Saturday, December 31, 2005

We had snow





About three weeks ago we had a huge falling of snow. It was beautiful. I wish my pictures could really capture how beautiful it was. I wish there were a lot of things I could more accurately express. My mom frequently complains about her inability to clearly enunciate her emotions in the midst of conflict. I have always considered myself able to let people know exactly how I feel with out much confusion. Some times this has been a bad thing. I have recently had an experience in which I was so far from able to express myself. I have always held this policy of clarity. I always want people to kow exactly how I feel because I know how torturous it can be to worry over someone else's thoughts. But I realized something.

It's not my responsibility. Forgiveness is up to the bearer of hard feelings. You don't have to ask for my forgiveness. If we waited for people to get strait with us, we'd be living in a crooked world, not that it's really all that strait right now. Anyway, I recently tried to explain my feelings so both I and the other party could let go of some hard feelings. Well, I realized that nothing I say could really make a difference, and nothing he could say would change my feelings. I used to depend on people to earn forgiveness. How silly that sounds as I write it. You can't earn forgiveness. I have this big motto that no one can make me mad. If I get mad, I'm the owner of those feelings. Making you responsible for them gives you power over me. It's the same thing with forgiveness I'm realizing. Waiting for you to want my forgiveness is giving you control and power over me. I'm the owner of my feelings, and while they may get hurt, it's my responsibility alone to see that they get healed.

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas! This New Years Eve I've got my two host sisters and another volunteer here and we are having a little get together at my flat. It won't be much to shout about. Tomorrow I will experience Razlogski Kukeri for the first time. I'm pretty excited about that. I'm exhausted of being with people though. I love the people I'm with, but I'm so spent. They are enjoying themselves though.

Friday, December 30, 2005

A Man's Requirements

So, today’s poem of the day was really beautiful and touching to me.  I don’t think I’ve ever read it before, some how.  I especially liked stanzas 10 and 11.  
Well, I’m off today to pick up a package from our school librarian.  I’m going to make American style spaghetti for my host sisters.  I’m sure they’ll complain about it because the only times they haven’t complained about my cooking was when I cooked chocolate pudding cake (because really, what teenage girls complain about chocolate?) and last night, I cooked a very Bulgo meal:  Kremvishi w/ kashkaval, and soup from a packet.  But, this is their vacation with their American sisters, and for the love of God, they’ll learn about my Americanness.  
Anyway, these are a man’s requirements, according to me and Elizabeth…
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Man's Requirements


I
Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.

II
Love me with thine open youth
In its frank surrender;
With the vowing of thy mouth,
With its silence tender.

III
Love me with thine azure eyes,
Made for earnest grantings;
Taking colour from the skies,
Can Heaven's truth be wanting?

IV
Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting;
Love me with thine heart, that all
Neighbours then see beating.

V
Love me with thine hand stretched out
Freely -- open-minded:
Love me with thy loitering foot, --
Hearing one behind it.

VI
Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me;
Love me with thy blush that burns
When I murmur 'Love me!'

VII
Love me with thy thinking soul,
Break it to love-sighing;
Love me with thy thoughts that roll
On through living -- dying.

VIII
Love me in thy gorgeous airs,
When the world has crowned thee;
Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,With the angels round thee.
IX
Love me pure, as muses do,
Up the woodlands shady:
Love me gaily, fast and true,
As a winsome lady.

X
Through all hopes that keep us brave,
Farther off or nigher,
Love me for the house and grave,
And for something higher.

XI
Thus, if thou wilt prove me, Dear,
Woman's love no fable,
I will love thee -- half a year –
As a man is able.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Symbols and Stereotypes

From Merriam-Webster’s 11th Collegiate Dictionary. For my purposes, please note meanings two and five. Although I could go on about meaning four, I won’t.

Symbol:
Etymology: in sense 1, from Late Latin symbolum, from Late Greek symbolon, from Greek, token, sign; in other senses from Latin symbolum token, sign, symbol, from Greek symbolon, literally, token of identity verified by comparing its other half, from symballein to throw together, compare, from syn- + ballein to throw — more at DEVIL
Date: 15th century

1: an authoritative summary of faith or doctrine: CREED
2: something that stands for or suggests something else by reason of relationship, association, convention, or accidental resemblance; especially : a visible sign of something invisible *the lion is a symbol of courage*
3 : an arbitrary or conventional sign used in writing or printing relating to a particular field to represent operations, quantities, elements, relations, or qualities
4: an object or act representing something in the unconscious mind that has been repressed *phallic symbols*
5: an act, sound, or object having cultural significance and the capacity to excite or objectify a response

From Merriam-Webster’s 11th Collegiate Dictionary. Please note meaning two.
Stereotype
Etymology: French
Date: 1817

1: a plate cast from a printing surface
2: something conforming to a fixed or general pattern; especially : a standardized mental picture that is held in common by members of a group and that represents an oversimplified opinion, prejudiced attitude, or uncritical judgment.

For your reference, please visit this link. You may leave comments here as the author of that site would prefer to no longer continue the conversation on his site.

I would like to argue two things here. First, the meaning of symbol and stereotype; and second, the role the confederate flag plays in American symbolism today.

I was recently accosted for using the word (and yes, I will call it a word) “y’all” in a comment to a blog.

And this is a warning: this site will only except non-Southern speak. Do you see a confederate flag hanging anywhere here? "Y'all" is not a real word. I don't go to your site and say "You sing wicked retahded," or "yaa gawd-damn idiot," please show the same respect in my site.
(the tsar comments)


Try to follow my logic here. I use Southern dialect. Southern dialect was associated with the confederate flag. Logical conclusion based on evidence given? Now, my next logical conclusion was that my choice of words was being associated with bigotry and racism. How did I come to that conclusion? Because of the symbolism of the confederate flag. Let’s explore that symbolism, shall we? I believe that the confederate flag is the symbol of a concept, while the tsar seems to believe it is the symbol of a region.

In a series of responses, the tsar said, “The confederate flag is a symbol of the South whether you like it or not. It's omnipresent down there, heck it's even on a state flag!” ( comments ) I would first like to argue that the confederate flag is not omnipresent in the South. While it may still be flown in some places, it is not the elected symbol of any of the 50 states of America. While it is a part of Mississippi’s state flag, this is hardly enough to argue that it is the symbol of the south. At best, I could concede that it is a partial symbol of Mississippi. Mississippi is not entirely symbolized by this flag, and Mississippi is not synecdochic for the south. Omnipresence is a huge exaggeration. The confederate flag certainly continues to exist in the South, but it is not a fair representation or symbol of the South.

I do not accept that any person can take one element of an entire culture and call it a symbol of that culture with out stereotyping that culture. To use Liz’s argument, to say that the New York Yankees’ logo is a symbol of the North East is to stereotype all North Easterners as baseball fans. It is not a stereotype to associate the Yankees’ logo with baseball, just as it is not a stereotype to associate the confederate flag with the Confederate States of America. If I wave that symbol, I am clearly in support of that for which the symbol stands. I am trying to replicate that association. If I wear a Yankees sweatshirt, I am telling the people who see me that I support the Yankees or a notion the Yankees’ represent; and if I fly a confederate flag outside my home, I am telling the people who drive past my home that I associate myself with the Confederate States of America or a notion they
represent. But saying the Yankees’ symbol is a symbol of the Northeast makes as much sense as calling the confederate flag a symbol of the South. It is an illogical stereotype. There are Yankees’ fans around the country, and there are supporters of the confederacy around the country.


What exactly does the confederate flag stand for and why is it offensive to make that flag a symbol of me (I am assuming here that a symbol is the representation of an association, as per definition two)? It was the Flag of the Confederate States of America. In the years 1860-1865 Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, South Carolina, Mississippi, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Virginia seceded from the Union and attempted to become an independent country. According to Britannica Concise Encyclopedia, the Confederacy’s “principal goals were the
preservation of state’s rights and the institution of slavery” (
"Confederate States of America" Encyclopædia Britannica from Encyclopædia Britannica Premium Service. <http://www.britannica.com/eb/article?tocId=9361373> [Accessed December 22, 2005]). The confederate flag is clearly the symbol of these eleven states during this time period. If I would like to argue that it is still a significant symbol, I must argue for its significance in meaning, rather than as a governmental symbol, as the EU or the American flags represent their respective organizations. To draw an unpleasant analogy, let’s take the swastika. This was used as a symbol of Nazi Germany. People still don the swastika today. Are they donning this symbol in support of the Germany of the early 19th century? Or are they donning the symbol because of what Germany of the early 19th century was fighting for? I’m going to step out on a limb and conjecture that most swastika wearing people will brag their Arian pride, not their German pride, and that Germans in general do not appreciate the association of a swastika with their modern nation. Similarly, the confederate flag is no longer a symbol of the Confederate States of America, since it like Nazi Germany no longer exists, but of the concepts for which those states were fighting.

I would like to believe that the use of the confederate flag is a political gesture in support of states’ rights. I, like many other Americans, find this nearly impossible to believe. It is much more likely that those flying the confederate flag are ignorant of what the antebellum South really was. I will venture to say that many who fly the confederate flag will quickly declare that the South never really lost the war, that the South shouldn’t have lost the war, and that the South would be better off if it hadn’t lost the war. Yes, I know, these statements are not in agreement. I will also suppose that a large percentage of confederate flag brandishing folks do not hate black people and dislike the notion of slavery, but are proud of their Southern heritage. To these people I beg to find a new symbol of your Southernness, because this one carries many negative connotations.

Okay, that was enough on symbols, now for stereotypes. The following quotes were from again, (comments)



I said "Do you see a confederate flag waving here?" because, whether you like it or not, the confederate flag is a part of Southern Culture. From Lynard Skynard
to Kid Rock, from the South Carolina state house to beltbuckles, it is associated with life in the South.

-the tsar

I didn't say it made you stupid, or racist, that was something all of you put out there.
-the tsar
by bringing up the symbol, you should have been aware that you were inherently bringing up the stereotype.
-liz


WHEN DID I SAY ANYTHING ABOUT SOUTHERNERS BEING STUPID, IGNORANT AND RACIST?! Hmmm, when did that start? When a Southerner decided to stereotype herself. I take it very personally when someone insinuates (or comes right out and says)I stereotype..
-the tsar


A stereotype is something that an individual attaches to a symbol. That is beyond my control and says a lot about the individual who attaches the sterotype. I put out the symbol (the Confederate flag) and some people attached a stereotype to it(southerners are ignorant and racist).
-the tsar

Okay, I’ll start from the bottom. The tsar says that “a stereotype is something that an individual attaches to a symbol.” Merriam-Webster says it’s “a standardized mental picture that is held in common by members of a group and that represents an oversimplified opinion, prejudiced attitude, or uncritical judgment.” Let me rephrase M-W. A stereotype is a standardized mental picture by a group. It is oversimplified, prejudiced, and uncritical. Hmm, what’s that M-W? No, I didn’t see anything about symbols there either.

The way I see it, symbols and stereotypes can operate independently of each other and are both attached to concepts. We stereotype people groups by skin color, region, education level, hair color, and weight. We make stereotypes based on jobs, actions, possessions, and the lack of possessions. We stereotype people based on their religious, political, and sexual persuasions. Are any of those things symbols? I am not symbolized by my white skin, my European heritage, my Southern or Californian background, my bachelor’s degree or lack of a master’s degree, my brown hair, or my 135 pounds. I am not symbolized by working for the Peace Corps, by volunteering, for owning a laptop and blow-drier but not owning a car or a home. I am not symbolized by my Protestant, conservative, and straight persuasions. I surely fit into many stereotypes, but I am not the symbol of any of those concepts, notions, or persuasions, nor are they the symbol of me.

As I said, I was accosted for using a word that is typical of my regional dialect, “y’all.” A symbol was thrown at me. I allowed for the association of that symbol in my mind. Symbols are used to conjure up images just as farce and sarcasm are used to prove a point. As I quoted above, Liz notes that symbols and stereotypes go hand in hand. Sadly, I disagree with the tsar’s definition that an individual does that association. I believe that a group of people create that association. It is often based on truth. The stereotype that all southerners are racist (with their confederate symbols) is based on the truth that most confederate sentiment originated in the South. The inverse is NOT true. Most Southerners do not have confederate sentiments. Liz was later accosted for accusing the tsar of stereotyping. Please correct me if I’m wrong but is it not a stereotype to associate my dialectal choice of words (y’all) with symbol (the confederate flag) of a created notion of Southern Culture? What is Southern Culture, by the way? I’d like to call upon my fellow Southerners to protest the notion that we are no more than Lynard Skynard and big gawdy belt buckles. Those are real and accurate descriptions of a type of culture, but it is not Southern Culture. Again, to use Liz’s argument, these elements of culture are as much the essence of being Southern as being a mean, cold, and indifferent snob are essential traits of all northerners. These are stereotypes that misrepresent a culture. They are, as M-W says, “oversimplified, prejudiced, and uncritical.”

I have to be on a bus in a few hours and would like to get a couple blinks of sleep, so I’ll tie this up.
First, I’m sorry for any errors in editing. I’m going to be away for a few days, and when the inkling hit me, I absolutely
had to start writing, even though I will not have time to properly edit this post (right, like I ever do!). Second, there are a few thoughts I’d like to throw out there…

1. How does one stereotype oneself?
2. Am I incredibly far off base to associate the confederate flag with ignorance, bigotry, and racism?
3. Am I the only one offended by associating a Southern drawl with the confederate flag?
4. Does anyone else find it ironic that I was told on the internet not to air my problems on the internet?
5. Was I totally out of line to take the assault against “Southern speak” personally, or was that the start of the “personal problem?”
6. How do you only “except Southern speak?” --okay, that was a low blow, but it’s staying in… It won’t be the first nor the last time you call me a kuchka. I’d like to rightfully earn it this time.
7. Can someone please explain to me my personal insecurities that the tsar so clearly sees in my
“diatribe” (i.e. farce in retort to the tsars attack on “Southern speak”) against Mexican Americans?


Okay. For the last time…

HAVE A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! The ‘Log is open for New Year’s if anyone is interested!

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Winter Solstice

So, I was informed that today is Winter solstice. Well, on this shortest day of the year I will place a special significance. When the sun sets tonight I will go to a Winter Ball. I will dance, eat, drink, and I may even shake my bump in some kuchek fashion with colleagues and students. I will forget my bitterness, anger, and pain. When the sun sets tonight I will pledge to let every day bring more light and more life. When the sun rises tomorrow I will begin the process of rebirthing, regrowing, and renewing the pieces of me that I have lost through the dying away of fall and winter.

It's time to begin the thaw. It's time to warm my spirit. It's time to forgive the cold dying winter and move toward the light of spring.

This has been a tough year. I am making the decision to start this next phase fresh.

Happy shortest day of the year!! Can you find some thing to let go of and begin the draw toward the light?

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Nashville

“Nashville”
David Mead
Indiana


on a childhood highway through a night alone
i was barely breathing, i was crawling home
well it's not quite london or the south of france
or an asian island or a second chance
going back to nashville, thinking about the whole thing
guess you gotta run sometimes
maybe i'm a fast train rolling down the mountain
watching all my life go by
you're a distant memory, you're an exit sign
i was talking crazy on the drivers side
and i know i hurt you but i won't confess
was that blood or a wine stain on your wedding dress
going back to nashville, thinking about the whole thing
guess you gotta run sometimes
maybe im a fast train rolling down the mountain
watching all my life go by
going back to nashville, laughing at a bad break
what's the use in wondering why
maybe i'm a storm front rolling through the valley
tearing up a good july
and its safe and warm where nothing ever happens
would it be so hard to realign a star or two
change a southern night for you
well it's not quite evening and it's not new york
theres a scar in the blue sky by the old airport
and i'm talking crazy on the driver's side
i will always love you like a long goodbye

I’m not going back to Nashville, and it’s a good thing, because if I did, I wouldn’t come back… I just heard this song on MSN Radio’s “compare to 100.1” station. It’s super music (not country for you haters…). Check it! Anyway, I like the Nashvillian nostalgia. I miss the Southern country Christmas. Going to the mall for last minute Christmas shopping… putting up with old ladies at the Cracker Barrel Country Store… The smell of desserty candles being made in our garage… People coming and going all the time… The hectic bustle of Hickory Hollow and those OBSCENE southern drivers… Somehow, I miss it. Sleeping in with my puppy… Drinking hot cocoa in my big cozy bed… mommy tickle my back! mommy hold you! What’s the use in wondering why?

Monday, December 19, 2005

Proud to be a VOL!

well, I'm not really a UT Vol, but I am proud to be from the state of Tennessee. And I am technically a volunteer.

I spent half of my life in Northern California, and the other half in Middle Tennessee (with a few spaces in Central Indiana). Some how, after years of fighting it, I developed the Southern Accent. I remember when I fell in love with it. I was taking a "History of the English Language" course at Anderson University, in Anderson, Indiana. I did a project on the Southern Dialect. I realized then that it was not just some ignorant speech. It has a rich history. It carries the history of hundreds of years of strife and turmoil. Poor people fighting to rise up in the world. The Irish in the hills of East Tennessee, the slaves on the platau in West Tennessee. These people have made my state what it is. I'm proud to be a part of that. I'm not saying I'm proud of every thing that has ever happened in Tennessee. Bad things happen everywhere, but if we can't be proud of the good, then the bad will never be changed!

Don't ever, EVER insinuate I am ignorant because I prefer to use "y'all." Do not associate me with slavery because I am from below the Mason Dixon line. Those who do this do NOT know me. Or know me and seek only to hurt me.

on the fammo

My life be like… the fear of never falling in love and the tears after losing the feelings of what you thought love was, like the dirt still up under the rug.  My life be like…  bad characteristics covered in Christ’s blood.  The joy of new birth and the pain of growing up.  The bliss between giving my all and giving up.     
Grits “My Life Be Like”

Family relationships are amazing things.  Family is devotion and mutual respect.  Family is unquestioning love.  Family is honesty.  Family is being real even when it hurts.  Family is speaking truth in love.  Families seek to make each other better, more complete people.  Families help you in your endeavors, even if they do not think it’s the wisest decision.  Families work hard for the good of the whole, sometimes for the good of one… one other.  Families hurt each other badly.  Families leave scars that will never heal.  But they seek to grow past and from those scars.  

My family experience is not so unlike most other Americans my age.  It was both better and worse than a lot of others’ experiences.  I know that things could have been MUCH worse.  Both of my parents are still living, and under the same roof.  I was never sexually abused.  I was never physically, mentally, or emotionally abused.  Because I received (and often it was earned) the raw side of my parents’ anger, I have some emotional scarrage.  Because my parents never had a healthy relationship, I have some relationship issues.  Not only do I carry my parents’ genes, I also carry their mistakes, and their parents’ mistakes.  I carry with me not only the baggage of their mistakes, but also am left with voids they could not fill because of their handicaps.

One of those voids, as I mentioned earlier is my problem with knowing how to heal relationships.  But I sure do know how to deal with family stuff.  When I moved back home after two years away at school, my mom and I discovered a lot of issues we had with each other.  We would spend hours some nights yelling and crying and talking and blowing our noses and hugging.  This irritated the far (that’s southern for ‘fire’ kiddos) out of my dad.  He’d lay into us.  We fight all the time, we don’t know when to quit.  Oh bozhe, don’t get between me and a good argument.  When I’m fired up about something and you step in…  You put your finger in this cage and you’re liable to get it ripped right off.   I don’t know where I was going with that.

I guess at some point I learned that I have these crazy strong opinions and if I don’t get them off my chest, I’ll explode.  In high school, I was terribly mean with these opinions.  Looking back, I did not understand that just because a thing is true does not mean it needs to be said.  When I moved away to college, I went to the other extreme.  I made myself become ambivalent.  At some point after I moved back home, I developed my own voice.  I trained myself to speak truth in love.  I’m still pretty crummy at it.  But it came with practice and hard work.  I have some members of my family that I cannot do this with because the basic trust is not established.  I have some friends who have become members of my spiritual family to whom I feel obligated to speak truth.  

Family relationships are for encouragement.  But these family relationships have their own Mazlow’s hierarchy.  The foundation is trust.  Trust is earned.  After trust comes respect.  After respect, love.  I believe that love requires truth.  So with those requirements, this means encouragement is not simply saying, “You can do anything you set your mind to!”  It’s saying, “If you really want to be a lawyer, I’ll help you, but you are going to have to work a lot harder than you are now.”  It’s saying, “I know you love baseball, but you need to be realistic.”  It’s saying, “I love you, but what you are doing is destructive behavior.”  It’s being tough.    

If you are a member of my ‘family’ you can expect some things from me.  I will not let you treat me with disrespect.  I will not tolerate your treatment of others with disrespect.  I will not let you walk all over me.  I will not tolerate being tooled over.  I will fight for you at all costs.  I will empty my soul so that you might thrive.  I will not tolerate your being disrespected, or tooled over.  I will expect you to be as honest and loyal to me as I am to you.  We will hurt each others’ feelings.  We will fight to heal that relationship, even if it means crying, laughing, snotting, yelling, and rejoicing.  I will expect you to be honest with yourself, because if you cannot do that much you cannot be honest with me, and how could I trust you?  I will not accept falseness and I will neither ignore nor let you ignore something which should be dealt with.  You will have to understand my human failings and fragileness.  I will fail you and you will break me.  And vice versa.  I will expect all of the above from you.  But family loves each other through that right?  You can decide…  Is it worth being a part of my family?  

I thank God for the random members of my ‘family’ strewn about the world.  The beautiful thing about family is this:  you can be absent for months, even years, and the love and trust has not diminished.  To my family, I pray you have a merry Christmas!  

Who said Maegen is fickle?

So what about an MA in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages)? What about getting my MA in Tel Aviv? hmmmm... I know I just decided to go for Linguistic Anthropology, but couldn't I get TWO master's degrees? I mean, this will give me some employment while I'm studying the development and evolution of dialects. Or maybe the idea of studying in Israel just sounds extra! Check it out! Click on the MA in TESOL link on the side bar- I can't link you there directly b/c of the frames thing... What do you think? TESOL or Lingo-Anthro? Israel?? TELL ME WHAT TO DO W/ MY FUTURE!!

Sunday, December 18, 2005

cats and relationships


Cat gnawing on pig guts. Gross be!



This is the Циганска печка. Notice the little kitty feet underneath. Kitty came out to peek at me as I took a couple of pics of him.






I sit here with a pile of tests in my lap that I keep praying will get magically graded. Or burst into flames or something. There are awful. Thank God, I am only grading them. I didn't create the test!

So, I'll write rather than grade. I've been thinking about avoidance lately. Some people say that time heals all wounds. I don't believe that. Some wounds, if left alone, become infected. You can ignore your wound for a long time. I suppose you can cut off the part of you that is wounded, and eventually the pain ceases. I hear that when a person has a limb amputated, they still experience phantom pains. You can be tricked by your nervous system to feel pain for something that doesn't even exist.

Do you have any of those relationships that just aren't there? Or perhaps a wounded relationship that you keep ignoring, hoping that it will heal? I have this one relationship... I've gone through bits where I thought everything was better. I wasn't angry anymore, that wounded part of me had been healed. Then I faced the relationship in reality and understood that I had simply ignored those wounds and put them away in places where they couldn't be felt. I go through this cycle over and over. Now I realize that I don't know HOW to heal relationships. I'd rather just not fuss with them. I've taught myself that a wounded relationship, if abandoned, will cease to hurt.

I have two rebuttals against this logic. First, on my sister's blog, she wrote, "relationships are never finished, they are just abandoned." hm... Second, at one point over the summer, I heard a song on a person's phone that brought up a well of memories. I had a bit of a panic attack. I was completely incapable of conversation. I walked in the dark to the internet club to send a deeply felt email, and walked home in the rain, in a daze. I realized that night that I mourned a relationship that I'd never had. I realized that time does not heal all wounds. Hard work, commitment, and choosing to love even when it hurts is what heals wounded relationships.

However, there is always the option of abandoning the relationship. Some relationships are not meant for life, others are. The relationship I mourned this summer is something that I must work on. Other wounded relationships, I don't know about. Like I said, I don't know how to heal relationships.


This is сланина. It's pretty much just fried pig fat. I actually had a bite. I generally HATE eating fat. I peel the skin off of KFC drumsticks because I hate to eat that fatty skin. Uck. But the taste of сланина is as close to skillet fried bacon as I've been in over 8 months. I tried to ignore the texture (which is quite difficult for me) and just enjoy that yummy, greeeezy, porky, oinkoink flava!

more snow

We got a LOT more snow last night. I've been up for about an hour and the snow has not slowed down. This is from my back door. I use the roof tops to judge how much snow we get... I have horrible depth perception, so it's easy when I use the roof. I'm about to go out to pick up some stuff for a carrot apple spice cake. This is a baking kinda day. Maybe I'll watch a movie later. I wish I had a wood stove! Those things keep you COZY! Posted by Picasa

Saturday, December 17, 2005

I went to a свинска слаба today. That is local dialect meaning, "pig wedding." It's actually a pig slaughter. It's a big event. It was amazing. I don't even know where to start. The pictures I'll put on here are a bit graphic, but not the most graphic that I have. This post is not for the faint of heart.

Harmonie and I were outside because we wanted to experience this свинска слаба thing. Harmonie, btw, is a vegan. So we hear the most awful screeching sound. The pig had been fetched from his pen. The noised filled the already dense air with a high pitched wailing that made me want to scream "STOP!" from the pit of my stomach. But at the same time, there was something so natural about the whole process. I'll go into that later.

So they set to killing the pig. They laid the pig on the ground. Two men held it down while the third began stabbing it in the throat. The pig became strangely silent when it was laid on the cold mud. It was so cold outside. Hot air was visibly rising from the pig's mouth. I could see him slowly dying. The rising steam moved from his mouth to the new, bright red hole in his neck. His abdomen slowed in its rise and fall until it ceased completely. The pig's legs twitched for about 30 seconds after the breathing stopped. For at least a minute more, his tiny tail twitched back and forth in an unnatural motion.

Harmonie video recorded the whole slaughtering process. When they carried the beast out of the pen, I really did not know if I would be able to capture any pictures. I pulled through, as you can see. As the little pigtail was twitching, I said to Harmonie like a child, "Look, his little tail is still moving." She replied in a very sad voice, "Yeah Maegen, I know." It was a strange moment.



After the pig was killed, the men set about preparing for the next step. They have these pumps that shoot fire. It took about ten minutes to properly prime these pumps. They lit barrels on fire, the "циганска печката" (a type of word burning oven), and shot streams of fire into the air in order to prime the pumps.




The next step was to begin the process of burning and scraping the flesh off of the animal.












In one hand was the fire gun, and the other held a knife. Burn and scrape. Burn and scrape.




While I could easily see how the whole event could be viewed as disgusting and barbaric, I found it quite natural. Even the men, as they prepared for their work joked that Americans would see my pictures and think Bulgarians are cannibals. This is life. It would be American to think this is barbaric and unnatural. It's inhuman of us to kill an animal with our own hands. I'd rather every family kill a few animals every year than leave millions of animals to be killed by a few people. That seems far more inhumane to me, not for the sake of the animals, but for the people. We weren't made to kill everyday.




As I said before, there was something very natural about the whole event. The entire family was involved. It was a day I did not mind filling the "woman's" role. It was raining, sleeting, snowing all day. The work to be done outside was cold, wet, bloody, and altogether rather unpleasant. Inside, I with my colleague, her colleague, and the all the females in the family cooked. We cooked bread, bonitsa (with fried leek inside), sermi, salads, more bread, pumpkin bonitsa, and more and more... It was like Thanksgiving. But for no real reason.

This pig killing will go on all week. Today they killed two for one daughter. Tomorrow they will kill two for another daughter. On Wednesday they will kill more for someone else. All the men of the family are involved every day. This pig slaughter is a family event. It is not just a day's worth of nasty work. It is celebrated. They celebrate their togetherness. They celebrate their bounty. They celebrate their love and devotion.

More pictures later... No more dead or dying animals. I promise.

Can this provide me a lifetime exemption from being called a princess? Please? Show me a princess who watches pigs get slaughtered!

lingo-anthro, pig weddings, and the integration of this ne-bulgarka

I have a bit of an announcement. Last night I came home from a bit of a girls’ night with a colleague and her friend. I checked my email and I had one super email from Macmillan, the publishing company. They send me a teacherly email once a week. Isn’t that sweet? Well, there’s a “word of the week” section. The word of the week is “houseblinging” which is a noun meaning “decorating the exterior of a house with a large amount of Christmas lights.” If you check out the archives for Macmillan’s WOTW, you’ll find lots of strange words that are pretty new to our language.

So, as I was perusing these archives, I was sharing my new knowledge with one of my PCV buddies and GoogleTalkmates, Lucia. I was using these new words like, “shopgrifting” in sentences like, “I shopgrifted from Wal-Mart once. I bought a microwave to use for the night, and then took it back the next day.” She kept saying I was cracking her up. I was just using these COOL new words. I might have been a bit funnier than usual. This is totally a digression, but I’ve developed the unhealthy habit of eating only one meal a day. Yesterday’s meal was washed down with two glasses of wine. Now, I had two glasses of wine (or was it three) in the space of two hours. I’m not a small girl, per say. This should not even make me tipsy! I was, however, a bit buzzed, I’m ashamed to say.

Anyway. I realized that the person who is studying these fun new words, describing their usage and etymology is the luckiest person in the world. The thought passed through my head, “I would love this dude’s job!!” Then I realized… Then I had my epiphany… I must study linguistics. I LOVE language. I love etymology. I love learning about the development of dialects. So, I’m going to start planning in that direction. I don’t know exactly how it will work out… I want to study why languages change and evolve… How words have developed (did you know smog comes from smoke and fog? Did you know that ‘an orange’ used to be ‘a narange’? http://www.krysstal.com/wordname.html ) I want to study how literature and language effect one another. And how the two effect and reflect culture. I think it’s all so amazing.

I have no Godly idea as to how I can make a living off of this. Maybe I’ll just keep teaching English. Maybe I’ll get come DELTA/ CELTA certs and study in Europe. Лелемале (nonsense expletive like, ‘oi’ or ‘ohwow’) I don’t know if I could manage so much time away from home. But you know home is where you make it. It’s not so much home that I miss, it’s love. I need to learn how to find love where ever I am.

This is also a digression. Actually, this is a full stop. Please prepare for a subject change.

I was recently told that the reason PCVs have a hard time integrating is because they aren’t willing to compromise. All of us who aren’t integrating into our communities smoothly just aren’t trying hard enough. Now, I’ve been told by different people (Bulgarian’s mind you) that there is only so much a PCV can do – sometimes it’s up to the community. When I expressed some concern in the matter, my counterpart told me that I was doing everything I could. She further reassured me that my colleagues love me. She told me that this is Razlog; this is Bulgaria. It will never be home to me, no matter how much I try. This helped a lot.

My counterpart tries to identify with me because she is from the other side of the country and this is difficult for her as well. I used to laugh it off when she said things like this. I recently found out that the visit she had from her mother last week was the first time her mother had been here since she and her husband were married over a year ago. Wow, I can’t imagine. I probably communicate with my mom just as much, if not more than she communicates with her mother.

Well, I stopped to think… This volunteer who is so sure of his/her ability and our stubbornness says we/I am just not trying hard enough. I had three days after that conversation to really think about my situation. Well, I tried to think through the cold meds and the general gross feeling of a sinus infection. I’m not integrated here. No, I knew that. Am I trying everything possible? No, surely not. I’ve not gone knocking on doors asking to come in and chat. I’ve realized that it’s not my job to become part of this community. I want to experience this community and I welcome the chance for Bulgarians to glimpse into my American experience.

I encourage this cultural exchange. I make apple sauce like I remember my Aunt Nanne making it… chunky with a lot of cinnamon. I give some to my baba and the family I share a house with. I made spaghetti for my birthday and invited Americans and Bulgos. No, not spaghetti noodles with mayonnaise, catsup, pickles, and cirene. No, I made American style spaghetti. It was yummy. I had a pumpkin pie making contest with my 8th graders for Thanksgiving. I brought peanut butter cookies to the teachers’ room for my birthday and carrot cake for Thanksgiving. I love sharing bits of my Americaness wherever possible.

But it’s not just about giving tastes of American culture. I know. What have I done to experience Bulgarian culture? I mean, besides living here, working here, eating, sleeping, communicating, and teaching here? I don’t know, I guess not too much if you don’t count EVERY WAKING MOMENT! But yes, there are always things I could do to make it more substantial.

Let’s take this weekend for example. I have my crock-pot and I decided to make veggie soup so I could invite my vegan PCV site mates over for dinner (veggie soup and spaghetti are the contents of my vegan kitchen repertoire). I also invited my counterpart. Sadly, they all came over, but not at the same time, so we didn’t get to have any good times as a bunch. But it was still nice. I invited people over and cooked for them. I shared my store of wine with them. We talked and bonded. It helps me to feel more a part of this community. Don’t tell me spending time with these Americans won’t help me be a part of this community. They have been here longer than I have; they have connections I don’t; they have wisdom I don’t.

One of these connections my site mates have is with their counterpart. I will take as much advantage of this relationship as I possibly can. This guy is SO motivated. He loves this country and is fired up to change it, and build up people who can further change it in their own special ways. He’s great. He’s helping me to get involved in the community since my school is not terribly interested in my activities outside the walls of the school.

Tomorrow, Joro, my site mate’s counterpart is going to take me and Harmonie (the female half of “my site mates”) to his wife’s village for a “svinska slaba.” Literally translated this means, “pig wedding,” which is a euphemism for pig slaughter. This is a Bulgarian tradition for the start of winter. It’s time to kill a few of the oinkers for winter meat.

I chatted with a friend from my training site this afternoon. During the summer, I went on a business call with him to a woman who operates a hotel outside Razlog and has some farms she’d like to be certified organic. He had to call her regarding some paper work today. She asked about me. She asked for my GSM number. She told him that she would call me, pick me up, and take me to see her hotel (which was under construction when we were there). This brightened my day tremendously. I stuck out in someone’s memory. I’m not just some Brit/American/Non-Bulgarian tourist who fills a pocket and disrupts culture.

During the course of our chat, he invited me to hang out in a town about two hours from here. He and a friend of his will be vacationing near me and would like for me to join them. I would love to go and hang out with these folks in a nicer, bigger town. I’d love to swim in a nice pool and relax in a mineral bath. I’d love to have my tab covered by these two guys who want nothing more than to have this American girl out with them (If you knew this guy, you would not be calling me naïve right now… I’m like his kid sister, I promise). But this is not really a cultural experience. Yeah, I could definitely practice my Bulgarian language skills, and probably get some cultural snippets too. But I turned down this fun opportunity so I could watch a pig get his head chopped off. Wow, it sounds stupid upon reading it. But I’m trusting that this pig wedding will be a cultural experience that will help me to be part of this community in my own way.

I’ll never be a Bulgo. I’ll never be able to speak Bulgarian very well, let alone Razlogshki. That’s not my goal. This is about exchange. I think that the people here know I adore them. They know I have tremendous respect for them. If they don’t it’s because they don’t want to. I’ve come to accept that it’s not from my lack of trying. I’m okay with that. Finally. At least for now.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

You've just gotta laugh sometimes...

It takes a sense of humor.  I laughed then, and I am laughing now.  

I have this one student.  He can speak English very well.  He has a very good handle on grammar and vocabulary.  The problem is, he’s what we’d call in America a ‘special needs’ student.  I’m not saying he’s retarded, handicapped, learning disabled, or any thing else.  He just doesn’t learn like most students do.  I don’t know if it is chemical, psychological, physical, or otherwise.  But he wears me thin!  He is in an advanced class and is in the 11th grade.  

I’ll give you a few examples.

1.  Early on in the semester, I asked the class what they did over the weekend.  My student, we’ll call him Fred for anonymity, says, “We were smoking, drinking, f**ing.”  I pretended he said nothing and moved right on.  After class I told him in no uncertain terms that the f bomb is NOT to be used in class.

2.  Today, Freddie was is rare form.  It’s not so unusual for him to be hyper.  But today…  today was something else.  Is it a full moon or something, because all my kids were bouncing off the walls today!  I even got a little giddy.  Anyway.  Class started with Fred being hyper and talkative.  I can usually look at him and ask him politely and quietly to be quiet and he will zone out for the rest of the class.  Today however, he wanted to talk.  He asked me if I’d ever seen some movie.  I tried to ignore him and talk over him.  I tried to ask him calmly to be quiet.  I tried to get him involved thus distracting him from his mischief.  All to no avail.  His next adventure was to take a bottle of water and drink from it.  No big deal right?  Well Freddy darling wanted to drink without hands.  So he holds the water bottle in his mouth with his teeth, tips his head back, and gulps away.  He brings his head down and spills water from the sides of his mouth.  Students laugh.  Fred repeats.  This time, he really is gulping away at the water.  As his head is tilted back, water spills down his face.  This is funny.  Students laugh.  Fred laughs.  Fred spews water out his mouth and nose.  He then dumps the water bottle.  I “suggest” that he go and dry off.  He shows me a pack of tissues, as if to say, “I can dry off right here.”  “No, go on, go dry off.  You don’t have to come back.”  He came back.

3.  Freddy comes back and decides he’s got more energy than ever.  Before heading to his seat, he joins me on the teacher’s platform.   He asks if I’ve seen Texas _____  (he said some other word, but meant Massacre).  I correct him on the title of the film and tell him that I have seen it.  He asks me if I would like for him to bring a “rrrrrrrrrrrrr” to school and “rrrrrrrrrrr” me.  All the while he is showing me how to handle a chainsaw and what he would do with it.  When I asked him very seriously if he was threatening me, he calmed down and went to is seat.  (right, like you’re gonna rrrrrrrrrr me to death mister big shot)  The wave of calmness subsided and in a burst of energy he proved to me his power.  He rises from his seat and lifts the desk (a desk for two) above his head.  All of the books and notebooks fall to the floor.  He walks toward me with the desk.  I stand up and yell at him.  He puts the desk down and sits down.

4.  Freddy is in his seat and tearing into a bag of the most disgusting smelling not so cheesy cheesy-poofs.  Although the rest of us are discussing phrasal verbs that you would use in telephone conversations, something very interesting to them (or seemingly interesting, since they all participated), Fred thinks that a conversation about dinosaurs is appropriate.  He asks me if I believe in dinosaurs.  “They exist now, did you know?  I am a dinosaur.  I am a velasoraptor.  Grrrrrraaaarrrrghhhhh.”  All I can say is “mmmmm” with a twisted mouth.  He then puts the whole bag of cardboard-poofs in his mouth, takes a couple of chomps and spews the whole mess out.  Plastic, cardboard-poofs, and freddysaliva goes all over the place.  Again, I suggest he goes to clean up and not come back.  However, he comes back.  Snap.

Somehow we made it through the rest of the class and got through the exercise.  I don’t know how.

My eighth graders were crazy today as well.  I couldn’t do anything with them.  But somehow, all of the craziness of today made me laugh.  I couldn’t get angry that my eighth graders were chucking chalk across the room, painting the windows, or snapping each other with rubber bands.  I ended up confiscating the rubber band and had a very good time threatening them with it.  Although this only furthered their excitement I continued.  Why?  Because it was funny.  Or fun.  I don’t even know the difference between these two words any more.  

I’ve lost my mind.  7 more school days till Christmas break.  6 if my school strikes.  Actually, I have three hours with my wacky but lovable eighth graders and they know I cannot strike.  They have also told me that they have one hour with another teacher who will not be striking.  So, it looks like I’ll still have my classes on Friday.  I’m thinking about asking to rearrange my schedule though, so they aren’t all spread out.  We’ll see.  

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

What an Ingrate!

Some people will never be happy.  The grass is always greener on the other side.  They’ll never be content.  Give them and inch and they’ll take a mile.  You know who I’m talking about.  

Right?  You know one of those people?  Don’t you wish they could be more like you?

SHUT UP!  We are all that person.  Okay, maybe not.  Maybe it’s just me.  And because I’m a malcontent, I see it in everyone else.  I mean, if I can’t be happy with my situation, why on EARTH would I be happy with someone else’s situation?  

Okay, but this is not a blog of whining.  Not today.  I’ve been busy this week.  I’m exhausted.  I love it.  No, things are not peachy at school.  My kids are rowdy and often rude.  I usually feel like a thorn in some of the other English teachers’ sides.  ОБАЧЕ (that’s BG for however, and I like it more), my rowdiest class adores me and adores English.  They soak up language and attention like a sponge.  Granted, I have to yell over them half the class period.  But they get it!  And the other teachers, they love me.  I can’t do anything with out them calling me “milichka,” or “sladorana” (like, darling and sweetheart).  Well, there is one thing I can never do right: dress warmly enough.  But I’ve got these 20 new mothers.

After our recent in-service training event I was pretty emotionally bruised, banged up, and beaten down.  I felt like I had no Razlogshki identity and no one to help me create one.  So, I moped for a while.  I finally had a sit down with the youth development PCV in my town.  I basically told her I was at my wit’s end.  I told her that while my school appreciates me as a teacher and will do anything to support me in the class room (which is A LOT more than many volunteers can say, and for that I am grateful), this is not enough for me.  I teach over 18 hours a week at school, between regular classes, elected classes after school, and English for the teachers.  I’m still bored though.  It’s not that it’s not enough work, it’s just that it’s the same thing.  I need diversification friends!  I’m learning that I DO have the Matson attention span.  It’s just not there.

Anyway, Harmonie is trying to hook me up.  She works for an amazing NGO which gets A LOT done and has a lot of connections.  We had a meeting with a guy and her counterpart.  I’m not going to say it went very well.  But the wheel is rolling.  I’ve taken steps in a proactive direction.  I went to an event sponsored by her NGO and their youth group.  I’m hoping to hop on board with her youth group.  I think our two different styles may end up complementing each other, provided our schedules can mesh.  

I’m trying to be grateful in a really sad season.  I’m trying not to think about all the things I don’t have by remembering the things I do have.  I have a warm-ish apartment.  I have a family here that, if I asked would help me out.  I have hand made baba booties AND a baba vest!  I have a new crockpot.  I could stop there huh?  I have a few friends here.  I should be grateful for the things that I miss now because at least I still have them.  My parents and siblings are still alive.  As I type these words, I mourn for my friends who are going through this season with out members of their families not because of distance, but because of death.  



God, forgive my ungrateful heart.  I have been bitter and contrite.  I have wallowed in my dark sea of self pity.  I longed to linger in the shadows of loneliness rather than basking in your light.  I have not been a light on a hill.  I have not been recognized because of my love.  God, forgive my pride and show me the way to wholeness in you and your destiny for me.  

Sunday, December 11, 2005

blablabla random stuff and nonsense

1. I'll be in the Plovdiv region and desperately want to get together with other PCVs who'll be around. I'm thinking Tuesday or Wednesday night after Christmas. I want to eat Chinese food, dance, and laugh till I pass out. Who's in? email me!

2. My new favorite song is "Come to Jesus" by Mindy Smith. I loved it when it first came out. But I really REALLY love it again. I think Mindy Smith is great. However, I'm still loving "The Shadow Proves the Sunshine" by Switchfoot, and "Caught Out There" by Kelis (not actually her myspace, but you can hear the song there). I just wanted to share the joy of my favs. Oh yeah, and the other song with words I don't put on my blog (again, not really his site...). I guess these songs are either bitter hate songs, or sad healing songs. I'm pretty sure that the only bitter left in my mouth is no more than I've ever had (owing largely to my inability to deal with reality) and the sad songs make me feel good. They aren't an accurate reflection of the state of my soul or relationships, so don't fret friends. Oh, and Cyndi Lauper's new "Time After Time" with Sarah McLachlen (the site has three songs, forward to this one, it's worth it!).

3. I'm gonna use my crockpot tonight. I'm going to throw in chicken breasts, BBQ sauce (thanks Arin!), potatoes, and onions. mmmmm sound yummy? wish you had a crockpot? teehee!

4. I started a new blog using a popular server. I've been meeting lots of new people and it's been fun. I don't really blog there, but connect with people. It's more interpersonal than Blogger. SO, one of the people I have met is in the Army. Actually, he's currently in Iraq. He said that what I am doing (what WE are doing, for my PCV readership) is amazing. That brought tears to my eyes and does again as I type this. Some guy who doesn't know me, doesn't know much about the Peace Corps, think this is an amazing thing to do. This from someone who voluntarily decided to take a job in which he could lose his life, would have to be away from his friends and family for TWICE as long as me. I was like, "are you KIDDING ME???" Now I feel guilty for feeling sad these holidays.

5. I saw Harry Potter. I cried. I cried because I watched it without my best friend, the person I watched the other three with. I cried because it was my mommy's birthday. I walked through the center of Blagoevgrad later. I did some shopping. I walked by a TMC that was loudly playing music. It was something from the Nutcracker. I sat down on a bench and cried more. In the rain. I'm not making this up. I realized how pathetic I looked. It's just that the Nutcracker was a holiday staple in our house. As a kid, Tchaikovski was my brother's favorite!! Of all the music he could listen to, it was always Tchaikovski. And we know I'm missing the fammo these days. So, it was sad.

6. I was cheered slightly by the purchase of a new coat, knee socks, and a sweater.

7. I was cheered by not having any transporation problems even though we were passing through Predela in the snow.

8. On the way home, I got a text message that said, "where are you, can you get on Skype, Mloden wants to talk to you." ah, yes. thank God for GSMs. So I called my friend Mloden. I'm amazed at friendship. We chatted. We understood eachother. It was nice to know that when you leave people's lives, they don't forget about you. They even welcome you back, but understand that sometimes it's just too hard.

9. I slept in fabulously late today and loved it.

10. I made my retribution test for a class that was CRAZY! I enjoyed making the tests. Well, it was more of a quiz. But it was fun! I covered vocab, pronunciation (stress marking), and writing. It was review (over information we would have covered if they had participated - and yes, they were told they'd have a test) and included "production" elements. It was designed to be passable - I always hated those tests that were designed for failure.

11. It snowed here yesterday and it's sticking still. I'm not sure if I'm happy about this.

12. It is snowing again. I'm still not sure how I feel about this.

13. This post was brought to you by the letter F and the number 3.

14. Anyone know how to put streaming music on your blog? I found one place, but it limited the size really badly. Ideas? I know there are places out there that will host videos and music. Help please.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Cool care packages

My fabulous mommo sent me a crockpot, as I've already mentioned. Well, I thought it'd be appropriate to celebrate this most joyous celebration with a cnimka. Let's have an inspection, shall we? What have we here? Inside the lovely crockpot appears to be a few of Meggi's favorite things. Nope, I don't mean raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. I mean peanut butter cup chocolate cookies (actually, I've never had these before, but my mommy knows how I do adore the choco-peanutbutter combo!). Next to that we have the 2 for a buck spicey peanuts that you can find in any decent gas station in America. Sitting in front of our shiney new crockpot we have Quaker instant oatmeal, Andes mint chocolates, some Reeses peanut butter cups, Red Beans and Rice. And that little green patch on the bottom left corner? What's that? That, my dear friends, is one of the last three remaining packs of green apple Sour Punch Straws. I don't know what I'll do with myself when they're gone. I've been pretty good though. I never have more than one a week. I'd go though a whole case in a week in the states! Okay, that's all the gloating I have for today. Have I mentioned that I have a fabulous mommo?? LUVYA!!!
Okay, so my brother sent me an email. For some reason he finds it difficult to email me using me email. But he has no problem sending me a message using MySpace. Wha'er bro. He said something deeply profound, so I'm putting it on here. Also, for more profundities, check out Hasarder's comment on my last post

Meggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggster, love ya sis..... hows stuff going, [details ommitted to protect the innocent.
...er]
Just remember he is a male and in being so he is most likly
in the 99.9% stupid to relationship cadigory(sp.). Fear not, that still leaves
something like 300 million men that are in fact not relationship stupid.(my math
may be wrong....okay i'm quite sure it is completely wrong)


okay, I thought that was absolutely great. maybe you have to know my brother to get it. I MISS HIM!!! I MISS MY SISTER TOO!! Dudes, I didn't think the holidays would be hard, but alas, they are. Good news! My mom sent me a crock pot. a what? a crockpot yes, I did say a crockpot! So, I can have apple cider this winter. I have a few cinnamon sticks sent from home. Anyone know if I can find cloves in Bulgarland? Anyone want to send me some? I just want to say, my mom sends killer packages. And Susan from Christ Church... y'all are the bomb! soopair (Bulgarish for super)

Dern, I better get to work. I have a full weekend of grading and test preparation. Luckily, I will be distracted by Harry Potter for the better part of Saturday. BTW, that's a sad note. This will be the first time I've seen Harry Potter with out my best sister, Soukanya. Ophh, bouli mi certsa ("oh, my heart hurts" in Bulgarian). I may absolutely SOB because I have to watch this with out her. Princess, I'm missing you these Holydays!

Thursday, December 08, 2005

long, random, and probably way too personal, even for me...

I “went out” with some of my counterpart’s friends tonight.  “Going out” is a very long, communal ordeal here.  We sit around a huge table and share huge plates of food.  We drink two or three or four rakiki or malinki or vodka or chashki vino.  We share a few huge salads.  We stuff ourselves while we laugh both with and at each other.  As I sat there, I had plenty of time to think, since I didn’t really understand much of what was being said.  (Funny note:  the recent widow was my counterpart’s mother, who is from the other side of the country.  She also understood little of what was being said.  Why?  Because they don’t speak Bulgarian here, they speak Razlogshki.  A very strange dialect)  I realized some of the things I didn’t have much exposure to in America.  

Today is the students’ holiday.  I celebrated with five married couples and a new widow.  None of whom are students.  Some of them have students (I teach one of their students, actually) and I wonder why they weren’t celebrating studenthood with their student.  I think, and I may be wrong on this, but they just wanted an excuse to celebrate.  I hope I’m not wrong, because I find this one of the most beautiful aspects of Bulgarian culture.  They have an amazing ability to find profound (founders of the Cyrillic alphabet), randomly obscure (Father’s of Bulgarian culture and literature), and pretty normal (birthdays) events to celebrate.  And when they celebrate, one would think there is nothing else in this world.

I thought about how beautiful these couples are.  I’ve spent some time with them before and I’ve seen them around town.  I know, like all families, they surely have their problems.  But when I see them together, they seem to treat each other with so much love.  Some people say that Bulgarian men are a bit macho.  I don’t know about that.  Of course it exists, as it does in any culture.  I find, at least in the marriages I’ve been around, that the men here love to serve their wives.  And the feeling is mutual.  Most of the married men I know here (and if they aren’t my students, and I know them, they’re married, darn it) extend that characteristic toward women in general.  Every woman is treated with the respect he gives his mother, sister, wife, or daughter.  

I would like to think that both the profound ability to celebrate and the deep mutual respect and desire to honor one another is all sourced by a deep seeded ability to love.  I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately.  It started with this cheesy “Christian” novel my aunt sent me that is based on the book of Hosea, a story about a prophet of Jehovah who was instructed by Jehovah to marry a prostitute.  He has to rescue his wife from prostitution time and again.  He is so beautifully patient with her, even when he finds her in the act of sex with another man.  Okay, maybe not always beautifully patient, but he keeps finding her and taking her back home, showing her the love she was created to receive.  Then I was watching the Hallmark channel (listen, the pickin’s are slim in English language TV over here) and there was a dramatization of the story of Joseph, Jacob’s favorite son.  They showed how, even after his brother’s sold him into slavery, he forgave them.  He knew that this evil his brothers had done had been used by Jehovah to keep the people of his father (Israel, Jacob’s new name – you know, like Abram became Abraham), and all the sons of Abraham alive.  These things make me see the log in my own eye.  

I’m sorry if I’m using too many Bible references here.  I suppose it’s the paradigm I operate in and personally, I love it.  But I suck at it.  I think it’s a patience thing.  I suck at love not because I don’t have the patience to take crap off of people (while yes, I am bad at taking crap off of people.  Actually, taking crap off of people makes me irate and indignant, now that I think of it.)  I don’t have the patience to wait for God to give me the strength to love sometimes.  I try to love of my own strength.  I find this tiring, futile, and altogether worthless.  But as I look back on the love I’ve known in my life, I’ve always tried (at least in the beginning) to love with a love that is not of me.  I’ve had a bunch of little hurts; I’ve been neglected a few times.  A few relationships have faded away when they didn’t need that Love anymore.  I’ve even been totally mistreated in a big way once or twice.  I don’t know what happened, but I don’t know how to capitol “L” Love anymore.  Or do I?  I see myself in certain positions and thinking, “Does it really matter God?  Can’t someone else love them?  I’m tired.”  I don’t ask “why me?” anymore, because the answer is always “Why not you?”  But I keep asking “how?????”  And it’s not just people who’ve hurt me, or people who’ve I’ve been allowed to believe were hurting me.  It’s everyone.  Somehow, my energy to Love has been sapped.  This breaks my heart because what am I with out Love?  “They will know you are Christians because you love one another.”  (One of Paul’s letter’s to one of those churches in first century South West Asia.)  

I guess it is a big deal that I can even come to this point.  Recognizing the problem is half the battle right?  And it goes back to Joseph.  Genesis 50 verses 19- 20 say, “But Joseph said to them, ‘Don’t be afraid.  Am I in the place of God?  You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.’”  If I were someone else, I’d tell this whiner (me) to buck up.  Don’t play the victim.  Bad stuff happens in life.  People, like you, come with baggage.  You’ve hurt people and will continue to do so.  People have hurt you and will continue to do so.  But you’ve got to trust that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).  Whether of malice, ignorance, heavy baggage, complacency, insensitivity, or your own just desserts, you cannot let hurt keep you from loving, let alone healing.  

That’s a hard pill to swallow, and I’ve got no one to feed me a tea spoon of sugar, or мед.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Stalking YOU!

SO!  I’ve taken the next step!  I’m stalking you!  I’m really into this blogging thing.  It’s fantastic!  Lucia thanked me today for adding a link to her site.  She said she’s been getting a lot of hits from my site.  Well, this got me thinking (I know, that usually means trouble…).  I knew it would be easy to add a simple hit counter, but I didn’t know they could say where the viewer (hitter?  I don’t so much know proper blogspeak) came from!  So, thanks to a few good links from Blogger.com, I’m well on my way to obsessing over how many hits I get and from where they came…  I won’t tell you what else I can learn about you because it is SO wrong.  These darned rights violatin’ contraptions of modern technology.  ; )  

Have a super week!  Since I have to go to school again, and have sworn to double my efforts to be an excellent teacher and PCV, I may be seen less of in the online/blogging world.  Ah, sad…

quotes

"We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibres connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibres as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects."
Herman Melville

This quote sounds something like Donne's bit about not asking for whom the bell tolls. Ahha, do I love google. I can google this, "for whom the bell tolls" and I find a couple links to Hemmingway's book by that title, the IMDb site for the film, and a link to a bunch of Donne's work.   By the way, I love the fact that the word "google," which was originally the name of a website, has become a verb meaning, "to search for something on the internet." For example, "I don't know the exact URL, just google it."  One doesn't have to use google.com, you just have to use a search engine (why you wouldn't use google I don't know).   I can't wait until google means simply "to search for something or someone."  For example, "Will you help me google my car keys?  I can't seem to find them."  teeheehee...  I love when language evolves!  

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee...”
From Meditation 17
By John Donne
Meditation 17 by John Donne

Actually, I'd like to recommend that you go ahead and read the rest of that Meditation. It took me a minute to recognize this, but both of these quotes remind me of The Five People You Meet In Heaven. I'm not saying I agree with the theology or the concept of Heaven that this book portrays, but all three of my references here suggest that we are all connected. I think that believing this notion furthers a spirit of love and generosity that Jesus would be honored by, so don't think I'm getting all new-agey here. Just because some wacky quiz maker says I sound agnostic (wha'er!)...    

Saturday, December 03, 2005

The next generation of smell-o-vision...

I'm recommending we scrap the work the good folks at MIT and other fabulously ingenuitive institutions are doing with the creation of smell-o-vision. I mean, TV is a dying breed. It's all about the internet. We'll soon be watching our favorite programs on streaming video whenever we want with nice banner adds running the WHOLE time rather than just during the breaks anyway!

You may ask, "But megi, why would you be thinking of such random things?" That's a completely understandable question.

I was in the shower just now (yes, at 6pm) beating myself up for being completely useless for the last two days, and the four days before that are questionable. So I picked up the scrubbing brush on the floor and started to scrub the sliminess off my bathroom tiles.

"megi, this has nothing to do with smell-I-net."
spoko be, I'm getting there!

I picked up my towel and realized that I got a load of clothes washed and hung out to dry yesterday, and my towels were dry this afternoon (ahha, a perfectly reasonable excuse for not showering in way too long). So check off two events, scrubbing my floor and doing laundry.

So, the web-o-smells part...

I wish I could capture the smells of this place and send it home to my family and friends. There is nothing like the fresh scent of wood smoke, especially as you towel dry your hair with it. There are other smells, like my first ever pumpkin pie (for reasons which shall remain unmentioned, I did not even try), like a fabulously and creatively repaired green bean casserole in a land bez fried onions and cream of mushroom soup (props to stiles and her mommo for that!).

And of course, how excellent would it be if I could receive smells? I know this may sound weird, but I'd love a whiff of my dog after a good bath with her oatmeal shampoo (she's got sensitive skin, okay?). I would kill to smell that funky perfume my mom has loved all these years. I almost miss the smell of my mildew-rotted bedroom walls. And what about my mother's BEST EVER DINNER!!! Pot roast with potatoes and carrots and onions... The smell of chocolate pudding cake cooking in the oven. Ah, super (said with a distinctly BG accent - like soo pair)

Here's to smells! Good, bad, and indifferent. Treasure them, you never know when you'll wish you can smell them again. That is, until they come introduce smell-line.

Proof that online quizes are глупости













You fit in with:
Agnosticism



Your ideals mostly resemble those of an Agnostic. You are fairly ambivalent towards any religion or spiritual connection. You lead a very busy life and find that religion and spirituality are unnecessary to your life.


0% scientific.
20% reason-oriented.















Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

What a joke huh? I'll tell you the truth, I was liberal with my answers... I can't remember most of them now. This just serves to prove that the world is not ready for a non-legalistic approach to Christianity. Wha'er. I'm NOT agnostic.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Bruce Lee

Years after his death, Bruce Lee is still breaking boundaries and furthering intercultural and international unity. Check out this... lemme know what you think.

"This does not mean that Bruce Lee will unite us, because people are different and cannot be united and we will always be Muslims, Serbs or Croats," Gatalo said. "But one thing we all have in common is Bruce Lee." (bold added by me)

Vampires and other strange things

Vampire graves discovered in Bulgaria Weird link.

So I'm sick today and I've discovered that Google's reign over the world has expanded to include a strictly-limited-to-blogs search engine. I'll explore this engine until I tire of it and let you know how it works. My goals of exploration: interesting BG stuff, expanding my PC blogging network. You'd be amazed at how nice it is to step into someone elses personal world.

Bansko Rivals Europe's Top Ski Spots Bansko has aparently been named Europe's most improved ski resort. Well Howdee! Does that mean you'll come to visit me? My little town has a super nice new hotel, and is only 5Km from Bansko. Or you could crash at my cozy little flat and I'll bake you an apple cake.

UFO spotted and filmed in Blagoevgrad So, I know this is hard to believe... But think about all of the treasures to be sought in my oblist! I'm suprised it's taken aliens this long to discover the wonders of South West Bulgaria. Check out the video.


Lucia's blog
This is Lucia's site and she has a bunch of pics from our Thanksgiving bash.

And this is the official Razlogshki B17 Thanksgiving pic. I only regret that Ned was not in this picture. Well, I also regret that I'm wearing my hot baba vest, but at least I've got it on the right side out this time. Becca, thanks for your help with that. До Колида!!

a boy who hates for people to be sad

When he was little, my brother hated it when other people were sad. He would ask over and over, "what's wong? What's wong?" He'd tug on your hand, your dress, your hair, your heart. He cried when he learned the story of Noah's Ark. He couldn't stand sadness.
As he got older, as we all do, he learned that the sadness couldn't be avoided and quite frequently couldn't be fixed. I'm not going to say how that changed his personality. I can only say how it changed his behavior. He went from the boy who cried harder than you because of your tears to the boy who got angry at you for conflict. Sometimes he got angry at us for fighting, even if the fight wasn't about him. This was learned behavior. I'm not trying to get all extra-personal on all of you.

I saw this picture on his blog, and it was preceded by a gripe about the start of the American holiday season. It made me sad. If I were home, I would go lay down on my big cozy bed with my big cozy dog and sob for a while. Before he'd go to bed, my brother would find some reason to come in, or just to say goodnight. 45 minutes later, I'd have laughed, shared, and bonded once again with my bro. I miss those times. I miss his distracting sense of humor. I envy his tireless determination. I wish I still had that naive desire to give and give and give. I just want to be comfortable and healthy and unhurting.

Cheers to not being sad or sick (I have an uzhastno sinus infection and don't have the energy to make myself some tea, let alone work. I'm hoping my colleagues don't think I'm playing hookie and come give me help. We'll see if that happens) and strange pictures of people in the hand of my brother. BTW, check out his blog, there's a link over there -->

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Songs and Words and Stories

So, I’ve had one of those weeks that pulls everything from your insides, tosses it in a blender, then throws it at your face.  I am proud to say that I pulled off a successful Thanksgiving dinner with the help of a few other volunteers.  Becca, thanks a MIL!

It did leave me quite drained, then I had to go to a training event near Sofia for several days, where drama ensued.  All in all, my Thanksgiving celebration was a good experience, even with the drama that was a result.  It would have happened anyway I’m sure.  One thing I know right now is that I NEVER expected drama in Peace Corps.  I saw myself too busy in my school and community to have drama with other Americans.  I guess because we are in this bubble of loneliness, all of our weaknesses come shining through, and perhaps we cling and trust and choose to see the best in people.  It’s a funny thing when everyone around you sees what you did not until you trip over it and break your nose as you hit the ground.  I guess that is love though.  You have to let people make their own mistakes rather than showing the potentially damaging character flaws of those you associate yourself with.  What do you do?  Well, I’m not worried too much, winter has set in and I don’t expect to get out of the ‘Log much in the next four months, even if I wanted to.  

So this post is my attempt at uncreative creativity.  Sometimes they are out of the context of the song, but it the context of my life.  Sometimes the unquoted context of the song explains the unwritten context here.  

I bruise easily
So be gentle when you handle me
Theres a mark you leave
Like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily
Can't scratch the surface
Without moving me underneath
I bruise easily
(Natasha Bedingfield “I Bruise Easily”)

I got bruised.  I learned that:

Anyone who can touch you
Can hurt you or heal you
Anyone who can reach you
Can love you or leave you
(Natasha Bedingfield “I Bruise Easily”)

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened before
(Switchfoot “I Dare You to Move”)

Fumbling his confidence
And wondering why the world has passed him by
Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments
And failed attempts to fly, fly
We were meant to live for so much more
(Switchfoot “Meant to Live”)

Learning to breathe
I'm learning to crawl
I'm finding that You and You alone can break my fall
I'm living again, awake and alive
I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies
Hello, good morning, how you been?
Yesterday left my head kicked in
I never, never thought that
I would fall like that
Never knew that I could hurt this bad
(Switchfoot “Learing to Breath”)

These next lines, I’m speaking things that aren’t true as though they are…  My shadow has yet to prove sunshine, but “we know all things work together for the glory or those that love the Lord.”  

Sunshine, won't you be my mother
Sunshine, come and help me sing
My heart is darker than these oceans
My heart is frozen underneath

To scared that I'll run always
Hold fast to the break of day light where
The shadow proves the sunshine

Oh Lord, why did you forsake me?
Oh Lord, don't be far away away
Storm clouds gathering beside me
Please Lord, don't look the other way
(Switchfoot “The Shadow Proves the Sunshine”)

There’s a certain Eamon song that is rather explicit and won’t be quoted on this site, but mm, I’m kinda feeling it too these days.

One Stab: She was like the water that freezes inside a rock and breaks it apart. It was no more her fault than it is the fault of the water when the rock shatters
(From Legends of the Fall)

Sometimes we need to believe that things happen not because of malicious tendencies of other people.  We can choose to believe that they follow these behavior patterns because of their own weaknesses and choose to feel love for them.  Perhaps it is our own naivety that would rather believe in that option than to believe that people willfully manipulate and use people to get what they want.  I know, for me, the only way to heal is believe that the water is not to blame for the rock shattering…  the rock had to have a crack in the first place right?  And is that the fault of the rock?  Or just the way the rock was created to exist?  Everything happens for a reason.  The lesson is in the learning (that was in a movie I just saw…  I forget what movie)