Alaskan Bulgarian

On the Weather and Writing While Feeling Good

Today's weather continued the week's pattern of getting slightly warmer every day following the Monday when I felt my ears would fall off if tapped slightly. It's not toasty by any stretch, but it's hovering in the high 30s-low 40s, which is pretty temperate for this region at this time of year, or so I gather. The nights are still the time of gloves, hats and scarves, but the days still see guys with their hands firmly stuffed in their pockets.

Passing a cafe on the way to the internet club today, a friend opened the door and called me over. I went inside and he had already sat himself down at the bar next to my gloves, which I had apparently left there last night. "I believe these are yours," he said. Of course, he hadn't seen me in two weeks and had absolutely no idea what my gloves would look like or if these were mine. I'm sure "the boss" (the cafe's owner, who everyone calls shefe) had left them behind the bar, with the explicit instructions to give them to "the tall American who comes here sometimes." The boss knows my name, but I'm pretty sure he would be iffy on the rest of his staff knowing it.

Just kind of gows to show how things have been coming up well lately. I try to spread the luck around as much as I can, give some of the good vibrations to those who deserve it. But looking back on the past few entries, I can see the contentment has phased through into my writing. Might just be me, I don't know, but there doesn't seem to be much bite this week.

There was an episode of "The Larry Sanders Show" where Phil, the head writer, stops writing well because he's happy and in love. Well, although the love part hasn't really sunk in yet here in Bulgaria, I'm pretty happy, and it's awfully hard to write about the happiness in being content. I've also seen that it's awfully hard to read about someone being happy, explaining why Dickens devotes maybe 6 of the 600 odd pages of Oliver Twist to descriptions of Oliver actually being joyful.

I spent part of the otherwise productive morning going over things that I could complain about. Nothing there really. I'm planning on visiting the orphange as Santa, and I had no idea where I would get the costume here in Bulgaria. Well, turns out I had the shirt and the necessary pillow, and the store below my apartment sold me a nice hat and beard combo for a lev fifty. The only things missing are the pants and boots. In all honesty, it would be next to impossible to get a pair of 34-38 red pants and size 17 shiny black boots in America on short notice, so I really have nothing to complain about if Santa will have to wear black slacks and loafers to pay a visit to a Bulgarian orphanage.

I'm going to have to work next weekend. When I first heard that, the voice of Office Space's Lumberg went through my head. Um, yeah, I'm going to need you to come in this Saturday. And, oh, yeeeah, I'm gonna need you to come in on Sunday, too. mmmkay? Thaaaanks. It means I'll have to miss a birthday party in Veliko Turnovo, which is an absolute pity. But the schedule change means we won't have to teach the Monday and Tuesday before Christmas, which I could imagine would be absolute hell with two hours of eighth class a day, the kids bouncing around the room waiting for Christmas Eve. They're already getting antsy enough.

No pro or college basketball? Over that, really. And to continue a day of references, I've come to appreciate Santiago's habit of re-reading old box scores in The Old Man and the Sea. I can construct imaginary games out of the numbers on the page. It's kind of fun, like being a kid again. I've also learned to find new joys in highlights. Instead of reliving the great Kobe-Shaq alley-oop I had just watched two hours before, I get a little kick of joy every time I see Devean George hop and turn down the court after someone else makes a big play. It makes me feel like I'm watching a game and given the luxury of being able to pay attention to the little things.

Bulgarian grocery stores? Used to them.

The fact that, as an English teacher, I now think more about improper use of language than meaning when I listen to song lyrics or sometimes even when people speak? Actually kind of fun, as long as I don't get to the point of being an asshole about making corrections. It's "were," dammit, "were." "I wish she were here." Okay, maybe it's not that fun. But still, it's like a game. You get the idea.

Things are good here. Yesterday, I set up a couple of big projects for the twelfth classes that will give us something to do throughout the next term. Both classes seem excited about the possibilty of setting up plays in English. They want me to find a play on-line, but after class I decided that it'd be more fun to let them do the writing. It would take up more time too. So I have that going for me, which is nice. The tests in eighth class went well enough, and the students all understood the grades they were given, without argument in most cases. But I'll change things next time. I had all the students take their oral tests in the room one at a time, and despite general silence there were still a few corrections, chuckles, and outright laughs at screw-ups. Next time, it'll all be done in the hall. That's decided.

I suppose it's all about adaptation. I could be sitting here moping about any number of things, but there's really no use in it. So until some new problem rears up, I'm happy here, and am patting myself on the back as I speak. Good for me.

Posted by Rob at December 12, 2003 05:17 PM