Less Than Three Months ( I'm still turning 27 after 2 years)

Here I sit with my 2nd sunburn of the warm season feeling more refreshed and lighthearted than I have in months. Winter has a way of creeping into your bones and this winter was one of the harshest the Armenians have claimed to see in a while. Yesterday my site mate Lauren came over to help me do some spring cleaning. We moved one of the soviet hammocks out to the 'patio' which in reality is the roof of the wood shed and we then hung an actual hammock on the upper bars of this contraption.

A week or so after writing my last post, I was very seriously considering ETing (Early Termination to end Peace Corps service prematurely). For a full week I started to make my plans, make up my mind. It was yet another low point, yet another bought of the blues. The reality which I will return to had finally hit me, knocking me right off my feet, gasping for air. I've always had the safety net of at least two or three girlfriends still living with their parents in our hometown of Babylon, NY. Knowing that I had dear friends to spend time with during my transition period at home was always a huge comfort and relief. I could ease the embarrassment I felt at having to return home and the anxiety at sharing a roof (and rules) with my parents. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in my place, my path.

Yet, since having struck out for Armenia very much has changed in life back home. Sure, people are mostly the same but that moment of youth has passed entirely. In Babylon there is a small tendency to hold on to that moment, to linger in its sunlit caresses. Growing up near a beach and spending summers working around or near the beach or pool on the bay, a person unwittingly becomes attached to that feeling. A feeling nearly indescribable but for those who were there alongside me, they know. Perhaps it is akin to omnipotence or immortality. Ironically, here I am feeling more sentimental about my teenage years than I have in years (because let's be real I am not THAT old) and yet it has been more so during my time in the Peace Corps that I've become fully aware of my youth, the fact that I am young and I have so much ahead of me.

I left America two years ago, certain that upon my return I would have everrrrything figured out. I would have a man, a job and a vision for my life. I don't really have any of those things fully, perhaps pieces of them. I recall preparing to leave and writing a post about this age-anxiety, focusing on the fact that I would be 27 when I returned- 27!!!! My Aunt Jeanie commented on the post saying, "No matter what, you'll be 27 in two years", and she was absolutely right. Time is going on out ahead of us in a whirlpool motion and struggling against the current, against the natural flow is a fools waste of energy.

Things are going to be different when I return home and I suppose that was always going to be true. My brothers and my girlfriends were all going to move into the next phase of their young adulthoods. My fervent desire to return home early a few weeks ago was an attempt to not feel as though I had missed this passing moment, the change in seasons, the turning of the page. As a romantic I yearn for these moments of culmination. As I told my friend's mother recently, I rather enjoy feeling my feelings and respect ceremonious events when it is the time to sit and reflect - to feel all the moments come up to that one and then go on like all the rest. My realization that this moment had come and gone without me for so many of my friends and would soon happen with my brother, my childhood companion and best friend, was like a slap in the face. I wanted to run home and be there in that moment in an effort to prevent it from happening at all. As if watching him cross the stage at his law school graduation was going to make it suck any less when he moves to California a week later. As if we hadn't already both grown up and began to walk separate paths.

Ok, I'm rambling here and losing the thread in a bout of sentimentality. What I am trying to get around to saying is that I can acutely feel this page turning, I just didn't realize it previously. Being so far away from everyone after so long is only just hitting me. When I first arrived in May 2012 I felt so homesick and was very aware that I wasn't at home.  After 23 months in Armenia I don't think about it so much; I found a way to cope and I've been riding the wave, aware in a very objective way how very far away I am, how disconnected. Now as the time comes for me to return home I am again aware of the distance and the disconnect. It's a little scary and unsettling, I had thought ripping the band aid off early would abate the pain but I know now it's more important that I feel my feelings over here, just like I have been for the last two years. I still have the mountains, the long marshutni rides, the summer dusk and the love of friends that aren't so new anymore. Friends that are going to be the only ones who know what I'm talking about when I reminisce in the future.


So...I have been here for two full years... when did that happen?


Songs In My Head: Philip Philips- Gone, Gone, Gone
Mumford & Sons - Hopeless Wanderer

"Welcome Home! Btw, you need to move..."

Dearest Babies, Lovas and Friends,

It's been so long since we last spoke! I know Ari had her guest spot, but I have not sat down to share with you a tale or two in a over a month. I haven't taken this long of a hiatus in I don't know how long! You must forgive me as I was busy giving Ari the good 'ole Hayastani tour, then frolicking in the land of gold and honey, THEN some very unexpected housing upheavals. I have been trying to find the time/energy/will to write you all since I have been back but alas, it only came to pass now.

So, perhaps you are such an avid reader that I need not remind you of what was going on at the start of August but I fear the truth of the greater majority is that you do not have any clue nor do you care. Alas, a quick recap is needed. At the start of August I was wrapping up the grant completion report for this past National Poetry Recitation Contest and gathering together a team of volunteers to create a committee for the 2014 installment. Unfortunately, about two weeks after the first committee meeting the team lost its most valuable player as she decided to end her service early. Luckily, I have been able to keep the ball rolling without her, even though it just isn't quite the same. Expect more about the 2014 National Poetry Recitation Contest soon!

My time with Ari in the last two weeks of August was absolutely marvelous. It engendered a completely new lens through which I am currently viewing my service. While there are difficulties and challenges faced on a daily basis Armenia truly has a special place in my heart. From the comfort and love I share with my host family, to the beauty of the landscape, to the taxi drivers calling me their sister upon hearing my Armenian there was much I felt proud to show Ari. All these things and more began to take on a new shade of meaning. The thing I appreciated most about Ari's trip was our on-going in-depth conversation about the culture here. We did many a thing, met many a volunteer and spent our final night together on the green patch of grass in Yerevan until 2 a.m. waiting for out flight times.

On the morning of August 28th both Ari and I boarded flights back to JFK airport. Unfortanutely, our flights were booked about four months apart and we did not have the same itinerary. After a day of time travel I arrived in my beloved NY and was picked up by dear friend Meagan. The first thought I had upon exiting the baggage terminal was, "UGH, the freaking humidity!". I had truly forgotten the oppressive nature of late August heat in New York. Without hesitation Meagan and I headed over to the most reasonable sushi joint in Babylon. I thought I'd be a pal and take care of the check as she'd driven all the way out to pick me up. Good lord! America, can we please relax with the cost of a dinner out?! Jeez louise. In the morning I was very grateful to spend time with my other dear friend Kaitlin. In the bagel shop I exclaimed, "OMG, KAIT! LOOK! THEY HAVE ARIZONA ICED TEA IN HERE!!!!!", all the other normal Americans in the place looked at me like I was on drugs. I think I embarrassed Kaitlin a bit but after a lifetime of friendship this is merely something she has come to expect.

Lord, I could tell you every last detail of my trip home but it would truly take too long and I don't want to waste either of our time. The highlights of my vacation were as such : a most perfect beach day on Lake George swimming with my niece Soleil; docking the boat before a storm like a champ; gurlfrands and brothers camping; a night cap at The Point with MK and 'firsty'; a most perfect beach day on Long Island with Regina; mani pedis with Momma; a night out in Babylon full of ridiculousness; yet another beautiful day riding the Cross Island ferry to CT; good times with cousins; a tasty meal with brother Andrew and sister Tess; kitty snuggle fest; motorcycle rides in the night and day; last meal in America with seriously tasty mussels; the royal treatment to end it all perfectly. Whew, feels good to finally get that all out there. In all honesty, it was the perfect trip home and I am so glad I made the decision to do it.

After waking up for my connecting flight in the Paris airport with 30 seconds before the intended departure time, I safely arrived in Armenia. I headed over to my friend Ashley's apartment in a small village which sits directly outside Yerevan. The next morning my host father Samvell called me. I thought it was a kind 'Hey- welcome back!' but I shortly realized his phone call was so prompt due to necessity. The family whose house I'd been living in was set to return to Malishka in approximately 5 days. He explained that I had that same amount of time to leave the house. I was on such a high from America that I floated through this process as in a dream. I felt no rush to return to a place that was no longer my home so I instead visited my friend Phi at her somewhat new place.

Five days later, my site-mate Elisabeth and I packed up the OBSCENE amount of shit I have gathered since being out on my own, then into Samvel's car and later his house. I have been living back with my host family since September 16th.  There was a house which I fell in love with which wasn't approved about a week and a half ago. I don't want to remember the beautiful balcony there because it only makes me want to cry. Yet tomorrow I finally get to move into my new place. I will post pictures as soon as it's ready!

Songs Of The Month: Sara Lov - Frankie
The XX - Stars

How Can I Explain?

I have been meaning to write a blog post for close to two weeks now. So many new, great amazing things have been happening. Yet, the only thing I can think about recently is Boston and the idea of 'home' that is far broader than the house my parents live in. And while I was thinking about it, I couldn't necessarily articulate any of those thoughts, beyond: "Holy f*ing shit".

Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.

At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.

Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.

There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off.  What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.

There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?

Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.

I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).

Unplugging

Hello my babies! I know, how soon after my last post that I write again! Alas, it has occurred to me that I should inform you of two very important things.

1. I intend not to open Facebook, for any purposes, until the day after my birthday. Whereupon I expect hundreds of notifications. I admit to having a small game involving birthday messages and FB. That is all the detail I was disclose.

2.  My birthday is coming up very soon. Before you know it, you will have missed the opportunity to send me something splendid, whether it be a full care package or simple card reminding me how missed I truly am. For your convenience, I have compiled a list of things that would be more than pleasant to receive upon my birthday. Please note, that all care packages and cards ought to be in the U.S. mail system by the 15th of this month. Otherwise, it is unlikely I receive your gift by my actual birthday. So, let us commence discussing my presents:

• Craisins
• Trader Joe's Seaweed
• Nyquil
• YOGI Lavender Tea
• Fanciful posters/ tapestries
• Jiffy Peanut Butter
• Ground Flaxseed
• A bag of Peet's Coffee and/or the a bag from your local shop
• Tate's cookies
• All purpose italian seasoning
• Trident gum
• Dried Blueberries
• A scented candle
• chocolate covered espresso beans
• Brownie mix
• Other 'just add water' goods
• Something you enjoy that will last the 2-3 week trip in a box
• A plastic spatula
• Goldfish
• Lemonade mix

I believe that is all I can think of at the moment. Should you feel compelled to run something by me, feel free to send me your inquiry at cnatalier@gmail.com. You can send your mail to the following address:

Republic of Armenia

Carolyn Rodgers

Vayots Dzor Marz

v. Malishka 3601

...Or if you find this utterly ridiculous, you can feel free to support my current grant project. I am the co-organizer of the National Poetry Contest this year. Students from all regions of Armenia will have paid for trips to compete with their peers in the capital. It's a great opportunity for students to meet others interested in English and this could possibly be their first time in the capital city, Yerevan. By following this link, you can donate whatever amount you feel is appropriate. Just keep in mind, even $5 will go a long way in helping get these kids to the competition! Donate to the 2013 National Poetry Contest!

Thanks for your consideration.

Quote Of The Week: "Yea dude! Just go stick your face in buck of soil!" Lauren Leary

Song Of The Week: Billy Joel "New York State Of Mind"

Sprung!

With the mountainside in my view, the sun splashing the kitchen walls, I sit and write this as the fire burns and breakfast’s potatoes sizzle in my new non-stick pan. This is my second morning to wake in the house which I will be in until at least October.  While there are drawbacks, like the non existent bathroom ( but there’s an outhouse) and the bare cement walls (which my brother noted made it look like I was in the newest SAW movie), I am happy to be here. There is a wild satisfaction engendered by cleaning all of my own dishes, organizing things in the kitchen (and every where else) into the precise way I want them. It’s mine. 

Now that I have total control over my environment, I have very high expectations of myself. I no longer want to melt into a make believe world watching movies or TV shows on my computer. There is no reason for me to sit in my room for hours on end anymore. Luckily, there have been times in my life when the last thing I felt like doing was turning on the TV and so my challenge will not be as great as possible. Recently, I can’t stop thinking about my favorite little paradise on earth, Lake George. Only, it’s not just the body of water and land that is Lake George that I yearn for, it is the summertime Huletts Landing Community as well.

Last summer I didn’t find myself wishing for this oasis at all. With all the new sensory experiences, there almost wasn’t room for missing anything. Now that my group’s year anniversary in Armenia creeps closer, I think we are all reflecting on the time that has passed. Not only are we seeing how very fresh and fragile we were upon arrival – but also we are remembering why we are here and what we sought in coming. I’ve been having a lot of conversations with my friends here and it seems we are all coming around this first year bend. We know what we want to focus on and how exactly we are going to approach that goal, we know who our friends truly are and finally, we just watched our first year flash in an instant. With this is in mind, we are all taking mental note to accomplish whatever it was we sought from the beginning.

I know that one of the things I desired most was an opportunity to take a large step back from my reality and realize what is was I needed to be happy.  Already I am seeing a much greater difference than before, understanding that some things are far more important to me than I had previously realized.  For one, cooking meals daily and entertaining folks semi-regularly is a great passion of mine. I’d forgotten how much I love to host get-togethers. Lengths of uninterrupted silence is yet another need that I have discovered. While I had known that each of these things were enjoyable for me, I didn’t quite understand how it would affect me were they to be taken away.  Huletts Landing has always been a place where I could have many of my needs met. There is such a serenity in the atmosphere and people , joy in the voices of children and an attitude that whatever you want to do to make yourself happy, just go ahead and do it. I miss that sort of freedom, I value that freedom.

One of the greatest challenges of my Peace Corps service will be the limitations of freedom as a young American woman. Yet with the new house, I get to spread my wings that much more than before. And Lordy-lord, does it feel good.

That's All Folks!

As I write this my mother is tearily preparing my last breakfast home for the next 20 months. I've made the executive decision to stay on the other side of the world until my service is complete. When I first left back in May, I had left myself open to both the possibility of returning home during service and remaining in Armenia. Clearly, the prior happened and I'm glad that it did. My time home has been as wonderful as possible considering the unexpected factors: the length of my stay and the reasons why my stay was so long.

Being home has given me a unique perspective on my service thus far and what's ahead of me. The varying levels of interest from others in my experience, and what they're curious enough to ask me about, has been a source of entertainment throughout my stay at home. Generally, I get a little fresh with people - especially those that I'm close with; so there were many instances five minutes into the SAME questions AGAIN that I would bluntly say things like, "Well - you should probably just read my blog or look at my pictures on FB AND THEN YOU WOULD KNOW." So, I want to personally thank all of my readers and life followers; I greatly appreciate all of your love and adoration - it means more than you realize.

And now, I have some New Years reflections and resolutions that I would like to share.

Lessons learned in 2012:

• Trust yourself. From everything to your instincts, opinions, and potentially bad choices - go in and come out with your head high.
• Nothing and nobody is perfect, so stop expecting it to be that way. 
• Attempting to gain happiness through others will only lead you to disappointment. Find it within yourself. 
• Talk less, listen more. 
• Sit back, kick your feet up and watch it all happen as objectively as possible.

2013 Goals:

• Find my balance in friendships, work, community integration, and decompression activities.
• End my casual relationship with cigarettes, once and for all. 
• Continue to learn how to love myself fully, without judgment. 
• Tend my own garden and not be envious of others'.
• Keep my heart open as much as possible, even when it hurts.

Well, that's all folks! Here's to another year full of new experiences, friendships, and lessons learned. I wish you all the very best. Thanks to all my friends and family that made it a point to come out and see me, or reach out to me via text and telephone. You're all so important to me, and until we meet again... 

Kisses and such, Carolyn!

Song of the Month: Bob Seger: Turn the Page

Quote of the Month: "I love you, Carolyn."

                                  "Aw, baby! How much do you love me?"

                                  "In January."

                                          - A conversation with my 4yr old niece, Soleil, as she takes a bath.

Mama, Mama I'm Coming Homeeee

Well, technically I already am. As I write this, Soleil is sitting next to me, complaining, "You talk in a different way." Once I started showing off my Armenian to her, every time I correct her English, she claims to not understand me. The title of this blogpost comes from an Ozzy Osbourne song that I often heard growing up, and was stuck in my head for all twenty hours of my travel time. Once I landed in New York - with no sleep since I was in Armenia - and saw an entire group of women standing around smoking, the song changed to "I'm in a New York State Of Mind" and also "AMERICA  F-YEAH".

Then, I got in the car with my mother and headed over to my great aunt's wake. I was dirty and smelly, in the same clothes for the last couple of days. I wasn't expecting to be going straight there, but we needed to pick my father up. "Everyone's waiting for you," my mother explained. First things first, we stopped off at a pizza joint to grab a slice of some New York pizza. I felt compelled to tell the girl behind the counter that this would be my first slice of heaven in over six months and that she should feel honored.

Now, I want to give ya'll some back story on what awaited me at the funeral parlor. While Patricia Hennessy was a 'distant' relative, I've known her and most of her descendants my whole life. My grandmother, Patricia, and their brother all bought summer homes within the Huletts Landing community on Lake George in upstate New York, sometime in the 1970's. My grandmother and her brother Luke had eight children and Patricia had ten. A good majority of those twenty six cousins got married, had children of their own and are now grandparents. All in all, at the time of her death Patricia alone had around 35 grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren. Throughout my life, I have spent two to three weeks at a time at Lake George in the summer, sometimes knowing who my third cousins were and sometimes not. Ironically, I did not find out until about five years ago that one of the cousins' whom I most strongly resemble, was in fact a family member. The families that have homes in Huletts are a sort of family in and of themselves, and I have the element of actually being related to a great number of those people.

What I'm trying to get at here, is that when I entered the funeral parlor - it was pretty overwhelming. Some people knew I was returning, others did not, but they all had a ton of questions. For just having traveled 20 hours, with no sleep - I think I handled it pretty well. The first twenty-four hours home in general were overwhelming, but not in the way that you are thinking. I was surprised at how easy it was to slip back into the life I left behind. I had no idea what to expect about returning- what it would feel like, if I would experience culture shock, etc. The next morning, as my brother and I were driving home from the burial he asked me what I saw. I didn't really understand the question, so I explained that it was easier to be home than expected. He pushed further, asking, "No- what are you seeing, right now look around - what do you see?". "Money," I replied. "Money, and people who have places to be, jobs and things to buy."

So, I've got three weeks left in America. I am already missing my Peace Corps family to death. In a way - I feel like I am in this weird time limbo. I was able to come back, and pick up where I left off - even go to the same yoga class. Back home, it feels as though time has stood still here in many ways and gone on in others. While for me, I have seen and experienced so much in the short six months since leaving home, that it's hard to resolve those two ideas. I don't really know where to begin. A few folks have asked me, "How was your trip?" At first, I found this a little insulting. Six months is a little more than a 'trip'. Armenia is my home now, that's where my life takes place currently. And yet, now - it does feel like a trip - in the slang definition. (ie: That show was a real trip, man.)

So. Yeah. Armenia's been a real trip.

... and I can't wait to get back!

Song of the Week: Grateful Dead - Truckin'
Quote of the Week: "If ya press this button hea, it gets one more hotta." TJ


Special thanks to the following for lending a helping hand during a difficult and trying time the week before I left Armenia: Phi Nyguen, Brian Bohkart, Chris Sherwood, Marisa Mitchell, Chris Boyle, Lauren Leary, David Lillie, David Corsar and of course, my super amazing host family.

A Farewell

18 days. There were only 18 days left until my feet were on American soil. I thought she was going to hold on, that I would get to see her one last time. We were getting so close and I felt confident it would work out for us all – my mother, Cetta and me.

But life does not adhere to our desires and needs, it simply comes at us. Sometimes we catch the pitch, even though it’s a curve ball. Other times, it goes way over our heads and we frantically chase it, our backs turned on the game. And then sometimes, it’s a change-up; it looks like it’ll be a fast pitch but once thrown - it slows, taking longer to come into the strike zone than expected. It doesn’t mean you’ll catch it – because if we are the catcher, there is always a batter. Cetta had been standing at the plate, in this particular game of life, for a long time. We all knew she had a full count and were waiting for the outcome of the next pitch. She surprised us all, hit the change-up right out of the ball park. She jogged the bases and went home.  And when the hitter hits a homerun, you can only sit back and watch.

My mother’s friend Cetta had a big loud laugh and a strong hug. She loved loyally and fiercely. She was a damn good Italian cook and could knit the hell out of a blanket. She was my mother's best friend, and sister for the last 20 years. For a long time, sadly, I saw Cetta as another adult who understood nothing about life and was stuck in a cycle I wanted nothing to do with. When Cetta was diagnosed with cancer in the spring of 2011, I was off doing my thing in Boston. I had let go of most of my resentment of her simply through time and distance. Since I was not living at home and we hadn’t had a relationship since I was 12 years old, it was a complete non-reality for me. After some time she went into remission and was no longer going through chemotherapy. When I moved home in October, I was utterly wrapped up in Peace Corps and my ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t until later, with two or three months before my departure that I started making time for Cetta.

The last time I saw her, I had invited her over for brunch. I knew there was a chance we wouldn’t have time like this together again, but in a very disconnected way. I wanted to treat her to a nice breakfast, with my Martha Stewart blueberry scones, home fries, mimosas and all. It was a really nice time, with Cetta sharing stories from her youth and telling me if I find a husband in the Peace Corps I, “betta NOT live wit him before you getchya ring!”.  That day, Cetta let me feel the mass that had started showing a few weeks before.  At the time, she was feeling healthy and joked about the cancer saying, “Ya know, you would think – finally, now that I have cancer I’ll be skinny- but I’m still fat! I mean seriously, what the hell?!”

Over the summer, I came to understand that it was unlikely Cetta and I would see one another again.  It hit me like a ton of bricks and for several days I was processing and coming to terms with this. I started writing her a letter, apologizing for my angsty adolescent ways and pushing her out of my life. I wanted to let her know that I knew she had always loved and cared about me, that the times she told me to be better to my mother, she was right. I faced the impending reality of her death and for the first time, saw her role in my and my mother’s lives clearly. She was a rock for my mother, and I love her for this alone.

Cetta never did respond with a letter in return, but we did get to speak on the phone about a month ago. She was staying at my parent’s home after Hurricane Sandy hit the east coast – as they had electricity and she did not. We got on the phone and I could hardly recognize her voice. It was no longer booming and strong, thick with our Long Island accent. I asked how she was, she responded saying, “I’m better now, I’m not crying anymore because I’m with your mother and she’s taking care of me.” I told her I was glad, and she goes on to say, “Carolyn, I want you to know you never need to apologize for anything – we love each other, I love you and that’s all that matters, okay?”  I wasn’t ready for her to bring up my letter so suddenly and it caught me off guard, so obviously I started crying. Next thing I know, she’s asking me if there are any boys- if I’m having sex. “Oh don’t worry,” she says. “Your mother didn’t hear me ask you that!”

Yesterday, as I sat in the back of the bus listening to my ipod, I thought about Cetta. Who she’d been for me, for my mother. I’m grateful that the last moments we shared were filled with raw honesty and lined with laughter. The last day we spent together, she turned to me and said,

“I am so excited for you to do this. I always wanted to see the world, but I was too afraid to leave home. Go see everything Carolyn, do it for me and then tell me all about it.”

Concetta Morrill (11/13/62- 11/29/12) 

My Most Homesick Day of the Week

... is Sunday.

I wake up most Sundays missing home. I yearn for the foods, sounds, smells and sights. Instead of telling you what's new (because nothing really is, besides the fact that we got a toilet!) I am going to write a lengthy post describing Sundays of my past. It's important to point out that this isn't to say I am very homesick right now. Actually, that was about three weeks ago. Yet today, as I felt that strong pull to be home, I decided to share this with you - my beloved followers (and secret stalkers).

Growing up, Sundays were not my favorite day of the week. It meant (without fail) church in the morning and homework in the evening. These two factors blinded me from the awareness of the magic that was happening around me. When it wasn't golf season, my father would sometimes wake up early enough to make his famous French Toast, with extra crispy bacon on the side. Sunday was ALWAYS fresh bagel day. I can close my eyes and smell the sweet inside of a cinnamon raisin bagel. No one, no one I tell you, knows how to do a bagel like New York.

Sunday afternoons were spent out in the backyard on the trampoline, swing set or hammock in the warm months. My whole life (when living with my parents) Sunday night is our sit down family dinner. My father will cook nice steaks on the grill with a side of potatoes and asparagus. When we were kids, the vegetable side was broccoli - so some things have changed. On Sundays, there was also a good chance there would be dessert after dinner. And as you may imagine, I shamelessly love my desserts. Ugh. Brownies and a cup of cold skim milk was like heaven on earth back in those days. This is still true, but I have switched to almond milk. (Which I daydream about drinking on a regular basis).

In grade school, many of my CYO basketball games were on Sunday afternoons. Before I started playing, my Dad coached my brother Andrew's team. I fancied myself their manager - going to practices and holding the clipboard, fetching my crush his gatorade. Later, it meant seeing my friends and having fun. The girls I played CYO with are still some of my closest friends. I distinctly remember the first day Jessica Sgueglia asked me to come over after practice. I thought she was so cool!

Once I was older, and no longer forced to go to church, Sundays became my absolute favorite day of the week. In the summer, I would wake up around 10 a.m. , put my bathing suit on and either jump in my or my friends' car then head for the beach. In the evening, my girlfriends would come over and watch HBO or Intervention together. In the fall and winter, it meant waking up whenever I felt like it and laying in bed reading for hours. Finally getting up, only to put a pot of coffee on and continue reading a book or journalling. Eventually, making brunch or going to it with friends. In High School, during football season it meant watching JETS games with my Dad or friend Caitlin Munson while eating Tostitos.

More recently, while I was living at home in Babylon before leaving for Armenia, Sundays took on a whole new meaning. It meant waking up with my niece and father, him cooking breakfast for both his baby girls. Later that evening, a shared bottle of wine and The Walking Dead.

What can I say, Sunday just means home. That home that exists mostly in our hearts and doesn't have to do with one place, person or time. It's that sense of belonging, the routine, knowing my place and what to expect, whether it be a bomb-ass steak dinner or an hour long cry fest with your girlfriends.

Oh, I have almost forgotten the most glorious component of Sunday: Bath time.

Oh, my bathtub!! My sweet, my love, our separation has affectedly me deeply. I long for your warm embrace, my solitude and serenity! But as you may have heard, I return to you soon. We shall be reunited again. Kisses and such - Carolyn.


Quote Of The Week: "Look at her tryna dance all cool and shit, like she didn't just fart."
Song of the Week: Asaf Avidan - One Day / Reckoning (Wankelmut Remix)

Class Decorum

School is finally in full swing here in Malishka. Apparently though, the schedule could still potentially change up until September 15^th. There is a lot about my day-to-day life that reminds me of being in college (minus my extra curricular activities).  For instances, on Thursdays I don’t have class and my schedule is different everyday. Sometimes, I have a 3 hour break in between classes and if I don’t have a class until 3^rd period, I arrive for 3^rd period. At the moment, my busiest day is Monday, when I have five classes. Luckily though, on that day, I do not also have my least preferably behaved class.

At the moment I am teaching 3^rd-12^th grade, with the exceptions of the 4^th,7^th, and 9^th grades. My school was recently renovated and does not have the same broken down old-soviet-times feel as that of other schools I have visited. The view of the mountains in some classrooms is just breathtaking. Interestingly enough, I have yet to catch any of my students (okay – maybe the 5^th graders) staring out the window daydreaming. I remember getting lost in the beauty of the field hockey field day after day in my high school.

Being on the other side of the classroom has opened my eyes to my not-so-awesome behavior back in the dizzle. I had the tendency to vacillating between daydreaming, messing around with peers and actively participating in class. I guess I thought, because I did well and was (mostly) prepared for class, that I could get away with the bullshit. Well, I know now, that it doesn’t make a difference. No matter how well a student does, being disruptive in the classroom is THE most frustrating thing on the planet. It’s even more frustrating when you realize that you have no power or authority to control the behavior.

Just a glimpse of some of the ridiculous shit I would pull in high school: In 9^th or 10^th grade I had this history teacher whom had travelled the world and taken a lot of photographs. Her lessons consisted of 5 page outlines and a slideshow. It bored the shit out of me, so I employed my friend that sat behind me to play with my hair for the hour. I would actually lay my head backwards and take a nap during this woman’s class. It happened nearly every class and for some reason she left it fly. One day we had a substitute, so I went about my business and I remember this guy being so annoyed; especially since I acted like it was my god given right to have my hair played with during that hour.  Jesus…

Anyway, in my village’s school there are a lot of grandmother-grandchild, parent–child relations. As you can imagine, it doesn’t help the behavioral problems. It is also very uncommon to fail a student, or for a student to repeat a grade. I am not positive, but I doubt that there is one person in that school not heavily interwoven within the fabric of the community. It would shame a family if a student was to fail, and it would hurt the relationship if a teacher failed a student. The students are obviously aware of this and, aware of the fact that at the end of the day, they truly can treat me however they want and it will not affect the outcome of their grades. It's something that I am trying to figure out... and will later become a talking point in interviews.

Next week my program manager is coming for a visit and I look forward to discussing some frustrations with her. In the meantime, I continue my routines of writing, yoga and running (though it's been more difficult to center around the school schedule). I will start up my clubs in October and am looking forward to the Wine Festival in three weeks or so.


Weekly quote: "You let her eat our cookies, THE COOKIES?!?!" - Yours Truly

Sentiments Before Departing

It's my last real morning at home in Babylon. The weather has been beautiful the last couple of days, but currently, it's foggy and overcast. I've left home so many times, for college each year, for AmeriCorps in Boston, and now for Peace Corps in Armenia. This time though, is truly the last. All of my things are packed so that when I do return to the states I can easily ship out. And this time, I can feel it in my bones that it is the end of a certain chapter in my life.

Last week I met my brother Andrew out in the eastern north fork of Long Island, wine country. I have and will always cherish our friendship. There is a Bob Dylan lyric (get used to this readers, because I will probably use his lyrics to process what happens over in Armenia as well) that pretty much sums up the backbone of our relationship, "We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view". We spent the afternoon tasting delicious wines and soul-talking (as I like to call it). The conversation began at a cute bistro in Cutchogue for lunch, where we started with the future. What was my flight itinerary? 2014, eh? Have plans for you return before you do Carolyn, promise me. Eventually, we got to the past. We spoke of ugly and pretty moments we've shared, things we're not proud of and those that we are.

On the ride home, this wave of emotion hit me and I started to cry. Not because I was upset over the thought that we most likely won't see one another for two years and not because I am scared or sad to leave. It was a feeling that's somewhat new to me, but it's something which I am getting used to. It's gratitude and acceptance of where I've been and where I'm headed. On those back country roads with the sun beginning to set, I knew with not a single doubt that I'd made it. I got through the tough stuff, I climbed out of the quick sand and it is the most amazing feeling.

And now, I get to leave, like I've always wanted. I get to go out with my head held high, with my friends and family behind me. It is the most beautiful thing I've experienced thus far.