Mind your Makeup

"Is everything okay? You look so sad."

"Are you not feeling well?"

"You must be really tired."

"What's wrong?!?"

"Something's the matter. Are you unhappy?"

And the list of questions go on. When expressed with genuine thoughtfulness and concern at an appropriate time, they can be just what you want to hear. And when would be such an appropriate time? If you are actually feeling unwell, tired, upset, or unhappy.

Asked on any other occasion, these questions are only infuriating and will effectively serve to MAKE you upset, unhappy, unwell...etc. You get the idea.

I'm pretty sure I heard all four of the versions mentioned above today. And while I started the day a bit tired--it happens at the end of the week people--by the time it hit 2 pm I was beyond irritated. And why all the questions?

I was not wearing makeup.

People, give a girl a break! I made the mistake of going all out and both brushing my hair AND wearing makeup on Thursday, so apparently doing neither today was too much of a contrast to handle. (Exaggeration: I brushed my hair and put on lip gloss.)

No mascara?!?
She must plan on crying non-stop all day and was worried it would smear.

Hair slightly frizzy and un-straightened?
She's really given up on life, hasn't she???

Why wasn't she smiling during orchestra rehearsal? She's American isn't she?
I think all the joy has been sucked up from her soul.

I, for one, don't see much of a contrast between my made-up self and my au natural look. I present the following for your consideration, and dare you to try and detect a difference.

Baffled? That's what I thought.

Alright, so maybe makeup does make a difference, but let it be known that it is not reflective of my inner state of mind. In all actuality, when I'm most tired or even down (it does happen despite my American status), I tend to dress up. So as to look life in the face and say "Is that the best you've got?" But I have been reminded today and will be careful to remember in the future, that the transition from au natural to made-over...or vice versa...must be subtlety performed. A day with lipstick and glasses (aka no mascara) can more smoothly flow to a day without lipstick and slightly frizzy hair. And that can nicely transition into wearing my pajamas and slippers at work. All the ballerinas are doing it, so I might as well.

False. I will not go to work in pajamas. But I will continue to go in without makeup on occasion. But let us all take a moment before we begin questioning someone's state of well-being and simply ask: "might it be that she's simply not wearing makeup?"

Thank you,

Yours Truly

One Vote for Hibernation

In case you didn't know, today is Thursday. I offer this reminder because...I forgot.

I like to think that I am not alone in my forgetfulness. Opera World has an odd schedule with sporadic free days and an ever fluctuating schedule, which can be both a blessing and a curse. In this case the latter, as knowing what day it is loses its significance. Monday isn't dreaded when it's your day off. Saturday isn't the weekend and Wednesday isn't a halfway marker. It might seem like a ridiculous justification, but it's one of mine.

And I need justification. In forgetting that it was Thursday, I stood up my Russian teacher for an 8:30 am Russian lesson. I was even awake and functional at the hour, despite a late night rehearsal yesterday evening. And when I say functional, I mean it in every sense except that of knowing what day of the week it is.

Not only does it get difficult to remember days of the week, but now time is also becoming an issue. In this case, I believe my excuse is legitimate.

Exhibit A:

Any time the sun rises after 9 am and sets just after 5, I'm convinced that having an accurate sense of what time it is becomes an impossibility. Beyond a sense of time, I also have a very limited desire to do anything productive. I really have only one thought on my mind: hibernation. Let's take a lesson from the Russian bears, which are unfortunately scarce in Moscow.

So, in the end, I blame my forgetfulness on humanity's refusal to hibernate. It's the only logical explanation! Back me up?

Language and Listening

On Sunday night I was walking to a concert with one of my дорогая's (daragAya or "dear" seems to be the equivalent term of endearment found in English phrases such as "Hey lady" or "Girl, it's been ages!") and was surprised when she asked me, "Could one of those English guys be your millionaire?"

Oddly enough the content of the question was not the surprise. My quest for a millionaire is a frequent topic of conversation. It might have been the first joke I was able to make in Russian, which makes it nothing short of monumental. But the real surprise for me was my answer to her question: "What English guys?"

I hadn't heard the English.

This was a stark contrast to my first month in Moscow, during which my senses would instantly clue into any stray English sound that happened across my path. I haven't suddenly become fluent in Russian and oblivious to English, but I think there is a significant transition which has taken place from hearing to listening.

In the beginning, I was swimming in a world of sounds. Not knowing what half of them meant, and trying to tune into the fast mumbling which seemed to constitute the Russian language. I felt like I was truly trying to listen 100% of the time, but couldn't quite figure out what to focus on. Exhausting. I took a quick trip to San Francisco for a concert after 6 weeks in Moscow and found it miraculous that I could casually walk down the street and unintentionally understand the fragments of a passing conversation. Not really listening at all, just hearing. I have to say, it was a welcome relief. I think my brain was functioning someplace way beyond overload.

Working in the music business, listening is not an overrated skill. Several friends shared a recent article which appeared in the New York Times on The Science and Art of Listening. And while it obviously applies to my profession, I found it interesting in the context of language. I'm not going to get into the details, as you can read it yourself, but I will share the final quote which I loved:

“You never listen” is not just the complaint of a problematic relationship, it has also become an epidemic in a world that is exchanging convenience for content, speed for meaning. The richness of life doesn’t lie in the loudness and the beat, but in the timbres and the variations that you can discern if you simply pay attention.

While Moscow has its challenges, one of the true beauties is the amount of listening that's required. At this point, passive hearing is not an option. But if someday it should become so, I hope I don't forget the level of attentiveness that is now a necessity. While I have no intention of becoming oblivious to casual sound...an overall sense of awareness is important...there's something to be said for truly giving a conversation with a friend 100% of your attention.

It may mean you miss out on your English millionaire, but it just might be worth the sacrifice!

The Battle of Beet Salad

Let me just start this post by saying, the salad won.

I happened across a pre-made beauty of beet goodness during yesterday's revelatory shopping experience. I happen to love beets and, in this respect, Russia and I were made for each other. Combine said beets with goat cheese and a spinach/arugula mix and I'm about as happy as it gets. Yes, I love food that much.

Except for when it decides to wage war. Not everything likes to be eaten.

This beet salad falls into that category. No sooner had I finished than I found myself thinking, "What's that rough edge of something stuck in my tooth?!"

Answer: the rough edge WAS my tooth. Or the lack of a piece thereof.

The Battle of Beet Salad claimed it's casualty. And I'm praying a Russian dentist doesn't claim any more...something about the sound of Russian combined with a drill seems a bit frightening. Wish me luck!

Grocery Goddess

I HATE grocery shopping.

Clear enough?

It just happens to be one of those "tasks" that there's never time for. And it's always a slap-in-the-face reminder of my lack of domesticity. Let it be known, I do have domestic roots and the potential to be a domestic goddess...it's one of my life ambitions...but my current lifestyle doesn't lend itself to exercising said "goddess" skills. So I look longingly at all the fun, interesting ingredients, think of my wasted potential, and head to the frozen foods section.

Moscow has some added difficulties:

1. No car. This means hauling all groceries on metro/marshrut transport.
2. #1 means that the amount I am able to purchase at one time is limited. Which means...
3. More grocery shopping.
4. Breaking the sequence chain, finding the ingredients that constitute my quick recipes can be a difficulty.
5. It's expensive. Think NYC or worse on occasion.

All of this being said, I think I may have found my salvation...

If I'm correctly translating the title, it's "The Alphabet of Taste." I stopped in today post-university, taking advantage of an evening off to put the pieces of my life back in order.

It was HEAVEN!!! They were starting to decorate for Christmas, it was clean, calm, and all the food was BEAUTIFUL! They had lovely things like fresh spinach, brussels sprouts, a wide variety of spices (the saving grace to the quick recipes!) and SO many cheeses. I've never felt so thrilled to be grocery shopping--it was like adult Disneyland. And while it may have cost a small fortune, it was worth every penny for such a novel experience. Dare we say even a turning point in my grocery shopping existence? Too soon to tell, but I'll keep you posted.

Extra bonus? As I watched them decorate for Christmas/New Year's (the latter is actually the more celebrated holiday here, as Christmas was not acknowledged during Soviet times), I realized that I live in a country where our American Thanksgiving does not exist. Translation: I can start decorating for Christmas as early as I want, and those who would like to judge me for doing so are a half a world away.

So here's to the holidays!!! And to the grocery shopping they're bound to require. I'm thinking I might be able to handle it...

Russians and Slippers

I don't believe in cold feet. In the completely literal sense. One of my favorite, albeit a wee bit strange, pastimes is soaking my feet in hot water. Ideally in the sink while sitting on the countertop. No matter how uncomfortably small said countertop may be, I will finagle it so my 6'0" self can be sufficiently scrunched to allow for soakage. Pure. BLISS. If we eliminated the stand alone sink from the market completely, I think the world would be a better place.

This being the case, I think you can understand why I have wholeheartedly embraced the Russian culture of slippers. And yes, it is a culture.

Traditionally, when you visit someone's home you're expected to take off your shoes and are offered a pair of tapochki to wear while inside. Note: Don't refuse the offer. That makes you not only completely foolish (do you really WANT cold feet?!) but also impolite.

There's more to this concept that I love than warm feet, however. Somehow taking off my shoes and putting on a pair of slippers immediately makes me feel as if I've come home. Slipping my feet into those tapochki creates a level of comfort and closeness that shoes just wouldn't allow for and, while I might be only a guest, for that moment I'm part of the household. And if you're lucky enough to be invited into someone's home, slippers are likely only the start of the generosity that abounds when Russians play host! And I'm finding, in many respects, that once they decide to let you in, you will be hard-pressed to find more loyal, giving, and kind-hearted people.

While I can fully get behind the slipper tradition, a quick shopping trip for slippers online produced some results that I am not certain I can readily support.

Bunnies? Maybe. Over-sized creepy toes? Not so much.

But slippers in general? Yes. Especially after a long soak in the sink---Don't question. Just go change your life. Now.

Life IS Grand

I had a brief chat with a friend/sister/inspiration this evening, and her response to my question "How's life?" summed up my feelings at the moment completely.

"Life is grand. Full and good."

I had been wondering how to put into words the satisfaction and contentment I'm feeling this evening, and fortunately (this late-night blogging game is getting to me) she did it for me.

Life in Moscow is far from simple. And frustrations are frequent. But at the end of the day, it's so rewarding.

One of the first difficulties in any new city, regardless of location, is finding your "people." While I am very fond of the internet for maintaining contact with my other life, live people are a necessity. In Moscow, relationships are serious work: trying to project a personality through a foreign language is no easy task. Witty banter in Russian? Let's just say it's a work in progress. But tonight, after another evening of Prokofiev in the theater (this time in Opera Land!), I stopped with two colleagues to grab some food on our way home. And as we sat there chatting, joking, and eating, doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, I was struck by the depth of feeling I had for two people who I've known only two months. Life lesson: relationships often reflect the amount of work you put into them. And while relationships in Russia haven't been easy to come by, they're better for the effort they've required. I think I'll try and take this concept home with me.

And luckily the rewards don't stop there. But this post will because it's far past my ideal bedtime of 10 pm. But tonight I'm truly grateful. For this life of mine in Moscow. It's full. It's difficult and it's good. And most especially...it's grand.