Holiday of the Green Gnome

17. March

Try explaining Saint Patrick’s Day to a Russian.  They just don’t seem to get it.  It doesn’t really help that I can’t seem to remember the real reason Saint Patrick has a day.  Didn’t he save Ireland from the rats?  Or was it snakes?  Probably nothing of the sort.  Either way, they get that St. Patrick is a saint in Ireland.  What they don’t understand are leprechauns.   There isn’t even a word for leprechaun in Russian.  They use the word gnome, which in my opinion is an entirely different creature.  When my host mother asked me how the holiday is celebrated, I told her that we chase after tricky, small men with pots of gold that live at the end of rainbows, wear green, look for shamrocks (because they’re lucky of course) and drink (because its Irish of course).  Somehow all of the Russians I explained St. Patrick’s Day to decided it was the “holiday of the green gnome” or the “holiday of gnomes.”  I find this very amusing. 

To celebrate the holiday, I wore green, and made my host mother wear green.  I was surprised she even owned anything green, as they don’t wear much color here.  In the evening I threw a party to celebrate being Irish, since you know, I’m the most Irish one in our group (maybe).  As a group, I’m pretty sure we went to every single store in Vladimir searching for Guiness.  Ultimately, it was found, along with Bailey’s and fun was had.  Perhaps too much by some ;) My neighbor and host mother loved the Bailey’s.  Russian women love sweetness.  Kyle ate an entire plate of potatoes, which in a way are Irish, right?  Which makes me think, Russia and Ireland have a lot in common.  Well, maybe not a lot, but both cultures eat potatoes, drink a lot, and like football - I mean soccer (is that a word? it doesn’t look like one).  Ah, stereotyping. There were also pickles and chocolate.  Not very Irish, but very delish.  The best part - my host mom asked if the holiday of the green gnomes is always on the 17^th of March, and when I said yes, she said now she’d know to celebrate it every year. 

19. March

Sales people in Russia aren’t really sales people - at least not in the American sense.  They just stand in the stores and ignore you, or stare at you and mock you.  Many stores have security people who follow you around.  That’s my favorite.  I think it should be a goal of mine to try and steal something, because it would actually be a challenge here.  Having worked in retail, I wish I’d done it here instead of America.  I wouldn’t actually have to help anyone.  At Ann Taylor, where of course, only the best sales associates work, I greeted people when they walked in, asked them if I could help them with anything, if they were looking for anything in particular, if it was a gift, if they needed me to start them a fitting room (but never called it a fitting room because that is not in the approved AT lingo – clearly, it’s a “wardrobing room”), if I could add what they were looking at or holding to the already started fitting room, checked on them in the fitting rooms, so on and so forth.  Frankly, being a sales associate was a lot like being a stalker.  In contrast, in Russia, being a sales associate is a lot like, well, doing nothing.  I think I would prefer to do nothing.  Maybe not, I liked interacting with clients as long as they weren’t too needed, or total tools.  You may be wondering, especially if you are Laurie, “what’s your point?”  My point is, a sales woman actually asked me if she could help me with anything.  I was shocked.  The end.

Anna and Liza were over again.  This time was especially entertaining.  Liza eats everything with her fingers, and when I say everything I mean EVERYTHING.  We had soup for dinner and she stuck her fingers in it and then sucked the liquid off her fingers.  I was amused.  I hope she continues to eat that way for her entire life, which she won’t, but for now, I will continue to enjoy it.  Quite quickly, Liza got bored with her food.  She started picking up pickles, taking one bite, and then chucking them at us.  One pickle went flying all the way across the kitchen.  Loved it.  After dinner, she followed me into my room (as usual, no matter how much her mom and grandma tell her its “forbidden,” which is also amusing because Russians tell their children that all the time, but never do anything to stop the kids).  First she went through all my stuff and opened anything openable.  Every once in a while she would laugh, run up to me and slam herself into me, giving me a hug.  She’s so stinking cute.  Perhaps my favorite thing she does is come up to me, grab some of my hair, and sniff it, or simply just sniff my head.  You can actually hear her smelling it.