3-22-07

3-22-07

It’s spring, officially now. Mila and Nathan brought pirogies in for us to eat in celebration, Russian-style. Yesterday was the first day that I wore my lighter-weight coat. I had a fun surprise in the morning. When I was leaving the apartment, I put my hands in the pockets of the coat and found a nice little gift from the last time I wore the coat. And when was this? Early Christmas break, when it was unseasonably warm, Mom and I went to CVS to find replacement bulbs for the Christmas lights. So in my pocket was one of the burnt-out bulbs that we brought along to match the bulb type. It made it all the way to Russia with me. I’ve been carrying it around as something of a good-luck charm. Also, when I have an idea I can hold it over my head and say, “Ding!” And don’t think I haven’t done that.

Today it reached 50 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s kind of mind-blowing. Hannah and I ate blini from a Teremok stand OUTSIDE today. Wow. It’s been a fast transition to spring. Kind of a pity that I won’t be able to wear my new hat anymore. But rest assured, the first day next fall that it gets cold enough to wear a hat, BAM! I’m busting out the earflaps. You’ve been forewarned.

It’s been a busy week, I guess. Busy seems to imply stressful, which it hasn’t been, despite being the first week after break (Which usually just sucks on principle), having a grammar test today, and a gazeta test tomorrow. Yesterday, Hannah, Marisa, and I went to Moika 12, the museum of Pushkin’s last apartment, the one in which he died. The apartment itself was quite normal, the most interesting part of the museum being Pushkin’s death mask and a lock of his hair. Morbid, but interesting.

Today the three of us plus Kate went to the Dostoevsky Museum. Also situated in his apartment, but since he changed apartments every three years, it’s not like it’s where he died. The most interesting thing for me was they had a hat of his. No one else was as entranced by that hat as I was, but it was cool. Both he and Pushkin doodled in the margins a lot. Perhaps it’s a sign of greatness? Although, in comparison, my doodles are quite lame.

The plan for this weekend is really quite up in the air. I mean, I’ve still got 14(!) things on my list of “Want to do” as opposed to things that remain on my list of “Have to do.” If the weather’s nice, I’ll probably try some kind of grand cemetery day, visiting the one at the Alexander Nevsky Monastery and the one for the people who died during the blockade of Leningrad. There was also some talk about visiting the site of Pushkin’s duel. All three of those in one day might be morbid, but since they’re all outside, they’re good activities for sunny days. If it’s rainy, I might check out the Museum of the Arctic or the Museum of Zoology or the Rimsky-Korsakov Flat Museum.

It’s not as if there’s nothing to do in this city. Ooh, maybe there’s a football match this weekend? That would also be worth checking out. I’ve learned my lesson about going to the Hermitage on the weekend, maybe I can stop in there tomorrow after classes. The one problem with that place is that it’s so dang hard to find some things. I’m pretty sure there’s only one staircase to the third floor, where the 20th century art is, and I have yet to find it. So next time I will go, guide book in hand, and attempt to find that lone staircase.

Really, there’s nothing else about which I could write. I’ve decided that I’m never going to have borscht again once I get back to the States. Or cabbage. Ever. But I suppose that’s not really news. Time continues to tick by, quickly and slowly at the same time. This has become all the more obvious with the changing seasons.

As of now, I’d much rather look forward to enjoying spring, and the promise of grass and leaves. That’s all it is right now, you see. A promise. Despite the warm weather, the city’s “green spaces” are just muddy right now, for the most part. What grass there is is dull and lifeless. I realize now that the snow was serving an important purpose, too—keeping the dirt down. Walking along a busy street is like torture on your lungs, the combination of exhaust and dust. We took a bus today to the Dostoevsky Museum and the air inside was almost unbearable. It was the first time in my life I could feel every breath go down my chest into my lungs, hot and gritty. Hannah opened a window and stuck her head out, but it didn’t help much. Even when the bus was moving, the air felt stagnant. Luckily, it’s not like this everywhere.

Maybe this weekend’s activities should be focused on avoiding this kind of crap. We’ll see.