1st Day of Christmas

I always had problems with counting. The lovely morning routine in third grade of writing my multiplication tables from 1 to 12 (or only until 9, if we were lucky) should have helped me, but sadly didn't. Is this the first day of Christmas? Even if it isn't, I wish your partridge/cartridge in a pear/bare tree the best. This morning I was perusing the blog of a young friend (when I should have been studying Russian) when I stumbled across an entry that slapped a little bit of sense into me. In it, she expressed her unbridled glee over the coming holiday season. I must say that, irrespective of where I've lived, it has been awhile since December held that special something for me. I must be turning into a crotchety old codger.

Yesterday was Constitution Day, or some other rubbish holiday over here. It seems to be an excuse not to work. This evening at lessons, three people came to the first, two people to the second, and one to the third. I suppose that I get paid either way, but if I have a choice between students and no students, I think I prefer the former.

On Sunday, I recorded an English textbook for a lady. I went to the office, thinking that it would be somewhat quieter than my apartment, as the people upstairs have been doing construction for about three weeks. Even at the office, there was some noise. Recording an entire book is more work than I thought it would be. Now I need to go back through and cut out my extraneous burps, mispronounced words, and other artifacts. It wasn't entirely a boring day as I learned how to make a trunk call and send a telegram - the material is a little dated.

Saturday the pedestal I'd placed Russian bus drivers on was brought down to earth. For as fast and crazily as they drive, I have been amazed at the lack of accidents I've witnessed or been involved in. I was standing across from the exit door when I heard a nice crunching sound on the other side of the door. We kept moving, but the driver stopped when the owner of the car hopped out and yelled, "Come back here, you *$#@!" It was a two lane road and the double long bus decided to pass some people who were not moving fast enough. It was fine, but as he was coming back over into the lane sideswiped a car a little. Created rather nice traffic, but, since I had to walk, I now know that area of Kaliningrad much better than before.

Since mid-November I've been taking Russian lessons with the Privet! school that my father dug up when we were looking for info about Kaliningrad. I've been rather happy, and the prices are quite reasonable. Though on my salary - it comes out to about 85% of my monthly stipend - it is pricey. Last week my two Russian lessons were quite different. I discovered the trick near the end of November to get my money's worth. One thing that I like when teaching is for students to have questions and just show an interest in what we are doing. By prepping a few questions for my teacher, our hour and a half session has run to over two hours a few times. Such was last Tuesday's lesson. Friday was a different story altogether. I arrived late and for most of the whole time I was quite lost to say the least. I could see a little bit of light shining at the end of the tunnel from which my teacher was speaking, but as soon as I thought I knew what was happening, the candle went out. Time seems to drag forever when you are clueless and don't really know where to ask for clarification.

There is one small thing I've failed to mention here before. In the ELC Operation and Policy Manual there is a small 'Outside Work' clause I have chosen to overlook. It basically says that failure to comply may result in instant dismissal. Ahh, instant coffee, instant pudding, instant oatmeal, instant dismissal. For a little over a month I've been giving private English lessons. It provides an additional 25% monthly income (this is really quite necessary in light of the last paragraph) and studying one on one makes me need to be a little more on top of my stuff. So the benefit seems very real to the school. As a result I'm not too concerned about any instant anything.

Tuesday, December 7, I cancelled my last two lessons and attended a concert. I didn't want to cancel class, but Galya, the lady who helped me secure a practice spot, really wanted me to go to the concert. It was an experience on many levels. First, I had attached the wrong meaning to one of the words. Instead of WIND orchestra, I was expecting YOUTH orchestra. As a result, the quality was much better than I had braced myself for. The concert was more of a celebration for the 75th birthday of the conductor than anything. Last CUC Alumni weekend's concert and several NEYE events I've been a part of allowed me to empathize with the poor musicians - began at 7 and finished at 10:15 with only a ten minute intermission. There were six different vocalists and some of them sang as many as five different songs. At least four instrumental soloists. The choir from the music college. A huge gala event. There was even a gypsy group. In between one of the pieces, a group of maybe eight costumed people waltzed down the right aisle and onto the stage singing an authentic sounding song. The last person in the group was carrying a tray with a birthday shot. After the birthday boy had danced with three of the other people, he was served his present. Where else in the world can you find vodka consumption by the conductor a scripted part of the concert? As things were winding down, what appeared to be two different field type bands circled the audience and joined the wind ensemble on a song. I was rather impressed to see one trumpet dude playing on a cornet with an 'A' loop built in. All he has to do to modulate is twist a little nob and open up more leadpipe. I thought those things died out about 75 years ago. When the announcer lady began announcing the next encore, the slick stage manager equipped with an always-on headset (bad idea) said, "No! Concert is over. Mass transit stops working soon." A fitting conclusion to the show.

A week ago Sunday, I visited the Curonian Spit with the other students of the Privet! school. Two times out of the city in under a month. The Spit is similar to the Outer Banks of North Carolina - one side is the ocean and the other is not. At its narrowest, it is only 400 meters wide, while at the widest it is 4 kilometers. The whole thing is a National Park and there is a border midway. We stayed on the Russian side which is much less commercialized than the Lithuanian half. I went shutter crazy with the camera, but just last night flipped through the pictures on the computer for the first time. As a result, it will be at least another week before they are served up for your pleasure. I saw the ocean! That was cool. My companions for the trip were Ilya and his father Yuri (I think) - the people who run the school, and the other two students. I don't remember either of their names. The man was from Germany and the woman was from Switzerland. We did quite a bit of driving, and I found it interesting that the conversation was held mostly in English. At times the other two students found it easier to speak in German to clarify something, but since we're all supposed to be learning Russian, it seemed strange to me. I think my favorite part of the excursion was one of the dunes. It is the second highest dune in Europe. Coupled with the bitter wind and lack of people, it made for quite an impressive barren stretch of land from the top. I think I'd like to go back sometime when there is opportunity to take more time. Lodging at the main inn is only about $20 including dinner and breakfast. But, I don't have a special pass to wave at the entrance of the park, so that would probably tack another $30.

When I got back from the Spit, I headed to the friendly barbershop and asked the girl to take it off. Take it all off. As she began unbuttoning her shirt the thought entered my head that what she had in mind might cost more than I could afford, so I clarified that I was referring to my hair. Perhaps I should have let her continue what she started, as the haircut was not one of the better ones I've had. Coupled with the funky goatee I'm sporting now I bear a striking resemblance to a Cossack. One of the students even told me I looked like Taras Bulba, a Ukrainian folk-hero. Taras was also my name when I took Russian language lessons at the University of Maryland. I think the goatee will only last another week because it is getting on my nerves. I've been bearded for nearly a month and a half and now I need a change.

It hasn't snowed for several weeks here, but I haven't given up hope yet. I think we had three Saturday's in a row with accumulation. Though that made the following weeks mucky to say the least, I'd say it was worth it. Also as I flipped through pictures last night I realized I'd not looked at those pictures either. There are a few interesting snow shots, but I'm counting on future snows for my presentable pictures.