I was really content on Thanksgiving. I got to bake crescent rolls, which reminded me of my childhood, which I love. I got to nap. I got to eat with friends and share a piece of American culture with them that I didn't even realize how unique and special that day is.
But somehow every other day, I find reasons to be discontent. I have however many days left before coming home, about three weeks. Can't time go faster? Or if it's not that, it's -- I only have three weeks left? How can I possible get everything done, least of all have a fulfilling experience in three weeks? How am I supposed to say good bye to my friends!?
What I forget is that I'm not saying good bye. I will, but I'm not right now, and that's where I am. I know I have so much good in my life, and for some reason I think that the future, or the past, holds more good than right now. But it doesn't, because it's not now, and that's all.
Sorry if that's convoluted, but these are my thoughts :)
Sometime last week, someone asked me -are you ready to come home? I said, No, but I will be in a month. When I said that, I was sincere, but I do not always have that attitude. It is the attitude I would like.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Prayers
Please pray for Ian and my friends Joy and Olivia who got in a car accident yesterday. Ian's knee is injured, and both Joy and Olivia have fractured vertebrae. They will all be "fine," but they will be in hibited as far as mobility goes, for varying lengths of time.
On a happier note, Aurelija got accepted to spend next semester at Gordon College in Boston! I am SO excited for her. When she got the e-mail, she kept saying, "Maybe we read it wrong, I don't think this is real." But it is so real! So, next semester I will at some point be making a trip out to Boston, and I have already invited her to come to my home after the semester is over.
On a happier note, Aurelija got accepted to spend next semester at Gordon College in Boston! I am SO excited for her. When she got the e-mail, she kept saying, "Maybe we read it wrong, I don't think this is real." But it is so real! So, next semester I will at some point be making a trip out to Boston, and I have already invited her to come to my home after the semester is over.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
I hear you have snow!
I have heard reports (mostly by facebook, some by New Yorkers I met at a show in St. Petersburg, some from my parents) that it has been snowing in different parts of our big country. Sad to say, our first frost came only yesterday. Anyone I have talked to from this region of the world is totally surprised that there is not snow yet! So, I guess my friends and family are having my Lithuanian snow for me. Thanks guys!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Quotes from Into the Wild
These were a few of the spots in the book (which I finished last night -- I LOVE the feeling of finishing a book!!) that I thought I'd share. They're not particularly heart warming, but I thought they were quite insightful.
[Franz] had no family and few friends. A disciplined, self-reliant man, he got along remarkably well despite his age and solitude. When McCandless came into his world, however, the boy undermined the old man’s meticulously constructed defenses. Franz relished being with McCandless, but their burgeoning friendship also reminded him how lonely he’d been. The boy unmasked the gaping void in Franz’s life even as he helped fill it. When McCandless departed as suddenly as he’d arrived, Franz found himself deeply and unexpectedly hurt. – p 56
It may, after all, be the bad habit of creative talents to invest themselves in pathological extremes that yield remarkable insights but no durable way of life for those who cannot translate their psychic wounds into significant art or thought. – Theodore Roszak “In search of the miraculous” p 70
Chris invented this this workout he called Road Warriors: He would lead us on long, killer runs through places like farmers’ fields and construction sites, places we weren’t supposed to be, and intentionally try to get us lost. We’d run as far and as fast as we could, down strange roads, through the woods, whatever. The whole idea was to lose your bearings, to push ourselves into unknown territory. Then we’d run at a slightly slower pace until we found a road we recognized and race home again at full speed. In a certain sense that’s how Chris lived his entire life. – p 112
A month later Billie sits at her dining room table, sifting through the pictorial record of Chris’s final days. It is all she can do to force herself to examine the fuzzy snapshots. As she studies the pictures, she breaks down from time to time, weeping as only a mother who has outlived a child can weep, betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure. Such bereavement, witnessed at close range, makes even the most eloquent apologia for high-risk activities ring fatuous and hollow. – p. 132
But have you noticed the slight curl at the end of Sam II’s mouth, when he looks at you? It means he didn’t want you to name him Sam II, for one thing, and for two other things it means that he has a sawed-off in his left pant leg and a baling hook in his right pant leg, and is ready to kill you with either one of them, given the opportunity. The father is taken aback. What he usually says, in such a confrontation, is “I changed your diapers for you, little snot.” This is not the right thing to say. First, it is not true (mothers change nine diapers out of ten), and second, it instantly reminds Sam II of what he is mad about. He is mad about being small when you were big, but no, that’s not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no, not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it, he is insane because he loved you, you didn’t notice. – p. 145 Donald Barthelme The Dead Father
It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it. … I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devil’s Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams. And I lived to tell my tale. – p 155
[Franz] had no family and few friends. A disciplined, self-reliant man, he got along remarkably well despite his age and solitude. When McCandless came into his world, however, the boy undermined the old man’s meticulously constructed defenses. Franz relished being with McCandless, but their burgeoning friendship also reminded him how lonely he’d been. The boy unmasked the gaping void in Franz’s life even as he helped fill it. When McCandless departed as suddenly as he’d arrived, Franz found himself deeply and unexpectedly hurt. – p 56
It may, after all, be the bad habit of creative talents to invest themselves in pathological extremes that yield remarkable insights but no durable way of life for those who cannot translate their psychic wounds into significant art or thought. – Theodore Roszak “In search of the miraculous” p 70
Chris invented this this workout he called Road Warriors: He would lead us on long, killer runs through places like farmers’ fields and construction sites, places we weren’t supposed to be, and intentionally try to get us lost. We’d run as far and as fast as we could, down strange roads, through the woods, whatever. The whole idea was to lose your bearings, to push ourselves into unknown territory. Then we’d run at a slightly slower pace until we found a road we recognized and race home again at full speed. In a certain sense that’s how Chris lived his entire life. – p 112
A month later Billie sits at her dining room table, sifting through the pictorial record of Chris’s final days. It is all she can do to force herself to examine the fuzzy snapshots. As she studies the pictures, she breaks down from time to time, weeping as only a mother who has outlived a child can weep, betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure. Such bereavement, witnessed at close range, makes even the most eloquent apologia for high-risk activities ring fatuous and hollow. – p. 132
But have you noticed the slight curl at the end of Sam II’s mouth, when he looks at you? It means he didn’t want you to name him Sam II, for one thing, and for two other things it means that he has a sawed-off in his left pant leg and a baling hook in his right pant leg, and is ready to kill you with either one of them, given the opportunity. The father is taken aback. What he usually says, in such a confrontation, is “I changed your diapers for you, little snot.” This is not the right thing to say. First, it is not true (mothers change nine diapers out of ten), and second, it instantly reminds Sam II of what he is mad about. He is mad about being small when you were big, but no, that’s not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no, not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it, he is insane because he loved you, you didn’t notice. – p. 145 Donald Barthelme The Dead Father
It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it. … I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devil’s Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams. And I lived to tell my tale. – p 155
Sunday, November 6, 2011
The Camera Scare.
And what would a vacation be without a "did I loose the camera!!" scare?
On the walk from the hostel to the train station, I tripped in the middle of the street and all my stuff spilled everywhere. My friends picked up all the stuff that spilled from my purse -- I thought -- and we tried to keep going before cars got impatient and hit the gas regardless of expected pity.
We took the overnight train from St. Petersburg to Vilnius, being sporatically woken by guards at the Russian border, then the Latvian border (in-between which there is neutral territory) to check our passports. In Vilnius, we got on a bus that took us straight back to LCC. But in between the train and the bus, I realized my camera -- which is actually my mom's camera -- was not in my coat pocket, where it spent most of my trip. So I went back on the train to see if it had fallen out. It was not on the train. The best I could do was hope that it was in my bag, though I had no recollection of packing it there. I thought -- maybe it fell out of my pocket when I fell on my face, and someone didn't pick it up. Or someone ELSE picked it up.
Well, long story short, after the 4-hour bus ride of being stressed, worried that my camera, and my photos, were being enjoyed by a Petersburg thug, I found out that I had tucked it into my souvenier bag. Which means that I can share some photos with you now!!
In the Church of Spilt Blood -- the whole inside is a mosaic.
Dostoevsky's hat at his last flat where he wrote The Brothers Karamazov. (This was taken before I was kindly informed in Russian that you're not allowed to take photos there...)
A view from St. Isaac's Cathedral.
The view from the bridge with it is presumed by locals to be the spot where Raskolnikov stares into the river in deep thought. Ah!!
The Pushkin statue under which I got to sit and write -- Good-looking guy!
On the walk from the hostel to the train station, I tripped in the middle of the street and all my stuff spilled everywhere. My friends picked up all the stuff that spilled from my purse -- I thought -- and we tried to keep going before cars got impatient and hit the gas regardless of expected pity.
We took the overnight train from St. Petersburg to Vilnius, being sporatically woken by guards at the Russian border, then the Latvian border (in-between which there is neutral territory) to check our passports. In Vilnius, we got on a bus that took us straight back to LCC. But in between the train and the bus, I realized my camera -- which is actually my mom's camera -- was not in my coat pocket, where it spent most of my trip. So I went back on the train to see if it had fallen out. It was not on the train. The best I could do was hope that it was in my bag, though I had no recollection of packing it there. I thought -- maybe it fell out of my pocket when I fell on my face, and someone didn't pick it up. Or someone ELSE picked it up.
Well, long story short, after the 4-hour bus ride of being stressed, worried that my camera, and my photos, were being enjoyed by a Petersburg thug, I found out that I had tucked it into my souvenier bag. Which means that I can share some photos with you now!!
In the Church of Spilt Blood -- the whole inside is a mosaic.
Dostoevsky's hat at his last flat where he wrote The Brothers Karamazov. (This was taken before I was kindly informed in Russian that you're not allowed to take photos there...)
A view from St. Isaac's Cathedral.
The view from the bridge with it is presumed by locals to be the spot where Raskolnikov stares into the river in deep thought. Ah!!
The Pushkin statue under which I got to sit and write -- Good-looking guy!
Friday, November 4, 2011
Art.
Yesterday we went to Yusopov Palace and the Hermitage.
This afternoon I walked the path of Raskolnikov -- protaganist of Crime and Punishment (my favorite novel which I am re-reading while here in Petersburg) -- I asked locals for help to find it, and they all recognized what I was saying when I said "Raskolnikov?" and they all pointed to the same flat.
Tonight we went to the ballet Romeo and Juliet.
This city makes me want to be an author and a ballerina.
At Yusopov Palace -- Oksana and I decided we would move there together some day.
Me at Pushkin's appartment.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The St. Petersburg Dream.
I love St. Petersburg. Everything is different than in Moscow. Every building is beautiful -- not just one in every few buildings. The water is beauiful, the open spaces are great for breathing, the feeling is good. Last night I went and journaled sitting on a bench beneath a statue of Pushkin. I feel like the whole place is literary, but maybe that is just because that is what I love -- perhaps if someone loved something else, it would be that instead.
Yesterday, we took a walking tour of the city to get an idea of the city. After that, we had lunch, had some rest time, and went to a show called Feel Yourself Russian. It was really fun to see lots of traditional Russian folk songs and dances on stage.
Today I am going with a group to Yusopov Palace and then to the Hermitage. I didn't really take many pictures on our walk around the city yesterday -- I was just soaking it in -- but I will have my camera today!
Yesterday, we took a walking tour of the city to get an idea of the city. After that, we had lunch, had some rest time, and went to a show called Feel Yourself Russian. It was really fun to see lots of traditional Russian folk songs and dances on stage.
Today I am going with a group to Yusopov Palace and then to the Hermitage. I didn't really take many pictures on our walk around the city yesterday -- I was just soaking it in -- but I will have my camera today!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)