Marathon running

Abby is home from school today. It appears she has some variation of the flu-flu. I'm not sure if this is better or worse than the alternatives: a) a vicious stomach bug that is wiping out half the elementary school and the kids in our branch or b)strep--painful, treatable and HIGHLY contagious. We're supposed to have Thanksgiving on Saturday. Allyson has a babysitting job. Abby has a birthday party for her delightful British friend Beth--a purple birthday party at that. I have to COOK. And cook, and cook, and cook. I don't have time to be sick and neither does anyone else in our family. We have broken out the bottles of hand sanitizer and antibacterial soap. Everyone is ordered to bed early. I can't be sick next week either. I'm leaving for Berlin on Thursday December 4 at the crack of dawn. Escaping the clutches of Mother Russia for three days requires health, strength and endurance. I will not allow this country to infect me with one of the myriad viruses or bacteria that loom on every door handle and in every metro car this time of year. There are turkeys to be brined and German Christmas goodies to be bought. This is WILLPOWER in action--and having a healthy supply of NyQuil Daytime Cold and Flu on hand. What can't be done with the mind must be done with American pharmaceuticals this time of year. I'm just saying... BEST THANKSGIVING TELEVISION EPISODES 1. "A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving" Gilmore Girls (2002) 2. "The One Where Ross Got High" Friends 1999 3. "The One With All The Thanksgivings" Friends 1998 4. "Shibboleth" The West Wing 2000 5. "Thanksgiving" Northern Exposure 1992 Courtesy of "The West Wing" Wikiquote website, I bring you Aaron Sorkin's take on Thanksgiving, "Shibboleth.": Sam: Over three and a half centuries ago, linked by faith and bound by a common desire for liberty, a small band of pilgrims sought out a place in the New World where they could worship according to their own beliefs... and solve crimes. Toby: Sam... Sam: It'd be good. By day, they churn butter and worship according to their own beliefs, and by night they solve crimes. Toby: Read the thing. Sam: Pilgrim detectives. Toby: Do you see me laughing? Sam: I think you're laughing on the inside. Toby: Okay. Sam: With the big hats. Toby: Give me the speech. From Northern Exposure: "If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before."

If you could drop anyone into a volcano...

After an exuberant Dodgers game, a carload of us played the "if you could have a teradachtyl drop anyone you wanted into a volcano, who would you have dropped into the volcano" game. Admittedly, at least two of the people in car had consumed enough beer to make this more fun for them than the two of us who were sober. Still, being one of the sober ones I still thought it was a memorable conversation. We played a similar game with Ally and Rachel's history teacher while we were sitting around at a school fundraiser on Saturday. "If you could put anyone into a raft, set it off to sea, never to be seen again, who would you send? What is your reasoning for that choice?" Among his choices: Jay Leno, Paris Hilton, Bill and Hillary Clinton, Paula Abdul, Steve from Blue's Clues Among my choices: Ann Coulter, Al Franken, Miley Cyrus, Ryan Seacrest, Lindsey Lohan, Tara Reid, Elliott Spitzer (Can you imagine Ann Coulter and Al Franken having to live with one another on the open sea for weeks on end? I would pay cash to watch that reality show. Mr. Spence wanted to see Bill and Hillary have to live face to face on a boat instead of in separate houses in separate states.) Suggestions?

UGH

I have always thought UGG boots were overrated. After years of watching suburban wannabe Aspen, Colorado ski-bunnies bound about the mall the the local high schools, I began to equate UGG boots with Lindsey Lohan style idiocy--i.e. UGG boots in balmy 60 degree Beverly Hills. Hello--we live in Oregon--rainy, overcast Oregon. Why do you need a pair of UGG boots? It's not like they're rainproof! Get yourself a decent pair of wellies you fool.

Last week I ordered a pair of UGG boots for myself. I am so embarrassed that I have succumbed to the trend but the cold made me do it.

The first week of November, I attended my International Women's Club architecture group. We took a walk around a southwest section of Moscow noted for its constructivist architecture. I wore my usual early winter clothes--long coat, gloves, wool socks, hat and clogs. I wear my Dansko clogs everywhere and have never had a problem keeping my feet warm. On this particular day, the sky was clear blue, the sun that cold, steely yellow that slices through the trees and fails to warm you. I didn't bother to check the thermometer before I left Rosinka assuming that it would be like every other November day.

The pain came on slowly. At first I just stamped my feet to keep them warm. After an hour, the bones in my feet started to ache, my toes--to burn. I began to wonder if it was possible for frostbite to set in under the circumstances. By the time we reached Donski Monastery, I couldn't feel my feet. Visions of necrotic, white clumps of toe flesh falling off the bones flashed before my eyes. I don't know how I made it back to the Metro only that I had never welcomed its body odor drenched aroma and sauna-like environs as much as I did that day. I kept stamping my feet, hoping the circulation would return and it did--about 24 hours later. And the pain! Oi the pain! (The horror! The horror! to quote "Heart of Darkness").

This is what drove me to the UGGS. I found a pair that wasn't floppy, sheepskin that, while adorable, isn't practical for walking around looking at constructivist architecture. Rachel and Allyson do not approve of the style. It is "okay," they have said. I however, find them cute in an Aussie in the Outback kind of way--a little rugged, a little bit country as opposed to a little rock-n-roll. I ordered sheepskin insoles from Amazon to make sure I have the benefit of all that snugly sheepskin warmth. I am a wimp. I embrace my wimpiness and I have bought the UGGS. Lindsey Lohan has no excuse for her poser, wannabe ski-bunny footwear but I certainly do.

Out of Time

Yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you. There are buildings atop those tall, craggy pillars of rock. Almost a thousand years ago, Greek Orthodox monks escaping the Turks, came to the planes of Thessaly to build sanctuaries where they could not only worship, but preserve Greek heritage and a spirit of Greek nationalism. Inside the libraries of these monasteries, the works of Aristotle, Aristophanes, Plato, Socrates and Sophocles were preserved for future generations. Conspiracies and plots against the Ottoman empire were hatched. And yet, the seven monasteries (and now two nunneries--one, Rossanou is pictured above) of the Meteora, seem to be suspended in time. When you ascend the steep stairs or cross the bridges spanning steep, rocky gorges and enter these quiet refuges, there is a sense of stillness, of peace that takes you away from the chaos of the outside world.

You all can have "Twilight"

The things you miss

So last night was one of those nights that I missed being in America. It wasn't sentiment or homesickness. It was pepto-bismol. The hows-whys-and-whats of Moscow food is an ongoing adventure. I've already had several bouts of food poisoning and other stomach ailments. Sometimes, the local flora and fauna don't agree with my sensitive system. Ask my dad: he paid for me to go deep sea fishing off of Balboa Island, California and I spent the day heaving my guts into the Pacific. I had a sense of humor about it. What's not to laugh about being on a small boat with your fellow fisherman watching your humiliation in real time. My gastrointestinal system is not lined with cast-iron (unlike my husband who seems to be a human garbage disposal). Yesterday my system decided it didn't like me. I managed fine. Did my homework. Took a quiz (90%!). Made dinner without too much fuss (hamburger kebabs with paneer makhani). The mistake may have been eating dinner. The Indian food may have done me in because lo around 1AM, I was up for the rest of the night, the burped up taste of cumin swelling in the back of my throat. In the interest of avoiding sharing "too much information," let me just say that three lomotil and 1 narcotic containing pain reliever later, I still was spending far too much time reading in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. I have an appointment at school today--one I've had for three weeks--and a Russian class. I can't afford to sit around babysitting my insides. Around 4AM, I decided I would try pepto-bismol. I anxiously tore through the bags of medical supplies i brought back from the states, searching for the magic pink stuff. Nada. I checked my cupboards. Nada. I checked the girls cupboards. Nada. I knew I'd bought it. Where was it? It's not like I have car and can zip over to the closest 24 hr. grocery store for a refill. I can't call my neighbor at 3AM to ask her to drive me to the closest all-night "apteka" (pharmacy) and hope that my only choice isn't some Russian voodoo potion. Wondering if my doom was to be sleeping on the bathroom floor, I gave my search one more shot. I finally found about 8 loose chewable tabs in the bottom of a ziploc bag. I tore open two of them, scarfed them down and waited. The precious remaining 6 tabs have yet to be consumed. So far, so good. I'm going to school armed with my arsenal of digestive aids. I really miss having an access to an unlimited source of pepto-bismol. I fully admit that I would be a lousy pioneer. The one everyone would have to wait for while she found the tallest bush to drop her drawers behind or the one who had to periodically pause the handcart to toss her lunch into the muddy wagon wheel ruts. For this weakness, I apologize to my ancestors. But my daughter is totally bringing me loads of pepto when she comes for Christmas break.

Democracy in America

One of my favorite episodes of the television show "Northern Exposure" was an episode called "Democracy in America." The local, long-serving mayor, Holling Vincouer is challenged by once of his neighbors who is irritated about Holling's refusal to follow-up on one of her complaints. The townspeople take sides. The actual vote takes place in a lovely montage set to the "Simple Gifts" movement of Copland's "Appalachian Spring." Holling loses. End of story. I voted this year. You may laugh and say, "Yeah, so did 110,000,000+ people, illegal immigrants, dead people and felons," but really, voting took actual effort. In some respects, I think having to work to make your vote count is better for the republic than sitting around your kitchen table with a black ink pen, filling in the bubbles while asking your spouse, "Hey did you vote for Judge Higgins or Judge Lewis?" "I voted for Lewis. Higgins is a silly name." Once the ritual is over and you've dutifully voted for the measures that don't increase your taxes, you march to the mailbox, drop in the envelope and bingo--you've voted. Unless you live in Moscow, Russia. This year we applied for absentee ballots not really believing we would get them. They showed up 48 hours before we were set to leave for Greece on a 10 day vacation. The only option we had was to trot down to the US Embassy to send them in the pouch back to the US. So after several long days trekking into the center from our home in rural Rosinka, I trekked in, yet another brisk autumn day, the leaves were just turning. My usual routine is to take the metro from Parry's work--Krylatskaya--to Smolenskaya where there is a nice, two-story McDonald's. I'm a frequent visitor there on Friday mornings on my way to other meetings or appointments. It's warm and clean, and the cashiers don't cringe at my horrible Russian ordering hashbrowns, diet coke, orange juice or raspberry fruit pies. I decided I would reward myself AFTER I had voted. I took my first metro trip of the day (only one transfer) to Barrikadnaya, the closest stop to the embassy. After at least one directionally challenged moment and few tense minutes trying to figure out where I could cross the massive Garden Ring road without being mowed down by a hundred cars simultaneously, ended up finding my way. I passed the long lines of Russians queued outside the consular office, hoping for visas and went straight for the well-hidden citizen's service office deep in the bowels of the embassy. A few doors, a checkpoint and an uncooperative door later, I found myself in a waiting room that could be a generic, bureaucratic DMV like place anywhere in the world. In an odd sort of way, it was comforting. I waited for my turn, proudly presented my ballots to the clerk...only to be told that they wouldn't be postmarked in Virginia until November 5--too late to count in Utah. The alternative: Fedex was offering a flat-fee, express mail package to expats that would guarantee arrival before the deadline. I left the embassy, discouraged. I had gone from being grateful I couldn't vote (not terribly happy with either choice) so I didn't have to get into arguments with friends and neighbors over the issues, to feeling strongly that I NEEDED to vote and WANTED to vote. The outcome for Federal offices in my area was not in question, but there were a few votes a wanted to cast--like one for my sister-in-law's brother, a young businessman who recently had miraculously survived a plane crash in rural Guatemala while on a humanitarian trip. I called my dear friend Lindsey. She came to the rescue with an offer of her printer and instructions on which trolley bus to take to her apartment. No McDonald's yet. Two hours later (and good chatting later), I, in possession of a FEDEX airbill and my ballots, trekked off in search of the FEDEX office. After 45 minutes and two transfers on the metro, I arrived, passed in my ballots and joined the ranks of Americans voting in the election. I skipped McDonald's (after considering dropping by the mall location at Stchukinskaya) and went straight home to Rosinka to pack for our vacation. The whole process, from the moment I left my house to the moment I arrived back at my house, took six hours. I realize that making the vote accessible to everyone and making it "easy" is important so that everyone has the opportunity to vote. But what I learned is that having to work for something, having to exert the effort and go out of your way to make it happen, makes the experience that much more sweet. When it costs you something--even if it is only time, walking a lot of city blocks and freezing your fingers off--the process requires you to think about what you're doing and why. I suppose that has been among my biggest concerns about the US Election this year: it felt more like the public was caught up in the candidate's celebrity (or lack of) without demanding, especially from the media, a solid, in-depth discussion of the issues, policies and future plans. Not just "Change!" If I hear that slogan one more time, I may stuff a sock in the uttering mouth. I'm not talking about the chattering classes in the blogosphere and talk radio--I'm taking about substance from the candidates. This has been like a student body election, on a grand scale. Maybe if every voter had to spend as much time as I did--at least once in their lives--figuring out how to make sure their ballot counted--they might give it more thought to their choices than how the candidate performed on SNL. In the meantime, "'tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free..." Next time: Greece.