Traditional Romanian Carol Singing

Christmas Festival in Maramures

La Multi Ani

La Multi Ani

On the first of January, 2007 Romania will officially become a member state of the European Union. This is a big deal here. It is something that the government has worked toward for over a decade and it marks the acceptance of Romania and Bulgaria as partners in a democratic, capitalistic and western looking union.

For two years there has been a large timepiece set in the heart of Bucuresti counting down the days, hours and minutes to the accession. The parliament has passed new and updated previously unenforced legislation which will become effective on Monday. Many speeches and great fireworks will commemorate the New Year and the new era for this country. Yet a large number of people are apprehensive about the changes that will come with the requirements of unification and with those thousands of new laws and regulations required to comply with European standards.

No one knows for sure whether travel will be easier, whether it will be easier to work in Europe. No one is certain the effect that being a partner with the rest of Europe will mean, and many people see the changes that they have had to make and will make a cost higher than they are willing to accept. Yet there is a sense that Romania has always been a part of Europe and that is where this country belongs.

Depending upon which view of the country I see, to me Romania is either a nation in a hurry to catch up to the development and progress of the other former Eastern Bloc countries already admitted into the EU, populated by dynamic people determined to make a success of themselves and their homeland, or it is a backward place, full of antique ways of thinking and of working, inhabited by a people content to accept the status quo and unwilling to trust in themselves or their countrymen. It is a country headed in two directions at once and the EU accession is a symbol of the steps toward progress and dynamism.

Nancy and I spent Christmas in the backcountry of Maramures with a knot of 13 other friends and volunteers. It was a traditional Christmas filled with singing “colende multi Americane” and being invited into homes for good food and strong drink. It would be wonderful to be able to preserve the best of these traditions as well as encourage steps toward a more progressive society. Progress that abandons a sense of place and history is not good, however traditions that maintain poverty and a degradation of the environment are not good either. The challenge facing Romania is to somehow keep the best of the traditions while changing toward a more prosperous, clean and equitable country.

I raise my glass of tuisca to Romania on the acceptance into Western Europe and wish them well on their balancing. La Multi Ani.

The Annual Christmas Poem

For the past 30 years at Christmas I've sent out greetings via an original poem. I understand it has become quite the tradition to receive the poems, and my list of mailings has gradually increased to well over a hundred families now, but unfortunately, I still miss folks that I should send greetings so, I've included the poem and pictures on this year's blog, just in case you, dear reader, are not on Nancy and my mailing list. (If we did miss you and you'd like to be included in next year's edition drop me a note with your address).

We are off to the back country of Maramures for Christmas. We'll be staying at a bed and breakfast there with about a dozen other volunteers and participating in as much 'culture' as we can including midnight and morning church and carolling - both English and Romanian - around the neighborhood. We are looking forward to it, and hope that you will have as enjoyable a holiday as we expect.

And now, as promised, the 31st annual poem for Christmas...

December, 2006

I wonder if wisdom should be associated with age,
As if accumulating experience makes us sage?
I feel no smarter now, know no more then I knew
Than some thirty years past when first I threw
Word next to word, rhyme beside rhyme,
And Line upon line to mail at Christmas time.

Mellower I am perhaps, but wiser? I think not.
My mind now has gaps, blank spots and slow rot.
Corners of the brain are so cluttered and jumbled
No telling what words my mouth may have mumbled.
Of some things though, I feel fairly assured
Learned either through fair days or trials endured.

Faith I have that on these facts I’m true, that I’m right:
One: somethings are better dark. Two: others bright.
Three: some days need sunshine. Four: others need rain.
Five: crazy thoughts may be brilliant or merely insane.
Six: it’s our spot, our perspective, that colors our view,
Makes us value customs, people, places old, places new.

As our spot changes, our view and perspective adjusts,
So may change also our longings, our loves and our lusts.
Morning Glories prove one man’s weed is another’s flower,
Depends upon which man, depends upon which hour,
A splendid pale blossom or a choking, entangling vine
Depends on one’s viewpoint, and upon the sunshine.

As I age it’s not wisdom I hope for – no sage will I be -
But acceptance is my wish for us all, for you and for me.
I desire that our burrs be softened, hard edges removed,
Our harshness buffered and rough places smoothed,
Be slower to anger, quicker to smile but with less spittle
And that we learn to accept one another a least just a little.

From Cluj-Napoca we wish you the best Christmas
And most hopeful of New Year’s, and may we mellow as we age.

Tim and Nancy

The first snow of winter

Aunt Elinor and the Meaning of Fireflies

Earlier last summer I posted a rememberance of Nancy's Aunt Anna. Many of you commented on that posting. This time I have the pleasure of doing something similar for my Aunt Elinor, of Carlisle, Pa.

Aunt Elinor is preparing to celebrate her 100th birthday this week. Her family had put out a call for rememberances and stories to offer as a tribute to her long life. This week's post is my contribution to that tribute. It might not make much sense to those of you who do not know the particulars involved, but instead of taking the time to explain, I thought that perhaps it would be better to let the blanks be filled in as if it were your relative, for we all have family history and memories.

Aunt Elinor and the Meaning of Fireflies

My Mother and Elinor were best of sisters. They grew up in what must have been a family of rambunctious boys, Jack, Marshall, Charley and Allie. The first two of those come to mind as particularly dominating figures. I suspect that while mother got by on sweetness, her sister held her own in every regard. The ties the girls formed, growing up in that household lasted in life for 90 years.

Carlisle was a destination of choice throughout my youth. Granddad and I both spent time here; he for the entire summer, I for at least a few weeks each year. As I was near the end of my generation of cousins the big house would have seemed uncharacteristically quiet as Nora and her brothers had all moved on to school and careers by then and the grandchildren were yet to appear in large numbers. It was almost as if I had my Aunt and Uncle and their wonderful house to myself.

It was always with a mixture of great respect mingled with a little fear that I came to Carlisle for my visits. Remember, I was a little boy, shy and quiet, and I had a bit of a trouble of connecting all the cast of characters in Carlisle. There was Uncle John, although then I couldn’t figure out who’s uncle he was, Aunt Mary, Grandma Green, Millie and Lady. Lady was the collie dog and she was kept mostly in the barn. I’m sure there were other names to successive dogs, but looking back, it seems to me they were all collies and they were all named lady. It was not the characters or the dog that caused my little fear, for they were all the most friendly of folks, but my Aunt. This apprehension should not be seen as something negative, for fear mixed with acceptance builds fortitude.

As I say, I was a quiet and shy child and many of the most cherished hours I spent with my Aunt were not with her at all, but sitting on the back sun porch working a picture puzzle or roaming what seemed to me to be an immense yard, hiding behind shrubbery in hopes of catching a rabbit in my box snare. On perhaps the first visit that my memory can distinguish I achieved my one lasting bit of fame in Carlisle: I enlightened my Aunt to the pleasures of Captain Kangaroo. For many years after, she would give me credit for her education on that subject. That was a winter visit, where I was sent while Mother underwent physical recuperation from some illness or other. You understand, back then it was a long journey from New York to Carlisle, not something one took lightly. They were special visits; looked for occasions; holidays when none were listed on the calendar. I was never told of what physical ailment my mother had, only that I enjoyed my time with my Aunt.

Fall, winter and spring visits were fine because that was when the sun porch was bested suited for puzzles, but the best visits were the summer ones. I can’t say that my Aunt actually taught me how to catch fireflies, but her yard on a summer’s night certainly offered much practice to correct my imperfect technique. I remember the great patience Uncle Joe would have with me – but he had that patience with everyone; he was the most patient man I have ever had the privilege to know, and I remember the great encouragement my Aunt offered.

Granddad and I were best buddies. He lived with us nine months of the year and in Carlisle the other three. No story of Aunt Elinor can be complete without understanding the connection between father and daughter. Granddad, like myself, shared the same feelings of admiration and fear. We knew who the boss was whenever we were in Carlisle. And we knew it was best not to upset the boss. I don’t know that she ever thought of herself as boss, but she was. Unquestionably.

Thirty-three years ago, Richard Nixon was still president, but only barely. Granddad received a letter from President Nixon congratulating him on 100 years of life. I don’t know whether the Presidential letter still goes out to the centurions or not, I suppose we’ll find out, but it seemed ironic at the time that one of the last official things President Nixon did was sign Granddad’s congratulatory letter. Granddad’s party was in Carlisle, just as Aunt Elinor’s will be. As I watched the festivities, I noted the unconscious shift of family power to my generation. My other aunts and uncles were there, of course, but they had reached retirement age and the buzz of activity was from and about my cousins. Now, I’m sure, the same will be noted by some quiet observer this time around. The generations of my brothers and cousins, those successful men and women who carried on the heritage of Granddad and his children, will slip power to their children and then to their children’s children.

I can only hope that those children and the children of those children had the same lessons of patience and encouragement taught them via the pleasures of catching fireflies on a summer evening in Carlisle as I.

Tim Hulings