Ovary Ice-Cream
I apologize for being so caught up with that fly in my room that I failed to give any kind of real update on my life.
I just got out of the celebration for Moldovan Independence. There were speeches about war, much crying and singing. The mayor made me give a speech. It was intense. To finish it off, the VIPs of the village, 5 people, me included, went into the bowels of the mayor's offfice together--to pound vodka shots. Aparently this is how they celebrate. I stood my ground with one shot for a while, until I just couldn't do it any longer. So I'm a little drunk, forgive me. Ps--halfway through the debauchery, I was given a hairbrush from the mayor. He took it out of his desk, traces of his grey hairs more than present, and gave it to me, with one word: Gift. I tried to say I had a hair brush, even tried to say it isn't good to brush curly hair. But one of the VIPs looked at me and sternly instructed--just take it. And then they had a twenty minute conversation about which Moldovan in the village I should marry.
Have I talked about curent? I think I have. The latest curent story comes from my partner teacher, who told me that while her family was doing repairs on her apartment, one of the windows they were fixing had to be left open....at the time time as one of the doors...which equals the magical phenomenon of curent. We know it as a draft. We also know it as a good thing. A gift in times of sticky heat.
But the Moldovans think it kills. The curent in her apartment that day, however, was not of the killing kind, but it did "knock her daughter down" (her daugher is 20) "stole her breath, caused bruises up and down her spine, and all over her arms." This is draft we're talking about. And no, the draft isn't different in Moldova, nor is it the Romanian nickname for a large man. I always want to explain to Moldovan curent-believers what it's like to walk down 5th Avenue when it's windy outside. If I survived that surely I could survive an open window in my classroom when it's 105 degrees outside, 120 inside.
As if it wasn't hard enough for me to maintain the integrity of my serious-concerned face during that conversation, the next day I just gave in to the laughter. I was told that her husband is now sick because he placed both hands on his daughter's shoulders as to pull the curent out of her and into his body. He's now sick in bed with a fever. [Please note this part of the story is no doubt sensationalized by my poor Romanian comprehension skills.]
What else? I fell in love with Soroca this weekend. It was a good thing to happen this early on. I went to the Nistru River, where I spent the whole day, staring at the Ukraine on the other side, wondering pensively if the cows over there have more fun grazing than the cows on my side. I sat with a silence no New Yorker could ever know. What I'm getting at is that it really is a beautiful place, certainly the kind of place I could spend two years in. Check back with me when winter begins, which I've heard could really be any time now.
I was caught doing yoga the other day, by my host sister Lenuta, who proceeded to bring me into the kitchen where I was told I'd have more space. So there I was, in the middle of the kitchen, demonstrating Warrior II to this 16 year old Moldovan, when a team of neighbors who I'd never met walked in. Good first impression for the American they already think is strange because she does this weird thing in the mornings, she's always, what is it--running? At least I got to meet them when I was emulting a warrior, right?
I tried desparately to explain the importance of yoga as a mental exercise, but all Lenuta wanted to know was how to change it up to make it a weight loss exercise. Se began jumping up and down, contorting herself in ways I knew would hurt my Gumby doll. And then I realized once again, the limiations of my language thus far. I had no vocabulary what-so-ever to tell her how to be careful and slow. I mean, I can literally saw be careful, be slow, but what does that really mean to her? Nothing. I kept yelling "Cu Grija. Cu mai mult Grija!" [With care, with more care!] We had to stop.
And once again my ovaries froze three times this week. Oops, four. I ran in the rain, sat on the floor outside, carried a backpack, and...I drank cold water. Yup. I drank water I had intentionally left in the fridge, for the exact purpose of consuming cold water. Ovary ice-cream, anyone? Ice ream is just fine. Cold water isn't. I'll explain that one a little later.
Love to all. Thanks so much for all the letters, I really appreciate the time, and then the patience and faith in the mail system that it takes to get one here.
I just got out of the celebration for Moldovan Independence. There were speeches about war, much crying and singing. The mayor made me give a speech. It was intense. To finish it off, the VIPs of the village, 5 people, me included, went into the bowels of the mayor's offfice together--to pound vodka shots. Aparently this is how they celebrate. I stood my ground with one shot for a while, until I just couldn't do it any longer. So I'm a little drunk, forgive me. Ps--halfway through the debauchery, I was given a hairbrush from the mayor. He took it out of his desk, traces of his grey hairs more than present, and gave it to me, with one word: Gift. I tried to say I had a hair brush, even tried to say it isn't good to brush curly hair. But one of the VIPs looked at me and sternly instructed--just take it. And then they had a twenty minute conversation about which Moldovan in the village I should marry.
Have I talked about curent? I think I have. The latest curent story comes from my partner teacher, who told me that while her family was doing repairs on her apartment, one of the windows they were fixing had to be left open....at the time time as one of the doors...which equals the magical phenomenon of curent. We know it as a draft. We also know it as a good thing. A gift in times of sticky heat.
But the Moldovans think it kills. The curent in her apartment that day, however, was not of the killing kind, but it did "knock her daughter down" (her daugher is 20) "stole her breath, caused bruises up and down her spine, and all over her arms." This is draft we're talking about. And no, the draft isn't different in Moldova, nor is it the Romanian nickname for a large man. I always want to explain to Moldovan curent-believers what it's like to walk down 5th Avenue when it's windy outside. If I survived that surely I could survive an open window in my classroom when it's 105 degrees outside, 120 inside.
As if it wasn't hard enough for me to maintain the integrity of my serious-concerned face during that conversation, the next day I just gave in to the laughter. I was told that her husband is now sick because he placed both hands on his daughter's shoulders as to pull the curent out of her and into his body. He's now sick in bed with a fever. [Please note this part of the story is no doubt sensationalized by my poor Romanian comprehension skills.]
What else? I fell in love with Soroca this weekend. It was a good thing to happen this early on. I went to the Nistru River, where I spent the whole day, staring at the Ukraine on the other side, wondering pensively if the cows over there have more fun grazing than the cows on my side. I sat with a silence no New Yorker could ever know. What I'm getting at is that it really is a beautiful place, certainly the kind of place I could spend two years in. Check back with me when winter begins, which I've heard could really be any time now.
I was caught doing yoga the other day, by my host sister Lenuta, who proceeded to bring me into the kitchen where I was told I'd have more space. So there I was, in the middle of the kitchen, demonstrating Warrior II to this 16 year old Moldovan, when a team of neighbors who I'd never met walked in. Good first impression for the American they already think is strange because she does this weird thing in the mornings, she's always, what is it--running? At least I got to meet them when I was emulting a warrior, right?
I tried desparately to explain the importance of yoga as a mental exercise, but all Lenuta wanted to know was how to change it up to make it a weight loss exercise. Se began jumping up and down, contorting herself in ways I knew would hurt my Gumby doll. And then I realized once again, the limiations of my language thus far. I had no vocabulary what-so-ever to tell her how to be careful and slow. I mean, I can literally saw be careful, be slow, but what does that really mean to her? Nothing. I kept yelling "Cu Grija. Cu mai mult Grija!" [With care, with more care!] We had to stop.
And once again my ovaries froze three times this week. Oops, four. I ran in the rain, sat on the floor outside, carried a backpack, and...I drank cold water. Yup. I drank water I had intentionally left in the fridge, for the exact purpose of consuming cold water. Ovary ice-cream, anyone? Ice ream is just fine. Cold water isn't. I'll explain that one a little later.
Love to all. Thanks so much for all the letters, I really appreciate the time, and then the patience and faith in the mail system that it takes to get one here.
posted by NikkiD | 9:57 AM
<< Home