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.

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!

Ra xdeba?

You may now finally rest easy.  News from the old and glorious land of Sakartvelo, which has been long due, finally comes your way!  Now you have something to read while you're on your nice, sit down commode in your centrally-heated houses.  Jerks.
So, the holiday season is coming to a close.  Next week.  Sort of.  The first day after break is the eighteenth.  Or maybe the twentieth, because the nineteenth is a Georgian holiday.  These are the words of my counterpart.

Let me tell you, I have just about had it up to my yurebi (ears) in Georgian keipi (feasting) and culture.  And my waistline can't really take too much, either, since it's turned to the FREEZING season and I've lost all will to exercise and/or leave the room with the petchi.

A review of the holidays I've celebrated since Christmas ("Catholic Christmas," that is):
New Year's Eve:
  Supposedly the most anticipated, hyped up celebration in the country.  Really just an extended, low-key family supper where we watched TV for slightly longer than we usually do and drank Christmas liqueur and my babo's coffee liqueur (made with the family chacha.. so it tasted of rocket fuel).  And some nut job was singing while the clock actually struck 12, so I kinda missed it.  Whatev.  There were some fireworks, but kids have been setting them off in the streets for weeks now.  Also, we visited the brother-in-law's place (because my host sister was their first-footer, the first guest after New Years who must bring a plate of nom nom squares and other sugary delights for a "delicious" year).  There I was urged to marry in the village by some intoxicated Georgian men and then made fun of because I don't know how to milk a cow.  So it goes.

New Year's Day:
   Slightly more involved.  Family members from all around gathered at the grandma's parent's house in Gremi and feasted with such once-a-yearly culinary delights as chicken in walnut sauce, honey-walnut granola bars (minus the granola), and more chocolate and nom nom squares than even I can eat.  And that is saying something, because I inherited my dad's sweet tooth.  At least I got to exchange glances with the Ukranian sister-in-law (I don't speak Russian, and she doesn't speak Georgian or English very well) about the massive quantities of food, the constant comments about how "sad" the non-Georgians were (really, just bored and tired of being told to eat the food), and the 90-something-year-old great-grandpa downing two full-sized glasses of Georgian wine of the highest quality for some toast or another.

Pig slaughter at Tom's celebrating his return:
  Pretty much self-explanatory.  You can look up videos and pictures on his and Johnny's FB if you'd like the scream of a dying pig to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

New Year's party with host family friends later that night:
  Which may or may not have involved me drinking a bit too much Telani Valley red wine (probably some of the better wine I've tasted in Georgia) and talking about gender roles with the friend (who makes more than a few measly tetri at his Important Job in Tbilisi).  Other highlights include making up an Italian boyfriend (he plays the organ in the Vatican and is kinda ugly, but I love him anyway, and mom approves.) and refusing to drink amaretto with him at noon or so the next day.  Also trying to make his son say "please" instead of demanding me to draw things for him.

Getting vaccinated for swine flu:
  This was definitely a party in itself.  Getting to see a bunch of PCVs, chat it up about our ridiculous holiday experiences, and eat at the awesome Shenghai Chinese Restaurant.  What more could you ask for?  We also said "see you in a few months" to the guy who broke his heel on the Kazbegi excursion--he's sent back to the states for a consultation and possible surgery before he can come back, hopefully, to continue service.

Feast at our house:
  With the sister-in-law and her husband who live on the other side of the village.  The husband interrogated me on my job and we watched the kids' dance concert that was in Tbilisi when I was gone for Telavi Thanksgiving.

Orthodox Christmas:
  Not a whole lot happened this day, either.  I made chili (successfully) and cornbread (unsuccessfully).  I would blame it on the crappy Georgian corn, but a) it was from a can and thus probably not from Georgia, and b) I added too much salt and c) I didn't have milk, so I used sour cream that may or may not have been still good.  At least the "American bean soup" was good, if the "American mchadi" was a failure.  This time.

  Also, the kids sang "alilos" and we gave them eggs so that they could feast the next day. (I think).

  And I thought the family went to church at 11, but they really went to bed, and I stayed up until 2 waiting for them to come back.  I thought they'd left without inviting me since I'd been on the computer all day, so I was feeling abandoned.  Silly me.

Dual pig slaughter at our place:
  This went down Saturday.  I have been feeling incredibly anti-Georgian lately, so was in a foul mood all day, even though I got to bathe for the second time in three days and had my hair straightened for me.  I was also grumpy because I couldn't make any food, so when the 30 Georgian guests were here, I fought for kitchen space and tried to orchestrate Chinese-style rice and veggies (lack of soy sauce and overcooking FAIL) and brownies (lack of doubling recipe for pan quasi-fail.  At least they were tasty.).

  I was pretty much successful in persisting in my blue funk and ignoring the Georgians and tried to find my happiness that night in the bottom of a bottle.  I was somewhat successful, though I had to search through a few before I found the right one-- kahlua made with starbucks coffee and family chacha? nope.  (Though it was nice to vaxtanguri with my host mom in a toast to friendship.)  Amaretto from a factory in/near Tbilisi?  nope.  (It was from the loaded family friend's wife's friend, too.)  Store-bought vodka based Bailey's? Check!  The forced wineful of horn in a toast to love also helped a bit.  Surprisingly, it's been my first horn of wine in Georgia.

Also, the tamada this night was the sister-in-law's husband, who lives on the other side of town.  By the end of the night, I marveled at his ability to stand.  He was teetering back and forth like a Mexican jumping bean, but the man was standing.  What a man.  He sure can pack away his wine.

Brunch supra the next day:
  I successfully skipped this one out by taking a nice long walk to the bottom of the village and back. While helping my host mom with the squintillion dishes, she commented on the Georgian tradition of men feasting and women cleaning up (as my host dad, a generally cool guy, was sleeping his hangover off on the couch).  I slipped a bug in her ear about the unfairness of this.  The host dad later accused me of committing a technical foul; actually, he accused me of going over the tamada's head by toasting to something the tamada didn't say, the punishment of which is drinking a full glass of wine to what the tamada actually said.  I forget the Georgian word for this.

English "tour" (aka test/competition) today in Kwareli:
  I woke up at 8, got ready and ate breakfast, scooted out the door a little late (but was still the first one at school), waited for an HOUR for the marsh to come, urged my counterpart to stay home with her sick kid (really, I can go places by myself.), and regretted saying "fine, how are you?" to 12th grader, who was embarrassed because he didn't understand it, even though he goes to a private tutor in Kwareli.  He's really a good kid, and my neighbor, too.  He definitely has a mind of his own--he slept during class once because he had a headache (but I don't blame him--it was a read and translate class), but he's got a good heart.
Still mulling over this awkward exchange, I drank coffee with a couple Russian teachers (one of them's actually a Russian lady) in the Kwareli school's cafe while we waited for the students to finish.  I listened to them talk about politics being dirty and then they talked about food and scolded me for not liking meat.  I'm in GEORGIA, I have to try and LOVE mtsvadi!!  (never mind the visiting relative from Tbilisi refused mtsvadi today.)  Whatever.  At least I got the chance to mail a birthday card to my grandma while I was in a thriving metropolis.  And I footraced (on my high heeled boots) one of the 12th grade boys to warm up while we were waiting for the marsh.

Next weekend, I'll be headed to Cara's to help prepare her birthday bash.  Though it is another party, it will be with many Americans and include many American foods.  (And there's a whole Nalgene-ful more where that Bailey's came from, just crying out for consumption.)  I hope we can make it an enjoyable time, for Cara's sake. : )

So, in sum, I've been going through the neverending holiday slump, getting sick of Georgian culture, being fed up that I'm not living healthily or conscientious of others, and worrying about my future, Life After Peace Corps.  If anyone has any bright ideas, let me know...