Tropicana... thank God in America it is only an oragne juice!

The girls... and really good food!
Dont worry; no liquor in those glasses. If you look hard you can see the feathers in the background!
For Christmas my team went to the Big City. We all arrived at different times, and after everyone got in, we decided to meet for a fun "night out". We tried to be as Kazak as possible; so we decided that we would not go until after 8:00 that night. We tried to decide where to go, and two of us named a place called Tropicana, which both of us had heard was fun. Now, I had been there once; for an early evening dinner, and knew that there was a show that came with the meal, but I was not prepared for the "entertainment" that we got.

We were greeted at the door by a man who looked strangely like Lionel Richie. This is strange for two reasons; first, there are only about 4 black people in this entire country; and two, that one of the four would look like Lionel... Anyway, as soon as we checked our coats we knew we were in for WAY more than we bargained for. Everyone else in the restaurant was dressed to the nines, suits for the men and cocktail dresses for the women. There was one guy in a sweater...Thats about it! Of course, we were seated at the table in the front, so we had to parade through the restaurant in our jeans and tennis shoes and oversized sweaters. We sat down and our personal waiter seemed quite anxious for us to order. We tried to order several different things; but of course, as a reminder that we were still in KZ, they were out of chicken and beef. We were quite confused as to why there was such a rush for us to order, but as the band took the stage we understood that we had arrived right at the start of the show, and they were ready to start.

I'm not sure that there was anyone among us who was prepared for what happened next. From women who were wearing scarcely more than feathers, that kept falling off, to the queen of Sheba who perched on stage with her shirtless "bodyguards" (who couldnt have weighed more than 100 lbs); each act provided more laughter, embarassment and frankly, jsut sheer confusion. The crowning glory of the night came in the middle of the show, when Santa Claus showed up.

Several things were remarkable about him. First, he was black, which is rare because we dont see black people here (that makes two for the night if you are counting), and second, after about 5 minutes of playing Santa Claus, he stripped off his clothes to reveal traditional African dancing costumes. He and the woman who had previously been an elf, began dancing around the room in what they called, "the Dances of Africa". Their goal was simple; people in the room were supposed to get up and dance with them... and guess what? It worked. Old people, in very expensive clothes, who had been enjoying their "dining and drinking experience" for the past 5 hours, began to parade themselves around the room.

I've got to be honest here- it was hysterical. We ate our food and left early, something no good Kazak would do. But man oh man, it was a night that I, or anyone else who went, will EVER forget!

Normalcy... what is that really?

I was in my kitchen last week, cooking fried pickles, onion rings, and red beans and rice with two of my teammates when it hit me, this feels normal. It felt like I was at home in the States, either in Mobile or in Shreveport, hanging out with old friends. We were having the best time; Scott was entertaining us with Russian pop songs and dance moves, and Phil and I were laughing hysterically. It was really fun. I made that comment, just that in that moment it felt like I was at home, and both agreed, it was just normal. Since that day, I have had several moments of things feeling strangely normal. Here are some of my thoughts on the subject:
1. I tried to fight the initial feelings of normalcy. I told myself that there was no way this could be normal, as admitting comfort would somehow betray my life in the States. I told myself there was no way this could feel normal.
2. Then I realized, normalcy for me is not about a place. Its not even about the people. Its about being where I know that I am supposed to be, about being in the place that God has designed for me. So many people think that life can only be normal in one place, or with certain people or things surrounding them, but that is just not the truth.
3. I guess normal is what you make it. I have wanted this dirty, small, broken apartment to be my home. I didnt want it to merely be a place where I slept; instead, I wanted it to be a place where people would come, a place where locals felt at home. I worked really hard, not at making the walls less cracked, or the plumbing work better, but at making it warm and inviting. I have learned valuable lessons about hospitality, and appearances, and about how the pretty places arent necessarily the inviting ones.
4. All is normal, yet nothing is normal. Every night, when I lay down to sleep, I spend about 5-10 minutes listening to the sounds around me. I hear people yelling, singing; I hear people walking up stairs, smoking cigarettes on the front step, doing remodeling work on their apartments. This has become so normal to me; but in the same breath, it is the opposite of the normal that I am used to. I would love one night of absolute quiet; but here it is just not going to happen.

Bottom line, there are so many random, not normal things that are part of every day. Things that make me laugh, furrow my brow, sometimes cry, or just stand in utter amazement that places in the world still operate in this manner. Its not always my first instinct, but I am choosing to make those things my new normal. Sure, it will never be the way that I like it, or the way that I am most comfortable with, but it is way it is. Thats good enough for me.

Just Call Me Betty...

Crocker that is... The past few weeks have been a huge challenge in domesticity; everything from cooking turkeys and chickens, to making pumpkin bread and apple cobbler from scratch, to serving tea and coffee until the cows come home. I thought that I could at least win an honorable mention at the Martha Stewart domestic goddess competition, and then I had the experience catalogued in the pictures. Thats right... washing dishes in the bathtub! Now, I dont know if you at home have tried it, but if you havent, I suggest trying it. It is amazing how much quicker it goes when you can line them all up and spray them with the shower hose! I mean, who even needs a dishwasher? I recommend those of you who are reading this to try it... I think it might jsut change your life

The Money Pit

You remember that movie where Tom Hanks buys that house that is a disaster and spends a ton of money fixing it up? Well, fact is stranger than fiction... and I live in the money pit!

Okay, here is the story: Two of my teammates, one who worked construction one summer, decide that they can fix it! They show up at my house with three plungers, that look like Grammy awards, and an idea that if we plunge each drain in my house at the same time, my drainage problem will be fixed! I dont know how to plunge things, so Phil gave me a lesson in plunging. He filled the sink with water and lightly pressed down on the sink. As soon as that happened, the sink fell out of the wall! The water came with it, and began to pour onto the floor. Here are some pictures of the mess! Read below for the rest of the story!

Ahh... this was my face when I saw the sink fall off the wall! Nice huh??
This was my pathetic attempt at mopping up the mess. It didnt work so well.
Okay, turn your head sideways, and imagine the mess down the hall. All the way into the bedroom... oh yeah! It was funny!

Okay, so after I picked myself off the floor, I composed myself and the guys began to remodel my kitchen sink! It now drains perfectly! Who would have thought?

More thoughts on the Compleat Gent

Okay... so even though it wasnt posted on my blog, I received quite a bit of feedback about my post on the disappearance of the gentleman. Most of this came in the form of conversations, and I have to admit, I didnt even consider their very vaild complaints while writing my previous post. But, because I like to be fair, and their arguments held quite a lot of weight, I write the other side to the gentleman.

This was the complaint that all of the guys that I talked to had. Its to all of the ladies that read this post. LET THE MEN BE GENTLEMEN!!!. I can honestly say that I had no clue that this was a problem; because, for any of you who know me at all, I have no problem letting a guy exercise and practice the art of being a gentleman! But apartently, there are many girls out there who feel that they are too independent, too much of a bother, too unworthy to have a guy treat them like that.

But here is the truth- You are not too independent. Just by proxy of being created as a woman, you have a God given need and desire to be taken care of and protected by men. For my friends who are reading this and scoffing, it has nothing to do with your intellectual capabilities or your ability to handle yourself in tough situations. Instead, it has everything to do with the being that you are. AND, when you act within the confines of who you are, you allow the guy to act the way that they were created to act as well!

More truth: You are not being a bother. Contrary to what most of the popular media says, you are not being a bother. Instead, you are appearing more charming, more alluring, more beautiful. And beleive it or not, guys actually want to do this for you. Now this isnt the case across the board, but more often than not, guys want to act right. Its only after many women chastise them for trying to be nice do they stop.

Final nugget of truth: You are not too unworthy either. You are worth this. The things that are included in being gentlmanly arent huge things, but they make a huge difference. And you, as a woman, as a person, are worth these things.

Okay. The last thing the guys that I talked to pointed out, was that I wasnt really quick to point out many gentlemen that I have been blessed to know. So here goes a quick list. I'm pretty lucky, so mine is pretty long. My dad, my grandfathers (both of them), my uncle Sid, many men from my home church, several guys that I went to college with, the men that I work with over here... Each of them, and I didnt name the people within the larger categories, have left an indelible mark on who I am, and also have set the standard very high for the man that will be my husband. So thanks for being gentleman- at a time when its not really cool. And girls, I'll say it again- Let the men that want to be this way be!

Your thoughts on this one would be appreciated... and not only just to me. Please post them for everyone to read.

no bread, banned books, good life

I love history. I've always enjoyed it. One of my favorite things about it has always been imagining the people that were a part of each historical event. While each book of history always includes a retelling from a certain perspective of the events, there is something about that firsthand retelling that sticks with me. I will remember forever the stories from the Holocaust; not only because they were chillingly evil, but also because they have been recounted to me in person by people who were actually there. I was never in Vietnam either, but some war heroes' dramatic stories about the delicate balance between self preservation and murder can transport me there instantly. And I've never walked the deserted and arid streets of Darfur, but sitting for hours with people who have been a part of that struggle from the beginning gives me a piece of ownership in that tragedy.

Today I spent time with two of my favorite women here; one, in her early 40's has become like a mother to me. She is very well educated and has spent the majority of her life working very hard for everything that she has gotten. The second woman is in her early 60's. She, like the first lady, is quite educated and has a huge bank of book knowledge from which she pulls often. She also works hard, but she has not had quite as many opportunities as the first lady. Today, as I met with each of them separately, we discussed life in the USSR, during the Perestroika, and after the USSR fell. Here are some of the highlights.

With regard to Books: Both women talked about the value of books. While most of them were banned during the 80's, these women went to great lengths to find illegal books, just for the purpose of strengthening the mind. They, to this day, have a love for books that is unlike many that I have known. They had to work hard for their jaunts into fiction. There's was not an easy stroll to the local Barnes and Noble or to the city library. Instead, it was a long trail of dark alleys and friends of friends. Each one distributing not just words on a page, but the chance to continue learning, the chance maybe to escape, the chance for just a moment to be famous, or great, or just content with life. I thought that in our day of tv, and everything being made into a film, that this was very interesting.

With regard to life then: It was hard. I dont think I realized how recently the people that I spend the majority of my time with had to fight with neighbors for slices of bread- an amount that was supposed to last for the entire month, for the entire family. I dont think I fully understood the idea of suffering and struggling for EVERYTHING that a family had. There were no new clothes, no surprise trips to the candy story, no asking mom or dad to buy something extra at the market. There was nothing; there was no money; there was no way to get money because it hadnt been printed yet. There was no system in place to stabilize anything. People did what they had to do to survive. When I asked each lady what that meant, they both got very quite. I'm sure it didnt mean life or death situations, but for two women, both of whom feel very comfortable with me, to go silent, it couldnt have been pretty.

With regard to life now: They have an incredible amount of faith and hope in the future. It cant get any worse than not being able to eat for days.

I walked away from those two conversations extremely tired. These two women are beautiful; the lines on their faces that before our conversations today just indicated older age now are markers of a life of struggle, and a triumph over oppression and looming defeat. These women have worked hard for everything- the right to proudly embrace their ethnicity, the right to live in a country that is controlled by them, even the right to work. But more than that, they have worked oh so hard to maintain the beauty that is intrinsic in a true woman.

What is my point? I know that my last few posts have been ramblings... I think my point is this: I'm starting to understand struggle, not in terms of my own reality, because in that realm I really have little of my own struggle to offer, but in terms of the sufferings of others. I spent the rest of the day in quiet humility. What a blessing it has been to have been sheltered from a life of overt pain and hardship. So what that my apartment is broken: So what that the heat doesnt work and the whole place floods... I have food on the table (and in the refrigerator, and in the cabinets, and on top of every surface...), I can buy bread. So no complaints from this Southern girl who is living in Central Asia... I have no right

more musings on the COMPLEAT GENT!

I took four retired Americans to the bazaar today. It was quite an experience. Me, being the respectful, lover of older people that I am, I gave them every opportunity to back out of this trip. It wasnt that I wasnt looking forward to the bazaar, its my favorite place in the city; its just that I wasnt sure how they would do. A typical bazaar day is bad enough, but Sundays provide an entire new set of challenges. It is the only day that local people dont work, so they ALL go shopping there on Sundays. It is also the day when the local vendors there restock; so the aisles (think more paths between looming metal racks) are crowded with carts and merchandise, with men behind them pushing their way through.
But these four troopers didnt back down. They had decided they were going to the bazaar, so we were going to go to the bazaar, even if it killed us. Well, the first few aisles we went down were fairly tame, my teammate was with me, so he took a younger guy and one of the older women, and I took two of the older people and another guy. We had a good system. Yell, loudly, if you wanted to stop at a stand; otherwise we were pressing on... just trying to make it to the other side. We had some success; I bought a hat and another lady bought one as well. I was maneuvering our way to the main road so that we could leave when the trouble came.
We turned down the main aisle, and all looked okay. It was crowded, but no more so than the other ones we had been down. So my teammate led the charge down the aisle. He was halfway through and we were just starting when the trouble began. This was a main aisle, so it was wider than the others. It was the one that they use for transporting carts full of merchandise from one place to another. It was made to hold maybe two carts plus foot traffic, but in a country where everything that is made is used in a way different than the original intention, it usually holds one extra cart.
Somewhere between our first steps down that aisle and the light at the end of the tunnel, we encountered pure chaos. I now understand the mob mentality. When one person panics, an entire crowd panics. Literally, in less than two minutes, we went from a crowded but manageable place to a place of shear panic and confusion. They were trying to force four carts down the aisle, plus the impatient crowd that had formed was also trying to force its way around the cards. There was just no room. So there I was, with three older people, two of which are women, trying to protect them from thieves, from incoming carts with sharp objects on them, from losing feet or toes to the wheels, and from getting trampled and hurt during this madness. It was crazy; and I'm not sure that I have ever been in a situation that was that out of control. The crowd was completely out of control, fights were breaking out, people were screaming, crying, yelling, pushing, falling... it was stinkin crazy. The entire thing probably lasted about 10 minutes, us finally pushing our way through the madness to finally get to the street. We all made it physically unscathed.
It was incredible though. I was certain that the day was over after this disaster, that there was no way we were going to be able to go anywhere. But was that the case, not at all. They were less affected by the whole thing than I was. So onward we went. Needless to say, we left the main bazaar, but none of their plans were going to be thwarted by our near death experience. It was cool... Paca

the compleat gentleman

I've been reading this book, The Compleat Gentleman, by Brad Miner, and it has raised some interesting questions. A teammate lent me this book, in response to my many comments about how men should be gentleman. See, I have this other teammate that is from the North (South Dakota), and he is always asking me to teach him about "culture", about things that gentleman do. Anyway, so his roommate gave me this book, which I opened with low expectations.
I'm about 100 pages into it; and so far, it has been fascinating. It is chronicling the history of the gentleman, from the early Middle Ages and the time of the knight, to the Renaissance and the idea of the New Man, given to us by Castiglione in The Courtier, to the "gentleman" who were the founding fathers of the United States. The author has given many different criteria for being a "compleat gentleman"; from social status, to religious devotion, to philanthropy... I'm not sure that I am far enough into the book to know his final criteria.
However, I am far enough to have stumbled over this quote, which got me thinking about the gentleman in my life, or more than that, the gentleman that exist in society today. Here is the quote:
"If it (chivalry) should ever be totally extinguished," writes Edmund Burke, " the loss I fear will be great."
Is chivalry dead? Has it been extinguished? Has our society traded in teaching our men to be "Renaissance men" of sorts for teaching them to cheat and steal their way to the top of the corporate ladder? Or has the idea of a gentleman been trumped with the idea of a Hollywood's macho man?
Here are my thoughts: According to the author of the book, society has always been the main educator for all things gentleman. There was always a gentleman for a young man to look to, someone to model his life after. They were accessible, observable and willing to invest in young lives. I'm not sure that we can leave this task to society anymore. Instead, we need to use our homes as training grounds for these little guys. Maybe it starts with the dad treating all the women in his life with the utmost respect, or with the dad setting an example for living a righteous life, or even with a dad spending time wrestling with his boys on the floor.
I'm not sure what it looks like practically, but I know that I want gentlemen to be around for my grandkids. I know that I want my husband to be a gentleman, not just in the sense that he holds doors for me and stands up when I leave the table, but in the truest sense of the word. I know it is strange for me to be talking about raising little boys to be gentlemen, but I think the point is simple; its just that we cannot let the ideas that being polite, that caring first about others and last about ourselves, that women were created by God to be esteemed become obsolete, something that only our grandparents did a long time ago.
Thoughts on this topic would be awesome... I dont think I have the answer.. I'm not even sure that I have the question at this point...

And the award goes to... part 2

Its official. The ballots have been turned in, the votes have been counted. A representative from the accounting firm of Young, Smith and Jones is waiting in the wings to bring the envelope on stage...
The award for the worst landlord of the year (and quickly becoming the century) goes to...
EMILY'S LANDLORD!!!
Now who saw that coming? Isnt it a surprise? Some new apartment stories.
1. My electric meter doesnt work correctly, because my landlord rigged it so that he wouldnt have to pay for electricity. Well, all was well until the meter reader came by yesterday. Whoops on that one. When he doesnt pay by the 13th of November, they are turning off my electricity. If this happens, please say a quick prayer, as I think I will have a slight breakdown!
2. Heat- still not on in one room (That room being my bedroom!) At this point though, at lease my bed doesnt have bugs in it!
3. I cant use my sink or my washing machine. They are linked to the same set of pipes, and those pipes have the propensity for flooding my apartment. The people that are supposed to fix this only do this once they have been paid, which of course, because my landlord won the award, he hasnt done!
I think I could go on for quite awhile, but its not really worth it. Plus this has been character building!

And the award goes to...

This past week I had the privilege to attend the 10th anniversary of the school that I work for. Let me be clear, this wasnt even the anniversary for the entire school, only for the lyceum. Now, in the States, a 10th anniversary isnt a big deal, but here... oh, I dont think I can paint a fair picture! We have a team here also, so I took four of the team members along with me. They wanted a cultural experience. Haha, they got what they asked for! Okay, lets see if I can do it justice.
First, the building. the rented out Congress Hall, which if in America the equivalent might be the MET in New York city or the Ford theater in Washington. I have no idea how much this thing cost, but it couldnt have been cheap. Each student in the lyceum (the private school part of the public school) was required to attend and they had to buy a brand new outfit to participate. The outfit was simple white collared shirt for both guys and girls, and black pants or skirt. The girls dressed up their outfits a bit; they added white bow like things to their hair, although when they were added you could hardly see their faces!
Okay, to the ceremony. We took seats in the massive hall and began to watch a light show that took place on the curtains. They started late, of course (it wouldnt be KZ unless they did); with a song and dance number that the whole school was involved in. It really was incredible, and we thought at that moment we were in for a treat. But it was just a tease; for the next hour and a half the principal (or direction as he is called) passed out awards to every teacher who has even walked in the school doors. People got awards for everything , from being a good teacher to having a great haircut. And did we see the kids again... NO! That was the entire reason we were there, to watch the kids.
After 2 hrs of "Awards" with seemingly no relief in sight, I found one of my students and asked how long this was supposed to last. She smiled and said that at the earliest, it might be over at 7. Lets remember, it started at 4. I smiled politely at her and then my guests and I staggered our exits and hit the door running!
I got to thinking though, if we would have been in America, this would have been so much different. The program would have been all about the kids, with little or no recognition given to the teachers. The kids would have been dressed up, but most would not have put much care into what they wore. I love the focus that we as Americans put on our children, but the people here might have something, truly honoring their elders and those who teach. The students from the school sat patiently during this entire thing; I must admit, we were the ones that couldnt sit quietly.
I'm not sure that either way is 100% right or wrong, but I think that combining the two would bode very well, not just for school assemblies, but for the value systems that we are trying to instill and hold on to. Children are a gift from God, but the wise also hold sweet status with our Father... thoughts?

Going to the chapel...

Fun Times in America...

Me and Gina- in her office... anything to keep from working; oh, and Superior was SO GOOD that day!A few moments before she walked down the aisle... just hanging out!

The blushing bride (in the middle) with the girls from 520! Arent we cute?
We know whats important... getting up early to get our hair done!

Christi and I, after our joyous reunion. After she got lost a few times, we finally found each other in the parking lot! Oh- and then it started raining cats and dogs, so thats why we look like yard dogs! Who doesnt want to be steamin and fryin? I mean, seriously... It was so much fun to be back home.

New Food, New Hats, New City

aren't they cute? These are some little guys who I got to be friends with because I was a good soccer player! Isn't it funny how Dad uses things that we love to build relationships with people that He loves?
This is my language teacher B. She was teaching me to make Baursok, a fried bread that is amazing. It tastes like a funnel cake that you would buy at an amusement park, except it doesn't have powdered sugar. I thought I would miss the sugar, but this break is stinkin amazing! The other head in the pic is Jon, my teammate. He tends to make appearances at my house when there is food.
This is my stylish new hat! Guess how much it cost? $300 So needless to say, I didn't buy this one! I probably should have though. It gets cold on my head during the day! But something about wearing an entire animal on my head is not OK. (It had a tail that ran all the way down my back!)

I put this picture on here because we both look retarded.

I'm gonna PUMP you UP

Well, I've been here long enough to feel settled and I have found a gym. Today was my second day there, and I have some interesting trends to report. Sit back and enjoy, and be glad that gyms in America are the way they are, even if a little intimidating.
First, to set the stage, imagine 1976. Now, I wasn't alive at this time, but if I would have been, I'm pretty sure this is what it would have looked like. I paid my money and walked into the "training facility" (THat is what they call it). Yes, I pay every time that I go. I could buy the 10 visit pass, but it actually costs more to buy that than it does to pay each time. Anyway, I walk into the gym with my American workout buddy thinking that it was a normal gym. Well, before I even get to the first machine, I realize that there must be horns shooting out of my head, or I must have purple skin, because everyone in the room (About 35 men) is starring intently at our saunter. After getting over this, I make my way to the part of the weight room I want to work out in.
WHen I get there, I begin my mad search for a pin for the weights. If you can find one, you hold on to it with your life. But usually you cant find one, so you have to fashion other things to hold the weights up. I must admit, I have gotten quite creative at this art. But today was my lucky day and I found a pin after only about ten minutes of searching. I then started the dance to find a machine.
Here is how it goes: you eye the machine that you want and move very close to it. If someone is on the machine, you stand right in front of them and stare them down. Sometimes, it helps if you sigh loudly and tap your foot or our hand. After tapping for awhile, if the man still hasn't gotten up, you start to speak very loudly. There seems to be an art to this. I think you are supposed to speak loudly; and for some reason, that helps with the process. I was not adequately prepared for this and therefore was quite confused the first few times it happened. I am still not very confident with this process, but maybe with work I can get better at it.
I did my workout with many eyes watching. I didn't quite know why they were watching, but then I looked around the room, and realized that there was only one other female in the room, and she was my friend. In fact, no other women came in the room while we were there.
We were confused by this at first, but as we were leaving, we realized where the women were. There is a track around the indoor soccer field downstairs, and this is apparently where the women are supposed to hang out. It was funny though: we fit in better with the men than we did the women.
They had some interesting takes on workout apparel. Here are a few of my favorites:
1. Saran Wrap- woman after woman had wrapped this cooking device around their entire body; I think it induced sweating, but for these ladies it only added some interesting noises to the room.
2. High Heels- worn everywhere else; I guess I should have assumed they would have been worn here too. Oh yes, and the women DID run in them!
3. Short shorts (like those reminiscent of early basketball uniforms) on the men. Wasn't there a reason why the NBA changed the uniform?
4. Changing rooms exist there, but they aren't used for changing. Instead, the preferred changing area is out in the open. There is no shame in this game!

Anyway, it was a good workout day; and I was laughing at every turn. Just another day.

its cold

Well, winter has officially arrived. The past few days have brought temperatures right around 30 degrees F. ( I mean that has been the high) I have started to understand what it means to have the cold take your breath away. In America, one would simply turn on their heating system in order to stay warm, but here, the heat is controlled by the government, and they dont believe that it is cold enough for heat until the magic day of October 15th. Until then, its every apartment for itself, with people huddling, starting fires, or buying heaters to keep warm. I sleep with a space heater as close to my bed as it will go and pile on the clothes like I am getting ready for a walk in Antartica, but so far, it is working. I havent gotten cold in the middle of the night.
Local people have very strong opinions about keeping me warm, and they are always willing to volunteer information. My favorite came from my language teacher. She comes over each morning to teach me Russian, and usually her knock at the door wakes me up. The other day, I was already up, and happened to be pouring a glass of juice when she came in. She instantly started yelling at me... "Dont drink anything that is cold!" Only hot things in cold weather! I insisted that I didnt want anything hot, but she wouldnt have it. We argued about the merits of hot versus cold and then I finally gave up. Her reasons were simple. If my insides werent warm, then of course they would freeze. And if they freeze early in the winter, then for the entire winter I will be frozen. Makes sense right?
Later in the day, I went out to buy some salt for something that we were cooking. I started to pile on the clothes, and as I did, she looked at me as though I was crazy. I ignored her stares for awhile, but pretty soon her stares were accompanied by interesting thoughts on my choice of attire for the day. My theory is this... MORE IS BETTER. If I get hot, I can take a layer off, but if I am cold, there is no helping the situation. So before I go outside, I pile on the clothes. When I say pile, I mean 4-5 layers plus my heaviest jacket. I'm piling things on, and she is making fun of me! I thought that after her comments about not freezing my insides that she would be proud of me for bundling up, but that was not the case. Instead, she chastized my choices... only one coat is needed. But I would still be cold, I insisted. No you wont- she insisted.
Well, I won this battle. She kept saying that I would stick out to everyone that saw me, and that they would instantly know I wasnt from here. At that point I didnt care- I just wanted warmth! I think I'll just continue to stick with being warm, even if I stick out! I'll write more later!
Em

building codes... landlords... who knew

Okay- yes, I am a bad blogger, I know, but life has been shear madness. I moved into an apartment that has been quite interesting. I honestly had no idea that places like this existed. I mean, I've seen the movies and heard horror stories about bad appartments, but I didnt really fully understand or appreciate what those poor people went through to live in those places... until now!! I was absolutely spoiled in my other city!! I dont want to scare you with the pictures, so I will merely do my best to describe the scene, as I found it.
Let me set the stage; I got off the train after a 13 hr train ride with my boss and a teammate. We came straight to my apartment, mostly because my boss wanted to see my reaction to the place they had found. I had been prewarned that it was in need of "some work" but the amount of work had been grossly understated. I walked in to find more dirt, grime, and growing things than I have EVER seen in my life! It was everywhere!! We took off our shoes, as is the custom over here, but quickly put them back on, as we realized that it just wasnt safe to walk around without them. I put on my brave face as I got the grand tour! First we came to the living room. Now, at first glance, not so bad, but then I began to look deeper. The furniture- well, you CAN sit on it, although I have not yet tried to do so. It is of a leopard/zebra pattern and paired with the brown and black and grey floor, it really gives the room a dingy, dank feel. I'm not sure if that is a style that is currently in fashion, but the landlord here is making it work.
Next, the bedroom... two beds, with bugs actually crawling out of the mattresess; two white leather couches which have definitely seen better days, and a wardrobe that might fall over any day. I think when the bugs came out of the mattress is the point at which I lost it. The tears just started to fall. Haha! Now it is funny now, but then, not so much! If I had only known what was behind door number three, I think I would have saved my tears for that door, because the worst was yet to come.
The kitchen.. now, in the West, and even more so here, the kitchen is the gathering place; the place where at least the women spend the greatest amount of time. I'm not a huge fan of cooking, but I do like my kitchen to be a place where I want to go, not a place where I am afraid to walk through the door. Anyway, I walked into the kitchen and found an empty room, except for a table that had stuff on it. At frist glance, I thought that the landlord had provided me with some dishes, as is customary here, but oh, I was wrong! He had left me his last meal- complete with old food and rotting milk. More bugs, no cabinets, a fridge that didnt work... ahh, I could go on, but I think you get the point. I had really had enough by this point, and walked to look at the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised to see a modern bathroom- this room had actually been worked on at some point. The toilet room was the same way- new... at least I thought so- until I tried to go to the bathroom!
I finished going and tried to flush, but nothing would happen. So I checked to see if the water was turned on. It was, so I just figured that the pressure was down today, and that it wouldnt flush. I left my apartment because I just needed to get out of there, and returned a few hours later, armed with more cleaning supplies than an entire hotel staff uses! As I got closer to my building, I was met by a little boy. I had met him the night before, and he said, " There is a loud noise coming from your apartment!" I asked him if it was my dog and he responded that it wasnt; it was a bad noise. Well, sure enough, as I got closer to my door, I heard the noise- and yes, the little boy was right- it was a bad noise!! I ran into my apartment but was stopped suddenly when my ankles were covered in water! There was water everywhere- and the noise was getting louder. I flung open the tiolet room door only to get hit in the knees with a stream of water! Of course, the pipes burst! It was awesome! I had needed to mop, because the floor was so dirty, but because of the flooding, mopping wasnt necessary. i just poured bleach on the floor and let it work its magic!
I must admit, after that first day, I was ready to pack it up and go home, but things have gotten slightly better each day. I finally feel like this place can be a home, and I have even graduated from wearing shoes all the time to only wearing socks! But I have been able to see the sovereignty of God in all of this. I am surrounded by neighbors who invite me into their homes, allow me to practice Russian, and watch out for my place and for me. I have also found that local people are very willing to come into my house, because it is like theirs. My old place was very nice, and people were unwilling to come there; but here, there are no worries about that! And I've learned a valuable lesson about the realities of living in a foreign country!

Just hanging out on the doorstep

I packed up my life today, so that it could be shipped on a train to my new city. I had no idea that the life I had amassed here would fit into 9 boxes and action packers. Anyway, I live on the 5th floor, so lugging NINE overstuffed trunks down those flights of stairs was quite a workout. It was made worse because of the smell of open sewage that was suffocating me as I walked down the stairs. By the time that I made it to the ground floor, I was practically gagging; I had never smelled that horrible of an odor. I wasnt really paying attention to my surroundings, but when I came out of the stairwell, I oculdnt help but notice what was at my feet. There was an old man, curled up in the grass to the right of my doorway. He smelled, not nearly as bad as the sewage, but strong enough where I could notice him. His clothes were torn and ragged and he was using all of his possessions as a pillow. Now, this scene isnt unusual here, as sad as that is to say, but for some reason, the circumstances surrounding this man just broke my heart. This man was trying to sleep in the middle of a busy parking lot, with the sewage running right by his head, bees and flies swarming all around, passerbys looking at him with much disdain, and dogs using the bathroom at his feet. We're pretty lucky.

Growing up's not as easy as it looks

I’ve had to act like a grown up lately, and to be honest, that isn’t a role that I have readily embraced. Even though I’ve been around long enough to understand that grown ups aren’t perfect, I still had the gross misconception that they always acted like adults, just because of the position they were in. Well, I was wrong! I was very disappointed by this at the first realization of it, and wrestled a lot with the idea. Here is the situation: I heard very clearly from the Lord that I was supposed to make a move to a different situation. I spent time seeking Him, waited for Him to give clear word, and then believed that this word was enough to allow me to follow through with what He said.
Well, imagine my surprise when I was met with very strong opposition to the word of the Lord. Now, I know it is not nearly as severe as the opposition that Noah felt, but I did get a sense of what it was like for people to think you were crazy. Some of my leadership didn’t feel the same way. I got very bitter, and really fought with the Lord over this issue. “Why would you give me such clarity and confidence if it was going to be met with such opposition? Why would Godly men not hear from You? Why would this not be easy; after all, its your will?” These were some of my big questions.
God and I did a lot of talking during this time, and He was able to get His point across. Here is what He said.
“The voice of the Lord is powerful. The voice of the Lord is full of majesty.” Ps 29:4 In the moments that followed me reading that, I realized, there was nothing that the voice of the Lord didn’t control.
*It controls my friends that have no interest in Him or His word,
*it controls the government of the country that I live in that passes crazy laws that make it hard for me to live here
* It controls the waters of a tsunami and the winds of a hurricane
* And yes, it even controls my boss, who at first conversation was not willing to let me follow the calling of the Lord.

Nothing external changed immediately after I read that passage, but huge things changed on the inside. My voice will never be as powerful as the voice of the Lord. NEVER! No matter how loudly I yell, or how many people I get the chance to speak in front of. I do believe that one person can change the world, but I also believe that the only way to do that is to trust that when God tells you He is going to do something, that He really is going to do it! The end of my story is simple- the mind of the man who was so adamantly against me moving has allowed me to go. And man, has God gotten some serious glory from this entire situation. Even though it would have been much easier on me if he would have allowed it immediately, I would not have learned anything from the situation. God allowed this very sticky, painful, and grown up situation to happen so that He could receive glory from this, so that He could test my faith, and so that His power over the most stubborn of people could be exercised.

Desperation

Desperation makes people do crazy things. I started thinking about this while I was looking out my window one morning, watching three men dig through the dumpsters that are outside of my house. They had huge carts with them, and were not digging for things to sell, they were digging for food to survive. Now, the likelihood that these men were drug addicts or alcoholics is very great, but the fact still remained that they were willing to dig through the trash just to find something to eat. The dumpsters aren’t nice places. I usually run past them while holding my breath as to avoid the repugnant odor that radiates from the trash. Probably 200 families use these five cans, and even with trash pickup about three times a week, there is hardly ever a time that bugs, bees, and the foulest of odors doesn’t overtake you.
I’ve never been hungry enough to dig through anything to find food; and if I’m honest, I’ve never been hungry enough to even eat leftovers, but there are times where I have felt the desperation that is similar to the kind these men must feel. I had that experience the other night. I had been throwing up for the past 5 hours, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for anything that would make it stop. I sent a text message to a friend, asking them to bring a gun over, and while I would have never used it, I felt, in that moment, that there was nothing else that could have made the misery that I was feeling better. It was only after I had tried 2 different medicines and several mom’s with different opinions that it occurred to me that maybe prayer would help this situation. So I prayed, as earnestly as I have ever prayed, that I would NEVER THROW UP AGAIN! I would love to say that I wasn’t sick any more after that, but that is not the case, but there was something so therapeutic about the act of praying.
I am almost embarrassed to say that it was a last resort, to even think about praying, but I hope that there comes a time when it becomes my default, the thing I do before I do anything else. Some of my favorite passages in the Bible deal are the ones when people cry out to God with all that they have; sometimes there is the expectation that HE will fix the situation, but often times, it is just the idea that God hears their prayers and takes part in their suffering with them.

Nature!!

I didnt know that I liked nature that much- until I moved here and realized that the only source of entertainment that was appropriate was to be outside! Plus, the view from my window is incredible! Here is one of my favorite pictures. enjoy!

You Put Your Right Foot In...

You put your right foot out, you put your right foot in and.... (sing it with me now) you shake it all about! I got the privilege of teaching an English camp to 10-13 yr olds who were native Russian speakers but who had had some introduction to English. Basically, this meant that they were supposed to have some concept of the language- some idea about words, sentences, basic stuff. They kind of did.
I'm letting you into a big secret, but my default when I teach is always to sing. Poeple love to sing silly songs, and I love to act a fool, so it is a perfect match. We had talked about prepositions and also about body parts, so I thought this would be the perfect way to practice. SO I stood them up and began the song that had usually been reserved for skating rink brithday parties. But it was a hit! Some things just translate. I mean, how could you really translate "HOKEY POKEY" into Russian anyway!

There is something to be said for the medical system in America. I had never questioned things like prescriptions, insurance, or actual medicine until I moved here. Recently I have had many reasons to go to my local Apteka ( drugstore), and the "pharmacist" there has gotten quite acquainted with me. She is always entertained by my poor attempts at describing my ailments. This store is great- everything is under lock and key, but nothing in the store costs more than 10 dollars. No prescriptions are needed, just a convincing cough, sunburn, or some other visible symptom.
You can get ANYTHING there, but my Russian isn't good enough to know exactly what it is that I am getting. So the process for me is always an adventure. I walk in and do my best charades impression to describe my problem. My latest need was quite funny. I spent all day at a water park and got myself quite burned. Let me digress for a moment and tell you a little about this water park. You walked in to the most beautifully landscaped piece of land in this country. There were palm trees, plush grass, and pool boys that would get you any kind of drink you could imagine. It felt like you were not in this country anymore. It was amazing. There were slides, and more slides, and three pools. I mean, it was just like a place in America- only better. It was designed so that if you never wanted to leave your chair, you didn't have to. And I didn't plan on getting up at all! I got to people watch all day, and it made for some very interesting observations on this culture. A few things, and then I promise I'll get back to my original story.
1. People didn't care what kind of body they had- they were at the pool to get tan and beat the heat, so no matter what- short, tall, old, young, fat, skinny- they were going to accomplish that purpose. There were no cover-ups or attempts at hiding the parts of their bodies that they didn't love. It was kind of nice- people just wore swimsuits, because they were at the pool. The body image side of that was really cool.
2. With that however, came an interesting phenomenon which said that the fewer clothes you wore, the better things would be. I only thought that American women didn't wear many clothes. Here, I think the goal is to wear the most clothes while showing the most skin. This sounds a little counter productive, and let me promise you, it was!! They had the most intricately designed bathing suits, that showed EVERYTHING that God surely didn't intend to show and covered every part of the body that normal people show to the world every day!
3. The men- oh the men! Just a public service announcement for any of you that were wondering... THE SPEEDO IS NOT IN!!! There is nothing fashionable at all about this tiny piece of fabric. It is NOT flattering or attractive, and there is NO way it can be comfortable! You're welcome ladies- if I even saved one man from wearing that hideous thing, it was a good deed.
4. I was sitting in the pool, with some of my friends, when these two women came up to me. They spoke very quickly, and after getting them to repeat themselves two times, I finally figured out that they wanted me to baby sit their kid so that they could go to the "adult" pool. Now, let me be clear- I DIDN'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE FROM ADAM!! I didn't really say anything; I just sat there looking incredulous, so I guess they assumed that I was okay with it. I was not!! I got stuck watching that bad little girl for almost an hour. I was so frustrated!
Okay, back to my story. I was VERY sunburned. I've never gotten burned quite so badly. So I walked into the store and began to explain. After several failed attempts, I just pulled back my shirt sleeve to reveal my hot pink skin. She was horrified- and immediately began pulling stuff off of those locked shelves. After about 15 minutes, the counter was covered with things that were supposed to cure my ailing skin. All I really wanted was some aloe, but the "pharmacist" strongly disagreed with my solution. Instead, I left with a cream, a spray, and a pill- all of which were supposed to make me instantly better.
Haha! I should have known better. I tried the cream- and it didn't do much, so I tried the spray! This stuff is amazing- it foams all over you and stays put until you wash it off- but it does relieve the burning. I got curious as to why it took away the sting so fast, so I translated the back of the can so that I could GOOGLE the ingredients. Now, for my sweet dad's sake, I wont tell you what I found out, but I will tell you that I'm glad I'm in a foreign country, because in America you are not allowed to buy this stuff! haha. Needless to say, I'm not using that stuff anymore, but man, it was good while it lasted!
Just a sidenote before I leave, my fruit lady suggested something that she guaranteed would work. I was telling her my problem and she asked me to wait just a second. She walked around the corner and began to pick some weeds. I thought they were weeds until she brought them back... Apparently, her fix for a sunburn is marijuana! Ahhh... Just another day!

Baseball, Doctors, and Apricot Pie

Some days I go to sleep and wonder how things can get any crazier, or how something can make me laugh any harder than something did the previous day, and each morning I wake up and realize that this is now the life I live- and that things will continue to surprise and amaze me throughout my two years.
I had an interesting day on Tuesday. I havent been feeling well, so I decided it was time to go to the doctor. Now, I'm not picky about most things, but I do have a standard in my head for how I expect medical treatment to be. I guess I have just been spoiled in the past. I went to the "American" clinic- it can be called this because there is an American doctor who consults. She doesnt actually see patients; in fact, it is against the law for her to do so. So I was examined by Vitally, a guy who looked younger than me and who didnt know important things, like how to take my blood pressure or where my lymph nodes were. I figured things werent going to go too smoothly when he had trouble with the blood presure machine. I kindly showed him how to do it, and things went on from there. He determined that I had both strep throat and a sinus infection and decided that I was close to getting an ear infection. I didnt know they could tell when someone was close to getting an ear infection, but he did, and decided to clean out my ears to prevent it. Well, I've had this done once before, and the process while not extremely comfortable, was successful. This time, it was unlike anything I've ever been a part of. He got a syringe (one that hadnt been cleaned since the patient before- I could see stuff both on it and in it) and filled it with water and then attempted to squirt it in my ear. Well, luckily for me, none of it went into my ear. Instead, it completely covered my shirt. He repeated this process several times (about 10) until he decided that it just wasnt working. I'll spare you the details, but He then tried to dig it out of my ear with something sharp. I stopped him pretty quickly- I decided to take my chances with the ear infection. I figured the odds of surviving that were better than those of the "procedure" he was performing!
Well, after picking up my medicine from a local drugstore - I love that prescriptions arent needed here, I went to a 7-8 yr old baseball game. I wouldnt have gone except that I had promised some of my young teammates that I would be there. So off I went, with my preconceived notions about baseball. From first glances it had every appearance of a baseball game. There was a diamond, some balls, and little kids dressed in uniforms that copied the Major league teams in the States. Oh, but as the game began, I found some striking differences. First, most of these kids were local, and had grown up not on the baseball field, but on the soccer pitch; so they had no idea what they were getting in to. So instead of catching balls, child after child went to kicking the ball. One little one even tried to head it, but after he was carried off the field, no one else tried that. There were also some interesting rules. THe uniforms didnt have to match, as long as the team name was on it, but each child had to wear the same hat- and if they didnt have a hat on they were not allowed to play. It was all in all a very interesting dynamic. Thrown in were parents from both the Soviet Union and the US and things just kept getting better and better. The American parents grew up around this sport, and couldnt understand why the local kids couldnt get it, and the local parents were confused as to why people would want to play this sport when there were other, "better" options, such as badmitton or soccer. It was great. I dont think I am going to miss a game from here on out.
The end to this day was a package that was waiting at my door. Now, my mail goes not to my house but to the post office, so I knew it had to have been something that was dropped off. I was a little worried though; not knowing what was in it was a bit scary. I must confess that I had visions of bombs or dead animals- things that my creative little mind was convinced would be there. Instead it was a pie. I was thrilled! A Pie! I love pie- and what better after a baseball game? Well, I dug my fork into it and was ready for an apple or even a peach to come out. Instead, it was an apricot pie, with pomegranate juice in it. Now, I dont know if you have had this before, but if you havent I dont reccommend you trying it. I think there is a reason my grandmother never made this one! Anyway, it was a nice gesture, and I happily ate that thing. I dont think I'll eat another one though.

The Grand Tour!!!!

Haha- this will be fun! My apartment is about halfway done- but enough
people have wanted to know about where I live, so here it is.. the tour!

This beautiful sight that you are seeing is my living room window/laundry room. No dryers here!! Only the wind and a hair dryer if I am in a hurry! It sure does make you plan ahead- no washing and wearing in the same day!

This is my living room- and the pink wall! That door that you see leads into my kitchen and to the balcony. Dont worry- the whole room isnt pink, just that one wall. It makes thing fun- and people are always shocked by it. Maybe that is why I like it!





I debated whether or not to show this, as I didnt think you would ever feel sorry for me again after this one, but this is my closet! Isnt it glorious?? It takes up one entire wall of my bedroom- and since its my favorite part of the room, I'm not even going to show you the rest of the room. The only thing that there isnt much room for is my shoe collection, which by the way has grown since I have been here!













This is part of my kitchen. Notice the stove- I'm learning how to make EVERYTHING from scratch and how to cook with gas- its always an adventure when I light it. Each time, there is a moment when I think- "I'm going to burn this apartment down." Haha! But it hasnt happened yet- So i'm grateful for that! Notice also that there is no dishwasher! I had no idea how great those things were until I didnt have one. But my hands are getting quite good at scrubbing- and its nice to spend some time with my hands in dirty water! Just kidding about that- out of all the household chores that I am learning to do- this is the one that I hate!!

A Language Lesson

I know that some of you may stop reading at this point, because foreign languages don’t appeal to you at all, but please keep reading- I promise that you will find something interesting in what you will read! Here is the word of the week…. It is REMONT. Now this word carries a lot more meaning than an initial look in the dictionary. In America, we call it remodeling. Now this usually implies that the end result is going to look better than the initial thing, that the people you hire will work hard and until the job is complete, and that there will be some urgency with which the job will be completed.
Here in KZ, this is not quite the case. Work is done whenever it is convenient for them- which in my case was in the middle of the night, and I'm not sure that the end result looks better, although I am enjoying the one pink wall that I have in my living room. I'm not sure about the other rooms, as they wont be finished until right before I leave at the end of my two year term!
In spite of all of this, living in suitcases and opening my front door with a look of surprise each time- wondering what will be behind the door- I have actually enjoyed this process. I have gotten to know the painter very well... He is a believer... I know all about his wife and new baby, his hopes and dreams, and the fact that he has never painted an apartment before mine. So my little house will always have the distiction of being his first! We had a conversation the other day- on a day when I was very frustrated with him and the work he was doing. We were talking about what he and his wife want to do in the future, and he made the comment that nothing was holding him here in KZ, or in Almaty, or even on this planet. His point was that he is just along for the ride- wherever DAD wants to take him, he is up for it. I begin looking at all of my stuff and wondering if I really was along for the ride, or if I try to put my roots down wherever I can- just to feel like I have some sort of control of situations! I think I try to put my roots down! I dont know what the answer in all of this is- or even if there is one, but I know that I want to be the kind of person that can say I am just along for the ride- whatever that means.

This is my closest friend here. We have nothing in common. She is my fruit vendor. She is married with three kids and commutes two hours to work each day. She and her husband, along with her two sisters share a one room flat in a village. The kids live 36 hours away by train and they see each other maybe once a month... the youngest one is only 2.
She is wise though- she understands how people work. She knows who to trust, who to watch with a very careful eye, and who to refuse service to. I learn a lot from watching her. She has started bringing me a stool to sit on with her, so when she sees me coming, no matter what I had scheduled to do, she begins to furiously wave her arms and yells (in Russian) "Hey you crazy American, you better come over here!!" Now, she knows that I will come, because I am usually embarrassed that she is yelling so loudly. I go over, and she pulls out my stool, along with a basket of cherries.
So I sit there, spitting cherry seeds into this hole in the ground, watching as she wheels and deals. She doesnt have her prices posted. I asked her why one day and she merely responded that she is here to make a living, and if some people want to pay more than others, then she isnt going to stop them. I started to say that people dont know how much other people are paying, but she interrupted me and said, " that is the beauty of capitalism isnt it?" Now, I know good and well that she has no idea what capitalism really is; but that is funny!
At the beginning of our relationship, I selfishly went to her because she would save salad for me! I didnt think that she would ever be my best source of everything, but from hours at the fruit stand I have gained valuable language practice, new friends, an occasional invitation to a futbol game; and most importantly, a little place that makes me feel like I have something to come home to! Paca!!

I'm a bad blogger- sorry!

The other day I had to go to the KLM airlines office to straighten out some ticket stuff. Anyway, I walked in and started speaking my poor Russian to the first lady. She laughed and then whispered in gentle English "My English is pretty good, you can speak English to me if you want." It had been a long day, so I immediately switched to English, grateful that I could use my native tongue with her. Little did I know this would cause such a stir. The customer at the next booth leaned over to her lady and said quite loudly in Russian, " Why do people come to this ocuntry and not know how to speak Russian. How arrogant of that girl (me) to come in here and act like that." I wanted to yell, but i merely responded in Russian that I could in fact speak her language and that if she wanted me to do it all in Russian that I could. Well, the look on her face was priceless. It was not an ugly exchange, but I left the office feeling very sad. It hurt my feelings that someone would be so rude- to a stranger.
Here is the application. When I was in the States, it was always a little strange to see people from other cultures living out their culture- women with covered heads, men in bringhtly patterned or traditional clothes, or groups of immigrants speaking their native languages with each other. I never quite knew how to respond to them, usually it was with a smile and some curiosity, but I must admit that sometimes I had the though- Why cant they just speak English? I understand now- How selfish of me.
People said that langauage is hardest at the end of a long day- and I didnt believe them, until I had my first long day. I got in the taxi after being outside for about 6 hrs in 100 degree heat and instantly lost every word of Russian that I had ever learned. I couldnt tell the man where I wanted to go, where I was from, or what my name was. So what do I do a the end of a day like that? I find an American; possilby someone from my team, or even someone in one of the local hangouts that all foreigners go to, and I use every English word that I know. Something about being able to speak unrestrained- and aptly convey emotion or desire is reviving.
I guess the point of my ranting is this: We are told that people from every tongue, tribe and nation will be gathered around the throne. Something tells me that they wont all be speaking English. I know this may be a shock to some of you- it was a shock to me- but I think it is the truth. I am always grateful for that kind person who is patient with me- the one who understands that my Russian isnt that great, and will work with me- and genuinely try to understand what it is that I am saying. I want to be that person too! I think it extends far beyond language though- I think it extends to all differences- social, racial, economic. I challenge you guys (and myself) to let the passion to see all kinds of people, one from every tribe, tongue, and nation, motivate you to love people- even if they dare to speak another language in America!

Random

I got to thinking about some of the things that make me laugh on a day to day basis, and I want to share those with you! (This is not a complete list, as I laugh about 80% of the day)
1. I shop at a store called GROS, do my laundry and clean things with a product called BARF, and buy all my home supplies at a store called GAUDI.
2. There are stoplights here, but they dont use them. Instead, they stick a policeman with a stick in the middle of the road to do battle with the angry drivers who are trying to get somewhere. I think it is supposed to make traffic move faster, but instead it backs it up for miles, and creates this strange phenomenon where everyone honks in a chorus. If you listen long enough you can hear a melody sometimes!
3. Fashion here is very interesting... first, you decide what shirt you want to wear for the day and you put it in the other room, then you forget what you picked out and find a pair of pants that are completely different than the shirt and put them together. I have no idea how they do it, but somehow they make it work. It never quite matches, but it is that "its cool to not match" look. I've tried it a few days, but I jsut cant seem to pull it off.
4. Store owners here only buy one of most things they want to sell. If a store has empty shelves, it is thought that store does great business. They dont restock the shelves though! Sometimes, if you ask in just the right tone of voice, they might sell you the item from the box in the back- but not always.
5. My dog thinks he is an attack dog
Ahh.... the list could go on and on... Whoever said laughter was the best medicine was dead on with that one. I guess its either laugh or cry... I'm choosing, at least for today, to laugh!
Paca

Ahhh!! Astana!! What a place!

OK-As I said in my profile, I'm not the most technologically savvy person in the world, so it should not surprise you that I have put the picutre on here sideways and now cannot figure out how to turn it the other way. So just turn your heads and enjoy it sideways!!
My mini vacation was AWESOME! The picture to the left is the center of the New Square, the piece de resistance if you must of the city of Astana. You can go all the way to the top and see the entire city. It was interesting to see though- because in the back of your mind you must remember that every bit of this newness is for one purpose- to exalt the president of KZ and his self imposed superiority over everyone else in the world. He is training, and encouraging others to train, an entire generation of "You owe me something" people- people who would rather steal, lie and cheat than spend a day working to earn an honest living.
It is quite a catch-22 for those of us here. On one hand, we want so badly so see those Western things- anything that will remind us of home, but on the other hand the forces than drive the modernization are the exact ones that we fight every day just to survive here.
I'm off my soapbox- but one funny story! I got in my first fight. Now, before you read farther, please promise me that you will not think less of me after you read it! ..... Ok- my friend and I had had what we affectionately call over here a brown booger day. Its one of those gross, hot, smelly days where the pollution is so bad that it turns everything brown and people are exceptionally rude! Now all that we wanted after a day like that was some ice cream. So we go to the stand where we are greeted by one of the rudest people that I have ever met- and I had enough very quickly. I dont know enough Russian yet to yell at people, but my friend did, so she translated for me. I would then tell her what I wanted to say and she would translate that for me and I would yell it at the lady. This went on for several minutes, both of us hopping mad! My friend just laughed, between translations of course! It was reminiscent of those fights that you see on the elementary school playground between bossy little girls. It was terrible! Anyway, we left, without ice cream, needless to say. Somehow though, that made things a little better- it made us feel better at least.
I tell that story because I want you to know that I am reminded everyday that I am still a human being, even though I moved across the world to do something that is way bigger than myself. Praise the Lord He gives me those moments where everything is put in perspective. Was it really necessary for me to scream at that poor woman- probably not- but it sure was good to realize again that its not about me at all! She didnt care what I wanted- at all; and on so many levels, its not about what I want! Paca (Russian for later)

A little something extra!!!

I know this is the post that you have all been waiting for! I finally named my dog- Lagniappe! For those of you of the Cajun persuassion, you know this word- for all the rest of you, let me provide you with a little education! Lagniappe literally means, "A little something extra" and that is exactly what this crazy little dog is! He isnt much more than the extra part of another dog, poor little thing, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for in whining and ankle biting! I'm also starting to understand how parents feel. No one wants to see me anymore- they make a beeline for the dog- and if he isnt there, it is a tragedy! Quite funny, but I guess I'll keep him around awhile!

here he is... still nameless, but so cute!

I know you guys have been waiting with bated breath for pictures of the new puppy, so here they are! He still doesnt have a name- so any suggestions that you have are welcome... just dont get your feelings hurt if I dont use your name!! Yes- I have a big foot, but next to that puppy, it looks big enough to ski on!!
He has been fun so far, but he doesnt quite grasp the concept of sleeping during the night. He would much rather play, but he wont play by himself. He's only 8 weeks old, so hopefully this will pass and I'll finally get some sleep!

policemen and "Vaghney" (thats Russian for important person)

As taxis are my main mode of transportation, I spend a lot of time in the backseat of cars- looking out the window and observing the ways of the road here. Let me clarify what a taxi is first. It is merely a car that you flag down and bargain with for a ride. Let me give you a little insight into driving in KZ. For those of you who have been overseas, you will have some basis for understanding this, but even then, there will be some confusion!

There are no lanes here. There is one street in town that has a center lane. It gets repainted once a year and it is only lined because the President often drives down that road. Guess why they dont paint the roads... Because they need the paint to paint the bottoms of the trees. Oh yes my friend, this is only the beginning. Since there are no lanes, people drive where they want to. Gone are the days of lines of cars- if you want to go somewhere, and you see even an inch of open pavement, you manuever your car into that space. So some days, you will find 7 lanes of cars on a road made for 3-4. If you cant find your way on the street, you just drive on the sidewalk. The most important part of all of this is your horn. You must blow it incessantly, jsut because. This is a basic form of communication here. I'm still not sure what they are communicating, but it seems important.

This takes me to my next thought- it is about the Vaghney. These are the important people. You know they are important two ways. First, they drive the nicest cars- Mercedes, BMW, Hummer- and second, because they somehow have the rule of the road. Dont get in their way- they get very angry. It is quite a thing to take notice of.

Now to the policemen. This is a man that feels quite impowered by the bright orange stick that he uses to direct and impede traffic. They dont fight crime here, they just pull you over. This is a funny sight. Instead of chasing you with their cars, they shake their orange stick at you and bang it on your car. Once that happens, you are to pull over. Sometimes you will see 5 or 6 cars all stopped at once. Now, in the states, a pull over mean a ticket, but here, it means a bribe. This process in itself is interesting. You, I've never had to do this- not yet at least-, get out of the car and shake the policemans hand. As you shake, you slip some money into his hand. If its enough, he pats you on the back, the universal symbol that all is well, and lets you go on your way. If its not as much as he would like, this greeting ritual continues until a proper amount is reached.

All of this to say- its humbling to live here. I'm not important- not even a little bit. I dont drive a nice car, no one knows me, and no one really cares to know. As I learn a little more about what it means to take up one's cross and follow him, I think about the lack of status that many of the Disciples had. If they did have status, it was the wrong kind. Dad's not really concerned with my ability to drive a Mercedes and control the road. He is way more interested in the speed and fervor with which I am seeking after Him. I dont think I have this down yet- sometimes I want to feel important. But Praise Him that I am still a work in progress- and that He hasnt given up on me!

These next pictures are a tour of my block. I have grown quite fond of the Soviet style buildings, the potholes, and the endless policemen that patrol the main street. I hope this gives you a glimpse of what I see every day. Its an adventure! Stay tuned next time for my nieghborhood grocery store, the "meat market", and some of my new friends!

around the block!

This is my street corner. Isnt it lovely? It is quite reminiscent of 1970's America. Notice the fun little policeman. He is always there, directing traffic and beating people's cars with his little orange stick!
Ahh!! Home sweet Home. Look at the balcony on the top floor- that is my home. It gives me a nice view of the neighborhood and also of the mountains. The stairs are a killer though!
I just think these are funny. They cut the trees to make them look nice, but they dont cut them in the same shapes or sizes, so you drive down the road and see an entire line of uneven trees. Once again, funny stuff.

This is my other street corner, where I hail a taxi every morning to go to work. The locals always get mad at me, as I usually get a taxi quicker than them!

a long week... and its cold again!

Today I want to write about a funny little thing called culture stress. I thought this picture would be appropriate. It is a selection of nuts and dried fruits. Emphasis on the NUTS!! For those of you who have always lived in the same place, you might not understand what I am talking about. Culture stress is all of the stressors that come with living in a new place. This week in my life EVERYTHING has become a culture stress! They are doing contruction across from my apartment, and the prime drilling time is about midnight! Driving- culture stress; rude people- culture stress; getting stared at just because it is obvious that you arent from here- culture stress. I think my favorite example is at my neighborhood fruit stand. Now, this is no Fresh Market or WalMart even. This is a stand with fruit that comes directly from the garden- they havent even washed off the bugs and dirt! Anyway, to the stressful part. Buying what you want: I want three apples- but I cant buy three apples. I can buy three kilograms!! No matter what I say, the woman wont sell me less than three kilograms. Other people come up- and they buy 2 apples, 4 bananas, 3 potatoes; yet, I cannot buy 3 apples. I dont understand. So I walk away from that little stand with enough produce to feed the hungry in Ethiopia. As they say here, DeVie- just another day!

A Day Around the City

How can you not like this place when you see people like this? This is a sweet little girl that I met at a parade celebrating the month of March. Isnt she cute?
These are the mountains that surround the city. They are huge and much more majestic than the picture portrays. This city, despite of all of its trash and utter chaos, does have a grandiose beauty about it!
This is one of my favorite spots in the city. It is in front of the presidential palace by the square downtown. There is a huge park that surrounds it and it is one of the few places with actual grass this time of the year!

Yes folks!! This is my hair! Its a little longer than that, but dont be fooloed by the bad picture- that is really what it looks like. Oh well- hair does grow, even in KZ! Get a good laugh and enjoy it because it will change soon!

snow in april

I never thought that I would be grateful for the city controlled heat; that is, until it snowed for an entire 24 hrs today. It is -3C and that is way colder than this Southern girl was ever prepared for. I did get to have grits for breakfast though- which was a huge treat.

my first post

Hey guys-
If you are reading this, I guess that you actually are interested in my crazy life. I hope to use this as a forum for all of my adventures- hopefully it will make you laugh, cry, feel sorry for me, and wish that you could be doing what I am having the opportunity to do- all in the same story! That is how life goes over here- many emotions, just a few moments in time. I'm adjusting, slowly, but I couldnt ask for a better first month. I've gotten some scary things out of the way- like getting stuck on the back of a super crowded bus, and having a taxi driver try and take me to a place that I didnt want to go- but all in all, I havent died yet and I might have even done a little bit of good. I have asked each morning that our Father would allow me to use whatever I have for His glory. All that amounts to right now is my physical self- my expressions, hair, clothes- but He has allowed me to use even that to make a difference!
Enjoy this- please laugh at my ridiculous hair and the crazy things that I get to eat on a daily basis. Make comments! And somehow feel a little more equipped to make a difference than you did before you started reading!