Frozen Socks and All

November 24, 2005-
Last night, I went up to the attic to check on the status of my "drying" clothes and I found that all my socks were completely frozen. Frozen I tell you, frozen stiff. I brought a few pairs down to my room to defrost, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I have a lot of clothes hanging in the attic "drying" and I can only defrost a few things at a time in my little room. At this rate, it might be some weeks before a large portion of my wardrobe is wearable again.

It's cold here. Not as cold as it's going to get, but cold. It snowed all day. When I was walking the mile or so to my language class, my face was pelted with frozen raindrops. It was mildly miserable, but what can you do? In response to the unbearable cold (and my frozen socks), I have purchased a faux fur coat. I got it from the bazaar today. Truthfully, I feel slightly ridiculous in it because it's long -- down to my mid-calf, and well, quite the coat. It's brown and huge, and I feel slightly like a lioness when I have the hood on; but it's warm, and that's what I needed so...

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. My clustermates and I had a Thanksgiving feast with our host parents at the one cafe in town. We ate strictly Ukrainian dishes, though we came close to American tradition with our sides of mashed patatoes. At first, I felt a bit melancholy about it being Thanksgiving, mostly because I've always managed to get back to San Jose to spend the day with my family. I thought a lot about everyone gathering at my grandparents, enjoying the punch, laughing, drinking wine, perhaps shooting some hoops. I snapped out of it though, when our own Thanksgiving feast began.

It was very special to share the American holiday with our Ukrainian families. Many toasts were made and lovely words spoken. More than a few times, our families broke into song, singing many traditional Ukrainian numbers. They kept asking us Americans to sing our traditional national songs, but we couldn't even compete with them. Americans don't have national songs that everyone sings and knows from a young age. We have some songs, but it's not the same at all. "Doe-a-Deer" and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" hardly compete.

I have a lot to be thankful for here. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, it's true; and sometimes I feel far from home, but for the most part, I feel an acute sense of how much there is to be thankful for, frozen socks and all.

I'm Officially Still Not Old

November 22, 2005- Today is my 23rd birthday. It snowed. It was pretty. It was also pretty freaking cold. I’m already wearing my warmest layers and winter isn’t even officially here. I think I might be in trouble. I think I’ll be investing in a lot of fur. Shh, don’t tell PETA.

As far as birthdays go, it’s been a good one. I didn’t have to go early to language lessons and I only had to teach one class. I spent the morning sleeping in, eating a leisurely breakfast (a sausage link, shredded beats and cooked cauliflower…mmmm….isn’t that what you dream about for breakfast?) and working on my lesson plan. I played hooky this morning and chose not to go an hour early to the school to observe classes. Instead I danced around to music in my room (much like an I-pod commercial except I wasn’t shadowy) and read a book (Updike’s “Gertrude and Claudius”). My morning was great. When I got to the school, I learned that I hadn’t even missed anything because there had been no classes to observe and I would have just been standing around all cold in the teacher’s room. The school was incredibly cold, so cold in fact, that classes were shortened from the normal 45 minutes to a mere 30 minutes.

My host family gave me a small bouquet of carnations today. Actually, I don’t know if three flowers are technically considered a bouquet or not. Regardless, it was sweet. When giving flowers here, you only give odd numbers unless it’s a funeral. So my host family gave me three carnations and my 10th form class gave me one carnation, which was also sweet, but I don’t know if it’s technically okay to stuff all four flowers into the same vase or not. Right now, all four are cohabitating, but that could be bad luck, I don’t know. Lot’s of things are bad luck here, like wiping the table with a paper napkin and whistling inside (you’ll lose your money…Steve!!) and shaking hands across doorways and crossing a black cat and, oh, there’s more. I should know; I’m a chronic offender.

My host family also gave me a little statue, trinket thingy. I don’t know how to describe it really, except as a little statue, trinket thingy. It’s a young lad, about six inches tall wearing purple overalls with a little puppy rubbing up against his legs. He looks kind of like a cabbage-patch kid, but more like a drunk “my-buddy.” I love it because it’s so ridiculously great. My host family’s babushka gave me some half-used French perfume, no doubt fresh from the bazaar. I have been beating myself up for not bringing my perfume with me, so maybe it’s ordained from above that I smell like an old, French grandma for awhile, I don’t know.

On a more serious note, this past week has been tough for me emotionally. It was a combination of an ear infection (I’m notoriously worthless and pathetic when I’m sick, just ask Darce), being exhausted from my site visit, and I guess being suddenly struck by the reality of the distance between everyone I love and myself. Visiting my permanent site made everything that I’ve been preparing for real. It made the two years real. It made the job real. It made the depth of the commitment I’ve made real. It was utterly overwhelming. The pendulum of emotions can be pretty dramatic at times, and I have to remind myself that it’s normal, and that it’s what I expected coming here, and that it’s okay to cry.

I’ve met a lot of volunteers from Group 25 (I’m 29) who are heading home within the next few weeks. It’s been good to meet them, and to hear about their experiences, and to see how well adjusted they all became. Mostly, it’s inspiring to see how much they enjoyed themselves here, as I’m sure I will when training is over, and I’m done living with my second host family, and I can finally assume a small sense of control over my life-in my own apartment. Oh, I’m fantasizing already. It’s going to be incredible…

I try not to think about my service in terms of years because it’s too daunting. Instead I try to think in terms of weeks, like this week and next week, and the week after that. Three showers, three weeks, it’s an easy way to look into the future. When I do think about the years, I try to do so looking back. Like, I’ve been out of college for a year and half and that went pretty fast. I know that when all is said and done, and I’m reflecting upon the highs and lows of this experience, it will have gone fast too. And I’ll be able to remember my 23rd birthday (also the 300th anniversary of borshch), when it snowed, and my host family gave me my cabbage-patch doll trinket thingy, and we shared a bottle of champagne for dinner, and I woke Darcy up with an early morning phone call, and I talked to my mom, and I wrote this blog.