In which we are haunted by gosts.
We have had spirited visits the past day and a half.
For Owen, there was a phantom in his britches. We could smell it, hear it and feel it knocking, but the two times we opened his diaper there was nothing there!
Spooky! Perhaps he is being haunted by the ghost of Uncle Roy Benson?
Otherwise, the visit wasn't too scary. Dr. Natalia stopped by again today just in time to catch Owen on a rare crying jag. (Puppet Daddy had tried to put him down after he fell asleep. Fortunately Puppet Master Owen was too wiley to be fooled by such an obvious trick!) She snagged him from me and quieted him down immediately.
Through Inna she told us that our speech looked good. She re-reviewed the court proceedings and gave us a few pointers. "Court is very emotional for us," she said. "It's okay to cry. Don't suppress your feelings." And if we want to give a gift to the judge, don't bring it on court day-- save for it for the next day. Paper is always a good gift, she told us. Judges never have enough.
I'm considering giving the judge a roll of American toilet paper. The stuff's gotta be worth a mint here!
We also had a quick visit with Owen's doctor, Dr. Raisa. She kindly allowed us to videotape her speaking Russian to Owen. In all the commotion though, we never thought to snap a photo. No problem for my super clever wife-- she downloaded the picture at left from the video camera.
More video planned for tomorrow when we may get to see Owen's crib. Inna and Dr. Natalia warned us though that the staff at the maternity hospital is quite shy. Robin and I think this is a subtle way of saying "go easy on the video, silly Amerikanyetc!"
We also did a quick once over of the photo album we've prepared for the court. This too met with a smile of approval, but of course how could it not? We're photographing a super model, here. Dr. Natalia suggested that we label the photos "Mother and son" but then corrected herself. That would be too presumptuous. "Roberta and Valentin" it is.
Flashing quickly back to the night before, our gosts were Peace Corps volunteers Ryan Giordano and his co-hort, Bryan, pictured with Robin and me in our kitchen. (Sorry, Bryan! I've just realized I never caught your last name!) You'll recall from yesterday we were planning how to poison them. Thankfully, we failed.
Inna talked us into ordering a dessert, also pictured left. It was a pizza crust-like confection topped with a type of jelly, dried apricots and currants and covered with powdered sugar then delivered warm right to our door. Not too bad, but very sweet. It was the chaser for a pizza Robin made a la Matt Strelo. The secret Strelo recipe turned out great.
Our guests entertained us for a good three hours. It was an adventure finding them-- we'd agreed to meet at the World War II memorial, but I got a little lost. In my best Russian (ees-va-NEETCH-a, gude-yay... MONUMENT?) I asked a passing Kazakh where to go. After about five minutes of me posing as the statue (see left), he figured out what I needed and helpfully walked me right to them.
"You asked a Kazakh for directions," they said.
"Sure."
"Wow! What a cool Kazakh!" This exchange made me think that it was perhaps not in the best interests of my personal safety to be stopping strangers on the street and asking them for directions-- particularly when I don't speak the language. Still, this guy shook my hand and said in English "friends!"
I'll note that I tried to shake his hand with my gloves on and he rebuffed me roundly. We shook skin to skin... despite the fact that my poor frozen fingers were in danger of being snapped like a fistful of icicles!
At the cottage, the boys reminded us how much we Amerikanyetc take for granted. "This is HUGE," they told us. "Four Kazakh families could live in here easy!"
The gost bit came in when they saw the pile of slippers by the front door. "Gosti slippers!" They promptly shed their boots and traded footwear. Gosti, they explained, is a very important word in the Kazakh culture. It is a noun and a verb and it means to be a guest or to visit.
Other fun with words: As we talked about people they knew, we heard a lot about Gulmiras and Gulzhans. We perked up because the former is the name of our landlady, the latter our agency contact. Gul in Kazakh means flower. The Kazakhs, they told us, name their children like hippies: Beautiful Flower, Delicate Flower and the like. Ryan dates a Kazakh woman and her full name translates to something like Moon Flower Tell It to My Face.
That's her surname: Tell It to My Face. How'd you like to meet that protective father? Aunt Melissa Hooker, your name must translate into something similar...
Interestingly, boys are often named Azamat, which means Citizen.
The boys invited us to attend Ryan's English class the next day and those photos are at left, too. The school is very big and strictly for Kazakhs. Bryan, who kindly fetched us and walked us to the classroom, tells us that Kazakhs and Russians largely segregated themselves after Kazakhstan declared independence from the Soviet Union. This Kazakh school is one of the better ones and, in general, it seems the Kazakhs receive a better education than the heritage Russians.
We enjoyed chatting with the children. Ryan is a brilliant linguist-- he speaks Russian fluently and is surprising people all over the city by being one of the few caucasians to speak passable Kazakh.
For this lesson, he handed the students conversation starters such as "What is...." and "How did you..." and "Why would..." Then he had them work in pairs to come up with questions for Robin and me. We went around the room answering things like "How old are you?" "Did your mother surprise you?" "Did someone take your book?"
They asked us the questions in English and Kazakh and I tried to get as much video as possible of them speaking in both languages. We'll see how it comes out.
The question that got the most laughs? "Do you speak Russian?"
Nyet. Ya ni pen-i-my-oo pa-Russki.
