Think like a Russian

So my husband is an epic story-teller. No, I mean it. Apparently something in his Irish roots make his hands flail and his volume increase when there's an event to re-tell. His most recent tale is worth sharing.

I think I mentioned that our car was in the shop. What this meant for us for the last few months was that we rode buses, cabs, and marshrutkas (basically van shuttles; quality varies)and sometimes walked. I don't balk at the tab-I pay the cab. It is a good 45 minute walk from the nearest metro to our "house in the country." He walks. But then he had a good idea. He could ride his bike into the metro in the morning, chain it up, remove the front tire, and ride back home at night. This seemed like it made good sense. Until he arrived that evening to find his bike gone. I'm not talking about a Huffy. This is a bike worth around roughly $600. Kind of a bummer.

He paid the piper (or cabdriver) that evening and came home with smoke fuming out of his ears. I didn't blame him. I didn't see any gaps in his logic. As he mulled it over in his mind, he realized that Russians don't keep trash. They pick it up. In fact, there are thousands of city workers whose exact job is to pick up trash. This is why we can readily litter anywhere in the city because someone will pick it up. For the record, I am not condoning or encouraging this behavior, just simply reporting truth.

Despite the bike chain, he figured if they saw the tire missing, they would assume it was broken. If it was broken, nobody would come back to claim it. If nobody came back to claim it, it was free game or trash.

The next day he took a friend to translate for him and they walked into a shop nearby where the bike was parked. The guards and receptionists were helpful enough and agreed to watch the security footage and call some of the groundskeepers. After several phone calls and explanations, they opened a closet and there was his bike! How crazy is that? Once they returned it to him, they chastised him for removing the wheel. Obviously, a bad idea in Russia. Next time, leave the whole bike so somebody doesn't mistake it for trash.

I thought of this little anecdote because I went grocery shopping yesterday. As I wandered through the aisles, I realized that shopping here has become easier for me because I just think like a Russian. Where are granola bars? By the flour, of course. What about the pretzels? Those aren't crackers so they go in the beer aisle. And my most recent favorite of all; Band-Aids. They aren't by cotton balls or hand sanitizer. I am proud to say I walked right up to them surrounded by condoms and tampons. I'm not sure I'll ever understand why exactly, but at least I found them.

You like it, we make it.

So today I took a new friend shopping at the supermarket. After my car being out of order for three months, I have it back and I was ready to assist a new-comer. We arrived at the store this morning to discover new ways to make old recipes.

As we meandered through the aisles, she would ask me things like, "Where do you get such-and-such?"

"We make it," I would simply say.

A few minutes later she would again repeat, "Where can I get..." and I would again calmly reply, "we make it."

I realized that I sounded like an I've-been-here-two-years-and-know-everything type of person, but it's true. If you like it, we make it. When I first moved here, I homemade chili. That's about it. I have always been a cookie aficionado, but meals were somewhat hard to execute. Now I make things beginning with a roux (that's a French word for butter/flour) including cream soups. I make my own bread, sorbet, and hummus. I don't balk at making Greek, Indian, or Asian food. My heart skips a beat when I think of my food processor, my rice cooker, or my crock-pot. Who knew?

So today, in the spirit of making things from scratch, I tried making soft pretzels. Oh-my-word! They were sooooo delicious. I invited an old friend to come enjoy them with me because she too appreciates the toil of our home cooking.

Though I still prefer things that come fresh from the farm, I found the complimentary side to the pretzels was melted Velveeta, which has no natural origin at all. I guess there are some things that can't be made.

I think both.

So the fact of the matter is that we're moving...and staying here. We are moving out of our gated, international community with a beach, big yards, and a fabulous sports center. We're moving away from friends, but we're moving to new ones.

We are relocating to the compound in the city, this city. What this means for us is that, on average, we will get 20 hours more per week of Husband/Dad time. He'll sleep in until right before work, come home to see us at lunch, and walk across the way after he punches out at five. For our family, this is a huge improvement.

There are nay-sayers on both sides of the fence. People out here say, "Why would you ever want to live in the city?" People in the city say, "What could possibly be good about your gated community?" I am a lemonade out of lemons type of person. I can find the good parts of either location. Did I mention we are going from a 3 bed, 2 bath to something twice the size complete with room for a classroom? Well, that's a perk in my sight. Not to mention that we'll be walking distance from a metro, close to theaters, music halls, parks, and lots of fun venues. We are goers. With everything so close, now we can really go where we want and not worry about catching the bus home or getting a legitimate cab at night.

Our family has thrived here. Though we've made meaningful relationships and kept flowers alive, we're ready for some more adventure. Some day, when I look back on my time in Moscow, if people ask me which location was my favorite, I hope I answer, "Both." (view from my current back window)