Barley gruel and other Russian hospital delicacies

I wouldn't want to be pregnant in Moscow. Actually, at my age, I wouldn't want to be pregnant anywhere. But especially not in Moscow.

At four months along, my younger American friend, R. is trying to optimize her maternity care options. She chose an Israli OB-GYN at the American Medical Clinic, one of a handful of joint venture medical centers catering to expats in Moscow.

R. was having urinary problems and the doctor put her in the clinic's limited bed area, before sending her home with an I.V. The clinic sent a Russian nurse to administer the I.V. at R.'s apartment. After multiple painful attempts, R. had to insert the I.V. herself. (As a former EMT, she got it in on her first try.)

R. went into pre-mature labor and her OB-GYN gave up and admitted her to a Russian hospital. Russian hospitals segregate women. There are no male visitors, no male orderlies, no male nurses, no male technicians and no male doctors. They also speak no English there. R. got special dispensation to bring her husband, B., who is fluent in Russian. B. was stopped everywhere in the hospital, as if he were some male interloper upstairs at a sorority house. When they did an ultrasound, exposing R.'s belly, B. was required to stand behind a screen.

Russian hospitals provide the same dinner menu each night: barley gruel, beets and beer tongue. Along with horrible food, R. almost immediately developed a skin rash all over from the bedding. The nurse was surprised that R. hadn't brought her own sheets. Most scary, was R.'s observance of the reuse of "disposable" gloves and needles.

The average Russian woman with a problem in her pregnancy spends four weeks at the hospital. R. and B. were able to negotiate a release after three days. R. was told to go home and to "try not to think too much."

A Russian friend, hearing R. tell her story to a small expat group, asked, "But did they cure your problem?" The answer was yes. The Russian doctors stopped the onset of labor, diagnosed a IUT infection and prescribed anti-biotics that cleared it up. Now feeling much better, R. marched over to the American Clinic to demand her records. Her OB-GYN had known about the bacteria in her urine for at least a month and didn't think it was important. R.'s own research showed that a high number of miscarriages are due to infections.

Obviously in the market for a new gynocologist, she asked the rest of us for recommendations. We were no help. We all schedule our gynocology appointments to coincide with our home leaves. Surprisingly, R. is electing to stay on for now in Moscow. But she and her husband have decided to leave for Finland about a month before her due date so she can give birth in the modern facilities there. Someplace where they provide clean sheets and sterile needles would be nice.

Ballshoi Televisor

Since we live in a small apartment with a tiny living room, it was clear (at least to my husband) that what we really needed was--a large TV. And when I say large, I mean large. Like a TV the size of a small Volkswagon. Coincidentally, these large TVs are priced in the same range as a small Volkswagon.

It's a dual voltage plasma screen TV, which sounds to me as if it is hospital equipment. Larry spent weeks researching online and in stores for the optimum one available in Russia. He finally decided to go with the 50 inch Fujitsu as the 42 inch one was just too puny.

After choosing the model, it took another couple of weeks to find one to buy. Considering it took me three months to get a clothes drier, this was practically light speed for Moscow. Then, he had to arrange for delivery and set up. Larry finalized the deal on Sunday and the company promised to deliver the TV and stand sometime Tuesday.

While someone was home all day Tuesday, the TV never showed. When Larry called to complain, they told him the delivery guy was in the hospital, delivery wasn't really part of their services and the dog ate their homework. It took a while to convince the retailer that Larry was not going to give in, come pick up the TV at their shop and lug the 200 lbs. of equipment up ten flights by himself.

Then they promised to deliver our novy ballshoi televisor (new big TV) by 1 p.m. on Thursday. At 2 p.m. Thursday, they promised to deliver it by 3:30. At 4 p.m., they promised to deliver it right away. At 7 p.m. the TV and stand finally arrived. The delivery guys dropped off the boxes and proceeded to leave. "Hey," I said, "You guys are suppose to assemble this." Okay, as they spoke no English, I really pantomimed this, rather than saying this, but they got the point.

They pulled out their cell phone and called their English-speaking boss who told me: These aren't the assembly guys, assembly isn't part of their service and the dog ate their homework. So it was left to Larry and our houseguest, my brother-in-law David to finish the job. With degrees in engineering, physics and architecture, Larry and David might be more marginally qualified to hook the thing up than the delivery guys.

My sister and I cracked open a bottle of wine and offered helpful comments like, "Wow, that TV is big!" It certainly is a ballshoi ballshoi televisor. Multi-plex movie theaters have smaller screens than this. Larry fired it up and suddenly there was a life-sized Sponge Bob Square Pants in the middle of my living room.

While I wasn't enthused about larger than life cartoon characters drifting through my apartment, I do have to admit that swashbuckling through Pirates of the Caribean and blasting my way through the galaxy with Hans Solo on the large screen was quite fun. Okay, maybe our ballshoi televisor is not quite as useful than a Volkswagon, but much better to cuddle in front of during the upcoming long winter months.

Nothing But Star Wars

I am now the mother of an Eastern European tennis champion. Taylor's team won their tournament in Latvia last weekend, and Taylor and his partner won their doubles division. Saturday night in Riga, the team had dinner at TGI Fridays and then went to see the new Star Wars. Not quite the multi-cultural experience I expected.

While Taylor was watching Star Wars in Latvia, Alec was watching it in Paris and Larry and I were seeing it at the American Cinema in Moscow. We independently decided we had to go Saturday of the opening weekend.

Monday, my hired driver, Yuri, met me outside my building entrance at 9:30 a.m. and we set off to pick up Sue. Sue lives off of Old Arabat in a charming building. It's a fabulous location, unless you have to drive there. Traffic was a mess, as usual, and it took us 30 minutes to get to her apartment, about the same amount of time it takes me to walk there.

But I was happy to be able to provide the transportation, for once. Sue's taken me with her and her driver at least four times, and Taylor is continually catching rides with Whitney and driver.

Our destination today was an artist's home and studio, about 30 Km from the city center. Every week, the IWC art group holds viewing at a different local artist studio. These artists apparently take great pains never to live anywhere near a metro so this is only the second one I've been able to attend.

We drove for over an hour before reaching the simple dacha. I was amazed at how beautiful and green everything was. I keep forgeting Moscow is in the middle of a forest. Inspired, Sue and I decided we would try to rent a simple summer house for a week outside Moscow. Her husband is longing to barbeque. This works well, as my family is longing to EAT barbeque.

It's interesting to see where people paint and view a very large sample of their work over the years. This was a modern artist with dramatic colors. Another American attending told me she has been looking at his stuff in Moscow galleries over the past year and he is considered quite "collectible."

Through a translator, we were told his work is in the Tetrakoff Gallery and has been collected by the Chairman of General Motors. This is not an inducement to me. If the GM Chairman could afford him, I couldn't! The paintings I liked were each about $8,000. He also offered some oil pen sketches at $800 to $1500 that he probably spent all of 10 minutes on. Nice work, if you can get it.

After that, I introduced Sue to Metro Cash and Carry, the warehouse chain store. Metro has good prices in bulk products without the crowds. You must, however, continually dodge forklifts, which are everywhere and expect YOU to get out of their way. Then we made the long drive back into town and dropped off Sue. By the time, I was back in my apartment, it was close to 5 p.m. Yes, 90 minutes at an artist's studio and an hour at the Warehouse store had taken us all day.

Vodka and Meat Pies

Once a month, a group of my friends go try a nice restaurant. Here's the steps involved in planning this month's special dinner at House of Writers:

In April, Sarah goes to the restaurant to inspect the facilities. Even though she is there two weeks in advance, they are unable to accomodate us on the date we want. Because expats travel a lot, the 10 of us set our monthly dinner schedule dates months in advance. Therefore, we decide to go somewhere else this month.

In May, Sarah returns to the restaurant and secures the reservation for May 27, the night the group had set aside. The menu, typical Russian cuisine, is 1/2 inch thick and the restaurant wants us to choose from a smaller menu. They give her their standard banquet menu to review.

Sarah's baby gets sick and she hands the baton to me. Sarah emails me the banquet menu which we agree is too much food and drink for our American group. For example, their menu includes about 20 expensive cold starters to share, a choice of three more cold starters (including caviar at $56 per person)and vodka shots (at $8 per) as our beverage.

I need to reduce the menu while not diminishing the overall tradtional dinner experience. As I am not sure what's customary and the staff has limited English,I go to the restaurant to talk to them in person.

There's no parking so Larry drops me off outside. I am cordially welcomed, escorted in. The restaurant is in a beautiful pre-revolutionary building, lovingly decorated. I'd be happy eating peanut butter sandwiches here.

I meet with two people, one administrative and one from the cooking staff. The chef speaks practically no English so the administator, Elena, translates for me. I ask things like, "Are these three choices your best entrees?" and "What else do Russians drink during the meal besides vodka shots?"

Then I need to understand what's on their suggested menu. They define things like "Tverskaya cutlet" and "orange mood" for me. (Orange mood is carrot cake.) I learn that instead of expensive cold starters like eel on the table, I can get traditional platters of various pickles and cold slaw to start.

I was relieved to find that vodka shots can also only be used as an apertif so I decided we'll have one apiece. (You can't have a traditional Russian dinner without vodka!) They talked me into leaving in the meat pies appetizers. They brought some out and they looked like stuffed bread rolls. They insisted they were too delicious to miss.

After 45 minutes, we are much closer on the menu and they agree to email me two possible menus for a final review. I walked home from restaurant. It's about a 30 minute stroll from my apartment and I get out as much as possible whenever the weather is okay.

Later that evening, after several emails back and forth, the menu is finalized. I end up completely cutting the second course of a choice of more cold starters, saving $28 per person. I kept the third, fourth and fifth courses (hot appetizers, entrees and dessert) which we will wash down with the house French red wine. I also order 9 liters of water, both with and without gas.

Even with my cuts, the price per person is high so I email all the wives to see if anyone wants to opt out. I'll make one more trip back to the restaurant to leave a 50% deposit.

In the U.S., I've arranged banquets for a hundred people, usually by having the facility fax me a menu from which I chose from various options. It always took less than half an hour. Between Sarah and me, we'll have made four trips to this restaurant to arrange one dinner for 12 people.

I hope the dinner will be memorable, because the planning involved certainly has.

Home Alone

With Larry working in Kazakhstan, Alec in Paris and Taylor in Latvia, I am home alone in Moscow.

This morning, I walked over to the Radisson Hotel, where I have an overpriced gym membership, and worked out on the weight machines. As it is a good 30 minute roundtrip walk there, I don't really feel the need to log any treadmill time.

Three good things happened:

1. For the first time since I moved to Moscow, I was able to go outside without wearing a jacket. Can sandals be far behind?

2. The English language movie theater at the Radisson will be showing the new Star Wars movie this weekend! I can see it undubbed on the large screen. I was Alec's age when the first one came out. Who knew 30 years later, they'd finally get the last one done. And who would have dreamed I'd still care?

3. On the walk back, I discovered a huge fountain and sculpture in the middle of a plaza. While I made this same walk three times a week this winter, the whole thing, along with a park, was snowed under.

Moscow in winter and Moscow in summer are like two different cities. While the snowfall in Moscow is undeniably lovely, I want to live in the Moscow with grass, parks and fountains. I want the Moscow where I don't have to focus only on the treacherously icy sidewalks.

While I'm at it, I want a Moscow with no traffic problems! And a Moscow with no corruption. And how about world peace and social justice? I'd like some of that too.

Covering Europe

Taylor left today for his tennis match in Latvia. I had to call the school late last week to get the information on how they were transporting him, where he would be staying and who was chaperoning. I guess this was considered priviledged information.

I discovered he is spending two nights with a host family for whom I was expected to supply a gift. As I have no clue what nationality they might be, locals or expats from anywhere, I went with a variety of sweets made in Moscow. When Whitney stayed with a family in France, Sue sent one of those lovely hand carved Father Christmases they make here. It turns out the family was Muslim! The school did advise me not to send alcohol, as if I were going to give Tay a big bottle of Vodka to put in his suitcase.

Alec left yesterday for Paris. When I last heard from him, he was in Prague, having missed his connection. Czech Air was suppose to put him on a later flight and I have to assume that no news is good news.

Alec had remarked that Larry and I had been nothing but encouraging about the prospect of he and his friend, Chase, spending two months roaming around Europe on their own. We must be nuts.

But once, Larry and I dreamed of strapping our backpacks to motorcycles (Larry supplied the motorcycle part of this fantasy) and exploring Europe. Today, we are seeing Europe by loading our ballistic nylon rollerbags and laptop cases into rental cars with GPSs. We stay in hotels where we do not have to share bathrooms with stangers. But it's not the same.

Hopefully, work and vacations will bring Alec back to Europe, but never again a trip like this. He'll have wonderful times and terrible times. And part of me is envious of his adventure.

At the Palace

Like college gentlemen of a different age, Alec is setting off this month for his "Grand Tour" of Europe. Of course, his first stop was visiting us in Moscow. He was suppose to be here a week but a visa screw up reduced that to only three days.

We are making the most of his time here. Yesterday we took a walking tour of the Kitai Gorod neighborhood next to the Kremlin. The tour started in front of St. Basil's Cathedral on Red Square. I was surprised to see eight large tour groups of various nationalities. We had Red Square all to ourselves this winter. While these groups had 30 to 40 people crowding around their guide, our Patriarshksy Dom tour conisted of our guide and three people including Alec and me.

I'm no stranger to Red Square, but this was the first time I'd been inside St. Basil's. It is made up of a series of connected chapels. We started in the "basement" which was freezing and then we took the winding stairs to the main floor. The stairs were so steep, it reminded me of climbing Camelback Mountain. I was particularly interested in looking at the various restored and unrestored sections from different centuries.

After St. Basil's, our guide walked us through Red Square, talking about how they "use to have pompous political parades held here with soldiers and military vehicles."

As they were still in the process of taking down the scaffolding from last week's Victory Day parade, I quipped, "And they still do." This was met with complete silence from the guide. She apparently did not agree with all the editorials about how Putin had used the parade as a political tool. Most veterans couldn't even get into Red Square and spent the day that was suppose to celebrate their efforts out of town.

After offending the guide, I shut up and followed her out of Red Square and into the surrounding streets. For the next 2.5 hours, she walked us by buildings explaining the historical or architectural significance. Galena was knowledgeable, but not entertaining. Even for Alec, an architecture major, this tour dragged a bit.

I would have asked questions along the way but, Russians don't really like it when you ask questions. To them it says either they have done a poor job of communicating or you are just an idiot who doesn't listen.

Because three hours of walking apparently just wasn't enough, Alec and I took the metro to Somolensksya, grabbed a very late lunch and then walked down Old Arabat. Then we walked down New Arabat, crossing the river, and walked back to our apartment.

Today we took the Great Kremlin Palace Tour. We had much better luck with guides, snagging the always-entertaining Felix. Felix conducted our metro tour and our city bus tour when Alec was here in December. We met outside the main gate to the Kremlin grounds which had literally 300 people in tour groups lined up to get through security.

Felix "negotiated" with the guards so we were able to go right in. The Great Kremlin Palace is located inside the Kremlin and was the Moscow residence of the czars. During the Soviet era, it was used for their twice a year two-day legislative sessions and for treaty signing. Today, it is the "official" residence of President Putin and where he took office. http://www.moscow-taxi.com/sightseeing/kremlin/great-kremlin-palace.html

During the 1990s, the government spent a huge amount restoring it to over-the-top oppulance. It is not a musuem. Because it is host to so many official functions and the security is so tight, it is not often open to the public. We were very fortunate it that one of those days was while Alec was here. There were 28 in our group, a huge number for a Patriarshsky Dom tour, and probably the maximum number allowed in the Palace. Waiting for the rest of our group to clear the tough secuity of the palace, I sat down in the waiting room and noticed my seat was upholstered in rich silk.

It was a fabulous place, as full of history as it was fantastic features. "Sort of makes those French chateaus look like La Quintas," said Alec. We saw the amazing public rooms but also the smaller period-furnished private rooms, which today are offered to visiting heads of state. While Queen Elizabeth did stay here, most leaders opt for hotels with modern conveniences. I'm not sure the Kremlin Palace offers wireless connections, for example.

Afterwards, while still on the Kremlin grounds, Alec and I walked over the Armory Museum and bought a ticket to the Diamond Fund. There, I saw an equally over-the-top collection of imperial jewelry. I was delighted not only with the size of the jewels, but with the clever ways they were used in jewelry designs.

I have not yet been to St. Petersburg, but after today, they will have a long way to go to impress me now.

Sandal Season

While getting Taylor’s racquet restrung at the local sporting goods store, I bought a pair of pretty sport sandals. I realized they are the third pair of sandals I’ve bought this month. Previously, I ordered a pair of Merrill walking sandals on sale at the REI Outlet and a pair of trendy espadrille sandals from Zapatos.

These will join the high-heeled slide sandals that were the base of my Scottsdale shoe wardrobe. At present, all my sandals, and my assorted flips flops, are cooling their heels, so to speak, in my closet. They stand underneath my collection of Capri pants and silk skirts. I go in occasionally to admire them, prettily grouped by their gay colors. I, of course, am still wearing the black and navy wool and corduroy that’s been my constant everyday attire since I moved here last fall.

I’ve heard summers in Moscow are hot, but I’ve yet to be able to go outside without a jacket. No wonder I’m buying sandals. If they haven’t magically warmed the weather, at least they’ve warmed my optimism that SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, summer will come.

In Hot Water

Along with supplying our heat, Moscow also supplies all our hot water. And what the City gives, the City can take away. We don't notice the lack of heat this time of year. Our apartment is always so hot, we turned off the radiators months ago. But yesterday, the City turned off the hot water. Every summer they clean out the pipes and for two weeks people in that district have only cold water.

To accomodate us picky expats who are use to the finer things in life like year-round hot water, Moscow landlords install "boilers" in their apartments. Lena informed me that she saw the notice that our hot water would be turned off shortly. I peaked inside the closet at the boiler. There were a multiture of valves, all helpfully labeled 1 through 13 and I had no idea what any of them did.

My friend, Jenelle, who's lived here for years, says her landlord drew them a diagram of how to turn their boiler on and off. Even though Larry has extensive experience in heating system, at least at a plant level, it is MY job to handle as much as the household stuff as possible. So I called the real estate agent to relay and translate my message the landlord.

I got dressed for the Embassy reception and hunted down the invitation. It was only then I realized that this time, the invitation was extended only to Larry. They tend to be a wee bit security-conscious at the Ambassador's house. You just can't drop by with someone who's not on the official list and expect to get past the guards.

Larry came home and decided taking a look at our plumbing was more interesting than going to the reception solo. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and figured out how to get the water from the boiler to the rest of the apartment.

We still have no water, hot or cold, to the sinks in either bathroom, but at least we aren't taking cold showers and heating water on stove to wash dishes. In the end, that is much more satisfying than hanging out with diplomats.

Waiter Knows Best

Since Larry was still off for the V.E. holiday, we headed over to the Pushkin Museum. I had heard they had a wonderful collection of French impressionists. Unfortunately, they must have loaned them all out. They were, however, fully stocked on plaster casts of Roman art, which for me holds the same level of interest as fake Mona Lisas.

The Pushkin did offer some interesting photos of the museum taken at the end of World War 2, when all the art was mothballed and the building itself was falling down. It's been fully restored today.

Afterwards we walked over to a very good country french restaurant. The only drawback was the menu, which was entirely in Russian. Russian menus are tough to translate. For example, there are six words for chicken depending on if it is a whole chicken, thighs, breasts, leg and thigh combination, etc.

We'd have done better had the French restaurant had a menu in French! While we don't speak much French, we are halfway fluent in French menus.

I pointed out the Borscht to Larry under the soup category which he ordered. Then we each just randomly pointed to two different items under the entrees. The waiter, who knew we spoke no Russian, brought Larry French onion soup and then brought each of us roasted chicken. We just ate it. It was delicious and probably better than whatever we'd ordered.

While the entrees were incomprehensible, I understood the desset menu perfectly: krem brulay, tort, morojnoye (icecream).

Afterwards, we walked to the House of Artists. The grounds featured a sculpture garden where I'd read they'd stuck all the old statues of Stalin. Stalin, however, was nowhere to be seen, so I guess they may have shipped him to Siberia to decorate the gulags.

I didn't know what we'd find inside. We paid our $1.75 entrance fee and saw a wonderful collection of sketches from World War 2.

Larry pointed out that we were actually in London for the 50th anniversary of V.E. day. It happened to coincide with our 15th wedding anniversary trip. I've decided this is a tradition worth keeping. So ten years from now look for us in Paris to celebrate the 70th anniversary of V.E. Day.

Letting Go

Larry told me Taylor and I each needed three 3 x 4 cent. photos in a matte finish for our new multiple entry visas. This is a bit smaller than a standard passport photo. We needed to get these done a.s.a.p. so Tay can go to Latvia.

Usually, photos are no problem as there are photo booths all over town. They are inhabited by babushkas (grandmothers)who are always reading or knitting. I thought these women lived in them. The first time I used one, I was concerned about turning a poor woman out of her home. I needn't have worried. The babushka was only too happy to vacate the booth, adjust the stool to my height, fuss over how I looked, operate the machine, get my photo approval and take my money. It turns out, she WORKS there, not lives there.

While I knew glossy photos are easy, I hadn't seen matt finish anywhere. I had no idea how to find someplace. Remember, there are no Yellow Pages here. And even if I could call, no one would speak English. Everything has to be sourced personally.

Taylor had broken a string on his favorite tennis raquet, an emergency to him, so he'd dragged me to Smolenskaya to see if the large sporting goods store offered restringing, another mission I wasn't sure how I was going to get done. We passed by the photo booth and I noticed they offered the 3x4 size I needed. The samples showed only glossy finishes. I asked the babushka, in sign language, about a matte finish.

She held up what looked like a large can of hairspray. She was going to spray on a matte finish? I didn't think so. Only because I could not face running all over town on the matt finish quest, I plopped myself down in her booth and handed over the $8 on the off-chance this spray thing might turn out okay. The machine spit out the glossy photos of me. She carefully sprayed them down and told me to wait. Five minutes later, I had perfect matte finish photos. We did the same for Taylor and my mission was accomplished.

When you live in a foreign country, you often just have to trust that things will work out alright. That's tough for American women who are use to being in control. Letting go is a lesson I first learned living in Beijing, when some workers dug a big hole in my backyard. I had learned enough Chinese to ask them what they were doing, but not enough Chinese to be able to understand their answer.

At the time, I was so overwhelmed with everything else, I decided to just let it go. The next day, workers came back and planted a dead stick in the hole. A friend, down the street, said they'd planted a dead stick in her backyard too. "Why are doing this?" she asked. "It's completely dead. There's no way it will grow. Who do I call to get this thing dug up?"

A week later, the "dead stick" bloomed and we had trees. Every time I looked at it, I started humming that Bobby Goldsboro song, "Honey."

With our 3x4 matt photos in hand, I cheerfully, went on to the sporting good store. I showed them Taylor's broken raquet and they told me in Russia to come back Thursday. In the back of the tennis department, I found restringing equipment and a sign in Russian showed the restringer would be back from noon to 8 p.m. on Thursday. I'd found a place to have the racquet restrung and I knew when to come back. As I've learned to measure progress in steps here, I counted this as another success.

See the tree, how big it's grown
but friend, it hasn't been too long, it wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad,
the first day that she planted it was just a twig.
-Honey by Bobby Russell

The Suitcase Spa

Our suitcases are beginning to show some mileage. Most of these are at least ten years old and have been lugged around the world more than once. But because they have a lifetime guarantee, they go back to Tumi for a facelift. Two of our rollerbags are well overdue at the suitcase spa.

In Phoenix, I’d load them up and drive over to the Tumi Store in Scottsdale Mall, the one Tumi dealer in Arizona. Here, I went online and found five Tumi dealers in Moscow. I emailed Tumi’s headquarters and asked where to go. A couple of days later, the European service manager emailed me back with the address of the Tumi distributor.

As I didn’t want to lug two large suitcases through the Metro, I decided to try out the services of Yuri, who has agreed to drive for me on an hourly basis. When he first saw me coming out of my building with the suitcases, he thought I was using them to haul my shopping purchases home.

I gave him the address and we drove around 30 minutes, before he realized there were two streets in Moscow with this name and we’d found the wrong one. He may be a good driver, but he was a terrible navigator. Thirty minutes later, after stopping three times to ask directions, we were in the neighborhood. He parked the car and left me. I sat there for another 15 minutes. Did I mention I pay him by the hour?

He came back and we drove off again. This time, we drove to a metal gate with no signage. The gate opened and we parked in a private courtyard surrounded by three buildings. Again, there was no signage. He lead me to a building and we climbed the stairs to the second floor, where outside a door, was a sign saying “Distributor.” They buzzed us in. Did I say he was a terrible navigator? Even with the address, there’s no way I could have found this well-secluded office on my own.

Yuri translated, “Did I want a receipt?” Was he kidding? This was Moscow. I get duplicate receipts of my water deliveries. Yes, I wanted a receipt. And they better stamp it too! (Nothing here is official unless it is stamped.) I checked my receipt. It was in Russian, so I couldn’t read it but I noticed they’d stamped it as a matter of course.

Yuri said the manager, their only employee who spoke English, would call me Wednesday to let me know the status of my suitcase repairs. And if she doesn’t, I can have Yuri call the office and report back.

Wonderful Tonight

This weekend, as we were driving around, Larry put on an Eric Clapton disk. When it played, “Wonderful Tonight,” Larry turned to me and said casually, “I always think of you when I hear that song.”

“Wonderful Tonight” is the kind of love song you write when your wife is a stunning supermodel. (http://www.lyricsfreak.com/e/eric-clapton/51481.html) While I’m attractive enough for pushing 50, no one ever mistook me for a Cindy Crawford. Yet, in all sincerity, that song reminds Larry of me!

How can you not adore a man like that? After 25 years together, how can you not long for at least another 25 more? “Yes, I feel wonderful tonight.”

In the News

Here’s a sample of stories from the front page of today’s Moscow Times, the daily English language newspaper.

May 9 Security Stops Ambulances: Security in Moscow is heightened because of the upcoming Victory Day celebration. People are complaining because traffic police are tying up ambulances, rushing to respond to emergency calls, for hours at security checkpoints.

A Tour of Red Square? Only $10:Because of the celebration, Red Square in closed to tourists from now until May 15. But you can still bribe a policeman for $10 to get in.

Life at Risk in Adoption Mess:A new law gives Russian orphans eight months to be adopted by Russian parents before they are available for foreign adoptions. Unfortunately, this law also applies to handicapped children. A California woman has offered to adopted an 18-month old girl and have U.S. doctors perform a desperately-needed heart operation. Unfortunately, the child is not expected to survive the eight months waiting period. Russian doctors have refused to perform the expensive operation as the girl wouldn't get proper care afterward and would die anyway. Incidentally, almost all handicapped Russian children are given up at birth by their parents due to tremendous governmental, social and economic pressures. For that reason, special needs children NEVER get adopted by Russian parents.

Just a snapshot on how far Russia has to go.

May Day at Mega Mall

Tens of thousands of people took to the Moscow streets on May Day to protest Russian President Putin (pronounced Poo-tin). Larry and I missed all this history as we were at Mega Mall in the suburbs, buying mass quantities of things like juice, beer, coffee cream, cheese, canned goods and cleaning supplies. We would have bought canned sodas and toilet paper but those aisles were closed while they restocked.

There’s more holiday fun in store. Moscow is decked out to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the end of WW2 next week. You see red and yellow flags in every park, red and yellow banners on every street and red and yellow posters in many of the store windows. It’s such a big celebration that even George W. is coming. It’s all in tribute to Russian’s veterans. It makes me wonder what the U.S. is doing.

While everyone else had Monday off, Taylor still had school. Larry and I drove up to AAS to meet with Taylor and his counselor to plot out the rest of his high school schedule. I also was shocked to discover the school offers a shuttle service from the metro. It only took six months to find out. I wonder what other state secrets they’re keeping?

I can’t believe Taylor will be leaving for college in two years. I want to enjoy him now but quality time with teenagers is tough. That’s because it is RARELY at your convenience. My opening ploys are met with monosyllabic responses. But, a couple of nights ago, when I was ready for bed, Taylor was read to talk!

I swallowed a yawn and got to hear about how he thought our spring break trip was the best one yet, how he wants to go back to New York City and “see some more shows, eat at some more restaurants and see some art museums.” (Art museums?)

He talked about what a great guy his brother is and how much he misses him and how great cities are. As proof, while shopping with his Uncle Jeff, he saw “somebody get married and somebody get arrested.”

He said he may want to live in New York City when he grows up. (This brought back memories as I expressed the same desire at about his age upon my first trip to New York City too.)

He also remarked how nice I am for going on a cruise with my mother. (Like that’s a hardship. I didn’t bother to correct him as 25 years from now, I may very much want him to go somewhere with me!)

The next day, he was back to his monosyllabic self. I don’t know when our next quality time opportunity will be, but I’ll be hanging around, just in case.