PIZZA, TREES AND DUMPLINGS

Its been awhile, hasn't it? Nothing momentous took place in our lives. 

Here Sonny and Reina are enjoying pizza, and Chikie is also willing to try it!

Roberta prefers pancakes. She liked our outing to Norman's diner for breakfast.

On the way, I stopped to take some pictures of the local beauties - the variety of trees in California always astounds me.

Here, of course, is a little Christmas tree, given to us by the Little Red Headed monster's family. Remember them? Taka planted it together with the baws in our garden, You can still see the sparkly stuff at the end of some branches.

Last night, Sonny went out on the porch and found Goldie, occupying one of mom's couches, we keep there. That's how she looked in a flash!

 We have a mix for the Japanese dumplings, suiton, and Taka decided today to make it. He first added too much water, then - too much mix. That's how it went, with me nearby, alternately, imploring him to read the instructions and assuring him: this was the last time I made miso soup. 

The dumplings have to be added to miso soup, you see, and as the result of his male inability to follow instructions, he, finally, made more batter than soup.

He then dragged Reina and Sonny out of their rooms (they hibernated there for two days). Sonny slinked back, but Reina decided to placate her uncle. I also enjoyed suiton dumplings, but with butter, soy sauce and boiled egg. Despite Reina's horrified looks (it goes against her Japanese sensibilities), the combination worked! I proposed adding caviar to it too, which would make it even better, 

worthy of the Iron Chef!

Chikie thought, of course, it was disgusting!

IN HONOR OF THE VETERANS' DAY: RIMKA - RE-POST

MEYER

     "Well, if I get blown to pieces, at least it'll be in paradise". Meyer looked around him in wonder. The approaching dark of the Moldovan evening has thrown blue haze on the hills and the valleys. The tiny silver ponds shivered in the breeze. The alabaster lillies danced on their surface under the clouds of gnats. The heather and the grasses gave off a head turning aroma. The frogs, the cicadas, just began their nightly song. And thousands of stars looked down at the Earth with consternation. Even the mud on the road, where the soldiers walked, was glistening with unerring beauty.
     The two soldiers plodded on, Meyer carrying the spool of telephone wire, about four feet in diameter, his comrade, Wolfzon - loaded with the tent, tools, wooden poles and the cooking utensils. He was also unreeling the wire from the spool on Meyer's back, laying a communication line for the approaching army. Usually, Lt. Serov would stride unburdened in front of them, giving instructions and feeling important. Today he walked a quarter of a mile back, and the soldiers knew why.

Red Army soldier

     Meyer heard the crash behind him and instinctively stooped down, covering his head with his hands and dropping the spool. Wolfzon swore and Meyer rose up, to see his comrade take a joint out of his pocket and light it up with shaking hands. For once, Meyer didn't blame him.Three days ago, he was shining Serov's boots, while the lieutenant sat in the chair and tried to sharpen a pencil with his pocket knife. The knife slipped and cut into Serov's thumb. Spitting curses, Serov jammed the thumb into Meyer's cheek, smearing blood all over his face. That was too much even for a meek Jewish boy. He punched Serov and sent him to the floor. Serov flew at Meyer, shouting that he'll see him court-martialed for striking the superior officer. Nothing came out of it, though, because Serov was known as someone who abused his soldiers and a raving anti-Semite, embarrassing even for the Russian army. Today, Serov chose Meyer and Wolfzon, the only two Jews in his unit, for this mission. They figured out why, when he refused to walk with them. The Germans had time to lay mines somewhere in the vicinity, and Serov tried to use this opportunity to get rid of the hated men.

     Meyer and Wolfzon helped each other to pick up their loads and set off walking again, Meyer praying to God in whom he didn't believe and Wolfzon getting quietly high. In addition to smoking pot, he also dug out a bottle of hooch, and Meyer heard the musical sounds of the alcohol pouring into Wolfzon's mouth. No one could find drugs or booze better than Wolfzon. No matter, where the telephone unit was: how far in the countryside or in the most ransacked city; Wolfzon would lay his hands on anything that he could sniff, snort, take, drink or cook that would bring him the desired oblivion. It was a testament to the desperation of the Soviet government that a known drug addict and a flat-footed, 18 year old boy, chronically suffering from severe sinus infections, were drafted at all!

WWII field
radio

     Twenty minutes later, and Wolfzon crushed to the ground again. He sat in the middle of the road, laughing and slapping mud on his face and uniform. Meyer sighed and dropped the spool. He yelled to Serov to catch up with them quickly. Serov approached, swearing. He calmed down though and his eyes took on a sly expression, when Meyer explained his idea. He would walk ahead by himself, laying the wire on the ground and come back for them after he reached their destination and left the empty spool there. They would then be able to manage Wolfzon and the things he carried, as well as set the poles for the wire that Meyer had laid earlier, so that it would be out of the way of the traffic. The lieutenant, obviously, thought that Meyer might get blown up anyway, and, if otherwise, they'll be able to complete their task.
     As Meyer walked off, he heard the thuds of the lieutenant's fists smacking into Wolfzon. Wolfzon just grunted and giggled in response to the blows.

     The night became darker. Walking backwards with a heavy spool and unreeling the wire was hard work. Even so, from time to time Meyer looked up at the stars and mouthed prayers that his grandfather taught him.

Yakov and Hannah,
Meyer's parents

     His mind went from praying to thinking of his family. His parents emigrated to Russia from Poland sometime after the World War I. His mother was an orphan, but she made a life for herself by taking on the cleaning and sewing jobs. She had more money than her groom and even bought him a suit for the wedding! He was a happy man once, a loving husband and father. Yakov often played violin for his family and the guests. Anyone in need, even if they were complete strangers, were always welcome at his home for a meal or the shelter. Life beat the happiness out of him, but could not take away his charitable heart or the unique creativity with which he approached every task. Meyer moaned, thinking of how he wasn't allowed to go home to say goodbye to his dying father. A few months after, he received a notice: his brother, Samuel, was missing in action. Meyer shuddered to think what his starry-eyed poet and a bookworm

Lev later in life.

brother went through in the war, before he disappeared somewhere in the bogs near Leningrad. At least Lev, his other sibling, was out of danger. He had a cushy posting in the supply corps. Meyer's mother lived in Moscow with her only daughter and the grandchildren. Meyer's mind flinched away from thinking about them. He couldn't do 

anything to protect them. 

Meyer's family later in life. He is the third
from the left in the back row.

        
     As he worked, the fear gradually dissipated. The spool was getting lighter. Meyer saw a crumbling wall of the abandoned village. He took a short rest in the club building, left everything there that he wouldn't need on the way back and set out to help Wolfzon and Serov. They had to drug Wolfzon between them, while Serov kept on a steady stream of dire threats and racial slurs. He insisted on putting unconscious Wolfzon in a separate hut for the few hours before the dawn.
    In the morning, he wasn't there. Usually, after drinking and doing drugs, Wolfzon would be miserable and limp as a noodle, in withdrawal. They went out of the hut and looked around. The morning was quiet and ordinary. They saw Wolfzon, moseying toward them through a small apple orchard, chewing on an apple. He was weak but unharmed. Wolfzon finished the apple, spat the seeds and made a show of throwing the uneaten core back into the trees. 
     The blast of the explosion flung all of them to the ground, the earth clods and the pieces of the tree pelting them as they writhed in mortal fear. Afterwards, they sat there, digging the dirt from their eyes and trying to hear through the ringing in their ears. Wolfzon was pointing at what used to be an orchard and stuttering: "I w-w-walked through there j-just n-now!" Serov's pants were wet and sagging in the back and he smelled like shit.

The Soviet soldiers walk through Hungary, 1945. 

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THE ITCHINESS

     Itchiness...
     Its bad enough to have an itch that doesn't go away, but to feel it in your heart is even worse.   
    What do I mean?
     You know, you have to be feeling and doing better. For a while, its possible to convince yourself that, you are OK, you are doing all that you can, but the reality pushes her ugly mug into your face, and its impossible to ignore it any longer...
     "Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" Paul,  the former accuser and executioner of the Christians; the convert Paul, the driven man, whose whole life became a sacrifice, wrote these words. He still didn't feel, like he was doing enough to count himself worthy of Christ. Perhaps, because he had to constantly compare himself to the apostles, who lived and walked with Christ? Did they feel more comfortable in their skin, remembering Jesus, as he was: one of their own, but, suddenly, - the Master and the Messiah?
     My point is, if someone like Paul wrote those words, how much more justified I am to be tortured by my lack of the willpower and merit?
     "Who will deliver me from this body of death?"
     Heavenly Father, I can no longer abide my weak, faulty character! Outwardly, I am doing, what's required of me, but inside I am crumbling to dust, from which there is no return. Heavenly Father, I need help to ... to lose my passivity.
     I did not cause the way I was brought up. I am, as a human adult, responsible, of course, for my actions, but some things are too deeply rooted for us to be able to get rid of them on our own. I can't completely cure the warping of my personality, which came from my parents' ignorance and their warped personalities! And, by now, I understand: I can't control it. I need help, and it has to come from "THE" Higher Power infusing my own little life with His love and Will. I am expecting and obedient to it, but the uneasy feeling, like I am not doing enough, persists, like an itch, which does not go away. 

SPINNING HEADS AND YARNS

     I swear, I took just a few minutes' nap.  It was a stressful day, and Chikie decided to run away just as I opened the screen door to feed Goldie on the back porch. Usually, in this situation, I yell for Sonny, and he catches Chickie in moments. Sonny was at school, so, after following Chickie around the garden, trying to lure him to myself with a piece of ham, I gave up the chase. Even stopping time to time to chew on some shrubbery, he easily managed to stay ahead of me. Goldie was there too, watching us with bright eyes from a base of the basketball stand .

Goldie

     I picked up the trash from the grass on the way home and decided that, it was enough exercise for Monday! Chickie will come home eventually.
     I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes, struggling to put away the nagging thoughts about the day. ...
     - "Did Chickie come back?" - Roberta's voice cut through the pleasant drowsiness, which began to overtake me...
     - "Mmm... No..."
---
     Knock, knock, knock...
     There were three knocks on the glass door to the garden. I rolled off the couch, at the same time trying to pry my eyes open.
     "Dina, Dina..." - It was Roberta's voice again, but she never before went to the garden, especially, alone!
     I pushed the vertical blinds aside. Roberta stood on the patio by the steps, holding Chikie in her arms!
     I opened the door. She pushed Chicken Bone over into the room. I had to use my strength to drag her up over the steps, because the poor lady was all tuckered out!
   

Roberta and Chikie

 I tried to tell her, what a stupid thing she did, going to the garden with it's bumpy, uneven ground and treacherous cats for the company without me knowing about it, but couldn't finish my sentences, so flabbergasted I was! She put herself in too much danger and didn't seem to realize that! Roberta looked rejuvenated by her adventure, although she had to work hard to catch her breath.
     - "I didn't know, how heavy he was! I had him by the neck and the hind legs, but he was slipping and, time to time, he began to cough, because he couldn't breathe [oh. my. God! She had him by the throat!]".
 

 Roberta continued: "I had to crouch down to prop him on my knees to help him catch his breath, but I am glad that, the door was not much further away: I wouldn't be able to drag him too much

longer!"
     Roberta usually walks with a walker. She has low blood pressure and can black out anytime and fall, damaging some other part of her frail body. And here, she went out to an unfamiliar, difficult place without her walker or myself. I wanted to strangle her, but she was too excited by the brave thing that she did.
     According to her, Chickie became friends with Goldie, our little, stray, yellow-and-white kitty. She made some advances to him before, rubbing his shoulder through the screen mesh, approaching him playfully, when he ran out to the patio, but he always rebuffed her, hissing or raising a paw at her. He is, actually, a very mild-tempered (neutered) male, so I was surprised to see him react to Goldie that way. Well, it appears that, she overcame his resistance! Roberta said that, they were playing, jumping high in the garden. Chickie and Sylvie haven't played in the twelve years together in our home, never mind, jumping high in abandonment! Of course, there is a chance that Roberta, a master yarn-spinner, could be making it up to enhance her story, but that's too much even for her!
     As we went on with our day, Roberta told to Sonny and Reina the tale of her heroic rescue of Chickie. All I could see in my mind, while listening to her, was her bony hand, clutching his throat, and Chickie's astonished, furry mug!

   

THIS IS HOW WE LIVE IN AMERICA!

     Halloween is, mostly, a kids' celebration. Unless the adults themselves feel like celebrating! Reina's presence in our house and the desire to expose her to some of the American culture prompted me to consider reviving my Halloween zeal, which died out with my own children growing up.

     What to do, what to do? Reina and Sonny are too old to go trick-or-treating, neither would they put on the costumes. I almost gave up the idea, when I got an e-mail from a local tea-house. They were going to have a Halloween party! On the program were, of course, the teas, the treats, and old, scary Sherlock Holmes movies. 

     Eureka!

Roberta and I did a lot of the errands that day. Here she is, with her hair freshly "washed and set" in a salon, looking, for all the world, like a Victorian matron in her rain bonnet!
     As we came home, the kids were busy carving pumpkins. I tried to persuade Sonny to go to the tea-house with us, but, perhaps, he felt that, it wouldn't be a very masculine thing to do, because he kept refusing. I asked again, just before all of us, ladies, left home, and he seemed like he was ready to give in, but I was in a hurry and couldn't spend any more time trying to convince him.
     We had a bigger table reserved at the tea-house, but only three of us showed up. I didn't really mind it when the owner began to sit other revelers with us, but decided to try Sonny again, and, lo and behold, the little stinker agreed! Of course, now I had to leave the party and go back home to pick him up. As I later found out, Taka, who before outright refused to join us, by that time also considered going along, but I didn't know about it and only picked up Sonny.          My resourceful son put a little table on the porch with the bowl of candy for trick-or-treaters and left a cute note: "Take a handful and don't cheat. The Jack o'Lantern is watching!"

I took the picture later on.
The note, obviously, worked,
because there was still some candy in the bowl!

  

      






The tables at the tea-house were set beautifly!

Some people came in costumes, like one of them, who was

dressed as a skunk and this couple, where the lady had small imp's horns on her head and the gentleman sported a smart fedora. Every time I tried to take a picture of them, it came out blurrry, and they, for some reason, appeared mysteriously lit up from behind!

     

     We each got a pot of tea and treats on a pretty tiered contraption, whose name I don't know.

Here, Sonny, getting in the spirit of things, tries to daintily cut his pumpkin muffin with tiny knife and fork. His cup had a strange porcelain bar across it's opening. I later found out that, its called a mustache grill, and is, probably, used to keep the gentlemen's facial adornments out of the tea!

We watched two Sherlock Holmes movies, while the staff poured pumpkin soup into our bowls. Sonny didn't like it, but Reina and Roberta had two helpings. I dutifully slurped my soup, but didn't particularly enjoyed it. We each had some cute little sandwiches cut in the shape of pumpkins and a good amount of cookies with pumpkin and ginger creme. Yum-m-m-m!

I worried, if Roberta could endure the long evening, sitting in a chair, but she seemed to have taken it in stride. She found the common ground with the lady, who sat at the same table with us: cats. Apparently, the lady had six of them. No judgment, but I silently congratulated myself on stopping after I adopted just two felines. 

 The movies ended, we finished our tea in comfortable laze. Sonny, unfortunately, decided to try a new thing, and ended up with the sassaparilla tea - a horrible concoction. He manfully bore his fate and refused to share my brew: Meyer Lemon. Do you know, why I chose it? Meyer is my father's name! Its funny: in the States, dad came to love going to the cafes, tea-houses and restaurants. I think, his spirit was with us, partaking in our enjoyment and remarking, like he often did in life, while sitting at a cafe's table: "This is how we live in this America!" 

     

THE RESULTS OF THE KIDS' LABORS

Here is Sonny's carved pumpkin with the Iron Man's mask on it.

Here it is lit up. I think, he hoped for a better effect, but I love it!

Reina opted for a conventional Jack-o-Lantern style.

                                                 

It looked great with a candle lit inside!

FALL IS HERE

So many days passed without writing! I lost my reading (and writing) eyeglasses, and it became very difficult to do the computer stuff.

We had a visit from our furry neighbors.

Chickie either forgot about a time when a raccon bit a hole in his stomach, or prefers not to think about it. He didn't show any fear watching the gang of the masked bandits burgle the cat food from the back porch,

The Fall is, finally here. We had a real downpour yesterday, but, fortunately for the trick-or-treaters, it stopped just short of the evening.

Reina and Sonny carved pumpkins.