Kitty's Kiss

I have an honest to Thor blister on my left pointer finger.

It is the less painful injury done to pointer fingers today, but it is the one I'll force to continue. I'm not so great at playing guitar, and I can't tune it without internet aid, and I forgot my capo in Chisinau, and I am as slow to memorize song lyrics as I am to memorize anything, but I really like doing it. What is that?

The right pointer succumbed to too much organic grown hot chillis being torn for soup. That oil does not wash off and it took quite a shine to the bed of my nail. Yes, I washed! but 5 hours later, the bed began to burn... wash wash wash! I sucked at it like it was snake poison.

Not Lefty. That I pressed against the fresh boiled side of my coffee mug. Thicken callous, thicken!

Foot Baths – Yes!

Surely, someone, somewhere at some point told me why there are so many foot baths in the Bible, but it didn't stick. Culturally aware folks who read the bible think, yea, well, paired with so many descriptions of sandals and long ass walks, no way Galilee ain't going to be full of foot bathers, like shoe shiners of 1950s New York. Or, in a particularly Moldovan preoccupation, in keeping your house and rugs clean.

Upon entering any domicile, everyone takes their shoes off immediately. Houses are kept pristine in the case that some person may just drop in on you. I've received many a nuanced urging to keep my room tidier if I'm going to tutor children here. The parents of said children may think me unfit to teach them, or Maria to host me if my room is cluttered or unswept. I'm not even messy. In the course of a day, sure, things get scattered as I jump from guitar to drawing, to researching history, drink various things, make snacks, blow my nose, plan lessons, scan grammar charts, check email etc. But I periodically get claustrophobic and put everything away! I also never wear shoes in the house.

Once, at The Lost Dog (beloved), the new kid (shit what was his name! He was 17 and a stoner...) was closing shop by himself the first time. Closing the Dog entails dozens of minute cleaning tasks, but the last is always the floor, which we have (present tense on purpose—I don't think ex employees are ever considered “ex”, clarify with Garth, but there's only one ex employee not allowed behind the counter whenever to make his or her own drinks – free.) to wash by hand.

Ah... never is there a day I don't dream of scrubbing that 300 year old, original colonial floor but 6 inches from my face. Damn...

But! I digress.

Stoner. Right. So, it being his first time, he was taking awhile. 3 hours awhile (average = 35 minutes). Garth walked up at 9pm to see what had gone wrong and was all worked up and ready to bust Stoner for breaking the water something or spilling all the bean something. Stoner was inching around the floor in his bare feet, rag in hand. Forgetting his anger (as always in the face of something truly awesome) Garth went in and asked what Stoner was doing!

Stoner: washing the floor.

Garth: with your toes? You're not even using that rag in your hand! Where's your water?

Stoner: Water's there.

Garth : Don't use that bucket! Use this bucket back here! Your rag has a hole in it – is that a bleach rag?! What are you doing?!

Stoner: I'm checking the floor with my toes.

Garth: what?!

Stoner: Your toes are really sensitive. I already washed the floor and now I'm checking to make sure I got all the dust.

Garth: Oh.

Stoner: …

Garth: Well, you're late. Where's the day's money?

Then Garth told us all the story of Stoner and his toes and how maybe we should ALL do that. We didn't, but you get the point.

Feet are amazing. Feet crushing is a preferred torture for a reason. They feel all that dirt, all those crevices you think are just callous, all that jam from you fluffy socks, all that Galilee dust and flakes from dry sandals? Yea, it's all felt.

One of first things I noticed was a habit of Moldova was the foot, shoe thing. I'd walk around my room and notice if there was too much dust buildup on the floor and hair buildup in the rugs. I can't let my room get messy because I feel every speck of dirt and dead bug. Hole punch collateral sticks to my soles. Cat fur sticks to my toes.

Thus, I vacuum often. Just gross not to.

It's also just gross not to wash your feet at the end of the day. Even if you don't take a shower, while brushing one's teeth, rinse off the feet. Even if you lead a teacher's sedentary life rather than a farmer's robust one—the water will still brown. Even if you don't use soap, you'll still see the day wash off. And afterwards...oh tingly goodness! Cleanliness is next to godliness because God likes foot baths. God has good reason. They feel freaking awesome! Wash yours today!

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/44/2010/07/palin-invents-word-compares-he.html?hpid=topnews

Yes, crazy lady, English is a living language, but the people who are allowed to play with it are not the ones elected and expected to hold it up. Politicians being one such group of professionals. Unfortunately for some people in the world, the professions they choose do not jive with what the may have been better suited for.

Like me, teacher. I don't especially like children, and I agree with Thomas Jefferson on the whole governing thing. Thus, I am looking for alternatives. Or, like politicians who might have been better off as stand up comics or actors or Televangelists or moose hunters or whatever.

Besides it doesn't really matter how one makes up words as long as the ones the make up work with what they're saying. Eg. "Refudiate" -- ok. I kinda like it. Good combo of Refute and Repudiate. Semantics aside, (they're pretty close) it has a nice undulation to it. Like a furry Lolita.

But when you are threatening war on someone you cannot misunderestimate your message.

PS. as you'll find out if you read the article, you can't have both conviction in your new word AND delete it from you twitter. Idiot.

I Took a Survey

This is what I said:

Involve more host country nationals in training. The largest problem I face is the lack of motivation of Host Country Nationals. If they were more involved with me while I was being trained, they would have more similar levels of motivation. A problem with involving them is removing them for training from their homes and jobs. If things like Pre Service Training and In Service Training were broken up into regional training grounds rather than focused in the capital, though it would cost more initially, more HCNs would be able to participate and would better understand Peace Corps and its goals. My partners had never heard of Peace Corps until they were assigned to work with me and even then it's been a year of working together, and they still have limited understanding of the scope of such an enterprise.

Using money, instead, to bolster our training and that of our partners will not only integrate us more effectively into our communities more quickly, but will maximize a ghost of sustainability, which, up until this point, only appears in the budding attitudes of children.

Moldova Fabulous

Among the Eurotrash Elite cultures and fashions, I fear Moldova may be left out of the lime light incorrectly. While, sure, I'll grant that it's politics and exports are, to date, lameduck in comparison to mobsters from Ukraine and granite from Italy, I am sad to report that Moldovan teens and tweens beat out Berliner Punks, Londonite Skanks and Finnish Goths for Fabulosity--and get no credit for it.

Never does a day go by that my breath is not taken by varying forms of tight jeans, shiny tights, hooker heels, man purses, jewely clips, eye liner of all shades and thicknesses. Anything you can bedazzle or prop up to fight gravity is beadazzled and propped. Boobs to butt cheeks to toes to bangs. The engineering boys and girls put into their daily ensembles puts even my most conscious American Apparel hipster friends to shame.

And I quite like it. Although that many sparkles will never do credit to my German ploughman legs, they certainly will help my new fangled page boy hair cut. Little butterflies in my nose length locks, metal criss-crossing spirals with rhinestone bows can band them back. Various tight french braids from left to right like Princess Leia in a rave. Yea. Moldova Fabulous is just right for me now.

I'm a little ashamed I cut my hair myself. I'm skint, sure, but how much does a Moldovan hair cut really cost? Maybe $3. At the outside.

Here I am confronted with my timidity. Frizeries, Moldovan barbarshops, are infamous among Volunteers for their out of hand enthusiasm for mullets and shaved in racing stripes. While some of our ranks revel in this, well, one, I, uh.... I'm just plain scared of encountering an argument about how my hair could be more frumos. Thus the compromise. I cut, then tomorrow blow the $3 I would have spent at the new frizerie in town at the piata for clips and colors and sparkles.

I'm going to get to London in two weeks and show those mini skirts up!

New Kids

Today is the day we welcome a new kid to town. The 60 odd volunteers fresh for 2010-2012 service, are finally here. After much hope by many for cute boys and girls who speak English, we, the 1 year veterans, are not disappointed.

They've been in country for a month, and this past week they found out where their permanent host families in their permanent communities are. It was a frenzied map filling in the smothering gym of our training site, full of excited and terrified squeals of anticipation. Given a community dossier and town name, each new trainee was led to a triangle of paper on the wood ground with the name of their town or village on it. There they stood until all the noobs were placed. The idea, here, and it's very effective, is to show relatively just how close or far away you are from your recently developed friends.

Usually, you're far apart. My favorite noob is a medieval jousting re-enactor named Ben. He, for example, is 5 hours south of me. But! conveniently close to another friend of mine. All downs have ups.

It's pretty fun. They even get free ice cream!

Not my town though, my town is too small to have a new kid. So I'm in Singerei, with Matt and Melissa and their new kid Yoel.

The plan, weather and host families permitting: picnic/hike with some traditional Moldovan BBQ and Singerei community developer ladies.

That's today.

I have one person near me in Balatina, her name is Shannon and lives 40 minutes east and 40 minutes north of me. She has a big smile and less than the usual fear of breaking off from the herd. I like her. Her aura is friendly. I hope to be meeting her every other weekend or so in our raion center (county capital) for tasty Moldovan pizza and tasty Moldovan beer.

Shannon, this weekend is out of reach, the site visit is too quick for me to get out there or for her to get into town. I'll get to meet her as a real real Volunteer in August or September. wee!

Coffee

Coffee in Moldova, like in Britain, comes in the form of Nescafe crystals. Dehydrated flakes of coffee lain out on a huge conveyor belt and crushed with a sterile bulldozer thing, bottled and shipped to people who use coffee as a social lubricant like frat boys use kegs.

That is, it's instant. 1 spoon coffee, 2 spoons sugar, boiled well water.

So, I bought a french press. It holds 3 or 4 cups of delicious steeped coffee and if you use espresso grounds you get them filming the bottom for delicious chewing at the end of every cup.

It's lovely. And the Moldovan don't know quite what to do with it.

I also keep a jar of crystals around for emergencies.