Since beginning my studies of the Russian language, I have learned a few things. For instance, the name Vera means faith, and the name Nadia is a diminuitive of Nadezhda, which means hope. Also, the word soviet means advice or counsel, which I didn't know, but thought was interesting. There are other things too that I can't think of right now.
The electricity here isn't always very consistent. Sometimes the power goes out for no reason, for any length of time. And often the lights are flickery, making my eyes sore if I'm trying to read. A couple weeks ago, while I was writing a letter, the lights went out. Nina came into my room and crawled up onto my bed beside me to keep me company in the dark. All I could make out of her was the pale outline of her chubby face as she rambled on about the things she had done that day. I understood some of it, but not everything. And I was listening to the way she can't say her r's, and often says t or l instead, and how she has a bit of a lisp too. And then the lights came on, and she ran off with my pen. So I had to find another one before I could resume my letter writting.
I didn't notice when the leaves fell off the trees. But I remember being startled one day not long ago when I realized that all the trees were bare, save a few shrivelled brown leaves that still dangled here and there. Some days are cold and the puddles are frozen. Those days the wood inside the outhouse is covered in little sparkley crystals.
On Sunday I was kneeling on the wooden floor inside a little "house of prayer", with a dozen or so others, mostly little old wrinkly women with thick scarves tied around their heads under their chins. The walls in the cold little house were decorated with plastic flowers and pieces of cloth containing fragments of Bible verses and very Ukranian-looking flowers. And as they prayed one after the other, I felt full. Full of everything, but I didn't know exactly what.
Today I miss my dreadlocks and my schloggers.
The electricity here isn't always very consistent. Sometimes the power goes out for no reason, for any length of time. And often the lights are flickery, making my eyes sore if I'm trying to read. A couple weeks ago, while I was writing a letter, the lights went out. Nina came into my room and crawled up onto my bed beside me to keep me company in the dark. All I could make out of her was the pale outline of her chubby face as she rambled on about the things she had done that day. I understood some of it, but not everything. And I was listening to the way she can't say her r's, and often says t or l instead, and how she has a bit of a lisp too. And then the lights came on, and she ran off with my pen. So I had to find another one before I could resume my letter writting.
I didn't notice when the leaves fell off the trees. But I remember being startled one day not long ago when I realized that all the trees were bare, save a few shrivelled brown leaves that still dangled here and there. Some days are cold and the puddles are frozen. Those days the wood inside the outhouse is covered in little sparkley crystals.
On Sunday I was kneeling on the wooden floor inside a little "house of prayer", with a dozen or so others, mostly little old wrinkly women with thick scarves tied around their heads under their chins. The walls in the cold little house were decorated with plastic flowers and pieces of cloth containing fragments of Bible verses and very Ukranian-looking flowers. And as they prayed one after the other, I felt full. Full of everything, but I didn't know exactly what.
Today I miss my dreadlocks and my schloggers.
posted by Anonymous at 7:12 am
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