Just the Four of Us

Pippa’s parents were picked up at 7:30 am by Yelana and Vassily and Pippa went with them as far as the airport; I stayed with the kids at the apartment while they slept.

Pippa’s parents were reluctant to go I think. When we asked them to come along with us to Ukraine we knew there would be several important benefits from their visit. They would get an opportunity to bond with Andry even before the comes to the USA; they would have a better appreciation of Olya’s heritage as well; from Andry’s viewpoint he would see he’s joining a large loving family and lastly we would enjoy sharing this experience with them.

All these things happened just as we predicted. What we did not predict was the remarkably rare opportunity to visit the birthplace of both Andry and Olya, to meet the birth parents and all the villagers who were so excited to see Olya again after seven years. To sit down under a cherry tree to a meal prepared by a group of babushkas, complete with vodka toasts, was an unimaginable experience that Pippa’s parents (and we as well) will never, ever forget. I would not want to be the friends of Pippa’s parents. They will never hear the end of the Boyd’s trip to Telizynci.

When Pippa, Vassiily and Yelana returned, we woke the kids and I made a Ukrainian version of the German pancakes that Olya wants me to make for her every morning in Miami Beach. To make these pancakes more Ukrainian, you just add cherries. Now that we’ve seen Olya’s birthplace with cherry trees all around the house, we understand her obsession with cherries.

On weekends, all Kiev residents with the means to head out of town. The enormous traffic jams in the city are gone. With this in mind, we decided to go to one of the city parks and do stuff the kids would like in the morning and then go downtown to do some shopping, mostly at the Mac store and make some color copies of Ukrainian egg designs that we intend to share with Maria. (We are still thinking about buying decorated eggs from Maria as a way to give her money that she earns herself, rather than just a handout from us. As we said previously, we don’t expect to sell her eggs. We’ll try of course, but that’s unimportant. The real objective is to give her something that will earn her more money than the one very part-time job she has feeding pigs for a neighbor.)

We started at a charming park on the edge of the city. This park is obviously a relic of the Soviet days. There is a lake with small pedal pontoon boats, which still work, but just barely; there are a variety of simple mechanical rides for children that are dubious at best, but still used. However, for a beautiful Saturday, the park itself seems to attract very few people. A smattering of kids, a few people in their twenties with the girls all wearing spike high heels (not at all what American girls would wear for a short hike), but mostly there are old people reading a book or walking on the pathway. One squarish older woman was sun bathing in her bra and panties.

While we did all the activities, for Olya and Andry the big thing was the go-cart track. This was far less serious than the one we had gone to before. There were only four old go-carts. The track was in a grove of trees lined by old tires, painted blue on one side and and yellow on the other side. Maybe old, but still charming.

The go-cart track was serviced by four young Ukrainians who appeared “red neck” to us. Tough and quick to yell if we did anything wrong; the “boss” seemed to be about twenty, a burly guy, burr head, wearing only short shorts. Showing off his big chest, I suppose. Why four young men? Back home this would be a one-man job.

On the track Olya was conservative, far from her usual “hell bent for leather” style she uses on her own go-cart back home. Andry went “rapido” as he says to us in Spanish. Pippa drove close to Olya and I followed taking photos from my car. We made all of our laps and then encouraged Yelana to give it a shot.

Now Yelena is 31 years old, but looks around sixteen. She doesn’t know how to drive a car. Even so she was happy we pressured her to hop in the go-cart. What followed was very funny. Of course she didn’t know brake or accelerate or steer. She traveled at a speed to put her last in a snail marathon. Once in a while her foot, by mistake, hit the accelerator and she would crash into the tire barrier. But she was determined and methodically and oh so carefully completed her five laps. We thought several times she would cry but she never did. In fact she hugged and thanked Pippa when it was all over. We all laughed to think what a disaster the rest of the day would be if Yelana and Vassily switched places and Yelana was our driver and Vassily our translator!

So far, we have given Yelana: frisbee lessons; taught her to catch and throw a softball; play tag, bowl and drive a go-cart. We’ve even included her in the games we play with the kids in the car: counting every third person who passes by the car window and the “named” person must wear that person’s clothes, and another game of counting car makes, giving points for certain makes until someone reaches 100 points. We’ve played these car games and others like them with Olya forever. She’s very competitive and it really passes driving time very quickly. All these activities, Yelana tells us, has changed her mind about Americans. She had thought all Americans were fat and lazy, but says we are all so “sporty”.

At the same time we’re changing our mind about Ukraine or at least Kiev. Three and a half years ago we left with Olya thinking the place was very backwards, not cool, frumpy. That’s not the case. You can still see vestiges of the Soviet days but actually Kiev is a classy, modern city. The shops are plentiful and stocked with everything. Supermarkets are no different than ours except that the sausage, fish and dairy sections are about three times larger and loaded with things we have no idea what you do with. I have not had a bad meal yet since we’ve been here. The meals vary from working man’s lunch to elegant restaurants but always with fresh ingredients.

In fact we ended the day by walking through a new section of apartments still under construction near our place to a very nice Japanese restaurant, “Yakitoriya”. Andry didn’t want to eat there at first. After looking at the menu posted outside he clearly told us he wanted to go back to the apartment and eat tomatoes. He said he had never been to a Japanese restaurant. To his credit he let us convince him to go in. He and Olya ate everything on their plates and wanted more. We’ll go back there again, for sure.

The evening ended with the children moving into the vacated room of Pippa’s parents. They liked having their own room and said we must knock before entering. We’ll see. They went to bed watching a movie in Russian on Olya’s computer.

Broken Tooth, Nail File and Another Connection

A few days ago, while eating a piece of pork, my back tooth broke in half leaving jagged edges. Not being able to decide which would be worse, going to a Ukrainian dentist or having my tongue sliced into raw hamburger by the remaining part of my tooth, I went to look for my fingernail file. (I can highly recommend a nail file as an emergency dental tool.) Now when my tongue touches the smooth, empty space where my tooth used to be I think of Maria and the children we also have in common.

Undoubtedly the children were better off in an orphanage than they were being raised in the home of their biological parents. However it happened, and we may never know the exact details, it was for the best that Nikolai and Maria had their parental rights terminated. But I still feel for Maria. I can see that she really loved and wanted the children. She just couldn’t provide a healthy and/or safe environment for them.

Loosing your children would have to be the worst thing a mother can experience. I wonder, what if I had been born to a single mother in a poor rural village, had limited education, no resources or opportunity, married at 18, had my first child at 19 and the man I married turned out to be the kind that was violent to me when he drank. Would I have had the where-with-all to change my situation? It was easier for me to think “yes” before I met Maria and saw her life.

I am so lucky to have my parents, my husband and my community!

The Three Musketeers, Among Other Things

Since we had no legal procedures to take care of until after the upcoming weekend, on this Friday we had planned another easy day. We thought we would first go to the Children’s Railway in Sirez Park. It’s a narrow gauge train, run by children between the ages of nine to thirteen and goes for a few kilometers. The kids work on the railway as machinists, conductors, train drivers. They study trains all year and then hone their practical skills on this railway. When they get older, many actually work for the railway. Sounded like something our kids would like to do for a few hours.

Then we thought we would go to the National Botantical Garden as a special treat for Pippa’s parents. This would be their last day in Ukraine; they fly back to Florida on Saturday.

When Vasily and Yelana arrived however, we changed our plan. Vasilly suggested that it might be a good idea to first check out the State Hospital to see about getting Maria’s teeth fixed there. It’s where he goes for dental work and he gave it a good recommendation. He assured us it was “near by” and so we drove for a long, long time to an old soviet-looking apartment complex on the edge of Kiev on the other side of town from our apartment. As are all the soviet-era structures this one was very shoddy from the outside.

number of “horoshos” at the end and we were on our way apparently with something worked out for 2:00 Monday afternoon.

We had not traveled far before the kids spotted an amusement park. We agreed to check it out. At the entrance however, we came onto a bowling alley, Olya’s favorite thing to do in this world. The whole herd of us snail-walked inside and everybody put on bowling shoes expect me. The flat screen TVs all over the place were showing the USA playing Argentina in Copa America. (Argentina spanked the USA very badly). Pippa even convinced Yelana to bowl. Her first time. Pippa as usual whipped everyone else with Olya the easy second placer. This was also Andry’s first bowling experience.

The bowling alley had a Wild West theme and was very elegant, complete with all the automation of Lucky Strike Lanes in South Beach. A very expensive restaurant as part of the place, video game arcade, a kiddy room and toilets of polished marble and the latest tricks in flushing, hand washing and drying.

After a very long game (six people playing) Vasilly wanted to take us “a little out of town” for lunch. Twenty minutes later we were in the country. After a while we began passing these very large compounds, each with a different theme. We passed the Wild West, Bali, another with a giant jug outside, and stopped at one with a Three Musketeers theme. It’s hard to describe. There were several acres of small elegant-rustic cottages with white tablecloth covered tables, alI in a park-like setting. Paths between large trees and flower areas; duck ponds, play areas with a very large inflatable jumping castle and outside eating areas with wicker chairs. A few medieval style red banners kept the musketeers theme alive.

We ate in the large lodge although for a 100 grivnas ($20) we could have rented one of the cottages. Excellent food, a really good Georgian cabernet, special pancakes with bananas and chocolate for dessert and attentive service. We all agreed Vasilly had made a good suggestion.

Leaving this place, we decided to check out another one down the road. Yelana explained that these places were for well-to-do people from Kiev who came to escape the bustle of the city for a few days. The owners of each complex tried to outdo the other. There’s a lot of money floating around in Kiev these days.

We stopped at a military-themed complex. I suspect it was another example of the nostalgic return of the glory of the Soviet era. The posters and accoutrements all suggested this. The staff wore Soviet army and navy uniforms. At the gate we were greeted with a brandy shot and a small toast topped with a dollop of garlic infused lard that had some sort of berry balanced on top. We thanked them and pretended to eat and drink. A pretty naval officer showed us the rooms in the lodge: each room different from the other, all large plasma TVs, extremely elegant bathrooms and while military-like, all the furniture and furnishings looked like a million dollars had been spent on them.

But Olya and Andry flipped out over the two-story cottage the pretty naval officer showed us. A wonderful Finnish sauna and a bathroom fit for Bill Gates if he was on a weekend hideaway with Paris Hilton.

The cottage overlooked a lake where many people were fishing from their outside dining room tables. We saw someone catch a five-inch fish, the pretty naval officer assured us we could catch a two foot long monster if we had patience. They will supply the pole.
Olya was jumping in the air by this point begging for us to come to this place. Translating for Andry she said he felt exactly the same way. And actually, I thought it would be a good thing to do when we are between legal procedures with an empty day on our hands. So we promised and headed back to the apartment; it was 6:45 pm by this time.

Pippa however convinced me to “stop by” the botanical garden since it was on the way home. I agreed to a ride-by that turned into a walk-around. (Pippa interjecting here.) Ron snuck back to the car with the kids racing each other to catch up with him. When my parents and I got back to the car the-impatient-ones asked, “Where have you been?” We explained that we stopped at the fountain at the entrance of the garden, and like people do at the Fountain of Trivi in Italy, turned our backs, made a wish, and each threw in a Ukrainian coin. The “making a wish” part got Olya and she begged me to tell my wish. Eveyone knows it’s bad luck to tell wishes so I told her I wouldn’t tell but she could probably guess my wish. I asked her, “What’s the most important thing in the world to me right now?” Her eyes flew open as she realized what my wish had been. Then she asked my parents to tell their wishes. They just smiled at her and she realized the three of us had all wished for the same thing. (okay, back to Ron.)

A vareneky supper and a last card game of Crazy Eight between Jim, Andry and Olya, a routine they all look forward to. (Back to Pippa. Ron forgot a cute part.) When Olya had to draw cards, because she didn’t have the correct one, my dad in a funny high voice would tell her, “draw again little girl.” When my father had to draw, both children in even higher and funnier little voices would tell him, “draw again little grandfather, draw again.”

Very early in the morning my parents leave Ukraine for Florida. At bedtime they said their last goodbyes to the children. As my father tucked in Andry and explained he was saying goodbye because he was leaving early in the morning. Andry smiled and told him “no.” It really seems like Andry is enjoying his new, extended family. Hopefully, in a few weeks, he will officially be our son.

Racing Cars, Art on a Pin Head and Making Borscht

The very famous and quite beautiful Pecherskaya Lavra (catacombs) monastery with all its gilded onion domes is literally within walking distance of our apartment. Pippa and I had been here years before when we came to adopt Olya and so we knew her parents would really enjoy this place.

In addition to the temples over the caves there are very interesting museums. One of the strangest is a museum of sculptures displayed on pin heads – one exhibit was a flea wearing shoes made of gold. All are viewed from a line of high-powered microscopes. The kids got a kick out of this museum.

But Pippa and her mom really got their kicks from the museum that houses traditional Ukrainian folk art, furniture and clothing. There was everything from a magnificent collection of Ukrainian painted eggs (ancient to present day); farm implements, farm furniture and textiles and clothing of ancient Ukrainians to the similar clothing still worn everyday in the Carpathian mountains. The glassware and pottery both old and new was breath-taking. Much of the painting felt like Pennsylvania German, but even more detailed and sophisticated. The director of this museum was a very friendly woman who took a special shine to Pippa. She spent a lot time (hours, I can tell you honestly because I waited for her) telling Pippa in great detail about the techniques, the artists, upcoming festivals in our area––in fact she even shared the living artists’ phone numbers. Pippa was quite excited to learn about a village of artists that is on a list of places we must visit (only a 10 hour drive, of course).

I also was impressed by the friendliness of the museums’ staff. Each room had a security person, an older woman making sure no one touched anything or failed to visit a room of art. When they saw how genuinely interested we were in the work they would come over and in great detail give us (my mother, Yelana and me) the history of a piece explaining the region and symbolism in the piece.

But all this wasn’t that interesting to Andry and Olya. Besides they were starving. Fortunately we were only a 3 minute walk away from our favorite restaurant USSR, which is decorated from stuff from the soviet days. The children’s mood really brightened when we said they could eat in the soviet era car that had its front end sticking our of the front of the restaurant and its convertible (topless) passenger space inside the restaurant.

It was a very pleasant lunch; Olya and Andry sat with Pippa’s parents in the car and Pippa, Slava (our regular diver’s son who was taking over for the day), Yelana (our translator) and I sat at a table across from them. Great food and service and cherry vereneky for dessert.

Keeping with the ‘car theme” we headed out to the go-cart race track. A fairly serious place for Ukrainian guys who fantasize about a grand prix. Pippa was too anxious to let the kids do it until I suggested that she go in the first car followed by Olya in her car, Andry in his car and me in the last car. We signed a contract in Ukrainian and they fitted us with all the helmets and driving gloves. A quick driving lesson (in Ukrainian) and we’re off.

The plan about keeping our places didn’t even begin to work. But we all drove slowly as the Ukrainian burly boys weaved in and out of our parade. Olya who normally drives like a bat out of Hades in her own go-cart took things very, very easy. Andry was a good driver too. We all had fun.

That evening Yelana taught Pippa and her mom how to make traditional borsch for our dinner. We all loved the soup but the kids inhaled it. Just about bedtime, all hell broke loose. I thought the Germans were back, dropping bombs on Kiev once again. But it was only fireworks going off in the parking lot next to our building; a magnificent sight from our 18th floor apartment windows. But the sound was amazingly loud. All of us admitted to being a little queasy. There was a sense of what Kiev must have sounded like in 1943.

Dumpster Diving in Kiev

Imagine an entire family–-father, mother, little girl and little boy–– in long, yellow gloves scouring through a big dumpster behind a famous park restaurant. Well, that’s exactly what we were doing Wednesday.

After seeing a wonderful photo exhibit we went to the park with the great monument to Taras Sheschentko, Ukraine’s most important poet and artist, to have lunch at a restaurant in the park (much like Tavern on the Green in New York’s Central Park).

We were starving and ordered a typical Ukrainian big lunch of many courses for only $7 a piece. At the beginning of the meal, Olya as usual, took out her very expensive (tooth) retainer before she ate. Even though we had cautioned her not to cover it up (the retainer had been accidentally tossed in a trashcan at an airport cafe in NYC and Ron fortunately found it) Olya ignored our caution and put the retainer “into” the paper napkin so she would not have to look at the “gross” thing while she ate.

Of course, you can guess what happened. We left the restaurant, got into the car and into a terrible traffic jam on the way to the Zoopark. Then: “Mom, Mom! My retainer!”

I can’t say we rushed back because it is impossible to rush anywhere in Kiev’s traffic which is rush hour about six hours out of every eight. But we snail-drove to the restaurant, then rushed in. The waiter, a soviet-throwback in temperament even though he looked to be about twelve years old, burr-cut hairstyle, who was angry at us during the meal, was even angrier now, insisted there was no way the retainer could be found. All the tables had been cleaned long ago and everything thrown in the big trash dumpster behind the restaurant.

We offered him a reward and he stormed off with a great display of arm and shoulder tossing he probably learned from watching Soviet war films. In twenty minutes he returned to say it was impossible. A woman had looked and looked and could not find anything. Too bad. More shoulder rolling. We asked if we could go back and look for ourselves. Big shoulder roll, then a session with the manager who matched the waiter’s shoulder rolling but he agreed to let us try.

In the back of the restaurant, a helpful woman gave us a couple of pair of long yellow rubber gloves. Ron had a pair and Pippa and Andry split a pair.

In fifteen minutes of organized piece-by-piece garbage sifting, Andry’s sharp eyes found a soggy paper napkin complete with Olya’s undamaged blue plastic and stainless wire, very, expensive teeth retainer.

We took a victory photo of the family with arms raised high and big smiles (including Olya who, feeling overwhelmingly guilty, hadn’t spoken for a long time).

We washed our hands in the restaurant and and celebrated with Ukrainian (very thin, like a crepe) pancakes, coffee and kvas (the same drink sold from big yellow tanks all over Kiev, but safer to drink at the restaurant).

We made it to the Zoopark about two hours before closing time. It’s a dreadful zoo to begin with, but for some reason almost all the rides were not working. Thank goodness! We were frightened to ride the small roller-coaster and Ferris wheel three years ago because they looked so decrepit. Many of the animal exhibits had no animals. It looked like they may be redoing some of the enclosures. The single elephant and the single rhino were sadly still there. These herd animals were each alone in their too-small spaces. The rhino had worn a knee-high circular trench from walking in circles day-in and day-out for all of her life at this zoo. Really, really sad. I had seen this before when we took Olya there years ago and I didn’t want to see it again. But the kids didn’t seem to recognize the signs of depression in the animals and did all the things kids do at a zoo: ate popcorn, ice cream, bought crappy plastic trinkets, ran in and out of buildings and enjoyed being together.

On the way home we stopped at a supermarket, bought ready-to-boil vereneky for this night and the ingredients for borscht which Yelana will use tomorrow night to teach us how to make an authentic Ukrainan version. All of us love borscht.

We ate meat vereneky follwed by vereneky with cherries for dessert while we watched “Superman” on the big screen TV from our iPod which we finally figured out how to work with Carlos’ help. The two kids lay side by side on the sofa. Olya’s retainer was back in her mouth after being Cloroxed––altogether, another good day.