What Flying Feels Like

Where am I now? I'm ecstatic. Sometimes I stop myself and am struck dumb by the reality of what I'm going to be doing soon and where I will be going--and I still can't even fully fathom that "reality." It's incredible. I hear a song that played before I left and I remember where I was at that time (just barely out of a major leap of faith) and then where I am now (flying head over heels on that same wind of faith, higher, stronger, and faster than ever), and I have to hold back joyous tears, so-grateful-that-I-can't-believe-it tears.

I've never been so confident, motivated, or optimistic. I've never been so impressed with other people's creative lawns, vegetarian restaurants, travel experiences, or diligent work outs. I've never cared so much about education...or about getting an education.

Where else am I? I'm back to pre-Moldova weight, almost to pre-first-marathon weight, and starting my last YMCA week before my membership expires. I'm trying to remember how to work out without a gym. I'm going to enjoy this calm week before my (how many times have I said this?) last week of coaching gymnastics. I'm finally relaxed enough to admit that I was avoiding coffee dates and lunch dates because I was nickel-and-dimed for about two months.

And here I am again, closing my eyes, remembering how young I am and grateful that I reminded myself (yet again) to slow down. Laughing that I still tend to forget it. "One year at a time," Grandma said when I told her I wasn't going straight to the PhD. "It's better that way." Oh yes it is! I realized today that I will have graduated from college, run two marathons and one half, served two years with the Peace Corps, and completed my masters degree ALL BEFORE TURNING 25!!!! And WHY ON EARTH do I still have the habit of always thinking about what to cram in next?

Meditation has helped limit that craziness a bit, but I still get caught up, especially now when I feel like my eyes are open to everything.

And this is going to be a full-throttle summer, heading straight into a full-speed academic year. So I will prepare for the full span as much as possible so that I can enjoy one while it is happening instead of thinking about what I need to do for the next.

Side note: My readjustment to America seems perfectly normal now...except when I still find myself COMPLETELY psycho in Trader Joe's. "Do you want to find a treat, Sammy?" Michael asked, oh-so-kindly. "But I want everything!" I said. "How about one healthy little treat?" he suggested. "Ok," I smiled as if I was getting away with theft. I couldn't focus on my brother (or the task at hand, for that matter) because my eyes couldn't stop spinning around, trying to take in every new type of granola, every spice, every type of honey!

Oh and then there's the shyness, the not wanting to drive somewhere that requires looking for parking, and the not wanting to go to parties by myself. "Samantha, you just spent two years in Moldova; you can go to a party by yourself!!!" I tell myself. (Of course there's the necessary "Sam, it's really easy," reassurance from Kimmy that helped get me out the door, too!) It usually works and I have had a great time, been recognized by people I swore had forgotten me, made a new friend, and found the world's best parking spot!

And now the same logic applies to the "It's so cold in Boston" conversation. Man, I spent two insulation-less, heat-by-coal winters in Moldova...I CAN DO ANYTHING!

Catfish and Cactus on my California Weekend

As a family, we had a very over-the-top/academic/California weekend:

1. Brother flew in (oh, just for the weekend) from his business trip (in Vegas, of course);
2. Ate catfish, salmon, practically an entire top sirloin, and a tasty green cake;
3. Sunbathed;
4. Brother took a practice GMAT;
5. Parents had a study date: Dad went to school to research his paper and Mom hung out at the university because she could read there, too--in the sunshine, of course;
6. Went in the jacuzzi;
7. Discussed Dad's "history of history" paper;
8. Saw an old friend;
9. Said goodbye to a good friend and a much-closer-to-empty house;
10. Helped Dad dig holes for a cactus garden.

Responding to the Universal Question

Well, maybe it's not the universal question, but it's the one that comes up most frequently with my haven't-seen-in-two-years-or-more-mates. This is in response to the "would you go to Moldova again?" question asked in a comment from the previous entry:

Hi Laquia -

Since I can't link to your profile, I'll respond here. Let me start by thanking you for asking my opinion! I was glad I ended up in Eastern Europe, but if you read my earliest blogs, I DID ask to go someplace else but then "left it up to fate/God/life/everyone that knew better." Some have somehow gotten the impression from my blog that I would have come home, which confuses me because I like to word my blogs carefully. But if that were the case then I actually WOULD have come home. No, it was sad and I was lonely sometimes, but I knew I was getting myself into this for two years and not at one point did I actually even seriously consider leaving early. And, truthfully, that was partly out of curiosity for what would come at the end -- an intuitive blessing, seeing as the most "productive" events did come at the end...but don't they always?

But it was my choice to "go where I was needed," and I have no doubt now that Moldova was the right place for me to be. But that's also my whole outlook on life, God, decisions, and events...but yes, I did FEEL as if it was the right place when I landed and I can REASON now exactly how it worked out in my benefit. "If I hadn't gone to Moldova, I never would have..." and so on. I now have a new understanding (and awareness!) of a whole region I had never really thought of before.

I, too, was in shock when they told me I had been sifted to Eastern Europe, but this was my process and it doesn't work for everyone. I understand intimately that this experience is not for everyone, and, even within the same village, volunteers have entirely different experiences.

So there are a million different ways I can elaborate upon this response, but to keep it short and straight to the "would I do it again?" question: I'm sure glad I did it once.

The Limitless Ocean

And here almost another two months have passed us by and it feels both like only a week has passed and simultaneously a whole lifetime.

This really has been an incredible period for me, these first few months of 2010.  I received my first responses from schools in January and am actually still waiting for the last one.  So it has, needless to say, been a very long and emotional process.  But very exciting.  I wanted an easy choice -- "just one school please" -- and instead got an avalanche of options.  I tried to remember to feel glad to have these options, grateful for the opportunities that were throwing themselves at me, but I continued to feel stressed, saddened to have to let some of these options go.  And with every response my emotions changed a million times over.  So while I'm not going to waste time with the play-by-play, I'll tell you that the predominant lesson was in telling myself to wait "just a little longer" because I knew that it wasn't time to make a decision yet; there were still more factors.

And perhaps it still isn't yet time, but it feels close.  And out of respect for the schools I will likely not be attending, I want to let them know in as timely a manner as possible.  But...wonderfully...I have finally come to this great excitement, this liberation from worrying about the options I felt I am tossing and (almost pure) enthusiasm for the multitude of directions I could go in from here. (More on this later.)

But life, though seeming to revolve around graduate school responses, does not.  And I have filled January, February, and March with an art class that I am so glad to have taken, new avenues in prayer and meditation, a re-inspired joy of teaching/coaching...and dreaming about SEA.

1) The painting class: This was something I told myself I wanted to do while I was still in Moldova.  I wanted to improve. I wanted to learn.  I didn't want my painting to be inhibited by ignorance, but to be propelled by whatever my inner spirit desires.  So I went to an open house at the Los Angeles Academy of Figurative Art, won a small discount in their drawing, and (since I believe that serendipity is inspired) signed up. Although, truth be told, I probably would have signed up anyway.  I was so nervous at first; I had never painted with oils and "drawing with a paintbrush" had only just begun to be even semi-successful. But there is so much concentration involved! I know this seems like a given, but it wore me out.  I kept telling myself that I was taking this class to improve, to learn from it, to get feedback from a (very helpful) teacher...and that I could paint whatever I wanted when I was done.  

And it has been so worth it.  I don't feel totally skilled yet, but I feel optimistic.  I am more aware and excited and eager and feel I have at least crossed a painting threshold.

2) Meditation: I had anteed up my prayer and meditation since summer 2006, and did some more reading while in Peace Corps.  Prayer and patience and trust in the harmony of life's events became a silent constant while gone.  But I knew that I wanted to seek it out.  I wanted, like with painting, to learn from someone.  When I got back, I looked up retreats and classes and all of them seemed either too far or too expensive or too "something," but then I found a group on Meetup.com (which I had signed up for in college to find French-speaking groups I never went to).  The group is all the way in Torrance (anandasouthbay.org) but it has been so perfect and beautiful.  I knew that I was going into more constant meditation practices because I wanted to learn how to listen better, to silence all excess and just LISTEN.  But, again like painting, it takes concentration.  And effort.  And these two parallels completely exhausted me in the beginning.  

Come mid-February, I was so emotionally spent, but I knew I was going in the right direction.  I spent so much time in Moldova in inner-reflection, thinking about who I want to be, and these few months home have been the opportunity to LIVE IT OUT.  And it feels GREAT!!  Now, at least.

3) Coaching Gymnastics:  Being around kindergarteners again was humbling.  It reminded me that I really don't know what I'm doing.  And coming in as the substitute at low-income schools (where the kids don't necessarily want to be there and certainly don't want to compete) was a big challenge.  The driving around stressed me out.  The rush hour traffic stressed me out.  The kindergarteners stressed me out.  And so this became the outlet for the attitude I've gained over these past few years.  Because even through the stress, there are beautiful moments when you just feel...light...and totally at ease and you remember why you LOVE working with kids and why you applied to the schools you applied to and why you want to study what you want to study.  And everything makes sense.  And then by the beginning of March you feel on top of the world and you are rocking the classes again and you are smiling and see the good in each child and are so grateful to have the chance to do this again.

Each of these things affected the others and the culminating result is a Samantha that feels so much more patient and free.  But now I can see the wheels turning again and I can't stop thinking about SEA.  In a little over two months I will be heading to Massachusetts to learn about navigation and oceanography, to prep for a 4-week trip from Honolulu to San Francisco.  I will know where I am going to school.  I will be done with coaching and driving in rush hour.  And I will be standing on a ship looking out into a literally limitless ocean.  And I couldn't think of anything better.

Homecoming and Humble Pie

I told myself that I would continue to write when I got back to America, even if I didn’t update the blog online. Of course I haven’t and I have totally felt the absence.

It has been stressful.

Exciting, but stressful.

My world could go in a million (very good) directions right now and that’s wonderful. These are the moments we pray for: opportunity-filled and limitless.

But what I actually pray for: easy decision-making. When it comes down to it, I don’t ask for opportunity. I have opportunity; I just need help taking advantage of it.

But these great moments of change and life are shadowed by other stresses, and so I haven’t really had the chance to sit and ponder my Moldovan experience. In fact, I find myself trying to avoid thinking about it – for reasons I’m still unsure of.

Perhaps I find it too difficult to focus on what “needs” to be done here when simultaneously thinking of what has already been done there?

I also find myself so overwhelmed with hypothetical situations, constantly reorganizing the matrix of possibilities in my mind. (It is this ever-changing matrix that normally helps keep me calm…it gives me faith that there are a million “right” ways for a situation to work out because everything else can shift accordingly. But here, where I was once again responsible to people...)

I had prepared myself mentally for a lot of the realities I knew I would face in America, and when I first returned I handled them almost effortlessly. But then I went away for Thanksgiving, had an excellent time, and returned to LA only to be met by the memories I had run away from in the first place. Smack. They materialized in the freeway exits that reminded me of events, the restaurants we passed, markets, street names, everything.

And so December and January found me wanting to leave again. But seeing as I have been in California for over two months and haven’t seen all of my dearest friends, I’m not ready yet…but I do need to acknowledge that inkling. When it comes time for graduate school, I will be ready to try out a new city, to explore it on my own terms, to get a feel for its culture, restaurants, people, and for what it has to offer me, too.

Perhaps that’s why I have been so preoccupied thinking about the hypothetical balance between all my varied choices: because I didn’t want to think about anything else.

Arriving in America had me finishing applications, patient as a nun, lighthearted and excited over simple things like green lawns, brick houses, and customer service.

Returning, then, to California, reminded me to slow down a little, that I didn’t need to finish all applications by my birthday, and that a little humility would do me some good (a theme that would reoccur shortly).

So we come to the stress: I was so worried about making the “right” decision in a matter that was not yet mine to direct. And as I’ve said multiple times now: I pray for easy decision-making, for help in listening. And so God gave me a big ol’ helping of humble pie, eliminating one of the “options” by telling me one school was saying “no” to me so I didn’t have to worry about saying “no” to it.

I chuckled, and I felt relief. Great relief. The truth is that not all of my emotion is caused by graduate school issues, but I had merely chosen to focus on those. And this reality (that the cards had not been laid for me yet, that it wasn’t time for me to worry about making a decision, and that it would be clear to me if I stopped worrying so much) helped to minimize my worry about the other issues too.

…What I believe most of all is that there will come a time when I am able to make a choice and if I can listen…truly listen…I will know which way I am supposed to go.

And so now I am learning how to trust that not only in theory, but at the present moment, rather than just in retrospect when I can say “ah, now I see how it has all pieced together.” If, when looking back, you see that there is a harmony, and, when looking forward, we trust that the harmony will prevail, then the only option is to trust each decision, each situation, and each moment right here.

So where does all of this take me? Well right now I am waiting to hear back from 8 more graduate schools. The circular conversation you may have followed brought me right back where I started with a more established interest in programs that range in name from Child Development, Human Development, Educational Psychology, and Interdisciplinary Studies in Development.

I have to constant remind myself that the mannerisms, attitudes, and habits I see around me are the same that were here in LA before I left. America, on the whole, has not changed much since I left. Even though I think I had the same frustrations before leaving (like when people honk at you while you are letting a pedestrian cross) I have to remind myself that I have indeed changed and that as universally correct as I may think I am, the world hasn't necessarily changed with me. (And, then of course, there is always the possibility that I am wrong...but we're not talking about that right now...)

Purpose and Pumpkin Pie

When I first got to the village, I slept in the front room. That meant that we had to heat two fires (and sometimes twice a day each). So then I moved into the middle room. It was warmer, protected from cold by rooms on each side. And we only had to light one fire for both bedrooms and the kitchen combined. It was nice. But I didn’t make it my own until just this last winter when I finally put up pictures and letters from friends and family…and some Christmas garlands that I kept up on the walls until now.

Two weeks ago, though, host mama asked me if I could move my stuff back into the front room so they could do some repairs in the middle room before the cold comes. Ok. That meant that I needed to pack up all my clothes, get rid of even more, and move everything into the other room. So last week I was half in one room and half in the other and this week I am completely in the front room, all my belongings sprawled in various piles waiting for me to decide what to take and what to leave.

At the time, I didn’t want to move my stuff because it meant I would be living out of a suitcase for the next two weeks. But now I’m glad, because it forced me to get rid of a lot of stuff in advance, and now, when the last few days are up, I have significantly less to deal with. Getting rid of tons of items brought a much needed feeling of liberation. And it’s a nice cycle…back in the room where I started…

I also had a lot of documents to finish up: the last quarterly report of all activities, outcomes, and projects: site history report documenting all village organizations, relationships, possibilities for another volunteer, safety issues, transportation, etc.; the official “description of service” condensing my two years into 1.5 pages; the collecting, pasting, and reporting of all Kindergarten Project receipts, budget forms, and writing of the final report. Then I still needed to actually FINISH the project: the seminar; the demonstrations; ordering the furniture; buying the learning tools/books/games/musical instruments (when we don’t have our own transportation); convincing villagers why the money was already allocated to something specific and why it could not be used for A, B, or C.

I was stressed. I was excited to be busy, but it gave me very little time to relax, reflect, and adjust. I finished earlier than expected, baked pumpkin-pie-from-scratch number 2 for the Peace Corps Staff Appreciation, and exhaled. And now I have this week to visit with people, get pictures developed, and pack. Honestly, I don’t think I would have wanted more down time because this transition is uncomfortable enough. I’m neither truly here nor completely gone, my things are everywhere and I can’t yet think about home because then I won’t get anything done.

But as I was riding into Chisinau Friday, looking at the extraordinarily beautiful autumn we’ve had up north, I felt so utterly content. I was thinking about the seminar at the kindergarten and I was so energized! To update you all: Sunday the 4th Natalia came up and we held the training with kindergarten teachers. I was unbelievably nervous; I didn’t want to be the young American who has been here for two years and is now coming to tell them what they are doing wrong. But we planned well. Natalia did a great job of including them in the activities, of asking them for their input, telling them we understand that they are experienced but that they get tired sometimes and that we only want to offer them a wider selection of tools for their choosing.

They were smiling, nodding, participating, and throwing out ideas. This is the second time that I have planned a seminar directly related to child development, fourth time I have led the workshop, and second time that I thought the topic would be too basic. Again, I was surprised. Ideas that I took for granted even BEFORE undergrad had still gone unarticulated here: the purpose of hands-on learning; the ways movement-based activities are good for kindergarteners; the simplicity of using “baby talk” and repeating words to demonstrate actions (“open, close”) to young children; the benefit of limits and discipline that teaches instead of just punishing.

And then afterwards, the women were so excited to demonstrate some of these new activities, to be an example for other kindergartens and volunteers who might like to lead similar trainings. But my favorite comment was that “you taught us things that we already knew but didn’t realize we already knew.” (Of course there were those who chose not too participate, but as long as at least one teacher changes at least one technique and benefits at least one child, then we have made a difference.)

And then on Monday when we were discussing what learning materials to buy, the teachers were trying to explain a toy to me, and it was taking me a while. The word they were using was “pyramid” so I kept picturing a building block shaped like a pyramid. They were trying, instead, to describe the standing pole on which we stack rings of different sizes and colors, largest first and smallest on top. I was secretly stunned, realizing that we were planning consciously to provide these students with an item that I still imagined as a kindergarten given. Shame on me.

And it really is incredible how far the dollar goes. Each classroom now has books, balls, toys, building blocks, math cubes, and plastic “exotic fruit” that I also took for granted (bananas and oranges). There are now puzzles, a plastic piano, guitar, drawing easel, plastic vegetables, storybooks, math books, and a working accordion for their music time (the one “artistic” activity they had done consistently until the accordion decided to die).

And the tables and chairs, which were sure to come only after I’ve left, should get delivered within the next two days!

Wednesday two other volunteers came up to film the demonstrations and the children (and teachers!) were excited. The teachers were talking about what they learned, what the kids liked, why the guide was beneficial, and how they wished we had collaborated earlier.

I met the woman who is in charge of preschool education in the Soroca region (AMAZING WOMAN!), gave her a copy of the guide, and took her contact information. She was the best advocate of making sure the items were out and readily available in each classroom instead of tucked away in the downstairs cabinet. She wants to make copies for each kindergarten in Soroca and run an experience exchange with all the other teachers in the region! Oh how I wish I could have been able to see it happen…but perhaps this is the time to let it go, no? When someone else has offered to take it up on their own…

Well anyway…so I was on the way to Chisinau Friday, thinking about all of these happenings, the unexpected success I felt after this project…and I was overwhelmed with the strongest memory of coaching gymnastics. And the strongest desire to do things correctly, to work to the maximum, to give my all, and the joy of being creative in my work.

I have been writing graduate school application essays about how much coaching and PC have together contributed to my desire to study child development…but it was coming away from this project that brought such a joyful contentment. I have changed my mind a million times since coming here, modified my interests, thought about law school, med school, art school, and about working abroad for a few more years. But here, in this moment, overjoyed by memories of coaching and always trying to be one step ahead of the class in the most creative way possible….and already having started the application process in this same area, already sure that it was necessary to come full circle in this field…

Sorry, I’m not expressing myself clearly because I haven’t quite sorted it all out. But the point is that I felt content in the way things turned out, the way they are going, and the interconnected relationship between the two.

I almost studied something else, I almost went to a different school, I could have gone somewhere besides Moldova, I could have done a million things differently, and I don’t know exactly WHY things happened the way they did. But for better or worse, it all seems to fit together, the pieces became clear, and I could see the whole puzzle…and I KNEW without a shred of doubt that every moment that led to that moment staring out the window has been necessary and perfect and that each step taken has already set me up for the place I will eventually need to be…wherever that is.

And now I can’t tell you how even more excited I am for graduate school, for the ten months before then, for finding out where I will end up, for the topics I will be studying…for all of it!

A week ago I was testy, cranky at all villagers who didn’t respond to my “hello,” and now I am at peace. Calm. Appreciative.

Friday we had the staff appreciation dessert/ice cream bar. Saturday we had a Peer Support 5k and the Wine Festival. Sunday before leaving Chisinau, I sent in my first application! I said goodbye to some volunteers who I won’t see next weekend (and maybe ever again). Then I got on the bus for my last trip back to the village. The further out of the city, the more orange and red the trees and the more grateful I became that I’ve lived somewhere with four distinct seasons…and that I’ve gotten to see them cycle twice. And the orange leaves reminded me first of Halloween and then of Thanksgiving…and then I smiled, because I will be home for Thanksgiving this year. And now I’ve made a pumpkin pie from scratch. Twice.

Emotions, Parasites, and Grape Picking

I started this a week ago but my emotions have been so up and down that the mood of the writing kept shifting. It’s going to keep changing so I might as well write. Memories from the last month:

1) September first brought a sudden shift in weather. It was autumn. Dry wind and cold nights. And tons of caterpillars. Where do they all come from? They are short and black with long fuzzy white hairs and they are EVERYWHERE. They climb up the front door and the curtains and I have to shake out my outside slippers before putting them on.

2) I was on my way back from the capital when the bus stopped in Soroca (our regional center). I got off to buy something and when I got on the bus a drunk man was drinking from my water bottle. Wordlessly, he asked if he could have some (though he already had) and I told him to take the whole thing. The bus driver yelled at him and he got off.

3) Giardia: I still have it, and truthfully, I think it’s the same bit I’ve had since the beginning. I try not to be angry. In fact, throughout my service I took it as a given of the circumstances and the fact that it is everywhere and you can’t really protect yourself completely. But seeing as there has never been a point when it’s been out of my system completely, I began to get really angry with the people who served me the gallon of well water and didn’t bother telling me that they had refilled the store-bought bottle without my knowing. “Is the water good?” he asked me. At the time I just thought it was an odd question but at the moment it makes me fume. It isn’t the TASTE of well water that makes us distill it, it’s the bacteria. Distilled water tastes even worse than well water. But honestly, who knows? I COULD have gotten this giardia from somewhere else and it COULD be different bacteria than the first time. Unfortunately, I’ll never know. But now I have giardia that is resistant to medication and I can’t run more than thirty minutes without needing a bathroom break. So I was finally given the more complicated 5-day medication with stronger side effects and at the end of the week we’ll see if it’s finally been kicked.

4) The Close of Service conference: this really hit home. I had found out that I would have funding for my project by the end of the week so as I went to the conference, I knew I would be able to leave on time, thus listening more objectively to the speakers. The conversation became real; I was able to picture the bizarreness of returning home. We talked about how to explain our service, job searching, financial planning, the paperwork required before leaving, as well as what to expect upon returning. And the weeks that have followed have been emotional. The optimism I encouraged throughout my experience has thinned as I have accepted what I no longer have time for. The adrenaline that sustained me has thinned as I see the finish line. And that’s ok. I am still very grateful for the project that will occupy my time during the final month, but I am now able to accept that I will have an emotional catharsis when I return. I know it’s part of the process; I had just denied that I would have one.

5) The Close of Service physical: I was really grateful that she took the time to discuss all of my worries, symptoms, and improvements. But once she told me that someone had brought a concern to her attention, I could no longer focus. The ultimate point was that I should “be careful who I talk to,” and perhaps I took this the wrong way, but it took me a few days to get over. This isn’t the first time someone has warned me that not all people are as goodhearted as they appear but this time caught me especially off guard because she couldn’t tell me to what she was referring. I’ll never know and it could’ve been brought up in an infinite number of ways – possible even out of genuine concern. But I’ve come a long way because of the people I’ve grown with here in Moldova and would rather be disappointed than expect ill intentions.

6) The kindergarten project is on the way and tomorrow we will be purchasing the furniture! Then next weekend we will hold the first hands-on training with the teachers. It really is quite exciting, especially as it will fill my last month here. Thank you so much to everyone who contributed to this project and whose hopes, support, and prayers made it possible. Our time in Moldova teaches us more thoroughly how to cover all bases and make sure your interests are met, but whatever we did along the way, the mayor and kindergarten director have lived up to their promises as well and I am even more grateful for the experience I’ve had.

7) I finally helped pick grapes! Granted, I was glad I didn’t need to pick grapes the whole day – and I couldn’t imagine how intimidating it could be to have an entire vineyard to pick – but the three hours I spent were quite peaceful and enjoyable. And, tasting each kind, I was able to see the great uniqueness of each grape. Some are juicier, some have more pulp or thicker skins, and some are sweeter or have a more saturated color. But I have great respect for those whose hands turn blue picking grapes all day long!

8) My host mom asked me randomly how I was planning on getting all of my things to Chisinau. It wasn’t the question that caught me off guard, but her assumption that I would only leave a day early so I can catch my early-morning flight. As it is, I don’t actually know what my last day in the village will be but one day early is the latest I would leave…and that made me sad, both realizing that I would then be leaving in less than one month and that I didn’t know how to explain that I would probably spend my last nights in Chisinau. I’ve been able to spend this weekend in the village – visiting an old monastery with some students who participated in the summer village cleanup – but I know that this last month will be filled with a lot of trips to the city. I just have to accept that. Each week I’ve been bringing in a bag of items to give away: clothes, books, etc. I’ve been trying to fit as many activities into as few trips as possible. But it seems like just yesterday I was saying “seven weeks left” and now it feels as if I’ll be leaving tomorrow. And I almost don’t want to be this busy at the end because it will make the last month go by that much faster.

Fountains and Funding

And I forgot to mention two things:

1) We now have a pump and a hose! In June they showed me how they put a pump in the well and how we can pump water into buckets at the push of a button. Literally. But just as I was trying to figure out where the hose went (I was looking at the well as if I had never seen it before) host pops showed me that he hosed it near the front of the house. Now just in front of the house, I can stick the hose in a bucket, plug in the cord and watch as the bucket fills itself! I don't even have to walk to the well!

2) The kindergarten project is coming along slowly but surely but time is definitely cutting short. If you would like more information on the project you can visit http://kindergartenproject.webs.com

There is also a link to the donation site as well. If you know of organizations that would be interested, please don't hesitate to pass along the link. God willing, we'd like all funding to be in by then end of the month as we can't use a dime until the entire amount is in.

Is that really the finish line already?

August 1, 2009

I suppose I’ve mentioned every time that writing today’s date has given me a shock. But it wasn’t just writing it this time. It was seeing it as I woke up. Perhaps it’s premature, but this month is the start of what I feel will be the “dreading what can’t be gotten done” period. I’ve mentally crossed the line between thinking there’s still time and accepting that there’s only time for smaller things now, or for finishing things that have already been started. And perhaps that’s not true. I’m not a pessimist, after all. I feel, instead that this is just part of the cycle. I’m entering the last phase. August and September might very well be my last full months in the village. October is a possibility but I’d rather plan under a tighter deadline than a longer one. Wow. Even writing that is weird. Last full months.

Seeing as I haven’t written a detailed update in months now, this could go on for ages. I’ll keep it (as) short (as possible) with some of my strongest memories from June and July.

1) Michael and Kat visiting in June: My main thought is gratitude but my second thought is: this makes it real now. When I left last May for Michael’s graduation, I felt as if I had left too soon. I had woken up from a long dream and wondered if Moldova even existed. But now, they have come and experienced this with me and it connects both parts of my life. These will not be isolated experiences, detached from those who have known me my whole life. Thank you, as well, to all of you who read my updates, who have followed this experience with me. I want, more than ever, for you all to be a part of this with me.

2) I had a great conversation with the Agricultural guy at the mayor’s office. He hinted me into his office and shut the door behind him. I was mildly concerned. But then he leaned behind his desk and pulled out a plastic bottle filled with dark wine. “Oh no,” I said. “I can’t. I got sick. I can’t.” “Just a little,” he insisted. “Today’s a holiday.” But what ensued was by far the best conversation we’ve ever had. He’s normally a joker, purposefully trying to push my buttons by asking me inappropriate, stereotyping questions about Americans and telling me I don’t understand him. But here, he was genuinely open, curious about what I would take away from my experience and asking me if I was going to write a book. He wanted to know if other Americans got along as well with their community, with their mayor’s office. We talked about the gamble of Peace Corps service and he told me I should title my book “21” after the card game.

But then he asked me about whether it was tiring to be in another culture for so long. That was the perfect word: tiring. Yes. I had been thinking that just recently. Even when it becomes easier, even when you speak the language well enough, you still have to be aware 24/7 of the things you are doing and saying, of how you look and present yourself, of who you offend. Even when you aren’t aware of it, your mind is working to adjust to the language around you, to the norms that still aren’t normal, and to how to translate the response you haven’t thought of yet.

But then he told me that when his daughter was in America, she got the impression that Americans “fight for themselves.” And when he said it in Romanian, I took slight offense, thinking that he implied we were selfish. But when I write it in English – word for word – it could come across instead that we just don’t like handouts, we don’t expect someone to solve our problems for us. In Moldova, everything is communal. Everything. And sometimes that is wonderful. If you bring a water bottle with you, it will be shared. But I understand now how rude it can seem when I have a water bottle that’s just for me and I’m going to bring it to the table that you have prepared without offering it to you. So what do we do? We hide the water bottle.

3) Training with the new group: Last week I went to lead a one-hour training for the new group on “finding and defining work in the community.” I sat in for the motivation training that came before mine. And I just kept thinking: if only you knew how important this really is. And so by the time my session came, I was so filled with emotion and adrenaline that my tired (and sick) body was re-energized. No one tells us what to expect. Instead they tell us not to expect anything. But I cannot tell you how emotional it was for me to sit in that room and listen to the trainees’ optimism. One of the saddest things for me has been seeing some of the most warm, lighthearted people turn into cold, pessimistic volunteers. And I didn’t realize how heartbreaking it has been until I was once again around a group of volunteers who don’t yet have a reason to drop their optimism. So I told them honestly about the ways I messed up and what I learned from it. I told them what I did wrong so that they don’t make the same mistakes. And then I told them how I learned, what I did differently, and what I would definitely do again. I told them WHY these topics are so important and WHY to take it to heart. Without anything to relate to, these “motivation” trainings just seemed like common sense to me back then. But being there two years later, looking in hindsight, they are so essential. I wanted to make sure that the reality of that session and then my own session was carried to them, was explained and elaborated upon. The training needs to be real. It needs to give honest preparation for the ups and the downs, not just telling us that there will be downs but what they might look like.

4) Saying Goodbye: The first goodbye was awkward. I hadn’t seen enough of her in the last year. I would’ve liked to have seen her more. It seemed the last few times were just moments in passing. And as she walked me out, I knew I wouldn’t see her before she left. And I was quiet, sad, and reflective. But the second one was surprising to me. It was a surprise because I didn’t expect to cry. I left the night early but I would’ve had to leave at some point. And when it actually came to it, I started crying. Really crying. I’ve missed people that have left already. I’ve genuinely missed people that left a year ago. But there’s something different about one of your peers, one of your friends, someone who has been here almost the entirety of your service leaving you when you are not quite done. And it’s totally possible that I will see her again, but the question is now obvious: when?

There are still things to get done, some of which are exciting and stressful and I know that this is part of the game: learning only at the end what is possible. But I desperately want to learn from those who have led good examples, to copy some of their successes during this last period. I would like to go visit another volunteer tomorrow as he opens a center he’s funded, but my own camp starts on Monday and that is exciting in itself. It’s going to be a scramble at the end, but I want to soak it all in, get in as much as possible, and to not let this last-leg fatigue keep me down. I remember another volunteer mentioning a few months ago: every time I ride the bus in now, I try to stay awake to look out the window because I know I’ll be leaving in a few months. I think that my time has come for that as well.

Strawberries, Stress, and Seminars

June 3, 2009

May was an amazing month, a month that felt as “productive” as I can risk saying. I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t believe so much time has passed since last writing. And I really understand why we’re here for two years….why productivity partly depends onto the time we put in.

The fact is that most of my activities are not “with” a Moldovan. I take that back, they are “with” Moldovans but they were not necessarily involved in every step…or even the initiators of the project. But I’m getting more done. In some ways this is contradictory because our goal is supposed to be helping people help themselves, but we are still working together, the activities are still involving the local youth, and the outcomes will still benefit all. Yes, if you can involve someone in the planning process, this is ideal, but just because you can’t do it one way doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it at all.

May…let me see…what made it go by so quickly?

I visited another village (without other Americans) and hung out with some other Moldovan ladies my own age who (shock!) aren’t married and (even still!) live in a village. I turned in three project proposals – some of which will undoubtedly flop – and now I am waiting for the funding period…the slow process that still involves me looking for sources. What else did I do in May? I finished up my English class (which started with 20 and ended with 3), finished collecting clothes for our clothing drive, and starting taking Russian lessons!

I’ve gotten the hang of only staying in Chisinau for one night at a time and that has really helped my mood. In the beginning, staying only one night was stressful because I was nervous about travel and that didn’t let me enjoy the night…but now…I’ve had enough of Chisinau and staying too much makes me antsy. But this is what learning is: realizing how I react in bizarre and unique situations and then adjusting my plans accordingly. And regardless, the weather has me so much more lighthearted that needing to stay out of the village longer doesn’t stress me out. I can much better enjoy the changes in events.

But I really am feeling quite comfortable with Moldova, with my service, with the possibilities of all of the things I can do before I leave – even if they aren’t “tangible.”

Ah, yes, this reminds me…Also in May I organized a seminar for some of the older girls in the village. Actually, I invited all students in grades 9-12. An NGO from Chisinau came to lead the seminar and I really enjoyed seeing the Moldovan perspective on interactive learning and seeing the girls reactions to activities that I take for granted (e.g. role play). But of course the only participants were the same girls that always participate. I suppose this makes sense; they are less nervous about coming, know what to expect, and are not as uncomfortable around the American. But I am trying to accept that I wasn’t necessarily receptive to opening up myself, my time, and my events, to all people because I was (ridiculously) worried about not being able to handle it…so as a result, I had sometimes excluded necessary parts of the young population. That’s why, this time, I went to every class and made sure each of the kids of that age group was notified. They still didn’t come. What is it, then? A competitive relationship with the active girls? Uninteresting topics? Bad timing? No interest in me? Bad translation?

So I came up with a competition that hopefully solves all of this. (And, importantly, forces me to plan a long series of events throughout summer.) The competition is for the “most active students” and will include everything from a poster contest, village clean up, and leadership seminars. All you have to do is participate enough to win 5 points and you can come with us on a trip (to either the waterfalls or the monastery). But if you include other people, you get more points. If you are more active at the events, more points. Picked up more trash, more points. Students with the most points will be recognized by the mayor (and the Peace Corps director) for their service to the community and will be acclaimed as the “most active students.” My main obstacle will be announcing every activity during summer, since I can no longer go to the school and talk from class to class. I tried collected the info of each class rep – who then promised to transmit all messages to classmates – but this hasn’t been as fruitful as I’d hoped. We’ll see. Even if it doesn’t turn out how I’d like, it still ensures a good handful of activities for the summer.

I also went to my second Moldovan wedding! The mayor’s son married the kindergarten director’s daughter and it was an incredibly beautiful event. By taking place in town, and at a restaurant, it differed slightly from the village wedding I went to last month. But the idea was the same, I recognized the traditions, and even though the food was more elaborate, I still saw the pattern in the plating. And I danced! (But not after ripping up my feet. Yes, this was unfortunate. When I got to Soroca, I called for directions and was told to go “in the valley.” I have never understood what this is supposed to mean and how on earth I am supposed to know which direction is “in the valley” when I am standing on a hill. But of course “in the valley” was the direction I didn’t go in. So my little 30 minute pre-wedding jaunt brought enough blisters to last me the next three weeks – without exaggeration – and bringing a new understanding of what it means to take care of yourself – and wounds – without running water. Thank God for antiseptic! The process of putting warm water and your feet in a bowl really isn’t that complicated. But at this point, I realize more that infection is not worth laziness.)

While this last month seems fast and productive, it was also stressful. This is crunch time…and not because I have to come up with ideas, but because I actually have expectations for the existing ideas!

Cultural note: washing laundry by hand does not get easier. As opposed to the ‘boiling water to drink” issue (which has become habitual), the labor-and-time-intensive laundry process just makes me more lazy. Perhaps this is partly because I know I’m leaving in 6 months and will arrive somewhere with a washing machine…but I’m just doing this to get through.

But we have strawberries! They are ripe and sweet and in abundance. I plan on eating loads of them everyday. Last year I kept forgetting. Or even if I remembered, I was bizarrely too lazy to pick fresh strawberries (really!) and so now that this is my last summer here I am trying to take advantage.

And I started French lessons again today! My Romanian tutor is the French teacher at the school. I figured my Romanian is down enough that I can mix in a language I should know already. But even if we are moving more quickly than someone who never learned French, it’s still frustratingly basic. “I haven’t done first year French in a while,” she said to me. But oh how fun it was to go into her garden and practice our French vocabulary while we picked her strawberries too!

I know that June will go by even more quickly because of all the events that spawn from May’s and because of visitors! It’s a good time for me to reanalyze my priorities and to start better appreciating what I have here.

My Favorite Time of Year

As I left you last, I had just come back from a week out of the village, working on the children-designed greeting cards. I had planned to stay in the village for the following three weeks, and, as I mentioned, that was confirmed for me when I found out that we would hold the one-year-since-passing funeral for grandma the following weekend. Immediately after, though, I found out that we would further be required to stay out of the capital after the April 5th elections were followed by protests and riots. But I loved the timing and was once again grateful for the spontaneous decision to spend that first week preparing for the expo so that I could enjoy the following three weeks without worry.

The three weeks were full with the Easter holiday season:
April 5 – elections followed by protests and recount requests

April 11 – 50-person “funeral party” for the one-year-since-passing. This year I was able to help make the stuffed cabbage leaves with the women, participated in the post-stuffing meal and toast, and received the “thank you” bread and decorative towel. I feel so much more prepared for these long days of giant meals when some people eat straight out of the serving plate. It comes down to three things: eating slowly, paying attention to which plates/sides to avoid, and eating the vegetables one at a time to take up time. Hoards of bread, but no where near as many as last year – though at least 80 people has passed through then.

April 18-19 – Orthodox Easter. This year we still had a boat load of food from the following week but we had more plates to make. At 11:00 p.m. I headed to the church with mama’s cousin who I love. Her husband chuckled as he wrapped my head in a scarf and “made me a baba.” We walked in the dark slowly to the church, arm in arm over the dirt roads, slipping occasionally on the different levels of dirt. As we got to the church, she bought us each a long white candle and we waited with the others, all standing. As I waited, the priest came in, made a double take as he saw my face and expressed audibly that he was so glad to see me and glad to know that “the Americans are with us too.” I felt uncomfortable, but I smiled and nodded. This is a holiday about equality, not about singling out the American. I felt awkward enough as it is, standing around with a scarf wrapped around my head, the only one in eyeglasses, and taller than most. I followed mama’s cousin as she went to each altar, crossed herself and kiss each portrait. As I bent over the first, I froze about 6 inches from the table and realized I didn’t know what I was doing, so I stood there, bent over the frame, with people watching the frozen American, and just put my hand to my lips and then touched the frame. I stayed in the middle of the crowd after that.

But as we waited for the priest, crowded together in this small, beautiful space, I felt overcome with heat. Blood rush to my head and I felt the urge to throw up. I loosened my coat (the one I said I’d never wear again now that it was no longer winter), excused myself, and rain outside. I took deep breaths, walking around the others standing outside whose faces were hidden in the dark. I heard some “hello” here and there and couldn’t tell if they were playing with me. I went back in and within another two minutes, I was overcome once again with immediate heat and nausea. So we both went outside and waited in the cool spring night air. The priest came with a candle that had supposedly traveled from Jerusalem to Chisinau, to Soroca and then to us. We all lit our candles and proclaimed that Christ has risen and then walked around the church, guarding our flames and stepping on each other. Then we walked around the church again. And then one more time. Then we made our way back to the house, slowly and still cupping the flames, which didn’t give much light on the dark roads, but we made it back and went to bed. I thought I might get up for the sunrise bread blessing that I went to last year, but I stayed in bed and semi-acknowledged the sunrise through my window. Unfortunate, as I love Easter sunrise.

There is this flower with long green leaves on the bottom, with a long stem spouting from the middle, a green tuft of leaves on top and orange petals hanging below towards the ground. It’s called “Jesus has risen” or “little pasca” (a special sweet bread made on Easter). It blooms around Easter. Last year Easter was at the end of the month and that’s when it bloomed. This year Easter was the 19th and it bloomed the 17th. Wonderful. At 9:30 a.m. we ate the blessed food, napped, I practiced a little ukulele, and ate a large meal in the middle of the day. It was a beautiful day with a great mood that continued throughout the week. The week following Easter was vacation for students so the family stayed with us.

April 22 – the one year birthday of my godson. He is walking and trying to talk, smiling, and playing. He seems less uncomfortable with me and I seem less uncomfortable trying to baby-talk with him in Romanian. It was wonderful for me to experience these occasions the second time around. Last year this season was just as busy with Easter, the birth and baptism, and then the funeral. This year was similar but different and it was momentous for me to realize that I’ve been here long enough to witness this cycle again.

April 24 – Art Expo “Night of Art” in Chisinau. We rushed into Chisinau to put together the new sets of cards, frames, etc. then hurried to the expo to set up at 4 where I was overwhelmed with nerves. Perhaps it was because I had no idea what to expect and found myself once again in a very cosmopolitan setting – and international art exhibit with wine and food and Natalie Cole playing in the background. I could barely sit down and I certainly couldn’t keep my mouth shut from 4 until 10 when we left. But it worked out and I remember why I DO love these things. There were a handful of volunteers who came by as well to enjoy the night and support the causes (the night was ultimately a fundraiser for the International Women’s Club of Moldova that supports small projects around the country). I don’t know what I expected. Our nerves flip-flopped between feeling like we wouldn’t sell anything and feeling as if we didn’t bring enough. Turns out that we sold enough to make back what we invested in the night and still have enough stock to continue to raise profit for the art school. Most importantly, our partner seemed to really enjoy the night and luckily there was no negative balance to diminish her enthusiasm for the project. While we would ideally like to help her establish a long-term sponsor, supporting her current efforts through non-grant-writing means is rewarding enough. But this could be something I would like to do with all of my day’s hours. There could be so much more we’d get done if it was fulltime. And yet my energies are divided up between a lot of “possibilities” both in my own village and outside of it.

April 26, 2009 – I rushed back to the village to celebrate “Easter of the Deceased” which my family didn’t participate in last year because of grandma’s recent passing (but I believe I was out of the village or on my way to American at that point either way). I made it too late for my village bus but waited instead for the one that goes to a neighboring village. It’s a smaller bus and it gets full quite quickly on holidays, so I stood in the packed bus as it made its way without hurry. The majority of people were packed in the front by the door as those in the middle found reasons not to move along. And of course we shouldn’t open any of the windows even as we are packed in as sardines. As I started to get nauseas I realized that the season of overheated minibuses is now upon us. And then I just hoped that the woman near me would feel better before she threw up on my jacket. Of course this was followed by extreme guilt because I understood her pain and wished that we BOTH had enough time to make it to our stop (which happened to be the same one, of course).

I made it home without losing it, only to find host dad waiting solo at the house. “The plane has left,” he told me. “The others left?” I asked, having been told they would wait for me but knowing I probably should’ve come back the day before anyway. I changed into a skirt, cooled down, and then their son came back to meet me and we headed off to the cemetery, the road of which was packed with cars all trying to get to the same place. We found our way through the crowded cemetery, covered with grass, crosses on top of crosses, and people blessing those who have passed. Blankets were laid on graves and covered with breads, candles, wine, sweets, and flowers. Some set up full meals on small tables and had what seemed like a picnic. We toasted (from the same glass) to those who passed and those who still are and took a sweet for each toast. Strangers came around offering their own wine and sweets. Host mama was sitting on the grass by the family’s gated lot where five people were laid in a space that we would consider for two. And she was smiling. She looked so at ease. And as I looked around, most all people were smiling, this day of remembrance, not of grieving. The sad images were only of the random single old women who stood lingering by the crosses of their loved ones, wearing layers of old hand-made clothes, with no one to celebrate with. Strangers (and maybe distant relatives) shared wine with them as they walked around. But soon we packed up our picnic basket, left the flowers and headed back to the house where we sat outside under the wooden canopy and had a casual spring meal.

And now it’s Monday, the official day of the holiday that we celebrated yesterday and tomorrow it’s back to business. We are working on three main things in the village at the moment that all need to get down within the next two weeks. And while I’m glad for the work, I sometimes find myself again with the “afraid these won’t work out” feeling, knowing fully well you have to try in order for it to work at all. And ANY success will be better than none at all. But I’m nervous. Nervous because these are the opportunities I’d hoped for in DOING something worthwhile (and tangible) in my village.

This reminds me of the Friday before Easter when the program director came to visit my village and talk with my mayor about his request for another volunteer to come in August. It might be unlikely, as I will still be here and we have too many locations for the smaller number of volunteers, but of course now people keep asking, “So another volunteer is coming after you leave?” And I find myself frustrated with claims of certainty that may or may not just be a tone of translation (and third-party hearsay). But this optimism is only frustrating to me because I will feel responsible for whatever doesn’t work out…as with the three possible projects that we’ll be working on this week: tables and chairs and training seminar at the kindergarten; a bus stop/trash can/anti-littering campaign; windows and doors replacement at the kindergarten. In addition, there was talk before the holidays that we would hold an “American night” at the local one-room library to promote the books that were donated that no one knows about. And the English group is doing a clothing drive that will finish up soon.

So there are things to do. And this is a great time to do it – before Summer starts.

But I still find myself trying to balance so many items that haven’t been determined yet, trying to find the best possible balance between events that haven’t occurred yet (and the budget, logistics, and benefit it all involves) – both for my remaining time in Moldova and the time that will follow.

All in all, April has been a great month and I look forward to the period that will come in May and all of the things I’ve wanted to do in Moldova before I leave in 6-or-so months.

I do NOT, however, look forward to overheated travel, but that’s life and I complained just as much when it was too cold.

Seasons and Showers

Spring is here! It surprised me a couple times, snuck away again, and then came back with determination.

I noticed my mood change when we had to hitchhike to the art school on Monday afternoon, lucky that the weather was walking-permitting. And then as we catch a bus after waiting only 10 minutes, it started going at a snail’s pace for the potholes that surprisingly didn’t merit the caution. But I found myself amused instead of impatient. What were we going to do about it at that point? We had actually planned on arriving at 8 a.m., so the difference between 12:30 and 1:30 didn’t much matter. But what I liked most was that I didn’t mind…that I was, instead, grateful for the weather and the sudden freedom over my travel schedule, no longer dictated by snow, biting wind, few hours of sunlight, or heavy winter clothes. Lighter clothing, lighter spirit. It also turned out that the minibus we were on goes to the mysterious Ukrainian camping spot I had been wondering about for months!

Tuesday was gray and rainy again, as was Wednesday. But Thursday through Sunday have thus far been phenomenal. And I’m enjoying a day back in the village, having been gone for over a week.

I also find myself thinking: I don’t think I feel guilty about being gone for this week. And then: I thoroughly enjoyed the productivity of this week as I had been screaming of boredom for so long that I need to appreciate the fatigue that came from a fast-paced and surprisingly productive week doing something I enjoyed.

And this was all brought about by surprising coincidences. I had only planned to be gone for the weekend, but the start of a joke got me thinking about what we COULD get done during the week….and boy were we lucky. We ended up with a lot to get done before the art expo on the 24th where we will promote the greeting cards we’ve been designing from the children’s artwork (website almost ready!)

Then as I think I can leave on Thursday, I wasn’t sure if I could make it home before dark. (I now need to walk every time I get dropped off at the main road since a) the car isn’t here and b) I should be able to do it solo, without bothering my host dad to pick me up.) The 45-minute walk is much easier when the sun is out and I’m not carrying armloads of bags. I’ve yet to start the walk at dark, though I have arrived at the edge of the village as the sun set and I slipped over icy roads in the dark. Regardless, I decided I would have enough time to make it home, but then the minibus broke down, assuring my post-sunset arrival. I made my way as far north as possible and stayed with another volunteer, sure I would make it home the next day. Of course I woke up with a health annoyance and ran back down to Chisinau for meds, which was much easier to do from her village than from mine – another lucky coincidence. I then had to stay the night to check the improvement in the morning and was finally on my way Saturday at noon. I made it to the main road on a beautiful sunny afternoon and made it home around 3:00 – 7 days later than I had planned and wearing the same grungy clothes, but satisfied at a fulfilling week.

And as I first entered the village, something smelled different. It was familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. But it brought a warm nostalgia and an excitement. And today as I went for a long walk, exploring areas I never realized were connected, I smelled the sunny Moldova aroma that I never noticed until it returned.

I told myself that I would be able to stay in the village for at least three weeks after this productive week, but I knew that was partly out of guilt and partly out of a fatigue of travel. But then the sun came out and I didn’t mind anymore. I felt at ease with whichever direction next weekend went, knowing the summer would make either one enjoyable. But I came home to find that next weekend we would hold the one-year-since-passing funeral for my host mom’s mother. I am glad that happenings have determined that I will stay home next week…and as the following week is Orthodox Easter, I will be home that full week as well.

I’d like to say that my change in disposition is more than just weather-derived. Rather, I feel that it is fascinating timing between my ever-changing outlook and the change in season.

I had seen the door to the outside summer kitchen propped open. I peeked inside but couldn’t tell if it wasn’t getting prepped for approaching use or if it was just being aired out. It got me wondering when we would switch to eating and bathing outside. Then today, as I started typing this entry, my host dad walks by with a towel on his head. “Where’s Samantha?” he asked. “I’m here,” I said, half worried. “Go wash.” “Outside?” I asked with a smile. “Yes! Use all the water.” And we both smiled at the simple excitement of warm weather. I rushed outside and sang praises as I bathed, knowing that even if we hit a couple more mud-plagued rainy days, the warm season is pushing in.

Neither Winter Nor Spring

March 17, 2009

A couple of weeks ago I found myself very irritable, stuck within some frustrating combination of apathy and anger. I would cry at unnecessary moments, snap at those who were trying to help me, and get frustrated at the simplest of questions. I felt significantly disappointed by those around me and I didn’t really know where it came from. The answer, though, always almost comes from within.

We were told from the beginning to reevaluate our expectations. Every step of the way, a sign of frustration is followed by someone questioning our expectations. Lowering expectations is not something you can say to a group of overachievers who have crossed great ponds to meet their high standards. And if my “unrealistic expectations” had been replaced by something more appropriate from the onset, perhaps I wouldn’t be where I am. But no one can give you a correct set of expectations while simultaneously telling you that each experience is unique.

My current frustration came from the shock of another awkward transition from the dead depression of winter to the unexpected wake-up call of not-quite-spring. You see, I have reassessed my expectations on a continual basis, trying to find ways to match any worthwhile outcome to existing opportunities. And yet, it keeps getting redesigned, new expectations keep getting thrown out at me, and what I once threw out as dead or dying has been resurrected and thrown in my face.

As of the 12th, I have been in Moldova for a year and six months. And the first of us will Close Service in 7 months (excluding those who have/will leave early for medical, educational, personal, or additional reasons).

I think, ultimately, it’s fatigue. It’s not homesickness; it was an overall lack of energy and a reluctance to take on more responsibility because I don’t want to be disappointed, to fail.

“Many volunteers feel they need to create a monument,” he told me. And I didn’t get it at first. “Like a statue?” I said. “No, like a monument project: one concrete accomplishment to signify their service.” And I got the impression that he was either judging them or trying to persuade me into not relying on that same evaluation of my service: based on one concrete accomplishment. And I do agree that the perspective I’ll gain in ten years will shine light on the significance of each of these daily activities, but I also understand the longing for something solid…at least until the time of great perspective has washed over me.

Purging expectations is not the same as lowering standards.

When March came and I noticed the grayness, I remembered two stories. In Moldova, spring starts on March 1st and there is a story that starts on that day: the story of “Baba Dochia.” (doh-kee-ya) In this story, a woman ventures out with the first sign of spring on March 1 and as the sun slowly comes out, she gradually undresses. First her scarf, then her hat and gloves. Next come her large coat and sweater. And once she has taken off all of her clothes and the sun has warmed her whole body, the winter wind whips back and freezes her to death. This is the warning of the first week of spring: it’s a tease, keep your clothes on. What a depressing story. But I definitely remember to keep well-clothed and to not be tricked by the sun.

The second story is actually a memory. I forget the reason (probably that same intestinal parasite), but I stayed in the medical apartment last March. I was in the kitchen with a volunteer who would finish up that summer and we were both looking out the window at the gray March sky. I was wondering why it didn’t look like spring yet. “I remember it being nice by April,” she told me. True enough, I remember the Romania trip taking place on the first sunny weekend, the second week in April. So my shock at the March grayness was mitigated this time around and, knowing that spring truly is around the corner, I feel more patient.

Some of the girls that I had been working with have just let me know that they are going to be too busy to continue our weekly English meetings because they’ll be studying for their graduation examinations, etc. I understand, but I’m saddened; these were great girls and I enjoyed this source of consistency. I had also hoped that the relationships would develop. There’s still time. And that’s not the full extent of my activities in the village, but I looked forward to it. And it was an opportunity. The fewer people I meet with, the fewer opportunities there are.

As grim as this letter might sound, I actually feel a lot better. I feel calmer and I try to remember to stretch and pray more frequently, to say my mind, and to not take things so personally. And I feel like a have come through another transition and am now in a new (although unchanged) part of my service. I still have no doubt that I want to finish – and part of it is simple curiosity to see what will come of the full experience, what might come at the end. I’m also just not ready to leave.

Masa Hypocrisy

To add a little humility to my seemingly “I know how to live life correctly” entry below, let me just say that I’m humbled by my own realization that I have not been invited to nearly as many meals as I assumed I would’ve. I’m not normally the “I can’t believe I wasn’t invited” person, but this is supposed to be a culture of inviting everyone over, of spontaneous meals that come from nowhere for the guest who just popped in. And even my host mom commented that it was weird that none of the students I work with invited me to their house for one of the millions of holiday celebrations. Or my former partner (ever). But that’s the weird line between teacher and friend. I’m neither I guess.

I am perfectly aware of my hypocrisy; I want to be with my host family. Having spent so much time running back and forth to Chisinau, I like to just be at home, especially during the holidays, when we have family here as well. And there has been a friend of the family who has invited me to her village on innumerable occasions and I have turned her down repeatedly because of the rarity that I am actually at home and thus prefer to stay home. And the spontaneous “you need to come to my house to eat loads of food” hospitality can sometimes be stressful instead of flattering.

But now that I realize that I’ve only been to one spontaneous evening (which included two houses – and that was one year ago), well I feel a little disappointed. Am I just not warm with these people? Is my village just slightly less tied to this tradition? I do know that the various traditions of saying “good morning” also vary from village to village. In some villages I should only speak to women. In other villages, anyone older than me (as in my current village now). And the frequency with which young children (and teenage boys) say hello to their elders varies greatly. It is then my hypothesis that the “open doors, big table” attitude parallels the variations in “good morning” frequency.

And yet, I still feel a bizarre combination of rejected, guilty, and disappointed.

Going in Circles

February 8, 2009

I recently wrote an email detailing my marathon experience. I wanted to post the whole thing, but it wasn’t entirely publicly appropriate. In fact the details that are the most emotional are simultaneously the most personal – but isn’t that normally the case? I can say, though, that I was surprised once again by the strength of my own body. I have not experienced anything as motivating as the confidence that comes after completing a marathon, especially after not thinking you would and wrestling an angry stomach with an absence of toilets. I finished. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t doubt it. It had gotten to the point pre-race when I just accepted that it would be painful, but temporary. Muscularly, it felt much better than anticipated. Emotionally/stomach-wise…not so much. But the resulting high that came from emotional stress rather than muscle fatigue was more satisfying.

The trip to Morocco was fantastic. I enjoyed each moment of the trip and was continuously impressed by events that worked out for us. When I first got back to Chisinau, I felt invincible. I was sure that I would be able to battle the remaining winter weeks with style and energy. It turned out that the week of my return was much harder than I imagined. I succumbed back to habits of Office-watching and pajama-wearing. Knowing that a bath would help me only added to the frustration; I didn’t want to start heating water again. There was no longer a marathon routine. No scheduled run, shower, or activity. But there was definitely still winter.

Except yesterday it was a shocking 50 degrees – almost as warm as when we were in Morocco.

February 21, 2009

Well that warm-ish weather left as surprisingly as it showed up. It’s back down to zero and there is snow once again upon the ground. I want the weather to start heating up, but that means mud. I forgot how much I disliked the mud – especially as I was complaining about the ice. The fact was that if I had worn my Yak Traks the snow/ice wouldn’t have been as much of a problem.

They don’t work as well with the mud which is ridiculously slippery. Sometimes the thicker stuff is better – just trudge right through it with those cheap Moldovan boots that you’re going to throw away in a few months anyway. But the thicker stuff acts like a plunger, sucking in your foot and making the same sloppy, popping sound when you pull your foot out.

I’ve gotten back into a semi-routine now, but I wouldn’t mind being able to run again (it’s too cold for pleasure walks). And I remember why the February wind was my enemy; it bites. Unfortunately I left my running stuff in Chisinau before leaving for the race and I haven’t been able to bring it back yet. It’s barely been three weeks since I’ve been back (seems like ages). And I’m already back contemplating what I’m still doing here – or what I’ve ever been doing here.

The mental perception of November-March seemed longer last year. But this year it’s still too long. I’m tired. Tired of heating water for a bath (but I am oh-so-efficient now). I’m tired of washing laundry by hand (so sometimes I just don’t). I’m tired of carbs (and how I usually love them). I’m sure this is all exaggerated by winter. Once things get moving again, when everything starts warming up and I can be outside in the sunshine, I will likely cheer up. But I will be ready to go when the time comes. I can’t wait for the summer sun-heated shower that drips over me bucket-free. I guess, then, it’s not just Moldova…it’s winter in Moldova.

When April comes, I’ll tell you that I didn’t gain 15 pounds this winter. March was the peak of last year’s winter weight. I’d never had a winter weight before. And that will be Marathon Goal #1. Check.

No this experience has not been what I expected but I think that is a factor of my expectations. I don’t want to hypothesize on my final Peace Corps recommendations as I’m not done with the experience yet. But I am more solidified in my belief that each person needs to follow their own direction and that following the advice of people who have different intentions will only end up in frustration and disappointment.

Ironically, this also means that I’ve shifted gears slightly when it comes to graduate school planning. I’m still planning on getting all of my applications ready by the time I leave Moldova, but my expected direction has morphed again. My interests (numerous as they are) haven’t gone away. They haven’t narrowed themselves or changed drastically in any other way as I expected them to do during my two years in Moldova. Instead, they’ve become more unified and magnified as a whole. Thus it’s become more essential to find a program, a field that would allow me to study the relationship between each of my interests. And, funnily enough, it leads me right back to the place I started. Every step, every degree idea I’ve researched (and on dial-up, each “idea” is a month-long process of researching schools, courses, and options) has led to the next, more specific program. It follows the same theory that discovering what you don’t like (or “what you’re not writing about” as the metaphor started) leads you to what you DO want. And it’s taking me in a circle, which each turn more educated than the last.

It’s funny too, that one small green book continues to echo in my mind, telling me something I knew even before I read it. Isn’t it interesting, too, that my “favorite little book” is one that agrees with my own thoughts? Do what you love. If you have the chance to be where you want, to do what you want, take a leap and do it and things will end up where they are supposed to end up. Follow your gut. Get down to the simplicity gut-driven heart of the matter. Me, who has been so lucky in the past…how could I not trust that? I have seen the way that life leads ME in the right directions. And I’ve spouted this to friends and family, so why not follow it myself? It’s not a matter of what you are good at but what makes you feel good. (I’m writing this to myself now.) And the scariest part is sometimes feeling that you aren’t supported in your bizarre interests, your unorthodox desires. But if there’s a natural gift within you for something, if it sparks a fire…that’s the type of motivation you want to follow! And I’ve have been so phenomenally supported by friends and family (especially throughout my Peace Corps experience) that I can almost throw out the “what if I don’t have support?” whopper.

And so when I think about what I’ve actually taken my precious dial-up time to read about, to argue about, to research and discuss…well that’s as simple as it gets. The things that interest me most about the youth I work with, for example…the idiosyncrasies that may not stick out to someone else. Or perhaps they are frustrations to someone else and, in this particular interest, they are curiosities to me…something I want to get to the heart of. Simply put, this is what I want to study and if I can find a place where I can explore each of these (I can) then why not? Why choose one and feel incomplete?

Perhaps this is the most time I’ve devoted to talking about a program I’m not naming (but I’ve changed my mind so passionately so many times).

So I’ve come around the circle once again, both with my feelings about being in Moldova and my ideas about what to do when I get back. Undoubtedly I’ll flip around a dozen more times, but there is something reassuring in the fact that it’s brought me back to the same spot each time.

Walking on Ice

Here we are as close to the holiday season as we can get without already being stuck in the up-and-down-ness of winter blues, gray skies, and knee deep mud. Unfortunately, we’ve already met Mr. I-don’t-like-the-cold, Mrs. The-skies-are-still-gray, and their daughter Ms. I-wish-I-was-still-on-vacation. And instead of mud, they’ve brought ice with them. I don’t remember there being as much ice last year though. I’ve already fallen three times on the ice and yesterday I stood in the middle of the frozen road because every step was ice skating. I was 1) too scared to move seeing as I already have a 4” diameter bruise on my leg and 2) hoping the boys who were sliding around would leave and grant me the honor of falling in privacy. They didn’t leave. But my director called, giving me a reprieve from decision making and a reason to stay put for the duration of our conversation. She brought good news: I would still be able to leave in January for the marathon though it conflicted with a program conference. But once the conversation was over I had to get back to the business of walking on ice.

I never thought I’d say this….but I’d prefer the mud…even the slippery, you-think-you’re-going-to-fall-with-every-step, so-ubiquitous-that-there’s-no-way-around-it, everything-is-covered-and-clothes-are-ruined type of mud. But the anger at risking falling in mud is nowhere as nerve-wracking as not being able to put a single foot down because each step slides underneath you and your aching knee is too stiff (or sore or temperamental) to help you stay up. (Mommy, I have a new found empathy for what I used to think was just your humorous clumsiness. My apologies.)

Yesterday, after my run, I tried to take a bath. A real bath. I heated up what I thought would be enough water to fill the tub once I mixed it with an equal amount of cool water. It wasn’t enough, but I sat in the water and poured it over myself anyway. Either way, I had used up all the buckets of water in the house, and, trying to be a thoughtful host daughter, I decided that I would go to the well to refill at least one of the two buckets. First mistake: I didn’t wear gloves and the handle of the well was solid ice. Second mistake: I wore slippers. Don’t ask me why, but I did. Though my only other pair of possibly appropriate shoes was the same Nikes I was wearing when I was skating to work, frozen in indecisiveness in the middle of the road. I filled up the bucket and made my way slowly back to the house until, just in front of the house, the slightest of inclines brought me down, spilling all of the cold water I had just filled. I could’ve gone back and tried again, but I didn’t. I settled with a half-hearted attempt at being responsible and thoughtful only to find that as I left to work I also left the door unlocked.

But while I grumble at the cold and curse the ice, I don’t feel nearly as gloomy this December. I’m more homesick for holiday traditions, but not as depressed. It’s an odd balance. Part of my sanity is most likely due to three things: a semi-regular schedule, having people I enjoy talking/brainstorming with, and running. I’ll take them apart: the semi-regular schedule is only possible because of the new arrangement made after last month’s conflict, so for this, I’m grateful; the people I talk with has helped salvage my idealism and optimism in being able to accomplish something during my time here; both the schedule and the people have led to a feeling of regular productivity – or at least the hope of it; the marathon, though proving more painful than I imagined, has kept me more active, as was the intention.

We volunteers have set out across seas toward adventures that we knew would be “challenging and rewarding” but we could not have guessed what the challenges or rewards would be. The beauty though, is that this has been the reoccurring case with all expectations I’ve been setting thus far. It does not only refer to my service itself, but also the individual goals and ideas. We didn’t expect that moral dilemmas, persevering through boredom, and resisting a pessimistic outlook would be some of the major challenges. I know that I didn’t expect to tire so quickly of boiling water and washing my clothes by hand. I thought the adaptation would only become more established, not that it would drop after its peak.

I knew that training during the winter would be a pain in the butt and that I would need major moments of self-motivation and discipline to keep myself going (and wasn’t that the goal?); however, with about 5 weeks left until warm-weather running, I’m realizing that the challenge is greater than just wind and rain. I’ve tried to be honest with myself. I’ve tried to keep to a regime that would be realistic and still allow for community involvement (and marathon completion). (And when you have to heat your own water, an hour run turns into a three-hour process.) I’ve also tried to be realistic about my expectations while simultaneously recognizing pains and balancing the need for pushing through them and holding back. My goal for the race has changed three times over and each adjustment is an inner struggle to discern between laziness and realities. While the right knee is more upset during these iced-road runs, I have to remind myself that this was the exact same pattern in Sunny California: knee in the beginning, shin splints in the middle, knee at the end…only more exaggerated. Last time the knee kept me off the road for 4 weeks before the race. I used bikes and stationary exercises instead. But that’s not an option right now. But the clincher is that I don’t remember my everyday walking being affected. Do I stretch enough? Surely not. Have I been strengthening my calves enough? No.

But this training – getting outside, staying active, having a goal – was supposed to help reduce stress and stabilize my winter emotional-ness. It wasn’t supposed to add to pressure, worry, and pain. And yet, wholeheartedly, deep down in the heart of the matter, I know that this surprise challenge will make it all even more worth while. And that is one of the reasons why I’ve no doubt that I will get through this, that I will finish and that I will have a much better winter – both than last winter and than would’ve been possible otherwise.

I’ve also re-acknowledged my frustration with people who are supposed to represent me. Yes, frustration with people we are conflicting with is a continual aggravation regardless of the person, but frustration with those who are supposed to represent us is even more deep-rooted. When someone tarnishes something that I’ve been working on, I am more angry than discouraged, especially when they ruin the effectiveness of a whole, well-intentioned group. This isn’t a new realization. Just rare enough for me to need to comment each time.

But here is a wish for all of you: that whatever surprises have come your way, that you have the love of those around you to help see them through. I’ve been blessed enough to have enough clear days to run, to have enough people to talk with, and to have enough coal to keep the fire warm this winter. I hope that each of you has something for which you are grateful this holiday season and that you have others to share it with.

Many Words and Miniskirts

I just need to give credit to Autumn. It’s beautiful and mysterious. It reminds me abstractedly of California Fall but it’s more surprising. The dry wind still signifies that Thanksgiving Day is coming, but the difference is the proximity of all colors together. Sure, trees change color in California too, but there’s no one to sweep the leaves away here. And the narrowness of the roads brings all the leaves together, so with the above-and-below of auburn, yellow, and orange, I’m surrounded in Fall – and I love it. And Los Angeles doesn’t have the sweet, fermenting wine smell. I have that here.

My stubbornness against the cold won’t hurt anyone else, but I’m a walking contradiction: I hate being cold, but resist layering up in loads of clothing. So I wore a skirt today. A denim miniskirt. (I haven’t worn a miniskirt of any kind since I was a cheerleader, meaning I wore miniskirts every Friday – woohoo!) But I want to soak up all bits of sunlight before I turn pallid, bundled in clothing I don’t want to be wearing.

In 18 days I’ll be testing my English on the GRE. My verbal and math skills had normally been about on par with each other, but studying English words in a Moldovaneasca-speaking country means I speak JUMBLISH. Words I thought I knew now look intimidating and, more often, annoying. Before October hit, I started really missing English, missing my understanding of nuances, missing the richness of our vocabulary. And then I started studying that richness and now I’m not so sure that we need scores of words for “criticism” or “bad-tempered.” And why does there have to be a separate word for “the support structures of measuring instruments”?

When I’m done being tested on my English-language vocabulary, I’m sure I’ll appreciate it once again. But for the time being, I need to start living the “don’t be afraid to aim high” blabber I’ve been exclaiming to those who have dared it before me. Ironically, last week was quite emotional and, frustratingly, without a specific stimulus. All the richness of two languages couldn’t describe my mood. Not that I’m new to the random desire to “cry it out” but an extended inability to sleep hit a head when I was reintroduced to shin splints. Part of aiming high means getting your hopes up – something I haven’t let myself do for a while (maybe that’s why it’s more exciting for me to “leave things to fate”). Trying to do everything you can to “do it right” means that you’ve put energy and hope and faith into it and you risk losing that when it doesn’t work out. But the biggest thing I’m remembering is that keeping your chin up is more important than not getting your hopes up. So I guess this is me saying: I’m not afraid to want something.

Of course this random entry is an example of my need to 1) clarify the previous frustration-filled “I hate winter” entry and 2) procrastinate from studying. But I’m going to get back to my vocabulary enhancing because I 1) see progress and 2) really want to go to graduate school. Since deciding spontaneously about a month ago that I would take the GRE, I’ve since increased my graduate school enthusiasm tenfold. Of course I have a tendency to change my “future plans” spontaneously and radically. I didn’t go to the college I accepted, I didn’t finish grad school applications one month before they were due, I left the Peace Corps decision up to destiny, and I still think about art school – but this is where my heart (and mind) is at the moment.

Not surprisingly, that enthusiasm has come hand-in-hand with a specific program direction. Perhaps if my interest for the program wanes, so, too, will my urgent desire for grad school. But no other program has ever gotten me so eager and motivated. You can’t ignore that spontaneous YES feeling. That’s what I always hope for – the unquestionable desire for something, the lack of uncertainty, and the ease of decision making. In fact, it’s one of the things I pray for on a reoccurring basis – the ease of decision making. But I also know myself well enough to never say “it won’t change,” just that it’s one more factor pointing me in the right direction, and watching it happen is captivating and reassuring. Of course, the other irony is that it’s the one program I scratched off immediately two years ago. Funny how it works out. I have no doubt that my experience here was necessary and that it is truly setting me up for everything that will follow…even if I “abhor pompous words” for a while.

One Year Down: Exhaling, Running, and Eating Apples

It’s been a weekend of exhaling, that’s what I’m calling it. It’s amazing how many times you can catch your muscles relaxing when you didn’t even notice that they had been tense. Let me catch you up with what followed my one-year-in-country moment: gray sky. Sixteen days without even a hint of blue sky, not one moment of sunshine. That’s 24/7 moodiness and complaining; 384 hours of “you’ve got to be kidding me” and “it’s way too early for this.” When September 1st came, so did a cool, dry wind, i.e. Fall. I told myself: it’s not that cold yet, this is ok. And then BOOM! My “congratulations for one year” was freezing rain on September 12th. The “cold months” in Moldova (as allocated by the Peace Corps heating allowance) are October through March
(read: HALF OF THE YEAR!). Six months is too long as it is, the additional September phase was not welcomed at all.

But, that’s all over now; there’s blue sky today. And there was blue sky yesterday, too. It started Saturday evening on my way home from a full Friday of baking. Let me tell you, for someone who hasn’t felt sunlight in a while, you can almost forget what it feels like on your face. It’s beautiful and calming. It’s necessary.

Other little “thank you” moments came from finding my tweezers, then my engraved Swiss Army knife, being able to (finally) save my documents after not being able to use the portable hard drive for an entire year, then reloading the operating system and applications on my computer. Being able to sign on to the internet from my own computer was exciting, too. But the largest, most anticipated exhale came today when I submitted two separate grant proposals, one of which asks for way too much money for something that is totally necessary.

Perhaps this is the more appropriate one-year-in-country entry, as only passing the one year mark has made me better able to reflect on it. As with the previously mentioned exhaling moments, I’ve found that my prayers changed a million times over, as well. They went from “please let this pass” to asking for patience to “please let this work” to trying to be open to what came my way. I cannot help but put expectations on some of these project proposals – one of the most dangerous non-defensive moves I can make. Yet the fact that I have actually put a significant amount of tangible work into these is not something I can easily ignore. Of course, there is a second option, and I just hope that I am optimistic enough to follow through with it if this 27,000 Euro request isn’t granted. It would prove that there’s no need to give up after a first try. And while that “proof” would be directed toward my Moldovan counterpart, it would be essential for my own learning as well.

Moldova has emphatically proven to me that what we learn in theory is not always easily transferred to practice. After graduating, I felt confident that I had enrichment my Child and Adolescent Development education with thorough, simultaneous practice. I’ve spouted multiple times that it was the busy schedule, the parallel of work and study that propelled my learning and made it more comprehensive. However, what works in California (in English) doesn’t necessarily work in village of 3,000 (in Romanian).

I realized that my “relationship” with youth, in front of a class, in the gym, and in uncomfortable situations, was language-dependent. Not just language in the English-Romanian sense, but language in my ability to communicate emotionally, to relate through examples, to choose age-appropriate responses and to explain myself. While it was immediately evident that I was the “talky coach,” I hadn’t outlined how I exhibited that – I just thought I talked more. I also hadn’t realized that those methods would be more difficult to utilize here.

Additionally surprising was the realization that I had always been “supplied” a group of youth, kids, girls, etc. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the motivating-from-scratch factor. Sure, I understand the necessity of motivating in all social domains, but motivating a group that isn’t yet formed, in a language you’ve just learned, for an interest that you came up with yourself….well, it develops a lot more slowly.

I also find that my patience with cultural difference, with questions that I feel are inappropriate, with hospitality that comes across as pushiness…well it tires. And yet, just when I snap and say something sarcastic to myself, I’m proven wrong and the motives that I judged as improper dissipate to reveal misconceptions and prejudgments on my part. Of course, I acknowledge the need to express frustration, especially as some get ready to leave for good. Working day in and day out with logistics that don’t make sense and apparent intrusions to personal space…well we spend so much time trying to have patience with it, trying to understand the beauty of cultural differences, that when the time comes when you can exhale and release all frustrations, when you no longer need to conform to someone else’s standard…I can see the liberation. But I’m not there yet. Right now I still have one more year, and, truthfully, I hope that I don’t need to think of it as liberation. I’d rather spend this next year finding better ways to express, explain, and stand up for myself.

And what I never knew how much I loved: chopped apples in brown sugar and cinnamon. I knew I like the combo as it’s the same as apple pie filling (and don’t get me started talking about pie…) but whenever eating or making an apple pie, I never ate the filling before baking it, and I never eat the filling without the crust (or it just wouldn’t be pie). But there’s something so enjoyable about crisp cool apples that make their own glaze when tossed with brown sugar.

I need to acknowledge that any moment of release, any of those “thank you moments” was aided by another person. I have been so blessed by the people around me. I’ve caught myself literally wondering why I have been as blessed as I am, and I know that I won’t hear or see an answer for years to come – if ever – but all I know is that I am frequently filled with divine gratitude and that all I can do is make it all worthwhile, to live up to it, not letting inconsequential factors get in the way of momentous and purposeful experiences.

On a similar subject, I’ve decided to train for another marathon, publicizing it as much as I can so that I have more motivation to get my tush outside when it gets permanently cold and uncomfortable. Last winter I didn’t know what to expect, which, in hindsight, helped me until March when I was confused about why it didn’t feel like Spring. The problem with this upcoming winter is that I know exactly how long it might very likely last and I don’t like it. While hibernating is comfortable when it’s cold outside, the 24/7 sedentary-ness doesn’t help your state of mind. So I’m going to stay active, to keep my mind moving, to fight the emotional-ness that creeps up indisputably in the winter. And yet, even though the majority of my winter-related thoughts involve grimacing and complaining, the random “it wasn’t actually that bad” thoughts come up from time to time, too. We’ll see. I do know, though, that I don’t plan on letting winter get the best of me. So I will run through the majority of the winter and February 13th I will run in Luxor City, both keeping me motivated and getting me to a warm climate in the winter.

And if there were any host family I would want to be snowed inside with, it would be this one. I feel no stress about food or communication here and they are always up for a chat when I need some non-American support. I know that I will stay here, in this house, for the full two years. I will not move families (don’t want to) and I will not live solo (nowhere to go anyway). But instead of being frustrated, I want to embrace the short-lived time when I will have homemade bread available everyday, when the patter of chickens is normal, and when all dairy is home-processed.

It doesn’t surprise me either, that while I may be adapting well enough to this situation, being out of the loop on happenings at home – and unable to help when need be – hasn’t gotten much easier.

Yes, I am enjoying my time in Moldova. Yes, to date I have had the experience that I could wish to have during the first 12 months. But I also know that the next year will bring even more uncertainty and anxiety and that it will shock me, as well. I can’t comprehend, let alone express, the weirdness that is living in an experience that you know will end. Working and adapting and fighting for an experience that you will soon leave can be reassuring but is often discouraging. I came here for an experience that I hoped would not be isolated, that I would utilize for years to come. And I trust that will be the case. But there will surely be some experiences, relationships, realizations, and memories that will remain only here…and that is enormously bizarre.