Perpetual Change

Easter Part II

All that took just about an hour, at which point we went home and back to sleep. Then at 8 am we were at the grandparents where we had a huge meal (what we would usually eat in the afternoon on Thanksgiving), along with plenty of drinking. All the toasts were to Christ, and we had finished our drinking by 9:30am. During the meal, it was like "feed the American this, feed him that, does he like that?" I became quite a side show, and the grands still insist on talking at an unusually high volume to me. My host mom tells them all the time that I am not deaf. We had a big conversation about pineapples and bananas, and how they grow, and where are their seeds. And the Holodets you ask? Well it was quite dramatic. I have learned that whatever I say will (1) be remembered and (2) be applied to similar situations in the future; so you certainly don't want to say you like something you don't unless you can stomach it for breakfast the next morning (try cold fish with bones at 4:30 before a train departure; and I DID like that dish). But then again to say you don't like something is pretty insulting. Usually I eat everything, so they leave me alone and don't pay too much attention, but for the holodets all conversations stopped. My host mom fixed the plate complete with a heavy hand of beat/horseradish spread for which I know I don't particularly care, and then waited... and with the first bite my thoughts ran like this, "well, it really isn't that great, not really bad or good, but I don't want more"...so I said I didn't REALLY like it (or I REALLY didn't like it if I got the translation wrong), but that it wasn't bad.

I didn't get a very approving look, and now when people ask if I like holodets, and I tell them my opinion, they insist that they will fix me some that I will like. I have tried it again, and it is just kind of there. I certainly don't want to take it away from someone that loves it as much as they do; kind of like that bit of food left on your plate at the end of a meal while growing up, that your parents say 'children in China are starving for' and you think "Well then they can have it. I certainly don't mind."

Anyway, we relaxed the rest of the day. The weather and the spring flowers were beautiful. At one point I was resting on the one outside bench. From camp, I really like sleeping on benches outside when the weather is nice. My host mom came outside and was a little bit surprised, half comically, half horrified. She said I had to get up. I didn't understand why, and with some effort I understood that this particular bench is where they lay out the dead, much the way that I had been. So I had to move to a rather decrepit park bench and she still wouldn't let me lie down. So we sat and talked and then grandma got a call, and went back into the house. Now grandma is a sweet little old lady that has had on the same colorful old robe with holy stockings and worn sandals everytime I have seen her except at church when she had on a big coat. Well she came out of the house in a smart little skirt suit with her doctor's bag. She had been a pediatrician (doctors in Soviet time were typically women and not well paid), and was off to help a sick infant. I was quite impressed. It is funny to see people you know in only one way in a different way of life that is very normal for them but novel for you.

So the rest of the day we just laid around and then headed home. Later that evening, I went for a long walk, and on the way back, there was a pair of people talking and gesturing on the street. The rest of the street was very empty and so I usually steer clear of these situations by either inconspiculously changing directions or crossing the street. The people parted ways and the gentleman started crossing the street towards me, so a couple of strides later I also started crossing the street toward the side where he had been, at this point he changed directions, and headed right for me and said something about he was crossing the street to talk to me. I acknowledged casually and kept walking, he kept up pace, then asked if I was headed towards home. It quickly became clear that he knew who I was and roughly where I lived. He seemed harmless and we started talking, but he talked quick. I learned that his name was Vasil and he taught at the music school where he was headed for a concert. He wanted to come and first to show me his office. Long story, not so short, the concert was very nice and he really wants traditional beginner music from America. So if anyone has anything, that you would like to send this way, I would be very appreciative.

And then, you guessed it, it was leftovers for breakfast the next morning, and actually for several subsequent meals. I am glad that they didn't make me eat any more holodets. That day we went to the graveyard to clean up the family plots. This is what EVERYONE does, and it was a beautiful day to do it. I had a video of everyone weeding, scraping, painting and polishing, but unfortunately it was lost.

They clean everything up because the next Sunday is the day of the dead, when they bring Easter baskets to the graveyard. They leave piles of colorful eggs, and cookies, meat, cheese, Easter bread, and even wine on the graves and then have a small meal themselves, with the three toasts. I think they generally spend the whole day there, but the weather wasn't as good, so we made a quick stop by my host mom's infant brother's grave, then by both sets of her grandparents, ate in the rain and skipped great granpa's grave which we had cleaned in a neighboring and much older graveyard. Both the sunny day of work, and the rainy day of celebrations were very interesting. They were full of emotion, duty and I found them equally awesome in different ways.

And that ends the marathon that was Easter Tradition. The next week was Victory day (the previous post).

posted by jjs @ 4:25 AM