Paradox, Pair a docks, Eat a sock, Find a rock

Nothing makes any sense any more. Find the paradox...

The chitalishte used to be the thriving cultural center of communities in Bulgaria. There were dances, songs, games, always activities happening with kids and adults alike. Home to a library, concert hall, possibly a movie theater, and other assorted little rooms for merriment to take place, it attracted people of all ages. People would pile in by the dozens to watch their kids perform in the winter concert. When you walked in, you heard laughter, shuffling feet, some kind of commotion. That was then...

Now, when you ask people to come to the winter concert, they laugh and say they'll have to bring a wine or Bulgarian 'rakia' in order to keep warm in the concert hall. There's no heat in the chitalishte. No heat means nobody wants to bring their kids there because they'll 'catch a cold'. For Bulgarians, this is a very literal statement. If you feel chilled in any way, shape, or form, you're bound to get sick because you're 'catching a cold'. You walk into the chitalishte and are greeted by a dead silence.

The small crew who so-called 'works' there huddles around the little electric stove in the glass room in front of the library. Nobody hangs out in the library 'cuz it's too cold. In front of the door to the glass room, there's a big sign that says, 'No smoking at any time, anywhere in the chitalishte.' The consequences is getting kicked out from the chitalishte. It's signed by the director and stamped by the treasurer. It looks pretty serious. Inside the room, the director's sitting and chatting with Ani- the librarian, Nedka-the treasurer, and the Peace Corps volunteer. They all have a cigarette in their mouth. The room is filled with smoke. Who could blame them? At least the cigarettes provide some warmth.

Blessed are we to have Ani as part of our crew. Without her, the situation could possibly be highly depressing. As it is, it's usually rather merry. She sings Bulgarian folk songs. We've been known to dance while huddling around our little stove. She tells jokes in her village dialect. Though I don't get the jokes because i don't understand the dialect, I often end up laughing because Nedka laughs so hard she almost falls off her chair. She understands because her grandma spoke in the same way. Today, Nedka almost choked from laughing so hard at one of Ani's witticisms. Luckily, she's still alive :) We all love to eat so we take turns bringing home-made goodies. So, we eat, we sing, we laugh, we dance. Our director, the famous Turkish-Bulgarian painter Kumber, comes around sometimes to chide us for working so hard. Somehow we get by. It seems as if the heat we make in that little room is actually radiating outward into the big building called the chetalishte.

The singing that started in the room has started to develop into a show for the Christmas concert. Kids are getting involved, thanks to Nedka's daughter, Vivian. What started as an idea for a show is evolving into an idea for a consistent singing group for kids. It may not be a big deal, but it *is* a step in the direction of reviving our Momchilgrad chitalishte. The heat of enthusiasm and inspiration that Ani lives with is beginning to warm up the entire building and the hearts of all who work with her. Only time will tell what adventures are in store for the Momchilgrad chitalishte. If you get a chance, dear reader, please send some warm thoughts in our direction.