Here are a few new and old photos. River Day last week, Mom and Debra on the deck this summer, and a random shot of what they call a pawn shop in Beverly Hills!
Thanks, Nathan, for starting this blog so we can all easily share photos and stories. My algebra mid-term is this upcoming week, I was inspired to read about Anastasia's study habits so I will have to step it up! Geneva.
After a 7-year hiatus, Elena is once more behind the wheel. It was a challenge learning to drive in San Francisco, the world’s hilliest city, and it didn’t help that her Chinese instructor had unintelligible English, but that pales by comparison to driving in Moscow, where HUMMERS, Ladas and motorcycles weave through traffic as if someone were shooting an action film, where a missed turn can cost you a 45-minute detour, and where certain areas of town are so congested that people resort to triple parking.
Aren't you glad you can avoid this when you head home from work?
Anastasia is adjusting to 9th grade in the new school she picked. It’s one of the best in Moscow and has a very challenging curriculum. Unfortunately, the school is not near our apartment and has exceptionally long hours, so her typical day sees her leaving home at 7:30, returning around 5:30 in the evening, taking a nap for an hour or so, and then working on homework right up until bedtime.
Even Saturdays are school days! Poor Anastasia! It reminds me of the Johnny Cash Song, “A Boy Named Sue”: So I give ya that name and I said goodbye, I knew you'd have to get tough or die.”
Olivia is doing well in school in spite of the fact that her best friend, Nika, transferred to another school earlier in the year. In September Olivia began studying Latin and ancient Greek, and so far so good, but the subject she’s passionate about is cooking (and Papa agrees she’s quite good at it).
April loves her school and is excited about the swimming classes that were introduced last week. We bought her two pairs of goggles, but she couldn’t wait to use them in class, so she tested them out in the bathtub. For Papa’s birthday April made playdough figurines of every family member using the animals in the Chinese zodiac.
Alex has begun walking, though he still spends most of his time on all fours. When he does walk, he looks like a gangly bowl-legged sailor in search of another drink. He also recently learned how to scale our bed and even knows to disembark feet first. Sometimes we find him on our bed perched on a hill of pillows with his belly out like some grand poobah. His favorite pastime is throwing toys into the bathtub, though a close second is pulling back the curtain when someone’s in the shower. We have to be careful about keeping the bathroom door closed when not in use, otherwise his pacifiers end up in the toilet.
What is it in the Russian psyche that compels Muscovites to insist on using their broken English with me? I may look American or English, maybe Scottish, but why does that imply I can’t speak Russian? Or that they can speak English? It’s almost as if they believe that anybody with a foreign face couldn’t possibly speak Russian.
After suffering through their silly routine year after year, I’ve begun to turn the tables on them. In restaurants and airports, I wait for them to take the bait, then I begin the gag:
ME: Здравстуйте, будьте добры яичницу и каппучино. (Translation: Hi, I’ll have fried eggs and a cappuccino, please.) WAITRESS: Ah! Mebee yu vant Englisch menyu? ME (loud): O-oh! I find peepl speek Englisch, tu, lik me! In rusha! Is fud heer? For me menyu no nessry. Vat yu say mee say yu vant I eet? WAITRESS: (long pause) ME (casually): Только яичницу и каппучино. (Translation: Just eggs and cappuccino.) WAITRESS: Конечно. (Translation: Of course.)
I suppose it was creaky knees that got me to thinking about aging. It was easy enough to take my mind off the subject though. I’d just turn up the music and keep running. Then about a year ago I began to notice all the younger people around me. At the office, in a restaurant, in the countryside with friends, it didn’t seem to matter where, more and more often I was the oldest person in the room. Then out of nowhere, like a speed bump in the middle of the highway, it happened: I turned 40.
I wish I could say it doesn’t feel any different, but that’s hard to do when you’re about to bid farewell to one of your organs. Tomorrow I’m scheduled to enter the hospital for 5 days, where I’ll have my gallbladder removed. It’s not a terribly important part of the human body, and this kind of operation is as standard as they come, but leaving an organ behind is a new experience for me.
We've been on the road a lot lately along with our other responsibilities. A few days in L.A., then last weekend I drove to Alameda to visit Debra, Pancho, and Nicole. It looks like Nicole will be carrying on the art tradition. She has an easel in the kitchen and the photo shows her hard at work on a drawing. Pancho had basketball tryouts (he did great!), and murals all over the high school were striking.
Joy and I went to the Yankees Twins game 2 for the American League Division Series Playoff game. A great come from behind win with a homerun in the bottom of the 9th by A-Rod and a walk off homerun by Mark Texeira.
Arod's game tying homerun and the crowd going wild (you can see A-Rod about to cross home)
Mark Texeira coming home after hitting the game winning homerun.
Jon, I know you're a Mariano fan like the rest of us. He looks like a viper ready to strike.
One of the unsung heroes of the game. Dave Robertson got out of a bases loaded no out jam. Look at how rubbery his body looks from the torque of throwing the ball.
My sweetheart and the biggest Yankee fan there is.
A stylish Reggie Jackson threw out the first pitch.
In honor of halloween, I gave my painting students this set up to paint. Thought it might overwhelm them, but they're doing pretty well with it. I put a fig leaf over the front of the skeleton to satisfy the prudes.
After a 7-year hiatus, Elena is once more behind the wheel. It was a challenge learning to drive in San Francisco, the world’s hilliest city, and it didn’t help that her Chinese instructor had unintelligible English, but that pales by comparison to driving in Moscow, where HUMMERS, Ladas and motorcycles weave through traffic as if someone were shooting an action film, where a missed turn can cost you a 45-minute detour, and where certain areas of town are so congested that people resort to triple parking. 
Anastasia is adjusting to 9th grade in the new school she picked. It’s one of the best in Moscow and has a very challenging curriculum. Unfortunately, the school is not near our apartment and has exceptionally long hours, so her typical day sees her leaving home at 7:30, returning around 5:30 in the evening, taking a nap for an hour or so, and then working on homework right up until bedtime. 
Olivia is doing well in school in spite of the fact that her best friend, Nika, transferred to another school earlier in the year. In September Olivia began studying Latin and ancient Greek, and so far so good, but the subject she’s passionate about is cooking (and Papa agrees she’s quite good at it). 
Alex has begun walking, though he still spends most of his time on all fours. When he does walk, he looks like a gangly bowl-legged sailor in search of another drink. He also recently learned how to scale our bed and even knows to disembark feet first. Sometimes we find him on our bed perched on a hill of pillows with his belly out like some grand poobah. His favorite pastime is throwing toys into the bathtub, though a close second is pulling back the curtain when someone’s in the shower. We have to be careful about keeping the bathroom door closed when not in use, otherwise his pacifiers end up in the toilet.
What is it in the Russian psyche that compels Muscovites to insist on using their broken English with me? I may look American or English, maybe Scottish, but why does that imply I can’t speak Russian? Or that they can speak English? It’s almost as if they believe that anybody with a foreign face couldn’t possibly speak Russian. 
