Changing Perspectives

I'm sitting here in my bedroom, on a rainy Saturday evening, thinking about home. I just finished watching the Simon and Garfunkel “Old Friend” concert DVD – sometimes you can find very out-of-place things here in Tikhvin. I seriously doubt anyone else in this town even knows who Simon and Garfunkel are. However, I was glad to find this small treasure. It's amazing how things can change in just the matter of a few years... I used to HATE Simon and Garfunkel. I mean I really hated them with a passion. My mother always listened to Simon and Garfunkel when we would clean the house on Saturdays. Just by hearing a few notes of “Mrs. Robinson,” “Scarborough Fair,” or “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” I can immediately smell lemon-scented Pledge and hear the vacuum cleaner going. I would beg my mom to please let us listen to something else – The Beach Boys, The Everly Brothers, The Beatles – just not Simon and Garfunkel. I laugh as I remember this, for now I am a huge fan of Simon and Garfunkel. I think they are some of the most talented musicians of my parent's generation. Their music fascinates and moves me, and I was surprised to see how many people my age attended this concert, and who (along with me) were singing every word. Yes, I just had a great 2 hour sing-a-long, which I'm sure my neighbors really appreciated.
Last year when I was training for the marathon, every morning when I ran I would think of my breathing patterns, the length of my stride, whether the shin splints would be less severe if I ran on the asphalt or on the cement sidewalk, etc. I read running magazines, talked to experts about which kind of inserts I should use and which training plan I should follow. This week as I ran my head was full of other thoughts – try to avoid the hidden potholes and not fall this time, remember to look for hypodermic needles, razor blades, and large pieces of glass, and always be on the lookout for the many stray dogs running around time. Such a change in just less than a year...
Thank goodness that the weather has changed recently. It was still very cold right up until Easter. The day before Easter was hideous – very cold, rainy, windy, just very miserable. Sunday morning was extraordinary. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and signs of life were everywhere. It still gets cold on occasion. Last week it got to about -4 one night. I dug the long underwear back out and almost slept in my down sleeping bag again, for now there is no heat in any of the buildings. But now we're back to around 12C or 15C during the day. When Spring finally did arrive, I truly celebrated. I took a picture of the first green grass I saw and cried when I first spotted a flower. There was still snow on the ground in the beginning of May but it's all melted now.
I have been here for just about six months now, and in that entire time I have been hugged exactly two times. I am not one of those people who shows affection or wants to be shown affection primarily through physical means. My family was by no means cold to each other, but neither were we overly touchy. However, this lack of physical contact with other members of the human race affects a person in strange ways. Perhaps it's more the lack of affection in general, and not specifically the lack of physical contact – whatever it is, it is a lonely existence.
My sister and her husband are in the states visiting my parents right now (consequently, so are many of their friends) . She called last night. I hadn't talked with her for over 3 months. I heard her say, “Hey, Jessica” as no one else says and I almost lost it. I couldn't get out a decent hello before I started crying. I am aching to be home with my family right now. I always want to see them, but knowing that they are all there together and I'm half-way around the world, makes it just a little more difficult to be apart. I've thought a lot about the entire concept of the family since I've been here in Russia. Who are the people to whom I'm related? Why does it matter if we share some of the DNA? Why is my relationship with them so different from everyone else in this world? I haven't really found any answers to these questions, but I am more convinced now than ever that family is incredibly important. Sometimes the people in my family drive me crazy and I feel like I don't understand them at all. But at the same time, I know that they understand me probably better than I understand myself, and I take huge comfort in that fact. As I was not able to be with my mom on Mother's Day recently, I wrote her a letter instead. Of course I recounted all the things I love about her and what makes her such an incredible mother, but I also just took time to remember what it was like growing up in my family. We had some very fun times. I remember laughing a lot. However, my mother used to drive me absolutely crazy in little ways like insisting that we buy shoes with good support, always carrying water with her wherever she went, and always giving us spur-of-the-moment science lessons. Now I find that I act in exactly the same ways. My friends here continually ask me why I can't go anywhere without a bottle of water and get tired of my never-ending questions about the trees, types of snow, etc. My parents sent me a recent picture of themselves and, for the very first time in my life, when I showed it to people, they said that I look like my dad more than my mom. This absolutely floored me when it first happened, but without fail, every person in Russia who has seen this picture has insisted that I look more like my dad. I suppose that I'm used to being associated with my mom because we are so alike in other ways – our voices, the things we say, the way we move. I used to want to be so independent and make my own name for myself in this great big world; now I am incredibly thankful that I have a great family that I can fall back on when I am confused and don't seem to know who I am or what I'm doing.
Perspective is such an interesting concept. Whenever I'm hiking here, I always take extra precaution to know where I am, for various reasons. First, I am always hiking alone – no one else here hikes for enjoyment. Secondly, I usually get turned around or lose the trail at some point. (I don't consider this “getting lost” because I've always found my way out so far.) My students and I have had one recurring conversation about the Russian forests – I tell them that they don't know what they're missing, that they're crazy for not observing this beautiful nature that's right in their backyard. I can walk out the front door of my building, and within thirty minutes, be deep in the Russian wilderness, and enjoy the wonderfully peaceful feeling I get when I realize that not a soul in the world knows where I am and I can just lose myself in nature. My students look at me like I'm from another planet and say things like “But you have New York City and Hollywood. And besides, there are bugs in the forest.” I try to make them understand that if the furniture companies continue cutting down the trees at the rate they currently are, sooner or later Russia will have as few trees left as the U.S. does, and they too will have to drive half-way across the country to be able to vacation in woods such as these. Neither of us will change our opinions though, and we remain worlds apart.
I'm amazed at how people here know that I'm a foreigner – I have the same general coloring as many of them, my clothes are different but not that different, and especially if I don't speak, I really don't know what sets me apart. However, they just know. Today in the market I didn't even say anything to the owner of a stall at which I had paused, and she immediately asked if I was a foreigner. How did she know? I've also had some of my students tell me that they knew I wasn't Russian before they every knew there was a foreigner in town. At times the differences between people seem so huge, and at the same time I can't even articulate what those differences are.
Yesterday as I was talking to my mom I was trying to describe how I desperately love this place, and yet am so miserable at the same time. Not a single person here understands what I am here to do. The concept of volunteering is totally foreign to this culture. I was dumbfounded the first time someone asked me why I would volunteer – not why I came to Russia, not why I was teaching English, buy why would anyone volunteer. They had never heard of someone volunteering. I stuttered and stumbled over the words and finally just blurted out, “Because it's the right thing to do.” Not an eloquent or satisfactory answer at all, but it was all I could come up with at the moment. Later we came back to the subject and I was able to explain in better detail how I am convinced that a life lived for yourself is no life at all, but only by living your life for others, experiencing all of life with others, is the only way to truly live. He just looked at me in confusion and turned to talk to someone else. In one of my classes at the university we discussed spending habits. Some of the questions in the textbook related to giving money to charities. Not one of my students had ever given money to a charity of any kind – not to a church, a non-profit, anything. The next question asked why/why not, and the students said that they had never been asked for money by a charity. More than that, not one of them could think of a single charity. I have tried to imagine what it would be like not to grow up as part of a Christian community, not to have weekly volunteer projects, not to go on mission trips in the summer and on Spring Break. I can't. I have no idea what that kind of life would be like, and the people here have no concept of enjoying a church service. I convinced one of my students to go to the midnight Easter Service with me. On the way to the Monastery I was able to share with her how I would celebrate Easter in the United States. I explained to her what Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday mean. I tried to share with her why this is my favorite celebration. She found it very interesting and even translated the information for her other friend who was with us. Every Russian greets each other on Easter with “Kristos voskres” - Christ is Risen. You say it on the street, at people's houses, everywhere. As I explained my understanding of this day to Dasha, she said, “Maybe that's where 'Kristos voskres' comes from.” I just smiled and agreed that yes, the two probably were connected.
When people here see pictures of the states they automatically say two things. First, “Oh, everything's so clean.” Second, they ask what it's like to live there. This is about as easy to explain as it is to explain what peanut butter is, or what it feels like to be separated from everything and everyone you know, or what it feels like to experience a winter of -40 when you're used to summers of 100+. You can't explain it – you just know when you finally experience it.
Time is confusing. Sometimes it flies, sometimes it drags. It never seems act in the way that you want it to, though. Nevertheless, one fact always remains the same in the midst of everything else that changes so drastically around us. Time doesn't stop. It always keeps on going. The day will eventually turn into night and the night into day (although it sometimes doesn't feel like it here with it only getting semi-dark about 11:00 and very light again about 4:30). I heard a new Simon and Garfunkel song tonight – the only one I didn't know almost every word to out of almost 2 ½ hours of music. It's called “Leaves that are Green”.

I was 21 years when I wrote this song, 22 now but I won't be for long. The timer is on and the leaves that are green turn brown. And they wither with the wind, and they crumble in your hand.... I threw a pebble in a little brook and watched the ripples run away and they never made a sound. And the leaves that are green turn brown. And they wither with the wind, and they crumble in your hand. Hello, hello, hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. That's all there is. And the leaves that are green turn brown.

In about three months I will be saying goodbye to some very amazing people, which I know will break my heart. And at the same time I'll be rejoicing, knowing that soon I'll be saying hello to my family and some very dear friends. Soon no one will remember that a crazy American girl lived in Tikhvin, and 9 months suddenly will not seem like such a long time. For now, though, I'll continue to love (and hate) the time that I have here. I'll continue to love the potholes, the gray buildings, the government that seems to never keep it's word, the stray dogs, the howling cats, the forest, the grandmothers selling potatoes for $0.25 a pound. I'll get sad on occasion and listen to Simon and Garfunkel or watch "Fiddler on the Roof", then I'll take a hike in the woods or teach a class or make cookies for the old lady sitting outside of the same store every day, and life will be alright once more. I know that once I leave this place I will desperately want to return. But that's part of life. There are hellos and goodbyes and time keeps on going. Seasons change, new life is born, and the world continues. At times life is a celebration and at times it is more than a struggle. People change, circumstances change, dreams change – but life always continues. And sometimes that is the most comforting thing of all.

Spring is Here....I Think

I've always loved spring. It is one of my favorite times of year – enjoying the freedom to play outside again, taking pictures in the wildflowers, wearing that pretty new dress on Easter Sunday... I have great memories of wonderful Texas springs, before the unbearable heat of summer begins to beat down.
We're in the midst of spring in Russia, too. I know this in my mind – I see the date on the calendar (March 23!), people tell me we're experiencing spring weather, children will go on holiday next week, etc. Somehow, though I have quite a hard time believing that spring is actually here.
We did have a few days of good weather – it actually got up to zero once or twice! However, it has snowed every day this week and is back around -10, although a few afternoons have warmed up to -5. I am experiencing some aspects of Russian spring that I had previously only read of: finding frozen rats and birds on the playgrounds and streets as the snow begins to settle; 6-inch thick ice which covered the sidewalks (there actually are sidewalks!) now melting and forming rivers you slosh through daily; icicles growing longer and longer, hanging treacherously off rain gutters, as the snow on roofs slowly melts (in St. P they say that 3 or 4 people die each year of falling icicles). I have also discovered that the slippery snow and ice in winter is NOTHING compared to the slippery ice in spring. You see, every day that it begins to warm up, even just a little, the hard-packed snow that has covered the sidewalks for the past 5 or 6 months begins to melt. Then, as soon as the sun goes down, it freezes again, making almost every sidewalk in town quite adventurous. I still laugh hysterically when I, or one of my companions, slips and falls mid-sentence as we walk down the street. Passersby look at me strangely, for this is quite normal for them and they fail to see the humor.
I have been warned, however, that summers here are not all fun and games. Apparently it can get all the way up to 20 degrees Celsius – about 80 degrees Fahrenheit. This is always said with such horror – twenty degrees! “Just wait, Jessie. Not even you will like it that hot.” I wish I could capture the expressions on people's faces when I tell them that in Texas, it sometimes gets up to 40 degrees Celsius.
This week has been mercifully slower, as I have been sick with whatever the rest of the town is sick with. All the schools have been quarantined until the beginning of April. My students were rather surprised at my shock at the news of a quarantine; apparently this happens nearly every year. They usually have a quarantine when, on average, 200-300 students in each school are sick for several weeks in a row. A few of my students were hospitalized back when it was really cold – they say they have trouble with their kidneys when it gets down to -40. I didn't know this could happen, and still think something might have been lost in translation, but I got the general gist: Cold Russian winters and Russian springs bring lots of sickness with them.
Other than the shock of “spring” things are pretty much the same. I am enjoying getting to know my students better, and am beginning to wonder how I will continue seeing them in the summer. It is fascinating to observe the different ways they do many of the same things I went through at their age – finals, applying for college, deciding what to do with their life, etc. Needless to say, they approach things very, very differently than I did. But they are young and excited about what the future holds, and I am excited for them as well. People are beginning to ask me what I will do when I go back, which usually leads to the question of “Where will you go back to?” Frankly, at this point, I have no idea. I'm considering a few schools, but am not yet ready to make any major decisions. So, we'll just wait and see. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the spring.

Living in Darkness

When I was a little girl, my uncle was in a band – The Clark Street Band. Of course, I was absolutely convinced he was the best singer in the entire world and that no other band could possibly be better than his. I remember sitting with my family at Maggie’s one night, a bar/restaurant in San Antonio, when I was about five, listening to him sing “Pretty Woman.” I was so proud of my uncle and so proud that I was related to him. Later (maybe days or weeks, I really don’t remember – after all, I was 5), as my family was driving somewhere in the car, “Pretty Woman” came on the radio. I was ecstatic and began to express my joy at hearing my Uncle Dennis on the radio. Needless to say, much laughter followed and I was kindly informed that this was not, in fact, my Uncle Dennis, but someone else singing the song. No matter what was said though, I knew that my uncle was still the best in the world, and if he wasn’t on the radio, then he certainly should be.
Over the past month, as I have settled into more of the “daily” life of Russia, I have been overwhelmed by feelings of living in darkness. While it is now getting much lighter outside (yesterday the sun didn’t set until almost 6!), it was very, very dark for a very, very long time. And I was only here for the last half of the worst part of the winter. The days that reached -40 seemed to stretch on forever. But there is a darkness that pervades this country that is much more oppressive than the weather… It took me a while to notice it, and you probably wouldn’t be able to put your finger on it if you were only here for a visit. For this is a beautiful land, with its plentiful forests, numerous palaces and museums, etc. If you were visiting friends or even just acquaintances, they would make you feel like the most wonderful person in the world, and whisk you around showing you all the beautiful sights there are to behold. And yet the people walk with a heavy step. Their backs are hunched over, the faces bent down, and no light is to be found. Russian history is my newest obsession, and in discovering, in great detail, the stories of their past, I have found just a glimpse of what may explain their present state. I always knew that Russians were an oppressed people, but before now I never realized how oppressed they have actually been. I have often wept as I read of the horrors committed to thousands under the tsars, only to be multiplied into the millions under Communism. And, sadly, I see the same kinds of things being done today – sometimes in the same way, and at other times the oppression takes a different form.
My students always ask me what has surprised me in Russia, or what has been difficult to become accustomed to. Only two things have been a difficult struggle for me: one, not valuing the individual, and two, not having a sense of hope. When Russians walk down the road, they do not smile at those that they pass, neither do they even acknowledge them. You are never supposed to look anyone in the eye; saying “hi” to a stranger would be unthinkable. While this might not sound like a big deal, it invades everything they do and reflects their entire way of life. Imagine going through life not being smiled at by anyone but those in your family, or those with whom you are very well acquainted. I can now tell you – it’s lonely, and it’s depressing. People have even told me that if you do smile at someone one the street or look them in the eye, then you are either being hypocritical or are trying to trick or deceive them in some way. “Why would you smile at someone you don’t know?” is the favorite question of everyone when we discuss this. I try to explain to them that there’s so much more to this than just a smile – it’s more about extending dignity to everyone, just because they are a person, just because everyone deserves a little glimmer of grace and hope in their life. And, tragically, this is a concept that do not understand.
Along with this comes their lack of hope for the future. Russians are fighters and survivors; they have had to be. They will do whatever it takes to survive, and, I must say, they are incredibly creative and resilient. I cannot imagine living the life that some of these people have lived, especially the older members of society. But when I talk to my students about problems – problems in Tihven, problems in Russia, problems all over the world – they are quick to recognize them, but not once have I had a student who actually thinks that something could be changed, even more ludicrous is the suggestion that they could in fact change anything. This is very difficult for me to deal with for a few reasons. One, I am a fixer; if I see a problem, I want to find a solution, fix the problem, cross it off my list, and move on to the next thing. The last class I shared this with laughed out loud and told me that I needed to find another country. That just doesn’t work here. And they are absolutely right – I have tried to “fix” things here and, every time, have failed miserably. But this is much more troubling for other reasons – why, I want to ask them, do you go on living if you don’t think that life can improve? Why strive for things if you don’t think you can help another person? Some of them go on because that is what they have done for centuries: they are survivors. Others don’t go on and they don’t strive at all. They become almost zombie-like in their actions and all of the good things of life evade them.
While this may sound over-exaggerated and pessimistic, I don’t think it is. Recently I had the pleasure of meeting the Nazarene missionary in St. Petersburg. We had a wonderful time together, talking, laughing, and discussing these very issues. I was so glad to hear someone else agree with my observations (someone who has been on this side of the world for 10 years, no less) and share my heartache. Part of the difference between me and them lies in the fact that I am an American, and part of the difference is that I’m incredibly optimistic and naively believe that I can do whatever I put my mind to, if I only work hard enough. But that doesn't explain everything – these people really are living under an air of hopelessness and oppression. And I don’t know what to do about it, and it breaks my heart.
I still desire to improve the lives of those around me, although I have no idea how to go about this. In the meantime, I’ll continue living as I always have. Most of the time people just attribute my different actions to the fact that I’m American, but sometimes they come right out and ask. The other day I told a man to go in front of me in line at the grocery store. He didn’t say anything at first, but looked at me quite suspiciously and stepped ahead of me. A few minutes later he turned around and demanded to know why I told him to go first. Quite surprised, I struggled to say that I had several things to buy and it would take me longer. He didn’t say anything, but just turned back around and made his purchases. As he walked past me toward the door, he stopped, looked at me in wonder again, mumbled a quick thank you, and nearly bolted for the door. Later as I was skiing with my friend Natalia, another skier came toward us on the trail. I smiled and nodded at him, as I always smile and nod at other people when we’re enjoying the same outdoor activities, whether it be skiing, hiking, biking, etc. This man then stopped skiing, turned around, and asked why I smiled at him. Natalia told him we were smiling because he was skiing without a jacket. Satisfied, he turned around and continued on his way. I was shocked. How sad it must be to have lived for 50-something years and be so surprised by the smile of a stranger that you would break social norms to ask them why they smiled at you.
Most of the time I feel like I’m very, very far away from my family, my friends, my “previous life” as I have come to think of it. But then there are moments that snap me back, and make me realize just how small the world is. Last week in my aerobics class, the last song played was “Pretty Woman.” As soon as the first words were uttered my head shot up in surprise and I looked quickly around the room. No one else even noticed, of course; they were all continuing with their stretches. But suddenly I was five years old again, sitting in Maggie’s, listening to my uncle sing. I could hear his voice, I could smell the food, I could see exactly where everyone was sitting. I’m sure the rest of the women wondered why I was teary as we finished aerobics that day. I almost told them it was my uncle on the cd, just to see what they would say. While this may seem ridiculous, sometimes it is the smallest of things that serve to put me back on my feet again. The world is not such a big place, and while Russia is incredibly different, it’s not impossible. People still want to be loved, still want their lives to be noticed, and still love it when you go just a little bit out of your way to tell them that they are special. So while I may not be able to fix the leaky bathtub, I can help mop up the water; I have not yet found a home for my homeless 10-year-old friend, but I can buy him bread and cheese; I have not found a way to change the government so that my friends actually get paid for the work they do every day, but I can cook dinner for them and we can spend the night talking and laughing (or trying to talk, anyway). Life is sometimes hard, but I still believe that life is good. There is hope. Sometimes it’s just a little hard to find.

Tihven... My one-horse town

Well, friends it was an interesting week. We thought it would be a week just like any other - lecturing in English classes, giving lessons at home, going to the orphanage and the music school, etc. However, that was not to be.

Last Monday night, Leona and I were enjoying a relaxing evening at home. We had finished supper and I was settling in for another Russian study-session when there was a knock at the door. Much to our surprise, two policemen were waiting outside. Leona showed them in and they begain to talk. After just a few minutes she looked at me and said, "Jessica - there is problem." Yes, there was a problem, for my registration had expired and we had not been able to figure out how to register me in Tihven. I had been assured by the director of International Affairs that this would not be a problem, but apparently she had not conveyed this to the local authorities. The policemen proceeded to question Leona and I about who I was, why was I here, why were my papers not in order, etc. (All without a translator, of course.) This went on for about an hour without any resolution. So now I have an official file on record with the local police - they wrote up and filed a "Protocol". I still don't know what this means, really, or what they are going to do about it, but I have been told that I will have to pay a large fine. As soon as they left I called the director of International Affairs and asked all kinds of questions , but mainly "How did they find out I was here? Who told?" "Well," she replied with a laugh, "as I said earlier, Tihven is a one-horse town. Word just gets around." Yes, word had gotten around that the American had expired papers. We still are not sure who told, and after another week of trying, I am still not registered. I have been told that the trouble is that the local authorities don't know what to do with my papers because they never have foreigners here. They simply haven't had to deal with this before.

So, I took this all in with a smile and a laugh (for really, how many times do you get visited late at night by two Russian policemen, who very much enjoy trying to scare you?) and hoped for a quieter day on Tuesday. However, this was not to be either. For on Tuesday I was visited by the police at home, and Leona was visited by the police while at work. And that night when I got home from class, Leona greeted me at the door with a copy of the local weekly paper. "When did you talk to a reporter?" I was shocked. I hadn't talked to a reporter, that I knew of, but there certainly was an article about me in the paper. And whoever wrote this article had obviously done their homework - they knew where I was teaching, how long I was going to be here, who I was living with - everything was right there in the paper. We were surprised, to say the least. But that is how things go in Tihven - it is definitely a one-horse town.

Other than the crazy events of last week, things here are fine. I am greatly enjoying speaking at various schools and adult classes. While the students primarily want to know about things like Hollywood, fashion, and movie stars, we have managed to have a few meaningful conversations as well. My adult classes start in a few weeks, and I am scrambling to find material that I think will be interesting and meaningful to all involved.

I think this week might be normal, although the term "normal" is quickly beginning to take on new meaning. Hopefully all legal issues will be resolved this week without too much more trouble and I can again focus all my energy on all the interesting people I have met here. In the meantime, I have a request of you - my family has not been able to call me since I left St. Petersburg over a month ago, and it is extremely expensive for me to call them from here. If anyone has any idea how people from the United States or Guam can call a remote village in Russia, I would appreciate knowing! Thanks so much!

Russian Life is Interesting...

Sunday, January 22, 2006 11:30 A.M.

Well, a month has passed since my last update, and so much has happened in that month that it would take pages and pages to describe it all to you. So I will spare you the majority of the details and try to give you a quick overview of what has taken place in two tiny towns in the far north of Russia.

After spending about 11 days in Moscow and St. Petersburg, I was finally on my way to Pikalevo. I arrived on a very cold, snowy evening, and after the director and I hauled my luggage about a half-mile through the snow, we came upon the orphanage. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it is not like an institution, but rather a home for children who's families have fallen upon hard times. Most children still have family in the area (aunts, grandparents, etc.) who simply cannot afford to raise them. Only twenty-one children currently live there, and they enjoy many of the things a “normal” Russian child would enjoy – weekly skiing outings and trips to the local pool, New Year's parties, and even an afternoon at the Discoteca on occasion. My time in Pikalevo was...interesting. So much happened that I don't know what to say, other than, due to a variety of reasons, I am now living in a nearby town, Tihven, and will be working at a variety of places in both towns.

So, in Tihven I am living with a wonderful lady named Leona, who speaks a little English, but who's very eager to learn, and very helpful and patient with me as I continue to struggle learning Russian. Through Leona's contacts and friends of my own that I've made along the way, I have been given several opportunities to assist in a variety of ways in the community:
1. I will be working at the orphanages, in Tihven and Pikalevo, helping the children with English, assisting the music teachers, possibly giving piano lessons, and just being a person for the children to communicate with, in whatever way possible.
2. Much of my time so far has been spent as a guest lecturer of sorts. Although Tihven is a town of 70,000, it very much has a small-town feeling, and word travels extremely quickly; hence, the English teachers in the area soon knew of my arrival, and were rather excited that a “native” had come to their town. I have been invited to several schools to speak to the English classes, and very much enjoy these times. Usually I speak to older students (15-17 years of age) who have been studying English for about 7 or 8 years. I was very surprised at their high level of competency, and we have enjoyed many conversations about all kind of things since these talks first began. In addition, in February I will begin teaching a 5-month class for advanced adult speakers at the local language school. I am very excited about this, as I hope to quickly get through all their questions about America and move on to other topics – I can choose whatever material/subject matter I want, as long as we are discussing it in English. There is also a teacher's college in another nearby town where I will serve as a trainer for English teachers. The details of this have not yet been confirmed, so more about that when in happens.
3. Opportunities for me to become involved with the local nursing home, the Rimsky-Korsokov Music Academy (heaven on earth), a local home for abused children, and other places have also arisen. Leona and I are also starting to teach English to community children out of our home. So while I still don't have a “set” job or an established schedule, and while I still struggle for an answer when people ask what I am doing here, I think that things will continue to fall into place. Concentrating on living among people and participating in life with them (wherever we are) is, I believe, one of the greatest things we can do on this earth. Whether it's helping Leona with laundry and cooking (which are both all-day processes), walking across town with a single mom and her daughter, listening to a music director tell of her travels across Europe, or watching the children from the orphanage perform a New Year's play the nursing home, I love celebrating the day-to-day activities of life with my new friends.

And now for a few notes on Russia in general:
1. -30 Celsius is colder than I could have ever imagined. Yes, it hurts to breathe when you first step outside, and when the heat inside hardly works, a down sleeping bag comes in quite handy. And while some may advise me to just put on more clothes, I have discovered that after about 4 or 5 layers, moving around becomes quite difficult. Also, I do not advise practicing the piano with gloves on.
2. I love simple living and I am thrilled that I can now practice my ideals here in Tihven. I walk everywhere (except when it's -30C – then I take the bus). Cooking is a process, for everything is made from scratch, but it is one of my favorite times Leona and I have shared, and the health benefits are many. You do not need a washing machine, dryer, microwave, toaster oven, vacuum cleaner, coffee pot, or many of the other inventions we take for granted in the states.
3. It was rather funny when I was first invited to the administration building to talk with the director of International Affairs...her surprise at my traveling so far on my own, without speaking the language, was apparent. I was amused when she asked how in the world did I ever find out about this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere in Russia; it took great effort to conceal my surprise when she said, “You know, we do have one other foreigner in town.” No, foreigners are not common here, especially when they can't really explain why they're here. It's amazing how many times I've met people and they say “Oh, you're the American we've heard so much about.” I still have not been able to figure out exactly what it is they have heard.
4. People's differing reactions to my faith have been very interesting – some are fascinated and want to know more, others say that they believe in God as well, and others advise me not to talk about it with anyone at all. I have been told that in Tihven there used to be over 40 churches; now there are only 5 (all Russian Orthodox). During the Communist reign most were torn down or turned into museums or schools. I have visited the monastery twice, but still have yet to find someone who actually attends services, or can at least tell me when they are. I miss the fellowship I have shared with others every week of my life. I feel that I still have a connection with the rest of the world as I read the daily lectionary texts, but long for the days of a good potluck dinner.

So there is an introduction to what my new life in Russia is like. I don't know what I am doing this next week, but know that something will come up, for it always does. One last note: I was informed by my mother that a great lady, Nettie Day, died recently. She was not only a fabulous teacher, but a wonderful friend as well. I still have the last email we exchanged the week before she died - she told me she was proud of what I was doing, and I told her that her influence was being felt 50,000 miles away as I used the same book to teach a 26 year old woman how to read, that Nettie used with me. To her family and friends who are grieving her death: Nettie was an exceptional woman and she is greatly missed by many people, including one now half-way around the world. Every time I pull out my Handbook for Reading I think of her, as well as her daughter-in-law Julie, and aspire to teach people how to read with the same dedication and love these two women showed me when I was young. Know that she is missed, she is remembered, and the effects of her life's journey are very far-reaching.

Not Quite There Yet...

Thursday, December 22, 12:20 P.M.

Well, I have been in Russia almost a week now, a fact that is still hard to accept, even as I am painfully aware of how little I fit in with this society. Everything is SO different here – the social norms, the food, the weather, but most of all, the language. For a person who adores people and loves to talk to everyone she meets, it's incredibly difficult not being able to speak to anyone. (On that note, I realize I tend to be long-winded, especially when I haven't spoken much in the past week, so I'll try my hardest to keep this relatively short.) Russia is a beautiful place, though. It is very cold, but the snow is beautiful. As the airplane descended over Moscow, I was shocked at the appearance of this new place. I was certain we were below the clouds, but everything was still white! For someone who never saw snow until their high school senior trip (not counting the one day it snowed when I was 2), this was quite a surprising sight! I have managed to keep warm, though, without any trouble, really.

A quick summary of my travles so far: I left San Antonio last Tuesday, flew to Dallas, spent the night with Carreen, left for Moscow at 11:00 Wednesday morning, and arrived around 10:00 Thursday morning. I stayed there until Monday night, when I took the train to St. Petersubrg, which is where I still am now. I will be here until Saturday, when I will take the bus to my village, Pikalevo. I cannot wait to get there, to finally see this place I have been dreaming of for nearly six months. My time in Moscow and St. Petersburg has been great – I have seen incredible sights, met very kind people, and have been given ample time to adjust to this culture. I am a worker, though, and since I know I did not come here to play tourist, I am very anxious to see my new home and get busy with whatever I will be doing. In addition, living in these cities is extraordinarily expensive – a fact for which I was not prepared in the slightest – and I am very anxious to quit wasting so much money. Natalia, a contact in Moscow, informed me that the city was recently proclaimed to be the most expensive city in the world (by which report, I am uncertain).

The individuals I have been able to speak with (primarily the contacts with whom Hope works with on adoptions) have been very kind – Natalia, Nina, Tanya – they have been very helpful, very supportive. The few other Russians with whom I have spoken do not know what to think of my situation at all. Most find it incredibly difficult to believe that I would move to Russia by myself at all, but when they find out I will be living in a small town and working in an orphanage, their confusion and bewilderment is almost amusing. The man I sat next to on the plane just couldn't understand why. He grew up in a small village near that area, why would anyone choose to go there, especially alone? He attempted to convince me that I would be very lonely, have a very hard time – he even suggested that I change plans and work in an orphanage in St. Petersburg. He thought he remembered seeing one somewhere. I wanted to say so many things to him, to explain why I really am doing this, but it was useless. Already we were worlds apart, though only a few inches separated us physically. Our differing languages, backgrounds, and worldviews are so different that I feared even a ten hour plane ride would not be enough time to fully explain. I'm certain he, and all the others I have spoken with from this area, are right – I will be lonely, I will be cold, I will long for sunshine, etc. But I also know that there are orphas here who need someone – someone to play with them, to love them, to be their friend. They are alone in this world, they are poor, they are forgotten. And I was made aware of this – that is my reason for coming. I was made aware of them, their story was shared with me, and now I cannot to anything but try to bring some hope and love into their lives. How I will go about this I have no idea. I realize I am not qualified or adequately prepared for this task, but I am here now, and will do my very best at whatever is to come in the days ahead.

Leaving Soon

I don't want to write anything now - just setting this up for later. Today the plan is that I will leave next Wednesday...HOPEFULLY nothing else will come up.