mind your language

I don't footnote. Neither in my writings nor in my little brain do I include source information. This is either very trusting (of course people are telling me the truth), very arrogant (of course I can decide what is true or not) or very...integrated (I read it and now it's mine). I take in new information, decide if it's keep-worthy, and then store or discard it without keeping the source information in most cases. This means that I am a goldmine of information that I cannot support. The self-dubbed "language folders" mentioned below are an excellent example of this lack of source information. Know that this has proven itself through my filters and personal experience, and then decide its validity for yourself. Or, if you're that sort of person, you can research it for yourself. (Tell me if you find the source and I'll try to remember.)

I learned somewhere that our brains basically have two language folders--one for your first language and one for all the rest. Did I find this to be true in France! While I knew my little bit of French (one quarter in junior high and various life experiences ranging from travel to friends to reading "A Year in Provence") long before I learned my little bit of Russian, when I was in Nice the first language out of my mouth was Russian. Even "oui" came out "da" unless I really thought about it. This made my haircut (yep--back to that bob I seem to sport more often than not) an interesting experience. Fortunately, the kind hairdresser took pity on me and lost his irritaion when I explained that I lived in Russia. It seems that my brain just clicked on the foreign language folder and pulled out words at random--Russian, French, Italian, Spanish... It was a bizarre situation. (My haircut, however, is a great success.)

My other recent language experience came when we went to pick up the Thanksgiving turkeys. Our secretary at school had ordered them. She even wrote out a note for me. I, of course, wanted to be able to ASK for them instead of just handing over a note. I was assured that the entire butchery staff knew who we were, remembered us from last year, and were fascinated with our needing turkey to celebrate an American holiday.

I did not find this to be the case. The Russian word for "turkey" is not one I use often. There is never any turkey to buy or discuss! But, I'd looked it up and thought I remembered it. I approached the first girl, told her I was from the Anglo-American School and that there were two turkeys for us. She had no idea what I meant. Doubting my Russian "turkey" (and without my dictionary, nach) I told her that I didn't know the word "turkey" but that there were two large...chickens, birds waiting for us. She knew nothing and sent me to devochka 2. Same reaction--didn't know us, didn't know about the birds. I pull out the note. Still no sign of recognition. I am sent to devochka 3. She tells me there are no turkeys. I tell her there are; there are two turkeys/big chickens/birds. She says there are no turkeys. I cannot have turkey. I tell her I know there are turkeys, that we telephoned and the turkeys are here. She wants to know when we telephoned. I tell her we telephoned yesterday. She tells me that yesterday is not today. Today there are no turkeys. Devochka 4 comes us and says good morning. (At 7 p.m. I'll take any English I can get.) I repeat my speil about telephones, two turkeys and the AAS. I give her my note. She disappears and comes back...with ONE turkey. I tell her there are TWO turkeys. A butcher man from the back comes out and debates with her, me, and the third girl. I insist on two turkeys, that TWO turkeys are reserved for us. Finally, a second turkey is produced. It's bigger than we requested, and might not fit in the oven for which it's intended, but I'm just happy to have it.

The next morning there is a cross message on the school answering machine asking why we have not collected our turkeys. I don't know whose turrkeys we were given, but I'm very thankful we have them!

I'm cooking mine today and am putting up my Christmas things. I don't like decorations on a tree--just lights and an angel on top--so I'm just decking the bookshelves with the creche and angels and Santas that I've been given over the years, and the Dyed Moros (Grandfather Frost) I bought last year. I'm hanging baubles from red, white and green ribbons on my living room wall. I've got flashy Russian lights (no plain white available here) to put around the room. Then, with cinnamon candles and gingerbread cookies, I'll be all set for Christmas.

As we segue from one celebration to the next, I'm hoping to have one more reason to celebrate. Once my guardian letter is in (the agency wants a re-write) and my social worker makes changes to my homestudy, we can celebrate the registering of my dossier! I'm REALLY hoping this celebration comes before Christmas. I'll let you know so we can all celebrate together!

NICE Thanksgiving

Sorry to have been so neglectful of my readers and fellow bloggers. I spent the last few days enjoying the sunshine, walking along a rocky beach, eating croissants, browing through shops in winding lanes... Sound like an idyll that is inconguous with this blog's address? It was. But it was very Nice--Nice, France. And yes, Nice was nice. (That statement gets a big giggle in second grade--especially when teamed with "My niece is nice.".) I even replaced the tea towel I burned a few posts ago.

Now I'm getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving with my class once again. Tomorrow evening I'll spend it with other American ex-pats. We've even got a skipe(sp?) box so that we can watch the parade. I'm not a parade-watcher, but this sounds like a lovely way to spend an evening.

I think that our bodies are conditioned to rest not only based on circadian rhythms, but also on an annual, cultural cycle. All the Americans are tired right now. Our inner clocks know, even if the world around us doesn't, that it's time to take some time out, to relax with friends and be thankful. Since we'll only have the opportunity to do the last bit, we'd better REALLY be thankful. I love Thanksgiving. This is a holiday I look forward to all year--maybe even more than Christmas.

I listened to my class buzzing with excitement as they prepared to celebrate their first Thanksgiving (a seasoned few are celebrating their second Thanksgiving and my US student is regarded with the awe rightly due her expertise on this holiday), and decided I don't really mind being in school tomorrow. We learned about the Pilgrims today. We learned about how these first European-Americans weren't satisfied with the status quo. We learned how they searched for alternatives, didn't find what they wanted in Holland, and then took a huge risk and jumped in whole-heartedly. We learned about their courage, their determination, their resourcfulness, their faithfulness, their ingenuity and their diligence. We learned aobut their grateful hearts and their celebrations with friends new and old. I think that sums up the American spirit and is what makes Thanksgiving a uniquely American holiday--not the football and the parades and the turkey.

So, friends--new, old and virtual, happy Thanksgiving.

what's in your wallet?

A young blogger-friend (who asked to remain nameless and linkless because our "blog circles don't exactly overlap") tagged me to list the contents of my handbag.

I actually carry a brown leather backpack with me back and forth to school, the shops, etc. because I ALWAYS have something to carry. Inside it there is:

my wallet (has my kartooshka, a copy of my passport, ATM card, Maestro card, 648 rubles, 2.02 GBP and Oкие card)
way cool stripy notebook from Paperchase
my LUSH purchase--Angels on Bare Skin, Imperialis and Marilyn
brownie recipe I brought to school for a pregnant ex-pat
"The Eyre Affair" which I'd loaned to a friend and wanted back for the plane ride later this week to NICE!!!
hairbrush that I've been meaning to leave at school for the last two weeks
sunglasses
mobile (turned off)
BLUE ink pen
lip stuff--Burt's Bees, Clinique lipstick, blistix, some Belgian stuff and a Cliniqe lipgloss that was free and too goopy to use
Wendy's acorn necklace from "Peter Pan"

Not terribly exciting...for the second post in a row!! So, to those loyal reader who managed to comment on a burnt tea towel...

Lauri, Carrie, Suz--what secret mysteries are filling YOUR handbags? (Please tag three others when you're through. And, since OUR blog circles DO overlap, feel free to link back to mine.)

Kate

where there's smoke

I discovered this week that my flat has no smoke detectors. Huh.

Last night, while I was putting on the remains of a tomato and ground chicken pasta sauce to heat, I nudged the pan of brownies out of the way. (A student was moving to Switzerland and we had brownies to say goodbye. There were three left...) The pan was covered with a tea towel, aluminum foil and saran wrap being luxury items here.

I love things with a history. My sugar bowl is art decco. My tablecloth is from a Christmas in Kiev. I have bits of Broadway and Palace Square as paperweights and coasters. My dishtowels are vintage--and so soft from years of washing. The cotton feels like silk, but they're still a nice weight. They're a cheerful, homey, familiar touch in my kitchen-that-is-not-mine.

The newest bit of tea towel history--my favorite blue checked one has, as you've guessed by the brilliant foreshadowing, literally, gone up in smoke. I even remember thinking when I turned on the gas under the pasta sauce that the brownies were a little close to the flame. I just didn't nudge them far enough. Was it laziness or overconfidence that had me nudging instead of putting them on top of the microwave? Not sure. Perhaps both.

Obviously, as this is a post about tea towels, there's not much new to report here. Go ahead--make me feel better by offering a pithy comment on THIS one! ;>

Did you know...

...that elephants in South Africa are being trained to track poachers? They have an incredible sense of smell and can track a person even through two feet of running water! Sounds like poetic justice to me.

...that "sleep tight" is a reference to the ropes that supported mattresses back in the olden days?

...that only two dozen people in Russia accounted for 70% of Russia's Gross Domestic Product?


...that my blogpal sent me a note? Thanks for thinking of me. ;>

xyz pdq

Growing up, I really like taking standarized tests. Give me a number 2 pencil and let me start bubbling in! It was a game. I wanted to beat the tests, to outsmart them.

SAT's? No problem. I took them my sophomore year and scored high enough to be a National Merit Scholar Finalist. I had a good book with me that I'd just started and quickly went through each section so that I could get back to my book. Maybe I should've taken them again...

I don't mind doing my taxes. I simply follow the directions and fill in the boxes.

I know. People tell me all the time that I am sick.

I thought, being afflicted with this sickness, that filling out the adoption paperwork would be a breeze--even enjoyable. The list looke so much shorter than I'd imagined when people talked about all the paperwork involved. I thought that ticking off the list of needed documents would bring great--and quick--joy.

Nope.

Part of the problem is that the directions don't apply to me. I'm a good direction-follower. But, living here, I cannot simply get everything notarized and apostilled. Granted, that's a pain (and can be expensive) but it's not even an option here. So, I'm left negotiating solutions and trying to find the right directions to follow. Those directions change OFTEN.

I think the trick is to keep asking until you get the answer you want and then do that. This theory works well in other bureaucratic situations. I'm hoping it works here, too.

Have I shared this before? (Sorry if it's a repeat. My oral anecdotes, e-mails and blogs are all blurring...)

A typical conversation regarding my paperwork:

You must have x.
I don't have x.
You must. You must give us x.
I can't. I don't have x. It is not possible to give you x.
You must. You must provide x. It is the only way.
But, there is no x. I cannot give you x.
Then we cannot proceed. You must have x.
But I don't have x.
You must. You must give us x. Or y.

This conversation can take days, weeks, months to get to y --which is usually much easier to do/get than x was.

Recently, after I'd gotten everything for y, I was told I didn't need x or y. I needed z. Deep breaths. So now I'm hunting for zed--which is strangely snipe-like.

I'm still hoping to be all xyz'd pretty darn quick.

behind the times

It's snowing! On Saturday it was raining and sleeting but just wasn't quite cold enough to snow. Now, outside my window, there is a real, proper snow.

That seems to mark the official end of autumn and the start of winter. Growing up in Colorado we always had snow from Halloween to Easter--you had to have a warm costume and a warm Easter dress. So, the snow seems to have come at just the right time.

Of course, I never got around to showing you St. P in it's autumn glory. We have a very short autumn here. Still, I love to see the trees turning colours. This is The Summer Garden as seen from the Field of Mars. While it's lovely and shady and restful in the summer, I think it's more beautiful in the autumn.

There's also a shot of a wedding party and some military students gathered near the eternal flame. (This is also where the homeless--but Russia doesn't have homeless people--gather; especially in winter.)If you've been to Russia, you've no doubt seen the bridal parties making the rounds of famous landmarks to have their photos taken. Friends here say it's exhausting and takes all day.

Lastly, here is a little boy out learning to ride his bike in the Field of Mars.

On an unrealted note, I got pulled over today for making an illegal left turn. (How was I supposed to know? Granted, most left turns are illegal...) Getting stopped was surprising because the red plates generally keep me safe. When the policeman came to my window, I pretended not to speak any Russian (not difficult) and Kat later laughed at how STRONG my American accent got when I said, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian." After handing over lots of papers I found my "magic card". Our art teacher, who is Belgian, covets this card tremendously. It's a little laminated card that says, in Russian on one side and English on the other, that the US and Russia have a reciprocal agreement for diplomats to not pay any fines on the spot (read: bribes). Instead, all violations should be written up, etc. etc. The policeman was not very happy. And, after pulling a face and saying, "Da" he left. It's nice to know the magic card works!

no blogroll?

To all my bloggy friends:

Thank you so much for including me on your blog rolls! It makes me feel great when I see this blog listed there.

More posts to come (don't give up now...I NEED my public!!) and a brilliant blogroll mentioning all the fab blogs I visit will be up on this blog once the judges' hammer comes down.

I'm still hoping that will be sometime in March...Please hope with me!

Today and Tomorrows

Today was my second meeting with The Committee. The head of committee remembered me and was very friendly.

Today, things went well. Today, my not owning property is not an issue. Today, it is simply a matter of expanding my homestudy (costs some $$, but should be easy to do) and getting my last few documents notarized. Today, nothing could be said about approval because my dossier isn't officially in, but "when she is in court" was mentioned.

Today, things look good!

Now I have to get someone to jumpstart my car, get things notarized, have my doctor re-do the medical form on letterhead, make sure my agency in the US is talking to the Russia office, make sure I can just deal with the Russia office from here on in without upsetting the US office, stain my dresser, clean my flat, mend my clothes (why are ALL the hems coming out?), do laundry, make lesson plans... but that can all be done tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

Peter Pan

was, of course, a huge crowd-pleaser. It wasn't as good as last year's "Wizard of Oz", but most people preferred this production. It had more songs and less text.

Here are the cosutmes I made (without benefit of patterns which is always a gamble). They were definitely costumes--meant to last one performance. Wendy's nightgown turned out well (and got me a huge hug from our Wendy) and met my biggest criteria--I didn't have to hem anything!



I didn't make Hook's entire cossie--only the trousers and the frills. Here she is with Smee.



Here's Wendy telling stories to the lost children.



I painted and fringed Tiger Liy's costume (and supervised kids' painting the other Indians). She is our Dorothy from last year. Please note that the cast on one Indian's arm was not my doing either!



And here's Peter (whose costume I was pleased with--fabric from Mom and designed by me) with the lost children. Unfortunately, ALL the photos of Peter are blurred b/c she is never still! Isn't our John Michael (not enough little boys for us to have a John and a Michael) a cutie? He was a HUGE hit with our Russian audience. They all whipped out their mobiles and took pix of him after the show.

back to committee today...or not

My meeting today is tentatively scheduled for 3 p.m. (That's 7 a.m. Eastern time.) Depending on how court proceedings for others go this morning, it could be earlier or later.

Prayer warriors, I covet your prayers!

Edited to add:

The person we need to see will not be available today, so instead I'm going to committee on Thursday at 2 p.m. Stay tuned, sports fans!

Halloween

Since Lauri asked...

From what I observed last year, Halloween is not celebrated in Russia. In fact, although my principal sent out a newsletter saying that it's a holiday that is celebrated in the UK and the US and Canada (our three governing embassies), I didn't find many people in England who celebrated it. In fact, I found a LOT of people thought it was disgraceful of Americans to send their children out begging for candy. I think it's primarily a North American holiday.

Our school is filled with what they call third culture kids. These are children who are born into one culture, live in a second and are educated in a third. While only two of my students are American, they are all being taught an American curriculum. They've read stories that mention Halloween and see it in their textbooks. We read "Ramona the Pest" earlier this year (one of my favs--and we all love Ramona) and a whole chapter was dedicated to what she did for Halloween. So, the students have the sort of forced-nostalgia for American culture that those of my generation had for the '50's by being fed a steady tv diet of Happy Days and The Wonder Years. They WANT to participate in Halloween activities, but don't know how.

Our school will be allowing the primary students to dress up in the afternoon. I think the middle school will come and do some activities with us. My class will guess the number of seeds in four different pumpkins and then hollow them out. (I'll roast the seeds for them and cook the pumpkins for Thanksgiving pies.) We'll also watch "The Great Pumpkin" and eat the peeps that Jenn sent me (but I'm hoarding the candy corn and moon pies!). Otherwise, it's just another school day.

When I..and lots of children's songs

(Warning: this is a bit disjointed and I'm leaving it. As my friend Suzanne says when talking to me--segues are for children.)

When I was at drama school in England, my anthropologically-inclined brain was constantly seeking to catalogue similarities and differences between the culture I grew up in and the British culture. Truth be told, I didn't think there would be THAT much of a difference. I tend to think of the US as The Great American Melting Pot (which of you Schoolhouse Rock Fans sang that?)--but with much of the early melting done by the UK.

So, I was surprised to find many differences. But, I still couldn't articulate what the big, underlying difference was. I think many of the differences have to do with geography. The UK is a small island (read Bryson's book) that used to be the centre of a big empire. And, there's not a lot of Elbow Room (still singing?) so personal space has to be protected in non-physical ways. But, there seemed to be something that I was missing in the attitude of my British friends.

Then, one day in movement class, our teacher was encouraging us to connect voice and body by singing a "familiar" children's song that everyone would know. Here are the lyrics:

"Right," said Fred, "Let's do it together. One each end. Steady as she goes."
Couldn't lift it, couldn't even shift it
We we getting nowhere and so we had a cuppa tea.

Lightbulb!! THIS was the way they inculcated their children? Whatever happened to the little engine that could? You know--I think I can, I think I can! What is this message of quit and drink tea when you encounter difficulty?

Today I was watching "Snoopy-The Musical" (It's the beginning of Fall Break. I have no other excuse...except Top Gear is on for FOUR hours every Saturday on BBC Prime!) and was hit by how AMERICAN the message was. I was singing along with the first song, even though I didn't remember ever seeing this before. The first song went like this:

Don't be leaf if you can be the tree
Don't be a raindrop, if you can be the sea
For the leaf may fall but the tree remains
It may never rain at all but the sea remains
Better to be the tree and the sea--see?
Don't be a cloud if you can be the sky
Don't be a feather, be the bird and fly
The clouds roll by but the sky rolls on
And a bird can fly with a feather gone
Be a bird and the sky and the tree and the deep blue sea
Don't be anything less than everything you can be

And the last song (sung to our insecure friend Charlie Brown), which I also somehow knew, went:
Wouldn't it be wonderful if everybody believed in everybody?

If just one person believes in you
Deep enough and strong enough believes in you
Hard enough and long enough before you knew it
someone else would think, if he can do it, I can do it
Making it two--two whole people who believe in you

It goes on to say if two people, there's bound to be three, if three why not four and if four why not more and more and more...

And when all those people believe in you
Deep enough and strong enough believe in you
Hard enough and long enough, it stands to reason
you yourself would see what everyone else sees in you
And maybe even you can believe in you, too

There's a great book called "Two Worlds of Childhood" (well, I find it fascinating) that talks about how the US and the USSR (it's old) differ in their childrearing practices. Whether consciously or not, parents and society are raising their children to value the things that will make them a successful member of the society they belong to. US children are encouraged to explore. The USSR children were encouraged to conform.

I was so frustrated in England by the lack of initiative of my students. But, in a socialist society, initiative is not as needed and not as valued as it is in a capitalist society. I found out when I lived in England the last time that I am very much a product of the culture in which I was raised. I'm very glad that I am an American. I think our society and our government and our culture--riddled with problems though they may be--are by FAR the best options on the global menu. The Catch 22 here is whether I'd feel this way if I wasn't such a product of my culture. I guess it doesn't really matter...I'm just glad I'm glad.

I think being out of my home-culture for so long I notice more and more differences. And, I miss the familiar; the "universality" of assumptions and values and beliefs that I find daily are decidedly NOT universal.

The desire to share all this mish-mash of cultural mumbo-jumbo (ooo...I'd love some of David's gumbo right now...) came about from a Peanuts video. I think I need this break even more than I thought I did.

super-quick

"Peter Pan" is tomorrow. Our dress rehearsal in front of 100 Russian students today went surprisingly well...so let's call it our opening performance to avoid the bad dress-good show vice versa... Tomorrow we have parents! I should be typing up our programme, and I will be shortly. But, first I just had to let you know that I'm going before the committee again next Tuesday. If progress isn't made it will be time for a new region...

Now I have to make Wendy a new nightgown. She left hers out and it, apparently, got "cleaned up". Of course, I don't have a pattern for it...Pictures later if it's very good...or very dreadful.

Kxo

machina

As my Russian teacher told me, "We have no culture of driving in this country." Boy, am I finding out what THAT means! Before I started driving, I asked several ex-pats what their experiences were in the car. The piece of advice that sticks in my mind is to pay attention to the arrows.

Last Friday, I started driving. Another teacher (Kat) and I were longing to go SHOPPING. While there's no Target here, there is a nice, large grocery store called Окей (Okay). We set off with high hopes after the worst of the Friday night rush hour had passed--at about 7:30 p.m. At the end of my block was a street that I thought was a one-way street. Kat saw this arrow on a sign and said I could turn right.

Of course, it WAS a one-way street...and not the way we were going. After several helpful drivers calling, "Devochka, devochka, you're going the wrong way." we found a wider space and made a 157-point turn. When we'd turned around we were face to face with a militsia car--lights and sirens full blast.

We gulped and then had a sort of guilty relief when the militsia jumped out and grabbed a guy on the street corner. He took him around the corner, so we weren't able to see what was going on. (Thankfully.) Meanwhile, traffic backed up behind us.

A tour bus was directly behind us. The driver, after waiting a bit, got out and tried to move the militsia car!! He apparently couldn't drive a stick because it stalled immediately. So, the driver recruited some other drivers and pushed the car out of the street. We fled.

(**note: If you're seeing question marks instead of photos, my apologies. Click on the question mark to see the photo. Did I put too many photos on for blogger to handle? Anyone?)





It turns out, these are the arrows to which you're supposed to pay attention.








Now, in all fairness, the signs here are confusing. It's as if no one
scheme has been decided upon. This, clearly is a "no turn" sign.










And this, clearly, is a must-turn sign.









So, putting our experiences together (and noticing a large barrier to our left) we can deduce that this means me must go straight and may not turn left. Easy, right? We can logically deduce what these signs mean. No problem.




Problem. What, exactly, is this supposed to mean? The blue arrow says turn right...but it has the same sign that we saw earlier that meant no-right-turn. Having walked and driven on this street, I can tell you that you may, indeed turn right here.






All this deduction and second guessing makes familiar signs like these a relief.





Signs are only the beginning of the challenges of Russian driving. There is a very loose concept of lane-age here. Look at this picture. It's right by the Field of Mars. (Turn right to go to school across Troitsky Most, continue straight to the vet.) Looking at this sign, and at the lines in the street, how many lanes would you say were here? Two? HA! You obviously have NOT driven in Russia. This is a trick question. The correct answer is: as many as you can fit. I was driving here the other day when there were FIVE lanes of traffic just scraping by each other. The only good thing is, when it's that congested no one is moving very quickly.

In the city centre, there are very, VERY few streets that allow left turns. Since St. Petersburg is a. not built on a grid, and, b. intersected by canals, this makes driving QUITE a challenge. Okay, I find it more than challenging. I find it ridiculous. Although you cannot turn left, a U-turn is permitted nearly everywhere. To go shopping we cross a bridge and, instead of turning left, flip a U-turn in the middle of the next block and then turn right.

This is one of my favourite signs. It' on the way home from the vet. As you can see, the left lane must go straight. The right lane may either turn right OR turn right and then fill up three lanes of traffic after making U-turns.








But, I've safely managed to get to Okay three times. (Twice in the rain...and my car seems to have a leak that causes the wipers to short out and NOT work...but only when it's raining. Helpful.)





And, just for Kerry (so post a comment, KERRY, so I can take this down. It seems wrong to have this information posted publically... though I'm not sure why...) here are my RED diplomatic plates!

(edited to add: thanks for the comment. Photo is safely deleted.)

pochta

Today I checked my mailbox. This may not sound like blog-worthy news. This may sound like I'm realllly scraping the bottom of the topic barrel. But, the thing is, I don't receive any local post. All my post arrives at school via the consulate.

I have checked the mailbox before. I've collected bills for my landlord twice and found an IKEA catalogue mass-mailed once. But, generally, I just pass it by and make my way upstairs.

I've been thinking, fleetingly, ever since I filed my I600A in Moscow that I should call and let them know that my physical address is not my mailing address. I've thought that I should check and see if anything is in there. But, I haven't acted.

Today I checked my mailbox. In it, there was a letter! It was addressed to me, in Russian. The only English were the words THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA and below that, a bit smaller, OFFICIAL BUSINESS. I opened and my eyes darted all over the page. (Being a methodical person, one who never reads the end of the book first, this was not my usual mode of reading.) They landed on the bold, capitalized print that said, "NOTICE OF FAVORABLE DETERMINATION CONCERNING APPLICATION FOR ADVANCE PROCESSING OF ORPHAN PETITION".

I was suddenly in the middle of a joy bubble, covered in sunlight, buoyed up by hope. I felt a bit like Sally Field when she delivered her famous, "You like me" acceptance speech. Someone has approved me for adoption! My country is behind me! THEY approve me!

I'm hoping this is the start of good things to come, the ending of the impasse. Thanks for sharing the beginning of the end.
Kate

koshkee

I mentioned earlier (much earlier...last March, I think, in the "Maslenitsa" post) how pagan traditions still are a part of everyday life. Superstitions here are rampant--and strictly adhered to. It is much more serious than the jesting, game-like way we treat similar occurrences in the US. I'll tell you more later, if you like, but here are a few that center on Russians views of cats.

If someone gives you a cat, you must give them a coin in return. Paper money is not acceptable. You must also give someone a coin if they give you a knife or scissors to ensure that the knife will not cut you. I'm wondering if giving a coin for a cat prevents scratching and/or biting. (In which case, it didn't work. Lena is very bite-y despite the giving of a coin.)

Three-coloured cats are lucky. Blue cats are lucky, too. (I'd really like a little Russian Blue...) Beazy is a torti, so she should be "full of luck" I'm told.

If you see a cat washing its face, company is on the way.

If a black cat crosses your path, it's a seriously bad omen. Cars will stop and let another car pass in order to avoid the black cat's bad tidings. Apparently, the bad luck is only visited on the first person to cross the cat's path.

Only cats can communicate with the domovoy, or spirit of the home. (This spirit, while generally kind is also temperamental and intolerant of laziness. It lives in the doorway of a house. That is the reason you do not shake hands over a doorway or give or accept anything across a doorway. You might disturb the temperamental domovoy which, in turn, would lead to strife.)

Instead of a bride being carried over the threshold, a cat is often let in first to entice benevolent spirits and tell the domovoy what's going on, who's coming in and to be nice.

If a person enters a new house before a cat, the person will die.

Perhaps this cat/domovoy relationship is why cats are said to absorb all evil that enters your door. One of my friends said, knowing the trials I'm facing and hearing of my cats' illnesses, "Just think, Katya, how awful things would be for you if you didn't have your cats! They have taken on so much bad for you."

And lastly, a Russian proverb: He that denies the cat skimmed milk must feed the mice cream.

Kate

ps Beaze seems a bit better.

sick kitty

Thanks for all your comments and e-mails about my poor, sick kitty. Beazy still feels rotten. She won't eat, groom herself or play. The big, head vet (who speaks a little English) saw her today and was very puzzled. Her blood work is worse. They don't know what to do.

On Friday, I stayed home from school. All Thursday night and Friday I fed her 6-9 ml of food every 3-4 hours. She seemed a little better (her eyes were nearly white again and she was more alert) before the vet visit, but now seems much worse. I think, from my reading, that she needs food and antibiotics. What we're doing now is once or twice daily (it's been increased to twice again after four days at once) visits to the vet for the iv treatments of saline, glucose, vitamins and medication. It takes about an hour in the morning and about two hours in the evening. (Traffic) She hates it.

Tomorrow I see the vet who speaks a little English (the woman--not the head honcho). I'm going to ask her why we're re-doubling her treatments if it's not improving her blood work and is not making her feel better. I may even ask about putting her just on an antibiotic and an appetite stimulant. I'm wondering if I could even administer those at home. They don't do feeding tubes here, so all feeding has got to be done via syringe until she'll eat.

But, then I wonder if the iv really is helping...but she SO hates it. She's on her third leg to have a catheter in. I don't know what happens when we run out of legs.

Wish there were better news to share, but all fronts (Beazy, school, adoption) continue to be fraught with cheerless tales.

title-less

Well, my sick cat has gotten much sicker. Beazy hasn't been eating and has been vomiting. The vets didn't take it very seriously (standard iv cocktail of vitamins daily) until my other cat got sick, too. Then, they treated both a BIT more aggresively. The cocktail had a few added ingredients--and I had to go find some GEPTRAL for them. Lena has recovered, but Beazy is still very, very ill. All the advice I get is to prepare myself for her to die. Not really the American can-do attitude. I haven't been able to locate the contact details of the last vet Beazy saw in the US, so it's just me and the Russian-speaking, Russian-thinking veterinary world. Those are pretty tough odds.

I finally convinced the vet to give her an antibiotic, and that seemed to help. I'm spending a couple hours each day, morning and night, getting iv treatments. I'm now force-feeding her, too. Things are grim.

One vet, the one I like, told me that she "believed seh would be okay, maybe on Monday". (No wonder I like her.) She also asked when we were going back to the US. I'd take her back this week, but don't think she'd clear customs in her current state. (She's pretty yellow. Cats try to metabolize body fat when they stop eating. Their bodies cannot do this, and it causes serious problems with the liver.)

So--time for The Glad Game. I'm glad that the nice vet was there to encourage me. I burst in to tears in the office. I'm glad that I finally have my car so that I can now DRIVE to and from the vet. I'm glad the nurses and even the doctors have been so nice lately. I'm glad they realize all Beazy's "talking" is just talk. I'm glad they're being sympathetic towards instead of fearful of her.

I'll tell you all about driving in St. P next time. Maybe I'll have some good adoption news then, too! I'm still waiting for housing verification...or for the MoE to reconsider what proof is required of me. (This needs to happen SOON!)

Sorry to be away and then to have so little cheer to share. And many, many thanks for all the kind birthday cards, packages and e-cards. I apologize for not taking the time to thank you sooner! I was delighted to recieve each and every one.

little things

I was once given a notepad that said, "Teachers make the little things count." This made me laugh hysterically. Seeing past the Hallmarky-sap, I immediately saw myself bellowing to a class of monsters, "Count, you little THINGS!"

There are two little things (of the non-monstrous variety) that have made my day. BBC Prime is up and running. Target will ship to APO addresses. (Julie said to me once--quite insightfully--about life in Russia: "No Target. You are a true pioneer.")

So, now my tv speaks English (although I find that Top Gear is on WAY too often for my taste...) and I can go to Target, where Lara says the sun always shines.

Hope this little post about the little things in my life makes you appreciate the little things in yours!