s'mores, turkey, chicken, and pumpkin mush

Thanksgiving is over. Last year I was miserable with a sinus infection, and miserable with spite. This year I have neither spite nor sinus troubles. I'm glad.

With Thanksgiving over there are so many things I can be thankful for. My friends and family, family friends. I'm glad for the incredibly deep and substative relationships I've made here, for the people who've helped to shape my life and the people whose lives I hope I too have touched. But being so far from home, it's hard to not think about all the things you miss. I'm not so tragically nastalgic. But I am eager to get back home.

So eager, in fact, that in a fit of anger at a group of kids so unruly that i wrote three numbers up on the board. Those numbers were not my lucky numbers, the addition of important dates in my life, my astrological numbers, or any other of the wacky guesses my kids made. They were 1, 2, and 8. In that order. They signify the number of school days remaining in my service. I feel a bit guilty for this count. But in that moment, when all around me was lunacy, that count, that goal helps me to maintain my sanity.

The rate at which sanity disolves in raving lunacy has increased by 100%. We can only hope and pray, and pray diligently that the situation is only temporary, but while the situation exists I am doomed. That situation is a near doubling of my weekly class hours. I'm all about stepping up. Being the big person. Taking one for the team. Going the extra mile. Bulgaria has yet to wring that out of me. So, a fellow English teacher has a daughter in the hospital (as I understand it through my messy Bulgarian) and may not be back for some time. I have taken on 12 of her class hours, in addition to my 15. That is utterly ridiculous. CRAZY! These classes are the weakest and hand-in-hand with weak performance is sadly poor behavior. For the first time, I had to conduct a class nearly entirly in Bulgarian. The saddest part is that these students study from a book that is leap years ahead of their profeciency level.

I don't know what I'll do. I am eager for the challenge of some of these classes. But I cannot feasibly carry 27 class hours a week. Not when you consider that I will be teaching 9 different levels. NINE!! I will gladly take on this extra work. Crazy people are always happier.

I meant to ramble about my different Thanksgiving celebration, but clearly it's more important that I complain...

sorry

Thanksgiving is coming!

Welcome to another lazy Sunday in my Bulgo-American life. It's actually been a pretty lazy weekend. Friday I went to the most popular "mehana" (traditional Bulgarian restaraunt) with a few girlfriends. This place is the place to be in our little valley. While we were too close to the speakers, we had a great time. Most mehana's don't bust out in raving rounds of horo. Most mehana's don't lead people to dangerous, bloody head injuries. Okay, so the guy was sloppy drunk and decided to jump and bang his head on the cowbells hanging from the ceiling. ohhh I do love my little valley. After our adventures at Mehana Makedonia, we headed over to the hopping party in Razlog at Barrata. I'd sworn never to go. I'd promised myself that while I might lose my dignity at every other town and village in this valley, not here. But I went to Razlog's only disco.

And it was fun. The moment we walked in I saw a pack of students. And they announced to their friends that two of their English teachers are here. So many of my students. It was intimidating. It was embarrassing. At one point, I looked across the room and I see a former student talking to a guy who I did not recognized. He was pointing at me. Not just a head-nod, point with the chin point. Not even just a finger point. He was wielding a full on whole arm point. Unbelievable. A few minutes later the same former student, a darling, sweet, always smiling tenth grader called Katia, came to my friend and colleague Yulia and asked her something. Then Katia asked me if she could introduce me to her friend. So as it turns out, this arm-pointer is a British guy named Chris. Strangely enough, I'd heard about him from some girls in a different tenth grade class. He'd offer to come and speak to their class and they bragged that they already had a native English speaker for a teacher. hmm.

Last night I went out with a bunch of folks and students. We made plans to go to Dobarsko and and cook a turkey on Thursday. Dobarsko is always a source of fun and trouble for me, so I'm super excited about this possibility. I'm also going to try my hand at real stuffing. Oh, and I'll finally get to share the joy of s'mores with Bulgarian youth. My former site mates sent a box of marshmallows and graham crackers so as to share the beauty of melty, sticky, gooey marshmallow-y deliciousness!

Then of course, Friday I will begin receiving guests. We may go to a bit of discoing in Bansko to see the world renowned Sofi Marinova, accompanied by the hip hop stylings of Ustata (translation: the mouth). There will be lots of cooking and merry-making.

Saturday will be a Thanksgiving throwdown Razlog style. Which means it will be a raging good time and there will be tons of food.

I feel like there is so much to look forward to even after the excitement and chaos of Thanksgiving passes. It seems like there are plans every weekend from now until the new year. Then the time will fly and before we know it, I'll be shopping for a prom dress, seeing my 12th graders off into their future, and sorting out my apartment. Bittersweet. It's just strange how quickly everything is going. That speed lunges my imagination into June. Picking up my sister, hopping around eastern Europe, getting my CELTA certs, and flying back to Nashville to readjust to western life.

I have a nasty habit of putting the cart before the horse. Let's see if my horses can push this cart along for the next 7 months.

Dear Church: Letters From a Disillusioned Generation.

This is a little bit from a bigger bit on the link up above. By the way, burnside writer's collective has a lot of neat pieces of writing by Christians, or religious people, or Jesus freaks, or spiritual folks, how ever you'd like to label them. More importantly, they're writing about issues that are important to them, not only about God and spirituality. Anyway, this book looks good and I suggest you buy the whole book, read it quickly, then mail it to me!!

I can’t say I’m “religious,” because we’ve all been taught the folly of that. Now everyone say it together: “This is not a religion, it’s a relationship.”

I can’t say I’m “a Jesus Freak,” because although I do know D.C. Talk’s rap by heart, I like people to wait in suspense a while before deciding I’m a freak. I don’t want to tell them right from the beginning. It takes the fun out of it.

I can’t say I’m “spiritual,” because people translate that as a simple “two thumbs up” for Mel Gibson’s Passion movie. Or they figure I subscribe to an online horoscope and watch TV shows about channeling my dead pets. Spirituality is very in, you know. My waitress, drycleaner, dentist, and grocery store cashier all have WWJD bracelets and copies of The Prayer of Jabez to prove it.

Dear Church: Letters From a Disillusioned Generation.Publisher: Zondervan (August 1, 2006)ISBN: 031026958XPrice: 12.99
You can purchase a copy of the book at Powells.com

In opposition to the religious right

I read an interesting article in the November 13 international edition of Newsweek called "An Evangelical Identity Crisis" by Lisa Miller. She quotes an evangelical pastor from Kansas, Adam Hamilton on the rising need for something beyond and more effective than the religious right.

The religious right has "gone too far," says Hamilton. "They've lost their focus on the spirit of Jesus and have separated the world into black and white, when the world is much more gray." He adds: "I can't see Jesus standing with signs at an anti-gay rally. It's hard to picture that."

This is an excerpt of an article concerning a new group of intellectuals and activists opposing the religious right. While the RR is very much used to being opposed, I'm sure it's relatively unaccustomed to being challenged by fellow Christian intellectuals and religious leaders. Besides heading up activism for a strictly peaceful debate with Iran, and an end to the genocide in Darfur, the Red Letter Christians or RLC seeks to motivate Evangelicals to seriously consider their vote and political persuasions according to the words of Jesus, not according traditional political lines. They also suggest that Evangelicals stand up and identify themselves on issues beyond same-sex marriage and abortion. How novel.

"Group asks: What did Jesus say?"
By Frank James
Chicago Tribune 9-19-2006

Randall Balmer, a Columbia University professor and expert on American religious history, gave just a sense of the fight that’s brewing.

".. The evangelical faith that nurtured me as a child and that sustains me as an adult has been hijacked by right wing zealots who really have no real understanding of the teachings of Jesus,” he said.

“They have taken the Gospel the Good News of Jesus Christ, something that I consider to be lovely and redemptive, and turned it into something ugly and punitive," he said. "They have cherry picked through the Scriptures wrenching verses out of context and used those verses as a bludgeon against their political enemies.”

Balmer went on to say he has no problem with faith in the public square. His problem was that the RR seemed to view itself as inseparable from the Republican party.

The Red Letter Christians seem to be the voice of Jesus in a world that has been listening to only the powerful for too long.

Travel Writers: Rise to the Occasion by Mark Teramae

Location: Mostar, Bosnia-Hercegovina, South-East Europe



I found myself sitting at a table on the terrace of a restaurant overlooking the river on a warm July evening. There I sat enjoying a nice cold beer with the three companions I made this journey with earlier in the day. It sounds like the typical backpacker scenario. River, outdoor restaurant, beer, travel buddies, they all seem quite synonymous with the excursions of a backpacker.

Well this particular excursion was a bit different for me as the river was the Neretva, the beer was Sarajevsko Pivo and that morning's journey was through the war-ravaged Hercegovinian countryside. This was Mostar, Bosnia-Hercegovina, a city blown to bits during the Muslim-Croat fighting in the mid-90s and with an outer image giving one the impression that the war in fact had only ended the day before.

Here I was amongst the mangled beams and twisted steel that was once a library. Here I sat down to eat where the rocket holes are more numerous than the tourists and the old Turkish bridge now resides at the bottom of the river it once so eloquently spanned. But in the midst of this destruction I found myself in one of the most serene and beautiful settings that I have ever encountered and it has forever changed my life. It was a setting that when thought of still produces chills that run up and down my spine.

On this particular warm July evening the moon was out in full and hovering above the Kujundziluk (Old Turkish Quarter). Directly in front of me was the Neretva with its pristine waters rushing past from left to right and the reflection of the moon staying forever in its middle. Behind this most graceful river sat the damaged and partially razed buildings on ul. Marsala Tita, mysteriously silhouetted by the moonlight. To my right were the remnants of the old Stari Most, lit up by the moon and resembling a pair of bookends with nothing in between.

So there I was gazing out across this quiet and melancholic setting created by the wonders of nature and the horrors of war when the Muslim call to prayer came on from the mosque across the river. A feeling of peace and contentment filled my body as I sat there mesmerised by the beauty entering my ears. Each word carried not only a harmonious note and a holy message but also the sound of hundreds of years of history and the assertion that despite being in the midst of so much destruction, not even war can crush the spirit of a proud people. As the beautiful prayer echoed throughout the town I could almost feel the rejuvenation occurring in front of my eyes. The spirit of these words and the tragic beauty of the scenery left an impression on my heart and mind that I will never forget.

I'm just happy I was there to experience it, sitting on that restaurant terrace overlooking the river and enjoying a beer with my travel buddies in the typical backpacker scenario!

This is the bridge that the author above is refering to. Unlike the travel writer who so accurately describes the feeling any half-sensitive person might feel in this amazing city, by the time we got to Mostar, only last summer, the bridge had been fabulously rebuilt. I took this picture from the yard outside of a mosque, most likely the one from which the writer heard the evening call to prayer. Visitors can pay a fee and climb the minorette for an amazing veiw of the city.

I'm not sure why, but I'm hung up on the former Yugoslavia. The chemistry there is amazing. Still rich with ancient history. Bubbling with energy. Ready to break free from the strife of decades. Sadly, they, like all of Eastern Europe, including Russia are still battling the destructive forces of nationalism and ethnic conflict. No matter what, I can't wait to go back this summer and learn a few things!

State your case

I’ve been listening a lot lately to The Cranberries. I adore them. It reminds me of a bitterly tumultuous and richly felt period of my life and I like looking back on that. I have a great appreciation for the honesty and depth in their songs, but not in a highly esoteric and cryptic way. I also hugely appreciate their social awareness and activity. Their songs and videos tackle topics like the war in Bosnia, and the social unrest in their homeland of Ireland.

I asked my students if celebrities should take part in political activism. They disagreed strongly, asserting that their fans listen to or watch them because of their talent, not because of their opinions. I can respect that. This is why I do not boycott every artist with whom I politically disagree.

I disagree with my students. I think that if you have a platform and opinions, then you should speak. If people will watch, you should act. If people will listen, you should speak.

I do sometimes fear that people have become too ignorant to differentiate between celebrity and intellect. Because someone plays a president on television does not mean he is qualified to offer presidential advice. Because someone has traveled the world does not qualify him as an expert on international relations. There’s nothing wrong with him sharing his opinion, but we as media consumers must remember that his opinion is simply that. Opinion. We don’t have to share it. Furthermore, simply sharing some celebrity’s opinion qualifies you as nothing more than a person who reads the most recent US weekly. If you have an opinion, do something about it. Don’t just gripe.

I respect anyone who uses their status to say what they think and what they’ve seen. I feel sorry for anyone who joins on whatever celebrity bandwagon is hot this week.

I wish more people had listened to the Cranberries when they sang for Bosnia. I took these pictures just outside Mostar, in southern Bosnia. Somehow, not all of Bosnia i Hercegovina has found the money like Sarajevo to rebuild from a war which devastated the landscape, among many things.

one quarter

I turned 25.  My quarter life crisis should be complete right?  I mean, I’m not likely to live to see 100 years.  But I don’t think it is.  Maybe I’m exaggerating.  Perhaps I am under the assumption that life eventually settles and makes sense.  It is possible that some people settle into some track that they are okay with, perhaps even pleased with.  I can’t remember ever being pleased with where I was while I was there.  There was always something that pushed me to move-change-stretch-grow.  Sometimes it’s my own displeasure with a situation.  Frequently it is the prospect of the unknown potential.  Many times it has been people who challenge me.  

The worst part of being in Bulgaria is not having the people around me who constantly challenge me.  Maybe I should step up and practice a little self discipline.  But let’s face it, I’m not a very self motivated person.  I can be an extremely motivated girl, but I’m not a ‘pull her up by her bootstrings’ kind of girl.  What the heck is that anyway?  How come no one has ever pointed out that pulling ones self up by one’s boot straps or strings or whatever is a physical impossibility?!  I’ve had a couple of relationships come in and out of my life which in retrospect, I can say helped me to be a better person.  And is there any feeling better than knowing you help make someone else a better person?  I’m not saying I don’t have any good friendships here, but I do feel a certain void in the “soul changing relationship” department.  I mean that both ways- I don’t see how I’m helping to change anyone and no one is helping me to be a better, more complete me.

We have come to the point then, when the question must be asked, am I in a state which is conducive to aiding in the changing of lives.  I think that is a loaded question.  There are some things for which you can never really be prepared… having kids, marriage, and being a life-changing friend.

I don’t know… Maybe it’s the fact that the American light is shining through this wintery darkness.  Maybe it is the wintery darkness.  Maybe it’s the lack of challenge or the fact that there is no one to challenge me but myself and as we’ve established, I’m pretty crummy at that.  But I’ve been feeling rather discontent lately.  Part of that is just me, one of my not so healthy little quirks- I’m rarely content.  Perhaps it means something too though.  Could it be something needs to change?

Sorry, this is a terrible messy post…

good day

do you ever end a day with a great sense of accomplishment? i feel so spent. there will be pictures and explanations at a later point, but here's the rundown... i singlehandedly organized a halloween party for my 9a class, which included games, prizes, pizzas, and my homemade lasagne. Turns out I rock the lasagne. my kids had a great time. the other teachers, while hesitant at first, seemed to be impressed by the halloween shinanegins (sp?). a good outcome. some great memories. i love my kiddos.

To quote Paris Hilton: Dare to Dream...

I read a blog recently about being true to idealism. The blogger noted today’s generation’s tendency to be cynical and criticize all the bad things they see rather than remaining true to their ideals and do something to change those things which can be criticized.

I listened to a sermon by Rob Bell at Mars Hill today. He talked about how when Paul was accused by the Corinthians of inciting a riot, a leader of the community said he had never blasphemed against any of their Gods. When he addressed the Corinthians, he told them he had note come to them with fancy words, but had come and demonstrated. Pastor Bell suggests that one of the purposes of Jesus was to free us from words and explanations but to live by demonstration.

Demonstration requires action.

I watched a pretty mediocre Hallmark movie on the Kennedy family, particularly the roles of the three Kennedy wives, Jackie, Ethel, and Joan. The last scene of the movie, Joan, a recovering alcoholic, pulls herself together to support her husband Ted as he runs for the democratic nomination for the presidency. With Joan and their children behind him, Senator Ted Kennedy gives his secession speech. Giving his wife a brief moment of pride in their tumultuous marriage, he quotes a poem that was beloved of both of his deceased brothers, Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “Ulysses.” So, I went through the books of poetry that I had sent to me and reread Ulysses.

I could just trust that you, intelligent reader, can interpret these lines for yourself. And I’m sure you can. And if you have some wisdom beyond mine, which is very limited, please comment them to me.

In Tennyson’s poem, Ulysses remarks about his present, his past, and finally our future. He expresses his boredom with measuring out, “Unequal laws unto a savage race,/ That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me” (lines 4-5). After reminiscing on his past, his adventures, his pursuits, and his pains, in lines 18-32 he makes this statement about mankind:

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Ulysses reminds his audience that to live is more than to breathe. He urges us to chase our rainbows. Even if you had lifetimes it wouldn’t be enough, but in every hour that you have before this life is over there is more to learn, more to chase after. Ahh, beautiful. And TRUE!

Then Ulysses spends a few lines bragging on his son’s qualities which, if someone were to say the same of him, he would be insulted I presume. “Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere/ Of common duties, decent not to fail/ In offices of tenderness…” (ll 39-41). He also attributes to his son discernment, slow prudence, and faithfulness to the household gods. These Ulysses clearly sees as good qualities, but not qualities he possesses. He tells his audience that Telemachus will be good for the people and help them to become a better people, through his wisdom and patience; something Ulysses himself cannot do. It’s not his nature. It’s not who he is.

The last stanza of the poem is Ulysses appeal to his audience. Who is he addressing? Perhaps he is crying out to his sailors for one more journey…

Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

There are reasons to not accept the challenges that face you. There are valid reasons to stifle the cries of you heart. For Ulysses, it is old age and death. For you maybe it is poverty, your busy life, your children, your marriage, your mortgage, a phobia, a physical ailment. The list can go on forever. Ulysses acknowledged in the very beginning that he was chasing a rainbow. He did not expect to reach the end.

Perhaps that is part of the joy. An achievable dream has the potential to let you down, but a dream which is constantly beyond your grasp will stretch you. That might be discouraging for some people. To strive for something they will never achieve.

Maybe it would be better if we didn’t discourage ourselves. Let’s only have dreams that we can liquefy. Please, at the risk of your self-esteem, please only dream in realistic terms. Limit yourself to practical goals. Here are some ideas which should be avoided: world peace, end to hunger, health care for all humanity, cures to diseases, saving endangered species, improving job markets, ending corruption, ending inequality, religious respect and tolerance. These things YOU will never accomplish.

For the sake of you sense of self-worth which you may maintain by seeing goals accomplished, please dream about things like these: getting a raise, buying a new car every two years, saving for my daughters’ university educations, helping children at the neighborhood school learn to read, getting two new people to come to my church every year, seeing one person come to Jesus each year.

You know what, scratch that. Making goals may be too hard for some of us. Just float through life and quench all desire to dream.

Okay, enough of the farse… YOU will never cure AIDS by yourself, but if you make and achieve proper goals and surround yourself with like-minded people you WILL move closer to dream. And saving for Jenny’s education is of course a good thing, and something you should do. But let’s don’t replace goals with dreams. Don’t focus on something that is useful because that which is ideal is unattainable.

Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
(ll 65-70)

Life will wear you down, but until you have breathed your last there is strength remaining in you. Focusing on what you are not will not moving into the future. Focusing on who you are in this present moment, acknowledging the strength and determination you possess will guide you into your dream.

And for Christ’s sake, please, DO SOMETHING! Don’t just sit and complain. Demonstrate your passion! Show your heart. Express your life.

Something's gone rotten

“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 saw these words in a blog I wrote last December. I was going through things I’ve written. These words struck me particularly. I have this one relationship that’s gone pretty sour. I’ve been trying to sort out why. Unrealistic goals, self-destructive tendencies, poor communication, blablabla… These words from December are the reason the whole mess went south. These words are the reason why any relationship goes badly. We don’t capital “L” Love. I know I wasn’t little “l” loving, but I didn’t even big “L” love…

Some things I love

Some Things I Love

Dancing

Hearing a song that speaks to my soul

Stepping in fresh snow on a sunny day

Getting an email from someone I haven’t heard from in a while

Words that take my breath away and make me smile

Kicking up leaves with my feet

Hearing children laugh from their bellies

Seeing pictures, hearing songs, or smelling things that remind me of that perfect vacation

Getting a package from someone who loves me

An unexpected complement

Laughing till tears fall down my face

Knowing that someone has done something just for me

Feeling like I’ve accomplished something

Cooking a nice meal for someone else

Doing something for someone which I know he or she will appreciate and enjoy

Walking out of a class with a smile

A hug that squeezes the uglies away

What do you love?

bleeeh

Maybe it's the changing seasons. Maybe it's the change of pace. Maybe it's the changing me.

I just feel eh lately.

Right now, when I look outside, I can't tell if it's 7 am or 7 pm. There's a gross haze that is eerily reminiscent of winter. I hate winter. Winter makes the very fiber of my being cold and indifferent simply because every bit of energy must be allotted to keeping me physically alive -keeping my blood moving and all of my organs functioning. There is no energy for things like "care" or "motivation."

In one month this ugly haze that we have today will be trumped by little white flakes of icy misery. snow. one month. cold. ice. frozen. arctic wind. slip. broken bones. muscle aches. sickness.

okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. It's probably not going to snow for at least six weeks.

No, seriously, I'm not really that pathetic. I'm just having a bit of a low day and wanted to moan for a minute. But I feel a lot better now, since I can direct all of my negative thoughts toward winter and off of the real problems, which probably won't melt away like winter does.

AND I can focus on the good things... There are a few things that I have to look forward to, particularly my birthday and Thanksgiving.

My birthday is this month and I'll be 25. I suppose this should be some big birthday and I should mark it with serious reflection and introspection. I doubt I will. I think I thought 25 was the time when you were officially grown up. The time of playing around should be over and you should start your grown up life. wah wahhh waaah wa wahhhh. (think teacher from "Peanuts") I'll "grow up" when life calls for it. What is "grown up" anyway? No, for now, I'm going to go hang out with those friends I have who aren't going to some crazy debaucherous halloween event in my favorite BG city for some good food, good times, and goooooood dancing (i love to get my dance on).

But that's nothing. Thanksgiving is my lighthouse. This love of playing the hostess is something new to me. I don't know if it's strictly a BG thing, or if it will stay with me in the states, but in the meanwhile I'll indulge it... By again hosting a big Thanksgiving dinner. So far, including myself there are ten people sleeping in Razlog. Last year we slept seven in my flat and it was pretty crowded. There's still time for more people... I'm sure I can find places for people to sleep if they don't feel like acting the role of an overstuffed sardine in a tin similar to a cold wooden floor. In the meanwhile, I'll work out the menu, figure out when to start cooking what, and making sure everyone knows how to get here.

Last year, Thanksgiving was... unique. Somehow I had a very Dickons-y "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" kind of experience. Given everything, I'm more than eager to see each face at my home again this year. Some old things won't be here, like a wet urine-like spot on my metaphorical floor and some new things will, like taco salad. And I expect the chaos will remain. Using the radiator to keep food warm and the other room as a refrigerator... Assigning bus station duty to someone so new arrivals can end the long journey... Using the balcony as a refrigerator since the real one is too full. Juggling pots and pans so everything can get cooked. All that chaos warms my heart.

Yeah for taco salad. Yeah for metaphorical urine drying up. Yeah for friendships that are stronger than friendships. Yeah for birthdays, for food, for dancing. Yeah for change. Yeah for lessons.

some things I've been worrking on...

This is a гоблен (goblen). It's a type of embroidery. It's my new hobby.
After I bought this little set which the shop lady said would be easy for me, I came home and ran into my land-lady. When I told her what I'd bought she insisted I see what she has embroidered. Then she came over and helped me get started. I've always hated sewing because of all the knots. With these, there are no knots! I love it! This is what I got done today!!
This is the scheme one uses to know what to embroider. Every color has a symbol. Every one square on the scheme is four little squares on my cloth. This paper is only half the scheme for my little winter scene.
And these are some peanut butter brownies I made last weekend. Although they were a little burnt, they were quite tasty.

That's what I've been doing lately. Besides teaching, of course... 

Blowing in the Wind

I was putting my wet clothes out on the clothes line the other day. I forget now, but it must have been cool outside. I could see the water blowing off the clothes in the wind. The sun was in just the right place, so that I could see little rainbows ribboning around my pajama pants. So I played with the continuous mode on my camera... 

Your Greatest Fear?

On Crossing Jordan tonight, Lilly’s mom was hit by a car and died.  

Do you have a greatest fear?  One of those fears that, when you don’t have any really good thoughts to mill about in your head at night before you go to sleep, begins to creep into your mind and run your imagination ragged?  Do you have one of those fears which sends you into nightmares from which you wake up crying?

I had always thought that “to wake up crying” was an exaggeration.  A few months ago I woke up from an incredibly vivid dream with tears soaking my pillow.  I have had nightmares, when I was younger, that were so frightening that upon waking up I began to cry.  However, I had never been so taken in by a dream – a nightmare – that in the midst of it I cried.  It’s not a good way to wake up.  Now, I cannot remember the exact story of this dream, but I do remember the general outcome.  It is the same as the nightmares made me cry when I woke from them.  They were about my mother.  Dying.

My mother is not dead, but I have this huge paranoia that my mother will die before I’m ready.  How sad is that?  First, it’s silly to think that a person is ever ready for their parent to die.  Second, it’s selfish for me to have some obsession when such terrible things are happening around me.  And I’m worried my mom is going to get murdered or something…

I’ve never talked with my mom about these things.  And she didn’t give me permission to share the following private details.  I hope she doesn’t get upset, but I think she’ll cope.

A few weeks ago my mom sent me an email telling me that her doctor had found a five inch mass on her right ovary.  She went in to the doctor’s because she felt like she had “something moving around inside.”  Blood work was done and it showed there was no cancer present.  She and her doctors decided that it would be best to not only remove the ovary, but to perform a complete hysterectomy.  They did this last Monday.  That night my father called to say she came out of surgery fine and her doctor says the mass looked normal.  The next day I talked to my mom.  She said the same thing.

When I talked to my father I was elated.  I jumped around my flat as soon as we hung up.  

When I talked to my mother I felt dejected and alone.  I felt like a terrible child.  I kicked myself for being on the other side of the world, yet again, as my mother is going through a painful and difficult time.  Mom refused to let me consider flying home though.  What could I have really done?

Today, eight days after my mom’s surgery, she is still in some pain.  She is still suffering some nasty side effects.  I don’t even want to begin to consider all the ways her life will change from this very important operation.  Today, the pathology reports came back on the cells taken from her mass.  As it turns out, there were some “borderline” cells.  

When I received the email with these newest pieces of information I was crushed all over again, but not in quite the same way.  I cried not so much for the threat of my mother’s health, but for this emotional roller-coaster she is on.  I cried because I know she must be crying these days.  I cried because I see myself so great in my mother’s eyes, and to imagine her going through this with out me is torture because I just don’t know how she can be doing it.  But I am fooling myself only.  No one believes that I am the strong one.

I don’t pretend to understand the medical bits.  I don’t understand how blood work showed nothing, and it looked fine, but now it seems there is some cancer.  And I don’t understand how, if before the test said there was no cancer, further tests will be any kind of reliable.  But I guess it’s not for me to understand.  

So, what’s your greatest fear?

Smells like winter

Walking home from one of the last evening coffees outside, I recognized the smell of winter. People have started lighting their wood stoves, causing the air to have that haze that makes the sunset all the more brilliant as it falls over the mountains, not yet draped in white. Folks here are still preparing for winter. Last minute canning involves a huge pot, more like a cauldron really, lit from below with a wood fire. On the side of the road, near the river, across from the homes, flowers are still bright and healthy. Above them a few meters, the leaves are beginning to change to orange-rust-yellow. Don't they know, they'll just fall in a month? Some will still be clinging to the branch when that first snow comes in November.

I'm hoping for a better winter this year. So far, everything else is better than last year. The crisis, conflicts, drama, and debates are not foreseen. I know my way around this landscape a little better. I have friends and support here. I have people who really care about me this year. No way but up right?

School and Hallmark Movies

The new school year began today. It began with all of the "normal" celebrations. All the students lined up in their classes, arranged by age. At the end, the twelfth graders walked in the building hand-in-hand with the first graders. It was sweet. Some how, I felt a bit of sadness at the thought of this year... my last everything in Bulgaria, with these kids.

The start of a new year, but I really don't feel like analyzing my life and preparing emotionally for this year.

I hate how "Hallmark" movies set up two situations, and the protagonist in one situation learns from the lessons of the other protagonist's crisis of years gone by. Or how two characters, with some strong bond- father/son, sisters, mother/daughter, etc -deal with their own independent issues and somehow, through their own failings help eachother to heal. It's so unrealistic. But then, I guess we're not supposed to really believe in the movies.

Did you know?

I realized that I remember hearing about the crisis in Somalia when I was young. I remember seeing the pictures of the starving babies with distended bellies. I vaguely remember not exactly of Mogadishu, but of an armed forces movement- of something beyond peaceful shipments of food and medical aide. This was before the genocide in Rwanda.

Did you know there is fighting again in Mogadishu?

"The 2nd Battle of Mogadishu started in May 2006. The battle is being fought between the Alliance for the Restoration of Peace and Counter-Terrorism or "ARPCT" and militia loyal to Islamic Courts Union or "ICU". The conflict began in mid-February. As of June 5th, at least 350 people, mostly civilians, have died caught in the crossfire. Mogadishu residents described it as the worst fighting in more than a decade of lawlessness. The Islamists blame the U.S. for funding warlords in an attempt to prevent them gaining power in the lawless country through its Central Intelligence Agency. The U.S. government and the CIA have neither admitted nor denied these allegations.

The Somali transitional government president Abdullahi Yusuf told the BBC the alliance of warlords is not fighting on behalf of the government.

On 5 June 2006, it was reported that members of the Islamic Militia had taken control of Mogadishu, and Prime Minister Ali Mohammed Ghedi was seeking to open a dialog with them. Four powerful warlords who had been serving as ministers had been sacked.[1] On 14 June 2006 the last ARPCT stronghold in the south, the town of Jowhar, fell with little resistance to the ICU. Reports had the remaining ARPCT forces fleeing to the east. As of this date the alliance appears near collapse with three warlords having withdrawn and a fourth reported to be considering joining them. The transitional government has approved the intervention of foreign peacekeepers. On 7 July forces in Mogadishu loyal to the last active member of the Alliance, Abdi Qeybdid, surrendered leaving the ICU in control of 99% of the capital.[2]

On July 20, 2006, it was reported by the BBC that a column of 100 Ethiopian military vehicles including armoured personnel carriers had crossed from the Ogaden region of Ethiopia and into Somalia. This followed advances made by Islamic Courts Union forces who had advanced to within 60km of the town of Baidoa. Further reports stated that Ethiopian troops had been seen in uniform on the streets of Baidoa. The Ethiopian government denies its forces have entered Somalia.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somalia

Battle to Beauty

Hasarder asked for pictures of the shell art that I mentioned on her blog. Here they are love...
This is one of the most difficult blogs I've ever written.
These are shells from the war in Bosnia. These shells were found all over Sarajevo and turned into artwork for people to purchase. I was a bit hesitant to post these because I don't want to appear to be one of those people who like to collect disgusting things. To me, it is remembrance and I can only hope that the people who make and sell these feel the same way. We must remember the war in the former Yugoslavia. But friends, I have to tell you something very alarming. It is being remembered in bitterness, hate, and rage all over the world. I can only pray that by saying I bought these remnants of the war that I'll remember the tragedy and pray for healing.

I was eating dinner with some friends recently. At the table were two Americans and three Bulgarians. The Americans were women. The Bulgarians were two men and one woman. I suppose the topic of the war in Bosnia came up because I had recently returned from visiting it. These words came out of someone's mouth, "We supported Serbia. We don't like Muslims."

They echo between my ears and the reverberation makes my heart ache, "We supported Serbia. We don't like Muslims."

This calls to my memory a conversation my mother and I had while we were in Sarajevo. We were visiting the brother and his wife of a friend of my mother. We sat in a beautifully renovated apartment on the top floor of a block only a few hundred meters off Sniper Alley. He told us how people say Sarajevo looks so healed. It is so well renovated, remodeled. "Nothing has changed here. Bosnia is ready for war again."

"Bosnia is ready for war again."

When my Bulgarian friends declared their alliance with the Serbian position and their dislike of Muslims, I held my tongue. I couldn't argue with them. I couldn't tell them that the most love I've received in this country is from my Muslim friends and family here. I couldn't tell them that lowering themselves to such base hatred makes them lesser creatures than their own perception of the people who are objects of their low emotions. I couldn't explain how the war in Bosnia was much more complicated than just religious tensions. But it's what I wanted to say.

I watched Hotel Rwanda last night. I had to stop it occasionally and use the food on the stove as an excuse to take a break from the intensity of the film. When it was over I laid on my couch and sobbed. SOBBED. I was 13 years old in 1994.

A 13 year old girl in America can tell you about the private lives of her favorite film and pop stars. She has begun sexually maturing and has likely had a sexual experience if not intercourse. She knows about fashion. She knows how to find friends all over the internet. She knows the latest gossip in Hollywood. She's aware of the president's latest scandal, but nothing of his politics. She may know the name of her state governor, and perhaps what political party he aligns himself with. She probably cannot tell you what a senator is.

All I ever knew of the war in Bosnia was from the Cranberries song, "Sarajevo." I didn't know ANYTHING ANYTHING about Rwanda.

As I laid on my couch last night and sobbed, I cried outloud, "How come I never knew? I was thirteen years old." When the war in Rwanda ended I was thirteen years old and I knew nothing about it. Who's fault is that? My parents? The media? My own? The UN?

It's the world's responsibility to stay aware. To educate each other.

In my elective classes this year, I'll be doing units on genocide. I will include Rwanda, Kosovo, Bosnia, Afghanistan. My students do not know. If you know of any websites with lesson plans on these topics then please email me. If you have any books on these topics which are not terribly difficult to read, please mail them to me (I'll give you my mailing address).

If you have a story WRITE IT!!
If you have a picture SHOW IT!!
If you have a song SING IT!!

MAKE SURE THE WORLD KNOWS!

Mom would kill me...

But she can't because she's in Tennessee, USA and I am in Razlog, Bulgaria. However there was a time when she was here in Bulgaria. And this is the best picture I have of the two of us together. Neither of us are really very photogenic. This is an example of how good I am at timer pictures. We took this outside the little church that claims to be built in the sixteen hundreds, and offers one piece of evidence that it was actually built in the eleven hundreds.

This little church is in Dobarsko, a tiny village outside my town. I was up there again this past week for an international youth exchange. One evening, I realized that the hills in Dobarsko where, at that moment, the most beautiful place on earth. I can't explain to you how unbelievably breathtaking it was. Perhaps it was a combination of things.

The day had been spent on a "survivor's game" in which we had to search the woods for cards dictating our fate. Each card announced either a food item such as bread or potatoes, or it required us to take a chance. When we chanced we had to face a challenge, generally of some team-building type activity. Succeed and we win a food item. Fail and we must sacrifice a food item or a team member. The element of this game that moved my heart in such a way that the simple beauty of the evening view was astonishing was not the team-building, but the way my student-friends organized and carried out this game so successfully.

I sat on a blue tarp. An American girl sitting with Bulgarians, Italians, Czechs, and Hungarians. All of us on a big blue tarp enjoying the sun and acknowledging the beauty of the valley below and the setting sun.

Perhaps a beautiful thing is more beautiful when the people you would most love to share it with aren't there with you. You simple can't work up the words to describe the twinkling of the villages below and the stars above. The way the sun goes down behind one hill and the full moon shines bright orange from behind the opposite hills. How can I describe that kind of beauty? I can only wish you had been there.

I'm writing you to catch you up on places I've been
You held this letter
probably got excited, but there's nothing else inside it
didn't have a camera by my side this time
hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm
in the mood to lose my way with words
TODAY skies are painted colors of a cowboy cliche'
And strange how clouds that look like mountains in the sky
are next to mountains anyway
Didn't have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm
in the mood to lose my way
but let me say
You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life
You'll be with me next time I go outside
NO more 3x5's
I Guess you had to be there
I Guess you had to be with me
Today I finally overcame
tryin' to fit the world inside a picture frame
Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to
lose my way but let me say
You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life
You'll be with me next time I go outside
no more 3x5's
just no more 3x5's

"3x5" -John Mayer