Serenity, Courage, Wisdom, Friends (and Other Stuff Cassie Needs)

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.
Guide me safely through the night,
And wake me with the morning light.


Call it habit, call it silly, call it what you want. For as long as I can remember, since it was the part of my routine that came after bathtime and a story and before Mom leaned over my bed for a hug and kiss goodnight, I've recited this prayer, sometimes another one or two, and then a pile of requests and (less often than I ought to) things I'm thankful for, then closed my eyes to fall asleep.

Routines are always a comfort, and when they're routines that directly involve God, I consider them extra great. Lately, though, there's been another addition to my routine. In this step, I wake up, lay in bed glaring at the clock until I absolutely do not have time to spare before I start getting myself ready for school, and before I head downstairs to wait my turn for the bathroom so I can wash my face and brush my teeth I beg God pray for the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference, with the occasional addition of "please help me fight the urge to throw things at my students" or "get me through today without crying, God, because my eyes are still puffy from 6th period yesterday."

For all this praying, though, it's funny how seldom I notice the results. Terrible, huh? I mean, it's not that I don't realize I'm getting along better here with every day, or that I'm becoming more patient with myself and the teachers around me than I ever imagined I would, it's just that I'm forgetting who I can be thanking for so very much of this.

When I consider all the great things God has given me, asking so little in return, I feel like taking these gifts for granted warrants a reminder from Him. I think he agrees. What we differ in opinion on, though, is the kind of reminder.

If I were God, I figure I'd remind me to be grateful for all I've got in a slap-on-the-wrist kind of way. Oh, you didn't really notice how I gave you the patience and good fortune to be able to calm a class of wiley second graders yesterday despite your partner's assumption that they'd eat you alive if she left the room-- today, I don't think the kids ought to take it so easy on you. Maybe one will break something. God's way is always better than mine, though. That works out majorly in my favor.

This morning, He saw me lay in bed until I had knowingly missed my ride, watched my throw myself together just enough to be (nearly) human, and then saw me half jog to school. He knew I first went down the road I expected to finally be cleared, found it totally piled with snow, and had to backtrack, so my attempt at a shortcut to school actually made the long way longer. He knew one of the kids called me out on oversleeping when I snuck into the room with my tail between my legs just after the first bell. He greeted me with a partner who called as I walked, concerned that I might not be feeling well and letting me know that since there were no materials needed that I'd be supplying, she could handle the lessons today without me if I needed a day off. The cause of her concern: she and I went out with her mother and two lovely daughter sled-riding all evening yesterday and exhausted ourselves in a tremendous snowball fight before heading for home.

Later, he heard me cuss under my breath at the computer when I found that the eight-page lesson plan my partner and I worked on for hours of our Sunday afternoon had become corrupt and couldn't open, knowing that it needs to be printed and turned in tomorrow for the school's English seminar, a very major production. He watched me scouring the Microsoft site for suggestions on what to do with corrupt files and He knew I was making myself crazy. He heard me thinking of what a waste of time it was to sit through an after school meeting in Russian (He knows I've never learned Russian), knew that I was on edge while I killed time with my partner's girls while she completed private tutoring, and He knew that I had absolutely no confidence that we'd ever retrieve the tremendous document.

But when I finally thought of Him in the midst of all this, and only for a moment really, just a quick "God, I need sleep tonight, please help?" He sent me a quick, easy suggestion from a fellow Volunteer in response to a desparate plea on Facebook. At ten o' clock on a Monday night, after a day of working (or at least being at work) or stressing since I'd crawled out of bed, with only two pages retyped and six to go, exhaustion setting in, coffee wearing off, eyes falling shut, fingers starting to stumble on the keyboard, I opened the file in the program that was suggested to me, and every last word was there, unscathed.

My host mom called looking for me, but she wasn't angry that I had forgotten to let her know where I was in all the chaos of the afternoon, just worried about whether I was safe and coming home soon.

I walked home through the park and found that someone finally shoveled a path through the snow the whole way through the park, which made the trip exponentially easier, especially in the dark.

I didn't encounter a single one of the yapping stray dogs who make me nervous in the evenings when they're protecting their territory.

I identified the owner of a gorgeous German Shepherd I've been seeing around the neighborhood lately, falling in love with, and hoping and praying is loved by someone, because he's just so friendly.

I got home with time enough to get a shower without depriving myself of adequate time both to write here and to get enough sleep to get me through tomorrow-- and the hot water didn't even run out.

I snuggled a bit with the cat, but it was warm enough outside that I didn't have to feel heart-broken for putting him out until morning.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can, the wisdom to know the difference,
The friends who will offer me the help I need if only I remember to ask for it,
And the clarity to thank you for every last minute of it.

Maybe an adjustment to the prayer I've been reciting each morning would be just the reminder I need. After all, it's seeming a lot like God hears even my silliest, petty, little prayers. Stranger still, it seems that he answers them.


:-) Good night.

Playing Favorites

Anyone who has had training as a teacher knows how strongly it's discouraged to play favorites. It's best for everybody involved if we can steer clear of having a favorite in a class at all, and if we can't help give in, it's encouraged to hide any semblance of preference. I think in an American classroom I was pretty good at that. I felt pretty well connected to all the students I spent any fair amount of time working with, and that was enough to make them all pretty special to me. There wasn't a kid in any classroom I spent much time in that I didn't become totally attached to. They were all my students, so they were all my favorites.

I think I even tend at times to shy away from finding favorites elsewhere. I make exceptions from time to time, though. I've got a few very close friends and special people who I adore. The main exceptions, of course, though, are my family. That's reasonable, right? Everyone loves their family (and the people who feel as close as family) best.

I'm finding a funny thing happening here in Moldova. A lot of people are starting to feel quite a bit like family. It's pretty cool actually, but to be honest, it's surprising.

I arrived feeling pretty alien. I didn't know the language, but I could count on that changing. I wasn't familiar with what are seen as the "right" behaviors, but I expected to catch up eventually in that arena, too. What I figured would impede my fitting in is the fact that I can't ever expect to blend in here. I look different. I dress differently. I carry myself differently. At school I conduct myself like a different sort of teacher, and at home I'm a different sort of member of the family. I, like most volunteers, I imagine, am just a little peculiar here. I knew I could handle that, because I've always been a little odd.

What I didn't know is that people would eventually stop noticing it and start noticing me. How cool is that?? It's like magic or something. I think it's part of what Peace Corps calls "integration," but that's way too stuffy a name for something so awesome.

I feel like I've integrated (or perhaps wriggled my way into) a few kinds of families here. There's the host family I stayed with during my summer training. We weren't at all close over the summer when I was little more than a stressful summer chore for the youngest daughter, struggled to understand them or to be understood by them, and really only bonded with the 7-year-old niece. Now, though, we Skype, I visit, we enjoy one another's company. They're fascinated by my decision to be here. I'm fascinated by all the things they've seen and done in their lives, coming from other places, seeing people struggle, work hard, get ahead only very slowly. They're stronger people than I think I've met anywhere else. Most importantly, I think they care for me, and that's mutual. We're already scheming my next visit over spring break, and they've already planned out the menu of homecooked goodies I'll be fed in mass quantities and promised to set up a day that Daniela, the seven-year-old, and I can hang out.

I've also got the people at my school. Not all of them, because I've really had a tough time communicating with most of the other teachers. Most of them scarcely speak Romanian, and fewer still (obviously) know English. Since I can't get far past "hello," "how are you?," and "fine, thanks" in Russian, I'd call those first two the only languages I speak. Still though, a few have taken me under their wings or taken an interest in making conversation in the teachers' room with the unusual American who decided to leave home for years to come to Moldova, of all places, and teach English. They ask about my family, and my friends, and what I like to do. They ask what I think of life here and of winter here, and inevitably about what I think of the food here. I inevitably exaggerate my adoration of pretty much everything I eat here, because some little white lies are worth making others so darn happy for.

Then I've got two honest-to-goodness families here in Edineț, the one Peace Corps chose for me and the one that chose me. The one that chose me is my partner teacher's, and I'll definitely have to devote a post to her, her two darling daughters, and her incredibly friendly and welcoming parents some time. For now, though, I want to tell you about the one that, to tell the truth, surprises me most.

When I found out Peace Corps Volunteers in Moldova typically live with host families, I thought, "Well, it says some don't-- I bet I can find a way to avoid it."It's nothing personal, I hadn't even made it to the country yet, but I don't typically cohabitate well. I stress over having guests for a weekend more often than not (though ultimately love having them). I butt heads with my mother when we're under one roof for more than a weekend. Even when I visit others I eventually gravitate toward hermit mode or a dire need to take long walks alone. I like to think it's not that I'm totally socially inept but that I just really need my me time. I feel like that's less bizarre.

When I came here to visit my family, I thought, "They seem really nice-- I bet I could stay with them with no trouble at all for that required first three months, until I find a place of my own." I heard that a [place of my own would be difficult to find here and thought "Well, I'll try anyhow." Now, here I am, not trying to leave almost nine months in, not expecting to try leaving until I'm again America-bound. They drive me nuts at times, I drive them nuts at times. My host mother, especially. I think that's a requirement of being part of a family though. I actually think I've come to treasure even that.



They're good people, and they look out for me. They like having me around, and I enjoy my time spent with them. I never thought I'd say it, but they've come to feel an awful lot like family. It's pretty great.

The thing I treasure most, though, is that as long as I'm here, I've got a friend. No, I don't mean the cat (though he and I are super close, I think he's more drawn to me by the fact that I'm warm and always let him snuggle up and sleep on my lap than by my personality). I mean my host brother. He doesn't care if my Romanian's mediocre... at best... for a toddler. He doesn't tattle if I don't know how to work something and heed his help outsmarting it, so he never makes me look dumber than I typically do already. He goes to any length he can to entertain me, give me something to smile at no matter how crummy my day's been, and to return the cat to my lap after he's done playing with him. (Okay, I only appreciate that part about half the time-- usually the cat's pretty ready to fight by the time they're done wrestling.)

My host mom fell today on some of this wicked Moldovan ice, and she hurt her knee. I feel terrible for her, because I can tell it's got her in a lot of pain, and because she hates not being able to do all those important Moldovan mom jobs she normally does. I figured keeping Costel entertained for the evening was beneficial for everybody, because I totally enjoy his company and because this let her relax and my host dad help her out with other household stuff. (He made some pretty tasty scrambled eggs and hot dogs for dinner-- I'm thinking I'll volunteer for dinner duty this weekend. No offense to tonight's dinner, I just know it's one of very few items in his repertoire, and we may not want to eat it for days.)

I fixed tea for Costel and I both, one teabag for two cups, since neither of us like it very strong. It's ideal, really. He played me his whole collection of music on his cell phone, which I listen to an awful lot, since it's his favorite pass time lately. Then he started playing air guitar to it and I began telling him I was trying to learn to play real guitar before I came to Moldova. I told him that I have a guitar of my own at home and that I miss it, and he told me he has one and I could try it. He brought it out of his and his parents' room, and showed it to me. It's yellow and plastic, and even when they're tightened as far as they'll go, the plastic pegs don't draw the strings nearly tight enough to sing out the right tune. Regardless, though, we spent half an hour sitting and messing around with it. After a while I plopped it down on my lap and started just picking and strumming at it that way, and I managed to get some kind of fun sounds to come out of it, so Costel started dancing and clapping to my music.

It made me think of August Rush, so I went upstairs and called him after me to see if I could find it and show him some of my favorite parts of the music. It took a while to figure out where I'd saved it, but it turned up on my external hard drive and I clicked around, showing him one bit after another of the cool music, then, eventually, when it started to get more into dialogues, I translated a bit. The next time I tried skipping on to more music, he told me to leave it, so we ended up watching about the second half of the movie, me listening to the movie and translating, him listening to me and watching, and both of us just sitting back to enjoy the music when it played, because we all know music speaks every language.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sN0c_egqXAM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> (We started with this bit, and he was hooked. I love it.)

This is a kid, mind you, who tends to gravitate more toward movies that revolve around gunfights or fast cars, but some things are just cool enough for anybody to enjoy, I guess. I don't know how I knew he'd like this so much, but I did.

By the end of it, we were both on the edge of our seats (well, figuratively, since we were sitting in the middle of my bed) despite the facts that he'd only seen half and only heard about the three quarters that I could (roughly) translate for him of the dialogue, plus a little added explanation, and that I've seen it a good dozen times. Host mom called up to ask what we were doing around 10:30 and he called back that I was showing him a movie about music and it'd be over soon, and she asked me to remind him to get ready for bed as soon as it ended. It ended, he pajama'd up and said good night, and I got ready to settle in, smiling from ear to ear. The evenings I spent hanging around with the family, especially with the little brother I never knew I wished I had. I've been pretty lucky here, and that's all there is to it.

Be impressed Peace Corps, even the most socially awkward among your volunteers can get pretty good at this whole "integration" deal with a little practiced. I'm as surprised as you are, but I'm totally pleased.

Cassie's next goal: figure out how to get a hold of Romanian subtitles for this and some other favorite movies so I can share them with the host family. The translation deal may be great for my language skills and add some degree of bonding, but I think the movies will still be better if they we can all understand them simultaneously, and I think that way Costel will like this one even better still.

(By the way-- if anybody happens to know the key to tracking down these subtitles, I'd much appreciate advice-- so far, I'm not quite turning up what I hoped for. Thanks a bunch)

Homesick??

It's the question I get here from almost everyone I meet. "Do you miss home?" and I usually reply as generically as I possibly can, "Sometimes." Duh, right? It's okay-- they probably do usually assume by brief reply has something to do with my language capacity, and I won't deny, I sometimes take advantage of that assumption.

For instance, I use it when I don't entirely know the answer, even in English.

Truth be told, though, I don't usually think of myself as getting homesick here. Maybe I think being homesick means being weak, or dependent. Maybe I just pick it apart and analyze my missings too far to think of them as general homesickness. Even on the worst days, I more often think things like "I miss American school systems" or "I miss my mom's meatloaf." Lately I've spent a lot of time thinking "I miss regulating my own heat."

Today, though, I think I miss home. I was just sitting around pondering it, and considering how totally made I had it before I came here.


The thought's probably in my mind, because a lot of things here have been a bit of a mess recently. I've had it up to here *gestures by standing on the desk with my hand over my head* with one of my two school partners. She's a nice lady, and it honestly is nothing personal. The issue is primarily that she has no desire to be a better teacher. It's just her job. Teaching is often just a job in Moldova-- probably much more often than not. I've talked a lot with my program manager and then with the country director above her, trying to figure out how I can stay in Moldova and find a way to do decent work.

We've considered me working with another school within my current town for part of my hours, at least to give me more to do and to make it more likely that I can find a niche where I feel like a productive member of society here. That's yet to be tested, but it has potential.

We also considered a change of site, meaning packing up, leaving the host family I adore, the other partner and her family who I also adore, and the school that (more often than not) is making me feel horrible. The first potential new site we've been thinking of is one where a residential hospital for children with tuberculosis (which is awfully common in Moldova) is looking for someone to help out with their education program for the kids. The patients don't go to school, because they have a contagious disease that would so easily be spread in an environment that isn't health-/sanitation-minded like a hospital.

The people who work there, however, are doctors, not teachers. They do the best they know how, but they'd like someone with an education background. This was all set to go, until we realized in the past couple days that in the tiny village where the hospital is located, there's not much available for housing. So far, Peace Corps hasn't managed to find anywhere I could live if I wanted to make this change. That was sort of a downer, but if something materializes, maybe it's got some pretty appealing potential, too.


In all reality, though, all these thoughts of changing something in the interest of being happy gets me thinking about how happy I've been in other places. I  loved teaching in Alaska wholeheartedly, and if I hadn't given in to a whim to come home on one bad mood day, I'd likely still be there. I genuinely don't know what I was thinking (or if I was thinking), but I still regret that particular rash decision. I miss the school where I worked during my time there-- it was one of the best school environments I've ever encountered-- so positive and encouraging. So relaxed about the things I have never thought matter much. So concerned about the things I think matter most. It was a nice fit for me, and I was very happy teaching there. School's one of the things that I've always counted on when it comes to being happy-- sure it's weird. That's okay. I'm a little weird.

I think sometimes of what it'd be like to start applying for some teaching positions out in Bush Alaska, finding myself a cozy place to live, and bailing on one adventure to pursue another. It sounds like kind of a lame thing to do, in a way. I mean, I worked hard to get here, and I do solemnly swear that I want to be in Moldova. I want to be a Volunteer.

I also want to be happy, though. I want to do good work. I want to teach, and do it well.

I also get to thinking about being happy in the other places I've been. I consider time spent at home with my family, and I think how happy I am when I live close enough to see them whenever the Spirit so moves me. I think of how happy I felt when I filled my little bitty apartment with friends and movies and board games, junk food and long conversations, school projects completed too late at night together. I think of being happy at SMILES where I worked, and at the schools where I taught, particularly when I was student teaching at Oklahoma Elementary. It was another school I was super-comfortable in (after a kind of rocky beginning, but aren't most beginnings a little rocky?), and where I felt like I had a lot to offer. It was really a beautiful feeling.

Maybe I don't have what it takes to be someone who creates their wonderful internal happiness just by their outlook. I think I create happiness in my life by having good things to offer others. I offer advice to those who ask and company to my friends. I offer fresh-baked cookies to colleagues. I offer everything I know to the kids I teach.

Here, I haven't found a place to offer those things.

I apologize if this post's a bit of a downer-- I normally don't publish anything I write that leaves a sour taste in the mouth, but I guess sometimes, when sorting one's thoughts, it feels good to send them out into the world and hope someone else is understanding what you're thinking. There was a time it was super easy for me to find people to bounce these kinds of thoughts off of face-to-face, but until I find an impartial, fluent-English-speaking Moldovan, a blog is working tonight as my substitute for that kind of conversation.

Am I saying that because things are not getting easier here, I'm set to bail and seek my happiness someplace else? Not yet. It's just a thought that wanders through my mind from time to time, for now. Am I saying that I've tried everything I know and can officially say I wasn't able to do what I came here for? So far no.

Maybe what I'm saying just has to do with the things I miss...

Me, homesick??

Yeah. Maybe.

Neglectful Blogger

So, I guess I haven't really been completely on the ball with my blog posts for a while. I'm sure nobody's quite on the edge of their seats waiting for the next story in my adventure or anything, but to anybody who's been trying to keep up with what I'm up to by reading here: sorry about the slacking.

This post won't be too impressive, either, because I'm way more exhausted than I should be. I'm blaming the cold weather, even if I didn't spend any more time wandering through it today than I truly had to. It is outrageous here! The illusion is often amplified, too, by the fact that I'm not yet especially used to the metric system (of temperature measurement, not time), so people tell me things like "It's 25 below zero out there!" and my eyes get as big as dinner plates, my jaw hits the floor, and then I remember that in the system I know, that's 13 below. Still cold, for sure! There's a sizable difference, though.
25 below in Fahrenheit would be negative 30 in Celsius. If people talking to me realized that, they'd probably get why I look so amazed at the weather reports I hear in conversation.

Math aside, the weather's been pretty rough here, and depending on the source and the places counted as "Eastern Europe" the news has tracked the current death toll due to the temperatures at over 100 people. Yikes. That's good incentive to layer up. Who says you can't put long underwear under the long underwear under your jeans??

Icing on the frozen cake? Everybody's favorite furry prognosticator predicted another month and a half of this stuff this morning in Pennsylvania. Thanks a lot, Phil. Thanks. A. Lot.

Anyhow, back to that whole matter of catching up after months of negligence of the blog. Winter came pretty late, which meant a brown Christmas and a very muddy birthday (which, in Moldova, was also Christmas) for me. We did get a little dusting Christmas day in the evening, though, which was the perfect cherry on top of a remarkably nice day. Many families in Moldova don't even recognize "Christmas on the new calendar" as a holiday, but mine is one of the few that does. There are was a lovely scarf under the tree for me from Moș Crăciun, which was unexpected and wonderful. We went to my host mom's parents' home in the village for a big dinner and lots of time huddled up to the wood furnace just enjoying each other's company. It was really great.

The day after Christmas I took off with a handful of other volunteers from the capital and we went by train to Bucharest, Romania; Sofia, Bulgaria; then Istanbul, Turkey (my poor friends, of course, were subjected to me singing this one through a pretty fair part of the train trip-- I can't help myself). I liked all three cities, but we spent the most time in Istanbul, and I've got to say, it's the one I fell head over heels for. The ancient construction, the mosques, the five loud calls to prayer ringing through the city every day, the incredibly friendly people, the food, the bazaars, the food, the lights at night, the food, a great New Year's Eve party with a small crowd in the top of a hostel that looked out over the lit up Ayasofya Mosque where they set off midnight fireworks, the food, a Turkish bath (ahhhhh....), the food.... mmmm... I'd go back this minute if I could. I took more pictures than I could count, and a few videos I haven't yet had the chance to make something cool of. I promise to get those posted sooner than later. A few are up, but the majority aren't. I'll put in the links now, to try to hurry myself along. A lot of it has to do with whether my internet's moving at a fair pace when I try uploading them. I've had more than my share of unsuccessful tries at posting albums here.

I'll get there, though. Really, I will.

Anyhow, the trip was a fantastic, much-needed break from the reality that is teaching in Moldova, but I'll save stories of the adventure for: a. blogging some other time, when the spirit so moves me; or b. when somebody's actually so interested they ask about it.

I got back just in time for my host family to pack up the next day for a spur-of-the-moment trip to the Ukraine to visit a great-grandmother for Christmas (on the old calendar). They were very apologetic that I'd be spending my birthday on my own in the house, but I was actually pretty content with it. There's something to be said, for sure, for a little time to unwind on one's own, do laundry without being told where to hang it to dry, and cooking whatever I felt like eating for a weekend. It was a very happy birthday. No complaints at all on that front.

Basically, I've been totally content with everything at site lately, with the exception of one thing-- school. Actually, that's probably a big part of why I write so seldom. School, as I'm pretty sure anybody who could be reading this knows, is kind of my thing-- you know, my forte, my greatest motivator, my strongest interest, my passion, and (more often than not) my very best story fodder. It's also the only thing I generally consider myself really good at, so being not-so-especially-good at the teaching in Moldova gig has done a bit of a number on my self-esteem. It hasn't done wonders for my energy, motivation, or blog either.

I like to think the difference isn't that I got to Moldova and forgot how to teach, it's just a drastically different system, in my particular school especially I even tend to believe, so it's been slow-going.

I've got two partners there, and one of them is fantastic. In fact, she's so good at teaching that really, I'd say I need her much more than she needs the help of a Peace Corps Volunteer. She's been a huge part of what's kept me sane many days. She's got two elementary-aged daughters and lives with her parents (and normally her husband, but he's working abroad currently) and she invited me over often for coffee, company, and her mother's incredible cooking. I love the company, and I appreciate her and her family immensely. They've been a blessing and a half, and I'm super grateful to have the chance to teach with her and get to know her. The trouble is, I work with her for about four hours a week. Four.

Outside of working with her, I have just one other teaching partner in my school. She means well, but we're very different. We teach very differently. Plus, if it's at all possible, she's even more stubborn than I am (and that's something!) so I'm just not under the impression that my being around is really influencing her teaching at all. My hours ("hours"= 45 minute class periods) with her bring me to a total of twelve, which is the shortest work-week I've had while not a full-time student since I got a driver's license. In fact, most of college I was a full-time student and still working more hours than that. I've been facing some super-boredom and some major lethargy. Neither of my partners has the time to be involved in anything extracurricular, and because of some pretty exceptional behavior troubles at my school, I'm just not bold enough to try tackling another way to work some schooltime in on my own.

Given the wimpy schedule (which doesn't even meet the Peace Corps Moldova minimum requirement for English Education volunteers' teaching hours) and the general sense that I'm just not accomplishing anything where I am, I finally decided to man up and try changing something. It's taken me a while to talk myself into going to the country director of PC to talk about switching things up, but I finally did. I had a meeting with him this afternoon, and he's suggested some things that I think could be REALLY wonderful. I won't go blabbing what he's proposed just yet, because nothing's carved in stone, but I will say that if we can get things changed in the ways he suggested today, I'll be the happiest volunteer in Moldova. So, if anybody feels like sending up a prayer or two on my behalf that things start turning around in terms of my work here, that would be just dandy.

I do really adore my host family, I'm happy with the town and the neighborhood, the home, the cat (even on days when he smells like the chicken coop), the snow, the sled-riding (oh, I'll have to write about that some time, too) and the country. I'm even pretty fond of the food when it's not potato season (though it is indeed currently a potato-heavy time of year here). The fact is, though, my heart's in teaching. I came here more than anything for that, and if that's the one area I'm not content with, I plan on changing something so I can be satisfied with it, because I really don't think I could go home to claim I was a good*, effective volunteer if I didn't spend my time as a volunteer teaching and teaching well.

I plan on writing again when I have more details about whether I'll be making any major changes here in Moldova, but for now, I think I'm just going to go crawl into bed under as many blankets as I can pile up (in fact, I'll even grab a spare from the closet on my way to my room) and get a good night's sleep.

Before I go though, I'll offer up some links to my pictures I have managed to upload via sluggish Moldovan internet. Some of them go back away, some albums aren't yet edited or are still missing pictures, but I'll keep working on that and offer updated links when I've done better. These are a start at least.

Hope you enjoy them!

Moldovan Adventure Begins

Home Sweet Edineț

Timofy (If you need to judge me harshly for this album's existence, I do understand.)

Chișinău Time, Taking the Camera for a Walk

Beginning of December

Christmastime in the City **

Christmas Eve in Moldova

Christmas Day in Moldova **

Vacation Begins: Bucharest!

Next Stop: Sofia!

Onward to Istanbul!

More Istanbul

Still More Istanbul **

It's Hard Not to Take Tons of Pictures in Istanbul **

Saying Goodbye to Istanbul **


And as long as I'm on a roll with all these hyperlinks, if you haven't seen it yet, you should check out this great article that Mark Lang wrote for the St. Marys Daily Press recently. He may have made me sound way more impressive than I really am, but that's okay by me. He wasn't thrilled with some of the liberties the paper's super-editor took, but overall, I think it's pretty great nonetheless. Who knows, maybe it's even responsible for somebody reading what I write here!***

All right... Now, I think it's bed time. :-)

I'll write again soon... ...er or later. ;-)


* The cat would disagree. He'd say that any American who lets him climb up her leg and perch on her shoulder when he feels like it is a good cat.

** Coming... eventually. Honest.

*** If you didn't click the link for "hyperlinks" you should. I don't know why, but it never fails to make me smile. In fact, the picture's serving as a pick-me-upper on my desktop wallpaper right this moment.