tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6725420347066125992024-03-13T02:57:08.499-04:00Allison RoadAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-50204858091347847632010-10-30T20:10:00.016-04:002010-11-15T22:39:32.728-05:00Trunk or Tail?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30hJjAjn6F1s8E-jWrSdIu5CSDr1X7Ma8C0qmmCL9xnat5T5e55mG3noFrT9A7oO76DUCq4980R6Givb84oY-rtYtwQUxlq_olTzanQLpEvXCgXeBN33rzuo4pJHCv17fLMmXgUYronCT/s1600/DSC06546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30hJjAjn6F1s8E-jWrSdIu5CSDr1X7Ma8C0qmmCL9xnat5T5e55mG3noFrT9A7oO76DUCq4980R6Givb84oY-rtYtwQUxlq_olTzanQLpEvXCgXeBN33rzuo4pJHCv17fLMmXgUYronCT/s200/DSC06546.JPG" width="200" /></a>A few years ago, a friend of mine came back from Thailand with a very important question.<br />
<br />
<b>If you could have either a trunk (like an elephant's trunk) or a tail (like a monkey's tail), which would you choose?</b><br />
<br />
We debated about this for weeks. I was firmly in the "trunk" camp, and after seeing an elephant trunk up close this week, I'm even more convinced that having a trunk would be AWESOME.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you why:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>More muscles in the elephant trunk than in the entire human body.</li>
<li>Showering -- you could control the water pressure AND the height of the showerhead, two things that constantly annoy me in showers</li>
<li>Vacuuming made easy</li>
<li>Drinking made easy</li>
<li>Throwing people across the room made easy. No more need to learn tricks like putting your car keys through your fingers or poking attackers in the eye. Trunks are powerful, yo.</li>
<li>Reaching things up high</li>
<li>Some people argue that when it comes to kissing/love life, a trunk would only get in the way. But I say it could also make things more interesting. In any case, there are at least as many advantages as disadvantages in this area.</li>
<li>It's like having an extra hand.</li>
<li>I have never seen a tail on any animal as cool as a trunk on an elephant.</li>
<li>Trunks can do everything tails can do PLUS snort things up inside.</li>
</ul><div>I mean, just look at these trunks. Trunk all the way, baby.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLsHHTU9q6dI5qumyD0xqqr8UNk6s7m6bGDE41bpTVkrniNldFLmLrIhIJcs7RGF8U_nH4Tjo6bzUA4G9MT7QdbMR-ipltJ6DCZWQktF8Pi0KVNL_xlfvO6VP8xRpWQV77yUgnZx6Ptcv/s1600/DSC06530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLsHHTU9q6dI5qumyD0xqqr8UNk6s7m6bGDE41bpTVkrniNldFLmLrIhIJcs7RGF8U_nH4Tjo6bzUA4G9MT7QdbMR-ipltJ6DCZWQktF8Pi0KVNL_xlfvO6VP8xRpWQV77yUgnZx6Ptcv/s320/DSC06530.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd15wq76ojOai4_AWlOOdelbtgWY9vujKoH-bKw6bwIYyjZUEmOCaHvVOSCpuB-yOh6SDqY4rD0pQexfrkfdjIgYqJkQomtrwNw6_Jihvtbe4I9ul1hmanzHvF17W7uawRM8RYGfp_aEW4/s1600/DSC06536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd15wq76ojOai4_AWlOOdelbtgWY9vujKoH-bKw6bwIYyjZUEmOCaHvVOSCpuB-yOh6SDqY4rD0pQexfrkfdjIgYqJkQomtrwNw6_Jihvtbe4I9ul1hmanzHvF17W7uawRM8RYGfp_aEW4/s320/DSC06536.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcx5-wTJgpPuKKx21BIdQKaYz4zwq59JPHfHC61MQ-LJh1mgke5-eJ9zCOj3Z9rzQtlXbuJNe0EkUp-MHQ2xYo4RgfBcFd00mFSXgbRnVq7hEeKsAEDvJZCN6gwsr6S2Sibxl3vZItsWWr/s1600/DSC06539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcx5-wTJgpPuKKx21BIdQKaYz4zwq59JPHfHC61MQ-LJh1mgke5-eJ9zCOj3Z9rzQtlXbuJNe0EkUp-MHQ2xYo4RgfBcFd00mFSXgbRnVq7hEeKsAEDvJZCN6gwsr6S2Sibxl3vZItsWWr/s320/DSC06539.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-28633286076027014282010-10-29T22:04:00.005-04:002010-11-15T22:08:02.675-05:0048 hoursDuring the last 48 hours, I have:<br />
<ul><li>Seen a lion</li>
<li>Had a strange woman ask for a bite of my candy bar as I walked down the street</li>
<li>Seen a stack of sheep heads on a street corner</li>
<li>Been offered marijuana twice</li>
</ul>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-18060145718214191752010-10-26T20:35:00.079-04:002010-11-15T22:53:41.107-05:00Going solo<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A person is a person through other persons. –Desmond Tutu</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8U9PuLlyAV1xZvpVmzwosRQ7qpfaeGcMR1C-9BPgepdChM4j7ZStuMsHMDriAfEkIMjXYQ-8ZqqkhjQo7u_llu0Lk-jcyeCD5_Xyt9Glf9w8dY2mYCUwPpr8rQmIgBwv-pHagiPPiK66_/s1600/DSC06178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8U9PuLlyAV1xZvpVmzwosRQ7qpfaeGcMR1C-9BPgepdChM4j7ZStuMsHMDriAfEkIMjXYQ-8ZqqkhjQo7u_llu0Lk-jcyeCD5_Xyt9Glf9w8dY2mYCUwPpr8rQmIgBwv-pHagiPPiK66_/s200/DSC06178.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Traveling alone is sort of a love-hate thing for me. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For example, today I loved taking my time making decisions and going up to Table Mountain when I was ready. I loved not having to make conversation with anyone on the drive there or discuss whether we were going to wait in the 60-minute gondola line to ride to the top or not. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">But I hated not having anyone next to me I could poke and say, “Hey! The floor of the cable car is rotating!” or “Look! You can see Cape Point from here!” or of course, “Take a picture of me pretending to fall off the edge of the cliff!”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgings1OYxmibUcri104614XDU3BFaR5yg5P_pChSVmiuAFgnV0WHIQWfiHntiah1huSvUDesyVpo3IFDqBR4Y-t3o97HqWuUfM8eurycSUgH4LexlKdxdqdTMtVstv1BfKjOaISnKhFBIk/s1600/DSC06286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgings1OYxmibUcri104614XDU3BFaR5yg5P_pChSVmiuAFgnV0WHIQWfiHntiah1huSvUDesyVpo3IFDqBR4Y-t3o97HqWuUfM8eurycSUgH4LexlKdxdqdTMtVstv1BfKjOaISnKhFBIk/s200/DSC06286.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"></span>Instead, I asked a couple of strangers to take a few pictures and then perched myself on top of a large rock looking out over the mountain dropping into the ocean. I had just settled in to eat my dark chocolate seed bar (it was amazing) when two guys clambered up next to me and actually asked me in to move so they could take have their picture taken where I was sitting. Dude, seriously? There are approximately one million rocks all together right here with almost exactly the same view, and you want my rock? Can’t you see I’m sitting here far away from other people eating my lunch and having a moment?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVmUv8Ngsw4EsFXMTi_6dqDSmtG6eaPcmQsOl3vZLxaI2bNhvsHLAFdx-3YHKH2oFLKKD5mgMi_TXiBLzzR7_0_TTekiNrZu6vG4BsGGonss2Ts3mPFV1P5tZLSzez60YoSVh5rTc5mpS/s1600/DSC06338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVmUv8Ngsw4EsFXMTi_6dqDSmtG6eaPcmQsOl3vZLxaI2bNhvsHLAFdx-3YHKH2oFLKKD5mgMi_TXiBLzzR7_0_TTekiNrZu6vG4BsGGonss2Ts3mPFV1P5tZLSzez60YoSVh5rTc5mpS/s200/DSC06338.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"></span>Later, as I walked in the Company’s Gardens, a gangly man with one eye and a limp (and alcohol on his breath) pointed out the South African white house and a couple other sites to me. I tried to shake him, but he kept walking with me and to be fair, he actually showed me some interesting things, like old apartheid benches with “non-whites only” still painted on them and the way into Desmond Tutu’s church. But I was relieved when I finally gave him a handful of change and we said goodbye.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyybAJywcXAk_tfWizBdbQCxFlgcnOOP-Z7drQJPAYYrGeL3GPlJvl8uUjILVK6-CDEWq-02fH5GaK8bK-hB_DNqA8_zRsLojOYZ6QEY3zDOT-UDLLYHsvtxzlR7vskPCmwhJYssPRm-ZH/s1600/DSC06344-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyybAJywcXAk_tfWizBdbQCxFlgcnOOP-Z7drQJPAYYrGeL3GPlJvl8uUjILVK6-CDEWq-02fH5GaK8bK-hB_DNqA8_zRsLojOYZ6QEY3zDOT-UDLLYHsvtxzlR7vskPCmwhJYssPRm-ZH/s200/DSC06344-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I spent the day warily keeping people outside my bubble, enjoying the sights but also enjoying being inside my own head. But by the time I sat down to dinner at a restaurant called Fork, I felt a little lonely. In <i>Shall We Dance,</i> one of the characters says in effect, “We have relationships in order to have someone to witness our lives.” And when I travel alone, I acutely feel the lack of a witness. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear the sound, did it make a sound at all? If I eat a fantastic asparagus and parmesan stick and no one is there to witness it, did I really eat it? I thought of trying to replicate the meal later in my own kitchen just so that I could share with someone else how tasty it was. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I glanced over at a window and noticed my own reflection, looking like a ghost sitting at an empty table. And I felt like a ghost, like someone who breezed through this city today without leaving a mark, someone who was almost here – but with no one to witness it, was I really here at all?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59G-Sax47bSzrYfp85Lylzhd7THRZ2MCq5WOs9oATlB3_y_wmqfqAYiTz4Zv3qZnCHYcRcCbU-JccAencPfGrI_t5cC1RSoEh6AKMfEXKrNoHqPMUd5Qx0yl2mBhXWIKsr-QQsKDfwEEi/s1600/DSC06367-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59G-Sax47bSzrYfp85Lylzhd7THRZ2MCq5WOs9oATlB3_y_wmqfqAYiTz4Zv3qZnCHYcRcCbU-JccAencPfGrI_t5cC1RSoEh6AKMfEXKrNoHqPMUd5Qx0yl2mBhXWIKsr-QQsKDfwEEi/s200/DSC06367-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Halfway through the meal, a new server started waiting on me. She laughed when I told her that I almost licked the plate clean and her eyes got round as she described which desserts were “to die for.” She brought me the strawberry and lemon curd pavlova along with tea made from fresh mint leaves. It was divine. I told her if I lived in Cape Town I would eat there every single day, and she laughed with real delight and said, “Yes! I know what you mean!” And for a moment someone witnessed my life. I realized I didn’t want to be in a bubble, I didn’t want to be a ghost, I wanted to witness life, to participate in it, to leave a mark.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">I left an overly generous tip with a note: “Thanks for the great service, and for your smile and laugh. Best wishes.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQPjD1kHfMfM2NTo5S-dl-EIqWzd1Sn4TB88GeR7wLBB91poWc8m7rG-VLV6xUqpJikKQKGaw1u-fv5q-dHFdY_yK_1f2rSHIwvgTM0AvSUet07qQOvZx5jJdAoP-tWWbK3NF_p_wPHwD/s1600/DSC05904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQPjD1kHfMfM2NTo5S-dl-EIqWzd1Sn4TB88GeR7wLBB91poWc8m7rG-VLV6xUqpJikKQKGaw1u-fv5q-dHFdY_yK_1f2rSHIwvgTM0AvSUet07qQOvZx5jJdAoP-tWWbK3NF_p_wPHwD/s200/DSC05904.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwaE6mqafat5sqO0TKTsxWJLbMKGNQMoxweg5td1eU2n1Xh1l0i8owOmrDy1mppNTPlLkVoRA0wkz6sfsmmR80WKexEEyjsukRwe9ZfuvCcxgit3-ovNyklujPx4Xk5qGabpNMzQ1lRYf/s1600/DSC05906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwaE6mqafat5sqO0TKTsxWJLbMKGNQMoxweg5td1eU2n1Xh1l0i8owOmrDy1mppNTPlLkVoRA0wkz6sfsmmR80WKexEEyjsukRwe9ZfuvCcxgit3-ovNyklujPx4Xk5qGabpNMzQ1lRYf/s200/DSC05906.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-84525488789885950862010-09-16T22:25:00.000-04:002010-11-04T20:35:06.717-04:00Things I procrastinated todayThings I procrastinated today:<br />
<ol><li>Waking up (snooze, baby)</li>
<li>Getting up</li>
<li>Leaving for work</li>
<li>Doing my job ... I put off a simple number check ALL DAY LONG</li>
<li>Eating lunch</li>
<li>Answering e-mails -- also avoided all day long</li>
<li>Calling about an apartment -- which is crazy because I'm sleeping on a HIDE-A-BED</li>
<li>Deciding whether to go to happy hour. I decided AS PEOPLE WERE LEAVING. (I went.)</li>
<li>Reading about how to stop procrastinating</li>
<li>Blogging</li>
<li>Going to bed</li>
</ol>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-15514261353748158502010-09-13T09:21:00.015-04:002010-10-09T00:57:46.614-04:00Sunrise, sunset<div>My summer is now a nearly perfect palindrome: Russia sandwiched between trips to Utah and the Outer Banks on the front end, and trips to Utah and the Outer Banks on the other end.</div><div><br />Beach highlights: Watching the sun rise, watching it set.</div><div><br />(Am I getting old? Who says things like that? In my defense, I also helped bury C. in the sand, played Frisbee and ate fresh shrimp. And it was FUN. I never, ever want to go back to work.)</div><div><br />(But seriously, have you ever watched an entire sunrise or sunset? Like, start to finish, all 45 minutes, or however long? Just watched?)<div><div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Sunrise</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFtfEde9Dqk5a7Y0Vy5MUN7yWWaq8HCgdkJlal2Gcovrx7aZMjyNu47_-topsjOJuisRQAkS75nqT6nMdBglrzImJqnhZaFEaNuQL8RnmOnKTXMpO9Z0EeEVrBxt1gjaM8zv4WKF7HJKyB/s1600/IMG_0037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFtfEde9Dqk5a7Y0Vy5MUN7yWWaq8HCgdkJlal2Gcovrx7aZMjyNu47_-topsjOJuisRQAkS75nqT6nMdBglrzImJqnhZaFEaNuQL8RnmOnKTXMpO9Z0EeEVrBxt1gjaM8zv4WKF7HJKyB/s320/IMG_0037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876379748412306" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCZ-AzmCfYO0fmSS3iOsNVR4S6IPImNAyih7uf-ixJ94BS_FCnN8OQ8L7qj48SVmCQNQgjUQ9Xqd0BhvdBNBisLH1wkzXo4pEZn6B3WUabuJVhCVs1rasCenoOYs3CmYIBaNX3lptvSUU/s320/DSC05815.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876119006739362" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQt81ArWLIuti8RddtXhxJUCDYmtMV8IafWCN0Z5-3nUPEMGNx84uDRcw9Td-g7aIESIkBv2EbKRmx4hlQbLzVTwndYv2FFm4ILdWX4vaE7kT27HfHiVXHRjzlkKbArPHfEI9Y55Pj-VS/s320/DSC05816.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876124998314754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWmJQnsNDgmVMOqWH3XAN0BCQCZsOAqC76Tnjevuy4H6M39G2wudVd3ZHN0LeTG_1aTiJTkZ1JG6HLAAWu2PMbe5u6iU7xB4YPRruFwnwBXykat7N9A1e16d8qZ3f-xNWcDrRIt7qNu8i/s1600/DSC05818.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWmJQnsNDgmVMOqWH3XAN0BCQCZsOAqC76Tnjevuy4H6M39G2wudVd3ZHN0LeTG_1aTiJTkZ1JG6HLAAWu2PMbe5u6iU7xB4YPRruFwnwBXykat7N9A1e16d8qZ3f-xNWcDrRIt7qNu8i/s320/DSC05818.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876377064909778" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQt81ArWLIuti8RddtXhxJUCDYmtMV8IafWCN0Z5-3nUPEMGNx84uDRcw9Td-g7aIESIkBv2EbKRmx4hlQbLzVTwndYv2FFm4ILdWX4vaE7kT27HfHiVXHRjzlkKbArPHfEI9Y55Pj-VS/s1600/DSC05816.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCZ-AzmCfYO0fmSS3iOsNVR4S6IPImNAyih7uf-ixJ94BS_FCnN8OQ8L7qj48SVmCQNQgjUQ9Xqd0BhvdBNBisLH1wkzXo4pEZn6B3WUabuJVhCVs1rasCenoOYs3CmYIBaNX3lptvSUU/s1600/DSC05815.JPG"></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpaWvHEFtyhSrIGelDiCzJMyoB3DJdIK4bV7XcqMtz9i86IzndpY6k_zeNzdxuIStv99evQcOwgAt5IBb_WRlEt3SJyD7ifi9xMCShXRhhiWymhEWJEOFv3q_CqOlGw3UGVxIfdRlPFdA/s320/DSC05767.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876102291814242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUumYxYapcq3KkU5GJDGDxf4AkJ8RoxFKs7T6nWj2iKCbE3i74hGejlkY7hWFEdjKrlMobR-qdBfExMxqfhPcNwXP6eKEKJC6b39Si9BBO4XJPBuDbzwNNDCAYfZ1gFQqJOoOBWjAELiZt/s1600/DSC05783.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUumYxYapcq3KkU5GJDGDxf4AkJ8RoxFKs7T6nWj2iKCbE3i74hGejlkY7hWFEdjKrlMobR-qdBfExMxqfhPcNwXP6eKEKJC6b39Si9BBO4XJPBuDbzwNNDCAYfZ1gFQqJOoOBWjAELiZt/s320/DSC05783.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876104797647666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPs12nDWDHMbngK2GFvzu-jiHT41Ash4fn6undrwajSOAlPB5wYQlLzACKpHJ25N9CNlSqHkovgq_KLz1jICuctvE0BYXZLSlQqlW2Yg4lvDtWPvcjWu41t5X70Cb9gxFFEbej0OY9VW9y/s1600/DSC05805.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPs12nDWDHMbngK2GFvzu-jiHT41Ash4fn6undrwajSOAlPB5wYQlLzACKpHJ25N9CNlSqHkovgq_KLz1jICuctvE0BYXZLSlQqlW2Yg4lvDtWPvcjWu41t5X70Cb9gxFFEbej0OY9VW9y/s320/DSC05805.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525876109961712098" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpaWvHEFtyhSrIGelDiCzJMyoB3DJdIK4bV7XcqMtz9i86IzndpY6k_zeNzdxuIStv99evQcOwgAt5IBb_WRlEt3SJyD7ifi9xMCShXRhhiWymhEWJEOFv3q_CqOlGw3UGVxIfdRlPFdA/s1600/DSC05767.JPG"></a></div></div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-138471364953311092010-09-13T09:15:00.010-04:002010-10-09T01:24:29.526-04:00Utah<div>Creative uses for items from mom's garden:<br /></div><div>1) Cucumber and mint face masks!</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VBzp2OdwMnIXRmFZYMfcSpkeIIpxHzf_uzg6a_91qwvPv5K9GBR0BKQKETiT4wH2RpozKXpRIUcPrPBAgVVl4mzdUU2ErJISy6pAP0GwFQLPeVWWo8cmcT-Uq5cR7P7lwuUT3Wmk0BYP/s1600/photo-2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VBzp2OdwMnIXRmFZYMfcSpkeIIpxHzf_uzg6a_91qwvPv5K9GBR0BKQKETiT4wH2RpozKXpRIUcPrPBAgVVl4mzdUU2ErJISy6pAP0GwFQLPeVWWo8cmcT-Uq5cR7P7lwuUT3Wmk0BYP/s320/photo-2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525892017993817042" /></a><br /><div>2) Zucchini cobbler! No, seriously:<div>http://allrecipes.com//Recipe/zucchini-cobbler-2/Detail.aspx</div><div><br />What a great week. Nothing compares to the healing power of facials, mani-pedis, gardening, sleeping in, new recipes, satin sheets, bike rides and MOMS. I'm still processing, still sorting out this whole Russia experience and not sure what to make of it all. But I do know that It's really, really, REALLY good to be home.</div><div><div><div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNql0bEdlzOp0-8CsbCABhLgQz9GPQV9C4ecTCbaMUSdxYfb-2KJ0ftiUjw6pHwI9scICKqVwIH5N7A9MRq6LH9pnMoJ3iXhTprpS7FaofI-vkCAOdZclmu5Odi59uHJW6WdRRjVSmrxI1/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNql0bEdlzOp0-8CsbCABhLgQz9GPQV9C4ecTCbaMUSdxYfb-2KJ0ftiUjw6pHwI9scICKqVwIH5N7A9MRq6LH9pnMoJ3iXhTprpS7FaofI-vkCAOdZclmu5Odi59uHJW6WdRRjVSmrxI1/s320/photo.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525888706141800802" /></a></div></div></div></div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-38684687480405397942010-09-03T11:00:00.001-04:002010-10-08T22:27:12.875-04:00Russia in pictures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XdF2jBlczDQyQK-CCpA8wpXnR8NX7iUdbHBQvl9K_7pk1wr3xKvcDSEKOpnnFabjLGw19Ir1cKrrT35BuDXpPn9HUcO0Zd45tarmHsO-L75mcPiuQqwQuW1I0HCH0FI7_VY0HCLdOEyS/s1600/Collages.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XdF2jBlczDQyQK-CCpA8wpXnR8NX7iUdbHBQvl9K_7pk1wr3xKvcDSEKOpnnFabjLGw19Ir1cKrrT35BuDXpPn9HUcO0Zd45tarmHsO-L75mcPiuQqwQuW1I0HCH0FI7_VY0HCLdOEyS/s400/Collages.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525865983082279602" /></a>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-29499870310411601902010-09-01T00:53:00.007-04:002010-09-24T01:55:52.455-04:00What Rostov made me realize about love<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I’m glad I went to Rostov.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I always said I wouldn’t go back to my mission until I was married, so I could take someone with me and introduce them to the people and places that meant so much to me – and so I could have moral support as I visited once again this country that I have such a love-hate relationship with.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">BUT – here I am, single, twelve years later.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And despite all the comments I’ve endured the past ten days about my marital status (some nicer than others), despite the vague loneliness/awkwardness of navigating everything on my own – I’m glad I came.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">Because I’ve remembered something about my mission that is blowing my mind a little bit.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I’m amazed by how much I loved people – how deeply, sincerely, urgently, completely.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I’ve also been reading my mission journals on this trip.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I went through a period where I felt a little embarrassed for myself as I’d read them – for my naivete, my over-the-top sugary sweetness – but now I’m kind of in awe. And the feeling I had when I saw Alla Ivanovna last week for the first time in twelve years, when she came running over and hugged me, was overpowering. I felt it in my whole body, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. When did life teach me to stop feeling that way about people? Was I hurt? Did I not get in return what I was giving? Did I become distracted?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I wonder if I can love people that way again.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> While deep and sincere, t</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">hose feelings were also so wrapped up in my urgent desire for them to accept something, to do something, to believe something, to become something. Now the “fervent zeal of youth” has worn off, my own ideas about faith have matured, and I no longer have the same urgency and drive to push myself towards something so ideal, so torturously unattainable. Which is a relief and feels peaceful and right – yet at the same time, I’m a little sad that I also don’t feel as deeply, as passionately about others.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maybe I can be that devoted in a different way – love that way again, be that person, but reconcile it all somehow. Take it to a new level, loving deeply but more quietly, without a secret hope for people to change, without a secret conviction that I know what they need so much.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There are people in this world who I have loved, and loved deeply. And who have loved me, too. So many that it’s impossible to maintain deep and constant connections with them all.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I recognize that in a way I didn’t before, and it’s stopping me in my tracks. These connections are more real and more important than anything in my life, and I find myself wanting to settle down, to build a life in a settled place with deep and lasting connections.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I think that “fervent zeal of youth” is giving way to something different.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Qzfa3vtlDp853Z_kYR_hXbUKtzqFjn0PIrAWZSLt2xdS_j6pXFIw7z_Y6zqJjPRztCup5cR9MrUmVxazVTqm4wXtbPIBwXegCWc-fbiSPxQaRssw8yV3nDRoSEbXF8KH0WnX0y2D84n/s1600/DSC05406.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Qzfa3vtlDp853Z_kYR_hXbUKtzqFjn0PIrAWZSLt2xdS_j6pXFIw7z_Y6zqJjPRztCup5cR9MrUmVxazVTqm4wXtbPIBwXegCWc-fbiSPxQaRssw8yV3nDRoSEbXF8KH0WnX0y2D84n/s320/DSC05406.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520353060887226082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></span></span></span></p>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-69124876913218468352010-08-31T22:50:00.007-04:002010-09-24T18:27:59.901-04:00Today I am as old in years as all the Jewish people<div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote>About ten years ago, I read a poem by Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko dedicated to Babi Yar, the site of a Nazi massacre of 100,000 Ukrainian and Russian Jews.<span style=""> </span>I was so moved by its indignation, its pathos, that it's always stuck with me. And today, I went there.</div> <p class="MsoNormal">Babi Yar today is a winding, grassy, mowed ravine just a few hundred meters from a metro station on Kiev's green line.<span style=""> </span>People on cell phones walk past it on their way to and from work or school, and couples push strollers along the same ground where children, women, men were slaughtered 60 years ago.<span style=""> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00x9bwMO4CTxng5-bVO0_u0l7oNQT3iRrmnnKQY1aVG_nOEmmdneGA3db8fSDgYnDrb7qIutqehy8-09eaui3OgNm_fpVZDH3sRQadAalVs2YySQbHrxKja1OZaYwMikSrXBhdq7cg-bI/s400/Starred+Photos1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520330481072007474" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></span></p><div>I sat on the edge of the ravine, dangling my feet over it, and tried to fathom 100,000 people.<span style=""> </span>Tried to fathom the people who pulled triggers and pushed bodies down the slope – what did they think in that moment?<span style=""> </span>And what did those people, those fathers, mothers, those children, think as they saw bodies piling up, what were their last thoughts, their last words, as they tumbled down into the gulch?</div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>I wanted to say a prayer in that moment, but for who?<span style=""> </span>For the people who died?<span style=""> </span>For the people who killed them?<span style=""> It all seemed so cliche somehow. </span>In the end, I prayed for all of us, for, as FDR put it, “not just an end to war, but an end to the beginning of all wars.” For people today who kill and are killed in places like Sudan, for those who are trying to do something about it, and for those who just don't know what to do about it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I stepped over the edge, walked into the middle of the ravine, looked back at the monument and remembered the end of Yevtushenko's poem: </p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Courier;font-size:13pt;" ></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;" ></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;" ><p color="#666666" style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia;"></p><blockquote><p color="#666666" style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia;">The wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">The trees look ominous, like judges.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Here all things scream silently,</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">and, baring my head,</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">slowly I feel myself</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">turning gray.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">And I myself</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">am one massive, soundless scream</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">above the thousand thousand buried here.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">I am</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">each old man</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">here shot dead.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">I am</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">every child</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">here shot dead.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Nothing in me</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">shall ever forget! …</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">In my blood there is no Jewish blood.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">In their callous rage, all anti-Semites</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">must hate me now as a Jew.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">For that reason</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">I am a true Russian!</p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Read the whole thing </span><a href="http://www.pbs.org/auschwitz/learning/guides/reading1.4.pdf"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">here</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Seriously, read it.</span></span></p></blockquote><p style="margin: 0px; font: 16px Georgia; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></p></span><p></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Courier;font-size:13pt;" ></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:100%;" ><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;font-family:Times;" ><pre></pre></span></pre></span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-46976927312370795022010-08-31T22:18:00.000-04:002010-09-23T22:20:13.001-04:00Flavors<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, I ate calamari-flavored potato chips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Today, I ate mushroom-flavored potato chips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>They tasted surprisingly like calamari and mushrooms, and were surprisingly tasty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>The end.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-72656060175286594232010-08-31T16:22:00.008-04:002010-09-23T22:17:04.082-04:00Kiev Temple<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECUv1SnoJQ3Ot8fvtxSSaARJUsCEmb7lqwFA3_ey2JiLN6RoTJuTGWtK0O0QzaOWKRPQIyVexeFeQP_Q3qkR60dLXJPEYDA1Nl3-DPSEss9lKLlPuIDX0sPUR4uXoghhNAY-zZDxuzrL4/s1600/DSC05542.JPG"></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov5RV6I6taXVOfMw9WY3pSWjYC7t208IYJRruGewOMCPL93rTjLlt0km0scQFcw1VQP1FSOQ7bHqLsXqyDE12ZJwe_WihmgYuSCPpaetaE-aboaIJTRD9pXkmd4LVbgCyzMgZP0kQgeZ2/s200/DSC05637.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520295007277711330" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">And now, to the point of our arduous journey to Kiev: the dedication of the newest temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.</span></span><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoAHfgsqq1OAXU0FioSyivPGsx3xv11Rirp81iwABGV-G0LUO9rH5sRUfnhrQ6ctZWbbpL4Ho4YqTheau4vWa8P8dsJh1uCs3bkXtR3dEJ00rOpaM43L0JeYIihdBLm_lai8phyJMT43O/s1600/DSC05542.JPG"></a><div><p class="MsoNormal">The night before was a pre-temple-dedication cultural extravaganza, held at the largest concert hall in Kiev. There were dances and dramatizations from Ukraine, Russia, Armenia, and Khazakstan. President Monson was extremely relaxed and casual. As he entered, he greeted the piano player, and then sat down and played a little Chinese chopsticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And after his short talk, he actually gave noogies to his interpreter.</p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77VSfuUw-FdLOuoE8m4Ds9GjuZeLmeXq7im4FRSuhnji3lxQrSp-qGPxocx3SUEQ7X6i_9XjAFByX_0uQgGqh2ErVKuB6EcBrXkNvu18Kk67odRjEdk_31g_eKql8xkccPtyMlUbn-R6r/s200/DSC05515.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520295031386327586" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>The Ukrainian choir director, on the other hand, conducted furiously, passionately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It made me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There was a dramatization of the history of Kiev, including the baptism of Rus by Prince Vladimir, who, according to legend, investigated a series of religions before choosing Christianity for his people.</div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCV_vpoFx3yjUtfg0SrkgOXhUL2ehbiQgn_ZHGcNVLKoP7JfX_e-T0edJJEV5neXIG5YTg7EEfcK6VxMn0OHFcl6MPrdt_Gb3KyJ35Vn4FV8mxjcknDokLxEdTcTSDgduwSN5y_8gVMY1p/s1600/DSC05515.JPG"></a><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCV_vpoFx3yjUtfg0SrkgOXhUL2ehbiQgn_ZHGcNVLKoP7JfX_e-T0edJJEV5neXIG5YTg7EEfcK6VxMn0OHFcl6MPrdt_Gb3KyJ35Vn4FV8mxjcknDokLxEdTcTSDgduwSN5y_8gVMY1p/s1600/DSC05515.JPG"></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoAHfgsqq1OAXU0FioSyivPGsx3xv11Rirp81iwABGV-G0LUO9rH5sRUfnhrQ6ctZWbbpL4Ho4YqTheau4vWa8P8dsJh1uCs3bkXtR3dEJ00rOpaM43L0JeYIihdBLm_lai8phyJMT43O/s1600/DSC05542.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECUv1SnoJQ3Ot8fvtxSSaARJUsCEmb7lqwFA3_ey2JiLN6RoTJuTGWtK0O0QzaOWKRPQIyVexeFeQP_Q3qkR60dLXJPEYDA1Nl3-DPSEss9lKLlPuIDX0sPUR4uXoghhNAY-zZDxuzrL4/s200/DSC05542.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520296227849120738" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><div style="text-align: left; ">Russia’s section of the program was unabashedly passionate and over the top. The section presented by Ukraine had a distinctly Westernish, Mormonish feel to it, but when the Russians came out with their dramatic poses and a passionate love song to God, it was something completely different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And it really made me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In Russia, bigger is better, deeper is better, more passionate is better!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s a little too much for us cool Westerners, but that’s kind of what I love about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s 100% from the heart.</div></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCV_vpoFx3yjUtfg0SrkgOXhUL2ehbiQgn_ZHGcNVLKoP7JfX_e-T0edJJEV5neXIG5YTg7EEfcK6VxMn0OHFcl6MPrdt_Gb3KyJ35Vn4FV8mxjcknDokLxEdTcTSDgduwSN5y_8gVMY1p/s1600/DSC05515.JPG"></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCR8MQOEYp_cpqKGCJ1MI_00jCmaL9nxX1IBmHaID0echXkh8gdmaFlesPv3BAj5LR2UN2zTC09-2N0WJNOw5dqHTgSLMeTGN_OGuuIYViv85Kc7vUM-qx8E64k2DGtTDsdOXtXi3mkvx/s200/DSC05511.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520295017209457138" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>Yulia looked around at the hundreds of people in the audience, leaned over and commented that it was really warm in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Yeah, I said, it is kind of stuffy in here, but she said, no, I meant the feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s like family. And it really was.</div><p class="MsoNormal">After the actual dedication the next day, I started chatting with a woman who I thought was one of the American senior missionaries I knew from Moscow -- shoulder-length hair, lots of makeup, big eyes. It was only when she asked to interview us that I realized it was Carol Mikita of KSL in Utah. I knew she looked familiar! </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIHGF5qPz6Z7RY6QpYzCueENcMLIFn8nle5nv4SLt4p_YMYhAxnQhTa8EyPugXO-Xlz6qxfc_u9TvFO9Iv1XsC5Omd0Hcv2ap3iDndhJItOO6YKjEx__OXEjK5_RwzGVDJ64R04mRzaU3/s1600/cm.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIHGF5qPz6Z7RY6QpYzCueENcMLIFn8nle5nv4SLt4p_YMYhAxnQhTa8EyPugXO-Xlz6qxfc_u9TvFO9Iv1XsC5Omd0Hcv2ap3iDndhJItOO6YKjEx__OXEjK5_RwzGVDJ64R04mRzaU3/s200/cm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520287170099803842" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 105px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal">So she talked to Julia, Alla and me about our trip to Kiev, and we might be on the worldwide newscast between conference sessions! Here's what I told her (more or less):</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666666;">“I wasn’t sure whether I was going to come to the temple dedication. I spent the summer in Moscow and then traveled to my mission to visit people, and they said, we’ve chartered a bus to go to the temple dedication and there are extra seats -- come with us! And so I did. It’s so great to be here with them. I was on my mission twelve years ago when this temple was announced. It’s been a long time coming, and it’s so great to be able to share it with people who have waited so long and who it means so much for.”</span></blockquote><p></p></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMN4hbBo1NzjZd6bHGRq09PJHUR55eH90AMsSwOaMRJfed3xVXv_Mwe0Qx8IHD2eSwftm29x3602YBfs5CEvYdqBxLe5hpEME3sWWrP19VvkIkwUFRdC0WrxtNMdpG7enPNd08ZjhsPSbA/s1600/DSC05632.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMN4hbBo1NzjZd6bHGRq09PJHUR55eH90AMsSwOaMRJfed3xVXv_Mwe0Qx8IHD2eSwftm29x3602YBfs5CEvYdqBxLe5hpEME3sWWrP19VvkIkwUFRdC0WrxtNMdpG7enPNd08ZjhsPSbA/s320/DSC05632.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518733874643579090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a>(These three families from Rostov got sealed in the temple the day after it was dedicated -- and I got to see it. Neat.)<br /></div></div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-13974352224104475912010-08-29T22:29:00.003-04:002010-09-03T17:49:19.830-04:00A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVInewcT9KAEbC4VKgT8idLmJdDSilxupKL5gQU2htKFwSM4fSB2zPIW3YAxcbPDVWMrtvTUx7iL9wN8Zc0SQB7OOdHxZZH4T5AvKlRZTvg9llBdtvzvQ0-hC2x7mIOYVFnN47hHqlxDD/s1600/DSC05467.JPG"></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Add to the list of supposedly fun things I’ll never do again: A 22-hour road trip with 45 friends on a bus. Add in Soviet-era roads; waiting four hours at the border between Russia and Ukraine; two group sing-a-longs; and rest stops with squat toilets that you have to pay to use, and you have an idea of the luxury travel I enjoyed this weekend.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVInewcT9KAEbC4VKgT8idLmJdDSilxupKL5gQU2htKFwSM4fSB2zPIW3YAxcbPDVWMrtvTUx7iL9wN8Zc0SQB7OOdHxZZH4T5AvKlRZTvg9llBdtvzvQ0-hC2x7mIOYVFnN47hHqlxDD/s1600/DSC05467.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVInewcT9KAEbC4VKgT8idLmJdDSilxupKL5gQU2htKFwSM4fSB2zPIW3YAxcbPDVWMrtvTUx7iL9wN8Zc0SQB7OOdHxZZH4T5AvKlRZTvg9llBdtvzvQ0-hC2x7mIOYVFnN47hHqlxDD/s320/DSC05467.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512792762414679730" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYivRasE-VkynJAL7OhTw1EDMlEBdOB_iFfhMkIWtBctUCr9aI_xMB63j78hKb8_Tfdd97aASdArwS5feszzpX7xJrAcYwgIyLs3pmmqnlaqyYMsF9d5WGbYFZETQfBK6yjM_1zzGazgD/s1600/DSC05469-1.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYivRasE-VkynJAL7OhTw1EDMlEBdOB_iFfhMkIWtBctUCr9aI_xMB63j78hKb8_Tfdd97aASdArwS5feszzpX7xJrAcYwgIyLs3pmmqnlaqyYMsF9d5WGbYFZETQfBK6yjM_1zzGazgD/s320/DSC05469-1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512792758701857746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tVBd96M2jsPdaJJaZMGBzDC_xDArXXf7-MWPoLZvrrod-VVjNPlYVKIlSJczxYhYdRap53RsEvTlon2mXKNwunmWVyEUl3lv1u-XW1vwytw9bHPNeySDz73EvcQSbx7vqMEY4pmQ_zQg/s1600/Photo+on+2010-08-27+at+20.29+%232.jpg"></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Trip highlights included:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*Rest stops. And not just for the rest. It was amusing to watch the mothers and grandmothers in the group venture into the bushes to avoid paying a 50-cent fee to use the bathrooms. That was the first rest stop. Later, after dark, we pulled over for another rest stop, and as I got out of the bus I realized that there was no rest stop at all. We were pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and people were scattered among the trees doing their business like it was the most normal thing in the world.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*Eating kolbasa sandwiches and sharing a teacup of juice with the Hausbiulins, each drinking out of a different side.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*Showing Roma the PhotoBooth application</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tVBd96M2jsPdaJJaZMGBzDC_xDArXXf7-MWPoLZvrrod-VVjNPlYVKIlSJczxYhYdRap53RsEvTlon2mXKNwunmWVyEUl3lv1u-XW1vwytw9bHPNeySDz73EvcQSbx7vqMEY4pmQ_zQg/s1600/Photo+on+2010-08-27+at+20.29+%232.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tVBd96M2jsPdaJJaZMGBzDC_xDArXXf7-MWPoLZvrrod-VVjNPlYVKIlSJczxYhYdRap53RsEvTlon2mXKNwunmWVyEUl3lv1u-XW1vwytw9bHPNeySDz73EvcQSbx7vqMEY4pmQ_zQg/s320/Photo+on+2010-08-27+at+20.29+%232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512792750623144946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Funny thing is, when they all got back on the bus tonight to head back to Russia and I stood waving and blowing kisses on the sidewalk, I actually felt a pang of sadness that I wasn’t going back with them.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I guess that didn't really have anything to do with the bus.</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-7793807892126035492010-08-27T22:55:00.002-04:002010-09-03T16:40:42.869-04:00Rostov’s believe-it-or-not<div style="text-align: left;">On Thursday I met up with Lyudmila, Alya and Ruslan, some of my dearest friends from my mission days in Rostov.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We met in Gorky Park, in the center of the city, and caught up over ice cream and juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I met Ira, Alya’s daughter, a 100% sweetheart:</div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxZ3jdLbCGw8f5sH7SjKyNmSfwvh3r50ekEZzSP1kYmWMUGcQU78InXMUeyriXJxiKk_LJdbAPhdd9Q-JlbmkOTZgPh4H4HMhIqLNPi_noaOtf74Bo_DehrnWlIMe3-7I1GmHaSAQV6uh/s1600/IMG_0233.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxZ3jdLbCGw8f5sH7SjKyNmSfwvh3r50ekEZzSP1kYmWMUGcQU78InXMUeyriXJxiKk_LJdbAPhdd9Q-JlbmkOTZgPh4H4HMhIqLNPi_noaOtf74Bo_DehrnWlIMe3-7I1GmHaSAQV6uh/s320/IMG_0233.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512788546145971794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVj3wyJ7L1K0mSdVRq4I6n5Zo5AwfnX5dFONX47T_mlHSMN_GzvUVTrNqUR1Spc-D-frKnLti-ZOMxQH_nc46kz9MqwN-SqNknwKhtrPe9fmcGe6yLY4WoijNilDLoJGrU04JUiWTk7fq/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVj3wyJ7L1K0mSdVRq4I6n5Zo5AwfnX5dFONX47T_mlHSMN_GzvUVTrNqUR1Spc-D-frKnLti-ZOMxQH_nc46kz9MqwN-SqNknwKhtrPe9fmcGe6yLY4WoijNilDLoJGrU04JUiWTk7fq/s320/IMG_0236.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512788553653222082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 320px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal">And then, because we had a little extra time, Alya suggested we visit the Peter the Great Kuntzkamera exhibit in the museum nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I didn’t know what Kuntzkamera meant, but a museum exhibit sounded lovely to me, so I agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We bought tickets and stepped through a red velvet curtain into the exhibit space, which was filled with … wax statues of people with odd deformities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For example (and I wish this picture had come out a little clearer but I took it on the sly), this man with two heads, and this man with an unusually large mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There was also a dwarf woman, a man with a huge pointy nose and ears, and some others -- all exact replicas of real people and real deformities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_PcoDStBYMorPYzBVg0x8vI6ehCHO6VTmijFDcTDh0IEs-8kU1O45eSE2T-SevAfmbkrgkKoDn6XhXBXzi3OKJsOXmg3RCD-uOiGOB6pv4TvyU2_1cAii1vSBghSFvxsAphJiw93P2iq/s320/IMG_0229.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512788564471958370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 190px; " /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We moved onto the next portion of the exhibit:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>deformed fetus pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Um.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I won’t go into detail, and I wasn't about to take any pictures -- I could hardly look at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, we rounded the corner into a room with wax heads depicting various skin diseases on the right side, and jars containing actual deformed fetuses in formaldehyde on the left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Alya, her four-year-old in tow, studied all the descriptions, fully intrigued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just when I think I know what to expect from Russia and Russians, I get another weird surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I kind of love that about Russia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Keeps me on my toes.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-73104192769158421762010-08-27T15:47:00.002-04:002010-09-03T16:30:40.148-04:00Hug me<div style="text-align: left;">They say that if you are going to adopt an orphan, you are better off choosing one that hides in the corner from you than one that runs up and gives you a hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The hesitant child has healthier boundaries and fewer attachment issues, while the affectionate one is more likely to burn your house down one day.</div> <p class="MsoNormal">All the same, when a little boy named Sasha jumped into my arms, wrapped his arms and legs around me, and held on even when I moved to put him down – I couldn’t help hugging him back a little longer, a little tighter, wondering how often, if ever, he got a hug long enough that he was ready to let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And as I held him, I felt something inside of me release, and I realized it’s been a while since I had a good, long hug, too.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I went with Raya last week to the orphanage to deliver some blankets that the Relief Society women’s organization in Rostov made for them. Here's Raya (in red) and other members of the congregation presenting the blankets to the director of the orphanage:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNp3-LENaHMKs8w_RdYTSsPjBMVIbWE7cqgtBd-fJwqoDZyDuMM3v4AA8_s4sBMpv6L7WllbwkoZjxIPjLIYSCG2WuvOApPS-gQqXYLhwRysG96036CDRE_uZ-T2BO-igwbVDAJvCXYAxi/s320/DSC05416.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512779345580955890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">The orphans are divided into groups of about ten children, and one small wing of the orphanege served each group. Here is the bathroom for one of the groups -- ten little cups, ten little toothbrushes, ten little towels.</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_es2Pp5-iEgX2qgxGNtfF00vH5xbUNlf-m1b8lEMGqqYaaGrgPxfpEKMoscUAQPCH73SIsdZvaPjz1F-poawVBLneM258oUAIi2cTcFFAT0gpLcJ00FEfeXQII6ltL5w3kXkBY0vmcblv/s320/DSC05417.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512779354510582002" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 194px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">The tables were all set for lunch.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-jpGo1L0gOFBaSaAMAcn63fe5Gv0nfrbckaJiKxQpNoEow0hhlwjo3Y00V8Ww8F5onIEFZdqyC_S6xfg2MBSQvsV0OwpSnvcTJANj3G0yaHIpQTC8AqL0M2nU-7Q-daFn1Aqlc0boUC1/s1600/DSC05418.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-jpGo1L0gOFBaSaAMAcn63fe5Gv0nfrbckaJiKxQpNoEow0hhlwjo3Y00V8Ww8F5onIEFZdqyC_S6xfg2MBSQvsV0OwpSnvcTJANj3G0yaHIpQTC8AqL0M2nU-7Q-daFn1Aqlc0boUC1/s320/DSC05418.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512779363521466994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">And this ... this is a little mini sauna for children. They sit on that little shelf (height-adjustable) and put their heads out the top. Then the door is closed and the steam is turned on. The director told us it helps panicky children calm down.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUbD-zd460SxRiX5js8z2tLI0G5wxRWAPs4h81e9cjm0wkRFi23eSad8n0-gl1NM4F4Udgr-KhuDMHrOqCDorSkith4QZQ2pCOwKF11GW2Sbcji0yCNBBnP_CaYBNMdwmVwhmUS12m-00/s320/DSC05420.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512779373391791186" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">And here are some of the kids:</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8INxVlBcmX41iVsFSQDLJA1CbXP3kfEI3NmZ-ZRg4Sd6p81HSawY0r1nc0FyoeDRuyekMrWrySinRFgdIW02dxb8UV1rB2MsTxCHt1WoLqNlgCAYE74M9zNsEBZePVh5tYrF9KUx-h_TN/s320/DSC05424.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512779374128785778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 201px; " /></span></span></span></span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There would have been a few more pictures of the kids, but as soon as that last pictures was taken, I was swarmed by small children with attachment issues who wanted to see themselves on the screen, millions of little fingers grabbing and groping the camera, and the battery died a few minutes later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But I still won’t forget all the little eyes looking hopefully up at me, the little arms reaching out, the sense of all the little people in this world looking for a little love.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">(Insert rousing rendition of “We Are the World” or "The Greatest Love".)</p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-5487201019434792772010-08-26T10:51:00.004-04:002010-09-03T20:41:15.002-04:00Ghosts, part 2<div style="text-align: left;">I just realized that the subconscious influence behind my <a href="http://allisonroadblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/quantum-leap.html">last post</a> was a collection of pictures I saw recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Photographer Sergei Larenkov started with photos of the siege of Leningrad in WWII, then photographed the exact same places today and combined them in Photoshop, reminding people of the history that happened on the same streets they walk down every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The result is haunting, and cool:</div><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrXhk1o_S4Jm_3aOI87-9mCstSoqR0iKjSIKe1VPirkGpSNecVKTJydJR4Iy2cjMrgz7Gf71cHFv5JgG-sSymYHZhhwTCmk-R6wqMRLJk1RgGmYVVyn9Z58fFFvNSz_IRDf-H0GyD2Mmw/s1600/tank+1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrXhk1o_S4Jm_3aOI87-9mCstSoqR0iKjSIKe1VPirkGpSNecVKTJydJR4Iy2cjMrgz7Gf71cHFv5JgG-sSymYHZhhwTCmk-R6wqMRLJk1RgGmYVVyn9Z58fFFvNSz_IRDf-H0GyD2Mmw/s320/tank+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512773767481134530" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lJLDaDhaqzjgwCf2-6hCqikNgieTVulzrLGLZg25cNtXVbgTQjU6kzfF40Fc-cqoolRnlIYrx2XOk06AiiQ9xjVze6eX9r5wn2j2QMrGz42vcw4AzOcCqe6WTY-AcFDbttHqPmMFRMMQ/s1600/bodies+1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lJLDaDhaqzjgwCf2-6hCqikNgieTVulzrLGLZg25cNtXVbgTQjU6kzfF40Fc-cqoolRnlIYrx2XOk06AiiQ9xjVze6eX9r5wn2j2QMrGz42vcw4AzOcCqe6WTY-AcFDbttHqPmMFRMMQ/s320/bodies+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512774050624723762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9ppRrmx1JULwhfdV6kKVTkQ8VKz7ypd3kkfi9QHNqTFvHnQc_p1FVvY0B3ic0KKkU1ShDZrctE777AEMxDTZbSiHHqDpzlwECKMgwZawNKuBz_ElzcNpA_MPuT0zO4w0X7ElXYdnGRKX/s1600/bodies+2.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9ppRrmx1JULwhfdV6kKVTkQ8VKz7ypd3kkfi9QHNqTFvHnQc_p1FVvY0B3ic0KKkU1ShDZrctE777AEMxDTZbSiHHqDpzlwECKMgwZawNKuBz_ElzcNpA_MPuT0zO4w0X7ElXYdnGRKX/s320/bodies+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512774723421396082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 203px; " /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSstZ9Kecku7EXQtTXTEm3yOpZ7V6SZzZoHIb6CbUevZYJuU_C7jkdbaoXgkF4bVhk9OHy2rjprFSKNM6gJyvx3V-YL5LT6v0db-JAWc_P70gjlcgbRzAqdCzWhYf69dRV9O-eGV05Ugc/s1600/cabbage.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSstZ9Kecku7EXQtTXTEm3yOpZ7V6SZzZoHIb6CbUevZYJuU_C7jkdbaoXgkF4bVhk9OHy2rjprFSKNM6gJyvx3V-YL5LT6v0db-JAWc_P70gjlcgbRzAqdCzWhYf69dRV9O-eGV05Ugc/s320/cabbage.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512774719785065266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhWLvHylUNg551ufgh3gtzqjGIDIQht-CAButdieat7iC-lDSmIzXZR4_YAokylkUfuhSieNvb6PbCuIM2tqv3y10R99OlpsWVJ19syXu1PSafh-T-KrZUFGocZZneXqWEVyEEs9zOkRw/s1600/ruin+1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhWLvHylUNg551ufgh3gtzqjGIDIQht-CAButdieat7iC-lDSmIzXZR4_YAokylkUfuhSieNvb6PbCuIM2tqv3y10R99OlpsWVJ19syXu1PSafh-T-KrZUFGocZZneXqWEVyEEs9zOkRw/s320/ruin+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512774304037326066" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hOZgd9IkcOWbCNYYHyk09oVgkdYE7wtCb2Io7rWgQk5YLH18_99fGYb275q-ofrnvACje08Jh-A7VX1dXlttTfIfUAf-fhXjBYbVbKNEZ0Fa0_5s1jghQ25pNAKxC7HmsURV_T7QVBsU/s320/bodies+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512775501187072194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px; " /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZeX1wX8S8BojbLURLiP56uW5JNMd-qetAze181SYOkcL-XtcSKt6lLqt53_hZry2136eFhETIJMBAyd0HGrX_OA-GNwrXLZyUAE7k-6OIGMZ7l0GnrQtilKzarIRs7pjLY7Hqiy1glNm/s320/ruins+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512775362749927810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></p><div>See more photos from the collection <a href="http://englishrussia.com/index.php/2009/01/26/2235/">here</a> and <a href="http://englishrussia.com/index.php/2009/05/11/st-petersburg-now-and-then-2/#more-2720">here</a>, and an article about the artist <a href="http://www.themoscowtimes.com/arts_n_ideas/article/collage-photos-mix-war-and-present-day-life/411945.html">here</a>.</div> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-15437604303920752962010-08-26T01:59:00.004-04:002010-08-26T02:33:45.565-04:00Quantum leapSo many unfinished blog posts, so little time ...<br /><br />I've escaped the heat and smog to Rostov-na-donu -- the city where I served 9 months of my mission, all in one area. I feel like I'm in a time warp. Where am I? Who am I? What year is it? Where did all these supermarkets and billboards come from?<br /><br />I was kind of disoriented at first, and exhausted by Moscow both physically and emotionally, but a few days of Raya Hausbiulina's amazing cooking and stories revived me. Turns out a Russian grandma was just what the doctor ordered.<br /><br />I rode the 71 bus from Zorge to Tsentralniy Rinok the other day, craning my head to see out of the dirty window. If I peeled back the layer of billboards and storefronts and new buildings pasted onto the familiar landscape, I recognized the same crumbling balconies, the same worn dirt paths. I remembered buying ice cream on the corner of Stachki and Zorge – I knew the shape of the corner, I could almost see the ghost of a woman pulling the squat cone out of her portable freezer – it was a cold day in February. It was like the image was superimposed on the current August scene, and if you tried to focus on it too closely it would disappear, but if you let your eyes blur then it appeared right there.<br /><br />The trees around our apartment were much bigger, and I remembered walking through the park nearby to visit someone who was selling eggs at a rinok in the middle of winter. We brought hot chocolate to her. I remembered a pile of watermelon, taller than I was, on the sidewalk in the summer, and buying chocolate at a kiosk from someone who wanted us to invite them to visit America. I remembered walking in the chastni sector singing “country roads,” eating mulberries right off the trees, and walking through the meat section of the market near Druzhinikov Square. I wanted to peel back the façade of modernization – because that’s all it seems to be here, is a façade pasted onto the same old crumbling landscape – peel back the years, see myself walking through the square to Alla Ivanovna’s apartment or talking to Ruslan, Alya and Lyudmila and the elders at the bus stop about how to properly eat sunflower seeds.<br /><br />Ghosts were everywhere, and for a moment, all moments were present, and I knew that the core person I am now really is the same person I was then, as much as I may or may not have changed. The trees around the statue of the working class man waving his flag at the beginning of Zapadny region have grown tall enough to obscure the foot of the statue, and riding past them I lost my sense of time and place -- for a moment they became the trees on the way from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, and all moments were present. If I had exited that bus and found myself in Jerusalem or Moscow or Washington or Peru, it would have seemed completely normal.<br /><br />And it was comforting, in a way. More to come about people, experiences, thoughts.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-18022267243967769872010-08-26T01:46:00.003-04:002010-09-03T16:28:46.348-04:00Congrats to the happy couple!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLg_1M5M0XAvR-svnFdpHYWQ-Qgv0YGi73oxDV22His8WyChQhqZXVYnSEDDgL22jwFPCVhoTfK2rH7BMbThIIjbg-quFIghxVDvV6lhdOAVbPPqTRm1oVePKDUy6o9x3mT8kKuPe0FDFL/s1600/z+and+h.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ3WE3ahhFASzsgRc1SYGyVSJg-iHetIQcggLgqlTpHyLNAsFGEORBUYoTqhRlSILKFuDCVuxZvSnKsKJnTl0cZUPYCFzHO4pzI00EjZBNKfja6OKPPMk22ociumS1XTA7lUDS76oqyfO/s1600/%D0%9D%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%BE%D0%B5+%D0%B8%D0%B7%D0%BE%D0%B1%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%B6%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509600049988689810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 299px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ3WE3ahhFASzsgRc1SYGyVSJg-iHetIQcggLgqlTpHyLNAsFGEORBUYoTqhRlSILKFuDCVuxZvSnKsKJnTl0cZUPYCFzHO4pzI00EjZBNKfja6OKPPMk22ociumS1XTA7lUDS76oqyfO/s400/%D0%9D%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%BE%D0%B5+%D0%B8%D0%B7%D0%BE%D0%B1%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%B6%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B5.JPG" border="0" /></a> Yay for Zach and Heather!<br /><br />(Blogger and iPhone and Microsoft and Russia are conspiring to make it impossible to turn this picture right side up. I can't fix it now but will repost soon. In the meantime, please celebrate by standing on your heads.)<div><br /></div><div>UPDATE 9/3/10: I'm back in the land of internet connectivity and just went to change out this upside-down photo, but it's sort of grown on me. Enough of you liked it that I think I'll just post the right-side-up version here along with it (thanks to b. for helping me right it, even if I couldn't post right away):</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLg_1M5M0XAvR-svnFdpHYWQ-Qgv0YGi73oxDV22His8WyChQhqZXVYnSEDDgL22jwFPCVhoTfK2rH7BMbThIIjbg-quFIghxVDvV6lhdOAVbPPqTRm1oVePKDUy6o9x3mT8kKuPe0FDFL/s1600/z+and+h.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLg_1M5M0XAvR-svnFdpHYWQ-Qgv0YGi73oxDV22His8WyChQhqZXVYnSEDDgL22jwFPCVhoTfK2rH7BMbThIIjbg-quFIghxVDvV6lhdOAVbPPqTRm1oVePKDUy6o9x3mT8kKuPe0FDFL/s400/z+and+h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512786184839038130" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px; " /></a></div><div>Congrats again! Love you guys!</div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-44361520416004980972010-08-07T02:44:00.004-04:002010-09-24T01:58:09.532-04:00Moscow burning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBbVYKFUrYwYOq2i8-LEhREl3Lvj-vQmhB4bV_xd0YW-GzOhGM4kwtuWJmpDC3xmdHOCpk1pRQNrE8SxwHFkGTx9OJngc4kmGarjgevZHGekZ3709RSuGINVRJONa4tbYQfvtdlqnG1ZD/s1600/smog-storypic1.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509343188346372178" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBbVYKFUrYwYOq2i8-LEhREl3Lvj-vQmhB4bV_xd0YW-GzOhGM4kwtuWJmpDC3xmdHOCpk1pRQNrE8SxwHFkGTx9OJngc4kmGarjgevZHGekZ3709RSuGINVRJONa4tbYQfvtdlqnG1ZD/s320/smog-storypic1.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> There's a scene near the end of the novel <em>Master and Margarita</em> where the devil sits on top of the Vorobyovi Hills in Moscow and watches fires burn in different parts of the city. Apparently Bulgakov originally planned to have the entire city go up in flames (perhaps as a statement about Moscow, the guardian of Orthodoxy, the “Third Rome, never to be a fourth”).<br /><br /></span><div><div><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that almost-scene in the last couple of weeks. I can’t describe what it’s like to walk along the street and not be able to see the trees or buildings you know are just a few hundred yards away. What it’s like to feel an itchy sensation at the back of your throat and know that all kinds of particles are filtering into your lungs each time you take a breath. What it’s like to be so hot, -- so very, very hot -- and so tired, so ready to drape yourself on a chair and just sit and stare. It’s still around 100 degrees every day, no air conditioning, and I’m starting to feel a little crazy. Especially now that I’ve closed my window so as not to breathe in air that I’m told approximates smoking four packs of cigarettes a day.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54TppLpr2B8l7cFX875t9efRcotGWfJB7x7fu9Yf_Os00riLfAWHrJm6lM7Ty_mGKnlaaUXPa-3XKMJYghw1okjA9lqwBDjCaoGUCyS1EDDU6Ttr1TZ53M_SRz01WRD3_RMvV07UU5tNG/s1600/smog-storypic3.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509343504818619186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54TppLpr2B8l7cFX875t9efRcotGWfJB7x7fu9Yf_Os00riLfAWHrJm6lM7Ty_mGKnlaaUXPa-3XKMJYghw1okjA9lqwBDjCaoGUCyS1EDDU6Ttr1TZ53M_SRz01WRD3_RMvV07UU5tNG/s320/smog-storypic3.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> From what I understand, this is all due to a number of forest fires and peat bog fires in the Moscow region and across Russia. Apparently many of the peat bogs were drained in Soviet times in order to harvest the peat, leaving a situation where the peat can spontaneously start to burn if the temperature gets too high. And Moscow has had record-breaking temperatures with no rain for over a month. Depending on which way the wind is blowing, the smoke from the peat fires can cover the city. And let me tell you, it smells awesome.<br /><br />But I don’t want to let a little smoke get in the way of my summer, so a couple days ago I set off in search of a modern art gallery that I’d been wanting to check out. I came up out of the metro and walked for something like two miles trying to find it, spending more than an hour in the smog. The city felt so desolate, so apocalyptic. I tried not to think of the treeless, hazy end-of-the-world scenario in The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I tried not to think of the anti-smoking ad in the metro here that pictures a hand squeezing a lung and a thick stream of greenish gook oozing from it, tried not to picture my own lungs and what they might now resemble. I tried not to hear Robert Frost’s lines about the world ending in fire echoing in my head. The music in my headphones was like a soundtrack to an apocalyptic film, blocking out all street sounds, and everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">I finally got on a trolleybus, not knowing where it was going, but hoping it would deposit me at a metro stop, any metro stop. It did, and I got on a train heading for home, sank into a seat, put on my headphones and closed my eyes, pretending to be anywhere else but there. Pretending I wasn’t covered in a thin film of salt and dust and moisture, pretending everyone else around me wasn’t either, pretending I wasn’t breathing in smoke, even inside the metro – trying to go somewhere, anywhere else in my mind. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">I think that was the first day I came home and put my head in the freezer to cool off. </span></p></div></div><br /><p>Photos from the Moscow Times.</p><p>Read more here <a href="http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/medvedev-fires-5-as-moscow-chokes/411735.html">http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/medvedev-fires-5-as-moscow-chokes/411735.html</a></p><p>and here <a href="http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/moscows-smog-worsens-as-wildfires-rage/411872.html#no">http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/moscows-smog-worsens-as-wildfires-rage/411872.html#no</a></p>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-84276303221058929992010-07-29T11:01:00.006-04:002010-07-29T11:22:26.079-04:00Enough with the tortured soul already<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Ok, I started feeling like maybe the blog was getting a little too broody. Just to lighten the mood a little ...</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There's a whole new genre of Russian jokes based on the New Russians (the newly rich business class, perceived as arrogant, stupid, dishonest, conspicuous consumers with poor taste). For example:</span></span><div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">Two new russians are at a concert. One says to the other, pointing to the director, "This is, what, Mozart?" The other says, "How am I supposed to know? You can't tell anything looking at him from behind."</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">One new russian says to another, "Look at the awesome tie I got for a thousand dollars!" The other replies, "Idiot! I got the same tie right across the street for two thousand!"</span></li></ul></div></div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-74423634172584597932010-07-28T04:04:00.002-04:002010-07-29T10:49:43.943-04:00I wish it would rain down, down on me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMIVYSbVqHqxIikU12cQQaiwR2g0TVvuwN8fFeztvzVIci4dY9Ka93KYOUQHgx8iOihdwlvlgyTR_JuYDDWDPfU2-VqcQlCDk92nJLYmnpalb4TtQijKjfkDqmFR1IKOCeVasZmXv9b90/s1600/storm+3.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;color:#262626;"><i><blockquote><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to live; I crave for sadness -</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Against my bliss and love, in truth;</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They sank my mind in idle gladness</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And made my brow very smooth.</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0pxcolor:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It's high time for life's derogation</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">To blow away the hazy peace;</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What’s a poet’s life, void of desolation?</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And what are void of tempests seas?</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0pxcolor:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">-Mikhail Lermontov, age 18</span></i></p></blockquote><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I watched an entire rainstorm from start to finish, curled up on the ledge of an open window 5 stories above the ground. From the sudden quieting of the birds, to the first big raindrops pinging the tin windowsill, to the people running for cover from the downpour, to the sun coming back out and everyone going back about their business.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0pxcolor:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There’s something about a rainstorm when there hasn’t been one for a while. It was a relief. It lasted about ten minutes, and I was sad when it was over. It was too quick -- I didn't have time to absorb the quiet that was almost sacred, when life stopped, people and animals disappeared, and it was just the elements, just the wind and the rain – and a couple standing on the path near the pond embracing. I watched them, imagining the double sensation of a kiss and the giant drops of rain on my face. I wanted to run out into the rain, too, to feel it on my hands, my face, my skin, my clothes, to gradually become completely wet. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0pxcolor:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; color:#333233;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to live!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> wrote Lermontov. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I crave for sadness -</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to live. Russians love suffering, Alla Vasilievna insists, because it’s part of happiness – indistinguishable from happiness – it’s part of life. I get that. I won’t go so far as to say I crave sadness in Lermontov’s madly romantic way, but I want to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">live<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">, and to live completely</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I want to feel it all, see it all, understand it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">all</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Now the construction workers are banging away again. Everyone’s out making noise and tinkering with the world again. I want to hold onto the feeling of the storm – the sensation of being alive again after a long hot spell. The presence in the solitude. The relief, peace, contentment, laced with a certain tingliness and excitement about what it all could mean – something new, something different, something dangerous.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMIVYSbVqHqxIikU12cQQaiwR2g0TVvuwN8fFeztvzVIci4dY9Ka93KYOUQHgx8iOihdwlvlgyTR_JuYDDWDPfU2-VqcQlCDk92nJLYmnpalb4TtQijKjfkDqmFR1IKOCeVasZmXv9b90/s1600/storm+3.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMIVYSbVqHqxIikU12cQQaiwR2g0TVvuwN8fFeztvzVIci4dY9Ka93KYOUQHgx8iOihdwlvlgyTR_JuYDDWDPfU2-VqcQlCDk92nJLYmnpalb4TtQijKjfkDqmFR1IKOCeVasZmXv9b90/s320/storm+3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498692156847371906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinrOj8Po7YwB-cpaEr5trzgGAtTE1FVGLiPsFcl23X3l9Yk-AX_vyS4-TglG7wcYshzkxQfscpf-a0OJ7st1MdecsDw1gaNCF05uyXco0SZxODg4cgnePvdoOT53hoVkNje6lb_UiR-xpr/s1600/storm+1.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinrOj8Po7YwB-cpaEr5trzgGAtTE1FVGLiPsFcl23X3l9Yk-AX_vyS4-TglG7wcYshzkxQfscpf-a0OJ7st1MdecsDw1gaNCF05uyXco0SZxODg4cgnePvdoOT53hoVkNje6lb_UiR-xpr/s320/storm+1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498692145172361570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCq2XAy_EqrSMBBz8-yi9amuLLgdgvF00Ecx6esnf9cEEg7sgoDFV_7GlGdLvPnkL94ztmOMO0g4KGQ0mKp6tm3TUXLWAST05_uDeLA4XsFJhcBb__iIeMrgqT3cpf_-9EDHVHurojMzX5/s1600/storm+2.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCq2XAy_EqrSMBBz8-yi9amuLLgdgvF00Ecx6esnf9cEEg7sgoDFV_7GlGdLvPnkL94ztmOMO0g4KGQ0mKp6tm3TUXLWAST05_uDeLA4XsFJhcBb__iIeMrgqT3cpf_-9EDHVHurojMzX5/s320/storm+2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498692139869673250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div></i></span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-49760397836682901772010-07-27T08:03:00.006-04:002010-07-28T02:45:36.176-04:00Perestroika, physical and spiritual<div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Perestroika:</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> The literal translation is "rebuilding."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The word you really hear all the time is</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> remont</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> -- it means "repair" or "remodel."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And it's going on everywhere you look in Moscow. Including here:</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZCXg2OBAL0ug-Fv1zjdiXCoOVF_cht4t2wLf7sfBVVbloaJBsc2n-C_DHHG9CZ6hBrWejGY7fWp8msAZpNrgPjyE-Jq7QY2Dd1EwM0rP1SbzrpI5RX7MOEed4pSFqA4l2KIYDzXj2qXX/s320/perestroika.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498545791232378434" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px; " /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hram Hristos Cpasitel (Church of Christ the Savior) is the largest Orthodox church in the world. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was built in Moscow in the 1800s and destroyed by Stalin in 1931 to make way for an enormous Soviet Palace topped by a colossal statue of Lenin, designed to be the tallest building in the world. But the palace was never built, and the foundation of the cathedral became a huge swimming pool. (Yes, everything is huge, colossal, enormous, mammoth – we’re in Russia, and bigger is always better!)</span></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis62weUspTUzSu3J4BbrsJ3RnFcS8sNi_QQdXxQN0U7OATfn48wc6kif67PkrRcOp_Nl2aAtUi9V9FzoIU85ANYpkt0-x1GwrdXX0_dbeNOArcCoDQ-48OvE-CElfEA0RM3bP1wtg9CzDv/s1600/moscow+pool.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis62weUspTUzSu3J4BbrsJ3RnFcS8sNi_QQdXxQN0U7OATfn48wc6kif67PkrRcOp_Nl2aAtUi9V9FzoIU85ANYpkt0-x1GwrdXX0_dbeNOArcCoDQ-48OvE-CElfEA0RM3bP1wtg9CzDv/s320/moscow+pool.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498545780534712850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 124px; " /></a><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In 1994, after nearly five years of petitioning, the Russian Orthdox Church was granted permission to rebuild the cathedral on it’s original site, and in 2000 the new building -- an exact replica of the original church -- was consecrated. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> From the guidebook I bought there: </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A tragedy for Russian Christians, the attempt of the Communists to put up the Palace of Councils in place of the cathedral revealed the struggle between God who had become man to save humanity and man who was trying in vain to become God. </span></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The gigantic “Babylon Tower” … was a symbolic antithesis of the Saviour cathedral, its anti-reflection. … Many elements of the palace were devised as antipodes of the cathedral’s elements -- the huge statue of Lenin instead of the cross crowning the cathedral, the representation of a five-pointed star on the ceiling of the Grand Hall, and articles of the Stalin Constitution carved on the walls of the foyer.</span></span></blockquote><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And then this symbolism of resurrection and repentance, which I found especially moving: </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Many Muscovites who watched the [groundbreaking] ceremony [for the new building] on TV in 1994 could not believe their eyes: the miracle did occur. The main national sanctuary was being resurrected from its ashes, like a mythological bird Phoenix. ...</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Today it is primarily a place of repentance, a personification of the country’s conversion from atheistic theories to the Law of God, to Christian doctrines of eternity and the City of God, to the traditional roots of the Russian Orthodox civilization. The cathedral, regarded as a martyr for Christ, has been resurrected on the site to show gratitude to God for saving Russia and overthrowing the utopian theory of the earthly paradise. It is a sort of memorial to Russia’s history, heroism and sufferings. It is the national Orthodox idea embodied in stone.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMuNtLb2HG7y9WmG26Tpn_3nuZnIaNt4owZgAsywPiwkNsfkithMVFp0AW-4yHggJVdTUJA2SCmsATyRXXjd4kRwNjyOMg8tQmOv4AxmVMyL6vWbGr_V9jznm2C8puNeaUYO110qKK7hs/s1600/Xpam+1.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMuNtLb2HG7y9WmG26Tpn_3nuZnIaNt4owZgAsywPiwkNsfkithMVFp0AW-4yHggJVdTUJA2SCmsATyRXXjd4kRwNjyOMg8tQmOv4AxmVMyL6vWbGr_V9jznm2C8puNeaUYO110qKK7hs/s320/Xpam+1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498545801381760194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 288px; " /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNI8Og5zz_mzMPQOBo3m57mBZKvgBGB5TqCz0T18JDPshQLglUCHsaSZilYFjboPMfVt0b6sLjwHbXbqWw5qjN51ynpHjx4dkc10ONEx4B6n8JtHMW-SuPRhg6cFn4wza6CF5gIdgk1uVb/s1600/Xram+2.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNI8Og5zz_mzMPQOBo3m57mBZKvgBGB5TqCz0T18JDPshQLglUCHsaSZilYFjboPMfVt0b6sLjwHbXbqWw5qjN51ynpHjx4dkc10ONEx4B6n8JtHMW-SuPRhg6cFn4wza6CF5gIdgk1uVb/s320/Xram+2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498545813805660082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ6jHZ9bSIy9SeqGSRg2ZGxUHqnKdcgo3RD1LqmyeRvnS3ifIlwXB-QWdaKqO8ymXPvpXfCmXGzdejjjN1H5SCD5ve-kchtpgc1A7cyn9yE7EG-BEXTVgsPqeHcXeyrHHo0YODm5eZiV8/s320/Xpam+3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498547252654483522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Dd03HdZ7vp6TMvEVWutgTy0cGQ32KDHCHr1eGLnoVa4hULFlGHrqpy8zm1P_W2DtIvJVLYalG26i6lReNrmZq9wk9vW3UHT5uT6QQouJcCB-vWTX3wydMW6sDnTvOUxLG3ou6S4FlvXF/s320/Xpam+interior.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498545787699751586" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-13928856190100561612010-07-26T11:20:00.007-04:002010-07-27T14:33:53.943-04:00It's. So. #@&%. Hot.<div>It's been around 100 degrees every day for about two weeks now. Oh, and did I mention there is NO air conditioning? I kind of want to die. I'm looking at a pile of seven empty 5-liter bottles of water and calculating that I'm going through about 2.5 liters of water a day right now. I think that's roughly double the recommended 6-8 glasses, no?</div><div><br />Some folks here are drinking more than water:</div><div><br />Drunk Russians Drowning Due to Heat Wave<br /><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/russia/7891040/Drunk-Russians-drowning-due-to-heat-wave.html">http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/russia/7891040/Drunk-Russians-drowning-due-to-heat-wave.html</a></div><div><br />AND (yes I'm on a weather rant) it hasn't rained, except for few brief rainstorms, which I'm convinced the Russian government is artificially creating by doing<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud_seeding"> that thing where they put chemicals into the clouds</a> and force it to rain. (I mean, why <i>shouldn't</i> the government control everything, including the weather?) The rainstorms last for about five minutes -- really big drops, but not quite enough of them -- and all they do is make the ground sizzle, then they stop.</div><div><br />And that's not all. In addition to all the crops dying from the drought, there are also shortages of electric fans (my friend saw a woman selling an old fan at a metro stop for 4000 rubles, which is about $130) and ice cream. Yes, they're running out of ice cream. Luckily I haven't been affected by this … yet …</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I'd love to stay and chat but there's a cold shower calling my name. Or maybe a hot shower. It would still cool me down. You think I'm kidding, don't you …</div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-86155871274390590282010-07-18T08:04:00.002-04:002010-07-26T11:35:27.158-04:00The doorway<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjS-zKxRqiMbafIbDZSHccw4EAMz-KaeRhSS22SsvQNpCx2OoC4uCT6YXwWH4moGPWCbS0m3jdjz4uvxQie6DSarpEzJvwK6sS2-rtxfwA1fetmc3LUMbIC-4O4ehWyQixBopEp-xYmrL3/s320/2008_Web_Practices_Tree2.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498191390619506962" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">On Monday morning I meditated for the first time.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Not like deep thinking (which I have actually done before, thank you very much), but like a guided meditation. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://blog.speakingoffaith.org/post/724957186/bell-sound-meditation-shubha-bala-associate">Here</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://blog.speakingoffaith.org/post/724957186/bell-sound-meditation-shubha-bala-associate">.</a></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This meditation used the sound of a bell to focus the mind and open the spirit.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It sounded three times, with the idea being to feel the reverberations and welcome the sound physically into the body, followed by a period of remembering the sound and feel of the bell, the echo or memory of the bell.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And then a mental letting go of the bell sound and opening to other sounds, followed by another focus on the memory of the bell.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was during one of these repetitions, one of these moments of allowing the bell sound to come into you, that I felt it.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was fleeting, but it was as though a feeling of openness penetrated into the protective shell I’ve built to protect myself from life’s disappointments – especially from spiritual experiences that I may or may not be able to trust.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At the beginning of the meditation, the guide said, “Cultivate the mood of wonder, of humility.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Let this be the doorway to the practice.”</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That resonated deeply with me, and I think that inviting those particular emotions allowed that brief feeling of pure openness and centeredness.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In some ways, it was like an old familiar friend.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In other ways, it was a little terrifying.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I mean, can’t it be possible to have both my protective shell and that openness at the same time?</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I mean, what’s so wrong about being careful with your heart, not just in a romantic sense but in a life sense?</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to be cautious and yet impulsive, protected and yet vulnerable, distant and yet intimate.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Paradox?</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maybe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Cultivate the mood of wonder, of humility. Let this be the doorway to the practice.”</span></i><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And not just to the practice, but to life.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A further explanation of the meditation:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Do you have the patience to wait ‘til your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving ‘til the right action arises by itself? The master doesn’t seek fulfillment. Not seeking, not expecting, she is present and can welcome all things." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">[Here’s the point where this blog post should end, both because of length and because of overshare.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But I can’t resist wanting to sort out this other idea … and yes, if you read it and it makes you feel the need to share the name of a good therapist with me, please go ahead and leave it in the comments ... ]</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I have deep angst about this trip (ok, about my life) that stems from wanting to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">do </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">something, to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">be</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> something, to make an impact, to please have some meaning for someone somewhere.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And I am realizing that this desperation – born of loneliness, of cultural conditioning, of the pure desire to give to someone – is paralyzing.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It makes me choke.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And this seeking, this expectation, this need is intense – I am desperately in search of fulfillment, I admit it.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And yet “The master doesn’t seek fulfillment.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">She is present and can welcome all things.”</span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It sounds so beautiful.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Simply to be present and welcome all things, all people, all experiences.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">To be open with the mood of wonder, of humility, like a child.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Not to find or accomplish something specific or to return with something grand or impressive.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But to be alive, and to find meaning and connection in being open to the world.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But this is a difficult state of mind to sustain. Already in the 35 seconds since I typed that last line, my mind has started off down the road of justifying my desire to achieve something visible, something tangible, by tying it to the lofty desire to love and be loved, to give, to impact.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But is it really for others I want this, or for myself? </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I feel afraid that by letting go of trying to do something impactful, I will sink into oblivion, into meaninglessness and loneliness.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It’s like a struggle between the will to power and nirvana.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The desire and ambition grip me, paralyze me.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The letting go, the mediation is lighter, more open and yet now in it’s aftermath I seem to fear it more.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I fear losing control, losing everything. </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Abandoning myself to the higher power and then simply disappearing.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Alone. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And all of this -- all of it -- exists only inside of me, only in my mind, yet it affects everything. </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That's sort of w</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">eird, right?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Cultivate the mood of wonder, of humility. Let this be the doorway.”</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwbCWdJGzI_-H9_zKeJ_4nqkYY6vSkw7A2UuPOr43UeDEu9So4v2PGrAZ7McypIne__CHNOhsabYRm59LprWTBOB81eDDnnLJ_mn5EhOgrtFKZuK3XympVe3fosBSbxt7Tdcjd_ek5xTM/s320/DSC04453+-+crop.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498194923023132882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(June 2010, Peterhoff, Russia)</span></span></span></i></div><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><br /></i></p> <!--EndFragment-->Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-30773510001570809012010-07-17T11:40:00.001-04:002010-07-17T11:33:30.025-04:00Meet Rosa<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rosa is my suitemate. We share a bathroom, a fridge and a door. We really can't communicate at all, but I've grown to sort of adore her.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVebBibFAlcQS6kXLLbmeOWSVDRTLEaeFK5YqWK2R5sDGn8dLmcIzQwodkeA9DtelZsTOPvQrI9jVCG9rdAwbD5Uhosw96phRhQxxep13GKVGq1NKWjfbWDCpxEWButot131-Y8xk1kUW/s1600/Rosetta.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVebBibFAlcQS6kXLLbmeOWSVDRTLEaeFK5YqWK2R5sDGn8dLmcIzQwodkeA9DtelZsTOPvQrI9jVCG9rdAwbD5Uhosw96phRhQxxep13GKVGq1NKWjfbWDCpxEWButot131-Y8xk1kUW/s400/Rosetta.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492676286175629378" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rosa is from Palermo, Italy. She's in Moscow for four months learning Russian. She has two daughters in their 30s, and her husband either died or divorced her -- I'm not sure which -- 20 years ago. Like I said, we can't really communicate. Rosa speaks an unintelligible mix of Russian, Italian, English and Crazy. She gesticulates wildly in a quintessentially Italian fashion and is passionate about, well, I'm not sure what she's saying, but about everything, it seems. She has a portable CD player, and I can often hear her in the next room either repeating Russian words or singing along as she putters about her room.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">One day not long after I arrived, I answered a knock on our door, and there was a young, ripped Egyptian guy standing there. "Is Rosa here?" She wasn't. "Tell her I stopped by to say hello?" Um, sure. "Rosa is such a cool lady." Really? Huh. I mean, I don't really know her. Sometimes she invites me into her room to drink juice and "talk," which basically consists of me speaking Russian and her not understanding, her speaking Italian or her special mix of languages and me not understanding, and a few times we've actually used two dictionaries to translate words from Italian to Russian and then Russian to English. Usually they're words like "birch." I mean, I had already guessed "tree," but apparently she really wanted me to understand that she was talking about a birch tree. So you can see why conversation might take a while.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After the Egyptian guy stopped by, I started paying more attention to Rosa -- not just her quirks, but her essence, you could say. And I have to agree that she's such a cool lady. I love that she gets really big eyes, smiles, nods 50 times and says "ciao" when she sees me. I love that she sings along with her CD player everywhere she goes, that she talks to the TV in the cafeteria while she's watching auto racing, that she sketches the pigeons that land on her windowsill and shows me the drawings multiple times. I hope that when I'm Rosa's age, I'm still as passionate, as adventurous, as excited to travel the world, to try to learn new things and to connect with people as Rosa is. She's kind of awesome.</span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-672542034706612599.post-75600204396644033442010-07-11T11:50:00.011-04:002010-07-11T18:01:07.201-04:00So You Think You Can Dance ... Moscow?I took a stroll down Arbat Street this weekend and discovered why the SYTYCD franchise has yet to branch out into Russia ...<br /><div><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzMpSgP_3jjfZvXoHUWWU65Zh8KQOmaCpmzrC90vyZ70gQgttY12wbROHnm-n8fkeg9pbNIbh2NRaXSSxynVg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwLwfJWj7trMyCQUpufIBwf5t1M7N4t30vUFH5A1aOVl8t3zMeezK4Ey1yLCJGmKvGyvYoDHpvV08bPOeullQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>(Highlight is at about 2:00 when one pretends to shoot the other, who is then miraculously resuscitated)</div><div>And yes, you heard right, they did mention Michael Jackson's name ... more than once. And yes, the music piping out of their tiny little speakers is directly from Super Mario Brothers.</div><div><div><br />You gotta give it to these guys for getting out there, though. Living the dream. I respect that.</div></div><div>Also, I feel kind of like the tall guy when I dance. Sort of all over the place.</div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450066578089008564noreply@blogger.com2