Author: place2place

  • head spinning oy

    Moscow graffiti

    Old Arbat graffiti today.

    There was talk of the world ending this week-end but instead, Stefan went to a pizza-making class. Because of her Russian connections, our 16- year old niece Ana brings us closer to real Moscow culture. While they were throwing pizza dough with Ana's aunt and someone named Kirill, I walked down the Old Arbat and indulged my current Lomonsov obsession and looked at tea pots and sugarers. Then I saw a painting I wanted but only for 1000 rubles and the seller wouldn't come down, so I kept walking.

    We are living in a soup of pre-packout haze: schools to register for (I haven't done that yet?!) plane tickets from Moscow to London, hotel in the UK, plane tickets from NY to California, why am I eating this candy? My dad's memorial in California, what shoes will we need this summer? When does Nina get here? Why haven't I ordered presents for my co-workers yet? When do our new passports arrive so I can register us on the ship? Who wrote in ball point pen all over Camille? How many TWIM topics do I have left? What else can I obsess over? 

    Somehow using the thirty or so pieces of his artwork that we have with us, I managed to put together an exhibit of Gene Garson's paintings in the Hall of Ambassadors. Seeing the paintings being hung brought tears to my eyes. They look beautiful and people stop to look at them and want to talk about them and I hope Gene is watching. A website of his work starting with this latest show: another fixation.

    Our last month in Moscow. The world didn't end. Party on.

  • great mother’s day

    Tsaritisno today was a major check off the list!

    First we rode the metro out…if we'd driven it would have taken hours. The metro goes super fast.

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    Then you have to wear these airport-style booties to protect the newly-made Catherine-the-great-deserving palace floors.

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    You have to sneak in a photo of the interior before you get called out by a guard. And that will happen, don't worry, that is their job. But you can take as many pictures as you want outside.

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    After you tour the museum, which was totally recreated by the mayor of Moscow in the last ten years, based on 18th century sketches–and what a great use of space, I must say–each room of the palace is filled with arifacts from all corners of Russia, from classic heavily embroidered costumes to Lapland papooses.

    Afterwards, you have to pick your favorite Lomosov pattern in the gift store.

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    IMG_0258Amazing day, seeing some of Catherine's huge collection of painted urns and mechanical birds in pretty little cages and 100-year-old-postage-stamp-sized books brought from Kazakstan and palace-sized rooms filled with Mongolian yurts

    Then, for a dramatic time-travel juxtaposition, we went to the mall and bought Camille clothes at Zara.

    I wish everyone I know as weird and wonderful a Mother's Day as this.

  • things get lost, or maybe not

    My fun, vivacious aunt who had no fewer than four spinach salad recipes, loved to run on the beach when she was 50, and always wore 3-inch heels, now at 84, still has cute legs. Walking down the hall of the nursing home, I saw them sticking out, half-hidden behind a curtain around her bed. Then I looked at the face and said, "That's her. Or it's someone else who looks exactly like my grandfather did at 97."

    My Aunt Edie, who loved red wine and the color yellow and to laugh and play pool, lays in bed now and compulsively scratches her neck. She always used a tiny brush to put on her lipstick, seeing her now without make up is a harder adjustment than having her not know who I am. She has the same eyes she always did, the same high cheekbones, skin that shows she took care of it for years, and makes me rethink the need for sunscreen. I petted her arm and asked if that was okay with her. "Yes," she said, which is now her only word. Her biggest joy in life these days is chewing gum.

    The necklace my aunt is wearing in this photo, my uncle bought for her in Clearwater Beach, Florida for their one year wedding anniversary. Soemthing like twenty one-carat diamonds form a heart-shape, with one larger diamond in the center. From the day she got it, she never took it off. She showered in it, wore it with gowns on New Years Eve and running on the beach. She wore with her bathing suit while working on her tan. Her smile and that necklace, Aunt Edie lit up our world.

    Suntan A. Edie in swimsuit
    After wearing the necklace every day since May 1967, around 1990, in the grocery store, my aunt felt around her neck and realized the necklace was missing. She searched everywhere, crying, put ads in the paper but never saw the necklace again. She believed she lost it while walking across a parking lot.

    Wednesday my sister and I visited my aunt in the convelencent hospital and talked about how adorable she was. "If there was anything of hers I ever wanted, I would have loved to have had that necklace," my sister said. I knew exactly what necklace she was talking about, no one forgets bling like that.

    While my sister and I have spent the last few days holding my dad's hand in hospice, my uncle has been searching his house for the combination to his safe. He invited my sister up to her house the other day and surprised–or absolutely freaked her out, given that we'd just been talking about the necklace–her with a gift. She walked into my dad's room and at his bedside, I looked up to see the diamond heart-shaped necklace around my sister's neck and screamed. My uncle says he found it in a jacket pocket of my aunt's, without the chain.

    Of course, I'm only somewhat insanely jealous, but I am so happy to see the necklace, and I love seeing it on my sister.

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    Difficult as it is to believe it's her, her legs twisted in a blanket, unable to have a conversation, scratching and chewing gum, seeing my darling Aunt Edie in her dramatically altered state is still seeing her. I'm going to go see her again while I'm home. I think I'll take lipstick to put on her, and some lotion to smooth where she's been scratching.

    Update: I spent most of the time during my second visit with Aunt Edie telling her about her wedding, I was her flower girl. I told her every detail I could remember, she seemed to enjoy hearing about her velvet and silk dress, the tiara she wore and the rose petals I put in everyone's champagne. I found out this morning, before I had a chance to publish what I wrote earlier, that my Aunt Edie died yesterday.

  • unofficial moscow bucket list

    I made a Moscow bucket list for the newsetter, but I put a whole bunch of stuff in there that I think I am suppose to want to do. I'm sure they are things totally worth doing and I'll miss out by not seeing the icons in Chirst the Savior Cathedral and the Cat Circus, but these are some of the things I really want to do before we leave Moscow:

    Drink more of this  tastes-like-marzipan tea (made by the tea-makers to the Tsars). I'm sure that now that I've discovered it, it will no longer be available.

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    Eat more actual marzipan. I never liked marzipan much before, but now I'm totally into this one. Except I'm not really eating sugar right now. Except for this marzipan.

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    Go back in time and watch Eurovision with Nina. Gosh that was fun.

    Drink wine and have dinner with friends and laugh until I almost wet my pants.

    Buy more silly paintings like this one that we got for Stefan's room at Ismailova.

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    Find the bird etchings that I adore that I think I threw away in the trash. 

    Savor having supportive, creative friends.

    Hang on Peter some more in our ugly "one-butt" kitchen.

    Enjoy the sound of Stefan having his piano lesson with his Tchaikovski-Conservatory-trained very serious piano teacher.

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    I really do want to see Tsaritsino, Catherine-the-Great's mad-cap idea of a little get-away-place. You can take the metro there from our house, for goodness sake. Peter's sister Alex and his cousin's daughter Ana (in Africa I got to just call her my "little sister") are coming to visit. I'm hoping the weather is nice and one day when they are here we make a day of Tsaritsino. Maybe a picnic with ham and deviled eggs and vinigarette salad and all the food of Peter's childhood? On Easter?

    Buy a samovar. And take it on an Easter picnic to Tsaritsino.

    Write/paint/draw/make stuff. Yesterday I made more pillowcases from crazy Russian fabric and a little stuffed bird. Then I put the bird in a branch. Tomorrow I'll put the bird in the trash. This is my life. The pillowcases turned out nice though. But the best part about them is that Geri came and sat and talked and knitted with me while I sewed.

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    Enjoy my quotable co-workers. "If people can't write, they have no business being a lawyer." And: "If I make this email pink, will people not read it? Or will they read it becaaaaauuuuse it's pink?"

    Not forget a thing.

    A winter's worth of snow has packed down, and I walk Bea on a frozen glacier of ice now. The last snow of our last winter in Moscow runs in sweet rivulets, down into big, black scary storm drains. Everything I wanted to do here, everything I will do, there it goes. Bye.

  • bea yesterday and today

    Bea before_after

    Oh, what a difference the groomer makes.

  • whirlwindy

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    We've had a couple of visitors, we insisted Helen extend her stay from two weeks to three weeks. We did all sorts of fun stuff with her, like visiting a doll workshop–which is a whole blog post of its own. Then Aleen was here for a week and we went for a few wanders–we found a couple of really quirky shops, both of them hidden in apartment buildings. We would have made her stay longer if we could have, but she left yesterday. She probably thought we were trying to kill her with Glee and Modern Family and trips to the grocery store and the forced bus-drivers holiday of constant psychotherapy. I've also been working on a brochure-turned-36 page booklet outside of my regular job that kept me busy when I wasn't newslettering. Camille had exams. A bomb exploded at the airport. Oh, and today is the last day of the Two-Week Triathlon, I swam my last 26 laps and spun away my last 12 miles.

    Peter wrote an Overwhelming To-Do list of things we have to accomplish by the time we leave Moscow, like renew our passports–including some doggy passport we need for Bea–and schedule our travel and pack out, all the usual. Plus we are in negotiations to sell our house in Portland. I'm having a hard time falling asleep at night. I wonder why?

  • see you next year in romania

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    Took down the Christmas tree today–everything had to be carefully put away this year since it will all be moved this summer. I put the tree outside with the lights still on so we can enjoy it a few more days.

  • new years slip

    The strangest thing happened to me on January 1st, 2011. We were out with my sister Helen walking the Kremlin and Red Square and on the way back, we wandered  through the old Arbat, in the light snow and over spots of ice.

    We stopped at a grocery store and bought some bread and desert to add to our dinner. The sidewalk was slushy sloped down to the street, as though for wheelchair access (though I've never saw anyone in a wheelchair in Russia). My hands were carrying the bags and all of a sudden, my feet slipped out from under me and before I could try and even break my fall, I landed on my tailbone. 

    I could see the heavey Nikon I had around my neck come right at me as though it were taking my picture. It bounced off my brow and landed up above my head, choking me by the strap. I lay there trying to figure out what was hapening in my lower back.

    Helen asked me if I was all right and a young man came up and offered to help me up. "Just a second! Just a second!" I begged. "I need a few minutes to assess myself." My legs seemed to move fine and the pain that was in my low back seemed to be subsiding. The man again was coaxing me to stand up, assuring me it would be fine. "Alright then" I said, and he muscled me up to a standing position. 

    Upright, my low back was sending strange signals. Definitely pain but with a strange added pressure, kind of a displacement, like the tingling when your foot falls alseep. My head was starting to swim and I felt swirly. I leaned forward and put my hands on my bent knees. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to pass out." And that is the last thing I remember. According to Helen, I fell from a leaning forward position strait down onto my face. A brief out of body experience, kind of warm and fuzzy ("And oh what a feeling when your soul goes through the cieling"). The next thing I knew, I could hear voices but I was completely disoriented.

    Helen and a passerby were holding me and the ice below me felt good on my now throbbing butt. A militia man was talking on a radio and a stranger was running up with a chair (it turned out to be a parking attendant). They sat me up and I tried my best to compose myself. An ambulance was called and I was already trying to imagine myself walking back to the Embassy (about 3 blocks away). The kind woman who stopped to help was from the British Embassy and she was trying to convince me to walk with her to her Embassy, also fairly close by. I tried to request that the militia man cancel the ambulance but he said it was already on the way and that I should wait. I could always refuse once they checked me out. So I resigned myself to that. In truth, I really didn't feel so great and nausea was already coming on.

    The ambulance arrived rather quickly with their flashing blue lights. A medical attendant approached me and asked me some questions. I explained what happened and that I did not hit my head. Silly I know, coming from someone who has blood dripping from his brow. He invited me into his ambulance and I complied. It was smoke filled. He did a mini neuro exam and I got him to chuckle. I eventually revealed that I was the healh provider from the American Embassy. 

    He suggested I be taken to a hospital for evaluation. I declined, not wanting that experience. I told him I just needed to get home to the Embassy and he said he waould take us there. There were no seatbelts in the ambulance. He cleaned up my eye while they drove us home, no gloves or sterile dressings. I expected a request for payment but it cost me nothing. They dropped us off at the main gate, 200 feet from my apartment. 

    I walked supported on Helen's arm. My low back seemed okay but my buttocks felt as though something was trying to cut through from the inside out. I made it to the couch and lay down. Nausea overcame me. Nothing sounded good to eat or drink. I lay there rather helplessly. Eventually I fell asleep and have been sore for the past couple of days. But the nausea went away, the pain has gotten better and the black eye swelling has gone down.

    Everytime I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the cigarette commercial from the 70's, "Taraton smokers would rather fight than switch."

  • soviet style

    One of the things I have gotten to this holiday season was to do a mini-exhibit of these vintage soviet postcards under the premise of office decoration. I made garlands and we look really popular, like we got over a hundred Christmas cards. As a bonus, it's a mini art history lesson of fifty years of amazing Soviet art. Because nothing says Christmas like a Christmas tree on the moon, the Kremlin star on the top of your ahem, New Year's tree, (there was no Christmas here, remember?) or Santa on a rocket.

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    The Ambassador's wife really enjoyed the display, since it ends up she's been collecting vintage cards at the flea market Ismailova until her hands get too cold without gloves to go through the cards. She brought me all her duplicates. I'm touched and kind of thrilled.