Wistfulness

A few weeks ago, I wrote about homesickness and wanting to be back in my own bed and cook with my own pots and pans and eat my own strawberries from my backyard. I still want all those things, but now those feelings are very mixed with the realization that my time really is almost over. In a little less than two weeks, I will leave Daugavpils and Latvia, only to return home to a large pile of mail and projects that will get my ready for the fall term. I keep forgetting that I have this other life that I also have to deal with, but the book order forms from the university bookstore were a good reminder.

Wistful is how I would describe my feelings at this point. As wonderful as being in Latvia has been, I actually am excited about taking on my medieval literature course in the fall, which I haven't taught for a while, and reinvigorating the Honors Program at my university with the able help of my colleague Sarah Hentges. We co-direct the program at present and have been working on revamping it entirely, from curriculum to policies to scholarships and everything in between. I'm also ready to return to the ripening of the raspberries in my backyard so that I can eat them (of course) and make jam for the winter. I hope that Trudy, who has been staying in my house in my absence, has enjoyed the strawberries all June, and if she should read this, perhaps she will put a few in the freezer for me. Just a suggestion.

And having a date at which this all ends is very helpful. Once you have that date in place and the work of the term is done, as it is now, you can really start focusing on all the things that need to happen so that you can get home. I am now packing up materials, giving away some books that I don't need and leaving them in the English Philology Department's library, figuring out how to pack clothing in a sensible way to expedite traveling over the Atlantic with as little as possible. I have found out that the postal service, Latvijas Pasts, will ship a box home up to 20 kilos (about 44 pounds) for a little over 100 euros (roughly $120). While that seems like a lot of money, it compares very favorably to taking it home on the plane, where checking it as a second bag will cost exactly 100 euros (about $107). The slightly higher cost seems worth it to me to not have to lug a rolling duffle and a large suitcase around Riga, Boston, and environs. (I think that in general I packed very lightly for six months and managed to get four seasons' worth of clothing over here. Still, it looks like a lot when it's spread all over my flat, the way it is now.)

Having this leaving date has been actually pretty refreshing. I look at the calendar and think, OK, that's it. I will be done. And with great cleansing of spirit, I get rid of more stuff, not that I collected all that much, for once on my life. It's time to get on with my own life, and slowly returning to it via email and such has been liberating. As good as it is to be jolted out of your routines -- and in the past six months I have been jolted out of all of them -- the reason it is so good is that you eventually return to them, and you return to them in light of what you learned in your post-jolt phase. I've already spoken about some of the pedagogical changes and issues that I want to explore further, and I am planning how my new colleagues Ilze, Sandra, Solveiga, Jeļena, and Irina will continue our own collaborations.

Despite all that, wistfulness is the predominant feeling. Case in point is my final class with my adult English speaking class that I have co-taught with a graduate student here, Zane Vaļule. Zane taught grammar, and I taught conversation, and for our last class we decided that a party was in order. And so it was: I brought a cake (naturally), and everybody rose to the occasion in terms of bringing things to eat. (And everybody learned a new English word: "potluck.") We had homemade sausage from Vilmars, who is a hunter; if you have never had venison-elk sausage, you have not yet lived. We had little meat-filled pastries, delicious bread from Jolanta, cucumbers and tomatoes, assorted fruits, soft drinks, cream-filled pastries, Laima chocolates. And to drink for the requisite toasts? Two bottles of Latvian champagne and homemade šmākovkas ("SHMOCK -- of -- kuss"), introduced to me as the Latgalian moonshine that everybody makes at home. (It's 50 proof, arguably the strongest alcoholic beverage that I have ever drunk.) Zane and I were presented with small gifts of appreciation and, even in more typically Latvian fashion, flowers. Following that, students composed and delivered a short speech to each of us. Mine started with, "Robert. You are a great man," which made me well up a bit. Then we sat down, and the party started and continued for two hours, long after the class period normally ends.

So if you were still wondering why people would go overseas to teach in a foreign environment and deal with all the hassles that go with it, now you know why. Like I said: wistful.