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.

Blogcrastination

So, every semester, we lucky education program volunteers get to fill out a lengthy report documenting all the things that we've done with our schools, students, and every single class that pertain to our Peace Corps service. I regret to say that I really don't feel, one semester into this thing, as though I've done a whole lot. I may have minimally impacted our classroom management strategies for the better with one partner, and I've contributed some handmade materials, and the occasional use of technology to get the kids' attention, but there's been nothing earth-shattering... or earth-tremoring... or earth-slightly-wiggling... or even school wiggling, for that matter.

The fact remains, though, that however minimal this report will ultimately have to be to document my limited achievements here, I don't feel like doing it. I sometimes worry that I forgot to pack my motivation to come to Moldova, when I start putting off things like crafty classroom materials or Christmas cards, but a lack of desire to do work that I don't deem rewarding or enjoyable, or meaningful, or even sometimes just things that seem overwhelming, regardless of how great they may be... well, that's nothing new.


I thought (as of this morning) that I still had two days to complete this thing, but I actually got an email this afternoon that said it's due tomorrow, causing me to sugar myself up with junk food in anticipation of a really late night of typing and clicking away into the wee hours of the morning... I was braced, ready, motivated, I have Christmas music playing, water bottle full, and (of course) the cat curled up on my lap. That's when the real bad news struck...

I got an email from my program manager stating that enough volunteers had replied to her previous message to say that they hadn't known this was due tomorrow that she.....

Extended.

The.

Deadline.

No!!!!

There goes the pressure I work so well under. Now I may well be in trouble!

If any of my college professors are reading this, you're probably now recalling every assignment I turned in to you within 20 seconds of the deadline, or perhaps even a few times when things that were assigned without deadlines arrived to you just moments before the end of the grading period. If my friends are reading this, you're thinking of me camping out in the library for all-nighters during the week when end of semester projects were due or IMing you trying to keep myself awake until I'd finished just one more page of something. My poor mother's reading this and thinking of the times during my student teaching when the living room was lit up and my computer keys were a clicking until I couldn't keep my eyes open, and I was polishing up lesson plans at the counter while I ate breakfast.

It's not that I don't think these things are important or worth devoting my efforts to... It's simply that I never seem to muster up the necessary motivation to do them well until they're coupled with an obscenely narrow time-frame.

In other instances like this one, I've filled my procrastination time with other useful projects, but since the scope of my world's still just a bit on the narrow side here and I can't pack for winter vacation until the family's washing machine's fixed and I have some clean underwear, I figured I'd give up just a few minutes to seeking out anyone reading up on my Peace Corps experience in hopes that you'll all say a little prayer that the deadline inches its way back up to tomorrow by nightfall or that I am, by some other means, struck with a bout of compulsion to complete paperwork.

Okay, now that I've hopefully got at least somebody out there rooting for my completion of this report, I'm going to crank the Christmas music back up and type 'til my eyelids are heavy.

I promise to minimize my Facebook, Free Cell, and Pinterest breaks, but I can't eliminate them, or I'll take even more of the pressure off myself. Can't have that. I really do work best under unreasonable pressure.

Today's Tally

Today I'm tallying the successes of the day, because while none of them were big, there were enough of them that it'd be a crime for me not to stop and take note.

In my sixth grade class, one of my students who I have never before heard speak-- at all-- in any language-- participated in our vocabulary exercise using a PowerPoint slideshow that took me less than fifteen minutes to create. (Note to self-- the computer should come to school more often.)

In my third grade class, students actually requested that we do a direction-following/craft project from last week again. I've never had students in this school request to repeat an activity before. (Another note-- my third graders are most attentive when there's glue involved.)

I visited a restaurant where the waitresses only speak Russian, and I used Russian almost entirely. (I slipped on a couple thank-yous in Romanian, but that's minimal.)

I bumped into a few of my seventh grade boys on my walk home. I greeted them and asked how they're doing, they responded and asked me in return. All in English. Maybe you need to have met my seventh-graders to understand the enormity of this, but believe me, it was a big deal.

My teaching partner and I collaboratively filled out a kind of evaluation of the curriculum form today, all in Romanian, and I understood it just as well as she did. We genuinely needed one another's assistance, and it was a kind of collaboration I'd never have expected I'd manage in Romanian.

I carried my computer to and from school today, and no harm came to it.

I made my bed after school instead of giving into the urge to crawl back into it with a book. (Again, maybe you'd have to be here to know it's a big deal.)

My partner and I did all our planning on Sunday (which was lovely, because it also involved an invitation for dinner and some time hanging out with her and her darling daughters) so today we had free time in the day-- honest-to-goodness, not spent planning or typing, or cutting and drawing, free time. It was excellent.

Last, but I'm sure not least:

I blogged about things that went well here for the first time in just a bit too long, and about things that went well at school for the first time in Moldova.


Addendum:
I know I already said last, but that was mid-afternoon and since then:

My eight-year-old host brother came up to my room to ask for help studying his English vocabulary, and I reduced him to giggles by speeding up the words, pronouncing them enthusiastically, and doing them out of order, going back over and over to the tricky ones for extra practice. Something so simple has such a huge effect when kids are used to such "classical" teaching methods.

Host borhter showed off his newly memorize vocabulary to the family over dinner.

My host sister from summer training Skyped me to ask for English homework help, too, and impressed me by producing a really nice essay on friendship, with little more than some help translating figures of speech that she hasn't yet learned.

Training host sister was super grateful for the help-- and gratitude's a big, big deal. :-D

I'd say it's become an all-around good day.

(Now, back to tackling a to-do list full of deadlines fast approaching.)

Observation Day... :-\

I was observed by my supervisor in Peace Corps today, the English Education PC Moldova Program Manager.

I always thought classroom observations were stressful in America. Every tiny mistake I made, I had to think, "Is someone going to assume I normally do this this badly, or worse?" The bright side here is that there's no need to scrutinized, nit-pick for tiny mistakes, or search my actions and lessons for flaws. The not-so-bright side is that the reason finding the problems with my lessons is a non-issue is that the problems are so tremendous that they virtually overshadow everything else that takes place in our classrooms.

A few direct quotes:

"I've taught primary and secondary pupils, university students, worked for the Ministry of Education, and worked in Peace Corps's E.E. program for all these years, and that is the worst class I have ever seen."

"Your lesson plans are great, but if you can't at least get the students to look at you, you're not teaching them."

"Maybe some different classroom management would help-- maybe if you'd stopped the boy who talked permanently through your entire lesson."

"No one in that room learned anything. You sad they have a test next week. I know they will all fail."

"I don't know what to tell you to do, that was just awful."

There was positive feedback, too, of course-- unfortunately, none of it was anything actually remarkable. The lessons were dreadful, and she was just trying to offer us at least a little something positive. My best lesson that was observed today isn't something I'd ever have even considered satisfactory in America. My worst was the worst she'd ever seen, too, and incidentally, that group was notably better-behaved than usual today.

Guess that's life.

At least I finally know I'm not crazy for being frustrated beyond all reason with my teaching experience here. I still have no idea how to improve anything, what to change, whether I'll ever do anything more than try to teach in Moldova, or if it's even worth my while to be here. The suggestion that was posed, yet again, was to perhaps change my site, and try to put me some place easier to work.

Accepting that offer would be double-edged, of course. It would make my teaching easier, but I certainly didn't come all this way to teach in a school that's already doing well. It would remove me from the school where I do have some small successes, and where I'd hate to abandon what tiny bit of progress I've spent months working on, but it could potentially put me in a place where I could make much more progress. It would also remove me from a rather comfortable living arrangement with a host family that I've grown rather fond of in a home where I'm just finally starting to feel pretty much at home. I know that I didn't come all this way for an easy and comfortable life-style, either, but I can't help but think that downgrading to a lack of indoor plumbing or readjusting to a new home or a new host family, may be enough stress to snap my already weakened resolve to stay here and do good things. Or, at the least, I fear it would be stress enough to make even the best of new working placements just as difficult as the challenging one I'm already in.

I'm totally torn between staying put and potentially not accomplishing anything noteworthy in my two years, or moving to a new site, starting yet again, and losing the few months of work I have put in here. Ultimately, I told her that I want to continue working at this school, at least a while longer, before even considering anything else, because while it's beyond any difficulty I ever imagined I'd face in any classroom (since these are nothing like any classroom I've ever known before).

The good news is that my program manager did bring the mail I'd received in Chisinau to me since she was making the trip. I received my Christmas gift from my dad, a (ginormous) book, Van Gogh: The Life, which I fully intend to spend tons of these dark wintery evenings buried in. I also got a box from his side of the family full of real coffee (in little filter packets, because coffee makers are super-rare around here), candies, travel sized toiletries that I'll be glad I have when traveling over the holidays (to Turkey, particularly to Istanbul, which was Constantinople-- Oops. I digress.), and warm snugly socks and a scarf-- definitely good to have, as we got our first legitimate snow of the year this morning. (Thanks, guys, for the care package!)

After dragging myself through a moderately miserable school-day, a miserable meeting with my partners and program manager, I snuggled into my new wooly socks, slathered a banana with the peanut butter Abby sent me in her last package, and sipped down a giant mug of Folgers. So, the day wasn't a total bust. There's definite value here in savoring the little things. Comfort foods and toasty feet may not get me through two years of service, but they'll get me through days like today.

I also read this this afternoon-- the kids' behavior may be the biggest obstacle I seem to face in my classrooms here, but at least on the "teaching English" front, I know it's not just me. I'd never thought so much about how irrational our mostly-borrowed, cobbled-together language really is until trying to get students used to a phonetically spelled language to transcribe the words I say or say the words I've written. "House" becomes "huh-oh-oo-seh" and "answer" becomes "ah-nn-swuh-air"... not just when they say them, either, I've got to get them to spell these things somehow.

I enjoyed reading the poem below today... It's difficult, and it's long, but I can't help enjoying a little poking fun at our language when teaching it's become so difficult. Yes, I'm lashing out at the English language through the borrowed words of some other author-- so??

You may want to have this open and your volume up as you read, for the pronunciation guides.

English Pronunciation

September 5, 2007 

If you can pronounce correctly every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world. After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud.
 
Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

English Pronunciation, by G. Nolst Trenité


And as a special treat for any of you who've read my whole novel of an account of my day, pictures:

My host brother, Costel, made use of an unused cardboard
box that had been sitting in my room, as a house/airplane
for Tim, our cat.

Tim may not have had quite as much fun with this game as Costel did.

While I sipped my coffee this afternoon, I heard what I thought was a torrential downpour start completely
out of the blue. Turned out to be about five minutes of seriously intense, pea-sized hail.

I was going to pick some up and get a picture
of the hailstones in my hand...

... but by the time I bent down it had melted and begun to come
down as rain.

It was large enough that even a few minutes into the rain, it was frozen white on the ground, though.

Of course, when I stepped onto the balcony (AKA roof of the garage) to
get a picture, the cat had to join me. I go nowhere in this house sans-kitty.

Found the largest mug in the cupboard to brew my single-serving coffee in. It was perfect!

Oh, and for all of you who looked at that photo and
thought, "Surely that purple creature in front of the
human house with the puppy prints is an--
elephant!"
Ding, ding, ding!!! You got it!
You'd win the prize, if there was one.
(Bonus points if you assumed he'd
be wearing an orange bib.)

What?! All that, and there's no prize??

I'd offer to do better next time, but I made my first trip to the Edineț Post Office this week, and it's not something I plan to attempt in the near future again. Prizes are not in the near future of my blog.

You'll just have to settle for the satisfaction of knowing I found a new favorite coffee mug, and the sheer pleasure of admiring my host-brother and host-cat.

Thanks for reading. :-) Sorry for whining. I won't write again until I've got positive things to say-- promise!

Pray that they're positive things about how much my students improve now that my partner and I are armed with the knowledge that their behavior is indeed unacceptable, and that a drastic change is in order. Maybe it'll help!

No Place Like Home for the Holidays

I'll never forget the year that during our "Christmas Tour," my high school music teacher made the mistake of assigning our show choir to sing the song while visiting one of the living facilities for the elderly. We broke half our audience down into tears by the middle of the chorus. I understood, of course, that it hadn't been her best idea. What I didn't appreciate though, is what it actually feels like to spend holidays not surrounded by loved ones and the smells of a turkey in the oven and familiar spices wafting from the table.

I don't doubt that I'm going to enjoy myself here over the holiday season. I haven't yet decided whether I'll be traveling or hanging around to see what Christmas and New Year's are like here in Moldova, a country that certainly knows its way around celebrations with family. Either way, though, Thanksgiving's been a bit of a downer.

Even on the toughest days, I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I'm working hard to help with situations few have had the nerve to address. I'm happy to be a part of the children's lives that shows them the only way they've ever known things to be done may not be the only way things can be done. I love that I'm meeting people, and I won't deny that I'm proud of myself for even the smallest of successes.

Still. It's a holiday, and I'm not home. I'm not hugging my mom, I'm not laughing with my cousin, I'm not drinking wine and playing board games with my sister and her boyfriend. It isn't the same.

Anyhow, I've been trying to think of things I can do that will brighten things up for me. I'm definitely eagerly anticipating snow, because that always makes the world feel like Christmas to me. I am excited to start a hunt for a few gifts for the host family, and I'm looking forward to hearing the traditional songs, and to blasting my own wide collection of Christmas music from my computer while I cut and color materials for school. I know I'll enjoy some days off school that I can spend bundling up and taking my camera for long, icy walks or hunkering down with a mug of hot tea and a good book. These things won't be exactly like home, but they won't be completely foreign either.

I do have one wish from home, though. I've had a few different people offer care packages or Christmas gifts from America, and while I love the gesture, there isn't much here that I really need. If you have the chance, though, I would positively love to be able to deck out my bedroom in Christmas cards from across the miles. If my friends and family could pitch those extra few stamps to send a festive, written in English, filled with warm wishes card this way, I'd appreciate it tons! In fact, you don't even have to worry about getting it out early, since Christmas is celebrated in Moldova twice, once on the twenty-fifth of December, then again on January seventh, my birthday.

So, if you'd be willing to add to the card collection I hope to display in my room clear up until the snow melts (maybe longer, so far cards I've received have never come down from where I display them) the address is:

Corpul Pacii
Cassandra Mosier, PVC
Str. Grigore Ureche #12
Chisinau, Moldova  2001

Also, the closer we get to the holidays, and the more I miss the people I love, the more I'd be thrilled to Skype with any of you. My screen name is c.g.mosier, and if you want to send a message or plan a time to video chat, that would be positively wonderful!

Know I'm sending warm, Thanksgivingy wishes halfway around the world to you all and that I could not possibly be more grateful for the love and support in the only place that, no matter how far away I may lay my head at night, really is home! Eat some turkey for me!

A Shift in Dreams

To anyone but me, it surely seems the silliest of dreams. I walk into the room, warm and full of the smells of white glue and chalk dust, crayon wax and pencil shavings. I brush snow off my coat and hang it into a crowded closet besides boxes and boxes of patterns, posters, pictures, glitter, pipe cleaners, and sticky tack in reserve. The room is dark until I flip the switch that livens the buzzing of fluorescent lights, and I set to work readying a chalkboard with the things we need to know for the day and setting the desktop computer a-whir, ready to check emails. I sit in the big chair behind the big desk, and I peer out at all the little ones, tops wiped clear the evening before, ready for another fresh start.

When I try to consider my favorite season, I often hang up on the notion that really, what I like is the very beginning of each, probably none more or less than the next. These days are much the same, while no two are alike, each offers its own beginning and its own promise. A blackboard wiped free of white clouds, coat hooks empty but for the stray hat and boot or two. I sip black coffee in the dream, and when a bell rings, the clamor of little children that had been confined to the cafeteria moments before gradually floods into the hall, then the buzz makes its way to my room where I greet with smiles and squeezes, hearing one story after another and directing the energy of the morning to readying ourselves for the day.

I don’t just dream of this scenario, but long for it. I think I have for as long as I can recall having even the faintest idea that someday I would grow up and be able to be the one seated in the rocking chair, picture book balanced on a knee, making words spring to life. From second grade, when I’d bound down the hall to the first grade room, math flashcards in hand, ready to spend recess quizzing and helping the younger students. From third grade, when my teacher always participated in our writing activities, words pouring onto paper to create poems and songs and stories that we listened to as intently as if she’d composed the works of Shakespeare himself. From middle school, when my teachers told me what a good teacher they knew I would be. From high school when I struggled with a project where we were instructed to research three careers that may interest us, because, truly, I never had anything else in mind.

I like to think I was just made for this—somehow, I want to consider that God put me together, and pulled a mind off the shelf, clearly stamped with the phrase “passionate teacher,” perhaps a heart marked “nurturer,” and hands marked “will only write legibly in washable marker.” When he polished me up, maybe he handed me off to some angel and said, “Put her some place where she can learn for all her life and share every bit of it with those around her—it’s all she will ever want to do.”

Funny, then, twenty-three years, a shining school record, two degrees, and countless jobs working with children later, I’m not greeted every morning by those fluorescent lights or the coat closet packed with my supplies hoard. I wake up each morning, and without a shower or a cup of coffee, I bundle into as many layers as the day demands, trek through the cornfield, then the park, and then town, and enter the halls of the noisiest building I’ve ever known. Children bump and bustle, shout, push, and crash into one another, bound over anything in their way, and greet each other with smacks and handshakes, and cries in two languages, both of which just hum through my mind as babble when I’m not yet fully awake.

I suppose you could say I took the road less traveled.

The smells of chalk are replaced by the faint remnant reek of shiny oil based paint. The scrape of chairs on floors creaks through the din of noisy children, and when I make my way into the room where I will teach, I set the whole of my possessions in the building, all of which are in one bag, onto the same chair where I hang my coat—except, of course, on days when the heating system just isn’t up to the task of combating the weather, and we all remained bundled up.

I ask the class to stand up, as is customary at the start of every class—the only show of respect teachers will receive in the forty-five minute period more often than not—and my students’ singsong voices chant together:

“Good morning, dear teacher.”

On a good day, and in the strongest of my classes, this is followed by pupils taking their seats and responding to questions like “How are you?” “What day is it?” “What is the date?” and “Tell me about the weather.”

                A good day doesn’t yet elicit the kind of passion every other school I have inhabited always did, but I keep telling myself that it will. I’m comforted by the occasional spark of it. Sometimes it comes as a student follows me across the street on my walk home, answering my questions that I pose in my language and translate to hers. Some days, it warms me from inside when I get a student who normally isn’t bold enough to speak to give an answer. On the best kinds of days, it wraps itself around me in students hugs, the swish of their puffy jackets against my own calming me and reminding me that even in a strange place, in a foreign language, in a world I sometimes fear I’ll never fully understand, I am still a teacher. It’s in me, and it’s not going anywhere. It gets stronger every day. By the end of two years here, I don’t imagine that anyone—least of all myself—could question it.

                That’s the dream now, and I’m giving all I’ve got to make it real. In a few years, I don't doubt I'll make my way full circle, back to the dream that's lived in me for so long. For the time being, though, I want to live this one to the fullest.

                Wish me luck.

A Week in the City

This week we had training and seminars, both in language and teaching, in Chisinau, from Tuesday through Saturday. I'd love to tell all about them, but it will have to wait, because while there, I also finally visited our medical officer about having fallen and hurt my hand a few weeks ago. She was a bit appalled that I'd waited so long, sent me straight to the hospital (which looked, and smelled, remarkably American) for X-rays.

Turns out it's a little broken, and the brace I've got to wear makes typing kind of a chore. I've really only got full use of the first two fingers on my right hand, and I've been expressly forbidden from writing with it. The bad news is that not writing is a little rough on a teacher, especially with no technology in the classroom. The good news is that it had almost healed itself in the three-ish weeks I waited, so she thinks I'll only need it in the brace for a week. I get to make another trip to Chisinau Friday, bright and early, so I can have it X-rayed again and see if this poor little metacarpal bone is looking healthy again.

I'll be popping calcium and Vitamin D tablets like candy until then, as, evidently, my almost-all-carbs diet at home hasn't done wonders for the strength of my skeleton. Until then, wish me "Noroc!" (Romanian for "luck") and I'll write more when I'm working with ten fingers instead of seven. :-)

A School Party in the Village

Well, I was going to spend this afternoon packing for our mandatory week of training in Chișinău over the fall break, for which I leave tomorrow, but the washing machine melted down with the clothes I planned to pack still sudsy and trapped inside. I'm waiting for my host mom to get home from work so she can help me sort that mess out, and I'll at least get to take them with me clean and wet to dry in my hotel room. Hopefully.

The good news is that this gives me some time to tell about an awesome weekend in the village of Mărăndeni. One of our English Education Volunteers, Kim, lives and teaches there and was planning to hold a Halloween party Friday, so she sent out an invitation for others in the North of Moldova to lend a hand. Looking forward to the prospects of seeing another village and of painting cute kids' faces, I eagerly agreed to make the trip.

Halloween isn't traditionally celebrated in Moldova, but the kids do all learn a bit about it in their English classes, since it's a pretty big deal in America. My host brother was informed that Americans carve heads from vegetables for the holiday, so he and I, because we didn't have a pumpkin around, had carved a family of apple people the week before for him to take to school. Beyond that, not much happens here at the end of October unless someone (usually a PCV) is ambitious enough to organize festivities. I'm hoping to try my own hand at it next year. While I'm not usually all that into Halloween, I miss the pumpkin carving element, and the kids think it's such a cool novelty to be part of a foreign celebration.

My attempts at getting from Point A to Point B in Moldova have yet to work out simply and as-expected, but that's par for the course with a sense of direction like mine, so I wasn't too worked up over the fact that it took me ages to find the bus station in my own town. I knew it was at the edge of town, but I hadn't been to the edge of town on foot before and had no conception of just how long a hike that would be, plus I took a few wrong turns that added to the trip more still. I did get there just in time to catch the last bus that could potentially get me to Bălți, the nearest raion center, on time to catch the last bud out to Mărăndeni, and a friendly man who spoke a little bit of English led me to the window where I could buy my ticket. He was pretty interested in what I was doing there when I said I'm not visiting but living here for two years. People often are, it's a nice reaction to have-- Moldovans are notoriously welcoming.

When I finally made my way to the Bălți bus station, I had unfortunately just missed the last bus of the day out to the village, so I ended up making countless phone calls to Kim and asking almost every driver, ticket-seller, and friendly-looking stranger in the area what the best way would be to get myself to Mărăndeni. After a few wrong answers from a few people, I finally figured out what would get me nearest to the village so I could walk in. The driver had been one of the people to provide me faulty information (that there would be another bus directly out to the village at the same time as his own would leave), so he was confused when I was all set to hop on his rutiera after all. I explained, though, and after first trying to convince me to marry either his son or nephew, let me on without a ticket and got me just where I needed to be.

Just seeing the village was great, because it's so quiet and the leaves are all the most incredible golden color right now, so I was enjoying the walk, but since I was running a bit late by this point, it was a relief when someone offered me a ride into the center. She correctly guessed me to be an English teacher and guessed that I was headed into town to see Domnişoară Kim, then got me just where I needed to be. While there are some inconveniences associated with living in these tiny villages, the helpful nature of their inhabitants certainly makes up for a lot of them.

We headed to the school and after some complications with getting the doors unlocked and a brief moment of uncertainty about whether we'd have electricity with which to play music, we got things rolling. Kim's democracy club (a handful or so of fifth- and sixth-graders, if my age estimation is right) showed up to help us with the decorations. I made a pretty impressive mess mixing up homemade face paint to use (since I'd had no luck finding it for sale even in the capital last time I was there), and things got rolling.

Admission for the celebration was five lei (about fifty cents) per student, which will go toward the creation of a world map mural somewhere in the school in the near future (part of a worldwide Peace Corps project I think is particularly cool). Kids were initially surprised when I told them they needn't spend additional money to have their faces painted, and once word of that got around, the line grew way faster than expected. I took one break for a bit while someone relieved me, but mostly, I was sole painter, so I took a lot of pride in seeing everybody running around with bats, pumpkin, ghosts, and spiders on their cheeks and foreheads.

There was also lots of loud music for dancing (played using a microphone laid near a computer speaker), bobbing for apples (which the kids also ate, a bonus when we're used to American kids who prefer the candy element of Halloween over healthy treats), an attempt at a Soul Train style costume dance off (it didn't work as planned, but the kids had a great time anyhow), a face cut out board (well, paper) with a witch and Frankenstein where students could have their pictures taken, a ping pong ball tossing game, and prizes. Overall, the night was a huge success. Students, teachers, and volunteers alike had an awesome time and we estimated that between 50 and 70 kids were there.

Afterward, the school director (like a principal) invited the volunteers (five of us in all) to hang around for tea and cookies in her office. We visited, talked about what we do and how we like Moldova, then headed back to Kim's place where we made ourselves a nice dinner and sat up talking and visiting entirely too late. The next day we headed into the city in the morning, spent the day hanging out and taking a long walk in the beautiful fall sunshine before I caught my rutiera home in the evening and made my way back to the house just in time for dinner with the host family.

A lot of my weekends here are pretty uneventful, and I'm all right with that. I think at heart I'm mostly a homebody, and the more time I spend getting to know my family here, the more I enjoy just being here and being a part of everyday life. Still, though, a little excitement sure can be nice, and when it happens to involve a fun night of music and dancing with school kids followed by a relaxing day with friends who speak English, it makes for a great change of pace. It's also really cool to see how someone is making great things happen at their site after a year of service here-- makes me look forward to the things in store for me the more capable I become here and the more connections I make. I'm so grateful to have been a part of the fun!