Multsumesc!
When I came in from shoveling snow I walked over to the coffee pot and poured a hot cup of joe to help thaw out the icy numbness in my fingers. Unfortunately, when I went to the fridge I realized we were out of milk. I'm not a true convert, I can't drink the stuff black. "Can we get some milk?" I asked with hopeful and probably pitiful eyes. "Sure, we'll go across the street" came the reply from our Romanian friend, Mihai. So I put my boots back on, slid down the icy driveway, across the slushy snow-covered road, through the iron gate, up the muddy path to Sophia's house. Before I even reached the door I was greeted by dogs, ducks, chickens, and guinea hens who escorted us the rest of the way to the house.
An elderly grandma answered the door. The best way I can describe her is frumpy and adorable. Her warm, friendly smile betrayed the fact that she only had half of her teeth. All of her hair was pull away from her face and tucked under a printed scarf that was tied neatly under her chin. She was wearing plastic gardening sandals over two pairs of worn out socks, a long tattered brown skirt, and layers of brown and tan sweaters. She looked exactly like what I imagined an old Eastern European woman to look like.
When Sophia invited us into her home, she invited us into her heart. She immediately showered us with hugs and kisses on each cheek. She held my face in her hands and said something in Romanian that I didn't understand, but she was smiling and by the tone of her voice I was pretty sure she said something endearing. She offered us something to eat – a flaky, cheesy, danish-type treat – and then invited her husband to come in and join us. We sat and talked for over an hour. First they wanted to know where i was from, and why I was there, and how long I was planning to stay. Then they wanted to know if I liked it there and if I liked Mihai. "Sure," I said. "I love the snow and Mihai is a great guy. He's been very hospitable and helped us out a lot." Then they wanted to know if I was married . . . I could see where this was going . . . As the old man and Mihai talked in Romanian, Mihai's face turned red. I looked at him sort of askew. "Ahhh, he is asking if you will stay here forever with me because otherwise I will never have chilrens." Record screech. Awkward. "Haha, no," I chuckled. "I'm way too old for that." Everyone laughed and we changed the topic – thank goodness.
As silly as I felt being asked those questions, I still felt a strong draw toward Sophia and her husband. They were warm and kind. I couldn't understand a word they said but they made me feel comfortable and at home in their humble old shack. There was something about them that kept me coming back for more. Thus began my daily ritual of trudging through the snow, muck, and mud to get milk from Sophia (If you must know, the milk was just an excuse to spend time with her).
I couldn't understand anything she said, so I took notice of things like body language and tone of voice. But the most helpful tool was hand gestures. It was as if she and I were playing a month long game of charades. I'm sure there were some things lost in translation, but I got the main ideas. I learned that she had two children, a boy and a girl. Both were married. Her son was a teacher and her daughter worked with computers. One lived about an hour and a half away in Arad and the other lived in the nearest town of Lipova – but she rarely saw either of them and that made her sad. She missed them a lot. She explained how they liked the city, but she had lived here in the village of Sistarovat her whole life and didn't want to leave. At one point she smiled sadly, put her hands on her heart, said Something in Romanian, then put her hands on my heart and said "America." She went back and forth from her heart to mine a couple of times, and although I don't know exactly what she was saying I think she was trying to tell me she would miss me when I went back to America, or maybe that she wanted me to keep her in my heart when I went back to America. Either way, the message was clear. We had a bond. We both knew it, and we were both going to miss it.
I looked forward to my time with Sophia each day. It was a welcome change from chopping wood, shoveling snow, chipping ice, and mopping floors. Each time I saw her she hugged me and kissed me and tried to feed me. Then we would sit and "talk." One day I took my computer and showed her pictures of my family. She loved that. She then got out some of her tattered old photos and showed me pictures of her family. Parents, kids, weddings, all the good stuff.
Another time she took me out and introduced me to her cow. She told me the cow was three years old and pregnant. She also told me how she would come out and talk to her cow every day because there aren't very many people around for her to talk with. She reminds me of my own grandma – adorable, full of life, and always has a story to tell.
Another time she and her husband taught me how to shuck the kernels off dried ears of corn. They had some sort of metal device with teeth that you wear on your hand and is suppose to help with this process, but I wasn't very good at it. I sprayed corn everywhere.
Another time I took her a little gift and in return she sloshed over to our house with warm pop-corn for everyone. She hugged and kissed each us as we wondered out of our rooms like zombies, mesmerized by the buttery scent wafting through the air. She stayed and had tea with us, but never took her eyes off the popcorn. She made sure EVERYONE had eaten some before she left.
I loved every moment with Sophia. Visiting with her is my favorite memory of Romania. We laughed, we shared, we hugged. It was such a warm and special time, I knew it would be difficult to leave this precious old grandma, but she will remain in my heart forever. Multsumesc (Thank You) Sophia!