Good Weather

I survived. And I learned a new word, sort of. Last Thursday all the schools were closed on account of a cyclone. The word cyclone sounds cool and conjures up images of Dorothy and Toto swirling away, but other than that, I didn't really know what it was. Only a few students decided to brave the weather and come out. From my sixth level class, two females came and they tried to explain what a cyclone was. A little unsuccessful, but we had fun. Later, one of the seamen said that a cyclone was an area of low pressure. That I could understand. Cyclone and anti-cyclone. Them be kewl werdz.

On Thursday, the main thing that I noticed was the wind. In the office I could hear the wind shrieking from outside the double paned window through the door on the other side of the room. Also as I was walking to school something started falling that was a little more similar to snow than what I've seen before. Hail isn't too uncommon - with some of them being doozie size. This time the hail was soft, like mini-snowballs. They were about the size of the little white thingys that are in potting soil. I tasted one along with my scrumptious apple delight I had just picked up at a bread stand. It was cold.

Friday passed mostly without incident. As I was waiting at the bus stop for my evening class, it began to snow. Big, wet flakes. At first I thought it would stop in a few minutes, but it kept on going. When I entered our class around six, it had stopped with no accumulation. But when I exited class a little over two hours later, there was accumulation - albeit only a centimeter. On the hike home, I saw evidence of the cyclone. Most of the billboard signs were lying on the ground in various degrees of smashed. A big tree had fallen over, and several large branches from other tress lay haphazardly strewn around. With a light snow covering it looked really pretty, so I decided to get up as soon as there was enough light Saturday morning and take some pictures.

More snow had fallen by the time I got outside, so except for a few tracks, the world was white. Still too early for any good pictures. Then it started again. The refreshing crunch, crunch, crunch under foot (followed by the occasional crunch, crunch, slip!) was superb. I stayed out for maybe an hour or so making a bunch of bad photographs of 2 cm of snow. But I had fun. And I saw a bunch of frozen ducks trying to sleep. That was nice.

My Saturday evening was once again spent in the Concert Hall. The program began at six, which didn't leave very much time for me to get from school to the hall. Especially since I got off one stop too late. I found myself in the same neighborhood as I was back on the earthquake day, but I knew my way out this time. Arriving with time to spare, I was surprised at the audience. Last week's jazz concert was packed to the max whereas this weeks organ concert was practically empty. Vasily Dalinsky is based out of Moscow. Overall, the concert was decent (for an organ concert). I like some of the quieter sounds the instrument produces, but it is really lacking in the oomph department. He played a Prelude and Fugue by Buxtehude. The main thing I remember about Mr. Buxtehude from music history class is the way his works are catalogued. JS Bach's are BWV, and Buxtehude's are BuxWV. Nifty, huh? Speaking of Bach, the concert concluded with his Toccata and Fugue in d minor. Maybe Dalinsky was trying to outdo himself in the speed department, but in my opinion this came at the expense of the music. After the first measure, I had a nasty taste in my mouth that only worsened as the piece progressed. To be fair to him, I did enjoy his start slow and get fast approach in one or two atypical places, but on the whole it was not a rendition I am glad I heard.

The organ concert was about half as long as the jazz concert, so I got home at a reasonable time. I called my grandparents to see how they were doing but got the answering machine. To my surprise, they phoned me an hour later. After we talked for maybe ten minutes G'Ma said that she had called my mother to find out how to reach me. And that the calling card numbers my mom passed on were really long. Now it made sense. She was calling me using my calling card. That's not a bad thing, it just seemed a little funny to me. I told her I'd call again on Thanksgiving Day after I got home from school and we said goodbye.

What to do on a crisp Saturday evening? Ahhh, the ever present friend Mr. Tube. Took in one rather interesting Russian movie. The basic story line is that there is an author that reporters have a difficult time getting close to. So one attractive reporter poses as a school girl studying at the university. She ends up becoming friends with the author and discovers that he has his twin brother locked up in the basement. The twin is blind and crippled, but incredibly gifted at writing. So he sits in chains if you will and dictates novels onto tapes. Mr. Famous Author then transcribes the taped novels and makes millions. Weird, huh?

Sunday morning I looked out to an even thicker blanket of snow. Still nothing to write home about, but sufficient to blog on. Sleeping in on Sunday till noonish, I only cleaned my apartment and cooked a pot of potato soup before it was time to return to the Concert Hall. A mezzo-sopranist and guitarist from Lithuania. The first half was classical guitar works. I really enjoyed everything about the dude's performance. But the people behind me were loud and annoying. At one point they loudly opened their box of candies and then tipped over their glass bottle of something. That accompanied by the lack of sound proof walls which allowed in a perpetual car alarm and a pack of dogs having their fun with some poor creature added a certain something to solo guitar repertoire.

After intermission the singer sang several Spanish songs. I was familiar with some of them and enjoyed her rendition. As a singer, I think her voice is okay, but not something I would listen to everyday. However, at the bottom of her register she has a very sonorous quality that I particularly relished. On occasion she would speak-sing something and that was even better. I think her mouth was too big in proportion to the rest of her face. During her songs, I couldn't help but think of a Mrs. Potato Head Doll. Then came on the Russian songs. The first two weren't particularly good, but then either she got into it or I got into it because her true colors really came through. For an encore she did a little one minute alp-like yodeling piece that I can't remember the name of. I thought that it would sound very good as a trumpet fanfare.

Home again, home again, jiggidy-jig. Since my Thanksgiving Day won't be quite the same as the one all you blokes back in the States celebrate, I figured I'd have Thanksgiving Week instead. After an hour or so I sent out the first batch of thank you emails to friends. The main purpose is to let people know of my new address, but it is also an excuse to catch up with some people. If Thanksgiving passes and you don't receive an email from me (and you really want one), post a comment.

Hopefully the small snow I experienced this weekend is only the beginning of more severe weather to befall the Kaliningrad region this winter. Time will tell.

Update: I must be getting old because I left out one important part of the concert.

As I was leaving the concert hall, a monstrous eight foot snowman greeted me. In my house the boy to girl ratio is slightly lopsided. Therefore, when snow comes to Columbia, MD, snowwoman grace our front lawn. It is fairly easy to make snowwoman with only extra snow, but how does one create an anatomically correct snowman? In Russia they use beer bottles. I found it a little strange that the bottles of choice were Miller Genuine Draft and not something more 'Russian'. The snowman was actually very nice, despite his manliness, although I wasn't positive what the second bottle was - his nose, or in his mouth.