Wine Moment: It Takes 4 Languages to Buy Some Eggs

Anyone who has been fluent in one language and then tried to learn a third will understand my dismay:  One of the results of learning Armenian to function well in my new community was a gradual deterioration of my Spanish. But this year, I've decided to re-dedicate myself to Spanish and use it as much as possible.  I live in a predominantly Armenian-speaking community, but all the Armenians in my community are also fluent in Russian.  So I figure I may as well immerse in the Russian language community as well.  Cue the online Russian lessons. 

So the wine of pressing through the challenge of learning three languages reveals itself when I go to buy eggs from the store that is 100 yds away from my house.  There are three women in the store including my usual storelady.  I greet them in Armenian, but they ask me if it would be alright if I speak English so that they could learn a few words. 

“Ok, very good,” I say, searching their expressions for comprehension.  When understanding had been ascertained, I proceeded to ask for “bread, butter, and eggs,” in English, much to their delight.  

I then hear the storekeep translate the words into Russian, which I can actually understand! I say yes, those words were correctly translated.  Observing that I had begun to learn Russian, my storelady tosses a few phrases my way.  She then asks what other languages I know, to which I happily reply, "español."  She happens to want to learn Spanish, so I tell her I'll trade her some Spanish words for some Russian ones every time I come to the store.

As I'm leaving, she asks me what languages my dog speaks.  Smiling, I tell her that Mia is bilingual and understands commands both in English and Armenian.

The storelady, smiling back, says, “Molodetz.” (Good for you, in Russian).

Love and Peace Սեր, խաղաղությունAmor y paz Любовь и мир

Shifting the Purpose of This Blog

One of the greatest things about pressing through discomfort is the fruit that it yields.   The journey iteslf, enduring adversity, is one which cultivates great strength, growth, and maturity.  But besides all of that, we also get to experience moments of sheer delight as a result of working hard and pressing through the discomfort of daily life.  From now on, until the end of my service, I'd like to focus on those moments here on this page.

If I spent much of the first year in Peace Corps Armenia pressing through various challenges like adjustment, isolation, and being part of a minority here, I’d like to spend much of my second year enjoying the wine of these grapes, or the results of this hard work.  Sure, the work continues, and sure, most of the time it still isn’t easy, but I’d like to highlight the "wine" moments for awhile because I think great encouragement and hope can be drawn from them and so they might be worth sharing.  

The Barney Song Changes Things

Yesterday my fourth grade class gave me such a headache that even two hours of mind-numbing TV couldn't fix.

I wanted so badly to teach them the difference between the “Long A” sound and the “Short A.”  We're teaching Phonics this year, which overwhelms me as a teacher because I both love it and fear it.  

– MISS MEG! SHOULD I SAY (the answer)??? 

– Wait, please wait your turn.  I’m asking Sveta how to pronounce the word “apple,” not you.

– MISS MEG! MAY I .... Kareli durse gnal?

– Only if you say it in English, Grigor.  

– MAY I .... GOWAT?  (may I go out – as in, go to the bathroom)

– Yes okay.  Be quick.

– Now, sound out the word “apple,” Sveta.  GOHAR (my counterpart)! 

– MISS MEG!

– GRIGOR!

– SVETA! APPLE!

– GOHAR!

Headache.  We didn’t even get to vowel number two: The dreaded “E.”

Gohar and I used a Phonics method that really only works on older kids anyway, or kids who have a longer attention span than these little squirts had.  But the lesson plan wasn’t even the problem.   It was my allegiance to that lesson plan that was the issue.  

I was so hung up on accomplishing my mission with this class that I rapidly began to lose my patience and get very stern anytime they distracted me or made too much noise.  I was overly focused on my agenda. By the end of the lesson, I marched out of the room feeling irritated with all of them, exhausted, and guilty for not helping them distinguish between two seemingly simple sounds.  

Today, after class with the same group of kids, I feel energized and confident.  Why?

Peace Corps has jostled, shattered, and reformed all my priorities this year.  Whenever I get irritated or feel inadequate here, I remember that my first priority is to build relationships, and another is to live in total acceptance. By giving priority to these two values I acknowledge their supreme importance and snap them back into focus whenever I begin to drift.

So my attitude change toward today’s lesson was simple.  I planned to value my relationship to my students and to my counterpart more than I value discipline, total silence, or the structure of my lesson plan. 

I planned to accept not only the undesirable incidents that might occur throughout the class, but also to accept my own imperfection as well.  

There will be mistakes in each lesson.  There will be some students who don’t get things.  I have a whole year to work with these kids, and I need to be cherishing the small victories.  I planned to sing a song with them, and have some fun.  Kids need to move and sing and laugh and play.

Smiles were ubiquitous as we sang the “Barney Song,” and our fast-paced, fun-packed Phonics lesson left the kids wanting to learn more, to read more.  

Also, I talked out an issue with my main trouble-maker dude, and  told him that I loved him.  I took him out of the class and said, among other things “I love you but I need you to stop giving me headaches.  I know that you want to be good, so tell me how I can better meet your needs.”  We shook hands afterwards and pursuant to this he behaved angelically.

Sometimes we just have to accept our inability to be superheroes, abandon rigidity,  show a little love, and sing a little Barney.  Maybe it’s something about the lyrics that we sing, but the Barney song can really change things.

Weekly Grape:  Can I shift my focus to turn failure into fun?

Balcony Moments

What I have thus far failed to be brave enough to notice is that my concrete, crapped-out, gorgeous-in-all-its-patheticness balcony represents the space I often inhabit here in Armenia between cultures.  

So I sit here on my balcony, courageously enduring the stares, pondering this space that I’ve grown so fond of dwelling in this past year in Peace Corps Armenia.

On the outdoors side of the balcony, Armenians spit sunflower seeds, work on their cars, play in the street, shout to each other from their balconies, and release a cathartic “HELLO!” whenever they happen to see me.  

On the other side, a private American sanctuary sits, removed from it all:  a little slice of home decorated with pictures of my family and memories of what I’ve left behind.  Secluded, but free.  My own, but in someone else’s country. 

Reflection and a sudden fondness for this balcony-moment I’m having in the middle of this new world I’ve found myself in encourages me to press endlessly deeper into the in-between,  to really get to know the language, the idiocyncracies, the heart-issues, and the needs of the people surrounding me.  

Because what can happen in these unfamiliar, slightly awkward in-between spaces, or “balcony moments,” are interactions like the one I just recently had with two of my neighbors, who I’ll call Loud Kid #1 and Loud Kid #2:

Loud kid 1:  Hey! How long would it take to bike to... where is it  
again you are from? Russia?

Me: America.

LK 1: Yes. So how long would it take?

Me: Well, there’s an ocean you’d have to cross so maybe a plane 
might be better.

LK2: Yea, yea, but if we WERE to bike, how long would it take?

Me: Maybe a year... I dunno.

LK1:  Vshhh, that’s far.

Me: Yup.

And it’s moments like this that make turning “grapes into wine” and embracing the “balcony-moments” all worthwhile.

Weekly Grape:  Have I passed up a balcony moment recently?

Lost on a Horse in Armenia

When my sister Casey’s horse took off full-speed through a river, up a narrow road, and then completely out of view (leaving her phoneless, helmet-less, and blasting through a foreign Armenian village unable to speak the local language), I had only one thought:  If she dies, my parents will kill me.  

Do you know what the English halt command “Woahhhh” signifies to an Armenian horse?

Speed up.

And you can probably guess what my sister, an experienced equestrian in the States, shouted at the horse as it bolted through the village toward the mountains. 

Linguistic barriers can be really entertaining until your life is on the line. 

After sprinting a lap around the entire village in search of Casey, asking anyone along the way if they had seen an American on a horse and if they could please – gasp, heavy pant – help me find her, I climbed to the top of a mountain to search for her from a bird’s eye view.

Right when I got to the top, I finally got a phonecall from my host sister telling me to come home because they had found Casey casually walking the horse down the street saying it was the best ride of her life.  

If my sister is going to come visit me in Peace Corps Armenia, I guess the least we can do is provide the villagers with stories to tell their friends over “surch” (coffee).  

“Grapes into wine” is about pressing through fear and discomfort to experience the freedom that exists within that.  When Casey took off on that horse, she literally went into “fight or flight” mode for a while, deciding whether or not to jump off the horse.  Her decision to stay on the horse required a great amount of trust – trust that the horse wouldn’t buck her off, that she had enough skill to ride at a gallop, etc.  It also required courage.  

Casey later explained that after sprinting past all the village homes, the horse slowed down when they reached miles of wheat fields, apple orchards, and wildflowers in a gorgeous valley outside the village.  She said she had never felt more free on a horse in her life.  To Casey’s enormous relief, the horse then stopped and allowed her to dismount in the middle of this landscape.

“It was the best ride of my life,” she told me for the second time.

“Yeah yeah alright but you almost died.  And I almost did too. What was so great      

I know you can't see this because the picture quality is
terrible, but this is the only photo we managed to get
from the experience after it was all over. I look wraught with
concerned (right), and Casey is full of joy (left).

   about it?”

“It was just sooooo liberating.” 

I think that’s what happens when we press through discomfort.  It requires a great deal of courage and trust to do it, but then we are set free.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I fight or flee when things become really uncomfortable?

Buggin' Out

Today I wake up, start my routine, stare at my to-do list, get side-tracked, and re-dedicate myself to my list of tasks.

I get out my huge soup pot, because busy schedules mean bulk meals that I’ll eat for every meal of every day for a week straight.  Like soup.  

As I’m about to strip all the vegetables of their nutrients by boiling them into soup,  I look into the pot and see that it’s been stormed by an army of tiny, silver bugs.  

Silverfish.  

These bugs prefer dark, damp areas in the home and are especially attracted to old water in dingy places.  Like me, silverfish feed mostly on carbohydrates.  Unlike me, they can survive for several months without food! They are nocturnal and they wriggle like tiny, disgusting fish through my kitchen cabinet. 

So my first thought is to toss the pot immediately, but my second thought prevails because I remember that I’m too broke to buy another soup pot.  So I clean it out and spend the next hour cleaning out half my kitchen, where the rest of the silverfish have apparently infiltrated.  

Crisis averted.  Ready and soup-fueled to plow through my to-do list, I sit down to play with my puppy (because it’s not procrastination if it delights a puppy).  I pull out her favorite old sock and tantalize her by smothering her face with it.  Then I spot a tiny little black critter maneuvering its way blissfully through the fur of her hindleg.  To my horror, I find another one closeby.

Fleas. 

Raising pets involves many challenges, but flea investations may be one of the worst.  Once these peevish little A-holes invade your home, you’re doomed with them for up to two years.  Normally I can find consolation on the internet by googling remedies for these kinds of problems, but even cyber-space offers no words of encouragement when it comes to fleas.  

So as for THIS grape, I struggle to turn it into some sort of “sweet” wine, considering that I’ll be cleaning my entire apartment inside and out every day for the next few months.  But I think I can draw several parallels between this situation and some of the lessons that God has taught me though Peace Corps so far: 

1. Like many experiences in Peace Corps, fleas test my ability to practice long-term problem solving rather than relying on quick-fix solutions.
2. Fleas snap us into the present moment and make us focus ferociously on the task at hand (I have become utterly consumed by the flea mission).
3. Fleas require me to do all that I can do reduce the problem, but to accept the fact that many parts of the issue lie outside my immediate control.
4. A flea-invested home in Armenia means getting really creative while working with limited resources (can’t afford a vaccuum, have to use natural flea remedies, etc).
5. Fleas encourage me to be extra attentive to my animal, my home, and myself, and look closely into everything.

Suffice it to say, I was considerably “bugged” today by everything that happened.  But I’m going to make “flea hour” fun each day by creating a special flea playlist and singing obnoxiously while I attack my home with cleaning products.  

These bugs will not suck my blood, and they most certainly will not suck my joy.

Weekly Grape:  How the heck do I turn a flea problem into something good?

Loving Well Through the Storm

My running shoes are tired. The inside of each shoe has begun to peel away from the sole in retaliation against years of maltreatment and rancid odor.

The shoes have faithfully carried me through some of the most treacherous and disgusting terrain here in Armenia.  They’ve survived cow poop, muddy swamps, stones, and heavy rainfall.

But throughout all of it, they've remained fundamentally in tact. 

Today a friend and I did our usual track workout (on a giant gravel circle surrounding a field in our town).  We did our usual workout – but we did it in the pouring rain.  Normally for a runner, rain means you get the day off and don’t have to feel as guilty for staying inside. But today, we exposed ourselves to the elements and dashed bravely through the storm.  

Sometimes it is intensely liberating to lean in and press through something that would normally inhibit us.  I imagine a horse staring straight through a swarm of flies surrounding its head while maintaining focus on the hay that it wants to eat. He stares relentlessly into the face of chaos because he has a clear purpose in mind. Like the horse, I'm challenged to step out into my community, where there are often many challenges and irritations, and stay focused on loving well.  

Running deliberately through life’s rainstorms and surfacing unscathed helps me remember that my joy can never be tainted by circumstance because unlike the mud on my running shoes, something that comes from within can never be washed away.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I cower away from discomfort or lean into it with fearless abandon?