Football, Art and the Police

Football

Larry, Taylor and I went to a Super Bowl Party last night. Diane's husband, Eric, had someone record the game (with commercials) and courier it to him. For the party, he put on a heavy coat to go out on their balcony and grill hambergers. They were served on hamberger buns which are only sold at Mega Mall, making them a nightmare to procure.

I brought my fabulous chocolate dump it cake with buttercream icing. This was made from my dwindling hoard of baking chocolate and powdered sugar. We go to a lot of special effort to duplicate what in the U.S. would be a simple get-together. Another couple brought some very nice caviar, a nod to local foods. As good as it was, my cake got bigger acclaim. I live in a world where chocolate cake with buttercream frosting is more exotic than caviar.

I actually watched the Oscars live today. Okay, so it was 6:30 a.m. and dubbed in Russian.

Art

Saturday, we went to our first art auction at the Shishkin Gallery. The auction focused on Soviet art from the 30s through the 50s. They had 100 pictures, about 80% of which were oil paintings, and ranged from stuff that looked like it belonged on the refrigerator to a couple of museum-quality pieces. I was particularly enamored with the quality of a Soviet realism oil painting of a industrial factory worker http://www.shishkin-gallery.ru/cfm/index_eng.cfm?sr=65&mr=73&BandNumber=0&PictureID=10972&GenreID=0&STYLEID=4&NEW_PIC=0. If I'd had $5,000 to spend on art, that factory guy would be mine, despite the fact it would go with nothing else I own!

The gallery gets many of their paintings from the families of the artists. The hammer prices ranged from $100, an amazingly low price for an original framed oil, to $20,000. In general, the prices were much, much better than the U.S., but not quite as low as China or Ecuador. Amost everything sold from $200 to $2,200, with a median price of about $500.

Larry and I bid on a small impressionistic oil painting of some students with a bicycle http://www.shishkin-gallery.ru/cfm/index_eng.cfm?sr=33&mr=41&BandNumber=0&PictureID=10947&GenreID=0&STYLEID=4&NEW_PIC=0 and a large vibrantly-colored still life oil I loved http://www.shishkin-gallery.ru/cfm/index_eng.cfm?sr=57&mr=65&BandNumber=0&PictureID=10968&GenreID=0&STYLEID=4&NEW_PIC=0. As this was our first auction, we set very cautious limits on what we'd bid and lost out on both.

About 80 people attended the auction which was held at the gallery. They served wine and what my mother would call "light hors dervs." Doritos were rumoured to be on the menu, but I didn't see any. Attendance was by reservation and we had assigned seats. While the prices were given in dollars, the auction was conducted in both Russian and English by the owner/auctioneer. "Who'll give me $200? Deeveestee stol?"

I never did figure out the jumps in bids. Instead of standard increments, the auctioner looked for increases of ten percent of the original bid until some mysterious point when it rapidly got higher. Maybe I was too busy trying to keep up with the rapid-fire bidding in Russian.

Afterwards, eight of us went to a new Indian restaurant I had wanted to try. I was elected to order for the group. I selected the standards: vegetable samosas, tandori chicken, lamb curry, assorted grilled meats, rice, spinach with tofu, lentils, potaotes, and plenty of naan to shovel it all down.

The Police

Meanwhile, Taylor, rushing to meet his friends on Old Arabat, attracted the attention of the police on the Metro. (He had been taking the steps two at a time, very suspicious!) While everyone is suppose to always carry our "papers," I have chosen to keep Tay's passport with me. When the police stopped Tay and he wisely feigned complete ignorance of Russian so they couldn't communicate the "fine" they wanted him to pay. With no papers, they could have easily hauled him in but as this was more trouble than it was worth, they just let him go after about five minutes. I'll give him a photocopy of his passport to put in his coat and, hopefully, that will prevent us from having him hauled off to jail!

Airing My Dirty Laundry

Like everything else here, getting your dry cleaning done is harder than it looks. I had decided that hiking to the nearest laundry, 20 minutes away, with a load of clothes wasn't a good idea. I found a dry cleaner that would pick up and had a Russian speaker from our Settling In Service call them.

Originally, the company picked up my clothes on Thursday and brought them back on Tuesday. Unfortunately, Larry does not have enough dress clothes to cover this cycle. Moscow is not into Casual Fridays. Coats and ties are required every day. I was able, by working though our Settling In service and agreeing to pay an extra 25%, to get the dry cleaner to also pick up on Tuesday and bring it back on Thursday. These are the days Lena, my maid, works so she can handle the exchanges.

Yesterday was a Thursday. While the dry cleaner picked up, he did not deliver! According to Lena they aren't cleaning Wednesday through Friday of this week due to the Defender of the Fatherland holiday. She indicated this by pointing to days on the calendar and telling me "Nee rabota yet" (not working.) That means the clothes I put in Tuesday, expected back on Thursday, would not be delivered on the following Tuesday. Using my knowledge of the days of the week in Russian, I negotiated with the delivery guy for an earlier date. He finally agreed to Paneedillnick (Monday).

I was triumphant until I realized that Monday I had my International Women's Club art group. Instead of going to to the studio of an up-and-coming artist, who is soon to be relocating to the U.S., I will be sitting at home all day, waiting for the dry cleaning! Maybe I'll use the time to reread my blogs on my trips to the Balshoi Ballet and Embassy Ball to try to convince myself what a glamorous life I lead.

Defender of the Fatherland

While Americans were off Monday for President's Day, we Ruskies were celebrating Defender of the Fatherland Day yesterday. As it was a holiday for Larry, I took him along to my AWO Go Moscow group. We were meeting at the workshop apartment of carpet restorers to hear a lecture on carpets available locally. This was about a 15 minute walk from our apartment, just across the Moscow River.

The apartment, used strictly for sales by appointment, was filled with rugs, tapestries, jewelry, pots, scarves and robes. They were mostly from Syria, Azerbaijan, Russia and Iran. I was particularly attracted to the metal Hershey-kisses-shaped helmets from Iran and the pillows made of Caucusan rug remnents. They also had some beautiful hand-made silk robes with embroidery. But when I tried to envision wearing one of those delicate, flowing garments at a dinner party, all I could image was getting red wine spilled on it!

The owners spoke only Russian, which was interpretted for us by the usual Go Moscow freelance guide. They brought out a lot of carpets for the lecture, discusssing the historical background and prices. While Larry and I love to look at stuff like this, we didn't buy anything. We've seen so many carpets, that we are really waiting for something that would knock our socks off. For us that will probably be just the right Caucasan Kuban rug.

We walked home, had a cup of tea, and then loaded up the car to drop off my donations at Ruth's. I had plastic bags full of things like the Ikea sheets I bought to fit the European-sized rental beds, books I'd read and no longer wanted, and fluffy towels. I had come to the sad conclusion that I do not have room for, or really need 20 towels for our family of three. I also loaded up all the rest of the plastic dividers for the pantry I no longer had and one of my two ironing boards. Ruth is distributing this stuff among poor American students here and giving the rest to the International Women's Club for Russian charities.

On the way home, we stopped at Stockman's for groceries, taking advantage of having a car to stock up on cans of Coca Cola Light. These are too heavy for me to drag home from the local market.

We opted to go out for dinner. Taylor, Larry and I took the metro to the Mayanskaya station and found the American Bar and Grill. It was a smoke-filled restaurant and bar with Russians servers wearing cowboy attire. I got broccoli soup and french fries while Larry and Taylor had hambergers. The food was mediocre but they had recent USA Today and Herald Tribune newspapers to read. (It was the first time in monthsI got to read an American newspaper.)

We were home in time to see the holiday fireworks. I watched them from the guest room with the Stalinist Ukraine Hotel as a backdrop. The enclosed balcony from the master bedroom has a better view, but it was too cold to stand out there. (I really sort of use it as a walk-in refrigerator.)

In the middle of the night, Larry developed food poisoning. I think it was from the cheese on his hamberger. (Tay forgot to order cheese for his hamberger and he's okay.) Larry's home today recuperating. He'll certainly remember his first Defender of the Fatherland Day.

A Sweet Tour

The Anglo-American School has Spring Break this week. Taylor assures me all his friends are snorkeling in the Egyptian Red Sea or at their houses in northern Italy. No such luck for him. Instead, he's stuck with me and the snow in Moscow.

As our excursion, I booked us on a Patriarshky Dom tour of the Red October Chocolate Factory. The factory, founded in Czarist times by a German confectioner, was called something like Eminem. No relation to the rap singer. After the Bolshevik Revolution, it was acquired the not-so-lyrical name of the Number One Candy Factory. But recognizing the propaganda value of the popular candies, the Soviets finally christened it Red October Chocolate Factory about 10 years later.

Today, there are plans to shut down the factory and move operations elsewhere. It is located on an island in the Moscow River near the Kremlin and the whole area is slated to be redeveloped as "The Golden Island."

Although it's only about three miles away, Tay and I set out an hour beforehand. We walked to the Metro, took the light blue line to the gray line and got out. According to my map, we were suppose to go south, but my compass refuses to operate in cold weather. Luckily I spotted the Kremlin and the Christ the Savior Cathedredal and could use those as landmarks. We walked about 15 minutes, crossing the icy Moscow River bridge and found the meeting point.

There were about 25 people waiting to take the tour, but only a handful of small children. The guide led the group on a ten minute walk to the factory. Inside, we hung up our coats and put on hospital booties. They led us into a room with intricate carvings all made of chocolate. There were baskets of flowers and swans with detailed feathers. The carvings had all been done by factory workers.

After that we suffered through the factory museum where we saw, I think, every award the factory had ever won. Taylor kept humming, "The Candy Man." Luckily, we got to skip from 1940 on as those rooms were closed. Finally, we donned white lab coats and hats. We looked exactly like a refugees from that classic I Love Lucy episode where she and Ethel worked in the candy factory. They walked us over to various assembly lines where we saw wafers being made, various chooclates poured, bars cut, and wrapper put on and the boxes sealed. They handed us edible samples every step of the way. These were unwrapped and there was nothing you could do but eat them.

This is a very popular tour for school children. Kids hyped up on chocolate wandering amidst all that fast-moving machinery just wouldn't happen in the U.S. But Tay and I had a great time.

Afterwards, they served us tea at a long table and brought out still more chocolate, bowls of the stuff. While we ate, we listened to music composed at the turn of the century by the factory composers. This included the "Chocolate Waltz."

As a departing gift, they gave each of us a large box of candy and two large chocolate bars. They also gave us a plastic bag and encouraged us to fill our bag with all the candy still in the serving bowls. "Don't leave any behind," they told us. I kept thinking how much my mom would enjoy this place.

There will be other Spring Breaks. Northern Italy and the Red Sea will still be there. But a gluttonous afternoon at the Red October Chocolate Factory in Moscow is a limited opportunity.

Sergei the Samovar Man

Yesterday, Diane and I made the trek to Sergei the Samovar Man. (In a nod to John Bulushi, I kept accidentally calling him, Sergei the Samarui Man.) Sergei works out of his apartment and has one room stuffed floor to ceiling with gleaming antique samovars.

A samovar is a large tea urn. It has a tube in the middle of it for charcoal. You fire it up and put water in the urn surrounding the tube. Then you put a tea pot on top to brew your concentrate. To make tea, you pour some tea concentrate from the pot and then add hot water from your samovar.

At the turn of the century, every family had a least one. Wealthier families also had a fancy one they used just for company. It is a symbol of Russian hospitality. I'm sure this is the romantic story Sergei would have told us, had he spoke enough English or if we had spoken enough Russian. Instead, I learned about it on the Internet.

Sergei sells samovars for about half the price of the local antique stores, who in turn, sell for about half the price of what you'd pay in an antique store in the U.S. He gets them from a network of guys in the countryside. An expert on samovar restoration, Sergei fixes and polishes them and offers them to expats. (Locals stick to their new electric samovars, thank you.)

Sergei's Samovars are about $220. (It's an extra $30 for the tray which is bought separately.) Six months ago, he charged $180. With a limited supply, every year the quantity goes down and the price goes up. In a few years, you won't be able to buy them at all (at least not in my price range.)

This makes samovars exempt from my Six Month Shopping Rule. I developed this rule after noting my worst Chinese stuff was all bought in the first six months of moving there. Not wanting to make the same mistake, I have foresworn lacquer boxes, embroidered linens and the other attractive Russian handicrafts, at least until May.

But with samovars, I was better buying sooner, not later. While I had researched their history, Diane had been talking to knowledgeable friends about the practical aspects. She knew that the more stamps on the pot, the better. She pulled out a bunch of samovars with at least five stamps each.

As I have more than my fair share of decorative antiques already, I opted for a small samovar (about 18 inches tall). Unfortunately, the small samovars are more rare and costs the same as the large samovars. Diane and I had been looking at the same small samovar. In a place with 150 samovars, we like the same one! When she discovered the one-size-fits-all pricing, she decided to buy a bigger one (about 30 inches). Diane is from Texas where bigger is better.

Sergei had a really odd mix of other antiques too. It was almost as if he was trying out other stuff to see what else would sell. Luckily, Diane gravitated to different things. She had a clear field in the few pieces of pottery while I checked out the limited copper selection.

When Sergei found out what we liked, he pulled a bit more of it out from other rooms in his apartment. I bought a copper serving tray and two small hammered copper pots. They were not cheap, but I know they'll be more expensive six months from now. I also bought a very heavy brass mortar and pedestel set that I knew would work great as a bookend. It was the only thing I bought that I had the faintest idea of what I would do with!

I had heard he had sickles, which I thought would be a great present for Alec. After looking the word up on his Russian-English dictionary, he told me he didn't have any. I'm hoping he'll put the word out to his countryside network.

Diane bought three funky-looking pots. We handed him a pile of money (cash only, of course) and he started the paperwork, photographing and measuring everything we bought. Sergei will get all this stuff authorized through the Foreign Ministry so that Diane and I can bring it back to the U.S. with us. Russia is VERY strict about exporting anything over 50 years old. Sergei was careful to only show us samovars that were exportable. He had several going to museums that could not leave the country.

At home, I unloaded my samovar on the kitchen table. Whitney asked if we were having tea for dinner. I forgot to ask if it worked, although I'm out of coal anyway. I told her it was decorative, just a show of my Russian hospitality.

Car Sick

Being chauffered is not as much fun as it sounds.

Sue had offered me the use of her car and driver the week while she's in the U.S. and I had painstakingly put together a schedule for the two days I decided to take her up on the offer.

Sue's husband's secretary, Tatiana who wrangles the driver, called to tell me my plans wouldn't work. First of all, the driver was busy until 9:30 a.m. He went to lunch at 1 p.m. and needed to leave at 2 p.m. to be able to pick up Whitney from school at 4:30 p.m. That gave me about a three hour window, only enough time to have him pick up my friends and I so we could spend an hour or so somewhere, and then be dropped off at our apartments.

I cut out half the stuff we planned, called my friends to verify the change, rescheduled Serge the Samovar Guy and then sent a follow-up email to the secretary. If I had known what a pain this would become, I'd have never accepted.

If poor Sue had known what a pain this would become, she'd never have offered. Tatiania had originally emailed me that the car wouldn't be available at all as they were taking it in for service those two days. I didn't get the email as my server was down. Then Tatiana decided to call Sue in the U.S., waking up her and her husband at 2 a.m. I'm sure they were thrilled to be discussing changing the dates the car was being serviced so I could go in style to the AWO coffee.

A Metro ride costs 7 cents. While I have to walk 10 minutes to the station, I don't have to email anyone in advance and nobody has to be awakened in the middle of the night. Sounds like a good deal to me.

Month Three

I am into month three of being a Russian housewife. Here's how I spent yesterday:

Wrote an entry in my blog about Mega Mall while sitting in the window sill.

IM'd with Alec about the final details of him completing the sale of our Ford Mustang.

Took an hour to put together a transporation schedule. My friend, Sue, is lending us her 15-year-old daughter, Whitney, and their car and driver while she and her husband are in the U.S. I decided to use the car and driver Wednesday and Thursday. To arrange this, I had to email a complete schedule to Sue's husband's secretary. This required me looking up the address for the AWO meeting (Hard Rock Cafe) and the IWC meeting (the Cypress Embassy). I also found the number for Serge the Samovar Guy and called him to make an appointment to look at his wares after IWC. I had to include his apartment address, near Moscow University, in my email schedule. Then I called Diane and Ruth to see if they wanted rides to all these activities (they did) and include their addresses. Requested the secretary verify by email.

Figured out what to offer to pay for a personal driver. Larry and I are hiring someone to drive me in our car once a week. (This will save Larry from the dreaded trips to Mega Mall on the weekends.) I checked a couple of expat publications and found the going rate for a personal driver using your car is $600 month or $28 day. Since our hours would be 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. only one day a week, I'm going to try $35. I emailed this to Olga at Move One, who has a potential candidate.

Scheduled a cultural expert from the moving company to come here Friday to document the artwork, antiques and carpets we moved over to register with the government. This is a requirement if we hope to leave with them.

Rescheduled my Russian lesson for today. Talked to my teacher about tutoring Taylor.

Ate leftover Bulgarian eggplant in tomato sauce and Pepsi Light for lunch while watching a very old episode of the British soap opera, "The East Enders" on BBC Prime.

Moved my "party clothes" into the new closet in the guest bedroom.

Discovered that while one of our large suitcases would store nicely on top of the closet, I wasn't strong enough to lug it up there. (It's filled with Larry's summer clothes.) Finding places for our four large suitcases here is one of my biggest squirelling away challenges.

Picked up Whitney's guitar to see if I could still play. Stumbled through "Puff the Magic Dragon."

Reorganized the 11 plastic drawers in the bathroom cabinets that contain our six month supply of medications and toiletries. Now the shampoos no longer need to cohabitate with the cough drops. Discovered hiding out were 8 cosmetic bags, 6 pairs of reading glasses I no longer use due to my bifocual contacts, 23 disposable razors (I use a metal one) and a half-empty bottle of Robitusum DM I could have really used last week when Larry was hacking away.

Discovered my email server was down so I couldn't get responses from anyone. (It's still down so I can't send or receive emails!)

Sinked my Palm Pilot with my computer so I would have my updated schedule with phone numbers and addresses available when I finally do get out.

Did four of my mini-loads of laundry, careful to dump the water out of the dryer after every load. Unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher.

Dethawed leftover Pasta Fagioli soup for dinner. Made cornbread with my limited supply of imported flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda and shortening.

Tied red ribbons around the little boxes of Belgium chocolates I bought at Oshan for Valentine's Day for Whitney and Taylor. I put these at their places for dinner.

Discussed life at the international school with the teens at dinner.

After dinner, gave Taylor the replacement Sim card Larry's driver dropped off earlier. Taylor's previous sim card had been stolen and we had to have it "blocked." Tay and my cellphone plans are only good for calls to and from Moscow. Tay gave me back the sim card for my phone, which he had been using. I needed to Whitney to show me how to open up my phone and replace the card so I make calls again.

Found I had a text message on my now activated cellphone from Larry on his way to Romania, wishing me a happy Valentine's Day.

Made Russian flashcards while Taylor and Whitney used the two computers to talk to friends online. As they don't sell 3 x 5 cards here, I am using my old Case Consulting Business cards.

Explained to Tay why it was not the maid's job to pick up his dirty clothes off the floor.

Stayed up late finishing Wolves Eat Dogs, a novel by Gorky Park author Martin Cruz Smith about a Moscow detective. Still couldn't sleep so reread parts of the Bonesetter's Daughter. Didn't feel compelled to start any of the long classic Russian novels I brought. War and Peace can just wait.

Aspirin is Aspirin

I was getting over some chest congestion and spent the entire day at home yesterday. The fact there was a raging blizzard added no incentive to get out.

The only reason I left the apartment the day before was to got to the drug store to buy Larry some more antibiotics before he left for Bucharest for the week. The European Medical Center where he got the first set shorted him on his medication. I took the anitbiotics box and his prescription which I didn't need. I had to buy a box of 15 pills, three times the number of antibiotics Larry needed to finish his treatment, but it was a third of the price of the clinic. I also bought some aspirin, which in Russian is pronounced as-pir-in.

Drug stores, pronounced Apetkas, are practically on every corner. These are tiny stores that sell health and beauty products. I noticed they sold jars of honey along with the cold remedies. The last time I was here I was in search of a sinus headache remedy. While I bought the recommended product, I decided not to take it because I was communicating in pantomime. When my Russian teacher translated the label for me a couple of weeks later, I found I'd bought Tylenol with codeine.

Sweat Equity

Diane offered to give me a ride to Mega Mall. With no car of my own, I jumped at the opportunity. I cancelled my Russian lesson (second week in a row.) A bigger sacrifice was canceling my trip with a woman who is very knowledgable about local artists. She was taking a group of women to see the out-of-town studio of an up-and-comingRussian painter whose oils are reminiscent of Van Gough.

That meant instead of a relaxing day in the countryside looking at art, I'd be shoving my way through the crowds to buy mass quantities of cheap toilet paper. In good traffic, Mega Mall is about 30 minutes away by car. Its anchor stores are Ikea, Obi, Stockmans and Oshan.

Oshan is a huge French-based hypermart. It's so crowded, it's like grocery cart bumper cars. (I just park my wagon and go down each aisle on foot, which still requires some squeezing in.) It takes a minimum of an hour to do stock up shopping there. The waiting line to check out takes an additional 20 to 80 minutes and they only accept cash. So why bother? Along with one of the best selections in town, they are dirt cheap. A french baquette that costs $2 at the Stockman's bakery, is 20 cents at Oshan. Shopping there, you'll save 20 to 90% on everything you buy. But you are so exhausted at the end of the process, you feel like it's sweat equity.

But we weren't done yet. Next, we went to Ikea where Diane bought candles and a CD rack and I ordered a freestanding closet. (Only the masterbedroom and Tay's room in our apartment have closets.) I dragged the Ikea sales guy over, indicated what I wanted and he wrote it up for me. Ikea was out of the drawer dividers and didn't have any suitable underbed storage boxes, two of the other items on my list.

One really interesting thing about Ikea is they sell the same stuff all over the world. The store in Moscow is exactly like the store in Beijing which I bet is exactly like the store in Phoenix. Even the cafeteria, where we stopped to eat, has the same menu! I had a large bottled water, shrimp salad and bowl of cream of mushroom soup, all for $4.

After checking out, I went to the delivery desk where I arranged to have my closet delivered. Then I went to the assembly desk to arrange for another guy to come out and assemble it. (These transactions are all in Russian.)

By now, we'd been out five hours, so we decided to skip Stockmans. But we still had to go to Obi, the home improvement store. I desperately needed converter plugs so we could start using all our lamps and Diane needed drill bits and a variety of lightbulbs. While checking out, I saw someone buying the underbed storage boxes I needed, but by then the car was too full anyway with our earlier purchases.

At home, Larry, who was recuperating from broncitis, helped me lug everything up in the elevator. I was upset to find out the converter plugs I'd bought wouldn't work. You couldn't tell from the outside, but they are for straight wires, not curly ones. I had spent 10 minutes carefully examining these plugs to ensure they would fit in our plugs and were the right size. "They look right," he kindly told me. "I probably would have bought the same ones."

So we'll remain in the dark. At least until I can arrange transportation and summon the energy to face Mega Mall once again.

Swan Songs

Swan Lake at the Bolshoi is quite a production. Surprisingly, the ballet offered only two performances for this classic during this season. I went to the one last night.

Bolshoi means grand and the theater certainly qualified. While definitely down-in-the-mouth, the Bolshoi is a wonderful, with over-the-top gilding everywhere. There's delicate paintings on the ceiling surrounding a huge, gorgeous crystal chandelier. The curtain, which has a subtle pattern of a hammer and sickle, was made with real gold thread.

I checked my coat in the run-down lobby and paid an extra 30 cents to have it hung on a hanger instead of a peg. They had run out of the paper programs which cost 80 cents.

Diane, Ruth, Jenelle and I found our seats, which were in the back and to the side. I was disappointed in the location as we'd paid premium prices. It turns out, the Bolshoi is a theater full of bad seats. In front of us, were rows of wooden chairs on an only slightly slanted floor. So you see a lot of heads in the rows ahead of you. Only the back three rows, where we sat, offered more comfortable fully upholstered theater chairs, with steps up to each for an unobstructed view.

There are at least four rows of balconies above, with small chairs that even my petite American friends thought were too little. There's no slant there, so unless you are seated in the front row, you have to look around whoever is in front of you. Apparently they slanted the floor of the stage, which visisting ballet troops are not too happy about.

A full orchestra played the overture and the curtain rose on a minimal but beautiful set. Dancers in elaborate costumes flowed onto the stage with the most graceful movements I've ever seen. At the same time, I heard this clomping. Were the Clydesdales back stage? No, it was just their toes shoes which seem to be clomping or squeaking until my ear eventually tuned it out.

As my only prior ballet background was watching "The Turning Point" about 20 years ago, I knew I wouldn't be able to appreciate the dance. But even I could enjoy the big leaps, dizzying spins and intricate footwork. Surprisingly, some of the most stunning parts of the ballet were when they were barely moving.

I loved the climax when the Evil Genius (I love that name) takes the Swan away from the unfaithful Prince.

I was also surprised that the dancers kept stopping in the middle of the show to take bows. They did a full curtain call before intermission. While I couldn't tell if the dancer had stopped or just paused, the audience knew if the dance was done and applauded immediately. They also shouted, "Bravo." At the final curtain call, they clapped rhymically in unison. Apparently, this is a Russian, not a ballet, thing.

The Bolshoi Theater is closing for a three year rennovation, which means it will be closed indefinitely. As for productions, it was no "Turendot at the Forbidden City," the standard by which anything I will see will fall short. But Swan Lake at the Bolshoi was a memorable night of basking in beauty.

The Convenient Aubergine

Yesterday, I went to my gourmet lunch group. This is an AWO sub-group that meets once a month for lunch. The hostess picks a culinary theme, usually some place she's lived, and we all bring something to her home. I'm scheduled to host in April and I'm thinking about doing Chinese, even though my industrial-sized wok is in storage.

Our theme this month was Bulgaria. Our hostess, Cathy, and her husband had adopted two older children, brothers from Bulgaria, while they were living in Alaska. She learned to cook some Bulgarian food to make her sons feel at home.

None of the rest of us had any Bulgarian dishes in our repetoire. I went online and picked one based soley on convenience. Hey, I'm still unpacking! My recipe:

1. Had only four ingredients, all of which I knew I could find locally.
2. Was best prepared in advance so I could do all of it at home.
3. Could be served at room temperature.

While all the food was good, my Aubergines in tomatoe sauce was the hit of the luncheon. I am certainly adding it to my list. Here's the recipe link: http://www.passionateaboutfood.net/cgi-bin/news/viewnews.cgi?newsid991142072,65498,

Cathy lives off the same Metro as the NB Gallery. Having slogged through so much of that neighborhood the day before, I was painfully aware of which way was north. I found her building, about a 15 minute walk from the Metro, without problems.

Eight of us attended. The appetizers included fried eggplant strips with a yogurt sauce and roasted garlic. Then we had a thick lentil soup, green salad with some kind of berries, my eggplant dish, baked chicken in a yogurt and paprika sauce, and two kinds of bread. We had our choice of red or white wine, although none of us thought to bring Bulgarian wines, which are very good.

For dessert, we had a chocolate torte that was mildly chocolately and strongly walnuty. We also had a walnut cake. The hostess then served coffee or tea. The conversation topics included a recap of the Embassy ball, sagas about dealing with moving companies, sun lamps to reduce depression and where to buy cranberries.

We also talked about art. I found out there's a group of expat women who meet every Monday to go to different local artists' studios. (The same day I'm spending comatose in Understanding Russia.) I'm going to try to get on their e-mail list, the equivalent of being in-with-the-in crowd here.

I came home to an empty house. Larry had taken the train to St. Petersberg. Doesn't that sound romantic? Traveling by train through the snow-covered Russian countryside to the home of the czars. I'm sure the reality is quite different.

Taylor is at a Russian ski resort with his tenth grade class. Sunday, I bought him some Columbia ski pants, reduced from $100 to $60. I also bought him a new hat and he bought a bright red O'Neill snowboarding jacket in a baseball style. He wore it to school the day before where it was quite the hit. How Larry and I got to be the parents of the most popular boy in the class is completely beyond me.

Torturing Americans

Once again, I went to my Understanding Russia class. Once again, it should have been called Torturing Americans. For more than two hours, I had to sit on a hard wooden floor without a break to learn about the history of Russian art. Why we must SUFFER to learn about Russian culture is still beyond me.

The class was held at the NB Art Gallery, which I've been wanting to check out. I got an early start on the suffering as I stumbled around in the icy cold trying to find the place. It was too cold for my compass, which twice gave me the wrong heading for North. It first identified East as North. When I couldn't find the gallery then, I backtracked to the Metro, checked for North again, and it pointed me West. I went a few blocks that direction and gave up when I hit the Kremlin! I called the gallery which pointed me the right way. I backtracked once again to the Metro, FINALLY went North and about 15 minutes later, by then an icycle woman, I had arrived.

The lecture covered very similar material to my art museum tour. In fact, the lecturer mostly used illustrations of art from that museum. I was disappointed in the gallery too. The problem with spending time looking at art in museums is that you get use to higher quality of work. The stuff I can probably afford, I wouldn't have. The art I did like there were painted on CARDBOARD. Could Soviet artists not afford canvas?

I went to lunch with two acquaintances afterwards and mentioned that I really wished we could take a 10 minutes break during the lecture to stretch, go to the bathroom, etc. It turns out one of the two women was taking over being in charge of the group. I thought I was in trouble again for complaining, but she actually thought it was a good idea.

Next week's lecture is on wedding customs with a local cultural group re-enacting a traditional Russian wedding. Now, doesn't that sound interesting? However, I know that if I go, I will be stuck on some bench for 2.5 hours for a lecture on the subject. By the time the wedding re-enactment takes place, my eyes will be rolling into the back of my head and they could perform the whole thing in the nude and it wouldn't grab my attention. I know I'm becoming fatalistic, which is actually an important aspect of Russian culture. So maybe something is rubbing off.

On the Ball

Larry and I went to the Embassies of the World Dinner and Ball. Put on by the International Women's Club, it is the expat social event of the season. The tickets are $250 each and the money goes to support IWC's multiple local charities. It sells out within days and there is always a waiting list.

Dinners are hosted by various ambassadors at their residences. Afterwards, everyone gathers at a central meeting place, last year the Korean Embassy, for the ball.

We picked up Larry's tux from the pile of collapsed clothes in the guest bedroom and dusted it off. I was perfectly attired for my peer group in my new long burgandy dress. (Purchased at 50% off for $75 at Dillards in Salt Lake City over Christmas.) While the Europeans had a huge variety of attire, American women all seemed to be wearing leftover mother-of-the-bride or bridesmaid dresses, depending on their age.

I had two minor attire issues. First of all, my dressy sandals are M.I.A. I think they decide Moscow would be too cold and snuck into storage in Phoenix. Instead, I wore my black sling-back pumps. I was also the only one of my friends who hadn't spent the day at the salon having something special done to her hair.

A Honeywell driver chauffered us to the Danish ambassador's home where our group of 10 was assigned for dinner. When you sign up, you can request to be seated with four other couples. After Misha, the Honeywell driver, dropped us off, we were directly admitted into the residence. Moscow is a place where you have to show your passport to get cable installed. I was astounded they didn't even ask for the invitation. I guess if you show up on their doorstep at the appointed time in black-tie attire, you must be okay.

Inside, I shed my mink coat. Other women were also changing from their snow boots into their party shoes. The ambassador greeted us and we mingled with the 20 other guests as servers passed with silver trays of champagne, orange juice and gin and tonics.

Outside the dining room, was the seating chart. The diagram showed four round tables with six people each. I was seated next to a young Danish diplomat, Marvin, with whom I had chatted earlier. (I had already used my researched conversational starter with him about Denmark celebrating the Hans Christian Andersen bicential this year.) On my other side was Michael, a grizzled Irish accountant with Deloitte and Touche, who'd been in Moscow nine years.

The rest of the table was not too international, consisting of three people from Houston. This is not that strange as many expats here are with oil and oil-service companies. Of my group of 10, only Larry and I are not from Houston, although I went to high school there.

The ambassador welcomed us and told us a little about the history of the house. I think it is an international rule for ambassadors in Moscow to live in culturally significant residences! This house use to be the Norweigan embassy, built by some famous Norweigan traitor. Marvin remarked that even today, traitors in Norway are said to be this guy's name. I remarked, "Like traitors in America are called Benedict Arnolds." One of the Houstonians filled Marvin and Michael in on Benedict Arnold. Michael added that in Great Britian, traitors were said to be a Lord Haho (something like that), a famous World War traitor. I wonder how many cultures have their own famous traitor whose names live on.

I was a bit disappointed to see the table settings, while hardly guardy, were not the "operating table" sterile traditionally associated with Denmark. The flatwear had some designs, the plates had a gold rim and there were a simple arrangement of roses on each table. We sat down to a cream soup with some kind of fish eggs. Our napkins were wrapped around a roll, which as in all proper formal dinners, was to be parked on the table.

After the soup, they served a salad with salmon. They also served white wine with these courses. Red wine was served with the main course, very rare pork with a cranberry sauce on the side, potatoes and snow peas. Dessert was some kind of a gooey chocolate circle with sliced strawberries and a vanilla sauce. This was served with some kind of Georgian dessert wine which tasted suspiciously like Welches grape juice to me.

Afterwards we retired to the parlour areas where they brought trays of coffee or tea. I drank my tiny cup of coffee and later all the guests departed for the ball. The ball was held at a new modern-style music hall. In contrast to the old world charm of our dinner, the ball felt like a trendy European media event. There were video cameramen everywhere. Their video was displayed on huge flat screen TVS that surrounded the room. There were also photographers everywhere. The bar had an Hummer ice sculpture. (Hummer was one of the sponsors.)

A live Latin band was blaring in front of flashing lights on the stage. No one was dancing, prefering to mingle. I enjoyed looking at the attire, which ranged from a man in a formal kilt to a Southern bell typed hoop dress. Mostly women wore designer-type European gowns. (No mother-of-the bride dresses for them.)

We stayed for the first set of door prizes, failing to win the free Hummer and driver for a week or the man's custom-made suit. We left early as Larry didn't want to keep the driver out all night. (On the program, they listed activities ending with a disco at 3 a.m.) We also missed the auction of two days on a Greek yaught (sleeping six guests) that normally sells for $5,000 Euros a day (food and fuel are extra). But I hadn't planned on bidding.

Advanced Placement

Things are shaping up around the apartment. The pantry, linens and toiletries are mostly put away. When I say, put away, I mean shoved anywhere they'll fit. All this stuff will need to be reogranized at some later date.

To find room, I converted our "winter garden," a small enclosed balcony off the bedroom, into a walk-in refrigerator and put some of the pantry stuff (like our 20 lbs. of coffee beans) out there.

Our new dryer fits very nicely under the desk in our office/laundry room. Now that we've gotten most of our stuff squirreled away, it's time to do more shopping. On the list:

* A free-standing closet. We had so many exta clothes on the portable clothing rack, it collapsed! The clothes are still where they fell in the floor of the guest bedroom.

* Two more under-the-bed storage boxes. (The rest of the space there is occupied.)

* New plugs for all our lamps to convert our square plugs to round ones.

* Light bulbs for all our lamps. (U.S. light bulbs don't work here.)

* Ski pants for Taylor. His class is going to a Russian ski "resort." I didn't buy any in Salt Lake, where they are cheap and plentiful because I didn't think he's be needing any so soon.

If I had my way, I'd be shopping for party shoes for the Ball we're attending tonight. I will just have to dig Larry's tux off the heap in the guest bedroom, wear my slingback pumps and call it good.

A Treasure

While unpacking, I found a small treasure. It was a tiny birthday card made by a very young Taylor that said, "This is good for one hour of no talking."

Over the years, my incessant little chatterbox has turned into 15-year-old who is surprisingly quiet, not counting his music system that blasts classic rock.

Taylor has a wonderful sense of humour. When asked about changing the school mascot, he suggested "the Babushukas". Babushkas are the short, stocky grandmother types in heavy boots and head scarves one sees everywhere in Moscow.

Taylor is great fun when being taken somewhere he approves (like clothes shopping for him) and not great fun when being taken somewhere he objects (like getting a haircut.)

In our family, Taylor beats me out for the most dramatic. I am continually entertained by his outlandish renditions of events where I was present. This includes the time "Dad was pratically gang raped" in the Barcelona Metro. (Someone attempted to steal Larry's wallet, before jumping off the train at the last minute.)

The school has recognized his flair and awarded him the lead role in the school play, "A Night in Uzbeckistan." He has the Groucho Marx part. The teacher directing the play commented on Taylor's great comic timing. Earlier this semester, he was also asked to join the honor choir at school but declined.

Tay's favorite subjects in school are P.E. and history. He's always been very athletic and drags me off to the Radisson Health Club a couple times a week. Our only issue is I prefer work out in the morning and Taylor likes pumping iron after dinner. He's looking forward to joining the tennis team at school, if it ever warms up.

Tay's other extracurricular activities includes going out with his many friends on the weekends. They usually meet at TGI Fridays. This requires multiple phone calls and instant messages among them to coordinate.

Though he is currently almost six feet tall, he is not allowed free reign to roam Moscow. He yearns for more independence and is looking forward to being on his own in college.

In the meantime, I am happy to have him here with us. I look forward to hearing his voice on our intercom as he attempts a fake Russian accent when he gets home from school. I like the way he calls me in to watch "Ready, Steady, Cook" on BBC with him. I enjoy our chats, trudging through the snow, to the Health Club and back.

He may have a tendency to drop whatever he doesn't currently need (coats, books, towels) wherever he happens to be when through with them. He definitely need to bring up his grades at his academically-challenging school. But by any measure, Taylor is a blessing. We have two wonderful sons and though one may be far away, they are both near to our hearts.

Come What May

The good news is that after months of waiting, my shipment of household goods has been delivered to my apartment. The bad news is, now I have to find a place for everything.

Imagine a wind circling inside your home that blows everthing you own around. It's so strong that it blows everything out of your cabinets, closets and drawers and onto the floor. Now imagine that when you go to put everything back in place, the same storm has shrunk all your storage space by one third. This is what I'm facing.

While I was careful about not bringing too many dishes for my small kitchen, I cavalierly shipped the entire contents of my huge, walk-in pantry! I have Sam's Club quanities of catsup and mayonaisse. I have three gallons of white vinegar. I have a year's supply of Ziplocks in various sizes. And I have no where to put them.

Taylor is doing his part by trying to eat his way through the two double boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal, as quickly as possible.

I also shipped three laundry baskets. My washer has a capacity of one queen size sheet. It would take me weeks to accumulate that many clean clothes at one time.

I guess I can use the baskets to store the piece of my U.S. vaccuum that arrived. Its fellows are in storage in Phoenix. I also shipped a computer monitor that won't work here. And I now have two ironing boards, but only one iron.

The only big casualty was my large green ceramic bowl. Now that's it's broken, Larry has taken to referring to it as my "ancient Chinese antique," at least when talking about insurance value. I just wish I had it back. Oh well, my Ecuadorian chocolate pot, the Chinese embroidered tapestry and the Tibetan acrylic all made it through unscathed.

The smart thing would have been to leave ALL the things behind I'd be sad to lose. But the fact is, these are the same things that make an apartment in Moscow home to me.

Home is where the peasant painting of our family on the Great Wall is. I refuse to live without it. It's my comfort as I try to stuff a year's supply of toiletries and all our linens into one bathroom.