Slovene Sunday - Word Play

Tilen Fidler Joined the church in Maribor as a teenager, making the decision alone. Most teenage converts in Slovenija joined with their parents or other family members, or had to wait until they were considered adult and not have to do what their parents said. But Tilen decided all on his own. His parents were both nice and as supportive as they knew how to be. Because he was still just a kid and had no familial support network to continue to be active in the church, the missionaries, especially the elders tried to be as involved as possible with him.

One particular evening my companion Elder Newland and I went to Tilen's house to help him prepare a game for the branch's Family Home Evening later that week. Tilen had decided on a sort of trivia game and we were trying to help him come up with good questions. I seem to recall that it was a geography-themed trivia game, so all the questions we had to come up with needed to do with places and sights to behold or something. We may even have been getting the questions from a book and helping Tilen translate them into Slovene, which would explain our being there, actually.

We came to one question that he wanted to use: Where is the biggest rock on Earth? That would be a rock in Australia. Elder Newland was sitting back in the Fidler's dining nook, and letting me do most of the translating, which was actually a big help to me, as I'd only been there for about a year, and needed work on my language skills.

Where, as an interrogative - Kje? Where is - Kje je?

Biggest - here I had a trick. The word for Big was Velik, but the modifiers for -er and -est, which are adding -či to the end and naj- to the beginning, do not go with the word Velik. Bigger - Velikči? Biggest - Najvelikči? No. That's just stupid. The way to do it is to add the superlative modifiers to the word that generally means More - Več. Veči - bigger. Največji - biggest. There, much better! Kje je največji - where is the biggest?

On Earth was easy, we used that phrase all the time as missionaries - na svetu. Na Zemlji actually made more sense to me because it was an exact translation, but the proper, commonly used phrase was Na svetu. Ok.

Rock. The only word I knew was the word for stone - kamen. Where is the biggest stone on Earth? Kje je največji kamen na svetu?

But no, I couldn't just leave it. Feigning ignorance I added the diminutive -ček to the word kamen. Kamenček didn't mean a rock, it meant a little rock, a pebble. Smiling to myself I said the phrase out loud to Tilen and Elder Newland. My superlatives and my diminutive essentially canceled each other out.

"Kje je največji kamenček na svetu?" "Where is the biggest pebble in the world?" I asked the two of them?

"Kamenček? Kamenček?" Tilen asked. And then he burst into laughter at the literal absurdity I had just spoken. Elder Newland followed suit, and I continued to smile to myself, knowing that my playing with the language resulted in causing them merriment. Eventually we settled down and finished the game questions, but ever after all I had to do was look at Tilen and ask, "Kje je največji kamenček na svetu?" and he would just laugh and shake his head at Crazy Elder Young, who thought that the biggest pebble on Earth lay in Australia.

Slovene Sunday - Giving Thanks

In November of 1999 I was living Ljubljana Slovenija. I'd been there since the previous June and by this time was feeling really really comfortable in the city. There were lots of people whose paths I crossed all the time, and who I had begun to recognize, and/or feel like I knew a bit. One of these was the woman who lived in the red porno booth just outside Tivoli Park on Celovska Cesta. And by 'lived' I mean worked, and by 'porno booth' I mean the red booth where you buy bus zetoni (tokens), and magazines - some of which were porn, and prominently displayed.

When we bought bus tokens we would have to look at her and only her - kind of a game to not let our eyes stray. (Tangent: it was never as big a deal for me to not look at the naked lady magazines as it was for the other missionaries - huh, wonder why...) I went so far as to hold longer-than-neccesary conversations with her. I got to really like her - she spent so much time in that small booth every day, and yet she was never mean or cranky to me. I wondered about her from time to time, and her life.

This November, for English class we were going to have An American Thanksgiving Dinner. Thanksgiving isn't observed in Slovenija and we missionaries thought it would be fun to show our students some of the cultural quirks of the holiday. We missionaries spent a great deal of the day preparing the dinner for the 30 or so Slovenes, and when they started arriving for class we arranged them into 'families'. I thought I was funny, and tried to teach some of the people in my 'family' to use passive-aggressive English. The dinner got underway and we missionaries were serving, back and forth from the kitchen. Everyone seemed to enjoy the food, though most everyone was eating small small portions, as per usual for Slovenes.

I don't know what made me think of her, but The Red-Booth Lady crossed my mind. There we were all in the church eating dinner together, and there she was out in her porno booth all alone. I don't know if she felt alone right then, or if she even cared, but I felt for her. I went into the kitchen and made up a plate of Thanksgiving dinner for her. Missionaries weren't supposed to go anywhere alone, but I couldn't get any of the elders to come out with me, so I asked one of the guys in the English class to come out with me on an errand. We walked out of the church with the warm plate of food, down the stairs and across the courtyard. We walked out onto the street and down a couple yards to the red-booth.

She looked up when I stopped in front of her window, and I held out the plate and a fork. I explained in Slovene that upstairs were were celebrating the American holiday of food, and I thought of her and that she might like a plate. She smiled. She really smiled for the first time since I'd known her. She put her hand on her heart and tipped her head, and said Thanks! Najlepsa Hvala! I smiled back at her and went back inside and continued the English class. Later I went back to get the plate and fork, and she said thank you again, and said it was a delicious dinner.

It would make a more missionaryish story if she had brought the plate back to the church of her own volition, and saw what nice people there were while she was there, and stayed, and came back on Sundays and took the missionary discussions and gotten baptized and was now the Relief Society President. But none of that happened. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her again, and was transferred across the country to Maribor the next month. When I did come back to Ljubljana she wasn't working in the red booth anymore - I never ran across her again. Not a super-missionary ending to the story. However I don't care - her smile when I gave her the plate is enough. For a moment she was more than the lady in the porno booth to me, she was someone I cared about.

Slovene Sunday - Angelic Ice Cream

A cheery Slovenija story, as a matter of fact.

Once, during my first 4 or 5 months in the country, while I lived in Celje my companion Elder Jensen and I were walking down the street. I forget where we were going, but it was in the direction of our apartment, so I imagine we were going home for lunch or something. I remember the sky was overcast, so the light was making everything more vivid. He and I were walking a block north of our usual route, not past the theatre but on the street that would take us past the hospital instead.

When we were about 100 yards from the hospital entrance two people stepped out the doors and continued down the street ahead of us - a man and a woman, both dressed in white from head to toe and very obviously nurses or hospital staff. With the diffused light making the yellow brick of the hospital glow gold, the leaves of the trees look fluorescent green, and anything grey, black or blue melt together, the white of their uniforms shone brilliantly. I decided immediately that they were angels.

The angels walked about a half a block ahead of Elder Jensen and I. The woman was short and round with dark curls up on top of her head. She wore white tennis shoes. The man with her was taller than she by a good foot, and had dark hair also that fell across his forehead - I could see when he turned to talk to her. I told Elder Jensen that they were the Angels of the Celje Hospital. He, in the spirit of humoring me, agreed and said they they were two really strong personalities, and that they probably handled most of the crises in the hospital. Since no one else walking down the street seemed to notice them, look at them or whatnot, we began to believe they really were angels.

As we followed them down the street, we wondered what they were doing out of the hospital. They crossed the street far ahead of us, and we watched them go over to the red ice cream booth. As we drew neared, they pointed, ordered and paid for two ice cream cones. I smiled at the two angels who left the hospital to get ice cream cones. They turned to head back to the hospital, and I saw the lady angel going HAUM HAUM on her cone and the guy angel had ice cream on his upper lip. We dark-clad missionaries of God nodded to the light-clad emissaries of God, who nodded back while licking their lips. They returned to their business of guarding the hospital of Celje, and Elder Jensen and I decided we deserved a cone each, too. With Angleški Juha flavored ice cream.

Slovene Sunday - Trumpet Out Louise!

Summer of 2000, I was living in Maribor, currently with my companion Elder Wettstein. We were lucky enough to have the neighborhood of Nova Vas in our area, which neighborhood was filled - FILLED - with tall bloks, or apartment buildings. We knocked on doors there very often because of the sheer number of people all concentrated in one small area.



One fine day, as we were heading through the mazes of buildings on our way back to the bus stop so the we could make an appointment at the church back in Center, I heard a trumpeting sound. As we drew nearer to the outer edge of the particular clump of bloks the noise got louder, and I was able to pinpoint it - we rounded one corner, and there, halfway along the avenue, leaning on the railing of her balcony, was an old babica. She seemed to be enjoying the late afternoon air, waiting for the sunset, arms crossed, very relaxed-looking. And she had a bugle in one hand.

Every so often she'd raise it to her mouth, and toot out a merry little melody out into the courtyard, just in general. She was tooting away as we walked directly by her, and I smiled at the sight of this old lady, enjoying herself by playing her bugle. She saw me smile, too the bugle from her lips and saluted me with it. I grinned and waved at her, and she put it to her lips again, and played a jaunty little marching tune as Elder Wettstein and I walked out of sight.

Slovene Sunday - Hypnotized by a Gypsy

Elder Jensen and I had come down on the train from Celje. We were in Ljubljana for Zone Conference with all the other missionaries, but we had come a bit early. I'm not sure why really, but Elder Jensen had lived in Ljubljana just a few months previous, and I'm sure it still felt like home to him, and he wanted some time to just BE in the city he had loved.

So we were wandering around the center of the city, and he was showing me the sights. This wasn't my first time in Ljubljana, but it was the first time I wasn't rushed and there wasn't piles and piles of snow. I could finally take in this magnificent city! We'd walked from the train station, and my eyes had been wide the whole time, looking at all the buildings on our way, and the people, and I'd turned my Slovene ears up all the way so I could try and understand the people. In Ljub they had a different way of speaking than in Celje - it was slower, but also more back in the throat, and it was unfamiliar enough that I really really had to strain to understand what was going on.

We walked to Preseren's Square, and up Copova Street for a bit. Then, since it was so sunny and he didn't want us stuck in the shadows of the buildings for too long, Elder Jensen led me back to the Square, and across one of the bridges over the Lubljanica River. I think we were now on what translated to Fish Street, and it was full of shops and touristy things. The restaurants were one street farther in, which I would learn in a few months when I became a resident of the city myself, but for now I was happy with what I was seeing.

Warmth from the sun radiated everywhere, and it was actually a very very beautiful day. We'd walked quite a ways, and Elder Jensen decided to sit on the low wall that separated the street from the steeply sloping bank to the river. We had been sitting that way in silence for a few minute (or more likely I had been asking him questions about the cit because I was curious and he liked to be the know-it-all) when I saw a gypsy beggar-girl walking toward us.

She was probably 18 or 19 and had a baby with her, and he was, I suppose, pretty. She had long dark hair in a ponytail or braid, and she was skinny without being bony. She came up to us and said something in the whiny intonation that gypsies used. I had been taught by my previous companion to ignore all gypsy beggars, so I turned slightly away. Besides, she had an even differenter accent than the Ljubljanans and I couldn't understand word one without major effort. But Elder Jensen could.

He knew what she was saying, and that compounded on the fact that he was straight Straight STRAIGHT! I don't think any of my other companions were affected by women in quite the same way Elder Jensen was.

I just have to stop here for a second and say that I did not realize I was gay while I was a missionary. Women never held quite the temptation to ogle, that they did for all my other companions. Without a doubt, every single one of my eleven companions were straight males, and they dealt with their repressed missionary horniness in different ways and to different degrees, and I was more disappointed with some than with others. I could never understand why it was so easy for me to ignore women and girls, when it was SO difficult for them to - I just thought I was perfecter or something, more spiritually-minded or that I could see people, whereas they could only see objects to secretly lust over. Nevermind that I would steal glances at the handsome men I happened to meet, and sometimes my companions, too. Shhh.

At any rate, Elder Jensen seemed to be the most strongly affected, and this was the first time I got to see it in action. As I turned away from the guttersnipe, Elder Jensen turned toward her. He gave her all of his attention, and she in turn told him her story, I assume - I couldn't understand much of it. I hear the word for money, so I assumed she was asking for some. He kept saying that he couldn't give her anything, and that's how it went for a few minutes. Her story got more complex and harder for me to follow, and he kept repeating himself, but with a kind of glazed look in his eyes.

Eventually I heard him say OK, and then he stood up. She turned and walked away, and he just followed. Walked completely away from me WHICH YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO! He even left his missionary bag sitting on the bench. She had somehow hypnotized him with her gypsy-voice, and he was off to do her bidding! I was stunned and slack-jawed at the power women could have over men, and also that he seemed to have totally forgotten about me. After a second I snapped to my duty to never leave his side - I grabbed the bag he had abandoned, clutched my own bag, and ran after them. There wasn't much talking between the two, and I trailed behind, forgotten, and misplaced.

We walked back over the bridge and into Preseren's Square again, and all the way up Copova. We crossed Slovenska Street and went into the department store Nama, and took the escalator down to the basement floor where there was a small grocery/convenience store. I still followed behind, and still no one said much. The gypsy girl went to the baby aisle and after a short deliberation picked out a package of disposable diapers. Elder Jensen took them from her, and then we went and stood in line, where he paid for them. She thanked him profusely (that much I DID understand), and then she left our lives, smoothly, up the escalator. Elder Jensen watched her all the way up until she was out of sight.

Then he snapped out of her spell, heaved a breath and shook himself. "Oh!" he said, "I forgot where I was!" I don't know if it was true or just an act for my benefit. He claimed that he had completely forgotten where he was and what he was all about. I was pissed that that included forgetting about me, for a dumb GIRL, which we had sworn off as missionaries. He deflected by thanking me for keeping my head and remembering his bag. I still wasn't sure what to think, but began trying to learn the city so that if anything like that happened again, I wouldn't be completely lost and would be able to take care of myself.

"C'mon Elder Young," Elder Jensen said, "Let me buy you an ice cream from this great shop I know - you'll love it!" So off we went to enjoy more of the city.

Sorry

Again, no Slovene stories this weekend. I'm leaving for LA tonight to see Miss Coco Peru in PERSON tomorrow!



And I get to go with my dear friend Cheri, and stay in wonderful hotels, and meet a friend in Vegas, and visit the beach for the first time in twenty years. And best of all, it's all paid for - I'm not over-stressing my budget. I did it on my own!

COCO PERU!!!

Slovene Sunday - Metapost

Sorry friends - I am beat. As Ethel Mertz once said, "I can't do any more, my finger's worn down to a nub!" New story next week.

Slovene Sunday - The Time I Stabbed Two Guys

A somewhat sequel to the previous story.

*****

A year and a half later I was living in Maribor for the second time. I had been all over the country by now, living in Ljubljana, Kranj, Celje. I'd been homeless for two months, I'd seen 30 baptisms. I'd made friends with all my fellow missionaries, and knew members who I liked, and who liked me in many cities. I'd been through the very first McDonald's walk-thru, and visited a weird old woman in a nursing home for over two months, I'd been to a wedding and two funerals, and leaped off one train in Zidani Most with two large suitcases in my hands and five smaller bags around my neck and within 30 seconds carried all of my possessions by myself underground and up again, and leaped onto my connecting train just as it started moving.

I'd obtained and discarded a paralyzing fear of dogs, and though I didn't realize it, I'd already had my final dog attack experience. I'd irritated Jehovah's Witnesses by asking for extra copies of their literature, and irritated 7th day adventists by talking so much about nothing without taking a breath. I'd been underground in a cave, danced a jig on the Alps, and I'd crossed all four of Slovenija's borders, some on purpose, and some accidentally. I was the only person Jasmina would talk to, and the only person Mandy refused to talk to. I had been to 18 Missionary conferences and spoken at most of them, and I had enjoyed or endured about 70 district meetings. I had been interviewed on television, and also for the paper. I had been to more castles than I ever thought possible for my lifetime.

I'd spoken to drunks, and old people, college students and expatriates. By NOT speaking I caused one girl to become interested in the church and eventually join. I'd claimed over intercoms to be selling honey, and also to be a woman so people would let us into the building. I knew where all the best bookstores were, and which ones had the items I routinely needed (as they were not all equal). I had been about four blocks away from President Clinton when he visited Ljubljana but I didn't care, and I'd brought a plate of brownies to the very cheerful woman who worked in the photolab behind Nama because I wanted her to know I appreciated what she did. I felt like I was home.

It was July of 2000, and a preparation day, so we missionaries weren't out working, but in, resting a bit. We were supposed to be doing chores, but my current companion was of the mind that chores should be done every evening anyway, so we had some time on our hands. The other two elders were over at our place, and we were probably eating lunch and writing letters to our parents.

The phone rang and I answered it. It was Sister Hubbard from the mission office, calling for my companion Elder Wettstein; he would be going home in a month and she needed to go over some scheduling things with him since his mother was coming to pick him up. They talked for a while, and I continued to write my letters and talk to Elders Pierce and Baldwin at the kitchen table. After a few minutes Elder Wettstein said that Sister Hubbard wanted to speak to me again, and I went over to the phone. Sister Hubbard handed the phone off to her husband Elder Hubbard, and he said hello in his very genial way. "Elder Young, I've got some information for you," he said in his British accent. "We've got your scheduled release date now." I protested that I didn't want to know it, and if he never said it out loud than I wouldn't have to leave, would I?

"Sorry elder," he said. "I wish it worked that way."

"Can't you tell me later, please, when it's closer to the actual time?"

"Best if I tell you now, and get it over with," he replied, and told me I would be leaving Slovenija on December 20th, six months later.

I was subdued somewhat after getting off the phone, and when the other elders asked me what was wrong, I told them I had been told my death date - that's what we called a missionary's date of departure, and for me it felt every bit as ominous as knowing the actual date I would cease to live. "When is it?" Elders Baldwin and Pierce asked, delightedly. I didn't want to say, but they soon got it out of me, I shared so I could get some sympathy.

But no, they began to laugh, and have fun. If I weren't so sensitive I could probably have laughed along with them, but I wasn't in any mood to think about it. It was six months away - I still had LOTS to do as a missionary. Elder Wettstein knew how I felt about it, and told the other two to lay off me, but they didn't. They just kept going on and on about leaving and singing Christmas songs. Elder Wettstein warned them again, and I warned them, in the strongest way I knew how. "If you don't shut up," I said, "I will stick this pen in you both!" and I waved the pen I was writing home with. Ooh, threatening.

They went quiet, and we all went back to our letters. Then, after a few minutes Elder Pierce looked up and burst into song, "I'll Be Home For Christmas!!" Elder Baldwin joined in, "You Can Count On Me!" They laughed.

With a blank expression on my face I rose from my chair, walked over to Elder Baldwin clutching my pen, raised it and jammed the point into the back of his hand. "Ow!" he yelled, and Elder Pierce went to block me. With one swift motion I pulled the pen out of Elder Baldwin's hand and stabbed it into Elder Pierce's forearm, and yanked it out again. I returned to my chair, and looked at them, both frozen in disbelief, bleeding.

"I warned you, didn't I?" I said.

"That's right, he did," said Elder Wettstein.

By now Slovenia was my home - getting me out would involve a fight.

Slovene Sunday - Threatened with a butter knife

When I first arrived in Slovenija in 1999, the town I was assigned to was called Velenje. Velenje was, and probably still is a mining town, and drew the kind of people who would consent to mine for a living. It was a town full of Bosnians - the actual Slovenes lived on the edges of the city, in the wealthy and established neighborhoods, in the hills. The city proper, with all the high rises, and businesses, and people and schools - that was very Bosnian. It was a great place to start, as far as the language was concerned - I thought I was hearing regular Slovene, and was surprised at how simple it was, and how much I understood; really I was hearing the simpler Slavic language of Bosnian, or Slovene spoken by a foreigner like myself.



Velenje was a neighbor to the city of Celje, through a tight and winding canyon, a bus trip of about 30 minutes. Because of the tight valley Velenje sat in, it indeed felt pretty isolated. My very first companion, Elder Kelly, did not like to stay there, and tried to wrangle our schedule so that we spent as much time in the larger, more populated, more open city of Celje as possible. Celje had the church building, and it had other elders, and members that Elder Kelly was familiar with and liked. I, however, was new, and was determined to serve the people in the area I was assigned to. I was kind of a nag, I guess, in my regular passive-aggressive way, using my wide-eyed naivete to inspire guilt (or a desire to be a good example) in my companion so I could keep the rules more easily.

One cold February evening within the first week or two of my arrival I managed to make us be in Velenje for the evening, instead of Celje, just hanging out at the McDonald's. With no other elders to waste time with, and no members at ALL to talk to, we were faced with the most daunting missionary task of all - tracting, going from door to door, and asking people on their own doorsteps if we could share our message with them. Up to this point Elder Kelly had managed to keep us from doing too much of that, especially at night, but I thought that tracting was what missionaries were SUPPOSED to do, that that was what we LIVED for.

Unenthusiastic, Elder Kelly said that if we were going to do this, then I had to pick the place we would tract. I smiled, and pointed to the tallest building in the city, an apartment complex right in the center of town, tall enough to keep us busy for the whole evening. Elder Kelly said OK, so we headed on over there in the chilly darkness. I was excited, but dreading it, too, as I was still so new that I didn't know how to do this right. Elder Kelly had up to this time not shown me any good techniques, and I was still so rough with my grammar. But in we went, and up, up 35 stories to the very top floor.

Velenje, I was told, was one of Tito's pet projects, and communist city to a T, designed to be completely self-sufficient. As such, it had many other hallmarks of communism too, the most obvious one being that all the apartment buildings, or bloki, were dark, minimalist structures, of the 70's entirely. Everything about them looked 20 years old, even if they were new. This tallest of all the bloks was no different, oddly dark to the extreme, and quite uninviting. I took a breath and began.

We rang the bell at the one door on the 35th floor and were turned away, and went down to the 34th floor. There were more doors here, and the first two also turned us away. The next door had a nameplate with a very Bosnian name on it, Mustafa Musarbasic. When we knocked, a voice from inside called out for us to wait, and soon the door opened to show a tall, gangly man, longish greasy gray hair. As he stood and listened to Elder Kelly talk he weaved back and forth a little bit, and he looked slightly tired. He said no at first, and then when Elder Kelly thanked him, he changed his mind and invited us in. We walked into his dark apartment, lit only by a candle on the coffee table. I really didn't understand a word of what was going on, so I sat on a low chair across from Mustafa, smiling in the dark and trying to exude happiness. Every once in a while the candle flame guttered, and Mustafa would take a butter knife and move the wick so the flame wouldn't go out. For some reason he never turned on the lights. He was very quiet and agreeable, and when Elder Kelly offered him a Croatian copy of the Book of Mormon, he took it and said he'd read it.

We'd spent, I'm guessing, much time in there with him just chatting, so by the time we excused ourselves to go, it was time to head home. We had the promise of another visit with him in a few days time to find out what he thought about what he'd read, and I walked home in the dark and cold very pleased with myself. People had been whispering that Velenje was a lost cause, that the previous elders has ruined the image of the church there, and that no one in the whole town was interested in the church, and then I arrive, and within one week have a second appointment all lined up! New blood COULD refresh the old and reigning apathy! THAT'S what I was here for! Just my presence could jump-start the work here!

Elder Kelly didn't tell me there had been three empty bottles of wine under Mustafa's side of the coffee table.

We returned to Mustafa's apartment a few evenings later, and this time he was a different kind of drunk. Now he was loud and ebullient, and moody as heck. One minute he was smiling in a loud voice, and the next he was... well, I couldn't understand him, but I felt very threatened. Again we were sitting in the dark, with only the tiniest flame within the puddle of wax on the plate on the table,and Mustafa was wielding the butter knife with much more gusto than before. At one point he kept pointing to me with it, and then waving for me to come nearer. I looked to Elder Kelly, who translated, very unhelpfully, the Mustafa couldn't see me in the dark and to come sit nearer to him. I hugged my missionary bag closer to my chest and said the first thing I could think of, "Jaz sem v redu tukaj." I'm okay here.

I understood Elder Kelly to ask if another night would be better, and Mustafa fixed on the word better. "You think you're better than me?!" it translated to. Elder Kelly told me later that Mustafa then said he would tie me up and kill Elder Kelly with the knife in his hand. Luckily I didn't understand anything, and Elder Kelly kept a very calm tone. Mustafa's mood shifted and he became the host, inviting us to see something in another room. Wide-eyed, I clutched my bag, and ran through it's contents in my head, to see if I could survive if I had to run out of there quickly. I was SURE when Mustafa opened the door to another room it would have a decaying corpse in it, and braced myself for the worst. What was inside was very unexpected - a neat and tidy child's room, with a Lion King poster on the wall. I was informed later that the room was for Mustafa's son, but his mother had taken the child away, and Mustafa hadn't seen him in a while.

I was still standing there, opening my eyes as wide as I could, like it would help me understand the dialogue any better, still holding my bag in front of my heart. The front door was behind us, and Elder Kelly began pushing me subtly backwards, all the while telling Mustafa what a nice time we'd had, and thanks for his attention. Then we backed out the door and made for the elevator. Walking home I was filled in on what had actually gone on in there, and I felt let down by it all. All I wanted was to go home to Utah, to be safe, to not have to walk around in the dark and not understand what the drunk people were going on about. I wanted to not have to talk to a drunk person ever again. I wanted to know what I was doing. I wanted to go home.

Slovene Sunday - Knowing where to find a good Krof

Krofs, or krofi, are Slovene donuts, without holes. I presume they are fried; at any rate I know they are made with hot oil. Sometimes they have fruit or creme in the middle, and the most traditional ones have a topping of powdered sugar, or the tops have been dipped in chocolate.



My favorite were the ones called 'blazinicas', or 'pillows'. They were rectangular, and stuffed full of vanilla pudding. The best ones I'd found were from the Panda deli in Maribor, but you could find them in a few other places if you knew where to look. And I did.

During the last two months of my mission I was living in Maribor. There were six of us at the time - Elder Pierce, who had spent his whole mission in na Stajerskem, meaning in two months in the city of Celje and a year and a half in Maribor. He had only been to Ljubljana for missionary conferences and had never been able to explore the city; he admitted to me once that it kind of frightened him - he was used to the smaller-town atmosphere of the north. His companion at the time was Elder Hancey, who had only been in Slovenija for a month, all of it in Maribor. There was Sister Durham, who had lived in Kranj for a long time and knew that city backwards and forwards, but was mystified by Ljub, even though it was only a 15 minute bus ride away. With Sister Durham was Sister Cook, who had come at the same time as Elder Hancey, and had also spent her month only in Maribor.

And then there was me, who had lived in all five cities that were open to missionaries in Slovenija. I had started in Velenje, and subsequently moved to Celje, Ljubljana, Maribor, Kranj, back to Ljub, and them home to Maribor again. I was no stranger to any of those cities and felt right at home all over (except maybe Velenje). With me as my final companion was Elder Jones, who had spent his whole first year in Ljubljana, and only the month before had moved up to Maribor to be with me.

It was in 2000, probably November. There was going to be another of the monthly missionary conferences, and the missionaries from all over the country would be heading for Ljubljana. Though I was not the district leader in Maribor, I somehow convinced the others to go to Ljubljana a little early so I could look around for potentially my last time. We got up early and met at the Maribor train station that morning. The new Hitri Vlaki - Fast Trains - had just been introduced that September, so we probably took the Hiter Vlak down south, which accounted for an hour and a half or so.

When we alighted from the train in Ljub, at the wonderfully familiar yellow-brick train station, everyone was hungry. Elder Pierce knew there was a McDonald's in the train station, but people nixed his idea of fast food for breakfast. When someone else asked where we could eat then, and the other four complained that they didn't know anyplace in Ljubljana for a good breakfast, Elder Jones and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Will you trust us?" we asked the other four. "We know you're hungry - we all are - but will you trust us? It may be a bit of a walk." When the others agreed to follow where we led them - Ka-PWING! - we were off like a shot!

Crossing Trg Osvobodilne front, we practically ran down Miklosiceva about six blocks or so, until we got to Preseren's Square. Elder Jones and I stopped to make sure everyone was still following us, and when they caught up, we swung a right onto Chopova street. Past the shoe store, past the sport store, past another McDonald's. Elder Jones and I finally stopped in front of an optometrist's sign. Everyone caught up again and someone asked if we were headed to the Nama a little farther on that housed a grocery store. "No," I said, "we're here." Everyone else looked at the optometrist's sign skeptically. "Behind," I said, and lead the way into an inconspicuous alley. Back a ways, under an arch and to the left was a bakery, who's wares were still warm. The smell of fresh bread was enough to knock you over. I wanted to just inhale and inhale.

Everyone bought a little something for breakfast there, either a bun and some jogurt, or a hot pizza-thing. I got a roll with ham baked onto the top, and one of those good good pillow krofs that I loved.

"where shall we eat?" someone else asked, and Elder Jones took the lead this time, taking us up into the older part of Ljubljana, and along down a tight, crooked street called The Old Square, out past Levstikov Square, and across a large street to Zvezdarska street. I smiled when I realized where he was taking us - to an empty field, a park of some sort, where there was statuary on display. They were modern, and yellow and made of cement, and the statue-things kind of all resembled chairs, in a Dali painting. They were squiggled and odd, but you could sit on them like over-large, melting thrones. Everyone chose a statue, and sat down to eat their breakfasts. The sky was cloudy, which made the grass look greener, and it was just such a a perfect moment.

Everyone agreed that this - this out-of-the-way bakery, and the park with mooshy yellow cement chairs - was much better than sitting in McDonald's. "Thank you," they told us. "We're glad you two know this city so well."

Slovene Sunday - Vanja Arsenuk

I recently decided that because I can now post from my own home, without traipsing over to my parents' house, I can spend a little more thought, and put a little more focus into my writing, my essays, my posts.

And so, with that, I unveil Slovene Sunday - specifically setting time to remember things about Slovenija - big things, little things, mundane things and things that meant a lot to my heart.

I begin...

When I first moved to Maribor in December of 1999 it was so different than the big city if Ljubljana I had lived in for the previous 8 months. It was smaller, and at first it felt more countrified. If I'm honest, I had a pretty low opinion of the people up there, especially the church members. They just were so small - small in numbers, small-minded. They didn't have the big-city hustle-&-bustle about them, they weren't busy like the folks of Ljubljana were.

I felt like I was being punished in some way. I loved my companion, and I loved the other missionaries I worked with, but... it just wasn't the same. And I had a bad attitude about it. I didn't like the people, I kept away, and aloof. I was mad that where the church building in Ljub had been a nice, open, spacious building above a pizza parlour in a beautiful Italliante courtyard, with wildlife immediate out the south window, the church in Maribor was small.

It was dark. It got almost no sun, the walls were paneled in dark wood, the rooms were laberyntine. The floors creaked, and it was placed above a tailor we affectionatly called "the Sweat Shop". It was quaint, yes, but not the nexus for the church I was used to.

And the members in Maribor were so PLAIN! Nenad Arsenuk, the branch president, and his wife Vanja, who was the Releif Society president. They were not pretty. He was of Ukrainian descent and pale and snaggle-toothed, and Vanja was... well, my first impression of her was that she was really common. She had bad teeth to, and had bulgy eyes, and dark stringy hair that she obviously didn't wash often. She had an over-loud voice AND a stammer. Nenad was quiet, however, but he seemed to only know two subjects to talk about in church - responsibility and authority. Vanja was loud, and seemed to have no decorum, and her ideas for doing things in church meetings were unorthodox and outside of the box. I wished I could ignore both of them.

And so I did. I rolled my eyes when Vanja sang loudly and off key during the meetings, but I ignored her. I tuned out when Nenad spoke to the men about authority, because it was the same every week, yet when he asked me a question, I always had a good reply; because his questions were always stock, so my stock answers would suffice. I didn't put my heart into it, I didn't invest anything in them.

I wanted instead to work with some of the inactive members who were prettier, the handsome handsome Goran, or the doll-like Petra; people who had left because of the way the Arsenuks were, too. I wanted to spend time going out to find NEW people to bring into the church, so Nenad and Vanja could step down from their positions and fade away, and scare new members anymore.

I felt like this for weeks, and it was really getting me down, and I was pretty damn homesick for Ljubljana, and I just didn't feel like I had anything to offer this branch. I wished they would all go away, or I could go back to the big city. It got so bad and noticable in my heart that I eventually realized it was something I had to work on, and not wait for God to fix it. But I had no clue what to do - I did NOT like these people, I had no interest, really, in trying. I was lost.

One Sunday, at the beginning of January, I was sitting there in the first church meeting, all together with everyone, doodling on a scrap of paper to help me ignore the members. It was the monthly testimony meeting and people, if they felt like it, could go up to the podium and tell the rest of us what was in their hearts, unscripted, whatever. In Maribor there had been a couple of these meetings where NO ONE had gotten up to share, and we'd all sat there in polite-coughing silence for 30-40 minutes. This Sunday looked to be more of the same, but we missionaries were determained to not take turns, and leave that to the members; they had to start doing it on their own sometime.

As I was sitting there in the silence, I saw Vanja, who usually wore slacks to church meetings (culturally verboten), stand up to go to the podium. I pointedly looked down at my drawing, focusing on that. She was weird, and un-understandable and I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of paying her one ounce of attention. She began to speak, and I tuned out, which was easy enough, I just had to stop listening in Slovene and I lost any gist of what was going on around me. I drew and drew.

Even though my comprehension was currently at zero, I could still hear her inflections, and she seemed to be stammering more than usual. "Just SPIT IT OUT!" I felt like yelling. "None of us are that interested anyway! Say it and be done!" I glared at the paper in my lap.

Her stammering went on some more, and finally I had to look up, so I could give her a glare and maybe get her to sit down. And when I looked up at her, finally looked up, I saw Vanja holding onto the sides of the podium like she had just been flung from the edge of the Titanic. She had a death-grip on the thing, and she was trembling, shaking in an almost seizure-like manner.

And all my pride and selfishness washed away for a second, and I saw that she was scared. That unscripted public speaking scared the snot out of her, even in front of members of her own church, people she had known for years, and missionaries who were bound to try and serve and teach and not judge (except me). She was scared to death of sharing her soul-feelings with us, and yet she was determined to do it anyway. She was shaking from fright, but she was at least holding herself upright, she was so scared her woulds didn't want to come out, but it was so important for her to share her thoughts and feelings with us that she forced them out anyway.

This woman was brave. She had more conviction than I'd ever displayed up to that point. Something scared her and she barrelled through it anyway. I was an actor, an attention-seeker - I loved public speaking, and had never had to comprehend of this aspect of it. That afternoon I saw through her eyes, felt her heart. I wanted to stand up right there and put my arms on her shoulders so she could have some of my public-speaking stength, and say what she wanted to say without any fear at all.

But it wasn't appropriate, not for an elder to touch a woman besides a handshake, not for me when her husband was there. Stengthening Vanja was his job. But oh, how my heart went to her, wished I could give her everything she needed right at that moment.

Instead, I turned on my Slovene ears and listened respectfully to what Vanja was trying to express. I paid her the respect that this very brave, strong woman deserved.

Hobo No Mo'

I did it. I don't know if it's perfect, or how long I'll enjoy myself there, or if that even matters, but I did it. I succeeded in obtaining a job.

*sigh of relief*

I'll keep sending out resumes for a while, beause I need to make sure that I got the best there was to be had, but it seems to be pretty good. Telephone/customer service, but as I've noted, though I don't like it, I'm very good at it. The health plan is exceptional, the benefits are beyond decent, it's close. I was offered more wages than I asked for, due to previous experience. And I'm to be trained as a supervisory sort-of-thing. Which makes me feel like I'm progressing instead of standing still. And the company is growing, which is a detail that was important to me.

I can recoup from this, I can take the opportunity to be what they need, and improve upon it.


Please world, don't hate me for selling halloween costumes.

Choices

So, I just posted this on Playersanonymous - 1. to be funny, and 2. to prevent people from really knowing what's going on in my life.

~~~

Well, after a few weeks of being unemployed I finally have two job offers. When it rains, it pours, eh?

Job Opportunity 1: I've been offered a position as a junior-level hobo on a boxcar train that runs from Texarkana to Milwaukee, via Boston. I won't have my own blanket until I've been with group for 6 months, but they promise that some of the perks include a vagabond whose fillings pick up wi-fi - so as long as he's awake, and in the mood to talk to me, I can keep up with you guys here on PA. Perhaps while I'm even travelling through PA! Since the Hobo King was deposed 25 years ago, the position is open to new-hires, and I'm told that people with my drive can obtain the post without the usual buddy-system that was in place in the past, and since opportunnities for advancement are important to me, this is a major draw.

However, just yesterday I was offered

Job Opportunity 2: A band of wild trannies scouted me out and actually created a brand new position just for me. They spend their time ravaging the wooded areas surrounding Suburbia in the mid-west, from Illinois down to Louisiana, searching for cast off stilettoes and used glitter. Their mission statement is impressive - First Do No Harm, Girl - which is a paradigm I can easily get behind. The president of the group, Miss Tentacula Jones nee Splendiflora-fauna, has promised that perks will be provided, such as a bowl of sequins at each meal, and opportunities to bring more understanding re: the transsexual community to the greater populace. As a non-trannie, but a trannie supporter, my role would be a public one, and quite in the realm of PR, which I have never done before, but don't doubt my own abilities.

These are both very good opportunites at this point. But which should I take? Which should I take? Decisions, decisions!

The hairpin-drop heard 'round the world!

Ok, this is just fun. Varla Jean Merman sings of the history of Stonewall! How appropriate, since today it the 38th anniversary. It plays off the Judy Garland myth, but it's still a kick!



Two years ago I read the book Stonewall, and was mightily impressed with the history, my history, our history. I felt as close to those queens and trannies and dykes as I did to the Mormon pioneers when I was growing up. They are part of me, and my history and what makes me. Respect, that's what it is. Thanks, for getting us to where we are today!

Different is trouble for you only

Here is one of my favorite clips ever found on the internet:



First of all I love it because that was Mama Cass and I adore her golden, glorious voice.

Second, I love the sentiment she sings. I was thinking about this because of my SIL Lisa's recent post about her thoughts in response to a book she just read. Apparently the book has a lot to say on being different, or feeling different. I can get that. I've always felt different. It took me a while to accept it, but it's even become a compliment. While on my mission one elder who was soon to be my new companion asked a sister who had served around me and who was on her way home what I was like - her resonse was, "He's the most differentest person ALIVE!" That makes me feel very good.

But there have been times when it's felt more like a burden than anything. I admit that I'm wont to compare myself to others. I often do it with my brothers and sisters. Years ago, when I was first coming out to myself, it was right around the time my brother and sister were marrying. It hurt more than a little bit to watch them, and wonder why I couldn't have that too. I felt like if I could just be the same as Peter and Abby I wouldn't let my mom and dad down. I pursued (as far as I could...) a relationship with my friend Christy in an attempt to be the "same" as my siblings, as my peers, as society. It didn't work, and I was never happy.

I often wished I could be different, better, handsomer, smarter, more advantaged. Why oh why did I have to fall in love with Linguistics as a major, when I could have done something normal, like accounting, and had a normal job, and a normal income, and a "normal" life. If I could just have been more "normal" would I currently be happier?

I truly believe the answer to that is no.

Yes, I'm different. I may be incomprehensible to some people. I may seem like I make erratic choices. But, and it's relatively recently I've learned this, I'm living MY life, not a life for others. So what if most people don't get me? I do, and maybe a few other people do, and that's great. I am unique. I am special. Maybe (definitely) not to the whole world, like some I know aspire to, but I'm special to me, because I like me, and I know what it took to BECOME me. I please me; I value me.

No mater what kind of different a person is, it can be hard and lonely, as Mama Cass sings. But I echo what she says next: "I'd rather be different than be the same."

Infamous

Today I finally watched Infamous. I haven't gotten around to watching Capote yet, but that will come.

It was so interesting to me to watch the details of a story I knew only marginally, and to learn. I think the movie did justice to the people - the raw humans - it was depicting. It put a face to the killers, as stories are wont to do. But it affected me.

I always have identified with the villains of almost any story. I wonder if it's got anything to do with the fact that I often label myself as wicked or odd or peculiar. At any rate, I seem to have the ability to see things from the baddy's point of view right off. With Little House on the Prairie I always empathized and sympathized with Mrs. Oleson - of COURSE she acted the way she did! She had goals and desires just like everyone, but her methods were unorthodox, and didn't fit in with the rest of Walnut Grove society. She was a business woman - why should she NOT be shrewed, and demanding. She wanted attention and position in a place where no one cared much for that - of course she would seem overblown, and her efforts useless. Yes, she could have just acted the same as the other women, and they would naturally accept her, but that was not HER! Her personality was different! To her, things made utter sense the way she did them. I was always glad that she had a remarkably understanding husband.

Disney movies have been the same. With the exception of Gaston, I've always been able to see and value the goals, methods and motives of the villains. Ursula, Hades, Jafar, Maleficent. I don't say they were right but I understand them.

This applies to all stories, not just film. I guess I'm just unusally empathetic.

And it applied again today, to the story of Truman Capote and the killers he met in jail. The film, the book, perhaps even real life put a human face onto an inhuman act. By the end of the film, when the two men were hung, I burst into tears at their deaths. I know that the characters and their real-life counter parts killed 4 innocent people. I know. But I cried for the two men who were killed in punishment, too. And while I sat there dripping onto the throw pillow, I asked myself what I was crying for - loss? emotional investment? waste? I'm not sure.

The movie did its job. I was moved. I cried for the killers, just like when I cried for Jeffry Dahmer. It's easy to say it's just because I'm wicked too, but I honestly think it's because I've a tender heart, no matter what facade I put up.

Calming down

Feeling much better today, despite still not hearing anything from Berlitz. Had the severance meeting with the Vice President and it turned out better than I previously thought, plus I have stock options I didn't know about. Things will work out... things will work out.

I spent much of the day yesterday with my sister-in-law and my neice and nephew, and that helped at first. As the day went on and I stopped being the outraged victim, I felt worse and worse about everything. I was still willing to take what I deserved, but really realizing how NOT in control of things I was hurt a lot.

It's hard for me to submit to people. It's hard for me to accept that I'm not in control of any situation. I don't know if it's part of being the oldest or what, but not having the power to make things my way, when logically everything SHOULD be my way, is.... scary. I feel like less of a person, and I HATE that feeling with a passion.

Which is why I often put up an aloof front - so that no one can see how they're affecting me, and so I have time to process my responses. It's not fun, but it's less damaging.

help!

My stomach's clutching up. Severance package meetings today. Rumor is that it's not good.

How am I gonna get through this?

Friends

I find myself very drawn to the television show. It was kind of verboten when I was growing up - to risque. But as an adult with a critical eye, I'm interested to note some of the ways they depict relationships. The characters are never too cartoonish - they always have a truth around them. I think this is a mark of good writing.

The character I find myself relating to the most, and wanting to be like and find the most funny is Phoebe. I like that she's independant, I like that she's satisfied with the life she carved out for herself. I like that she's off-kilter, and comes up with random things. And I lOVE the way she says "Oh, no."