Girly tough ain't enough: school

Lielākoties tagad, kad pavasaris tā arī nav pienācis, vairs pat nav ļoti slikti un briesmīgi, tikai visai savādi. It kā Latvija būtu iekļuvusi atriebīga maga uzmanības lokā un uz mūžiem būtu aizmirsta mīnus grādos. Liekas, ka pavasaris šogan vienkārši nav noticis, nav tādas lietas kā pavasaris. Un, skatoties uz piesnigušiem kokiem, baltu perspektīvi un ziemas blāvām debesīm, brīžiem pat nav pārāk slikti. Vizuāli tas izskatās labi, pusastoņos vakarā, kad joprojām norisinās gaisma.

Vienīgi, tā kā nenotiek pavasaris, man vairs nav drēbju, ko vilkt, un, kad es visu laiku velku vienas un tā pašas drēbes, es viņās iesalstu. Katrīna to noformulēja kā iesalušas drēbes -> iesaluši noskaņojumi, un tā ir tā biedējošā iestigšana. Šogad ziema turpinās un turpinās, tikai kļūst arvien gaišāks (iespējams, drīz tiks sasniegts polārajai naktij līdzīgs un pretējs stāvoklis - polārā ziema gaismā). Un, lai arī gaišāks kļūst un katru vakaru novērojami netradicionāli dabas skati ar piesnigušām ainavām gaišos, vēlos vakaros, nekas jau īsti nemainās, un man nešķiet, ka kādam vēl ir cerības uz patiesu pavasari. Tomēr laikastākļi jāpārspriež ir regulāri, jo tas ir tas, kas interesē un satrauc.

Reizēm gribas novērsties no ārpasaules ar visiem viņas stindzinošajiem sniega pūtieniem, citreiz stoiciski jāskatās ārā pa logu, un objektīvi nav neglīti. Tas tikai nav tas, ko šobrīd gribas. Kaut kā neveikli šogad sanācis.

Es Lieldienu brīvdienās 3-4 dienas neizgāju ārā no mājas un dzīvojos naktskreklā un halātā, un daudz skatījos seriālu. Es daudz mājās biju viena pati, tas man patika, es biju lācītis midziņā, un man nebija nekā kopīga ar āru. Varbūt vienīgi tas, ka mums abiem sanāca drusku neveikli - āram ar Lieldienu ziemu un man ar kabatlakatiņu.

Es tumsā viena pati skatījos seriālu, un tā kā seriālā bija diezgan šausmīgi, man 20 minūtes bija ļoti jāraud, un es pa tumsu meklēju kabatlakatiņu. Pirms pāris dienām bija bijusi filmēšana, un es joprojām visas mantas nebiju līdz galam sakārtojusi. Es pasniedzos pavirši ārā izvilktu mantu klājienā pēc kabatlakatiņa, taču seriāla asaras diemžēl nebija viņa pirmā profesionālā pieredze kabatlakatības karjerā.

Kad filmēja biroju un man īsti nebija, ko darīt, es slaistīgi gaidīju tādā kā recepcijas daļā, kur bija akvārijs ar zivtiņām, dažādu krāsu mapes un pīts saldumu trauks. Es biju rūpīgi iepazinusies ar zivju dzīvi, mapes mani neinteresēja, un es nolēmu izpētīt saldumu trauka saturu.

Es ieraudzīju mazus, melnus gumijainus nieciņus, taču man vairs nepietika laika aptvert, ka viņi izskatās pārliecinoši negaršīgi. Pirkstiņi jau bija pastiepušies pēc melnā nieciņa, un saprāta brīdinājumiem vairs nebija laika. Tas bija slikti, tas bija lakricīgi.

(Lakricas pretīgums, šķiet, ir universāli zināms fakts, un tie, kam lakrica garšo, tiek uzskatīti par dabas īpatņiem. Kad es gāju atjaunot e-talonu uz Rīgas satiksmi, darbieki tur nebija sevišķi steidzīgi, viņi diezgan daudz runāja, un tas, kurš mani apkalpoja, neatceros kādā ceļā tika līdz tēmai par norvēģiem, ko viņa kolēģis attīstīja līdz lakricas līmenim. Viņš piebilda kaut ko tādu kā "norvēģiem taču garšo tā lakrica, kā var garšot lakrica" vai ko tamlīdzīgu, un es uzreiz dedzīgi pamāju ar galvu un iesaucos: "Jā, tā lakrica!" Pašā pirmajā brīdī viņš pārprata: "Tev garšo?!" Bet es uzreiz teicu, ka nē, lakrica ir pretīga. Un mēs vienojāmies tādā savstarpējā sapratnē par lakricas vispārejo pretīgumu.

Un vidusskolas laikā man bija klasesbiedrs, kuram garšoja lakrica un kuram patika ļauni izturēties pret cilvēkiem. (Piemēram, kad mēs brīnījāmies, kāpēc Klāvs, kurš sportā sasista pirkstu, dodas ārā pa skolas vārtiņiem uz Traumpunktu, jo tas nozīmētu, ka viņš ir bijis pie ārkārtīgi satrauktās skolas medmāsas, izrādījās, ka viņu ir nosūdzējis viņa draugs un lakricas cienītājs Vaļinieks.) Viņš mēdza iemest mutē lakricas konfekti, piedāvāt klasesbiedriem, un tiem, kas spiedzot un viebjoties atteicās, apsēsties blakus, lai apveltītu ar savu lakricas elpu. Es domāju, ka, ja māc nepieciešība tikt vaļā no nevēlamām personām, tikai jāievieš savā ēdienkārtē lakrica. Tāpat pirmais solis, kā iepatikties cilvēkiem, ir pārtraukt attiecības ar lakricu.)

Es nevarēju ar to glumekli tikt galā, tuvumā nebija nevienas miskastes, kad viņu tikt sasodīti vajadzēja, un man neatlika nekas cits kā ietīt mazo melno noziedznieku kabatlakatiņā, kuru es nobēdzināju, un kuram es atkal uzdūros Lieldienu brīvdienu laikā.

Lai nu kā Lieldienās piestāv ciest, un mums ar laikapstākļiem abiem Lieldienu laikā bija neveiklas epizodes. Varbūt uz kopīgas pieredzes un asociēšanās spēju pamata man tagad pret laikapstākļiem būs iecietīgāka attieksme, bet visticamāk, ja vien nepienāks pavasaris, diez vai.

^^^^^

Mostly now, when the spring has decided not to come this year, it is not even awful or terrible anymore, it feels merely strange. It's like some revengeful wizard has taken an interest in Latvia and has left it forever ever in temperature below zero. It seems as this year spring simply has not happened, there is no such thing as spring. While gazing at snow-covered trees, white pavements and the pale sky of winter, sometimes it's not too bad after all. Visually it does look good, at 7.30 pm, when the daylight is still present.

The only thing is, since the spring is not happening, I don't have anything to wear anymore, and when I wear the very same clothes over and over again, I freeze into them. Katrina defined that frozen clothing -> frozen states of mind, and it is frightening to stick in. This year the winter goes on and on, only the only difference being the evenings gradually getting lighter (probably soon enough there will be opposite/ similar state of polar night out there - polar day in wintertime). And, although it's getting lighter and one can regularly observe unconventional sights of snow-covered landscapes in late evenings full of daylight, nothing really changes. I don't think there is anyone who is still expecting a true and blossoming spring to come. For all that the weather has to be discussed regularly, as it is something that really matters and upsets (and thrills at its best, not now though).

Sometimes the best way to face all this misbehavior of weather is to turn away from the outside world and all its icy blasts of snowy winds. Other times I stoically look through the window, and objectively judging it isn't ugly. It's just not what I want right now. Quite awkward it is this year.

During the Easter holidays I didn't leave home for like 3-4 days, I stayed in my nightgown and dressing robe and was watching Downton Abbey most of the time. Mostly I was all alone in the flat, I liked that, I was a bear in its den, and I and the outside had nothing in common. Maybe apart from the fact that we both had some awkward episodes - the outside world with the winter during Easter and me with a tissue.

I was watching an episode on my own, and as the plot was so unbearable (Season 3, you know), I had to cry for 20 minutes, and in the dark I was trying to find a tissue. A few days ago I had had a shooting, and there were still some things to put in order. I placed my arm into a layer of things and took it out as soon as I felt the familiar texture of tissue. Unfortunately tears caused by heartbreaking events in TV series was not the tissue's first professional experience.

When they were shooting the office and I didn't have anything to do, I was dawdling the time away at the office reception. There was an aquarium with a bunch of fishes, files of different colors and a wicker bowl for sweets. I had well acquainted myself with the lifestyle of fishes, I couldn't take any interest in the files, so obviously I decided to explore the bowl of sweets.

I spotted tiny, black, rubber-like bits, yet there wasn't enough time left to realize how convincingly nasty they looked like. My unstoppable fingers had already reached out for one tiny black bit, and there was no time for a warning of reason. It was disgusting, it was liquorice.

(I guess the disgust of liquorice is a generally acknowledged fact, and those, who do happen to enjoy liquorice, are treated as the marvels of nature. Nothing but a marginal minority. When I went to renew my transportation card, the employees there were not in hurry at all, they were engaging into a conversation, and the one I was being served by, I don't remember how, got to the subject of Norwegians. His colleague then took it further to the level of liquorice. He said something like "Norwegians eat that liquorice, how one can eat liquorice at all" or something in like manner, and I ardently nodded and said: "Yeah, liquorice!" At the very first he misunderstood: "You like it?!" But I corrected myself at once, I said that no, it's disgusting. And we shared a brief mutual understanding of the general disgust of liquorice.

In the high school I had a classmate who enjoyed liquorice and who also enjoyed occasional cruel action towards other kids. (For instance, when we were wondering how did Klavs, having beaten his finger, end up walking out of the school and heading to the hospital for an examination, as it would have meant that Klavs had seen the hysterical blond middle-aged school nurse, it turned out that it was his friend and liquorice fan Valinieks who had reported Klavs to the school nurse. ) Valinieks used to take a liquorice, then offer them to other kids. Then he sat next to the ones who had refused enthusiastically, screaming and pulling faces, and endowed the chosen ones with his heart-melting liquorice breath. I strongly believe that the first precautionary measure to keep away unwelcome persons is to finish meal with liquorice. Likewise, the the first step to get people's affections is to break every single relation to liquorice.)

I couldn't finish that slimy object, and unluckily for me there was no single bin to be found when it was so desperately needed. I had no choice but to wrap that little black delinquent in a tissue, which I hid away, and which I unfortunately came across during the Easter holidays.

Nonetheless, suffering becomes Easter, and the weather and me, we both shared some awkwardness during the Easter. Maybe this mutual experience and ability to associate myself with the weather could cause my attitude to become slightly more lenient, still, unless the spring came for good, I wouldn't think so.

Decembris 2012, pēc skata līdzīgs Aprīlim 2013 /// December 2012, resembling April 2013

Katru gadu no jauna mūsu skolas korītis, kas, protams, nebija nekāds dižulis, un pirmā balss skanēja īpaši pīkstulīgi, pēdējā skolas dienā pirms Ziemassvētkiem dziedāja Mārtiņa baznīcā. Tas bija tāds ļoti paredzams notikums, kuru katru gadu gribējās. Tā jau tur nebija nekas sevišķi foršs, agri jāceļas, jāsēž aukstā baznīcā un vēl uz kādu mēģinājumu jāaiziet, un ne-koristiem kopā ar klases audzinātāju apmeklēt Ziemassvētku koncertu šķita gatavā bezjēdzība, taču apstākļu kopums radīja zināmu tīksmi.

Uz baznīcu mēs vienmēr gājām pa vienu un to pašu ceļu - taisnu ielu, kas veda no skolas līdz baznīcas. Tas kādreiz noteikti bija paredzēts kā oficiālais ceļš uz baznīcu. Reizēm nešpetni puteņoja, skolnieciņu ģīmīšos pūta sniega vērpetes, un brišana bija pagalam lēna. Citreiz bija diezgan nožēlojams slapjdraņķis, vai arī putni vīteroja pavasarīgās noskaņās un sauļojās, uz koku zariem izlaidušies. Pie ielas, kas koristu baru šķīra no baznīcas, vienmēr bija noorganizēts policists (vai arī vairāki), uz brīdi apturēja satiksmi, un visi pārtuntoļoja pāri.

Tā kā vītņu kāpnes uz ērģeļu un kora balkonu bija šauras, un vispār vietas maz, diriģents lejā pie baznīcas ieejas izrādīja neremdināmu centību sadalīt visus pa balsīm pirms kāpšanas augšā, un kaut kas jau viņam arī izdevās. Pulciņi sāka mazliet vairāk čalot savas balss ietvaros. Ja ļoti gribējās aizvadīt koncertu kopā ar klasesbiedriņiem no citas balss, varēja mēģināt izlikties par citu balsi. Es kaut kad iefiltrējos 3. balsī, neviens nelikās ne zinis, es sēdēju blakus draudzenēm, un mēs mainījāmies ar saldumiem, ko, ļoti iespējams, bijām tikko viena otrai uzdāvinājušas.
Vienu gadu, kad es biju kādā 6. klasē, es nekur neiefīrējos, un mēģinājumu pavadīju stūrītī pie ērģelēm un kaut kādiem koristu soliņiem Harija Potera sabiedrībā. Mazliet pirms Ziemassvētkiem biju sākusi lasīt, un atrauties nebija tik viegli, Poters taču. Pašā koncertā es gluži braši treļļoju un vīteroju "Ak Tu, priecīga!", "Es skaistu rozīt' zinu" un citas dziesmas, kas katru gadu bija gandrīz vienas un tās pašas. Koncertos pa vidam parunāja mācītājs, reizēm visu runu gandrīz vienā tonī, ērģelnieks paspēlēja gabaliņus (vēlāk mūsu korim uzradās koncertmeistars, kas pats prata spēlēt ērģēles, un to viņš arī darīja).

Tad mēs visi, šoreiz klases audzinātāju pavadīti un izņēmuma gadījumā kāda zēna - nekorista papildināti, soļojām atpakaļ uz skolu pēc liecībām. Tur viss notika samērā ātri, liecības, īpatnēji atzinības raksti, mandarīni un piparkūkas. Ziemassvētku koncerts baznīcā bija savā ziņā Ziemassvēcības garants. Pat tad, kad pēc skolas braucām mājās, un drīzāk izskatījās, ka nākamajā dienā mēs svinēsim Lieldienas, nevis pušķosim eglīti, banzīcā bija izskatījies tāpat kā vienmēr, dziesmas biju akurāt tās pašas, un mēs sēdējām tieši tikpat satuntuļojušies, jo pavasarīgums gaisā nelika baznīcas telpām būt siltākām.

^^^^^

Every year again our little School Choir, which obviously was far from spectacular, and the Sopranos were particularly squeaky, on the last day before Christmas holidays sang in the St. Martins Church. It was such a predictable event which I was kind of looking forward to every year. There wasn't anything that would count as obviously enjoyable; we had to sit in a chilly church, wake up early and attend at least some rehearsals. Non-singers found the attending of Christmas concert quite useless, and it actually pretty much was, still all the circumstances made it quite enjoyable.

We always took the same way to the church - there was a straight street between our school and the church. Long time ago it served as the official way to the church, no doubt about that. Sometimes there happened to be a snowstorm, school kids faces were covered by snowflakes, and the walking tended to be quite slow. Another time there was a miserable slush, or birds were twittering in spring-like spirits, sunbathing on the branches. At the street which separated the singers pack from the church, a policeman (or several ones) always awaited the kids to stop the traffic and let them paddle over the street.

Since the winding stair to the organ and choir balcony (or whatever is its proper name) was narrow, and there was little place, down at the entrance the conductor demonstrated unquenchable diligence to divide everyone into the types of voices, and one cannot say he had no success at all, he did succeed a little. The cluster started to chat slightly more within group of their voice type pals. If you were eager to pass the concert next to your classmates for another voice group, you could try to pretend to be Mezzo Soprano instead of Soprano, for instance. Once I mixed with Altos, no one cared about it, I was sitting next to my girl friends and we were exchanging candies, which we highly possibly had just given each other as Christmas gifts.
Once when I might have been in the 6th year, I didn't join anyone else and spent the rehearsal in the corner next to the organ and some benches for choristers in the dear company of Harry Potter. Shortly before Christmas I had just started to read it, and it wasn't that easy to draw myself away, it was Harry Potter after all. During the concert I was warbling as a birdie and twittered "Oh How Joyfully", "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" and other Christmas corals which were quite the same year after year. In between all that singing the minister said something, sometimes keeping all his speech almost in the same pitch, the organist played some pieces (at some point of time our choir got an accompanist who knew to play organ, and that is what he did in the church concerts).

Then all of us, on the way back accompanied by our teacher and occasionally increased in numbers by some non-singing boys, marched back to the school to pick up our school-reports. It went quick - reports, bizarre diplomas, mandarins and gingerbread. The Christmas concert in the church used to be some sort of a guarantee for Christmas. Even when after the school we were riding home and it looked like we would rather celebrate Easter the very next day instead of decorating the Christmas-tree, in the church it was always the same. The corals were exactly the same, and we were sitting there as wrapped into clothes as always, since the springlyness in the air didn't warm up the church.

kad Ēriks slēpjas kastē zem cepures, viņš izskatās pēc Runča zābakos /// when Eriks is hiding in a box under a hat, he makes me think of Puss in Boots

Ziemassvētku kūka ar pār sniegotu lauku brienoša rūķa dekoru /// Christmas fruit cake with a 'Christmas dwarf or Santa Claus wading through snow-covered field' decor