There and Back Again: A Trip to Zhovti Vodi

Well, I have been "there and back again," and am much better for it. This past weekend we, (six from Rzhishchiv including Gaven, Jono, Sergei, Tanya, Masha, and myself) bumped and rattled our way over the approximately six hours worth of crater ridden asphalt between here and the town of Zhovti Vodi for a conference. It was well worth the potholes, however (maybe not for the van!) and I went away so blessed by God.

Aside from all the cool things God did and shared with me, the trip itself was quite an experience. I woke up at 2:30 a.m. out of sheer excitement, just like I've been doing before nearly every roadtrip I've been on since I was old enough to know what roadtrips were. But I went back to sleep until 3:20, when it was really time to get up and get moving. There's something about being up when the stars are still out, and setting out on a journey :)

We headed down the road and watched the Ukrainian countryside awake with a soft pink glow on the horizon cut by the bare trees that lined the fields for miles. The gray-blue haze eventually lifted to reveal fields and fields of rich black earth and dry, broken stubble; andvillages caught in that mud-laden time between winter snow and spring growth. Then we started hitting the potholes, trying to avoid the potholes, and generally still getting our brains jiggled to bits by the potholes. There's not much that can be done when the road is more potholes than road in places.

At least the potholes provided great entertainment. I've never been on a roller coaster before, but I don't feel like I've missed out at all. Any need I have for motion thrills can be more-than-adequately satisfied by car rides in foreign countries. Take, for example, the one where your van is in the proper lane, headed in the proper direction. Before you lies a series of potholes that could be mistaken for the great lakes, dried up and filled with asphalt. Coming around the bend straight ahead of you, in your direction, are two cars in each lane. You're going about 70 kilometers an hour, which is hard to describe if you're like me and still think in miles, but in any case feels like a rocket about to break up when you're on a a two lane road in that situation. I actually kind of enjoyed it.

Then there was the bit where the front seat drivers, the back seat drivers, and actual driver had conflicts and we ended up in Pyatixati (Five Houses) which just barely surpassed its name. There we saw a lot of mud, numerous species of barnyard fowl, and a nice lady with four adorable piglets who pointed us in the right direction. (Oops, I mean the lady pointed us in the right direction, not the piglets.)

Eventually we arrived in Zhovti Vodi (Yellow Waters) and got to the church where they had the conference. The first day and night were ones of dazed bewilderment because I was feeling a little faint from lack of sleep and food (breakfast at 4 a.m., lunch at 3 p.m., and supper around 10 p.m.) and it took a little time to get used to the new surroundings and a style of worship I wasn't quite accustomed to. We clapped a lot and people on the stage danced around and made funny faces while they sang. But by the end I figured out we could all worship Jesus just fine together, funny faces or not.

That night a gal from the church named Tanya, took Masha, Tanya, and I to her apartment, where we stayed the night. I was so impressed that this church of approximately 300 people (though I could be mistaken on the number) hosted 200 guests in their houses and apartments! I'm still stunned and inspired by the hospitality around here. I love it.

I made immediate friends with Tanya's cat, "Zhasmeen," who curled up in my lap when I sat down for tea. *Purr* :)

After a good nights' rest and a fresh dose of perspective, I felt much better.

I was one of only five "foreigners" at the conference, and we had our own translator, Sonia, whom I became friends with. I'm so thankful for her! So we just clustered around her at every session and she translated very thoroughly. I hung out with her a good bit the rest of the time, too, because I wanted to get to know her, and because there weren't a lot of other people to talk to in English.

It's a very vulnerable feeling to be in a a place where you don't know people and you don't speak the language. You start to feel like a dumb animal that can only communicate by grunts and squeaks. (Mostly squeaks in my case, accompanied by frequent blushes.) And an inaudible, but definite mental "Oh d-d-d-dear!"

You crave respect and the sort of power you had back when people could understand you and you were actually considered smart sometimes. But it's easier to take when you are prepared for it, and this time I guess I saw it coming when I signed up for the conference.

Why does so much of what I write come out sounding negative when I'm acually very happy and excited about the whole thing? Just ignore what I'm writing, please, and know that I had a blast. Even when I almost got squished in the snack line :)

The main things that God spoke to me about throughout the conference were: Purity, Worship, and Creativity. He seemed to unfold those things to me in that order and blend them together like an exquisite painting being done before my very eyes. It was so cool.

He's purifying my heart from all the things that steal my life from Him and giving me a deep desire to worship Him. Linked to that is the yearning to see other worshipers raised up, because the Father seeks worshipers in spirit and in truth (John 4, I think). And entwined with that is the idea of creativity in worship-- or, using every area of our lives to glorify Him.

I crave art in almost every form it comes-- language, writing, painting, drawing, poetry, song, dance...the list goes on. I've had a desire to actually do a lot of these things, but I've always had different fears and inhibitions. People tell you all through your teen years to find out your talents and abilities and serve God with those things, but what if you don't feel talented at anything? I've waited and waited, driven by fear of failure and desire for assurance and man's approval, and now God seems to be saying,

"What are you waiting for? Don't hold back because you lack ability. Forget about talent. Use your desires to follow Me."

One speaker at the conference used the example of how a baby has to learn to walk and use the potty, etc. It isn't born knowing how, and it takes a lot of practice and mistakes to learn. But the kid is put in a family with a father and mother and siblings who love it and care for it and help it along, and it learns. I feel like that in the area of art and a lot of other things. I feel so ignorant. But there's something me that is screaming to get out, and now I know that it's not just me wanting to "express myself," but my self, wanting to express God. There's something that needs to be poured out. It belongs to God and it shouldn't be altered by human opinion or my pride.

I don't know what that something looks like yet, but...I'm encouraged to create whatever beauty I can.

At the conference several music groups played, some groups did dances, and they even had a mini video contest of clips different churches had put together. There's a lot of talent here. It was very inspiring.

Well, when all these "revelations" came, I was pretty excited. But the the crowning joy was yet to come.

That night, a lady stood up and said that if any of us wanted to share a testimony from the conference, we should come talk to her about it and then we could share on Sunday. I felt that little prompting, but I wanted to ignore it.

It would be a lot easier to just stay in my seat instead of plunging myself into what I knew would be a tortuous process of pressing through a throng of human bodies to find the woman, standing there feeling red and foolish while being translated, enduring a restless night of anticipation, and the trying to keep my adrenaline-laced heart from pounding out of my chest the next morning as I faced a crowd of strangers, once again with a translator. BUT-- then I thought about how Jesus and these people deserved to here a testimony about Him. Sure, other people could give testimonies, but nobody could give my testimony except ME.

I wanted to tell them how, when I came to the conference, I had thought I might not understand anything, and how God had just told me "Go and praise Me." And then how I had come, and God had spoken so much to me, as if He'd given the speakers just the right words to speak to me about things that had been in my heart for months and even years.

So I gave in and before I knew what I was really doing, had jumped in over my head and talked to the lady. I walked to the apartment in the dark with the girls and my head was spinning. I started to think of what I would say, and then Russian words came to mind. And suddenly I thought, "I could say this in Russian!"

My cranium picked up speed as the impulse grew stronger-- I wanted to give my testimony in Russian! A day earlier I wouldn't have done it, but now I knew that I shouldn't be afraid to use what God had given me to bless Him with-- at least to give it a try.

As I sat on the bed pulling my socks off, I mentioned it to Mash.

"I really think I could do it in Russian," I told her. She looked at me with a look that said "Don't kid yourself." She pointed out that I don't like to be in front of people in the first place, and that when I try to speak Russian it takes a long time for me to come up with the words, and that this wouldn't be a good time for that. Which was true, of course. True enough to make douse me with doubt. But then, I still had this crazy feeling...

I managed to sleep just fine, and in the morning, after some consideration, I still wanted to try. The rest of the testimony came to my mind and I started asking questions about Russian words I didn't know. It wasn't very long, and I would need help for the last few sentences because they were a little too complex, but Masha said she would go up there with me.

So when testimony time came, I went up there and started talking in Russian! It was simple and very imperfect (I said the word "city" instead of the word "year" at one point, and who knows what other mistakes), but everything I had planned to say just poured out in whole sentences. I couldn't wipe the silly grin off my face, and I think I was laughing in disbelief while I spoke, because I was so excited not just about the testimony I got to share, but about the one I was living out right at that moment.

I've been discouraged and guilty that I haven't learned or used Russian more, and like I said, a lot of times I feel degraded because I can't communicate. But in that moment, there was an intense, rich beauty of crossing a barrier into the world of this church in Zhovit Vodi. I spoke to them in their language! Looking back on it, I see that it was a miracle. I'm not fluent by any means, and I feel like God just scraped up the meager scraps of my Russian and put them together to make something special.

After saying my bit, I handed the microphone to Masha and finished in English, and then went grinning to my seat, adrenaline rush in full swing. I loved how afterward I felt liek such a part of the body there. I think it means something to people when you try to speak to them in their own language.

After church we left hurriedly and went bumping home, snacking on the sausages and bread the church had supplied us with. We reached Rzhishchiv while it was still light, rounding the bend to be greeted with the sight of the beautiful little town on the shining blue river, and I thought that this is still the prettiest place I've seen yet in Ukraine. I'm sure it doesn't compare to Crimea and Carpathia and those sort of places in other parts of the country, but this is a dear little shire, and in a way, I love it. It's like Hobbiton. They even hunt mushrooms :)

It's good to be back.

Pizza in the Sky

When you hang around kids for an extended period of time, you end up getting asked a lot of questions.

"What are you making?"
"What are you putting in there?"
"Why?"
"Are you peeling it?"
"Are they done"
"Why?"
"Why do they have to cook?"
"Can I flip them?"
"Why?"
"Can I have some?"
"Can I have syrup too?"
"What is 12 + 3? 'Cause Tuck says it's 15."
"Why?"

Tonight, after having hawaiian pizza for supper, Brent was wandering around the kitchen in his usual distracted manner, his brow furrowed deeply as if pondering great mysteries. I was by the sink, loading the dishwasher.

"Cass, where does pizza come from?" He finally asked.

"Heaven." That's what immediately came to mind. But he was still thinking.

"Well, actually," I said casually, capitalizing on further opportunity for indoctrination, "it grows on trees."

"Trees?" He looked me a look that said "I know you're pulling my leg, but I'm enjoying it." "So the pizzas grow and you can just reach up and pick them off the tree?"

"Well, yeah. But the trees are re-ee-ally high. They grow up in the sky close to the sun, so that the cheese will melt."

A pretense of realization dawned on the sly face of Brent.

"As everyone knows, the moon is made of cheese," I continued, beginning to have fun reeling out my imagination, "and when it's full, they start grating it up until it gets smaller and smaller, and during the day, the sun melts the cheese, and the moon grows back, and it starts again. And every noon they harvest the pizzas."

"But how do they get them off if they're so high up?" Brent inquired.

"Helicopters, of course. And then they deliver them all over the world to all the pizzarias."

This seemed to satisfy, if not his curiousity, at least his imagination.

A few days ago I realized that I brush my teeth like Monk, with a mug of boiling water. I pour it over my toothbrush and down the sink. We usually don't have the water running in the sink, so I was using a mug of water anyway. I'm not sure how I started with boiled. But it keeps my toothbrush clean, and the sink semi-clean, so it must be worth it. Monk would not like our house, but I think I'm ok with it :)

On Friday I'm going to a conference with several others from Rzhishchiv. It's in Zhovti Vode (or however you spell that) several hours away. So I feel like it's my first "journey" in Ukraine-- exciting! It was going to be through the night by train, and that would have been a good deal excitinger of course...but I can't say I'm too sorry that plans have changed, seeing as Masha and Sveta got lice on the train last time they went. We have enough pets at home without lice.

So, I don't know if I'll understand a word of the conference, but it will be an experience, anyway. We'll leave Friday and be back Sunday.

Tell Me About the Zoo

I just had a phone conversation with Ethan. We went through the usual questions. He always asks me, "Are you having fun?" To which I generally reply "Yes." I live with Masha. Of course I'm having fun :)

I know that in some cultures they greet each other by saying "Have you had food?" And when I got ambitious and started trying to learn Hebrew (a shortlived fling) I learned from Hebrew for Dummies that in Israel they say "How's your peace?" Hey man, how's your peace? I actually kind of like that.

As usual, Ethan and I stumble around trying to think of things to say.

"I have a new lego jet," he informs me. "It's right here in my hand. I can't wait till you can see it. How many days are you going to be there?"

"Umm...a lot of days, buddy. Like four months."

"Oh. Well, there are thirty days in a month."

"You're right!" I exclaim. "Who told you that?"

"Daddy. And there are 7 days in a week." I ask him if he knows the days of the week. He doesn't, so I list them off.

Long lull. I resist tempation to fill in the blanks. Maybe he is incubating some profound epiphany. Suddenly, he stirs, as if fueled by new life.

"There is something I want to talk to you about," he says, his tone becoming serious.

"Oh, what's that?"

"I want to talk to you about the zoo."

"Oh, ok, tell me about the zoo!" Mom and Dad took him to the zoo last week and I guess he's still pumped. I can hear his quickened breathing in my ear through the Skype phone and hear him shifting the phone.

"Well," he begins, "I dinnent see an ephelant, but I did see a lion."

"You did?"

"And I saw an alligator and birds and slithering snakes."

"Oh I love that word "slither," I say, grinning as I pace the floor of the Crowes' schoolroom.

"Yeah. And I saw g'raffes."

"What were they like?" I glance out the window at the sparse snowflakes falling.

"They had tall necks, and they were eating."

"What were they eating?"

"I dunno. But I saw a lion."

"What did it look like?" I press, wondering what description I'll get this time.

"It had a hairy neck."

I also discover that he saw meercats and penguins at the zoo, fed ducks, and got sunglasses and toy animals and a ball that he accidentally left.

"And what was your favorite part about the hotel?" I press for more. He doesn't even have to stop to think.

"Garfield!" He watched the movie there, apparently.

I've never had a phone conversation this long and detailed with my little brother before. He's growing up, that one. I don't know if I'll even recognize him when I get home...

Getting Toasty

I am about to go phone my lovely sister and wish her a belated happy birthday. Yesterday I think she was traveling, so I didn't call then.

Masha and I are warming up to our house. Our house is warming up to us. Long johns are still a must (for me at least) but this morning the kitchen was so toasty that Masha complained of being hot. Hot was not the word I would have used, but "cozy" with the mug of hot chocolate that she made for me...yes.

Yesterday Cheryl, Masha, and I cleaned up the other house and Masha gave over the keys, and we walked away forever. I suppose forever. How strange to move out of a house. I only lived there for two and a half months, but I still feel it. Not that I really miss it, but I feel like I left part of myself there. I think my only regret is that I never got to see the cherry trees bloom in the yard. But I think I can find some other cherry trees.

Here, by the way, is a picture of the new house. I don't have many good ones yet. And the next is a not-so flattering picture of Angel and me scrubbing in the kitchen last week.

First Night in a New Old House

As of yesterday, Masha and I have taken up residence in a new house. A new old house. Newer than the old one, but older than a new one. The owners decided they wanted their house back, so they booted us out, and long-story-short, we have a beautiful new house.

I had no idea a week ago that I would be living in a different house today, and I've been sort of going around feeling that I had the breath knocked out of me. But after going through half a bottle of Domestos cleaner, nearly rubbing through a couple of sponges, and scouring the place to bits, our house is looking better.

Yesterday the fire department (oops, Jono in a psychedelic yellow jacket and big red van) and Gaven came and helped cart our stuff away. Then Bruce and Rodgy came and heroically shovelled the rubbish out of the old bathtub outside into a trailer and hauled it to the dump. Rubbish is too tame a word. Rubbish is what my grandma has in her trash can. This stuff was definitely garbage. Garbage with an attitude.

As to the "stuff"- suffice it to say, moving is a good reminded not to buy, obtain, or otherwise find oneself in possession of more worldly goods, unless they are things to eat, which should also be kept to a minimum. I was able to pack up in a little over hour, because I've only been here a few months, and because having a weight limit on luggage is good encouragement not to get too much stuff. But Masha and I were both bemoaning her acquired clutter the night before we moved as she went around the house collecting odds and ends from shelves, cupboards, and corners, and looking for bags to stash them in. I said I would never buy anything again, and she scoffed. Rightly so, I suppose, because just this morning I bought a toilet brush at the market. It's shiny and sort of pink.

So we moved. A few hours later, Masha had swept and arranged the bedroom and lounge room, and I had the kitchen tidied and dishes organized in their cupboards, and was enjoying the luxury of a sink with pipes. There is indoor plumbing that works, and it is great. For some complicated reasons which I won't go into we can't have it running all the time, but we can turn it on when we need it and fill buckets.

We lit up the burners on the gas stove to offer a little heat, because the heating system doesn't work right now (and may not for a while...like, until we don't need it anymore.) When we moved in it was 4 celsius, which I think is about 42 farenheit. We were a little numb. I was washing some things in the kitchen and besides steam rising from the dish tub, there were trails of steam issuing from my hands and mouth. Masha laughed and we decided I was a dragon, minus the fire.

So last night was our first night at the house. By the time I went home from the Crowes' Masha had got the temperature up to 9, which sounded vicious to me until I thought it out in farenheit...50 degrees. Still cold, but we had hope. Bruce and Deb lent us a huge "ufo" heater, and downy duvet I've become fondly acquainted with on previous cold nights.

We plugged in the heater, hoping the electrical system would handle it in our funny little house. The heater has 4 or 5 levels, and we found it was fine on level two. On level two, we could have the fridge plugged in and choose one light. Two lights- POOF. All off. So all evening we played our little game.

"Can I turn on the bedroom light so I can put some things away?"
"Sure, I'll flip the kitchen off."
"Ok. Let's go eat." (she flips bedroom switch, while I hit the kitchen one)
"Um, I need the porch light to get my laundry." (Whole indoors goes temporarily dark.)

After our first meal in the cozy new kitchen, we were both exhausted. I was ready for bed. Masha wanted a shower, so she went down to Tom and Lena's because it was just too cold in our house for that.

We had agreed to spend the night in Masha's bedroom because my room is bigger and we hadn't even started heating it yet. Besides, two is better than one because if two lay down together they can keep warm...a bit of biblical wisdom from Ecclesiastes 4. No need to fight over the downy duvet. So I brought my stuff into her room and got under my mountain of blankets like a polar bear going into hibernation.

It was something like a glorified indoor camping trip. I've camped in temperatures a lot colder than 50, but this was a kind of dank, cold 50. I had bundled myself in a long sleeve, a short sleeve, a fleece jacket (thanks, Brie!) thick velour pants, cotton socks, fleece socks, two blankets, and half the duvet. The heater was full blast (full blast level two, that is) on the bed. We were snug as bugs in rugs. Half way through the night I kicked off half my half of the duvet and shed the fleece, and was quite happy. This morning I was pleased to find that I had survived.

We are doing quite well, I think. What a house. What a friend. What a life. I need to go eat supper now and get to Home Group.

A Great Idea

Over the weekend I spent the night in Kiev with Nadia. (Well, Sunday night, rather.) Sunday was March 8, Women's Day, which is a big holiday in Ukraine. It's kind of like Mother's Day, but bigger, and it's for all the girls. It's awfully nice. In all this dreary Marchness, booths of flowers popped out everywhere over the weekend, sporting carnations, roses, irises, daffodils, jonquils, and my mom's favorite-- hyacinths. The colors were a welcome treat against the muddy bleakness.

I went to the Women's Day celebration at Nadia'a youth group with her, and it was so special. The guys in the youth group decorated the room, set up tables, lit candles, and laid out chocolate, apples, cookies, and drinks. They had taken nice photos of the girls and hung them around the room. They wore funny outfits and sang songs, showed slideshows they had prepared, and acted out blonde jokes that had us all rolling. It was great. I don't even know anyone in the youth group but Nadia and another sweet gal named Sasha, but I still felt very honored and special. It was like Valentines Day, only you didn't have to be "attached" to anybody :)

As a girl, I guess I felt it was special that people would recognize being feminine as a good thing. It's not that girls are better or boys are better...it's that we're different and there are unique and wonderful things about both. Personally, I really enjoy being a girl...but I find that being appreciated for my feminine qualities makes me appreciate guys for their masculine ones all the more.

I think we need to start this holiday in the States. It could replace Valentine's Day. I think about the girls in the youth group from home and how much it would mean to them to be "honored" in a general "attention to all, intention on none" way, with chocolate...

I, at least, went away with a fresh reminder-- "Oh. I'm valuble!" :)

Oh, and just so you know, there's a Men's Day too, in February I think. Somehow we missed that. I suppose guys don't really enjoy flowers and heart shaped candles the way we do :)

Thank God for Masha

Winter Clothes

Under my hood I have a hat
And under that
My hair is flat.
Under my coat
My sweater's blue.
My sweater's red.
I'm wearing two.
My muffler muffles to my chin
And round my neck
And then tucks in.
My gloves were knitted
By my aunts.
I've mittens too
And pants
And pants
And boots
And shoes
With socks inside.
The boots are rubber, red and wide.
And when I walk
I must not fall
Because I can't get up at all.

-Karla Kuskin

This poem by Karla Kuskin describes me to a t. Not a t-shirt, because I don't get to wear those any more. I told Masha that this poem was about me, but she said, "No, it's not about you! You don't wear enough!" She thinks she's my mom. But after all, I do need somebody to help me with all those clothes. Thanks to her I've probably avoided death by strangulation, (Help, helg ggaggaggggg...somebody please, it's got me in its death grip...guguuuggggggg) Yes, she's saved me, but it's only out of the frying pan and into the fire...suffocation being the alternative.

I seem to have a profound talent for getting tangled in my scarf and despositing my gloves in random inconvenient places. And a while back I actually dropped my Bible on the road without realizing it one afternoon on the way home from church. Amazingly, somebody found it and I got it back that evening, which was pretty much a miracle.

On the way out of the yard this evening, Masha stopped me to tuck the hood of my hoodie into my coat with my scarf, which was in front of my coat hood below my hat...see how complicated it is?

I'm very glad to have Masha for a friend. It's nice to live with someone who tucks in my scarf, steers me out of mud puddles, and is a fabulous cook on top of that. My tummy is still happy from those mashed potatoes and fried onions. This girl has converted me into a potato lover. Or is it the sour cream? One way or another, she works her magic.

They are so beautiful, these quiet winter afternoons in the warm kitchen, sharing good food with a good friend. I'm glad to be here.

Who's Next?

Who's next. WHO'S NEXT??? we wonder...Rodge, Bron, and Brent have all come down with some fever/stomach bug in turn, in age order, even, and we're wondering who will be next to fall. My stomach has definitely been strange, but I'm not sick at the moment. I keep coming through these things unscathed and I marvel at my good health so far while here in Ukraine. Thank God for that. I can praise Him when I'm sick, too, but it's obviously nice not to be. (sick).

Deb is so cool. She takes the quirkiest interruptions with the greatest spirit. She might say differently, but I get to see her reactions of consistent grace and joy, and it inspires me. Today people came in the morning to measure the house, and then she needed to go to Khagarlik nearby to get a stamp with Svetlana, and this afternoon there was a "Women's Day" celebration in town that she needed to go to, and of course laundry, laundry, laundry...Go with the flow...

So here I stand at the window, pondering the universe but not knowing at all what to write in the five or so minutes remaining. Yesterday before Bron got sick we curled each other's hair. We got through the whole time without burning or maiming each other (well, Bron burned herself, but it wasn't severe). So that was good. We looked so alike when we were done! It was really funny. It helped that we were both wearing gray shirts, I suppose. I felt a little like Shirley Temple. It's been eons since I curled my hair. It was so relaxing, despite the proximity of the scorching hot curling iron to my head, that I almost dozed off. Ahhh. Therapy.

Good, Hearty Fun

Today Bronwyn and I used our heart model to explain a little of the circulatory system to the rest of the kids (Jesse, Broderick, Marie, Angel, Brent, Tucker, and Ellie and Clark, who were too little to get much). It went surprisingly well. Bronwyn modeled the consturction paper heart and tracing paper lungs, and we tried taking pulses, and then went outside to play the "game."

This morning I found out the word for "spray paint" from Masha-- "kraska v balonchikye" (a mouthful, hey?) and like the Old Sailor from Milne's poem, "murmured and murmured until it was firmer" until I could say it half way decently. Then I went to a hardware store called "Favorit" to ask for some. I got a can of blue and one of pink, and then, in the Gollan's back yard, sprayed a huge heart in the snow and made a kind of obstacle course of arteries, veins, lungs, and some body parts.

I mentioned how wierd it probably looked to be running around in the backyard painting body parts in the snow, and we figured the neighbors would chalk it up to some freakish religious ritual those foreigners are doing in their cult school over there..."Look at those foreigners indoctrinating their chilren," Priscilla said with a laugh. They are already puzzled enough. No, I'd say, we're homeschoolers, that's all :D In the states that would explain everything!

The kids seemed to enjoy their science lesson despite the oddities, and the grossly disporportionate body. They were red blood cells and snowballs were oxygen, and they had to make deliveries very fast to keep the body alive. After a short time, the paint lines got all blurred and messed up, and the kids were kind of hopping from heart to lung and all over the place, and finally they all collapsed in a heap and "died."

Then we all retreated indoors for hot chocolate and borshch. At least ten times, Clark exclaimed, "The blood is running out, Cass, the blood is running out!"

I took some pictures, but for some reason they won't come up on my computer, so I'll leave it at that for now.

Things I Have Noticed Lately

1. Three gray/white hairs attached to MY HEAD within the past three weeks. I promptly removed them.

2. The Russian verbs "to write" and "to pee" are far too similar for my my comfort.

3. It was clever of them, (whoever they are) to make toothbrushes stick up at the end so that the part you stick in your mouth doesn't have to touch the various surfaces you set it down on.

4. Petrol went up 25 kopeks at the station at the bottom of our hill.

5. I am happy.


Aside from that...Bron and I just finished making a model heart with lungs and major arteries and veins. It turned out quite well, because she's an artist and she colored it with skillful detail. I spent the morning trying to wrap my brain around the circulatory system. The scary thing about teaching kids is that you actually have to know stuff. I feel so dumb. I remember studying things, but when it comes down to it, I don't actually know much.

Deb was trying to find some activities the kids could do with the Gollan kids since they all homeschool. So tomorrow we're going to play this game (after studying the heart diagram a bit) where the kids are blood cells and they have to travel throught the heart to the lungs, back to the heart and through the body to deposit oxygen...we're going to try spray painting a heart and arteries, etc. in the snow and having them run around out there. Should be interesting.

I learned a whole lot...it's exciting to feel like I actually understand something for the first time. I'm not sure how well I can articulate it to the kids, but I think they'll get something out of it. We'll measure our pulses and have a great time.