Great Advice

Great advice to anyone away (physically or emotionally) and changing…

“But everything that may someday be possible for many people, the solitary man can now, already, prepare and build with his own hands, which make fewer mistakes. Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away, you write, and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast. And if what is near you is far away, then your vastness is already among the stars and is very great; be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust. Avoid providing material for the drama, that is always stretched tight between parent and children; it uses up much of the children's strength and wastes the love of the elders, which acts and warms even if it doesn't comprehend Don't ask for any advice from them and don't expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
     Rainer Maria Rilke  from Letters to a Young Poet

Updates

Update on the mouse:
Няамам! I had the cat around. She inspected the flat, except for my bedroom which was quickly closed off. I DO NOT want any dang fleas! After climbing on my table, counter, and into the sink, she finally showed she was content with the place by curling up on the couch. Then the little pill of a mouse started scratching around again. Oh, kitty didn't like that. She ran over, prowled behind the oven, chased mousie, SHE CAUGHT HIM!! I was so excited!! Like any good cat, she played with her kill for a bit. I used a newspaper and a plastic bag to rid my floor of the dead mouse. I applauded kitty. I returned kitty and the mouse trap and left the dead mouse in the newspapers in the bag at the foot of the stairs. It's kind of hard to explain in Bulgarian, "Hi, thanks for letting me borrow your cat. Here she is, she's sufficiently de-pested my flat." So I just pointed to the bag and said "Всичко е добре!" "Everything's okay!" No more mouse trap, no more cat, no more mouse!!

Some one I hadn't emailed in a while asked me how I was doing. What an overwhelming question! This is how I summed it up for him..
A few of the things I learned this summer and am still learning now... In no particular order.
1. It's okay to not be productive for a bit. Maybe you need to grow before you can produce.
2. It's okay to be lonely for a short season. It helps you to recognize the importance of the love you receive.
3. Silence is a chance for God to cause you to pull closer to him, like a teacher who whispers from the front of the class so the noisy brat in the back will have to be quiet in order to hear anything.
4. You've got to love everything, even the questions, "love all that is unresolved in your heart... try to love the questions themselves." R.M. Rilke.  If you don't learn to love the questions, the answers will always be too big for you to understand. You have to love the mystery before you can truly understand the resolution, the conclusion.
5. Maybe it IS better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
6. There are a lot of things, people, and events in my life that I have a habit of turning to for comfort before I turn to The Comforter. A season of solitude will quickly begin working that out of a person.    

Bulgarian Mice

Bulgarian mouse trap.

So here's a fun story about my life in Bulgaria. One night I had the married couple PCVs over for a bit of watermelon and rakia. Chad looks strangely past me and tells me I have a friend. "Huh?" Chad gets up and walks slowly over to my stove. I turn around. Chad walks back and sits down. "There was a mouse sitting over there."

"Oh, you are KIDDING!!" I said.
"Um, okay, I'm kidding." Chad unconvincingly responded.
"Oh no oh no oh no oh no," I wailed.

So I kept on the look out for my new friend. I saw none of the signs of mouse life. No nibbled on food kept in the cupboards, no mouse droppings in the corner. But I kept hearing things.

Between the first alleged mouse appearance and today, the first actual mouse appearance, I have been trying to convince myself there is no mouse. I hadn't seen one after all. A fellow PCV visited me one weekend and told me I was hearing things, that he couldn't hear the little scratchy noises I could hear at night.

Everything changed with a piece of bread. I was making grilled cheese sandwiches one evening with this absolutely wonderful American processed cheese (just like velveeta cheese slices!!) that I had found in Blagoevgrad. I lifted my sandwich-in-progress out of the skillet a bit to look at the bottom... And whoopsie daisies... My sammich done falt apart. The top piece of bread just flipped off and flew behind the stove. I was in the middle of grilling my yummy, oowie-gooie-cheezzzy sandwich, so I decided I would fetch my bread later. Well, sometimes megi here forgets what she says she'll do later.

Funny thing, that same fellow PCV came to visit again this weekend. I told him, "I haven't heard anything from my mousy friend."
He said, "That's because you were only imagining him."
"Yeah, maybe Chad was only joking..."
We went for a walk, and came back about thirty minutes later. I began cooking dinner and noticed a wet spot on my rug. Upon closer inspection, I realized that my washer was leaking. Well, not so much leaking. My side load wash machine had some how been filling with water. The door was not closed all the way. In our attempt to fix things, we made a huge mess! (Um, thank GOD I was not alone to deal with this!) As it turns out, I really should be turning off the water when I'm not using the wash machine. So, we had to take out the rug that lays in front of the wash machine and under the oven that's in front of the bread that Maegen dropped.

As I lay in bed that night, I said to myself (I talk to myself a lot these days, you see), "Megi, now that the oven has been moved a bit, you should fetch your slice of bread."

"Hm, good idea," I responded, "but I don't remember seeing the bread there."
"Ohh, you are right, I don't think it was there. I wonder what happened to it?"
"Ahhh, remember the time you left the back door open and the neighbor's cat snuck in and you caught her running out from behind the fridge?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Well, maybe the cat ate the bread."
"Yeah, maybe. Goodnight."
"Добре, лейка нощ." (sometimes we talk in Bulgarian, too)

Cut to today... It's about 9am. I had class first period and won't have another until 6th, so I'm chilling online. I'm sitting in my living room, which is about eight feet from kitchen. I can swear I hear something scratching around behind my refrigerator. I go pound on the fridge. I put my cheek to the carpet and glare under the fridge. Nothing. Hm, oh well.

Now it's about 3pm. I'm chilling on the internet again; putting pics on my blog, sending SMSs for free online, downloading music, normal stuff for PCVs. ; ) (toughest job you'll ever love) I hear something that is CLEARLY a mouse under my refrigerator. I get up and again, put my cheek to the floor and gaze into the no-mans-land that is the space under the fridge.
"What is that?" I ask myself.
"Maybe it's your piece of bread."
"No, surely it's not. It's under the refrigerator. I thought the cat ate it."
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! OHMYOHMYOHHHHHHAHHHHHHH"
The little critter decided he'd run out to nibble on his feast of bread. After screaming, jumping in the chair, then scolding myself for behaving like a princess, which I am so clearly NOT, I went to the closet, took out a hanger, and finally fetched my bread. Or what was left of it. I took the garbage out and said,"Good luck now mousie!"

I sat out side with a neighbor baba (grandma) for a bit. My landlady walked out with her son and said, "Хаиди на разходка!" I mean "Come for a walk!" So we were walking and I thought to myself, "Megi," I've become Megi to myself because Мегън (do you see how boring my name is now?) is too difficult for these Bulgarians. "Megi," I said, "you should utilize this young man's English language skills." Pepi, my neighbors oldest son, is also one of my students.

So I asked him, "Как е 'mouse' на Булгарски?"
He answers, and of course I can't remember it now, something like, 'mishka.'

So I tell his mother, in Bulgarian that I have a mouse. This becomes all the drama. She tells dyado (grampa), then her husband. They decide that first they'll give me a trap. If that doesn't work, they'll give me a cat. If that doesn't work, we'll set out poison. If that doesn't work, there's a gun upstairs, hahaha. eeehhhh, okaaayyyy...

So, now I have a mouse trap. Either mice in Bulgaria are a lot more hungry, a lot less intelligent, or this thing ain't gonna work! Wish me luck!

Oh, as I was going over this very long story, my landlady came over. Now I have a cat, which I'm supposed to let out in the morning, for which I'm supposed to put out a bit of bread, who knows this region, and will tell me about my mouse once she finds it. mmm, mmkaayyyy... So now you can wish me luck with the mouse and with the cat.

Summer is Over

Andy, me, Ned and Ethan hanging out at the pool above Krichim. Andy titled this pic, "The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love," from an old PC slogan.

So this picture, this is an example of my summer. Beautiful mountains, having fun, relaxing, learning, great friends, swimming, tanning, eating, chilling. It couldn't be any better. Then we moved from Trainees to Volunteers. Then we moved away from our families. Then we lived and worked and communicated on our own. Alright, so I live in Razlog now and I'm not complaining. I have a great school with all new windows! I had colleagues and a director who genuinely care. I have a flat with cable internet and TV. I have a GSM and can (and do) send lots of text messages. I don't have it so bad!

The summer, the part of the summer I spent in Razlog, went very slowly. I really did not find much to do. I went to school. Of course, this is summer so teachers are on vacation. The teachers on duty would sit around and drink coffee with me. They'd talk in their typical Razlogshki dialect and my head would spin. On bad days I'd only spend a couple hours with them. On good days when I was all over this crazy language and the teachers seemed patient with me, we'd chill way past lunch. The rest of the day I would cook, go to the internet club, go to the gym, or sit and watch Bulgarian TV.

After such an exciting summer, I'm sure the rhythm of school will bring things back down to a more mellow pace... HAAAA. There is nothing rhythmic OR mellow about school here. But I love it. There was so much chaos in the 15 days leading up to the start of school. I'm sure there still is. We still don't have text books. I still don't have class rosters. I only learn my schedule one day at a time. Once I'm in the classroom with those kids and I am doing what I know I am capable of, teaching English and hanging out with (less teachery for "managing") these young people. I have had 6 classes in three days (not much, I know) and I've not yet left a class with out a smile. Oh, I know I could be teaching better. I know I could be making better lesson plans, executing them better, communicating better. I know. But I'm doing alright. I can tell my students are having fun. I am having fun. And I'm pretty sure we are all learning. That's what the Peace Corps is all about, right?

All the Krichim volunteers with my host family at our "thank you" dinner party. Becca, Ethan, Gulchen, Ozhgune, Villi, Ned, me, and Andy. 

Me, my host sisters, and my host mom at a"thank you" dinner party in Krichim.

Catharsis (SP?)

I write this and I want it to make me feel better. I want to spill out my pain in ink and expect my soul to hurt less. Perhaps if I weren't a drama queen, like the world is "intensely felt prose," written just for me. Perhaps if I could for one day, for one hour "love the questions themselves." Perhaps if I could accept what I have with out worrying about what I don't have. "We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow." Then what? Then I wouldn't be this spastic, emotional girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, but can't explain it. I wouldn't be me. Yet I do not justify my obsessive affliction of worry. It is part of me, a part of me that probably will never go away, like alcoholism never leaves its afflicted, but the alcoholic does not have to remain a drunk. We must just work harder at avoiding what comes so easily to us. For years God has been teaching me that I worry, rely on myself, and find comfort in many things beside him first. Thank God, my lessons have always had other rewards: friendships, knowledge, experience, strength. If the reward is given in correlation to the lesson, I'm due for something great -- now or later.