I was sitting in the park downtown. A very old man walked slowly by. Somehow it seemed odd to me that he was pushing a baby stroller. I wondered what was really inside. It was very cold here, and he was fully stocked with winter ware, including those thick wool eastern European hats. Another very old man was walking by in the opposite direction. He also walked under thick clothes with a Russian winter hat. As the two were about to pass one another, the man without the stroller briefly acknowledged the other man and then stopped and investigated the contents of his stroller unabashedly. The countenance of both men changed into large grins. Then the stranger cooed and baby-talked to the little contents inside the stroller, with a softness I usually only hear from women's mouths (at times when women forget others are present and they are with a precious child). The man with the stroller joined in, also cooing unabasedly at the infant in the public park. Both men exchanged knowing smiles and then kept going.
I have had other opportunities to observe how men approach infants/children, and the examples I had seen so far were very similar to the example of these old men.
Cooing at this child seemed to culturally signify two things about these men.
#1 They are human. Having a tender heart toward children shows we have a soul and are not machines without feelings.
#2 They are men. In Romanian culture it is not embarassing to coo at a baby because the majority of men do it, are publicly observed doing it, and when they are observed doing it they are respected.
I am thankful that some men somewhere in the world feel free to coo.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Opening the Opera House
I mustered up enough courage to walk into the "Information Office" at the huge Opera House downtown. In Romanian I asked the man at the information desk about ballet in the city. He (and the other two in his small office) responded in the positive. After asking more questions, he led me upstairs to two girls. One of them spoke English. I could just tell from her strong, lean arms that she was some kind of dancer or gymnist. In the backgroud I could hear someone in the building singing opera. Being in that old European opera house, talking to this dancer, and hearing someone singing live opera in the backgroud was just like what I imagined it would be like to be a European Ballerina in Paris or Russia when I was a kid. I asked this woman where I could find ballet classes and she told me to return in the morning and talk with the directer (maestro!). "He doesn't speak English," she told me, "but the girls will help you." As she was speaking, a girl walked into our room. Her back was super straight and her feet turned out as she walked. The sight of her instantly increased my longing to dance! I was SO excited to find this place, and have the hope of dancing, and for the little adventure of going into the building and speaking Romanian that I wanted to sing and shout at the same time! :)
So this morning I woke up and put on my dance clothes and walked back to the Opera house. When I arrived there were many more people in the room small room, who looked at me as I entered. I made eye contact with a woman and then spoke to her in Romanian asking about taking dance classes and talking with the directer. (maestro!) All the romanians listened to me as a spoke with her. Hearing a foreigner was interesting enough for them to put what previously occupied them on hold.
I talked with the director, who spoke no English and watched part of a class before I left to work at the high school. Dancers were running around in costumes. They have a performance tomorrow night.
Like I said, we were inside on old opera house. This dance room was on the third floor with bars and mirrors and a great floor for the dancers and you could see the branches of trees (all bare) outside the nine windows in the room. You could faintly hear and see the busy Romanian city with people walking all over the streets and old cars pushing through the streets from these antique windows. Sun slipped through them, one of which was open in the cornor. All the heaters were turned on. An older joyful woman played the piano, and the head of a donkey (obviously part of a costume) was atop a table by the piano. The sight was poetry to one "hungry for dance." And It is great to hear a Romanian dance teacher saying the words so familour to a dancer, "sue-ta-new," plie, etc.
So this morning I woke up and put on my dance clothes and walked back to the Opera house. When I arrived there were many more people in the room small room, who looked at me as I entered. I made eye contact with a woman and then spoke to her in Romanian asking about taking dance classes and talking with the directer. (maestro!) All the romanians listened to me as a spoke with her. Hearing a foreigner was interesting enough for them to put what previously occupied them on hold.
I talked with the director, who spoke no English and watched part of a class before I left to work at the high school. Dancers were running around in costumes. They have a performance tomorrow night.
Like I said, we were inside on old opera house. This dance room was on the third floor with bars and mirrors and a great floor for the dancers and you could see the branches of trees (all bare) outside the nine windows in the room. You could faintly hear and see the busy Romanian city with people walking all over the streets and old cars pushing through the streets from these antique windows. Sun slipped through them, one of which was open in the cornor. All the heaters were turned on. An older joyful woman played the piano, and the head of a donkey (obviously part of a costume) was atop a table by the piano. The sight was poetry to one "hungry for dance." And It is great to hear a Romanian dance teacher saying the words so familour to a dancer, "sue-ta-new," plie, etc.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Speaking In Laughter
We were going to go for a walk tonight in the snow, but before I reached the road I saw 22 year-old Cosmin filling a large plastic bag with snow. "Have you ever done this?" He asked, as he placed the the bag on the icy road. The road was on a hill because our cabin was in the mountains and he slid down the road sitting on his plastic bag. His 19 year-old (?) wife followed him on her own bag a few moments later. When he returned he threw some more ice in the plastic bag and handed it to me. Cautiously I got down on the road and took off. It was SO fun to slide in the snow and the bag worked VERY well. When people offered me a plastic seat later, I declined. Because of the incline in the road we could slide quickly! and remember that it was night so we couldn't see so well, though the snow was a blinding white by day.
After a few times down the road on the plastic bag the Romanians introduced by demonstration the next level of sledding: "tail" sledding. First two people sat on plastic bags or seats on the icy road and faced each other, then a third person sat behind the second person and wraped their legs around them. Then a fourth person was added and so on until there were 8 people sliding down the mountain like a snake escaping fire.
Later I got the courage to join. It was one of the best dangereous decisions I've made! We really built speed all together, holding someone's legs, feeling someone's arms wraped around yours, holding on tight so our tail wouldn't break (which I did; which was also fun). I remember laughing as we walked back up the hill in the night and telling myself that I had to record this moonlit night and the moments I had of really losing myself in laughter and loving life. I noted this as we walked back up the road telling each other in laughter what a good time we were having.
After a few times down the road on the plastic bag the Romanians introduced by demonstration the next level of sledding: "tail" sledding. First two people sat on plastic bags or seats on the icy road and faced each other, then a third person sat behind the second person and wraped their legs around them. Then a fourth person was added and so on until there were 8 people sliding down the mountain like a snake escaping fire.
Later I got the courage to join. It was one of the best dangereous decisions I've made! We really built speed all together, holding someone's legs, feeling someone's arms wraped around yours, holding on tight so our tail wouldn't break (which I did; which was also fun). I remember laughing as we walked back up the hill in the night and telling myself that I had to record this moonlit night and the moments I had of really losing myself in laughter and loving life. I noted this as we walked back up the road telling each other in laughter what a good time we were having.
New Years Knees
First written January 1st on the train from Sambateni to Cluj, Romania
For New Years I was at the Foster's with plenty of other people from their village. Lots of goodies and vegetable salads were made. Alina M. was going to write down questions and put them on cards for people to answer. I thought of a good amount of the questions in the end (and I fear they may have seemed ridiculous to the Romanians) and Ioana came up with some, too. Then we did something I've always wanted to do at the New Year. We got down on our knees and prayed. And we really prayed - like we never do in America. We spent time in prayer. Aluna broke down in tears praying. How beautiful to see in a beautiful 15 year old girl.
I loved spending time on the floor. This is how we brought in the New Year.
For New Years I was at the Foster's with plenty of other people from their village. Lots of goodies and vegetable salads were made. Alina M. was going to write down questions and put them on cards for people to answer. I thought of a good amount of the questions in the end (and I fear they may have seemed ridiculous to the Romanians) and Ioana came up with some, too. Then we did something I've always wanted to do at the New Year. We got down on our knees and prayed. And we really prayed - like we never do in America. We spent time in prayer. Aluna broke down in tears praying. How beautiful to see in a beautiful 15 year old girl.
I loved spending time on the floor. This is how we brought in the New Year.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Losing Power
We were sitting in Church on a Sunday evening singing a song when the lights suddenly went out. It wasn't just the lights that went out. We lost all power in the building.
We didn't stop singing. We just kept singing in the dark. Nobody screamed or paniced when the lights went out. We could all hear one another singing loudly. In fact, it seemed that when the lights went out these determined people only sang louder. There was a stubborness in their voice that said, "Turn of the lights! Turn off all power! We can worship God in the dark!" The hinderence to worshiping our God ironically seemed to make us better worshipers. If you listened closely underneath the sturdy voices you could here the guitarest, far away on the stage without the power of an amp, still strumming the chords. Then we got to the end of the song (I think the only person who needed the words on the overhead was me. Everybody else seemed to have every verse memorised). It was still dark. The pastor's voice was heard at the front of the church. He begain preaching as though the lights were on. Church kept on going. Someone in the balcony turned on a small flash light and shinned it on the pastor, but the light was so weak it barely made a difference.
When the lights finally did come on in the middle of the sermon, what do you think happened? Absolutely nothing. Nobody seemed to care. The pastor just walked up to the pulpit and continued preaching, now with the aid of the microphone.
It was so great to see in this example of what church was to these people. It was them.
We didn't stop singing. We just kept singing in the dark. Nobody screamed or paniced when the lights went out. We could all hear one another singing loudly. In fact, it seemed that when the lights went out these determined people only sang louder. There was a stubborness in their voice that said, "Turn of the lights! Turn off all power! We can worship God in the dark!" The hinderence to worshiping our God ironically seemed to make us better worshipers. If you listened closely underneath the sturdy voices you could here the guitarest, far away on the stage without the power of an amp, still strumming the chords. Then we got to the end of the song (I think the only person who needed the words on the overhead was me. Everybody else seemed to have every verse memorised). It was still dark. The pastor's voice was heard at the front of the church. He begain preaching as though the lights were on. Church kept on going. Someone in the balcony turned on a small flash light and shinned it on the pastor, but the light was so weak it barely made a difference.
When the lights finally did come on in the middle of the sermon, what do you think happened? Absolutely nothing. Nobody seemed to care. The pastor just walked up to the pulpit and continued preaching, now with the aid of the microphone.
It was so great to see in this example of what church was to these people. It was them.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
At the Catacombs in Rome, Italy
Today I had a glorious time at the catacombs in Rome.
We had an English-speaking guide from the states.
He asked me if I was from Spain because he didn't expect Americans in Rome in December. I was a surprise, and he was a surprise to me.
He told the story of martyrs so plainly, as if he were reading the instructions for how to replace a lock. He didn't speak irreverently, just simply. He aimed to relate history.
Yet, how could I keep from weeping at his words? Did he see the tears in my eyes? Why wasn't everyone else crying? How precious! How glorious to be in those tombs. I felt unworthy to be the sister of those who were buried here long ago.
Our guide calmly reminded us of death in a peaceful and fatherly way and of heaven and hell, and expressed that he hopes for heaven. His hope was beautiful in part because it was humble. He wasn't braging, though some in this world would say he had a right to. He spent his days as some kind of priest (as far as I know) in ROME, as a CATHOLIC, talking about martyrs of the faith (all things that seem to qualify Him for eternal life). You'd think he'd have a right to brag, an earthly right. But in truth he was humble, as we should be. Can we, too, go to heaven? Though there is no fire on our back or wild dogs encircling us, as some martyrs faced? Even us who might forsake our faith should we encounter such a moment? Can we weak in faith be His sheep?
In answer to this question think again over the parable in Matthew 20 about the workers in the vineyard.
"The workers who were hired about the eleventh hour came and each received a denarius. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. 'These men who were hired last worked only one hour,' they said, 'and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work in the heat of the day.'
"But he answered one of them, 'Friend, I am not being unfair to you. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?'
Can you believe that we will receive the same wage as the martyers? This is because our Lord is generous.
We had an English-speaking guide from the states.
He asked me if I was from Spain because he didn't expect Americans in Rome in December. I was a surprise, and he was a surprise to me.
He told the story of martyrs so plainly, as if he were reading the instructions for how to replace a lock. He didn't speak irreverently, just simply. He aimed to relate history.
Yet, how could I keep from weeping at his words? Did he see the tears in my eyes? Why wasn't everyone else crying? How precious! How glorious to be in those tombs. I felt unworthy to be the sister of those who were buried here long ago.
Our guide calmly reminded us of death in a peaceful and fatherly way and of heaven and hell, and expressed that he hopes for heaven. His hope was beautiful in part because it was humble. He wasn't braging, though some in this world would say he had a right to. He spent his days as some kind of priest (as far as I know) in ROME, as a CATHOLIC, talking about martyrs of the faith (all things that seem to qualify Him for eternal life). You'd think he'd have a right to brag, an earthly right. But in truth he was humble, as we should be. Can we, too, go to heaven? Though there is no fire on our back or wild dogs encircling us, as some martyrs faced? Even us who might forsake our faith should we encounter such a moment? Can we weak in faith be His sheep?
In answer to this question think again over the parable in Matthew 20 about the workers in the vineyard.
"The workers who were hired about the eleventh hour came and each received a denarius. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. 'These men who were hired last worked only one hour,' they said, 'and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work in the heat of the day.'
"But he answered one of them, 'Friend, I am not being unfair to you. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?'
Can you believe that we will receive the same wage as the martyers? This is because our Lord is generous.
Friday, December 1, 2006
Wives' Tales
There is an old wives' tale that is only said to be effective during the dreams that you have while you sleep the evening of November 30th (the eve of a National Romanian holiday for their country - like our 4th of July.) This tale says that if you eat a piece of bread with salt right before going to bed, and then dream that a man brings you a cup of water then that man in your dream will be your husband.
Whenever you get the hiccups here, that means somebody is thinking about you. If you can think of the person is who is thinking about you, your hiccups will stop.
Whenever the clock has a double time and you happen to see it (like 22:22 or 11:11) that means someone wants you.
Whenever you get the hiccups here, that means somebody is thinking about you. If you can think of the person is who is thinking about you, your hiccups will stop.
Whenever the clock has a double time and you happen to see it (like 22:22 or 11:11) that means someone wants you.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
"Smack that"
Today at the gym a Romanian woman asked Vio (my roommate) to ask me what "smack" meant in English. A pop song was playing of which the chorus consisted of the words "Smack that!"
How does one explain what "smack that" means?
I told her that "smack" can mean a kiss, or it can also refer to the sound made when a person hits another person. Or it could mean "junk," no? Help me out here English speakers!
"SMACK THAT!"
How does one explain what "smack that" means?
I told her that "smack" can mean a kiss, or it can also refer to the sound made when a person hits another person. Or it could mean "junk," no? Help me out here English speakers!
"SMACK THAT!"
Monday, November 27, 2006
One time in a finance class
I went with my Roommate, Violeta, to one of her finance classes. Vio talked to the teacher before hand to ask if I could sit in on the class. Bringing an American to his class seemed to catch him off gaurd, but he had no problems with it. Once inside the class of possibly 75 students, I noticed they were all taking notes while he spoke (In Romanian, of course). I was prepared with my student note book. I took notes of the interesting sounds he was making, though I had no idea what they meant or if I was hearing them correctly - then he started walking around the classroom as he spoke. Vio and I were sitting right by an isle. I decided the best way to keep from being noticed was to try to act normal and at ease as he passed by. Apparently I was doing a pretty good job acting like I knew what he was talking about, because he paused in the middle of his lecture as He passed by us and looked at me, saying in Romanian, "Do you understand what I'm teaching about?" I paused because I wasan't 100% sure of his question, though I knew he was talking to me and asking about my understanding.
"No," I said in English. (Speaking in English would make my point more clearly, right?)
And then he said the nicest thing, "Probably about as much as I would understand if this class were taught in English." Then he continued teaching and I continued taking notes
After the class I thanked him and he asked how it was. "Bine," I said. He told me he thought the best way for me to study the Romanian language was with a Romanian man.
"No," I said in English. (Speaking in English would make my point more clearly, right?)
And then he said the nicest thing, "Probably about as much as I would understand if this class were taught in English." Then he continued teaching and I continued taking notes
After the class I thanked him and he asked how it was. "Bine," I said. He told me he thought the best way for me to study the Romanian language was with a Romanian man.
One time at the bus stop
I travel on the city bus.
An old woman at the bus stop asks questions (In Romanian) about which bus to take.
"I don't speak Romanian," I tell her (In Romanian).
"Then what do you speak!?" she asks (Romanian) as though it's possible I don't speak at all.
"I speak English." (In Romanian)
(In Romanian) "I don't speak English. I speak German. I speak Italian. I speak Romanian, and my daughters, they don't speak English either. One time . . . but I do know some words in English. (In English) I love you, goodbye, hello, go. (In Romanian) So I will tell you: (English) Goodbye."
She was very cute.
An old woman at the bus stop asks questions (In Romanian) about which bus to take.
"I don't speak Romanian," I tell her (In Romanian).
"Then what do you speak!?" she asks (Romanian) as though it's possible I don't speak at all.
"I speak English." (In Romanian)
(In Romanian) "I don't speak English. I speak German. I speak Italian. I speak Romanian, and my daughters, they don't speak English either. One time . . . but I do know some words in English. (In English) I love you, goodbye, hello, go. (In Romanian) So I will tell you: (English) Goodbye."
She was very cute.
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