Oh, my aching feet

I am in Russia visiting my parents on their mission. My sisters and auntie are here, too. I feel so blessed.

Today we went to an enormous park - enormous. Getting there was half the fun. My parents live on the 16th floor of a large apartment building. In a tiny office in the lobby of the building sits a little old woman, sometimes several. They visit with each other and monitor the comings and goings of the tenants. It is a job. My sister Renee says that she could overpower one or all in about 2 seconds. Based on this observation,I'm guessing these little women aren't here as security. Also sitting on the run-down couches in the lobby are a variety of animals. Large. Stuffed. I wonder to myself, "What if a person, a tenant for example, wants to sit down before they carry their groceries upstairs?" Do they pick up the tiger and hold it on their lap during the sitting? Do they place it on the floor? What will the little old ladies say? These are some things I wonder about.

Outside we walk down paths between trees. Metal bottle caps litter the ground around the lamp posts. Very fat pigeons strut around everywhere. They are the only living Russian thing I've seen that are fat. Each apartment building we pass has a small colorful play area for the children. We take the scenic route winding through shaded grassy areas. We walk for about 20 minutes. As we get closer to the metro the streets are lined with shallow glass fronted shops. Each shop features a different ware. Bread, produce, toys, candy. The shops are too small to admit any customers. They can barely accomodate the proprietor. One looks through the window and makes the selection. The proprietor collects your purchases and hands them out through the door or a small window. Dad says he once saw a pigeon sitting inside a peanut bin with the peanuts. This is why the pigeons are fat. This is also why we don't buy anything from these shops unless wrapped.

When we reach the metro I admire the tiled walls. It feels old. The noise is deafening when a train comes in. This happens right as we are introducing ourselves to the young couple, friends of my parents, who have agreed to meet us for a picnic and tour of the park. A 30 minute ride into the center of Moscow and we arrive at an enormous park. Legend has it that Vacili III (1400's) had a beautiful church built for himself and spent the summers. We can see the Moscow River and across it the city skyline including some blue onion-topped roofs associated with the Russian Orthodox Church. We can't enter Vacili's cathedral so we admire its white-plastered walls and mossy foundation from outside. We do, however enter 2 other churches in the park. All of the women wear scarves on their heads while inside. Reverent people stand quietly in front of pictures of Saints light skinny candles. One shriveled little lady kneels after crossing herself thrice. I look away trying to give her privacy to worship in this very public place. Another well-dressed middle-aged man looks at a picture of the madonna holding baby Jesus. He, too crosses himself 3 times and then kisses the feet of both the mother and babe, you guessed it, 3 times. I am fascinated by a room barred by folding wooden barricades. Inside are more pictures of saints. Three wrinkley ladies wear blue workdresses and scarves. They rub the wax off brassy candleholders. One carries a metal scrub bucket. They talk quietly and work. I wonder how far they have walked today on their ancient legs to perform this menial task.

In the churchyard of another small cathedral we find tiny sarcophogi, lots of them, mossy with grass growing up around them. I wonder if this is a graveyard for children? Or elves? No information about what they are or contain is posted. Darnit.

Later we go to a large store a little like a Super Wal-Mart. We buy eggs, milk for cooking, and a few other things. We choose carefully because we must carry our grocery bags all the way to the train station and from there - home. I think about this as I carry my bag containing two bottles of water. Would I shop the same way at home if I knew I had to carry my groceries all the way home? Definitely not. I would never buy watermelon.

We meet the other Senior couples at a very modern mall for dinner. I am struck as couple after couple come in, gray-headed and vibrant. Through the course of the meal I feel awed by the power and goodness radiating from 8 sixty-something couples. I wonder about the different lives they've led. Collectively they seem VERY happy. This seems in such contrast to the many sober-faced people I see walking along every street and on every corner. I wonder if the Russians I see are as sober as they look. Do they not smile because I am an American and my country has a reputation for arrogance? Are they a collectively sad people as they try to leave behind the weight of communism? These are other things I wonder about. I wish they could feel my admiration for them with their worn-out sneakers and colorful high heels. Inside my head I am calling out, "Keep going! Your country is lovely. I like your faces. I can feel your strength. Keep going!"

The soup was ordered by Renee. It is chilled milk soup with bits of eggs, potato, and tons of dill floating on top. We ordered this from a Vietnaumese shop in the mall. No Russian food was available.

The candy bar I discovered in the large supermarket. Nestle for Men? Jay, I'm bringing one home for you. Of all men you deserve it for being home with our kids and allowing me this opportunity. Thank you.

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