On Thursday of my first week, I got the chance to go to another center for the elderly, where I dazzled the crowd with my two sentences of Russian: Hello, my name is . . . I live in . . . This set up a buzz in the room that I speak Russian. That notion got disabused in a hurry, of course. Although, I will say that I continue to be surprised that I understand snippets of what is said. As I’ve noted before, if I can maintain the discipline of effort without the benefit of a pending trip, perhaps I can become conversational by the time I return for another visit.
It was an engaging group, as was the group at the first center. We each introduced ourselves and shared pictures from our homes. Mine were in the form of a slide show on my MacBook. I am Mr. Technology, of course. After our presentations, we entertained questions and got to ask some questions. I couldn’t resist asking how people feel about America and about the Putin administration. Most felt fondly about the American people and were relieved that Obama won reelection. They all seemed to know that Romney had declared that Russia is Foe #1, which baffled them as much as it did most people in America.
On the subject of Putin, a couple people spoke up, including the one man in the group. My understanding is that there is frustration that Putin has consolidated power in much the way that other Russian leaders, from the czars to the Communists, have done throughout Russia’s history. What is surprising, of course, is that people will speak about this openly, publicly, and with strangers. I couldn’t help but think back to what would have happened in Stalin’s time had someone expressed opinions remotely close to these. The gulag at best, and summary execution after a period of prison at worst. So, I suppose that is progress of a sort.
One woman in the group was small and stooped, even sitting in her chair, but she had electric blue eyes that let one know that a strong spirit inhabited this wizened frame. Afterwards she came over to talk to Dorothy. It turns out that she is 92 years old, and she fought at the front as a soldier in WWII. Wow! She also has been to America three times. What an interesting person and life story. I hope I can find out more about her experiences if we return next week.
In the afternoon we went to the Boarding School, which I believe is home to kids from families where drugs or alcohol impact their parents’ ability to care for their children. What a sweet group of kids. There were 12 in the class. They were maybe 8 to 10 years old. Each stood up in turn and introduced themselves to us. One young fellow, dark haired and dark eyed, did so in English: “I am Pavel.” To say we were impressed is an understatement!
After their introductions, we began our drill, introducing ourselves and entertaining questions. One of my colleagues from Australia, a young woman named Raya, was asked by Pavel if she wrote poetry. She said that she didn’t. But, Asya, our interpreter, looked at me and made a comment identifying me as the group’s poet. I gave Pavel the poets’ universal high-five sign (which essentially is an awkward glance of surprise that someone else has acknowledged their affliction publicly).
When it came my turn, I brought out the MacBook again, and was swarmed by 12 enthusiastic faces, all wanting to get a closer look at the photos as they came up on the screen. The boys got particularly excited when Fenway Park came up and knew it was baseball. A similar reaction occurred when a shot of the Garden and the Celtics popped up . . . basketball! After the introductions were completed, we began work on our craft project du jour.
We’d decided on ink blot portraits for today. Each child received a sheet of construction paper, and we then dispersed into the rows of desks with paint tubes to dab the sheets. Once dabbed, the sheets were folded over on themselves and then rubbed with the side of the hand to smear the paint. When unfolded, the paint had generated symmetrical designs on each side of the sheet. Some were quite cool, and those that weren’t got the benefit of adding some feathers or beads, if desired, to embellish their appeal. At some point, I think it was Pavel who decided he’d like us to autograph his work. A bit of a twist on the artist signing his work. But we were happy to comply. I think most kids ended up with half-a-dozen signatures.
Pavel then decided to share his journal with me. He brought it over and I flipped through. Most pages were filled with writing . . . clearly this young man may be Pushkin back again to carry on his work! I asked Asya to interpret some of the work for me. She flipped through and summarized that it was mostly science fiction fantasy stories involving Spiderman. So, maybe not Pushkin, but I was still impressed. Pavel expected me to return the favor. Of course, I didn’t have a journal to share, but it did occur to me that I could show him my manuscript “Asteroid Tales” on my MacBook. Pavel approved and soon the remaining group of kids was gathered around my chair, looking at my “book.”
At which point, Pavel upped the ante, and tore a sheet from his journal and asked me to write him a poem. Wow! Talk about being under the gun. Of course, I explained that the poem would be in English. He was unfazed. So, I set out to compose something for him. I got about 12 lines or so, and then he wanted it read aloud. The rest of the class joined Pavel in his request. So, there I was, standing amid 12 Russian kids reading a whomped together poem in English. The crowd went wild! And, soon, I had 11 other young hands holding pieces of paper, thrusting them to me to write another poem. Alas, our time ran out before I could compose more. Such a shame! To have so much adulation and demand for my poetic work! I promised to come back next week, the rock star poet making a reprise appearance. I hope I’m able to fulfill that pledge . . . it would be fun for all of us!
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