Spring is in the air... kwelgan I davtwalierav

I am dead tired, and there are miles to go after I sleep. So I'm just gonna tell you a couple of highlights that I remember from the couple past days I haven't written.

Homemade hamburgers with awesome barbecue sauce. Like, the best barbecue sauce known to man. This may be biased due to lack of comparison bbq here, but I doubt it. This stuff was the nectar of the gods, man.

Dancing at the Club and watching people do stuff you shouldn't be able to see them doing from the window.

Working all week on the SPA grant with my cp, staying at her house either late or overnight, freaking out in the teacher's lounge over fear that it wouldn't get done, and then watching cp and computer teacher friends pull together and come to Tbilisi so we could price check and get shit done.

It's ice cream season. Also strawberry season.

CP's son, who's a self-proclaimed future advertisement-maker and/or pencil sketch artist (he's a prolific sketcher), bawled when I left their house one day, and rarely lets me leave without giving me a big, juicy kiss on the cheek.

Made lettuce salad (YUM!) today at my cp's house with homegrown lettuce given by one of the teachers. And had more lettuce promised me for Monday by another teacher.


The biggest news of the hour is that this week, two days ago, I had three seventh grade girls join me for my morning anti-notrunning training (good thing I'm also equally training for the stress-eating team. It has more than balanced things out). Yesterday, I had five, including host sis. Last night I slept at cp's house because I spent a lot of time planning and helping her fix her computer, then it was raining, and this morning she had her heart set on feeding me strawberries and oatmeal, so I didn't run. But the girls ran without me and asked where I was. What's going on?!

And.. there's dancing bazari bags on TV. I think it's time to call it a night. Headed to Tbilisi to practice for med sessions for new Trainee trainings, then Patara to the old host fam for some good ol' awkward moments, then Borjomi to hang out at a meet, greet, eat, drink with the newbs, then hightail it back home for a day or two, then back out for Trainee mentoring and delivering said medical sessions on hub day. AH!!!!

Nothing to Write Home About... ?

So, as I was breaking my notrunning team training program this morning, something occurred to me which has been percolating since yesterday or so.  I greeted one of my 6th grade boys who usually hangs around the stadium the same time as me.

Turn on my jammin' tunes.  I've got some new ones, thanks to a certain charitable donor.  And the words seem to reflect my line of thought for the past few whatever-periods-of-time.  Let me illuminate.

Yesterday I had a chat.
Rick: "You know, you should keep writing.  You've got good stuff."
Me: "Most of the time it's like, 'Today I picked chinchari.  Hooray.' Nothing really interesting."

By interesting, I mean writing style.  Like, I just word vomit on the keyboard and whatever comes out is what you, my zillions of loyal fans, are stuck reading, if you make it to the end of the entries.  Sorry I'm not very entertaining.  I seem to have lost that in the shuffle of everyday life in the Twilight Zone.  (That along with patience.  There's only so many times I can handle "Does she like xinkali? What's her age? Do you like Georgia? You don't like meat? [finally realizing, after asking my CP and listening to me answer for myself multiple times that, I do understand simple questions.  Then...] American people are cold," without losing all willpower against clumping all Georgians into one category, that of ridiculous goimi, and answering their questions with the same tone they are asked.  That tone would be the one you use with slow children.

But anyway.  I also met a Fulbrighter yesterday when picking up some ice cream before getting on the marshutka headed the opposite way of Ortachalla station, where I wanted to go to catch the marsh home.  He was amazingly helpful in providing resources and had really cool research, and encouraged me to look into Fulbright.  But... as I stop and think, I really haven't done much to impress people I will solicit employment from except "put a good effort in going through the motions of teaching, even though the best of her students still write things like 'I will poor.  I will not steal because I will not like steal.'"  No extra activities, not for Earth Day (local bio/geo teacher/host fam member planned that on her own), no SPA grant or progress since Project Design and Management training... no nothing.  I barely manage to keep up with visiting the neighbors and helping the FFG advisor teacher download flash to get Farmville to work.  And I've felt like I've been off gallivanting with my friend Ana a lot and neglecting the fam.  More stress on myself.

So why was I in Tbilisi on a weekday in the first place?  Well, this past weekend I've been chilling at home.  So I decided I'd help out with some of the garden work.  I learned გამარგვლა (gamargwla [weeding]).  I also planted potatoes.  A whole friggin field of potatoes.  Mind you, I really don't like potatoes.  I'll eat them when I haven't had enough bananas for the potassium, but, really, my starch needs are covered.  Whatever.  The point is, the day after weeding, my pinky slowly swelled up to the size of a hefty cigar, with the same amount of flexibility.  Also there was a red line from my pinky to my elbow.

Called the doc, got a blood test, an x-ray from the cool Russian guy who x-rayed me before, spent the night at the PC-approved hostel (if I knew it was gonna be an overnight, I would have brought extra underwear...), and got put on antibiotics.  But my finger was starting to heal itself, so whatev.

I became the impromptu PR for the docs to get G9s to present at PST sessions.  I may participate in a couple of their sessions as well as (hopefully) "Host Family Integration" and "Avoiding Unwanted Attention."

I also got to see my old LCF and awesome friend Ana, which made my indeterminable period of time.  And met some PCVs from Armenia and Azerbaijan who were in town to judge Writing Olympics, trans-Caucasus level.

Also, ice cream is back in a maghazia near you.  Praise be to-- well, you know.

Speaking of which, I was Baptismnapped today while attempting to plan lessons.  My CP was asked to be an emergency godmother, because the grandfather died so the kid needed to be Baptized STAT (or something like that), so we went to the baptism, at which the child screamed bloody murder when the priest brushed oil on her forehead/cheeks/feet.  We then went to the obligatory supra.  Neither of us really wanted to go, but it's tradition and The Right Thing To Do.  And when the natural progression turned to the unique topic of "You Should Marry a Georgian," I calmly explained to them that I would only marry a man who "knows house's work, like washing the dishes and cleaning, because there are men like that in America, and we usually share the chores."  Usual rounds of laughter from the men, and a "Georgian men--UGH!" from like the main lady there.  Hooray!

So, like I said, nothing remarkable going on in my life.

Mokle List.

The Sucky:

• Rainy weather makes our water yellow.  Good thing we have those handy-dandy PC issued filters!
• Rainy weather also makes for less-than-ideal trips to the toilet in the middle of the night in a path that falls right underneath the edge of the roof and ends in a mud patch.
• Rainy weather also makes me want to feel sorry for myself, (more than usual).
• 2 Georgians now have said my Georgian isn't good enough.  Also, apothecary lady when I went to get Mono cards for Internet told me I need to start an English club so her son can go, and proceeded to yell at him for not studying before I could escape.
• Trying to reassure my counterpart she's not a bad mom because she works hard and doesn't have a lot of time for her son.  She is the bomb.  And I don't mean the ones brought to mind by a certain TV station who cried "war with Russia."

The Good:

• My host mom, telling me my Georgian is understandable and that I don't need to work on it because I won't need it after I leave.  Which will be a good and bad time for me, and not really a good time at all for the fam because I'm not annoying.
• Hair cuts that make me feel cute.  All for the low low price of conversation and a gift of tights given to me for women's day by my secondary counterpart (the one who worked with "Lizzy" from Montana [read:not too keen on the newcomer who is notlyssa]), size large (for people 60-80 kilos, or something ridiculous like that).
• A new ring, that I don't need.  Georgian people don't understand the concept of "I want it, but I don't need it."  Thus, when the ring lady comes a knockin', Cara and I yield to temptation to buy ourselves the first things we've bought ourselves in a long time.
• Successful journey to Tsinandali, complete with marshutka "layover" in the middle of nowhere.  Woot!
• Nettles are delicious vittles.  Cluny the Scourge adds his seal of approval.
• Also, a neighbor gave me a pear when I was walking home the other day.  Because he could.  It was delicious.
• Today, I used the fam's old Singer and a pair of the host bro's old jeans and reconstructed the awesome denim skirt that I burned a hole in the butt in out of distractedness (and putting it on a heater to dry.  Oops.).  SEW GOOD!

The Usual in Georgia:

• Breaking resolutions to train for the 2016 Notrunning Team.  My left leg HURTS LIKE AN EMPTY BOX OF CHOCOLATES.
• Study time with host fam consists of a lot of impatience on the part of the kids with the cousin, who learns at a slower pace than they do.  But the host bro reprimanded the sis for laughing, keeping things back on track.  *proud of subtle signs of maturity*

And, it's probably about time I explained my blog's name.  The guys in the family are known as "Kwavebi" = "ravens" or "crows" (not sure), because they're dark skinned with raven hair.  My official last name, as host unc informs me, is Schmid-Mosulishvili.  Thus, I'm a Kwavi, too.  One with significantly different plumage than the rest of the family.  (Tetri = white.)  Tetri Kwavi.

Would you hire me?

Dear (program director guy):

If, above all, you are looking for someone to create a rigid classroom atmosphere that keeps to a strict time schedule, that may not be me. At least, not alone. Teaching in Georgia is teaching me both the value of keeping appointments and the difficulty to do so when there is no cultural expectation to do so.

I am characteristically thorough and procrastinate, and here I have been used to both teachers and students walking in late to class. One day, when I was late to fifth grade, a fifth grade girl was late, too. My partner teacher consoled her by saying, “It's okay. Everyone runs late sometimes. I've been late, this boy's been late, even Paula has been late before.” This revelation embarrasses me from my American perspective because I realized that I have been adopting habits and values that I do not necessarily want to adopt.

Perhaps the most valuable lesson from my time abroad is noting annoying cultural discrepancies and how to deal with culture shock. If I just cannot stand the constant urgings to get married to a Georgian, I know to force myself to laugh it off and then gently let the matchmaker know that while I am flattered, marriage is not part of my purpose for being in the country (or give the cryptic answer “we'll see,” if I am not up to a debate about gender roles). I know now that my Nalgene water bottle is an amazing novelty, sure to garner queries from students and teachers alike. And I quickly learned to grab a scarf before I go to school, even if I do not need it, to slightly dissuade my coworkers from scolding me for not dressing warmly enough. Using this firsthand experience, I wrote for the alternate handbook to help the incoming group of volunteers know what to expect; I can help advise students from this region with developing their own skills for adapting to cultural idiosyncracies.

Studying abroad in Spain and working as a Peace Corps Volunteer have given me skills in adapting materials for teaching. I plan for lessons every day with one of my partner teachers and for the other, combining book exercises with physical response activities and dialogues, drawing on experience from leading English clubs in Spain as well as Peace Corps' pre-service training. On occasion, I taught a few classes on my own when my partner teacher was unable to come to school, explaining activities in English and Georgian when necessary.

I have mastered enough control over Georgian to have conversations with my host mother about the educational system, politics, health, gender roles, and other topics beyond “I am hungry.” While my Georgian is by no means fluent, I have learned to listen and circumlocute and encourage my students to do the same.

I am familiar with the FLEX program from personal experience, but my former host sister applied for the program. She made it to the third round. She is a brilliant student with critical thinking skills, political, social, and global awareness that rival my colleagues, far beyond those her age and from her tiny village. If a student of her caliber cannot participate, nor any of the students from my village, I would very much be honored to help train the students who have been selected.

Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,

Paula G. Schmid

I need to get to bed, but I was proud of this baby.

Big things are going down in the New Village.  They involve grant money, my counterpart, and plans being made.  COOPERATION?!

Next time, on Dragon Ball Z!  Magda and Paula join forces to bring modern technology to the middle of nowhere!  Will they conquer petty villager feuds?  Will they raise enough funds?  Will Paula ever understand more than 20% of what comes out of her director's mouth?  Tune in!

Thanksgiving part 1: counterpart, family fun

Okay, so I should probably get on that Thanksgiving post that everyone else has already done like two weeks ago. Whatever. So I've been zarmatsi (lazy). I've also been busy.

And, you know, I've actually been enjoying life. In contrast to Spain (and much of the time afterward).

Let's examine the facts:

1) I've got a frigging awesome counterpart teacher.
"I want to be one of the best English teachers in the region."-My counterpart.

You probably won't hear this out of any of the other volunteers' counterparts' mouths. I've heard success with lesson planning, but it's more like a trip to the dentist; wheras my counterpart said, "We must plan the lessons together," when we first met. Granted, they're not perfect--what can you expect from lessons based on a book that's excellent albeit beyond the students' comprehension level?

Also, last week we planned a Thanksgiving party pulled a party out of our asses in two days, complete with nuggets of info read by our 7th graders in both languages about the history of Thanksgiving (nuggets so enthralling that the teachers talked only QUIETLY throughout the whole thing), making of I-am-thankful-for hand turkeys, and feasting on pie made by yours truly as well as popcorn, nom-nom-squares (namskhwari aka cake/goodies), fresh berries, and coffee brought by the students and Magda. Everyone naturally applauded me and called me a "kargi gogo" (and it wouldn't be Georgia without an urging for me to get married. I love my director..). The whole thing turned out okay, but it was kind of a pain in the ass, and I didn't want it to be so much of a dog-and-pony-show as a time for the kids to learn the phrase "I am thankful for" and learn how to spell "pearents" right. Ah, well. What can ya do?

After the spectacle, my counterpart and I were cleaning up. I was carrying away the remains of coffee in a plastic cup, (the amount which, this time, I had managed to undermine the urgings to miertviet). I said to myself, "I don't want it anymore," to practice the newly learned Georgian word for "not anymore".
My counterpart said, "School or parties?"
I, stopped, did a double take, and we laughed.  That's how cool my counterpart is.

Also, we had a slumber party at her house last week (lesson planning ran late and she didn't want me to go back in the dark and I didn't want to have her call my host mom to escort me).  This culminated with us doing yoga on her bedroom floor while her 4-year old son played some racing game on the computer in Russian. Not very relaxing, but keep in mind that this was yoga in Georgia with a Georgian.


On to reason #2 I'm thankful and happy: The host family.

They're the most normal Georgians I've met in this whole country. And they've got a reputation in the village as people who get along with one another and are honest and giving and helpful. All true. These people give used clothing to the orphanage. The females still do 99.9% of the food prep, but the grandpa's been known to heat up a thing of beans when he wants to, and I swear my host bro made himself eggs the other night. And the guys DO work really hard; grandpa in the yard with the animals and crops and stuff, and the dad with his guard job. Not to mention all the guys (and my host mom, sometimes) are working on the house renovation now.

My host mom is something else. In addition to helping carry heavy things once in a blue moon, she stomped the grapes for the family because the dad was gone at work. Also, she is so patient with me, talks with me, and understands and corrects my poor grammar. She introduces me to people in the village, all of whom she's friends with/relatives with/godmother to/all of the above. She still thinks in the traditional Georgian manner that I'll catch cold if I walk around the house without wearing slippers, which I'm not sure I believe. (to quote Lauren, "I now wear socks all the time for reasons I don't understand!") But it is hella cold here. Like I said, we're doing renovations. The room with the pechi (wood stove) is being defloored and refloored. Thus, the pechi is outside. Solution? Go to the small room that's also been refloored and is half-put together and warm ourselves by the small pechi temporarily installed there.

I love my host kids/siblings, too. Last night at the family tutoring session, they successfully managed to make menus with practically every fruit in English, ask for coffee and vodka, and refuse to sell to one another, telling each other "shen khar stupid" and "shut up, ra." They crack me up.

Now it's khinkali-making night for the workers--my contribution will be some vashlis piure (apple's puree, aka applesauce). I'm gonna head to do that, but I'll catch you later.
I've got to tell you about me being a tamada (toastmaster) at a birthday supra, danceoffs with butt bombs, and also pie cooking escapades, if nothing else. I'll be back.