THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

This a story about a girl I met at a rufa fish treatment spa.

While vacationing on the Black Sea in Bulgaria, I chanced upon a spot where rufa fish are used to feed on the dead cells on your feet. Two water tanks with warm water are filled with little fish, hundreds of them. They feed on the dead cells and exfoliate your feet. 

I am not an adventurous type woman. But when I saw something unusual like that, I jumped at the chance.

The place was not terribly busy; it was around noontime.

Photo courtesy of artztsamui/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Then, I met the young girl. Rosy cheeks, long brown hair, clear bright eyes. She asked me if I had any lotion on my feet and directed me to the water faucet nearby. I came back clean and the fun began -- for the fish, for me , and the girl. She set the timer and sat across from me. 

Our twenty minutes together was all we needed to get to know each other in our own special way.

The questions and answers were flying in both directions. She was a natural-born journalist. She had the passion and the wide eyes.

While she stayed with me, she kept her eyes closely on what was going on in the shop. The books were in order; the payments were in order; the smile never left her face. 

New customers came. Since there was no sign about the requirement to have the feet clean from any lotion, it became obvious the foreign customers did not understand what she asked them to do. She was quick on her feet -- she put me to work. Good thing I did not say to the clients "Wash your damn feet. The fish are crying!" I wanted to, but I was not the boss :)

After we took care of the newcomers, she was back, dangling her feet and writing in her memory notebook all she asked -- where we live, how far it is, when did I go to the USA, why, what do I do, what does my husband do. She told me about her family, her love for reading, learning English. 

Once she was done with this, she sized me up real well. She said, "Keep you sunglasses on. You look much better with them!" My response was, "You mean much younger." She smiled. 

The girl went on to tell me something no one mentioned to me in Bulgaria. Everyone complimented my Bulgarian.

"You know, your Bulgarian is very different." She spread her arms in the air, like the wings of a bird. 

I had to help her. "Give me an example!" 

"You do not say 'I am going,' you say it like 'I am gooooo-ing.'"

She said it like a little actress. I had to agree that may be my Bulgarian had become  a little "dramatic."

Once she was done with me, she moved on to asking my husband questions. I told her he was American. She guessed he taught English. I explained his occupation, which she liked. 

My husband was watching on the side the conversation between us -- the two chatterbox children. He jumped in,  shaking the girl's hand and introducing himself. She shook his hand. She was touched by the attention. The red cheeks were red from the sun, but the eyes were not lying. 

My time with the rufa and the girl was up. I gave her a hug and we said good bye to each other.

I will certainly forget a lot from the Black Sea vacation, but I will not forget the girl and the rufa fish. 



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LOOK, STORKS!

LOOK, STORKS!

Fresh picture taken by G. Coleman

I had not seen any storks  since I immigrated from Bulgaria to USA 22 years ago. One of my older blog posts was about wearing a martenitsa -- a pure Bulgarian tradition. True to the tradition, I also have martenitsa hanging on a tree in my little yard. Spring came, then summer started... It is way past the time to take off the martenitsa from the birch tree. There is no doubt what so ever winter is gone... It is 80 degrees out. True, but the martenitsa is peaking sadly from behind the leaves and reminding me of being a child many years ago. I am waiting to see a stork....

Then, a miracle occurred. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Stork during our trip in Bulgaria. Upon my return to USA, I gleefully took the old martenitsa down. On next March first, a new one will be hanging on the tree, along with the new expectations for love, happiness and health for all of us.

In many mythologies the stork is a symbol of prosperity, fertility, commitment in marriage. It is not just a big bird; it is a creature of significance for everyone's life. 

There are many storks in Bulgaria this summer (I was told). I met The Storks on the way to the Black Sea. Standing in all their glory in their big nest, completely unperturbed by the cars driving on the highway. 

I never thought there was a chance to meet The Storks right there, on top of an electrical pole. "Here you are! Sitting all pretty, while I have been waiting for you in USA. Hi, there!"  

Suddenly, Monday's driving to the Black Sea got very exciting. Even with a guide like my brother-in-law, who is a real history buff and story teller, there was not much to catch the eye. There were not even enough bad drivers. He saw The Storks first. I was more excited that the 9-year old in the car. The car stopped; pictures were taken. Not only did I see storks, I remembered how important they were in my childhood. What does Santa do? Santa brings presents. The stork brought the neighbors' boy. There is no place for comparison.

Pic courtesy of njaj/Digitalphotos.com

When you think about it, it is not a bad cop out for parents to use the stork as a sub for serious conversations about love and babies and sex. Even nowadays, there are celebration cards with a stork when a baby is born in a family. 

After we passed The Storks the conversation started in my head. I had to look into their life more when back in USA. 

The long legs, black and white wings, long necks, and bills, making a strange clattering noise.... My relative focused on what he thought I had to remember first: "The storks build big nests and return to the same nest every year." He continued, "they are monogamous; they do not change nests or partners." 

Well, this may, or may not be completely true, per Wikipedia, but I will trust my relative. He cannot be convinced that "may" is sufficient proof for birds infidelity after migration.  

How can storks play such an important role in mythology if they do not possess the value to be faithful to their partner? If I discover this, I will fire them in a minute. There are many birds waiting to take their important job.

I will finish this post with an Aasop's fable, which my babysitter used to read to me as a child. It was one of my favorite. She was a good reader, too. I still enjoy it. 

There is moral to every story....

SOCCER, MY FATHER & I

   SOCCER, MY FATHER & I

Sketch by Frank Bryan

This post was started a month ago. My vacation in Bulgaria brought back memories of the days when my parents were still alive. Every time you go back to your native country someone, something somewhere will emerge in your brain as fresh as the Black Sea fish we ate at the local restaurants. 

I always felt, I did not know my father well. He was not much of a talker at the time I was growing up. Back in the communist days, both members of the family worked; yet the burden was primarily on the women to raise the kids and do the house work. Dad was not an exception. He really knew how to weasel out of house resonsibilities. Yes, he was a bit lazy as far as house work. His work time ended at the hospital. The rest was all on my Mom's shoulders. 

He never allowed himself to look as the guy on the picture -- carrying 2 watermelons on the way home. There were no cars these days. Carrying a juicy, 10 lbs. each heavy watermelons was not a simple task for my Mom, but she did it. An officer cannot be humiliated to walk with watermelons on the street. No, no... He was given a break, because he always provided a dramatic picture of how he would look in the eyes of people with the watermelons.

It was a different story as far as sports were concerned. Attire did not matter. The most popular sport in Europe is soccer. My father loved soccer. He made me love soccer, too. It was not easy for me. As a young girl and later -- a teenager, soccer was not the first thing on my mind. But then, I fell in love with the game, the crowd, the noise, the excitement ... We went to all the games together. The little girl was there with her father no matter what. Dad did not just loved the game. He was ready to jump and help the team doctor at any second if some injury happened. In his mind he believed such a moment would come... The doctor in him did not let go even for a second. When there were head injuries, he would say in his sarcastic manner, "if this guy has several more concussions in the future, do not expect him to be exceptionally bright after he finishes his sports career." It is hard to say if he was right. Even nowadays, no one openly admits a concussion. 

Yes, I was seriously into soccer until I came to USA, where professional soccer was not popular. I want to brag about the Bulgarian soccer since it is part of my past, but since the World Cup in USA in 1994, when Bulgaria reached the semi-finals, there isn't much to brag about.  World Cup 1994 was the biggest success of the Bulgarian soccer. OK, eventually we ended up fourth, but we still have the history to remind us of the "Golden Generation" of Stoichkov (who scored 6 goals during the cup games.

Since then... I have nothing very impressive to report about soccer. I will blame it on the very tough qualifying groups for the Bulgarian team, bad luck and [who knows] big, huge, gigantic, to kill an elephant concussions.  

Picture courtesy of khunaspix/Digitalphotos.net