The Way It Is

Since living in Ukraine I have come to realize just how sheltered most Americans are. Being sheltered is not a bad thing in most cases, it's just the way life is in America. There are times, of course, when the 'lid' needs to be removed so the reality can be seen and dealt with. Or another way of saying it might be - there are times when the scab needs to be picked off the wound so it can be cleaned out and healing take place. But, because we Americans tend to hide the negative and only show the positive, life is usually much more pleasant from the outward appearance. And, as I said before - this is not necessarily a bad thing.

Life here in Ukraine is a whole 'nother ball of wax, a whole 'nother cup of tea, a whole 'nother thing. (what IS that phrase I am searching for???)

Last night Mel and I went for a walk much later than usual. Usually I take my walks in the mid-afternoon, but for reasons I won't go into here, I left the house sometime after 4:30 yesterday instead. As it was already getting dark (eek! fall is here, winter on the way quickly), Mel came with me. I'm so very glad he did.

We took a slightly different route than usual, walking down some side streets and 'back alleys' to get to the main road. This was not bad at all - very quiet, just a few people out, a section of our neighborhood I've never walked in the whole 11 years we've lived here! Very nice and I'll walk there again. It was perfectly safe for the most part at that time, safer still in mid-afternoon - just not located on the main roads.

However, when we got the first major road and started to cross it, we looked up the road to check on traffic. There, on the other side of the road, under one of the huge elevated heat pipes, in a pile of beautiful yellow leaves, lay a man all sprawled out on the ground. A woman and her little girl were walking past him on their way to the corner. The woman stopped, left the little girl on the sidewalk, walked over to the man, said something to him, he moved a bit and she went back to the little girl and they walked on. He obviously was a drunk, partially passed out there in the dirt and leaves, beside a major road in our neighborhood.

Mel and I ignored him, crossed the street and started down the next 'alley' between buildings.

Around a slight corner we walked, and there were 2 or 3 dumpsters. An unshaved man, dressed in filthy clothing, carrying a filthy cloth bag was digging through the garbage, pulling out beer bottles and putting them in his bag. Toward us walked 2 more unkempt men, each carrying bags in both hands. These two men, however, appeared to be coming home from work - dirty from a hard day's labor, but carrying groceries in their bags rather than bottles to sell.

We walked on to the next major street, passing several buildings that were abandoned, or mostly abandoned. Two were only shells, missing roofs, walls partially dismantled. We know the history of these buildings because a friend lives nearby in another one exactly like them. Her home, too, is falling down around her ears. Two-story apartment buildings which fell down or are falling down are caused by the poor construction of a 5 story building nearby several years ago. The sewer line for the 5 story building was not put in correctly - it leaks underground, washing away huges areas of the ground under the 2-story buildings, causing them to crack, sink and literally fall to pieces. Our friend has no place else to move - this is the flat she was born and raised in, has raised her own family in and will probably live in until she either dies or the building totally collapses around her. The city says there is nothing they can do.

(Thinking of that ground being washed away underground - I have become very nervous walking near ANY manhole covers. In more and more areas around town, the pavement, cement and/or dirt around many manholes is collapsing. The result is deep holes beside manholes. Some are small holes at the top - maybe a piece of pavement the size of a baseball is missing - but how big is the actual hole? Who can tell since the pavement or cement is still holding above it until weight is put on it! Other holes are barrel size already, full of trash, dead tree limbs and whatnot. I give manholes a wide bearth now, unless they are in areas that are obviously well traveled. There is always the chance the sidewalk/road could collapse under me or someone else as we walk over the area. More and more holes are appearing!)

We turned a corner and walked down a major street beside an agricultural institute. Many young people were walking around, chatting on cell phones, talking to each other, laughing, drinking beer as they walked.

We came to the cross street and waited for traffic to allow us to cross. As we waited, two more older guys walked up beside us. Roughly dressed, talking loudly, weaving slightly, liters of beer partially drunk in their hands. We crossed the street together, but Mel steered me at an angle so they ended up ahead of us by the time we reached the other side. I was walking rather slower than usual due to the high humidity and we followed them for several minutes. Finally, however, we caught up with them, sped up and passed them. The one guy almost fell over when we did pass, losing his balance due to surprise at seeing Mel I'd guess :-). The second guy caught him and steadied him and they continued walking behind us.

This particular section of the sidewalk is one of the worst for collapsing sections. I was shocked to really look around and count how many holes there are - in the sidewalk and in the weedy areas between the sidewalk and the street. Anyone could fall in - child, drunk, old person - me! I will be much more vigilant whenever I walk there - often! - in the future.

We turned at the next corner and started up that side street, on our way back home now. More holes, more missing pathway skirted, more students out walking with beer in hand, lovers leaned up against walls, hugging and kissing and touching.

We arrived at the next major intersection, waited until the traffic cleared and started across the street. A marshrutka appeared from down the street and around a slight corner, doing about twice the speed he should have been doing. We were perfectly legal, in a cross walk area (altho the stripes have worn away), but he honked angrily at us anyway. Sheesh. The stop was just a few meters up the road - he had to slam on his breaks to actually stop! Good grief.

This section of my walk, when I walk this particular route, is usually very busy any time of day. Now there were people every where. Flower sellers, people walking home from work, more students hanging around, a pack of dogs fighting over their territory, cars whizzing by. Now I remembered why I don't walk that way very often! Too noisy, too many people, to much confusion - no peace and tranquility.

We walked on up the street, crossed over another major road, walked farther. Just two blocks from home now! We came up to the bus stop just as another drunk guy lost his balance and fell onto the ground as his friend struggled to hold him up but failed. People just moved away from him, ignoring him, turning their backs on him and he curled himself into fetal position and waved his hand angrily at his friend to leave him alone. His friend turned away, walked a couple steps and turned his back on the guy on the street and pretended not to know him, unsteady on his own feet.

Another corner, we crossed the street and walked on. Just a block from home now! A young woman was walking in front of us. 4 inch heels, skin tight black pants, a tight black jacket, bleached blonde hair. She walked unsteadily, too. I thought - "she's not very comfortable in those shoes - every dip in the sidewalk seems to throw her off a bit." She didn't seem to be drunk, really, just unsteady on her feet. We got a bit closer behind her and then - I heard it. We passed an old woman selling sunflower seeds who suddenly looked up and stared at the young woman as she passed - and I knew I was hearing correctly. This poor young woman was sobbing uncontrollably, trying to hide it, but quickly completely losing control.

I pondered what to do. Should we stop her, try to help her, would she understand us or be afraid of us (especially Mel)? Just as we caught up to her - literally started to go around her, her friend met her, coming from the opposite direction. The young woman totally burst into loud wailing and weeping and fell into her friends arms. The friend wrapped her arms around her, held her head on her shoulder and started talking softly to her.

I have never, ever seen anyone cry in public like this before here. It was a very unusual experience. I wonder what happened? What sort of thing would cause a pretty young woman that much distress? Maybe I am glad I do not know. But she has been on my mind off and on since then, and I say a prayer for her.

Oh - the sadness!
It is hard.

We walked on home from there, stopping in at a new store where I bought a tikva (squash shaped like a huge pear, but looks and cooks like pumpkin). And on home we came.

Last evening was unusual, to say the least. Only 1 in 1000 walks are like that, altho seeing one drunk lying on the ground is not all that unusual - 2 on the ground is unusual, and the crying young woman - well, I hope that is a one time only experience!

We live in hard times. It was hard when we got here 11 years ago - but it got better. However, the economic crisis started again and now people are even more in debt, the difference between those who have and those who have not has increased even more. I cannot believe the number of huge houses that have been built around the city - several more new ones in the area where we walked last night. Huge houses next to hovels. The disparity grows. Poor people see the wealth around them, evidenced in the massive private houses (why so big??? most families are not that big! it's only self pride showing in most cases!). When they have nothing else, the poor usually have money for beer, or more usually, vodka.

It all makes my heart weep. It makes me long even more for heaven. It makes me this much more aware of the need for the Gospel of Jesus Christ to be preached, for people to be converted.

Oh, come quickly, Lord Jesus! Call Your people to Yourself - and come quickly!

Autumn Thoughts and Prayer

Autumn is my favorite season. I'm not sure why, exactly. There is something wonderful about the smells and sounds and views of autumn.

At the same time, autumn is a sad season. And I am feeling it today.

I spent several minutes out on the balcony this morning, working on an embroidery project. This is a new project, not the big project I've been working on. I have about 2 dozen projects started, all in various stages of completion. All set aside for one reason or another. Mostly, I just get tired of working on them and go on to something else. That is why I've been trying to finish up a few this year, and to some extent I have succeeded.

As I sat working on this project, I listened to the wind blowing in the trees. Now, being on the 3rd floor puts our balcony right up here in the leaves of the trees. There is some sort of tree right off the edge of the balcony and next year we may have to cut back some branches if they actually reach into the balcony space. Just beyond that tree is a half dead poplar, or topal as it is in Russian (think the guy who played Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof - his name is/was Topal, too). My tutor said something on Wed. that I thought was very appropriate. She said that the trees sound sad this time of year.

Why is that, I wonder? What is the difference in the sound of their leaves rustling and the wind blowing through them that makes a 'sad' sound? I think it has to do with our own human awareness of what that particular sound means.

Ending.
Time is short.
Life is short.

Autumn is my favorite time of year. I have more fall decoration for the flat than any other season. Orange and brown are my least favorite colors, yet I have pumpkins and orange leaves and candle holders, etc. I love autumn - but it makes me sadder every year.

Life is short. Another summer has passed, another autumn is arriving oh, so very quickly.

My joints are hurting. My thumbs are stiff and at times while I embroider, I can barely hold the needle between thumb and finger. I wonder - how many more seasons do I have before I will have to put down needle and thread altogether? The thought makes me want to weep. I have been embroidering all sorts of things for 50 years! My mother taught me the very basics sometime around the age of 5 and I have loved creating with cloth and colored thread ever since. But now - now in the autumn of my own life, I see an end in view. And it saddens me terribly.

Yesterday while cooking a delicious pumpkin soup, I reached up toward the top of my hanging baskets to get a cube of bullion. Mel had put them up there because he often drinks a cup of bullion whenever he is hungry but cannot afford carbohydrates or fat in his diet. He can easily reach them up there. I used to be able to reach them without problem. Yesterday I reached up and within seconds I was almost on my knees on the floor in agony. My right shoulder felt like it was full of sharp knives and needles, sawing away at the bone. I'm not sure if I have a torn rotor cuff, arthritis or something else going on. All I am sure of is - I can no longer reach things that far above my head, including the top shelf of the cupboards.

A part of me is terrified. I do not want to be an invalid. I do not want to have to call Mel every time I need something from one of those shelves. I do not want to wake up every time I turn over in bed and raise my hand up over my head (I had not realized how often I sleep with my hand above my head - until now).

I know that I am in the autumn of my life, just beginning that season, really. I love autumn in nature and I have always wanted to grow old with dignity and honor. The reality is painful, though, and in many ways it frightens me. This is personally uncharted territory. I've watched my mother go through the autumn of her life, just before me a few years, and I have seen the physical pain and the changes that have happened to her. She is only 17 years older than me so it is all very fresh in my mind.

Oh, I do not want to go back to the younger years when I was having children and raising a young family. I have gone through those years, suffered through the trials and tribulations of those years, rejoice and laughed and enjoyed the wonderful parts of those years. No, I do not want to go back to the summer or even the spring of my life.

But I take these next steps into the autumn of my life with more than a little trepidation.

The breezes blow through the trees outside my balcony, my mind wanders down familiar paths, my hands carefully work the thread and cloth and I pray. Father God in heaven, I long for heaven. I long to see your face. I long to be in your presence forever! I long for a body that is not too fat, is not full of arthritis, that is not temporary. I long to spend eternity with you, in your "physical" presence, no doubts, no yearnings, no fears. Help me through these autumn years. Help me to glorify you here on earth with the time I have left. I know that these are really just the birth pangs to my true life, and birth is often difficult. Give me courage. Give me peace. Give me strength to endure what is to come. Help me trust you fully, Father, and never to forget that you love me.

November's Thanksgiving - The Trash Lady

I’m not sure exactly what to call this woman, so The Trash Lady will have to do for now. Every day our two (yes, we still have two!) dumpsters are piled high with trash, often overflowing onto the ground. Almost every day now the garbage truck comes. With mechanical “arms and hands,” the truck grabs hold of each dumpster, one at a time, lifts it up and dumps most of the garbage into the top of the truck. Most of the garbage – the rest gets strewn all over the ground and in the roadway. The main reason this happens is because the garbage is piled so high in the dumpster that as the arms lift it up and turn the dumpster toward the truck, a great deal of the pile immediately falls off – before it is positioned over the hole in the top of the truck.

Well, that is life here in Kherson. At least we have two dumpsters now and at least we have a garbage truck that comes almost every day. These alone are things to be thankful for and rejoice over. But this thanks is for The Trash Lady.

Early in the morning a middle-aged woman arrives, broom in hand. Her broom is made of small sticks and broken branches tied to the end of a long pole. In the summer she is dressed in a dress with a lightweight housecoat covering it, wearing socks and thick soled flip-flops or slippers. In the fall she wears a heavier housecoat (I’m not sure what else to call it – these were very popular for housewives when I was a little girl in the late ‘50’s and early ‘60’s), heavy wool stockings and heavier slippers. Yes, slippers. These are not typical clogs, etc., but house slippers that you give your guests when they arrive and take off their shoes. This is what she works in all day. (In the winter she will wear boots.)

Trash Lady spends a couple hours sweeping everything. She sweeps under all of the trees, around the bushes, all of the sidewalk, the street, the dirt areas between the street and the walkway near the building – everything. She piles it up into small piles here and there, then grabs her “dust pan” and scoops it up in a swift and practiced motion using both her foot and the broom. Then she carries it to the dumpster and deposits it there (I like her dustpan, it has a handle about two feet long so she does not have to bend over all the way). As the dumpster fills, she takes a heavy stick and pounds the garbage into the dumpster, breaking glass jars, smashing boxes and crushing plastic bottles. Sometimes she will spend ten minutes on each dumpster, pounding and smashing, compacting it more firmly. Trash Lady will take large candy boxes or a thrown out toilet seat, or maybe some Styrofoam or other large piece of trash and push it in around the edge to make the dumpster taller on the side that tilts toward the ground when the truck picks it up. I’ve watched her from the window and from the balcony and she really does have all of this down to a science, using as few movements as possible to do the most work.

Autumn is here now and leaves are everywhere. Her job has become harder. Each morning she arrives and sweeps everything up into piles. Now, however, she must separate the real trash from the leaves. I am amazed at how people just throw stuff on the ground (we were told once – this way the street cleaners will have something to do. Sigh). Trash Lady piles up huge pile of leaves after huge pile of leaves. Several days in a row, the piles grow bigger and bigger. Soon a tractor pulling an open wagon will arrive and (usually) two men will shovel all of the leaves into the wagon while a third man stomps them down by foot so more can be piled in. Sometimes Trash Lady is part of the group. Then she has a big woven plastic ground cloth that she lays on the ground beside the pile, sweeps the leaves onto it, folds the corners together and then lugs it to the wagon. The men help her lift it up and the man inside the wagon empties it. Sometimes it’s a big canvas bag, but often it is the plastic ground cloth that is used.

After the garbage truck comes and goes, there is always garbage scattered everywhere. Most days Trash Lady returns and begins her work all over. This time, however, she only picks up what the truck has scattered, replacing it in the dumpster.

Trash Lady has a mostly thankless job. She works in harsh conditions – hot and humid summer days, cold and humid winter days. Sometimes she argues with the neighbors, sometimes she laughs with them. Sometimes she chases the same dogs and cats out of the dumpsters over and over again (they are hungry street animals). I admire this woman. She is probably paid pennies each day, and maybe she is not paid at all some times. Yet, she continues her job, working harder than most American women work. If she did not do this job, our street in front of our flat and three floors down would soon look like a dump. How do I know this? I know this because Trash Lady was not always here. She has been working our area for only a couple years. I well remember what it looked like before.

I am very thankful for Trash Lady. She makes living here a lot more pleasant than it would be otherwise!

Four Photos

Beautiful kashtan leaves (horse chestnuts)
Looking up through a kashtan tree
One of the sadder parts of life here - this is what the garbage area looks like after the garbage truck has come and gone. This woman and three dogs were poking through what was left on the ground, searching for food or things to recover and sell.
Our livingroom lamp: An interesting phenomena - four lamp covers exactly the same, four flourescent bulbs, four different colors produced by the light.

Friday

A lot of things have been happening here, but most I am not free to write about. My heart is still heavy, but in all honesty, with the happenings of the past few days I actually feel like a mountain has been lifted from my shoulders. I am reminded again that God is sovereign and He is holy. He will not tolerate sin in His people, in the ones He has chosen. Therefore, sooner or later, all will be made known by His light shining into dark places and revealing all.

Fall is here. All of the leaves on the trees outside the office window are still green and lush looking. Yet, the ground is covered in dead leaves. I think most of them have fallen from the tall poplar trees which never seem to turn yellow, just become bare-branched over a period of time in the fall. The kashtan trees (horse chestnut) have beautiful leaves right now – green centers surrounded by a thin line of gold and then edges in a beautiful rich burnt sienna. Every other tree is still green. I read somewhere that a poet once wrote about the soft colors of autumn in Europe and how beautiful they are as opposed to the brilliant colors of autumn in North America. Confession time: I much prefer fall to look like fall, not a slow dying time. I love a grand finale to the year! Bright yellow aspens, deep red and orange scrub oak, paler yellow willows and scarlet maples. I miss fall colors.

The air is crisp and cool now and I love it! I was sick earlier this week with a nasty cold virus that has been going around. I could sing bass really well but could barely squeak out normal words. Two days ago I took the trash out to the dumpsters (yes – plural! We still have two!) and met my neighbor, Nina, on the stairs. When I said hello, she heard my recovering voice and proceeded to chew me out royally for going outside without a hat and heavy coat. It was almost 70 degrees at that point and I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt. I laughed and said, “No! If I put on a coat and then walk to the Post Office, I’ll get all wet (sweaty) and then I will get cold.” She was not convinced. I have to admit, at that point I was not in any mood for a babushka to tell me to put on more clothes or a heavy coat. This is my kind of weather now – cool, crisp, clean air. I thrive in these temperatures, ranging from 30’s to high 50’s. To put on a coat now … aaarrgh! I’m finally comfortable and not dying of the heat!!! Puleese – do NOT tell me to put on a coat and hat! I can’t even wear a hat during the winter, unless it’s well below zero. As I have been told – I’m a natural hot head. {smile}

A few weeks ago we had a cool rainy day and I was reminded once again that I am in Ukraine. Why, you may ask? Well, it’s the smell. When we first came to Ukraine to live here, we spent two months in Odessa, and that is where I first smelled it. Mel and I walked all over the city. It was November and already cold with some snow, but mostly light rain or mist. There is a certain lack of sunshine all day, every day, due to thick white-pale gray clouds. The air is humid, but cold – not something I was used to having grown up in Colorado, or from living in Alaska and Colorado as an adult. The smell of humidity, moldering leaves and diesel exhaust – Ukraine has a specific smell, unique in my experience to this country. Smelling it again a few weeks ago after the hot, hot summer, I realized that I actually like that smell. My nose tells me (sniff, sniff), “Hey! You are really back in Ukraine! Not some other city in the States or Western Europe. This is the smell of Ukraine!!” I smelled it again while bringing clothes in off the line on the balcony the other night. Ah – the smell of Ukraine. I don’t think it would do too well bottled up and sold in the store as an air freshener…but for every day life here outside, it’s not too bad (as long as the diesel and other pollution isn’t overwhelming).

There are two other smells that I love more. The smell of the air at 11,000 feet on the side of a mountain in the summer. Cold, crisp, clean, refreshing, full of pine and spruce scent, warm grasses and hot decomposing granite. Ahhhhh – just thinking about it makes me want to sit on a sheltered boulder and soak in some very intense sunlight. The other is the smell of rain on hot prairie sand and grass. There is no smell like it in the world. Ahhhhh – just thinking of that makes me want to search the skies for thunderheads, lightening flashes and hail. It also reminds me of my childhood and spending time on my grandparents ranch during the summers. Warm fuzzy feelings. Hear a happy sigh.

So, my day has been an interesting day, spent talking with a dear brother and my husband. The evening will end spent talking with my dear “Ukrainian daughter,” sharing a meal, maybe a movie, and spending some time praying together before she leaves. Hard things are happening to us and to the church, but all in all this has been a good day. A day filled with pain, fellowship, hope in our Lord and Savior, and the knowledge that nothing is too hard for Him. He gives us the seasons, fall follows summer and soon winter will arrive. He has promised us this. The sun shines on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. God will preserve His own.