!" I'm valentined to bits, I'm up-to-here with paper, scissors, glue, and glitter, I'm over-glazed with cookie hearts and sprinkles. In short, I've had a *heart attack*!! And it's only February 10th! But I wanted all my students to know the legend of St. Valentine (16 class periods of that) and make valentines and have a cookie, so I had to do it this week. It's funny how we take our customs so for granted until we try to help others understand and appreciate them. Actually, the Romanians have their own celebration of love in February, on the 24th. It's called Dragobete after their version of Cupid, god of love. It's an ancient holiday that apparently was all but ignored during the communist era, but is making quite a comeback now as a reaction to the increasing interest in Valentine's Day. Dragobete is related to nature more than our holiday. Supposedly, February 24th is when the birds choose their mates for the spring nest-building and reproducing. In ancient times the young people of the village would go into the forests and fields to find the first snow-drops or violets or any sign of spring. There they were encouraged to make promises of betrothals on that day to insure the protection of the gods. If snow was on the ground, the maidens collected it and melted it. The water was believed to have magical powers and was used in love potions and to wash their hair to make them especially appealing to the young men. If a woman wanted to be loving and alluring all year, she was supposed to touch a man from another village on that day. (Where? one wonders) To determine who would be the dominant partner, a couple took part in a "foot-upon-foot" maneuver. Today the holiday seems very much like our Valentine's Day though less commercial, and the cards I've located online are all nature-centered with the earliest tiny flowers and matrimonial birdies--all very sweet and delicate. So my introduction of our silly little valentines ("Bee Mine" with a buzzing bee and tulips, "You're a dear" with a doe holding a valentine, "Whale You Be Mine?" with a whale spouting valentines) took a bit of explaining. "Gluma (joke)," I would say, "It's a joke, see?" A few would get it, but cross-culture puns are hard. The highlight of my three-day marathon was when I told one class as they were finishing up that now they had pretty "felicitare" (cards) to give to someone they loved. One by one they each brought me one of their cards, complete with hugs and double-kisses. Well, maybe I do still like this holiday after all.

Winter Layering

I live in a crystalline world--frigid and brittle. Snow and ice in frozen layers on stem, twig and fence post. I have the feeling that if I poke my head out the window and scream, everything would shatter and fall tinkling into a mound of glitter. **** These are the days of layers: underwear, silk longjohns, turtle neck sweater, pants, cardigan, coat, scarf, hood over hat, mittens over gloves, boots over multiple socks. And in my mind, too, concerns build up in layers: family, friends, students, colleagues, PC forms, PC projects, PC goals, health, travel. Somewhere under it all I breathe and the essential me (love, laughter, music, poetry) taps out a cardiac rhythm on that old bongo drum, and I abide. **** A few more weeks into this month in Portugal and Spain and France, the air will be unexpectedly filled with fragrance. The mimosa's little yellow globes will bloom. "Winter Sun" it's called and there are festivals to honor it. I learned about this because I've long loved the bottled fragrance (from L'Occitane), so yesterday, in a little in-your-face to winter and because my husband accidentally packed and took my only bottle of cologne back to the US, I splurged on a bottle with my tutoring reimbursement. So now as a first layer I'll spray on sunshine, blossoms, the fields of Provence. **** Spices! These are also the days of warm spiciness: cinnamon toast, gingerbread (thanks to my son who sent the packages mix!), spice and nut tea bread, sweet potato bread, banana cinnamon muffins, carrot/apple/spice muffins. These are not typical in Romanian cuisine though I've been able to find cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves with little trouble. Ginger is a different story, but I'm sure it can be found, too. My landlady is always surprised when I share something sweet and spicey from carrots or sweet potatoes. I'm sure it seems a strange dessert compared to their frothy confections and flakey pastries. I must learn to make some of these lovely little jam-filled treats, learn the secret of the flakiness, all the layers, layers, layers.

One Step Back, Two Steps Forward

Do the Powers that Be have a sense of humor? or at least a sense of the ironic? or do They (He/She) just dislike hubris? I was telling a friend the other day how healthy and fit I've been and how successfully I've (carefully) maneuvered in all the ice and snow. Hubris! On Wednesday, hurrying to print out materials for my adult class that afternoon, alone in the media center, I used a chair to climb up to kneel on the desk in order to close a window above the computers. I've done this at least a dozen times in the past--no problem, but being in a hurry, I stepped back with my body already in motion, caught my toe in a metal loop on the side of the chair seat, and down I went--on my back...hard! I had a sense of this-just-can't-be happening, visions of my mother and her falls and the broken hips that were the beginning of the end for her. I jumped up (3-second rule?) and then the pain hit. To spare you all the details, I've been under the Peace Corps doc's instructions: massive ibuprofen, which I've gradually decreased, ice, moderate movement. My Romanian friends say palinca (the super-strong plum brandy of this region) is the best medicine, so I've taken a few doses of that, too, just to cover all bases. I'm progressing, hoping I haven't given myself any permanent injuries, feeling pretty stupid about the whole thing. Two of the other Westside vols and a visiting friend from China were here this weekend and brought me provisions and cooked. It was great to have them here in The Red House, snow outside and lively conversation and plenty of hot food inside.****Sometimes it's good to clarify our convictions. I must admit that I've wondered about my commitment from time to time. I think most of my volunteer friends would admit to this, as well. We lost another of our group two weeks ago, the second of my "buddies" from our training days. It's hard when a friend leaves. I ponder whether or not I'm just indulging a schoolgirl dream, being selfish in what I'm asking my loved ones to endure, being too ineffective to warrant staying. I question whether or not my ability to keep my spirits and body healthy will break down. But when I fell this past week, while being driven home by my principal, wondering whether or not I had cracked my pelvis, caused some damage that would be slow-to-mend and would require me to leave the corps, I felt an unequivocal "No" rising in me. I'm not ready to go. If there's a silver lining to this whole dark-cloud experience, it's that. I know.***** At the end of next week, Romanian schools close for a week for the between-semester holiday. This week teachers must write their final grades--in blue ink only and with no undocumented corrections--into a huge ledger. I feel like a monk in a monastery every time I approach it--usually with trepidation. This seems a strange time for a holiday since we are just back from Christmas break. But the time off will be nice--I'll welcome the chance to travel to Timisoara with a PC friend. Neither of us has been to this well-loved western Romanian city, the "Little Vienna" that was under Austrian rule for two centuries and boasts a vibrant cultural scene. Uh-oh...wait! Not that I'm SURE my back will be well enough for the train/bus travel, mind you. But it's only POSSIBLE (merciful God/Fate willing) that I will get my lowly self sufficiently healed to enjoy the trip.