This weekend I decided to go on another little adventure to Kiev. Nadia said she wanted to take me to the Botanical Gardens while the lilacs are blooming, and it didn't take much persuading...
As often happens on these experimental excursions, I got a little more adventure than I planned on :)
After a late pancake breakfast that nearly succeeded in rendering us immobile and useless, Masha and I spent the rest of Saturday cleaning up our yard. The owner is letting us stay for free, provided that we clean up and do some odd jobs around the yard. So we moved sand, raked, swept, and hauled leaves, twigs, and hundreds of nut shells out of the yard on old blankets.
Masha cut the crop of cheery yellow flowers out front with a scythe. I was enthralled. She let me try, and I managed to sort of get the hang of it while still retaining all limbs and personal appendages. It was fun. I kept thinking of the Far Side comics about the Grim Reaper...I can't picture them now.
I was a little sad to see the flowers go (they were weeds-- pretty weeds, but weeds.) She left a patch in front of my window because I like waking up to them in the morning. It helps to have something nice to look at first thing when you wake up.
But on to the important stuff.
I planned to head to Kiev in the afternoon when our work was done, but by the time I'd scrubbed off the grime and soothed the nettle stings and messed with my hair and gone to the Crowes to call Mom for Mother's Day (seeing as I'd be gone on Sunday) it was evening. I wanted to dress up a little (not by Ukrainian standards maybe) because it's such sunny weather and I've hardly worn a skirt in months.
I didn't know when the last Marshrutka was, and I was getting a little concerned that I was too late. So after the call home, Bruce drove me to the bus station to cut the walking time.
Luckily, I'd barely been standing there two minutes when a bus drove up with a "Kaniv-Kiev" sign on it, just like the ones I always take. I hopped on, relishing the swish of my white skirt and the neatness of my small brown shoes after wearing tennis shoes for six weeks. Free as a bird. Experienced traveler. Sun on my face, wind in my hair, etc, etc.
I took a seat by the window and the bus pulled out. I sat happily contemplating the new green of the great outdoors shining in the sun, enjoying the comfortable warmth, the faces of the people we passed, the smells of summer coming on. I started composing a poem in my head and got absorbed in trying to write it down against the bump and bounce of the Marshrutka.
Spring had changed the landscape so drastically since my last trip to Kiev...no more snow, no more drab brown. Green everywhere. Growth. In fact, everything looked so different I began to wonder if I'd...no, no. Surely there's more than one route to Kiev.
I thought it might be worth a bus ride to nowhere just to see these sights. The ride was so peaceful. I shoved aside my internal warning signals and just enjoyed the ride. Besides, I reasoned, Kaniv is just on the outskirts of Kiev; I'll manage to get there somehow.
Apparently, my premonitons were correct, but my reasoning dreadfully flawed. I've never seen Kaniv on a map. I just figured that if they put it with Kiev on the sign, the two must be close together, right? Kaniv must just be a suburb. The bus might not get me there, but it would at least accomplish some of the goal.
No such luck! I still haven't looked at a map, but I now know that Kaniv is a number of kilometers in a much different direction than Kiev. I've also discovered that Marshruktas don't run from Kaniv to Rzhishchiv in the evening, at least after 7 o'clock.
The bus driver pointed out the station, but after asking around a bit I found it to be closed. Nearby there were babushkas selling vegetables, and the sun wasn't going down yet, so I didn't feel too worried. I called Bruce. He said to call Daniel for translation. I called Daniel. Daniel talked to a babushka on the phone, the babushka conferred with a nearby taxi driver, and in the end, I had my first Urkainian taxi ride back to Rzhishchiv.
The ride home was surprisingly pleasant. The taxi driver was friendly, but calm, and I didn't feel uncomfortable at all. He couldn't speak a bit of English, but he spoke Russian in slow and simple fragments for my benefit and we chatted all the way home about taxi driving, and his daughter who works in a bank (I think), and my home in America, and what was growing in the fields we passed, and about the holiday.
There was no Kiev that night! The taxi stopped right in front of my house, because it's directly on the way to the bus station, so I got out feeling like a queen. Of course the taxi fee was royal too, but I'd say it was worth the experience. I don't get out of Rzhishchiv often, and I'm sure I would never have seen Kaniv otherwise. The taxi driver asked me if I took a photo while I was there...which I should have!
Early Sunday morning I started over, carefully inquiring after the destination of my Marshrutka. Nadia and I spent two days running hither and yon over Kiev and I took the subway by myself for the first time, (and never got lost more than a few minutes at a time). I'm so glad I got to go, but it's nice to be back in my quiet little Rzhishchiv again.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Rumple and me
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Here I am, holding Rumplestiltskin the hedgehog. Apparently hedgehogs carry diseases, but I didn't know or think about that. I guess we'll be ok. I did wash my hands after touching...Thursday, April 30, 2009
Oops, Sorry Cheryl, My Pet Hedgehog is Loose in Your House
Haha just kidding. I mean, he did escape and roam at large (I'm not sure how long because I was asleep at the time) but I apprehended him before any damage could be done.
It's like this. I was walking down the gravel road near Cheryl's place last night after Home Group at Yacob's cafe, enjoying the thick flowery scent hanging in the air and the sliver of mellow gold moon hanging in the sky, when I heard a rustle beside the road. There was still some dim light left, and I could see a dark shape about the size of my shoe (I wear 8's) shuffling around. I've never seen a hedgehog in real life, but I immediately recognize the "thing" as one because the kids had mentioned seeing one by the road not long ago.
As I bent down and got a better view of the creature (or rather, of its quills) it abrubtly stopped rooting around and pretended not to exist. Smart. But since I DID know it existed, I wasn't about to just walk away. The animal absolutely fascinated me. I thought hedgehogs were things of myth and legend (I have Brian Jacques and Beatrix Potter to thank for any previous exposure.) In fact, I read today that we don't have any indigenous species of hedgehogs in the States. Apparently people do keep them as pets.
I wanted to take it home. The Crowe kids needed to see this. I wanted to share my wonder with someone. Plus, my camera was at the Crowes, and it was well worth a picture. Wondering vaguely what the spines were really like and if they were poisonous (no, I didn't think they were) I reached down and gingerly tried to pick up the hedgehog. It immediately flinched and curled tighter, jabbing me with its needles. But I carefully worked with the thing until I could pick it up without too much discomfort.
Poor little guy. He wasn't aggressive, just shy and scared silly. I had a dawning sense of kindredness with this creature...not the hippy one-with-the-universe kindredness, but the kind of kindredness that comes of recognizing your own personality traits. Kind of funny, really.
So, I trotted down the road, Rumplestiltskin in tow. I settled on that name as we went along, feeling it was a stickery sort of name and therefore (ouch!) fitting. I went at a much quicker pace than before, goaded by pricks. Every time I moved too much, my thorny friend jerked this way and that, driving his vicious little spines into my hands.
When we got home, and I dropped him uncerimoniously on the doorstep and fished my key out to unlock the door. Lady was looking with interest by this time, and probably some jealousy as I plopped the Rumple (as I immediatly nicknamed him) in the entryway and closed the door. Right away I got the cardboard milk box-gone-potato bin and put him in it, adding a jar lid full of water and some big leaves I thought he might burrow in.
Then I inspected the little beast. He was adorable. The quills, brown with white flecks, nearly covered the visible part of his body. His face was long and pointy, with round black eyes and a soft wet nose. Even his eyebrows were clumps of spikes, and they scrunched up when I touched him. Surprisingly, the coarse-looking fur on his underside was soft and there seemed to be extra folds of skin so he could move around easily.
Since he didn't seem to be enjoying the bright light very much, I turned out the light and left Rumple by himself. He rustled around for a while, but eventually quieted down.
Eventually I went to bed, but was awakened very early in the morning by a scuffling, scratching, tapping commotion. I'd gotten used to the sound of Rumple's rumplings before I went to bed, but this noise seemed much nearer than the entry way. Much nearer. I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock: 5 am. And there was a dark sort of oblong shape on the linoleum just outside my bedroom doorway. Good grief!
I flipped the light on and returned the errant hedgehog to his box. Then I went into the other room, trying to think of something to put on top of the box to prevent further escape attemps. I didn't want anything too heavy because I was afraid he might tip it over on himself and get smooshed to death. I lit on the idea of two 8-packs of toilet paper on the shelf (Ukrainian toilet paper is more heavy-duty than ours). It would work.
I turned back just in time to see the thorny rump of Rumple disappear over the edge of the cardboard box once again! Minding my fingers, I extracted the disgruntled captive from under a shelf, made secure his prison, and returned to bed.
The added security worked, for lo, in the morning, there was Rumple still in his box, having drunk (or possibly spilled) all of his water. I didn't know what he would like to eat, but I figured he would be fine till this afternoon. I just wanted to have some show and tell. His nocturnal adventures had worn him out, and he lay curl in a ball, a sight of angelic repose.
After photo shoots and sufficient gawking at the Crowe house, we left Rumple in a corner to sleep. Clarky peeped in the box and then announced excitedly,
"The eggnog is sleeping!"
After reading up on hedgehogs via internet, we tried feeding him some boiled egg, but he was disinterested. Apparently hedgehogs are "diurnal" like cats-- they are awake mostly at night and only stay up a little in the day. They eat roots, insects, worms, and even snakes when they live in the wild, but domesticated hedgehogs can be fed cooked meat and eggs, as well as cat food and a little treat of fruits and veggies now and then. They're lactose intolerant.
He is asleep now, and I'm going to take him back to his spot and release him. I'm sure he'll be relieved. I was stricken with the thought that maybe Rumplestiltskin was a girl, and might possibly have babies that would starve to death in their captive mother's absence...but I'm not too worried. Rumple doesn't show any signs of being a mama hedgehog.
He's awfully cute and I'll be sorry to see him go...but then, he wouldn't have made the most affectionate pet with all those quills sticking out of him. It would be like hugging a pincushion in reverse!
It's like this. I was walking down the gravel road near Cheryl's place last night after Home Group at Yacob's cafe, enjoying the thick flowery scent hanging in the air and the sliver of mellow gold moon hanging in the sky, when I heard a rustle beside the road. There was still some dim light left, and I could see a dark shape about the size of my shoe (I wear 8's) shuffling around. I've never seen a hedgehog in real life, but I immediately recognize the "thing" as one because the kids had mentioned seeing one by the road not long ago.
As I bent down and got a better view of the creature (or rather, of its quills) it abrubtly stopped rooting around and pretended not to exist. Smart. But since I DID know it existed, I wasn't about to just walk away. The animal absolutely fascinated me. I thought hedgehogs were things of myth and legend (I have Brian Jacques and Beatrix Potter to thank for any previous exposure.) In fact, I read today that we don't have any indigenous species of hedgehogs in the States. Apparently people do keep them as pets.
I wanted to take it home. The Crowe kids needed to see this. I wanted to share my wonder with someone. Plus, my camera was at the Crowes, and it was well worth a picture. Wondering vaguely what the spines were really like and if they were poisonous (no, I didn't think they were) I reached down and gingerly tried to pick up the hedgehog. It immediately flinched and curled tighter, jabbing me with its needles. But I carefully worked with the thing until I could pick it up without too much discomfort.
Poor little guy. He wasn't aggressive, just shy and scared silly. I had a dawning sense of kindredness with this creature...not the hippy one-with-the-universe kindredness, but the kind of kindredness that comes of recognizing your own personality traits. Kind of funny, really.
So, I trotted down the road, Rumplestiltskin in tow. I settled on that name as we went along, feeling it was a stickery sort of name and therefore (ouch!) fitting. I went at a much quicker pace than before, goaded by pricks. Every time I moved too much, my thorny friend jerked this way and that, driving his vicious little spines into my hands.
When we got home, and I dropped him uncerimoniously on the doorstep and fished my key out to unlock the door. Lady was looking with interest by this time, and probably some jealousy as I plopped the Rumple (as I immediatly nicknamed him) in the entryway and closed the door. Right away I got the cardboard milk box-gone-potato bin and put him in it, adding a jar lid full of water and some big leaves I thought he might burrow in.
Then I inspected the little beast. He was adorable. The quills, brown with white flecks, nearly covered the visible part of his body. His face was long and pointy, with round black eyes and a soft wet nose. Even his eyebrows were clumps of spikes, and they scrunched up when I touched him. Surprisingly, the coarse-looking fur on his underside was soft and there seemed to be extra folds of skin so he could move around easily.
Since he didn't seem to be enjoying the bright light very much, I turned out the light and left Rumple by himself. He rustled around for a while, but eventually quieted down.
Eventually I went to bed, but was awakened very early in the morning by a scuffling, scratching, tapping commotion. I'd gotten used to the sound of Rumple's rumplings before I went to bed, but this noise seemed much nearer than the entry way. Much nearer. I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock: 5 am. And there was a dark sort of oblong shape on the linoleum just outside my bedroom doorway. Good grief!
I flipped the light on and returned the errant hedgehog to his box. Then I went into the other room, trying to think of something to put on top of the box to prevent further escape attemps. I didn't want anything too heavy because I was afraid he might tip it over on himself and get smooshed to death. I lit on the idea of two 8-packs of toilet paper on the shelf (Ukrainian toilet paper is more heavy-duty than ours). It would work.
I turned back just in time to see the thorny rump of Rumple disappear over the edge of the cardboard box once again! Minding my fingers, I extracted the disgruntled captive from under a shelf, made secure his prison, and returned to bed.
The added security worked, for lo, in the morning, there was Rumple still in his box, having drunk (or possibly spilled) all of his water. I didn't know what he would like to eat, but I figured he would be fine till this afternoon. I just wanted to have some show and tell. His nocturnal adventures had worn him out, and he lay curl in a ball, a sight of angelic repose.
After photo shoots and sufficient gawking at the Crowe house, we left Rumple in a corner to sleep. Clarky peeped in the box and then announced excitedly,
"The eggnog is sleeping!"
After reading up on hedgehogs via internet, we tried feeding him some boiled egg, but he was disinterested. Apparently hedgehogs are "diurnal" like cats-- they are awake mostly at night and only stay up a little in the day. They eat roots, insects, worms, and even snakes when they live in the wild, but domesticated hedgehogs can be fed cooked meat and eggs, as well as cat food and a little treat of fruits and veggies now and then. They're lactose intolerant.
He is asleep now, and I'm going to take him back to his spot and release him. I'm sure he'll be relieved. I was stricken with the thought that maybe Rumplestiltskin was a girl, and might possibly have babies that would starve to death in their captive mother's absence...but I'm not too worried. Rumple doesn't show any signs of being a mama hedgehog.
He's awfully cute and I'll be sorry to see him go...but then, he wouldn't have made the most affectionate pet with all those quills sticking out of him. It would be like hugging a pincushion in reverse!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Life for Real
I'm thinking about fairytales again. And something much more real than a fairytale. I told you I was listening to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader on audio cd...well, now I've finished that and started The Silver Chair.
This morning I was in the kitchen washing up. It was Home Group last night, and there was Deb's lauded soup, so there were bowls...and bowls...and more bowls smeared with the leftovers of something cream based and spinachy and probably delicious in its hour. I didn't mind the dishes.
Some people talk about having "laundry days." Sometimes we have "dish days." Thursdays especially, after Home Group. But there's something about a kitchen drowning in dirty dishes that throws out its taunt, its challenge, its ultimatum, and I step forward into the fray and deal it a look that silently roars, "Gimme what ya got!!"
This morning though, my mind was elsewhere, and the battle was going at a slower rate, more scattered, and you'd never have guessed I was "taking anything on." Nope.
I moved around the kitchen feeling dazed. For one thing, making too many turns in such a short time resulted in a queer carsick-y sensation in the aftermath of the stomach bug. The sun was dazzling me through the open window, shining in the warm water as it flowed from the tap into greasy pot and soup-encrusted bowl.
What was I just doing? Oh yeah, those clean dishes in drying rack. Put dishes away. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. The counter is covered in crumbs. Whose toast is smoking in the toaster? I'll wipe the counter. Water is running on my cloth.
"'I tell you the water's sweet,' said the Mouse. 'Sweet, fresh. It isn't salt...'
'Where sky and water meet,
Where the waves grow sweet,
Doubt not Reepicheep,
To find all you seek,
There is the utter East.'"
"Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life." John 4:14
Jesus, I want you.
Pot is full of greasy water. I'll clean it right now. But the drying rack is still full. Let's empty that first. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. The counter is covered in...where is that dishcloth? What, you need toast too? Sure. Here you go.
"'Come and have breakfast,' the Lamb said...Then they noticed for the first time that there was a fire lit on the grass and fish roasting on it. They sat down and ate the fish, hungry now for the first time for many days. And it was the most delicious food they had ever tasted."
"Jesus said to them, 'Come and have breakfast"...Jesus came and took the bread, and gave them, and the fish likewise." John 21:12a-13
Jesus, what would it be like for you to invite me for breakfast?
There are some more plastic bowls from last night. Green, blue, orange. No more room in the dishwasher? I'll just wash them in the sink. Warm water running in the sun. I really should put those dishes away. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. But look at the counter! Can't put the jam away yet. Who still needs jam on their toast? It's all over the counter. Where's the knife that was in the jam? Ok. I'll wash one. Sun in the water.
"'Lucy, do not look so sad. We shall meet soon again.' 'Please, Aslan,' said Lucy, 'What do you call soon?"
"I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and recieve you to myself, that where I am, there you may be also."
John 14:2a-3
Jesus, I long for you.
Wait, is there a knife in the drying...what? Teal collander? Stainless steel spatula? Saucepans? This counter sure is covered in...
This morning I was in the kitchen washing up. It was Home Group last night, and there was Deb's lauded soup, so there were bowls...and bowls...and more bowls smeared with the leftovers of something cream based and spinachy and probably delicious in its hour. I didn't mind the dishes.
Some people talk about having "laundry days." Sometimes we have "dish days." Thursdays especially, after Home Group. But there's something about a kitchen drowning in dirty dishes that throws out its taunt, its challenge, its ultimatum, and I step forward into the fray and deal it a look that silently roars, "Gimme what ya got!!"
This morning though, my mind was elsewhere, and the battle was going at a slower rate, more scattered, and you'd never have guessed I was "taking anything on." Nope.
I moved around the kitchen feeling dazed. For one thing, making too many turns in such a short time resulted in a queer carsick-y sensation in the aftermath of the stomach bug. The sun was dazzling me through the open window, shining in the warm water as it flowed from the tap into greasy pot and soup-encrusted bowl.
What was I just doing? Oh yeah, those clean dishes in drying rack. Put dishes away. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. The counter is covered in crumbs. Whose toast is smoking in the toaster? I'll wipe the counter. Water is running on my cloth.
"'I tell you the water's sweet,' said the Mouse. 'Sweet, fresh. It isn't salt...'
'Where sky and water meet,
Where the waves grow sweet,
Doubt not Reepicheep,
To find all you seek,
There is the utter East.'"
"Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life." John 4:14
Jesus, I want you.
Pot is full of greasy water. I'll clean it right now. But the drying rack is still full. Let's empty that first. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. The counter is covered in...where is that dishcloth? What, you need toast too? Sure. Here you go.
"'Come and have breakfast,' the Lamb said...Then they noticed for the first time that there was a fire lit on the grass and fish roasting on it. They sat down and ate the fish, hungry now for the first time for many days. And it was the most delicious food they had ever tasted."
"Jesus said to them, 'Come and have breakfast"...Jesus came and took the bread, and gave them, and the fish likewise." John 21:12a-13
Jesus, what would it be like for you to invite me for breakfast?
There are some more plastic bowls from last night. Green, blue, orange. No more room in the dishwasher? I'll just wash them in the sink. Warm water running in the sun. I really should put those dishes away. Teal collander. Stainless steel spatula. Saucepans. But look at the counter! Can't put the jam away yet. Who still needs jam on their toast? It's all over the counter. Where's the knife that was in the jam? Ok. I'll wash one. Sun in the water.
"'Lucy, do not look so sad. We shall meet soon again.' 'Please, Aslan,' said Lucy, 'What do you call soon?"
"I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and recieve you to myself, that where I am, there you may be also."
John 14:2a-3
Jesus, I long for you.
Wait, is there a knife in the drying...what? Teal collander? Stainless steel spatula? Saucepans? This counter sure is covered in...
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Down for a Day
Back from the dead. Yesterday I woke up around 4 am with the certainty of impending doom, that is, puke...the tummy bug had infected me, too. I laid in agony till 4:30, when I got up and did the inevitable, went to bed for an hour or so, got up and puked again, and repeated the process. I hope Deb's world famous curry (which I had the night before) is not forever ruined for my taste buds.
The day seemed to slide by quickly, though I spent it languishing in bed in a mass of blankets until about 2 or 3. The sunlight came in around the edges of the curtains, and I guess I slept a good bit.
In a bold effort I rallied and set up camp on the couch in the lounge room, picked like a bird at a handful of cheerios, and tried to read. Massive headache. Then wobbled through a dizzy haze to the stereo and put in the first audio cd of the Chronicles of Narnia book The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
That was beautiful. For the next few hours I was whisked away on the Narnian breeze with Edmund and Lucy and noble Prince Caspian, and the incorrigible, nuisance- turned-nice Eustace. In spite of myself, I giggled aloud over the Dufflepuds and the kind old grandfatherly magician and Lucy's accent.
The hours pulled on. Tried to eat soup. Too puny to take a shower. Attempted another book, against my better judgement. Finally lay listening to music, letting it soak into my helplessness. All day, in the intervals between books and Narnia, scenes from the past couple years of my life played themselves over in my mind like a movie. They were jumbled, and I wanted them to come out clear so I could see what really happened. It was odd. Narnia was better.
Finally I went to bed, thinking I might not sleep well after being in bed all day. But with some painkillers I went to sleep and slept almost normally, and woke this morning still a bit unsteady, but much, much better. Deb picked me up this morning, because she and Bruce had an important visit to make with their good friends at the OVIR office for registration (oh joy!) So we're taking it slow around here today. Tuck is the only one who has been sick at the Crowes, which I'm glad of. In his words,
"It was sweating all over me like lava, and that's what made me sick!"
The day seemed to slide by quickly, though I spent it languishing in bed in a mass of blankets until about 2 or 3. The sunlight came in around the edges of the curtains, and I guess I slept a good bit.
In a bold effort I rallied and set up camp on the couch in the lounge room, picked like a bird at a handful of cheerios, and tried to read. Massive headache. Then wobbled through a dizzy haze to the stereo and put in the first audio cd of the Chronicles of Narnia book The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
That was beautiful. For the next few hours I was whisked away on the Narnian breeze with Edmund and Lucy and noble Prince Caspian, and the incorrigible, nuisance- turned-nice Eustace. In spite of myself, I giggled aloud over the Dufflepuds and the kind old grandfatherly magician and Lucy's accent.
The hours pulled on. Tried to eat soup. Too puny to take a shower. Attempted another book, against my better judgement. Finally lay listening to music, letting it soak into my helplessness. All day, in the intervals between books and Narnia, scenes from the past couple years of my life played themselves over in my mind like a movie. They were jumbled, and I wanted them to come out clear so I could see what really happened. It was odd. Narnia was better.
Finally I went to bed, thinking I might not sleep well after being in bed all day. But with some painkillers I went to sleep and slept almost normally, and woke this morning still a bit unsteady, but much, much better. Deb picked me up this morning, because she and Bruce had an important visit to make with their good friends at the OVIR office for registration (oh joy!) So we're taking it slow around here today. Tuck is the only one who has been sick at the Crowes, which I'm glad of. In his words,
"It was sweating all over me like lava, and that's what made me sick!"
Monday, April 20, 2009
A Scoop of Brain Soup
I've had a lot of disjointed goobledegop going around my brain the past week and haven't wanted to blog because of it. But the less I blog, the more disjointed the jumble grows, so I may as well force something out and hope the writers block melts away on its own.
I'm rocking Noah on my hip and hoping his cookie is taking effect and will quiet the wailing. His mom just went to the store and he feels a bit bereaved.
I'm tired of writing about spring. Spring this and spring that. Spring comes to mind first because it's all around me, but it makes for boring writing after a while. Case in point.
Today Deb played a song in the house from Slumdog Millionare, a new favorite movie of mine. It's called Jai Ho, and it's sort of Indian, and wild, and beautiful, and roused my blood. I felt freaked out and wanted to know why in the world God gave us crazy emotions our brains and bodies don't have the capacity to hold or express. I have no idea why music creates such powerful emotions in me, but maybe eventually I'll start dancing and get some relief. Maybe music gives us glimpses of heaven that we crave and can't get enough of. There was something in India like that. Something in the drums, I think.
There is a little old man who lives down the street; his house is on the corner of the Crowes' street and another one. He seems to always be outside, puttering around or working on what I assume to be a chicken coop. And he has a huge grin that I look forward to every time I walk by. I've started saying "Dobry Dyen" a little more often to people I meet when walking througth the neighborhood, and I enjoy the results. Most people here are really friendly.
My brain is still mush and the writers block isn't subsiding. Maybe it's the headache I've had all day...so I'll say goodbye...
I'm rocking Noah on my hip and hoping his cookie is taking effect and will quiet the wailing. His mom just went to the store and he feels a bit bereaved.
I'm tired of writing about spring. Spring this and spring that. Spring comes to mind first because it's all around me, but it makes for boring writing after a while. Case in point.
Today Deb played a song in the house from Slumdog Millionare, a new favorite movie of mine. It's called Jai Ho, and it's sort of Indian, and wild, and beautiful, and roused my blood. I felt freaked out and wanted to know why in the world God gave us crazy emotions our brains and bodies don't have the capacity to hold or express. I have no idea why music creates such powerful emotions in me, but maybe eventually I'll start dancing and get some relief. Maybe music gives us glimpses of heaven that we crave and can't get enough of. There was something in India like that. Something in the drums, I think.
There is a little old man who lives down the street; his house is on the corner of the Crowes' street and another one. He seems to always be outside, puttering around or working on what I assume to be a chicken coop. And he has a huge grin that I look forward to every time I walk by. I've started saying "Dobry Dyen" a little more often to people I meet when walking througth the neighborhood, and I enjoy the results. Most people here are really friendly.
My brain is still mush and the writers block isn't subsiding. Maybe it's the headache I've had all day...so I'll say goodbye...
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Aroma of Spring...
Spring. Freshly plowed earth and cow dung. Shy green buds and sunshine. Short sleeves and concerned looks from Ukrainians...
I guess I always thought if you lived in a cold climate, you'd strip down to shorts and shortsleeves as soon as the sun showed its face and the temperature was the least bit tolerable. I know that my aunt, after a particularly vicious cold snap in Upstate New York, reportedly donned her shorts when it reached a cozy 14 degrees Farenheit.
But that's not the way it is in Ukraine. Here I am, shedding my jacket at the first possibility of sun on my deathly white arms, and I get these looks. I've been told that the wind is different here, blasting out of the wilds of some Artic Waste, I think...but it feels great to me.
The aromatic pungence of cow poo if wafting into my nostrils from the great outdoors, where someone is preparing that rich black Ukrainian earth for planting.
Yesterday, Bruce had a guy with a tractor out here disking up the back yard. I stood at the kitchen window in the full morning sun scrubbing the dishes, listening to the familiar drone of the tractor that, to me, signifies spring. It was so much like home that I kept looking up from the dishes, half expecting to see Dad on the tractor with one hand guiding the steering wheel and one arm around Ethan's waist. But I was disappointed. There was only an old guy with a wooly beard.
Bruce and Deb made their trip to Poland to have a few days together and get their visas renewed. The kids stayed here, with me. We stayed up here some and at the Gollans some, and managed to come through it fairly intact :) The two youngest missed mom, I think, but I got a lot of cuddles out of the deal.
One night the four older kids stayed at the Gollans and took Clark and Noah home after supper. The sun was almost down, and wind was tossing the trees. I pushed Noah up the hill in the stroller and he sat dociley, bundled in his coat, without making a peep. Clark, however, was scared of the trees and his face crumpled up to cry. He ran to my side and grabbed my hand, glancing fearfully around him at the waving branches overhead and the lights twinkling in the dusk.
"Wanna hold your hand, Cass, wanna hold your hand!"
"Ok, you can hold my hand. Help me push the stroller," I said. "Listen to the birds, Clarky," I told him. "They're singing themselves to sleep." He listened, alert, with big eyes.
"Yeah, I hear them. They're singing to sleep?"
"Mmhmm."
And then we tried singing the English equivalent of the lullabies the birds were singing, one about the sheep in the pasture and the moon being a shepherdess. But I couldn't remember all the words properly.
I've been homesick this week for no apparent reason, missing family and friends, old familiar sounds and smells and places and memories that I try not to dwell on too much. But it's ok.
"Why are you downcast, oh my soul? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God."
Well, I'll be off...time for Lady to walk me. We'll see how that new leash I found at the center works :)
I guess I always thought if you lived in a cold climate, you'd strip down to shorts and shortsleeves as soon as the sun showed its face and the temperature was the least bit tolerable. I know that my aunt, after a particularly vicious cold snap in Upstate New York, reportedly donned her shorts when it reached a cozy 14 degrees Farenheit.
But that's not the way it is in Ukraine. Here I am, shedding my jacket at the first possibility of sun on my deathly white arms, and I get these looks. I've been told that the wind is different here, blasting out of the wilds of some Artic Waste, I think...but it feels great to me.
The aromatic pungence of cow poo if wafting into my nostrils from the great outdoors, where someone is preparing that rich black Ukrainian earth for planting.
Yesterday, Bruce had a guy with a tractor out here disking up the back yard. I stood at the kitchen window in the full morning sun scrubbing the dishes, listening to the familiar drone of the tractor that, to me, signifies spring. It was so much like home that I kept looking up from the dishes, half expecting to see Dad on the tractor with one hand guiding the steering wheel and one arm around Ethan's waist. But I was disappointed. There was only an old guy with a wooly beard.
Bruce and Deb made their trip to Poland to have a few days together and get their visas renewed. The kids stayed here, with me. We stayed up here some and at the Gollans some, and managed to come through it fairly intact :) The two youngest missed mom, I think, but I got a lot of cuddles out of the deal.
One night the four older kids stayed at the Gollans and took Clark and Noah home after supper. The sun was almost down, and wind was tossing the trees. I pushed Noah up the hill in the stroller and he sat dociley, bundled in his coat, without making a peep. Clark, however, was scared of the trees and his face crumpled up to cry. He ran to my side and grabbed my hand, glancing fearfully around him at the waving branches overhead and the lights twinkling in the dusk.
"Wanna hold your hand, Cass, wanna hold your hand!"
"Ok, you can hold my hand. Help me push the stroller," I said. "Listen to the birds, Clarky," I told him. "They're singing themselves to sleep." He listened, alert, with big eyes.
"Yeah, I hear them. They're singing to sleep?"
"Mmhmm."
And then we tried singing the English equivalent of the lullabies the birds were singing, one about the sheep in the pasture and the moon being a shepherdess. But I couldn't remember all the words properly.
I've been homesick this week for no apparent reason, missing family and friends, old familiar sounds and smells and places and memories that I try not to dwell on too much. But it's ok.
"Why are you downcast, oh my soul? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God."
Well, I'll be off...time for Lady to walk me. We'll see how that new leash I found at the center works :)
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