Friday, April 28, 2006

My Heart Belongs to the Mountains…

(sorry for always being so long, but I do not know how to be ... short ...)

"In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, there's a land that's fair and bright,
The handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars all are empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees,
The lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

...
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall, the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, you never change your socks
And little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
And you can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains...
There ain't no short-handled shovels, no axes, saws or picks,
I'm a-goin' to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I'll see you all this comin' fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains!"
I grew up half the time, in the mountains of Romania... The story of that civilization is fit for a novel so, I'm not even going to attempt to describe it... And although I am, by any Romanian or American standards, a "city girl", I will forever be a "Mountain Girl" at heart... All you need to know about this hidden civilization is: to this day, it's my symbol of supreme freedom and of unbounded self-expression.
Up there, we used to be very close to the land, and very close to the most primitive way of living: we made a fire in the stove if we needed heat, or to heat up food; we made hay every summer, gave thanks to the Lord every night, went to church every Sunday to which we walked for at least 3 miles one way, or if we were lucky, we'd ride a horse drawn carriage, we would pick fresh eggs from the stables at the end of every day, we would start every day with a shot of homemade liquor, just for strength and stamina, I guess,we went to the woods to pick mushrooms and wild berries for dinner, milked the cows up in the pastures every morning and night, raised and ate the chicken and ducks, and the lambs and the pigs...
For fun, we listened to the "people's" music, Romanian folk music, which here to me has the correspondent very much in the bluegrass and Americana music, or sometimes even in zydeco, too... Simple and yet such complex songs of love, life, good times, and bad, growing up, and growing old, and growing dead... Just the basic rites of passage that we ALL as humans can relate to, songs that are done with the power of the instrument and human voice alone, none of this computer, synthesizer stuff of today...
On Sundays and holidays, we'd gather up and tell stories, about what happens in the cities, what happens in far away worlds, the violence and "strangeness" and how happy we were there, inside the mountain circle, to be so far away from it all! Then, in the evening, we'd listen to music, and dance all night...The home-made alcohol was pouring, and the people were dancing, and the food was plenty and delicious and fresh, all home-made and eaten with our dirty and tired fingers, and the songs were telling a happy story of an idyllic time ... We laughed and at the end of the party, deep in the night, we all had found a "pair" and we would be sitting in the dark, under a tree, listening to crickets and kissing ...tired, drunk and happy... In the winter, it was the fire pit that we sat around, and kissed and enjoyed warmth and close quarters... It was in one of those nights that I got my first kiss, under a sky full of billions of stars, and in the grass loaded with dew, no electricity and no candle light, just the light of the stars and the moon, and the chillness of the forest wind and the mountain crisp air... and I would not trade that moment (me, a "city" girl!!!) for the world and 3 Americas put together! That, to me, is Paradise!
The passions were intense and brutal, be it love or hate; the words were simple and the sentences short; people were simple and beautiful ... There were no surprises, the time stood still and it just repeated the same old traditions that spiraled around for centuries... It was (still is) a gut-feeling sort of world...
And today, some of these feelings come back, again and again, when I happen to listen to blue grass, folk, some old country (the "real country", as I call it), and whatever they call "Americana" music... The same feverish giddiness and happiness, the same sense of freedom... I have always considered myself, a rock-n-roll, hippie child, grown up on Hendrix, and Joplin, and Jim Morrison, and Creedence, and the Beatles, but this music I discovered when I moved to the States (which has NO ambassadors in Romania, unfortunately) stirs up the deep emotional pot in my heart... I can hear the mountain brook behind our house trickling, cold, on rocks, in these songs, and people folding the dry hay, and children laughing in the pastures, and teenagers chasing each other for a kiss, or two... It's freedom and love... And I can hear and see the liquor pouring and the fresh bread being torn and divided amongst all, as friends... In this world of paranoia and terrorism, I can feel the human closeness, yet again ... It's the basic, most simple things in life all condensed in one memory which I feed off of for strength every day ...
These feelings came back to me last night, while listening to "Johnny's Middle Finger" ("And it's nothing personal"- as Sam says! ) ... They played at The Rhino, and they did it with love and fun, not because the audience was particularly attentive... If any of you, "Mountain People" (at heart, especially, and I know you're out there, 'cause I've met you) can relate to what I relate with in this music, you should go check them out next time...They're pretty good and they can even make you cry! They can really make you dream, and isn't that preferred in this world of crudeness?! They can make you stop for a minute, relax, breathe, and find that basic, primitive, gut-feeling of joy we all too often miss in today's world! Just a nice oasis of unconditional peace and love ... Go enjoy, and drink and cry if you wish! It's all good... and all very human ...
And as the song goes: "life's a pleasure, but love's no dream " ...

Saturday, April 22, 2006

A Different Kind of Easter ...

Every year, I celebrate Easter according to the Orthodox Church, and thus "off" from everybody else. And "off" it is, trust me, to other folks around me, too... My customs, as a Romanian, are very different from anyone else's, including, probably, the people in my own church here, that come from countries other than Romania... Used to what we do in my family, I cook a fridge-full of food, and clean my house from top to bottom, I fast from animal products (i.e. I become a "vegan") for the last week of the Lent and eat and drink holy bread and water every morning, on an empty stomach, while I say my prayer - to respect the Death and the Torture and the upcoming Resurrection of the Son of Man...

The time from Good Friday till midnight Saturday is a sad and somber time: it's when Jesus was actually killed.... I feel like the world is empty those 36-some hours...I feel a void, like we all got sucked into this deep, bottomless black hole; time stretches.... Then, at midnight, on Easter Saturday, I go to church and bring the Light of Easter into my house, and when I hear the 'Jesus has risen, He has truly risen song', I feel the world coming to life again; the sun WILL indeed rise the next day, as Jesus now brings us light. The next morning, hungry and empty after the fasting and the sleepless night, tired from all the cleaning and the cooking, I eat the first "meat-full" breakfast and I crack a red dyed egg. That first meal tastes better than all the meals over the entire year. It's the reward at the end of a "different" kind of week; it's the reward and the "thank you" to God that allowed me to keep my customs intact for another year; it's the "thank you" to me, that I have not once more forgotten about where I come from...

Easter is a miraculous and mysterious time for me, and I find it, just like my whole family and culture do, the most fascinating of Christian Holidays! We all get born, but only "Jesus was risen". It's the most hopeful of holidays! It gives us the promise of eternal life, and I believe it's no random happening that it should occur in the spring, for that very reason...

Although a spiritual believer in every sense of the word, I am not particularly a very religious person. However, I have never questioned these feelings, and this "order" of things ! They were passed on to me, along with my brown eyes, curly hair and short stature... And just like that, they're here to stay forever ... I have done these things and lived these emotions for years now. Even after I moved here (and people invite me out drinking and partying on "my" Good Friday), and I don't have the support of my culture to keep me going (the said people have no clue why I say "no, I have to cook and clean for Easter"), it's something I do every year. To me, it's the "order" of things that has to keep on going... It's how my ancestors left it to me, and I have the duty (unwritten anywhere but in my heart) to pass it on, and at least for this lifetime, not to let it die... Should I skip this "order" of things for just one time, one year...I would feel incomplete...

This year, there will be no one to help me break the egg, and no one to share breakfast with me, after the night of the Resurrection. But tradition, order, love, hope and ... life ... move on...

Monday, April 17, 2006

Spring Cleaning?! Or More ...

Every so often, I "clean up" my life... Not just my house, but my life as a whole ... I get into these moods, maybe every 2-3 years where I have to refresh most of everything around me. It always occurs with the spring, since every spring I at least "spring clean" my house ... It starts with the closets, then the sock drawers, and the window boxes, and the outdoor storage I have, then it gets to the bill folders, and the pictures, and then the computer hard drive, and then it moves on... I paint a room or two in my house, I buy new clothes, I do new things, see new places, I haven't seen before, I try to meet new people, and I also cleanse my body and soul... I clean up my diet, and my fridge, and my medicine cabinet, and my bathroom cabinet, I do it ALL!

And sometimes (like this year, hopefully), I look deep down in the bottom of my soul's well and try to see what's there, and try to purify it if I can... I return to the mat (the yoga mat, that is), and I build again a new pattern of meeting it more often, and more regularly... I breathe deeper, and I become more aware of not clenching my teeth or smiling more when life throws a challenge at me (every day, as for all of us, I am sure...).

And I clean up my mind, too ... I restock the bookshelves, and the magazine rack, and I try to open up to new genres and new writers, and new perspectives on the world ... I buy new cd's and try new music out, just to see how I like it ...

It's all invigorating, and freeing ... It always has to be freeing with me... And I try for one brief moment to at least dream of doing one thing, at least one, that is completely new, and which I have never tried before... I'm looking, and searching... I guess blogging is my new thing for sure this year! It's a big step to open up to strangers and such, especially as shy and insecure I am about my writing in another language ... A new way to be vulnerable ... But again, freeing...

We refresh our lungs with every breath, and our heart with new oxygenated blood ... why keep our physical quarters old and smelly?! Moldy and damp?! Why keep our habits and minds full of dusty thoughts? Sure, the basis, the "container" is still all there, intact, but the "accessories", the ephemeral media that populate them need a little refreshment, for me at least... The heart and the lungs stay... not what fills them up...

If you decide to try it out: Happy Spring Cleaning to all ... It really puts you back to square one and gives you renewed and plentiful hope, just like Sisyphus must have felt when he saw himself again at the bottom of the hill...:-)

PS: I know you're wondering if it lasts... For as long as I can keep it... I try to believe I can only better myself, and I never open a shut door... So, what's chucked this time around, stays away pretty much for good...

Friday, April 14, 2006

Things Are Different ...

A lot of people here have asked me what's shocking and different when I step into Europe, or my home country of Romania, and people there have asked me what's shocking and different here, when I step into America... Hhmmm... Just off the top of my head, here's my list of things visible to anyone traveling at first glance:

GETTING OFF THE PLANE IN EUROPE, I couldn't help but noticing the different fashion: everyone looks like they're peeled off a GQ or Style, or Vogue magazine. Everyone has fashionable glasses, haircuts, clothes, bags, and stuff you see on TV, not in real life in small town America, on people going to the mall; the newspaper stands and bookshelves feature naked people, and the sex magazines are up front ; travel comes next, and then politics. People are slim, tall and walking or shopping in the airport boutiques. They have small carryons, backpacks or shoulder strapped ones, and maybe a couple of paper shopping bags, that look like gift bags. They carry bags that you see on E! worn by movie stars... They seldom talk on the cells or listen to music on some device ... They read and walk around... People in airport bars, smoking and drinking coffee or a beer in between planes ...They all wear what I call "European" shoes: they look weird, have weird colors, and are shaped funny. They don't look comfy, just ... different...

ONCE ARRIVED IN ROMANIA, the airport (as well as the cars and homes) was (were) not climate controlled and thus was very stuffy; there was no ice anywhere; all the drinks are room temperature, and the fridges in all the houses I went fail to keep the food and the drinks icy cold; everything there is much warmer, in that respect... They all yelled at me for wearing short sleeves, but the air is so hot and stuffy, I couldn't help it... In the car, on the way from the airport, mom has cold cut sandwiches she made before she picked me up; we stop for beer and mom and I drink while dad's driving us home...

The toilet paper there is pink, gray or beige, and still rough... Trust me, it is, it's not that I am picky. No one eats out in Romania. We cook everything, and if we do go out once a year, we make a big deal out of it, and we dress up, as if we're going to a wedding. Everyone there has high cholesterol yet they eat everything fried or soaked in oil, and insist they're using olive oil which has no cholesterol and it's healthy ... Their diets are weird. You think South Beach is weird? Or Atkins?! Go to Romania...God only understands those!!! Everyone smokes at the dining room table, while the rest of us are eating. They have shots of liquor for breakfast; there is no such thing as "sweet stuff" for breakfast (muffins, pancakes, waffles - nope!), everything is eggs and meat, or leftover cold fried chicken or cold cuts. The lunch always has 2 courses (always a soup)and dessert; dinner - one dish and it's always potatoes (at least at my mom's house) and some kind of meat. There are no traffic rules there, or so it seems: 2 lanes, and 4 cars driving in one direction; passing on the roads is common practice, and honking as well. Streets are soooo narrow, you feel like you're going to hit the cars parked on the sides at all times, or the people driving in the opposite directions. Cars look smaller than a BMW Mini... about 90 percent of them! All cars have 2-3 or more people in them...

The air is dry . A 10 minute rain will cool everything down by at least 5 degrees... Cars drive slow...35-40 miles an hour is the norm... It's a walking country: everyone is walking and you have to watch out for people, stray dogs, and farm animals everywhere ... Parking on the sidewalks and the grass is common as well...Stray dogs everywhere... Can't sleep at night from the hawling of the dogs and meowing of stray cats; they fight, and yelp at each other; the noise is deafening at times ... Roosters wake you up at 5 AM, every day ... Shower-heads are hand held... Coffee is Turkish and awfully strong, made in a pot... They drink it in small cups, too ... Everything is home made, or about 90 percent of what you eat ... The hosts and hostesses spend about three quarters of their days in the kitchen ... Cell phones all have weird-sounding rings: snippets of songs, foreign and Romanian...

ONCE IN THE STATES, what strikes you at the airports is the amount of very large people. A lot of people barely getting out of airport chairs and gasping for air. Here and there people are eating, or snacking at restaurants or at gates. Everyone is either talking on the cell, working on a laptop or listening to music, I assume... Might be books on tapes?! Their dress is plain and simple, seems comfy, too ... If someone is wearing makeup or has an unusual hairdo, they stand out ... People stare without realizing they do... The shoes are comfy, not really stylish. Most people wobble when they walk... Their carryons are enormous, they sometimes have 3-4 of them, and I keep wondering how is that allowed?! A lot of people chew gum in American airports... Everyone carries a drink and all the drinks are huge, oversized McDonalds or Wendy's cups, or huge bottles of water. The books that are displayed upfront in the bookstands are always diet books... Relationships and politics come next... There are no naked people on the cover magazines displayed up front. At all? Didn't look...

Once on the roads, everything is organized and people respect the number of lanes in the road. No one passes, no one honks... Roads are wider and there are no potholes... No stray dogs either. Traffic moves smoothly, with no surprises here... Streets are wide, and cars are huge... about 80 percent of them! The majority of cars have just the driver inside... We stop for fast food, and head home for dinner...

I am often asked, too, which one feels like home?! And I can never answer that: both and neither... or a little bit of both and a lot bit of both, too ... One thing I am still struggling with: trying to make dad happy: he always thinks I am still a hippy, because I don't dress "European", but "American", that is "comfortable", to me ... *sigh* .... I guess in some ways I do choose one over the other... I feel sometimes that I am suspended in between the two worlds, and never really belonging to either ... but it's a great feeling... I feel like I can never get bored this way...And I am also very grateful to know the difference... and appreciate it ...

Soaking in the Flavor of Home

Iasi, Romania

"To really love a woman
Let her hold you -
Till you know how she needs to be touched
Youve gotta breathe her - really taste her
Till you can feel her in your blood "

... when you drive down the road and you hear this on the radio, you know youre in Romania .Things are behind here, with everything .Not only by 10-15 years sometimes, but maybe 100-200 . But thats the charm of being here. And when I return I feel like my heart slows down a bit, just to run, for a couple of weeks, on an ancient speed Its refreshing, just like a good nap.
I thought I'd do a short (relatively short, since I cannot write short )entry today, so I won't piss off mom who already thinks I spend too much time on the PC. I also have to defrag this old machine and clean up the spyware, so, here I go...
What's it like being here?! Well, first and foremost, I am reminded every day why I left: too little money, too high prices, always in debt. Potholes the size of tubs in all the roads pickpockets everywhere and they smell too dust... so much dust and so thick and sticky... fines charged for things that are not illegal, but the policeman is always right, so if they should ask for money, you gotta give it to them (although you get no receipt, so you know the money ends up in their pocket); some parliament official decides to cancel customs taxes for 48 hours only, and after the 48 hours the taxes are back in; reason being: he has to import something for his own business from Germany during those 48 hours and he'd like not to pay extra money .Once he's done, taxes are back The blocks of flats have huge holes in between the stories, from water damage; insulation is poor, and the hard winters peel off the crumbling concrete they're made of; but everyone carries a cell phone, while complaining they don't have enough money to fix the insulation; stray animals in heat everywhere, roaming free; biting people in the streets; people dying from bites, and the stray animals get a lawyer (honest to God lawyer), so that the city won't kill the animal, for biting a human to death; you make $500 a month if you are really lucky and your gas bill alone is $100 of them; gasoline at the pump is over $4 a gallon and most of everybody owns a car, or sometimes two...always in debt and I can go on and on till the cows come home.
On the other hand, inside the house, when you see your family, the climate is warm and the smiles are big; we party every day; we cook grilled food on a real wood grill, and home make everything, from French fries to jarred pickles, from ice-cream to wine . We bring out the cloth table covers and the best China and gather around the huge dining room table when we have 20 guests over, pretty much every week and have a sit down dinner, with 5-6 courses; it feels like Christmas again; we talk all at one time and we laugh for hours on end; we turn the TV on and dance on Romanian music till after midnight . We eat non-stop, and drink too, all day long, and yet never feel quite full nor drunk. We hug a lot and kiss on both cheeks. We buy hot bread right out of the brick oven and eat half of the loaf before we get home. When we run out of the goodies, we need not drive anywhere, since the distances here are so close. When some of the non-family guests leave the women in the family get together around the kitchen table and cross stitch and knit and we talk about the men and how corky and impossible they are (yes, some things are universal); one of us gives some a manicure, and sometimes a haircut, while another gives another one a facial treatment; the men go to the living room and watch soccer; it's all under one roof and all very intimate; we love close quarters ...
It's not the quality of life that is offered to us that makes us tick; we lost all the hopes in all the governments we've ever had, and also all hope that Americans will ever come to our rescue; we have nothing to offer the Americans but our history and cultural richness, which don't come with a price tag! It's not the quality, I said, of life we're given that makes us happy; it's how big of a bite we take from it; we gorge on life here! We love the moment more than we love the future, because we know the future might never come, and it never comes brighter. And the moment is here, and now and at least we have each other. And this is what I miss when I am away. This is why I do come back: because every year I need to recharge my batteries from this richness and love. I need to be kissed on both cheeks and hugged a lot! I need to dance along with other people that won't look at me funny if I dance on impulse when I'm cooking a pot of fries! I need to be free, in my heart... Which is odd I left Romania for the complete freedom of the most free country in the world and yet I come here for it one more time... Just like the boy in the Alchemist or the Buddha: you start on a journey only to find out what you're looking for has always been either home, or within yourself ... It's so ironic, and it repeats with every destiny and yet we always set off on that journey! We always follow what we believe is our path. Mine is in America, I guess, with Romanian detours every so often ...
Home smells like dust and unwashed stray dogs; smells like rain on cool April nights; it smells like starch which mom uses for all her bedding; it smells like hot fresh French bread; it tastes like homemade wine and apple pie (NO cinnamon either!!!); it feels like mom's hugs and kisses: plenty and generous and safe; home is patience and slowing down; lack of speed and plenty of attention on the small things. Home is cats on a window sill baking in the sun ... Home is the real wood grill burning outside and waiting on the "mici" meat to be thrown on it ...Home is poor and rich at the same time, but always happy ...Home is timeless pleasures ... And it will forever be imprinted in my personality and character, no matter how many thousands of miles the airlines will take me ... Home is listening to Brian Adams' song and never even crossing your mind its an old song ... It's just singing along and thinking it's a good one ...
For pictures (might have to cut and paste):
http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/alinaservici/album?.dir=/b305

Romania Trip: 2006

On the way there...

I started my trip off on March 30, from the Greensboro airport, en route to my home country of Romania. It’s been almost 2 years (one year and 7 months mom wanted to be precise) since my last visit… This entry will be about some thoughts and scenes I came across on the way here… I love people watching when I travel, and I love to soak myself in the moment of being there, in various environments that I am not normally in every day… I find having an ipod, or even a laptop (sometimes even a book) distracting and preventing you from really getting the most out of the travels. Of course, if you fly for a living, a laptop distraction might be needed since you do need to get away some. For me, the travels are still a luxury and I like to savor them, just like I do a good meal… So, people watching is what I did, and tried to take down some snippets of life on this 18 hour journey to Bucharest. Here we go:

- for the first couple of hours (before we took off from American soil in Washington), I kept obsessing with things I forgot to do when I left home… Like forgot to unplug my cell from the charger and forgot to tell my home keeper to plug in the filter for the fish, forgot (not sure) to clean my coffee maker… I was pulled back, and could not focus on the trip at all; amazing how we can be such slaves to our routine; I needed to let go and just literally fly away and feel free… Everything was out of my control at that point; slowly, like a baby falling asleep and slowly releasing the clutch it has on your finger, I finally let go.

- Washington Dulles airport was a zoo… It’s amazing what people do in airports that wouldn’t normally do in regular public places; this maybe 14 year old in a group of teens, had pulled out ALL her paper money and meticulously arranged them in line, in neat rows and columns on the floor. She made a carpet out of the bills, then she laid herself down on the “money carpet”, her legs on the chair and just looked at the ceiling and sang, waiting for her flight.

- The longest lag of the flight (Washington to Frankfurt, almost 8 hours) was probably the most uncomfortable; I was to sit next to this 300 pound woman, who was mad as all hell that “they don’t make planes bigger nowadays. Why don’t they make bigger plane seats nowadays, since the people are not as small as they used to be.” Then she looked at my barely 100 lbs frame and said, and added: “And by people I don’t mean all o’ ya’ Zeros!!!! I mean all the other people!!!”. I smiled, but did not agree; I was “a zero”, so, I guess non-values don’t talk! At any rate, we could not pull the arm rest between our chairs down the entire 8 hours, because she could not have fit in just one chair; she over flew into mine; so I sat on one half of a chair, with the meaty woman pressing into my thigh and ribs; needless to say, I could not control my reading light nor my volume for my radio, which both were mounted into the armrest we could not have access to; But, I was a “zero”, so zeros can’t be too picky; I tried to read and sleep my way through the flight; she woke me up twice to eat… Sure, that was nice! But just in the defense of the “zeros” maybe they should consider making bigger planes, since people are not considering eating less and staying slim, just so the “zeros” can travel in a full chair as well!

- I also had a screaming little girl in the chair in front of me, who kept staring at me over her seat and screaming at the top of her lungs the entire night; just screaming, not really crying nor singing, just yelling, man… tirelessly!!!! I put my headphones on, and since I could not mess with the volume and the volume was loud, I left it loud and I could not hear much of anything else, not even my thoughts; I was too short to see the projection screen, and could not watch the movie they played, since the chair in front of me was too tall… So, yippee… Nice night. Thank god for the Kerouac book I had (I know, way overdue!!!), and the Sudoku one as well as for my journal! You gotta take the fun where you find it… At any rate, I had not two second-thoughts about paying $5 for a Miller Light, because trust me: my nerves at that point NEEDED IT!!!  Yummiest beer I ever had, too… Sitting conspicuously on a United napkin with the slogan “Low Fares Guaranteed”… thinking of my overpriced beverage, that made me smile!

- In Frankfurt, I boarded yet another plane, to Bucharest; this was full of older American couples, that were flying to Romania to go on a cruise on the Danube. I love old people, generally, because they have such a peace about them, and they’re so funny! They’ve developed a humor that I can only dream of mustering one day! One of the jokes I heard that day, from them stuck in my head…Two older gentlemen were asking each other how long they’d been married: one said 40 years while the other 49; the one who said 49 told the one who said 40: “Yeah, trust me, the first 49 years are the hardest! (rolled his eyes). I should have shot her when I married her. I would have been out by now and it would have been the same thing!” – the whole bus that was taking us to the plane was on the floor, and I congratulated myself once more for my own thoughts on marriage… because, see, the voice of wisdom spoke and it agreed with me…

- We got to Bucharest safe and sound and one and a half hour late; not a problem, as long as the delay was not a day late, and as long as we were safe. Beers were free on Lufthansa, but it was way early in the morning and I was in a too good a mood now because my travel partners were so sweet and funny that I didn’t get one.