A Writer's Work is Never Done

So here's the thing. A writer's work is never done. Weird right? Most people think a writer writes a book and boom, that's it. Nope. There's a lot more to it than that. So, today I am going to talk about one of the most important aspect of writing the dreaded revisions.

If you didn't know, I read a lot. And by a lot I mean, a lot a lot. I read all kinds of things but one thing I read a lot of is Indie books. Why? Because a lot of times they're free or low priced and honestly, I've found some really good books that way. To be honest though, a lot of indie books are...well... crap. The main reason? lack of revisions and editing.

Rewrites, editing and fixing things are actually, in my opinion, the most important aspect of being a writer. I'm serious. Even more than writing the book in the first place. For me, it's also the most difficult part of being a writer because I'm lazy. I think this happens to a lot of indie writers as well. They get the book done and are all excited to publish it. As a result, I've read books with unfollowable stories, novellas that should've been full length novels, books with bad spelling, weird sentences and  rushed endings, stories where everything is crammed in all at once. This does not make for a pleasurable reading experience.

I think sometimes authors get so caught up in what their writing, in telling their story that sometimes they forget the reader can't see what's inside their head and they leave things out. Sometimes the opposite happens as well. They make their worlds so big and so expansive, it's hard for the general reader to follow. (This is the issue I have with a lot of High Fantasy.)

So writers, I beg you, edit and revise your books. Yes, it can be rough and maybe you have to cut scenes out but trust me, it's for the good of the overall project. If your child had a weird disease that made their hair blue but was slowly killing them, you would cure it, not leave it because you like his or her hair color.

Wow, that totally turned into a rant.

The other thing you deal with as a writer is learning when to say "Enough" because that's the opposite end of this spectrum. (And this is what I mean by the title.) It is possible to revise and edit too much. You are always thinking of ways to improve your story or your dialogue or your scenes. At some point you have to just let it go, let your baby fly. (Although author Joe Clifford Faust has mentioned that even after his books are published, he hates them and thinks about how he could have made them better.) The key is finding a balance.

Personal example: I started writing a novel in high school. I finished it in College. I edited it before I left for Russia in 2011 and started sending it out when I was overseas. I came home and I want to start sending it out to agents and publishers again, however looking at it I'm like "Oh wow, some of these scenes sound like they were written by a twelve year old girl." I've matured since I originally wrote it and now I'm going through it again. I'll get some people to read it when I'm done and send it out again. I need to realize that there is a time to let it go. (Although I actually tend to fall more at the "meh...rewrites...Who needs 'em spectrum." Hence the weird stuff that shows up in the blog sometimes)

So, the point of today's lesson:
Revisions = good
Too many revisions = bad
Good ideas+ good rewrites and editing = good novels.

Happy writing.

Why I Support Polygamy

First off, let me start off by saying I hate politics. I spent about 30 seconds as a political science major in college. It took one class to make me realize that everyone has an opinion about politics and everyone is extremely passionate that their political view is the right one. I on the other hand do not. While I like to be aware of what's going on in the world, I don't feel the need to yell about it, or get into arguments about it or even really talk about it. I just don't like conflict.

It was no surprise then last week when Facebook and the internet exploded with the Supreme Court's decision to legalize gay marriage in all 50 states and everyone was freaking out that I just watched it all happen as I usually do when some newsworthy item occurs.

Except I didn't.

For some reason I decided that this would be as good a time as any to express my views on polygamy. Polygamy? You might ask. Why polygamy? I honestly don't know. Maybe because I read a lot about fundamentalist Mormons? Maybe because there are people out there living polygamy as an alternate lifestyle. Who knows? But I felt the need to express that while the homosexual community is out there celebrating a milestone, there are still people out there who aren't free to love.

When I started posting about polygamy on Facebook, I got a lot of different responses. From Christian Right friends who joked about what they would legalize next to members of the gay community condemning me for being unloving and joking about these things. It was then I realized that I was serious.

I'm not going to lie. It kind of did start out as a joke. Back before gay marriage was legal. I'd say things about how if they were going to legalize that, they should legalize polygamy. But then I started thinking about it and it occurred to me that if two consenting adults of the same sex can legally get married, what about multiple consenting adults? Everyone says that marriage should be equal, people should have the right to have the benefits of marriage and that with these recent court decision the mission was accomplished. Except it wasn't.

The United States has a history of persecuting polygamists. There are people out there whose practice of polygamy is deeply tied to religious beliefs making it not only an issue of marriage but an issue of religious freedom as well. Legalizing polygamous marriages would not only help with this persecution and lead to acceptance, it would aid in things such as the abuse of welfare and other government benefits.

If the government says a homosexual couple has the rights of the benefits of marriage, then who are they to say that other non-traditional groups can't have that right as well?

"But where would it end?" you might ask me. "How would the government control the amount of wives a man could have? What would then stop other kinds of marriages from being legalized?" My honest answer: I don't know. But I also think that marriage shouldn't even be a government issue. If it weren't a state issue, there wouldn't be these issues of who one can or cannot marry. But I'm digressing.

My point is, I respect the right of a man to have multiple wives if he so chooses. No one should be persecuted for that. People who were so passionate about legalizing gay marriage should realize that the work is not done. It's not just about homosexuality. You can't give rights to one group and ignore all the others and that is why I support the legalization of polygamous marriage.

Why I Don't Go to Work in My Pajamas

So, when Robbie and I were getting ready to move to the great state of Indiana, the most frequent question people would ask me, after the basics of course, was something along the lines of  "So, do you have a job lined up?"

The answer was "no" but that sounds weird in this day and age so I would go "Well, actually I have a job. I write freelance copy for webpages and can do that from home..." and I would go on to explain that it was sufficient for the moment.

One of my dreams in life was to be able to stay home and write. Okay, it's kind of a recent dream. Since I was in Russia last time really. When we lived in Ohio, one of the things Robbie and I discussed was me quitting my job and writing full time. Honestly though, I was kind of scared. I more or less enjoyed the job I had and the money I made paid a few small bills and then mostly went to us doing fun stuff. It was nice. So the idea of dropping it to go full time with a freelance job/my own writing, that doesn't have anywhere near a steady schedule was a little intimidating. When we decided to move, we also it would be a good idea to try this writing thing for a while.

So here we are, two months in and my day involves sleeping in, (Robbie works afternoons) and taking care of the house, doing the odd writing job and reading. Okay, I'm not going to lie, I've probably read something like 15 books since we left Ohio. "What a great life you must lead" you might be thinking. "How wonderful that you can just stay in bed if you want, you can go to work in your pajamas!"

That's right. Except I don't. Why? you might ask. Because it's a terrible idea. You see, I am a naturally lazy person. I've realized this as I've become an adult. I mean, working it nice. It makes you money and money buys you things, but honestly, I'd rather have my time. Time to do things. So, if Abigail were to stay in her pajamas all day, she would get nothing done. She would sit in front of the TV eating bon bons and watching Lifetime movies all day, if she even bothered to get out of bed. (Okay, not gonna lie that happens sometimes now anyway. Except for the Lifetime movies part. I'm rather partial to documentaries.)

So, we've kind of gotten into this routine. Yeah, I sleep in but it's generally because at our house we're up late. Plus I get to spend some morning cuddle time before Robbie has to go to work. But when it's time to get up, It's time to get up. Even when I feel like just laying in bed all day, I will still get up and get fully dressed. Usually in jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't matter. When I'm up and dressed, my body knows it's business time, whether the next thing on my list is walking the dogs, doing the dishes, packing a lunch or writing.

As weird as it sounds, getting dressed is the most important part of my day. Without it, the dishes wouldn't get done, the dogs wouldn't get walked, nothing would ever get clean and I'd never get any work done. Plus, making that effort makes me feel better about myself and makes me feel like, even if nothing else gets done because of some random act of God, at least I've accomplished one thing today.

The Indy 500

So, I've decided to treat our move here as if it were a cultural experience on the level of Russia. It's been a rough transition so perhaps if I think of it that way, it'll help with the adjustment.

Anyway, Memorial Day weekend, Robbie and I got invited to go with his best friend and some other people to the Indy 500. For those of you who don't know, it's a race. With cars. But not cars. More about that shortly however.

Robbie's been and I guess if you live near Indianapolis you go at least once and then (especially if you live near the racetrack) you spend every other year hiding and waiting for traffic to clear. In any case I said "Sure, let's go. It'll be an adventure." So we did.

On the way to the track, Robbie explained to me a little about racing since apparently everyone in Indy knows all about it by osmosis. Me, not having that benefit, had to be educated. I learned that there are different colored flags for different things (Green means go, yellow means follow the pace car) and that while the Indy 500 is 500 miles (Which I did know) it's actually only 200 laps around the track. I asked Robbie how long it would take for them to race. "Oh probably about two hours." I didn't realize how fast those cars go. I was also informed that approximately 200,000 people show up for this shindig.

We decided to park at my in-laws because they conveniently live a semi-short walk away from the track (Although Robbie spent a good amount of time telling me how the walk used to be even shorter but this company called Allison Transmission bought the road that went directly to the track from the city and basically commandeered it so now everyone had to walk clear around. You learn fascinating things from the locals.) In the long run, it was a smart decision because we didn't have to pay for parking. I said it'd be no big deal to walk there and Robbie informed me that it wasn't the walk there that was rough, it was the walk back.

It wasn't hard to find the track. We just joined the great exodus of people. Which got bigger, and bigger and bigger the closer to the track we got. Once we got near the track, our first task was to find the rest of our group and thus was the first of many interesting conversation I was to have with my husband over the next several hours.

Me: Where did they say they were?
Robbie: Two o'clock on the round about.
Me: *Looking in that general direction How are we going to find them in this seething mass of humani...
Robbie: There they are!

So we met with our group and headed into the track. When you go to the Indy 500, you are allowed one cooler and one backpack per person. I had a backpack, our friends had coolers. We were told to go through this special line where they were checking these things. After making our way through the line without being checked (I have no idea...) we were in the stadium proper. Not gonna lie, it was pretty impressive. When they told me track, I was thinking track like for the sulky races at the far. You have a seat on any one of the bleachers and you can see the whole thing. These were our seats:

This is turn one. Yes. Turn one. There are four turns total.

This was from our seats looking in the other direction. You can't really see it but at the other end is turn 4.

Yeah, so basically this thing was huge. We had amazing seats. Right in the middle of turns 1 and 4. In the shade which was epic and believe it or not, that metal thing that was our little shady roof had more bleachers. I was told you could see the whole track from those top bleachers, but you also had to sit in the sun. I was glad we had the shade. 

There was a lot of announcing and fanfare before the race started. A tribute to America's armed forces, many patriotic songs, A song about Indiana. It was cool to hear America the Beautiful and God Bless America sung since you don't hear those songs sung much. Florence Henderson (Mrs. Brady) sang God Bless America and Jordan Sparks sang the national anthem. They introduced all the drivers and I also got to see Jeff Gordon. Okay, it was a ways away but it was still pretty cool. 

While we were waiting for things to get started, Robbie continued to tell me about the Indy 500 and we had yet another epic Abigail moment.

Robbie: Yeah, so this is different than NASCAR

Me: Wait, this isn't NASCAR?

Robbie: No, NASCAR uses more like regular cars and these aren't.

Me: So this is more like drag racing? Wait are there parachutes?

(People in front of us turn around and give us an odd look)

Robbie: Just be quiet...

I'm not an idiot I promise. I just am not familiar with these sports, although in my defense as soon as he said that about NASCAR, that clicked in my head. I've seen bits and pieces and realized that yeah, they do use more regular cars. 

Finally, after lots of waiting, the track was cleared, the racers were strapped in and a woman was brought to the microphone to utter those immortal words "Drivers, start your engines." I put on my ear protectors that my husband kindly brought for me and the engines went on. The drone of a billion bees could be heard. Seriously that's what it sounded like. The whole stadium was vibrating with the sound of it. I was super excited.

The flag was waved and the cars went off. Slowly. I looked at Robbie. "That was it? That wasn't very impressive" He replied that they did a couple of warm up laps first.Well, right off the bat, a couple turned into something like five. There was a car that immediately caught fire and a wreck so the race was off to a slow start. Eventually though, the green flag was waved and the race actually began. 

I had been joking about seeing a crash but let me tell you what, this years race was ridiculous. There were something like six crashes and a couple of pit crew members even got hit. (Link to Article About Pit Crew with Footage) It was insane. It was exciting though, even the not so exciting part in the middle. Once the cars got up to speed and spread out, the hum of the engines was almost constant, vibrating you, your water bottle, the stands and so on. In some ways, that was my favorite part. You're sitting there with ear protectors on and the engines are so intense that you can still hear them and feel them. It was really cool!

Eventually, we fell into this rhythm. Watch the cars come around the fourth turn, watch them as they go by, watch them go around turn one and then watch them on the giant TV screen as the go around turns 2 and 3. Then you pick them up live again at turn four. 

The race is intense the whole way, but where it really gets intense is toward the end. I felt kind of bad because there was this huge group of people sitting in front of us who were part of this one racing team. The driver was doing super well the whole race and then around like two thirds of the way through he crashed. He was okay, but his car wasn't and so he was out of the race. 

Even if you're not a racing fan, the last twenty or so laps are exciting. Everyone is trying to maneuver and so there's a lot of back and forth between the top racers. Robbie's best friend wanted a guy named Powers to win because he'd won the race twice already. Winning it a third and coming back next year for the 100th race to try and win it a fourth time would make for great marketing according to John. 

So there we are, it's getting down to the wire and suddenly there's this three car crash. So it's close to the end and everyone has to follow the pace car while they're cleaning things up. Robbie tells me that he hopes they don't end on a yellow flag because that's a lot more anticlimactic ( I mean really, who wants to finish a race not going full speed.)

Thankfully though, the mess got cleaned up before the end. It was a very dramatic finish and Juan Pablo Montoya ended up winning. It was kind of funny that he won because apparently the first time Robbie ever saw the Indy 500, Montoya won as well. After the race I looked at him and said "Well Robbie, you've come full circle. Montoya won the first time you came to the race and Montoya won today. Now you never have to come back."

The crowds dispersed pretty quickly after the race ended. And Robbie was right, the walk back was terrible.

Cornfields and Trains

So it's been a while. I know. I had a rough transition back to the States. I actually have three or four blog posts that are sitting here in draft form from after I got back that I couldn't finish. Perhaps someday.

In the meantime, the latest news is that I'm now in the great state of Indiana. We moved her for my husband's job. Our apartment complex is smack dab in the middle of cornfields off of  "county road 250" and the closest object of interest are train tracks about half a mile down the road. In either direction.

You can't make this stuff up.

I always thought where I grew up in Ohio was rural. Just kidding.

But anyway, the most positive thing about this experience so far is that when we moved here, we decided that Abigail needs to work on her writing. I've been doing freelance work for an advertising company out of Canton so that brings some money in and then in between unpacking boxes, walking our dogs and watching ridiculous YouTube videos, I write for myself. That aspect of it I like.

I like being able to set my schedule and do something that I love. When I was in Russia one thing I wrote in my journal is that the desire of my heart was to be able to stay home and write. Looks like God's given me just that opportunity.

So stay tuned for more about writing, life and the culture shock of switching states.

12 Hours

Twelveish hours from now, I will be on a plane leaving Russia.  Today was my last day at church. Yesterday was my last day in the city in the sense of walking around and seeing things.

The last couple weeks have been interesting. I don't know if I can really do a good job of describing the emotions that go along with it. Or lack thereof. 

For about a week and a half I was depressed. I didn't want to be social, it was difficult to even be at the church because it physically hurt. I spent the last year getting to know people and becoming part of the church family here and leaving them is really hard. 

I wasn't feeling numb exactly. My best friend told me that I sounded "dull" not dull as in "Oh gosh Abigail are you going to whine about leaving some more? how dull!" but dull as in my emotions exist but they aren't quite sharp or bright. 

I think some of the reason for this feeling is I feel like I haven't really had a chance to process it, or grieve. Every time I feel like I want to cry or get upset about leaving, I find myself controlling it. I imagine once I get home I'll feel like I can afford the luxury of being upset. 

People ask me what my next step is. Honestly, I have no idea. I have a better idea of what I want to be doing than before I came, but I still don't know what's going to work out. All I know is that I want to sleep for a while. Not the sleep of jet lag. That's a given. But I just feel weary. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually and physically. Sleep sounds really good right now. Especially since I haven't been sleeping well nights the past two weeks, although that has gotten somewhat better. It's weird to think that this time "tomorrow" i.e. Eastern Time. I'll be home. Weird to think I'll be back in "my" culture, although I know it won't feel completely like mine. Not for a while. The past month or so, I've realized that people will post references to things on Facebook and I don't get them. I just look at it and am like "What in the world are they talking about." In a way it's kind of nice. Facebook "connects" people, not getting the cultural references makes me feel not connected. I actually don't mind the feeling. The world is too noisy sometimes.

Anyway, I guess that's really all I have to say about that. I feel like I didn't do a good job explaining my state of mind, but since I'm feeling a little surreal and a little dull, perhaps I can reflect on it better once I get home...

My Friend Peter

Throughout the course of the year because of my various English students I have had the pleasure of reading the Gospel of Mark twice, John once and selections from Luke and Matthew. Throughout this year, I have come to realize that one of my all time favorite Bible characters is Peter.

Often when we say the name Peter, several things come to mind. The first is Peter the Saint. The guy with the keys to the kingdom who is responsible for letting people into Heaven. Another image is the guy who was insisted he'd never deny Jesus, only to do so quite effectively several hours after his statement. Sometimes his name also evokes the image of the guy who was brave enough to get out of the boat but didn't have enough faith to keep walking on water, or took his eyes off Jesus, and started to drown. Peter has been an object lesson for Sunday schools and sermons for years and years.

And I am pleased to tell you that since I have been following his escapades throughout three of the four gospels, I've gotten to know him in quite a different way the past year.

Peter suffers from the same terminal condition we all do -- humanity. I think sometimes Peter gets a bad rap in some of his stories because we don't look at the whole picture. Here was Peters issue. I think he was a guy who often spoke before he really thought things through. Look at the examples and it makes sense.

Jesus: "Hey you! Yeah, you! Come with me and you're gonna be catching some men."
Peter: "Okay!" *drops nets; follows Jesus*

On a mountain with James, John and Jesus:
*Elijah and Moses Appear. Everyone Shocked and Awed*
Peter: "What in the world?! Dude, we need to build these guys some shelters!"

Last Supper:
Jesus: "You're all going to abandon me"
Peter: "I'm never gonna leave you, bro!"
*Open mouth, insert foot.*

Deciding to go to Jerusalem:
Peter: "Are you insane?! You're gonna get killed if we go to Jerusalem!"

Sea of Galilee:
Peter: "If it's really you man, let me come out to you!"

By the way, this gave me a whole new perspective on the Bible lesson about taking your eyes of Jesus. The book of Matthew talks about Peter seeing the wind, and becoming afraid. Honestly, I think what happened during this event was all of a sudden, Peter realized what he was doing and started freaking out which shook the faith that was keeping him on the water in the first place. That seems pretty likely to me. I mean, that's how I'd feel anyway.

From what I can tell, Peter was a man of action. Look at how he reacted when Jesus was arrested. He cut off a guy's ear first thing. I think he tended to react before really thinking, before really taking the time to process. As a result, he was often sticking his foot in his mouth. But at the same time, deep down his intentions were good. Which is part of the Lord's patience with him I think. I mean never once does Jesus rebuke Peter for being so quick tempered and thoughtless. For being so passionate. Instead, I see their relationship almost as like someone teaching a child. "Well Peter, you are going to deny me. Three times actually." It's not like Jesus is like "Hey, you're an idiot. You have no idea what you're talking about." I mean not like Jesus would do that anyway, but it just amazes me the patience Jesus had with him.

And I can see why Jesus was tight with Peter, why he changed his name to "rock" in the first place. He saw Peters passion, his zealousness, his willingness to do what it takes, his desire and sure, Peter could be impulsive at times, but there were times it served him well. Besides, I imagine Jesus constantly teaching him lessons when he would burst out saying things for three years did a lot to temper Peter's reactions. Or maybe not because he and Paul did have that argument some years later. And I imagine, that could've stemmed from some of Peter's "speaking before thinking" nature.

I think that's why Peter's become one of my favorite characters. The same reasons Jesus probably chose him to deal with the Jewish expansion of Christianity. The guy has passion, drive, good intentions and just the fact that the things he says stem from his human nature, just make him more relateable. He's just an all around cool guy. 

Learning to Love

I was thinking about love the other day. I never knew it was possible to feel so full of love. I think real love was something that was missing from my life back home.Not that I didn't love, I just didn't love then like I love now. Love that's a giving, a taking, a deep seated feeling. I was thinking about the love I have for the sisters here. Things aren't always good. It's been a rough time in St. Petersburg lately. Yet, things were talked about, discussed, dealt with and I find myself coming out of a distressing situation full of peace and love. Peace, love and contentment. We all make mistakes, we all fall, and there's this point where you have to recognize that everyone is human. We're not perfect. Sure, a situation might cause anger, pain and hurt and those are valid feelings. But if you work through them, on the other side you'll find a deep sense of calm.

I feel full of love in these days. The power and beauty of it makes me want to weep. The problem with the English language is that we only have one word to describe love, and that one word isn't a very good description in the first place because of the way our culture defines it. For our culture, love is a feeling. It's butterflies, roses and unicorns. It's flowers, chocolate and kissing in the rain. It's sex and orgasm. In our culture, love is a fickle thing. A feeling we become addicted to and then when it's gone we feel empty, lonely, broken and try to pursue it elsewhere.

But that's not true love. True love isn't just about a man and a woman. True love is still a feeling, but it's a feeling of calm, of security. It's loving people in spite of their faults. True love is a glue that binds people together. True love is not the same as compassion, though they are connected in a way. True love grows, multiplies and flourishes. It makes better whatever it touches. True love is warmth and light and shared experience. It's wanting what's best for those around you, though it isn't something that makes you feel put down and used. If you have true love it will make you better; make you want to reach out and share what you have with others. They always say that the more love you give the more you have, which is true in a sense. Love is not a selfish thing, it's meant to be shared. Yet I like to think of it a little differently. I've discovered that the more love you give, the deeper and more profound your own becomes. Perhaps bigger is a good word to describe it.

I think of it as an underground spring, bubbling from down deep and coming up to spread out and create a lake. That's how it feels inside of me. And you just want everyone to come and jump in and experience the same thing. To have their own spring of love inside of them. 

True love connects people. 

True love is Joy. 

True love is a Son sent to die for all of us. 

Philosophies of Cranberry Gathering

I went to gather cranberries on Monday. It's a Russian thing to do, gather berries. It's cool actually, there's this whole aspect of Russian culture where it's a big deal to go out to the forest and gather berries and mushrooms. Everyone knows all the types of mushrooms and berries, everyone knows places to find them outside of the city and everyone is shocked that we don't do this sort of thing in the United States.

In some ways it's really sad that we don't. I know a little about berry picking and wild plant picking. As a child growing up on the family farm I remember mom showing me where to find the raspberry bushes, picking mulberries and sucking on clover as I wandered through the fields. Although, I definitely wasn't super intense about it. I remember one time I picked and picked mulberries only to realize it would never be enough to make a pie. I make ink instead and that combined with an opened paper bag, gave me several hours of entertainment.

So I went with some of my church family to the woods outside the city where Dima knew of a cranberry bog. My favorite part was tromping through the woods too and from the bog.

Russian nature has a wildness about it, a lot like places in America's west or in Alaska, I imagine. In any case, being a nature person I was eating it up. I was felt like a five year old, tromping behind Dima and Sergei, stopping to occasionally pick a berry and eat it. Pausing to take a picture and make sure Oleg and Natasha were still following behind me.

Eventually, what seemed like a long time of wandering, the trees thinned and we started spotting cranberries. Eventually the trees disappeared completely and opened out into a large field. A cranberry field. Bog. Whatever. Let me tell you, this isn't like the cranberry bog on the ocean spray commercials either where the guy in waders is standing up to his knees in water with cranberries floating all around him, just waiting to be scooped up. This was a field of, well basically swamp. There were cranberries, but you have to find the patches. The water wasn't too deep, but you had to be careful because if you stood in one place too long, it would make movement difficult. You'd have to pull your feet out and risk the chance of loosing your balance.

But let me tell you what, bending over in a cranberry field with water over the ankles of your rubber boots focusing on nothing but the little red berries in front of you can make you think some pretty philosophical thoughts.

I decided it's kind of sad we don't do this sort of thing in the States. Because getting out into nature feels really good and it's an earthy feeling. I'm not sure how to describe it exactly, but gathering cranberries connects you to people, if that even makes sense. Even though the people I was with were spread across the field and we didn't talk while we gathered, I still felt connected. Connected to them, to the strangers along side us, who were engaged in the same activity we were and connected to people I've never known. Connected to Babushki who supplement their pensions by gathering berries and selling them, connected to people from past years and past times. Though my ancestors weren't Russian, there was a connection to them as well. A connection that something as basic as gathering berries creates. I thought about how important this activity was to past generations and how it's important to Russians now, though maybe for different reasons. It's connected to tradition, connected to survival. It was a good feeling.

I was quite philosophical about the whole thing for the first two and a half hours. After that, I was ready to go do something else (wander the woods anyone?) we actually didn't stay much longer than that as everyone was getting tired. So we tromped back through the woods and headed back to the city. I gave my cranberries away to friends as I didn't really know what to do with them, and customs wasn't going to let me bring them home in a preserved state, but it's alright because just having the experience and the connection was an experience in itself.

40 Days

Okay, actually it's 38 days. I'm a little behind. But 40 is a much more Biblical number than 38. How many years did the Israelites wander in the desert? How many days and nights did it rain during the great flood?

See what I mean?

Anyway, so with not quite a month left, I'm in this transition phase. Let me tell you, it's an awkward phase too. I go through stages where I feel torn in two. It's like I want to stay here but a part of me really needs to be home for a while. I'm tired spiritually, mentally and physically.

I have trouble focusing. There's a part of me that's disengaging from events and happenings here because I'm not going to be around to see their completion, but there's a part of me that also doesn't feel engaged in the events back home because I've been gone so long.

Although it's not like I'm just completely going to disappear and never talk to people here again. The visa laws are changing. As of September 9th, I'll be able to get a Russian visa that's good for something like three years. I've already determined to apply for one when I get home. That way if I want to come back to Russia, all I have to do is buy a ticket. I told Igor today I'd be happy to continue helping to translate/edit the English articles for ITCM and the newspaper "In Christ" even when I'm back in the States. In addition, I'm planning on taking some more courses with the Institute (They have one on the first five books of the Old Testament starting on the 10th of September). Plus I'm trying to figure out a way and means to come back and visit maybe sometime next summer.

Russia's part of me, these people are part of me. I can't just up and forget that this year ever happened (I tried to do that as a coping strategy for leaving Yakutsk. It was interesting times.) It's hard to when people come up to you and say things like "When are you coming back?" or "Why don't you just renew your visa, raise some more support and come back." They mean well and I love them for it because it's a sign that they're going to miss me, that I'm part of this family. It's hard though too because they bring up good points. I honestly don't know what I'm doing when I get back home. So when they talk about these things a part of me goes "You know, that's a really good point."

But at the same time I'm like "Yeah, but you need to be home for a bit, need to figure out what the next steps are."

The whole situation is just confusing and honestly, makes me a little crazy. You can ask my best friend who has told me talking to me on the phone is a little like being at an amusement park. Happy. Sad. Happy. Sad. Annnndd... we're back on the roller coaster.

I was reading through my reverse culture shock posts from the first time I came back from Russia. It was a nice reminder of what I have to look forward too. At the same time, I was sitting there thinking "I don't think I'm going to have the same feelings about some of this." So that'll be interesting to see.

I guess that's all I really have to say. It's kind of funny because my calendar has switched from Russian events to American events. It's no longer "Well on such and such a date I'll be studying with so and so" Instead it's, "Well on such and such a date I'll be giving my mission presentation to such and such a congregation." I've already been working on that too, which feels weird. I want to get it done so I don't have to worry about it that first week back because I'll be super busy, but at the same time it sometimes feels really strange to be working on it and thinking "I'm going to be back in the States."

Adventures in Cooking

I don't cook.

That's what I tell people.

It's not that I can't. I can read a recipe, I can figure it out.

Okay, there was that time mom asked me to boil eggs and I freaked out because I'd never boiled an egg before in my life and was terrified of messing it up somehow. But that was last year a long time ago.

Anyway, I think part of the reason I don't cook a lot, is because I've never really had to do it to survive. Also because I'm lazy.

Part of it is that it's really hard to cook when you don't have your own kitchen. In college, I wanted to cook more so I got a set of pans for Christmas. It was a pain however, to haul them down to the communal dorm kitchen every time I wanted to make something and so more often than not, I just at those epic frozen meals from Amy's Kitchen.

I cooked exactly once at the apartment where I lived here in Russia. See, the thing is that I learn by watching. Especially when it comes to cooking. If I see the process that goes into making something. I can pretty much duplicate it. But here's the other thing. When I'm unsure about practicing something new, I don't like other people to be around. I guess I'm just weird like that. So part of the reason I never cooked when I rented that room was because more often than not my landlady would be sitting in the kitchen crocheting away like Madame Defarge, except instead of watching the trials of the French Revolution, she was watching the Russian News. Okay, so there's not really a difference.

So that combined with the fact that the few times I made tea there, I fumbled with turning on the gas stove's heat and my landlady reached over and just did it for me. (The worst thing she could do to someone who learns by experience because then I felt stupid) Made me decide I just wasn't going to cook there. Cue the "Ten months of eating at various cafes" montage. Okay, I did *some* cooking at the church.

It wasn't until just before coming to Russia that I realized how much I could get to enjoying cooking. Plus, since being here I've discovered more about the joys of not really following a recipe and that's fun too. Maybe I oversimplify, but I have this feeling of if you know the technique the food just kind of cooks itself. Weird, I know.

The other exciting thing is when I make something that tastes pretty decent. Okay, I've had my share of sticky noodles, or tortillas that weren't fried quite right and I definitely don't cook like my mom but I am quite proud of the results. Even if it looks a mess.

Actually, that might be the most entertaining thing. To look at me in the kitchen you'd probably think I'm insane. You know those people who are super awesome at cooking and hardly spill anything and then say they do spill salt, it's like the salt just piles right up in a nice neat little pyramid, waiting to be cleaned up. Yeah, that's not me.

Today for example (And what prompted this post in the first place) I made baked chicken. So there I am with these four boneless skinless chicken breasts that I wasn't even sure were chicken in the first place because they were just labeled "BIRD" with a word underneath that I didn't understand (Yeah, the other reason I don't always cook in Russia is because every time I do, it involves a lot more thought than it would in the states. "Wait? Is this ground beef? Why isn't it labeled ground beef? What do you mean this could be lamb?") that was definitely not the word "CHICKEN." Anyway, I'm staring at them trying to figure out the best way of coating them in mayonnaise and the breadcrumby things I bought.

After a while of staring them down, waiting for them to just do it themselves, I poured the breadcrumbs on a plate and got to working. There was mayo on the the chicken, mayo on the cutting board, breadcrumbs in the sink, me trying to figure out what exactly I'm doing, bits of chicken that needed to be cut away and me stopping every five seconds to wash my hands because I'm terrified I'm going to spread ebola e coli on to every surface of the kitchen and throughout the entire church and we're all going to die or go blind or something. (This weird quirk to my personality started when I was a young impressionable child and my mother was attempting to teach me the womanly skill of cooking. The first time I handled meat I remember her saying "Now make sure you wash your hands and everything real good after you handle raw meat because you don't want to get sick" which my brain heard as "IF YOU DON'T WASH DOWN EVERYTHING YOU HAVE TOUCHED AFTER HANDLING RAW MEAT AND EVERYTHING THE RAW MEAT HAS TOUCHED IN A CHEMICAL BATH AND BLEACH, THEN SEAL IT IN A VACUUM AND IRRADIATE IT, YOU AND THOSE YOU LOVE WILL DIE A TERRIBLE DEATH!" This was then followed by an ominous soundtrack in my head accompanied by a montage of me wandering the wilderness as a pariah after single-handedly destroying all of known civilization because of the mishandlement of a raw beef patty.)

Needless to say, the point I'm trying to make here is that I'm not exactly neat when it comes to cooking. One of my favorite things to make at home is blini which are the Russian version of crepe or pancakes. That's always an interesting endeavor because it involves flour, eggshells, milk, a blender and in the midst of the carnage, me wildly flipping blini right and left so they are cooked to golden perfection.

Add to that, the fact that chicken is one of the most difficult things for me to cook and it's always an interesting time. It's not that chicken is particularly hard to cook, it's just that it's one of those foods that I have trouble telling when it's actually done. The result is that by the time the chicken is ready to be eaten it's in about twice as many pieces as when I started and looking like it's been through the war. But my goodness, it's better for it to look like it's on the way to becoming baby food than for me to serve up anything raw, right? *Grabs the Clorox and wipes everything down once more just for good measure.* Although even with the chicken being cooked, I can still hear Gordon Ramsey screaming expletives in the back of my head because of the way the blanking chicken wouldn't even be fit to serve my blanking grandmother who has blanking Alzheimer's. Or something along those lines.

The good news in all of this is that despite the way the chicken looked, it turned out to be quite tasty and I will be eating chicken for the next several days which will hopefully satisfy the craving that started this all in the first place. 

Proof

The following videos are proof of the singing school. Not that you all doubted, I just thought it would be fun to share them with you. The first is my favorite song that we learned that week and the second... well... the second is what really was going on during the week. :)

Strangers and Foreigners

I moved out of my little room today. I was going to be house sitting for the Joel's family while they were in the States but their daughter has been having seizures and so they cancelled. This event has changed plans and my life is a little bit uncertain right now, since I've moved, but am not sure where exactly I am going to be living for the next month. As I told friends and family on the phone last night, I'm not really worried about having a place to live. God has provided in the past, He's never left me in the cold (literally) so I know it'll work out. I'm just very concerned about Donna so I ask that you keep her and the family in your prayers as tests are being run and the doctors try to figure out how to help her.

In light of these events, I was thinking about the uncertainties of life, of being a gypsy and of what the Bible says about being foreign. I guess it all kind of connected in my head, but I apologize if it comes out sounding disjointed here.

The ten months I have been in St. Petersburg have been filled with uncertainties. I mean life has uncertainties anyway, but I feel like living here on my own has given me more uncertainties than most. While the place I lived was generally fine, there were times I didn't feel like I could completely relax. There were times, where I haven't known what I'm doing the next few hours let alone the next day. Russia has a tendency to change plans on you.

But you know, Jesus was the same way. In Luke 9:58, Jesus talks about how he has no place to rest his head. And talk about giving up everything. I mean, even if you don't believe Jesus was the Son of God, you've got to give the man credit. At 30 years old, he left the family carpentry shop and gave up his lifestyle to spend the next three years wandering around and proclaiming what he believed in. How many people today would actually do that?

Then you have Paul. This guy had it all. He was a Pharisee, well educated and then he has this experience on the road to Damascus and he gives up everything to spend the rest of his life spreading the news that the Messiah had come and being persecuted for it. I could go into detail here about Paul's sufferings but that's not really my point here.

If Jesus and Paul could learn to live by wandering, so can I. I'm not saying I'm anything compared to them. Not by any means, but what I am saying is they are examples to me and I feel like these ten months have led me to better understand what it's like to have no place to rest one's head. For ten months, I have been living in a state of limbo.

"Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household" ~ Ephesians 2:19

You know, it's funny. Sometimes we read the scriptures so many times that they become rote. I was thinking about this scripture today and it's taken on a new meaning for me. Paul wrote this to the Gentiles. The people who even if they converted to Judaism, would never be completely Jewish. Think about how much hearing these words meant to a people who were excluded.

I have spent two years of my life as a foreigner. It is one of the most confusing feelings in the world. You live in a place that is not your own. A culture that is not yours. Oh sure, you can try to become one with the people of your adopted country, but you never will be. I've had moments where people say things like "You don't count as American, you're one of us." But then the next moment you turn around and it's like "Well, you wouldn't understand because you're foreign."

You are never completely at home living here, but when you go back to your "real culture" you don't feel completely comfortable there either. And I'm just saying this based on my limited experience. I'm sure people who've lived overseas longer could tell you a lot more about it.

My point is that I can understand this feeling. The feeling that people in your adopted country don't completely understand you and the feeling that the people back home don't completely understand you either. My point is that I can understand this feeling of a people looking for acceptance and finally finding it in Christ. I can understand the feeling of being a wanderer and finally coming to a place of security and rest. Praise God for that. 

The Joys of Traveling

I have come to a realization. I hate traveling.

I'll pause a minute while the laughter dies down.

I agree, I think it's funny too, that the girl who has constant wanderlust, frequently goes walkabout and lives in Russia hates traveling. But I really do.

I like adventuring. I like seeing new places and doing new things but what I don't like? Getting there.

I feel like I'm pretty well versed in traveling. Especially since I've had to travel a lot for my visa this year. Planes, trains, cars, buses. Pretty much the only way I haven't really traveled is by boat. I'll have to remedy that situation.

I used to absolutely loathe flying. It was my least favorite way to travel. You sit for eight hours breathing recycled air and watching bad movies while the guy next to you snores away and keeps invading your personal space by taking over the armrest on that side. (okay, this is actually a problem I've noticed on other transportation types as well.) If you're lucky you get an aisle seat that allows you to kind of stretch your legs a bit. If you're not, you're crammed in by a window for all that time which would be cool except this is an airplane we're talking about and so it's not like there's anything to see out the window anyway. That's one of the worst things about airplanes. You spend eight hours feeling like you aren't going anywhere. Yet the advantage is that airplanes are relatively fast. So after eight hours of this joyful journey, you stumble into the light of day in a completely different country, completely confused by what time it is (And if you're like me, you run panicked to the gate where you're next flight is because you think you're late when in reality you really have a four hour layover) and completely dead tired because between the guy next to you and the can of coke you drank, sleep on the plane did not happen.

As bad as the airplane is though, it has recently been replaced in my mind by something even worse... the train. Now I've traveled on the train before and it's not been too terrible, but honestly, the worst time to travel on the train is summer. I recently got back from a trip to Donetsk, Ukraine and train travel was involved. The ride down was absolutely terrible. Stuck in a wagon for 18 hours with no air conditioner and only one open window in the entire wagon. For some reason, everyone else thought it would be a great idea to not open their windows and so I spend 18 hours melting and dehydrating. It was definitely a unique experience. Especially when you combine it with the way Russians travel. You have babushki setting out picnics and people running around half naked. I mean, what else are you supposed to do? Not to mention the lovely toilet experience which is ridiculously scary.

I've developed a coping strategy for traveling. Especially because I travel alone a lot. Basically, I put in my music, and mentally shut down for however long it takes to get where I'm going. Actually, mentally shut down isn't quite the word for it. It's not like I'm not thinking or anything, but I kind of shut down to the outside and think very philosophical thoughts. Okay, Okay, I'll admit it. I'm usually just daydreaming.

One of my favorite ways to travel in this part of the world is by Luxe Express. Now Luxe Express is a bus, but I call it by it's name because it's not your ordinary Greyhound. Luxe Express is a company that runs buses through the Baltic States. When I go to Estonia I take Luxe Express. Why? Well because they are comfy, roomy, I can drink all the coffee, tea and hot chocolate I want absolutely free and they have free wi-fi on the bus. Yes, that's right. Free wi-fi.

None of this applies of course if I'm traveling *with* someone, because let's face it, having a traveling companion or companions is what turns a trip into an adventure.

Summertime

I feel like I owe you all a more substantial post. During my last post, I was all set to write everything out and make a point, but I got tired halfway through so it was like "eh." I haven't felt much like writing of late. I think it's because the unordinary has become ordinary. Or something.

Summertime is a slower time and I've enjoyed that. Most of the evening activities at the church have slowed down for the moment, so I've been engaged in a lot of individual studies. There are lots of people wanting to learn English, but it's difficult to get them going from English to Bible, even though the texts we use are Biblical. Even though I like interacting with people, I've discovered that my least favorite thing to do is study English using Biblical texts. Maybe because it just feels weird to me, or maybe because I feel like I'm not doing a good job. What I do when I feel that way, is focus on the little things. A particularly good conversation, gifting a Bible, making people think. This last one especially is what I strive to do every time I meet with someone.

I've also gotten the opportunity to do some traveling this summer. As I mentioned in my last post, I spent a week at camp in Estonia and tomorrow I'm heading to Donetsk, Ukraine where I will be participating in the annual Singing School held there. It's a chance for Russian Christians to learn new songs, singing in parts, and music theory and practice. It should be an interesting experience.

One thing I've been trying to deal with recently, and maybe this is why I've not felt much like writing, is the fact that I will be heading home in 80 days, for those of you (Like me) who don't feel like calculating it out, I'm leaving October 8th. This is one thing I'm not looking forward too. Okay, that's not entirely true. I'm looking forward to seeing my family and friends, but it's going to be really really hard to leave here. I've spent the last year integrating, building relationships and now it's like "peace out." Whether I were to go home or stay here, I'm disappointing people and so either way I feel kind of like a jerk. In addition to that aspect of leaving, there's the whole transition aspect. I'm not particularly looking forward to that either. I know it's going to be rough for a while.

So what do the next 80 days look like? Well when I get back from the Singing School, I'm going to be packing my bags and moving out of this room. Yes, that's right you heard me. I'm going to be spending a month house-sitting for a family from church and I am super super excited about that. Especially since there have been some things happening around here in recent weeks that have just made me feel like it's time to go somewhere else (nothing dangerous, so no worries). In September, I will be moving back into the church building and spending my last month there. Funny, but it's like I'm coming full circle.

As to other things happening, well we'll see what pops up. There are some events happening, things to organize, people to study with, so we'll see. The key is to make the most of these 80 days. 

Adventures with Children Part 2

Those of you who read this post, you know about the relationship I have with children. You also may recall that back in May I went on a short trip to Estonia to relax for a few days. While I was there, I learned about Camp Balchyoca. This is a camp that takes place every year the first week of July. It is a Christian camp and is located just outside of Estonia. 

While in Estonia, I was invited to come to said camp in July and to herd counsel children. Now, knowing my previous experience with children I gave the most brilliant answer possible. "I'll think about it." And it was left at that. 

I really did think about it. In fact I thought about it on and off for weeks. Weighing the pros and the cons. I was like "It would be so nice to get out of the city for a week. " But then the thought of being a counselor for children just caused me stress. 

I then proceeded to talk about it with a dear friend of mine who coerced suggested I go. So I thought about it some more and one morning I quite literally woke up and decided that I should go. 

Let me tell you, it was an interesting experience. One thing about this camp is that a lot of Americans and Canadians come to help out with it. That was interesting, let me tell you what. The first night I get in, fresh off the bus and there's all these Americans and they're loud and they don't understand and it was just totally weird for me. It was also kind of funny. 

I was totally nervous about the whole thing before I left, but once I got there, the nervousness disappeared and I legit had no real expectations. When I asked about the kids who were staying in my cabin, Nicolaj, the camp director, informed me that I had difficult children and part of the reason I was assigned to them is because I speak Russian. I was like "Okay." All the while thinking They can't be that bad right?

hahahahaha.

Actually though it could've been a lot worse. Despite feeling like I did nothing but yell at people the first two days, it got better towards the end of the week. I hate feeling like I'm super mean and I feel like the girls probably hated me, but we survived and that's the important thing, right? 

Plus as an added bonus it was really nice to get out of the city and the daily grind for a while. Nice to be out in nature despite the massive amounts of mosquito bites and the sunburn. The camp was on the Baltic Sea and so even though it was too cold to swim, we still got to go and hang out on the beach every day which was awesome. It was a good time to hang out and talk with people, play games and play guitar. 

Generally, going to camp was a super good experience despite it not being something I would usually do. I'm proud of myself for getting out of my comfort zone and I hope to be able to return and help in the future. 

Another Day as a Russian Missionary

I haven't done this in a while so I thought you'd be interested. This is actually what a more "typical" day looks like for me.

11:45am: Arrive at the church building and get ready for my first English student.

12:00pm: Study with my first English student, a 14 year old girl who is here because her mother wants her to practice English while she's off school. Yeah, that makes for interesting times. It's a lot easier to study with people when they want to be here.

1:00pm: Alternately make noodles for lunch/eat them while calling my mom because I had news to share with her.

2:00pm: Another English student arrives. An older retired woman. She's very excited about English and though we are reading Luke, she enjoys talking about her life, travels and asking me questions. While she likes to talk, I'm not sure how interested in the Bible she is other than culturally.

3:00pm: My last student for the day arrives. A young businessman who has really good comprehension. This is my second meeting with him and we've started studying John. He tells me that it's interesting so far and he thinks everyone should read the Bible. I tell him that Christianity isn't just about going to church but about having a relationship with God.

4:00pm: I lay out clothes that people have donated to the church's "Second Hand" so that people can come look through them and take what they want.

5:00pm: I take care of some secretarial things. Writing blog entries, emails, Facebook communications

7:00pm: Choir rehearsal. This is the last rehearsal before our recording session on Saturday. We're making a CD to use for evangelism purposes. Once we're done with the recording, our summer break starts!

9:00pm: Head to McDonald's because I only had a quick lunch, no dinner and I'm starving!

10:00pm: Arrive home where I read, hang out, talk to friends in the states and relax.

Those Random Spiritual Gifts

You know which ones I'm talking about. Or that moment when you're like "That's my spiritual gift?!" Let me just say, God definitely does have a sense of humor.

If you told me a year or a year and a half ago that I had a spiritual gift for children I would've laughed at you. A lot. Because honestly, I couldn't see it. I'm still not sure I can. Maybe it's not exactly a spiritual gift, but it's something.

The reason I laugh about it is because children hate strongly dislike me. The feeling is sometimes mutual. I've never been one of those young women who children just flock to. Let me tell you, those are the women with the true spiritual gift for children. The ones who are just born to be motherly and have like six kids. The ones who know exactly what a child needs the minute it opens its mouth to cry. You know what I mean. There's at least one in every congregation. So if you know me, you know it's not me. Children and I avoid share an aloofness of each other. This partly stems from several experiences during my teenage years when I tried to be one of those girls who played with kids. It went something like this:

Me: Hey! Come give me a hug!
Kid: NO! *runs screaming in the other direction*

So I decided it was best for all involved if I just stopped trying. In addition, because I do not seem to possess this innate automatic sense of motherliness that so many women my age instinctively have, children terrify me cause me anxiety. The words "Will you hold the baby?" or "Will you watch him for a second?" strike fear into the depths of my heart. Because I just know I'm going to do something terrible to little Johnny or Susie somehow in the five minutes that mommy is gone. Okay, so I haven't dropped anyone on their head yet, but it's still an anxiety.

This is the relationship children and I have: They do not know I exist and I tend to watch them from afar. It works pretty well. And back home that was all I needed. Yeah, I helped Mom in the nursery class but outside of that there were plenty of other girls ready and willing to step in and partake of the childcare. Then I came to Russia. Suddenly, here I am, the one with free time and I become a baby sitter. "Can you watch Varya while I'm at driving school?" "Will you hold Ilya while I put this food in the oven?" And suddenly it's like my superpowers manifest themselves. I must've had a radioactive pacifier as a kid or something...

Because here we have the girl who doesn't do kids suddenly doing kids. And it's really strange. A crying baby put into my arms will stop. Like it's uncanny. Once children who pay no attention to me realize I exist, I'm like the coolest thing ever. I actually don't understand it. Both Sasha and Zhenya tell me that their children love "Totya Abigail" and after playing with Joel and Yana's kids during the marriage group after church yesterday I think I've become their daughter's new best friend.

I guess what puzzles me the most about this curse gift is that I don't understand why it happens. It's not like the more time I spend with kids the less anxiety they give me. I mean, it gets easier and I'm more comfortable once I get to know a kid or baby, but then every time I have to interact with kids who I've never interacted with before, the anxiety starts up all over again. It's almost like being back in school. "I don't know how to act. What if they don't like me? What if I can't connect with them? What if I do a terrible job?" I mean, I understand that kids are pretty flexible but still, it all comes out.

I'm still trying to get used to this gift, or whatever it is. Honestly, I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. I thought about getting myself some tights, a cape and a utility belt filled with bottles and pacifiers, but I'm not sure how well that would go over in reality...

God's Little Reminders

For those who don't know, my parents came to visit me last week. 

It was an interesting experience.

It was really fun to get to take a bit of a break and see things I've gotten used to through new eyes. It was also really nice to pretend that I wasn't in Russia and be a tourist for a while. I mean, obviously I'm still in Russia, but while they were here, I could kind of let go of the constant underlying stress that goes along with living here. 

I even got to stay at the hotel for a few nights, sleeping on the most comfortable rollaway bed I've ever experienced.(And trust me, I've experienced quite a few rollaway beds in my time.) But unfortunately, like all good things, it came to an end. 

Then I had culture shock. 

I know, right? It's really strange to think about. When my parents came it was strange because they were doing things that would've been fine in American culture, but were out of context in Russia. When they left it was like a slap in the face. *SMACK!* HEY! YOU LIVE IN RUSSIA DUMMY!

The hardest thing was going back to my room. Because now matter how you look at it, I'm living in someone else's house. What's even more difficult is that my landlady has had one of her daughters and two grandchildren staying there for the past week or so. This kind of changes the atmosphere of the apartment and strange people always cause me stress. 

So I'm at this point where I'm like "How am I going to be able to go back to living here for the next four months?" I don't *want* to live here for the next four months. I was really cranky about it the last two days too. *Grumblegrumble*yeahit'sherapartmentbutIwanteveryonetojustgoawayandleavemealone.

Yesterday I'm hanging up laundry in the hall and the little boy is playing with the silverware and his mom is alternately cooking dinner and screaming at him. You think I'm exaggerating. It's like the woman has two volumes. Screaming and super quiet. I mean, I can understand her being frustrated with the kid, but first he's just little and second your screaming is really unnecessary. 

I had an appointment this morning and when I came back my landlady and the guests were up. The little grandson stared at me as I came in and took off my jacket. My landlady reassured him and was like "Say hello to Auntie", but it was clear he was rather terrified of me. In Russia, any unknown man or woman are automatically called "Aunt" or "Uncle" by children. Older men and women are "Grandmother" and "Grandfather." I really enjoy getting to be an aunt of sorts.

In preparation to go to English group I pulled down half my laundry and put it away and was coming back for the second half when the little boy kicked a ball at me. I spent the next few minutes kicking it around with him while he just giggled and giggled. Apparently he got over his terror. (I'm also beginning to think God gave me a weird spiritual gift for children which is funny 'cause I'm not a huge kid person) So there we are playing a bit until his toddler attention span kicks off and away he goes. 

I finished getting ready and I leave my room to get my jacket and shoes on. While I'm standing there my new little friend shows up again, babbling incomprehensibly. The next thing I know, he pulls his jacket off the shelf and holds it up for me to help him into it. Little guy wanted to go with him. I explained that he needed to stay home and he disappeared into my landlady's room. I finished getting my stuff and just as I was closing the door behind me I hear a little voice go "AUNTIE!"

Today was a reminder. Even though I've been frustrated with the people in the apartment and living there, as I was pulling my laundry off the line there was something very comforting about my landlady's daughter greeting me as she came out of the bathroom, the sound of cartoons from the TV and people just getting ready for the day. There was joy in just taking a few minutes to play ball with a little boy. I don't know the details of his family or home, know he's probably too young to even remember me when I leave, but I do know that maybe, in a tiny way today I made an impression on his life. A young woman who took a moment to play with him. 

Victory Day

I can't exactly explain why, but Victory Day (День Победы) is my favorite Russian holiday. Perhaps it's the events or the atmosphere that hangs over the city and the people. I don't know, but I know it's a thrilling experience.

Victory Day takes place every year on May 9th and is a celebration of the end of WWII. Perhaps I like the holiday because people seem to really appreciate it. Not that we don't appreciate and honor our veterans in the States, but Russia lost so many people during World War II and I feel like people here still really strongly think about and remember it.

In any case, I was blessed to get to experience the parade honoring veterans that ran along Nevsky Prospekt with Luka, Natasha and Ira. Below is a four minute video of clips I took that day.