No longer living in the Motherland...

Quite unfortunately, my time in Russia has come to an end and I am back in the states (not for too long I hope).  I wish I had found the time, and the internet, to post more about the summer but, I didn't (and that is all there is to it).  I just wanted to write one last post for whoever may actually have been reading to say thanks for your time and I hope you enjoyed my sometimes long-winded and practically incoherent blog entries during my stint in the Russian Federation (yes, that is the official name of the country).  

In other news, I have actually become slightly addicted to the blogging habit and have started a new blog for my time in the states (however long it may last).  The blog address is: http://madelyninamerica.blogspot.com/  Clever, right?  Check it out if you are interested, but be warned, I doubt it will be anywhere near as entertaining as this blog has been because, well, it is rare that fabulous and unusual events occur in my stateside life.  

So, for now, Madelyn in Russia says, until we meet again and enjoy your time with Madelyn in America ;)

You can grow flowers from where dirt used to be.

11.July

“If you don’t eat that cabbage you won’t have any strength.  How will you travel?  What if you are on the cruise and suddenly you have to row a boat on the river?  You won’t be able to because you won’t have any strength because you didn’t eat that cabbage.” – r.mom

I adore the idea that whether or not I eat cabbage today will have a direct effect on my boat rowing abilities more than two weeks from now. 

I didn’t eat the cabbage.  I just couldn’t.  I’d already eaten a bowl of thick soup with meatballs, a large salad, a plate of berries and several slices of black bread with butter.  Not to mention, all I did today was sleep, so I burnt, lets say, 5 of the 500+ calories I consumed from blini alone this morning. 

Here’s to hoping I don’t have to row any boats any time soon.

In other news, it really is always raining (and dirty) in Moscow.  When I got home last night around midnight, all I wanted to do was bathe.  Luckily, by the grace of God (whose I’m not sure), our hot water was turned back on, get this, five days early!  That is what I call a miracle.  I was able not only to bathe, but shower, in hot water.  It was lovely. 

You may be asking, why was I in Moscow?  Granted, you probably aren’t, as you may or may not realize that I actually live in Vladimir, and not Moscow.  Wait, who are you anyway?  Perhaps for my own records then, I went to Moscow to do something I had up until yesterday, never gone to Moscow to do – go to the doctor.  Fun times. 

In April, I had the pleasure of attempting to treat a mysterious blood-urinating problem I was having in Vladimir.  After waiting in several lines, bringing a urine sample with me in an old jam jar to the hospital, and scoffing at an old Soviet doctor with a complex (as if they don’t all have complexes), I gave up on solving the mystery.  However, after an incredibly painful and sleepless night last week, I decided to try again – this time, in Moscow.  I went to a European medical clinic where they spoke English, used sanitary containers for the testing of bodily fluids, wore gloves, washed their hands, took credit cards and seemed as if they genuinely were in the business of curing patients.  However, the European Union flag and the name of “European Medical Center,” were a little misconstruing, as all but three of the doctors were French.  The ophthalmologist was British, and there were two Japanese doctors (which, take note, Japan is not even in Europe).  I think they ought to rename it the “French Medical Center.”  But, I suppose if they changed the sign to the French flag, people might get confused because it looks so similar to the Russian one. 

Name of the establishment aside, the experience was a good one.  The girls at the desk were friendly (no way, right?) and spoke understandable English.  The doctor took me into his office early (when does that ever happen in America, eh?), attentively listened to what I had to said, did a test, waited while I underwent another test, talked to me again, wrote me out a prescription, and said he would call me when the results (not instantaneous) of my other test came in (also, double checked my cell phone number in order to reach me).  Thus far, I do not know precisely why I’m having the problems I am, but the urinalysis did show that, in fact, there is blood in my urine, which makes me feel a lot less mentally unstable (at least when it comes to imagining health problems).

Spending time at the clinic was not the only first I had in Moscow.  I also successfully gave directions to a Russian (which I have done in Vlad several times, but in Moscow never, I don’t even know where the hell I am).  Guess where?  McDonald’s!  Haha.  I’m a good little American, knowing how to get to the closest McDonald’s at all points in time. 

Realization: A carton of eggs is cheaper than taking a pee.  10 eggs -14 rubles, One public toilet use – 20 rubles.  

On the way home from Moscow, I was sitting on the electrichka, listening to some jams, trying to teach myself to crochet a hat, when some random молодой человек (young man), got my attention by saying, “дебушка (girl).”  When I looked up, he handed me a white rose and said “к вам (for/to you).” I blankly, or confusedly (I hope), stared at him for a minute, and then took the flower.  As he walked away, I managed to muttered, “спасибо (thank you).”  The women sitting next to me just looked at me and said I needed a vase and some water, as if there were nothing unusual about the situation.  Perhaps, on electrichki traveling between Moscow and Vladimir, strangers giving girls flowers is completely normal.

12.July

This morning, my r.mom informed me that Michael Jackson didn’t die on his own, but that he was killed!  Then she proceeded to ask me about it, inquiring “who killed him?”  Clearly, I, as an American, would know, who killed him.  When I regretfully told her I didn’t know, she told me to tell her if I hear anything.  As if, simply being born in the same country as MJ, means I must be in his inner circle.  The real question, why does she even care?  

N.B. After being seriously ill (according to my r.mom and all of the teachers), I travelled to Peter where I spent a few days.  It was lovely.  I was planning on writing a blog about both the illness (it warrants one, as it lead to my r.mom rubbing warm honey all over me, then wrapping me in plastic, covering me in blankets, and telling me to let my illness sweat itself out) and the trip (went to the ballet, the Nabokov house museum, realized the city was HUGE when I walked parts I'd somehow never walked before, and relaxed in the best company possible), but I don't have time.  I'll just have to rely on my actual memory to record these events in my history, or at the very least, remember that being ill in Russia is always interesting, and that I had a lovely time in Peter (yet again).  

Movies

28.June

Today at breakfast my r. mom asked why I was so sad.   I said I wasn’t.  People ask me that a lot these days.  Do I really look that unpleasant?  I certainly don’t intend to.  Luckily, I have r. mom to uncover all of my problems.  She mentioned that I’d been coughing all night.  I said, well yes.  Then she informed me that the cough was a result of the rain, which must have gotten my feet wet, following which, the wetness traveled (immediately) from my feet to my throat and thus, the cough.  Thank you Dr. Russian Mom.  All of my problems are so easily solved.  As long as I don’t go traipsing through puddles, I shall be able to avoid coughing.  

Furthermore, with the help of r. mom, I discovered that the “sad” look on my face (at least for today), was a result of thinking too much about how much reading I have to do today, and really not only today, but in life.  After talking about reading lists for Slavic programs last night with Scott and Eric, and the thousands of pages of Russian texts I will be reading throughout the next several years of my life, reading was on my mind.  However, I’m still not quite sure that such thoughts should translate to the “sad” emotion that my face was apparently emitting.  Despite the difficulty of reading in Russian and the speed at which it needs to be done, I adore reading. 

Overall, I am not sad, and I am disappointed that my face makes it seem like I am.  Perhaps there is a bit of disappointment in yesterday, as I spend most of it sleeping and watching movies rather than reading, or spending time outside (when the weather was finally warmer).  But, yesterday evening was spent with good company.  Scott, Jessica, Tom and I gathered at Eric’s for a movie.  However, Tom forgot the remote to his DVD player, and we could only watch the first movie on the disc rather than the one Scott had gathered us all together to watch.  The movie we were subjected to was titled, what at first glance we thought was “underground witches,” and only later, after watching 45 minutes of the film without coming across any witches, or anything underground, we reread the title, and looked up the word for underground, only to discover that the title most likely was “cave/vault of the witches.” There were no witches in the movie, but there was a cave with bright flashes of light and laser beams.  Luckily we had some really delicious cookies, which Eric especially enjoyed, and a can of a Pringles knock of brand from which Tom had to refrain from consuming the entire contents.  We also had an intense conversation about the death of Michael Jackson.  Turns out, Scott is quite the MJ fan, and Tom is quite the MJ hater.  Tom went as far as to say that he hopes that with the death of MJ will come the death of the era of “entertainers” rather than musicians and that the quality of popular music will increase.  Those seems like rather high hopes to me.  Personally, I loved MJ’s music or “entertainment” if that’s what we’re going to call it.

I have a history book.  I use it to prop open the window on my balcony.  Christina spotted it on my desk (when it wasn’t being used to keep the window open) and asked if it was a good book.  It’s certainly good at keeping the window open, and it’s a book, so yes.  However, I have to confess that I have read the book, just not this copy or edition of it.

Apparently, this was a weekend for movie watching.  On Thursday evening I went to the theater with Christina and Jessica.  We saw a terrible chick flick called “The Proposal.”  However, everything is somehow much more tolerable (perhaps because I can write it off as a learning experience), and much funnier (especially dubbed over American films).  Plus, we got to drink a bottle of wine and eat caramel popcorn, which is obviously what people really go to the movies for. 

Friday, I somehow feel like I watched a movie, but I may just have taken a nap.  I’m unsure.  Saturday, I watched “The Devil Wears Prada,” because I was too lazy to get out of bed.  Then, upon getting out of bed, I met up with my friend Aleksei, and we watched “Pulp Fiction.”  After which, I headed over to Eric’s where the whole “Underground/cave/vault of the Witches” scenario occurred. 

This evening I went back to the movie theater (really for the wine, right?) with Alex and we watched transformers.  As far as I’m concerned, it had no plot.  However, the fact that a majority of the characters were transformers, who spoke really quickly in male Russian voices, might have somewhat interfered with my comprehension of the film.  Despite all that, it was a good time. 

Tomorrow, I must stop watching movies and go back to class.  However, since I spend most of my time alone with the teachers, if I really want to watch a movie I can.  As a matter of fact, one day last week I went into class not having finished my reading and instead of discussing what I’d read, I suggested we watch the film version of the last play we finished reading instead - and we did.  It’s lovely to control your classes. 

29.June

Yesterday was not the end of my movie-watching spree.  We watched a film today in class.  Unfortunately, not one I like.

In other news, I think I'm starting to go a bit crazy (as if I haven't always been certifiably insane).  I could use a vacation (a real one, not one where I go back to America to "take care of things").  Perfect, since I already have tickets to leave for Peter on Thursday night.  Thank you credit card god for giving me such a lovely opportunity.  I can hardly wait to get there.   

"People and Time"

23.June

Have you ever had an idea that you believed, for just a flicker of time, to be a brilliant new discovery?  For instance, have you ever thought, “I should try putting some of this peanut butter on one of those marshmallows and then eat it.”  After which, you try this “new” concoction and think, “damn, that was pretty tasty! Why hasn’t someone else come up with this?”  Then, almost instantaneously, you realize that not only has someone else perceived this idea, but they have gone even further and created a paste out of marshmallows in order to make the creation of a “peanut butter and fluff” sandwich even simpler.  Perhaps this hasn’t happened to you, but just now, as I was searching through my collection of food ingredients from America, this exact scenario occurred.   

Why exactly I wanted to eat anything in the first place is quite strange.  Just moments before this “discovery,” I was sitting at the dinner table with my Russian mom telling her I couldn’t eat anymore because I have a “маленький живот (small stomach).”  To which she responded, “у тебя есть животок, даже не живот (you have a “small stomach/diminutive form of stomach” not even a stomach.” I adore the incessant use of diminutives in this culture. 

Today while walking around Vladimir with Masha I told her that I don’t like the sun because it makes me sneeze.  She said that I should move to Peter.  I said I couldn’t move to Peter because I also don’t like the wind.  Then, while we were standing in Pushkin park, chatting about film, literature and the educational systems in America and Russia, some women came up to us and asked, “девушки, на что мы смотрем (girls, what are we looking at,” and referenced the vast land in front of us.  Then we discovered that they didn’t know because they were here on a trip from Peter.  After they left, Masha told me that is how she knows Russia is a small country - when you talk about a city and then people appear who live in that city.  Or, when you meet a person from Irkutsk on a train, who knows someone in Samara with whom you’ve already become acquainted even though you live in Vladimir (and no, the train was not on the way to Irkutsk or Samara). 

24.June

Momentarily, I was removed from my current life situation.  While talking on the phone with my mom, about her life and my impending return to the states, I felt quite overwhelmed.  I started to realize that, in many ways, the time I’ve spent living in Russia, has been a sort of hiatus from real life.  Certainly it hasn’t always been easy, but my only real responsibilities have been getting my work done and showing up for class and excursions.  There have been no lasting relationships I’ve had to work to maintain, practically no household chores (aside from laundry and dishes), no genuine money worries (as upon coming here I decided to plunge myself further into debt via student loans and credit cards) and thus no need to say no to any opportunity that sounds even remotely appealing. However, in August, I’m faced with a move to Virginia (which will be very pricey), enrollment in a program in which I’m actually working towards a degree (a PhD for that matter), and the prospect of living alone in a town I’m unfamiliar with.   Perhaps none of it matters.  It’s all my life.  I can honestly say I have never felt like I’ve “lived” more than I have during my time in Vladimir.

When I walked out of my room, where I’d been speaking English on the phone and pondering life in America, several familiar sites greeted me and the sounds of Russian voices and working hands pulled me away from the future and dropped me directly on my ass into the present.  My brother-in-law was sawing some wood (completing the “ремонт” that the actual carpenters failed to properly finish), mom was in the kitchen cooking, my sister was on the balcony sorting through various herbs, and my niece was playing a game of “lock mom on the balcony,” which morphed into “make faces at aunt through the window.”  Then sister and mother started arguing over taking niece on a walk, and brother-in-law, covered in sweat and shirtless, requested that someone go buy him more cigarettes.  Whether I was running away from a past life or not, this is my current reality, and I can honestly say, that in many ways, I prefer it to any life I’ve lived before.  

25.June

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRETT!

Под дождем

22.June

If I had ten rubles for every time a Russian asked me if I was French, insisted I was French, or told me I looked French, I would have bus fare for at least a month.  And yes, this occurs even when I am not wearing a beret.  In fact, probably more often when I'm not wearing one.

The Vlad group spent this last weekend in Moscow.  It rained the entire time we were there.  For I moment, I thought we had accidentally traveled to Petersburg.  But no, the weather is just as unpredictable and wet in Moscow.  However, I shouldn't judge because Vladimir is just as uncooperative.  Luckily, our storms usually occur at night.  

Despite the weather, we managed to enjoy our time in Moscow.  On Friday night we met up with a few of the Moscow students.  As it was raining, we decided we should go somewhere inside and warm that sold alcohol.  Over the course of a few hours and a few drinks we discovered that the combination of a table of graduate students and alcohol, leads to incredibly ridiculous conversations.  I believe we managed to thoroughly discuss absolute morality, Truth (with a capital T), sexual orientation and social stigmas, amoung other topics.  The next night we did our drinking in the hotel (upon recommendation of TM), where we got into an intense discussion about whether Stalin or Peter the Great was the better leader.  Conclusion - 3 to 1 Stalin:Peter.  

After the circus, which was, well, not the worst way I've spent my time, TM asked me if I was going to walk around the city more.  I said no.  She asked if I was going to go to sleep.  Again I responded with the negative.  Then she asked if I was going to go buy a bottle of vodka.  I said yes.  She said, "That's the right decision!"  It is that very bottle of vodka that let to the Stalin vs. Peter conversation and to JR asking Eric if he ever gets lonely, or if he needed a hug.  Then we all participated in a massive group hug around Eric.  

In other, more culturally enriching news, I went to a contemporary art museum I'd never been to before.  There were a lot of very intriguing exhibits.  I especially enjoyed one entitled "Признаки революции."  It depicted the revolution in Petersburg with elephants.  Another strange, and also incredibly annoying piece, was a sculpture of the letters of Yeltsin's name that sung a very strange version of the song, "Kalinka."  I couldn't get the song out of my head for quite some time, actually, it's still there.  I also spent a brief amount of time in the Tretyakov Gallery with some students who had never been there.  However, modern art is far more my style, so I left rather quickly to search for the Tretyakov Gallery of 20th century art, but on the way was sidetracked by the other modern art museum.  

Random fact:  I spent more money in a day in Moscow than I spend in a week in Vladimir.  Ouch.  

18.June

There are moments, although few and far between, when I think, “it would be nice to be in a country where I natively speak the language.”  Usually, it is when I want to tell someone off.  Although I probably could sufficiently insult someone in Russian, I’m never quick enough.  Allow me to tell you a story about one of these moments.  The women who work at the ticket касса at the train station are notoriously unpleasant.  Yesterday, I went to purchase tickets to and from Peter, and had a fabulous experience with one woman in particular.  After standing in line for what seemed like eternity, I asked the woman if I could pay with a credit card.  She tartly responded, “If there is a sign in the window that says you can pay with a credit card, then you can pay with a credit card.”  I was put off by this, because those signs rarely mean you can actually pay with a credit card (at least not in Vladimir), AND because last time I tried to buy a train ticket in that station with a credit card, the sales woman reprimanded me for not asking about it at the beginning of the sale, and refused to let me pay with anything other than cash.  This time around, I tried to do it in the right order and I got a negative response.  After arguing a bit over what places were available on what dates, she asked for my passport for the ticket purchase.  Once my passport was in her hands, she said (very condescendingly mind you), “Oh, a foreigner.”  I was perturbed.  Yes, I am a foreigner.  Could you not tell by my accent and possession of a credit card?  Jesus.  I hate the train station.  But, as I am having a love affair with Peter, I suppose it was worth it. 

Today at lunch a man made eye contact with me and called me красная шапочка (little red riding hood), presumably because I was wearing a red beret.  Then a few minutes later, as I was leaving, he came up to my and said, “Я волк/I’m a wolf.”  I ran away.  Earlier this morning TM called me красная шапочка as well, and asked if a wolf had eaten me.  Not yet, but there was a close run in.  Also in reference to the beret, Tom said, «I didn't know we taught French here.» He always makes French comments.  Is it not possible for an individual to embrace the beret without seeming French?  Or edible?

Since my return to Vladimir, TM and IA have mentioned that I'm a completely different person than I was during spring.  They are probably right, but their reasons are endlessly intriguing due to their relative inaccuracy.  For instance, TM noted that 1. I eat at lunch (I still don't eat much more than a plate of rice and now Sarah isn't even around to eat the crusts of my bread).  2.  I go to Folklore & on excursions (I only went to folklore once to give a good "example" & I've never missed an excurion before).  3.  I'm thinner (perhaps, but that's not from my two weeks in America, its from my life in Russia).  4.  My face is rosier (the sun came out & I am no longer living in the eternal darkness of Russian winter).  After informing me of all my "changes," she asked if I was "in love again or something."  She insisted that girls' faces are rosier when they are in love.  I insisted that no, I am not in love, it is just a new shade of blush.  As a matter of fact, I am the opposite of in love - I am free and it is fucking fantastic.

Instead of grammar, TM and I spent part of our time together today looking at my wedding pictures (it was associated with a grammar lesson in which a special dress for a wedding was mentioned, and she asked if I'd had one, so, I showed her).  She said, "You look so different.  You used to be normal sized and now you are skinny.  What happened?"  I told her I didn't know.  Perhaps, seeing as I was a teenager in my wedding pics, I've just grown into myself a bit.

Speaking of weddings, my sister here is now trying to get me to marry her friend.  She asked if I wanted a Russian husband and insisted that somehow being married to a Russian would be a wise decision.  I attempted to explain that I'm not exactly in the market for a second husband quite yet (or EVER).  But there is now a Sergei out there with my phone number (and yes Chelsea, this one's name actually is Sergei hehehe).   Better yet, Anna told her husband and their friends that I am actually related to her.  When Roma (her husband) asked how we were related, I didn't know what to say, thus, I said nothing at all and changed the subject. 

Life without a toilet...

15.June

What a wild weekend.  I don’t sleep.  I’m exhausted, but I’m having a blast.

Friday we went to Suzdal, which frankly, I liked better in winter.  After longing for warmer weather, I’ve decided I prefer winter.  Perhaps it’s simply a “grass is greener on the other side of the fence” thing, but honestly, the snow and starkness of the winter months is in many ways more beautiful than the greenery.  Besides, on my first trip to Suzdal we played baseball with a stick and snowballs, this time people barely spoke to one another. 

After Suzdal I went over to Masha’s (Masha Noskova) for her birthday party.  Then I slipped out early to head over to another party. I didn’t come home until five thirty in the morning.  Once I awoke from a brief nap on Saturday, I headed to the center to meet with the other Americans, and then I took them on a picnic in загородный парк, which we followed with a stint at an outdoor cafe, where we drank beer and watched the sunset at ten o'clock at night.  It was lovely.  Then I headed to Masha's to help her decide what to pack and to say goodbye to her (she left for the states today – watch out America!).  We had a sleep over.  She read me some lovely poems she had written over the last couple years, and sang me Russian songs.  When we parted the next morning, she promised to email me if she doesn't understand something in English or just about the U.S. in general.  Доброе just isn’t going to be the same without her. 

Upon arriving home on Sunday I was fed an obscene amount of blini for breakfast. Which, of course, made me sick.  I really think I’m lactose intolerant.  How frustrating.  Then I snuck away to go swimming with Anna, Roma, Sergei, his nephew, and Liza.  It was a blast.  I taught Anna how to swim.  She was terrified.  I kept telling her if she would just breathe normally everything would go much more smoothly.  Then we dipped Liza in the water.  She loved it.  Anna was concerned it was dangerous, but I assured her that I had learned to “swim” (more like love water) at only six months old.

I’ve taken to spending my breaks between classes in the teachers’ office, where I drink coffee or tea with them, listen to their gossip, and often continue some of my lessons.  I adore those women.  They thoroughly enjoy the coffee and peanut butter I brought them from America.  Better yet, being in their office often means that my breaks end up being longer than those of most students, because whoever is teaching me at the moment lingers longer because, well, her student is already there J 

 

09.June

While in the elevator this evening I heard a clicking sound.  It reminded me of the monotonous and tormenting tone of a timer attached to a bomb clicking the seconds off of soon-to-be-victims lives.  I’m assuming it wasn’t, because I’ve only ever heard that sound in movies, and the building has yet to explode. 

Upon arriving home, T told me that the toilet is “occupied” for the rest of the week.  Then she opened the door to the toilet room in order to display that in fact, there was no toilet at all.  We’re undergoing remodeling.  Always.  Immediately following this she told me that if I need to pee I should pee in the bathtub “like this” (yes it even came with partial demonstration).  Then she bluntly said that if I need to poop I should go to the neighbors’ apartment and that they’ve already been told about our toilet sitch.  Schweet.  I can see it going something like this.

“Knock Knock.” 

“Who’s there?”

“Madelyn.”

“Oh you must need to poop.”

Sitting on the toilet unable to perform.  Oh the pressure.

After the toilet fiasco, she made me eat (no surprise), but I’d already eaten at Masha’s (Masha Ermonovna).  However, T’s meal did come with kvas.  I told you she’s always trying to get me drunk ;)

I realized today while at Masha’s house that it was the first time I’d spent any real time with her alone.  Although I already knew her, she was Faye’s tutor and thus, I usually only saw her around Faye.  Also, Katya still lived here, so she often was part of the mix.  Now Faye is gone and Katya is gone.  It’s just Masha and me.  She’s a sweetheart.  I looked through a lot of her hiking pictures and she tried to teach me how to crochet again.  Honestly, I may be a lost cause.  Or just need reading glasses… sometimes I really think I can’t see.

Today was the first full day of classes.  I have ten hours a week one on one with Irina Alekseevna working on lit, and four hours one on one with Tatiana Mikhailovna for grammar.  The director of the program thinks that IA and I might kill one another by the end of the summer if I don’t at least switch a couple hours to something different.  Perhaps history with Evgenii Leonidovich?  Or maybe I can just promise to NOT kill IA.  I’m excited for the one on one with TM, I love that woman.  She can be pretty hardcore, but she’s soft on the inside.  Not all of my classes are individual.  I do spend a few hours a week in speech class with some of the new students and Nadezhda Ivanovna.  It’s only been two days, but I already believe we have a fabulous class dynamic.  I’m excited about it.  We’re also all grad students. 

My iPod’s battery died while I was riding the bus home tonight.  Consequently, I was paying much more attentive attention (yes I wrote that) to the various goings-on outside the bus window.  There was a little girl standing at a bus stop sucking on a lollipop.  Then I watched as her face lit up and she began running to the bus.  Her daddy was home.  He exited the bus and simultaneously she slammed into his chest.  It was so endearing.  Reminded me how much I love children.  Then it made me think about how I’ll probably never have any, which will be fine until I become my mom and need someone to hold back my hair and rub my back while I constantly puke in reaction to anesthesia.  And who will photograph me learning to walk again?  Damn.

Back in Vlad

“Home is where the heart is.”  I’ve never quite understood this phrase.  My heart is in my chest everywhere I go.  Is everywhere home?  I get that it is supposed to be taken less literally.  Home is supposed to be where your loved ones are?  What if they aren’t all in one place?  Because, assuming you love your family (at least your parents and siblings), of course they aren’t.  Each of us grows up and leaves “home.”  Then we are supposed to create our own homes.  For quite a while now, I’ve felt homeless.  However, I’ve begun to think that home can be transitory.  It doesn’t have to be tied to one distinct location.  Right now, Vladimir is home and I’m ever so grateful to be back here, if only for a flicker of life.  I’d like to reinterpret the idiom with which I began this paragraph.  Home is where your heart is at peace.  I’m home.

Every Sunday there is a show on TV called “Едим Дома.”  It’s a cooking show.  Tatiana always watches it, but that’s not all - she also writes down the recipes.  I’ve never noticed this before.  How is that possible?  Perhaps because I tend to travel on weekends and thus am rarely home on a Sunday morning?  I watched with her this morning and had to stifle my giggles at the frequency with which the camera zoomed in on some product (blatant advertising), while the woman continued to describe how to prepare the dish.  She made gazpacho today, which made me wonder the origins of it.  The best part – the instrumental version of “Here Comes the Sun” that continuously played throughout the latter part of the show.  Everyone loves the Beatles.

Although I enjoyed the opportunity to analyze the cooking show, I remember why I usually travel.  I don’t like to watch television.  I’d much rather spend the weekend wandering a new city, or spending time in a familiar city at a theatre or museum.  However, I did enjoy accompanying the new students on the tour of Vladimir yesterday.  Tom was ill.  His replacements – Larisa Viktorovna and Tatiana Mikhailovna.  Fabulous.  The tour was in Russian instead of English, and I learned a few new things about the city.  For instance, did you know that the KGB used our monastery during the 1930s (under Stalin) for executions?  I didn’t. 

In other news, the “new Faye” doesn’t speak any Russian.  He is part of the ROTC program (it’s a group of four students from the University of Utah).  They are all complete beginners.  I’m loving it (perhaps even more than McDonald’s).  I taught him the alphabet, and I’ve been serving as a translator between his host family and him (in case you don’t remember, or for some reason are joining us on my blog for the first time, Faye lived immediately next door to me – so much so that we actually shared one of our doors).  Now I share a door with Daniel.  Instead of his host mom taking him to meet the group yesterday, I did.  And when everyone’s hosts came to pick them up, Larisa Viktorovna noted that I picked up Daniel.  Haha.  Weird.

I’d also like to mention that when I arrived home after a ten-hour flight, Tatiana asked me why I wasn’t wearing any makeup.  Geeze, what was I thinking not plastering my face with eyeliner for my overseas journey?  The next morning I made sure to paint my nails, and my face before leaving the apartment.  But, I wasn’t wearing heels, which concerned Katya when I went to pick up Daniel.  I’m just not Russian enough J