May 11, 2009

7 Days, 20 hours, 36 minutes.

They told me the time would fly and I knew it would. I just can't believe it's almost over. I've been finishing all of my "lasts" for a few months now and there aren't many left. I've already had my last bus ride home, my last visits to all of my friends' villages, my last walk to the beach. Pretty much all that lies ahead is my last goodbye and my last train ride out of the country.Was it all worth it? Am I glad I came? After two years of indifference at site, ecology speeches, yelling people, cabbage and sausage, drunks, trains and busses, an outhouse, hand washing my clothes, not understanding and possessed children who shoot me with BB guns, I can say without a doubt that this was the best experience of my life. Before I get to the sappy, sentimental reasons I'll miss this place, I should make a note about what I will not miss. Just because I loved my life here doesn't mean I was always happy. I've had my fair share of depressed moments and winters. As with any list I'm sure I will miss something, but you'll get the general idea.Reason One: I've seen all of my movies at least thirty times. I've watched the second Narnia movie at least five times and dammit!, that lion gets me every time! How can you not cry when they go back to the real world knowing that they will never see Narnia again? Not only that, I just finished watching Wall-E for the tenth time and it is still pulling at my heart strings. I just want to give that little animated robot a big hug! And I admit it, I watched Robocop I last night (there are three…do I dare watch the second tonight?!) and thought it was pretty darn awesome – what catch phrases, like when Robo says "your move, scumbag," in his robo voice. It doesn't get much better than that. Don't even get me started on Roadhouse with Patrick Swayze.Reason Two: I "knew" this group of students in university that called themselves the Potato Bandits. One night, after way too many days spent at this particular building, they decided they needed to do something to pay it back for the misery and depression it caused. After much research and planning, they "potatoed" the school, among other things. Basically, that means they hid potatoes all over the building, in every corner and in every room. They even glued plastic eyes to some of them. I often recall this memory in Ukraine. Not only because I happened to be here in the International Year of the Potato, but because I was forced to eat potatoes for over a year before I decided to ban all forms from my life. If that's not karma I don't know what is. Reason Three: There are 52 weeks in a year. I like to get out of my field for a bit of perspective and friendship, which means a lot of traveling. The bus to Odessa takes a minimum of 2.5 hours. Let's say I travel for 42 weekends a year. If I was just going to Odessa, that means I spent 420 hours on a bus in the past two years, round trip. Realistically, I was more often going farther than Odessa. The minimum train ride is eight hours. The maximum I took was 23. Let's estimate that half of the trips I take are to farther destinations than Odessa – let's just estimate at 10 hours. 1,260 hours, or roughly 52 days or 7 weeks, were spent in transit. Yeah yeah, I know that a lot of you travel a lot in your cars or on planes. I'm talking about 52 days spent on old soviet buses and trains. Busses that shoot exhaust through the air vents and that regularly break down, and on trains that flush openly onto the tracks and that are more often than not packed with drunks. And somehow I am still going to miss those trains.Reason Four: I'm almost 29 and I live in a room.Reason Five: Drunks are everywhere. It's a huge problem in my village, in the cities, on the busses and trains. I can smell them coming and see them staggering down the street. And speaking of bad habits I won't miss the smokers. A no-smoking section in a restaurant consists of a sign on a table. It doesn't matter if the table next to you has smokers or not. And everyone smokes. Boo!Reason Six: The word was said aloud a few weeks ago: Indifference. I always felt that the teachers at my school were indifferent towards me, but to have one of them actually put it into words is….I don't know what the correct reaction is – vindication that I didn't do as much as I wanted because people here weren't willing to help, or the sense of a lost opportunity. I almost switched sites at the beginning but was convinced to stay. If I had moved, would it have been to somewhere that really wanted a volunteer? But that's all the looking back with regret or 'what ifs' you're going to get. It is what it is.Reason Seven: I fear for my sense of fashion. I have no qualms about wearing a horizontally striped shirt with my pin stripped dress pants. The most compliments I have received at school was when I wore my new hot pink, teal and white striped sweater with the lace up neck paired with my army green dress pants. And I almost thought that the red scrunchie I had in my hair last week was cool….almost.Reason Eight: In music school I learned to never call a classical piece a "song." I actually did that a few weeks ago. I went from music school snob to techno at 8 am. That needs to change….maybe. Sometimes.

Reason Nine: Yelling people. Why do they need to yell? Why do they tell me I'm stupid for having an accent? I am a non-confrontational person living in a confrontational culture. Reason Ten: There are stray dogs everywhere and I've been lucky to get by without a bite, though there are plenty of times when I've been threatened. Dogs here are very territorial – not the conventional American pet you're used to. Luckily I just finished Marley & Me and after bawling at the Simpferopol train station I have a renewed love of our furry friends. Cats are still kinda gross though.

I'm sure there are more reasons but dwelling on them isn't the best idea. Though honestly, I am at a point where I look at the "negatives" with more humor or sadness than anger. They are part of what made life here what it was. Perhaps after the above revelations you can't imagine me crying at all for the life I will soon leave behind. Perhaps the reason I always cry at the end of Narnia is because I identify with it. The kids go to another world where the characters are fighting and unhappy. But their lives are all about the adventure in this new place and what they learn from it. When it's time to return to their real lives they only have each other to reminisce about their past life with. Yeah. I just compared my life with Narnia.In the end, I can honestly say that I've loved my life here – not my job, and I am always clear about differentiating life and work – but everyday life. I will miss the soviet trains even though the toilets empty onto the tracks. I will miss the extensive bus system even though my snot is black for 6 hours after because of the exhaust. I will miss travelling to friends' sites and cooking Mexican lasagna or something equally unhealthy with extra sour cream. I will miss the crazy traditions like taking shots and jumping over burning tires and standing in church until 4 am on Easter morning and then gorging on paska and eggs. I will miss the feeling of accomplishment when I have a successful conversation in Russian.

What really made life here amazing is what it gave to me. It gave me independence. It gave me patience. It gave me laughter and taught me to dance. And it gave me the most supportive and understanding friends imaginable. There are few situations in life that someone can say they know exactly what you are talking about. I'm talking about mundane, everyday Ukrainian things, like a non-supportive community, forced ecology speeches, getting drunk at school or having the drunkard that smells like alcohol and fish sit near you on the bus. I can call my friends any day, any day, with any kind of story and get a similar story in return. When I return home these will be the people I call when I'm having trouble readjusting. The people that will be going through the exact same thing for a time.In Ukraine I learned to laugh at the unexpected and unintended situations. A bus breaking down on the side of the road for four hours is just life. A woman offering Mackenzie a bite of her block of butter is hilarious. A friend falling in a trough of cow shit is a once in a lifetime story. And really, why worry about situations that can't change? For all of the really bad moments I've had here, I've had a corresponding really good moment. Whether that moment was something huge like jumping over burning tires while doing vodka shots or it's something small like sitting on a bench in Odessa with friends on the first warm day of spring; it's these moments that make up life. And you know what Rhianna and T.I. say. Just LIVE YOUR LIFE!My goal in coming to Peace Corps was to become a better person - a very broad goal – and overall I'd say I am. I learned not only about a new culture and language, but about myself and what I am capable of. I've always considered myself somewhat shy and reticent but when I tell my friends here that they laugh. I'm more confident, patient, aware and spontaneous. I have no qualms about dancing on a busy street for a music video. The biggest fear that lies ahead is this little place called America. My reference for the past two years is Ukraine and will thus be the only thing I am capable of talking about….I apologize in advance, but please understand, this is my life. Here I am always ready for the unexpected and have come to expect a certain amount of chaos and misunderstandings in daily life. I have a feeling that this is going to make life in America feel somewhat slow. Oddly though, you'll have to mix in the fact that the pace of life is slower here. So while I'll feel that life is slow because of a lack adventure and Ukrainian chaos, the pace will be going much too quickly for me. What do you mean I have to finish something in a day? What will I do tomorrow?Actually tomorrow I am going to pack my backpack (for the last time) and walk through the fields of yellow flowers (for the last time) and clean my room (for the last time). Mark your calendars kids. After a brief detour in Budapest, Egypt, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, I'll be landing in sunny Detroit on June 20, exactly two years after being sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteer.

Peace OUT Ukraine!! I'll miss you. I really will.

May 29, 2009With only 19 days left in Peace Corps I had gotten to a point where I stopped expecting the unexpected. I figured that everything crazy that would happen to me had already happened. Hell, I've been trapped in a gym with tires stacked by the wonderful boys at school (sarcasm), shot with a BB gun, been recruited to give ecology speeches about fake programs in America and was present when a baba offered my friend Mackenzie a bite of her block of butter. So yesterday, when the unexpected once again reared its ugly face I was caught off guard.Eryn and I headed to the Kyiv train station at 10 pm when the office closed. Our train to Simpferopol was scheduled to leave at 10:47. It is important to note that we didn't have regular printed tickets. Eryn bought the tickets in her village so we had ghetto hand written tickets. We had little reason to doubt these tickets validity as we had used them often in the past. We walked up the platform in search of wagon 21. Eighteen was the last car. Thinking this was some counting error on part of the train – it's happened before – we walked to the other end. We asked workers along the way where wagon 21 could be and nobody knew. When we finally arrived at wagon 1 where we were told there was no wagon 21 (obviously). All the other information on the ticket was correct. We were told to hurry to the cashier in the train station to help us. We had 15 minutes before the train left.Eryn sprinted down the platform, dropped her bag and ran upstairs while I waited. The station was really busy so she cut in front of the line. She was told that our tickets were valid, we purchased them, so there must be seats for us. We were supposed to get on the train. She ran back to the platform where we proceeded to approach every wagon. All of them told us it was our problem that there was no wagon 21 and that they had no seats in their wagon.We once again arrived at wagon 1. There were two women working this wagon and the one was nice and helpful, telling us to get on the train. The other was yelling to everyone she could about how two Americans were trying to get onto the train. The nice woman was on the phone trying to figure out a solution. That's when the train started moving and she yelled, "Get off the train! Get off the train!" So we jumped out of the moving train, crying out of frustration, and stood on the platform watching as our train pulled away towards Crimea.I wish I had a video of us standing there. We were totally dejected, tears running down our faces, standing with our huge packs and shitty tickets looking after a train and swearing because the situation was so unbelievable, so unexpected, so Ukraine. As we stood there the conductors on another train called down to us from the engine to see what the problem was. They explained that the Simferopol train had no wagon 21 (really?) and that there was another train tomorrow. As they explained this a man that had been saying goodbye to his wife on wagon 1 came up and offered to help us find another ticket. He took us to the complaints/problems desk where they told us it was our problem there was no wagon 21. He took us to the ticket counter where we were told there were no tickets. He insisted that there must be at least two tickets and miraculously, when she actually checked her computer, two were found. Lastly we stood in line to return our "fake tickets." After an hour waiting in one line it abruptly shut down. By then it was already past midnight. We waited another 45 minutes before receiving a refund of 30% what we paid. Apparently it wasn't their problem there was no wagon 21.What surprises me most about this is that in that moment where we stood dejected on the platform, I started laughing. When the conductors asked us what the problem was I kept the tears coming in hope that someone would take pity and help us. Later, talking to Eryn, she was doing the exact same thing. The situation is so ridiculous that all we can do is laugh and wish we had a video of us standing crestfallen on the platform. Moral of the story – never stop expecting the unexpected.

It is not so often now that I see things in this country that are new to me. At some point my attitude shifted from, "holy shit, is that baba eating a block of butter? Did she just offer you a bite?" to "wow. That baba's purse is meowing. She stuffed her cat in her purse to take the bus. That's the third one this week." Yesterday proved to be one of those ever more rare "block of butter" moments.I call the holiday Butter Day, but I'm sure there is a much better translation of it somewhere. It is the day before lent starts. It is the last day people are allowed to eat sweets, meat and dairy products, though honestly I have never met a Ukrainian who actually follows this rule.

Eryn and I headed over to Eileen's tiny village to celebrate the holiday, which consists of eating a lot, getting drunk, and then jumping over a huge fire to ensure luck through the year. A winner combination. The fire was billowing black smoke and was taller than me when we arrived. That's because they burn tires. Big tires. Tractor tires. We all took a chance jumping through the flames and drinking shots of wine or vodka in between. Eileen's neighbor, Grisha, was really excited about the jumping part and kept grabbing one of us and making us jump again, even after the second tire was piled on. Before long I was seated on Baba Raia's lap while she put her coat around me, snuggled me like a two year old, and even bounced me on her leg. I finally told her I was quite warm enough seeing that there was a huge fire eight feet away.I should mention that before the fire jumping started Eryn, Eileen and I were completely immersed in season one of 24. So when I saw a boy with a fake gun rolling around on the ground and hiding behind trees I thought it would be fun to mess with him a little. I used the cover of a tree to run towards him and then blasted him with my fake hand gun using an awesome sound effect that, unfortunately, cannot be duplicated in writing. I thought it was a pretty funny joke until about a half an hour later when, mid conversation, I was shot in the shoulder by a BB gun.

"Ouch!" Everyone kind of went quiet."OUCH! Malchik (boy)! 'Gun sound effect and hand motion!'" Perhaps my best translation to date. It got the job done though and the gun disappeared – hopefully in the fire. We headed home covered in black soot, but positive that our year ahead would be full of some kind of luck.

2-11-08 After much thought, I've decided that after Peace Corps I am going to move to Texas and start a band. A degree in music has given me the technical experience and my years at the Detroit Symphony Orchestra have given me the management experience needed to succeed. What's even better, my little brother has expressed interest. Family groups are so hot right now. Just think of the past success rate – The Jackson 5, The Jonas Brothers, Mary-Kate and Ashley, those kids that sang the 'mmmm-bop' song. Seriously – it will be awesome.So what are you going to do with your future?

THE FUTURE. A.k.a. the scariest words in Peace Corps at the moment. It's not just that I'm not sure what I want to do; it is that I'm clueless. I honestly thought that after two years here I would have an idea. I thought that something would jump out at me and send me in the right direction. For awhile it made sense not to focus on the question. Just give it some time, right? Later I convinced myself that I would research the next time I had Internet. Ha! I forgot how to spend time on the Internet. The first time I seriously started to look I got hives. That may have been from the gas stove that was heating the apartment just behind me, but I'm convinced it was the stress of where to begin. I've googled "the perfect job" and then in desperation, "the perfect job for Emily." I did get to take a fun quiz after the first search. It told me I was a loner and should look into something that avoided people. Right. Who takes these quizzes anyway?For awhile I persuaded myself that I would move to Kauai with my oldest brother and….well it was really just the Kauai part that got me thinking, but now that people aren't taking vacations to tropical islands that would probably be a bad idea, seeing that there are no jobs. Plus I would only have gotten work in the tourist industry. I've never been a waitress and I've never worked in retail, so that kind of screws me. (I know, what did I do before I got a real job?)Now I face the uncertainty of the future with a serious aversion to the Internet (and possibly people) and completely unsure of what I actually want to do with myself. So what have I decided the best course of action should be? Give up trying to figure it all out. Not that I will stop searching and asking questions, but it always works out in the end and it is pointless to stress about it in the mean time. So for the next 10 people that ask what I will do on my return to the homeland, my plan is to move to Alaska and start and igloo building company. A lot of people are looking for cheap housing at the moment and I made some mean snow forts as a child. Plus I can use the myth that Ukraine is like Siberia and that will give me some credibility. Right?

1-11-09: Journaling

I've tried a number of times throughout life to keep a journal. It started when I was around 11. Back then it was called a diary and I hid mine between my mattresses. The day after I confessed my crush on Brian Greenwell was the day I found my mom relaxing on my bed reading it. Perhaps that's what put me off?

The next time I tried was in University. The guy I was dating wrote in his journal religiously and there was something quant in the idea of keeping one myself. Perhaps I would discover a new sense of self or that I was an amazing writer and just never knew it. But it wasn't to be. After I got through one and half books I burned them and vowed I would never go back. Instead of unlocking secrets of life and writing philosophically about my University days, I wrote the mostly negative and gloomy thoughts. The journal became a dumping ground for every depressing and unconstructive thought that came to mind.

Against my better judgment I thought it would be neat to start a Peace Corps journal. After about two months in country I started writing my mood next to the date:

"Exhausted."

"Ok. My brain hurts."

"FRUSTRATED!"

"Ahhh!"

"Frustrated, upset, why am I here?"

"Full."

"Annoyed."

"Sad."

"Pissed off."

"Frustrated!"

"Holy Shit."

"Frustrated."

"Sigh."

"Pissed."

"Surprisingly calm."

"Lost."

"Not good enough."

"Depressed."

"Disappointed"

"Stupid."

"Frustrated as always."

"Hopeless" (Wow. Did I really write that? Ha, ha, ha, that was after two months of no schedule!)

"Sick, worried."You may be surprised to learn that I do not have a thesaurus with me. And that I didn't kill myself (that's sarcasm people!) For the most part, I quit the journal by November of my first year. There was too much negativity. I started writing stories for this blog instead. I knew that I couldn't whine unrestrained here because people might read them. It forced me to look at things for what they were; ridiculous. (Wow! I just got the following text, "There's a rapist loose in my town. Yikes." WTF?!)As I read my journal now I can hardly keep from laughing. At the time, what was happening was such a big deal. Like when it took the school three months to figure out that I could not read cursive Ukrainian and that they had to help me if they wanted me to do anything. Or the time they wanted me to teach IT in Russian. Turns out I couldn't even turn the computer on. They accused me of breaking it. Or my personal favorite, the ecology speech I had to give. Twice.What it all boils down to, the moral of the story, is that even if something is complete shit at the time it's likely not as bad as it seems. I know that I was really unhappy- and frustrated and pissed and ahhhhh! - in those first few months, but I can look back now with a smile and simply say, "typical Ukraine." Maybe people keep their journals for just this reason, to look back and laugh at how ridiculous they were instead of how ridiculous the situation was. Looking back serves as a reason to stay positive and learn from our mistakes. Personally, looking back at those crazy first months today is enough for me. I'm going to burn all of these pages in the pechka and leave the negative thoughts here in my house, where they were born and where they eventually died. I'm making the rest of the journal into a cookbook. It will include recipes without potatoes.

11-17-08 Beginning of the End

Okay, okay. I know. I haven’t posted since when? September? It’s not that I haven’t wanted to or tried. I have a document with at least five stories that I have started but haven’t found the motivation to finish. The problem is that everything is normal now. I can’t seem to find a situation that is funny or strange enough to warrant writing about. I have even tried to place myself in your shoes – what would you find crazy or different? Unfortunately my life just seems boring to write about – too commonplace.

I should clarify that I’m not bored. I’ve actually been quite busy. I missed three weeks of school in a row this October/November. First was due to hives. I was covered in them and I still don’t know why. All I know is that I spent a week in a Benadryl lull until I could get to a pharmacy for Claritin. The following week I left for a grant review meeting then taught fellow volunteers how to write grants at a seminar near Kyiv. In between the Benadryl and the seminar was Fall break. And lastly this past Friday I spent a day teaching HIV/AIDS education at an Institute in Odessa.

I teach this week as normal – five English classes, grades 2 – 6. Then my dad and brother arrive in Ukraine for a week of fun. I plan on making them buy the train tickets. I know Russian and I get yelled at because of my accent. It should be fun to watch them try – I want them to get the real experience.

I feel somewhat guilty about missing all of my classes so often. At the same time though, I really don’t enjoy teaching. Sadly, when I arrive at site I feel unmotivated to do anything. I know that’s wrong, but it’s like going to a job you dislike every day and trying to stay positive. I love the kids and sometimes they actually behave and I have a good time. More often than not though, I find myself asking what the point of my being here is. I’m not so sure the kids learn anything from me at all and as for learning about America through me being there, I just don’t see it.

So I purposely look for events outside of my site to keep me motivated and happy. I feel better when I’m helping a volunteer write a grant for their site or giving a lecture to University students about HIV/AIDS education than when I’m teaching third formers words associated with winter; words that they will forget before the class ends.

I’m not sure when the transition began, but at some point my friends and I stopped talking about what was new and crazy and instead talked about what we were going to miss. The earliest I can leave Ukraine is May 18, exactly six months from tomorrow. Perhaps it seems early to be thinking about home already, but time really does fly. The group that arrived before mine can officially leave tomorrow, meaning that I am now a “senior.” My group is now the oldest and most experienced in Ukraine, also the next to leave.

As the clock counts down (181 days and 11 hours) America comes more into focus. I try to put myself back into my home country in my thoughts but am at a loss of where to place myself. The stress of figuring out “what’s next?!” is already weighing heavily upon me. Thus far I have been far removed from the falling economy and job losses and the time when I have to throw myself into that is fast on my heels.

I truly love my life here and already mourn the moment when it ends. I’ll miss this network of friends that I have around me that know exactly what I am going through when I have a problem or need to vent. I’ll miss feeling the independence and accomplishment of living normally in a foreign country. I’ll miss the crazy, unexpected events that occur so often. The little things, like the crazy man selling carrots at the bazaar or the English teacher on the train that wakes me up at 3 am to practice talking; the things that make this country what it is. I’ll miss my host family, who, with my already deteriorating Russian, I wonder if I’ll be able to keep in touch with even a year down the road.

I have no regrets here. Even during my first six months at site when I was so unhappy and lost. This experience gave me exactly what I was looking for, it has made me better. A better person, a better friend, a better listener, better at everything (except at speaking English). I know that even though I will leave Ukraine in six months, Ukraine will never really leave me. That makes me happy.

9-10-08I have somewhat repressed memories of my scheduling disaster at the beginning of last school year. I was a new volunteer with extremely limited language abilities, yet nobody understood why I couldn't read the cursive Ukrainian schedule and why, after two months at school, I still wasn't doing anything. In reality I was asking my so-called "coordinator" for help every day, often accompanied by my tears.Looking back the school was at a complete loss of what to do with me if I wasn't an English teacher. Never mind that they had the option to ask for an English teacher when requesting a volunteer and instead opted for the youth development volunteer. I did what I could last year. I taught a few English clubs, art and tried to help out with healthy lifestyles classes (until I remembered I didn't speak Ukrainian).This year I was teaching by the second day of school due to a number of factors. First, I ditched my coordinator long ago realizing she was never going to help me. Second, my language skills are at a level where I can help myself. And lastly, when I announced that I wanted to teach English this year there was a collective sigh of relief from the directors and asst. directors. "This is what we've wanted all along!" The cynical side of me yelled back something about requesting an English teacher but I kept my mouth shut and smiled, happy I could make them happy. When I arrived at school the next morning I had a schedule, beginning that day at 1:30. They designed my schedule so that I am teaching every form once a week. That's nine hours a week, seeing that they don't teach English in first form and that there is no 10th form. Don't ask me why they skip 10th form.

My first day I had an hour to plan for four classes. Armed with direction from the English teacher about the curriculum and the Plokhotnik, the English books most Ukrainian schools are equipped with, I opened the book ready to conquer the day! The ninth form book began with a map of English speaking countries. I studied a map that included Washington DC somewhere in Indiana, New York in Massechusetts, and a large ice covered island north of Canada named Ireland. Right.I'm now in my second week of teaching and things are going….well, going. I can still say with confidence that I don't like teaching. But I can also say that I'm happy about getting to know more of the students. There are good classes and bad classes. The second grade boys are convinced that if they hide under their coats they are invisible. Really! Just write the damn letter 'O!" It's the same in Russian! And Ukrainian! And I love my 4th formers from art last year, but they really don't have any interest in learning English, instead constantly asking me when we're making bracelets again.Some classes, like eighth form, refuse to come to class altogether and I am secretly thankful. One of the things I make very clear to my director was that I couldn't discipline children (the verb for 'to discipline' in Russian is disiplinirovat), so in reality my classes are optional for students. Some students gave up trying to learn English after 2nd form so what's the point of them coming if they are so against learning it? Still, there are students who show up that really surprise me, students I thought had absolutely no interest whatsoever.So I'm happy overall. I'm going to add an art class for the younger kids in October. I'm running out of ideas so it may not be every week. Plus, I don't teach on Fridays or Mondays (until I start my once and a while art class). Getting to and from the village is too much of a problem. I would never get out of I had to teach on those days and for my sanity, I need to get out sometimes. I know what some of you are thinking. Nine or ten hours of work a week? Maybe it's just my mom's passive aggressive voice trying to call me out on the phone, but it's more than it sounds. In addition to those hours are hours of planning lessons, designing materials and translating into Russian. Even though the classes are English classes most students still can't answer "how are you?," so most classes are taught mainly in Russian. Second, as part of a grant I wrote I'm helping coordinate monthly healthy lifestyle seminars and activities. I'm also planning on teaching and helping at other sites. A friend who teaches at an Institute in Odessa asked if I'd teach a class about HIV/AIDS in November. Plus I'm still reviewing grants for the PEPFAR committee.It's relieving to know that for the next eight months I have my basic schedule. I'll actually have an impact on some of the kids and get to know them before I fly away from their lives forever. And just like the first eight months felt like a millisecond, I'm sure the last will fly by just the same. Eight months. How crazy does that sound?

8-30-08I'm at a crossroads. I like to look at the beginning of this school year as the beginning of the end. The last First Bell Ceremony I ever have to endure. The last school year I'll ever have to teach. I have nine months to go and I'm trying not to be too obvious about counting down – though my computer screen blinks the time remaining every time the desktop shows.Nine months. So little time, yet so much. A lot can happen in nine months and though I'm sure the time will fly, I'm just as sure it will drag at the same time. As I sit and type I'm trying to drown out the techno music Nastya is pumping from across the hall. I'm looking across the room to figure out where they are going to put the couch that I was just informed would be added to my room. I'm looking at the dolls and stuffed animals that were left and I'm wondering how on earth I am going to survive the next month in this room. I wonder where they are going to put the tree plant that appeared by my chair the other day?Don't get me wrong, it's not all bad living with a host family. My things are watched when I leave and my pechka is warmed in the winter. I have great conversations with my host mom and don't have to worry about washing my sheets or about drunks or children throwing rocks at my house in the middle of the night. The problem is that I'm 28 and living in a child's room. I'm often left alone all day in my room, but it's hard to feel privacy with techno music pumping across the hall, or when Inna enters and lectures me about not eating enough. The extra couch is just one more thing, that much less mobility in an already tiny space. I've never been able to pump up music and go crazy. I've never been able to host friends in my village on my terms.In addition to privacy and space, food is a huge problem. It may be new to you, but I don't like potatoes. Even if I did like potatoes I wouldn't want to eat them twice a day. Why don't I just cook you ask? If only it were that easy. I would have to bring most food back from the city, which isn't a huge problem in itself, but then I would have to store it in their refrigerator. How can I bring back food and not share with them when they share almost everything with me? I'm tempted to ask if anyone knows if any apartments or houses are for rent but the possibility of offending my family is all too real. And is it worth it – to put everything on the line for nine months of privacy, space, healthy food and perhaps sanity? I'm inclined to think not. After a summer of freedom I just need to readjust. Besides, once I give myself a little time I'll be looking at the smurf and dolls with a mix of nostalgia and a reminder that although they may be here in nine months, I certainly will not be.

9-4-08Another day, another passive aggressive conversation about eating. It starts early in the day.

Inna: Did you eat?!

Me: Yes.

Inna: What did you eat?

Me: Food.

Inna: What kind of food?!

Me: Good food.

She usually walks away exasperated until another opportunity presents itself later in the day.

Inna: Tea, tea, tea again. Deema says she's watching her figure so she doesn't eat and instead drinks a lot of tea.

Nastya: ….

Inna: She didn't eat the borsch for lunch and she hasn't been eating her potatoes. At least she'll look nice.

Nastya: ….

Me: Inna! I'm 28! I eat when I'm hungry! I can take care of myself!

Inna: laughs.

This has happened ever since I got back from camps and Turkey. I honestly can't stand the idea of hot borsch in 90 degree weather and another winter of potatoes. I should point out that I am of course eating. I've been picking fresh tomatoes from the garden and making salads, eating a shitload of watermelon from the families five hectre crop and have been avoiding big meal times because they always force me to eat too much.

I suppose when you get right down to it I am watching my figure. I refuse to let myself become an unhealthy blimp from potatoes and oil every day. Many may think I exaggerate about the issue of food in the house. Let me stress that the food isn't bad - it's just really unhealthy. A combination of oil (think half a pan for an omelet, a cup for boiling noodles), butter on anything and everything, mayonnaise always on the side and salo (pig fat) added to anything fried. And speaking of fried, everything is fried. The mashed potatoes filled with butter and salo? Refried in oil for breakfast. How about pasta noodles? Also refried for breakfast. Hey! Let's refry them with the potatoes tomorrow!

There's a new store down the street, on the way to the sea, where I now buy low fat yogurt every now and then. It's like a ray of sunlight breaking from the clouds! Maybe it's because I haven't been out of my village in a few weeks so the tedium of daily meals is worse than usual, but I now crave a bag of yogurt at all times of the day. Sadly, going there too much is a risk. My host dad owns the store down the street. He doesn't sell yogurt.

I'm not sure I can pull this off for another nine months. Eventually they'll see through my plan or get so passive aggressive I'll feel guilty and give in. They'll see how much food I'm bringing back from the big city and Inna will tell everyone I don't like her cooking. And I still don't think they're past running into my room and shoving food into my mouth. Inna has tried variations of this in the past by bringing in plates of cakes and treats she knows I adore.

Whether it's the defined muscle I can once again see on my body or the fact that I'm finally learning how to cope with Ukrainians seemingly affronted reaction to not eating, I know I'm going to win this time. I am going to cook and I am going to eat healthy! Down with the potato!

8-22-08

After a nap in the office I fell asleep at 6:30 on the train. I struggled to stay awake on the bus ride home, my head almost hitting the man next to me as I lulled in and out of sleep. Once home I fell asleep for another three hours and by nine that evening I was ready for bed. I slept until 10 am and now that it's 3:30 I think I need a nap. It could be because I am studying Russian grammar to make myself feel productive. More likely it's that my last good night's sleep was on June 19, the last time I was actually at site.

People tell me I'm special. I worked an unprecedented eight camps this summer. Camps that led me up Ukraine's second highest mountain, camps that took me from western Ukraine all the way to Eastern Ukraine and camps that helped me set the 'cutlet's consumed in two months' record. It was and will be my most productive time in Peace Corps – time when I actually felt like I accomplished something, whether teaching about the biology of HIV/AIDS or how to make friendship bracelets.

My journey started in western Ukraine in a town named Kociv. Scratch that. My journey actually started June 1st with a series of five camps within my oblast. Those ended June 15, and by June2 0th I was off to Survivor Camp. My dad told everyone that I was being dropped off in the middle of nowhere for six weeks and I had to "survive." It drove mom crazy and she repeatedly asked me how long camp actually was and if I'd have basic provisions.

At Survivor Camp we taught about 40 Ukrainian students the basics of camping, cooking over a fire and healthy lifestyles. I was a healthy lifestyles teacher, though I only ended up teaching once. A combination of rain and the camp organizer falling in love with one of the students ensured that the lessons didn't happen regularly. We did climb Pipivan, the second highest mountain in Ukraine. We did walk into town almost daily to prepare meals for 50 people over a camp fire. And we did celebrate the fourth of July and Ivana Kupala. This was actually my favorite camp of the summer, in part because I love the outdoors and western Ukraine, and part because the volunteers I worked with were so great. I'm a survivor.

We arrived at the second camp sweaty and tired. Two hot bus rides for a total of 10 hours plus and hour taxi brought us to Givoron, where Camp Big Bang has been held for the last seven years. Like Survivor Camp, Big Bang is an English Language camp. Big Bang is for younger students – most in high school. Topics like government & civics and volunteerism are taught along side art & culture and music. There were over 120 kids at this camp with 24 volunteers teaching and leading groups. I taught Art & Culture.

Big Bang was more intense than Survivor only in the lack of free time. We got up, we taught, we walked to town, followed by leadership activities and team competitions. Every night ended with a disco and by that time it was 10:30, time for the volunteers to "relax." There was really no time to get away from anyone. Luckily, it was once again an awesome group of volunteers and a highly organized camp. By the time camp ended ten days later or so I was dead tired and ready for a short coma.

No coma for me. I left a day early from Big Bang to catch a train to Slovyansk, where my Peace Corps BFF lives. I arrived to a budget crises and Meg's apartment turned into a calling center. Basically, the grant didn't come in on time because of a screw up, so we were short some 35,000 griven. By making calls to other volunteers whom we could temporarily borrow from, we were able to collect over 20,000 amongst ourselves.

Camp HEAL was an HIV/AIDS and Human Trafficking Education camp. This camp by far was the most educating camp I attended. Students not only left with a higher awareness, but the ability and desire to do something in their communities. It's not often you hear a student say they need to teach their peers about HIV/AIDS before it's too late. That they feel personally responsible to do what they can to stop the epidemic.

I taught Healthy Living and the Biology of HIV/AIDS at camp and I have to admit, I loved teaching biology. It's one item on a growing list of reasons to consider nursing when I get home….eventually…maybe….we'll see. The one problem with the camp was how tired I was by this point. I had been going since June 1st and my last really good night's sleep was probably June 18. None of the beds I had been sleeping in had any support and not only that, besides fitting two people in a small tent, the smallest room I slept in was for five people. I wish I had more energy for cheers and competitions, but I over-estimated myself in the beginning.

What better way to address this problem than by buying a plane ticket to Turkey the day after Camp HEAL ended?! My friend Jonathon and I decided it would be the perfect time to fit a trip in and landed in Istanbul on August 9, two days after Camp HEAL ended. I would live in Istanbul in a second. I didn't expect such a cosmopolitan, modern, European city. It has the history, the architecture, the transportation system and the funk to make it one of my favorite cities ever visited.

After a day in Istanbul we headed to Goreme in the Cappedoccia region – in the center of the country. The landscape is a mix of the badlands, canyons and something all its own. They call them fairy chimneys, but they are basically old caves from volcanoes that take over the landscape. Entire cities are built into these caves, including our hostel. We even explored an underground city where people could have survived for years if attacked.

When I say 'we' I mean more than Jonathan and I. We had plans to meet Greg and Eileen and they had randomly ran into Ashley, Leah and Nick the day before. Ashley, Leah and Nick had randomly run into Derrick in Istanbul a few days earlier, so we had a group of eight volunteers from Ukraine pretty much from that point on. We hiked around the caves and canyons and ate amazing food until we moved on to Olympus the following day.

Olympus is a small town in southern Turkey, located on the Mediterranean Sea. My brother looked it up and used the words "frat party" to describe it, and that's not too far off. There isn't a whole lot to do there other than go to the beach and party at night. The beach was beautiful. It was a cove surrounded by mountains with a turquoise sea.

This is where we held the Lie-low Olympics. "What is a Lie-low?" You ask? I was once so uneducated myself. A lie-low is the word Australians use for float. When in Istanbul we bought a beer for a couple and in return, got two lie-lows. Olympus seemed like the perfect opportunity to honor the Olympics with our very own Lie-low Olympics. Events included fitting all eight of us on two lie-lows, a two person balance, and cliff jumping to name a few. The opening ceremonies were a highlight and I'm sure that half the people on the beach were hoping we'd drown.Other Olympus highlights include tequila night and dancing at the club, the Chimaera fires (natural fires coming out of the earth), Leah's and my quest for water, and getting invited onto a yacht. Originally we wanted to get on the yacht so we could walk the plank. Actually, that was all we really did want. Instead we were given Raki – similar to a Jaegermeister but a shit-ton stronger – and food. I was asked if I saw normally because apparently they thought I might see only in blue. Nice line. Then they covered Ashley in Olive Oil and told her that her skin would be soft and beautiful in ten days. Then we jumped off the boat and swam to shore.

We took a day trip into Selcuk to an amazing hostel, though more like an oasis. We saw the old ruins of Ephasus and strolled around town before relaxing at the hostel pool or under a pomegranate tree with a drink from the bar. It was so relaxing that Jonothon and I decided to stay an extra night. We took a bus out two mornings later for Istanbul – a trip that was supposed to take eight hours but ended up taking more like 15. We made it to the hostel just before midnight and met another volunteer, Justin, who was trying to figure out how to pay for the hostel because his wallet had been stolen at the bazaar earlier in the day. We helped him out and slept for five hours before flying back to Kyiv.

I have never travelled in a big group before and it was definitely different, but in a good way this time around. I wouldn't always want to travel in a big group, but after so many camps I needed more of a relaxing vacation than an exploring vacation. The group really put the trip over the top. I got to know some volunteers I didn't really know before and we had an awesome time together.

Back home not too much has changed. Inna got a new car, but I found out today it is only because the militsia gave an incorrect document for the last car. The last car, which my family has owned for three years, was actually stolen so now they have to go to court and try to fix everything up. There is a new store down the street and it is super nice! The owner has family in Jackson, MI and didn't even know there was an American living down the street from him for the past year….weird. The five hectares of watermelon my family planted obviously did well because I've eaten about two watermelons a day since I got home. It's better than potatoes, of which I have all but avoided since arriving home. I did get a lecture about not eating enough which prompted me to daydream about a sign I saw near the sea advertising apartments. We'll see how that goes.

Other than that, the roosters still crow, the geese still attack and I'm still not tan enough. Life goes on and now that I know I'm a survivor, I know I'll make it by bez problem.

6-18-08

I've always been a light sleeper, so when I woke up last night to a tap-tap tapping lightly in my room, I knew something was there. It was late and I was tired, so I didn't want to walk across the room to turn the light on. I grabbed my cell phone and used its light to scan my room. At this point I was assuming it was a beetle. They often get into my room, but their sound is more of a clicking than tapping.I'm also getting over an ant problem in my room. I think all of my recent guests and the stash of trail mix my mom just sent were a bad mix. Maybe ants were carrying something across my floor. I shined my light on a curious lump. It looked like a cat left a present. Did I have a cat locked in my room? No, I definitely would have heard that. At last I went and turn my light on to examine this interesting lump on my floor. I nudged it with a piece of paper and out pop two antennae. WTF! It was a slug – a huge-ass slug, in my room, in the middle of the night. I consider myself a sensible person, but I feared the slug. I tried to talk rationally to myself. It's not like it would come to my bed to attack me. It would only be halfway to my bed by the time I woke up five hours later. It's not like it would bite. It's a slug. I suppose my fear is that my room would be infiltrated by these nasty excuses for an organism and I would end up stepping on one. Really, what is dthe point of slugs?I hastily scooped slug onto a piece of paper and threw him out the window – or rather threw it on the ground with force and imagined chickens running towards it for a violent dinner. How did it get here? How long has it been here? Are there more? I bet they are under my bed!I was trying so hard not to listen for tapping that I couldn't help but listen. I had to put ear plugs in and even then I imagined slugs. Until I fell asleep and dreamed that a dog hatched out of a goose egg and no one thought it was strange but me. ("You guys! Dogs usually come straight out of a dog, not eggs!") The dog had quilted, stripped legs! Why couldn't anyone else see this! I'm ok, really.

6-17-08

Here's a scenario. You've been given a project to do and you have weeks, even months to plan. You put your time in, make contingency plans, and work around every situation that could possibly come up. In America the project would be 99% to come off without a hitch. That's the difference between America and Ukraine. In Ukraine, even with all of the planning and talking to others, you never really know what is going to happen. It's frustrating, but you have to just learn to let it go.Yesterday was the official ending to our Odeska Oblast camps. We held five, two day camps around the oblast and travelled the days in between. I admit it was intense. Most interesting was that the most supportive communities had the best camps, while the least supportive had less students and structure. Mine fell in the middle. I've worked hard to get people involved and to make myself available but now that it's over I see how far I need to go.The first day was fine, but very "uncamp" like. It took place in the school and Inna planned most of it. The seven volunteers there, including myself, didn't have a whole lot to do. This is kind of a big deal when the community has only seen two Americans in their lives.Unfortunately, the biggest event that happened at my camp was when one of the volunteers hurt her knee and had to be taken to a hospital for x-rays. When we originally called Peace Corps medical, they told me my village had a surgical unit. Hahaha! After my friend, me and then my director explained "no! It is the smaller one south of Zatoka!" they finally realized they were looking at one of the other eight Mykoliavka's in the region. It's nice that they know where I live. My friend's injury will now be the thing my village remembers. That, and girls shouldn't play sports. When the village doctor came to look at her knee she asked what she was doing playing sports in the first place. The second day took place at the sea and we were supposed to meet the kids there. Except that Dima dropped us off at the wrong spot and I didn't know where the right spot was. We had two kids and after a day of frisbee and sand castles we had to ask them to leave so we could have some time alone. The idea was to camp that night but the weather had different plans and we were picked up around 9:30. Our old Soviet tent, although camouflage, would never have withstood the rain.So the goal here is to let it all go, but honestly it's hard not to be disappointed. I look at my actual work as a volunteer and wonder if I'm fooling myself in how much I actually enjoy it here. It is usually when I am out of site living, or helping someone else on a project that is actually supported that I love it. But here at home I am tired of living with a family and being dependent on them. I am tired of teaching English to little kids who don't remember anything. I am tired of feeling like I am in my community for naught. I am usually better at keeping this feeling at bay, but it is always there lurking. I know, I know, I am doing something, even if I don't see it. I just get jealous of those out there that have communities that really want them and are willing to work with them. On the positive, I am leaving site in four days until August. Perhaps it will give me the break and the perspective that I need.

6-16-08 It no longer bothers me that most people don't keep in touch. In fact, I think about home less and less. It's only natural. I've been here for over a year and have an established life here. If I force myself to admit it, life at site isn't the greatest. I look at my actual village work as a volunteer and wonder if I'm fooling myself into believing how much I actually enjoy it here. It is usually when I am out of site living, or helping someone else on a project that is actually supported that I love it.

It takes a lot to admit that. I am still coming to terms with my community. I'm doing what I can, but there is only so much one can do in an unsupportive community. Had the development in the beginning been better this site would have gotten an English teacher – something they could have understood and utilized. The volunteer would also have been a Ukrainian speaker.

I miss my independence. Living with a host family is great for some things. They light the pechka so my room is warm, they provide emotional support and sometimes explain village mysteries. But I miss my space. I want to cook. I never want to eat a potato again unless it is of my own free will. I want to turn my music up and dance and I want to wash ALL of my dishes with dish soap. I never thought I would have to look forward to post-PC life for these things.

Despite my village-blues, I love my overseas life. I love walking around Odessa and just blending. I love meeting my friends at the café for a pivo and conversation. I love looking out of train windows as the country passes by (albeit slowly). Instead of looking forward to resuming my life in America-land, I'm looking for a way to avoid it. I've found that I'm at my best when I'm exposed to new experiences. Although I still have a year left, I'm not ready to end this adventure

5-30-08You know those moments when all of the sudden you start to pay attention again? You've spent so long going through the motions, getting by and in your groove that you forget to stop and smell the flowers. I've been in such a daze that I failed to remember I was in the Peace Corps, working in a field in the middle of nowhere.

The wakeup call is never expected. It always kind of jumps out and screams, "Look where you are! Look at what you're doing!" I had that day yesterday. Because of the rain I haven't been out running for a few weeks. Last I went the winter wheat was knee high. Yesterday it was chest high, sprinkled with red, yellow and purple flowers. It was beautiful, and though I forced myself to remember if I feel this way every spring or if this moment was truly singular, I cannot recall an instant of this much beauty.

The thing about the second year is that things become normal. Gathering baby turkeys into a bucket and getting drunk with teachers at school isn't strange anymore. It's my life. I attended the Last Bell Ceremony at school today and even before I went I knew what was going to happen. I knew that the microphones and sound system weren't going to work. I expected awful singing and dancing. I knew that even though students were required to wear black and white at least one student would wear leopard print. And I knew that the Kill Bill soundtrack would be utilized more than necessary.

At the same time I know that this is normal to me, my wakeup call convinced me that this is not perhaps normal for all of you, if you're even still reading. And even if you're not reading, this is still a record for me, so that when I arrive home someday I can look back and remember what it was like here.

So here is what's been going on, what's been keeping me occupied and sane, or perhaps insane.

1. Hula. My mom sent me this Hula workout video and I'm totally into it even though I realized that I can't move my hips. This is also why I am such a crappy dancer. I am determined to conquer this video.

2. We had an earthquake a few weeks ago and actually had to evacuate school. The actual earthquake was in the Black Sea, but not too far away. My students tried to pretend they were scared so the director would cancel school. They failed.

3. I took a good look at my schedule yesterday and realized I am going to be gone from around June 22 to August 22. Is that allowed? Shit.

4. I am working four summer camps this summer. Eight if you count our Oblast camps as five instead of one. What was I thinking? Right. I wasn't.

5. The Ukrainian Dentist is one of the scariest experiences on Earth. And I love the dentist….in America. Here they use an electric drill and then they power wash teeth with a mix of baking soda. After the procedure I spent five minutes spitting out blood and chunks of my gums into the sink. Macguiver thought I was kidding until she went after me.

6. Speaking of Macguiver, we started a "Passed Out Drunk" series of photographs. To all you worriers out there, we aren't really drunk in the pictures. It's pretend.

7. I love living overseas. Truly. Do I want to come home?

8. I turn 28 soon. It bothered me more that my brother turned 30.

9. I got a Uker-cut. That's a Ukrainian haircut. It's…..special. And I like it.

10. I ironed my jeans before I packed them the other day. That was a hard one to admit.

11. I told all of the teachers about the grant Inna and I wrote today. We were applauded and they want to help!!!

12. Crazy Organization Lady is telling everyone that she wrote the grant.

13. Crazy Organization Lady is still crazy.

As I open my eyes and look around, maybe you should consider doing the same. Just stop. Stop thinking, stop doing and just breath. Look around. Listen. Can you believe you're where you are? That you are doing what you are doing? When you are old and retired are you going to look back and say to yourself, "I did that. I seriously did that." When I grow old I want to look back and be proud and amazed. I want to be amazing.

5-8-08There was an earthquake today. I was sitting in my office at school when the shaking began. The children were rushed out of school and I waited with my second graders clenching my hands and waist. They pretended to be scared so the teachers would cancel school. The earthquake is not a sign of how life has been these past few months. Instead I would compare it to a stream slowly but insistently pulling me along. Nothing really exciting or out of the ordinary has happened. Unless you count the goose gang fight I happened to be in the middle of yesterday. The reality is that I am just used to life here. The countdown to service has officially begun as we have less than a year left. Things have started to repeat themselves. Another Paska, another Softball Weekend, another spring. I am already dreading the end of this fragment of my life. Although I live with a family, I am independent like I have never been before. I almost feel like this is the fun college life that I missed out on, except that in addition to the fun I'm making a difference. I'm finally living for me and me only. In the mean time, I'm living it up as much as I can. Macguiver and I have started a "passed out drunk" photography series and I got Bruce out at the last softball weekend, finally accomplishing a life goal. Ok, to clarify for all you worriers – we aren't really passed out, just a parody on what we sadly see so often in this country. And the life goal part isn't really true, I just know that Bruce reads this and I can never let him live it down (mu-ha-ha-ha!). I'm at a loss of what to write now. Is this good or bad?

4-23-08

There's a huge pig carcass lying on the kitchen

counter. I walked in to make myself tea and didn't

even notice it until I leaned down to throw my old tea

bag into the pechka. I thought it kind of smelled

like ham. Over the soft chirping of baby goosies I

stared at the open skeleton. How did I miss this

when I walked into the room?Inna walked in and laughed at me for not noticing

right away.

"That's a lot of meat."

"Not really," she answered as she prodded the hunk of

meat. "Not much salo."Then she laughed and pulled the tail. "Do you want

any borsch?"

Hmmmm, even if I were hungry, I'm not sure if I want

to eat a foot away from that. The pig is one component of the upcoming Easter

preparations. The Orthodox Easter, or Paska in

Russian, is on Sunday. Tomorrow Inna and I are going

to Babushka's to make the traditional Paska bread,

called paska as well. I have English clubs but I

won't be sorry if I don't make it back in time. With

the school year almost over it is even harder to go

every day. If there is one realization I get out of

Peace Corps it is that I don't like teaching.Tomorrow is clean Thursday. People are supposed to

wake up before sunrise to shower. I don't think I am

going to take part in this tradition, but I am going

to go to the church at 3 am on Sunday to get the food

blessed. Last year the priest sensed there was an

American before him and I took my glasses off just

before he doused me with holy water. My guess is that

they possess the same sixth sense as the geese do:

foreigner sense.The strangest part of all of this is that I've done it

all before. This will be my second Paska in Ukraine,

the second time around the traditions. This time I am

determined to make the recipe for paska my own so I

can recreate it in America in….two years I suppose it

will be. It's strange to think that I've been here

long enough to repeat experiences, that instead of

counting how much time I've been here, I'm counting

how much time I have left. It adds a certain urgency

to the things I want to accomplish. And a nervousness

about what lies ahead. 4-24-08

"Wake up, Emily! Hurry, hurry!"

I'll never understand why they don't try to wake me up

ten minutes before we leave as opposed to two minutes

before with rushing. Deema drove us to babushka's

house, closer to the sea. I entered a room warm from

a pechka. Sitting on two stools was a trough of

dough. We're talking a trough big enough to fit 80

eggs and over 12 bags of flour.Inna and I began to knead the dough together while

babushka poured a bucket of melted butter over the

top, added raisins and sugar, and fussed over the

state of the mixture. By the time we were done I had

blisters on my knuckles. Then we waited. The dough needed at least forty more

minutes to rise properly. Inna and I talked about my

friends and about the man down the street that wants

my number, about how ugly his new house is. When the

dough was ready we cut it into smaller pieces, rolled

it into balls and placed it into old cans. We hauled

all of the cans to the really big pechka and placed

them inside.While they baked we milked a cow and helped around the

house. It is hard for babushka and dedushka (grandpa)

to do all of their work on their own nowadays. While

the elderly in America get to retire, often to a life

of comfort, here they have to work the same as they

always did. They still have their fields, their

animals and their house to keep up. Now they have

arthritis and hunched backs to hinder their work.The paska turned out beautifully. A crisp golden

brown and it smelled so good! We are forbidden to eat

any until after the priest blesses it at 3am on Sunday

morning. When we got home Inna and I ate borsch for

lunch. She asked if I knew how to cook borsch. I've

always been under the impression that to help out in a

Ukrainian kitchen I must start small. I have been

stuck at the chopping vegetables stage since I arrived

and I think I finally proved myself ready for the next

step. I'm not sure I would choose to make borsch on

my own after being subjected to it every day for two

years, but for all of you in the states hankering to

try a bowl in a year or two, this is for you.By the way, I've finally attached some new pics! ____________________________________________________________________________________

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4-8-08

This is so typical of Ukraine. It will throw bad days

at you like rain and then all of the sudden, one day,

everything will be picture perfect. Weirdly perfect,

like you woke up on another planet. I had been sick

all weekend. Some kind of flu that made it hurt to

walk and ended in a dramatic 15 hour migraine. It

took 14 hours of sleep to put me back to normal.

Then today happened. First off, I wore cloths I

brought back from America. It is the first time I

have worn white in over a year. I got to school and

the kids all yelled "hello" at me. They have pretty

much stopped saying Russian greetings to me. The

teachers who saw me said the informal hello instead of

the regular formal one. This might not seem like a

lot, but it really makes a huge difference.

At teacher tea I was congratulated on a recent grant

that I wrote and asked about my trip to America.

Amazingly, this is the first time I've ever been asked

anything about my life during teacher tea. We talked

about all of the snow and as new teachers arrived, the

information was repeated to them as if what I said was

interesting to them. I found myself understanding

more Ukrainian than I remembered knowing.

After teacher tea I was taken downstairs to get my

picture taken for the yearbook. The 11th form decided

that they wanted "The American" in their pages. The

teacher assured me I looked good and the picture was

taken. The picture room was just across the

director's office so I stopped in to pass a document

onto her computer. The document would not open and

the computer teacher had to be called. For the first

time since arriving at site she was nice to me. She

even looked at me when I talked.

I had just enough time to make it upstairs and collect

materials when the bell rang for art class. As I

walked down the hall the kids from class came running,

yelling my name and engulfing me in many hugs. The

other teachers laughed at me as I made my way down the

hall in a pack of children. We made bracelets, their

favorite. The cleaning ladies started cleaning early

and they were all interested in the project. As I

left I gave each of them cowboy and pirate stickers,

which they thought extremely funny, and I left the

room with new friends.

Even as I walked to and from school the villagers all

said hello. Some even initiated the greeting and

smiled. This has never happened before today. Could

it be the spring air? Could it be a new confidence in

myself? I try not to think of tomorrow or the next

day because soon I am likely to have an awful day –

things must remain in balance.

I would like to think that today was a turning point,

but I know it is just Ukraine being Ukraine. One day

someone will be your best friend and the next they

will be distant and formal. It happens to everyone.

One just has to remember these perfect days when

things aren't going well. They do happen. And they

are totally worth the bad days between.

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4-6-08Time has a habit of making things clearer. When I

first arrived back in Ukraine I tried to write about

my trip home. It came out how I felt. Dazed and

tired. Now already a week home, I look back at my

trip to America with a lucidity I didn't have before.

I knew it would go quick, just not that quick. Not

that each moment was chaotic, just the overall

picture. My plane schedule didn't help. Three planes

in bad weather, including a nine hour layover in

Amsterdam and a talkative man on the plane didn't

allow for sleep. I am not afraid of flying, but the

trip from Vienna to Amsterdam felt like the twilight

zone. Forty mile per hour winds and two inches of

rain were expected that night. I was seated near the

wing and when I looked out the window at the rain

reflected in the lighted clouds it looked like we were

going warp speed. Everything was dark grey streaks

and the plane wobbled like a toy. Through the

turbulence I couldn't tell if we had landed or if it

was just another stomach dropping jolt. I didn't

think it could get much worse when they turned the

lights on to the emergency exits. When we finally

landed there was a collective sigh of relief.

If I had to choose one word that would encompass my

entire trip it would be 'exhausting.' Not only

because I was in has a constant rush from one placed

to another, but also because I was back in a culture

of accessibility and convenience that I hadn't

experienced in a year. To be able to use water from

faucets freely, to not worry about the amount of time

in the shower and the access to heat without shoving

wood and coal in a wall is all so easy. Laundry

machines, driers, Target, printing pictures, coffee,

grocery stores – all so uncomplicated, leaving plenty

of time to get other errands done.

The overall variety and steady stimuli were simply

overpowering. I'm not used to overhearing

conversations and understanding everything. I'm not

used to being around many people for more than a

weekend. At one point, frustrated at my computer and

throwing a fit, I exclaimed "you just don't

understand!" It wasn't about the computer at all. It

was about being overwhelmed and tired. I don't expect

my family or friends to understand exactly how it

felt. They'd have to do something like to Peace Corps

to actually get it.

I predicted that there wouldn't be enough time to see

and talk to everyone I wanted to, but even still it

was disappointing. Worse were those that said they

would call but didn't. It already feels like I've

lost friends since I'd been here. Again, I expected

this. I've tried to keep in touch, but what is the

point of keeping in touch with people who don't keep

in touch with me? Perhaps when I finally come 'home'

things will pick up like I've never been gone. Still,

this has been one of the most difficult aspects of

Peace Corps.

The hardest part, apart from feeling dull from lack of

sleep and jetlag, was being pushed back into a box

that I feel I'd broken free from. This means no

offence to anyone. I just feel like I've changed

here. I feel like I am free to live with those

changes in Ukraine because no one knows me

differently. But being back around people who knew me

before was constricting in some ways. I didn't feel

like myself – it didn't feel real. I felt forced to

react in ways that I didn't want to because that's how

it had always been.

Don't think me ungrateful or not happy that I got to

see everyone. That's the last thing I would want. I

strive to be honest and revealing in my writing and to

say that the whole thing was like a fairy tale would

be a lie. I'd instead compare it to a trip to Candy

Land. It's a fun journey with a lot of old friends

but there are certainly drawbacks along the way.

The best part, of course, were the family (including

the dog) and friends that I did get to see. Some I

rarely talked to in the last year but did pick up like

I hadn't been gone. This gives me hope. Through the

chaos I was able to have fun and relax a little in the

company of those I care about most. My recently 90

year old Gra seems younger than she did before I left

and I was so happy to see my best friend before she

has outside fetus (her words). And I have to give a

shout out to Mel. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere

without you and wouldn't change that for a moment!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Other highlights? The food was amazing – I ate enough

in tortilla chips to feed a family of twelve. In all,

I had two Mexican nights, sushi, pizza, turkey,

salmon, a cheeseburger, pasta, fresh salads and

everything else I can't get in Ukraine. My body paid

for that when I got back and couldn't eat for two days

because I was too nauseated. It was worth it.

I admit honestly that I'm scared to come home for

good. I know it would be easier with more time, but

the pressure to always be doing something productive

will be overwhelming. Another 15 months will make it

even more daunting. I don't even want to think of

getting a job much less doing a job that requires me

to get more than one thing off my check list every

day. I don't need to think about that now.

And lastly, a huge thank you to mom and dad for the

ticket home! Although it was overwhelming and

stressful, it was worth it to see you for a few days.

And now I know what to expect in another year or so!

__________________________________________________

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2-26-08

So I have this clock. It is Eagle Creek and displays

the time, date and temperature. It is also an alarm

clock – my reason for buying it. It is small and

compact and perfect for home or traveling. The alarm

beeps. Not too loud and not too annoying, but just

right – like baby bear.

The only problem? It was doing this thing. For the

longest time, every day at 10:10 am a different alarm

would go off. It was different from the beeping

alarm. It was 9 beeps and sounded like some kind of

fanfare. I looked everywhere on this little clock to

find out how to stop it and in the end gave up. It

was bad if I slept past ten anyway.

The strangest part was that it kind of sounded like

this fanfarish alarm was coming from the clock, but

kind of not really. I told my friends about this

weird phenomenon and got a standard reaction from all.

"Huh. That's weird." Yes, they were riveting with

my mystery.

Then yesterday night happened. Past 3 am the fanfare

alarm started going off. I woke up thinking WTF when

I looked over to my desk. Something was glowing. My

alarm clock was near my bed. Ohhhhhh…It only took me

11 months to figure it out. My ipod also has an

alarm. I had just changed the clock to Kyiv time

early in the day. Why am I admitting this? ____________________________________________________________________________________

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2-25-08

What a week. It was a week of legends. My career as

an ecologist started off with a bang. What I thought

was a one hit wonder has now turned into a lecture

series. It must have been my compassionate delivery

because an encore has been requested for this coming

Thursday. And not only have I figured out my future

life in the natural scientist realm, I accomplished

one of my life goals. Hitchhiking.

I was at the bus stop at 10:10 am. It comes at 10:30

but is often late so I figured that I had plenty of

time. Luckily it was a nice day and seeing that I had

perfect phone reception, I caught up with friends

around Ukraine. It was already after 11 when a

passing woman told me that the bus to Odessa had

already passed. Shit! I spent the next two minutes

swearing into the phone until I finally saw a car

leaving my village.

It was a really nice – even by American standards –

SUV with leather seats and tinted windows. They were

probably in the mafia. Before I even thought about

what I was doing I had stopped them and asked if they

knew when the next bus out of the village was. I

already knew that the next bus was at 3:30, but I was

secretly hoping they would give me a ride somewhere,

and my ploy worked! They told me there was a noon bus

in the next town up and told me to jump in the car.

So I did. Nik was driving and I forgot the name of

the other guy as soon as he told me. It was weird and

ended in one of the trilly r's I can't say. They told

me I spoke Russian well.

We had an extra half an hour so we stopped at the

hotel Nik owned on the edge of the village. We drank

coffee and chatted and then he showed me around the

complex. Everything was built of beautiful imported

wood. I say it was imported because we don't really

have trees around here. There was a weight lifting

station and pool outside as well as a sauna somewhere.

The complex had its own water tower and generator.

On the way to the bus finally, Nik took advantage of

the 8 minutes we still had and drove to the sea. It

was actually really beautiful. I wish this part of

the sea was closer to me.

Once on the bus I was taken to Belgorod-Dnestrovsky

where I had to run across town to the other bus

station to catch a bus to Odessa. I was happy that I

got a bus with a fast driver. I was mad when we were

stopped at the draw bridge for an hour. What normally

takes me 2.5 hours took me over five. I eventually

arrived in Odessa, jubilant in the thought that I had

conquered the system!

Life back in my tiny village seems dull now. None of

the places I used to frequent hold quite the same

contentment as they did before. Few cars pass to

remind me of my past voyage to the unknown and instead

of pimped out SUVs, only tractors and Ladas to catch

my gaze. Sigh. I made that first part up. I never

used to frequent anywhere because there is nowhere to

frequent. So the part about not holding the same

contentment isn't really true.

Seriously though, when I reflect back in time, as I so

like to do, I spent much of the venture trying not to

laugh. I don't know what made me so giddy. Perhaps

it was being in a situation that was unknown and

having it work out. Perhaps it was the thought of

what a good story it would make later. Whatever it

was, it is much different than how I would have

reacted a year ago. Hitchhiking was always on my list

of things to do before I die but it was never

something that I envisioned myself actually doing, and

certainly not alone. The fact that I did it as if on

autopilot says a lot about how I've changed. I'm

unstoppable. Like Superman. In fact, my glasses

aren't real – they're a distraction so people don't

figure out my true identity. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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2-21-08

Perhaps I'm overreacting. Or maybe just reacting

poorly to cultural differences. The English teacher

came to me and asked that I come to her class after

teacher tea. Ever the obedient, I entered her class

just as she was telling them about a lecture I would

be giving the following day to 40 teachers from the

rayon. Huh? She then handed me a copy of my speech

in English. I needed to memorize the speech today and

be ready to give it at 8 am the following morning.

Uh-huh.

"There are many scientists on the USA, they directly

occupy protecting lodgers of oceans and seas." Occupy

protecting lodgers? How? Anyway, besides that

amazing line, the speech is about a Peace Corps

program "Ecology of the Earth." It describes its

goal as protecting the earth, our home and the need

for clean air and water. Good ideas, but

unfortunately, no program called Ecology of the Earth

exists. The made the program and all of its

information up.

I did what any reasonable person would do. Freaked

out on them. "I need to call my manager. Now." "No,

you are not allowed to call your manager." They know

that my manager always sides with me. I called my

manager who agreed that one day notice to memorize a

speech on something I know nothing about was

ridiculous. She talked to Enna, the English teacher

and then the director.

In the end, they won. They changed the program to

America in general and tried to make me feel guilty

about it all. "She is part of the team! It would not

be right if she didn't speak." Right. If I was part

of the team you would talk to me and invite me to

school events.

Yes, I'm overreacting. This is part of Ukrainian

culture. It is normal for people to give last minute

speeches and I really can't expect them to understand

my point of view. I can ask them how they would feel

if asked to give a last minute speech about a topic

they know nothing about in America, but they still

wouldn't know how it would feel unless they were

actually there in the situation. They can empathize

and agree that life here away from family and friends

can be difficult, but they will never truly understand

what life for me is like – good or bad.

So tomorrow at 8 am I will enter school and give

wonderful speech about how my ambassador just gave

10,000 bird flu protection suits to Ukraine. I'm

still considering throwing in a few lines, maybe about

how the polar bears are coming ashore in Ukraine

because their ice is melting or how "thisisridiculous"

moss is taking over Black Sea coral. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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Often it takes encountering the old to recognize the

new. This was especially true this past weekend. It

was our anti-Valentine's Day weekend and included in

the festivities were volunteers from the newest group.

Was that really how I was a year ago?

I do a lot of reflecting on my past life here and

today was no exception. As I went through my daily

routine I was interested to see how it compared to my

life in America. In America, I usually got up, went

to work for 8 hours, went to the gym, and then read

until bed (I know, I was a big ball of excitement.)

This was my day today.

Got up at 8 am.

Made oatmeal and tea while reading the latest

Newsweek.

Hand washed my laundry while listening to my ipod.

This was my first time washing to music and I rather

liked it!

Polished my boots. I can't go out in public with dirt

on my boots!

Choose outfit based on how many layers I could fit

underneath it.

Walk to school.

Meet with Crazy Organization Lady.

Feel guilty all morning about tracking mud into the

school. Where does everyone else clean their mud when

entering the school? Am I missing something?

Clutch the radiator with my hands because they are too

cold to write.

Plan English Clubs.

Fight with the teachers and director over stupid

Ecology Speech.

Call Jonathon to whine about Ecology Speech.

Go home and work on grant.

Dream about going to the gym.

Listen to Enna complain about Crazy Organization Lady.

(See! It's not just me!)

All of this seems normal to me. I really feel awful

if my boots are dirty – like less of a person

actually. While hand washing laundry I was thinking

that it wasn't all that bad and that I could continue

this when I go back to America. It conserves water!

And gathering around heat is normal. In addition to

holding the radiator in my office I stand against the

heated wall in my room all of the time. It's not that

it is freezing out, the rooms just aren't heated like

they are at home – actually, most of them aren't

heated at all.

Other things? Living without Internet is normal. Two

and a half hours on a bus that should take an hour and

a half is normal. Canceling a bus and waiting around

half a day outside (like I did on Monday) is normal.

Riding in a train and sleeping next to strangers is

normal – as is pretending I don't understand them so I

don't have to have that same conversation over again.

Sleeping on hard wood floors when traveling is normal.

Going days without showers is normal. Writing

letters in normal. That's by hand with a pen for

those who forgot what that is. Not understanding is

normal. In fact, everything that used to seem weird

now seems like a normal part of life. I'm just that

integrated. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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2-12-08

I always talk about how I expect the unexpected. What

am I talking about?

It was a relaxing Monday morning. Since I didn't

travel this weekend and I don't have to plan lessons

for the week because of a conference I slept in until

nine and relaxed. When Nastia ran frantically in at

11:30, I was still in my pajamas under heaps of

blankets half reading, half napping.

"You need to go into school! Take this book to Enna

and this bag to Deema at the store!"

"Do I need to work?"

"I don't know!"

So I jumped up and started to get ready. Because I

didn't really know what to expect when I got there I

had to wear work cloths and put on make-up. I rushed

around my room, throwing books in my bag and searching

for my dictionary just in case.

I ran out the front gate and made it to the store in

record time to drop off the bag. I ran into school

and a teacher was waiting for me. "Did you bring the

book?" Yes. She took me up the back stairway and we

walked down the long hall to Enna's classroom.

"Do you have a meeting with Crazy Organization Lady?"

"No. It's Monday. We have never met on Monday and

never planned to meet on Monday."

"Well, she thought you had a meeting today. Go home."

Crazy Organization Lady has my phone number. In our

last meeting I clearly stated ten times that we would

meet two weeks from that day, Wednesday. She wrote it

down.

So I walked home. Home to plan my Ecology of the

Black Sea speech. Not really. But I still haven't

gotten out of that. At least I got some exercise. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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2-11-08

There's not much else to say actually. I just

couldn't let such a monumental day go by without

recognizing it. Monday, February 11, 2008 will from

this point on be known as The Day Without Potatoes.

Dammit. I spoke too soon. An unexpected dinner at

7:30 PM….fried potatoes. Monday, February 11, 2008

will from this point on be known as The Day I Thought

There Were No Potatoes, but I was wrong. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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This computer won't let me upload to flickr, so here is a preview of pictures to come. They include some awesome fashion choices, my first chocolate chip cookie since coming to Ukraine and wanderings through Jordan.

2-7-08

As I watched the cats and dogs fight over the

intestines lying on the ground, I began to contemplate

the week's events. Ok, that's not exactly true. I

just really wanted to throw in somewhere that I

witnessed our fat puppy dragging raw intestines across

the yard somewhere into this story. I think it ups my

"village" points and increases my status as a Peace

Corps volunteer. It's not something one sees every

day and it's true! Intestines are really long!

The part about contemplating the week's events is

true. Actually, I reflect on the events of this week,

and this past year. I have never had more change

occur in myself in such a short period of time. I

have no idea what lies ahead, I'm just excited.

Let's start with the week. I had my first sports club

of the New Year and jeepers! it was really good. Kids

listened when I told them to collect balls and I even

had two girls show up. In contrast, my second/third

grade English Club today was an utter failure. Two

girls cried through half the lesson, and the only

listener was a girl who kept coming up to me

personally in the middle of sentences to tell me that

she wanted to learn.

Overall though, the students this semester are like

new students. They seem to have a respect for me that

wasn't there before. Maybe they are used to me, or

perhaps surprised that I came back after the New Year.

When I walk into school people are happy to see me, a

few students hug me, and even the boys call out

"hello!" with a smile. Actually, it was rather

disconcerting at first.

In addition the English teacher asked me for help. I

went into one of her classes today and talked about

American traditions. It went well and a few of the

kids are really excited about road trips now. The

teachers in general are talking to me more. Even if

they are just making fun of me about my upcoming

Ecology of the Black Sea speech, at least they notice

me. I make sure I'm at "teacher tea" every Tuesday,

Wednesday and Thursday.

Moving onto Crazy Organization Lady, this is my one

lose end in the village. I was waiting for some sort

of blow out and it started at our Wednesday meeting.

She came in with a plan for a grant written in Russian

(with only a little Ukrainian). We talked through it

the best we could, I told her I would translate it and

meet with Peace Corps next week to go over it and

determine what is possible and what is not. I assumed

that this was the end of the meeting, but apparently

she wanted something else. She then yelled at me,

telling me that I just wanted to kick her out of my

office and that she knew I understood her and I was

only pretending not to. Uh-huh.

She huffed and puffed and threatened to leave, which

at this point was what I really wanted her to do.

Instead she sat and pouted, sniffling and staring at

the wall, trying to make me feel guilty. Perhaps I

sound a bit harsh here, but understand, I am done

feeling guilty about my language skills. I have been

studying Russian less than a year, I study for 1-3

hours a day and I know what I know. I shouldn't have

to feel bad about not understanding. It's not

something I can miraculously change.

What I do feel guilty about is what will happen if I

don't work with her. Last fall when I was really

unhappy in my village and was seriously considering a

new site, something kept me back. My persistence paid

off and now village life is going really well. I

really like-even love sometimes-living here, my work

and my life. The only thing keeping me from cutting

Crazy Organization Lady out is my life is the

community. My village is small and like many

villages, everyone knows everyone. I fear the

consequences of cutting her out. If I shut her out,

my chances of working with any type of organization in

the village are slim, but with so much work outside my

village this doesn't seem to be a good enough reason

to keep working with her.

Over the past few months I have received a few letters

about Peace Corps not being up to my expectations and

my state of happiness. As far as expectations go, of

course they are not what I expected. I honestly had

no idea what to expect. I came in as an organization

volunteer and ended up teaching second graders

letters. Was I unhappy for awhile? That much is

obvious. What I want to emphasize is the past tense;

was.

I never expected life to be easy here. In fact, I

always saw that as one of the challenges of Peace

Corps. Cultural differences, not being understood,

not understanding and living without things I took for

granted in America. Life in general isn't a piece of

cake and to run away because something is hard or

frustrating doesn't make sense. Actually, the best

way to put it is through someone else's words. "You

want to find yourself. In doing so, you must first

lose yourself. The best way to do that is to sever

nearly every tie with what made you who you are (i.e.

your home culture). Sure, the other PCVs around you

will help remind you of the system you left, but they

don't follow you to your site. And when you are

alone, immersed, as they say, in a new culture and

language and tradition, you'll come to understand who

you really are and are not."

Peace Corps is all about cutting one down and building

them back up, better and stronger. I've never known

who I am and who I am not more than now. I've never

been more confident, had more patience, or

understanding of both sides of the story. In fact, I

had always considered myself quiet, reticent and

introverted until a new volunteer commented last week

that she didn't see that in me at all. I am Emily,

hear me roar.

All of this is really just my way of reassuring you,

my faithful blog readers, that I am happy. Sometimes

electrifyingly happy – so happy I want to scream and

dance. I mean I'm doing it! I live in a small

village overseas. I am a Peace Corps volunteer. I

speak Russian. I am making a difference, albeit

small. I am a better person. I am patient. I am

confident. I am so much more than I ever was before.

How can I be unhappy about that? ____________________________________________________________________________________

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2-5-08

It was an idyllic moment. My second art club

featuring "Attentive/Caring" Dolls was a huge success.

One of my former trouble boys made me a doll with two

sprouts of green hair and as I sat down to help my

favorite second grader with her doll, she stroked the

fake fur collar on my new sweater. Yes, I have fake

fur on my sweater. I'm a star.

I'm in one of those phases of life that seem too good

to last. I have the perfect school schedule, my clubs

are overflowing with students, I can't find enough

time in each day to finish all of the work that I have

and I have an amazing support network of friends that

I can call at any time. Not only is life in the field

coming together but I also have plenty of work outside

of the village. I am already booked for three camps

this summer and am planning a trip to Croatia and

Slovenia. I love it here.

I still have frustrations and problems and impossible

situations, but those situations just make all of the

rest seem more real. Russian is coming along now that

I'm dedicating one to three hours a day on it. It's

not easy. "At the end of a word and before a

voiceless consonant a voiced consonant is pronounced

as its voiceless counterpart." Uh-huh.

Working with Crazy Organization Lady is not easy

either. She is just as crazy as ever and I don't

think sanity is going to come knocking anytime soon.

I can only take tears and guilt for so long. They

aren't going to make me understand.

Other worries have come and gone. I worried that the

winter would be too cold for me, but the Ukrainian

icecap that I dreamed of never reared its head.

Before arriving here I thought of Ukraine as an ice

covered winter wonderland with sleighs persistently

being chased by wolves (I'm exaggerating based on a

Danielle Steele book I read in 10th grade). I even

bought a winter coat, aka the "sleeping bag coat," big

enough that I could still wear it even if I were

pregnant with twins. I've worn it three times.

Partly because it's so big and hot, but more because

this country is so caught up with its own fashion – a

fashion credo that does not allow sleeping bag coats.

What the fashion does allow is fake fur and excess.

Not only do I have a sweater with a fake fur collar

and jeans with chains on them, but I dream of a pair

of jeans that I can tuck into some new Ukrainian boots

– preferably with a heal and buckles or something.

The boots will have to be kept to a nice polish

because I wouldn't dare go out with dirt on them. I'd

wear my new outfit with a huge purse and belt and

wouldn't let my watch spoil the outfit.

While I am divulging my inner most secrets I may as

well get this one out. Brace yourself. I have the

new Britney Spears album and I secretly rock out to it

at least once a day. I may be listening to it at the

moment. Ok I admit it. I am.

So prepare yourselves friends. When I come to visit

Americaland shortly I may surprise you. I'll step off

the plane talking to myself and holding a sleeping bag

coat ready to return. I'll confidently strut past

customs with my fake fur and decorative jeans rocking

out to Britney and storm the USA with fake Versaci and

shoe polish. That's right kids. I'm a star. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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Just when I thought that nothing would surprise me I

find myself quite astonished. Today at "teacher tea"

my director explained an epiphany that she had

yesterday.

"Em-ee-lee! You will give a presentation about the

ecology of the Black Sea to guests from the Rayon!"

"Uhhhhh…."

"I will write it for you and you will present it in

Russian!" (She really does speak in exclamation marks

when speaking to me. And uses non-necessary miming.

I know the word for sea by now!)

"But I don't know anything about the ecology of the

Black Sea."

"I will write it! You just have to read it! Ira will

help!"

"If you are going to write it why don't you just read

it?"

"No! That's not the point!"

What is the point? Enna later explained that some

people from the rayon are interested in what I am

doing in my village so the Director decided that I

would give a presentation about the ecology of the

Black Sea.

Is this random to anyone else? Does the director

think that I sit in my office and think about the

ecology of the Black Sea all day? And how is that a

demonstration of what I do in the village? On a scale

of one to ten the answer to these questions measure in

the Macguiver-sphere.

I'm doing my best to get out of this but have been

thwarted to this point. Even Enna agrees with this

mind-boggling plan. I did comment on the amount of

garbage, especially bottles, by the sea. I walked

down there about two weeks ago and all I could see was

bottles. I found out later that most of them are

filled with messages, no doubt tossed out to sea by

drunk tourists in the summer. Somehow I doubt my

comments led to ecology, but I really never know for

sure here.

If I do have to do this I plan on making the best of

it. I'll mention the number of dolphins that have

choked on plastic bags and story about that really

tall guy in Asia that utilized the length of his arms

to reach down a dolphins throat and fetch the bag that

had blocked its air pipe. (True story – I'm not

creative enough to make that up.) Did anyone notice

that beached whale last week? And what about the

state of the sea weed?! Is any actually growing

anymore or is it all being washed ashore? Maybe I'll

put together a team of environmental activists that

will help me write back to all of those drunken

tourists throwing bottles into the sea. We'll write

about the effect of pollution and litter and the

consequences it has on the Ecology of the Black Sea.

Seize the day, Emily.

____________________________________________________________________________________

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It's amazing how far a simple compliment can go. One

of the teachers complimented me on my cursive Russian

today. I'm somewhat proud of my writing myself, but

to hear it confirmed by a teacher that never talks to

me is positively thrilling. As I sat in my office

clutching my radiator for heat so that I could

continue writing, I reflected on the past few months

at site.

Maybe it's the yoga I've been doing everyday or some

drug they've been adding to my borsch, but I've been

happy. Not like skipping around singing happy, but

normal, satisfied happy. My director recently had to

fill out a progress report about me. She told Peace

Corps that I had already held 160 classes plus 40

extra-curricular events, attended round table

discussions and held a wildly popular friendship

bracelet club, promoting the importance of friendship

across cultures. She also mentioned how I had quickly

become a member of my family, the school staff and the

entire village, and all because of my Ukrainian jeans

with chains and pictures.

Ok, she didn't mention anything about the jeans, but

her abilities of exaggeration rival even my fathers.

My brothers and I still joke about the Missouri storm

story. "It was like two football players were pushing

the van back and forth!" We don't remember it being

quite like that. In fact all we remember is that we

made Ryan sleep in the driver's seat and all night he

kept accidentally hitting the horn. We all deny

having inherited this exaggeration gene ourselves,

though secretly we all know that we're quite guilty –

and that it only gets worse with age! I digress.

My PC director was so proud of my community

integration so I didn't have the heart to tell him it

may be a bit stretched. At least my director has a

good view of my work (though we'll see after my

ecology lecture).

Classes have been better this semester as well and I

don't know if it is actually them that have changed or

I. Tuesday I started my Art Club with Worry Dolls. I

couldn't come up with a good translation in Russian,

so they are now "Compassion Dolls" or

"Attentive/Caring Dolls." When the class started the

seats quickly filled up and I had to send at least 15

away for lack of space.

First I showed the kids how to make them and then I

realized I forgot all of the paper for them to use. I

told them this week was just a demonstration and we

would make them together the following week. The kids

were so excited, gosh darn it, that they used paper

out of their notebooks instead. Graph paper

Compassion Dolls…only in Ukraine.

Today I had two English Clubs. The first I had a

parent and teacher observing and they seemed to get

into the lesson even though the kids were running

around and jumping (no, really, I told them to do

that!). We studied classroom words and a few verbs,

including jumping and walking. At the beginning of

the next class two girls presented me with large,

sparkly, purple, plastic earrings in the shape of

flowers. What can I say other than they were special?

Another reason for happiness is my involvement outside

of my village. I am on a grant review committee for

PEPFAR (The President's Emergency Plan for AIDS

Relief) and am the HIV/AIDS Coordinator for my oblast

(fancy title, eh?). I also hope to start volunteering

at an orphanage in Odessa with a few other volunteers

soon and I'm already scheduled to do three camps this

summer.

Looking back? I persisted, held on to the hope that

things would get better, and what do you know, for the

moment my patience and determination paid off. I'm

even getting normal portions of food. ____________________________________________________________________________________

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