Poor Douglas

If you're new to reading this blog, Douglas is my husband. He's a Foreign Service Officer serving in Russia. We started out in Vladivostok. We were evacuated to Moscow during the pandemic where we spent about nine months. We've now been living in Yekaterinburg for about six weeks. Like the rest of you, we don't know what's going to happen next. Also like many of you, he works remotely from home most of the time. For the most part, I stay quietly out of the way.

This morning after breakfast, he announced that he was heading upstairs to get dressed. This should have been a clue to me that a meeting was imminent, but I missed it. I went up to play a Christmas song, New York Fairy Tale by The Progues, which has been in my head for several days in hopes of ridding myself of it for about eleven months. I found it and played it, loudly. I heard a door firmly shut. This hint I did receive and I turned the volume down, a bit. In the song, reference is made to another song, Rare Mountain Dew. I decided to follow Fairy Tale with The Dubliner's version of Rare Mountain Dew. I didn't want to fall down the modern rabbit hole of Irish music, so I exited out before forces beyond my control pulled me further in. It was then that I heard voices. For real. I realized that as I was singing along with "you scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot" and skipping to "to my hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh" Douglas was in a meeting listening to, and talking with the Consul General and other colleagues. After the meeting, I apologized to him. He said he hadn't noticed. 

And there, folks, you have one of the fundamental differences between Douglas and I. I will sit here writing (or what-evering) and be distracted by the neighbor's refrigerator kicking on and off, while Douglas can be oblivious to "you're a bum, you're a punk, you're an old slut on junk lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed" (yes, it's a Christmas song!) while he's working. I wish I had that kind of focus, I really do.

Last Friday, Douglas called me from the Consulate to tell me that the long-awaited package from Moscow had finally caught up to us. Unfortunately, it was not the Halloween marshmallow pumpkin candies I was expecting from my Aunt Katy. It was from Aunt Katy, however. Douglas asked me if I wanted him to tell me what it was. This question can mean two very opposing things. It can mean that it's something that will either thrill me or disappoint me greatly. I told him to tell me. "She sent you something called Naked Males." He said. Naked males, I thought. My curiosity was piqued. But knowing that the word naked means different things for the various sexes - movies are full of nudity, but rarely will you see a penis, I asked, "Are there penises?" "No." He curtly answered. I later found out why he'd been so short with me. When he got home, he pulled it out. The gift. The one from my Aunt. It was a manicure kit called Naked Nails. Oopsy. My mistake. 

Everything is so up in the air right now regarding the fate of the Consulate in Vladivostok (still officially Douglas's post), and I hate to put any pressure on him (especially as I sit hear listening to him sing to himself, I've got the sword of Damocles hanging over my head), but we must get back to Vladivostok or to the States. We're out of Charmin and chocolate chips. I've thrown away two of my pajama tops for being threadbare and stretched out. While I admit the threadbare part can be sexy (especially after night sweats), the stretched out part is just unattractive. Without my books and the Vladivostok Consulate library as a backup, my Kindle bill is going up by about $16 a month. I know, I know, I could borrow through the library. I haven't figured that out yet. Anyone? Kaliope? 

This morning, Douglas and I walked to the Consulate together, him to work and me to exercise in the gym. I forgot to kiss him goodbye at home before we bundled. Easy to understand. I wasn't saying goodbye yet. Anyway, as we neared the Consulate I knew I wanted to kiss him before we went our separate ways. I thought ahead enough to not wait until we were inside where he might be shy or embarrassed about kissing me, so I asked him when we were outside the door. I saw his eyes roll just a bit. Not because he didn't want to kiss me, but because in order to kiss me, he'd have to remove his mask. In order to remove his mask, he'd have to take off his ear muffs. To get the ear muffs off, he'd have to doff his hat and to get any of that off, he'd have to take off his mittens. It was 27 below last week. Not as cold this week, but still ."I have needs." I said. So he did a very modest strip tease and kissed me. 

I don't deserve him.

I'll leave you with some wintry pictures of Yekaterinburg.

I found this hothouse in a nearby park. What a treat.

There are two ice sculpture displays within walking distance.

I hope this comes off as humorous in this picture as it did when I passed it on the street. He looks like he's holding out his hat for a handout, but is poised with a snowball for those who don't contribute!