Yesterday and Today - Life in our Flat

A lot of the people I know are sick right now. Mostly headcolds. Some have turned into sinus infections. Mel and I are just coming down with the colds again.

We were supposed to have guests for dinner tonight. I called Ira to let her know they could still come over, but be aware that we are not 100%. She said her husband was supposed to have called us and told us that they are not coming over because their little guy didn't sleep last night - due to a headcold. He called just as I was saying goodbye to her on my cell phone.

It's weird. I can't remember being sick once with a headcold while we were at home. I'm sure I must have had at least one, but I don't remember it. Here - I'm on my third one since we got back. Last time I ended up missing church and spent almost 2 days in bed, sleeping. I always know when sleep like that is truly needed - more than 6 hours in bed on a healthy night and I wake up with a backache. If I'm sick and spend 12 hours in bed, my back very seldom even gives me a twinge. It's like the back says, ok, you are miserable enough already - I'll give you a break this morning/afternoon. Such a nice thing to do - wish it would do it all the time!

I had a feeling I was getting sick again last night. I could not get warm. Granted, it was only 67 or 68 degrees in here, but if I'm healthy, that is a comfortable temperature for me. If I'm getting sick, then I can't get warm at all. Last night my hands and nose were icy. Mel asked me why I was so cold to the touch. What can I say? :-) "I think I'm getting sick - cold, but otherwise feel pretty good, just icy hands and nose. I'm not making a romantic statement!"

We've had cold weather, down into the teens every night for the past several days. But oh the days! Sunshine like I don't remember having before during the winter! Beautiful, wonderful, life renewing SUNSHINE! I love sunshine. I love it. Love it. Love! It!

Yesterday the landlord came over for the rent. Six months worth. How is everything going in the flat, he asked. Fine, we replied. Great, he said. (or words to that effect. The wonderful thing is, I understood almost every single word he said, except for when he was mumbling. He mumbles a lot. Even our translators have had a hard time understanding him. We don't use a translator now when they come over, unless they forewarn us that they are going to raise the rent or something. They do forewarn us - I think that's nice, actually. Well, actually, it's because they want us to have the money on hand and not have to come back into the city to pick up the extra later. But I choose to look on the brighter, nicer side. :-)

Well, Ivan was here (pronounce that Evonne - it is not Eye-vun - the I sounds like the long E and Evonne has become a very masculine name to me now, kind of like Denise, which is how you say Dennis, but I am going off on a bunny trail again). Well, Ivan was here and we said everything is going great and 3 hours later, the toilet broke. Not a simple break where Mel goes and replaces the plunger thingy in the water tank because it's carroded.
No, this time it's the whole plunger thing unit, not just the thing you pull up. The screw down at the bottom has turned into a tack and the whole unit wants to come out when you pull on the thing you pull up to flush the toilet. Yep - the water has disolved the metal screw into a metal tack. Sigh. (No wonder my formerly very nice teeth now have lots of fillings - our water does this kind of thing. It is also why none of the laundry white items are white any more - they are all a dull gray.)
The water wouldn't stop running out of the tank because we couldn't seal it with the plunger thing. I knew that if that happened for very long we would soon have "the keeper of the stairwell" at our door, asking why or telling us that the water was running in our flat somewhere and we needed to fix it. Tatiana is a very nice elderly woman, in her 80's, with bright red hair, few wrinkles and is as slim as can be. Her face is rather gaunt and she walks for miles - or she did two years ago. She's slowing down and needing a cane more now. But she talks and talks to me - in the stairwell, on the street, two blocks away when we meet out walking. I know a lot about her - why? because she speaks beautiful Russian and not this mix of Ukrainian and Russian that so many people here speak. Tatiana helps me realize that my lack of understanding is not all my fault - I understand, and can speak, a whole lot more Russian than I think. It's the Ukrainian/Russian surzhek that kills me. Sigh. But again, I digress.

Tatiana is the "keeper of the stairwell" and she makes sure the gas bills get paid so that all the flats in the stairwell have heat, and she makes sure the water pipes are replaced when they start leaking, whether in our flat or in the basement, or wherever. I like her. Have asked her to the women's Bible study - but she told me she knew Lydia and they had worked together a life time ago and they had their differences and she really didn't want to come to the Bible study. And I thought - is she going to use that as an excuse when she stands before God at the judgement seat? Will she say to Christ - I didn't like Lydia? Oh my!!! (I like Lydia, no, I love Lydia and I miss her a lot since she moved to St. Petersburg 3 or 4 years ago. I like Tatiana, too. So sad they don't like each other. But oh my, what a small world it is!!)

I keep forgetting to write about the toilet - my mind is wandering all over the place today. Sigh. Not a sad sigh, just a sigh of recognition.

Mel tried to turn off the water at the valve where it comes out of the water pipe, which is so convieniently located right there on the wall, but when he turned the little red valve thingy, it came apart in his hand, in two pieces. The water continues to run. Now, we could have turned off the water to the kitchen with no problem at all. There is a different valve for that. But this one, the main valve that must be turned off to turn off the toilet water AND the kitchen, it's handle is in Mel's hand. Right where it belongs, right? haha.
So, Mel calls Ivan and tells him that the toilet is broken and Ivan tells him he can't come back because he lives across the river in a village and basically he just got home and he'll come tomorrow, which is today.

Well, I'm worried about Tatiana, and 'Galena Downstairs' complaining and yelling at us because the water is running continually in her sewer pipe which runs right down the wall behind the toilet. So I said, isn't there someway we can put something heavy on that plunger/seal thing to hold it down so it will seal. And Mel said, no, there wasn't room. And I said, what about something like a kitchen tile or a rock, maybe we could find one outside somewhere when we go to the store in a couple minutes. And he said, no, it's too narrow of a space. So I went looking around the flat for something heavy that would work. (I'm very concerned about Galena yelling at me like she does to people walking down the street sometimes, you see.) And I found this stick that used to be part of a shoe holder but was so weak and flimsy that it fell to pieces. And I said, what about this stick? It fits between the tank wall and the plunger holder thing. Maybe if we put a pan of water on it? That would be plenty heavy! Tried the pan (without water, first) - didn't fit. I go searching around the flat for something heavy that won't fall and spill water all over or damage someone sitting on the toilet. :-) Mel watches me a minute and I think he decides he'd better do something before I build a Monument to Broken Toilets in the toilet room. He, smart man that he is, goes and gets his vicegrips.

Voila! It actually worked! He pushed the stick down as hard as he could, till water stopped flowing into the toilet bowl, and then tightened the vicegrips as tight as he could without cracking the tank and really causing a huge mess.

So, Ivan came this morning, checked the whole thing out and said he'd come back on Monday and fix it. I was hoping we'd get a new toilet...this one is a Soviet toilet, stained and chipped and all over kind of beat up and crappy looking :-) (pun intended) and I've written about it before. An Essay on one of the Essentials of Life, and The Changing of the Roll are two places I've written about it. And I just had to laugh to myself, inbetween sneezes and blowing my nose over and over again this morning. Today is Thursday. He'll come back and fix the toilet on MONDAY because he can't come between now and then. Hopefully, those vicegrips will continue to do the job.

I'm just glad we can still use it!

Cats Do NOT Like Change - Part 2

(Read part one below first)

We all walked into the store. It is a huge warehouse store, kind of like a Home Depot in the States. I have no idea what the name of the store was. Vitaly and Leonid had been there before and had chosen a tile pattern and color for the floor. We were there to approve or disapprove of it, but actually I think we were along simply to say, "How wonderful!"

Vitaly and Leonid took off at a fast pace through the tile section, while we 3 followed much more slowly. I'm talking about tiles that go on floors. There were also tiles for walls, kitchen tiles, bathroom tiles, tiles that were beautiful, tiles that were strange, tiles that looked like glass, tiles that looked like the desert Southwest or possibly Italy, tiles that I wouldn't use if they were given to me with a hundred dollar bill attached to each one (after all, who really wants an orange like the peel of an orange orange wall? Now really??? Yuck.) There were many that were absolutely beautiful, but way too expensive. There were tiles for outside use that had big blue snowflake stickers in the corner, tiles for inside with hand print stickers in the corner, and tiles for inside with a footprint sticker in the corner. There were slick tiles and there were rough tiles. Most of the tiles would have been a bear to keep clean - either to light, too dark, too shiny or too rough where dirt would get stuck. There were tiles with pictures on them - roses, lilies, cornucopias, Ukrainian village scenes, fishies. There were tiles up the wazoo.

Why do I belabor this point? Because a mere 15 years ago none of these tiles were available here. You had a choice of: this kind in these 3 choices of color or white (pink, blue, green - maybe there was also a yellow but I've never seen it), or this smaller sized tile in packs of different colors of brown. The first was for the wall, the second for the floor. A lot of older flats have these tiles on the walls in kitchens and bathrooms and I've been able to determine just a bit as to when the room was last remodeled by the style of tiles used. The more design in the tile, the newer it probably is, until you get to the bigger tiles that are now available. too much info to go into now. Here are the tiles in our bathroom (oh! there was also gray! I forgot about the lovely gray - which actually isn't too bad): walls in toilet room and floor (yes, that is how wide that room is - put your hands on your hips and you'll bang both elbows on the walls ) and shower room view of wall between it and toilet room (the towel and washcloth are hanging on the radiator for that room, it only works in the winter when they've turned on the heat finally) And here are the tiles in our kitchen: I just white-washed the walls last night - oh my! How yellow those white tiles look now!! My guess is that our flat was remodeled more than 15 years ago - or that these may be the original tiles even. Our landlord has taken good care of the flat over the years and is "picky" about how things were done in the past. He doesn't really care about what we do because he plans to do a total makeover whenever we leave anyway, EuroStyle it's called. We can't afford to do that. But once again I am way off subject, so let's go back to the Ukrainian Home Depot-ish store.....

Sergei, Olya and I walked up and down 2 or 3 aisles and then around several pull-out display sections, looking at tiles and talking about what we did or did not like. I soon realized that our likes and dislikes were very different from each other. Uh oh. Well, this is their choice, really - that is why there were no Americans on the committee, after all.

When I realized that Olya was seriously thinking of floor tiles in the sanctuary that were dark cream color, non-slip with crevasses that would catch and hold dirty mop water forever and look very, very ugly within just a few months, I said: "Whoa! We need to stop a minute and remember what the goal is here!"

I then reminded them that this is going to be a public building and that the streets around the church are not paved, that people are going to end up tracking dirt and mud in (especially kids will and the kid population in the church is growing). I reminded them that everything in the church needs to be pointing toward a specific goal. What is our goal? To draw attention up and forward, toward the pastor and the pulpit (or whatever they end up with). That the church needs to be light - yes, the walls will be painted a light color (too dark for my tastes, but what I suggested was too light for their tastes) and that the floor should be darker. Disagreement on 4 faces. I was asked what I liked and I pointed to a tile that was medium dark and basically a single color, altho in my heart of hearts I really, truly would have preferred the Southwest looking one).

TOO DARK!!! Vitaly was horrified. Leonid was horrified. Sergei and Olya were not happy. I could tell these things. Again, I reminded them of the purpose of the building and our goal. Well, apparently Vitaly and Leonid had already chosen what they wanted and it was either very colorful (Sergei's take on what they said) or very, very light (like white??) (Olya's take on what they said). I just knew that neither of them were happy with me.

I needed backup at this point. I thought to myself, "I could really push this and be an ugly American at this point and say things I would really regret. Or I could let them make a several hundred dollar major mistake they would have to live with for several years and be very unhappy with eventually. Or - I can pull out the big guns!" I pulled out the big guns - my cell phone! And dialed Julia's number.

She didn't answer right away and I was getting scared (ok, not scared, just very disappointed) when finally she answered. I gave her the basics of where we were and why and then handed the phone to Olya so she could explain the problem. After all was said and done I asked Olya what Julia said. The answer: the darker the better so it doesn't show dirt. :) I laughed to myself and smiled a little smile.

Why did I call Julia? Well, Julia is Russian by birth and speaks Russian fluently and she and Jamie just built a house here and went through this whole process themselves. She spent hours and hours looking at stores and on the internet, comparing prices and getting ideas, etc. She is in Kiev right now and won't be back until Wed. and with a brand new baby in the house, she probably wouldn't have come to Nikolaev anyway (actually, it was really nice for me that they asked me - I really enjoyed it, no matter what you read here! {grin} But I needed back-up at that point).

Well, no one was happy. The tiles need to be laid soon, which means they needed to be bought sooner - like now. Since no one was pleased - we went to look at toilets.

Hmm. To my way of thinking, a toilet is a toilet. I didn't know there were 500 choices to make about a toilet. Well, that's not quite true, after all, I've written about the different toilets I've encountered here in Ukraine before. I just never faced several dozens of choices face to face before. With two young Ukrainians and two older Ukrainian men and one of the young ones being very opinionated about what is and is not a good toilet, while the two men had planned to just put squat pots in each of the toilet rooms (!!!!!!Yikes!). So, we spent as much or maybe even more time deciding about the toilets. Leonid and Vitaly left to go look at something else. Olya chose two toilets to choose from. I said, "Wait a minute! This one is shorter than the other!" "No it's not, they are the same size." "Measure them!" Sergei finally used his arm and measured and sure enough, the one was about an inch shorter than the other.

Now why is that important? I'll tell you why! I've sat on shorter toilets here before my knee surgery. There were a couple times I was afraid I was going to have to call Mel to come help me stand back up. There are kid sized toilets here, too, but these are "adult" toilets that are just shorter fro some very strange reason. They are also cheaper.

So, a discussion began again. What is the goal in buying these toilets? First - remember it is a public building, that children and old people will be using them, that men and women will be using them, that well people and people with health problems will be using them. They are not going into a private house. Therefore, paying less money for a flimsy plastic seat that will break soon is probably not a good idea when you can pay more now for a seat that will last much longer. And many more suggestions. So, Olya and I added our toilet requirements and we all decided that we were not going to buy a toilet at that point.

Leonid and Vitaly were ready to go home at that point, both of them not happy. Sergei and Olya were not happy. I was walking a razor thin line, afraid I was going to fall off and cause a church split before the church was even built.

Needless to say, the ride home was - more of the same as the ride over, only more so if you can imagine.

That was Friday. Monday afternoon Olya called me. She and Natasha K. (who is also on the committee but couldn't go on Friday) were at our new local Home Depot-ish store looking at tiles and toilets there. They had been to 3 places (maybe more) and had narrowed down their choices to 3. They wanted me to come over and give my opinion.

Uh-oh. First, I was just getting ready to white-wash our kitchen, so I had to put some stuff away and change clothes. Second, what was I getting myself into? Third, I wanted Mel to come with me (he was not happy about it at all but did come). Fourth, we had to be to the maternity hospital in two hours. and Fifth - we had to pay for 3 taxi's to get it all done in those 2 hours.

We got there and while Mel was checking my bag that had the things for our trip to the maternity hospital in it (you have to check all bags at a counter in front or lock them away in little cupboards at all stores here), I went on in and found the two girls. It was funny. They were looking at light shades and I walked up and stood behind them. So in-grained in the Ukrainian psyche is closeness that even though I was practically breathing down their necks, they did not turn around and look at me. They said a couple things to each other, then turned and walked off toward the live plants. I followed on their heels. Finally after about 4 minutes, I cleared my throat and Olya turned and saw me. She jumped. :) ha ha! She told me she knew someone was there but just thought it was another customer so she didn't turn around.

We went to look at two of the choices they had found (the 3rd was at another store). I was very pleasantly surprised to find that they had chosen a very Southwestern looking tile and some decorative tiles to put between them to divide the entrance from the sanctuary. I was very pleased (I did not say anything at all about my preference for that style the first day, just mentioned in passing that I liked it). Olya did not remember that at all. I also was thinking something when she said exactly what was on my mind: the main tiles came in two complimentary colors. I was thinking that the entrance could be the slightly darker more orangeish tint, while the sanctuary would be pretty with the complimentary slightly lighter and more brownish/tannish ones, with the decorative tile inbetween. She suggested it and I whole-heartedly agreed. Whew!

We went over to look at the 3rd choice, which had green in it. I liked it, too, but not nearly as much. Plus those tiles were a few centimeters smaller, so more would have had to been bought and laid down.

They had also chosen two styles of toilets again. We went over there to see and again one was shorter than the other. Olya didn't agree - she said she even asked the salesman and he said they were exactly the same. So I borrowed her purse and held it up against each toilet, measuring the height on her purse strap. One was about an inch shorter than the other. She argued that they were the same - the salesman said so. I just showed her again. :) What can I say - they were obviously two different heights!

So today is another day. Sergei was over earlier and he told us that yesterday after Mel and I came home, Vitaly met them all over at the store and they bought and/or ordered the tiles and toilets. Vitaly still thinks it's all way too dark. I like them a lot. Sergei told us that Olya went through every box of tile, tile by tile and pulled out any that were cracked or broken or chipped. He said Vitaly's attitude changed a bit when he saw that they really were caring about the quality of what was being bought, not just being difficult to get along with.

Now we'll see what happens and how it looks when they are all laid and installed.

Our landlord came over today for the next 6 months of rent. Sergei translated for us because we had 3 things we needed to talk to them about. One was the couch in the livingroom - it's falling apart and we never ever sit on it - can they take it away? We ended up with Sergei, Ivan and Mel hauling down to the neighbor below us.

After it was gone and I'd cleaned up the dust and things that had been hiding back of if, Cheyenne went nuts.

She started running through the house, tail all puffed up, eyes black, full speed ahead. I went into the other room and she hid and attacked me when I came out. No claws, just playing like a wild tiger. She meowed really loud, ran over and jumped on her scratching post/perch and got angry that the phone is now on it, too. She jumped here and there, meowed a few more times, tore through the flat again.

Obviously she is not happy that we didn't ask her first if we could get rid of "her" couch!

Cats don't like change. No, they really don't. But they get used to it, eventually.

Neither do people most of the time. And boy did I see that in action over the past few days. But with a lot of prayer, hopefully we'll all get used to it and get along with each other!

Major Remont

I love that word: remont. It's Russian for 'remodel' or 'reconstruction' or 'fix up your flat' or 'get rid of the cracks in the facade and paint the building again.' And lots of other things, as well. I've heard it used in a variety of ways. I use the word all the time, mostly because it's so easy to say. Reee-mont.

A few weeks ago I wrote that the neighbor across the landing from our flat died. Well, whoever owns the flat is now doing major remont to it. It started yesterday morning at 9:00 and went on all day long.

BANG! SLAM! CLANG! BANGBANGBANGBANG! rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Way into late evening.

I noticed sometime during the day that another toilet had flushed it's last flush and was sitting all dejected out by the dumpster.

Mel left and a few minutes later he called me on his mobile phone to tell me that it wasn't just one floor in our podyezd doing remont, but at least two floors. Remont in the toilet room at least, and maybe in the bathroom as well. We aren't sure.

They are at it again this morning.

(read the loud words in bold print a few sentences above for sound effects.)

But this time when I look out the window, this is what I see! Three floors are getting their toilet rooms remonted (I even past tense the Russian verb in English). As is my want (is that how that phrase is said?), something immediately came to mind:
"Down by the station, early in the morning, see the little puffer bellies, all in a row." Now that song is stuck in my head. The song has absolutely nothing to do with toilets sitting out beside the dumpsters, but it does at least connect in that they are sitting out there early in the morning all in a row.

Sometimes I wonder about me.
And then I laugh and say to myself, at least I am interesting to myself and don't bore myself to tears!
ha ha

As I was busy taking photos from the kitchen window, which has a better view than the balcony but needs to be washed and makes the photos a bit blurry, this guy came by and I just had to take his photo. I think it's just inevitable - there is a toilet, he's a boy (ok, an older boy, granted), he must put something in it. :)
And last, but not least, a little flock of sparrows sat on our balcony cage and grapevine and watched him. Here is one little guy, just before he flew away.

Bits n Pieces

We got home yesterday morning around 10:30 am. Not sure exactly. I usually check the time and for some reason I never even thought of it yesterday. Maybe because I was just so glad to get home this time.

The train was like an oven. We have had very few trips where it was that hot, thank God. We think it's because there were a group of kids on the train and the providnitsa kept it hot for them. The kids were a group of musicians who had been in Kiev and were coming home. The tuba we saw was really banged up and not in a case, just carried around by a boy like a piece of luggage.

It was interesting listening to the kids when they got on the train. Mel and I boarded very soon after the train arrived at the station. The kids came on about 10 minutes later. Kids are kids all over the world. "I want the top bunk! Last time Paulina had the top!" Lots of wrestling and playing around, hooting and hollering, laughing, pushing, mild arguing about this or that. I understood most of it - told Mel I must now have the vocabulary of an 8 year old rather than a 2 year old. Well, in understanding - speaking I still am not all that great. :( ha ha It was actually fun listening to them. They were in the 3 coupe's to one side of us. Only one time did the male chaperon raise his voice and then he really YELLED: YURI! I wonder what Yuri was doing?? I know they were going home because one of the female chaperons was doing a commentary as we came into the Kherson station: "There are the babushkas! There is your father! I see your mother." and so on and so forth.
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It was so hot on the train that I ended up with a heat induced headache in the middle of the night. I was drinking water off and on all night and only had to get up twice in the night. My pillow was actually damp at one point. Usually I sleep with my head toward the door because that is how I am most comfortable but this time I ended up changing back and forth several times. Mel put a blanket over the heat register to try and block some of the hot air and that helped. I stuffed an extra pillow down between my bunk and the wall and that also helped. Enough cold air was coming off the window (not through it but just off the cold glass) that it helped cool our heads a bit. We left the door about 1/3 open all night to help air circulation. Due to the movement of the train, the door actually shut once and when I woke up I could hardly breath due to the heat. It had to be over 100 degrees in that coupe'. Unbelievable.

I got up to go to the toilet room just before we came into a station. The door was still unlocked and I didn't know we were coming into a station. The providnitsa came and rattled the door handled and then said, "Stansia!". I hollered back that I understood, and she continued to rattle the door handle. My head was pounding and it just made me mad. I know that when the train comes into a station that if you happen to be in the toilet room you are not supposed to flush the toilet - it all goes out on the ground and who wants that right there at the station?? I was not moving fast enough for her and she got really upset.

Now when this situation happened before, the providnik (male) told me through the door, "Don't flush until we leave!" So I didn't. Just stood there in the toilet room for 10 minutes, waiting until we were on the way again. sigh. Not the most pleasant place to stand for 10 minutes. But this woman wanted me OUT of there RIGHT NOW. Grrrrrr. It was the middle of the night and my head hurt and it was her fault in the first place because she was keeping the train wagon so ____ hot when it didn't need to be that way!

I finally opened the door just as the train actually stopped and she started hollering at me. I waved my hand at her (my head was pounding) and said, "I understand!" and walked off. She quickly locked the door and then rushed past me, shoving me (on purpose) against the rail. Vengeance is mine, saith the providnitsa! I just walked back to the coupe' and found some ibuprofen in my bag and took it. I could hear her farther up the wagon, rushing to open the outside door and get the steps down in case anyone needed on our wagon.

The sad thing? I really didn't care at all that she had to rush like that. I had had it with Ukrainian trains that are really traveling ovens with toilets from the 1800's. I laid back down on the hot bunk, closed my eyes and eventually went back to sleep for a few minutes.
~*~*~*~
Oh, it was so good to get home! A nice shower at 11:30 when the water came back on! The water pressure has to be quite low due to the low gas pressure - if the water pressure is too high then the shower is cold. But a strong warm dribble shower is great after a hot ride in a train-oven.

I did two loads of laundry yesterday and they both dried quickly. Tells me that the air is really dry, which is unusual for this time of year. I hung them on a drying rack in the living room right beside the fish pond and the sheets were still dry within 3 hours. Very unusual. I hung the towels in the same place after the sheets dried and they are dry this morning.

I had to add almost 6 liters of water to the fish pond when we got home yesterday morning. The fountain was barely working at all. I also added water to both of the other fish tanks because they needed it, too. Usually this time of year I don't need to water the plants so often, nor add water to the fish tanks (this is my first winter with a fish pond). We've had very little snow and very little rain before that, so it is dry. Too dry.
~*~*~*~
All for now. I need to go finish the last bit of my Sunday School lesson, finish my morning coffee and then get ready to leave for church. I complained about our cold flat, but I admit - I would rather have a 60 degree flat than a 100+ degree coupe'! Oh yes! It feels "just right" in here now.

At Least the Toilet Seat Wasn't Freezing....

So, today was a little touch of reality.

It is cold. Very cold. Not Alaska cold. Not Siberia cold. But it is cold. Down in the teens cold outside, in the low 60's cold inside. Sitting around the house wearing three layers plus an afghan cold. It feels warmer outside than inside cold. I wonder if my fish are going to survive this cold. Cheyenne thinks we are abusing her cold. Shiver me timbers cold - except, I don't think that one quite fits.

Russia and Ukraine continue to argue about gas. At least we still have gas, which is more than Bulgaria can say. We heard that the heating plants shut down completely in Sophia, Bulgaria. Here they have just turned our heat down so low that in public buildings pipes are actually freezing.

Which happened at the place we are currently meeting for church. I, of course, had two cups of coffee this morning, plus drank some water. Church doesn't start until 1:00 now so I thought I was safe. Made sure to do potty stops before we left the flat. Got to church, first thing I see: a sign on the doorjamb that leads to the basement saying the туолет не робетет - or in English - Toilet not working, or Toilet out of order or something along that line.

I knew, right at that very instant, without a shadow of a doubt that I would need a toilet before we got home again.

Sure enough, about half way through the service, sitting there in a heavy sweater over a turtleneck, wearing my heaviest coat and boots and jeans, it hit. Cold. Cold induced bladder overwork. Brrrr - I really need to go right this exact instant help me please!.

Sergei announced before the service started that the toilet was not working and if anyone needed one there was one located next door at the school. So, I understood all of that. I thought I understood which school it was, too. You see, there is a school on each side of the place we are meeting. So, as we stood after the closing prayer and before the singing could start again, I hurried forward and asked Valentina to go with me and help me find the toilet. She is my translator during Sunday School and I wanted to get back before the group of kids arrived for Sunday School. And if I needed to talk to someone about said toilet when we got to the school, I wanted someone who could hurry the process. :) :)

We went outside (she made me snap my coat closed although it felt warmer to me outside than inside). We walked over toward the school on the left, but we couldn't see any way through the fence. So we walked back over toward the school on the right. There was a group of guys out playing soccer in the snow there and she asked them where the front door was and they pointed in "that" direction. We walked around the building. We walked up to the front door. It was locked. She pounded on the door - but no one came to open it.

I was starting to do a little jig by then, but figured we would just have to have a very short Sunday School - or maybe I could find a secluded spot out behind the school somewhere or something......

We went back in to our meeting place. When the service totally ended I asked Sergei where the toilet was at and Valentina explained what we had done and he said, no, it was the wrong school, go to the one on the left.

About that time Jamie left with Timmy and we kind of followed them out the door. And then they went a bit farther than we did and lo and behold there was actually a hole in the fence over there that was the gate and voila! we were in the school yard and walking over across the empty playground toward the school.

But wait! Valentina explained to me that we were not going to the school, we were going to that little building over there at the side. That little building, I asked and she said, no - that one was a garage, no - that one over there inbetween the garage and the school. Oh! Gotcha! THAT one. The one without a door!

And so I was reminded of where I live. I don't live in modern America. I don't live in the wilds of Alaska. I live in Kherson. Where a school has an outdoor toilet without a door. In the middle of a city of 400,000+ people. Yep. For sure.

BUT it was not a little outhouse without a door. No. It was a big outhouse without a door. A 7 or 8 holer outhouse. Without inside partitions. Without toilets. Without water. Just holes in a cement floor on the ground. No heat - unless it's summer time. No electricity, no lights - except for whatever light came in from the doorframe without a door and I think there was actually a very dirty window as well, but I might be wrong about that.

I was very focused, you see, and really didn't waste a lot of time looking around. And to be frank, I've been in much worse toilets here. This one was not too bad. It was not very dirty at all. Just a little unusual in that it could hold so many people at one time, with no partitions between the holes in the floor and no door on the outside door. Community, you know, - living in total community....

The one great thing about these kinds of toilets - at least the toilet seats aren't freezing when you sit down.

ha ha ha (Hysterical laughter) Sit down. ha ha ha No way, Jose! I couldn't help but think of the toilet room - ok, the restroom - at our home church in the States. I remember the last time we were there - winter and it's like someone had turned off all the heat in the restroom for some reason. The toilet seats were, uh, lets just say no one wanted to spend very much time in there. :) ha ha ha

Oh my. I am mentally wiping the laugh tears from my internal eyes. It is halarious to me. But maybe you have to be here?

The only thing - and I mean that - the ONLY thing that bothered me was that Valentina was so embarrassed by it all, feeling like Ukraine was so backward and horrible and how this must have been so awful for me. No! NO! Not even a little bit. I laugh now, but I never thought it was horrid or awful. I'm just glad there was some place I could go! I've seen a lot of outhouses in my life - in campgrounds, in Alaska, in Ukraine, all across the Western half of the US out in the woods. I just wish it had not been so painful for her to be with me.

I also wish The McGowan family had still been here. I think they could have used a little more cultural learning. (Don't you, John and Martita??? You've been 'south of the border' so I have a feeling it would not have been all that shocking to you, just unusual, as it was for me.)

ha ha ha ha ha ha

Oh my. :)

The Changing of the Roll

May 3, 2006

When a person moves to a foreign culture, he or she has to get used to a lot of different things.

The first thought is: language. Yes, getting used to living in a foreign language is an adventure all by itself! Worthy of reams of paper, megabytes of computer space – just talking about the funny language goofs and mix-up and misunderstandings.

Probably the second most common thought is – food, people have to get used to new foods and familiar foods fixed in new ways. This is true. I recognize that this food is a carrot (it’s bright orange and a veggie, not a fruit!) – but what have you done to it? It tastes different, feels different on my tongue, why it even smells different! Hmmm. But soon a person realizes, hey, I like this food (except for the liver and fish) – it’s pretty tasty!

And there are many other things a person must get used to, living in a foreign culture.

However, I surprised myself this afternoon. I said something that I would never say in America. I was delighted over something that most people just kind of take for granted, only missing it when it’s not there.

I went to the pantry/linen closet where I keep all sorts of things, and got a roll of toilet paper off the shelf. It was wrapped in a white paper sleeve with pink printing. “Fantasia” I read aloud to Mel in Russian. Wow – my toilet paper is named “Fantasia!” I stopped half way to the toilet room to read the small print. One time I was amazed to read the small print on a roll and realize that it had come from the building next door. The building where they collect scraps of left-over paper, a paper recycling collection point. So THAT is what my toilet paper is made out of! This time I finally found the city – L’viv, in western Ukraine. Interesting, I thought to myself. L’viv is known as a truly Ukrainian city – we’ve heard that they have outlawed any speaking of Russian there, not even singing of hymns or reading aloud in church from the Russian Bible. I assume it’s true, but since I haven’t been back to L’viv for ten years, I can only go by hearsay on that.

I finished unwrapping the roll – a process which takes a little time. The wrapper is tightly glued to the roll of TP at the seam, where the two ends of the wrapper meet. I finally got hold of a piece of the wrapper and one layer of the TP and ripped it down the side. As the wrapper came off, I remarked to Mel:

“Yea! It’s the “crepe paper” kind! I am so thrilled!”

And then I thought to myself – who’d a thunk it? Who would ever have thought I would be so happy to unwrap a roll of TP that looks and feels like crepe paper? Ha ha!

But you see, we have a choice. Now we can buy the expensive white or colored TP’s that looks just like what we’d buy in the States. This toilet paper was unavailable 6 years ago. But as I said – it is expensive. Why flush money down the toilet? Or we can buy the “old kind.” And that is what we buy.

The old kind comes in several different “weights” and to me it’s like a game of Russian roulette. I pick up a roll of TP from off the bottom shelf at the supermarket and immediately run my finger across the top of it. The top and bottom are unwrapped (I think they make very long rolls of TP, wrap them in a long sheet of wrapping paper and then cut them into these short rolls, much like I used to do when I made refrigerator cookies, or a jelly roll). I have found that I can usually tell by running my finger/fingernail across the top, if the roll is “soft” or “sturdy.”

Now most people would think – soft! Buy soft! Oh, but that is because they have never USED soft TP. It always reminds me of the first half of an old commercial – twisted. “Melts in your hand ….”

So, I try to buy “sturdy.” But sturdy also comes in varieties. There is the “(gray)brown paper towel” weight, the “hey, this is nice stuff” weight, and the “crepe paper” weight. I am always thrilled when I open a roll and it is “hey, this is nice stuff.” But I am equally as happy when it’s “crepe paper” weight. That “brown paper towel” stuff is not too friendly.

Buying TP in the States is simple. I usually buy a cheaper brand that has lots of sheets to each roll (usually Scott). But here in Ukraine – buying toilet paper is an adventure, kind of a crap shot. You’re never quite sure what you’re going to get until you open the roll.

(Pun intended.)

Four Hookers

June 18, 2005

I met the first hooker in jail. Actually – she was a prisoner, I was a guard. It was the winter of 1975 and I was a 20 year old freshman at Alaska Bible College in Glennallen, Alaska. Glennallen is located in the heart of the Copper River Basin, an area the size of the state of Ohio. At that time there were only a few State Troopers in the whole area, and no full time employees at the jail. Alaska was in the middle of another gold rush – black gold this time. Oil. The Alaska pipeline was being built and thousands of men had flown up or driven the Alaska Highway in search of work and the dream of making their own fortune on the pipeline. Pipeline camps were located at various spots along the route and one of those camps was south of Glennallen and the village of Copper Center. As is the case with all gold rushes, no matter the color of the gold, camp followers are sure to be in abundance as well.

Several of my fellow students at ABC were on the list of potential jail guards at the state troopers office in Glennallen. Late one night after everyone had already gone to bed, the dispatcher called to see if there was someone in the girl’s dorm who would come in and jail guard a female prisoner that a trooper was bringing in. None of the other girls in the dorm wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I got dressed and someone drove me down to the jail. Soon the trooper pulled in with a woman in the back of his patrol car.

I was waiting in the jail when he escorted in a handcuffed woman. I had no idea who she was and why she had been picked up. But I soon found out. The trooper asked me to witness everything he did. He took a mug shot of her, with and without her wig on and then thoroughly examined the wig for hidden objects or drugs. I was shocked when she took her blonde wig off. Her age was in the early 30’s, but without the wig she looked to be in her 50’s. Next he dumped her purse out on a counter and went through everything, all the time asking her questions. Why had she been at the pipeline camp? She was selling magazine subscriptions. Where were all of her order forms and magazine samples? No answer. If she was just selling magazine subscriptions, why did she have only make-up and about 75 condoms in her purse? No answer other than some foul language. I have to admit – I’d never seen so many condoms in one place before, so many different kinds, flavors, etc. My next assignment was to take her into the bathroom and do a strip search on her. I had no idea what that meant, but the trooper was very nice – to me – and gave me detailed instructions on what to do. I took her into a small bathroom and asked her to remove her clothing. The trooper stood just outside the door and I handed each item of clothing to him – a black dress, a pair of black pantyhose and her shoes. No panties, no bra, no slip, just a slinky tight black dress and a pair of panty hose. The trooper carefully examined each item and then held them while I asked her to pee and then I looked in the toilet for any drugs she may have had hidden “in a body cavity” and tried to dispose of before she flushed. Fortunately I did not have to examine said body cavities! When she had finished and I had checked and given the ok, he handed her clothing back so she could dress again. I don’t remember all of the details of fingerprinting and back ground check on her. I only remember how old she looked and how unattractive without her wig she was, the many cigarettes she smoked that night, how she cursed me, the troopers, the men she’d been with at the camp, and life in general during the remainder of the night while I stayed next to her cell in the locked jail and “watched” her until the next trooper came on for day duty and could take over. There is a mystique about prostitutes that they are basically happy, sexy, beautiful and have great bodies. This woman taught me different.

I “met” the second prostitute while working as a maid in a hotel in Fairbanks. I actually managed to make it through two whole days before I quit that job – I hated it. I had been assigned to work with another maid who would train me while we worked. As we stripped beds, cleaned toilets and sinks and vacuumed she chattered about this and that. And as we came to new section of the hotel she pointed to a room across the courtyard and told me that everyone thought two prostitutes were doing business in there. That room happened to be ours to clean and just before we knocked on the door to see if it was empty a man came out. I swear he was literally zipping up his jeans and tucking in his red plaid shirt as he came out. We knocked and announced we were the maids come to clean the room. A female voice told us to come on in. Lying on the bed was a young woman, probably college age, stark naked except for a pair of sexy panties with a roll of money tucked in the waistband at the hip. She was counting several other bills and then proceeded to stick them in beside the others. The shower was running in the bathroom and I wondered which one of them had actually “serviced” the man who had just left – the one on the bed or the one in the shower – or maybe both of them? I think that was one of the most uncomfortable times I’ve ever had. Me dressed in a maid’s uniform, stripping a very well used bed, several used condoms in the wastebasket and eventually two naked women in the room with us as we cleaned and they began putting on more make-up in front of a mirror. The other maid later assured me that as soon as the management knew for sure that they were running a business in the room the two girls would be kicked out. All I could think of was what lousy ways to earn money for college – hooking or cleaning - but I’d rather clean motel rooms than let dozens of men use me. I quit the next day and eventually got a job in the laundry room at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where I spent the summer steaming in the heat, arguing with a communist and atheist, and being yelled at for never working fast enough no matter what I did. Better that than cleaning or prostituting, even if the money wasn’t as good!

The third hooker I met was a couple of years later. The pipeline was cooling down as most of it had been built, but there were still a lot of men in Alaska. Mel and I had been married for about 18 months. Kara was a baby and I was very pregnant with Peter. One afternoon Mel and I were walking down one of the main streets in Fairbanks, Mel holding Kara in one arm and holding my hand with his other. A hooker sashayed up to him, took hold of the arm wrapped around Kara and said, “Come on honey, let’s party!” Both of us were shocked. I guess she figured he was fair game. He was a man. I was obviously very pregnant so couldn’t be much fun in bed, and he could easily get rid of the kid. Or maybe she was just higher than a kite and not thinking clearly. Or maybe her pimp had told her to find a john fast or get beaten. I will never know why she grabbed hold of Mel, only that she was not very pretty, not very sexy – just crude, lewd and brazen. Mel shook her hand off his arm and we continued down the street.

I met the fourth hooker just a few years ago and I see her often. I know this girls name. Her name is Natasha and she is now about 13 years old. She lives with her mother, a prostitute in the city of Kherson, Ukraine, and with several siblings. Her mother has a two room flat – one room is for living, the other is for business. Natasha spends a lot of time on the street just to get out of the house. She spends a lot time doing business in the cemetery as well – there are bushes there that offer “privacy”. When we happen to meet in the city center I can always tell if she’s doing business – her clothes are quite fancy, she has on lots of make-up and her whole attitude is hard as nails. When she comes to the Street Kid Drop-In Center I have seen another girl – a young girl who needs love, real love, not sex. I’ve seen a girl who wants to trust someone, to believe that there is someone who really wants to help her, play with her, touch her with affection, give her good food and clean clothes and not demand that she give her body back in return. I see a young girl who has gone from a fierce protector of her younger brother to a girl who is now pimping him, if not sexually, then at least using his cute looks to beg money off complete strangers. Knowing what happens to these street kids I am quite certain that she is pimping him sexually as well. I would like to castrate every man who has ever had sex with her, orally or intercourse. We have been told that Natasha has at least one STD, has had it from the age of 8. I don’t know if she’s ever finished a full course of medical treatment. I don’t know if she’s had her first abortion yet. I don’t know how much money she makes or who takes most of it from her. I only know she is a young girl who should have had a real childhood – but that it has all been taken from her. I don’t know if it was taken by her mother, a stranger, a relative or someone she knows. I only know that she is a young girl who will probably never know how wonderful sex can truly be between a man and woman who love and respect each other.

These are four of the prostitutes I have met in my 51 years. I know I’ve met more, most of them recently and most of them under the age of 14, both female and male. I know that the older American prostitutes that I met each have their own story as to how they got started and some may have been as simple and ugly as Natasha’s story. Others may have gone into it for drugs, out of anger at a man in her life, because she had been sexually abused by her father, brother or other relative or “friend.” Some may have even been sold into it and just couldn’t get out. There is an attitude in America today that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone and that it can be a great way for a woman to earn a lot of money. I wonder if Natasha thinks that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone. I wonder if the woman working the pipeline camps thought it was really a great way to earn a living (not only the act of having some kind of sex over and over again each day with different men, but the humiliation of being arrested, strip searched, lack of basic respect from the trooper and my actual presence watching over her during the night. I was far from being a naïve virgin, but the difference between us could not be hidden.). I wonder if the two young women in that motel room are still healthy or if they may have contacted AIDS or any number of other STD’s or if they may have been beaten to death by a pimp or a john.

Ukraine has the reputation of being the number one provider of white prostitutes in the world. Thousands, literally 3-4,000 or more work in Istanbul. Hundreds more work in Amsterdam. And those are just two cities. Hundreds of women have been sold into prostitution all across Europe, Asia, Africa and yes, even here in the United States. It’s called human trafficking. My heart weeps for these women, no matter the reason they ended up as prostitutes. I have no love or patience for prostitution, but the woman/girl involved breaks my heart.

An Essay on One of the Essentials of Life

February 24, 2006
Toilets

For many people the following subject is probably “not in good taste,” or very unusual, or maybe even rude. But it is a fact of life that every person on earth – no, it is even more than that! Every LIVE thing on earth produces waste that must be dealt with. For animals it is quite simple – they just go wherever they happen to be and too bad if the end result is in the way. People, however, must deal with this part of life quite differently. Sanitation is different in different parts of the world, yet some things just remain the same. This is an article on toilets.

I grew up in Colorado, in a modern American home, a simple home, but with all the basic conveniences, including city water and city sanitation. After using the toilet, we simply pushed a little silver handle and everything disappeared in a swirling rush of water. As a child I had no idea what happened to it all – it just disappeared down some pipes into oblivion. My grandparents lived on a small ranch out east of town and they had a different system. Oh, the toilet itself was basically the same, and it was used the same way, but I had an awareness that when that water disappeared it went down into a huge hole in the ground somewhere, hopefully NOT under the house. Something called a cesspool, or a septic system, or something. I was pretty vague on the whole idea.

We often went camping up in the mountains and there was a third toilet system at the campgrounds. For several reasons this third system was often scary to me. First and most importantly, these toilets were just a hole in the ground and I was always slightly afraid I might drop something down there or, horrible thought, actually fall in myself. Second, they stank.

Just before snuggling up in my sleeping bag for the night, I’d have to make the trek with my mother and sisters through the campground to the little toilet building – in the dark! Sometimes we’d have a flash light, sometimes not. The trip there was fraught with peril all by itself – bears, mountain lions, robbers or other bad guys could be hiding there in the dark behind a tree, just waiting for a little girl to walk by, so all of my senses were on high alert to every sound, every imagined movement in the shadows. Often you could tell where the toilet was located just from the smell carried on the breeze. We’d walk up to that little building, black against the bright night sky, and I’d hope we were actually on the correct side – the side with the little drawing of a lady in a dress on the door. I sure didn’t want to make a mistake and end up in the side with the drawing of the man on the door! After my mother helped my younger sisters, I’d take a deep breath and hold it, open the door and go in by myself, careful to latch the door with the hook (not always easy to do in the semi-darkness). I’d hurry as fast as I could so I wouldn’t have to breathe if at all possible. The toilet was metal and once the lid was lifted it was just a long drop into a hole in the ground, full of unmentionable ‘stuff.’ And embarrassing to me every time was that if someone was on the other side, I could actually hear what that male person was doing – therefore, I knew that whoever he might be, he could also hear me! I could never get out of there fast enough. Trips to the campground toilet were the only part of camping that I did not like.

Many years later I moved to Alaska, married and ended up living in the bush outside of Fairbanks. Of course there was no city water and sanitation out there, so it was outhouse time again. The little “cabin” we rented was located in a blueberry bog, so the outhouse hole was not very deep and it was mostly full of brackish water. In the summer and early fall the ground around it was so full of water that the outhouse actually moved when a person walked by. When winter arrived and the ground began to freeze, the outhouse shifted and moved along with the freezing ground and water. By the time everything was totally frozen, the outhouse building was sitting on a mound of frozen ground and ice, tipped slightly backwards. At forty degrees below zero outside and my being several months pregnant, it was much easier to have a “honey bucket” in the house than to make the trek outside. Once we reached the outhouse through the snow and cold, if the door was closed we had to pull it open at an angle sufficiently steep to make it a chore. It was easier just to leave the door open all the time. Once inside, after getting ready, we had to back up and then just kind of fall backward to sit on the Styrofoam seat, looking up at the sky. Fortunately there were no other cabins nearby so an open door was no problem. The only hard part was getting back up on our standing feet again. However, it was either get up at an awkward angle or have a frozen rear end. When spring arrived again and the ground thawed, the outhouse once again resumed its correct position and that part of life returned to “normal.”

After my experiences camping and living in Alaska I figured I’d never be surprised by toilet facilities again. But I was wrong. Ten years ago we made our first trip to Ukraine and I discovered that there are many types of toilet facilities that I had not considered before. Oh, the basics are the same for the most part – there is either a hole of some sort in the ground or there is a “modern convenience” of some sort, but there are wide differences in each of those two categories. The holes in the ground have sometimes consisted of crumbling cement or rotting boards that I pray will hold me up, located in little cement or wooden outhouses out behind service stations, country bus stops or village homes. Some of the unusual-to-me “regular” toilets that I have seen here include the “shelf toilet,” the “climb-up toilet” and the “footpad toilet.”

I’ve heard from other people that the footpad toilet is actually quite common in other parts of the world, but I’ve only seen it here and in a couple other countries. They are usually located in stalls, but only about a quarter of the time is there a door on the stall – usually it’s just a “semi-private stall.” If a person is easily embarrassed, she can ask someone to stand at the front, facing away, to give her a modicum of privacy. But I’ve noticed that most people just keep their eyes down and don’t pay any attention to who is where or doing what. It takes a little practice to learn how to use this kind of toilet comfortably.

I’ve seen climb-up toilets in several public places. They are a mix between a regular toilet and a footpad toilet. I saw one as it was being built and it consisted of a regular toilet with a platform built around the top of it. A couple of steps were added in the front so you could climb up and then use it like a footpad toilet. On the other hand, a platform is not always needed. I have been to several public toilets which have a regular toilet and I noticed that often there are dirty footprints on the seats. I wondered why in the world someone would step up on the toilet seat, so I asked a friend, “why are there dirty footprints on the toilet seat?” She responded that you are supposed to stand on the toilet seat – not sit on it! Oh. Ok then! I asked, “How do you do that when you are wearing 4 inch spike heels?” Most of the women we see on the street wear heels of some sort. She smiled and responded that girls are taught to keep their balance up there from a very young age. Oh! Ok then! Oh my. Hmmmmmm. I just can’t imagine standing on the toilet seat at McDonald’s or the local service station in the States. I’m very thankful for those paper liner things.

The shelf toilet is most often seen in private homes and apartments. I had one American tell me that when she was looking for a flat to live in, she insisted that she would not rent one that had a shelf toilet – and she finally found a place that had a normal-to-an-American toilet. We call it a shelf toilet because instead of a funnel shaped bowl filled with water, there is a dry shelf that extends from the back of the toilet bowl to a hole just before the front. When flushed the water comes out of the tank at the back and then washes everything off the shelf and down into the hole. I’m not sure why they are made this way, I can’t think of any good reason, but I’m sure there must be one in the inventor’s mind. To say the least – they are unusual to Americans.

I’ve also had to learn how to flush toilets as I’ve traveled. Some have the familiar little silver handle on the side of the tank. Others have a knob on top of the tank lid that must be lifted (that’s what ours has in our flat). And many of the newer ones have a button that must be pushed down in the top of the tank lid. Often the cover of that button is missing, so you must push what looks like a hard plastic straw down until you hear the sound of the flush. There have been times when it has taken me as long to figure out how to flush the toilet as it was to just to use it.

What have I learned from all of this? Well, I’ve learned that often it is much safer to use the bushes rather than an outhouse hole in the ground while traveling across the countryside. I’ve learned that campground outhouses are not all that bad in reality. And I’ve learned that I really am thankful for American style toilets. I took such a basic necessity for granted most of my life – but not any more!