WALKING IN THE SNOW (Part 2)

WALKING IN THE SNOW

(Part 2)

I could not wait to get to the card. It is not every day that I get handwritten cards. Only two friends send me one for my birthday, but there is only one person who would work long to make it perfect. 

My daughter. 

No technology, no ready-made words can be a substitute for something written just for you. It has been touched, kissed, decorated with love. It carries the words and the humor from the days she was a child. It is perfectly imperfect in the shapes and the almost straight lines, just the way our lives have been through all the ups and downs in USA. Only we can feel the importance of each word; each seemingly regular sentence. These are our short love letters.  

The cards do not come only on Valentine's day. If love is waiting to be shown on only one day of the year, do we live without love the rest of the time? Her cards are beautifully- written from the left corner to the very bottom. No one, but we two can decode them. 

This is what brings the joy - our own special lingo.

I am not so good at all of this. My handwriting is illegible. My hand is shaking. My art skills are limited. I go to Hallmark, sit on the floor after I have grabbed as many cards as possible without raising suspicion about my sanity. Then, I start reading and reading. The one I can work with always comes. I can scratch off words, add a made-up word, cut the corners with scissors, everything I need until it looks and sounds like me. 

We never know when the card will come. It never comes on time. But when it comes, it is a holiday for the soul. 

If a day comes I have to buy a card from a store without saying a thing, it will mark a sad day in my life. 

 

GO-ING, GOIN', GONE TO BULGARIA & BACK TO USA

GOING, GOIN', GONE TO BULGARIA & BACK 
TO USA 

Closing the chapter on a summer vacation is a tough thing to do. It is not because the sun will never shine brightly again. Fall is full of colors; winter is innocently white. 

Nature is pretty. If you take the time to look around, you will find screaming beauty. Even a family member, who never talks to you is beautiful. Maybe, you never told him he was beautiful. There must be a reason to become friends with someone on FB, too. Go back and remind yourself of this moment!

In my case, I am friends with Bulgaria. I am not referring to FB. I was born there. Even the customs officer knew it by looking at my first and middle name. My last name is American. My husband is American.

Let's start the story with Bulgaria. 

As far as my native country, I will be frank with you -- I do not read the Bulgarian newspapers, follow the news on Bulgarian TV, or attend any events bringing together the immigrants in USA. I have my reasons for it -- I try to stay away from what may create a misconception and reinforce some preconceived notions in my head. I want to keep my memories solely of the Nature and my people.

This time, just like before, my trip was not well planned, my health does not allow it. It never listens to me. 

After crossing the ocean, my husband and I made a stop in Vienna. The rest of my family lives there. 

It does not do justice to Bulgaria to be compared with one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. Besides, the story is not about Vienna. Vienna is music, culture, art, architecture, coffee and pastries (excuse me, Schnitzel)... and much more. 

If I have to choose a city to live in Europe, it will be Vienna. 

I have a big part of my heart there. I do not have the German language down, but I have always been a good student. 

The Ferris Wheel ( my all times favorite)

Whether I like the name (expat), or a visitor, or a tourist, I am one of those. I was goin' to Bulgaria. 

Upon arrival there, I experienced something totally personal.  One can call it a 'reverse culture shock'.  I go so rarely, for such a short period of time, I have to draw my conclusions about the country from a 6 day visit. I just walk on the yellow pavers and think what I did 20 years ago. Were the pavers different, or I was different. I reminisce about everything and nothing specific. A bird can make me cry, the bird on the next tree may look the same, but it will make me smile. This 'reverse culture shock' goes farther and farther as reminiscencing over the past continues.

In the country you were born, feeling "gone" is not nostalgia,  It is a date with the surreal. Have you experienced a dream, which gives you a smile and tears? I have many of those. I open one of my eyes, look around and run back into my sleep.

At the beginning, going back to Bulgaria resembled that dream. We arrived late, went to the hotel and woke up early. I put on a white dress. I wanted to look beautiful for my morning meeting with Bulgaria. We had just a few hours before driving to the Black Sea. 

We always see The Bulgarian Orthodox Church first. It never sleeps. It always waits there for me; it smells the same; it feels the same. Every time we visit the country we end up with tons of pictures from it and paintings of it from unknown artists sitting at the market closeby. 

It was Sunday; everything was closed [but the churches] and the  currency exchange place. I could not go back to the dream. The Home of God and the currency exchange place woke me up. There were many tears, but I also got a picture in a white dress. That was it.

It was time to be with family, have some nice food and travel to the beach town. 

I wrote two blog posts from my vacation. "Tasty and Testy in Bulgaria" and "The Girl & the Rufa Fish." They are both to be found on colemanwriting.blogspot.com. Those two posts are among my favorite; What upset me, shocked me, made me smile and brought joy to my heart is in there.... 

As they say in the big books, this represents different stages of my 'reverse culture shock'. 

Years from now, I will laugh and frown upon what I wrote.  

When I was living in Bulgaria I was not a close friend with the breathtaking Bulgarian mountains. I was not a mountaineer. Maybe, I never had a good friend to take me to the mountains and introduce me to them. I had one, who made going to the mountains a sprint, not a slow pace enjoyment. I truly regret not finding a real friend for mountain hikes. 

Just look at the mountain pictures of a young Bulgarian photographer --  Maya. I missed on all this beauty.

It is never too late to go back and explore, hang out with the mountains.

I live in USA. My husband was born in Colorado. He is not simply American; he loves nature; he loves mountains; he works and teaches about nature. If asked what he can't live without, he will choose me, I know it, but I will be in the tree crown. This is an envious place to be, isn't it? 

Is there someone born in Colorado, who does not love mountains? If there is one, help him! If anyone who sees them and does not 'awe' at the view, help him!

I looked back at my family albums only to realize that I appear on every picture in the mountains. Next time, I will make sure there are more mountains without me.

Our time in Bulgaria ended after 6 days. We flew back to Vienna and, finally, to USA. Tired but exulted, we did a frantic car race to pic up our third member of the family - Tiger Boy. We all felt like we have not seen each other for years. "Where have you been? I wish we were all together."

This experience makes me wonder, "where is home?" Is it where I an born? Is it where I have a family and friends? Is it where I have a house? To me, there is only one answer. 

Home is where LOVE is. If one has not found LOVE yet, he should keep looking. It comes in all shapes and forms, any season, any place, any time. You may not be able to have a house, but in your heart you have more than enough space for LOVE. This is your "Stairway to Heaven"

 

DIVORCE IS A DIVORCE & A LITTLE MORE

DIVORCE IS A DIVORCE & A LITTLE MORE

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles/FreeDigitalPhotos.net
 

Before you start writing about divorce, you ask yourself if there is anything anyone does not know or has not read about it. If you have nothing new to say, then, what is the point? Since I was married in a communist country in the late '70s, then got divorced in the early '90s in a different land (American) and remarried on that same land, I must have noticed  painfully or painlessly the transpiring events -- sometimes being part of them; sometimes analyzing them, running the heck out of them; and, finally, jumping around with heart full of love, getting ready to explode any second. Let's take a look at the latest available data, or rather, what my research was able to provide. These are the statistics from the divorcemag.com, which has used data from US Census Bureau and National Center for Health. Let's consider some of them:

• There were approximately 2, 230,000 marriages in 2005 -- down from 2,279,000 the previous year, despite a total population increase of 2.9 million over the same period. The divorce rate in 2005 (per 1000 people) was 3.6 -- the lowest rate since 1970,  down from 4.2 in 2000.... The marriage rate in 2005 (per 1000) was 7.5, down from 7.8 the previous year. 
  
• 8.1% of coupled households consist of unmarried heterosexual partners, according to The State of Our Unions 2005, a report issued by the National Marriage Project at Rutgers University. The same study said that only 63% of American children grow up with both biological parents-- the lowest figure in the Western world. As of 2003, 43.7% of custodial mothers and 56.2% of custodial fathers were either separated or divorced. And in 2002, 7.8 million Americans paid about $40 billion in child and/or spousal support (84% of the payers were male).

Some of the conclusions to be drawn are the decrease is the absolute numbers and percentage of marriages per 1000 of the population; the couples households are primarily unmarried heterosexual partners. Additionally, 63% of the American children grow up with both biological parents, which is the lowest figure of the Western world.

Looking at Dr. Phil's show Statistics from 2003 on Marriage and Divorce, you can find some additional data:

• The average age of a woman getting married in the United States is 27. Bride's Magazine. "The average age of a man getting married in the United States is 29." Bride's Magazine.
   
• 88 percent of American men and women between the ages of 20 and 29 believe that they have a soulmate who is waiting for them." University Wire, Louisiana State University.
   
• 60 percent of marriages for couples between the ages of 20 and 25 end in divorce. " National Center for Health Statistics  65 percent of altar-bound men and women live together before getting married." Bride's Magazine 
   
• Children of divorce have a higher risk of divorce when they marry, and an even higher risk if the person they marry comes from a divorced home. One study found that when the wife alone had experienced a parental divorce, her odds of divorce increased to 59 percent. When both spouses experienced parental divorce, the odds of divorce nearly tripled to 189 percent. " Journal of Marriage and the Family."

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles/Free Digital Photos.net

Judging by this data and the sources used, I learned quite a lot. The "Bride's Magazine" is not just a magazine with beautiful brides, wedding planning and fancy wedding locations. They tell you more than you will want to hear at your wedding preparation time. When you get married, you do not plan your divorce and choose your divorce attorney. You believe that if 50% of marriages end up in a divorce, you will be in the other, good 50%, which will be the "in sickness and in health" group. No one can take this away from you. You look in his eyes and you do not see anything bad he can do to you -- you will always love each other and raise your children to love and respect you and others.

But, things do not always end so well. Then come the attorneys, the custody battles, the assets division, the DIVORCE. During all this time, the little or adult creatures - the children - are watching. Is this good, is this bad? Is it for better or for worse? We are to be surprised one day how much they have remembered, or how much you yourself have forgotten in order to protect yourself from pain, or plainly, to just move forward. 

Note: I should have made this note from the very beginning. I try to analyze the divorce just by browsing though it. I do not want to write a thesis on the  connection between divorce and the influence of the parents' education, the religious beliefs, and other factors.  My primary focus falls on the children and the mother in the center of this all. I stick to the data and occasionally share my opinion. Gay marriages are really the "lucky" factor. There are 17 states in the Unites states, where gay marriages are considered legal. Their number will continue to grow. However, we cannot accuse them for the future 'possibly' increased number of divorces, or the aggressive children's behavior. 

Looking at the data, I was surprised to find out that the average age of marriage is not that different in Eastern Europe in the late '70s and the respective time in America. There is similarity in the situation of a woman with kids after a divorce, too. If there is no support from family, the children will suffer tremendously. Being a divorced mother in Europe, or never married with a child was an ultimate disgrace (for the woman and the children.) -- it was the same in America. You have to pity a child born out of wedlock; a woman going through a divorce at that time was always considered the guilty party; she was the one who was thought to be a .... (I don't know a civilized word for this.)

Since everyone has advanced education in Eastern Europe, if the marriage goes sour, the assumption is that the mother has to leave her job and take care of the child. The other option is daycare. The father does not babysit. He will not leave his job to watch kids. This is not always related to his pay; this is a societal matter. Luckily, the grandparents are the ones to help. It was and is considered totally normal. Older families are helping out the younger ones. 

I am getting to a topic I tried to avoid very hard -- divorce in a foreign country. Divorce abroad means hiding it from the family you left home -- they will feel too sorry for you; hiding the divorce from your co-workers -- crying only in the bathroom; having no one to share it with.... Fighting for yourself, by yourself. In many cases, there is shared custody of the children, but what if you cannot provide the fun and food and movies the father can. What if you are really suffering and does not see the way out. What if you are no longer fun? 

The divorce of the immigrants is interesting from the standpoint of its timing -- parents know when to show their egotistic behavior. It occurs when there are cracks in the "house of marriage." They plan it before they come to the foreign land. One of the parties believes that the new land provides new opportunities for success and a chance to build a "new house." The other views it as a way to prove how much better the new land is for s/he for getting out of everything old and starting a new life. Forget the kids! Forget her/him! I did it all! I deserve it! 

The worst part is when after the divorce of the parents, all  settles down and parents find a second or third happiness, but the children are stuck -- just where you left them -- on the old crappy couch.... Why? They have everything? True, but they have this couch, which no one wants to buy....

Image courtesy of mrpuen/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

THE MAGIC OF "PLEASE"

 THE MAGIC of "PLEASE"

  

"Please" is such a magnificent word. It can take you to a new world - a world of people whose parents, or other relatives had the time to teach them, or the kid was smart enough to hear it from older siblings and learn on his own the advantages of using this word. 

When you get older, "please" loses its attractive power. You can't tell your boss, "Please, do not fire me today! I just got a new granddaughter!" - it rarely works. You can't allure your boyfriend with "Please, let's get married!" 

In fact, not being so civil at an older age is not such a disadvantage. Until you finish saying to your son, "Please, call the doctor", you would have wasted 2 precious, life - saving seconds. It is already assumed that by being elderly, you can not be following all the norms of society, so I will recommend, go with "call the doctor!" The doctor, or 911 do the magic. Forget this "please!"

I am quite positive in the early '90s there was not much attention given to "please" and "I am sorry". In Eastern Europe, it was also the time of early marriages. Most of our kids were either in daycare, or raised by our parents. Daycare was not so much a place to learn. It was a place to keep your baby safe, change his diapers, and feed him, while you were at work. 

The education part took place during the weekend - at home. The family structure always included a father and a mother, no exceptions. Divorce was frowned upon.

In many cases, kids' education just happened - without any parents' efforts. There was no negotiations, no rewards, no emulating what parents say. You learn as you go.

There is a language component in this chaos, too. The Bulgarian language allows you to say everything in so many different ways. The word may be missing, but you feel it. A sentence containing the same words can be said in so many different ways based on your intonation, emphasis on a specific word, tone of voice, body posture. "Please" and "Sorry" may remain mute. 

Living in these tiny communist style apartments - with no places to play, no yards, made a commute to the small town [called a village], where the grandparents lived, mandatory. Everyone was able to play soccer outside. That was the major game of the '90s and still is the major outdoor game. The girls were mostly enjoying the stories of their grandparents, all ears and smiles from ear to ear. 

This is how respect and connection with the grandparents was born. There was no need "to teach" it. It was "naturally born." 

Image courtesy of worradmu from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This was the way to see you grandparents grow weaker and pale with time; repeat an old story 110 times. This is how kids understood what getting old meant. Ultimately, kids learned to open the door of a restaurant, when they saw an old lady with a cane, waited for her to get in first, picked up the purse she dropped on the floor. ...

One thing we, the parents, forget is to tell our kids to ask as many questions as they want. Our answers may change over time. They will sort through them one day and laugh at our imagination and creativity. I know my daughter will. ...

A CUP OF WINE

A CUP OF WINE

I am born in Bulgaria. My husband (Gary) is American. After 13 years of marriage, we are now an American-Bulgarian or a Bulgarian-American family. We constantly joke about differences in holidays, traditions, culture, while honoring them and learning from each other. Sometimes, the jokes may escalate into innocent fights.

One day, I had cooked a nice dinner -- sauteed salmon with ginger glaze, brown rice, and steamed vegetables. Healthy and all organic. Since I am not too much into vegetables, I used a smaller size plate for my dinner. My husband immediately noticed this. He asked, "Why don't you use the same sized plate for you?" I answered, "Because in Bulgaria for smaller meals, we use smaller plates." He did not give up."As far as I see, you are not in Bulgaria, are you?" I did not give up either. I am not a quitter. I poured his favorite Chardonnay in a big (American) coffee cup. Then, I served dinner. 

Gary looked around and asked where the wine was. "Here it is." I answered, pointing at the coffee mug. "Why in the coffee mug?" "Because in Bulgaria you never pick a fight with your wife at dinner. You do it only if there is not enough rakia and wine. The size of the plates and the glasses do not matter!" This was my final answer.

We laughed and laughed. Gary is a professor at work and a good student at home. I learned to serve dinner in the proper dinner plates and wine glasses, too.Problem solved.

KITTY CATS

KITTY CATS

My love for animals must have started very early in my childhood. Kudos go to the Rooster. He started it all. But this story is not about the Rooster. It is about my piano teacher, Ms. B., her very beautiful, old piano and a big, loving cat. 

Ms. B. was playing the piano like a virtuoso. She never allowed Sebastian, her big ol’cat to sit on the piano. This was the most precious piece of “furniture” in her house. She did not want any scratches on it. Who can blame her?

I was 6 years old. To this day, I cannot explain to myself why I did not want to go to piano lessons. I love to go to piano concerts; I love classical music. I think I wanted badly to have a talent for it, which was not there. I was smart enough to realize that. I even explained this to my parents. They did not believe me. 

Parents believe their children can do everything. So, the piano lessons were a part of my childhood.

What made it tolerable was Sebastian. He would stay at the door and sit on my lap during the whole lesson. I think the teacher thought the two of us would bond. This would make it easy for me to learn. We bonded, but not for learning. We were looking at each other; I became his most comfortable bed. My legs were moving in a position to accommodate him, not what the exercises required.

My piano teacher must have liked me, or felt sorry for my parents. I loved the big ol’cat so much. He loved me, too. It was so obvious. His warm body made me endure 3 years of piano lessons. One day when I arrived, I saw his paw covered with bandages. He was hurt. Sebastian was getting old and clumsy. Still he followed our routine. When the lesson was over, I saw  a stain of blood on my dress.

During my next lesson, he was not around. Without Sebastian, I was totally helpless. My teacher had to explain my lack of progress to my parents. The piano lessons were over. 

Playing the piano was not in the cards for me. I do not blame myself for the failure. Why waste my lack of talent? On a different tangent, there are plenty of piano owners, who use the piano as a piece of furniture.

Playing the piano is not like riding a bike. Well, I still know how to play “The Donkey” -– the first and the last piano exercise I mastered.

Sebastian opened the door for a whole brood of his cat family. After him, I met Baxter. He is the one on the picture. Tiger is a current member of the family. He deserves a separate story.

WELCOME BACK, GRACIE!

WELCOME BACK, GRACIE!

 Gracie, Gracie! You are a troublemaker! You showed up two years ago to do "Just Checking", if Cheerios is good for your Daddy’s heart. What happened then? No one cared about your Daddy’s heart. The conservative people jumped on you, because your Daddy was African - American and your Mommy was white. You almost crashed the Hatred & Racist Co. web site. But, you did not do anything wrong... You did not choose what color your parents should be!? You just wanted to be loved. The smart girl that you are, you also wanted Daddy to eat healthy. But some people did not like that Mommy and daddy looked different in color. So some people started fighting on YouTube and TV, throwing bad words at each other. It was ugly. You were sitting and watching them… The company which protected you – General Mills, was the one that makes the good cereal for your Daddy’s heart. They cuddled you and saved you from those who think you should not be the way you are. They were WRONG. Because, here you are. You are just as cute as the first time we saw you. You are even at the SUPER BOWL 2014! We already know: Gracie will have a little brother and a puppy.

To be honest, Gracie, I can see you reading all the debates surrounding this commercial when you get older and wondering why people back then were so dumb. You will be laughing from ear to ear!

If someone still tries to spoil your excitement now, tell them to start reading more, not to watch TV on the couch. In a second, they can find articles with data from the US Census Bureau about the growing number of interracial marriages in USA.

Have fun at the Super Bowl, Gracie!