Hello Friends,
Happy February 1st and greetings from Mariupol, Ukraine. I'm here on a quick trip that's part of the now semi-annual "visa waltz" for us foreigners who have one-year visas into Russia. It's re-registering the visa not to be confused with renewing the visa. But enough of those boring details when this is such an interesting city.
I do have some photos for you of the Black Sea, actually the Sea of Azov just out the window out there. Friend Nadya and I hiked down the steep stairway to see it and to stand, yes to stand on the sea. It's all ice now and looks not unlike frozen tundra. (Not that I've ever seen frozen tundra - unless out a plane window counts.) White, frozen sea most of the way, it seemed, out to the horizon.
Why Ukraine? Well, I needed to step out of Russia on or before Feb 1st and the nearest border is Ukraine, all part of the aforementioned visa waltz. It's just 100 km northwest from Rostov and US citizens no longer need visas to enter the Ukraine. Why Mariupol? There's a very special program for orphanage graduates here, a transitional program to help them adjust to life in the big world, versus turning to vice which is more typical for such vulnerable young folks, sad to say. This great program is called Jeremiah's Hope, it's church-sponsored and is located in an available wing of the large church building.
I'm at an internet cafe at the moment, and posting photos from a public place versus my own computer, well, there's a bit of a learning curve there. Besides my flash drive is safely back in Rostov (unavailable). So is my laptop and photo editing program for that matter. (Wouldn't dream of sharing un-edited photos with you. That would be like appearing in public without my earrings. Simply not done.) Not to worry. The good Lord willing, I'll be back in Rostov Sunday pm and can post photos then.
But in the meantime, got some great photos of the statue here to...LENIN! Yes, another Lenin statue here. Photos of the steel mills churning out billows of ghastly smoke. And a wonderful conversation with a taxi driver who spent years in a submarine. Innocently asked "to where did you travel?" and he said nonchalantly "to you." His subs hung around US ships and collected information. He can talk about it now he said, but signed an agreement to wait 20 years before talking about it. His subs were around Cuba from 1966-68. Oh boy oy boy, I'd better scribble that conversation before it evaporates from the gray matter!
Okay, more later. In the meantime, have YOU been on a submarine? Tell us all about it - or must YOU wait 20 years? Ever walked on a frozen sea? Been to the Ukraine? Posted from an internet cafe? Later alligators! EE
Friday, February 01, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
A is for Abacus
Although calculators have largely replaced the abacus in these parts, occasionally you will see someone using one, fingers flying to total a purchase. The nice thing, no worries about replacing the battery.How about you? Are you skilled with the abacus? Do you use one regularly or perhaps own one?
How I Got Here (HIGH): Part One
Eileen, would you ever consider going to Russia – to do mission work?
Surely you jest, I may have replied, snorting.
No really. See that couple there in the corner? They’re getting a team together to move over this summer. I can introduce you if you want. . .
I wasn’t in the mood to meet anybody. Not that day.
We were at Taco Bell in a west Texas college town and Laurie, a friend and colleague had invited me to lunch to get off campus. The day before, I’d gotten the bad news. I was one of 70 faculty members whose contracts would not be renewed for the next academic year.
I thought I had my career all planned out and now this new twist. In our department, I was uniquely qualified in at least one vital area and therefore irreplaceable, I figured. Surely I was the least vulnerable to the impending cutback. Wrong, wrong, a thousand times w-r-o-n-g.
I poked my plastic fork through the fog and into my chicken enchilada. Within less than 24 hours, life had become surreal.
I don’t recall directly answering Laurie’s question about going to Russia. But Monday, it was 15 years since our conversation. And here I am, in Russia for nine years as of Tuesday.
* * *
When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 I hardly noticed. I was in graduate school and unaware of life outside the ivory towers. I hardly knew who was president during those years. Or if we even had one.
Then as the Soviet Union was opening in the early 1990s, I had finished graduate school and moved on to a faculty appointment. (Well, lah-dee-dah!) And like you, I was hearing more about the USSR and about folks traveling to or from.
First was my landlady’s niece, Martha, who was going to Russia to meet scores of people who were enrolled in her Bible correspondence courses.
And then there was Andrey, a graduate student from Moscow who had just arrived at our university. One Sunday morning at church somebody pointed him out to me. I spied on him from the corner of my eye, surreptitiously gathering details about his haircut, his shoes, his clothes. Not that I was distracted during the sermon because I can still recall the topic. It was about God. It was about God and Jesus, I’m quite confident of that. But I remember clearly that Andrey was extremely tall and that his haircut was a bit choppy, done by his mother, perhaps, with more love than skill. Other than that, he didn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.
But where I heard the most about Russia was when I was in Dallas. Occasionally I would be in town for a meeting and I would stay the weekend and worship with Prestoncrest congregation, my home church. Prentice Meador, the pulpit minister was making regular trips to Russia and came back with stories about believers in Moscow and Rostov and Kiev, places I could hardly imagine. I floated for weeks afterward, just thinking about God was at work in the Soviet Union.
One spring, another Martha, a long-time friend from the singles group, accompanied Prentice and the whole entourage to Rostov. That impressed me so. I remember the mixture of awe and jealousy I felt hearing about her trip. Martha was a teacher too but the chance of my pulling together funds to make such a trip was remote. In fact, it was out of the question.
I decided to let others handle Russia. I was immersed in my professional dream, that of nurturing pre-service home economics teachers – now called family and consumer sciences – at a Christian university. My teaching experience was vast and diverse and I was excited about returning to my alma mater with a noble mission.
The only thing is that dreams and reality tend to collide. Perhaps you’ve noticed. Those were difficult years in the economy as the national recession of the early 1990s followed directly on Texas oil bust of the 1980s. Many universities faced declining enrollments and our own department was struggling for survival. All that can lead to unhealthy dynamics among those involved.
But now that would be someone else’s problem because I was one of the elect, yeah, one of the 70 chosen for the exodus. And I needed to be thinking about where I was going next.
* * * * *
I did know that after lunch, I would be going back to my office, my mind bubbling with ideas. But first things first. I dug a small mirror out of my desk drawer, propped it up on the file cabinet and began fiddling with my hair to see how it would look pulled back into a bun.
What in the world am I going to do with my hair in Russia?
I wondered to myself, fast forwarding in a major leap of logic. Surely no one there will know how to give perms.
The moment is forever etched on my memory because at that instant a student reporter appeared in my doorway and asked for an interview.
Surely you jest, I may have replied, snorting.
No really. See that couple there in the corner? They’re getting a team together to move over this summer. I can introduce you if you want. . .
I wasn’t in the mood to meet anybody. Not that day.
We were at Taco Bell in a west Texas college town and Laurie, a friend and colleague had invited me to lunch to get off campus. The day before, I’d gotten the bad news. I was one of 70 faculty members whose contracts would not be renewed for the next academic year.
I thought I had my career all planned out and now this new twist. In our department, I was uniquely qualified in at least one vital area and therefore irreplaceable, I figured. Surely I was the least vulnerable to the impending cutback. Wrong, wrong, a thousand times w-r-o-n-g.
I poked my plastic fork through the fog and into my chicken enchilada. Within less than 24 hours, life had become surreal.
I don’t recall directly answering Laurie’s question about going to Russia. But Monday, it was 15 years since our conversation. And here I am, in Russia for nine years as of Tuesday.
* * *
When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 I hardly noticed. I was in graduate school and unaware of life outside the ivory towers. I hardly knew who was president during those years. Or if we even had one.
Then as the Soviet Union was opening in the early 1990s, I had finished graduate school and moved on to a faculty appointment. (Well, lah-dee-dah!) And like you, I was hearing more about the USSR and about folks traveling to or from.
First was my landlady’s niece, Martha, who was going to Russia to meet scores of people who were enrolled in her Bible correspondence courses.
And then there was Andrey, a graduate student from Moscow who had just arrived at our university. One Sunday morning at church somebody pointed him out to me. I spied on him from the corner of my eye, surreptitiously gathering details about his haircut, his shoes, his clothes. Not that I was distracted during the sermon because I can still recall the topic. It was about God. It was about God and Jesus, I’m quite confident of that. But I remember clearly that Andrey was extremely tall and that his haircut was a bit choppy, done by his mother, perhaps, with more love than skill. Other than that, he didn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.
But where I heard the most about Russia was when I was in Dallas. Occasionally I would be in town for a meeting and I would stay the weekend and worship with Prestoncrest congregation, my home church. Prentice Meador, the pulpit minister was making regular trips to Russia and came back with stories about believers in Moscow and Rostov and Kiev, places I could hardly imagine. I floated for weeks afterward, just thinking about God was at work in the Soviet Union.
One spring, another Martha, a long-time friend from the singles group, accompanied Prentice and the whole entourage to Rostov. That impressed me so. I remember the mixture of awe and jealousy I felt hearing about her trip. Martha was a teacher too but the chance of my pulling together funds to make such a trip was remote. In fact, it was out of the question.
I decided to let others handle Russia. I was immersed in my professional dream, that of nurturing pre-service home economics teachers – now called family and consumer sciences – at a Christian university. My teaching experience was vast and diverse and I was excited about returning to my alma mater with a noble mission.
The only thing is that dreams and reality tend to collide. Perhaps you’ve noticed. Those were difficult years in the economy as the national recession of the early 1990s followed directly on Texas oil bust of the 1980s. Many universities faced declining enrollments and our own department was struggling for survival. All that can lead to unhealthy dynamics among those involved.
But now that would be someone else’s problem because I was one of the elect, yeah, one of the 70 chosen for the exodus. And I needed to be thinking about where I was going next.
* * * * *
I did know that after lunch, I would be going back to my office, my mind bubbling with ideas. But first things first. I dug a small mirror out of my desk drawer, propped it up on the file cabinet and began fiddling with my hair to see how it would look pulled back into a bun.
What in the world am I going to do with my hair in Russia?
I wondered to myself, fast forwarding in a major leap of logic. Surely no one there will know how to give perms.
The moment is forever etched on my memory because at that instant a student reporter appeared in my doorway and asked for an interview.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Biker Dan: One Hero of a Guy
Big Dan is quite a character. He’s smiling here but don’t let that fool you. Dan has seen the dark side of life. He has been places and experienced things that most folks can't imagine. And wouldn't want to.Dan is covered with tattoos and he’s got a couple of stubs where fingers used to be. Need I mention that he’s into Harleys.
Dan’s a big guy. He’s very tall and incredibly strong. No surprise there. He's been in situations where there wasn't much to do besides work out or read books. Or get into fights. Dan’s somebody that you want to have in your corner.
There have been moments when I've wished Dan were right here beside me. From time to time – not often, but occasionally – I’ve had the feeling that certain predatory types of personalities enjoy bullying single females. Such as myself. Because they think they can. It has been a while since I’ve dealt with that, thank the good Lord. But I will confess that during such moments I have fantacized about calling Dan to give me a hand with the rascals. I have seen grown men cower standing next to Dan. And to see a bully quake with fear? I'm okay with that. (Forgive me, dear Lord.)
There was a time when Dan was my least favorite person. We spent years together in the early 50's and he tore up my doll clothes and in general made life miserable. But Dan has turned a corner in the new millenium and what a nice guy he has become. He’s been enjoying his freedom for almost three years now. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a major achievement. Several years back, Dan married the perfect Biker Babe and together they are raising the perfect Biker Boy.
I’m so proud to say that I know Dan. I applaud him for the good choices he has been making. I look up to him in lots of ways. Oh, I should mention that Dan is my little brother. Happy Birthday dear Dan!
P.S: And Dan, I doubt that you’ll ever see this post on your own. But if you do and don’t like it, just ask and I will consider tweaking it a bit. But you must ask nicely. Because guess what. Older sisters aren't easily intimidated. At least not by their younger brothers. ;)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Beautiful Cathedral: A Surprising, New Perspective
Last Saturday, I happened upon this perspective of the city's biggest cathedral. I had just emerged from the tram and was heading into the market. This magnificent building, the *Cathedral of the Nativity of the Holy Virgin* is the area's largest Russian Orthodox church and on three sides, it's surrounded by the booths and kiosks of Central Market, quite a contrast to the breathtaking architecture.
Another view of the cathedral, taken a couple of winters ago. The sun hitting off the gold cupola was brilliant. I wished that mid-day sun would swing around over here and hit off the north side of the building. Maybe next summer, mid-June around the summer solstice when the sun is high in the sky, maybe then I'll try this shot again. I'm jotting that down in my Day-Timer right this minute. . .Anyway, when approaching Rostov-on-Don from the south, driving in across vast expanses of the Don steppe, the cathedral is visible for miles. Each time I see it, my pulse quickens and I wish it were possible to capture the view and do it justice. But alas, cameras have their limitations.
Have you been inside a Russian Orthodox church? Is there one that takes your breath away, perhaps, or that you find particularly interesting? I'm listening!
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