The Art of Woman
(The art of man) Please let me preface this title with the fact that I don’t presume to assume the position that man is or ever was at the heart of any position therein occupying the position of literary object. That being said, I only write the title as such because it is shorter and sweeter (no pun intended) and it is in lieu of the manner of which I have read “all of humanity” addressed. However, I know that, even though or especially because I know that the previous generations mistakes is no excuse for mine there really is no excuse for me writing the title as such. So I will change it, thus.
Up until this fine evening, I thought I had laid my warm wishes to rest with the end of 2010. It seems that upon this night I was called by my old Romanian teacher to meet with her and her husband for our usual drink and quick catch up. It was headed in that direction when they invited me to celebrate the Orthodox Christian Christmas that takes place on January 7th. So, I did. I went with them to the house of her parents and met her son, sister and her boyfriend and her mother. Her father was apparently on sort of a vacation. In their most authentic manner they politely excused themselves for “a simple meal” which was actually far from simple. On the table were laid out eleven different portions: 7 for the meal and 4 for dessert. There was pizza, minced meat egg-shaped and battered, battered and beaten fried chicken and a type of fish that was very fresh and sweet. On the side were two types of salad one which was peculiarly close to my mother’s macaroni salad. I was in quite the heaven. One of the desserts offered was a form of bread pudding that I couldn’t stop eating. It was so close to home, I didn’t know what to do with myself. There was also a type of macaroni with sweet cream cheese that I only had a bite of. Cake, there was definitely cake made from hazelnut that I didn’t have room for. To top it off, I had a wonderful pastry that would look like any other pastry. At any other time, I would have passed it like a hot potato without blinking an eye, but further encouragement led me to try it and I am glad that I did. I had never really tried anything like it, but it was a pastry that on the outside looked like a folded bread roll with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. They told me it was made with “roz” which literally translated means “rose,” but when I bit into it there were rose petals in the pastry and it tasted like I had bit into a rose. It was fantastic. I was so full, but I couldn’t stop eating them. It was such a phenomenon to be eating a rose pastry. Fantastic.
Everyone at the table was very polite. The seating arrangement was around a rectangular table with me at the lower right corner, or edge (because if I sat at the corner I would never get married) and to my right was the sister Vica with Raia, the mother, at the head of the table, Radu my teacher’s husband at the top left and Nadia across from me with Vica’s boyfriend, Igor at the base of the table. All in all, we were six. It was a full table and perfect for the space and entertainment that was in store for me. Sitting around the table, I was able to talk about my experience as a volunteer and even more simply a foreigner in Moldova and how much I adored the people, the traditions and the food. It was all fantastic. They all just sat quietly letting me talk about myself. I learned that the father was away on sort of a social vacation with his colleagues and that usually he brightens up the parties so there was room for one more, which profited me very much. I was trying to stay away from small talk, but the conversations about the food had expired and worn out. I was desperate so I looked over to the sister and asked her to kiss me. She looked at me and…hahaha, NO, I didn’t ask her to kiss me. I asked her if she also lived in Balţi near her sister or with her mother. She said that she lived in Chişinau with her boyfriend Igor, who was sitting to my left at the base of the table. I, obviously not asking the right question to get conversation started, asked what she does there and she said that was studying for music. I was fully surprised. The answers that I typically get are either Engineering, Teaching or Finance. There were not many music students that continue onto the university level. So, genuinely interested, I asked her was instrument she played and she said the violin. She also noted that her boyfriend, Igor, also played the violin and that they had been studying the violin for at least 12 years. Soroca, by the way, is pretty much the epicenter for adolescents interested in the arts. There are high schools that are geared specifically towards the arts. It is really amazing. Anyhow, I asked her how to say “to record” and she told me that it was “a registra” so I asked her if she had registered any of her music. She said that I could find it on YouTube. Then my teacher, Nadia, interjected quickly with something in Romanian or Russian that I didn’t quite catch. Vica, her sister, nervously looked at me and I assumed that she was asked to play the violin for us. I immediately got really excited and sort of skipped a little bit in my chair slapping hands on my knees to subtly suggest that I wanted her to play. She got up and skuttled into the other room. I heard shuffling and clicking and within a minute the sounds of tuning nothing else than a violin. How special was my excitement, I couldn’t really tell you. She emerged and stood in a corner of the 7’ X 10’ kitchen and played a slow Latin ballroom dance song, then another. She seemed quite satisfied with her contribution to the night, but I wanted to hear more and so without pressuring her, I looked to her boyfriend, Igor. The whole night he was quiet and this was no different, but I continued to tell them how special it was to hear live music because you can see faces and the emotions that radiate and not only from the instrument, but from their face and the way that they move their instrument around. The live experience is something far different than what any studio rendition could offer. I was very happy. So, I asked Igor again and this time he gave a pause. I always take pauses for a “yes” back home and it was no different here. He was in. As soon as he paused, I said “yes” and made room for the violin to be passed over. He agreeably reached for it and played the tune for Bhaga Vad Gita. That was awesome. Then Vica closed out the performance with another number. It was very special. The whole night was special.
So as far as the title is concerned, this musically inclined couple sat around me so unassuming. They didn’t have golden violin broaches on or treble clef earrings and jewelry. No, they were very modest about their talents. None of them said anything to me about it voluntarily. I had to elicit the information. Thus, so is that of any person around me. I have been accustomed to not assuming that every person around me has no artistic talent to share with the community, however, for all I know the person next to me could be the next Picasso or Schubert. I don’t know. What I do know is that even though my neighbor may not be a prolific artist or dancer or may not have even taken art classes at all, but I know that every person is predisposed with ability for art. Everyone has within oneself the intellect to become an artist. It need to only be harnessed.
Winter has been nice to me. I thought that I would be braving snow storms with a frozen face. I thought that my fingers would turn blue and as documented in “March of the Penguins” that my eggs would freeze as soon as they touched cold snow. I, did, however, manage to break a glass plate that I was told could be just as old as I am. I ignorantly put a boiling pot on it while it was in the veranda that had reached freezing temperatures. It cracked soon after I ran back into the warmth of the main house. Other than that little incident, nothing has really hit me hard. this is not to say that winter here has been really really pretty. I have taken many walks after a good snow and some good sun and it has been just beautiful outside that just really begs me to know take pictures. So I did. Everything was white and just beautiful. The ground was white, the trees, faces, streets, cars, clothes, sometimes the sky was white, the fortress, rooftops, smoking chimneys were white and even the dogs' faces were white. One of my walk I took a series of pictures for your viewing pleasure and on my journey through the center of town I found many such 3 foot strips of frozen water that had made a slick surface for kids and adults alike to slide across. It's sort of like finding a lollipop on your desk or getting one from the dentist. It's like a little bit of childhood. Winter here is just really really pretty. However…, 
