Giving Thanks

As a foreigner, stranger or misfit (insert the adjective that best suits you), you are obviously in a constant state of observation of all the newness but what one doesn’t expect is the forced analysis of your own culture. Regardless if it’s an unconscious action, you are exposing yourself and all your odd doings as well; whether it’s through language, traditions, superstitions, etc…. people are going to ask you why…and strangely, I often don’t know. I mean…what in the hell is a “shit eating grin” and why would someone be eating shit, let alone grinning after doing so? Why do we put a shoe out for St. Nick? What are some traditional American foods? Perhaps I’m more ignorant than the average bird but I’m continuously stumped by such questions.

However, as of late, various individuals have been asking me what Thanksgiving is all about and as my favorite holiday, I was a bit more confident in my explanation. Although the exact logistics of the actual first Thanksgiving is debatable and whether or not it was actually religiously conceived, we can all agree that it began as a feast of gratitude to celebrate the harvest and continues to this day to be a time to truly express what we are thankful for. Although I hate that the Pilgrims shared this first feast with the Native Americans to thank them for their help in learning to live off this new land, and then ironically proceeded to annihilate the Indians in the following years, I like to believe that the Pilgrims’ gratefulness in the beginning was genuine. For me, Thanksgiving captures all the elements that I deem important without any strings attached like many other Holidays. Thanksgiving embraces one of the essences of life – spending the entire day to just BE with those you love.

Although I hate being away from Grandma’s famous mashed potatoes and gravy and missing the family Turkey Bowl (American Football game), I have much to be thankful for. Given that my Grandpa is not here to make me say what I’ve been grateful for this past year, I’m going to make you listen. Since being away from home allows me to realize on a daily basis how grateful I am for my family and friends, I’d like to focus on all the little things we tend to overlook and take for granted. This year I’d like to give my thanks to:

* Sobas (wood burning stoves)

* People on the street recognizing who I am and saying hello

* The beautiful landscape of Bucovina

* Not having to drive in Romania

* My landlord leaving kindling and apples on my front steps

* Getting mail

* The Piața (Fresh Farmer’s market)

* Vin Fiert (Boiled Wine) & Afinata (Homemade Blueberry alcohol)

* Bunicas (grandmas, specifically really old and little ones wearing head scarves)

* Ciorba Radeautana, mujdei, sarmale and halva

* The diversity of each day

* Trains, crowded Maxi Taxi’s and caruțas

And the list could go on for pages...Thank you to all of those who have opened up your minds, arms and homes to a strange foreign misfit…you have made my experience in Romania one I shall forever remember!

"The Painted Veil"

by W. Somerset Maugham

“Do you never wish to go home again, ma soeur?” asked Kitty.

“Oh, no. It would be too hard to come back. I love to be here and I am never so happy as when I am among the orphans. They’re so good, they’re so grateful. But it is all very well to be a nun, still one has a mother and one cannot forget that one drank the milk of her breasts.”

It’s a bit uncanny how one can often relate to novels, particularly at the exact moment they are being read. I read this passage above at the airport in Germany shortly after parting with mom, Katie and baby Georgia. This for some reason was one of the hardest goodbyes. When I read this (obviously not from the standpoint of a nun but one of having a similar experience) I knew for certain that I had made the right decision of not going home during my 27 months of service because indeed, it would have been “too hard to come back.” As much as I love my life here, seeing my kin in the flesh made me second guess why I chose to be away from them.

“I should have thought that sometimes it was hard never to see again those that are dear to you and the scenes amid which you were brought up. […] All the same, when one thinks of those to whom one is so dear, it must be difficult not to ask oneself if one was right in cutting oneself off from them.”

I never wanted to be one of those people who say “oh, I haven’t seen my sister in years” but here I am…and I made that choice. In 2 years my older sister went through an entire pregnancy and the baby suddenly became 9 months old, none of which I was a part. She has morphed into a mother and I got to finally observe this new person when we reunited. Yet…much to my relief it was as if no time had passed at all, for we simply carried on as we did before I left 2 years ago. However, this new creature immediately found her way into my heart and soul. I fell in love with Baby G and I couldn’t bear to part after 4 short days. And once again, I found myself questioning my values and asking myself if it was worth it. Is it worth missing her key developmental years? Is it worth it to be away from those you hold so dear? What if I just didn’t go back?

Then I realized that I cannot not finish something – particularly something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, something I’ve put so much of my own convictions into, something that took an abundant amount of time for others to develop a trust in me and even more so, something I genuinely enjoy. So…what’s 6 more months when I’ve already done 21? I think the plot thickens because in my heart I have the feeling it won’t only be 6 more months. As of now, I’d like to stay abroad in order to continue my education. This environment simply creates an atmosphere that I’m addicted to…an eye opening newness that leads to endless observations and learning. I agree, very ironic for my personality type but I refuse to let my fears and anxiety prevent me from experiencing a life that I’m passionate about. So there you have it, a bit of a catch 22. Do you surround yourself by those you love or do you immerse yourself into something you love to do? Perhaps Waddington was correct, “Some of us look for the Way in Opium and some in God, some of us in whiskey and some in love. It is all the same Way and it leads nowhither.”

October's Occupations

The diversity, spontaneity and flexibility of being a Peace Corps Volunteer has created a lifestyle that I have come to love. Although it may mean I’ve slept in 7 different places during the past 9 nights and couldn’t wait to get home to the serenity of the crackling fire in my soba, I wouldn’t trade it for anything…for it’s all part of the adventure.

After spending a week in Bucharest I realized that I had forgotten what it was like to go out and be surrounded by young people, not to mention fun and friendly young people. This…in combination with being in the big city made for some real social awkwardness… one almost forgets how to interact. Re-entering “Real Life” should be a real treat!

Speaking of treat…

Although I didn’t get to wear a costume (perhaps only the second time in my Halloween history), this was definitely one of the more memorable years. I got the opportunity to volunteer at Ovidiu Rom’s Halloween fundraising ball at the Parliament Palace, the second largest building in the world after the Pentagon. Leslie Hawke, a former PCV and Ethan’s mother, founded this organization about 5 years ago to help increase the educational opportunities for the Roma children. For two days we were the manpower (which is ironic because as girls we weren’t allowed to lift more than paper) helping with the set-up and decorate. At the beginning of the ball, I helped out with the coat check…which was enough to prove that I was amongst some of Romania’s richest. I probably will never again even be a servant at such an event that has a small orchestra that starts right up as each new guest arrives. Later in the evening I worked at the “American Bar” which was made entirely out of hay bales and only served Jack

Daniels…can’t say I really had any complaints about the job, especially when my customers consisted of Ethan Hawke and some man wearing a kilt, who came up approximately every 45 minutes

asking for another “cup of tea.”

Betsy In Real Life

Day in and day out, my time spent in Romania has been…let’s see, how does one say this…a bit fantastical, whimsical and even sometimes like walking through a 1980’s music video. In other words, I often find myself in roles (such as Laura Ingalls Wilder, Susie Homemaker, Molly Ringwald and even Madonna - Pre-Kabala) and situations that are so surreal that I cannot believe what I’m actually seeing or doing. In fact, it’s so surreal that I’ve become accustomed to referring to it as not real life. Perhaps it’s because I build a fire to warm my Bouse that has hay in the roof for insulation or because I make my own booze or see grown men peeing in public in broad daylight or simply because I’m getting to do and experience things that one only gets to dream of doing.

Either way, I find myself referring to home and life in Minnesota as “real life.” For example; In real life, I would never spend 4 hours sewing a new zipper into my pants or fix my toilet with dental floss. During real life, I never baked goods for my neighbors or worried about the curent making me ill. When I return to real life, I suppose I’ll have to resume taking daily showers and nobody will know who I am walking down the street. So will I reluctantly return to Betsy in Real Life, continue living as Betsy in Fairy Gnome land or will I find a friendly combination of Betsy in Real Gnome Life? There will definitely be parts of me that will fortunately remain changed forever and there are parts of me that I can’t wait to have back. But why? Why can’t the wondrous whims co-exist with the rigid real?

On the contrary, perhaps they can. Recently my parents, the ones who inducted me into the real life, came to visit me here. Other than the fact that I could now pick them out as foreigners from a mile away, their mere existence seemed very real. After spending a decent amount of time in this dreamland, it was kind of nice to have some of my feelings, experiences and observations validated. Walking down the street with my parents was quite enjoyable, for my mom was far more terrified of the dogs than I and no one dare harass me when I was with a man who dwarfed most Romanians. I very much enjoyed watching my father trying to fit in the bed on the overnight train, and his enthusiasm for learning Romanian; he terrified every bunica in sight as he happily greeted them and only ordered Mexican Penis at the restaurant once. Mom quickly picked up on the irony in stating, “There should be …” and the fun in reusing disposable plastic items (not just because I’ve become worse than grandma but also because Mikey got a surprise swig of Palinka instead of water when he went to take his vitamins.) But maybe they too, had fallen under the spell. As soon as they left, it was as if they had never been here. But that’s how it works in a land where Laura Ingalls Wilder and Molly Ringwald walk arm in arm; you’re only left with a vivid yet unrealistic memory that can never quite be conveyed to anyone else.