A Quiet Day Turns Out to Be an Important One

We got up at 6:30 to get dressed-up to go to Bucha, the town of Andry’s school, less than an hour from Kiev. We had an appointment at 9:00 to meet “The Inspector.” Vlad called and told us the appointment had been pushed back until 3 in the afternoon. Good thing for me because I (Ron) had a very bad night with a flu-like cold that kept me awake all night. Andry and I went back to sleep for couple hours. Right before we left the children got the iChat system going with some of Andry's friends in Spain. All of us were so excited we crowded around the computer screen to watch Andry typing back and forth to Spain. Unfortunately, while we have internet connection in the apartment, it frequently cuts out. So the conversation was short.

Vassily got us to Bucha on time and Vlad was waiting for us outside of the Inspector’s office. We kept Andry and Olya in the van with Vassily, Jim and Cara while Pippa and I went inside with Vlad to meet the inspector. We thought we needed to keep Andry out of sight because we had been told the inspector did not know Andry was in our custody. The school director giving us permission to have Andry with us prior to the finalization of the adoption has been an incredibly wonderful opportunity and very, very unusual, we’ve been told. So unusual that it may not even be legal!

We were in the inspector’s office no more than a couple of minutes. It was anticlimactic. She only looked at one paper out of our entire inch thick dossier, punched some keys on a computer (the first one we’ve seen), smiled at us and it was time to go. She already knew our entire story AND that Andry was already with us! Outside Vlad told us he had to get some letter from her and take it to someone else. We were free for a few days at least.

Since we were already in the town where Andry’s school is we decided to stop by for a tour: Andry’s room, classroom, etc. It turns out that all the staff was busy preparing the school for a valedictorian event and asked us to come back at another time. However an administrator took Andry into her office for a short while. It turns out they needed a letter handwritten by him stating that he wanted to be adopted by us. He wrote the letter they needed. Psychologically, this was one of the most important things to Ron and me.

In the car on the way back to Kiev, Olya rolled all over Andry, pinching and pestering him as she does every single minute she is with him. Andry is unbelievably patient and loving with his sister. It’s as if they have never been apart.

Before we left Olya told Ron and me, “When Andry first comes home with us he is going to be very nice to me. Then, after a while, he’s going to tell me to get out of his room.” Ron and I told her she was probably right. We told Andry Olya’s prediction and asked if that’s what he would tell his pesky little sister. Andry said, “No, never.”

Our translator, who has been handling adoptions for over seven years, said she had never seen siblings that were separated for so long enjoy each other’s company as much as Olya and Andry do. She said in most cases when separated siblings are reunited they act as if they are strangers. These two act as if they are making up for lost time…five years. They like wearing matching shirts, eating the same foods and playing the same pranks on Ron, my parents and me.

We have started playing "telephone" in the car to keep us all occupied. Telephone is the game where one person thinks of a word or phrase and whispers it in the ear of the person next to them. This continues until the last person says what they heard. The results are always ridiculous even when everyone playing fluently speaks the same language and has perfect hearing. You can imagine what our games are like.

We stopped by the grocery store on the way home to pick up some sausages, beets, tomatoes, cucumbers and cherries. Olya was tired and got a piggy-back ride from her grandmother. Fortunately everyone perked up by the time we got home and helped prepare dinner. Andry sliced and cooked the sausages while Olya thoroughly scrubbed each cherry individually.

Andriyivshy Descent––A Long Downhill Ordeal

Start at St.Andrew’s Church at the top of a quaint cobblestone street and end up in Podil (the Greenwich Village of Kiev) with a lot less Grivnas than you started with. Pippa and her mother, Cara, were in souvenir shopping HEAVEN; Jim, Pippa’s dad and I were in souvenir shopping HELL. Olya and Andry were happy as always just being together.

The street is lined with stalls of all kinds of Ukrainian crafts: pottery; embroidery; painted eggs, boxes, plates, platters, jewelry, traditional Ukrainian shawls, blouses, shirts and skirts, thousands of old things from World War II including: Russian uniforms, caps and medals, propaganda posters, old photos of Gorbachev and Stalin––new ones of Putin and George Bush; antique Russian cameras and modern tee shirts with photos of Lenin giving the finger. You get the idea. But there were some real gems in all the bad paintings and kitschy kitsch. I found one photographer whose work reminded me of Josef Sudek. When I said the name Sudek, the photographer beamed at me and was very proud of being associated with the great Czech photographer. So, I bought one of his photos.

Eventually Jim and I got smart and settled down at a coffee shop while the souvenir buying marathon went on. Olya and Andry kept running back into the coffee shop for more Grivnas. As it turned out they were buying surprise presents for all of us that they gave to us in a special ceremony back at the apartment. We all got matching Ukrainian T-shirts.

Jim and I missed a special moment that the others had listening to a singing concert of a twelve-year-old girl with a voice like an angel. I hear she was dressed in a white lace dress and gloves and had a hot dog in one hand. Speaking of angels, I broke down and agreed to stopping at another church on the way back from the souvenir street. However, I insisted on a condition––that I could sit in the car and wait for them. I was exhausted from the day. You need to know that we started at ten in the morning and did not leave until after five in the afternoon. So while I didn’t write much about this day, it was a long day, believe me.

Play Day

A new driver today, “Slava,” the son of Vassily, a carbon copy of his father. The plan is for him to take us on a cultural tour of Kiev. I agreed to the plan, but modified it so the kids would not go berserk. I limited the schedule to only one church, St. Sophia’s, and suggested we stop at “Mister Snak,” a chain of fast food restaurants with quite good sandwiches, to buy what we need for a picnic at one of the many parks. We stopped at a sporting goods store near our apartment and bought a soccer ball and a basketball. We also carried the four softball gloves, neon yellow softballs and Frisbee we had brought from home.

We rushed through St. Sophia’s. Actually, the kids just ran around the grounds and the most interesting thing was the man with the giant hair and equally large moustache who was sitting on a park bench singing folk songs and playing a large lute-like instrument. His voice was really good, almost opera quality. (Speaking of opera, I’m trying to convince the kids or someone to go with me to the National Opera. No takers so far.) Doing their best version of “are we there yet” the kids kept pleading for the park we had promised. Slava very agreeably did just that although Yelana, our translator, told us that it is not a typical practice of Ukrainians to take a picnic lunch.

That wasn’t the case at the park we went to. This one, at the edge of town, seemed to be an old one. The grass was overgrown, the playground had rusted monkey bars and slide and there were several families cooking shish-kabobs on small fires they had built. No one seems to pick up their trash. My guess is that this park was well cared for in the Soviet days, but in the new free enterprise system in Ukraine, no one has found a way to make money from park maintenance.

Pippa got the Frisbee session going right away. She grew up on the Florida beaches and so does a great “Gidget Goes to the Beach” imitation. Andry was very impressed with her mastery of the Frisbee. Tiring of the Frisbee after a half hour of having it bounce off my chest, I got Andry to kick the soccer ball. He has some skills and has obviously played some in Ukraine or Spain in the summer with his host “brother”. He’ll do ok in Miami. But we both had a tough time in the tall, un-cut grass. So we put on the gloves and Olya, Andry and I played catch. Andry has a rocket arm just like his sister. Where did that come from? He’s still got to work on his catching, however. We tried to teach Yelana, how to catch and throw the ball. She was hopeless, but good-natured about it. She had already failed her Frisbee lesson. She told us that she had previously thought most Americans were fat and not athletic. But not this “sporty” family.

Next came a furious game of tag. Both Yelana and Slava were shocked when the children included them by tagging them and saying “you’re it!” When tagged, Slava (he’s in his mid twenties) came as fast as he could after me but I made sure he never came close. I think he was surprised. Eventually we all tired and packed it up to go. We carefully picked up our trash as if we would set a lesson for the entire country.

Pippa gave the kids their choice of another church or a boat ride. (What do you think?) She knew her parents were dying to see all the churches in Ukraine. But the kids saved me, as I think Pippa knew they would when she gave them the choice.

The boat ride was pleasant. The sky had turned dark and a light drizzle began. It was fine with us; we sat around a table inside and had coffee and tea and chatted with Yelana about our plans to help Maria and her struggle with poverty and an abusive husband. It was also an opportunity to ask Andry a few more questions about Maria’s situation.

Apparently, although divorced, Maria lets Nikolai live with her as long as he does not drink and he hasn’t for six months. They had talked about coming to Kiev and finding a job. Maria’s aunt lives in Kiev and offered them some help. Nothing became of this because Maria’s mother got sick and there is still the problem of Nikolai’s invalid father who they need to take care of.

We also learned that Andry’s Spanish summer host family gave him 50 Euro. Andry gave half of the money to Maria. The Spanish family also gave him a cell phone to they could talk with him on the phone but Nikolai took the phone away from Andry.

The hour’s ride came to an end and now it was pouring rain. We rushed toward our van but halfway there Andry stopped and stood for a while in the rain to wait for Jim and Cara who aren’t quite as quick as the rest of the group. (He seems to really enjoy being in this family.) To get out of the rain we stopped at one of the tent booths along the way for the kids to shoot lines of cans with a replica of a Kalishnikov. Both kids are very good with a gun, Andry is super; he won championships in Spain.

The evening ended with a walk from the apartment to a nearby Chinese restaurant. The food was surprisingly good, but we declined the “frog paws” and the “chicken stomachs.”

Andry Feels Like Our Son Already

No legal obligations or appointments today. We took it easy and walked over to the “Defense of the Motherland” monument, Kiev’s version of our Statue of Liberty. To get there we had to climb a dozen flights of stairs and Cara got pretty winded halfway up. The children showed how helpful they could be by each taking one of her hands and pulling her up the remaining flights.

The monument commemorates World War II and the ravages on their country as well as their glorious victory. Under the giant statue of the woman holding her sword aloft is a museum of the war. Really powerful as you wander through seeing the relics of the weapons knowing they were used on the very land we were walking on. World War II didn’t happen overseas to the Ukrainians; over ten million of them perished.

We took lots of photos of Olya and Andry climbing all over the Soviet tanks parked in front of the museum. We also took funny shots of the kids mimicking the massive figures in the war sculptures on the grounds.

After we left the memorial we walked to a restaurant, “CCCP” (USSR). Wonderful Ukrainian food in an environment of traditional farm decoration and the waiters in traditional costume.

We walked back to our apartment through the embassy area. Our apartment is in a very historic area near the war memorial, the National Botanical Garden and the historic Percherska Lavra, the cave and monastery that is still a pilgrimage site. We’re also within walking distance of the Metro and a lot of shops and cafes. As we walked along Andry dazzeled us with his knowledge of cars. He called out the name of every car as it whizzed by. Olya, also, is wild about cars.

Later back at the apartment Ron and I relaxed while my parents took the kids outside to play catch. We had brought from the States a suitcase filled with softballs, gloves and a Frisbee. We thought it would be fun to play in the downtime. Plus it would give Andry a headstart on American sports he hasn’t played before. When they came back up to the apartment Mom reported that, like Olya, Andry has a naturally powerful arm. Though, at least for now, she can out-catch him. Mom had had a wonderful time playing with her grandkids. She asked Andry if Hanah, Maria’s “authentic babushka-styled” mother who is a few years older than my mother, ever played catch with him. What a picture that put in all of our heads!!! Andry laughed and said, “no”. Ron then went down to play a little more catch with the kids. After a few lessons Andry began to catch just about every ball. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Upstairs I (Pippa) practiced multiplication with kids; Olya knows the names of the numbers in English and Andry knows the multiplication answers. The kids both cheated, helping the other. Then Andry played his regular Crazy-8 card game with my father beating him at least five to one. They have a great rivalry going and really enjoy ribbing each other. It’s fun to hear Andry in his half Spanish and broken English with a heavy Ukrainian accent. (He calls spades “spaces” – so cute.)

Getting them to bed was a challenge. They kept calling us to them. When we came to check on them one of them would double back down a different hallway to our bedroom, then hide under the covers on Pippa’s side of the bed. Already Andry is accepting bedtime routine with us which includes play and a lot of affectionate hugs and kisses. Both kids love Ron’s rough tickling sessions that Andry calls something that sounds like “cuskillos”. But Ron’s not nearly as rough as Olya. She’s fearless and relentless while Andry is far more gentle.

Andry Tells Us Sad Stories

Vassily picked us up and we drove for about forty minutes outside of Kiev to the Museum of Folk Architecture and Rural Life. This is a site of six restored Ukrainian villages much in the style of Colonial Williamsburg but much bigger. It’s really quite special and should not be missed. In fact, it was here three and a half years ago that Pippa and I finally got our phone call from the National Adoption Center for our appointment which resulted in finding Olya.

The kids loved running and playing on the trails which run through great fields of yellow flowers to the villages which are filled with cherry trees and both wild and planted flowers. By this time Andry had my big Canon camera, Olya had her little Nikon and the kids were photographing every flower and bee in the fields. Most of the pictures in this post are theirs. Olya was taking a lot of self portraits of her face with the flowers behind her. She also photographed every cherry on every cherry tree in every village. Good thing I have a dozen 4G memory cards. I’ll need to download them all on the computer tonight and clear them up for another day.

Halfway through the complex we sat in a quaint restaurant and had a very nice meal of shishlick (shish kebob), borscht (which both Olya and Andry love), vareniki (little dumplings filled with things; Olya and Andry loved vareniki filled with cherries), potato pancakes, identical to German potato pancakes and, of course, Chicken Kiev.

We convinced Andry to tell some stories about himself and Olya when they were children together. This is the time of Olya’s history which we had not been able to fill. Olya has been very anxious to know things “about when she was little,” meaning before she was with us. Olya was in heaven as Andry told a few little stories about how she climbed a cherry tree that her two older brothers couldn’t and how a fish she caught pulled her into the water. Olya loved them.

Winding our way back through the other villages we stopped for a short break on the steps of an old restored onion-domed wooden church. Andry had begun to tell us a little about the fire that we believed had caused the long scar on Olya’s bottom.

It seems they kept an open fire in an “oven” in a detached shed. Olya, standing on one leg, playing, tripped and fell against the stove. A spark from the fire lit some straw nearby setting the little shed on fire. The fire was put out and Olya went to the hospital.

From this story Andry went on to tell us about Nikolai’s (the biological father) abuse. Andry told that Nikolai often got drunk and beat Maria. He didn’t know if Nikolai had broken her nose (her nose has been broken badly) but he did know that Nikolai had busted out all of Maria’s front teeth. He said that Nikolai did not often try to hit Olya or Andry. Everything would have been worse for all the children except that Maria stepped in and got the beatings instead of the children. A year ago Andry was there when Nikolai got drunk and started beating Maria. Andry called the police and they came and took Nikolai to jail. However, he paid a fine and was released. Wife-beating is not that serious in Ukraine according to Yelana, our translator.

Andry told us that Maria divorced Nikolai about that time but that Nikolai would not leave the house, which belongs to Maria’s mother. He said there are too many things he made for the house to leave. We can’t imagine what he might have made or repaired. Nothing is visible and there is absolutely nothing of material value in that house. Maria told Nikolai that he could stay if he stopped drinking. We hear that he has been sober for the last six months. That’s a relief to hear!

That was the end of the stories. We expect there will be more.

In the evening Olya and Andry made distorted self-portraits on the computer for hours laughing at their long twisted noses and curly heads. I went into our bedroom watching CNN (each bedroom has a TV). But more than anything I was brainstorming on ideas on how we could help Maria. When Pippa came to bed I wasn’t surprised to find out she had been worrying about Maria as well and how to help her.

We agreed very quickly on one thing. We should find a way to get her new teeth. We’re likely to be in Ukraine for another month. That gives us some time. Maria’s birthday, we found out, is July 27. Perhaps we could have our driver, Vassily, go and bring her here to Kiev; she could stay in our apartment overnight; we could have a birthday party––presents––useful things––clothes, whatever, and Maria could have a special time with the children. Then, the following day, a trip to a dentist to get fitted for new front teeth. It wouldn’t be difficult to arrange for Vassily to take Maria back to the dentist for additional times as necessary even after we are back home. If Kiev is too far for her to mentally accept, surely there is a dentist in one of the small towns nearer her village.

She’s only 32; being able to smile freely again would have to be great for her self-confidence. Perhaps not having to show the result of Nikolai’s violence and past (present?) control over her would be even more important. Or maybe Nikolai would be jealous of her gift or of her improved looks. Or maybe the idea of visiting a dentist would be too frightening for Maria.

Monetarily helping Maria is not a problem for us. But finding a way to get the money to her without Nikolai getting his paws on it is another. Would being a little better off cause him to go back to drinking? We know we must return to Maria’s area again because we have to get Andry’s birth certificate. So we plan to stop at a bank in the nearest town to set up an account for Maria if we can be assured that Nikolai won’t have access.

But somehow we feel, there has to be a way that will help Maria help herself. Andry tells us that she decorates eggs in the traditional Ukrainian style. From the look of her house, she is certainly creative. Perhaps we could help her find an outlet for her craft. I don’t know. Even as I write this, I know how far-fetched this idea really is. But we haven’t stopped thinking on this. Tomorrow is another day.

Our Appointment at the National Adoption Center

Morning began as usual with German pancakes but with the flour we were using, more like Ukrainian pancakes. Olya and Andry ate them without complaint. We walked from the apartment to the Percherska Metro area, an area of shops, including McDonald’s, a mini market (quite nice) and a couple of clothing shops. We were on a hunt for clothes for Andry. In his suitcase from his school, he had very few clothes. There were some things from the various packages we had sent him, but not all. Maybe he only got a few of the packages; maybe he gave some things away to his friends. Who knows? He was short everything including underwear, socks, pjs, trousers, shirts, shorts and a belt. Yelana had loaned us a discount card from one of the shops and we found some of what we needed.

We stayed at the apartment until 2 pm when Yelana and Vassily, our driver took us into the city for our appointment at the National Adoption Center. The Center has been moved from the location we knew when we adopted Olya a few years ago, Now it’s right at the foot of the famous St. Andrew’s church at the beginning of Andriyivskyi Uzviz (Andrew’s Descent). From here the street winds down to Kontraktova Ploscha in Podil. Podil is Kiev’s Greenwich Village, we’re told. The street is lined with souvenir sellers, restaurants, galleries, and museums. No doubt Pippa will insist of spending a lot of time on this street in the days to come. We were here a few years ago and bought a lot of things we really liked: painted eggs, Ukrainian blouses, paintings, painted dishes and carved bowls. Today, however, is all business and this appointment is the critical first step of the adoption process in Ukraine.

We waited in the courtyard with Yelana, Vlad and his wife, who helps Vlad with housing arrangements for the families, but she spoke English with a very heavy, Russian accent right out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Vlad’s English is impeccable. He also dresses like an American. In fact the first day we met him, a very warm day, he had sandals and a Hawaiian shirt and looked as if he was strolling around Lincoln Road on South Beach.
While we were waiting he got Pippa’s cell phone, one more technological device functioning for us. One by one we’re getting there. TV now works, hot water also, and internet connectivity. Unbelievable!

Other adoptive parents gathered around the door for their appointment, all non-English speaking. A young woman in her late twenties or early thirties appeared at the door and invited us in for our appointment. She took us into a small office and introduced herself and another young woman, both nice, pretty and smiling. She is our translator (perfect English) and the other woman, our appointment administrator. There was an older man in the corner who was not introduced to us; he glanced at us then returned to his computer.

Very quickly we were told in both Russian or Ukrainian and English, that they had read our file, everything seems to be in order. They were both smiling as they spoke, making us feel very comfortable. They presented Andry’s file and asked us if this was the child we wanted to adopt. We both chimed a big YES. The picture of Andry was several years old. We wished we had been able to adopt him at that age.

We brought out the large (My Publisher) photo book and asked them if they would like to read it. The text was in Russian; there were photos of Olya from the time we adopted her until present; photos of Andry when he was with Olya in Spain; other photos of our house, Miami Beach, where Andry will sleep, play, and go to school; photos of our vacation house in the mountains of North Georgia, etc. The women poured over the book intensely, smiling and pointing at every page. They even called the man over who had begun looking up, interested at what was going on. The man walked over and looked at a lot of the book then walked over to Ron, pulled out his wallet to show us his two children, Elizabeth and Alex. The kids were beautiful, most likely taking after their mother. The man was round-faced, and stocky, but he did not share the looks of his children. The women put down the book and almost tearfully told us what wonderful parents we were, what a wonderful job we had done. They repeated this several times as they said goodbye to us. What a big difference from the brusque, business-like experience when we had our appointment for Olya. Pippa and I both had tears in our eyes when we came down and told Vlad what had happened.
Of course this is just the first step and there are many pitfalls ahead, but we had tremendous relief. We headed back to the apartment to change clothes and relieve Pippa’s parents who were baby-sitting Olya and Andry.

Vassily drove us later to a cinema house, a multiplex that sometimes shows films in English. Tonight however we just opted for whatever was playing. We got to see the new release of “Fantastic Four” who apparently speak perfect Russian.

The auditorium was huge, far bigger than our cinema houses. We had tickets for more expensive seats (each seat is reserved) but could have sat anywhere because the place had hundreds of empty seats. As it was I sat next to a man drinking beer out of a glass bottle which he kept clinking on the floor. Didn’t matter to me since I slept through most of the film. Andry of course understood the Russian and Olya could care less about what they were saying. She only wants to know which are the good guys and which are the bad. In this film it was very easy to tell.

Jim, Pippa’s dad, had caught a little bug and was uncomfortable until he found the location of the toilet. It’s very helpful to have Andry with us who can read the signs
and get directions for us. He’s also the kind of person who wants to help everyone and he’s eager to do whatever you ask him. Sometimes it takes a little English, Spanish and German to ask the question however. But his comprehension of English is getting better by the hour.

After the movie all sacked out back at the apartment. By then it was midnight; the kids were still wired and it took some convincing to finally get them settled down. Tomorrow we expect to be an easy day with no official appointments to meet.

A Ukrainian Feast Under a Hazelnut Tree

A neighbor friend of Maria’s and an aunt of Nikolai’s had been continuously taking food outside to a table under a hazelnut tree, where silently, Nikolai Senior, the grandfather, sat in his wheelchair. (Old Nikolai to us, looked younger than younger Nikolai.) The old man was in a suit coat and collared shirt. His face didn’t have the ravaged look of his son, as if he had spent his life indoors while his son toiled outside in the weather. But from what we have heard, young Nikolai hasn’t ever worked very much at anything except perhaps a bottle. The women pulled some rickety-wobbly benches around the table and motioned for all of us to sit around the table outside. Our translator, Yelena, said they hoped we would join them as their guests for a little meal they had prepared for us.

But the meal was no little thing. On top of a flowered pattern vinyl tablecloth, there were two large bowls of mashed potatoes, fried onions on the top; several dishes of cucumbers and tomatoes; a large bundle of bananas; slices of orange; a bottle of wine, another of vodka, another bottle of beer; a plastic carton of lemonade; slices of bread; and a bowl of wrapped chocolates. There was one small plate of meat and cheese. The interesting thing is that no one was given a plate or napkin. Instead each person was given a large spoon, the idea being to scoop out what you want from the serving bowl. Not a bad idea, if you think about it.

Getting everyone to the table was chaotic, but it finally happened. However, Olya and Andry stayed in the house. Andry was putting together the pair of cell phones we had brought to Maria and Nikolai (complete with hours of minutes) so Andry could keep in touch with them from the USA. Olya was looking at photo books of herself when she was younger and in Spain on the Children of Chernobyl program. Now and then she would rush out to the table to show Pippa or me the photos, then run back into the house.

On one trip out to us Olya whispered in my ear asking if Maria and Nikolai ate the chickens that she had seen in the pen in the front yard. I (Pippa) told her that they did. I explained that they had to grew most of their own food. She looked worried and asked me if they also ate the puppies and kittens that she had been playing with!

The women all urged us to eat more and more (we had stopped for a big lunch at a truck stop only an hour before, but didn’t tell them.) Maria didn’t eat. The women all said that Maria never eats, she only works. None of us could drink enough Vodka to satisfy them, though we didn’t try to so hard with the Vodka.

The conversation at the table was a steady stream of everyone talking at once. Yelana could not keep up with the translation. Slowly the conversation turned to Olya. The aunt, Nikolai’s sister, was a little aggressive, something we had not seen from anyone else. Apparently she was saying that she didn’t know what was wrong, the children had plenty to eat and many people around to take care of them. She went on to say that when Maria signed a paper (terminating her parental rights) she had believed it was only for three months. Neither Pippa nor I responded except to say we know how heartbroken they must have been. I’m not certain that our response got translated. The dialogue got lost after that. We had some vodka toasts; Nikolai abstained from drinking, saying he doesn’t drink or perhaps someone said that for him. We asked Maria to tell us some stories about the children when they were little, but she didn’t seem to want to or just wasn’t able to do that. We asked about Olya’s scar on her bottom and leg, about the fire. All too quickly, everyone said there was no fire. Maria said that Olya had been playing with a kitten and fell against the stove. (We were curious about that; there was no stove for Olya to fall against that we could see. Maybe there could have been a portable heater, but frankly I doubt that. Perhaps we will never know the truth.) It sounds like things got rude, but they didn’t. Even Maria’s comments were said with quiet resolution. It was sad more than angry. I didn’t get the impression that they blamed us. After all, they had gone to a lot of trouble to receive us. They spent money that they could not afford to spend.

Yelana helped us out telling everyone that we had to get back to Kiev by 6:00. The aunt asked if we could give her a ride to the next town. We did one more round of photos of all of us. I said that now we were one family; they were part of ours and we were part of their family. That seemed to please them. I stood with my arm on Nikolai’s shoulder for the photos.

We tried to collect Andry and Olya. Olya was sitting on the stoop with one last old babusha, complete with worn walking stick, who had finally made her way to the celebration. This old woman looked a lot like a crone. In fact, Olya’s face was covered in soot from the old woman when she had kissed & caressed Olya. Pippa wiped Olya’s face. Cara sat down next to Olya and the dirty babushka. Maria rushed back with a cloth for Cara to sit on so she wouldn’t get her pants dirty on the less from pristine bench. As poor as this household was, we had the impression that Maria was fastidiously neat, a characteristic we see in Olya.

Everybody hugged and kissed everybody goodbye. I kissed Maria on the cheek and shook Nikolai’s hand. Pippa and her parents did the same. Maria gave Pippa a large jar of cherries and another jar of jam that she had put up from the fruit around the house and was saving for the winter when home-grown food was scarce. We piled into the Volkswagen van and waved to the crowd in the street and drove away from where our daughter and hopefully, our new son, Andry, were born. It was as if we were driving out of the pages of a history book, in the section on “Peasants of Rural Ukraine."