Random Thoughts

I miss...driving, Thai food, sleeping without waking up at 3AM, dryers that don't shrink your clothes to Barbie size, the big soft sugar cookies with pink frosting you buy at gas stations, Maverick refills, Costco pharmacy, bread pudding from the Nordstrom cafe, walking Peter Jarman's Newfoundlands through Federal Heights, jogging by the Salt Lake City cemetary, going to Bees games with my dad, how a freshly mowed lawn smells on a summer evening, queen size beds, wearing flip flops 24/7, not having to carry my passport around, the Euro at 1.25 I don't miss...American news media, mindless consumption and consumerism, did I say American news media? Let me repeat that AMERICAN NEWS MEDIA, David Letterman, the US Congress, reality TV stars (who are the Kardashians anyway???), Kanye West, American yogurt and dairy products, meaningless social obligations, malfunctioning air conditioning, driving 1800 South in Bountiful, the radio black hole between Snowville, Utah and Boise, Idaho, American Idol and talk radio I gave myself a Le Creuset casserole for my birthday. It is sapphire blue and it will provide me the means to conquer beouf bourguignon. Happy Friday!

Detour, or Sniveling Neville

Today I'm taking a detour. I don't typically blog about politics because I find that the ensuing contention isn't pretty. I'm willing to rant to Lindsey or talk with my daughter Sara but spending half my life living in one of the most conservative states in the US (Utah) and 12 years living in one of the most liberal (Oregon) has prompted me to walk gingerly in public when it comes to politics. Two factors came to light in the preceding few days that have prompted me to abandon that rule. First, the current administration refused to meet with Tibet's Dali Lama. Second, the current administration's state department elected to discontinue funding for the Iranian Human Rights Documentation Center, an entity tasked with compiling the human rights violations committed by the the Iranian government against their own people since the contested election several months ago. This is an apolitical organization--neither left nor right--that seeks to protect the rights of those seeking basic liberties in Iran. What essentially this amounts to is the Obama administration toadying to dictators and tyrants. This is capitulation to the Chinese and the Iranians. This is appeasement. This is not a right or left issue. This is a humanity issue. I was appalled by the adminstration's move to shaft the Czech and the Poles to placate Russia just a month ago. Not entirely a surprise that Secretary Clinton believes you can make nice nice with the Kremlin, but still--there's a principle that you watch your friend's backs and we sold them out for the criminals that run Moscow. But come on. The Dalai Lama? Does anyone in the world except the Chinese believe that Tibet isn't an example of repression and human rights violations? And since when are we, the "shining light of democracy" kowtowing to Adminijad who is flagrantly flaunting his nuclear potential and justifiably worrying most governments in Europe and elsewhere? The Green revolution in Iran is about freedom and democracy. It is about self-determination. Instead of taking their side, our government is trying to placate crazy Islamic radicals who would love nothing more than to wipe Western civilization from the face of the earth. Do they think that muting the protests of people demanding rights will prevent Adminijad from sending warheads to Tel Aviv? It is often said that history repeats itself. It depresses me that my country appears to be playing the role of Britain in the 1930's. Welcome back Neville Chamberlain. Who is going to be Hitler? And where oh where is our Winston Churchill?

(image courtesty of fhashemi from the post "Friday Protests in Tehran")

Goodbye 102

(When I have my camera working, I'll update these last posts with pictures. For now, I'm going count myself as fortunate to be updating!) Today is our last day in Rosinka 102. This is the home that provided us an escape route from the armpit apartment on Tverskaya. Those early days of 800 square feet, 1 bathroom, 2 bedrooms, suitcases everywhere and huddling around the computer to watch "Everwood" are still not the happiest memories. I remember that first night in Rosinka, sleeping on mattresses on the floor with borrowed sheets and blankets feeling so relieved to be away from the cigarette smoke fumes, malfunctioning air conditioning and matchbox sized kitchen. This has been a great home for my family. In this house, I figured out how to cook using what I could buy at my Russian grocery store, we've had friends visit from the US--Wells Brimhall, the Densleys, Allison Packham--and had our dear friends the Coxes camp out at various junctures. This has been a happy place for us and I was prepared to spend our 3-4 years in Russia here. However, the changing real estate market and the shrinking expat population opened up an opportunity for us to move to a larger home at a significantly lower price. We will spend our next two years in Russia in Rosinka 1105. Would it have been easier to move near the school and avoid the nightmare of traffic on Volokolmoskoe Schosse? Yes. But there were about 500 complications that are too annoying and too Russian to explain. Suffice it to say, we feel like this is the right place for our family to spend the next two years. Today is not going to be easy. It is about 40 degrees outside, windy and rainy. I have a houseful of boxes that need to be moved to 1105 before the movers come tomorrow to move the furniture. A lot of our friends are traveling for the Anglo-American School holiday so we are going to be putting in a lot of sweat equity today with a little help, but not as much as we would on another weekend. I'm looking forward to coming out on the other side. We'll get through it. We always do. We have done much harder, more complicated moves than this. I am a little sentimental about leaving our first "home" in Moscow, but I'm eager to take on a new stage of life too. See you in another life, Brother.

First post of the new school year in which Heather sings the praises of clean bathrooms...

I've been back in Moscow for about a month. This means there are no more excuses for updating. I had a week of computer problems (which I blame on stupid Windows software) that appear to be resolved for the moment. I did blow up a phone, a transformer and a surge protector in the process of trying to fix one computer. I am sick--bronchitis--and I'm moving in a week to a bigger unit. The twins are in Cyprus working on biology labs and eating Greek food. Hubby is preparing for a big training meeting in Nizhny 24 hours after we move. Youngest Jarman is an assistant director in the middle school play. Go team Jarman! I have reached a place where I don't spend my time in Moscow wishing I was in America or spend my time in America wishing I was in Moscow. I have made peace with my life. Progress. I do miss saying the Pledge of Alleigance. When I said the Pledge at Girl Scout camp, I became teary. I love my country and I worry about its future. I do miss clean bathrooms. I'm sure it is a woman thing to care about clean public restrooms. I was in the new, upscale Metropolis mall yesterday and the sleek, modern bathrooms with their stainless steel fixtures and stark black wall tiles smelled like an open sewer. There are 45,000 ruble designer coats hanging around the corner and the bathroom isn't as clean as the rest stop between Mountain Home, Idaho and Boise. How does that work? In America, I can go into the Smith's Food in the Avenues and it smells like a flower garden. The prize for the worst bathroom in Moscow, IMHO, is still Novodivechy Convent. They should post a warning in the guide books for all women visitors. In fact, I think most guide books should include bathroom ratings i.e. "The food at the Blue Marlin is spectacular, but you'll have better luck at a sewage flooded bathroom at an Egyptian border crossing than here in the Cinque Terre." The bathroom conundrum hit me Monday morning. I had a bad pot of yogurt for breakfast. I didn't know you could have bad yogurt, but within 10 minutes of eating this yogurt, my insides seized and I knew I was going to have to vomit. I figured as soon as I did, I'd be fine. I had to be fine. I had a 10AM appointment at the US Embassy for a notary and to add extra pages into the hubby's passport. So round one of food poisoning went as expected. I still felt queasy, but I climbed in the car anyway. Imagine morning traffic anywhere in the US. Now multiply it by a factor of 7 and you might have a typical morning commute in Moscow. Except the diesel exhaust and factory fumes are unreal. As the car schlepped down Pyatinskoe Schosse toward the MKAD, it became clear to me that there would be a round 2 for the food poisoning problem. I laid in the back seat, clutching my stomach, wondering how horrified the morning commuters would be if I simply opened the car door and puked all over the road. Knowing the number of alcoholics in Moscow, I'm sure public vomiting is commonplace. Still, I think I might scare the locals if I opened the door to vomit in rush hour traffic. Hubby assured me that it should only take 20 minutes to get to work but OF COURSE HE WAS WRONG. Every minute that passed, my stomach cramps got worse. My body ached, my head hurt. And the stupid car just went along as slow as molasses in February. The traffic fumes made it worse. I don't know how I made it to my husband's office, but I did. Round 2 of the food poisoning saga proceeded as expected, except longer and more comprehensively, and after emptying everything possible out of my system, I dragged myself back down to the car and went to the metro. It was the first time in six months that I found a seat in a metro car during morning rush hour (score 1 point). When I went into McDonald's to order my Coca-Cola (expat folklore has it that if you have stomach bug, the best thing to do is drink a Coca-Cola because it purges your innards ), I remembered all my Russian words (score 1 point) and when I went to the Embassy, it was quiet (score 1 point). I sat for a good long hour, reading, and by noon the worst of the food poisoning saga was over. I was weak, achy and empty, but at least I wasn't curled up on the bathroom floor in the fetal position. This is why knowing where your closest clean bathroom is makes a difference. I could probably make a tidy sum from creating a webpage for women travelers rating and ranking bathrooms across the world. In this respect, bronchitis is a 100 times better than food poisoning.

Deep Thoughts on a Monday Morning

The sun is out. I don't know how long it will last but the glimpse of blue I see through my window buoys me up in a way all the chocolate in the world can't. June is a bittersweet month for me--so many endings. As much as I may try, my year isn't January to January, it is June to June. Consequently, when school closes, people pack up and move, youth I taught don graduation gowns, suitcases organized and winter clothes folded and placed in the top of the closet, my year ends. I said good-bye to my friend Nancy yesterday. She's been posted to Rwanda. I plan on visiting her in Africa. I can't imagine not seeing her again. Two of my grandparents passed away in June. My Granddaddy Clayton died after many months coping with bone cancer. My Grandma Jay died due to complications in hip replacement surgery. One of my favorite sisters-in-law, who had terminal ovarian cancer, passed away the last week of school two years ago. When I think of summer green grass and children playing in the yard, sometimes I see them in their floral dresses and bare feet playing tag while the exhausted adults recover after funeral services are over. My brother died June 11 2002. I can't remember if I attended RS last Sunday, but I can remember the way the morning light came through the window when I picked up the phone to hear the news. Yesterday I heard that another big sister lost a younger brother. I wish I could say something wise that would make sense of her loss because I've heard every cliche, felt every emotion. I'm confident her brother is fine--it is the aftermath the living experience when a young person dies unexpectedly that no one can prepare you for. Before I was a wife and mother, I was a daughter and sister. Losing a connection to your past, to your most fundamental identity, forces you to see the world through different lenses. There is no way out but through. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes there is comfort, reassurance and relief; sometimes it is anger, resentment and loneliness. You reach a place where the hole in your heart heals and you move through the day without 20 things reminding you of him. You pass the anniversary of his death without dwelling too deeply on the event. And then you have a day like today when you learn that another big sister has lost her younger brother. I wish I could give her a hug and tell her I get it. Because I do.

Scrapbooking

This picture was taken after our Relief Society culture group took a backstage tour of the Boshoi Ballet theater workshops. There are some pretty awesome women in this group--women I never want to forget. A few of these ladies are leaving soon--some in the fall to return to the states to have babies. Have I mentioned I hate saying good-bye?

I missed something in the girl genes that makes me interested in scrapbooking. I made one truly extraordinary scrapbook for my husband for our first Christmas together. I made a wedding scrapbook, baby books for my girls and then we had a housefire. My scrapbooks were smoke damaged or destroyed. I took this as a sign that scrapbooking and I were not meant to be which is ironic when you figure my mother was a graphic designer for a scrapbooking materials company! I have files of pictures in storage in Oregon, but none of them are surrounded by stickers, cutouts or floral printed paper. I am in awe of people like my friend Sarah who can turn scraps of paper into magic.

Now I keep most of my pictures in digital files. My sister-in-law Christina swears by digital scrapbooking. If I can get her to teach me something, I might give that a go.

I was thinking about how to remember some of my friends who are leaving, especially since I realize the odds of us ever being all together in one place again are slim. What I realized, as I was whipping up one of my dinners last week, is that these ladies are part of my life because of the recipes that they've shared with me. Their food is part of my family's repetoire and every time I cook their recipes, I think of them. Not quite a scrapbook, but it has given me idea to put thse recipes together and publish them for my family as a way to remember my friends.

Though she isn't leaving Moscow for good anytime soon, my friend Lindsey's Winter Vegetable Soup recipe has become synonymous with combating Mother Russia's meanest Siberian cold fronts. I first had this recipe after I came home from a week in England. I was starving for something that wasn't fast food (after days of on the run, airport food) and her delicious soup satiated my hunger perfectly. I still remember how it tasted the first time I had it.

My friend Carolyn is an extraordinary baker. Alas, she's off to Nigeria. I will remember her by her Lemon Scones. They brighten my mood when I'm knee deep in the grumps--which I've been quite a bit lately. I haven't mastered her delicate touch with the dough, but I will.

I can appreciate gourmet with the best of them, but what I crave is well-made comfort food--somewhere between Paula Deen and American diner food. My friend Kristy's Macaroni and Cheese is legendary. I have been on a quest for a good mac & cheese recipe for years. I have found one and I am in awe. Kristy is off to the Bay Area.

My friend Christine left Moscow for good about a month ago. She is presently in Houston, recovering after the delivery of her second daughter, but may end up in the Palo Alto area. Her Chicken and Artichokes have quickly become one of our favorite Sunday dinners. Her Molten Chocolate Cakes are enough to put us all in carb comas, the kind of carb coma you want every day.

I could go on and on, talking about food memories. The first time I had lasagna at my friend Josie's house after we moved into Rosinka. I didn't know lasagna could taste that good. My friend Andria makes to-die for sweet rolls. Alexandra makes a great Italian pizza dip that is the first thing to go at almost every party she brings it too.

I may not be able to take these ladies with me, but I will bring part of their originality, their flare, their resourcefulness at taking care of their families in this often difficult, strange country we have all called home for a period of time.

Where the rope ends

This is the time of year that I have a schizophrenic relationship with Russia. The sun, green grass, smell of lilacs and babushkas with their bouquets of lilies of the valley soften the crankiest heart. On the other hand...the "midnight sun" (the sun doesn't start setting until after 10 and starts rising around 4AM) makes it impossible for me to get a truly good night's sleep unless I manage to keep my cheap Aeroflot eye mask on until dawn. I have heard that this kind of light exposure can lead to mania. This, I believe. There are nights I take benadryl to force my body to sleep. The girls are inevitably climbing the wall with homework and preparation for finals. Now that Sara is taking university classes, there aren't three of them stressing, there are four of them stressing. The beautiful sunlight means I see all the dust that the dull gray winter light has hidden. And then there is the restlessness. I don't' have the same excuses that the twins do (they haven't been back in the states since last August), but I start to miss home. But I don't have a home. I live out of a suitcase and try not to get in the way of friends and family. I get back to the US and I feel like an alien. I suppose what I miss is everything being easy. I like being able to drive myself, to be able to afford dry cleaning and be able to find the items on my grocery list the first time I try. I miss Chinese food and I miss the mountains. I miss Costco rotisserie chickens and comfortable beds. Europeans have an incredible tolerance for hard mattresses. I had an interesting experience a few weeks back where I heard through the grapevine that some US study abroad students were dissing we expats because our lives are too easy. We live in these cushy compounds and have drivers. We clearly live in the lap of luxury and fail to appreciate the authentic Russian experience. Sounds like a bunch of proletariat rebel rousers looking for a chance to burn out the bourgeoisie. For whatever reason, these off hand self-righteous comments made me angrier than usual. They treat Moscow like it exists for their entertainment and amusement. They walk past the poverty and selectively choose to ignore the stories about murders of human rights activists and pretend that the massive lines outside the US Embassy are for people wanting visas to go to Disney World. On any given week, the modicum of comfort I have in my Rosinka home doesn't approach what these kids have in their university lives in America. I could tell them stories about my courageous friends who have braved the winters here with little kids while living in tiny apartments, of women who now how to manage traffic with the best of the Russian maniac drivers, of men who work 60 hours a week and spend 25 hours sitting in traffic during the commute. I could tell them stories about robberies, miltsia and bad weather. But I won't because I don't really understand Russia since I don't live in a nasty flat with a babushka and her 10 cats. I'm just a spoiled expat. The irony of leaving in Moscow is that just when it starts to get good in May and June, you leave for summer break. And saying good-bye. There are too many good-byes this year. I am terrible at saying goodbye. Most people don't know that I am deeply emotional person that sits and stews for months about things. When I found out that my friend Kristy was leaving, part of my heart broke. The first person who was nice to me when I moved to Moscow, one of the librarians at school, is leaving this year. Next year the twins leave. Sara may go on a mission. I may start to truly feel old for the first time in my life. I'm at a point where I think I'm at the end of my rope and then I'm not. My ability to process and cope with the stress isn't necessarily great right now. I am more testy than usual and my patience with idiots is non-existent. I am sick of reading Cyrillic characters and tired of having to sit in my room with my laptop if I want to watch TV (since the downstairs area is filled with children doing homework). I am tired of cooking meals and eating nasty restaurant food. I can't remember the last time I had a truly outstanding hamburger. I am tired of cooking for all the end of the year events--finals, barbecues, parties. Blah. Blah. And then my hand slips another inch and I realize I still haven't hit the end of my rope.