Dear Readers (it’s been too long):
As the title of this suggests I have some bad news. I feel I should start with a disclaimer created by that bard of alt-country, Ryan Adams (Ryan, not Bryan
Now I'm not saying only bad news comes
For the people who want it
But you gotta play that music for who's listening
For the people who want it
But you gotta play that music for who's listening
I was going to write to tell you the bad news: Things are different . . . I’m going to have to change a lot of things. I’m going to have to change the route I take to school. I’m going to have to wash my shoes daily (but probably will only wash them twice a week). And, the worst thing: I’m going to have to start ironing the shirts I wear to school!
I was going to write about these things; and I still will, in fact. But, to honor my New England roots Ukraine Odessa New England thing comes in) for a few more days with slightly colder temperatures. But, were I to complain about today’s temperature I would lose all credibility when I complain about the actual cold. The colder turn has the temperature back to the mid 30s. The day was slightly gray, but with a good dose of sun.
I mentioned the bad news; so, let me explain: It is an extraordinarily poor show to be seen with dirty shoes here. So much so, in fact, that one is given dirty looks on the street if one’s shoes are dirty, muddy, have salt stains, scuffs, et cetera ad nauseam. In the winter [an American] can get away with boots that cannot be polished without much worry. But, the time for regular dress shoes is back, and with it the time in which I must keep the shoes passably clean. I haven’t yet resorted to the native custom of keeping a small sponge on my person, but I’ll reserve that right. I can never be too careful when it comes to keeping these shoes clean.
On a note related to shoe hygiene and art of being presentable, we come to the next fact. I must change my route to school. My current route to school is pretty easy, and definitely the most direct. Among volunteers, I’m in the lucky minority: I only have a 10 – 15 minute walk to school. The catch is that half of this route is dirt road, and yes, there are some chickens (but not too many). As this thaw has come my shoes have started sinking precariously deep into the mud. This causes the usual dirtiness, but even worse, the potential for a slip, a fall, and the resulting Abominable Meegan Mudman, and nobody wants that. By keeping to dry land, or at least sold (albeit pothole filled) asphalt I’ll be able to avoid, hopefully, any major mishaps. On the other hand I’ll now have to avoid areas where dirty puddles and moving cars meet. I’ll do my damndest.
Finally, we have perhaps the worst development. It is time to start ironing my shirts once again. While I hate cold and winter, the one benefit they bestowed upon me was a reprieve from ironing my shirts. I don’t have to iron the shirts because they’re hidden under the dazzling array of three threadbare sweaters that have not been attacked by the moths yet. So, the unfortunate fact that I am a poor ironer (I didn’t pay attention when my dad was teaching me), will now be brought to the fore. It is fair to say I’ll be pressing, sprinkling water and hoping – the type of hoping that could make me an Obama campaign worker. If anyone has heard of a dry cleaner in the Zhmerynka area I’d love their number. I could use a nice starched collar, anyway.
If it isn’t already obvious, this is, in fact, not a miserere.[1] This is a celebration! A celebration of spring’s arrival! The ground is thawing. The snow is well on its way out (and according to the forecast for the next ten days it isn’t likely to return). Spring has been welcome for a while, and I’m glad it finally honored our invitation. I should probably thank it for the opportunity to put away my long underwear, and walk around in just a windbreaker with a bare head. Though, I will admit that, as a precaution against yelling, concerned babushkas I keep a hat in my bag; I’ll put it on if it must be used to assuage their fears that I’ll catch a draft and die. I do appreciate the concern, OI don’t want to die yet. I’ve got what the scientists call “shit to do” (sorry for swearing, Mom). I’ll keep you updated but the happiness index is forecasted to rise in concert with the temperature.
That’s all I know for now . . .
Be good,
Pete
[1] Though the Microsoft Word dictionary does not recognize the lowercase version of this word, it is grammatically correct. If you don’t believe me, perhaps my man Webster can convince you. He says it’s a noun meaning: a vocal complaint or lament. Now, let’s never have this conversation again.
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