true story

my parents, like any normal russians, went looking for fresh mushrooms after a week of rain. as they approached "the forest" (i.e., a park), they met a man who told them in russian:  

there are no mushrooms here

he went on to ask whether they've seen his mother, and because they hadn't, he wandered off to look for her.

..

surrealism itself. i wish i had been there.

ford is out; thank goodness.

it's upsetting that very normal expressions of human decency and understanding bring tears to my eyes
town rallies around vandalized cold lake mosque

at certain moments during shostakovich's symphony 8 i noticed that you were crying... that my hands were clenched

a terrifying, furious piece, wonderfully performed by the london philharmonic

i still can't get my head around the fact that your family in iran can send expedited mail to us, but we cannot send it to them

support books 2 prisoners

i used to read pieces like "before the law" with a sense of outrage; with the furious disbelief of an idealist

recently, that fury is supplanted by depression and withdrawal. perhaps this is why i feel paralyzed in the face of research on a topic that i believe i'm morally obligated to examine

... hoping against hope that this isn't permanent

Мы успели—в гости к Богу не бывает опозданий;
Что ж там ангелы поют такими злыми голосами?
Или это колокольчик весь зашёлся от рыданий?
Или я кричу коням, чтоб не несли так быстро сани?

We have made it--right on time; God has left us with few choices.
But why are the angels singing with such fiendish, scolding voices?
Or is that the horse's bell ringing in a frenzy drenched with tears?
Or is it I, the one who's screaming for my horses to shift gears?

it needs no credit.
but the wonderful translation does: Stanley Altshuller [mild edits, mine]

it's pretty disturbing that getting a computer upgrade and a new keyboard at work makes me this happy...

lately, i have moments of paranoia immediately followed by sudden short-term memory loss. what was i worried about just now? could it possibly have been the fact that i don't know what's going on? that, after gaza, i haven't regained the strength to read the news--any news--although i consider it a civic duty to do so?

it's the last thing i remember thinking...

old russian music throws me into unbearable fits of nostalgia. i haven't lived through any of these songs... but something tears at me regardless; something deep, deep in the throat

جان جان جان از همه جهان
می کشد دلم پر به سوی تو

i just love this.. heard it for the first time this morning

so, so touched by everyone's warm wishes--and leaky, as always, from your various kindnesses

i was asked recently if the fact that i'm driving makes me a "grown up"..but i'm such a child today, giddy with attention--and cake--that i rather suspect this will not be the case for a long time yet

i guess it ought to be commemorated: the (rather depressing) fact that i drove on my own for the first time in my life the day before my 30th birthday

این کیه که با من همنفسه...

what else to say, my love
thank you for a wonderful six years together

how terrible that ino reader refuses to display my corrections to embarrassing mistakes...

It was a lovely place--beautiful, serene, and French--and we had a wonderful, peaceful time, eating under the sky and roasting potato on the fire.

But on the way there, almost everything that could go wrong, did: traffic; road work; confusion and separation in Ottawa and the loss of 40 min trying to find each other; a bathroom emergency; complete lack of visibility due to heavy, heavy rain; crazy locals driving at full speed despite the literal barrage of water; evening; thick cloud cover; a road closure--and the subsequent confusion of our GPS.

Here, it would be best to recount in detail and to explain that we were trying to find our way in rural Quebec, at dusk, with zero cell reception. While the GPS shouted at us to turn around, we came across two young ladies walking along a dirt path. In a surreal personification of Canada, one of the ladies spoke perfect English, one spoke perfect French, both were extremely polite, but neither was helpful. The first appeared to be an exchange student, and the second may or may not have been a local. I was directed, in both languages, to a nearby farm, where we came across two men using a small tractor. I hopped out of the car:

- excusez moi, vous parlez anglais?
- non [smiles, hesitation, and knowing glances]  

And, in my pièce de résistance, a sudden surge of high school French that I can only attribute to extreme desperation:
   
- nous sommes perdus!
- ah, aha

... After that, I resorted to single words:

- adresse [pointing], cellulaire [head shaking], téléphone? [more pointing--inside]

... And from them, something like:

- oui, pas de ... tower; allez [pointing down the road]; tournez à gauche ... signe stop
 
Then suddenly, as if sent by god, Charles appeared--Charles who knew English and who knew exactly what to do. The GPS found his route and we thought we were safe. We even found our chemin. But this road, being newly-developed, being rural, and being basically a dirt path, was unlit, un-mapped, and quite terrifying in the dark. We were twice confused by our electronic friend: first, we were told that we had reached our destination about 2km before we had actually reached it; second, we were told that we were 300m away and then, suddenly, 1km. We physically popped out of the car to shine a flashlight on every cottage until we found our own.

I've learned from this experience that I'm a bit of a tyrant when it comes to extended road trips: no music until we're on a highway for at least 40km; no leaving later than 7:30am; no more than two stops for gas/washroom/food; no long stops; no delays. I have become a slightly toned-down version of my father--and I'm not ashamed.

Here are a few pictures of the surroundings and of our two excursions:

Cottage

Quebec City

Ottawa

Yasha, whom i've known almost my whole life.. the kindest, sweetest man who loved to pickle mushrooms.. who always called me инночка.. who was so much Lena's other half

i will remember you as before: in health, in the kitchen, singing with my parents

זיכרונו לברכה
may your memory be blessed
rest in peace, at last

عشق من
happiest (sunday's) birthday

i've been trying, for days, to think of something to say, but nothing feels adequate
your mom is here.. i should be thanking her.. i should be thanking kaave..

but, most of all, i should be thanking you simply for your continued presence in my life.

warmest, happiest, birthday thoughts and wishes

that's it.. i have to stop this.
it's time to start reading again