The Globe that Made it Around the Globe

Best viewed from Scene I to Scene IV...sorry it's not in sequence.

Scene IV: So much for hoping she might not notice, eh Jen Hols?

Scene III: Briana gives the globe its first run.

Scene I: Here comes the final Santa.

Scene II: The end of a journey.

On December 7 a box boarded an airplane and embarked on its journey across the Atlantic, carrying in its cargo hold a box full of love for a little girl in Lupeni from aunties, unclies and grandparents in far-off America. But that wasn't the beginning of its journey, and it certainly wasn't its end. I feel like a small documentary could be done on the miles this box covered (actual distance, emotional energies, and latitudes of love) to get from point A to point B, and prizes should be given to all the Santas along the way who helped move it across the globe, starting with Santa Jen Holly in Iowa and ending with Santa Bart here in Lupeni. (With honorable mention to Santa Diana who had to involve Santa Bookeeper in Bucharest in the preperation of 5 official documents before she could retrieve the package and taxi it across town to meet Santa Bart at the bus station.) By the time this globe reached Lupeni, certainly its retail value had triple- quadrupled twice. But hopefully, as the one commercial goes, everyone would breathe in the end (and not least us, Briana's parents, who are so grateful for our family, and many others along the way, going the extra-extra mile to help Briana feel their love close at Christmas): "Priceless!" Thank you to everyone, and Merry Merry Christmas!

Lessons and Carols

Briana with her new friend, princess Adela

Briana's teacher, sweet Doamna Mariana, our answer to prayer

Princesses Alexandra and Gabriela

Caroling to Santa and a room full of camera-carrying parents (Adonis, our collegue Ilie's son, far right)

Today Briana experienced what most Romanians can still recall, even 20 and 30 years on - her kindergarten's Christmas program. My dearest Romanian friend, now 29, advised me over the phone - "provide a gift for Santa Claus to give Briana", "teach her a Christmas poem to recite to Santa", etc., etc.- as it's still being done today as it was a couple of decades ago. So for once we were mostly prepared except that I didn't realize that "dressing up" for the little ladies meant coming in full fairy wear. Briana cried briefly in the beginning that her wand and wings were laying idle at home while she was adorned in black and crimson velvet, but once the program got underway she seemed to forget about her listless duds. It was a sweet hour, meeting the parents of Briana's classmates and watching Briana enjoy herself, one among many excited, fidgety, singing, swaying kindergartners. And she recited the four lines of her Christmas poem (in Romanian) beautifully. We only felt culturally ill-at-ease twice. Once while waiting to take Briana's picture on Santa's lap, a couple of her classmates' mothers kept pushing the children aside to nuzzle on his lap and have their photo taken with him. (That was a little odd.) The other was when we first arrived and were accosted by a drunken-seeming man who demanded that I give him a cupcake. We ran into the school shouting, "They're for the children!" only to turn and find him enter the classroom: one of Briana's classmate's father. He was disruptive most of the program and had to be shushed by everyone including Santa Claus, but was allowed to stay (in many cultures, including our American, he would've been escorted out, at best) and in the end did receive a cupcake (actually two), handshakes and well wishes for the holidays from the other parents. "Peace on earth, goodwill to men, women, kindegartners and drunken parents of kindergartners of all shapes and sizes!" This was the lesson of today's carols.

Mary's Magnificat

Icon of the Annunciation

Most mornings this Advent season I have tried to rise early ahead of the family for some time alone. After pushing play on the coffee maker my next impulse is to light this candle that sits below a print of an icon of the Annunciation. Though the Orthodox honor the Annunication on March 25, precisely 9 months before a December 25th delivery (I can hear the age-old chuckle, as if anything about Christ's birth went like clockwork), I felt mysteriously led to ponder this event this Advent season, just 2 months following my second miscarriage. I don't know exactly what it's trying to tell me, but I know that it's a message of hope, of comfort, and of future promise. And I feel like I've relinquished my ultimatum with God, that I must bear our daughter a sibling. This poem has been a blessing to me and a summons to feel myself likewise weighted down and up by all this glory:

I thank thee, Lord, that if I die in this,

it will be too much, not too little living,

that I have sunk beneath too heavy fruit,

not withered in a desert far from thee.

Glory to thee, Lord, that thou dost give

harvest so lavish our arms cannot hold

nor heart contain the treasure of thy power.

And in the end forgive if I am proud

to go down blest by more than I can bear,

inadequate to carry out thy will,

inadequate and weak, but chosen still.

Magnificat by Jane Tyson Clement

A Carpenter's Christmas by Peter K. Rosegger

Before that sad day when suddenly the Bruderhof's "Daily Dig" was off the air, I had the good fortune of downloading several of their wonderful Advent readings, many of them reprinted from Home for Christmas: Stories for Young and Old. I relish in reading them year after year.

This morning I read this story on true prayer and was convicted as I was this time last year.

At last it was over, this vigorous sweeping and scrubbing and chasing of dirt, this week-long turmoil during which nothing, not a piece of furniture, not a single wall decoration, remained in place, until every piece of wood had been cleaned, every stone whitewashed, every bit of metal polished. Now the house shone in purest cleanliness.

I won't post the story in its entirety here, but if you'd like it, please e-mail me and I'll be happy to send it along: brandi.briana@gmail.com .

Winter Harvest

Briana helping harvest 26 pounds of trout

A stinky winter harvest gift

Watching our neighbor Tanti Dorina grind the corn she grew,

the kernels she dried, through the river-powered mill next to our home.

Today was a harvesting sort of day. This morning Briana and I braved the cold to harvest (or hunt as Briana put it, I guess it depends on how you look at it) incandescent berries from a lone tree in a meadow covered in crackling snow. On our way home we stopped by the tiny one room mill next to our home to watch our neighbor Tanti Dorina coaxing the river into grinding cornmeal from the corn she grew all summer. Then we turned our berries into a present for our good friends Janelle and Daniel and were sorry to discover that they smelled like dog crap, which Janelle & Daniel forgave. Our day ended with rinsing, bagging, and freezing 26 pounds of fresh river trout grown next door by our neighbors Claudiu and Mihaela. One doesn't typically think of harvesting on a chilly December day, but I guess that's one thing Advent is about. Working for what yet remains unseen.

Second First Day of School

Off to school, first day...again

I don't know what the phenomenon is called - the one where you search afar for something good only to find you're sitting on it - but I've had the experience. This morning. At 9:00 Briana and I turned up for her second first day of school at a kindergarten right here in Lupeni. When our collegue and good friend Ilie reported that his 4 year old son wrote love notes to his teacher during his off-school hours, I figured this was enough solid evidence to give another kindergarten a try. (I couldn't imagine any of Briana's previous classmates writing love notes to their teacher.) We spent 3 hours in Doamna Mariana G.'s classroom and both of us were in love too. The class is a bit cold and there isn't as much formal instructional time ("That's the kindergarten where they don't really learn much," commented a friend - no workbooks, no homework, no number or letter testing), but under Doamna Mariana's calm and humored care I can see these 25 little ones learning the things hardest to teach. She is comfortable not being in total control of each of her pupils every second (there is a healthy amount of running about and tunneling under desks), she reasons with them reasonably, asks them to speak to each other when there is a conflict, lights a candle when they pray before their snacktime :) , and can spin a yarn so fantastically that I was spellbound for 20 minutes and wasn't at all surprised when the children could answer every listening-comprehension question asked at the end. She doesn't make any child do anything - some choose to play with trucks rather than join the circle of crawling kittens and bouncing balls - but most of them choose to join in because she's so much fun and she's so non-threatening. I may recant after more experiences - cynic! - but it looks like we've found our place. I can already see Briana turning 13 and Doamna Mariana calling me aside, "Don't you think it's time she moved on?"

Awaiting Saint Nicholas

Tonight, all over Europe, children are allowed to leave their boots inside, neatly placed, awaiting the kindy arrival of sweet Saint Nicholas (known as Mos Nicolae here in Romania, Sinterklaas in the Dutch world, and eventually morphing into jolly ol' Santa Claus). Beside our advent candle we read the tender story of the 4th century bishop of Myra who, born to a wealthy family, spent his life quietly helping those in need. "His mother and father taught him to be generous to others, especially those in need. So Nicholas came to see that helping others makes one richer in life than anything else." (I had to substitute goats for girls in the story because Briana sobbed uncontrollably when I read that Nicholas threw gold into a family's window on the night before the father was forced to sell one of his daughters to save the family from poverty's ruin. Goats she could accept.)

Much of the time my mind is heavy with all the things Briana might be missing by not growing up in America, but on this occasion it is made light with the opportunities and blessings made hers by living in Romania. On Sundays when we go to church she sits beside and draws with a girl named Ana, who faithfully attends church each Sunday to worship and to beg for the family's livelihood. Desiring to help Briana to better know the joy of giving than that of receiving inspired this letter left her in the spirit of Saint Nicholas a couple of days ago. It has made my heart glad to watch her spend most of her play time these past two days inspecting, arranging and wrapping the gifts she picked out.

Dear Briana,
Friday, December 5, is the night that I visit all the children of the world to bring them joy, love and surprises, and especially the poor children. There are so many children in the world that I haven’t time to take care of everyone. Can you help me please? I need you to buy Ana and Rares (those beautiful children who visit with you at church) some school supplies and maybe some clothes. Can you do that for me? Leave your presents for Ana and Rares next to your boots on Friday night and I will add some things. Then maybe you can help me some more and take their gifts to church on Sunday. Thank you so much for your help!
See you Friday night,
Saint Nicholas

Some real gems have escaped her mouth lately including, "Mama, Saint Nicholas doesn't just love poor children" and "Mama, are you real or pretend?" Hmmmm.

St. Nicholas' story beautifully told here: http://www.cptryon.org/prayer/child/nick.html

Woodcut print by Mary Azarian

"All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten"

Last Monday I took Briana to kindergarten for the last time. At least this kindergarten. I know that it's so important for her to go. In addition to learning all she'll ever really need to know (argued successfully or unsucessfully by Robert Fulgham in his once trendy book), I take her so that in 2 years she'll speak far better Romanian than I've thus far grasped. But when we leave a morning session and I'm thanking God under my breath that she didn't understand half the Romanian that came out of her teacher's mouth, I'm thinking maybe this isn't the right place. Last Monday decided it. When a little trembling-like-a-leaf boy couldn't answer the question his brooding teacher posed to him and she yelled at him, "You gypsy, get out of here!*" and pointed to the door, I decided we were the ones that would be leaving. I've studied Mr. Fulgham's list of life lessons first learned in kindergarten and ethnic discrimination is not there. (Nor is arbitrary berating, favoritism, and other not-so-pleasant things, things I was not happy with but trying to weigh against the greater benefits of Briana being with other children her age.) So for now the question of Briana's schooling is still a question, but at least this trail of inquiry (this particular kindergarten with this particular teacher at this particular time) has gone cold and Briana is home again with me until we pick up our next scent and embark down a new trail, hopefully with a sweeter end.

*Consequently, this poor little boy isn't of Roma decent, but there are Roma children in the class and I'm sure it's not good for them to hear their teacher equate misbehaving or lack of cleverness with their ethnicity.

Welcome to the Season of Light

We played in the cold Friday night in Lupeni's park,

its newly lit Christmas tree blazing in the background.

"Light your candles quietly, such candles as you possess, wherever you are."

Alfred Delp

Last evening we lit the first of our Advent candles, welcoming the season of light with glad hearts and expectation. From an unlikely source (Uncle Rock?) we enjoyed this song's thoughtful lyrics for child and grownup alike:

The Season of Light is when we see the way...heyho look to the sky.

How we receive love when we give it away...heyho look to the sky.

Coming soon I hope: track to listen to.

(The Season of Light, Uncle Rock, Uncle Rock U.)

Thanks A Lot

Happy Thanksgiving from the Bates'

Happy Thanksgiving! It is good to give thanks and we had a good day of it. 11 students and friends gathered around an abundant table on this sunny, shivery day and 6 more joined us for a second course of desserts. For the occasion, Briana has been learning words and movements to Raffi's lovely song of thanksgiving. She sang out and danced so beautifully for us all as a prelude to our meal's grace - her best interpretation of the week -and wouldn't you know it, just when the song was wrapping up her stockings gave way on our slippery floor and down she went, hard. Gosh darnit. Just before turning in she decided to complete the song. And as we turn in, we sing with her: Thanks for all we've got. Thanks for all we've got.

Goodnight and a Happy Thanksgiving to you.

Here's Briana singing to Raffi's "Thanks A Lot" (Baby Beluga album): Thanks a lot Thanks for the sun in the sky Thanks a lot Thanks for the clouds so high Thanks a lot Thanks for the whispering wind Thanks a lot Thanks for the birds in the spring Thanks a lot Thanks for the moonlit night Thanks a lot Thanks for the stars so bright Thanks a lot Thanks for wonder in me Thanks a lot Thanks for the way that I feel Thanks for the animals Thanks for the land Thanks for the people everywhere Thanks a lot Thanks for all I’ve got Thanks for all I’ve got.

Do They Sell Cemetery Candles at Pier 1?

The first of November marked Ziua Mortilor, the “Day of the Dead” (or All Saints or All Souls Day in other parts of the world) and despite one of our staff members swearing that this was a local holiday, unique only to the Jiu Valley, we know otherwise. In Germany two weeks ago we saw cemetery candles “on special” in grocery store adds, featured in between house slippers and cake pans, and in Cluj last week they were being bought up in a home-furnishing store along with teapots and tablecloths, a piled-high display that greeted customers when they first entered the store.

Maybe no one but a North American, or maybe I should just speak for myself, would even notice the oddity.

Dana just read yet another treatise on the "denial of death" in America, this time in the New York Times. When we first moved to Romania an American friend who'd long lived here referred to Romania's "culture of death." We sit here, somewhere in between those two.

After 9 years, the foreignness of the phenomenon of the “Day of the Dead” has not worn off on me. I don’t know how the day is spent in other parts of the world, but here mums are on sale in droves for the week leading up to November 1. (In Cluj, we saw a Dacia weighted down under hundreds of stem-cut mums, filling the back seat and piled high over its roof, ready for market the following day.) Family members visit the grave(s) of their loved ones the week before, sweeping and weeding, tidying up and then beautifying the site with these mums. (I learned the hard way that mums are strictly seen as flowers for the dead. I took a beautiful arrangement as a thank you to a woman a few years ago and learned quickly by the expression on her face that mums cannot be thank you flowers.)

On November 1 the sidewalks are full, instead of with generational groupings (a cluster of teens, a benchful of white haired men) with individual family units (a teenager, a father, a grandmother) together making their way - a plate of cookies, a sack of candles – to the cemetery where they will pray, gossip, politely offer cookies to the same begging children with mud-smeared faces they may shoo aside on other days, laugh, drink, light candles, pour plum brandy onto the grave, remember, and then return home.

One cannot walk through a cemetery on the night of Ziua Mortilor without being profoundly moved. One cannot not think about death, nor the people they have lost, no matter how far away or long ago those losses may have begun. And after 9 years I can’t shake this thought: it must be hard to remain bitter or hurt or angry towards a person you’ve buried when every year there's a day when you show up at their side and pay your respects. Maybe I’m naïve, but in my mind November 1 has one more name: Day of Forgiveness.

Photos found here http://www.flickr.com/photos/rumunkistan/407186639/in/set-72157600182244059/ and here http://www.jpgmag.com/photos/23734.

“Trust Allah, and tie up your camel.”

- hand-lettered sign at the entrance to the Fifth Squadron airbase, Skardu, Pakistan*

Though it’s not Allah we trust in and we don’t drive a camel, we couldn't agree more. The first year we lived here one of our guests stole a mini-caribeener off of our husky puppy's collar while having dinner in our home. We learned a lot that year (we lost more than the mini-caribeener). And still carry those lessons with us. Our professional lives mirror our personal lives. For the past 9 years we have strived in our work with youth, here in the Jiu Valley and throughout Romania, to develop social capital: the social networks and moral norms that promote cooperation for mutual benefit.

*From “Three Cups of Tea: One Man’s Mission to Promote Peace…One School at a Time” by Greg Mortensen and David Oliver Relin.

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY, SWEET JULIA!

For our cousin and our niece, Julia Abigail Kirchmaier, on her first birthday. Happy birthday sweetest girl. We love you and we miss you terribly.
Aunt Brandi, Uncle Dana & Cousin Briana

Happy Birthday and "Bonjour ma Cousine" ("Hello my Cousin") video:

"Little Red Caboose" video with special gymnastics:

Julia's Birthday Album (compiled by Briana and Brandi):

Little Red Caboose - The Laurie Berkner Band
Julia – Chris Rea
Old MacDonald Had a Farm – Parker Bent (for Uncle Greg)
Bam Bam – Father Goose
Little Pumpkin – David Levene and Judy J
Little Red Caboose – Elizabeth Mitchell & Lisa Loeb
By and By – Father Goose
Flying Machine - Father Goose (with Sheryl Crow & Dan Zanes)
Bonjour ma Cousine – Petit Ours Brun
Free Little Bird – Elizabeth Mitchell & Lisa Loeb
Happy Birthday Julia – Lunchbox & Friends (hope this one doesn’t creep you out…Briana was insistent)

Day 17 Without the Sun and the Injustice of Science

Depressing weather calls for...

desperate measures.

The 8, no 9, planets in Briana's bedroom sky.

We've been sitting with a cloud on our heads for 17 days now - sometimes dribbling rain, sometimes not. Today we went up the mountain to visit our staff leading a training on service-learning and adventure education to a group of 25 youth workers from Bosnia, Estonia, Armenia and Romania. Then we came home and...well the weather made us do it. While Briana dozed on Dana's arm and he flitted in and out of a movie, I hatched a plan to suspend the planets from Briana's ceiling and I made a solar system soundtrack (with our new friend iTunes) to go with it. Briana's been smitten lately with the human body and space and sometimes blends the two, like today when she told me the solar system was in her blood. And then of course she's confused about the terminus of her food tube and the 7th planet from the sun. When she awoke from her nap we together created each planet with materials on hand (we're most pleased with our version of Saturn) and then went up to her room to suspend the galaxy from her ceiling with invisible fishing line while listening to moon and star songs.

It was going fine until we got to Pluto. Our sun and moon soundtrack* was singing along, "Forces greater than math control us...We’re swimming in a cosmic bath, don’t you know it" and
"Nine planets in the solar system. Some are so darn small you might have missed them, Like my favorite one, that’d be Pluto. It’s so alone and far away you want to put it in your pocket for a rainy day." When we got to a song called "Pluto" by Rocknoceros the sky fell for Briana:

Now after intense debate

Scientists say of planets there are eight

Pluto’s fame will soon decline

Now that it’s not planet nine...

Uranus, Jupiter, Neptune, Earth

But poor Pluto lacks the girth...

Uranus, Jupiter, Neptune, Earth

But for Pluto there is no mirth.

Briana had just gotten attached to poor little Pluto, tiny little planet out there shivering farthest from the sun, and to hear of Pluto's fall from space's grace? It was too much. She started crying. "Daddy, why isn't Pluto a planet?" And then 1/2 an hour later, more tears: "Is Pluto a planet?" So, for now, Briana's sky has 9, and Pluto is her favorite.

* Briana's Solar System Mix:

Moon, Moon, Moon – The Laurie Berkner Band
The Planet’s Song – Ira Marlowe
Clouds – Dogs on Fleas
Rocketship – Justin Roberts
Mr. Moon – Orange Sherbert & Hot Buttered Rum
All About the Moon – Ira Marlowe
Nine Planets – Justin Roberts
Pluto – Rocknoceros
The Moon Song – Dog on Fleas
Sleep Under Stars – Dog on Fleas
Hey, Mr. Moonlight – Brady Rymer
Fly Me to the Moon – Ralph’s World
Nightlights – Lunch Money
Last Night the Moon was Full – Justin Roberts
I See the Moon – Mae Robertson

First Day of School

Off to school, first day...

How was it?


In her own words...

Take 2

Blessed To Receive Too

About 3 weeks ago, a hot day, Briana and I were hanging out in the shade near the shopping carts outside of PENY market eating a pricey ice cream treat before heading home when a teenage boy poked me on the shoulder and handed me a yogurt, "For your child," and a bill amounting to 50 cents and wished me God's blessings. He thought we were beggars, mother and child asking alms from shoppers coming and going. They do sit in the same place from time to time. I was so flustered. I don't even remember what I said. I think I told him we weren't poor, to give the money and yogurt to someone truly needy. He was so apologetic, as if he had offended us. I didn't get to tell him that it was one of the most beautiful things that have happened to us since living in Romania.

When one of our staff persons heard about the incident she commented: "Yeah, you Americans do dress pretty trashy sometimes."

The Grass Withers, The Flower Fades

After haggling with 4 elderly ladies over flower prices, 2 of them ended up calling me back to give me free bouquets. One moment aggressively pushing flowers in my face, demanding money, and the next offering me gifts.

Sunday September 14, 2008

Driving through Lupeni, if the streets are lined with flower vendors we know something’s up. We feel really good about ourselves if we happen to know what the city-wide celebration is, like for example September 8 we knew that it was the day to honor Mary’s, Jesus’ mother’s, birth, and to thus honor all subsequent Marys (which include all Marias and Marianas in Romania, amounting to about half the female population…a good day to be a flower vendor). But most of the time we drive through town feeling really stupid, that after 9 years of living here we still can’t get the holidays down. Like today. Yesterday was the Orthodox day of the Holy Cross, but that didn’t make sense of the flowers being sold all over town today. And at church no one had flowers. So I asked a vendor. “Don’t be upset with me, but which holiday are these flowers for?” The guy looked at me dumbfounded. “For tomorrow [duh].” “What’s tomorrow?” I cringed. Now he was clearly disgusted and trying to get away from me to sell some flowers to some ladies in the know. “School starts[double duh].” Right. I forgot that at school’s opening, parents arrive with flowers for their children’s teachers. This is very cynical, but isn't that a form, albeit a mild one, of corruption? Paying off teachers at term’s beginning? Maybe we're cynical because our very first year of living here an employee asked for his salary early so that he could “pay off” his son’s teacher in time for report cards – buying A's & B's for his D's & F's son. So when we see parents marching to school with fancy flowers in their arms twice a year, we kind of frown upon it. But is this any different than the apple of yore, placed on a teacher’s desk? Or is it any less sweet and innocent than the fabulous dollar store gems my sister used to accumulate at Christmas from her first graders? Anyway, I’m not really sure how to think about it now. But I think when we go to Briana’s new preschool tomorrow for the Opening Festival (we think we’ve found a place we can feel good about sending her 2-3 mornings a week) we will carry two bouquets of these gorgeous garden flowers, pictured. And if her teachers are pleased with our flowers, then we’ll feel good about bringing them. But if they register disappointment, or offense taken at us bringing mere garden flowers rather than the much more expensive and ghastly fluorescent-died, celophane-wrapped carnation arrangements, we’ll probably continue to frown upon these must-bring-ugly-and-expensive-flowers-to-your-teacher-days from here on out.

For us these matters are kind of an issue of timing. Giving an apple or a kitschy snow globe or flowers on the last day of the semester says, “Thank you for being such a good teacher to my child.” Offering gifts on the first day of the semester seems to say, “Please be as-good-as-my-gift-to-you-is to my child.” And then of course there is the matter of those whose scarce money would be better spent on a nutritious meal for their family then a gaudy bouquet, here today and gone tomorrow.

Strata Tusu, Number 5: One Year On

God bless the house,

From site to stay,

From beam to wall,

From end to end,

From ridge to basement,

From balk to roof-tree,

From found to summit,

Found and summit.

from Carmina Gadelica

It's been a year since we moved into our beautiful, wonderful home here on Tusu Street just outside of Lupeni. Neither words, nor pictures, can express how grateful we are to the 125 families and individuals that made this dream home come true for us. It's been a wonderful year. Thank you and bless you. Here are pictures of our home - your home to us - one year on.
Brandi, Dana, Briana, Kitty & Linda

Summer 2008 Highlights

Briana and I recently brainstormed some highlights of our wonderful summer and have selected some pictures to share with you. Here is our list:
1) Briana's 3rd birthday.
2) Homemade fruit buttermilk popscicles.
3) Kiddie pool with Carla and Bubu.
4) First garden, especially beets.
5) Playing with Madal in Germany.
6) Visit to America: Ma Ging, Pa Jack & Ma Carol, Auntie Holly, Baby Julia (esp. "Little Red Caboose"), Auntie Kiki, Uncle Greg and Muffy.
7) Splash Park, Bouncy Castle, High Tea, and Hannah in Oxford.
8) Going everywhere in Oxford with Pepe the Stroller.
9) Picking blueberries, making muffins.
10) The Klepac's visit.
11) Our 15th wedding anniversary.
12) First hike up Straja Mountain, with the Viata Program.
13) Wearing underwear all summer.
14) Camping in Fagaras Mountains with Janelle & Daniel.
15) Eating dinner outside all of August under perfect skies.
16) Having Brandi's melanoma caught early and completely removed.
17) Dana's 40th birthday bash.
18) California Zoos.
19) Going everywhere with Baby Doll.
20) Our puppy Linda.
21) Icecream!

We belong, at least one of us.

My husband is the first in our family to have the "badge of belonging" placed on him by our neighbors here on Tusu Street, a dusty country road along 2 rivers just outside of Lupeni. And it only took 11 months to happen, which is about 7 years quicker than it took in the Lupeni Communist block apartment where we lived for 8 years . Upon delivering 2 loaves of bread to our elderly neighbor – she is in her 80’s and is considered “Momarlani”* - he was bullied (if you can call a toothless woman hunched over her branch-cane, already half inebriated in the early evening a bully – you can!) into drinking 2 cups of her homemade plum brandy retrieved from a filthy barrel sitting in the middle of her living room floor with a dirty ladle into a questionable cup. I say bullied because despite every ounce of him that did not want to partake (and Dana is not so culture-shy that he can't usually find a way to politely turn down something...he's gotten out of eating raw pig's ears and lard jello over the years), refusing this time just wasn't possible. So he drank it. And now he belongs. I wonder in what form mine or Briana’s rites of passage will take?

Momarlani are the original peasants from this region of western Transylvania. “The Jiu Valley was settled even in Dacian times [around the time of Christ], but before the modern era was a zone of dispersed peasants practicing stock keeping and subsistence agriculture. These people call themselves and are called by others ‘momarlani’, a term derived from Hungarian for ‘those left behind’, as they stayed in the [Jiu] Valley after the post-World War I withdrawal of Austro-Hungarian forces.” (Our friend and anthropologist, David Kideckel)

Women's Work

Our Neighboorhood Washing Machine

Photo by Holly Baumann: Holly Baumann Photography, http://hbaumannphotography.com/default.aspx

Our New Laundry Room

As of this August, we have a real laundry room and we purchased the first washing machine of our lives, single or married. I have to check myself in how much I think about our Whirlpool. It will be the middle of the day, middle of the week, quiet here with just Briana and I puttering around the house, and I'll hear it humming along and find myself humming along with it, thankful for its presence as if it was an additional member of our household. Meanwhile our neighbors (litterly if I had a stronger arm I could throw a rock against the side of their house from our kitchen window) have an outhouse (because our home was formerly a B-n-B we have 4 bathrooms in our house!) and some of our neighbors do their laundry in this antique wash basin (photo by Holly Baumann) powered by diverted river water. Our house is so very comfortable and I'm grateful for these daily reminders, comparisons, that keep discomfort alive in our house as well.

Beet & Beet Green Salad

Beets (and lima beans) were the only foods I detested as a child. Now I cannot eat enough beets. We were going to save some beets from our garden for the winter, but have ended up eating all of them (along with their greens - Romanians think we are so weird as they consider these greens only suitable for animals) in this salad.

Beet & Beet Green Salad (from a Mothering magazine some time ago)

4 large beets (I do 2 or 3)

1/4 cup pumpkin or sunflower seeds, toasted - I do more

1 bunch beet greens (I do all the greens of the beets I use)

2 scallions, finely chopped

1/4 pound feta cheese (optional) - I do more

Dressing

3 T. extra-virgin olive oil

2 T. balsamic vinegar

3/4 t. Dijon mustard

1/4 t. freshly ground pepper

1 T. finely chopped fresh basil

Wash beets. Remove greens but leave beet tops and roots intact. Place beets in large pot filled with water and bring to boil. Lower heat and simmer until beets are tender (about 1 hour). Set aside to cool.

To prepare beet greens, wash by submerging the bunch in a sink full of cold water. Shake off water and drop greens into simmering water (I just use the water I've cooked the beets in). Let them cook for 30 seconds, until tender or juicy. Place greens in a colander and gently run cold water over them to halt cooking.

Toast seeds in a dry skillet over medium heat. Keep seeds moving to prevent burning. Seeds are ready when they begin to pop and give off a nutty aroma. Remove from skillet and set aside.

Place all dressing ingredients in a jar and shake well. (I double or triple the dressing amount.)

Peel beets by cutting off the tops and slipping skins off...slice beets. Squeeze excess water from beet greens and chop. Place beets, beet greens, pumpkin seeds, and scallions in salad bowl. Pour dressing and toss gently. Crumble feta cheese. Serve at room temp or chilled. Makes 6 servings.

Bear Bump-In

The night we picked up our second group of Northwestern University students, we stepped out of a restaurant in downtown Sinaia (a mountain resort 2 hours north of Bucharest) and into the very approximate range of a very large European brown bear (as big as this pictured) who was in the process of turning over the restaurant dumpster. Briana started crying as we retreated into the restaurant. The wait staff shrugged their shoulders, "He's here every night." The rest of the diners hurried out with their cell phones poised to photograph. We asked one waiter if the bear had hurt anyone yet and he laughed, "Not yet!" We waited for what seemed an interminable amount of time and then linked arms and sang "Lord I Lift Your Name on High" at the top of our lungs with an empty wine bottle raised high in defense as we hurried terrified through the woods back to our rooms, at any moment expecting to be attacked.

The bear situation in Brasov (and vicinity which includes Sinaia) is not a laughing matter, even though our "run-in" is a bit comical, now. Half of Europe's brown bears are reported to make their home in Romania. One official reports with concern that the bear population is beyond normal size and is growing too rapidly. And another official reported, "It's incredible. There are 28 bears that live near Jepilor Street (in the city of Brasov), more than live in Austria, Germany and the Czech Republic combined." Tourists to Brasov are offered, at a price, the chance to view bears up close as they forage through neighborhood trash dumpsters. This is one factor contributing to the dangerously blurred line between the bears' domain and that of humans. In August a man was killed 50 meters from Brasov's "urban zone" while walking his dog. In the same month " a 20-year-old man was ripped to shreds by a large female foraging for food, as he slept on a bench in an alley near downtown Brasov." Two years ago a friend of ours, working for IOCC, was mauled to death while hiking near Brasov. It's not a laughing matter and is enough to keep us away from that beautiful region, at least for now.

Sources: http://www.evz.ro/articole/detalii-articol/815759/Oferte-turistice-pe-traseul-ursilor-de-tomberon/
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/environment/article4470979.ece

The Other Princesses

Clockwise from Left: Sue Bates, Mother Theresa, Florence Nightingale, Dorothy Day.

Like Mordor, the Eye of Disney has found our daughter, all the way in remote Romania, thousands of latitudinal miles and hundreds of experiential miles away from the Magic Kingdom, without a single Disney movie under our roof. It’s like our daughter was born with a Disney-shaped-hole in her heart that can only be filled with the Disney princesses – and anything with them on it. What is this really about? At the age of 2, before she could be aware that other girls had similarly shaped holes in their hearts, she would toddle into a store and, as if a magnet was pulling her, amble directly to whatever was nearest covered in Disney princesses. And she wouldn't let go.

So Dana and I were thinking about creating a counter-world, a world full of princesses (of course they will have to be beautiful, lithe, and genteelly clothed): The Other Princesses. The Other Princesses, because they care for others. We’d give them an outward-focus, a moral beauty to surpass their physical appeal, a selflessness and moral courage and cleverness about tending to and mending the plight of others (be they wounded bunnies or the indigent or polluted waters).