Category: Uncategorized

  • 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.

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    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.

  • 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.

  • freeze

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    Every day Stefan crosses a day off his homemade countdown calendar, not counting today to make Christmas seem sooner. "Today is Chirstmas Eve Eve Eve Eve," he tells me.

    The days are swirling past like snowflakes and I'm dazzled by all the sights–the lit up Urkraina hotel, the Christmas tree on the embassy compound with the Russian White House as a backdrop, the stunning dacha-in-frost sets last night at the Snowmaiden ballet. I want to knit a hat like the costume, I want to keep figuring out Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring on the guitar, I want to listen more closely to the new Pink Martini Chirstmas album, bake merange cookies, call my mom. Appreciating Stefan's anticipation makes my time slow down to his for a second and lets me think I can maybe do all that. And still shop for stocking stuffers for Camille. 

    As much as I adored going home for Chirstmas last year, this year snuggling into Moscow's Chirstmas spectacular feels like a gift. Watching the wind roll the snow into a cloud and blow it across the windows, is like a show. Getting in the car and seeing Moscow go by through windows frosted over in a million sparkly stars and flowers, it's like an effect for a movie.

    Christmas is New Years here, and the holiday goes on for eleven days afterwards, they are just getting geared up. I still want to take photos of Red Square and see the Diaghalev window displays at GUM. I need as many Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eves as I can get.

  • how was your weekend?

    Spaso House Christmas party followed by Ikea followed by buying the prettiest fresh Christmas tree.

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    As a favor for me, Stefan learned to play Hark the Herald Angels Sing, which he calls, "Gloria" like the Van Morrison song. Here, he's playing the Ambassador's piano. A new lego set bribe may or may not have been involved.

    Stefan hedged his bets by telling both American Santa and Russian Santa his Christmas wishes. I feel like mine have already come through.

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  • not russian roulette

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    I ripped off Amy Rupple's idea for Portland bingo and made these for these Moscow bingo cards for the holiday season for the TWIM. Not that they are holiday in any way, I just wanted to make something that would be like a present for the community. I hope my limited audience–English-speaking kids riding around in the car in Moscow–enjoy them. You have to come up with your own game pieces, Amy Rupple says, "Use gum!" Or maybe those kopek coins no one seems to want.

    I don't have to tell you to click for the full size version do I?

    Are we to Sergei Posad yet?

  • dinner and a show

    Weekends we usually take the car out to Metro, sort of a cross between Costco and Safeway, before they started remodeling the Safeways to make them Whole Foods-esque. The sign at the door says children under age ten, nyet, but everyone brings their kids anyway. We go because they have good produce and the prices are pretty good, or maybe for the real Russian atmosphere.

    They usually have samples out, a la Costco. One time they were giving away mijiotos and champagne! Today they were giving away espressos. The pretty girl, as they always are here, working the little booth was making one tiny espresso at a time, excruciatingly slowly. Peter and I had a race to see if he made it to the front of front of the fish counter before I made it to the front of the free espresso line. He won and I skipped the espresso.

    I have never gotten out of Metro able to buy everything in my cart. I've put back sugar because I didn't take enough packages, fruit because I didn't weigh it and wine because it wasn't priced. Today they wouldn't let me buy the fancy Koushmikov tea. "It's not in the system," the clerk said. So he took my pretty canister of tea and put it back on the shelf to display it for the next person who won't be allowed to buy it.

    Then the checker made us wait ten minutes so we could watch her fight with the guy who had packaged our whole salmon.

    Checker: "Worker! You can't label this trout if it's salmon!"
    Fish counter guy: "They are the same price, I've worked here for four years and we always use the term trout and salmon interchangeably."
    Checker:  "Worker! That's like saying you and I are the same thing and you know that's not true."

    She was so mean to him. Or I dunno, maybe she was flirting with him. The $40 Christmas tree lights aren't much of a bargain, but admission to Metro is always free.
  • it’s all about atmosphere

    Half of me can't WAIT to find out where our next post is, and the other half of me is happy to mentally live in all six potential posts at once. I'll be sad no matter where we are assigned because we can't go to all of them. The other six-eighteenths of me is nostalgic about Moscow. Is there a word for the sweet nostalgia of knowing you are going to miss something while you are still doing it?

    This summer in the car Stefan and I heard John Mayer's Half of My Heart for the first time. Stefan recognized John Mayer's voice but thought he was singing about Heffalump. I misheard the words as "I can't stop loving you with half of my arms." I sort of wish I didn't know about Jennifer Aniston so I didn't have to picture John Mayer hugging her with stumps.

    Anyhoo. Where was I? Brussels? Bucharest? Oh, still in Moscow.

    I'm reading A Life in Letters, a collection of Anton Chekov's letters. He's so broke he's pawning his shoes. He's in medical school and he's writing to support his parents and his sister. He sends scathing letters to his brother in which he swears his head off. Then he drinks champagne and goes for a walk around the Kremlin. He's writing and writing and writing — he writes something like three stories a week. He goes on and on about how crucial simplicity is. Then he has to have two teeth pulled and the extraction is so painful he has a headache for four days. He writes about his hemorrhoids. It's all so immediate it's like I'm following him on Twitter. Except, of course, it's 1886.

    Today, looking for items to put in the embassy newsletter I read a review of an exhibit opening of a landscape painter and I recognized the name from the A Life in Letters. Half the letters Chekov writes are to this guy, maybe his best friend, Issak Levitan. They were both obsessed with depicting atmosphere. I have to go see this show of more than 200 of his paintings at the Tretykov Gallery.

    That kind of happenstance is what I will miss about Moscow with half of my arms.

    V_zvonMoscow News article I was reading today about Levitan and the exhibition–wish I'd written it.