I’m starting to wonder if my entries are at all exciting anymore, or like the culture shock I have recently experienced, are they old news? Whatever your answer may be to the rhetorical question, be prepared, this time I’m going to talk about church.
My life is very small. I wake up, homeschool my kids, feed everyone at least five times, do dozens of loads of laundry, and repeat each day. So going out on Sundays is a special treat for me. I walk away from the dishes, the chores, and hope that for a few hours, everyone’s bellies will be silenced out of reverence.
Our latest fave is located about 15 minutes away. This, in itself, is a large miracle. Thanks to some ex-pat friends, we were invited a few weeks back to a fully Russian church. I mean it. No translation, no subtitles. Just everyday people in their church. I have to admit that I like walking in without fanfare or special treatment. I like blending. Our kids love the Sunday school program where they get to practice their Russian and help other kids practice their English. Number 4’s class uses flannel-board. Remember that stuff? She repeats the entire Bible story to me after class with impeccable precision although it was told in Russian.
My favorite part is---no surprise here---the music. Sometimes they sing American worship songs, but they definitely have a Russian flair. I like mumbling bad translations in the safety of singing. I love practicing the name of Jesus or singing Hosanna in a different way. This week we took communion. Our friends were kind enough to translate the majority of the sermon for us. When the service was over, like clockwork, our stomachs were growling. My husband looked at me and said, “what time is it?” We had been in church for 2 and ½ hours. The time flew by.
When we left church, it was 55 degrees and sunny. For the first time since we’ve been here, our kids were wearing fancy church clothes and nice shoes. They skipped and hopped along the sidewalk saying, “this was the best day ever!” I agree.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Hold the Dill
In the past few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to get to know some Russians. I mean folks who were born and raised here and aren’t part of the ex-pat community. The customs and traditions I have heard or read about I was able to witness in real life.
Two weeks ago we attended a birthday party with Russian females and American males.
Through some translation and grace, we were able to communicate and learn a bit about each other. Since it is lent season, it is said that Russians go without meat, butter, and alcohol. Like American holidays, I figured this was ‘fudged’ over. Not so with some in this crowd. While we enjoyed Beef Stroganoff and Chicken Kiev, they nicely sat with plates of potatoes and greens covered in nothing else but dill.
Dill is in everything here. I haven’t done my research enough to know if it is in great abundance or if it has some medicinal advantage, but it’s in all forms of food; cheese, bread, meat, salad, vegetables, and soups. I like the flavor of dill but it definitely gets old. At the table we had an abundance of dill.
This past weekend, a Russian acquaintance to whom I had kindly remarked “let me know if you need anything” took me up on my offer. Her American friend was ill and she asked if I would go to the Russian pharmacy to get some drugs. This was a weird situation because
1) I have never set foot in Russian pharmacy
2) was this a good idea to get drugs for a Russian?
3) while asking, she made fun of her friend for having only Vitamin C and Echinacea on hand (of course common American vitamins which I have as well).
She laboriously spelled the names of the antibiotics and then pronounced them. I inadequately repeated and she kept affirming my efforts. At one point, she pronounced a word and said, “This is hard even for Russians to pronounce.” Good luck to me right? Then she proceeded to explain that it’s easy, like a Latin word. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that American kids aren’t instructed in Latin in grade school.
Anyway, my husband solved the problem by offering her a ride to the pharmacy. So today I made good old chicken and rice soup (hold the dill) and boxed brownies. I wonder if the American equivalency of dill is salt? Or maybe gravy? Hmmmm. Food for thought.
Two weeks ago we attended a birthday party with Russian females and American males.
Through some translation and grace, we were able to communicate and learn a bit about each other. Since it is lent season, it is said that Russians go without meat, butter, and alcohol. Like American holidays, I figured this was ‘fudged’ over. Not so with some in this crowd. While we enjoyed Beef Stroganoff and Chicken Kiev, they nicely sat with plates of potatoes and greens covered in nothing else but dill.
Dill is in everything here. I haven’t done my research enough to know if it is in great abundance or if it has some medicinal advantage, but it’s in all forms of food; cheese, bread, meat, salad, vegetables, and soups. I like the flavor of dill but it definitely gets old. At the table we had an abundance of dill.
This past weekend, a Russian acquaintance to whom I had kindly remarked “let me know if you need anything” took me up on my offer. Her American friend was ill and she asked if I would go to the Russian pharmacy to get some drugs. This was a weird situation because
1) I have never set foot in Russian pharmacy
2) was this a good idea to get drugs for a Russian?
3) while asking, she made fun of her friend for having only Vitamin C and Echinacea on hand (of course common American vitamins which I have as well).
She laboriously spelled the names of the antibiotics and then pronounced them. I inadequately repeated and she kept affirming my efforts. At one point, she pronounced a word and said, “This is hard even for Russians to pronounce.” Good luck to me right? Then she proceeded to explain that it’s easy, like a Latin word. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that American kids aren’t instructed in Latin in grade school.
Anyway, my husband solved the problem by offering her a ride to the pharmacy. So today I made good old chicken and rice soup (hold the dill) and boxed brownies. I wonder if the American equivalency of dill is salt? Or maybe gravy? Hmmmm. Food for thought.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Sunday Drive
We’ve got our licenses and now we’ve got a vehicle. You may not be able to imagine how much this frees us to live our own schedules! So yesterday afternoon we took a Sunday drive. I haven’t driven at all yet (and haven’t done so since September-yikes) so my hubby took the wheel and headed out of our safely trafficked, gated community into the great unknown of foreign roadways. We weren’t going far, just down a couple of streets, but it felt like landing on the moon of successes.
On roadways in Russia, pedestrians are very common, whether there are sidewalks or not. The gypsy cab is an acceptable form of transportation and so many people walk with their hands held low (about waist-high) in hopes that they may catch a ride. Or, in our particular situation, you may encounter a runaway horse or two on your first drive out. No, you did not mis-read. As we were only about a half mile from our house, there were two saddled runaway horses coming straight at our vehicle. I braced for impact. My calm husband just put on the brakes and sat there so they could pass us. We are always surprised in Russia.
Next we went to the grocery store as a family. We’ve only done this two times here. I have become very accustomed to indifferent looks and limited personal boundaries but I had forgotten that four small children don’t understand---or frankly----appreciate these social norms. I felt like singing a new rendition of the song from Dumbo “pink elephants on parade” (what was that song about anyway?)
We emerged and proudly loaded our items into the spacious back hatch of our
vehicle. Onto another store.
The next store was smaller in comparison, but rarely busy and so we like the process a little more. However, we decided to go up the escalators and see what lies beyond. You also need to understand that every single store is really just an anchor store for several little kiosks. In this one you can get cheap toys from China in a kiosk, sewing notions, batteries, cell-phones, and of course, cigarettes. You never know what you may stumble upon.
But today was a lucky day! We found a clothing store. In fact, it is the first clothing store where there are items for the whole family and for really reasonable prices. I found women’s t-shirts for only 150py which is about $5. I have always hated clothes shopping, but I find that necessity forces me to do it. It’s almost spring and I am running very low on clothes that are appropriate beyond the confines of my kitchen.
We happily drove home anticipating the next time we will need something and will be able to get it for ourselves and maybe even offer to bring somebody else. Of course, I could always catch a ride into town on a runaway horse. Why not? It’s Russia!
On roadways in Russia, pedestrians are very common, whether there are sidewalks or not. The gypsy cab is an acceptable form of transportation and so many people walk with their hands held low (about waist-high) in hopes that they may catch a ride. Or, in our particular situation, you may encounter a runaway horse or two on your first drive out. No, you did not mis-read. As we were only about a half mile from our house, there were two saddled runaway horses coming straight at our vehicle. I braced for impact. My calm husband just put on the brakes and sat there so they could pass us. We are always surprised in Russia.
Next we went to the grocery store as a family. We’ve only done this two times here. I have become very accustomed to indifferent looks and limited personal boundaries but I had forgotten that four small children don’t understand---or frankly----appreciate these social norms. I felt like singing a new rendition of the song from Dumbo “pink elephants on parade” (what was that song about anyway?)
We emerged and proudly loaded our items into the spacious back hatch of our
vehicle. Onto another store.
The next store was smaller in comparison, but rarely busy and so we like the process a little more. However, we decided to go up the escalators and see what lies beyond. You also need to understand that every single store is really just an anchor store for several little kiosks. In this one you can get cheap toys from China in a kiosk, sewing notions, batteries, cell-phones, and of course, cigarettes. You never know what you may stumble upon.
But today was a lucky day! We found a clothing store. In fact, it is the first clothing store where there are items for the whole family and for really reasonable prices. I found women’s t-shirts for only 150py which is about $5. I have always hated clothes shopping, but I find that necessity forces me to do it. It’s almost spring and I am running very low on clothes that are appropriate beyond the confines of my kitchen.
We happily drove home anticipating the next time we will need something and will be able to get it for ourselves and maybe even offer to bring somebody else. Of course, I could always catch a ride into town on a runaway horse. Why not? It’s Russia!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
March in Moscow
Spring must be near. Today I smelled track season. As I walked along the sidewalk, my mouth got dry and my lungs were filled with something I can’t even name. Outside the windows in my kitchen, icicles are surrendering to the fragrant sunshine.
I grew up on the backside of the high school in my town and you could measure each season by the sounds through the trees. In the fall it was the loudspeakers announcing the football games on Friday nights. In the winter there were sudden bursts of cheers as fans left the basketball games in the clear, frigid dark. And in the spring, it was the crack of baseball bats as well as the scores of children and teenagers outside getting a breath of fresh, clean air---free from curtains of white.
It is March in Moscow. Though it is only 24 degrees Fahrenheit and there are still feet of snow in the fields, I know Spring is coming. The trees across the lake have taken on a dark, almost midnight green instead of their native frosty silver which has adorned them since November. I’ve begun ordering bicycle tubes, rain boots, and water bottles so we can have outdoor adventures in this new land.
This will be the first time in seven years that my husband doesn’t coach baseball at our Alma Mater. I’ll admit, I’m sad about it, but it will also be the first time he has enjoyed the unfolding of this season with us as well. I’m not quite ready to get out my galoshes, but I know there will come a day when puddles enough will be inviting me to step in---the water’s fine.
I grew up on the backside of the high school in my town and you could measure each season by the sounds through the trees. In the fall it was the loudspeakers announcing the football games on Friday nights. In the winter there were sudden bursts of cheers as fans left the basketball games in the clear, frigid dark. And in the spring, it was the crack of baseball bats as well as the scores of children and teenagers outside getting a breath of fresh, clean air---free from curtains of white.
It is March in Moscow. Though it is only 24 degrees Fahrenheit and there are still feet of snow in the fields, I know Spring is coming. The trees across the lake have taken on a dark, almost midnight green instead of their native frosty silver which has adorned them since November. I’ve begun ordering bicycle tubes, rain boots, and water bottles so we can have outdoor adventures in this new land.
This will be the first time in seven years that my husband doesn’t coach baseball at our Alma Mater. I’ll admit, I’m sad about it, but it will also be the first time he has enjoyed the unfolding of this season with us as well. I’m not quite ready to get out my galoshes, but I know there will come a day when puddles enough will be inviting me to step in---the water’s fine.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Transportation
Last week we went to the Russian version of the DMV to get our drivers’ licenses. I was told to expect a long day so I did. I left my house just before lunch to catch a bus to get me to the Metro. At about 1pm, I arrived at the Embassy to catch up with my hubby and take a transport out to the boondocks to sign a form. Two weeks ago, we filed all of our paperwork and now we had to show up in person to prove our identity. Makes sense right?
We hopped into the van with three other Americans. The ride out there took 90 minutes, which is not too unusual for Moscow. We parked in front of what looked like a shack and followed our Russian translator/guide.
This brings me to discuss tile. Apparently, they are very confused in Moscow about what tile is intended for indoors and what is intended for outdoors. At many places around town, they have used indoor tile on outdoor steps and the effects are, well----slippery. One of our neighbors has a sign posted on her front porch that says, “Don’t slip on your ice.” It’s true.
So we navigated our way up some very slippery steps into a shack about the size of a closet. It was only big enough to house the metal detector we walked through and then right out the backdoor we slipped again. We walked across another clearing and came to the building where we were told to wait in line in the hallway. This was funny because there were doors about every 3 feet. So how do five Americans line up amidst all these doors? Every time we re-adjusted, somebody would open another door. It was really quite funny as we would lean against one wall, door open, lean against the other wall, and so on.
This game of Musical Wall went on for about ten minutes as we all got a chance to prove our identity and sign our licenses. Mission complete.
Back in the van, we began calculating how much time it would take to get back home via highway. We figured around 3-4 hours. The obvious choice then was the Metro. We asked our driver to stop at the nearest station so we could head home. This is seemingly commonplace; we ride the metro all the time. We hopped on board and found a seat (or bar to hold on to). What was different about this day was that there was a man who had found his happy hour specials a little early on this Wednesday afternoon.
As the train began to brake, people inched toward the door. This particular man stood up and before his feet even found the floor, gravity pulled his face downward. He did a sudden fall/slide down the aisle of the car. My husband, well meaning, reached for the man’s hand and tried to help him up. He had no idea which way was up at all. He stood up and waited a few stops before getting off.
Once we were back to our station, it was poor timing to wait for the bus that goes to our home so we decided to share a cab with some neighbors. We negotiated a cab and immediately regretted it. You know how seniors in high school drive a piece of crap car, but they’re proud because it’s theirs? That was this guy.
Anyway, as soon as we got in, he started getting after us in Russian that my husband closed the door too hard. Then, the back of the car was shaking and he attributed it to all of our weight in the back seat. His fee was 250 rubles. Our neighbors had the 200 and were asking us for 50. I had 3 10 bills and was getting out some coins. Then the driver got mad saying “I don’t want your coins.” We gave him 300 and thanked him.
When we got out of the car, I imagined if that situation had happened in the States. No way. Thankfully, my dependence on taxis is coming to an end as soon I will have my own set of hot wheels.
We hopped into the van with three other Americans. The ride out there took 90 minutes, which is not too unusual for Moscow. We parked in front of what looked like a shack and followed our Russian translator/guide.
This brings me to discuss tile. Apparently, they are very confused in Moscow about what tile is intended for indoors and what is intended for outdoors. At many places around town, they have used indoor tile on outdoor steps and the effects are, well----slippery. One of our neighbors has a sign posted on her front porch that says, “Don’t slip on your ice.” It’s true.
So we navigated our way up some very slippery steps into a shack about the size of a closet. It was only big enough to house the metal detector we walked through and then right out the backdoor we slipped again. We walked across another clearing and came to the building where we were told to wait in line in the hallway. This was funny because there were doors about every 3 feet. So how do five Americans line up amidst all these doors? Every time we re-adjusted, somebody would open another door. It was really quite funny as we would lean against one wall, door open, lean against the other wall, and so on.
This game of Musical Wall went on for about ten minutes as we all got a chance to prove our identity and sign our licenses. Mission complete.
Back in the van, we began calculating how much time it would take to get back home via highway. We figured around 3-4 hours. The obvious choice then was the Metro. We asked our driver to stop at the nearest station so we could head home. This is seemingly commonplace; we ride the metro all the time. We hopped on board and found a seat (or bar to hold on to). What was different about this day was that there was a man who had found his happy hour specials a little early on this Wednesday afternoon.
As the train began to brake, people inched toward the door. This particular man stood up and before his feet even found the floor, gravity pulled his face downward. He did a sudden fall/slide down the aisle of the car. My husband, well meaning, reached for the man’s hand and tried to help him up. He had no idea which way was up at all. He stood up and waited a few stops before getting off.
Once we were back to our station, it was poor timing to wait for the bus that goes to our home so we decided to share a cab with some neighbors. We negotiated a cab and immediately regretted it. You know how seniors in high school drive a piece of crap car, but they’re proud because it’s theirs? That was this guy.
Anyway, as soon as we got in, he started getting after us in Russian that my husband closed the door too hard. Then, the back of the car was shaking and he attributed it to all of our weight in the back seat. His fee was 250 rubles. Our neighbors had the 200 and were asking us for 50. I had 3 10 bills and was getting out some coins. Then the driver got mad saying “I don’t want your coins.” We gave him 300 and thanked him.
When we got out of the car, I imagined if that situation had happened in the States. No way. Thankfully, my dependence on taxis is coming to an end as soon I will have my own set of hot wheels.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Another Night at the Gym
So this is just too good not to share. My husband and I workout almost every day at the facility right here in our housing development. We run a rigid circuit and I am pooped by the end of it, but I have taken breaks long enough to notice some interesting customs.
When you walk into a European workout facility, it looks very much like an American gym. There are plenty of machines, free weights, mirrors, treadmills, and the like. It’s the people who make European gyms SO much different. Here are some tips if you want to fit in.
a)Please, by no means, wear clean clothes. Wear the dirty, smelly clothes I’ve seen you in every night for the last five.
b)When you select gym clothes, choose wisely. If you don’t have workout pants, wear your swim trunks or a short-sleeved button down shirt that’s so tight your wrist-sized muscles will bulge out.
c)ALWAYS wear black socks with your tennis shoes and ALWAYS wear them up to your calves.
d)Don’t ever smile. If you smile, it may look like the workout isn’t hard enough. Even if you are a 40 year old man doing curls with 5 pound weights, this is serious.
e)When you have selected a machine to use, put your keys, a cup, or your nasty towel on it to claim it. Then walk around the room a few times to establish your ownership while people are waiting anxiously for you to be done. Sit down and do a few reps and repeat. This should last at least 25 minutes.
I will hesitantly mention the last aspect of the European gym experience. The locker room. If I go to the gym in the evening, I simply put my coat on, go home and get a shower. But if we use the pool or something, we have to use the locker-room to get dressed. As I can only share experiences from the female side, I will give you second-hand stories from the men’s locker room. On more than one occasion, I have been witness to bare bodied ladies who proceed to introduce themselves. Not just to me, but my kids as well. It’s hard to muffle the laughter when a bare-chested woman puts out her hand to say “how do you do?”
There are no stalls for getting dressed, just a big room. I’ve been told that sometimes guys sit on the benches in the buff talking on their cell phones with their legs crossed like they’re at the office. Yuck. Need I say more? I’m sure there will be more experiences as I continue to master the bench press and dead lift, but for now, this simple entertainment gets me out of the house every so often.
When you walk into a European workout facility, it looks very much like an American gym. There are plenty of machines, free weights, mirrors, treadmills, and the like. It’s the people who make European gyms SO much different. Here are some tips if you want to fit in.
a)Please, by no means, wear clean clothes. Wear the dirty, smelly clothes I’ve seen you in every night for the last five.
b)When you select gym clothes, choose wisely. If you don’t have workout pants, wear your swim trunks or a short-sleeved button down shirt that’s so tight your wrist-sized muscles will bulge out.
c)ALWAYS wear black socks with your tennis shoes and ALWAYS wear them up to your calves.
d)Don’t ever smile. If you smile, it may look like the workout isn’t hard enough. Even if you are a 40 year old man doing curls with 5 pound weights, this is serious.
e)When you have selected a machine to use, put your keys, a cup, or your nasty towel on it to claim it. Then walk around the room a few times to establish your ownership while people are waiting anxiously for you to be done. Sit down and do a few reps and repeat. This should last at least 25 minutes.
I will hesitantly mention the last aspect of the European gym experience. The locker room. If I go to the gym in the evening, I simply put my coat on, go home and get a shower. But if we use the pool or something, we have to use the locker-room to get dressed. As I can only share experiences from the female side, I will give you second-hand stories from the men’s locker room. On more than one occasion, I have been witness to bare bodied ladies who proceed to introduce themselves. Not just to me, but my kids as well. It’s hard to muffle the laughter when a bare-chested woman puts out her hand to say “how do you do?”
There are no stalls for getting dressed, just a big room. I’ve been told that sometimes guys sit on the benches in the buff talking on their cell phones with their legs crossed like they’re at the office. Yuck. Need I say more? I’m sure there will be more experiences as I continue to master the bench press and dead lift, but for now, this simple entertainment gets me out of the house every so often.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
It's Time I Told You
The sun has been shining all day today. It makes no difference that it is 18 degrees outside---it feels like spring. Tomorrow it will be February. We are hoping to get a car very soon and so I spent the afternoon cleaning out the garage. I still had lots of boxes and wrapping left over from our shipment. I was glad I took the time to go through it because I found a lid to one of my brand new pots. I've been here for four months. I've made curtains, re-arranged furniture, and now thrown away the very last box.
It's funny because I've already considered how hard it is going to be to say goodbye. I've made friends from all over the world. Many of them will leave before me and no matter where I go next, I will take them with me.
The winter hasn't been very hard. In fact, it's been easier for me here than it was in Michigan. No propane bills to pay, no brushing snow off of an icy SUV, no lay-offs, no snow days. We are already six months into our two-year contract. The time is flying. The weeks are measured in packages, the months in paychecks, and I'm sure the years will be measured by home school curriculum.
I just started to miss home---namely, a day off. I miss coffee with my girlfriends, Bible study mornings, and yes, the grandparents. I am thankful for devices and technology yet at this exact moment, I am sick of them. I want to whisper something funny that only you can hear, roll my eyes, and bump your elbow with mine. I miss you and I thought you should know.
It's funny because I've already considered how hard it is going to be to say goodbye. I've made friends from all over the world. Many of them will leave before me and no matter where I go next, I will take them with me.
The winter hasn't been very hard. In fact, it's been easier for me here than it was in Michigan. No propane bills to pay, no brushing snow off of an icy SUV, no lay-offs, no snow days. We are already six months into our two-year contract. The time is flying. The weeks are measured in packages, the months in paychecks, and I'm sure the years will be measured by home school curriculum.
I just started to miss home---namely, a day off. I miss coffee with my girlfriends, Bible study mornings, and yes, the grandparents. I am thankful for devices and technology yet at this exact moment, I am sick of them. I want to whisper something funny that only you can hear, roll my eyes, and bump your elbow with mine. I miss you and I thought you should know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)