Contentment.

It has now been over a year since I moved to this country.

In this past year, I have learned so much about myself, about Russia (and Russians), and about life in general. I know it seems so cliche, but I know so much has changed. I can feel how I have changed. I know I have been forced to reconcile myself with moral and practical issues for the sake of inner peace and the peace of those around me. I have had some INSANE experiences, both good and bad. I have missed home, and I have ached to come back to Russia when I have left her. People have always told me that once you come here, you never want to leave. Something about being here draws you in deeper and deeper, and as much as you disdain some portions of life in Russia, there is always the fervent attachment. I know long after I have moved on, I will always remember and long for my life in Moscow. She molds your heart and your mind in such a way that only people who have felt what you have felt will understand. It's a love-hate relationship that seems like a terrible country song.

It's also strange to be repeating events of when I first arrived. I left California directly after my birthday. I have passed another birthday, and other calendar events when I heavily felt the weight of being so alone have come and gone again, but this time, with the company of dear friends whom I feel I have had for many, many years. It takes a while to make a life in a new place. I remember my mother distraughtly talking to me after the many moves she had made with my stepfather, and at the time, I don't think I fully understood how hard moves like that can be. I probably still don't fully understand, but I can at least sympathize a little bit.

My goals for coming here have remained the same. Nothing there has changed at all. I still fully intend to study Russian Literature, and I am still actively taking steps to learn Russian. It often feels like I have made little to no progress, and it is perpetually a discouraging situation to realize how far I still have to go. I can, however, look back on how much I spoke when I first arrived with pride because I know I have come much further than I realize.

Right now, I am happier and more contented that I ever have been with life. I realize these moments are fleeting because there are always improvements to be made--always. But right now, I can look out my window and see the beautiful city that I live in, with the ever-intriguing people that walk her streets, and I know that this is where God wanted me to be and I can see why.

Again....like a bad country song...sorry, guys. I really hate country.

More newness...

I had good intentions for today...really I did. I was going to sleep in for as long as possible, take a nice long shower when I woke up, and finish unpacking my room...and then MAYBE clean some parts of the house that I thought needed it. Well, I woke up early, sat around watching episodes of TV on my computer, took the long, much needed shower, and have done everything I can since to avoid cleaning and unpacking. Oh well...

I had a GREAT time traveling Europe for three weeks. I spent the first week in Paris with my brother Andrew and his lovely wife Mary. I saw some sights, ate some really wonderful food, and spent special time with two people I really love. I also met some German girls that I was quite fond of, and one Russian guy who I wasn't really that fond of.

I spent the second week in Barcelona with a Russian friend of mine named Vika (Victoria) that I work with at the Playschool. Barcelona is an artistic city that I wouldn't mind living in someday. It was a whole lot of fun with Vika. I am now madly in love with Gaudi's works.

I spent my last week on an Orthodox pilgrimage in different parts of Ireland, staying mainly in a place called Letterfrack (Connemara). Ireland is greener than anything else I've ever seen, and the people are really great. I kept thinking "Why in heaven's name would my family ever have left this great place?!? I mean...potato famines aside...". Right, I know. Potato famines are a big deal. If they hadn't moved, I probably wouldn't be here today. Anyway it was really interesting to see this place that I had heard so much about, and whose culture I thought I knew so well.

The pilgrimage was really interesting as well because it focused on monasticism in Ireland's early history. We, as Orthodox, learn so much about the Desert Fathers, and the hardships and sacrifices they underwent when they moved out to the wilderness. In that same vein, Ireland is also a place where people have run for monastic settlements. Due to flippant weather and secluded islands, they have great difficulty growing crops, and getting from one island to the next. The hardships one experienced in Ireland were comparable to what our Desert Fathers experienced, just in a much wetter climate.

I was quite fond of the seclusion, finding it a great opportunity to reflect on my own life--especially concerning the last year I've spent in Moscow. Of course, I've lost enthusiasm for different things that used to be more or less important to me, some things that have been better or worse for my soul. There are also habits that I have grown to appreciate and some that I am more remorseful over. As always, there are people that I have lost communication with because of the time difference or lack of ability and convenience. If that's you, I'm sorry. Let's try to get reconnected.

Anyway, now I'm back home in Moscow. I moved into a new apartment in the very center of the city. I have two roommates, one of them being Corie Anastasia Hurley (one of my best friends from CA). I've also cut down on the amount of work and city-travel I usually do to save time for more important things in my life--one of them being my health. I'm still taking Russian lessons, and probably be starting German lessons in October sometime.

My new kids at the school are also really, really great. Some of my kids who had very, very special places in my heart are gone, but now I have their younger siblings, and some new kids that will quickly snuggle their way in. I'll be honest--I often feel that Moscow eats away at my soul, but working with children seems to heal what is taken by big city life. Their sweetness and purity gives me motivation and happiness when I lack the strength to find those things within myself.

Hopefully, I'll get to post pictures soon. My computer is an old man, so it takes ages to load anything.

Sunny and Cold...and Mika

Coming from California, I had no idea what affects the weather has on someone's behavior and emotions. It took all of my energy to be peppy and happy in the winter, and now that the sun is coming out more frequently with warmer days, my moods have started to match more effortlessly. When it's a cloudier day, everyone's mood matches it as well. We just don't really have that in Orange County.

School has finished, and we are here now planning for the next year. After a week of planning, I will begin 3 weeks of my school's summer camp program. Then, in August, I will head to France to visit Mary and Andrew! YAY! Then to Barcelona, Spain for my birthday, and then to Ireland for an Orthodox tour of Irish Saints with Metropolitan Kallistos Ware. After I return, I will move (yet again) to another apartment. Hopefully, this will be the last.

I'm beginning to really feel the stress to finish up here and get moving with the rest of my plans. I am planning another year here, and then moving on toward furthering my education. I have so many years ahead of me, filled with so much to accomplish, but I'm ready to get going. I know I'm here to learn Russian, but my life here is so busy that it's almost monotonous. Is that even possible?

I feel the winds of change a-comin'!

It's been a while...sorry...

Before you all start throwing rocks at me for my lack of blogging, let me just say SORRY! Sometimes, time just gets away from you. I'm sure everyone can understand that :)

What's been happening with me on this side of the world?

I'm still working at the kindergarten. I took another job for the weekends as an English nanny with this incredibly wealthy family, but it fell through because he is a penny-pincher. It was an interesting taste of the "life of the rich and famous" here in Moscow. For example, I stayed in what I call the "Servants' Quarters". It's a separate little 2-bdrm apartment above the garage. All of my meals were cooked by their full-time cook. I didn't really even do any nannying because they had their full-time nanny there who hovered constantly.

My students still are amazing. We're having our Spring Concert on June 5th, and it should be pretty adorable. School ends on June 18th, and next year, I'll have a whole new group of monkeys to spend my time with. I'll really miss my first crew though :(

My mom came to visit from San Diego. She was here for 5 days, and it was really cool to get to share my life here with someone from home. I know it was QUITE a shock for her...and her poor feet. We got to do a lot of things I probably wouldn't have done myself, and she was such a good sport. Having her here made me realize how much I have changed from when I left. I've definitely been made tougher (not necessarily in a bad way) to the misfortunes of life. It was also interesting for me to see how much I could do in Russian. I am reminded every single day how awful my Russian is because Russians are ruthless. Having to translate everything made me realize how far I've come, and how much closer I am to my goal. I think I've graduated from retarded 5 year old to a 7 year old with a speech impediment.

At the end of July, one of my best friends will be moving here from California. I can't even express how excited I am to have her here. She has been so supportive in everything I've been doing, and has known all the right things to say because she's been where I am. We're very similar people, and it will be nice to have some support and have someone in this freaking country that understands me completely--through and through.

Anyway, that's my update. I'm sorry it's not as interesting as they usually are, but when something interesting happens, you can be sure I'll write about it.

Dinosaurs, Bronchitis and Lent

With the start of Lent (the Great Fast) also arrived my very own, first ever, harrassing case of bronchitis--of course, it only came after a month-long bout of illnesses following close on one another's heels. With the mixture of children and cold weather every day, my immune system had no chance, and my gleaming-white health records (which I presumed to have originated from Mt. Olympus) found themselves to be rather dirty.

Having said that, I haven't been to any of the Lenten services here yet, but (oh boy!) I have a whole month to look forward to! Actually, I like the Lenten services--they're very cleansing and appropriating. I do think of how much the chants and the hymns mean as they are being sung--how the beauty of the moment puts you in a place of awe and humility. This also makes me think of how having the services in a different language will affect me. I don't have the services memorized (HA!), so I won't know entirely what's going on unless I read the service beforehand. This makes me think that my Lenten experience is going to be more of an observation, just like much of my life here. I don't know how I feel about that, but I know that whatever happens, it's for the betterment of my soul. I love that word...betterment :) It sounds like "bitter mint". I don't really enjoy bitter mints.

Prior to Lent and my illnesses, I taught about dinosaurs in my kindergarten class. Usually, my job is really easy. All I have to do is show up, read the lesson plan that my assistants have written, and teach. They've been doing this for years, so they're prepared almost every step of the way. Well, for teaching about kinds of dinosaurs, they told me the day before that everything was entirely up to me. First I thought "cool!", but then I realized I had a night to plan it. I came home and cut out 10 different dinosaurs, and started thinking of ideas for how to give an educational, fun lesson for them. Finally, I had an idea--a dinosaur hunt! I wrote down everything required for the dinosaur hunt and went to sleep.

The next day's lesson went like this: At 11 am, we talked about different kinds of dinosaurs, just naming 10 of them. At 11.15 am, I took 18 kindergarteners into our huge bathroom and we imagined putting on our safari hats and vests and boots, while my assistants prepared the room. At 11.20 am, we walked out of the bathroom to see all the chairs stacked on the tables to make mountains, all the blue rugs brought together to make a river, all the brown linoleum represented the valley, and their locker room became a dark cave. The supply closet door was partially closed with a fuzzy green dinosaur tail peeking out, and two of my assistants were shaking the door and making scary noises from inside. From the CD player came jungle noises.

Out we walked from the bathroom ever so quietly, so as not to disturb the dinosaurs. We walked through the mountains, past the scary closet door (of course, I sacrificed a few of my fellow safarians for the good of science, and let them peer inside). Then through the valley to the bank of the river, then through the river to find another valley and a dark cave at the end. "What do you think is inside the cave?" I asked. "Is it a dinosaur home?? Maybe we should investigate? Go in quietly!" As I sent them in (before me), my third assistant JUMPED out of a dark corner with a fuzzy green dinosaur hat on, roaring in a marvelous fashion. A great scuffle resulted in going back through the valley, the river, the other valley, the mountains, and returning to our bathroom safe-haven.

Once inside, we took off our safari boots, hats, and vests. Then I drilled them about what kinds of animals live in the places we had been to. It was pretty awesome.

The Adventure With Sickness

After fighting off the inevitable "I'm a Westerner and I got really sick because I'm not used to freezing temperatures" cold, I am going to venture into the world (which, by the way, is still freezing) outside tomorrow. Duty calls!

But first, let me tell you about this experience.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I'm on the marshrut (minivan-type bus) home after work, and the ache in my throat that has been there for the previous two weeks is beginning to really catch my attention. Like...REALLY. I arrive home just in time to clean my room before my new Russian tutor arrives and set out some cookies and tea. She arrives, we go through an introductory hour and a half, I call my student who is basically at my doorstep and cancel with him, and collapse into bed. A horrific night ensues of cold air rushing into my lungs with every breath, and the true ache begins. Having had very little time to do any "sickness" shopping, the only things I had in my house were mineral gas water (bought on accident because the "gas" was hidden) and kasha (oatmealish stuff). I had no other medicines than whatever my roommate had in the kitchen already.

I got out of bed at around 2:30 am to get a glass of water and discovered my purchasing mistake--this would surely NOT help my aching throat. I took some water from the kettle because I knew it had been boiled. I understand what St. John means in Revelation about the warm water more thoroughly now. He really should have added "kettle" to his description. It would have been more distasteful. In the fridge I find all sorts of medications. Some, obviously, were not for throats, some might have been, but one definitely was. It was for spraying the throat, and I assumed it was to make it numb. I decided it was better to experiment with the hope of feeling better than not at all, so I gave it a whirl and it tasted utterly disgusting too. All it ended up doing was making me extremely thirsty.

Being very parched with a slightly numb throat and a disgusting taste in my mouth, I headed back to bed. Seven hours of restlessness and discomfort later, I got up again and made some tea and kasha to greet the morning. I think it was due to my intense thirst, but I ended up with a severe migraine, which ended up in the kasha staying elsewhere besides it's designated home, and went back to bed to moan and groan for six more hours.

That Saturday afternoon, I was supposed to bring a heating pack to my Australian friend who had fallen in the snow and ice, and we were going to have lunch. After not hearing from me, she sent me a message asking if I was alright, and upon hearing that I was not, she came running with homemade soup, medicines and other special, marvelous things. "Shannon, I'm not even going to ASK how you feel," she said, "you look like death among us!" Anyone who has seen me ill knows that the first thing to go is the color in my face--immediately. Either way, she was met with tears of pain and joy. I love her. It is good to find fellow foreigners for friends immediately when you move to a different country. When things like this happen, they will ALWAYS run to help you, and you should likewise run to help them. In any situation, when all hope seems to be smoldering away, they will be there.

The next day was Sunday, and that night, my roommate had a friend over. This friend (her name escapes me, so I'll just call her Lena) had spent a lot of time in the States, so her English was very good. She also had formed all sorts of ideas about American people and how they function when they are sick. "Americans have a funny way about them when they become ill, Katya," she said to my roommate, "when they get sick, they don't try to heal themselves, they just look for relief. When we Russians get sick, we have all sorts of remedies."

I smiled and nodded.

So here come her "remedies"! "You must drink vodka," Lena says, "vodka with honey and pepper and lemon. It will make you feel better instantly. Afterward, you drink a cup of tea, also with honey and lemon, and wrap yourself up in bed for a good night's rest." Hilarity ensued when they poured me a cup equal to at LEAST two-three shots of vodka and stirred honey, pepper and lemon into it. I stared with fear and disdain. Honey and pepper does NOT look appetizing. Now is the time when you imagine me staring into this large "shot" of honey-lemon-pepper vodka with big, fearful eyes with two Russian women staring at me eagerly, pressing me onward! My throat...my poor, poor throat. For an instant, it felt wonderful because I couldn't feel my entire neck any longer, but then everything came back.

On Monday evening, I got two phone calls. One from my senior "assistant" and one from my boss. Both saying, "Shannon, I would like you to do me a favor. Do not come in to work tomorrow. Take another day off so that you really fight off the sickness." Seriously, only in Russia does your boss call you in sick for you.

Anyway, I'm feeling better now after being quarantined to my house for five days, except for quite possibly having gone crazy.

Some pictures of my Kindergarten

These are some of my kids.
This is Sasha telling me to come stand next to him...just stand there...

I like her.

One of the Japanese girls.

The little "My Little Pony" Austrian Princess

Eren, my Turkish boy, and James.

I dress like a kindergarten teacher.

These last two weeks have been the firsts of many to come in English Playschool-Moscow. They've also been the first weeks of responsibility and attempting a regular sleep pattern. It has included getting punched in the face, being called "Mr. Fatbottom", being hit on by a five year old (but not really), and having the privilege of helping to shape the minds of beautiful children. Read on...

The past month has been sad and enjoyable--for different reasons. Coming home was nice because I got to see family and friends. For a week and a half, I troubled myself with visa problems (just BARELY completing the process hours before the deadline), and spent every spare moment with people. No, I mean it. Seriously. I felt loved and stressed all at the same time. I think next time it would be wiser to come home for longer?

Arriving back home in Russia took more acclimating than I thought it would. My whole world here had changed...again. I came home to a new flat, a new roommate, a new job....and Russian...again. I know sometimes God takes us through awkward, sad and uncomfortable times so that when the better times come, we can be truly grateful. I hope that's what I am right now.

My new home is better than my last (pictures will come soon), and my new roommate is a lovely Orthodox girl named Katya. She speaks English fairly well and took great pains to get to know me. She also tries as often as possible to speak Russian with me and to introduce me to her friends. (Let me say this: I really believe God will honor those who endure helping someone learn a language. They are the most patient, selfless people I have ever met.)We definitely have cultural differences that will take blind respect to avoid unfairly judging one another, but overall, I think we'll do quite well.

My new job is going well. I am the head kindergarten teacher (only because my native tongue is English and kids and I seem to get along) at a small English school owned by Russians. I have three "assistants" who have been there since the dawn of time, and about 20 little dears to goof around with all day long. There will be some stories below.

St. Antipa's is still a good experience for me. I'm learning more about Russian Orthodoxy every day as I interact with people at work and my very small social circle. Someone here said it like this: Russian Orthodoxy is like a great, big furniture store. They have plenty of lovely pieces of art around their home that they love and cherish very, very deeply. Sometimes, however, since the pieces of art and furniture are so old, they worry more about cleaning and preserving them than actually putting them to use. These "pieces" I speak of are Russia's aged icons and spiritual writings, as well as their churches and traditions. Being an American convert to Orthodoxy from Protestantism, I have a very different approach. We Americans don't have all of the old traditions, churches and icons. Sure, we've adapted to some of the traditions, but we don't have deep roots like the Russians do. I respect them in that whatever they read or see, they revere with the utmost sincerity. The difference, really, is that they believe and follow with a keen heart, while Westerners (particularly from a Protestant background) attempt to be more analytical...sometimes more than they should. I don't really mean for either to sound positive or negative--both have their benefits and hindrances. As always, there should be a good balance.

Now some kid stories:

It was Wednesday, and Wednesday is Science Day in our kindergarten class. My assistants had placed before me a subject and lesson plan, saying, "This is the lesson plan. Do what you want, but this is what you should do." The lesson plans are usually so good and thorough that I just do what they want. This week, however, I made a small change since we were learning about air. Seriously, how can you teach a bunch of 5 year olds about air and NOT teach them air guitar?? Now would be a good time for you to picture me playing the air guitar, whilst encircled by many air guitar-playing children. Hilarious, right? Directly after the lesson is lunchtime, and a small boy named Nikita was playing the air guitar at his table rather than eating his lunch. I came over to him and knelt down behind him, starting to say, "Nikita, now it's lunchtime. It's not the time to play." As I finished, his hand holding the neck of his "guitar" shot upward and jabbed me right in the eye. His response? "I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have been there."

Another time, I was in the kitchen heating up my lunch, and one of the girls came in and said, "Shannon, I'm going to call you Mr. Fatbottom," in her little British accent. I asked why, stating that I was neither a "Mr." nor did I have a "fat bottom". "I suppose that's true," she said, "but maybe you have a fat tummy. Maybe just a little."
"Yeah, you might be right, but Erica, that's not very nice. People don't like it when you say those things," I said through suppressed laughter. She shrugged and ran off to play, but as she left, a little boy named Andrei came up to me, and with BIG brown eyes said, "Don't listen to her. I think you're pretty and I like you." That's a good man.


Nikita (the little boy who punched me in the face) was being rather naughty one day, so I put him in time-out. He cried and cried and cried, and when I came back to get him, he said, "I hate this school. I don't ever want to come back. I always get in trouble." You see, he and I have something very similar about us. When someone antagonizes us, we both respond strongly and openly. We are the kind of people whom other people notice doing something wrong--it is rare when the silent antagonizer is caught. Little punks. So anyway, Nikita and I were in another room talking, and it was a good conversation. Later on, he was working on a lesson, and as I walked past, I congratulated him on a job well done. He grabbed my skirt and said, "Shaman (that's what they call me), sit down next to me."
"Why, Nikita? You're doing wonderfully. You don't need help."
"Because I love you."
My heart melted five times.

Last story (and the reason for my Subject Title):

In my first week, I didn't make a great effort to dress differently. I just dressed the way I normally do and have for many years. In walks my boss and she gasps with happiness.
"Shannon, you LOOK like a kindergarten teacher! Your outfit today is PERFECT."
"Oh...thank you..."
So, evidently, I dress like a kindergarten teacher and always have. :-|

Home again, Home again, Jiggity-Jig

So I flew out on Tuesday, December 30th and arrived in Moscow on the next day at noon. When I got to my departure gate in Chicago, I sat down to enjoy the delicious (and expensive) airport Chinese food when I noticed a priest with a large beard and cassock wearing a gold pectoral cross a bit hidden in the material. I then remembered that an acquaintance of mine from my Russian church was in CA for a conference, and would probably be on my flight. He indeed was, so I had about 20 minutes company before we took our respective seats. After the flight, he helped me get onto the train to go into the center of the city, and then bargained a taxi for me to get home. We had a nice chat on the 45 minute train ride back. Seriously, though, before I even left the States, I was on Russian overload. A week and a half away definitely threw me through a loop.

When I did get to my new flat, I found it dark and extremely quiet. I took a small nap, and then decided to go to the services at church that night since it was New Years Eve and all. The services were lovely, and what I could make of the priest's sermon was nice too. My British friend James is back in England now, and so I'm definitely fending for myself at St. Antipa from here on out. Glory be to God for all things. He's helped me get through everything else, he'll help me get through this too. My Russian really needs to get better though. It's difficult to be sociable when you realize that people are going to great lengths to be kind to you while you inconvenience them with your bad grammar and limited vocabulary. I think I might definitely be an instrument of patience for some people. Even if they do speak English, they eventually get tired of having to think so hard to converse with me, and with Russian, they have to grade their language so that I can understand. I'm just like this big, unnatural stump in the middle of the room that everyone has to walk around. In time, it will all get better.

I've also been watching Russian tv since they've had all the New Years celebrations. That stuff is seriously hilarious. I think it's also been helping my Russian, which is why I keep watching it. But also, it's just a big ol' riot.

Anyway, it's good to be back in these boots again.