Glory Ho

Just a little review about my organization here. . .

Traditzia, which mean “tradition” in Bulgarian, is a foundation and a gallery. Our mission is to help artisans, some disabled, some in social institutions, some minority, some orphaned and some simply talented, to help themselves. We achieve this by providing craft consultation, art therapy and entrepreneurial advice, helping individuals create marketable products and allowing institutions to become professional businesses. We then sell these handmade items in our gallery. The result is a self-reliant life, a sustainable income, and a sense of fulfillment for these vulnerable groups. Furthermore, our actions aim to preserve the traditions and culture of crafts in Bulgaria. www.traditzia.bg

And when I say crafts, this is no church bazaar. At Traditzia, there’s jewelry that pushes way past Pandora’s. Knick-knacks, decor and toys that remind you of Tallulah Jones. Scarves that would sell on Pearl Street. Stained glass that they would select for Artisan Center display! And pottery that’s pleasing to the eyes and the hands. And to top it all off, it’s for a good cause. My latest tagline for Traditzia is:

Here at Traditzia, every purchase has a purpose. Every stitch has a story.

Traditzia is a progressive organization, too. Ahead of many struggling non-profits, we benefit from a very international board of British, German, Swiss, Croatian and sometimes American members with fresh perspectives. We have hardworking, dedicated employees and a competent director who feel an immense connection to those we help. We’re a favorite among the expat and embassy crowd.

We have seven people on staff, who work in a gallery with a small office, kitchen and “conference room” behind it. Traditzia was the brainchild of Mrs. Arabella Stagg, wife of a former British Ambassador, Richard Stagg. She started Traditzia in 2001 through the British government with funds from Department for International Development (DFID).

What I Do
–Designed advertisement for newsletters, tourist guides and coupon books.
–Coordinated a silent auction with handmade jewelry from our gallery, for the Anglo-American School Valentine’s Day Dinner.
–Met with British Airways, Executive Center, Shell Gas Bulgaria and other corporations with an office in Sofia, pitching potential social responsibility opportunities with Traditzia. It can mean a variety of collaboration, partnership and trades—each with the same outcome: they gain philanthropic recognition and community integration–we gain clientele and sales.
–Sent thank you notes and followed up with the aforementioned companies to build a relationship so they think of us for corporate gifts, holiday décor and gift-buying. (i know, thank you notes don’t seem novel, but networking is somewhat of a new thing at Traditzia)
–Began rewriting Traditzia mission statement and elevator speech for employees to learn, memorize and repeat. (note: no elevator required)
–Begun developing sales training for those that work the floor.
–Designed placards to describe supported social institutions for our project with the Norwegian Embassy, Swiss Embassy– for display at spnosored nights. .
–Followed up with several Peace Corps volunteers who think they have potential handmade products for our gallery, creating a process for this type of inquiry.
–Contacted BTK to inquire about getting voicemail on our telephone.
–Ordered notecards with the Traditzia logo.
–Visited Rojdestvo Christovo Day Center for single mothers to review potential pottery and dolls (made there) to sell in the gallery.
–Attended a grant-writing seminar to learn the roots and complexities of project design
–Facilitated brainstorm for 2006 Traditzia Gallery events.
–Greeted members of U.S. Congress on their private shopping tour, presented Traditzia’s mission, discussed artisan stories and catered to their needs.
–Designed the tags for our Thomas Collection, children’s clothing, handknitted by elderly disabled women from the Rhodope Mountains.
–Helped write a grant to provide entreprenurship skills to minority artisans in the underdeveloped northwest region.
–Beginning application after application for the many grants and funds available.

My projects are really taking shape, now, too. Traditzia seems to welcome my ideas. They’re not bowled over, but I think they’re beginning to see how I can help.

Too, I am spreading project management skills. This is where things become tough.

Here in Bulgaria, there is no half-century long history of business. Instead, there’s a less detailed model. A shorter history of entrepreneurship. No concept of customer service, less projection toward the future and a sometimes surprising lack of urgency. There is less tendency to collaborate, little infrastructure and not a lot of process, either.

All the rich creamy goodness of America, everything which I sometimes embrace and sometimes aghor about our homeland is missing. Bulgaria is a nation on the brink, ever-so-slowly creeping into global view, but they have a few miles to go. And I’m glad I was born in a country (not to mention to those terrific entrepreneurial parents of mine) where I just inherently know a bit about this stuff and can spread it around. So here’s what I’m trying to do:

–Implement a process where there has been no process before. It’s like thrusting red tape at someone. Just sorta falls to the ground in a big sticky heap.
–Create information databases for convenience and records
–Enforce the use of an agenda during meetings
–Develop the “customer is king” philosophy
–Introduce the habituatl use of comprehensive project documents with action items, deadlines and resources
–Convince people the benefits of partnerships and networking for long-term benefits
–Stress people out (I swear, I try with all my might!!!, but the more stressed I get, the calmer they feel. This is obviously an American affliction!!)
–Planning ahead—way ahead in Bulgarian terms. For an event in March, I’d like to start planning now. They prefer to start closer to March. Granted, it gets done, either way, but if we start in March, perhaps not in the calmest or most organized manner. (of course, it’s true that I run around freaking out while the Bulgarians do, in fact, remain calm).

This spring, I will be visiting social institutions, meeting artisans, orphans and disabled individuals and witnessing Traditzia’s impact on these people. This is very exciting! I’m so eager to meet the people we help.

Michael and I are also looking into the following as secondary projects:
–Creating an accurate map and schedule for the public transportation in Sofia.
–Introducing the idea of a book club to Bulgaria.
–Teaching English to a group of Bulgarians at the Sofia library
–Developing a presentation on “How to Give Presentations” to university classes or organizations
–Looking into an Operation Smile project. . .more to come. . .
–Learning what we can do for Anti Trafficking in Persons cause, a devastating issue whereby thousands of girls around the world, statistically 20 or more per hour, are kidnapped (or duped by seemingly loving boyfriends) and then sold as sex slaves.

So that’s what I’m up to for now. It’s not exactly digging for clean drinking water or promoting tupperware to natives (don’t tell me you didn’t at some point picture that 80s commercial or the Airplane! scene) but I like it and I feel good about my work so far in Bulgaria.

Last night, we had dinner with two Danes and a Lithuanian. No, these are not types of dogs. They are people from Denmark and Lithuania. He was a diplomat. She was teaching at the Scandinavian studies program of Sofia University. Another woman recently taught a project design seminar at Traditzia. There was talk of vegetarianism and communism, stories about garlic, Istanbul and marriage. The waitress got a good chuckle out of our Bulgarian. We shared korma, saag, naan, tea and soap-flavored sprinkles. A very pleasant time seemed had by all. But as Michael and I began our debrief walking home through the dark park, I felt the worry claw—-that invisible but powerful creature who tells me I have something to worry about. And it was telling me that I talked too much tonight. And the more I considered this possibility, the worse I felt. I had only hoped to create a new friendship. But my usual gregarious self, I’m afraid, was contrasted even sharper against the calm, softer-spoken and eye-meeting Europeans. Perhaps I hadn’t waited long enough during the lulls. (never do). Had I been too eager to share common experiences? (there was that failed lichna karta story) But that’s what you do with new friends, right? Find common ground?

Just yesterday, I opened a Christmas card and found a gem from a wise and talented friend. While attempting to draw someone’s face, and winding up with one curiously similar to her own, she had bumped into a little metaphor about life. “We look for ourselves in others. What we know. What we recognize.” She was right of course. We crave commonality. Seek sameness. And particularly in conversation, become excited upon this discovery, increasing voice volume to interrupt with “I love Kung Fu, TOO!” or “This one time, when I was in Sri Lanka. . .”. Like a third grade girl on the first day of school, we are only too tickled to discover a potential new friendship or connection.

More than ever in a foreign country, I am engaged in this ethnocentric brand of comfort. I am obsessed with the similarities between Bulgaria and the U.S. and also, the differences, which only, of course, circle back to highlight those similarities. It’s human nature. And nothing new, right? But what my insightful friend further identified, courtesy of her own art therapy, was that, these triggered responses, which occur when we should, in fact, be listening, slam a cheap screen door between our open mind and that new person. “To really see others,” she said “we have to break free of what we know of ourselves. . .” I knew she was right. And I felt fortunate to have good frinds whow knew how to listen. But I also knew plenty individuals who were unable to defeat this little ego-minded monster.

Could it be that we’re all just trying to meet ourselves over and over again, I wondered. Further, do we seek commonality in some ways, simply to placate our own self-serving (and storytelling) ways? Is it possible that we’re all that narcissistic and boring?

But sure enough, I sensed a jigsaw fit. The little watch clasp on my wrist popped satisfyingly into place. It all made sense. I suppose that while commonality brings people together and creates conversation, (where would online dating be without it?) there’s something perhaps even stronger that allows a connection to gel. It’s more elusive, less frequent for sure, but certainly more poignant. And it’s called ultimate comfort.

And I dare to argue this one might even hold more weight than commonality. We are, after all, most encouraged and calmed by those who listen, not by those who rush to find a match. We respond to eyes eager for new information, rather than mouths content to repeat their own story. Recently, I was chatting with a new Bulgarian friend—-someone I like very much–when I discovered she had been to Madagascar, but had failed to mention it when I’d told my story about the big M a few days ago. Why? Perhaps she had faith that we’d talk about it later. Maybe she wanted to honor my time there. I suppose she assumed this lack of information wouldn’t make or break our friendship. And she was right.

Still, disclaimers exist. Commonality and ultimate comfort are not mutually exclusive. Ease increases when one discovers that they share political views with a new acquaintance or that they both grew up in the Midwest, for example. And once at ease, however having arrived there, one might be more likely to tell a story which demonstrates commonality. Fair enough. Everything works together.

Too, timing is key. There are exceptions. Times when your story, your rush to find a match, is helpful. Needed. Appreciated. Funny. No doubt about it. Maybe even half the time it’s all of these things.

But that means half the time it’s not.

And distinguishing between the two, I’ve just discovered, makes all the difference.

Said Voltaire: “The best way to be boring is to leave nothing out.”

Something to think about.

Jack, Ronda, how are you guys? Sure, sure, mmhmm. New Year’s Eve? Yes, the restaurants are all about 40-60 leva per person. Just figuring on a low-key celebration and we wanted to invite you to stay with us. Nice. Call us when you’re at the corner of Vasil Levsky and Dondukov.

Yo, Trevor, what’s up? Sure, well, we already promised the fold out to Ronda and Jack, but there’s absolutely room on the floor, just bring your sleeping bags, okay? Just you and Betsy, right? Cool. Late.

Anna!!!,so you guys—Andy, Mary, Jess and your sister–are getting an apartment here in Sofia? Totally fetch. Pretty chill I guess. Maybe we should head down to Batenburg Square together for the music and big countdown around 11. Okay, I’ll text you.

Hey Meggie, I checked J.J. Murphys, they want 120 lev a person, so we’re just staying here. Oh, really John Maden’s girlfriend, uh-huh. And Emily, she has laryngitis, but she’s coming to Sofia anyway? And of course, the rest of the Brat pack—Will and NepalNik. Oh and Randy will be with you, too? Well, yeah, I mean, feel free to stop by.

A message from Greg (Max, Christin and two Americans in tow), the 75th or so in a series of texts and emails about what he would do for New Year’s Eve. It reads: What do you want us to bring?

And this is how there came to be a 22 people at 112 Vasil Levsky on New Year’s Eve. Ronda made chili that tasted like America. I made egg nog for the first time ever. Michael fired up the hookah. And we didn’t worry about the rest. No wine charms. No appetizer spread. No expectations. There was glitter on eyelids, candles burning on black and white striped tea saucers, glasses that materialized from the back of our cupboard, none of them taller than a tumbler, independence day sparklers, boots blocking the wardrobe and front door, wooden folding chairs and middle-eastern themed hassocks, the drooping coat rack sprouting and spitting empty greys, greens, my fake cow-hide and of course, Mary’s buttercup yellow onto the floor that never looks clean. Max carried in wine. Greg poured Johnny Walker. And then, cross-country gossip, habitual acronyms (Did you hear about the PCV that ET’d during PST?) and seemingly random, yet important phrases. . .

“. . .flush TP down the toilet here?”
“. . .dja get that Ziploc bag???”
“. . .pee in a bottle sometimes.”
“. . .prefer the bus.”
“. . .developed a taste for Boza.”

Around 10:30, Michael began giving the equivalent of football two-minute warnings. Everyone eventually found their coats, filled their flasks and bumped heads as they zipped the suede or leather up their legs. As shepherds, we were the key-turning and ligh-switching last ones. I don’t know why we hurried. At our block entrance, everyone just bottlenecked like a bunch of confused kindergartners because they didn’t know which way to turn.

On our way to Batenburg Square, I wanted to see the cathedral. I really like it in the dark. The impressive lighting scheme—four bright white football stadium monsters that crouch against the trees along the rim of the roundabout thrust their silver limbs in a wizardly way—and make the church glow, as if by natural snow-light. We encountered domashno wine that reminded me a little too much of Purple Passion and carried rum that soaked my mouth like butter. We heard firecrackers that sounded like canons. I was theorizing that it must have been the impact against the yellow bricks and cobblestones, but Michael said they seemed loud because their illegal in America.

I heard once on NPR that if a background element (music, weather, paint color) truly enhances the mood of a scene, you don’t even notice it. That’s how the temperature was outside on New Years Eve, 2005. The stage stretched for yards and yards, I could barely make out the performers. There was a clock with notches instead of numbers, like those that you might have seen in a 70s kitchen, right next to the painting of the praying man with the white beard. But the music enhanced my buzz the most and a bunch of us started dancing the horo right away, stepping and kicking and laughing and snaking and looking for Bulgarian guidance as people slowly formed a circle around us. After we grew tired of dancing, everyone seemed to run around like harmless, innocent children. A blurry and lit up new universe of happiness.

We were a little late in realizing the countdown, but I caught it by eight–Awesome, Sedem, Chess, Pet, Cheteree, Tree, Dvai, Etno. . .Happy New Year!! Michael had been right by my side, I swear. I was excited for the legendary New Year’s kiss, that moment that makes you feel better than ever, to be married, and married for a New Year, but now he was gone. . where. . .and then I found him. . . capturing the moment on video.

I kept saying, MIchaEL! MIchaEL! to him.
And he kept screaming VIdeo! VIdeo! to our friends.
So that’s largely what was recorded! Ha!
But then, less than a minute into the new year, he stopped and found me for our Happy New Year kiss. And then we ran around kissing everyone else.

I just can’t remember exactly what they played then, but even in Bulgaria, all I could picture was George Bailey and Sam Wainwright and Harry and Sally. All I could smell was the new year. All I could feel was good. And all I could hear was Auld Lang Syne.

Earlier, Andy had showed me the words on a crumpled piece of paper from his wallet:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

Turns out “auld lang syne” means “times gone by”.
Did you know that?
I’m glad our time here is just beginning.

Happy New Year.