Remembering Mom on her Birthday

While it is still February~ at least in some time zones ~ I wanted to start this Happy Birthday post in honor of my mother.

Her birthday was February 16th and she would have been 80, if she were still on this earth. Here's a photo of the two of us in December 1990.

A Russian Wedding

Two weeks ago, our Marianna married Evan, a young man originally from Barnayl, Siberia. The wedding was here in Rostov at the Wedding Palace, the most elegant marriage registry in the city. Say, care to come along? A Russian wedding is very special.


Here they are, in front of the Wedding Palace waiting to be invited inside. It's quite an elegant system albeit an assembly line of sorts. Marianna and Evan's wedding was scheduled for 1:20 p.m. There were weddings before and after ours throughout the day. (Click photo to enlarge.)


As per Russian tradition, the bride and groom have one attendant each and they wear red sashes. Space inside is limited so only close family and friends attend the wedding. Our group was 25 or so but afterwards more people assembled at our church building for a religious ceremony and table of sweets.


In front of the Wedding Palace, other wedding parties were waiting their turns. This bride was kind enough to hold her pose and allow me a photograph. Brides are pretty good that way. They're okay with being photographed.


What a clever idea! This photographer put the big columns to good use for posing another bride.



Eventually we were called inside and waited at the base of the golden stairway. First we listened to the attendant give her speech of welcome. And then beautiful music began to play. . .



. . .and up at the top of the stairway, a boy and girl began the wedding waltz. At this stage, mothers of the couple usually pull out tissues and start dabbing at their eyes. When the waltz is over, the entire entourage goes charging up ascends the golden stairs. . .



We reassembled in the registration room for the civil ceremony. Here a government official talks about the significance of a new family. The ceremony is conducted beneath the double-headed eagle, symbol of Russia, flanked by the flag of Russia on the right and flag of Rostov Region on the left. We were in this room 15 minutes max, but there's no sitting down.



Here Marianna is signing the marriage license. The videographer was busy capturing everything.


Next is the exchange of rings. This happens off to the left on a special carpet which symbolizes family unity. Usually couples choose simple gold bands which are worn on the right hand. After the ring ceremony our group headed to the adjoining room for the next step. But I lingered a bit to ask the musicians for how many weddings they would be playing. Can you imagine: 30 weddings that day.


The welcoming room is our next stop. Here another attendant gives her little speech for 3-5 minutes and then family and friends run over to congratulate the newlyweds. After that the mothers have their special piece of the action. They use a specially-embroidered cloth to tie together the hands of the couple. These mothers made us laugh when they tied more knots than usual and pulled extra hard. They want this marriage to last!



Extended family and friends lined up, waiting to hug Marianna and Evan.



The final step is heading down the family staircase and exiting the building. Igor had this great idea of getting Marianna and Evan to look up for the photo.


So following right along is the rest of the group. In the white shirt and tie is Marianna's brother, Artash. Happens that he's our beloved preacher. Artash did the bulk of the organizing and planning for the wedding and receptions that followed.



By the time Misha, Lyka and I were done photographing ourselves in the mirror, we missed something I had really wanted to capture. By the we got outside, the pair of white doves were flying off into the trees. I missed the release of the doves. (A lesson learned. . .)



So here they are, married. A Russian wedding is simple and elegant. For one thing, I'd say that there are significantly fewer decisions to be made than in a typical wedding in the US. Anyway, after the ceremony, we walked the short distance to our church building for a religious service.

There's much more to share about a Russian wedding: How the groom and his entourage come to the bride's home to meet the bride, barter for her - done in jest nowadays - present her with her bouquet - which is a gift from the groom - and then head toward the Wedding Palace. But thank you for joining us for Evan and Marianna's wedding. They will live in Moscow where Evan is studying at the Conservatory of Music.

Move Over Mendelsson: *The JK Wedding Entrance Dance*

Are you one of the nearly 7 million folks who have watched the *JK Wedding Entrance Dance* on YouTube in first week it was posted? If not, get on over there and have a laugh out of this feel-good way to make quite an entrance coming down the aisle. The Today Show got in on the act and invited the wedding party to New York to recreate their moves for the show.



This is definitely not for everybody's wedding. But my favorite part is at the very end where we get a glimpse of silver-haired family members clapping along too and smiling. Now head on over to YouTube and get ready for a paradigm shift on The Wedding March.

The Most Amazing Man Alive

Police often question him just because they find him interesting.

He uses Tabasco sauce instead of Visine.

There is no loofah in his shower. He uses an SOS pad.

Delightful! (With a nod to Trey Morgan for sharing on his blog.)

A Salute to the Salutatorian: Our Heather

There's lots to celebrate today. Besides President Ronald Reagan's famous Tear down this wall! speech at Brandenberg Gate, Berlin on this date in 1987 and besides today's being Russia Day across this great land, today is the day that Heather Anita Emch graduates from high school. She's quite accomplished at 18 years of age and I am one very proud auntie.

Heather's a smart cookie. . . she's salutatorian out of 230 students, graduating from a school in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. English is her best subject - although her only B came from Honors English 11 - but she's okay with physics and chemistry too. (Where on earth did all that come from?)



Heather's more than just bookish though. She is quite the athlete and runs cross-country. And she loves God. For years, Heather found ways to get herself to church, catching rides with childhood friends who were going. Now she's active in a friendly little country church there in rural North Carolina, busy with youth activities and teaching children's Bible classes.

A couple years back, Heather showed her absolute determination, announcing that she wanted to go to Peru on a mission trip. She had read in Brio magazine about a Focus on the Family sponsored mission trip to Lima and she said, Well, why not? She would be one of 600-plus other youth going together and doing community outreach, orphanage work, puppet shows and lots more.

Never mind that she would need to raise $3,000, get a passport and connect with others she'd never met before. But what a trooper. Heather busied herself collecting funds - people just handed her donations and she sold boxer shorts, of all things, door-to-door - and it happened. She went to Lima for two weeks and it is was life-changing. Into a new culture, out of her comfort zone but who would've ever known it? The girl's got grit, I tell you. ;)



What are you reading there, Heather - a telephone book? I asked her recently. It's a Bible of course and that's the photo Heather chose for her graduation announcement. See, she knows a good book when she sees it. Heather plans to study English at Erskine College, South Carolina. I understand there's quite a nice scholarship awaiting her there. (Quick update: I just got off the phone with Heather and now she's thinking about science education ~ another great choice.)

Some advise to Heather, just in case she were to ask me for words of wisdom (I suppose it could happen, that she would ask. . .):

*To whom much is given, much is required. Keep on using your gifts to the glory of God.

*Keep on making smart choices. Seems that our enemy, the devil focuses on destroying (or derailing or distracting) the smartest, most capable folks, those most inclined to make a difference in the world. Keep an eye on him ~ he's one crafty serpent and it's likely that he's got his eye on you.

*Please drive carefully. Your brothers say that you drive too fast and too close to the mailboxes. Please be careful Heather.

* Enjoy these years. Study hard, make friends and have fun. Challenging as college is, it's good preparation for the rigors awaiting in world of work and/or mommying or whatever.

*Remember Who loves you even more than your parents, your brothers or any of the rest of us. Walk ever more closely and more intimately with Him. May I recommend keeping a prayer journal.

Love you so very much dear, precious Heather. You know, now that I think about it, I want to be just like you when I grow up. ;)

Dallas Cowboys New Stadium: An Inside Look

You've heard about the Dallas Cowboys New Stadium and the superlatives of that structure: That it is the largest domed structure in the world and will seat 90 thousand. The stadium is scheduled for completion in May and insider sources say it's one busy place. Care to join me for a look around? (Click on photos to enlarge.)

Here's the stadium from a distance. The ends of the building will open and the roof is retractable. Let's go inside for a look around.


Here we're on the top row of seating, a seven-story climb up steps but we're only a third of the way to the roof. The screen-scoreboard there in the center, 5-stories high, dominates the view. The playing field is three stories below ground level.


Here's a look up at the retractable roof, an improvement on the original stadium in which the playing field was open to the sky. When it rained, people on the field got wet. I myself got rained on there. Ask me about it sometime. . .



Oh mercy me, I'm getting ahead of myself. Please allow me to introduce our guide, Dan. How we know each other is another story but here he is on the retractable roof.



Dan works for the Birdair, a contractor who specializes in tensile structures. And the retractable roof on the stadium is one such structure. Dan flew in from North Carolina two weeks ago to start on this roof.


The roof crew use large irons to activate the glue on the fabric. This fellow gives a thumbs-up as he presses on.




These motors open the retractable roof. What a relief that they're not operated by hand-cranks, eh? Boy howdy, this is one fancy schmancy operation.



Across the roof, we see Ranger Ballpark, home of the Texas Rangers. Beyond that toward the left is a roller coaster, part of Six Flags over Texas.


Well Dan, thank you so much for the tour and the photos. Dan's my brother, and to see what he's doing with himself, his life, his family - well, it's heroic. I'm as proud of him as if he were the star quarterback for the Cowboys. Not that he can get me any complimentary tickets or anything. But I plan to be in Dallas area soon and I hoping Dan will get me inside for a look around. Go Cowboys! Go Dan!

Witness to a Public Beating

Last week here in Kiev, I was outside helping with children’s games for our vacation Bible school when I heard a whacking sound. The dull thud continued at length. There were no screams. What on earth?

Mercy me, a rug beating was in progress just over the knoll. I had heard about this rug-cleaning strategy of throwing a rug over a crossbar and clobbering it clean. But here was a public demonstration and – lucky me, lucky you – trusty little Olympus 4040z was right there handy.

Looks as though this guy has his work cut out for him. He’ll be there beating for a while. And the beat goes on. . . and the beat goes on. . .



Speaking of rug cleaning, now that I think about it, this has been a bit of an issue, not that I’ve lost sleep over it. But at one time, I had a small rug in the bathroom and on cleaning day, seemed like a good idea to lean out over the balcony and shake it clean.

Problem is, that doesn’t win points with the neighbors below because the rug stuff flies into their balconies. Oopsie. So then I started taking the elevator down to the back stoop and shaking the rug onto the back alley. Soon realized that passersby found this behavior amusingly odd. Because – imagine, shaking dirt from ones own place onto the street and then people have to walk through that.

So then how to clean a small rug?

Shake it out in the stairwell

Surely you jest.

Or vacuum it.

Vacuum a throw rug?

Fortunately that problem solved itself. Moved to a smaller apartment where there's no space for a bathroom rug. No worries about a public beating. Now that's a relief.

Remembering Dad (May 1926 - June 2006)

This past week, I've been thinking about my dad. Two years ago today was his memorial service.


Dad with Ruth, our beloved stepmother. A very happy day, our youngest brother's wedding in May of 1993.


Dad in May, 1947 and just back from 18 months in Germany. What magnificent cheekbones! What a sharp dresser! What blue eyes! Yep, that's my dad. Amazingly, he seemed to have no idea just how handsome he was.


In the distance is a peaceful spot where, years ago, the property of four farmers came together. They each gave a bit of land for a church cemetery. And there it is.


Through the cornfields and up over a little knoll. I visit here almost every time I'm home in Ohio. Mom is buried there, as are her parents and grandparents. And now Dad is buried there too.

In the woods to the side of the cemetery is this huge old tree, clear around in the very back. It's a silver birch, a tree expert told me quite confidently and well over 100 years old. I'd say 150.


At the base of this tree, Dad died of a self-inflicted wound. After many days passed, I visited the site and by then, several rains had washed the tree and area. And for that I am very thankful.

Well, for one thing, it's posted at the front of the woods, No Trespassing!

It was very early on the Friday morning that he died, the coroner figured. Two days later was Sunday, Father's Day. Amazing how plans change so fast. And see, I had planned to call Buehler's florist on Saturday afternoon to order a nice bouquet for Father's Day. Instead of that, I was writing an obituary.

For the most part, I felt quite detached from Dad's death. But when I wrote a piece for a eulogy, that's when I went through a pile of tissues. I don't know that I've cried much since then. Sometimes a person can hurt deeply, but tears don't come. Or, as one brother put it, maybe we said goodbye years ago.

On my recent trip back to the US, I don't recall being weepy at his grave or when I went back into the woods. But a couple weeks earlier, I was in Dallas going a box of his tools -- hammers, screw drivers, wrenches, pliers. Seeing his tools caught me off guard somehow. And I had to dig around for a tissue or two. But I had neat plan for those tools. I engraved his name on each item and then gave them out to a niece and nephews as a way to remember their grandpa. They had so much fun sorting through and picking out pieces. And that brought me joy.

Several years ago, in 2003 Dad made a first attempt on his life. That was unsuccessful, thank the good Lord but I went back to the US for 8 weeks to give him a hand. I remember a conversation we had about all that. I told him I was so glad that he was still with us. If you had died, we would have never, ever, ever recovered from it, I remember telling him. I never thought - I don't imagine that it even occurred to any of us - that he would try again. But then, after it really happened, it was clear that he had been planning his death for quite a while and that he wanted it to be absolutely final. And, certainly that was so painful, such sadness, such grieving. But you know, a person really does recover. A person really does heal. And life goes on. And I can look back on many very special memories. And for that I am so very thankful.

A Mama to Call Her Own: An Orphan's Dream Come True

If there's one thing every orphan wants, it's a mother of her very own. Five-year-old Natasha is no exception.


As you may recall, a wonderful family in the Atlanta area adopted little Natasha in March. She had been in a Rostov-on-Don orphanage since infancy. I met little Natasha several years ago. And then earlier this year, heard the incredible news that a family in the US was hoping to adopt Natasha. I recently had privilege of staying with Natasha and her dear family in Atlanta.


Natasha can be a full-time job. After her three older brothers are off to school, Natasha has her mother's undivided attention.



This morning, Natasha and her mama furnished a digital house together, thanks to the wonders of computer technology. Must be designed especially for little girls. And their mamas.


Natasha's dear mother has the patience of Job. Natasha loves to talk and seems to repeat questions 10 times. Fortunately, her mother has the gift of gab, loves to talk and visit. It's the perfect match. Mothers of little ones are heroic. And adoptive mothers are in a league of their own.


But let us not forget Natasha's papa. The two of them adore each other. Natasha can hardly bear for her papa to leave each day for work. But now and then, he steals himself away for lunch with his two favorite girls, above. And this time, I got to tag along too.


Dear little Natasha. Can you possibly imagine how blessed you are? Across Russia are little children your age who would like more than anything to have a mama to honor on Mother's Day. Natasha, I trust you showed your mama lots of love on her special day. Just between the two of us Natasha, do yourself a favor. . .and make every day Mother's Day. ;)

In Honor of Mother's Day: The Mom Song

Consider what a mother says in a 24-hour period. Condense that into 2 minutes, 55 seconds and sing it to the tune of the William Tell overture. Here's what a certain Anita Renfroe did all that.

Impulsivity versus Sponaneity: Sometimes You Just Gotta Jump In

I resisted the urge recently to push dear nephew Graham into a hotel swimming pool as he was standing at the edge. But I remembered having the same urge several decades ago when my brother David, Graham's dad, was standing on a boat dock one October, looking out over Turkeyfoot Lake. In a dark and evil moment, my sister and I pushed him in, fully clothed. That was in another millennium, of course and by now I have more control over dark impulses, most of them anyway.

So Graham went running and jumping in of his own accord.


And I photographed. And reported on the size of the splash. Yes, it came over and hit me and my book. Yes, this was higher than the last one. Yes, you are one awesome run-and-jumper.


Graham going under. Confident that he'll emerge. Hoping, hoping. . .


There are bubbles down there. Bubbles are a sign of life. He will emerge, quite confident of that, quite confident.

On the second day of this running and jumping in the pool, after I figured that another 30 minutes of this dilly-dallying would be quite enough, Graham was interested in learning to glide from one side of the pool to the other, then adding a flutter kick, then adding an arm stroke. And it dawned on me that this little swimming instruction would be lots easier if I were in the water. Except that my swimming suit was in another time zone, far, far away. Not to worry though.

He won't be 12 forever, I told myself. Here he is, right on the cusp of that adolescent growth spurt. It was time to make a splash and make a memory.

Hey Graham, I think I'm going to jump in there and swim with you.

After all, we had the pool to ourselves that Sunday afternoon.

And so I did, clothes and all. The look on his face was priceless - sheer delight mixed with absolute disbelief.

So we we had a few swimming lessons crammed into one, diving for quarters being his favorite. Thirty minutes came and went. At least an hour later, we were ready to drag ourselves back to the hotel room.

Later I was thinking about all that and how atypical that was of me, to just jump into something that hadn't been on the agenda. So what was that - impulsivity or spontaneity? At this stage, I'm not quite sure and it probably doesn't matter. We got wet, had so much fun and made memories. Best of all, there was no one there to take photographs.

Giant Chess Game: Fun with Favorite Kids

Chess is like yoga for the mind. It helps the brain stretch and develop. If there's one thing those dear Russian folk have taught me, it's that. And so on a recent weekend with a beloved niece and nephews, I challenged them to a big game of chess. Have you ever seen giant chess?

Heather and Drew ponder their opening moves.


Move those pieces around. I was coaching from the side. I figure it's best to let them do it while I offer advise. And record the event for posterity.


Drew won the match! Congratulations Drew! Next time I'll show him how to tweak his game a bit.

Well, actually I don't know how to play chess. So I just made up some of that. However, let the record show that over the years, I have played some vigorous games of UNO with these kids and I do recall some nearly vicious matches of Go Fish! But all that was in a previous century. A previous millennium, in fact.

Another giant chess game took place recently in Cuba. Russian chess champion, Antatoly Karpov, was there and he no doubt offered some tips to the 8,000 who participated in the 4,000 simultaneous matches.

Well, back to the good old USA and the North Carolina Botanical Gardens where this chess game is located. The day after the chess game above, Graham wanted to play. And he challenged me to a game. As fate would have it, someone else was on site and needing an opponent. (Whew!)

Graham, right, and his mid-game moves.

Thinking, thinking about those mid-game moves. I did continue to offer advise from the sides. Would you please hold still so I can get this shot? Or turn around so your face isn't in the shadow. That sort of thing. Not that it helped much. . .

In the end Graham trounced the guy. Looked like a stalemate to me. And then Graham said Checkmate, which reduced his opponent to tears. Not really of course, but they did have a good game. Congratulations Graham!

So where did you learn to play chess? I asked.

I learned from the best. I learned from my dad.

His dad, my brother plays chess? That's news to me!

But it's not news that his dad, my brother David can ride unicycle.

Kuddos to dads who play games with their kids. Can't help but wonder though what unicycling might do for the mind.