Snow? Of Course I Can Handle It, I'm a Total Pro. A Snow Pro, If You Will.

Last year around this time I wrote a post about my first snowfall and it's pretty darn charming if I do say so myself. Here it is for those of you who like charming things and simply cannot get enough of my particular charm:

Black Eye? Welcome to Your First Winter Wonderland, Miss Hadaway.

This year, my first real snow of the season was considerably less dramatic though still a mix of enchantment and dread as snow is still friggin' cold and yet mysteriously beautiful. All of yesterday, when I was in class teaching, I watched through the window as the snow fell sideways, covering only one side of the trees and shrubbery with white fluff, the rest melting as soon as it hit the asphalt. I know it won't be long before it sticks, piling up everywhere and creating those tricky ice-patches that I mastered last year but only after about a dozen episodes of sliding around, waving my arms in giant circles to keep from falling. The trick is concentric, forward circles and bent knees, people. Bent knees - I seriously can't emphasize that enough.

My "trouble class" that I bonded with last year over sledding and snowballs is still the same bunch of диваци (savages) they were last year though worse because, well, they're in eighth grade now - the year when 13-year-old a-holes become 14-year-old a-holes in the full throws of puberty; adolescent angst; and rebellious, we-hate-all-authority attitudes that make them just so lovely. So flippin' sweet I could just throw them out the window by their hair and smile at the following *thud*. I'm kidding, of course. They are charming as ever - I just love it when they write different words for penis on the board in Bulgarian with an accompanying graphic. They are getting really good at dry-erase marker art - it's almost lifelike.

This year I have firewood for my stove-like thing that is electric on one side for cooking and old-fashioned, wood-burning stove on the other for keeping warm in inclement weather. I chop kindling with a horror-movie axe and start the fire myself and all that cool, Peace Corps stuff and I even sometimes pretend I'm not in Europe - no, I'm somewhere truly exotic and foreign like...Kansas. It's fun. Though, with fire, there is no temperature gauge. No way to say, "Phew, it's getting a little toasty in here, I think I'll turn down the heat." Nope, it's just always the temperature of, well, fire. And since it's far more comfortable to have a fire and open the window than it is to forgo one and bundle, I just go ahead and walk around in my underwear during the summer and winter months - one of the few advantages to living alone.

It's also that time of year when everyone asks me if I have a man for the winter. In the summer, men are optional and going out to coffee with a different one every night is considered frivolous, appropriate fun. But, in winter, a steady man to keep you warm is a necessity. I imagine, in Bulgaria, the majority of engagements and serious relationships start in January and February. However, I simply tell them I have a boyfriend in a far away land and that he's probably coming to visit soon so no one should worry - I also have a lot of blankets and super warm pajama's so, I'll survive. A winter-мъж is low on my list of priorities (not that I have one of those) though I think revisiting the world of, "Oh, my grandson is about your age and he's very handsome..." is inevitable - at least until мартеници are back on our wrists and the storks are rebuilding those nests.

Well, Christmas is upon us and I could really use the two revitalizing weeks of vacation that are coming to us hard-working volunteers. I plan on going to the super fancy ski resort near my village for New Year's fun so, hopefully, I'll have stories and pictures to come. Until then...

Me and my favorite group of sisters - Kamelia, Gergana, and Anelia. (And, no, I have no idea what Anelia's looking at. And, yes, the Pikachu on Kamelia's shirt is awesome though, when I pointed it out to her, she didn't seem as excited.)

-Age

Sweet vs. Creepy

Sweet vs. Creepy - Round 1:

Sweet:

When an adorable 6th grader says hi every morning with an eyebrow-raise or a wink.

Creepy:

When your fifth grade student talks about your ass with another student in a language he thinks you can't understand.

Sweet:

When your lady next-door neighbor gives you some homemade pasta sauce and veggies.

Creepy:

When your dude next-door neighbor looks you up and down then gives you a thumbs up before hiking up his pants that are already too high.

Sweet:

When the girls from your volleyball team tag you in a photo on fb with lots of hearts and smiles in the caption.

Creepy:

When the boys from your eighth grade class tag you in a photo on fb you were not aware was being taken and comment with, "Oh, le le!"

Sweet:

When a nice guy offers you a ride to the next village so you don't have to wait for the bus when it's cold outside.

Creepy:

When a car full of not-so-nice guys slows down while you're waiting for the bus to stare at your weird winter outfit that may or may not consist of several articles made out of various colored yarns.

Sweet:

When a student gives you a high five after they do well on a test and thanks you for the help.

Creepy:

When a boy-student gives a girl-student a slap on the ass and tells them thanks for walking by.

Sweet:

When you run into another volunteer.

Creepy:

When you run into the baba from a couple towns over who yelled at you the last time you saw her for not giving her 20 leva cuz clearly you are Russian and wealthy though stingy, which is why you're pretty sure she put a curse on you.

Sweet:

Colleagues wishing you a "Happy (insert American holiday here)!"

Creepy:

Colleagues telling you to watch out for the bus driver. "Just say no to coffee. Always."

Sweet:

When nice people on a train or bus give up their seat so you can rest.

Creepy:

When someone on a train or bus moves seats in order to stare at you more conveniently as neck strain is a real issue.

That's all for now but trust me when I say I am nowhere near done with this particular topic. Also, this is a list just as easily created for Americans - PC volunteers even. Creepy is everywhere.

-Age

Marriage or No Marriage, "We" Kill Turkeys, and I Dream About Potato Chips

Alright. Here's what I've been up to:

• Some volunteer friends and I had thanksgiving dinner this past Saturday. We went to a village outside of the city to an old baba's (grandmother's) house with a backyard full of turkeys for sell. A boy-volunteer familiar with poultry, killed the turkey with an ancient-looking axe and left the baba's house covered in its blood though, somehow, with a smile on his face. I took a video of it which is on my fb page if you're interested in seeing the process (it's not pretty but definitely entertaining). We cooked so much food and managed to finish it all - it was amazing, delicious, and a really great time. We often joke about the "post-fun depression" we get after times like this when we have to go back to work.

• I had a dream about potato chips.

• I swear I saw one of my cats get hit by a car and then he showed up for dinner a few hours later. 9 lives are no joke, people. (that cat seems to always be on the brink of death - it's his most charming feature. "Oh, kitty, are you dying? That's so cute. Could you please go die outside? Thanks, hun.")

• The restaurant in my village now delivers pizza. I have to spend at least 8.00 leva so I'll only be doing it when I have gosti (company) but still - DELIVERY! and PIZZA!

• I've been spending time with two of my Roma students after school and I think I want to adopt them both and take them home with me to America. They are boys in the 5th grade, cousins, and they couldn't be cuter or sweeter or funnier. I will leave this experience with so much personal growth and change as well as ideas for the future but one of the BIGGEST ones will be my new-found desire to adopt a Roma child from Bulgaria. I'm going to do it. Which, if you really think about it, is pretty exciting. Marriage or no marriage, I'm gonna be a mom one day. That's pretty awesome. (My mom may have just freaked out at my "marriage or no marriage" sentence - sorry I 'm so weird, Mamo!)

• We have three more weeks of school until Christmas break - two weeks of having fun all over Bulgaria - I'm very excited.

• We have 7 more months in Bulgaria. Time is FLYING!

• I took the GRE and did pretty well (the math wasn't as terrible as I expected and I rocked the English - rocked it) which was absolutely necessary since my GPA from undergrad is mediocre at best. I'm hoping my scores, combined with PC prestige, will get me into my dream school in New York. If not, my second choice is in Seattle where I already know a ton of people and will be just as happy. The future is looking pretty exciting. I was debating a Creative Writing masters program in Georgia but I chickened out - I love writing too much to find out I'm not very good at it - I think I'll keep it as a hobby. Applications are due this month and I've really got a lot of work ahead of me so keep me in your prayers - I'd like to be used by God and be a part of great things.

• I tried to learn the dance from a Beyonce video at night alone in my apartment and made myself dizzy and had to lie down.

• I dog-sat for a friend for a few days and wanted to kill him or myself. I'm not a pet person. Animals are for outside and for eating, not for inside or for touching. If I'm going to have someone jump up and down with excitement every time I come home, I'd rather it be a man. And even then I could do without the jumping part. It'd also be nice if he were charming, funny, and holding a bowl of ice cream. Coffee flavored. I would man-sit for a friend every day if that were the case. Maybe every other day - ice cream is fattening.

• I will, for the rest of my life, love and adore washing machines and dryers. To an un-natural level. I will probably name mine when I get back to the states and bring them up in conversations at bars as if they're real people. "Oh, Carlisle did the funniest thing the other day - I set him to "extra rinse" and he leaked all over the floor! Daisy and I thought it was so funny. They really are the coolest - there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep them functioning for the next 3 to 5 years. Nothing."

• One of my students wrote this:
• "My pizza is said "Dean". It is composed of tomatoes, meat, milk, chicken and put a little garlic to taste, and has very nice sauce. Gift giving chocolate milk. WHO WANTS to come and eat of the good pizza ;)"

That's all.

-Age

Thanks: Old and New

Things I'm so obviously thankful for that writing this list is a total cliche:

-Family
-Friends
-Health
-My job

Things I should have been thankful for while living in America:

-Mexican food
-church
-my crappy car (my life undictated by bus/train schedules)
-flip flop weather ALL THE TIME
-flip flops
-washer and dryer
-central heating
-ability to speak the native language fluently
-customer service
-polite people
-empathy
-democracy
-The Thursday Night Line-Up
-frozen yoghurt
-classroom management
-anonymity
-boys who buy girls drinks at bars
-Target
-Any fruit or vegetable I want all year-round
-hugs
-free texts
-reliable electricity and water
-Starbucks
-work ethic
-pro-active attitudes
-teamwork
-Girl Scout cookies
-Oak Glen (Cali Autumn in general)
-free public restrooms
-lines (the "no cutting" rule)
-being busy
-Barnes and Noble

Things I am now thankful for:

-my new friends (volunteers, Bulgarians, etc.)
-a path in life
-the future
-my students
-new-found confidence
-wins and losses
-a new perspective
-countries seen
-countries yet to be seen
-fresh veggies
-homemade deliciousness
-free food

And the most important:

-Learning a valuable lesson and never taking any of these things for granted again.

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Age

Dirt, It's What Poor People Do For Fun.

My childhood was an interesting one. It was normal in many ways including (lower) middle class status, 2 siblings, public school, neighborhood kids to play with, etc. But there were some exceptions that made my formative years separate from other kids in the area. Mainly, my dad and his ties to the Lone Star State.

I've always considered Texas to be a part of the South. However, having met people from the actual South, who disagree wholeheartedly, I seem to be mistaken. Texas, apparently, is its own entity, wholly unto itself and a state unlike any other. This is the place my dad grew up. He lived on a ranch of sorts, did a lot of hard labor as a kid, and understood well the meaning of work ethic and discipline. Then he moved to So-Cal with his mom.

Southern California is like Texas in only one way: it's different than any other place in the US. Cali in general kinda does its own thing and makes a heck of a lot of money doing it. My dad started a concrete construction business there when he was young and made a pretty good living for himself. There were ups and downs but, overall, he supported his family and enjoyed his line of work. But he never lost that country attitude.

He calls wrestling, wrastlin'.

He owned a tractor (one of those big, yellow ones) and taught me how to drive it when I was in Middle School.

He says things like "whatta say, kid?" (To this day I have no idea how to respond to that)

At any given time he owns anywhere from 2 to 9 "huntin' dogs" and takes them out a couple weekends a month to hunt for "coons" or bears or the occasional fox, mountain lion, bobcat. In fact, being a big fan of these huntin' trips as a youngin', I've had a rather large mountain lion run full speed towards me while attempting to escape my dad's pack of Walker Tree Hounds. Let's just say I'll never forget that day.

My father used chores to teach lessons. He once had me water four trees in our backyard. You may think that this sounds like a completely reasonable request and probably imagine me in a nice, cozy backyard with a hose and a few Jacarandas in full bloom. No. We had a couple acres of property so that our "backyard" was more like a giant field used to store flatbed trucks, construction equipment, the already mentioned John Deere, a pack of wild dogs, as well as a Motocross track for my brother’s dirt bikes. The trees were all the way in the back. Four of them, all about 20 feet from one another. While our hose was unusually long, it wasn’t quite long enough and only got within about 30 feet of the trees. So, I had to fill up a wheelbarrow with water. I should mention that this was a large, iron wheelbarrow with holes in the bottom from screws that had once been drilled into it. Anyway. I fill it up (takes about 15 minutes), wheel it over to a tree, trying very hard not to hit any rocks lest I should spill its contents and have to start over (oh yeah, this happened), and dump it into the base of the tree. Four times. This chore took me about an hour and a half. Three times a week.

The lesson? Hell if I know. When I was finally released of this torturous chore my dad took over the watering. First thing he did? Bought another hose to add to the end of the first one. Took him about 30 minutes total. Yup.

My dad rented a trencher so I could spend a weekend digging long trenches all across our backyard for a sprinkler system he would never install. We spent the next few years tripping a lot.

I can replace the tire on my car. I know when the oil needs to be changed and how to do it. When a radiator hose breaks or the fan belt snaps, I can diagnose the problem without lifting the hood.

Do I know how to put up drywall? Absolutely. Can I remove the stucco from your ceiling? Yup. Lay bricks? Sure. Shoot a shotgun and actually hit the thing I'm aiming for? You betcha.

So, all in all, it was pretty sweet having that kinda dad. I know how to do things, I have some ridiculous stories that still piss me off a little, and was able to escape a future full of cheerleading and fashion (if my mother had had her way and gotten to me before dad did). I wouldn't have it any other way.

The whole point of this was to talk about a dirt pile. I know that sounds odd cuz I went off on a huge tangent, possibly one I've already written about, but I wanted to mention that, despite our different childhoods, it does seem there is one pretty constant theme: a dirt pile.

I had one. You know you had one. And so did the kids next door. Mine was pretty big, I'm not gonna lie. Dirt is an ingredient in concrete after all, so we had a real sizeable one out back next to the four infamous trees...

We'd dig tunnels. Make mud pies. Attempt to create dirt castles. It was a real good time. Hours of fun. A child’s fascination with a large collection of nice, clean dirt just goes to show how far our imaginations can stretch. I still miss that old pile ‘a dirt.

So, this wasn't quite as cogent as I would have liked, however, you get the point. We all had interesting upbringings full of the stories that made us who we are today. But, amidst the big moves, the divorces, the lessons learned, the chores performed, the report cards hidden, the sibling rivalries, the awkward years, was one constant:

Dirt.

This isn't actually me but it might as well be - slap that stringy hair into a side ponytail, replace the horse on her sweatshirt with the name of my little-league softball team, and it'd be a spittin' image. Also, that's one good-lookin' pile of dirt. Respect.

-Age

Busted

A comment I just received on a post I wrote over a year ago entitled 2 Guys, 1 Vespa:

You AMERICANS are so STUPID and narrow minded.You will never ever understand European lifestyle and you will never ever have the sense of style about everything,as Europeans have.It is useless to even try to understand it (don't even bother.They are completely different planets,Europe and USA). Sorry :))))))

I thought it was nice of him to apologize and I really appreciated the happy faces (or one happy face from a really fat guy with a lot of chins). He clearly felt bad about calling every American stupid in all caps. At least we're "narrow minded" in normal letters - that is a real relief.

And he's right, I will never ever have the sense of style about everything. Damn.

-Age

Chairs are Tricky Sometimes

Conversation I may or may not have just had with a friend over skype:

(I go to sit down, miss, and fall flat on my ass)

(She laughs)

(I get mad at the chair)

Me: Damn chair!

Her: Yeah, chairs can be tricky sometimes. Tricky little bastards, those chairs.

        Does it want me to sit on it or not?
       
        Does it have four legs or only three?

        Does it have armrests or no armrests?

        Is there proper back support?

        Do I cross my legs are wrap them around my head?

        Sitting is super tricky when chairs are gettin' all outta line like that. You should punish that chair immediately for confusing you and making you fall. I suggest a time-out in the corner and you sit in another chair for the rest of the day. That'll show 'im.

Me: Shut up, please.

Her: Absolutely. But, real quick, let me just tell you what I do with my couch when it starts getting a little attitude...

Me: *sigh*

-Age

Questions and Crazy

There comes a time in all of our lives when we ask ourselves why in the hell we have chosen the path we're on. And then we start to think, "Did I choose this path or did this just sort of happen to me? Am I truly responsible for my own destiny or do the mysterious hands of fate dictate my every move and decision? Does God have a master plan in which I'm involved and is it absolutely necessary that I need to be right here, in this place, at this moment?"

Then something shiny catches our attention and we forget what we were thinking about.

I've decided that I absolutely love and adore my students (most of them) and that I will cry my eyes out when I have to leave. But they drive me crazy! Up the wall, pulling my hair out, wanna cry, scream, curl up into a ball kinda crazy. Why am I here again? What compelled me to move halfway around the world to teach English to small children? Do I even like small children? If, right in the middle of teaching a lesson, one of my students yells, "Мис Хадауей, каква страница?!?!" one more time, am I going to throw them or myself out of our third story window?

I have another question: why do my students think I'm stupid? Seriously. When I put a pack of balloons in the back cupboard and tell them not to touch and then 10 seconds later I see them huddled in the corner with their backs to me, do they honestly think I don't know that they just went and grabbed a balloon each anyway? Do they think I'll just go, "Hmmm, there must be something interesting in that corner today, I'll just continue with my business..."? I mean, come on! (Though, to be fair, it may have been stupid of me to put balloons in the cupboard in the first place) When they command, "Misses, say (insert inappropriate Bulgarian word here)!" do they really think I'm going to say it - just mindlessly repeat them so they can giggle even louder? Was I like that when I was 12?

I often wonder at my own insanity. Because it must be insanity. My students aren't crazy for taking advantage of the lack of structure and discipline prevalent in Bulgarian schools - any child, anywhere would do the same. My colleagues aren't crazy for choosing teaching as their profession - this is a pretty typical "academic" environment for them. No, I must be the crazy one. I've chosen to do this, I now call it "life" and I laugh when my students write different English words for male genitalia on the board during math class and, when I pass by in the halls, say, "Мис, Виж! Хахахаха!!!" It's official, I'm crazy. And I'm convinced it's a necessary step in this whole Peace Corps adventure. Pure and accepted insanity. 

I have to go coach girls' volleyball now. I have to lock us into the gym so the middle-school-age boys don't come in and steal all of our balls and try to slap all the girls on the ass. Yup.

-Age

The Best Medicine

So, I like to laugh. A LOT. You're probably thinking, "what a ridiculous thing to say, everyone loves to laugh." And it's true, everyone does. It releases endorphines and relieves stress and blah blah blah. But, for me, laughter, especially here, where I struggle on a weekly basis between going home and just calling it quits or declaring Bulgaria my Mt. Everest that I WILL conquer, it's nice to have uncontrollable fits of laughter every now and again.

I love it when you get the giggles at those really inappropriate moments and you just know you should not be laughing cuz it's unprofessional/rude/disruptive/etc.  Those moments are priceless because the discomfort of knowing you're being ridiculous in no way trumps the good feeling it leaves you.

I have those moments a lot during my adult English class here. Every Wednesday night since I've moved to Momin Prohod I've been teaching the same group of women English. They are fantastic, I love them, and if I didn't have their dedication and sweet smiles this whole adventure would be even harder.

I was thinking today about how I only really laugh when I'm with other Americans. We just crack each other up using nothing but word play, sarcasm, stories, phrasing, everything that has to do with language and everything that I just don't have with the Bulgarians I call friends here. BUT. There is one woman in my adult English course (she's my age and understands English better then she lets on), her and I just crack up all the time. And we're usually laughing at someone. Which is terrible. The teacher should not be laughing at the mistakes of her students. Ever. But, throughout the whole class I'm already on the edge of laughter because of their accents, errors, questions, and overall miscommunications so when this girl laughs, I'm done. That's it. There's nothing I can do. I try to fight the laughter and giggles but I can't and I usually have to bury my face behind a piece of paper or turn around and pretend to write something on the board until it's over. I can't even look at this girl or it will turn into the full-blown, tears-falling kinda laughter that usually doesn't end for several awkward minutes. Luckily, most of these women are fully capable of making fun of themselves and end up laughing with us but I still feel really bad every time it happens.

But I can't help it. And it always feels so good to let that out. Sometimes people say, "you just needed a good cry." I think the same goes for laughter.

When my friends and I went to Greece for Spring Break, we went to a travel agency to buy our ferry tickets for Santorini. The man was older, Greek, and his English was just enough for us to understand the basics of what he was telling us. However, he phrased himself so oddly, repeated himself in so many ways, so many times and with these crazy, over-exaggerated hand gestures that, to me, he was nothing but comical. I couldn't even look at him. And after about 20 minutes of trying to explain something that should have taken 30 seconds, he fixed me with his gaze and hand-gestured the crap out of his newest explanation and I. Just. Lost. It.

Tears started to roll down my cheeks, my face contorted, my friends looked at me like I'd gone insane. I thrust the money for my ticket into my friends hand, ran out the door, and laughed hysterically in the stairwell for about 10 minutes before I could come back inside. I felt terrible. It was pretty obvious I was laughing at the guy. He had our tickets ready by then and was really nice about my odd behavior but, man, that felt good. I love those moments no matter how embarrassing.

When that class first started, I could make funny comments throughout the whole thing knowing no one understood them and they were just for me - I still do that with my kids when I really need to make fun of them in order to keep my head from exploding. But now, these ladies can understand me and I have to be a little careful with what I say. Though, it's kinds nice to have someone laughing with me  - it's always better than laughing alone, in a stairwell.

-Age

PCPP Complete!

It's been awhile since I've talked about my PCPP - which are letters that mean something, however, I no longer know what. My project. Anyway, it's basically finished besides a few minor details that seem to be taking forever to iron out but, hey, we got this far.

Here are some pictures to let you see how it all turned out:

the classroom all stripped and ready to be made new!

shopping for supplies (this is where I walked around like an over-stimulated two-year-old)

(My counterpart, Reni, and our school's handyman, Sasho)

purchasing lamps (it took us like 30 minutes to choose - there were just so many!)

We painted about a million of these silver. It took all day but they looked great, so shiny.

She was actually working, I just picked up that paint can cuz I wanted to be holding something.

Delivery truck with our new desks!

AND....TA DA!!!

New white board, teacher's desk, floor, desks, chairs...

cupboards with donated books...

windows (check out that view, huh?)...

door (I painted some words in Bulgarian to match the pretty wall stickers my mom sent me  - thanks, mom!)...

Our desk has, wait for it, DRAWERS! So handy.

and new lamps (all six work, that's really somethin')

I'd say it was a great success. We're just waiting for blinds so our kids won't go blind in class, strategically placing their desks so the sun doesn't shine on them directly. We're also hoping for a computer which would make our snazzy classroom complete! Yay us!

-Age

Culture Thursday

A few months ago the B25s (I'm a B26) finished their Peace Corps service after two grueling/piece-of-cake (depending on the person/site/work) years. Quite a few of those volunteers stayed in Bulgaria and their varying reasons include: extending service from 3-11 months, getting married to a Bulgarian, starring on a new Bulgarian reality show called "Lost in Bulgaria" which happens to be the case for four of these amazing "R"PCVs (the "R" is for "Returned" which they haven't technically done yet but I still think they deserve the highly coveted status).

The TV show is in Bulgarian but there is some English every now and again and the scenes or so dynamic, interesting, and funny (no, really, funny) I'm not even sure it's necessary for you to understand exactly what's being said. You'll get the general idea - promise. AND you'll get to know Bulgarian culture so much better. Which is why you tune-in to Culture Thursday, now isn't it?

Here's the link to the first episode (there are two episodes currently online and the rest of the eleven will air on Wednesdays here in BG so they should be up on the website by Thursday - conveniently).

LOST IN BULGARIA - ИЗГУБЕНИ В БЪЛГАРИЯ

-Age

World Peace Day

I was reading a friend's blog, her name's Kate, and she wrote about the upcoming "World Peace Day" and all the plans she had with her students to celebrate this unique holiday. I was inspired and decided to do the same.

I googled "famous quotes about peace" and was given a long list of wonderful quotations from Buddha to Martin Luther King Jr.  I put the quotes into google translate so my students wouldn't go, "Oh, jeez. More English. Great," and did my best to correct google's inevitable mistakes (to be fair to google, I missed some too). I then printed them, cut each one out individually, rolled it like a snail shell and put all the curly little pieces in a basket. I then made a poster with "World Peace Day - September 21" in Bulgarian and brought the whole production to school the next day.

I hung my poster on the wall near the entryway, held the basket full of fun quotes in my hand, and waited. As the students came in they saw me with a big smile on my face, they saw the poster, saw the basket and immediately wanted a "ксметча"(something they have in Bulgaria similar to a fortune inside a cookie at a chinese restaurant). I also had these rub-on tattoos with peace signs on them for the kids to take and put on on their face just like me (which I'm sure the other teachers just loved). They read the quotes, got really excited about who their quote was from, and then exchanged.

"Miss Hadaway, who's John F. Kennedy?"

"He was an American President."

"OH! LOOK! I have an American president! All you have is the Dalai Lama."

Честит Международен Ден На Мира!

-Age

Seven Rila Lakes, A Tale of Only Slightly Exaggerated Adventure

This past weekend I went on a nature hike in the local mountains. Mountains that I can actually see if I stick my head out my window a couple of feet. However, not realizing these were the exact mountains my hiking group was heading towards, because I'm a bit spatially-challenged, I went about 3 hours out of my way to make a big, giant circle with two trains, one bus, and a taxi ride in order to get to the base of these mountains with my friends (who actually had to go this route cuz they can't see these mountains from their windows). Oops.

Regardless, it was an amazing trip. We went to the Rila Mountains and, specifically, the Seven Rila Lakes (whose title in Bulgarian I can never seem to get quite right). There are literally seven lakes all pretty close to one another as you make your way up this mountain trail and all are only for looking at. There is no touching (I touched one), swimming, rock-skipping (I did that too), fishing, or pointing at for prolonged periods of time (I exaggerated that last one, though, for all I know, this could absolutely be true [I didn't read all the "do this" but "don't do that" signs on the way up, it could've been in there]). You can take pictures of them, however, and you can stare and point at those as much as you like, depending on the staring and pointing rules in your own house.

So, it went a little something like this:

We (me, Katelyn, Kerri, Priscilla, Ben, and Ashlei - yes, this is how she spells her name) met in Sofia at noon and took a train to a pretty little town called Dupnitsa (where a super Cali-sexy volunteer used to live but now he's gone) and from there took a bus to Panichiste. This mountain village happens to be where all of us volunteers spent our first few days in Bulgaria so it was nice to be back and re-live those crazy moments (I wasn't full of naive excitement nor did I have permanently blood-shot eyes from lack of sleep this time around). From Panichiste we took a taxi (with the friendliest taxi driver the world has ever seen) to the base of the mountain where we'd planned to take a ski-lift to our first хижа (or mountain cabin) cuz we were saving all of our hiking energy for the next day. Turns out, the lift wasn't running that day and we had to trudge (tredge?) up the mountain unexpectedly. Kerri and I were so slow going up we played the "let's pretend we're turtles, what kind of turtle are you?" game. We never did decide what sound a turtle makes.

We then slept in our first cabin, hostel-style with all of us in one big room, after a hearty dinner of soup and beer.

In the morning, we started on our hike. It was pretty difficult. Very steep and I spent the majority of the time out of breath. Not that I minded all that much, I figured hiking was going to entail some physical inconveniences but would be well worth it cuz it's rumored to be "so darn pretty" in the places where nature lives (you know: mountains, rivers, forests, Kansas). We played in streams, climbed on boulders, took "the path less traveled by" which was less traveled by for a reason as it turns out, and took a lot of silly pictures - all before lunch.

After lunch (which we ate on a rock near one of the lakes, where I was yelled at by my fellow hikers for disrupting the Untouched Wilderness when I fed a swarm of teeny-tiny little fish some of my "hiking cereal" [it was totally just regular cereal but I called it that cuz it was in a backpack - I also brought "hiking oreos"]), we started to get serious. The paths were steeper and much more treacherous and I was a bit fatigued from all my so-called "goofing around" on the first part (there could have totally been hidden ancient Bulgarian treasure in the crevices of that one rock I "wasn't supposed to climb on" cuz it's on "protected ground" to keep it safe from "human exposure". Socialists.)

We passed each lake, counting them as we all looked forward to #7 - the last lake, which we all assumed would be the best, bluest, and shiniest lake of them all. We saw wild horses (a mama and two ponies!), waterfalls, Bulgarians in super short shorts, and breathtaking views. When we made it to the top, where the seventh lake was (it was normal), there were these rock piles all over. Apparently, when people make it to the top, they take a rock and add it to the top of one of the piles, a tangible manifestation of success (whoa - that sounded fancy). So, naturally, I did the same. It felt good. Then we sat and stared at the view below us and felt pretty proud of what we'd accomplished.

We then had to hike another hour to get to our second хижа. We could see the cabin at the bottom of this long valley, a small house-shaped dot at the end of these rolling, golden hills. If we all hadn't been so tired I think we would have run toward it, Sound of Music-style and maybe held hands, spun around, and sang a song about the hills being alive. But instead we walked...

..and walked...and walked...

At one point, when we'd been walking for over 20 minutes and the cabin did not seem any closer than it was before, we began to question whether or not we were:

1) in a dream (you know, one of those dreams where you're running towards something but you can never get there and you wake up super frustrated, to the detriment of the person next to you or your pillow?)

2) The Twilight Zone

3) seeing an optical allusion not unlike an oasis in the desert

We did finally make it and this place was legit in a "we're really hikin' now!" kinda way: water pumped in from a natural spring, owned and operated by mountain men (I found one of the heavily-bearded ones rather sexy but shied when Ashlei offered to talk to him with me - I have nothing to say to a bearded mountain man besides, "so. that beard. epic." and I don't know the Bulgarian word for "epic"), and electricity from a generator that seemed to only run for a couple hours just after sunset. I felt pretty disgusting after the hike and was bummed not to be able to take a shower. I also had a mini panic attack when I let my mind fully digest how remote and stranded we were in this deep valley not accessible for miles by anything but feet (peoples' and horses'). It creeped me out in a claustrophobic, head stuck in your pullover sweater when the neck's too tight and you start to freak out a little and tug at it 'til it feels like you might rip your own face off kinda way.

The next day, Kerri, Katelyn, and I went home while the others continued on an even more challenging hike. We went down, passed all the same lakes at rapid speed and managed to all be in (or near as Kerri had to sleep at Katelyn's cuz her town is a bit remote) our own beds that very night.

I got a wicked sunburn that is peeling in a way that makes me look as if I've just had a chemical peel like the Desperate Housewives of LA/NY/NJ/OC. Not cute. Nor is it fun to hear, "Oh, miss, your face," from all my students. I respond with, "I know, my face is angry with me."

But I had a great time. I would, hands down, do it again in an all-terrain jeep with ipod hook up, AC, and mini-fridge. For sure.

-Age

Culture Thursday/School's Back

So, today was the first day of school. All my little savages are back and looking as deceptively cute as ever - they are so tricky. Basically, the day goes like this:

The kids and teachers all gather outside of the school

The older students march around with the school's flag and then hang the Bulgarian flag on the pole in front of the school

Speeches are given (our mayor, the director of our school, and my counterpart spoke)

The students listen with rapt attention

The youngest and cutest kids recite poems and speeches about the first day of school. The students in the front row are our new first graders. We're pretty excited about the 12 of them because we didn't have enough students for a 1st grade last year. They are pretty adorable.

With our new 1st graders comes a new (new for me, at least) tradition of walking under the arch for good luck. Yesterday, the 3rd grade teacher and I went hunting all over Momin Prohod for ivy and flowers so we could make the arch look this beautiful. It was fun.

The students also eat a peice of bread called "pitka" with honey for good luck before going under then arch, over the water, and into the school

This is the bucket for the water I was talking about. It's tradition, and I believe I've mentioned it before, to pour water on the ground in front of people who are embarking on something new and exciting in a ceremony such as the first day of school, graduation, or a wedding. There's also the school bell, decorated with pretty wild flowers

Then the kids go home and teachers, director, mayor, retired teachers, and the PC volunteer all pile into the teacher's lounge and eat lots of sweet things and drink lots of sugary drinks. It's usually tradition to drink rekia but my school's not big on drinking so we stuck to lemonade...and cigarettes.

It was a really lovely day. A couple staff members who were visiting a nearby volunteer dropped by to say "hi" and met all my colleagues. They also got to hear everyone brag about me (I bragged about myself a little too - I'm not gonna lie) and see the new classroom we're constructing. Speaking of that classroom, it's not really ready yet so we'll be teaching elsewhere until it's finished, which should hopefully be soon.

Here's hoping for a great year!

-Age



Postponing Culture Thursday

I realize it's Culture Thursday but I have nothing interesting to tell you, sorry. However, I do have a dentist appointment tomorrow in Sofia. While that may normally seem like a boring theme, this is Bulgaria and I'm gonna bet there'll be a fun story to go along with what's sure to be minor suffering tomorrow. I'll let you know. (Also, I'm first visiting the medical office at the PC headquarter ((I feel really cool using a word like "headquarters")) because I got stung by a bee and now have a huge, red circle on my arm that was at first the size of a baseball but is more like a genetically engineered grapefruit right now and it itches. I want all of that to go away but I don't own any Benadryl - I'm hoping they do).

-Age

I'm Like a Cross-Eyed 2-Year-Old With Lots of Money

My PCPP - Peace Corps Project Proposal - was reviewed, accepted, published and funded relatively recently and we've since started construction. And because I'm the big money-holder I get to tag along when we buy everything which has included treats such as sitting in the front seat of a car all the way to Pazardzhik (45 kick-ass minutes away), visiting a home supply store not unlike a mini Home Depot, and unloading a windowless white van illegally (I know, I laughed at the thought of anything being illegal in Bulgaria too) parked in front of our school. Jealous? I wouldn't doubt it.

All the desks, chairs, cupboards and remaining furniture have been taken to Kostenets to be refurbished, the floor torn up, and the radiators removed from the walls. The floor tiles have been bought, the cement purchased, the fancy light fixtures picked out, and the new lacquer for the cabinets is ready to rock and roll. The lacquering of cabinets will be the extent of my counterpart, Reni, and I's physical contribution to this whole new classroom thing - we'll be wearing old clothes and painting all day tomorrow with the two smallest paint brushes you've ever seen cuz my counterpart is thrifty (originally she only wanted to buy one and then trade off) so when I say "all day" that is precisely what I mean.

I often find that when I am in a situation in which my help or input is not needed and Bulgarian is spoken in so rapid a way and with so many unfamiliar words and phrases that I simply tune out...to everything. It's like I'm in my own little world and only occasionally do I snap out of it long enough to realize I may resemble a nicely dressed (and apparently full since I'm not trying to eat anyone) zombie or a person who's been lobotomized and seems to really enjoy blankly staring at bathroom fixtures and occasionally touching something shiny with a raise of the eyebrows as if to say, "Ooo, I liked touching that shiny faucet." In case I'm confusing you, this is what it was like for me at the Krez (Bulgarian Home Depot) we visited. At the end, I bought a .49 cent measuring cup for myself and handed over my bank card so my colleagues could purchase almost a thousand leva worth of materials. I even said "here you are" in Bulgarian which probably shocked all the store workers who, up until that point, were probably considering calling someone to come take me somewhere safer.

This zoning out thing happens a lot and I think it must be some kind of defense mechanism that keeps my brain from overheating when too many incomprehensible words are trying to be comprehended all at once and shiny things are present to distract. My brain doesn't want to blow up. Which is understandable so I don't complain when people look at me like I'm a cross-eyed two-year-old. My Bulgarian is at about the same level as a cross-eyed 2-year-old (with a speech impediment) so it's fitting as opposed to insulting.

Anyway, the construction has only just begun and I'll have fun pictures and a nice breakdown on here within the next couple of weeks. I'm hoping my kids absolutely love it and show the new room the respect it deserves, i.e. no more throwing chairs or trying to set stuff on fire. One can only hope.

-Age

Culture Thursday

The Peace Corps always encourages us to integrate into our communities. Integrate. Integrate. Integrate. Until we wish 'integrate' had a face so we could punch it. I'm exaggerating, because each one of us knows the importance of integrating into what has basically become our home. Why wouldn't we want to get to know people and understand the in's and out's of our community? We would do the same things if we moved to a new place in America: explore, meet new people, attend events and join clubs. The only reason it's emphasized so much is because the language and cultural barriers make it difficult and sometimes it even seems impossible. The trick is to realize you don't have to know everyone, you don't have to visit every shop, and you don't have to pretend to like people who are jerk-faces.

Anyway, the point of that was to explain an interesting barrier I have to integration. I live in a house/apartment. It's basically one big house with 4 small apartments - 2 on the bottom floor and 2 on the top. I live in one of the apartments on the top floor but have things that most volunteers living in a блок, or apartment building, don't have, such as a big terrace (bigger than my bedroom actually), a backyard with a garden, and big, family homes surrounding me. What also makes my home unique is that the apartment directly below me, with whom I share an entrance, is rented out on a weekly basis. My landlord does this for people who are on vacation or visiting our hospital for it's mineral baths.

This means that I'm constantly meeting new people, making new friends, sharing new experiences, and then saying good-bye shortly after. Which doesn't really help me integrate into my village as these people don't actually live in my village. Also, I meet them when they are on vacation and in great moods with no work to do which isn't very culturally realistic. Not that I mind it, most of the people I've met have been wonderful and even inspiring. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

I recently met a mother and daughter from Sofia who were here to visit the mountains for a week. The mother was 86-years-old and went on hikes with her daughter and myself on an almost daily basis. They were patient and kind and up for anything - it was a lot of fun.

Then, last week, another mother and daughter pair came through from Razgrad (a city I'm fully aware is really far away) to visit the mineral baths. The daughter, who is about my age, spoke English really well as she'd lived in Alabama for 3 years. After she came back to Bulgaria, she was ready to travel again, this time to Norway. Not too long after that, she volunteered to teach English in a small village in Mozambique. She had a lot of stories to tell and wasn't even close to being done with her travels - she already had plans to go back to the same village in Mozambique a month from now.

Meeting people like this and experiencing Bulgarians from all over for a short period of time is like a special treat that makes my life here exciting when it can sometimes feel mundane.

Culturally, this shows the diversity of Bulgarians - their experiences, their passions, their attitudes. As many of the people living in my village tend to live similar lives, I find it a breath of fresh air to meet a girl who is volunteering (like me!) and giving what she can to those less fortunate than herself. She spoke of their poverty, of the things they lack, but she also spoke of their positive attitude, interesting culture, and delicious foods. I've never met a Bulgarian who volunteers before, it seemed a concept that was too foreign for most to comprehend (which is probably why they all looked at me so strangely when I first got here) but now I see that things are changing and younger generations are opening themselves up to new, better things.

It's been a fun adventure, walking downstairs not knowing who I'm going to meet that day or what they're going to show me - and I'll call it integration and anyone who disagrees can bite me.

-Age

"The Thinner the Moustache, The Bigger the Douchebag"

I recently went to the capital with a friend to watch a movie and indulge in some delicious Mexican food. We decided on Captain America for the movie (and burritos for the Mexican) because there was nothing better and who doesn't love a good comic-book-based movie every now and again, right? The movie was alright but it was the previews that got me thinking. Thinking about a particular movie theme that I find rather funny.

It was a preview for The Three Musketeers (I won't even tell you how excited I am for this movie - I LOVE that kinda crap) and Orlando Bloom was in it...but not as a Musketeer like you might think. No, he was clearly not a good guy. He was a bad guy.

Oh, yeah. A dirty, stinkin' little bad guy that just pisses everyone off the whole movie but is totally essential to the plot because, without him, how would we know that the good guys are good, huh? We wouldn't. They would just be dudes. Dudes with swords and witty banter. Which is all well and good but hardly what I would call an action flick.

Anyway, I'm off topic. I could tell that Orlando was playing a diabolical villain. You know how I knew?

One word: moustache

Now, this was a Musketeer movie, which means that a lot of the characters had moustaches. They were apparently all the rage during this particular time in history but this movie is not the only example of this particular film phenomenom. No.

Guy Who Likes to Tie Girls to Train Tracks:

Hitler:

This guy:

and this guy:

grossest one

him:

I'll admit his moustache may be the least evil-looking thing about him

we all remember this ace-hole:

Snape:



and even the dude who assassinated Lincoln:

 

So, clearly, the moustaches have spoken. All you need is an appropriately thin, evil one of these bad boys and it's clear that you are up to no good. This, my friends, is how I knew Orlando Bloom will be playing a bad guy in what's sure to be an action-packed thriller.

clearly he's a huge douchecanoe

-Age

Culture Thursday (Yes, I Know It's Friday)

On Monday, after my little ones left their morning summer school session with me, I patiently awaited the arrival of my older students so we could practice a little English and play a little volleyball. They didn't show up. Which is odd cuz they have shown up every other day so I just had to chalk it up to Mondays being what they are: the day everyone dreads and tries to avoid if at all possible.

So, I'm just sitting there at the school talking to two of my favorite colleagues (cuz they're super nice and really patient with my Bulgarian) and they tell me that today is a special holiday at the church and would I like to join them. Awesome. Yes, I absolutely would. Thursday is coming up after all.

The празник (holiday) held on August 15 is called "Успение Богородично" or "The Assumption of Mary". This day is also an important "name day" in Bulgaria, the day we celebrate any name connected with Mary: Maria, Marietta, Marianna, Marian, etc. I may have mentioned name days in the past but just to catch you up they are basically like birthdays and people celebrate them by bringing candy to work or school and passing it out to everyone and maybe having a nice lunch or dinner as well. This name day is special because the Eastern Orthodox religion practiced here in Bulgaria believes that this day represents the day Mary passed away and God brought her, body and soul, into heaven. This is a day to visit the church (which most Bulgarians only do on special days like this, Easter, and Christmas) and so that is precisely what we did and I will take you through the steps as they happened:

When we walk up to my villages very small church, the pathway leading up to the front doors is lined with a variety of brightly colored flowers. It's really a beautiful place and the teeny, white church that can fit about 20 people at the most is one of my favorite places in Momin Prohod. We said hello to the babas standing out front and walked inside to the little window that sells candles of all sizes. There are very thin candles for 10 stotinki that apparently only the cheapskates buy cuz we passed right over that very full box and went straight for the 20 stotinki candles (though we could have gone as high as 1 lev if we were feeling really fancy). I purchased 3 candles thinking that I would just group my prayers: my family, my friends, and those I've loved that have passed away. I placed the first two candles here:

I then placed the candle for the dead in a lower candle-holder thingy because those candles are always placed near the ground. There was a man there with his daughter, one of my students actually, and they were both scraping the wax off of the candle-holders (which I'm sure have a real name I just don't know it) and removing candles that were beginning to bend or burn out. My friend, Lenka, told this man I was interested in learning more about the holiday and could he please explain it to me in more detail. He looked at me very skeptically and, despite the fact that Lenka assured him I can understand Bulgarian, spoke almost directly to her the entire time. Which was fine because, to be perfectly honest, he was using the type of vocabulary I am not familiar with and keeping up with him was not an easy task.

As many religious folks do, he did not explain the holiday so much as his religion in general. He asked me about my beliefs though didn't seem too interested in the answers. He possibly saw this as an opportunity to convert me which, being raised a Christian, is something I understand more than he could ever know. After some time, Lenka told him that he was giving me a lot of information and that maybe that was enough for one day.

We left the man and went outside to the baba who was standing near a table at the front of the church. On the table was a ceramic bowl of water and vases full of flowers. She took a handful of white flowers, dipped them in the water, and patted them against each of our heads three times, blessing us in Bulgarian (I have no idea what she was saying). We left a 1 lev coin in front of the picture of Mary and began to walk away. It was then that another baba ran out of the church with a big bouquet of beautiful red, orange, and yellow flowers, handing them to me and telling Lenka, "these are for the American. She has to burn them after they die for good luck." And that's exactly what I plan to do.

This is a very happy holiday for Bulgarians, a day to pray and be blessed and honor an important female saint. I couldn't help imagining what this day would have been like in one of the huge churches in Sofia or one of the beautiful monastaries I visited in the Northwest corner of Bulgaria. These churches have so much history. They seem medieval somehow and the monks inside with their long black robes, tall black hats, and impressively lengthy beards make it seem as though I've traveled back in time. The "nuns" and monks both seem to hide in the deep recesses of the church when it's time to sing. Though "sing" isn't really the right word, it's more of a chant. They chant these long, beautiful, mysterious notes and it echos throughout the whole church and it's literally awe-inspiring. I've never heard anything like it and I would have loved to visit one of these churches on a holiday like "Успение Богородично" and just listen.

-Age

Me vs The Old Man

What I want to say to the old man standing way too close to me in the ticket line at the train station:

"Um, excuse me. You're uncomfortably close."

"You see, I'm American and I've been raised with this concept of 'personal space' and your breath on my neck is violating that."

"Are you trying to put your money through the slot before me? I'm standing right in front of it. Clearly I'm buying a ticket right now, at this moment. Yup, that's exactly what you're doing. Wow."

"You're touching me. You're actually so close to me while we stand in this line that your arm is touching my arm and I could lick your face if I wanted to just by sticking out my tongue. Do you want me to lick you? Is that what all this is about?"

"Hey, I get that you're old and you don't like to wait in line because you want a good seat on the train. I get it. I really do. But. All the politeness and respect I was taught to show the elderly went out the window the second you set your bag on my feet and tried to cut me in line. There. Is. No. Cutting. Didn't you go to kindergarten? Cuz that's where I learned that rule. That's where I learned that that rule is more important than any other rule. Rules like 'don't throw dirt at your friends' and 'glue is not for eating' don't even come close to the 'no cutting' rule so you're currently in violation of everything I know and it's making me want to punch you. Which I'm also pretty sure is a rule: 'no punching'. But I'll do it. In my mind. Repeatedly. Actually, I'm doing it right now. In my mind you're crying and will never cut again."

-Age

Culture Thursday

I'm going to walk a fine line between "cultural insensitivity" and "keeping it real" today. I want to relate what I've seen here in Bulgaria while at the same time remaining respectful. That being said, here I go.

In Bulgaria there is very little diversity. There are basically three different races/cultures here: Bulgarian, Turkish, and Roma. And while the Roma and Turkish peoples should also be considered Bulgarian by nationality because many of these families have been here for some time, the lines are always a little grey.

But that's about it. Everyone basically looks the same. Acts the same. Speaks the same. The culture varies little because, hey, it's a small country and what should we expect.

So, when someone who does not look like they belong here, i.e. volunteers from America, walk down the street, sit at a bus stop, order food in a restaurant, there is often, particularly in smaller communities, a standard response: staring.

I get stared at walking down the street in my non-Bulgarian clothes, with my non-Bulgarian sunglasses, my non-Bulgarian walk (Bulgarians don't really walk, they stroll, never in a hurry), and I'm watched. When I sit on a train people will change seats in order to gain a better vantage point for unabashed staring. And I'm not even all that different looking. I sometimes wonder what it's like for other volunteers that are, let's say, not white. Must be tough.

I'm not trying to say that it's a part of Bulgarian culture to stare. It's  not. What I am saying is that the huge differences in Americans' and Bulgarians' reactions to diversity are what cause the stares to seem so odd and blatant. To me, at least.

We were told being volunteers in a foreign country would be like living in a fishbowl and that we would have to constantly watch our conduct because our conduct would be constantly watched.

But, sometimes, I think it would be fun to take advantage of all this staring. To embrace it and realize that, no matter what, I'll be stared at so I might as well do whatever the hell I want. I mean to say, do the types of things that would absolutely get me stared at in The States not because I'm different looking, but because what I'm doing is friggin' weird.

Like using the big fountain in the center of town as a swimming pool. Or putting little fish in it and coming to feed them every day.

Or power walking, but just back and forth across the street in the exact same spot over and over for like 30 minutes, pointing and winking at every car that drives by.

Or furiously playing the air guitar inside a local store and then taking a bow when finished.

Or reading at a local cafe and jumping up to dance around the table every time I finish reading a chapter. Then high-fiving everyone around and saying, "Oh yeah! Another chapter down! I am SO good at reading! That book doesn't stand a chance!"

I think as long as I was in complete control of the stares and thought that every Bulgarian was perfectly justified in stopping, mid-sentence, to watch me with wide eyes, life would be a lot more fun.

Just sayin'.

-Age

Boys Will Be Boys and Girls Will Be Trouble

I held my first day of Summer School yesterday but it wasn't until today that kids actually showed up (after I yelled at them for not being there). But that's boring and no one cares about it so let me tell you a story instead:

Today, while I was playing sports with my 6th and 7th graders in front of the school, a couple of boys around that same age walked up and lingered. You know the type: mullet, short shorts, flip flops...OK, maybe you don't but it's totally the sh** around here so, of course, all my girls start to giggle and point and act absolutely ridiculous.

One girl would yell over to them that another girl was in love with them and then another girl would yell back that it wasn't true and that, in fact, it was the first girl who was in love with them and then they would all laugh and giggle and the boys would look pleasantly uncomfortable (or uncomfortably pleased?) and ignore them.

Um, barf.

I'm not saying I didn't used to do these things (I totally did) but having to translate it in my head and feel the full force of these kids' first attempt at flirting was not my favorite thing. I'd like to think my flirting skills have improved since I was in 6th grade but I still practically yell across rooms to boys and say, "Hey, my friend likes you!" It's slightly more subtle than that but only slightly. I have a horribly recent example of just such an occassion but I'll keep it to myself. Let's just say it involved Sofia, a sweater vest, and me thinking I was the slyest girl in the bar. I wasn't.

Anyway, it just struck me as funny how similar kids can be no matter where they're from and what language they speak. I wonder if I was in some small village in Africa instead of some small village in Bulgaria if I'd have to put our soccer game on hold so those kids could yell at a couple of boys? Probably.

Ah, youth. I didn't appreciate it when it was mine though the idea of repeating it sounds like absolute torture.

Despite their antics, I really missed my kids. I've designated Monday's as game days, Tuesday's as sports days, and Wednesdays as excursion days so tomorrow we're off to hike in the local mountains. It'll just be me and a crap-load of kids hiking up a mountain I've never actually hiked. My goal is to bring back at least 90% of them. I feel like that's pretty reasonable. Wish me luck!

-Age