pockets (longish)

*please note: blogger's spellcheck is still not working, I'm tired, typing in the dark on a keyboard with keys that stick because I've dropped it twice and am not going to proofread

In addition to my visit to 3.10 last week, I also joined V on two orphanage deliveries. (She works for Orphan Grain Train. They deliver shipments of goods to people in need worldwide. The shipments didn't make it safely to the intended recipients here in Russia, so donations are sent to V who then purchases and distributes needed items.)

We went back to the IKEA orphanage(not its real name, nach). I had purchased little dolls (Polina Pockets) for the disconsolate O and her good friend, L. I also had mini cars for L's brother and his friend. V hadn't been able to deliver them, so we brought them along. I wondered aloud on the drive there if O would be happy with her little dolls or if she'd burst into tears and tell me the hair color was wrong and she didn't like the dress. V thought this was hysterical! In fact, she was more disappointed than I was when we weren't able to see the girls. (They were still in school. It took a long time to figure this out. We were sent from room to room with promised that L & O were there. Finally we learned they were still in class.) I think coming home from school to find a surprise waiting would be great!

In return, their caretaker gave me a beautiful beaded rose that O had made and a matrushka that L had painted. Their generosity is always astounding!

We went to a new-to-me orphanage after that. It was a really nice one. The director was so soft-spoken. The "children" there were all happy, well-spoken and respectful. They were all busily working and playing--whether they were two or sixteen years old.

I brought some little squeaky bath toys with me in the shapes of all sorts of "machinas"--cars, motorcycles, helicoptors. Fortunately, they were young enought that machina (car ) and samolyat (airplane) sufficed for everything. ;> They loved them! We played and played. It is so easy to entertain them. Silly little games like squeezing the toy so the air blew on their cheeks were a big hit. One little girl who was an apt mimic quickly started speaking English (It's so nice!) during this game. Where's-the car? (Gdye machina?) was a big hit, too. They'd hide the car behind their back and I'd look for it in their pockets, their ears, tickling their tummies... They'd laugh delightedly and show me it. Then, of course, it would start all over.

One of the girls, D, was quick to notice my cross. She showed me hers...and all of her friends'. She was the oldest in the group and definitely the ambassador.

When I visit the baby rooms, I'm always touched. This orphanage had happy, healthy "babies". (They were mostly two-to-three-year-olds with a few four-year-olds, I'd guess.) Even here, in this well-managed facility, there was behaviour that I find atypical of preschoolers. I don't know if it's cultural or institutionalized behavior or a combination of the two, but it's consistent with behaviours I've seen in other baby homes. I don't know if others have noticed this, but in the ones I've visited, the children will flock around, crowding my legs like peguins huddling from the wind. They don't raise their arms to be picked up, but this is what they want. They just inch closer and closer until you reach down and pick them up, many of them with their head bowed. They won't instigate a hug and don't really know how to return one. They want to be picked up. They want to be roughhoused with and tossed and tickled.

One little pixie named K claimed a spot on my lap after playing with me for a while. Others would come and go, playing with V and each other, but K stayed with me. She had sparkly blue eyes and dimples. She was hesitant to leave and go eat her snack when her caretaker put an end to our play. And, she craned her neck for a last look as we headed to the door. The rest of them were happily eating.

I just wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home.

just kate plus eight (long)

Do you remember the girls in 3.10? I met them last summer and caught their joy in a donated doll bed. I brought them a doll and Christmas treats as a part of Rachael's Simple Wishes project. I returned with dolls for everyone and a promise to "sponsor" them this year as my gift.

This week, I set out to spend my first birthday with them. The two youngest girls, V and P, have birthdays within a week and a half of each other. I had m&m cookies that were baked that morning gift bags filled with art supplies and a new outfit for the birthday girls (yes, they're in Hannas now...) and a two bead kits for all of us to enjoy.

I was really looking forward to this visit and I was not disappointed. I was greeted with cheerful cries of "Ket, Ket!" that claimed me as theirs. The rest of the orphanage life went on as usual, but for a little while I belonged to them. It was just me and the eight girls.

We had tea (and cookies). They sang and chatted. The girls were quiet about their gifts, but I hope they liked them. And then everyone just settled in to everyday-ness. Some of us (K, Ka, L and I) made bracelets. P settled in with a book. N and N and V and Ks turned on the television and flopped down on the floor beside us to unwind from the week. Clean laundry was brought in by a cheerful older brother and dumped on top of P--eliciting delighted shouts. Girls disappeared briefly to wash hands and collect laundry. (This, it seems, happens once a month. They had a LOT of laundry to put away! Each girl put her own clothes away in the cupboards that lined the room.)

Personalities today were so different. N, who I thought was shy, is a little monkey! She laughed and joked and played with V. Her older sister, K, keeps a close eye on her. L keeps a close eye on her sister, too. They are very tender with their sisters, looking out for them but not mothering them. It was really lovely to see. L, who was excited and boisterous last time was very considerate. She wanted to make sure I understood, that I had sugar for my tea, that I felt at home. Her sister, P, was just as gentle and friendly as last time. She told me, quite seriously, that I should be wearing my cross inside my shirt and not on the outside. They all heartily agreed. She told me her sweater was beautiful and thanked me for her gifts. And, Ka, who seemed much older than the others last time was happy and pleasant and just part of the group. I think some of this is that they are more familiar with me and less guarded. Some of that may just be because promises made have been promises kept. And, having the entire group together again.

When I was talking about the orphanage system here, and the fact that parents could send their children to an orphanage without relinquishing their rights, an ex-pat friend cast a new light on the situation. She compared it to boarding schools in the UK and the US. My sw has said that the girls there are happy and well-cared for by the orphanage staff. As hard as I find that to believe, it is what I saw. I longed desperately to be sent to boarding school from the time I was very small. I think imagined it to be a sort of camp-like environment where you lived with and went to school with your friends. (And you wore uniforms; that was important.) My afternoon on Friday felt just like that...minus the uniforms. While I have heard horrible stories about the internats here in Russia, this orphanage feels different. Not all the places I've visited have this environment. Some of them feel steeped in apathy and bordering on despair. I'm just so very thankful for the joy that I find woven between and around and among the girls in room 3.10.

I wish, truly wish, that I could just move in with them. I know they have a caretaker who genuinely cares for them. She is proud of them and affectionate. I would love to have her job. They are lovely girls and I so enjoy my time with them. Just Kate Plus Eight--doesn't it sound like there's potential for a reality tv show there?

on the radio

There's a song on the radio right now (in English) that says:

Rah, rah, Rasputin
Lover of the Russian queen
(Insert line of Raputin's life story here)

Rah, rah Rasputin
Russia's greatest love machine
(Insert rhyming line of Rasputin's life story here)

It cracks me up.

The other day I heard a political announcement. (It's amazing to me how few billboards, psa's etc. are around with the election looming. Friends here are amazed at my amazement--telling me that the election means nothing, that no one will bother to vote, but that statistics will show 90% of the people supported the next president. We'll see...) What I heard was:

People of St. Petersburg
Idiot....
The President of the Russian Federation

The word for "idiot" ( Идиот) is very similar to one of the words for "coming" (Идёт). I'm guessing that this commercial was to encourage the people of St. Petersburg to go to the polls and vote for the President of the Russian Federation or tell them the next president was coming. I don't think insulting either the voters of St. Petersburg or the next president was the intent.

My Russian friends find this mis-hearing of mine hysterical and say first my impression was more accurate. ;>

spirit lifters

I've not been a good tag-ee of late. I'm hoping this one will count for Annie's and Melissa's... Lea, I haven't forgotten.

Eight Things That Lift My Spirits

1. clean sheets with a high thread count on my bed--especially the periwinkle ones
2. clean anything--legs shaved, teeth brushed, flat tidied...
3. the sound of rain while I'm sleeping
4. sunshine! walking home and having it light is wonderful.
5. a gentle breeze (espically nice if it plays across my pillows while I'm sleeping. how can you not like a force of nature that plays?)
6. thunderstorms. they make me revel in the BIGNESS of God.
7. musical theatre...'most all of it
8. reading through the previous seven it seems that being well-rested deserves mention...

Anyone else thinking happy thoughts?

what makes a genius?

eta: I think this was a test of creative problem solving, not of a blog's reading level. Another blogger (nameless and shamelss) I know kept trying until her blog came up "genius". I just hacked the html. That's what the "Ha." was--"Ha. I beat the button."

Ha.

Movie Reviews

outreach

We have no classes next week. For some of our staff that means a trip to Egypt. For others it's a chance to catch up on classwork. For me it means a chance to deliver items to orphanages. I've called V and she is delighted to have my "big car" at her disposal. I'm not sure where or when, but the promise of these visits lies before me. I am looking forward to it!

It made me think of all your kind offers of help...and your questions about how to do that. I've been mulling it over. Shipping things here is not very practical. Shipping fees are extremely high. Rachael sent over some small gifts for Katya's former groupmates. Thanks to the customs slip I can tell you that $40 worth of small toys cost $65 to ship. It was a lightweight box (I carried it home from school) about the size of...eight board games. And, my eBay experience tells me that clothes are heavier than one would suspect. A single child's dress costs about $10 to ship.

I am happy to shop for you here. If you'd like to paypal a donation, I can shop for either what you'd like or for what V says is needed and deliver it on one of our trips. And, I can mail you receipts for your purchases (or e-mail a scanned one if you'd rather). Or, one of the things I've not been able to find here are inexpensive hair baubles. Four barrettes can cost$12! Those would likely be lightweight... There are many more boys than girls in the orphanages, though. I'm not sure they'd be keen on hair baubles.

That's the best I can come up with right now that involves me personally. There are many organizations who are better able to offer outreach than I am. Star of the Sea is an outreach program for the homeless in St. Petersburg. I have a donation for them in the back of my car right now (clothes, pillows, dishes and food). They describe themselves:

We are a Russian noncommercial charitable organization funded in Moscow 1996. We organize for committed volunteers and professionals, Russian and non-Russian, to work on social and medical development programmes, especially for street children, the elderly and for families in difficult situations. We offer help to those in need regardless of their race, religion and cultural background.

Purpose:
To provide street children with social, psychological and medical care and rehabilitation and place them into a stable and healthy environment that enables them to re-enter, maintain, and progress in a healthy lifestyle.

Tax-deductible donations to Star of the Sea can be arranged through a Chicago office. I urge you to read their website.

Buckner runs another program whom I have seen working in the orphanages around St. Petersburg.

V works for an agency who provide orphanages with needed medicine, sanitary products and just...basic needs. The budget for orphanages in Leningradskaya Oblast this year is 84 roubles ($3.42)/day for teenagers and 80 roubles ($3.25)/day for children. There is no money whatsoever in the budget for medicines--not for the green topical treatment commonly used or for antibiotics or for pain relievers. None. The agency V works for tries to make up the difference. She refers to it various ways. I'll try to get more information for people who would like to donate that way.

An aside for Kimberley: At this point, I only go to the orphanages V works with. She doesn't work in the city of St. Petersburg. If I do visit Emery's baby home, I'll be sure to let you know!

I hope that helps to answer some of your questions. Please, if you do find a way to give, let us know.

you're all wonderful

Hmmm...so that game was either incredibly easy or ridiculously cliquey. (Sorry if it was the latter.)

Or, maybe, as I suspect, you really are all wonderful. It was Ann Marie. ;>

(Thanks for hanging in there...)

guess who's wonderful

I've been concerned about the lack of blog fodder found here of late. Adoption news? Nope. Interesting insights into life in Russia? Nope. Surely, without desperate measure, my readership will drop dramatically. THEN what would I do?

So, a friend of mine suggested this post. It's a new game, invented by her, called, "Guess Who's Wonderful?" Here's how to play. I'll give you 5 clues and you have to guess who the wonderul blogger is. It's against the rules to give clues that are stupid, incredibly obvious or designed to make yourself look cool. Also, no mushy stuff is allowed. Attempting to ingratiate youself with the wonderul surprise person by using this game is also taboo. It would be helpful if the clues were searchable in the person's blog.

1. She does not know how old she is.
2. She has recently been ill.
3. Her dedication to eradicating the improper use of apostrophes rivals mine.
4. The person in question is extremely proud of the city from whcih his/her child is adopted and considers all other cities in Russia inferior.
5. Her child makes "stink-stink".

*bonus* (Just in case the other clues were too obscure. We want you to play!)

6. The person in question is on the phone with me right now laughing at these clues.
7. She was either my SBP or I was hers (I don't know which way that works) in the original Russia SBP organized by Debbie and Suz.

So-- who's wonderful today?

Copyright for this game is pending. Copy it now while it's still legal.

People who guess correctly are wonderful by association.

There. Is that good enough to keep you hanging around until there's actual news?

boring bits in the 90%

Really, it's just more of the same. Nothing earth-shattering.

AND, some of my irl adventure are unpublishable because they're about my pif! I've been working on one of my projects...and it's really going to be sweet...but even those mis-adventures are under wraps until it's in the hands of the recipient.

You just think I have a much more interesting life than I do. ;>

titanic

I liked that musical (no matter what the critics said). I had to change the title because even as I typed this I was singing:

No moon, no wind
Nothing to spy things by

No wave, no swell
No line where sea meets sky

Stillness, darkness
Can't see a thing, says I

No reflection
Not a shadow
Not a glint of light meets the eye

And we go sailing , sailing
Ever westward on the sea, we go...
Sailing, sailing
Ever on go we

Blogs are like icebergs. What you see isn't the whole picture. You may see 10% of what is going on at any given time.

In the jagged underbelly, there are lots of things going on right now. None of them are happening quickly and none of them should be blogged about. Yet. One of these days I'll be able to let you know about that 90% that's unseen for now. Or, I'll at least let you see 15% instead of the usual ten.

Until then, please keep thinking good thoughts and sending up prayers for quick, competent advocates, a smooth, straight path and wisdom for me. A lightning bolt would be appreciated as well...

More soon!

blustery day (edited)

Last Saturday I went shopping. I had four bags of necessary items to carry up to my third floor flat. Pursuing my constant goal to make as few trips as possible, I had the bags doubled up. I've been known to hang bags up my arms, the plastic handles cutting into my wrists, in order to avoid an extra trip. If an extra trip up the stairs is needed, at the very least I'll try to make only one trip from the car to my door.

Usually Saturday is a day on which it's easy to find a parking space. Last Saturday this was not true. The street was blocked off for some reason and parking spaces were scarce. I had to park quite a bit down the block and lug my groceries through the slush and muck. Of course, after trudging through the slush and muck I discovered an empty parking space--right in front of my front door.

On Sunday, I was supposed to meet Tricia and Michael, who were visiting St. P while waiting out their ten days. They missed me, I missed them, and then...

WIND! It was SO windy! It rushed through Palace Square and down my street. The building across the street is still being renovated and was covered in scaffolding. (I'll see if I have an old picture of this...) The scaffolding crashed to the ground, filling the block and damaging cars parked below. The lights on the entire street went out--and still have not be repaired. They're really dark, but here's what it looked like out my window and down on the street:

In this picture, the man is walking right where my car was parked. The scaffolding fell right where the car in FRONT of him is parked. I live (if you can see it...) where the steps are going up after the yellow sign. I was very glad I didn't move to the closer parking space!



eta: I did meet up with Rita's mommy and daddy yesterday and had a great dinner--conversation was better than the food. Tricia was a good blogger and brought her camera. Kate, did not. Bad blogger, Kate.

Today the scaffolding is going back up! My camera is at school. I'll post pix tomorrow...

And, for UN Mama--I don't live on Vasilevsky, although I'd *love* to live there. I'm just two blocks down from the Hermitage.

fly on the wall

Yesterday or the day before (who knows?) at about 2:15 p.m. with 45 minutes left in school, a normally patient teacher told her second grade class:

That's it. I have no more answers today. No more. You have used them all up. You have asked so many questions that there are no answers left for today. I will not be answering any more questions today.

The class persisted in asking a flurry of questions (that they knew the answers to--"Where should I put this? What should I do when I finish? Do I have to do my math?") as they had all day, all year, really, but found that this afternoon their teacher, truly, had no more answers.

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." That was all she said to them.

One boy, seizing the moment, said, "Then we can do whatever we want!"

"Oh, there will still be consequences," their teacher told them. A few students asked what "consequences" meant, but they asked their classmates and not their teacher. Even the esl students were able to figure consequences out from the context.

And do you know what? The second grade settled down to a productive end of the day. Without asking their teacher any further questions.

The end

(Okay, for those of you who worry:

The next day the teacher discussed with the class, again, the difference between asking genuine questions and asking questions that they really didn't need to ask. They discussed thinking before speaking. Again. They talked about "ask three before me". Again. And the teacher reassured them that she was *happy* to answer questions when they were confused or needed help or just had something they wanted to figure out. She *liked* answering those questions. She simply didn't want to have to say one.more.time. that you may do anything quiet after your journal is finished or that reading logs get turned in to the blue tray. After all, they'd been in second grade for over half the year and the answer hadn't changed. They laughed. And a few minutes later somone asked what to do when they finished their journals. And the teacher smiled and replied, as she had for ninety-some days, "What do you think?" and then validated their correct answer.)

I feel like that teacher (wink) when I'm out of the classroom, too.

How much longer?
What's the hold up?
Which agency?
Which region?
Is it important to adopt two right now?
How old is too old?
Is there a "too old'?

Lord, where do you want me to go and how do you want me to get there?
Which road, which bus, which agency, which children have You planned for me?

Guess what. I don't know.

part of the story

In a seminar on third* culture kids *(1. "passport" culture--what is lived at home, 2. culture of the country in which you live 3. ex-pat community) I learned that TCK (I think 3CK is catchier...but they'd already come up with an acronym before I got on board) are quick to make friendships and those friendships start at a deeper level. There just isn't enough time to go through the initial, superficial stages. I think that 3CA (Ha! No known acronym for third culture adults, so I can use what I like!) function the same way. You make good friends quickly here.

I have had to say goodbye to very good friends recently. I've taught their children, spent Christmases with them, and just chatted and relaxed with them. It's hard to lose this "simpatico" anywhere, but is especially difficult to lose as an ex-pat. Truly, these friends are irreplaceable. This is the part of ex-pat life that isn't so much fun. They're back in the US for a bit ("Mom" & kids are already there) before they move on to their next post. On Saturday I went to say goodbye to "Dad" and to collect a very special gift.

I love stories and histories. I'm a social historian. I like to see the everyday items of everyday people. I'd rather have a much-loved version of nearly anything in my home. I like to think of other people using things that I use and filling them up with happy memories. My bed, my desk...these are cherished pieces of furniture. (Well, as "cherished" as furniture can be--they've been saved from sale even when I was raising money for drama school and are now here with me in Russia...but they're still furniture.)

They're not pristine. But, the bed was handmade. It's spoon-carved. Someone planned the daisy on the headboard, perhaps for someone in particular, and smoothed the footboard by hand. The desk is a teacher's desk from the 1920's. Its front is as pretty as its back. Hundreds of children have sat and gazed at this desk. Thousands of papers have been written and marked here. These pieces have history. They're special. And I am happy to feel that I am part of a chain of people who are using them and adding to their stories.


I got to add another special, much-loved piece of furniture to d2b's room. It's the crib this family has used for all of their children...and that "Dad" and his siblings used. Lots of happy babies have slept in this crib. I can imagine the lullabies sung and prayers said over the children who dreamt here. I was so touched to be chosen to be the next home for this crib. It feels a little as if I've been adopted myself!

Thanks, J&J. I really, really appreciate this gift. I appreciate the hope and the faith that accompanies it. I feel very humbled and very grateful to get to add to its story.

Did you notice that I had crib sheets that co-ordinated with d2b's big-girl bed sheets ready and waiting...just in case? Yep. Prepared. And you thought I just had toothpaste.

71.14.18.33

Do you know what those numbers mean? (My former student, Karis, would.) It's not a winning lottery number (at least, not one I know about) or the code the computer needed on Lost. It's how long it took Ellen MacArthur to sail solo around the world*-- 71 days, 14 hours, 18 minutes and 33 seconds. My students (I was in England at the time) were fascinated by her journey. One of our classroom jobs was news reporter. Ellen MacArthur was big news in J4.

*I still think it's a little presumptuous to call this sailing "around the world" when, really, it was just sailing around Antarctica. Yet another thing that wasn't up to me.

I just read the book Race Ag@inst Time. It's a book of Ellen MacArthur's writings during her journey. Frankly, I wouldn't recommend it. (Hence the @.) It's not very well written. (She's a sailor, not a writer.) It was basically 71 days of technical sailing stuff (gybe-ing and knots and changing sails) and, well, her saying, "It's hard." I'm sure it was. I'm sure I couldn't have done it. (Actually, I tend to think I can do anything I want to...but why would I want to do this? Deep water gives me the creeps.) But it didn't make for a very kateish read.

There were, however, a few quotes that resonated. Hmm. That might mean I'm a complainer. Still...

Day 52: ...We've just got to hang in there and keep moving. It's not been much fun recently, and I'm looking forward to getting into something that's actually stable. This has been one of the hardest stages of the record so far. To have had so many hurdles, as we've had over the last few days since Cape Horn, all in a row, has been pretty brutal. I'm just trying to take every day as it comes--it's sometimes not a good idea to think about the big picture. There is no doubt we're slowing, there is no doubt we're losing a lot of time at the moment, but we've just got to get through this and out the other side--there is no point in thinking about anything else right now.

Day 53:..All that effort, all that energy seems wasted...It feels like we'll be trapped here for weeks continually changing direction, continually adjusting to the unpredictable clouds we have. But I'm not going to give up. I've given everything and I feel empty, but I'll find that little bit left in me to get us through the last 5,000 miles.

Day 56:..I keep going because this isn't something that just sprang out of the dark. Building the boat and working on the project has been in my mind for a long time; it's not just something that started the day I left from Falmouth. However hard it gets, that knowledge doesn't let me go. This record attempt, right now, is the object of all our efforts.

Day 60: I need to de-stress and calm down a little, but it is exceptionally difficult to do when you've got the Doldrums in front of you.

Doldrums, ha! To that I sing, "Sail on! When the water gets high, sail on. When the wind starts to die, sail on. It's just a matter of minutes 'till the ship comes to get us and we all get in and sail on." Did you sing along?

There's a lot of gybing and tacking going on right now in my adoption journey. I'm trying to get a forecast on which way the wind's blowing. There are many things beneath the surface. But, we're still sailing.

Ellen MacArthur's solo journey around the world was incredible. I wonder how she'd fare on the journey of international adoption...

Russian proverb:
Pray to God and continue to row towards shore.

I'm doing both.

clean? check.

Two new driving laws came into effect 1 January.

1. Seatbelts must be worn if, indeed, the car is equipped with seat belts. If the car doesn't have seat belts, don't worry about it.
   
2. Your car's licence plate must be clean. Your car can be filthy, a loophole for which I am very grateful, but the plate must be clean.

The first law doesn't change much for me. I do wear my seatbelt when I'm driving. I don't always wear it in others' cars, but that was out of cultural respect. Wearing a seatbelt seems to be an affront to the skills of the driver. Now, however, I am saving the driver money if we're stopped by being securely buckled in...when there are seatbelts.

The second law adds a step to my pre-driving check. Now, I go outside and hope I see my car. (Much less towing in the winter than in the summer, so it's usually where I left it.) I unlock the car with the key. The clicker was one of the suspects of battery drainage. (They disconnected it and removed my alarm...to no effect. The answer actually seems to be to start it daily and let it run for about 20 minutes. It's either that or disconnect the battery and bring it inside every night as many of my neighbors do. That gets messy. I'd have to lean against my car to do it...and that would mean washing my coat. What they've done to this car over the years I have no clue. But, I digress. Shocker.)

Then, I start the car and turn on the heater and rear defrost. If it's icy, I scrape. If it's not, and it hasn't been very often in the last two years, I take a window squeegee and squeegee off the dirt from my windows. Sometimes I only have to do the windows on the street side. I have learned the hard way that it is best *not* to squirt the windows with cleaner first. This just makes mud. I simply squeegee off the layer of dirt that has accumulated overnight. Nice, huh? Imagine what we're breathing...

Before I get in the car, I check my licence plates. If they're not clean (with the red clearly showing to dissuade militsia from stopping me) then I take the spray bottle of windshield wiper fluid and the roll of paper towels from the back seat and clean them off. All trash goes in the big bin and we're ready to go!

And then we begin the adventure that is driving in Russia.

Russia suffers from two misfortunes: bad roads and foolish people.

--Nikolai Gogol

new address

Just so you can update your address books...

Funnily, the Finnish post decided they needed a street address to deliver post to the
Embassy. (Funny that they didn't require it until now...)

Me
AASSP
c/o US Embassy, box L
Itainen Puistotie 14
00140 Helsinki
FINLAND

know your world

How well do you know your world?

This is totally addictive. Addicting. Makes you stay online waaaaaay more than you should.

My kids are going to play it during their next technology lesson.

bolo punching?

Definition that I looked up on the internet so as to have an appropriate title: A bolo punch is a flashy wide sweeping uppercut that is more about showboating than power. The bolo punch might not even be thrown at all but rather used to distract the opponent so you can hit them with your other hand.

Disclaimer: This is the story told to me. I have no idea of its veracity.

V told me a story to explain why orphanage directors preferred to accept gifts of good rahter than donations of cash. It was about one of the baby homes we visited on my whirlwind donation tour. It's about to celebrate its 60th year as a baby home. For 55 years before that it was a dacha for an admiral and his family. It's a beautiful, wooden building. The stairway as you enter is absolutely gorgeous. But, it does have its share of wear, both inside and out. It is not the children's home in the worst condition, but it is sorely in need of repair.

Last year, there was a documentary made about this baby home in anticipation of its six decades. It was shown during a boxing championship in St. Petersburg last year. This was a big event! The orphanage director was delighted to be invited. President P was there, too.

After the match, the boxing gloves were auctioned off and the proceeds were to benefit the baby home. The bidding reached, according to V, 3 million rubles. Everyone was very surprised because the winning bidder was just an ordinary man. People joked that Pres. had actually backed the bidder. The money was deposited into her account.

The orphanage director was thrilled! She talked to all of her friends about that night and her good fortune. She told everyone about the repairs she would make, the renovating she would do. She began making plans. She called to let her supervisors know she would be withdrawing money from her account (It's called "her" account, but in reality she has little access to it and needs approval for withdrawls.) to make repairs. They told her that the money was specifically for repairs to the outside of the building. She readily agreed and asked to make the withdrawl.

She was then told that she was the orphanage director and was therefore in charge of all that occurred inside the orphanage. She had no jurisdiction over the OUTSIDE of the building. She couldn't access any of the money in her account.

V says the director doesn't talk about this anymore. V said that last with a little laugh, as if it was inevitable that this was too good to be true and the director was foolish to think otherwise. I can only imagine the disappointment and frustration the director must feel.

What I do know: There was a fight.

What I found online: The auction is mentioned as being hosted by what seems to be a reputable charitable foundation.

What I don't know: How much was the winning bid? Who bought them? Why? What happened to the money?

What else I know: That orphanage could put that money to good use. Any orphanage could.

plugging on

I went to the consulate today and got fingerprinted for my updated I600A. All sorts of things to be thankful for: I didn't have to pay for it (it's a one-time extension fee waiver), I didn't have to go to Moscow to be fingerprinted, they inter-office mailed it so I didn't have to go and file it in person or FedEx it. That's hundreds of dollars and two days saved!

no elephant sightings

Remember when I thought I was adopting an elephant? We're now at the 22 month mark. No elephants in sight...must be stuck on the bus.

(I did learn that the longest gestation period recorded for an elephant is actually 25.3 months. That gives us about three more months. Of course, I'm all about breaking records.)