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Loading ...Archive for February, 2006
We’re Southern What?
Between bouts of paperwork, our Buckner guide treated us to tours of three amazing Russian Orthodox churches today.
We first visited the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul, the oldest church in St. Pete, and the burial site of much Russian nobility. We encountered a new treasure with every corner turned, with each angle changed. We then walked outside, for better views of the architecture, and an up close peek at the frozen Neva River.
“Hurry up, Keith, this is your chance to walk on water.”
I thought, “Okay, we’ve seen the best – now it’s downhill.” No! Omigosh, no. We drove to the Savior of the Spilled Blood church, with an interior perhaps less “showy,” but even more beautiful with its simpler lines, stunning stone work and breathtaking mosaics.
Ceiling of the Savior of the Spilled Blood - Fortunately, Rachel was not on site to loose a flight of helium balloons.
Finally, we stood in awe of St. Isaac’s Cathedral,our favorite with three smaller active chapels inside. We’re hoping to actually participate in a worship service there when we return on trip #2 this spring.
The only stained glass in a Russian Orthodox chuch in St. Pete is here at St. Issac’s
As the winds blew and the day progressed, Keith decided he had to purchase – and wear – a Russian hat. Silly wabbit! Hats are for wookies.
Just pass the vodka and call him “Boris.”
So, let’s see….stunning architecture…amazing art….church services short enough that you stand throughout….pulpits that are “rarely used”…..acappella singing…. tell me again why we’re Southern Baptist?!
The art was priceless, yes, but tomorrow we meet a real treasure. She’s six, and we have a Princess Belle doll and a Sponge Bob ball we hope she likes. A little smile would dim the beauty of the mosaics for us. So say a prayer, light a candle or just send us a positive vibe that we see one.
Dos Vadanya to you.
Posted in 
ZDRST-vooy-tyeh (a.k.a., “Howdy”)
Keith and I arrived a-okay in St. Petersburg this afternoon, albeit without the cellular SIM card that would enable us to be reached a bit more easily. If there is something you want us to know, just post a comment or pop a contact off this blog page.
We met Buckner’s helpful reps when we cleared immigration security, no small feat with the entry visa forms in Cyrallic and our jetlagged eyeballs blinking “no comprendo.” After three bumbling runs at different officials, we made it. We may meet Little A tomorrow, maybe Tuesday – we’re not sure. What I am sure of is that we need to be plenty careful walking on the slushy sidewalks – I came dangerously close several times to crashing on the backside of my American diplomacy. Keith wants to get one of those ear-flap fur hats; I swear if I thought I had a chance of finding women’s 11N boots for myself, I’d be hunting them tomorrow fer shure.
We gave SAS Airways two thumbs up for making the long flight from Chicago to Stockholm as pleasant as possible with hot food, steamed washrags, complimentary in-flight entertainment choices and an accommodation of Keith’s request for a bulkhead seat so he didn’t have to ride embroyed like Polly Pocket in her widdle pink plane. One of the in-flight features - which Keith accurately described as “such a guy thing” – is a real-time representation of the jet on a flattened globe, showing the rider the passing landmarks, (“Now does that look like Greenland or Iceland?”), how many miles from the point of origin and to the point of destination, air speed, temperature (a brisk -72C in the wee hours) etc.
And in my sleep-deprived state, that got me thinking. Everyone’s somewhere, whether you can see them or not. The fact Rachel, Lois and Hannah couldn’t see Keith and me didn’t mean we were less their parents. The fact we were flying over groups of more remote peoples doesn’t make them less tangible than we industrial drones. The fact we can’t see people we love who have “passed away” doesn’t mean those people have ceased to exist – it only means they have ”passed away” elsewhere.
Everyone is somewhere. Maybe our 4th daughter is here. Please remain in your seats until the plane comes to a full and complete spot.
Dos Vadanya.
The Girl in the Band
Lois was one of five Bush Middle School sixth grade students to be recognized today for participation in a recent UIL writing competition. We’re not sure how the contest will be judged, or if she’ll place – but she got a nifty prize, a “Live the Bulldog Creed” plastic wrist band to commemorate her work. Its bright red color complements her bright blue braces bands, I think – all in all, a patrioric appearance.
Lois has the write stuff!
Speaking of bands – we’re still hoping to add to ours, God willing. Keith and I leave Saturday for St. Petersburg, Russia. We’re entrusting Rachel, Lois and Hannah to our (sainted) friend Mary Anne, with a variety of friends and family pitching in. If you hear of a “band on the run,” that probably means she’s come to her senses and headed back to Dallas, with them in hot pursuit.
In the meantime, we have to get the kids over the stomach flu that we girls shared this weekend. Hannah – who brought it home – seems fine now. I thought Lois was completely well until – while we were working on her Girl Scout cookie order in the dining room tonight - she decided to decorate the floor. Rachel – the last to succumb – is still bedridden; the scent wafting from her room reminds me of nothing so much as long-ago nighttime jaunts to Houston’s Greyhound Bus Station.
So, please that my germy kiddos heal quickly (and that I can fumigate the house before Mary Anne arrives.) And also pray that our future kiddo is healthy and happy to see us. And pray that Keith – who has so far escaped this stomach bug – finishes the last go-round of paperwork blizzards before we leave. Feel free to band together to offer those prayers. Because where two or more are gathered….well, you know the rest.
