I'm headed to NAPP, boys and girls

I have a difficult time remembering the acronym for an organization I joined a week or so ago. NAMM is always the first thing I think of for some reason, hence the title. NAPP stands for the National Association of Photoshop Professionals. According to the folks back home I even have a certificate suitable for framing with my membership number. (Perhaps I should pretend it is a diploma, hang it on my wall, and forget the remaining two years of school!) The main reason I thought I'd join this year is because they were offering a free instructional DVD with each new signup. Just my luck: all the DVDs are out of stock. However, I've been pleasantly surprised with the quality of how-tos online. Now I just need some photos to play with. If you have any problem files that you want Troy to try and improve with his new NAPPy skillz, send him an email.

Today I had another excursion with the school where I take Russian lessons. My comrades for the tour this time were a German lady and an American man. Destination: Baltisk. The city of Baltisk is a military city. Certain places there are off limits for people without special documents. Fortunately there were no passport problems for me or anybody else in the group. When we left the sun was shining and it was a rip-roarin' day. Along the way it started snowing pretty heavily, then the sun came out again, and then back and forth and so on all day. At the passport control place we picked up our tour guide. When the people at my school told me about the excursion they had mentioned a tour guide, but I thought it would be more like last time. Nope. This was a real guide that talked 90 kilometers a minute - "Look left, look right, look farther right. Oooh see that over there." She was really quite excellent. Surprisingly, I got most of what she was saying. Too bad the battery in my MP3 recorder died. Due to the nippy weather we didn't really spend too long looking at the different things she was showing us. I really wanted to take more pictures. After the guide left us I got a few cool rainbow shots of the ocean spray on the rocks.

En route back to Kaliningrad, we stopped by another beach. It is called Amber something, but I don't remember exactly. Anyhow I learned a little bit more history. According to the history books, Hitler's death camps closed shop in the spring of 1944. When the Third Reich realized that Russia was closing in on them they opted to dispose of their 'extra Jews' by sending them on death marches. In the middle of the winter, 13 degrees below (Celsius), somewhere between 1,200 and 4,000 scantily clad women marched to their death off this high embankment. Surmising at their fate, some of the prisoners ran into the frigid waters of the nearby sea undercover of night where they remained until after the procession had passed and/or the officers assumed them dead. Thanks to those who survived the boiling cold sea water, we know of this atrocity. About a month ago (on January 31) a monument was erected memorializing the last batch of frozen Holocaust victims to graduate from Hitler's school of perfection. Perhaps one of the reasons this is considered the last Holocaust act although a few months of the war remained is that bodies continued to wash ashore throughout the summer of 1945.
Wanting to make sure I understood correctly I did a bit of poking around the internet and turned up two decent sources of further information for those interested courtesy of The Moscow News and Guardian Unlimited.

Yesterday in free talk we finished up our month long study of Moses, the Hebrew nation, and their deliverance from Egypt. Excepting for the cement that held the stones together, the monument of remembrance near the beach could have been an altar similar to that erected by Moses and his cohorts ~3250 year ago. When I returned home I fired up my NAPP movies and watched them for a little while till I got tired. Saturday nights and me don't go too well together. Either I stay up too late, in which case I'm worthless on Sunday, or I go to bed too early, in which case I wake up in the middle of the night and stay up for awhile rendering myself equally as useless on Sunday. Last night I opted for the early approach. Sure enough, 1:30 rolled around and I was raring to go. So I called the folks only to find out that they were having a pow-wow to divvy up my belongings. Apparently a comment I made about having a headache got blown slightly out of proportion and they were arranging a transatlantic helicopter to come pick me up and take me back to the land of expensive medicine (woe is me, the uninsured). In that respect, my call was aptly timed - I think I saved everybody oodles of worry-time.

I must be getting old and crotchety - it seems that time is in fact speeding up. Already this semester is more than half way over but yet it certainly doesn't feel like it. My first semester seemed to take forever, but this one is practically finished and I find myself wondering where the time went. Last Tuesday evening I had an excellent teaching experience. Probably just coincidence, but a day or so before I had read an extremely thought-provoking three page essay by Carl Rogers. In it, Rogers sets forth his personal thoughts on teaching and learning and how they appear to be diametrically opposed to anything resembling education in existence. As I mentioned earlier, probably coincidental, but related nonetheless. Due to one of the other teachers needing to make up a class, I was asked to move into the small room. This was not a problem because I had only five students, but shrinking the classroom size threefold does tend to bring people closer together. Class began and I started through the material in the book. Some ideas were sparked and I fed the tangents a little bit until they began shooting off by themselves. It was quite entertaining to be an observer as the students talked about some big issues. This isn't the first time I've used the whole class time without hardly cracking the book, but I believe it is the first time that all the students were totally engaged. I know that I will remember that class period for quite some time and am sure the students will also. There is something quite electrifying when everybody in the room is plugged into the 'learning current' because they want to be. Looking a few years into the future I predict that it will be my success or lack thereof in fostering this type of contagious learning environment that will dictate how long I survive as a teacher.

A week ago I attended a guitar concert. The hall was sold out so my free ticket didn't include a chair. Or so the door person thought. I high tailed it up into the balcony where the orchestra was and commandeered a chair from a friendly violin case. Quite by accident (yeah right), the chair was maybe three meters from the trumpet player. It felt nice to be in the thick of an orchestra again. Even if the violins couldn't play a scale in tune if their lives depended on it. The guitarist guy was from Moscow and played excellently. I really felt sorry for him in some places because of the orchestra. They're not bad, they're just not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when I think professional orchestra. One movement was supposed to finish with the strings playing whisper quiet. Instead of being so whisper it sounded like somebody had their hands clasped securely around a duck's neck squeezing out the last ounces of life. Too bad because the movement was really amazing. Then the conductor choose that movement for the encore. What could be better than exiting the hall with a chortling dead duck quacking repeatedly in your head? I'm pleased to say that if this trumpet player is representative of my brethren in the Motherland, the stereotypical trumpeter ego is thriving just as well as in the US. The second he finished playing in the last piece his horn was in the bag and he was wildly gesticulating to his unfortunate comrades in the horn section who still had to play. Then a minute later when the man in charge of turning the stage lights on/off pushed a violin case out of the way to sit down during the encore he gave him a look to kill. "Let me make lots of noise during the quiet solo guitar passage, but you're not allowed to. Who do you think you are, somebody who works here?" An evening well spent.

Earlier that day I had visited the barber for the first time in two and a half months. One day the week before I walked in from teaching and looked in the mirror. A congenial, yet wild, man gazed intently back in my direction. My beard was truly amazing (pix link soon), garnering questions of when my expedition was leaving at church. But I think the clinching reason for me to lose the latest facial hair incarnation was Saturday night I was invited to dinner at the home of one of my students. He has a six year old daughter and she was running around pell-mell. I stepped in her way to playfully block her, but apparently my grizzled features were too much and she started to cry. Later that evening she did give me a large complement though. She was the first person to take a bite of the cake I had cooked. And she proclaimed it tasty. That is always a nice relief to hear. I can survive on food not fit for beast let alone man, but when other people's lives are at stake, I prefer that things turn out better than not. My visit with the young couple, their daughter, and the wife's parents went extremely well. I could understand enough of what they were saying and I really only stuck my foot in my mouth once. There was a large picture of a man sitting on the kitchen counter and I asked where he lived only to find out it was the son of the Grandma and Grandpa, deceased. In spite of this blunder they still invited me back later when the garden and apple trees would be in bloom.

I'll close with this lovely thought. During the first three months I resided in my swank flat I think my bed went unmade all of one time. In comparison with the past month in which it has been made three times, maybe, it is clear that I have grown into my role as a bachelor. The pile of dishes in the sink grows until the water will not turn on. You can hardly see the linoleum at my entrance for all the dirt. Ah, home sweet home - dust bunnies and all.

Sausage Sandwich

Don't mess with something that works. Usually good advice. However, I was fresh out of the small donut loaves that I usually add to my regular frozen banana delight last night. I substituted - gasp - a cookie. Now this type of cookie is actually very tasty especially with a cup of tea, earl gray, hot. But on to the plot.

I woke up a few minutes ago and realized I had been privy to one of those dreams you tell your friends. Not actually, but it is rather un-normal for me to remember dreams when I awake so I was pretty excited. In retrospect, I wish that I had not remembered this one.

The setting is a room that looks strikingly similar to my bedroom at home for the first 16 years I lived there except bigger, much bigger. Anyhow, the basic story line is that my parents leave the house for a day to go adopt two new kids. Before they leave they decide to give us boys a pool. The pool was in my bedroom. Now I'm not exactly sure if this took place ten years ago, but brother number four was not a character. Yes, I'm pretty sure that the other three bros were also pretty young. Number two's voice was still somewhere between the troposphere and the stratosphere.

A pool is a great idea, but we got fish to go along with it! It is a really strange feeling to be sitting on the edge of your bed (underwater of course) and have a manta ray come up and start nuzzling you. I think our prize possession was an enormous killer whale. Not every kid on the block has a personal whale in their very own bedroom.

Probably the bulk of the dream happened at this point with the three musketeers up to some pre-double digit nonsense, but I don't remember exactly. What is still pretty vivid is the moment our killer whale did something unusual. He made this wicked little about face and in the same motion devoured one of our mantas. That didn't make me feel secure to be sitting in the same water with a ferocious killer. But my pre-pubescent brothers convinced me there was nothing to worry about. And there wasn't.

Until two minutes later when the whale tenderly put a brother's leg in his mouth and started heading down to the bottom of the pool. Fortunately, we were able to hoist the brother back onto the two feet of 'land' we had around the perimeter of the room. The next little while saw all three of us have our lives nearly taken as our orca found great pleasure in Elliott™ meat. (After regaining consciousness I noticed striking similarities between the whale attacks and Deep Blue Sea, which I saw for the first time while staying in a hotel room with the same two brothers.)

For some reason the water level started to go down and as it did, the room shrank back to normal size. When everything was gone and the carpet was just a bit wet I wondered what had happened to our whale. My query was fielded by the marine expert amongst us. He said that killer whales are like sponges. When there is lots of water, they are big. But when there isn't lots of water, they stay pretty small. Our viciously friendly whale probably died someplace in my old closet.

Round about then, the parents returned with two new kids in tow. The little boy was maybe ten months old and had a really weird name - E-Ka!

So there we have the blog entry that shouldn't have been written. Remember: when you eat your frozen banana, only use coconut flavored donuts.

Valentine's Day

Happy International Lover's Day to one and all! I think this year since I'm out of the country, I'll pick a native valentine. The logical choice would be the grandma who faithfully comes to the Friday evening and Saturday afternoon free talk / Bible discussions.

Since I first arrived she has given me a number of little presents that she made with her very own hands. The most recent was a little red heart that is filled with mint. Last Friday evening she presented it to me after speaking for a few moments about Saint Valentin and the help he so willing gives to all the poor love-lorn chaps once a year. Her instructions were to hang it near my bed so that I would be sure and get a lot of love. Naturally, I turned to the rest of the class (70% female) and asked for volunteers. There weren't any takers.

The week before I was presented with a poem that Elena Tranina, a friend of hers, wrote and translated into English.

Kaliningrad is the noble piece of land;
Made of forest and sea, of precious amber and yellow sand...
We wish you: be healthy,
We wish you: be grand!

It has a nice ring to it. I suppose I haven't seen it in all its nobility yet, but the wish for health came just before the flu epidemic, so I appreciate that.

Her first week back after the new year break, she brought a few copies of Jingle Bells and we all sang a rousing rendition. (I have a recording if anybody is really interested) I believe that her crowning achievement from the comical perspective was when she sang the most famous song in the whole wide world, "Yesterday." By itself it might not have been all that remarkable, but one of the other men - a rough tough sailor - provided the translation into Russian. Fortunately my reflexes were on the quick side and I captured a movie of one verse.

In any event, here I am by myself in my slightly slovenly apartment bedding down with my heart hung nearby for good dreams. Thanks Grandma.

Baby Steps

Last week was a good week. At the beginning I made a todo list. Out of my fourteen items I completed all of five. Not bad at all. Not good necessarily (one of the shirts mentioned back in December has not moved from my ironing board), but not bad either. One of the items was tax completion. Uncle Sam will be quite happy to receive my money two months earlier than usual I'm sure.

Last Wednesday saw my first private lesson with a five year old kid. It was rather interesting. As little as I know about teaching English, I know that much less about teaching English to a youngun. But we hit it off pretty well. And now I get to play with a kid two times every week.

Everybody has fears, right? Well I am happy to report that in some small way, I've started chipping away at a big one of mine. For some reason that I cannot explain, Russian post offices terrify me. Well not really that bad, but I strongly dislike my visits. (Everyday when I check my mailbox I secretly hope that nobody has sent me a package requiring me to go to the post office.)

Earlier this month I was perusing my list of birthdays and noticed two rapidly approaching - my mother and the mother of my girlfriend. I decided that it was about time to send the girlfriend's mother something. After all, she sent me a big care package for my birthday complete with handmade socks, a big jar of fresh honey (I even found a few bees still swimming....just kidding), and a bunch of candy. But that would mean a trip to my favorite place. And a trip where I actually have to speak. After procrastinating so long that there was no chance of a birthday card arriving, I thought I had gotten myself off the hook. Then somebody brought up the subject of telegrams in one of my classes. The hook was just reinserted into my left gill.

Great, so now what? Might as well face the ferocious postal workers from the Soviet era (actually they are all young attractive women). I wrote my text, had it proofed, and armed with a dictionary and my text, I entered the local post office. Kind of like a wave of stage fright creeps over an ill-prepared musician, I couldn't speak to the people. So I meandered about and pretended to read a few signs, then left. As I walked to the center's office to claim my monthly salary I decided that I was being silly. I stopped at the main post office on my way to school. The first person I asked told me I needed to go around the building to a different entrance. I did and there was an old lady coming up behind me. I held the door for her and she smiled and muttered something about the long lines inside. I approached the bench and grabbed a blank telegram. Then stood a comfortable viewing distance away from the held-door lady and looked over her shoulder at how she filled in her telegram.

Completing my form, I snapped a quick picture of it and joined the line. Amazingly, I survived with no broken bones and I even answered all the questions asked of me. Real letters will probably be more difficult, but at least I've got my foot in the post office door now.

The temperature rose last week, much to my disgruntlification. When the thermometer stays a safe distance below freezing, I don't need to worry about mud, water splashes from speeding cars, and other problems. A layer of ice isn't always great either, but given the alternative, it is delightful. With my best fake smile, I headed out to dodge the mudpuddles Friday morning. I arrived on time for my Russian lesson and when we finished there was enough time for tea. I was enroute to the office with my laptop so I asked if my teacher wanted to see some pictures of home. She did and I rattled on through my usual slideshow of family.

Last week over half of the students in the public schools were out sick, so doctors cancelled schools for two weeks. Just an epidemic of the flu. Fortunately, I escaped unscathed. I decided to whip up some beet salad to help ward off the heeby jeebies. After boiling my beets I had some fantastic red water and decided to save it for my next bout of borscht. This morning as I was cleaning the kitchen, I noticed that the lid wasn't on tight, so I screwed it down. Then a few hours later as I was having a lesson, I started hearing strange noises. My red beet nectar wanted to come out of the bottle. I am a little scared to put that stuff in my next soup, but will probably risk it.

Hellmann's

What are new year's resolutions for if not to break? Each year concludes with my family sitting down around the kitchen table and hashing out individual and family resolutions. This year I was absent from the table, but sent in my predictions via email. They are (in no particular order):

• Make schedule and stick with it
• Wise decisions with finances, relationships, religion
• Scan some of my 35mm pictures into the computer upon return to America
• Concerted daily Russian language effort
• Improve knowledge of English grammar
• Web presence
  • Blog - average of one post weekly
  • Picture - approximately twice a month upload new shots
• Figure out how to practice the trumpet regularly outside of school environment

As is quite apparent by comparing the date on this entry to the date of the last one, I take my resolutions seriously. In my long absence, I've continued to enjoy life, but I'll only bore you with a few mini-episodes from this past weekend.

Friday night (Saturday morning for me) I had agreed to call the girlfriend. She recently moved house and it was the first time I'd tried calling her new number. Hopefully the bad connection was just a fluke, but for whatever reason I only caught a word every ten seconds. So she called me. Then, since my net2phone account hadn't been refueled since the new year, we lost that connection after forty minutes or so. I made some tea while waiting for the return call that never came. Viewing people who were online, I asked my cousin to call up my girlfriend and ask what the deal was. So eventually things got straightened out, but I went to bed not so early shall we say.

A few hours later I straggled out of bed, ate, shaved, and dressed in under 20 minutes. Running out the door I dashed around the corner to catch the bus so I could be at church by 9 for the choir rehearsal. Just as I was running up, the bus was pulling out. Panting, I waited another half hour for the next bus. I had never used that particular route, but was pretty sure I knew where it would go. The only problem was that I was on the wrong side of the street. I caught up on my sleep once I realized what I'd done. Leaving home at 8:30, I finally arrived at church about a quarter past eleven. Now I know where to get on that bus.

Saturday was pretty cold. I wore thin black socks. As a result, my toes froze. They mostly thawed out while I grabbed some lunch before freetalk. My laziness really paid off. I didn't want to take my socks off, so I just threw another thicker pair on top. Honestly, I think that is the warmest my feet have ever been. It is truly amazing what difference a thin pair of socks can make.

In the evening I attended yet another concert. This time three babes from the Saint Petersburg Conservatory showed their piano prowess. It was also my first time hearing the Kaliningrad Philharmonic Orchestra. I'm not sure whether it is excessive vibrato, my rusty ears, or if Russian string players are really tone deaf. Whatever the case, the various sections don't exactly blend very well. The intonation department is sorely lacking, but it creates something I can't quite put my finger on. There is a certain bottom to the sound. It is difficult for me to put into words now so I'll attempt again later. What the musicians sacrifice in tunefulness they make up for in depth. The three Petersburgers were quite a sight. Oh yeah, they could also play.

Sunday I got up 'crack early' in the morning. I felt like I was coming down with something, so went to bed medium early Saturday night. IMmed the fourth brother and loafed for a few hours before taking a mid-morning nap. Piercing rays of sun woke me a few hours later. Continuing to take it easy, I read a magazine that had come last week and then checked my email. There is a little Kaliningrad weather alert in my mail reader and Sunday was the first time in recent memory that I saw the sunshine picture. I looked out, and sure enough there weren't even any clouds in the sky. This meant that I should get out and go for a walk.

Grabbing the camera and wrapping up in plenty of layers, I headed out. Boy was it chilly! After a little over two hours snapping shots, I decided to head for my warm flat. The reason being my secondary shutter finger was no longer operational. Just what is a secondary shutter finger, you may ask. That would be the finger you use to press the take-a-picture button on a camera after your usual finger ceases to operate the on/off switch, let alone the shutter. I think it is probably a good idea that I wound up here instead of in a colder place. Otherwise I'd be returning less a few appendages. (Note: my toes were toasty warm thanks to my double layering epiphany of the prior day.)

Opting to skip choir practice and just take it easy, I sat down and began sorting through pictures I'd taken and not posted yet. I was surprised at the quantity. Round about 0:30 Monday morning I abandoned my hopes of uploading them and found comfort in my pillow. Here are a few links to the new albums. The January 23rd album is still incomplete, but I need my beauty rest, don't you know.

• Sunday, February 6 walk
• January 23 Walk
• Pre-New Year Shots
• Curonian Spit Excursion of December 5
• November 20th First Snow

People who haven't spoken with me in a long time invariably ask how I'm eating. To that question allow me to respond that I've found a new love. She is Argentinean and has a rather pale complexion, but - mmm, mmm, mmm - is she ever tasty. Nearly two weeks ago I made the monthly pilgrimage to the big grocery store that has the cereal and toilet paper I like. I had planned on buying some more Hellmann's mayonnaise. On prior trips, it had been expensive, but came in a big jar. That time it was still expensive, but the big jars were gone. I couldn't justify spending lots of money for two sandwiches worth of mayo, so I investigated the other brands. Enter my gal from Argentina (with a slight lemon flavor). For as much as a teeny weeny jar of Hellmann's, I have about ten times as much Natura (what a good name for pure fat). In retrospect I'm not sure if my discovery of a cheaper, more tasty brand of mayo will turn out to be a good thing. Over the past two weeks I've probably consumed a pound and a half of the addictive cream. It is great with spaghetti, soup, bread, french fries, pancakes, and, gross as it may seem, by itself. There you have the reason why the Troy that returns to America will be twice what he was when he left. For those of you concerned about my latest romance, may I share with you the slogan off a jumbo jar of Hellmann's from my parent's refrigerator: "Zero grams of carbohydrates!" That's right, ladies and gents, Miss Natura is health conscious. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a date with my alluring refrigerated friend.