One is the Loneliest Number…

Today is a sad day. My best friend (of five whole days) in the village is leaving me for better things in Tbilisi. She is one fourth my size with curly brown hair in ringlets and huge light blue eyes. When there is music playing, which there frequently is in this household of musicians, she throws her hands up in the air, puts on a big smile, and begins to dance on her tiptoes. We eat sunflower seeds together and scribble on scrap pieces of paper (although, I am actually trying to write the Georgian alphabet). She knows about as much Georgian as I do (ara-no, modi-come, daeda-mom, mama-dad, baba-grandmother/father…eh, she knows that one better than I do). She doesn’t care if I speak English to her, and I don’t care if she speaks Georgian baby talk to me. We make do with charades. Grant it at times, she had a tendency to eat her dresses and terrorize the dog with a small panjuri (Georgian guitar) hammer, but we all have our moments. Yes?  I am told I will see her again soon.  Hopefully, by then we can carry on simple conversations like ‘hi’ and ‘bye,’ but for now, I will just continue to study in the village without my joyful little friend.