I began my week with a play-date across town so we cancelled school Monday morning and drove to the metro. As I was patiently waiting for a parking spot to open up, a man (not Russian) pulled his Lada in front of my fender, rolled down the window, spit toward my fender, and scowled as he drove away. "Huh?" I thought. That's never happened before. Either he felt the need to spit right then or he knows what the special numbers and color of our license plate denotes. I proceeded to unload the kids and headed on our way anyway.
It was a fun day, but I was a little nervy because my husband was in Washington DC taking an exam for a possible new job. My friends were supportive and hopeful as we sipped coffee that tasted amazing! I said to her, "What kind of coffee is this?" She replied rather sheepishly, "Maxwell House?" We both had a good laugh about what we considered luxury. We also realized that the cubed, raw sugar she bought tastes pretty, darn good.
A few hours later when we arrived back at our side of town, I decided to get an impromptu haircut. After all, it had been five months and I was well past due. I opted for a straight around bob that I haven't sported since 2003. I walked out of there feeling taller, prettier, and flaunting my bare head because it was a balmy 33 degrees! Once we got to the car, I realized the lights had been left on and we had no battery. There was a time when I would have cried, fallen down, or screamed mutiny. But I didn't. I apologized to my kids and we caught a bus.
Once home, a neighbor, who is Guatamalan and all of 4.5 feet tall, drove me back to my van with a mobile charger. The battery wasn't exactly easy to get to and considering my vehicle is notoriously filthy and the snow was knee deep, I think we did pretty well by getting it started. We had Russian male spectators the whole time. I'm sure they had a good laugh. Or maybe not.
So my husband didn't get the job.
When he came home from DC, I couldn't believe the gifts he brought back and how much he thought of me while he was gone. From a Starbucks Washington DC mug to Yankee Candles, I was feeling pretty special. But the best gift of all came the next morning.
I have been feeling really tired lately because I am anemic and I ran out of iron two weeks ago. I know they have iron at the local pharmacy, but every time I go in, I forget the word and can't communicate what I need. So I have gone without. As I unpacked his bags to get out the laundry, I found one container of iron from an American pharmacy. After 11 married years with this man, how is it that iron could speak so much love?
On Friday morning, I headed to Bible Study. It's half a mile away so when it's cold I drive, but yesterday the snow was so pretty and the birds were chirping. I felt like I was in Narnia. It's hard for me to believe that I am so optimistic about the snow that I used to despise. Here it is, end of March and we're still getting regular snowfall. But I've been here for a spring/summer and know that once the warm weather arrives, we will have sun for 20 hours a day and beauty that seems to last forever.
Last week when my girlfriend was over, her four year-old son kept interrupting us to whine about wanting my son's lightsaber toy. She knew that he was getting one at his birthday party the next day but he whined and whined anyway. She shook her head and said, "If you only knew...." This is how I've felt about my life lately. God has something. I keep grasping at it and trying to make it mine, but He knows the proper time for it. Hey, if this girl can learn to find the beauty in snow, then certainly I can wait a little longer for God's timing. I hope.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
First and Last
I've been feeling melancholy lately. I could attribute it to the still wintery, cold snow or maybe the prospect of visiting home makes the days seem longer. It could be caused by a wonderful friend telling me about her pregnancy and my husband confessing that he was slightly envious. With his hand cupping my face, I felt sad, happy, and complete all at the same time. For the first time since I've lived in Russia, I was homesick this week. I wanted home. Not the stuff, stores, or food. I wanted friends and family who make up home. I repeated several times over to myself words of wisdom from my mother; this too shall pass.
It did.
Imagine every time you celebrated a birthday, milestone, or holiday that it was jam-packed with the expectation of being your first. Then, reverse it and apply that same wistful, bittersweet emotion to the fact that it may be your last. We have a two-year contract. Shortly after we arrived, it was our first Thanksgiving among new friends only (no family). We realized this past November may have been our last Thanksgiving. I've started making lists of souvenirs I just have to have and need to send out to friends I've promised.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. My life motto is "write your life in pencil and carry a big eraser." It could be that all of my intricate emotions are ill-spent because we could be here another two years, or in some ways, we could be gone in a blink.
Have I learned anything? Yes, though that seems too small a word for an affirmative answer. Just today I made a meal for a new family who arrived thinking to myself, "what if I'm not even here long enough to become a good friend? Will it be worth it?" Of course. Doing the right thing is always in season. Jesus said that loving others is the greatest commandment. That's why it brings so much joy!
I'm not a touchy-feely. I never have been. Tears and hugging actually tend to drive me nuts and yet they have brought me such security this week. Somethings coming. I can feel it. I started Spring cleaning and taking inventory of what I would want to pack. This could be premature. It could be ridiculous really. Maybe we'll know or maybe we won't.
Either way, I'll keep you posted.
It did.
Imagine every time you celebrated a birthday, milestone, or holiday that it was jam-packed with the expectation of being your first. Then, reverse it and apply that same wistful, bittersweet emotion to the fact that it may be your last. We have a two-year contract. Shortly after we arrived, it was our first Thanksgiving among new friends only (no family). We realized this past November may have been our last Thanksgiving. I've started making lists of souvenirs I just have to have and need to send out to friends I've promised.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. My life motto is "write your life in pencil and carry a big eraser." It could be that all of my intricate emotions are ill-spent because we could be here another two years, or in some ways, we could be gone in a blink.
Have I learned anything? Yes, though that seems too small a word for an affirmative answer. Just today I made a meal for a new family who arrived thinking to myself, "what if I'm not even here long enough to become a good friend? Will it be worth it?" Of course. Doing the right thing is always in season. Jesus said that loving others is the greatest commandment. That's why it brings so much joy!
I'm not a touchy-feely. I never have been. Tears and hugging actually tend to drive me nuts and yet they have brought me such security this week. Somethings coming. I can feel it. I started Spring cleaning and taking inventory of what I would want to pack. This could be premature. It could be ridiculous really. Maybe we'll know or maybe we won't.
Either way, I'll keep you posted.
Friday, March 2, 2012
I Piano Teacher
For the last year I have spent some afternoons giving piano lessons to some local international kids (I know it’s an oxymoron, but it works). Two of my students were driving from another housing development located 16K (10 miles) away. That doesn’t seem like much, but in afternoon traffic it can take up to 1 hour there and even more on the way back. I noticed my students were lethargic and unmotivated after all that driving. So I suggested to a friend who lives there, if I could get a couple more students, it would be worth it for me to drive to the housing and give multiple lessons. I charged a little bit more for my time and within 24 hours I had 4 new students in addition to the 2 I already had from that area.
So once a week, I drive the long route to give piano. I love teaching. I enjoy watching kids’ eyes light up when they realize a new concept. I’ll admit, I also like the instant gratification of payment. My husband is proud as well and unsparing with his adoration for my multiple talents.
But this week, we got a flat tire.
I couldn’t cancel, it just isn’t in me to do it. I wanted to go. I wanted to see my students and keep them moving forward. So I made plans B, C, and if absolutely necessary, plan D.
It turns out I ended up using a combination of these options.
After three hours of schooling my own kids, I caught the bus from our complex to the local town. I rode a couple of miles until the first drop-off where I waited for a city bus that would take me most of the way there. I clumsily paid my 28 rubles while an elderly man kindly showed me how to insert the ticket so I could go through the barrier on the bus. You certainly can’t sneak onto these things without being pretty obvious. I was appreciative and he smiled.
On these roads, there are lanes specifically for buses. They move pretty well while car traffic sits. In a mind-boggling 15 minutes, I arrived at my next connection. From here, I had planned to walk a ways to get to my destination. Trying not to appear frazzled or out of place, I glanced now and then at my hand drawn map. I crossed countless streets and walked over train tracks realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere. My map literally flew away in the wind after a wrong turn. After walking an hour and fighting back the tears, I grabbed a cab and haggled for a decent price.
I told him where I needed to go and he smiled and said, “You America? America eez good!” I politely said, “Da.” Once we were on our way, I noticed that his gas tank was in the warning symbol for empty. Excellent. A friend told me later that sometimes Russian cabbies have mechanics wire their tanks with a spare propane tank in the trunk so when the gas runs out, they flip a switch and run on propane. That may have been true for this guy driving an older-than-dirt beater. As we sat in traffic under a tunnel, in a blend of Russian and English, he asked every form of question from my opinions on American Presidents to whether I like Russia. I have learned that simple speech is easier to understand for a foreigner. It’s certainly true when people talk to me.
“I Piano Teacher.”
“Aaaah!” he says. “You in Moscow alone?”
“Nyet.”
“You in Moscow with adeen (one)?”
“Nyet.”
“Two mebee?”
“Nyet. Shest (six).”
“Aaaah!” he says. “You mama?”
“Da.”
At this point, I quickly grabbed my phone and texted my husband. I had a feeling maybe we would be stuck in this tunnel and the man would question me to death. But he smiled so much and that is a rarity in Moscow. I actually liked him quite a lot.
When we arrived, I paid him the ridiculous price and waved goodbye. I was an hour early so I turned on my ipod and sat on a snowy park bench until my lesson started.
After all the lessons were over, a friend walked me through the route I originally wanted to take and made it back to my destination to grab a bus home. It’s the simple things like riding the bus that make me feel accomplished. I arrived home to a tidy home, happy kids, and dinner on the table. For what more could a girl ask?
So once a week, I drive the long route to give piano. I love teaching. I enjoy watching kids’ eyes light up when they realize a new concept. I’ll admit, I also like the instant gratification of payment. My husband is proud as well and unsparing with his adoration for my multiple talents.
But this week, we got a flat tire.
I couldn’t cancel, it just isn’t in me to do it. I wanted to go. I wanted to see my students and keep them moving forward. So I made plans B, C, and if absolutely necessary, plan D.
It turns out I ended up using a combination of these options.
After three hours of schooling my own kids, I caught the bus from our complex to the local town. I rode a couple of miles until the first drop-off where I waited for a city bus that would take me most of the way there. I clumsily paid my 28 rubles while an elderly man kindly showed me how to insert the ticket so I could go through the barrier on the bus. You certainly can’t sneak onto these things without being pretty obvious. I was appreciative and he smiled.
On these roads, there are lanes specifically for buses. They move pretty well while car traffic sits. In a mind-boggling 15 minutes, I arrived at my next connection. From here, I had planned to walk a ways to get to my destination. Trying not to appear frazzled or out of place, I glanced now and then at my hand drawn map. I crossed countless streets and walked over train tracks realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere. My map literally flew away in the wind after a wrong turn. After walking an hour and fighting back the tears, I grabbed a cab and haggled for a decent price.
I told him where I needed to go and he smiled and said, “You America? America eez good!” I politely said, “Da.” Once we were on our way, I noticed that his gas tank was in the warning symbol for empty. Excellent. A friend told me later that sometimes Russian cabbies have mechanics wire their tanks with a spare propane tank in the trunk so when the gas runs out, they flip a switch and run on propane. That may have been true for this guy driving an older-than-dirt beater. As we sat in traffic under a tunnel, in a blend of Russian and English, he asked every form of question from my opinions on American Presidents to whether I like Russia. I have learned that simple speech is easier to understand for a foreigner. It’s certainly true when people talk to me.
“I Piano Teacher.”
“Aaaah!” he says. “You in Moscow alone?”
“Nyet.”
“You in Moscow with adeen (one)?”
“Nyet.”
“Two mebee?”
“Nyet. Shest (six).”
“Aaaah!” he says. “You mama?”
“Da.”
At this point, I quickly grabbed my phone and texted my husband. I had a feeling maybe we would be stuck in this tunnel and the man would question me to death. But he smiled so much and that is a rarity in Moscow. I actually liked him quite a lot.
When we arrived, I paid him the ridiculous price and waved goodbye. I was an hour early so I turned on my ipod and sat on a snowy park bench until my lesson started.
After all the lessons were over, a friend walked me through the route I originally wanted to take and made it back to my destination to grab a bus home. It’s the simple things like riding the bus that make me feel accomplished. I arrived home to a tidy home, happy kids, and dinner on the table. For what more could a girl ask?
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Mall Day
I'm sure you already know by now that my husband is a government employee. Therefore, all of the fantastic special days are considered paid holidays. These include Washington's Birthday (thanks George) and this week's "Defender of the Fatherland Day", somewhat equivalent to our Memorial Day.
Since he was supposed to have two days off, we decided we should at least give the kids one day off of school and have some fun. For my amazing man, this meant the mall. He loves that place. I only wanted to go because of the stuff I needed at IKEA and because the kids had some Christmas money to blow. Plus, I knew it would include lunch which means slightly less time in the kitchen for me.
It was a seemingly normal Monday and the roads were moving well and freely. We arrived at the mall in very good time. IKEA was fun, as usual, and lunch was delicious and reasonably priced. Then we went into the mall to grab a couple of other things. When we passed a play area, we couldn't resist letting the kids run around for a little while. My hubby sat in a bench to supervise and I went to the OBI, the Russian version of Home Depot, for some blue painter's tape, a personal vice of mine. When I returned, we switched places so he could go check something out at another store.
While I was sitting there, a Russian couple came up to me and started talking. I could tell by their hand gestures that they were asking me to watch their stuff, and presumably, their kids. I explained kindly that I didn't speak very good Russian. They apologized and repeated, in English, "Vill you vatch our theengs? We need smoke?" What else could I say? I nodded and chuckled to myself. Their kids played around in the area and didn't even notice the absent parents. I grew up in California in the 90s when kidnapping was a really big deal. This was against everything in me to watch parents walk away from a public setting and leave their kids. But, this is Russia.
Next, we went into a store called Dyetski Mir, Children's World, which is like Toys R Us. Our kids were looking everywhere, eying the possibilities to spend their money. Four excited kids headed in four different directions. This always causes me a little bit of panic. Reasonably so. Over the loud speaker, in Russian, I could tell they were saying my name and the word for daughter. I started rushing around the store trying to find where the heck I was supposed to retrieve my daughter and which one had been found doing what? I bumped into my hubby on the way and he struggled to understand my peril. Just then, announcement number two came over and my family began to pop out of Lego and Barbie aisles. We eventually left the store, all six of us.
Since he was supposed to have two days off, we decided we should at least give the kids one day off of school and have some fun. For my amazing man, this meant the mall. He loves that place. I only wanted to go because of the stuff I needed at IKEA and because the kids had some Christmas money to blow. Plus, I knew it would include lunch which means slightly less time in the kitchen for me.
It was a seemingly normal Monday and the roads were moving well and freely. We arrived at the mall in very good time. IKEA was fun, as usual, and lunch was delicious and reasonably priced. Then we went into the mall to grab a couple of other things. When we passed a play area, we couldn't resist letting the kids run around for a little while. My hubby sat in a bench to supervise and I went to the OBI, the Russian version of Home Depot, for some blue painter's tape, a personal vice of mine. When I returned, we switched places so he could go check something out at another store.
While I was sitting there, a Russian couple came up to me and started talking. I could tell by their hand gestures that they were asking me to watch their stuff, and presumably, their kids. I explained kindly that I didn't speak very good Russian. They apologized and repeated, in English, "Vill you vatch our theengs? We need smoke?" What else could I say? I nodded and chuckled to myself. Their kids played around in the area and didn't even notice the absent parents. I grew up in California in the 90s when kidnapping was a really big deal. This was against everything in me to watch parents walk away from a public setting and leave their kids. But, this is Russia.
Next, we went into a store called Dyetski Mir, Children's World, which is like Toys R Us. Our kids were looking everywhere, eying the possibilities to spend their money. Four excited kids headed in four different directions. This always causes me a little bit of panic. Reasonably so. Over the loud speaker, in Russian, I could tell they were saying my name and the word for daughter. I started rushing around the store trying to find where the heck I was supposed to retrieve my daughter and which one had been found doing what? I bumped into my hubby on the way and he struggled to understand my peril. Just then, announcement number two came over and my family began to pop out of Lego and Barbie aisles. We eventually left the store, all six of us.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Manic Monday
I hope at the sight of this title you are humming a nice little 80s diddy by the Bangles. I know I am. For a scheduled, organized person like me, Mondays are great. I get to start a whole week over again. No mistakes. No limitations. Just seven days waiting to be filled with excitement. I forget sometimes that I live in Russia and in Russia, all plans are tentative, but certainly not concrete.
So I woke up on this particularly cold Monday and grabbed my grocery list because I was taking a friend to the store. Next time I will remember that if I wake up and it's -25F, stay home. The vehicle did not comply with the cold. Even though it was parked in a garage all night, that wasn't enough. I did what we always do in this situation; plug in a heater and turn on a shop light under the engine. It's amazing what 100 watts can do.
End result: No grocery store, which equals no bread, no produce, and no beer. No biggie though because at noon, we were going to some friends' house to shake things up a bit. The van didn't start then either. My dear friend was anxious to visit as well and so she and her four kids made the trip out to us. Her vehicle which was parked outside all night, started right up. Ridiculous, I know.
After a lovely couple of hours, it was time for them to go to music school where her eldest had a competitive exam of sorts. They were off and on their way with plenty of time to spare. Just moments after they left, a huddled group of five appeared in my doorway. They had only made it out of the driveway when their car started leaking gasoline all over the pavement. I ran out to the garage and my van started right up! Literally, a complete miracle. I drove them into town to get a taxi and went back home.
I'm sure I've mentioned we live in a gated community. Not just anybody can come right in. Therefore, I learned the word for tow-truck so I could call security and let them know who was coming. Mission accomplished. School was done for the day and I was ready to teach my Monday piano lessons a few houses down. Just as I headed out to teach, the tow-truck arrived. I had the key to the broken down vehicle and my friend told me how much to pay him. This was the easy part. It was when he asked for the registration to the vehicle and more money that made it complicated. He didn't speak English and my Russian is limited to grocery store terms.
So I called my friend and he called his friend. Simultaneously, we handed each other our cell phones. His friend on the phone is my friend's friend too so he says, "Hello, this is Sergei!" I was so happy to hear his voice. He explained I needed to give the driver more money. Well, geesh, that was easy.
The tow truck drove away and I went to my piano lesson. I was already running very late and so I gave lessons, ran home, and whipped up some eggs. Oh yeah, hubby had to work late. I shoveled some food into the kids' mouths and remembered that I told my earlier friend I would take her to the store tonight if the van started. I also remembered that I forgot to give Number 1 money for her gymnastics class that she was in right that minute. I started up the van again, went to the sports center and paid for class, and then on to the store. No big adventure there except when my overly-nice American friend tipped the grocery cart guy 500 rubles for helping with our bags.
Last week a friend who is stationed in Colombia sent us some chocolates and coffee. Somewhere during this crazy afternoon, I ate a couple chocolate covered coffee beans. I definitely got a good kick of energy but man, did I pay for that. I usually fall asleep instantaneously when my head hits the pillow. Not that day. I laid in bed and talked to myself until midnight when I knew there was a new day coming.
So I woke up on this particularly cold Monday and grabbed my grocery list because I was taking a friend to the store. Next time I will remember that if I wake up and it's -25F, stay home. The vehicle did not comply with the cold. Even though it was parked in a garage all night, that wasn't enough. I did what we always do in this situation; plug in a heater and turn on a shop light under the engine. It's amazing what 100 watts can do.
End result: No grocery store, which equals no bread, no produce, and no beer. No biggie though because at noon, we were going to some friends' house to shake things up a bit. The van didn't start then either. My dear friend was anxious to visit as well and so she and her four kids made the trip out to us. Her vehicle which was parked outside all night, started right up. Ridiculous, I know.
After a lovely couple of hours, it was time for them to go to music school where her eldest had a competitive exam of sorts. They were off and on their way with plenty of time to spare. Just moments after they left, a huddled group of five appeared in my doorway. They had only made it out of the driveway when their car started leaking gasoline all over the pavement. I ran out to the garage and my van started right up! Literally, a complete miracle. I drove them into town to get a taxi and went back home.
I'm sure I've mentioned we live in a gated community. Not just anybody can come right in. Therefore, I learned the word for tow-truck so I could call security and let them know who was coming. Mission accomplished. School was done for the day and I was ready to teach my Monday piano lessons a few houses down. Just as I headed out to teach, the tow-truck arrived. I had the key to the broken down vehicle and my friend told me how much to pay him. This was the easy part. It was when he asked for the registration to the vehicle and more money that made it complicated. He didn't speak English and my Russian is limited to grocery store terms.
So I called my friend and he called his friend. Simultaneously, we handed each other our cell phones. His friend on the phone is my friend's friend too so he says, "Hello, this is Sergei!" I was so happy to hear his voice. He explained I needed to give the driver more money. Well, geesh, that was easy.
The tow truck drove away and I went to my piano lesson. I was already running very late and so I gave lessons, ran home, and whipped up some eggs. Oh yeah, hubby had to work late. I shoveled some food into the kids' mouths and remembered that I told my earlier friend I would take her to the store tonight if the van started. I also remembered that I forgot to give Number 1 money for her gymnastics class that she was in right that minute. I started up the van again, went to the sports center and paid for class, and then on to the store. No big adventure there except when my overly-nice American friend tipped the grocery cart guy 500 rubles for helping with our bags.
Last week a friend who is stationed in Colombia sent us some chocolates and coffee. Somewhere during this crazy afternoon, I ate a couple chocolate covered coffee beans. I definitely got a good kick of energy but man, did I pay for that. I usually fall asleep instantaneously when my head hits the pillow. Not that day. I laid in bed and talked to myself until midnight when I knew there was a new day coming.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Beer Bread
I have made a decision. I'm going to post a recipe. I don't think it's a coincidence that my subtitle is a Russian saying about food. Before I lived here, I used dried garlic and onions. I cooked with things like canned chicken stock and frozen vegetables. I'm not saying that it wasn't okay. It's just different now.
The other day we went to church in -10 and sat through a 2.5 hour service. When we came home, I fell asleep in front of the fireplace and lost my whole afternoon. When I woke up at 5pm, I panicked because, of course, the small people still need to eat on Sundays. In some ways, I despise weekends because everybody in this family gets to kick back, do something fun, and relax. I suppose this is what working moms feel like. I revel in the joy of being so involved with my family, but sometimes I just want to punch out.
So I ran to the kitchen to get started. Usually in the evening when I'm cooking dinner, I wind down with a beer and some good music. Why should this day be any different? I popped the top of my favorite Czech beer and took a sip before analyzing the situation. Since it's pay-day this week, the fixins were pretty scarce. I looked it over and whipped up a savory beef and cheese soup with plenty of fresh cut vegetables. As I stirred the colorful mixture, I knew it needed something else.
Eureka! Beer bread. I grabbed another Staropramen and magic happened. Here's the recipe:
12 oz beer
3 c. flour
3 3/4 tsp. baking powder
3 TBSP. white sugar
Here's the tough part. Mix the dry stuff, add the beer, mix with a spoon, then your hands. Put it in a greased loaf pan in a 350 oven for 50 minutes. I was just kidding about tough. This bread smells amazing and tastes even better. The first time I cooked it I used 1664, a famous French beer, thinking that French bread is so good, of course French beer bread would be good. It was, but the kids didn't love it. This time, they asked for seconds.
I like cooking now. In fact, it's also part of my winding down. We still have our hot-dog and chip nights, but I've noticed they're fewer and farther between. Nothing brings a family meal together like some fresh bread. Try it, you'll be surprised.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Winter has finally arrived in Moscow. Last year at this time, we did not have the luxury of a vehicle so we stood at bus stops and waited in the subzero. We are more pampered now and accustomed to hopping in our warm shuttle to get where we want to go.
Earlier this week, my husband worked late and so he parked the van near the metro station. On his way home, the van began to overheat because the coolant had frozen inside the engine. It's hard for me to imagine anything overheating when it's 10 below, but whatever. Anyway, he ran a heater in the garage overnight, put a light underneath the engine, and covered the hood with a blanket to try to help it thaw. This worked successfully as I was able to start it easily and drive the next morning. However, when I whipped the blanket off the hood, remnants of the blue luxe remained in little clumps of frozen, fuzzy pockmarks which made the front of our van appear to have some type of venereal disease.
Our van is already easy to spot in public because we have a special colored license plate and we only wash it once in a while. This is because the local car washes charge 20 bucks and it's prohibited to wash your own car. Also, we were given a beater because our contract didn't allow us to bring an automobile with us.
That being said, the next morning I went to Bible Study. I just started attending with this group of wonderful ladies and I thoroughly enjoy their company and the study. But most of their husbands work for corporations who hire them drivers and cars for their goings-about. So as I was leaving I started up the growling, freezing engine of my mid-nineties vanmobile and made a three point turn. As I drove down the narrow driveway, I passed five, sleek, black, luxury cars, all with drivers waiting for the ladies to exit. But it was okay. I felt proud that I have the privilege of driving myself around this crazy city. I also felt proud that my friends are my friends because of me, obviously not my housing or my vehicle. I feel the same way about them.
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