5 a.m. in my freezing cold hotel room at the Sufi Inn in Kabul. I have a steaming cup of tea next to me and am wrapped up in my patou and flannel PJs to keep warm. The electric heaters by my bed give some warmth but not enough to want to get out of bed. The big snowstorm that hit Kabul last week sent temperatures plunging way below zero and has left the city in a beautiful blanket of snow. Although the snow makes the city look lovely, it has been treacherous getting through icy streets and travel around the city is taking longer than usual. Yesterday, my group and I lumbered down an icy, rutted street in a small bus swerving and sliding slowly, trying not to slip sideways into another car or tip over completely.
Here I am again in Kabul, running a workshop for my students who came to my leadership camp last October. We call this a follow up workshop to see how they are doing after their experiece in India last year, and give them new skills and ideas for their work with youth in their communities. Since the kids have not seen each other for the past 5 months, they love being together again. Today is day 2 of the workshop and so far, so good.
Next week I am off to India to run another Youth Solidarity and English Language (YSEL) camp for a month. I’m very excited about this camp and am looking forward to a great month. I’ve already met some of the kids who are coming and they are looking forward to a fun month of learning. The biggest highlight of camp was to be a private audience with the Dalai Lama that I had arranged but some high muck-a-mucks in the US embassy freaked out about it and put the kibosh on it. I was so pissed off about it! Instead of looking at it as a learning experience for some Afghan youth, it had to be politicized by some idiots. Still I haven’t cancelled the appointment, so maybe my staff and I will go up and say hello. Details to follow.
So what about Turkmenistan you may ask. Well, all is quiet on that front as we await the outcome of the presidential elections (a no brainer there) and then maybe the Ministry of Education will grant me access back in to the country. Hopefully by the end of March when my camp ends I will get OK’d to go back in and continue my work there. Fingers crossed. In the meantime I have been getting up at 6 a.m. every day to talk to my office staff in Ashgabat and help then navigate our new program together. Now that I’m in Kabul, I don’t have to get up so early to talk with them since we are an hour’s time difference.
Somewhere in the distance I hear a rooster crowing. That poor thing must be cold if it’s out on the street. I think of all those poor people in the refugee camps around town that are trying to keep as warm as possible in these harsh conditions. Already many small children in the camps have frozen to death, such a shame. I hope it gets warmer soon. Yesterday seemed a bit warmer but still it gets so cold in the night. There is a large space heater like they have in outdoor restaurants in our dining space, which has become out main hanging out spot in the evenings. We all encircle it with our chairs and talk, sing and tell stories after dinner. It sort of happened naturally, no one planned it like that, and it’s a nice place to be. Last night we got a little carried away with our singing and a lady from London called the front desk to complain. So we’ll have to watch our singing in the future.
I have not heard the call to prayer yet this morning, as I usually do. Maybe I slept through it or it is too cold to go to the mosque. In a few hours we will begin our workshop with morning song, a few warm up games and then talk about the Bill of Rights (our theme for the day). We will look at the American Bill of Rights, the Afghan Bill of Rights and then create our own Bill of Rights. All in a day’s work. I’m going to take this quiet morning time now to get ready, catch up on some email and take advantage of the Internet while everyone is asleep (it’s faster early in the a.m.).
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Monday, May 30, 2011
Adieu Mon Felix
Putting a beloved pet to sleep is one of the hardest things a person can do. Two Mondays ago, I had to put my Felix down 
after a great 17 years together. It was a difficult decision to make and as much as I hated to do it, it had to been sooner rather than later. When I came back from my trip to California, I noticed Felix hobbling around and not to be his usual happy self. After a $400 ultrasound and blood test, I found out he had what was mostl likely cancer in and around his stomach. He was also bloated with fluid. Putitng him down was inevitable but first I wanted a second opinion.
After teaching, I raced home to put Felix, by now basket bound and not really eating or able to move much, into the car and get out to Dr. Wen on Long Island to see what he could do for my cat. Dr. Wen worked miracles with his Chinese herbs on Mama Suly and I thought maybe, just maybe, he could do something for Felix. The fates seemed against me that afternoon as I raced through the rain on the Belt Parkway, trying to get past the rush hour traffic. By the time I got on the Sunrise Highway, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to Dr. Wen’s by the time he closed. So halfway out to one vet, I turned around and made an appointment at my local vet for a second opinion but in reality to put him down. I think he knew too and sort of told me it was OK with his sad, painful meows.
During the botched trip to Long Island, Felix peed on his blanket so I had to stop home and get him a new one. I grabbed one of my patous from Afghanistan as he lay in the car, on the floor on the driver’s side. The rain was heavy and I was running late for my 5:20 pm appointment with Dr. Stronger at Animal Kind Vet up on 7th Ave. The garbage truck was lumbering up the street, slowing all traffic behind it. I sat in the car with Felix and talked to him, petted him and told him what a great cat he was, as inside I struggled with the decision I had to make. He gave me a long wail of a meow and I knew that there was no turning back. The trash truck was at the end of the street and I was free to go.
I wrapped him in the white patou that a student from Herat gave me last itme I was in Afghanistan. We walked into the vet’s office and the desk people knew from my sad face and quiet demeanor that I needed a room quick. A lady came over to ooh and aah over Felix, I turned toward the wall to shield him from her.
Dr. Stronger came in and was so great at helping me with this decision. She tolld me if I didn’t do it know, I would wind up doing it in a few days for she could see that Felix was in a lot of pain. There was no rush to make the decision, she took all the
time I needed but in her kind way, she told me that since I was there I must have come knowing I needed to put him to sleep. Yes it was true, as the tears rolled down my cheeks, my hands softly petting Felix. I said OK and we made arrangements for his individual cremation. She went to start the paper work and they put up a screen over the window for privacy. In those moments when I was alone with Felix, I cried so hard and told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for doing what I was about to do. He lay there as I cried into his side, his fur wet from my tears.
The assistant came in to have me sign some papers and take my credit card for payment. A few minutes later, Dr. Stronger and an assistant came in to put the catheter in to Felix’s front paw. They shaved his front right paw and searched for a vein. He came to life a bit, meowing at the discomfort and annoyance of being shaved. The assistant and I held him down and I calmed him down. Once they got it in, she prepared the tranquilizer that would make him doze off and the injection that would actually make his little heart stop beating.
Once the catheter was in Felix stood up on the table and made his way over to my lap. He settled in my lap and I calmly stroked him over and over as Dr. Stronger got the tranquilizer ready. There was no turning back, but part of me wanted to stop the whole thing and take him home for just another day. There was no sense in doing that, I’d just be back there one or two days later. I thought of poor Lulu at home, probably wondering where her daddy was, somehow knowing she would never see him again. As Dr. Stronger injected the tranquilizer, I felt Felix go limp and heavy in my lap. I covered my eyes, not able to watch my little friend go away from me, and sobbed. 17 years together drifted away in a matter of moments as the lethal injection did its job. The tears dropped down on Felix’s back as he slipped away from me. I stroked his back and held him in my lap, not wanting to let him go. Dr. Stronger checked his heartbeat to verify he was gone. I sat in the big metal chair, stroking him over and over, outlining the “M” on his forehead, giving one last tug on his ears and a rub on the nose. We sat there for 5 minutes, enveloped in grief and sadness in the quietude of Room 1. The tears continued to flow as Felix’s limp body lay in my lap. It was over but I wanted to stay just a little bit longer. After about 10 minutes, I gently lifted Felix onto the examining table and laid him out. I tucked his back paws under his body and curled his tail around his side. His head rested in his front paws and I closed his eyes with a gentle pet on the face. He would come back to me in a few weeks in a small tin as cremated remains to join Suly on a shelf in my office. Presently I had to go home and console a little black cat named Lulu who will never see her daddy again.
As I walked back to the car on this grey Monday evening, the rain had stopped and the cool air felt good on my tear stained
face. Two gone, one more left. Death is inevitable and we must embrace it when it does come. As much as I was devastated to put down Felix, it needed to be done. He had a great life, was loved every day of that life and did not suffer long in the end. I will miss him surely as much as I miss Mama Suly, but we must enjoy the time we have together. Now I must enjoy the time I have left with 16 year old Lulu whether it be long or short. Those were my thoughts as I drove home in quiet contemplation.
after a great 17 years together. It was a difficult decision to make and as much as I hated to do it, it had to been sooner rather than later. When I came back from my trip to California, I noticed Felix hobbling around and not to be his usual happy self. After a $400 ultrasound and blood test, I found out he had what was mostl likely cancer in and around his stomach. He was also bloated with fluid. Putitng him down was inevitable but first I wanted a second opinion.After teaching, I raced home to put Felix, by now basket bound and not really eating or able to move much, into the car and get out to Dr. Wen on Long Island to see what he could do for my cat. Dr. Wen worked miracles with his Chinese herbs on Mama Suly and I thought maybe, just maybe, he could do something for Felix. The fates seemed against me that afternoon as I raced through the rain on the Belt Parkway, trying to get past the rush hour traffic. By the time I got on the Sunrise Highway, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to Dr. Wen’s by the time he closed. So halfway out to one vet, I turned around and made an appointment at my local vet for a second opinion but in reality to put him down. I think he knew too and sort of told me it was OK with his sad, painful meows.
During the botched trip to Long Island, Felix peed on his blanket so I had to stop home and get him a new one. I grabbed one of my patous from Afghanistan as he lay in the car, on the floor on the driver’s side. The rain was heavy and I was running late for my 5:20 pm appointment with Dr. Stronger at Animal Kind Vet up on 7th Ave. The garbage truck was lumbering up the street, slowing all traffic behind it. I sat in the car with Felix and talked to him, petted him and told him what a great cat he was, as inside I struggled with the decision I had to make. He gave me a long wail of a meow and I knew that there was no turning back. The trash truck was at the end of the street and I was free to go.
I wrapped him in the white patou that a student from Herat gave me last itme I was in Afghanistan. We walked into the vet’s office and the desk people knew from my sad face and quiet demeanor that I needed a room quick. A lady came over to ooh and aah over Felix, I turned toward the wall to shield him from her.
Dr. Stronger came in and was so great at helping me with this decision. She tolld me if I didn’t do it know, I would wind up doing it in a few days for she could see that Felix was in a lot of pain. There was no rush to make the decision, she took all the
time I needed but in her kind way, she told me that since I was there I must have come knowing I needed to put him to sleep. Yes it was true, as the tears rolled down my cheeks, my hands softly petting Felix. I said OK and we made arrangements for his individual cremation. She went to start the paper work and they put up a screen over the window for privacy. In those moments when I was alone with Felix, I cried so hard and told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for doing what I was about to do. He lay there as I cried into his side, his fur wet from my tears.The assistant came in to have me sign some papers and take my credit card for payment. A few minutes later, Dr. Stronger and an assistant came in to put the catheter in to Felix’s front paw. They shaved his front right paw and searched for a vein. He came to life a bit, meowing at the discomfort and annoyance of being shaved. The assistant and I held him down and I calmed him down. Once they got it in, she prepared the tranquilizer that would make him doze off and the injection that would actually make his little heart stop beating.
Once the catheter was in Felix stood up on the table and made his way over to my lap. He settled in my lap and I calmly stroked him over and over as Dr. Stronger got the tranquilizer ready. There was no turning back, but part of me wanted to stop the whole thing and take him home for just another day. There was no sense in doing that, I’d just be back there one or two days later. I thought of poor Lulu at home, probably wondering where her daddy was, somehow knowing she would never see him again. As Dr. Stronger injected the tranquilizer, I felt Felix go limp and heavy in my lap. I covered my eyes, not able to watch my little friend go away from me, and sobbed. 17 years together drifted away in a matter of moments as the lethal injection did its job. The tears dropped down on Felix’s back as he slipped away from me. I stroked his back and held him in my lap, not wanting to let him go. Dr. Stronger checked his heartbeat to verify he was gone. I sat in the big metal chair, stroking him over and over, outlining the “M” on his forehead, giving one last tug on his ears and a rub on the nose. We sat there for 5 minutes, enveloped in grief and sadness in the quietude of Room 1. The tears continued to flow as Felix’s limp body lay in my lap. It was over but I wanted to stay just a little bit longer. After about 10 minutes, I gently lifted Felix onto the examining table and laid him out. I tucked his back paws under his body and curled his tail around his side. His head rested in his front paws and I closed his eyes with a gentle pet on the face. He would come back to me in a few weeks in a small tin as cremated remains to join Suly on a shelf in my office. Presently I had to go home and console a little black cat named Lulu who will never see her daddy again.
As I walked back to the car on this grey Monday evening, the rain had stopped and the cool air felt good on my tear stained
face. Two gone, one more left. Death is inevitable and we must embrace it when it does come. As much as I was devastated to put down Felix, it needed to be done. He had a great life, was loved every day of that life and did not suffer long in the end. I will miss him surely as much as I miss Mama Suly, but we must enjoy the time we have together. Now I must enjoy the time I have left with 16 year old Lulu whether it be long or short. Those were my thoughts as I drove home in quiet contemplation.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Thoughts on Osama (taken from my upcoming book)
May 1, 2011, late in the evening a yellow header flashes on the Yahoo News page. Osama Bin Laden is dead. I look at the words in disbelief. Such news so late on a Sunday evening? I click on the link to get more details. It is one of those moments in life you will remember, a monumental event that makes you stop everything. On Face Book the word spreads fast, my phone is beeping with all sorts of messages about Osama. One student in Toronto, students at colleges in Massachusetts and Kentucky, one in Kabul. We all can’t believe the news and share what we know as we await the President’s speech on the White House website. I post the news on Face Book and quickly former students from all over the world comment on it and soon it turns into a lively debate of comments about what this means for Afghanistan. Despite the happy news, some of my Afghans remain skeptical that anything will change in their country. Instead of an end to all the terrorism, someone new will step in to take over the reins and just to show the world that Al-Qaeda is not dead like bin Laden, that there will be new attacks. We shall see. For now the world rejoices at this news. I recall news images of people in the Middle East cheering and clapping after the attacks of 9/11. That made me the angriest, that somewhere in the world people were celebrating as my city was recovering from the worst thing it has ever seen. Now it was our time to celebrate, to cheer at the death of one man who was responsible for so much evil. On the other side of the world in enclaves in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Yemen and elsewhere, men devoted to Osama bin Laden are grieving their loss and try to piece their lives together and carry on. Will they put down their weapons, go home and get an education or will they pull deeper into the evil and terror that has become a normal a of life? The world waits, my Afghans wait, and in the meantime, we celebrate.
Afghanistan needs good news, and this surely is a source of happiness in a pessimistic world. There is a long road to go before Afghanistan sees the lightness of an educated, peaceful country, but this is a step in the right direction. Some may not see this as the right direction but it truly is. Afghanistan can no longer remain backwards, illiterate and ignorant. It is time that it stepped in to the 21st century. Modern times have ripped the lid off this country hermetically sealed in darkness and ignorance for so long. Like that French tightrope walker who traversed between the Twin Towers, Afghanistan walks a precarious rope. It can have a treacherous fall back into extremism and being terrorized by Al-Qaeda and other factions or it can keep going forward toward enlightenment, rational thought and progress. A generation has been lost to the horrors of war and the Taliban. It is not their fault, their education and dreams were snatched away from them. Someone younger will step in to change things, rebuild and make a difference in Afghanistan.
My Afghans will make that difference. They will be the generation that will make their country a strong, peaceful country. Even though some may be in Canada, America, Turkey, Pakistan, and other countries around the world, like the waters that flow down from the snow capped peaks throughout Afghanistan, they will come home. Water cannot be controlled and it flows where it wants to, but my Afghans know that wherever they go in the world, their path will lead them home. Now is not the time for many but it will be soon. Very soon.
Afghanistan needs good news, and this surely is a source of happiness in a pessimistic world. There is a long road to go before Afghanistan sees the lightness of an educated, peaceful country, but this is a step in the right direction. Some may not see this as the right direction but it truly is. Afghanistan can no longer remain backwards, illiterate and ignorant. It is time that it stepped in to the 21st century. Modern times have ripped the lid off this country hermetically sealed in darkness and ignorance for so long. Like that French tightrope walker who traversed between the Twin Towers, Afghanistan walks a precarious rope. It can have a treacherous fall back into extremism and being terrorized by Al-Qaeda and other factions or it can keep going forward toward enlightenment, rational thought and progress. A generation has been lost to the horrors of war and the Taliban. It is not their fault, their education and dreams were snatched away from them. Someone younger will step in to change things, rebuild and make a difference in Afghanistan.
My Afghans will make that difference. They will be the generation that will make their country a strong, peaceful country. Even though some may be in Canada, America, Turkey, Pakistan, and other countries around the world, like the waters that flow down from the snow capped peaks throughout Afghanistan, they will come home. Water cannot be controlled and it flows where it wants to, but my Afghans know that wherever they go in the world, their path will lead them home. Now is not the time for many but it will be soon. Very soon.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
You Are My Sunshine-Part 2
Children singing is the most beautiful sound in the world. As long as I can hear it, I am a happy man.
You Are My Sunshine-Part 1
This is the reason for what I do. As long as I can see childrens' bright, happy faces and hear their lovely voices, I am a happy man.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thoughts from the Wendy's in Terminal C at Dulles
I’m sitting at the Wendy’s in Dulles Airport. Not a Wendy’s, but THE Wendy’s that I eat at when I’m on my way to parts east. I’m on my way to Kabul again for the 6th time, a trip that is always one I get excited about but there’s always that fear that I may get hurt or something. My mother always says when life is stressful, go to McDonald’s and have a Big Mac and a cup of coffee. Not very healthy advice but it does the trick. There are no McD’s here in Terminal C so Wendy’s will have to do. It is also the place where one of my former students’ host father works (I believe he’s the manager). Two years ago, this Afghan boy gets of the plane at Dulles and is met by his host family, a Muslim couple from Egypt I believe. I’m surprised that his family can meet him at the gate but as I find out a little while later, hs host dad works at Wendy’s! What a shocker for me (and the boy) to think that we send kids from Afghanistan to the US for a year and they wind up living with people who work at Wendy’s.
That boy is now in Toronto, he didn’t last long that year, I believe leaving almost as soon as he arrived. He’s repeating his senior year in high school this year because he frittered away last year and failed. Such is life up north without real guidance. His host dad is still working here, he just waited on me. I wonder if he recognized me? If he did, he didn’t show it.
So who knows what waits for me in Kabul in a day and a half. I’m actually looking forward to the trip and excited for some inspiration for my book that I’ve been struggling to write. Maybe I’ll get some of it written while in Kabul, it seems that life in New York is just so crazy that I can’t focus on the book. The story is inside of me and now and then gets scribbled down on my computer but I need a quiet place to push it out of me. I notice just here in the Dulles airport that away from the Big Apple my creative juices flow. The stresses and worries of daily life; money, t-shirts, teaching, a social life, house, cats, etc. can be very distracting to a budding novelist. Guess I should go away more often.
Now why, you may ask am I going to Kabul in November? Well, let me tell you. It’s sort of like finishing unfinished business. 9 of my kids from the summer didn’t come but will come in January for a semester. Prior to their arrival, they need to have a pre-departure orientation (PDO), which I have been asked to run. This is the same work I do in summer, not to confuse anyone. That’ll be my first three days in Afghanistan. After that, I will be interviewing potential candidates for next year’s program. A busy ten days with not much breathing space but that’s OK, it’s all enjoyable work for me.
This time away from NYC will hopefully give me some time to reflect on where my life is going these days. It seems there is no direction, but full of activity which I enjoy, some of which I don’t really enjoy. How much more time do I really want to spend on my t-shirt business? Do I want to do more work overseas? When will I make time to get this book finished? How will I pay my bills if I do? Well, I have a 13-hour plane ride to Dubai awaiting me. Besides catching up on reading the NY Times and watching some movies, maybe I can ponder these questions. I’ll talk to you later, let me go get on my flight. They’re boarding in a few minutes.
That boy is now in Toronto, he didn’t last long that year, I believe leaving almost as soon as he arrived. He’s repeating his senior year in high school this year because he frittered away last year and failed. Such is life up north without real guidance. His host dad is still working here, he just waited on me. I wonder if he recognized me? If he did, he didn’t show it.
So who knows what waits for me in Kabul in a day and a half. I’m actually looking forward to the trip and excited for some inspiration for my book that I’ve been struggling to write. Maybe I’ll get some of it written while in Kabul, it seems that life in New York is just so crazy that I can’t focus on the book. The story is inside of me and now and then gets scribbled down on my computer but I need a quiet place to push it out of me. I notice just here in the Dulles airport that away from the Big Apple my creative juices flow. The stresses and worries of daily life; money, t-shirts, teaching, a social life, house, cats, etc. can be very distracting to a budding novelist. Guess I should go away more often.
Now why, you may ask am I going to Kabul in November? Well, let me tell you. It’s sort of like finishing unfinished business. 9 of my kids from the summer didn’t come but will come in January for a semester. Prior to their arrival, they need to have a pre-departure orientation (PDO), which I have been asked to run. This is the same work I do in summer, not to confuse anyone. That’ll be my first three days in Afghanistan. After that, I will be interviewing potential candidates for next year’s program. A busy ten days with not much breathing space but that’s OK, it’s all enjoyable work for me.
This time away from NYC will hopefully give me some time to reflect on where my life is going these days. It seems there is no direction, but full of activity which I enjoy, some of which I don’t really enjoy. How much more time do I really want to spend on my t-shirt business? Do I want to do more work overseas? When will I make time to get this book finished? How will I pay my bills if I do? Well, I have a 13-hour plane ride to Dubai awaiting me. Besides catching up on reading the NY Times and watching some movies, maybe I can ponder these questions. I’ll talk to you later, let me go get on my flight. They’re boarding in a few minutes.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mama Suly--In Memorium
Yesterday I had to put Mama Suly to sleep. After almost two years of dealing with cancer, and 17 years of a wonderful life, this 
little Siamese gave me the look that I had been waiting for and it was time to go to the vet for the last time. She had a seizure and was writhing on the floor so in a moment my whole Monday plans changed. Meetings, emails, chores—all that seemed irrelevant on 9/13/10 as I walked up the street with Suly wrapped in a towel in my arms.
I had been rehearsing this day over and over in my head so I was prepared. Still it was hard and the tears streamed down my face as I got closer to the vet. People on the street either thought I was crazy or knew what I was going to do. A very personal moment played out in public. My neighbor works at the vet and when she saw me with the towel held in my arms, she knew why I was there. She went into action and got me into a room and a doctor there in a matter of moments so Suly didn’t have to suffer long. No one wants to have to put their animal to sleep but I knew this was the time to do it. This was a rite of passage that I had played out in my head over and over these past few years. It was done out of love and Suly knew that.
17 years ago this little creature came into my life when I was living with Artem on Mosfilmovskaya Street in the Lenin Hills section of Moscow. I came home one night to find my cat Bancroft chasing around this small, white and brown fuzzy kitten. Someone had given it to Artem, “Tom has a cat, and you need one too,” was the rationale. So while walking on the Arbat, the pedestrian street filled with art, souvenir and pet sellers downtown, Angelina (the giver of the kitten) decided to pick up a little gift for Artem. This is how animals come in to people’s lives in Russia, as unplanned gifts. I can just imagine how some of my American friends would react if I showed up with a kitten as a gift and not a bottle of wine or flowers.
The old ladies who sold their kittens on the Arbat by the big “Zoomagazin” (Russian for pet store) had little marketing tricks to
make their wares more sellable. With the fuzzball Persians and Siberians, they used to brush all their fur forward to make them look fuzzier. With white and crème colored cats (as in Suly’s case) they would bleach their fur to make them look whiter and cleaner. So Suly came into our lives a little bleached, white and pristine.
Bancroft wasn’t too hapy at first to be sharing the 2 bedroom apartment with this little cat and let her know it. After a day or two though, he had accepted that she wasn’t leaving and let her snuggle with him and was more cordial. That was spring of 1993. In a year, Bancroft would die and she was the only one in the house but not for long. Felix came onto the scene one Sunday afternoon at the “Ptichy Rynok” (Russian for pet market) in Arpil of 94. She was happy for the company and treated him like her own, snuggling with him, washing him, and sometimes giving him a whack to know who is boss.
By summer of 94, I took a job in Ekaterinburg and Artem went to Berlin for awhile. The relationship ended and I took the cats with me to the Urals. My job in Ekaterinburg had me traveling a lot and during those trips, Felix and SUly were getting it on and thus in July of 95, Suly gave birth to two little black kittens. How a Siamese and a tabby had black kittens is a bit of a mystery but I credited genes of a grandfather that skipped a generation. So there they were, the little family of four on Ulitsa Bolshakova in the Parkovy rayon of Ekaterinburg. Lulu and Eddy were the names of the offspring and one was given away to an American teaching in town and I kept Lulu to make my duo a trio. There it was, my trio of cats no more to be added, just a little family of mom, dad and the baby. In 1997, they made the big move from the Urals to New York City, an event so noteworthy that the local TV and newspaper came to cover the story. There was suspicion that I was stealing away Russia’s pedigree animals but when anyone saw them, journalists or local vets, they would ask, “Why are you taking these animals to America?” Apparently they didn’t find them worthy enough of a trip abroad. One lady vet sheepishly asked if she could be one of my cats and go with
me.
Suly almost didn’t make the trip for the day before I was to leave, little Miss Siamese got out of the apartment as I was taking stuff down to a waiting car. I went out for about 30 mins and came home to hear her meowing somewhere ein the hallway. She was hiding behind the trash chute, scared yet happy to see me. Thank God none of my neighbors took her, that would have been so upsetting for me. August 4th, 1997, we all flew off to the US, me upgraded to business class and my three fellow travelers in a giant cage down below. Felix and Lulu were so nervous about the trip and Suly furtively liked both of them to calm them down. I’m sure by mid-flight, they were all snuggled together in a pile, Suly keeping them at peace.
Upon arrival in New York, I was homeless, but had friends I could stay with. The only problem was no place for my cats, so they had to spend 3 weeks at the Paws Inn, a pet hotel in midtown Manhattan. I would visit them every day so they knew I hadn’t abandoned them. I did go awayf or 2 weeks, which worried them enough to make Suly’s brown face get flecked with white hairs from worry. By the end of 3 weeks Suly, Felix and Lulu had had enough of life in a big cage and were happy to be moving into an apartment in Brooklyn.
That apartment changed into a house after 6 years and in Russian style, the cats went in to the house from the front door on their own. This is so they sense whether the house is good or not. It seemed to pass their test and they set up residence on the second floor. Suly loved running up and down the stairs, going into the basement to explore and lay out on the patio in the morning sun. One of my favorite things she would do was race down the stairs and bound out the back, racing toward the big, white bench at the back of the yard. There she would meow loud enough to wake the dead and roll around on the bench, basking in the warm sun. That was one of her spots she loved to sleep on, as were there many more inside and out. They would change from time to time over the years. At night, when I would go to bed, Suly would come up and paw at the covers until I lifted them up, and she went under to snuggle between my legs or at my side. A loud purr would emanate from under the comforter as she happily settled in for her night’s sleep.
Over the years, you don’t always realize the love you have for your animals. They can be annoying, as Suly could be at times—overly needy, in your way, on the table drinking the milk out of the creamer, under fott so you step on her all the time. The one thing she did that would piss me off royally was to clumsily step on the saucer of my tea cup and send the tea spilling all over my desk or table. One time, in the Moscow days on New Year’s Eve, Artem and friends were preparing salads for a big dinner party. Amid all the fracas in our little kitchen, she managed to sneak into the fridge and start eating one of the fish salads. When someone opened the fridge, there she was smothered in mayonnaise, happily chewing on some fish. Despite the annoyances, you forgive your little animals for they are innocent and love you unconditionally looking over your flaws as well. In my life, love of another person, as we all want it, has not shone on me greatly but I don’t bemoan that. I have had the unconditional love of three cats, who warmly have greeted me when I come home for the past 17 years. Now we are down to two and the love still goes on. I take care of them and they reward me by showing their affection and love. Sounds a little strange but it makes sense to me (and I’m sure a lot of other people in this world).
When Suly got ill with cancer, at first I didn’t know what to do. I followed the vet’s advice and made her comfortable as possible since her diagnosed life was about 3 months. Then I found Dr. Wen on Long Island. He was the famed vet who used Chinese herbs and accupuncture to cure dogs and cats of the life-threatening illnesses. Driving the 1.5 hour drive every month or so, with Suly asleep on my lap or in the seat next to me, I felt love in my heart. I was doing something for someone who has been with me for so long. It was the right thing to do really after so many years of loyalty. Some would give up and put her down, I decided to give Dr. Wen’s herbs a try and they worked for almost two years.
Yesterday afternoon, I made another drive out to Long Island, this time with Suly wrapped in a towel in the back seat, on her way to be cremated at the Regency Pet Cemetery. They were very caring about the whole process. Chuckie, the man operating the crematorium snipped some fur as a memento for me before she went into the oven. I gave her stiff little body one last snuggle and kiss and in she went to be turned into ash. As Pete and I waited for her ashes, we walked through the small little cemetery full of tombstones of beloved dogs, cats, horses and even a donkey. $238.89 for cremating a cat was a drop compared to the amount of money people spend on their pets’ graves. Ornate tombstones with pictures of dogs or cats, flowers, statues—it’s incredible. Like I said, a pet’s love is a mighty force. I found the tombstones with the religious symbols on them the most interesting, as if to say “Muffin was a good Jewish dog”, like Mufifn went to temple all the time. Most of the pets had Italian or Jewish last names so I guess we can make a genralization about ethnic groups and post-mortem pet worship. If you ever need a new drag name (first pet’s name + mother’s maiden name is the standard rule), or are stuck for names of characters in your next novel, take a stroll through a pet cemetery. My favorite was Dolly Sokolinski, Pete like Guinevere Cardavallo. There are many more out there for you to enjoy. Unfortunately I didn’t take my camera to get them all.
Today I have to learn a new way of feeding my pets, buy smaller cans of cat food, and get used to not having Suly walking around my feet. She is still in her little tin, wrapped up with green tissue in a nice little gift bag from Regency. There will be time to deal with her yet. Maybe a little sprinkle in my rose garden, a little sprinkle in Russia when I go next, and the rest mixed up with the other two when they go. A cat era has come to a close and today I want only the quiet of my house and Felix and Lulu sleeping peacefully at my feet.
little Siamese gave me the look that I had been waiting for and it was time to go to the vet for the last time. She had a seizure and was writhing on the floor so in a moment my whole Monday plans changed. Meetings, emails, chores—all that seemed irrelevant on 9/13/10 as I walked up the street with Suly wrapped in a towel in my arms. I had been rehearsing this day over and over in my head so I was prepared. Still it was hard and the tears streamed down my face as I got closer to the vet. People on the street either thought I was crazy or knew what I was going to do. A very personal moment played out in public. My neighbor works at the vet and when she saw me with the towel held in my arms, she knew why I was there. She went into action and got me into a room and a doctor there in a matter of moments so Suly didn’t have to suffer long. No one wants to have to put their animal to sleep but I knew this was the time to do it. This was a rite of passage that I had played out in my head over and over these past few years. It was done out of love and Suly knew that.
17 years ago this little creature came into my life when I was living with Artem on Mosfilmovskaya Street in the Lenin Hills section of Moscow. I came home one night to find my cat Bancroft chasing around this small, white and brown fuzzy kitten. Someone had given it to Artem, “Tom has a cat, and you need one too,” was the rationale. So while walking on the Arbat, the pedestrian street filled with art, souvenir and pet sellers downtown, Angelina (the giver of the kitten) decided to pick up a little gift for Artem. This is how animals come in to people’s lives in Russia, as unplanned gifts. I can just imagine how some of my American friends would react if I showed up with a kitten as a gift and not a bottle of wine or flowers.
The old ladies who sold their kittens on the Arbat by the big “Zoomagazin” (Russian for pet store) had little marketing tricks to
make their wares more sellable. With the fuzzball Persians and Siberians, they used to brush all their fur forward to make them look fuzzier. With white and crème colored cats (as in Suly’s case) they would bleach their fur to make them look whiter and cleaner. So Suly came into our lives a little bleached, white and pristine.Bancroft wasn’t too hapy at first to be sharing the 2 bedroom apartment with this little cat and let her know it. After a day or two though, he had accepted that she wasn’t leaving and let her snuggle with him and was more cordial. That was spring of 1993. In a year, Bancroft would die and she was the only one in the house but not for long. Felix came onto the scene one Sunday afternoon at the “Ptichy Rynok” (Russian for pet market) in Arpil of 94. She was happy for the company and treated him like her own, snuggling with him, washing him, and sometimes giving him a whack to know who is boss.
By summer of 94, I took a job in Ekaterinburg and Artem went to Berlin for awhile. The relationship ended and I took the cats with me to the Urals. My job in Ekaterinburg had me traveling a lot and during those trips, Felix and SUly were getting it on and thus in July of 95, Suly gave birth to two little black kittens. How a Siamese and a tabby had black kittens is a bit of a mystery but I credited genes of a grandfather that skipped a generation. So there they were, the little family of four on Ulitsa Bolshakova in the Parkovy rayon of Ekaterinburg. Lulu and Eddy were the names of the offspring and one was given away to an American teaching in town and I kept Lulu to make my duo a trio. There it was, my trio of cats no more to be added, just a little family of mom, dad and the baby. In 1997, they made the big move from the Urals to New York City, an event so noteworthy that the local TV and newspaper came to cover the story. There was suspicion that I was stealing away Russia’s pedigree animals but when anyone saw them, journalists or local vets, they would ask, “Why are you taking these animals to America?” Apparently they didn’t find them worthy enough of a trip abroad. One lady vet sheepishly asked if she could be one of my cats and go with
me.Suly almost didn’t make the trip for the day before I was to leave, little Miss Siamese got out of the apartment as I was taking stuff down to a waiting car. I went out for about 30 mins and came home to hear her meowing somewhere ein the hallway. She was hiding behind the trash chute, scared yet happy to see me. Thank God none of my neighbors took her, that would have been so upsetting for me. August 4th, 1997, we all flew off to the US, me upgraded to business class and my three fellow travelers in a giant cage down below. Felix and Lulu were so nervous about the trip and Suly furtively liked both of them to calm them down. I’m sure by mid-flight, they were all snuggled together in a pile, Suly keeping them at peace.
Upon arrival in New York, I was homeless, but had friends I could stay with. The only problem was no place for my cats, so they had to spend 3 weeks at the Paws Inn, a pet hotel in midtown Manhattan. I would visit them every day so they knew I hadn’t abandoned them. I did go awayf or 2 weeks, which worried them enough to make Suly’s brown face get flecked with white hairs from worry. By the end of 3 weeks Suly, Felix and Lulu had had enough of life in a big cage and were happy to be moving into an apartment in Brooklyn.
That apartment changed into a house after 6 years and in Russian style, the cats went in to the house from the front door on their own. This is so they sense whether the house is good or not. It seemed to pass their test and they set up residence on the second floor. Suly loved running up and down the stairs, going into the basement to explore and lay out on the patio in the morning sun. One of my favorite things she would do was race down the stairs and bound out the back, racing toward the big, white bench at the back of the yard. There she would meow loud enough to wake the dead and roll around on the bench, basking in the warm sun. That was one of her spots she loved to sleep on, as were there many more inside and out. They would change from time to time over the years. At night, when I would go to bed, Suly would come up and paw at the covers until I lifted them up, and she went under to snuggle between my legs or at my side. A loud purr would emanate from under the comforter as she happily settled in for her night’s sleep.
Over the years, you don’t always realize the love you have for your animals. They can be annoying, as Suly could be at times—overly needy, in your way, on the table drinking the milk out of the creamer, under fott so you step on her all the time. The one thing she did that would piss me off royally was to clumsily step on the saucer of my tea cup and send the tea spilling all over my desk or table. One time, in the Moscow days on New Year’s Eve, Artem and friends were preparing salads for a big dinner party. Amid all the fracas in our little kitchen, she managed to sneak into the fridge and start eating one of the fish salads. When someone opened the fridge, there she was smothered in mayonnaise, happily chewing on some fish. Despite the annoyances, you forgive your little animals for they are innocent and love you unconditionally looking over your flaws as well. In my life, love of another person, as we all want it, has not shone on me greatly but I don’t bemoan that. I have had the unconditional love of three cats, who warmly have greeted me when I come home for the past 17 years. Now we are down to two and the love still goes on. I take care of them and they reward me by showing their affection and love. Sounds a little strange but it makes sense to me (and I’m sure a lot of other people in this world).
When Suly got ill with cancer, at first I didn’t know what to do. I followed the vet’s advice and made her comfortable as possible since her diagnosed life was about 3 months. Then I found Dr. Wen on Long Island. He was the famed vet who used Chinese herbs and accupuncture to cure dogs and cats of the life-threatening illnesses. Driving the 1.5 hour drive every month or so, with Suly asleep on my lap or in the seat next to me, I felt love in my heart. I was doing something for someone who has been with me for so long. It was the right thing to do really after so many years of loyalty. Some would give up and put her down, I decided to give Dr. Wen’s herbs a try and they worked for almost two years.
Yesterday afternoon, I made another drive out to Long Island, this time with Suly wrapped in a towel in the back seat, on her way to be cremated at the Regency Pet Cemetery. They were very caring about the whole process. Chuckie, the man operating the crematorium snipped some fur as a memento for me before she went into the oven. I gave her stiff little body one last snuggle and kiss and in she went to be turned into ash. As Pete and I waited for her ashes, we walked through the small little cemetery full of tombstones of beloved dogs, cats, horses and even a donkey. $238.89 for cremating a cat was a drop compared to the amount of money people spend on their pets’ graves. Ornate tombstones with pictures of dogs or cats, flowers, statues—it’s incredible. Like I said, a pet’s love is a mighty force. I found the tombstones with the religious symbols on them the most interesting, as if to say “Muffin was a good Jewish dog”, like Mufifn went to temple all the time. Most of the pets had Italian or Jewish last names so I guess we can make a genralization about ethnic groups and post-mortem pet worship. If you ever need a new drag name (first pet’s name + mother’s maiden name is the standard rule), or are stuck for names of characters in your next novel, take a stroll through a pet cemetery. My favorite was Dolly Sokolinski, Pete like Guinevere Cardavallo. There are many more out there for you to enjoy. Unfortunately I didn’t take my camera to get them all.
Today I have to learn a new way of feeding my pets, buy smaller cans of cat food, and get used to not having Suly walking around my feet. She is still in her little tin, wrapped up with green tissue in a nice little gift bag from Regency. There will be time to deal with her yet. Maybe a little sprinkle in my rose garden, a little sprinkle in Russia when I go next, and the rest mixed up with the other two when they go. A cat era has come to a close and today I want only the quiet of my house and Felix and Lulu sleeping peacefully at my feet.
Monday, March 22, 2010
When Life Gives You A Blank Wall...
So the deserted building next to me that was gutted last fall has sprung to life again. Well, with the warm, spring weather it is possible for the owners of this 
eyesore to begin work anew. They left a giant hole in the backyard in fall (a planned extension of the house) which took on alife of its own and began checking out the neighbors. Slowly but surely the big hole started coming into my yard and my patio started to fall into the encroaching pit. Last week with a major rain storm, the hole claimed more of my patio and part of my tomato bed. Then fence began to do a lean that way as well.
Fortunately we had excellent weather all week and the workers dug more as well as fortify the earth a wee bit to stop the sink hole from getting bigger. What they also did while I was away at work, but a necessity I suppose, was cut down the fence, take down my pergola and 
put up a giant plywood wall on my property. That I wasn’t expecting but when it was all done, there wasn’t much I could say. They do promise to put it back the way it was and I have a signed note to prove it.
What does one do when life throws a giant blank wall into their life? Well I know what I do—I paint it. Last Saturday I pulled out the paints and went to work to relieve some stress by painting giant cats sitting in a garden of big, red flowers
on a sunny day. That’s all I did for now but who knows, more cats might go up along the the plywood. Lights were hung too so we have some sort of festive illumination out back to take away from the dirt and shabbiness. Who knows how long the fence will be up but if I have to look at it, I might as well look at something I enjoy, right?
eyesore to begin work anew. They left a giant hole in the backyard in fall (a planned extension of the house) which took on alife of its own and began checking out the neighbors. Slowly but surely the big hole started coming into my yard and my patio started to fall into the encroaching pit. Last week with a major rain storm, the hole claimed more of my patio and part of my tomato bed. Then fence began to do a lean that way as well.
Fortunately we had excellent weather all week and the workers dug more as well as fortify the earth a wee bit to stop the sink hole from getting bigger. What they also did while I was away at work, but a necessity I suppose, was cut down the fence, take down my pergola and 
put up a giant plywood wall on my property. That I wasn’t expecting but when it was all done, there wasn’t much I could say. They do promise to put it back the way it was and I have a signed note to prove it. What does one do when life throws a giant blank wall into their life? Well I know what I do—I paint it. Last Saturday I pulled out the paints and went to work to relieve some stress by painting giant cats sitting in a garden of big, red flowers
on a sunny day. That’s all I did for now but who knows, more cats might go up along the the plywood. Lights were hung too so we have some sort of festive illumination out back to take away from the dirt and shabbiness. Who knows how long the fence will be up but if I have to look at it, I might as well look at something I enjoy, right?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
40 dnei Andreya
The 40th day came and life slowed down to remember a loved one. Since I heard the news of Andrei’s passing, it slowly seeped into me that someone I cared for is truly gone. It took a few days for me to get over the shock and come to terms with this 
news. If I knew earlier, could I have helped him? Why didn’t I know earlier? Why didn’t I call to find out? These were questions that kept going over in my mind. But in the end, it doesn’t bring him back to life.
On Tuesday, I was feeling pretty down and alone—not around anyone who knew him well. I wished I could transport myself to Russia to gather with his friends and family. So in a small, quiet way I honored the memory of my friend. Of course a few shots of vodka were done (7 to be exact) and words were said (maybe he heard them). In addition I went to a Russian Orthodox church to light a candle and have the priest pray for him (panikhida is what they call it).
Lighting a candle and sitting in the dark church, alone with my thoughts, was a real comfort. I needed to do something a little more serious and heartfelt than down 7 shots of vodka to a friend and a panikhida, as recommended by my friend Liz, was just the thing. I wrote Andrei’s name (first name only, no last names) on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope with $17 (suggested donation). With the change from a $20, I lit a big $3 candle and placed it at the designated spot in front of an icon of Jesus on the cross. It’s like a little stand, always on the right side when you first walk in to any Russian Orthodox church. I stood in the growing darkness of this small church, the sweet smell of beeswax candles, the rustling of people in the lobby and the pitter patter of rain on the roof. In my own quiet way, I said goodbye to Andrei and knew that his soul was in good hands. This small ritual may seem silly, but it brought much peace to my heart.
As I left the church on my way to teach, I felt a huge release of energy off me. The sadness was gone and I was embraced by a sense of comfort and goodness. On one hand it wasn’t so much that I was saying goodbye to a friend on the day when his
soul leaves this earth and ascends into heaven, as the Russians believe, but rather that I was upholding a tradition I learned in Russia, and after all these years of not living there, still found value in it. This act reaffirmed how accultured I became in Russia and how much of Russian traditions, values and ideas are still in me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it is a part of who I am—an added layer to my way of thinking and feeling. And on a cold, rainy February afternoon in a small Russian church on a busy street in Brooklyn, it was the most important thing I did all day.
news. If I knew earlier, could I have helped him? Why didn’t I know earlier? Why didn’t I call to find out? These were questions that kept going over in my mind. But in the end, it doesn’t bring him back to life.On Tuesday, I was feeling pretty down and alone—not around anyone who knew him well. I wished I could transport myself to Russia to gather with his friends and family. So in a small, quiet way I honored the memory of my friend. Of course a few shots of vodka were done (7 to be exact) and words were said (maybe he heard them). In addition I went to a Russian Orthodox church to light a candle and have the priest pray for him (panikhida is what they call it).
Lighting a candle and sitting in the dark church, alone with my thoughts, was a real comfort. I needed to do something a little more serious and heartfelt than down 7 shots of vodka to a friend and a panikhida, as recommended by my friend Liz, was just the thing. I wrote Andrei’s name (first name only, no last names) on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope with $17 (suggested donation). With the change from a $20, I lit a big $3 candle and placed it at the designated spot in front of an icon of Jesus on the cross. It’s like a little stand, always on the right side when you first walk in to any Russian Orthodox church. I stood in the growing darkness of this small church, the sweet smell of beeswax candles, the rustling of people in the lobby and the pitter patter of rain on the roof. In my own quiet way, I said goodbye to Andrei and knew that his soul was in good hands. This small ritual may seem silly, but it brought much peace to my heart.
As I left the church on my way to teach, I felt a huge release of energy off me. The sadness was gone and I was embraced by a sense of comfort and goodness. On one hand it wasn’t so much that I was saying goodbye to a friend on the day when his
soul leaves this earth and ascends into heaven, as the Russians believe, but rather that I was upholding a tradition I learned in Russia, and after all these years of not living there, still found value in it. This act reaffirmed how accultured I became in Russia and how much of Russian traditions, values and ideas are still in me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it is a part of who I am—an added layer to my way of thinking and feeling. And on a cold, rainy February afternoon in a small Russian church on a busy street in Brooklyn, it was the most important thing I did all day.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
V Traure (In mourning)
I got some sad news the other day. Andrei, a friend of mine from Russia died last 
month. I’ve been emailing him and trying to Skype him for the past few months and no answer. I thought maybe he was busy or mad at me. So I called him yesterday only to find out that the news wasn’t good. He died on January 15th at age 35. This was not the news I expected to hear nor wanted to hear. My Andrei dead? How could this be? Apparently he died of AIDS-related pneumonia. Had I known about this, I could have got something to him to save his life. No one with AIDS dies of pneumonia anymore, not in this 
country at least. There’s profylaxsis for that, it’s treatable. I can just imagine the treatment he got once the doctors found out he was HIV+. Nothing they could do except judge and isolate him. His friend Yura told me all the details about his sickness, death and funeral. All his friends are in shock and grief. I’ve been in shock too. I can’t believe I won’t see him anymore or hear his voice over Skype. Now he lies in Kushva, a small town north of Ekaterinburg, six feet under the snow and ice.
Andrei was more than a friend, more of a boyfriend, who came into my life around 1995. What I liked about him is he was simple. He had no expectations from me nor looked at me as the rich American who would be his meal ticket (like so many other guys did). He was in the travel business which opened up his world to places to go and see. He came to visit me twice in New York and I would make the trek out to Ekaterinburg to see him when I was in Russia or nearby in Kazakhstan. The last time I saw him was 3 years ago. By then we weren’t really boyfriends anymore, but the love and friendship was still there. There was always a desire to rekindle the flame but the big question was where. We tried to meet up in places around the world but the timing was off. He took his vacation in September just as I was getting home from my 2 months overseas. This year would have been different, we were definitely going to meet up somewhere in Europe. Alas it will not be. Our timing was off again, and one month to the day after Andrei’s death, my Christmas card arrived and I phoned to get the sad, sad news.
I can’t go over to Ekaterinburg and bring him back to life. I can only remember
my sweet, fun friend who made me laugh and was always a pleasure to be with. A picture of him and me sits now on a table in the living room. I can celebrate what was, and will try not to mourn what could have been. Next week will be the 40th day since his passing. According to the Russians, that’s when his soul will ascend up into heaven. As tradition has it, that is when we gather and remember the departed and send him on his way. The vodka will be flowing in Ekaterinburg as well as New York that day. A nice tribute to a small-town boy with an international flair.
Poka Andrei, do novykh vstrech.
month. I’ve been emailing him and trying to Skype him for the past few months and no answer. I thought maybe he was busy or mad at me. So I called him yesterday only to find out that the news wasn’t good. He died on January 15th at age 35. This was not the news I expected to hear nor wanted to hear. My Andrei dead? How could this be? Apparently he died of AIDS-related pneumonia. Had I known about this, I could have got something to him to save his life. No one with AIDS dies of pneumonia anymore, not in this 
country at least. There’s profylaxsis for that, it’s treatable. I can just imagine the treatment he got once the doctors found out he was HIV+. Nothing they could do except judge and isolate him. His friend Yura told me all the details about his sickness, death and funeral. All his friends are in shock and grief. I’ve been in shock too. I can’t believe I won’t see him anymore or hear his voice over Skype. Now he lies in Kushva, a small town north of Ekaterinburg, six feet under the snow and ice.
Andrei was more than a friend, more of a boyfriend, who came into my life around 1995. What I liked about him is he was simple. He had no expectations from me nor looked at me as the rich American who would be his meal ticket (like so many other guys did). He was in the travel business which opened up his world to places to go and see. He came to visit me twice in New York and I would make the trek out to Ekaterinburg to see him when I was in Russia or nearby in Kazakhstan. The last time I saw him was 3 years ago. By then we weren’t really boyfriends anymore, but the love and friendship was still there. There was always a desire to rekindle the flame but the big question was where. We tried to meet up in places around the world but the timing was off. He took his vacation in September just as I was getting home from my 2 months overseas. This year would have been different, we were definitely going to meet up somewhere in Europe. Alas it will not be. Our timing was off again, and one month to the day after Andrei’s death, my Christmas card arrived and I phoned to get the sad, sad news.I can’t go over to Ekaterinburg and bring him back to life. I can only remember
my sweet, fun friend who made me laugh and was always a pleasure to be with. A picture of him and me sits now on a table in the living room. I can celebrate what was, and will try not to mourn what could have been. Next week will be the 40th day since his passing. According to the Russians, that’s when his soul will ascend up into heaven. As tradition has it, that is when we gather and remember the departed and send him on his way. The vodka will be flowing in Ekaterinburg as well as New York that day. A nice tribute to a small-town boy with an international flair. Poka Andrei, do novykh vstrech.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Reflections on a Market past
I never did get to more blogging while I was at the market. It was a busy time 
and a lot of fun to boot. Our “F” row became quite the little family and we all had a great time; joking, dancing, singing, shooting the breeze. I miss everyone now that it’s all over. It’s 
the family of vendors that makes it all fun and enjoyable work. Sort of like carnies but probably with less issues and rap sheets.
Business was OK, I expected better from Union Square but it was what it was. The
question on everyone’s lips was “When will they start shopping?” They didn’t come out in droves the last two weeks as they usually do. Nothing can be predicted these days about 
shopping mentality. People aren’t spending as much as they did and you can’t force them to buy your wares. A lot of looking and thinking but no immediate buying. So I have a lot of product left over. I don’t have to worry about inventory next year. Still, the let down I feel 
after the market makes me wonder about the future of my t-shirt line and whether it’s all worth the effort. I would like to focus more on my web business and less on markets. We’ll see how that all pans out.
One thing that kept me busy the last two weeks of the market was stockings.
Apparently no one was selling them so I began to make some, and they sold like hot cakes. After putting all my sewing supplies away and cleaning the living room, out it all came and the room was awash with fabrics, looking like a sweatshop again. Out of 33 stockings, I sold all 
but 2. Not bad at $25 a pop! Each one was different so no one got the same stocking. I’m going to start making more for next year later this month.
The market ended on Christmas Eve and Maruska and I loaded up our UHaul with our things and went home. All I wanted to do when I got home was take a shower, drink
some tea and decorate my house for the holidays. I’m not about the weeks leading up to Christmas, but rather about the days after and into January. You know the Twelve Days of Christmas don’t begin 
until the 25th and go to the eve of the Epiphany. Plus I like to include Russian Christmas and New Years (the 7th and 13th respectively) so my celebrating goes on until mid January. Anyway, post-
market found me putting the lights up in the backyard and decorating the tree until the wee hours. I was tired, I should have gone to bed but something kept me going until the house was aglow with
Christmas from front to back and inside too. Eddie, my neighbor, and I have a competition to see who can put up the most lights in the yard. He had already done his so I needed to respond now that I had a free moment. At 1 in the morning I was having a cup of tea 
in my garden, snow everywhere and softly glowing from all the lights I had strung up along the fances and 2 of the 3 wise men looking up toward the big star I wired up on the laundry ladder at the back of the yard. Very apropos to have them following the yonder star, just too bad 
I don’t have the third one. I found 2 in the trash about 5 years ago and have been searching for the third ever since. I recently saw one in a display in Williamsburg and wanted to stop and steal it but it was on a roof and might have been a little tricky. Anyway, my search for 
Melchior (that’s the one missing) continues so if you have any leads, let me know.
Christmas was quiet, ate roast beef with my neighbor Eddie, my friend Eric came over in the afternoon. New Years was a bit more raucous as it should be. I go into 2010 a bit unfocused, wondering what life has in store for me this year, the first
in a new decade. I know teaching 4 nights a week is one thing to look forward to (beginning tonight) as is a trip to see my Afghans in Toronto next weekend. Other than that, we’ll leave it up to fate I suppose. Happy 2010 y’all!
and a lot of fun to boot. Our “F” row became quite the little family and we all had a great time; joking, dancing, singing, shooting the breeze. I miss everyone now that it’s all over. It’s 
the family of vendors that makes it all fun and enjoyable work. Sort of like carnies but probably with less issues and rap sheets.Business was OK, I expected better from Union Square but it was what it was. The
question on everyone’s lips was “When will they start shopping?” They didn’t come out in droves the last two weeks as they usually do. Nothing can be predicted these days about 
shopping mentality. People aren’t spending as much as they did and you can’t force them to buy your wares. A lot of looking and thinking but no immediate buying. So I have a lot of product left over. I don’t have to worry about inventory next year. Still, the let down I feel 
after the market makes me wonder about the future of my t-shirt line and whether it’s all worth the effort. I would like to focus more on my web business and less on markets. We’ll see how that all pans out. One thing that kept me busy the last two weeks of the market was stockings.
Apparently no one was selling them so I began to make some, and they sold like hot cakes. After putting all my sewing supplies away and cleaning the living room, out it all came and the room was awash with fabrics, looking like a sweatshop again. Out of 33 stockings, I sold all 
but 2. Not bad at $25 a pop! Each one was different so no one got the same stocking. I’m going to start making more for next year later this month. The market ended on Christmas Eve and Maruska and I loaded up our UHaul with our things and went home. All I wanted to do when I got home was take a shower, drink
some tea and decorate my house for the holidays. I’m not about the weeks leading up to Christmas, but rather about the days after and into January. You know the Twelve Days of Christmas don’t begin 
until the 25th and go to the eve of the Epiphany. Plus I like to include Russian Christmas and New Years (the 7th and 13th respectively) so my celebrating goes on until mid January. Anyway, post-
market found me putting the lights up in the backyard and decorating the tree until the wee hours. I was tired, I should have gone to bed but something kept me going until the house was aglow with
Christmas from front to back and inside too. Eddie, my neighbor, and I have a competition to see who can put up the most lights in the yard. He had already done his so I needed to respond now that I had a free moment. At 1 in the morning I was having a cup of tea 
in my garden, snow everywhere and softly glowing from all the lights I had strung up along the fances and 2 of the 3 wise men looking up toward the big star I wired up on the laundry ladder at the back of the yard. Very apropos to have them following the yonder star, just too bad 
I don’t have the third one. I found 2 in the trash about 5 years ago and have been searching for the third ever since. I recently saw one in a display in Williamsburg and wanted to stop and steal it but it was on a roof and might have been a little tricky. Anyway, my search for 
Melchior (that’s the one missing) continues so if you have any leads, let me know.Christmas was quiet, ate roast beef with my neighbor Eddie, my friend Eric came over in the afternoon. New Years was a bit more raucous as it should be. I go into 2010 a bit unfocused, wondering what life has in store for me this year, the first
in a new decade. I know teaching 4 nights a week is one thing to look forward to (beginning tonight) as is a trip to see my Afghans in Toronto next weekend. Other than that, we’ll leave it up to fate I suppose. Happy 2010 y’all!
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Ho Ho Ho from the Holiday Market!
OK, I know I haven’t been blogging lately and the reason can be summed up in two words: Union Square. Actually four words: Union Square Holiday Market. The biggest 
holiday market in NYC and an event that Maruska (my business partner) and I have been gearing up for for the last year. So the past 6 weeks have been filled with papier mache, sewing, printing shirts, more sewing and general planning for this big event.
The Union Square Holiday Market is a month-long market in the style of a German
Christmas market. Little booths with lots of interesting stuff to buy and eat. There are a lot of designers and artists who sell unique items perfect for any Xmas wish list. It may cost you a little more, but it’s definitely worth it since most of things you find here are a) one of a kind and b) handmade by local people (like myself). Resist the mind-numbness of mall shopping and get your ass to this market or one like it near you.
We opened a week ago and so far it’s been pretty good. A little slow but that’s to
be expected (as the veterans have been telling us). They say the last two weeks will be really crazy so that’s what I am getting ready for. Maruska and I have one of the most welcoming and colorful booths in the market loaded with great stuff—t-shirts, pajamas, quilts and
blankets for babies, Diva Kitties, original art, ornaments, and so on. My latest animal, the tiger is looking to be a hot seller for me. Next week, I’ll be debuting a giraffe design which should be fabulous.
What I love about the market is that it’s like a little village full of friendly people that you get to see every day. I know many of the vendors around us from
other markets and those I don’t know, we are already buddies. Besides Belle, the jeweler and Jensen the textile designer, there’s Sister Kristina from Belarus selling Russian laquer boxes, ornaments and matroshki for the monastery where she works. Of course she and I blab in Russian all day. She’s not a real nun but works at the St. Elisabeth monastery in Minsk. They sent her because she personable and knows English. Actually I’ve been speaking a lot of Russian at the market. Besides Kristina, there’s Azamat and Hamid, two young students from Tajikistan selling Pillow Pets. Oh those Christmas jobs! All the Russian speaking opened up a door with Lisa who sells jewelry across from us. Turns out she and I lived in Russia at the same time. Small world huh? She and I ran in different crowds. I was more in with the Russian students who came over to find work and she was more corporate, working for Saachi and Saachi, a high-falootin’ ad agency. Still we have good reminiscing time when it’s slow. On the other side of us is the Viking cuisine and Dezign Mind booth. Run by Klaus and 
Tina, the Viking cuisine is basically hearty food like meatballs with potato salad, rice pudding and little hamburgers. Klaus is the showcase of that booth, where he and his girls cook up a storm all day in the Viking hats. Dezign Mind is Tina’s booth full of things from Bali: toys, ornaments boxes, masks, etc. The biggest draw is the wooden frog toy that you make rabbit by stroking its back with a stick. So besides the smell of meatballs all day, we hear croaking frogs too. We’ve already grown accustomed to it all.
Besides working at the market all day, I’ve still been teaching ESL two nights a week at Brooklyn College. Monday, I’m having my students come to the market to do a Scavenger Hunt, using their English skills to find out information and to have a chance to get out of Brooklyn. They belly ache about taking the subway and all, but I assured them that
they’re going to have a good time—and they will, once they get here.
So here it is a Thursday morning, the beginning of the second week for us. Before I know it, we’ll be finished and resting at home on Christmas Day. The weather has gotten quite warm today, in the 60’s, so that should bring out the shoppers. Look out for more pictures and news from the market in the next weeks!
holiday market in NYC and an event that Maruska (my business partner) and I have been gearing up for for the last year. So the past 6 weeks have been filled with papier mache, sewing, printing shirts, more sewing and general planning for this big event.The Union Square Holiday Market is a month-long market in the style of a German
Christmas market. Little booths with lots of interesting stuff to buy and eat. There are a lot of designers and artists who sell unique items perfect for any Xmas wish list. It may cost you a little more, but it’s definitely worth it since most of things you find here are a) one of a kind and b) handmade by local people (like myself). Resist the mind-numbness of mall shopping and get your ass to this market or one like it near you. We opened a week ago and so far it’s been pretty good. A little slow but that’s to
be expected (as the veterans have been telling us). They say the last two weeks will be really crazy so that’s what I am getting ready for. Maruska and I have one of the most welcoming and colorful booths in the market loaded with great stuff—t-shirts, pajamas, quilts and
blankets for babies, Diva Kitties, original art, ornaments, and so on. My latest animal, the tiger is looking to be a hot seller for me. Next week, I’ll be debuting a giraffe design which should be fabulous. What I love about the market is that it’s like a little village full of friendly people that you get to see every day. I know many of the vendors around us from
other markets and those I don’t know, we are already buddies. Besides Belle, the jeweler and Jensen the textile designer, there’s Sister Kristina from Belarus selling Russian laquer boxes, ornaments and matroshki for the monastery where she works. Of course she and I blab in Russian all day. She’s not a real nun but works at the St. Elisabeth monastery in Minsk. They sent her because she personable and knows English. Actually I’ve been speaking a lot of Russian at the market. Besides Kristina, there’s Azamat and Hamid, two young students from Tajikistan selling Pillow Pets. Oh those Christmas jobs! All the Russian speaking opened up a door with Lisa who sells jewelry across from us. Turns out she and I lived in Russia at the same time. Small world huh? She and I ran in different crowds. I was more in with the Russian students who came over to find work and she was more corporate, working for Saachi and Saachi, a high-falootin’ ad agency. Still we have good reminiscing time when it’s slow. On the other side of us is the Viking cuisine and Dezign Mind booth. Run by Klaus and 
Tina, the Viking cuisine is basically hearty food like meatballs with potato salad, rice pudding and little hamburgers. Klaus is the showcase of that booth, where he and his girls cook up a storm all day in the Viking hats. Dezign Mind is Tina’s booth full of things from Bali: toys, ornaments boxes, masks, etc. The biggest draw is the wooden frog toy that you make rabbit by stroking its back with a stick. So besides the smell of meatballs all day, we hear croaking frogs too. We’ve already grown accustomed to it all. 
Besides working at the market all day, I’ve still been teaching ESL two nights a week at Brooklyn College. Monday, I’m having my students come to the market to do a Scavenger Hunt, using their English skills to find out information and to have a chance to get out of Brooklyn. They belly ache about taking the subway and all, but I assured them that
they’re going to have a good time—and they will, once they get here. So here it is a Thursday morning, the beginning of the second week for us. Before I know it, we’ll be finished and resting at home on Christmas Day. The weather has gotten quite warm today, in the 60’s, so that should bring out the shoppers. Look out for more pictures and news from the market in the next weeks!
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Chilling on the Isla
Cold, grey, rainy New York looms outside my window. The beginning of May and we 
are a water logged city. Can I click my heels, snap my fingers, blink my eyes, anything to be back on Isla Mujeres?
SNAP! BLINK! CLICK! Aaah Isla Mujeres where the only worry seems to be whether you want to swim or snorkel. 20 minutes ferry ride from resort hell and there you are on this little island where the Mexicans go to relax and the foreigners who like the
local pace come for some R&R from their hectic other lives.
Brooks and I got a room at the Posada Del Mar hotel right across the street from
the beach for a few days of relaxation. The hotel is more quaint on the website but they’re making it bigger so there was construction going on all around us. Old pictures can be foolish. Still, the hotel was full of people from all over who make an annual pilgrimage to the Isla who were happy to be there despite the mess and banging of builders.
A lot can happen in 3 days in sleepy little place like Isla Mujeres. Lots to do: snorkeling, scuba diving, boating, driving around on a golf cart, paragliding, the list goes on. But I was happy just making my way across the street to the beach and
laying under an umbrella all day reading a book. So that’s what I did. Now and then I’d jump in the water to cool off in the turquoise blue sea.
During the day, the Isla is crowded with obnoxious tourists coming over from their resort hells on big katamarans or party boats. They swim, do lunch, drink, shop and
(fortunately) go back from whence they came by the end of the day. The rest of us take naps, sip drinks at sunset on the beach and then run into each other on Hidalgo, the long pedestrian street with all the restaurants, bars and shops. Despite the small size of the 
island, one could still remain anonymous if they wanted. Being inconspicuous and anonymous has always been hard for me so by day 2 we knew half the town. Daniel from Denver, Mindy from Minnesota, Rob and Jennifer from Buffalo, a hot black mama from Atlanta (I called her Boney M), Jill from Ft. Laud, a couple from San Francisco. We were all escaping our regular routines, getting off our merry-go-rounds and doing something totally different for a week or so.
A bright, colorful little place full of friendly people, Isla Mujeres has been able to stave off the resort hell-itis that plagues Cancun across the sea. Though some of that ugliness has popped up here and there around the island, it still
remains a haven of peace and tranquility. One day an ugly family from Long Island caused quite a ruckus on the beach and were sent packing back to Cancun. Bad energy is not welcomed here!
My three days here helped suffice a long held dream of going away to Tahiti,
laying on a beach reading a book under a palm tree and not having to know anyone or do anything. Tahiti is still a dream but seems so far away compared to a 4 hr flight to Cancun. Will Isla Mujeres be my new Tahiti? Could be.
are a water logged city. Can I click my heels, snap my fingers, blink my eyes, anything to be back on Isla Mujeres?
SNAP! BLINK! CLICK! Aaah Isla Mujeres where the only worry seems to be whether you want to swim or snorkel. 20 minutes ferry ride from resort hell and there you are on this little island where the Mexicans go to relax and the foreigners who like the
local pace come for some R&R from their hectic other lives.Brooks and I got a room at the Posada Del Mar hotel right across the street from
the beach for a few days of relaxation. The hotel is more quaint on the website but they’re making it bigger so there was construction going on all around us. Old pictures can be foolish. Still, the hotel was full of people from all over who make an annual pilgrimage to the Isla who were happy to be there despite the mess and banging of builders.
A lot can happen in 3 days in sleepy little place like Isla Mujeres. Lots to do: snorkeling, scuba diving, boating, driving around on a golf cart, paragliding, the list goes on. But I was happy just making my way across the street to the beach and
laying under an umbrella all day reading a book. So that’s what I did. Now and then I’d jump in the water to cool off in the turquoise blue sea. During the day, the Isla is crowded with obnoxious tourists coming over from their resort hells on big katamarans or party boats. They swim, do lunch, drink, shop and
(fortunately) go back from whence they came by the end of the day. The rest of us take naps, sip drinks at sunset on the beach and then run into each other on Hidalgo, the long pedestrian street with all the restaurants, bars and shops. Despite the small size of the 
island, one could still remain anonymous if they wanted. Being inconspicuous and anonymous has always been hard for me so by day 2 we knew half the town. Daniel from Denver, Mindy from Minnesota, Rob and Jennifer from Buffalo, a hot black mama from Atlanta (I called her Boney M), Jill from Ft. Laud, a couple from San Francisco. We were all escaping our regular routines, getting off our merry-go-rounds and doing something totally different for a week or so.A bright, colorful little place full of friendly people, Isla Mujeres has been able to stave off the resort hell-itis that plagues Cancun across the sea. Though some of that ugliness has popped up here and there around the island, it still
remains a haven of peace and tranquility. One day an ugly family from Long Island caused quite a ruckus on the beach and were sent packing back to Cancun. Bad energy is not welcomed here! My three days here helped suffice a long held dream of going away to Tahiti,
laying on a beach reading a book under a palm tree and not having to know anyone or do anything. Tahiti is still a dream but seems so far away compared to a 4 hr flight to Cancun. Will Isla Mujeres be my new Tahiti? Could be.
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