More about Books

 When I was a kid, I used to ask my parents for book recommendations. My (unreliable) memories suggest that most of the time, it was a miss (as in, I ended up not liking whatever they recommended). In reality, it was probably more like 50/50. 

I remember my dad telling me that he loved Fenimore Cooper and Walter Scott. I tried reading both – and hated it. Couldn’t get through Ivanhoe. I did make my way through “The Pathfinder” and “The Last of the Mohicans”, but really did not like either one. (Believe it or not, back in the USSR, we owned a big collection of works by Fenimore Cooper, in 6 big fat volumes).

My mom told me she LOVED Oliver Twist and got me the book from the library. I hated it. In fact, I seem to have developed a powerful dislike for anything by Dickens. Another book she loved – Serezha by Vera Panova – even as a kid I realized that the writing was beautiful, but it was so, so heartbreakingly emotional and sad that I couldn’t deal with it.

I conveniently don’t remember any books that my parents recommended and I loved. It must have happened – we had a ton of books at home, and many books I read and re-read multiple times. Sherlock Holmes – I loved those stories. Yet, I remember sneakily reading it when my parents weren’t home (not sure why I felt I had to hide it). I think my mom may have talked about Fahrenheit 451 (my grandparents had a copy) – I liked it a lot. I learned recently that she loved Jane Eyre – I also liked it when I read it as a teen but I can’t remember ever discussing it with her.

Reading is a solitary kind of thing. It’s just you and the book, but you get to bring all your baggage, experiences, anxieties, and fears and all that affects how you experience that specific book. Liking a book can depend on so many things, but timing seems to be super important. When you get to read the right book at the right time, it feels like the author is taking to you, like they know you, like you are soulmates. Reading the book at the wrong time – best case scenario, you feel like you don’t get it. Or (worse) you develop a near-allergic reaction to the author (ahem, Dickens).

Dear reader, did you have any favorite titles you tried to share with others? Did they love it as much as you did? Did they roll their eyes? Did they end up hating it?

Library Love

 I have a pile of books in the trunk of my car. I am going to start slowly migrating them to our library shelf (a bookshelf completely dedicated to books from the library - meant to avoid confusion and lost library books). 

Because summer is coming.

And we all need something fun to read. Especially kids – they need some engrossing books so that they can all read in peace and the parents can work.

We haven’t started browsing the shelves at the local library with the kids, yet. Hopefully, soon. For now, I put whatever titles they want (plus a few I think they may enjoy) on hold and then pick the books up (every Thursday – that’s become a ritual). (I really love the library)

I found that books are somewhat like toys. When there are too many choices – kids spend a couple of minutes on one book, then jump to the next book, then to the next. In no time at all, it’s “Mom! I want something to read!” But… I got you, like, 7 books. Did you read them all? No, you maybe skimmed a little in the beginning and a little in the end.

So… I am planning to ration the books. A couple of books per kid today. Then a couple more of books can come out of the trunk a few days later. Etc, etc.

I love it when the kids find a book they can’t put down, and then re-read it over and over again. One of my kids really liked The Maze Runner. Another kid loved Legend (by Marie Lu). The youngest has been working her way through the A through Z Mysteries. In many ways, book series are nice – if they liked one, they will probably enjoy the others. However, the sequels are not always as good as the first one…  

Do your kids have any book obsessions? Are there any kid or young adult titles that you absolutely love?

Twenty Seven Years

 On May 24, it was 27 years since we came to the US. 

I don’t remember much about packing and getting ready for the trip. I remember that family friends gave us a ride to the train station in Riga (we took a train to Moscow, then there was a very long flight to New York, then another flight to the Seattle/Tacoma airport). I remember my best friend seeing me off – she was crying – giving her a hug and getting into the car. I remember that we got a flat tire on the way to the train station. Things like that – snippets of images here and there.

I have not been to Latvia, or Russia, or any of the other former republics of the former USSR since we left in 1994. 

Sometimes, people ask me if I miss it…

The thing is – the stuff I miss, I am not sure it exists any more. In any case, it’s not something I could go back and re-do.

The 18-kopeek (cents) vanilla ice cream in a waffle cup (with a piece of paper on top – not sure why – that was so much fun to peel off and lick) that we used to buy a block away from my grandmother’s apartment building. I still remember the taste. Is it still there and would it taste the same?

“Galdejums” ice cream my friends and I used to buy and share in Latvia. Half vanilla, half chocolate, covered in dark chocolate. 

Summer vacation – no responsibilities, no homework… Nope, can’t go back there, either.

Residential neighborhoods and little parks.

Forests nearby, where you could pick berries, daydream, and pretend to be an explorer.

My old school. The one in the Far East, it is little more than a pile of ruins now (I saw pictures of the deserted classrooms, old textbooks strewn about the floor). 

So here’s the deal.

The country I was born in doesn’t exist anymore.

My childhood was full of wonder, and adventure, and trust that the world was a good place. 

But I can’t go back there. 

Part of growing up was learning that the world was messed up (and it still hurts to see how the world is so very messed up – see this post here from sweet & crunchy that resonates so much https://sweetcrunchyjewy.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/day-427-fear/).

There is no going back.

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And yet… About going back… I would be lying if I said it isn't on my mind – because it’s been on my mind for decades. 

If I do go back, I would go to museums and do sight-seeing, like a regular tourist. I have never been to St Petersburg and I have a feeling I would love that city. I would really like to go to the Baltic Sea and I think it would be fun to visit Jurmala again… If I do go to Latvia, I would probably be able to see some old friends (that friend who came to say good bye - we haven't seen each other since then, but we stayed in touch). 

So I don’t know. Maybe someday, maybe never. Maybe, I am a coward for never going back.

Dear reader, do you ever go back to the places of your childhood? Do you dare to see that world – your childhood home, school, or the town you grew up in – through adult eyes? Do you take a risk that whatever illusions you have left will be shuttered, gone, and you would be left with a sense of emptiness?

P.S. Here are links to our immigration story:

https://scientist-on-the-roof.blogspot.com/2017/02/a-refugee-in-america-part-i.html

https://scientist-on-the-roof.blogspot.com/2017/02/a-refugee-in-america-part-ii.html

https://scientist-on-the-roof.blogspot.com/2017/02/a-refugee-in-america-part-iii.html

https://scientist-on-the-roof.blogspot.com/2017/02/refugee-in-america-part-iv-culture-shock.html

Show No Fear

At some point during my childhood, I became obsessed with dogs. I went from being super fearful, to cautious, to ready-to-hug-every-dog-in-sight.

When I was about 7, my parents took me to Moscow for the first time. Honestly, I don’t remember much. I have vague memories of my great-aunt showing me around. I remember a great big boat on Moscow-River. I must have been in awe of that boat, because my great-aunt whispered to me – let’s take a look! To my horror, she quietly slipped on board (and I followed) – I was terrified we would get in trouble (we didn’t). I kind of remember the Red Square and being semi-disappointed that we wouldn’t go to the Mausoleum (to see Lenin’s body – in retrospect, I am glad we didn’t do that).

Moscow was not as crowded as I expected (I thought there would be shoulder-to-shoulder crowds everywhere) and while the subway was impressive, it didn’t feel more dramatic than the subway system in Kharkov (where my grandparents lived and where we visited every year). It’s possible that I went to museums and concerts there – but I don’t remember anything. 

What I remember most from that trip was walking the dog with my great-aunt. It was a great big German Shepherd – a no-nonsense kind of dog that did not seem cute or playful at all. It looked like it would gladly gobble me up. I remember my great-aunt explaining to me, very calmly and patiently, to look at the dog’s tail – how it was an indicator of the dog’s mood. She told me to never show that I was afraid. I remember walking around the shaded residential streets (“dvoriki”) in Moscow, with my great-aunt and the dog, a bit afraid and definitely not willing to turn my back on the dog, but also very proud to hold the leash. 

That one piece of advice my great-aunt gave me, to never show fear, it stayed with me. 

For the record, I don’t have a dog (I am happy to pet other people’s dogs, though). 

Weekend Report

 What a weekend. First of all – very exciting news – our oldest got his first dose of Pfizer vaccine!!! This must have been the first time ever that he was actually happy to get a shot. We are so happy that this is possible – that this vaccine works as well as it does and is now available for everyone ages 12 and up. There is a long list of things that I will feel so much better about letting our kids do once everyone is vaccinated (Sports! Orchestra! Movie theaters! Hanging out with friends without masks! – most of these things we are choosing not to do yet…. but soon!) It’s going to be just a little longer wait for the girls…  

Saturday was an outdoor birthday party for a kid cousin. It was great – our kids love their cousins and they all had a blast. They spent hours at the nearby stream (catching things, not swimming). Kids got to hang out with grandparents and great-grandparents. It was a long day, and everyone was exhausted, but in a very good happy way.

Sunday, the kids had their last day of Hebrew school. The girls had a piano party at their teacher’s house (masked, distanced, etc, etc) to prepare for the Piano Guild. E had to record and submit an audition video for the local youth orchestra. And to top it all off, the kids had their final race (1 mi for for the big kids, 0.25 mi for the youngest). E won 1st place!!!

And then we had ice-cream.

Dear reader, it turns out that when things are hectic and stressful, ice cream may be just the thing everyone needs. Like a shortcut to bliss.

Musings on Memories

 Memory is unreliable. 

What I remember and how I remember it is a product of perception, emotions, and imagination. No matter how well I think I remember something, it is likely to have only a very slight overlap with reality.

Does it matter?

Reality is overrated.

I suppose we all live in a world of illusions.

I grew up with an illusion of living in the greatest country in the world. I had a very happy childhood – loving parents, family, friends, books, toys, berry-picking, picnics, going to the seashore... Were things as happy and wonderful as I remember? [Easy answer: not all the time.] But what does it matter – as long as I can reach back and grab hold of those unreliable memories and use them to make today better.

I remember, as a child, getting settled in new places (when on vacation, or because we just moved). I remember a sense of excitement – because there is so much to look forward to. So much to explore. So much to discover. New people to meet. 

My parents were amazing at making life feel like an adventure. I can only hope I can do the same for our kids, so that when they look back at their childhood, they will remember the sense of adventure, the excitement of being somewhere new, the every-day happiness because, surely, today is great but tomorrow may be even better.

Life and Stress

 I took all 3 kids to the dentist last Friday. What an ordeal. One kid has 3 cavities. One kid has 1 cavity. One kid is cavity-free. 

Work has been very stressful. Life has been very stressful. I’ve been so anxious (mainly about work, but the anxiety spills over to every-day stuff, too) I can’t even read! (How crazy is that – usually, reading is the best escape and stress-management tool I have). I haven’t been exercising. I’ve barely been outside in the last week. I have a hard time falling asleep.

Life is sometimes like walking through the swamp. I get one foot out, the other one sinks in. I’ve been so very busy with work projects on tight deadlines, I’ve had 0 time or energy to spend on the non-work stuff. Garden is overgrown with weeds. Some of the kids have been slacking off with school and music lessons. 

I need some pep-talk (my dad is great for those! He always says the right thing with just the right amount of humor and encouragement). I need some time to decompress and go on a solo hike. I need to finally be able to sit down and read.

Dear reader, is there a time when you put your own needs before everything else? I am afraid if I don’t do it right now, I’m going to end up having a huge meltdown a few days down the road….

Civilization is an Illusion but Rhubarb is Real

 I started reading Kate Quinn’s “The Rose Code” a couple of days ago. So far – I’m loving it.

“Civilization isn’t an illusion.”

“Oh, it is. The horrors are real. This” – waving a hand – “is all gossamer.”

Terrifying, but true.

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In other news. The birds that build a nest in a light fixture above our garage have hatchlings. Our garden, while overgrown with weeds, has lettuce, kale and a few radishes. The peas are a mess – they refuse to grow up the bamboo sticks (I set those up at regular intervals because, surely, the peas would wind their way up the sticks, isn't that what peas do?) and I’m going to have to figure out something else… or just let them be a tangled mess.

Kids (well, older daughter, mostly) baked a chocolate cake for Mother’s Day and it was absolutely delicious.

The girls and I peeled and diced a Huge Amount of rhubarb. Honestly, I don’t know how many pounds that turned out to be – we probably had about 20 or 30 big fat stalks (from the store, not home-grown, although I would love to plant some rhubarb). Some of that is now frozen and some is awaiting its turn to go into scones or pie.

Dear reader – do you like rhubarb? What do you do with it?

Dreams and Well-Forgotten Reality

 It is interesting, how dreams are rooted in reality. A few weeks ago, I had a fantastic dream about our whole family travelling to Ussuriysk (a town in the Far East of Russia). It was sunny, warm, and beautiful there. We wondered through the streets (I was half-amused, half-sad that I didn’t recognize anything). We went to a local historical museum. Kids made friends with a couple of local kids who spoke excellent English (and I told their parents how impressed I was that their kids had no accent at all!).

In the meantime, we learned that our hotel reservation has fallen through and we had nowhere to sleep. The family our kids made friends with invited us to stay with them. Turned out, they were super-wealthy and had a big great mansion (somehow it was important in my dream that they were either Georgian or Armenian). Plenty of space for everyone! Still, there were some odd frictions among the adults, so eventually I was able to find a small motel where our family could stay for a few nights (the toilets and showers were awful and the owner of the motel kept hiking up the price; I was getting rather angry about that).

At one point, I realized that I didn’t bring any presents for my old teacher, who still lived at the same army base not too far from Ussuriysk. How could I go visit her empty-handed? I kept worrying and agonizing about it.

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I was telling my kids about this dream, laughing about how it was so totally random, and then it struck me that it wasn’t random at all. There were overlaps with real-life events.

When J and I travelled in Italy back in 2001, out hotel reservation fell through and we had to scramble at the last moment and ended up in Hotel Positano – in a rather unpleasant little room (two mattresses on the floor and a shared bathroom).

And here’s another connection. When my family moved to the Far East from Latvia in 1986, we flew into the airport near Vladivostok, then took a bus to Ussuriysk. It was a very long trip – the flight from Moscow to Vladivostok was 8.5 hours, and the bus ride was probably close to 3.5 or 4 hours. We arrived in Ussuriysk late at night, and there wasn’t an easy way to get to the military base from there at that hour. We found a hotel and walked in, suitcases and all. Unfortunately, there were no rooms available. I remember my mom trying to convince the lady who worked at the front desk – that we had no place to go, that we would have to spend the night in the streets, that they had a young child (I was 8 and usually I hated it when my parents referred to me as the “baby”, but at that point I was too tired to care).

The woman agreed to help us. There was a “luxury” room reserved for some general, who wasn’t going to show up until a day later. She let us have it for the night. 

That room was fancy – I don’t remember it all that well, but I remember thinking “Wow!!! Fancy!!!!” There was just one bed, but it was a giant bed – the biggest bed I’d ever seen. All three of us could fit on it with plenty of space left over.

The next morning, my parents decided to take a cab to the army base. When we gave the address to the driver, he looked like he was about to kick us out. I suppose human decency won over, and he drove us to the end of the world. The paved road ended a little ways after we left Ussuriysk. The taxi driver continued on the narrow dirt road (I can only imagine the cursing that must have been going through his head). When we got to the gates of the army base, it looked like there was nothing beyond – just trees. I remember wondering if we were going to live in the middle of a forest. The taxi turned around, a cloud of dust behind it, and went back to Ussuriysk, with its paved roads and luxury hotel suites.