Novodevichy Cemetery

Douglas and I got out to take our first long walk since restrictions were lifted. We walked about three miles to the convent Novodevichy, where there is a famous cemetery. 

This is me with the convent in the background.

It was a perfect day to wander through a cemetery - cool, overcast, occasionally it drizzled. I've always loved roaming cemeteries. I think I got that from my mother, who, to my dad's disgust, always wanted to stop to walk through cemeteries to read the headstones. Aloud. When Douglas and I lived in Falls Church, there was a cemetery abutting the parking lot of our apartment that I frequently strolled through. I got good character names from those old tombstones. 

Here's Douglas standing near one of the sprawling, beautiful trees on the property.

I had to chuckle to myself  at the choice to place this reclining nude over the deceased. As for me, I just want to be cremated and sprinkled into the ocean or over the Grand Canyon. I do, however, like the optimism in this luxurious, lounging lady. 

The body of Boris Yeltsin rests under this Russian flag marker.

Nikita Khruschev lies beneath this interesting structure. Ernst Neizvestny (whose name means not well-known in Russian) was the scuptor. His artwork was not liked by Khruschev. He publicly asked why he "disfigured the faces of Soviet people" and saw his work as "degenerate." It was Mr. Khruschev's family who approached Mr. Neizvestny to sculpt the marker for his grave site. If there are any cracks in it, I suppose they could be blamed on Nikita turning over and over.

If I were to have a plot in a cemetery for my body, I'd want this adorning it. As I approached it, I thought someone had draped a cloth over the stone, but it's sculpted. Delicate and beautiful. I stood for quite a while admiring it.

I'll close with a short, spooky cemetery story for you. A true story. When Douglas and I were living in Falls Church, it was over the winder of 2010, otherwise known as Snowmaggedon. We were stuck in our apartment surrounded by thirty inches of snow. I couldn't stand being inside any longer, so I decided to try and walk through the cemetery. In the center was a small brick structure, where, I assumed, groundskeepers kept their tools and equipment. There were footprints leading to (or from, it was difficult to tell) the door to the building. They led to one of the plots and stopped. I looked around for more prints. None. I looked up in the tree near the plot half expecting to see some kid smiling at me. Empty. Hmm. I stood and tried to reason this sight. All I could come up with was that ghosts leave footprints.

Quarantine Bloglette: Change

I have this recurring dream about finding coins. They're in plain sight, but no one else seems to notice them but me. It begins with me seeing one, then another, then another and on and on until I'm filling my palms and pockets with coins. I shared this dream with an acquaintance of mine (Jerry, the instrument repairman at the music store where I worked in Charlotte). I told him that I didn't know what it meant. He suggested that rather than seeing the coins as coins, I might see them as change. Very insightful. I don't dream it as often any more, there are other dreams that visit me more often, but it still comes to me from time to time.

They say this pandemic with its isolation will change us. I sure hope so.

Pre-pandemic, I was very much an eater of what I craved. Then we were evacuated to Moscow and, for fear of my life, I began to eat whatever I could get my hands on. Douglas signed us up for home delivery of locally grown produce. We've been eating things like Mizuna, Spiky and Stinging Nettle. These things are supposedly good for you. (I did, by the way, discover why Stinging Nettle is so named. Fortunately, when you cook it, it no longer stings.) We receive about five pounds of greens plus a few herbs and other vegetables like broccolini and golden beets (the only thing I actually like). It's all we can do to eat it all in a week. My body doesn't know what to think with all these greens. Now that I know I'm capable of eating like this, perhaps I'll continue it post-pandemic. (I've doubled down on the chocolate just to show my body that I'm still in some control of my faculties.)

Speaking of which, Douglas was in charge of grocery shopping a few weeks ago when my allergies were so bad. (He went once. It took him about five days to psych himself into it.) In effort to eat less chocolate, I told him not to buy me any. My chocolate stash was dwindling and he knew it. And do you know what? He didn't buy me any chocolate! A few days before he went shopping, I went to the freezer to grab an ice cream bar, but there were none. My face fell. Douglas saw this face. How can he see that face and think I actually meant it when I say to buy me no chocolate? Maybe post-pandemic, he’ll know when to ignore my admonitions.

On a more serious note, a definite change I've notice in myself is my level of patience. I had already become a much more patient person being married to Douglas. He sets a good example. He's become more patient while married to me for, um, other reasons. Not knowing when we can get back to our home in Vladivostok has left me remarkable tolerant of this day-after-day existence. When life returns to normal, or the new normal, I will either be one of the most tolerant, patient people around or I will put up with nothing. I am hoping for, even anticipating, the former, but  bracing for the latter.

Part of our Fourth of July celebration is sidewalk chalk art. I've picked some of my favorites to share with you. (It might look like this guy is smoking. He's not. He's blowing a party noise-maker.)

This, I think, is in honor of those who adopted garden plots and are growing vegetables and flowers on the compound. I might add some more pictures as the exhibition grows. I want to get this posted on time.