the russian of spaulding avenue
I was walking through —
The neighborhood the other evening and a woman coming towards me took one look at my face and immediately looked relieved to see me and started speaking to me in Russian. She was looking for a place. She needed directions. This is about all I could get from what she was saying since I do not speak Russian.
Afterwards I thought, Wow, my cheekbones must really be looking Slavic tonight. But today I went for a walk and went into this little store in the neighborhood and it is all Russian. Russian foods. Russian shop keepers. Russian clerks. Russian shoppers. So it was not my cheekbones. Or maybe some of it was my cheekbones, but also, this little shop is flourishing so a lot of Russian people must live nearby.
In the shop, I cannot be mistaken for a Russian. I towered over the women. And some of the men. It is clear in a crowd of Russians I come from some other barbarian stock.
The shop had good strawberries. The neighborhood smells like honeysuckle. It was early evening. People were walking their dogs. I took my Russian strawberries home. I met a funny Dalmation.
where the art work comes from :
that is from beyond the sparkle
11 Responses to the russian of spaulding avenue
The neighbor stories from before were funnier but, as your friend, I love that you exude peace when you talk about your home place now. Blessings on your new place.
How was that Russian dressing?
I’m sorry. That was bad.
I am happy for you too, Max. It is nice to see you have some solace.
Sounds like quite a little adventure.
Sometimes you can’t let a little thing like a language barrier get in your way.
Just a thought.
It was funny when she was speaking to me because it felt like I should understand exactly what she was saying.
I remember a friend telling me I could not move out of that loft because I would lose so much good material. I am really liking it here though.
Have you tried the borsht yet?
No way. I do not eat beats solid I am sure not going to eat them liquified.
I took three years of Russian History.
Along with learning to understand the political history ( which serves me well now) I learned to make great Borsht.
No fooling.
Well I figure you can tell who has been really hungry by the foods they eat and you know anyone who came up with beet soup had to be really really hungry.
I thought Russians were taller? I guess I’m thinking of all the supermodels that come from there.
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