Suffused with Gratitude.

That would be me.

We—Lobo, the snolfs, and I—were adventuring in Eastern Europe again. To say I’m fond of the area would be quite the understatement; even though I’ve been there only twice now, I’ve become thoroughly smitten.

Our adventures started on a high note; our dear friend and emeritus blogger the White Russian was getting married, and had invited us to the festivities. That word should be multiply pluralized in describing the wedding, which was a weekend–long affair filled with music, merriment, wonderful people, and amazing food, all in a beautiful lakeside setting in one of the prettiest regions of Lithuania I have seen. The record–level heat daunted few of the celebrants; I’m sure the frequent dips in the lake and pond helped with that. Everyone was so nice to us, the crazy Americans who knew nothing about Lithuanian wedding traditions (of which there were several, even though this wedding was easily the most unique, non–traditional one I’ve experienced). Our fumbling efforts to speak Russian delighted her parents, both of whom spoke with us at some length (her father apologetically told me he hadn’t spoken English in over 10 years, then proceeded to engage in a wide–ranging, perfectly understandable conversation with me); after that, her mother seemed determined to make sure we were well fed and happy. She brought out a large crock of homemade lacto-fermented pickles one afternoon, thereby forever endearing herself to the snolfs—and to me, I must confess. I’d not had pickles that good in many years ... but they were just a taste of what was ahead.

After the wedding weekend was over, we (along with several others in the wedding party) dashed back to Vilnius in order to catch the train to our next stop, which was Minsk. I was a bit nervous about this (recalling some of Lobo’s previous border adventures), but as it turned out a couple of our friends from the wedding were traveling there too; we shared a compartment and many more laughs on the trip.

Unfortunately, the snolfs took turns being sick while we were in Minsk, so I didn’t get to explore nearly as much as I’d hoped. A steady stream of Lobo’s friends, along with one of the young ladies who stayed with us last summer, kept us in good company and high spirits. At the very last moment, I even managed to procure some Belarusian yarn—from a state store, no less, with her help. I didn’t get to experience the Soviet tradition of long queues, but the lack of selection (one brand of Belarusian yarn out of a long wall of yarn; and only 4–5 colors to choose from) and dour clerk in a hideous dark pink uniform provided enough authenticity for me.

The stark disparity between the general social milieu and the happiness and positive energy of our friends caught my attention. I reconciled it in the end by considering that along with deep cultural differences, the country is still under the thumb of a dictator, and so most people likely have significant disparities between their public and private lives. And despite still being quite communist in some ways, and us attracting attention everywhere as obvious Westerners, the country was pleasant; its gentle hills and plains reminded me of a more heavily forested Nebraska; and it was very clean, even in Minsk.

At a resort spot (complete with a ski lift, although the hill would probably be considered a gentle bunny slope in this country), we were introduced to a refreshing cranberry drink made from the local (and much less tart) berries, along with a number of delectable pickled vegetables. The highlight of those for Snolf the First and me was garlic cloves pickled in beet juice; they were a gorgeous pink, and retained the full flavor of garlic, minus the heat, and plus a mild pickle tang. They also pickle the garlic stems; those were excellent too. I’m hoping I can re–create those morsels. All in all, the food was quite good, even if unfamiliar to us (a salmon and dill pizza, with pickles on it too if memory serves, was met with suspicion by the snolfs; I enjoyed it hot but couldn’t face it as a cold leftover the next day).

After Minsk, we returned to Lithuania to prepare for the CYCLE camp—CYCLE stands for “Casey Youth Conference on Leadership and Entrepreneurship”. These are similar to the Liberty English Camps I’d taught at before, but with less focus on academic/political theory and much more on practical ways to create more freedom in one’s life. To my surprise, I recognized several students as participants in the camps I’d taught at my last time here, as well as the other two of the three young ladies who lived with us last summer (the third one was denied a visa to attend the camp, much to our frustration); much hugging and laughter ensued.

That was the tone of most of the camp, at least for our family. At the White Russian’s wedding, each day my head hurt from smiling and laughing so much, but that turned out to be a good warmup for the camp. The snolfs got into daily tickle contests with several attendees, which provided hilarity for the onlookers; Lobo and his “lieutenant” (who superbly handled much of the organizing and other operational details of the camp) shared a birthday celebration complete with a delectable cake, wonderful beer, and sparklers for everybody; yoga class every morning was sprinkled with the gentle reminder to “keep breathing ... and smiling”; and the talent show on the last night had a lot of funny stuff, including yours truly as part of a laughing contest (I wuz robbed of the crown, I tell ya: I just don’t have the cuteness and eyelash–batting capabilities of my daughter).

In the end, I gave three presentations at the camp; and I must say, I was very nervous about each of them. I’d attempted to talk about the subjects at the camp I’d taught at three years before, but for various reasons it didn’t work out very well then. This time, all were a resounding success (judging by the embarrassment of praise I received after each one). Even better, much of the discussion afterward challenged my thinking in very helpful ways. Very interestingly to me, almost all the speakers wove certain threads through their talks—and this wasn’t a planned or requested thing (Lobo had provided me minimal guidance for the subjects of my talks, despite requests for more substantial information); even the academics talked about the importance of peace, passion, and voluntary cooperation. It was uplifting, and I expect it helped validate the general message of the camp for everyone.

I’ve been doing sitting practice for nearly a year now. If someone had asked me prior to the trip if the meditation was making a difference in my life, my answer would have been, “A little bit”. Even though I was so busy throughout our travels that I didn’t formally meditate at all (aside from a bit of meditation during yoga), I clearly experienced many benefits from my practice: I was able to live in the moment and enjoy each one much more than I ever had before; I was able to handle the inevitable changes (“Can you give three talks instead of just one?”) and stresses much better; and most amazing of all for me (particularly given my last ramble here), I was able to relax, be myself, and be comfortable with that. It didn’t develop immediately, but over the course of our travels I was able to let go of a lot of stuff in that area. As a direct result, I had a fabulous time.

And so far, I’m doing pretty well at not letting a lot of that junk creep back in to my mind. Out of the myriad things for which I am deeply grateful from our trip, that may be the thing for which I am most grateful.