Imi va fi dor

Oops.  Winter isn't quite done with us yet.  (those are snowflakes falling in the background)

Anyway, a few things occurred to me
and one is,
I think I'm going to miss this:

Fresh milk delivered twice a week

And for sure I'm going to miss this:

My morning writing area.  Just me, coffee and the rising sun.

The spot itself is lovely but what I'll really miss is the free time I have been afforded here.  Don't worry, I have wasted it to the full by producing nothing useful.  Just a silly blog and a fat roll around my middle.

When I return to the States I'm apparently expected to re-engage in "Life: as brought to you by The Western World", the prospect of which fills me with an overwhelming desire to crawl back into bed and sleep.

Laundry List

This morning I opened the back door and smelled spring.

That means one thing: I can hang laundry on the line again.

No wait, it means something else as well: our time here is drawing to a close.

Spring 2012.  That's what we said when we were taping and misspelling the labels on those boxes back in Dec 2010. It seemed so impossibly far away.  And even when we tossed the couches and gave away the television there were still those who were thinking privately "they'll never do it."

Ha.  Told ya we would.

But getting back to that laundry... I really did hang it out on the line.  

Aside from the fact that I love how clothes and sheets smell after blowing in the spring air (March 1 is considered to be the first day of spring here, folks, quit mentally lecturing me about that thing called the vernal equinox), there is another benefit.  The upstairs office area no longer looks like our luggage projectile vomited all over the railings. I was getting really tired of that look.

And Luci made this cake from scratch entirely by himself.  I was otherwise occupied.  Nice to know the kids are doing something productive while I'm away.  

Which has nothing to do with anything except to say that this is the sort of stuff we're doing around here lately.  Just kind of drifting along while being teased with the hint of seasons changing and realizing that the time to leave is drawing neigh. 

Which means it's time to get the boxes out again and start packing up.  

There's a lot to do between now and then.  The longer the list, the greater the chance I will spend my time doing unproductive things on the internet and reading books I've read a hundred times already.  Anything to keep myself from packing. 

Groan.

Dinţi

Mihai has a problem with his teeth falling out.

Is it genetic or merely the long-term side effect of growing up in a country with no dental floss?  I don't know but every couple of years he'll be eating something soft and benign and suddenly he's got an empty spot where a tooth used to be.

Whenever these incidents occur, we have a good laugh over it.  If you know us, you know that I mean that literally and if you don't know us, trust me, we laugh.  (I double over and hold onto my sides actually, Mihai, well, not quite so much.  They're his teeth that seem to be hell-bent on escaping his gums, after all.)

Eventually we sober up.  Particularly once we see the bill from the dentist.

Used to be there was no such thing as dental care here in Romania.  Used to be you waited until the pain in your mouth was so bad you drug yourself to the dentist and they just yanked the offending tooth out.  Used to be there was no floss, no tooth paste, and most families owned one toothbrush that everyone took turns using while they got ready for a special event like going to a funeral or to church on Easter.

Or so Mihai says.
I'm certain that even under Ceausescu there were folks who took care of their teeth. Not with the obsessiveness we do in the States, but I'm sure there were people who had some appreciation for the benefits of dental maintenance. Mihai's family didn't happen to be of that ilk and anyway, it makes a much better story to blame the paucity of floss and other dental accoutrements we take so for granted, right?

However, the regrettable truth is that there used to be a serious downside to visiting the dentist: your mouth might lose a rotten tooth but your liver might gain a case of hepatitis C.  With the knowledge of that risk factor in mind, I never once contemplated going to a dentist here. Not even after Mihai's tooth landed in the pudding.
But somewhere, through some avenue, Mihai heard about a dentist who sterilized her equipment between patients. So we started considering the possibility.  He went for a "look/see" and came back fairly impressed.

Two oral surgeries, two new crowns and a full set of x-rays later, we are only $600 the poorer.  Yes.  Six hundred. Dollars. Not Euro.

Well, well.  I believe the time has come for me to quit making smarmy comments about Romanian dentistry.

Since we'll have no dental insurance when we return to the States, it seemed prudent to take the boys for a teeth cleaning while we're here.  And, anticipating the fascination you all would have for this subject, I brought my camera along for the appointment.

Don't worry, I was discreet with my photographing (as discreet as one can be with a five pound camera in their hands) and I made sure not to get any identifying shots of anyone.  (HIPPA is not just the law, it's a way of life, right?)  The patient in the chair is one of the kids.  (Their HIPPA rights don't count).

Doesn't look like much from the outside but inside you can see that it's bright and clean and the equipment is generally modern.  The kids got to use an old-fashioned spit bowl which means they'll actually understand that classic Bill Cosby skit.

A funny thing happened in this waiting arena: we met a guy from Scotland who has a wheat farm about 40 km from Obedin.

Turns out he's a really nice guy, turns out he invites us to see his place, turns out we go and form a sort of acquaintance/friendship with him.

He's shy, Iain is, so I won't post photos of him here and expose his identity.  (If I'd had any idea this little blog thing would generate the following it has, I never would have exposed half the stuff I have but I thought only my mother and two other people would ever read this).

And of course we went to see his farm because Mihai, as some of you know, has long dreamed of having a farm of his own.  We spent a very pleasant afternoon with Iain; sun and fog (photos can be seen in the previous post) and mud and tractors.

So Ian is shy, yes, but Mihai's excitement won him over.  How could he resist such an exuberant, guileless visitor, exclaiming excitedly over everything he saw. At any moment I expected him to jump up and down and start clapping.  It was delightful.  He looked just like a kid in a candy store.

Complete with missing teeth.

Seasons

The earth has music for those who listen.
                 - Shakespeare

I've lived in an area with four distinct seasons before.
I was younger then and apparently possessed more sebacious glands.

The cold air has made a wreck of my skin.

Around here, during the autumn and spring, you feel like you have a good relationship with the earth. As if you're friends, the kind that finish each other's sentences and show up to events wearing similar outfits without even planning to.
Then in the summer the mercury soars and things change.  You catch the earth sneaking up behind you with a knife in its hand.  Sure, it chuckles in that affable manner you thought you could trust.  It says, "I was just going to chop a few onions here."  heh heh.  You go back to what you were doing and try to forget about it.  It was nothing, just a hot spell.  No harm no foul.
Then winter comes.  The mercury plummets.  The earth no longer pretends to be Professor Xavier.  The retractable bone claws come out and take a swipe at you.
No more games here.  Now you know.  The earth is trying to kill you.
(but, like, Hugh Jackman, it looks so good while doing so)