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.

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.  

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.  

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.

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!

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.

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!)...    

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.

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 -->

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)

some snow pics

A close up of the bench.


This is the before picture of the veiw from my bedroom window. Notice the bench.



Same view from my bedroom window. What happened to the bench? I don't know... Could it be burried under all that snow?

The temperature is just above freezing today. It doesn't
feel any warmer, but the ice and snow is starting to melt now, so it must be a bit warmer.

Well, I've had my first white Thanksgiving.

After

So, this is the same view, but on Wednesday morning! Whoa! I've never seen this much snow before Thanksgiving!

This was the snow on Saturday morning. Later, I'll load the pictures of this morning and then, pictures of this afternoon. I've been told that it snowed all night, and it hasn't stopped in the two hours I've been up. EEK! I hope my holiday guests can make it alright!

My Own Winter Wonderland (yeah, i'm wonderin' how I'm going to last a winter that is 6 months long!)

I woke up this morning really tired and a bit late.  Thank God Wednesdays are my late mornings.  I don’t have class today until 10:35.  Last night I was VERY cold.  I had been out in town shopping, and it started to snow.  This is snow on top of the layer of ice on the ground.  I went home, cooked, turned on my heater, and started a load of laundry (this has been avoided for quite some time because the clothes have to be wrung out, and that is a very cold process these days).  About 9:30, my power went out.  My first thought: “I’m going to freeze of hypothermia and no one will notice I’m dead until next spring when I start to melt and smell awful.”  Then I thought to check if other places have power.  Hm, the neighbors downstairs had their lights on.  At that point I realized that I had blown the circuit.  I went downstairs and made my dyado landlord get out of bed.  I felt SO badly.  I checked the fuses, found the one that was bad (I do not like these old school fuses.  Why can’t I just flip a switch and everything is happy again?) and took it to Dyado Pesho.  We worked together on a series of solutions and after an hour, we were both able to go back to rest.  The details are for another episode of “Razlogshki Ingenuity.”  All that is to say, that well, I don’t know why I’m telling you that.  

So when I woke up this morning, I found a FOOT of snow on the ground.  A foot!  At least.  Last night, before the fuse incident, I was sitting with my Baba and Dyado, eating pallachinki and Ruska Salata, and being reminded of how cold it gets here.  “Snow up to here” (as he points to his chest).  He proceeds to tell me that in winter, that it stays around -20 C, and folks can’t go to school or work because of the snow.  “Stiga be,” I say and laugh.  He’s got to be pulling my leg right?  Well, after this morning, I may believe him.  It hasn’t gotten above freezing since Friday night.  A little bit of the snow and ice we’ve accumulated (which even I could say wasn’t much) began to melt yesterday afternoon when we had several consecutive hours of very bright clouds.  (Bright enough that you can see where the sun should be.  

Well, I guess I’ll load up some pictures and get ready for school.  I reckon some one would call me if there wasn’t school.  And here, where the snow comes to here (I’m pointing to my chest), what’s a foot of snow anyway?  Oh, I think I just realized why all the girls tuck their pants into their boots.  What if my legs and pants can’t both fit into my boots??  Oh, POOR MEGI!

Beauty and Busrides, God and Elvis, Smog and Truth

So, my mommy dear sent me a pretty fun package. It included a book I’d been requesting. Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. I love the fact that I can download sermons from Mars Hill and get deeply honest, personal, and intelligent insights into the Bible, community, and Christian life. Well, one sermon addressed the issues that the recent release of his book had brought up. So, of course, I had to find out more! If you check out this book at Amazon.com you will find a great debate! People are outraged over this book. Christians are outraged over this book. GOTTA HAVE IT!

So now I’ve got this book. I can hardly put it down. I have a big break on Fridays now; second through fourth periods are free. Normally I go home and piddle around. I stayed at school and read all day! This book is great! I HIGHLY recommend it, especially if you are mad at Christians for any reason. Oh, and while you’re at it, read Blue Like Jazz by Don Miller.

So, a little bit of commentary on my new favorite book. Bell talks about how God is the ultimate reality. We don’t “take God” to the “unreached peoples.” God doesn’t “show up” in a moment of really great worship. He was already there. “I am.” “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1 NIV). If God is the ultimate reality, the ultimate real-ness, to be redundant, then He is the ultimate Truth. So, vice versa, if something is True is it God? I don’t mean to get all wacky new age-y here. Bell argues that there is more to Truth than the Bible, but does not take away from the True-ness of the Bible. I think this is why people are hot over this book.

I think it’s incredibly refreshing! Please read the book and let me know what you think! If you are irritated by my horrible revision of this difficult subject: sorry ‘bout it! That’s why I didn’t write the book! (and I didn’t think of it, and I’m not so much a “writer,” and…)

So, I had just finished reading a bit about having these moments that are beyond words. I walked out into the hallway because my class was supposed to start soon. I looked out the window. The fog, by 2:00 had finally lifted a bit and I was able to see the mountains. They are absolutely covered in snow. The clouds still covered the peaks of the mountains. There was one spot where the clouds had opened up and the sun poured through. I don’t know why exactly, but seeing the sun pour through the clouds and with the right amount of smog and pollution, I always feel like God is sending down a bit of a hug.

There was one bus trip over the summer when I felt particularly dejected. I think I actually wanted to feel miserable. There were patches of clouds all through the sky. I just sat next to the window and watched the farms rolled by. I think I was having a conversation about the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen. I couldn’t think of any one most beautiful moment. I said, look out side. Today, that is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That kiss from God. That hug that reminds me that I am loved and warmed (okay, I probably didn’t say that because it was summer, but it’s cold now and I need warming) and held. That is a present from God and it is Beauty. If you believe in that kinda thing… ; P

True love is... like gold to airy thinness beat

A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING
by John Donne


As virtuous men pass mildly away,
   And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
   "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
   No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
   To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
   Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
   Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
   -Whose soul is sense- cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
   The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
   That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
   Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
   Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
   Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
   As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
   To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
   Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
   And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
   Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
   And makes me end where I begun.

I thought this would be an appropriate post because it's thanksgiving season and I wanted to express my thankfulness for everyone who keeps me grounded, for those people in my life that keep my circle just. I know one day I will end where I begun…  Perhaps that is not a physical place, but a state.

I know this is not an appropriate poem because it is the most beautifully romantic and loving poem, and well, that's not exactly the place I am at these days. But this poem has a story...

I fell in love with poetry twice. Once in a class I hated high school. My senior AP English class. I spent most of my time messing around with a friend who, like me was disappointed in this class. Occasionally I would enter into the discussions our teacher had planned out for us. My favorite part of this class was Perrine. Perrine's Sound and Sense  Every day we quickly discussed two poems from this little poetry reader. All of these years later, Perrine is with me on the other side of the world. My ratty little book opens directly to page 75. This page has more writing than any other page. This is poem 55: "A Valediction: Forbidding Morning"

I fell in love with poetry twice. Again in college. My degree is in English, so I've read and studied a few poems. I don't claim to be the most well read, or even well read at all. I knew how to play the college system effectively. I attended one of my favorite college classes the first semester of my junior year. It was my first year back "in town" at the local state school I swore I was above only a few years before. "Fairy tales, folk tales, and ancient children's literature" There was this little Asian girl in my class that looked awfully familiar to me. After a few classes, we realized that we had been in V.Smith's AP Senior English class together. She loved Vicki's class. Vicki helped me to realize I could be a teacher, if she could. I mean that in the nicest way. She didn't really teach that much, but she had the biggest heart. I don't want to take away from what she's done for kids in our area who don't have a lot of hope..She tries to help young people see their God-given potential. But that's not what I needed. I needed literature. I needed poetry. I did not need to know that I had a purpose. I knew that.

Anyway. That little Asian girl became my best friend. Two years out high school. I had dissolved all of my friendships at home and started a life six hours away. Then God pulled me out of that life and sent me back home. That class taught me the value of stories that go beyond culture, the deeper nature of all stories, and the epic nature of life for children and adults. That class matched me with the young woman who would support me in some of my most dire moments. We helped each other cope with crazy English professors. She helped me to love the Romantics. We always had a way of sharing some insight into life lit by a poet, novel, or song or Scripture by which we'd recently been enlightened.  Together we fell in love with the archetypal princess who must be rescued from eminent danger. She is my princess.

We've not always been there for each other. She's been on the other side of the world when I needed her. I had to face the fear of watching a Harry Potter movie alone because my Sister was in London. But when we get together we are one hundred percent there for each other. Unless she's off in lalaland somewhere, in which case I can kindly say, "Pay attention to me please" and she does.

No, we've not always been there for each other. I am in Bulgaria. I have needed her shoulder много пъти. Now, she is facing the hardest time of her life and I am here, in Bulgaria. Darling, please know that "Our two souls therefore, which are one,/ Though I must go, endure not yet/ a breach, but an expansion,/ Like gold to aery thinness beat." I love you and am so thankful for all the times you've been my "fixed foot." I am mourning with you and crying for your aching heart. Be reminded: Psalm 139.    

Hm, my life doesn't rate so well...

I promise, I answered all the questions honestly, even a bit optimistically. I don't know what happened. Okay, so I don't exercise every day. But I read literature. Whatever, they don't know what they're talking about.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	6.2
Mind:	5.9
Body:	7
Spirit:	8.3
Friends/Family:	4
Love:	0.8
Finance:	7.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Melting into Winter

Things happen so quickly here.  It seems like it was just summer.  Now the corn fields are bare and frozen over.  The trees have lost most of their leaves.  Winter.  I am ready.

Spring turned to summer and I found out who my family is.  I learned who of my Bulgarian and American friends here would become my support, comfort, and love.  I learned where and how I could find little bits of ‘home.’  

Summer turned to fall and I fell.  I fell into a strange place of loneliness and longing.  I was bored and unsatisfied.  In me had opened up a gaping hole of desire for anything I did not have.  Achieving bits of satisfaction only whetted my appetite.  

Fall is beginning to freeze over.  Now I have little fear of winter.  I was petrified that I would be so lonely this winter.  I was unable to see the love around me in my town.  I’m getting there.  

This culture is different from American culture of course, but also from the cultural temperature of other towns in Bulgaria.  At first I thought no one here really cared.  I thought my only source of love for the next two years would be from other PCVs and my family in Krichim.  I am slowly seeing the love these folks have for me.  Perhaps I have to ask, invite myself, or enter into some emotional drama, but it’s there.  In my culture, the honor is on the opposite side:  You honor your new neighbor by inviting them to your house or bringing them brownies.  We say, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”  Here, I honor my neighbors by inviting myself.  I demand welcoming by baking strange things they’ve never seen before.  Here it is my responsibility.  The burden is on me.  Why shouldn’t it be?  These people have friends, family and good neighbors to take care of.  Who am I to think I could just walk in and be loved?  I’ll have to earn it.  And slowly (бавно по бавно) I am.  

The Power of One

They say one is the loneliest number.  In math, one doesn’t usually change anything, when it does, it’s just a little bit.  I think that one is a pretty amazing number though.  

My town isn’t very integrated, in fact, the Roma aren’t even a part of the town.  There aren’t many ethnic Turks in my town.  We have another not so ethnic minority.  They’re called Pomatsi.  I’m not sure if that’s derogatory or not.  I’ve only heard them referred to in one other way that I am sure was derogatory.  These are ethnic Bulgarians who have converted to Islam.  This is the only group that stands out as separate.  But they seem to get along fine.

I recently had a heavy discussion in my eighth grade class.  Our text book had a lesson on the simple past using the story of Steve Biko, the South African man who died fighting the Apartheid system.  We talked a bit about racism.  This is difficult with my students because their English is pretty limited.  Most of it was done with my best student translating the opinions of other students.  We talked about racism in America.  I asked if something like Apartheid still exists in the world.  One of my bright students, who will try to say anything, even when he doesn’t know the English, said it still does here, gori dowo (so-so).  “Pepi, what do you mean?”  I asked.  He proceeds to talk about how the Bulgarians and the Romi do everything separately here.  But he goes on to say that this is because the Romi think differently.  “All of them?” I ask.  Pepi tells me that no, not all of them, “Vish, tia e stabilno momiche.”  Pepi points across the room to the 17 year old girl sitting quietly at her desk.  She wears a pink corduroy jacket and a shy smile everyday.  She is the only Roma student I have.  I believe there are very few others in my school.  (It is an “elite” school, so we have students from out of our “zoning” who study English, and students from within our “zoning” who study normally.  As we don’t have Romi in our zone, so they’d have to pass an English language test to study with us).  Pepi seems to think that this one Roma girl is stable.  He goes on to talk about how most of “them” don’t want to study, they just want to fight, it’s better that they are outside of town…  

All I could do was emphasize their acceptance that this is not true for all Romi.  In many schools across this country, the example is the opposite.  I can’t say whose fault it is.  Is someone holding these people down?  The government, the ethnic Bulgarians, the school system, themselves?  Yup.  All of the above.  I am just grateful that these 25 Bulgarian 13 year olds see this One 17 year old working diligently to learn English so she can make something of her life.  

How many times in our lives has one made a difference?  It only takes One bad apple, right?  One first impression.  One time you hurt me and I cut you out of my life.  One picture is worth a thousand words.  One person can make or break a stereotype.  One student who listens makes it worth the rest of the disruptions.  We all have the One good teacher who shaped our academic destinies, in a good or a bad way.  Of course, there’s the example of Jesus!  He is the One person who has most significantly impacted human history, even if you don’t believe in what we Christians say about him.  And if you do believe us, he is the One person who opened up the gates of heaven for the world.  

Yeah, we’ve got to have faith in the One.  

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Today's Song, or parts of it

Some times a day is best summarized in someone else’s words.  Today is one of those days.  I greatly identify with songs.  Someone else, at some time has felt exactly, or very nearly exactly, as I do right now.  That God some of those people write down what they feel.  Other people write down exactly how it is I want to feel.  I love Jennifer Knapp’s songs because they are so deeply authentic.  Today, this is my song.  For when I don’t have the energy to make words out of my feelings, there’s always a song…

Jennifer Knapp  “Into You”

she’s a wanna be hero
yeah she tries to be strong
at the end of the hour
you find out the tower ain’t standing so tall
It’s a real hard thing
to show your weakness
If anyone can love you I know my King does

I wanna know you
better than I do
relieve me from myself, bring me into you
i wanna know you
better than I do
Oh relieve me, lead me, bring me
Bring me into
Your Holiness
Your Kingdom
Your righteousness
My freedom

she’s an easy scare
she’s a simple bluff
she’s a timid girl
she’s in love

I want to know you
better than I do
relieve me from myself
bring me into you
i wanna know you
better than I do
Oh relieve me, lead me, bring me
Bring me into you

The State of my Soul ...as if i really understood it

My head is full of thoughts today.  I have too much to do to be thinking!  

Some where in my soul, I desire loneliness.  I know this is incredibly strange.  I fight loneliness with most of my being.  

I hung my laundry out to dry this morning.  The sun was shining on my back in such a way that one could easily forget winter has already fallen upon us.  It occurred to me that I am in a state of needing things I do not desire.  Perhaps the opposite is true as well.  Perhaps I am desiring things I do not need.  This is the explanation for my longing for loneliness.  My soul knows what it is that I need and plants a small desire for that thing, this loneliness, in so deep a place that no matter how I dig and uproot my insides, I cannot remove that desire.  

Why in God’s name would any person’s soul desire loneliness.  It is when we are least distracted that God can truly speak to us.  I have been more alone these last four months than at any point in my life.  I have learned so much about myself.  I have grown intensely, despaired profoundly, and wept deeply.  All of these things I have done partly to answer the desire of my soul and partly to fight it.  

How can you cause me the deepest pain at this point in my journey?  Tell me about your friends, about your good times, about your loves.  Funny how the one thing you want to feel the most, you cannot, but it seems everyone around you does.  I understand that God is using these days to teach me something that will prepare me to be a woman better, stronger, and more useful to him.  Unfortunately, and while I know it should, that does not make the process any easier for me.  Further more, I feel myself asking the question, “God, why is it so important that I accept and learn to thrive in a state of being so alone?”  That is a question which may have very frightening answers; answers I am undoubtedly not ready to hear.  

So we are back to questions again.  My summer and fall of loving questions have apparently slipped into a winter with more of the same.  

It occurs to me that most of this blog is comprised of long and windy complaints and ramblings concerning my own discontent.  You may wonder if it is possible that I be contented.  You are not alone; I frequently ask myself if I am flawed in such a way that my own discontentedness is too far lodged into the pattern of me to be removed or retrained.  Don’t worry, though.  I have plenty of spots of joy.  This loneliness, while it is weighing and trying, does not consume my joy.  There is a tremendous amount of joy to be reaped here.  I live in a beautiful town.  I teach generally well behaved, motivated students.  I work at a relatively efficiently organized school with high standards for its English-studying students.  I do not, however, feel loved here.  And perhaps, that is the deepest burden on my soul.  I know!  I should learn to rest in the Love that, while slightly removed, is much deeper and stronger.  I’m working on that.

I Am a Friend of God

It’s a funny thing...  well, I use funny because I don't know the right word.  I got all this music from my Church right.  I don't have any resolution to my worries.  But I don't mind not thinking about them.  The funny thing is in looking away.  Looking away: a pure type of avoidance; taking a few extra minutes each day, to not think about me, but to be with God. Not petitioning, not even conversing.  Just loving.

Then I think about the people who I know are loving him right now too.  I think about my pastor's family who is worshiping unquestioningly a God who at this very moment may be slowly removing their mother/wife from this physical world.  I think about one of our associate pastors and his wife, who have worshipped endlessly as God took his wife from life to death and life again, and through the process of relearning how to live after a debilitating experience.  I think about the group of girls that sit in the middle right section during the second service.  They occupy the first 8 rows at least.  They don't sit, they don't occupy, they do something amazing.  These girls come and they worship in the most pure, unashamed, uninhibited way because they've already seen themselves as impure, ashamed, or inhibited.  These are the Mercy girls.  They are involved in our mission organizations for girls and young women dealing with pregnancy, adoption, abortion, eating disorders, whatever...  These girls have reached spiritual death and will praise God in an incredibly pure way for anyone to see.  Then I, sitting here in my room, hear my song.  So simple, "I Am a Friend of God."
 
Who am I that you are mindful of me
That you hear me when I call
Is true that you are thinking of me
How you love me
It's amazing!
 
I am a friend of God
I am a friend of God, He calls me friend.
 
God almighty Lord of Glory
You have called me friend
     (“I Am a Friend of God” by Israel Houghton)
 
This song is my anthem.  This is my tough time default song.  This is what I hum when I'm desperately sad.  At some points during the summer, singing this was my only source of Joy.  It is truly amazing how turning your face to God, no matter how filthy, sad, or dark your soul feels, turning your face to God will make not only your face shine, but your whole spirit.  I can understand how, after spending time in the presence of God, Moses came down from the mountain with a face glowing.  When you have been in the presence of God, what else matters?  Not my silly worries!