A Common Woman

Baby Lo-Jack

 

I never dreamed I would become one of THEM! The ones who think theirs are the best, are constantly bragging and shoving pictures in your face. You know the ones I’m talking about. Grandparents!

 

I tried to fight the stereotypes, but failed. Because I know the truth. My darling granddaughter and grandson are the most beautiful, talented, and delightful grandchildren on the planet.

 

 

I just returned from a two-week trip to the states to be at the birth of my second grandchild. I arrived in Texas on Thursday afternoon, and at 4 a.m. on Friday we were headed to the hospital where my daughter-in-love was scheduled for a c-section. Jet lag was not an option.

 

Oh my goodness, nothing can compare to my first sight of this newest member of our family. Darling grandson was strong, healthy and had a head full of downy soft brown hair. He passed his first test with flying colors with an Apgar score of 10! He was beautiful.

 

Later on, as we unwrapped him to count all his fingers and toes, I noticed the baby had an unusual-looking band around his ankle. “What's this thing on the baby’s ankle?” I innocently inquired.

 

“Oh, it’s a baby Lo-Jack,” my daughter-in-love nonchalantly explained.

 

“A baby what-jack???” I was horrified. What had my darling grandson done to deserve an ankle monitor? He was only one hour old. Had he kicked too hard in utero? Was it punishment for having a perfect Apgar score? Had he scratched another newborn in the nursery? Peed on a nurse?

 

My kids finally took pity on me and explained that this device was a monitor to protect the baby from abduction. I could see their mouths moving but the noise coming out sounded like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher – blah, blah, blah and blah. Images swirled through my mind of a teenage grandson with a cigarette dangling from his lips, holding a beer and wearing a monitor on his ankle.  Don’t the probation officers call it a tether…

 

Finally, I snapped out of my daydream, and began to hear real words. It turned out the monitor is part of the HUGS security system. Now, Hugs was a sweet word that I could relate too, unlike the term “baby Lo-Jack” which was totally outside the realm of my experience.

 

About the time my heart rate returned to normal, the nurse entered the room. She explained that she was there to give the password for the day. We were not to allow any nurses or other people to take the baby from the room unless they knew the password.

 

My blood pressure began to rise. Oh my goodness, what WAS the password? Wonder if I forgot it and let the wrong person run off with my darling grandson? I can’t remember my own phone number, how was I going to keep track of a daily password. Hmmmm, maybe I could write it on my wrist and keep it covered by my shirtsleeve….

 

It was such a relief when my sweet grandson was released from the hospital. Finally, we could all hold and spoil him to our heart’s content.

 

And I could wash the password off my wrist.

 

 

 

 

Flying the Not-So-Friendly Skies

 

"Fly the friendly skies!" "There's no better way to fly." "Austrian. Like a smile in the sky." These are a few of the snappy airline slogans I’ve heard through the years. The most unusual slogan was “We don’t smile because we’re serious about making you happy.” That was the slogan of Aeroflot Airlines in the early l990’s, when I booked my first international flight with them. I should have paid more attention to the slogan…

 

Photo by curimedia

 

The date was January 7, l994. Our family was moving from Alaska to Russia. We boarded our Aeroflot flight, took our seats, and buckled up in anticipation of a direct flight from Anchorage to Moscow.

 

The stewardess strolled down the aisle as the plane taxied to the runway. She looked bored, and true to the airline slogan, there were no smiles. Also, no English.

 

Since verbal communication was limited, we relied on our powers of observation to discern the rules of Russian airline travel. Here is a partial listing of our findings:

 

1. Overhead storage bins weren’t closed during take-off or landing. I sat with my hands protectively covering my head for most of the flight, after seeing a fellow passenger narrowly escape permanent brain injury from a falling piece of luggage.

 

2. Tray tables remained lowered during take-off and landing. My son was thrilled with this rule. He laid his head on the table and periodically mumbled, "I'm going to die," for the duration of the flight. He was our in-flight entertainment.

 

3. People brought their own food and drinks on the flight. Passengers opened their bulging carry-on bags and pulled out a veritable feast of kielbasa sausage, brown bread, and vodka with a side of cigarettes for dessert. The smell of greasy kielbasa mixed with cigarette smoke is forever burned into my nasal passages. 

 

4. Toilet paper and soap disappeared after the first hour of our 10-hour flight. Water and flushing toilets were also in short supply. I ceased drinking liquids after my first (and last) foray into the flying outhouse. Dehydration was my preferred option.

 

5. Seat backs didn’t recline but they could lean forward. Passengers simply pushed the seat backs in front of them down flat, then propped up their feet. The coach class version of a recliner.  (Advisory: the seat in front of you must be empty.)

 

6. The carpet in the aisle wasn’t attached to the floor. I tripped over the loose carpet exposing the metal floor of the plane. I quickly checked for stress fractures or holes, and then replaced the carpet in its original position.

 

7. Passengers clapped and cheered for the pilot as the plane touched down for a landing. This seemed appropriate on an airline with the nickname “Aeroflop.”

 

The memory of that flight makes me smile. It marked the beginning of a life of adventure and travel. I learned two important lessons on that flight:

 -Always carry a pack of Kleenex when you visit the restroom.

-Stop drinking liquids 12 hours before a flight.

 

Also, clap and cheer when the pilot safely lands the plane.

 

What is your best piece of advice for someone flying internationally?

 

 

Christmas Reflections

 

As an expat living overseas, I try to keep up with the news from America. I’ve followed several stories about the “War on Christmas.” Stories of controversies involving nativity scenes, Christmas greetings, and Christmas trees.

 

Photo by Joe Buckingham

 

It saddens me to read stories where the religious meaning of Christmas is being attacked. Yet, I’m not surprised. When Christ came to this world over 2000 years ago, some greeted him with joy, but many received him with hate. Things have not changed much since Christ’s birth.

 

I am concerned that in our quest for justice concerning our rights as Christians, we are detracting from the One whose birth we are celebrating.  We must be careful to not let our nativity scenes become idols. The living and breathing Christ is the center of Christmas, not a carved statue in a manger scene. No one can take Christ out of my heart, or my Christmas.

 

Christ came and “made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant.” (Philippians 2:7) Instead of reacting to the “War on Christmas” with arguments and a mean spirit, let us copy Christ’s example of being a servant to others and respond with love, grace, and humility.

 

My prayer is that each of us will keep Christ as the center of Christmas. He is the true gift of of the season.

 

Wishing you a wonderful and blessed Christmas!

 

 

Rudolph the Leg-less Reindeer

 

I love Christmas! I love dreaming about a white Christmas and watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. My mind wanders back to the years when every Christmas was white. I was living on the Kamchatka peninsula in Far East Russia……

 

The snow fell softly across our windshield as Darling Husband and I drove eight hours through the wilderness to visit our friend Alexei. I sighed as we finally pulled into the driveway at Alexei’s one-room cabin. The waist-deep snow reflected the glow of welcoming lights shining through the windows. It was a winter wonderland.

 

We drank gallons of hot black tea while we caught up on all the news with Alexei. Exhausted, we made a bed on the floor near the wood stove and slept.

 

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of wood being pitched into the stove. Through heavy eyelids, I watched Alexei set a tall pot of water on the stove. My stomach growled, anticipating a big warm bowl of oatmeal.

 

Our host shuffled out the door, and returned carrying a couple of long objects. I looked, rubbed my eyes, and then looked again. I stared as Alexei placed two reindeer legs into the pot. I pinched myself to be sure I was awake. Yes, they were reindeer legs. Skinned, meat still on the bone, but with a little fringe of fur circling the hooves.

 

My mind began inventing excuses for skipping breakfast. I realized Alexei was offering the best he had, and I would have to eat it. I began praying the overseas worker’s prayer, “Lord, I’ll swallow it, but please help me keep it down.”  I slipped out of my sleeping bag, and headed to the outhouse to answer nature’s call.

 

Upon my return, I tried to keep my eyes from focusing on the reindeer hooves rotating gently in the pot of boiling water. My mind conjured up a vision of sitting at the breakfast table with a giant platter of reindeer legs in front of me. How do you politely eat reindeer legs? Use the hooves as a handle while gnawing on them like giant drumsticks?

 

Finally, Alexei pronounced the legs cooked and pulled them out of the pot. Quickly he turned and scooted out the door with the steaming legs. Where was he going????

 

I followed him outside and watched as he threw the legs to the salivating guard dog tied up beside the cabin. I nearly sunk to my knees in relief as I realized leg of reindeer was not on our breakfast menu.

 

Later, we questioned Alexei about the reindeer legs. He led us out back to a broken icebox lying in a mound of snow.  He opened the door to reveal a stack of frozen reindeer legs. It looked like a Christmas day massacre of Santa’s reindeer. Alexei explained that reindeer herders from a nearby village had passed through selling reindeer meat. The legs were cheap and were a good supplement to the guard dog’s usual diet of gruel and scraps.

 

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is still one of my favorite Christmas movies. I can’t help wondering how important his legs are for take-off and landing…….. 

 

Thanksgiving Prayer

 

This morning I ran to the store to buy my last-minute Thanksgiving groceries. Hopefully, my last grocery run.  I could feel a pity party coming on as I thought about being far from family for the holidays. So I decided to make of list of good things about celebrating Thanksgiving in Greece.

 

1. No crowds at the grocery store.  It’s just a normal shopping day here. 

 

2. I can find soft brown sugar, powdered sugar, sweetened condensed milk, cream cheese and turkey in Greece. Important ingredients for an American Thanksgiving meal. 

 

3. Internet shopping lets me participate in Black Friday sales from afar.

 

 4. I don’t have to watch football all day. (Sorry, DH!)

 

This list made me laugh at myself and feel better. But it also pinpointed a truth I have learned. Living overseas has taught me to focus on God’s blessings.

 

I am so thankful for the daily presence of God in my life. He has walked beside me through the mountaintops and valleys of life. He allowed his son, Jesus, to die in my place so that I could experience both abundant and eternal life. He sent the Holy Spirit to be my counselor and guide. Knowing and loving God is the greatest blessing of my life.

 

I am also thankful for my family. Family that has supported us as we have lived the last 18 years overseas. Family that loves us unconditionally.

 

I am thankful that my children know and love God. How I love seeing them walk in His steps. I pray that my grandchildren will follow their parents’ example.

 

I am thankful for my wonderful husband. He has stood beside me through thick and thin (more thick than thin), highs and lows, and tells me he loves my gray hair.  I’ve been blessed to celebrate thirty-seven Thanksgivings with my Darling Husband.  DH, this corny video is for you! Instead of Johnny Cash’s face, put mine in his place. And raise the voice up an octave. Or you can be Sully and I'll be Dr. Quinn.......

 

  

 

 (Yes, the secret is out. I am a country music fan. Johnny Cash is one of the best! Also, I have the entire series of Dr. Quinn.)

 

Ya’ll have a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving!

 

 

 

A Curse or a Blessing?

 

This last week, Darling Husband and I made a cross-country trip, which began in Greece and continued through Macedonia, Serbia, Hungary and Bulgaria. The fall leaves were breathtaking – glowing yellows, burnished oranges, and blazing reds. Fall is my favorite season.

 

For me, long drives tend to lead to introspection. It is a time when I can sit back, free from the bombardment of technology and ponder the thoughts swirling through my mind and heart.

 

This time my thoughts centered on decisions. In our current world, we are encouraged to please ourselves and not worry about how our decisions affect others. Personal rights outrank the rights of others.

 

The Bible explains that each of us is responsible for our own decisions. We will pay the price for our personal sins and choices. Yet, our choices also impact the lives of others.

 

In the midst of this internal discussion, a song came up on my iPod. It was a song by Sara Groves called “Generations.”  This song spoke and ministered to my heart as I wept over recent choices.  Listen:

  

“Generations will reap what you sow.”  As a grandmother, this thought pierced my heart. I pray my grandchildren will live in peace.

 

Generations will reap what you sow. Will you pass on a curse or a blessing?

 

 

 

Shower Power

 

 I’ve learned many new lessons while living in Eastern Europe.  I discovered disco did not die; it just danced its way to Europe. Time is not measured by money, but by relationships. Black should be the basis of every wardrobe. Stop signs are optional. These are just a few of the nuggets I’ve gleaned along the way.

 

As an American living in Europe, I’ve tried to learn from my new host culture. But, I confess, I’ve found one area that America beats Europe hands down.

 

Americans know how to build a shower.

 

Most European baths have a hand-held shower attachment. It looks like this:

 

 

 

Quite often, a European bath/shower has no shower curtain. I’ve not figured out how to shower without drenching the entire bathroom. I’ve tried backing myself tightly into the corner of the bath and directing the spray into the same corner. But the water still manages to run around the rim of the tub and onto the floor, or ricochets off the wall onto the nearby toilet, sink, and towels. It took Darling Husband a long time to figure out why his towel was always damp. I used it to mop up the bathroom floor after my shower.  

 

Next I tried sitting on the floor of the bathtub and using the hand-held shower. While trying to lather up, I needed both hands so I attempted to grip the showerhead between my knees. A sudden surge in water pressure turned the showerhead into a whirling dervish that flew about the tub, beating me about the head and shoulders. Flopping around like a beached whale, I finally managed to suffocate the showerhead into submission. It was not a pretty picture.

 

Occasionally, there is a bracket where you can place the showerhead, leaving your hands free. The problem is the bracket is never in the correct place to achieve a satisfactory shower.  Sometimes the bracket is placed so the spray angles straight down, which cuts back on the amount of water falling on the bathroom floor, but requires one to straddle the faucet in order to get wet.  Then there is the bracket that is placed at waist level. It is good for de-linting your navel, but not much else.

 

Looking back, I realize there was a clue that should have alerted me to the inefficiency of the local showers. Every European bathroom has a drain in the center of the bathroom floor. In the beginning, I wondered about the purpose of this drain. After my first shower, I realized the drain was there to catch all the run-off from the shower. All you need is a squeegee and you can simultaneously shower and mop the bathroom floor.

 

So America, I salute you as the land of the clean and the brave. Long may your showers endure.

 

 

My New Addiction

 

Yes, I have addictions. Some are small, and inexpensive. Like Peanut M&Ms. I like to pretend I always have them on hand because Darling Husband loves them, but I do too. I believe Peanut M&Ms are healthier than the plain kind, because there is a peanut in the middle. And nuts are good for you!

 

My newest addiction revolves around Polish pottery. I love it.  I yearn for more pieces to grace my shelves. My husband doesn’t get it.

 

I’ve discovered a great many ex-pat women living in Europe suffer from the same addiction. There seems to be a secret competition to see who can collect the most Polish pottery. Pottery also signals a woman’s intentions. If a woman says she is returning to the States for a short visit, BUT takes her Polish pottery with her – she's not coming back. Home is not where the heart is, it’s where the Polish pottery is.

 

Last week, I had the opportunity to go to Boleslawiec, Poland and buy pottery. I may not know how to pronounce Boleslawiec, but I know it is the birthplace of Polish pottery. Imagine, store after store stacked to the rafters with pottery. The Disneyland of pottery – my happiest place on earth.

 

If you aren’t able to make the trip to Boleslawiec, I’ve heard that T.J. Maxx sometimes has Polish pottery in stock. I’m hoping to check out the rumor the next time I’m in the states.

 

In the meantime: My name is Robin, and I have an addiction……

 

 

 

A Dog's Tail

 

I’ve always been amazed by what people will do for their pets. Now, I love my dog, but there is no way I would pay thousands of dollars for chemotherapy treatments or a doggie MRI. I am always amazed at the price of veterinarian services in America. I was so pleased to find out that vet services in Russia are dirt-cheap.  Of course, you do get what you pay for…

 

Our lively little dog, Katya, had been suffering through a bout of diarrhea for a couple of days. Actually, I was doing most of the suffering since I had to clean up the mess. In desperation, my daughter and I bundled Katya up in a towel, and headed to the vet’s office.

 

After a short wait, we were escorted into the back office. We explained Katya’s symptoms, and after a brief examination, the vet gave a diagnosis. Katya was simply experiencing some stomach distress, and the vet suggested a couple of natural remedies.

 

In spite of language difficulties, I pretty much understood the first few directions. It involved brewing three different herbal teas, and dosing Katya with a tablespoonful three times a day.   

 

The next group of instructions wasn’t so clear. The vet kept using the Russian word “clean” or “cleaning”, but we couldn’t figure out what we were to clean. For a few minutes, we mistakenly thought the vet wanted us to bathe Katya in the tea three times a day.

 

Finally, the light bulb went on. The vet was describing an enema. An enema that she expected me to administer! To. My. Dog.

 

The vet handed me a list of supplies, then proceeded to herd us through the door and out onto the street. I considered dropping to my knees and begging her to administer the enema in my place, but she turned me around and shoved me in the direction of a nearby pharmacy.

 

I hesitantly entered the pharmacy and handed the pharmacist my list. She stacked the teas and enema solution on the counter, then disappeared into the back storeroom. She returned with a gallon-size enema bag. I gasped, thinking the bag was bigger than my dog. The pharmacist raised one eyebrow, and asked if the patient was a child. I sheepishly stammered that it was for a small dog. Without blinking an eye, she returned to the back of the shop and came back carrying a small bulb syringe. She assured me it was what all the fashionable dogs used.

 

Package in hand, I returned home to brew the tea and mix up the enema. After finally getting the tea past Katya’s clenched teeth, I prepared for the next stage of treatment.

 

I set Katya in the bathtub and filled the bulb syringe with the pretty pink enema solution. As I held her tail and steeled myself for the next step, suddenly Katya let out a pitiful little moan. She looked back at me with glistening brown eyes. I think tears were involved. I couldn’t do it! We both breathed a huge sigh of relief. Out of sheer thankfulness, and an extreme dislike of herbal tea, Katya was back to normal by the next day.

 

So my American friends, even though the American vet may charge you big bucks, be thankful that you aren’t the one giving the dog an enema.  

 

 

The Boats of Venice

 

In September, Darling Husband and I spent 5 wonderful days exploring Venice. It was our first trip to this beautiful city.

 

Of course, we hit all the major tourist attractions; the Rialto bridge and market, St. Mark’s Basilica, the Grand Canal, the islands of Burano and Murano.

 

I was fascinated by the boats of Venice. The city is basically built on water, and no cars are allowed in the historic section. To see the city, you either walk, or take a boat.

 

Just imagine if all your daily activities involved the use of boats. Here are some of the boats of Venice.

 
A delivery boat carrying water to a hotel on the Grand Canal.

 

 

 

Ambulance boats were yellow, and often seen speeding up and down the canals. I kept wondering how they loaded the patients on the boat.

 

 

 

These guys were changing light bulbs in the lamps along the canal.

 

 

 

This was not your typical gondola, it just carried people from one side of the canal to the other side. Most people stood during the short ride. It was MUCH cheaper than the regular gondola. Just not as romantic.

 

 

 

This boat had a crane on it and was placing new pilings at the dock.

 

 

 

Here is an interesting boat.  Can you figure out what is going on?

 
Luggage from a tour bus is being sent down a ramp and loaded onto a waiting boat, which will deliver the luggage to a hotel on the Grand Canal. I wonder how many suitcases lie at the bottom of the canals of Venice......

 

These are just a few of the boats of Venice. We also saw armoured boats delivering money, trash boats, water taxis, and many other unusual boats. But this was my favorite.....

A gondola ride with DH along the canals of Venice. 

It was so relaxing. I leaned back, enjoying the sound of water gently lapping against the side of the gondola, then reached out to let my fingers trail in the water...... as my fingers touched the water, a random thought popped into my mind. "How does the plumbing work in Venice?" 

Quickly, I withdrew my hand from the water. I leaned over and gave Darling Husband a heartfelt hug, simultaneously drying my contaminated hand on his shirt. It was so romantic......