Shades of Pink

 Summer brings out lots of paint in UB. The winter cold and blowing spring sands reek havoc on buildings. The color of this season seems to be pink. These are all buildings I pass daily on my walk to work. The bright, flamingo colored building above is a small grocery store. Next, is a basement apartment or work space. The picture below is of an internet cafe, just outside our apartment building.

This a a residence where a jijure or guard/maintenance family lives in exchange for taking care of a an apartment building's grounds and stairwells. Behind, that is a public school. 

Lessons in Peace

Let there be Peace on Earth. Happy Children's Day

Joy in a Baggie

         Jim and I would like to have a dog. But a dog would not please our landlord and would be too much hassle for us, living on the 5th floor in this climate. Amazingly, there are a few hobby fish stores in UB, so we got an aquarium. Yesterday, I bought 3 Glofish at a shop down the street and carried them home in a water filled baggie.        
          When I rounded the corner to the front of our building, I saw one of my neighbors, sat down beside her, and exclaimed, "I have fish." She blandly said, "Za" meaning ok. I repeated my declaration and she repeated her 'Za'. Then I pulled out the baggie and held it up to her. She has poor vision, but immediately her face lit up and her finger traced the neon orange spots as they darted around their bagged lake. "Can you see them?" I asked. "They are orange with black eyes" she answered, laughing and pointing some more.
           My friend's giggle was cute and contagious. I don't think she thought she understood me. I really did have fish. Just then Jim came around the corner and snapped some pictures.
          The 3 Danios are happily chasing each other in our tank now but they have served their purpose in life already, by bringing my elderly friend and I a few moments of ecstatic joy!

Lost Bible found!

   According to literature, all the 1856 London Bible Society copies of the Mongolian  Bible were destroyed by Communists in the 20th Century.  But in 1970, an unbelieving student at Bowdoin College - Brunswick, Maine found one when they were moving the library.  The librarian didn't want to keep it because it "wasn't old" and no one had checked it out for 50 years.  The student asked if he could keep it and the librarian said, "Sure."
   Forty-one years later this now believing-graduate presented this 155 year old Mongolian Bible to the Mongolian Evangelical Alliance at the 20th anniversary of the modern Mongolian Church.  It's probably the only copy left and perhaps the oldest surviving Mongolia Bible.

We have met the Khan

I'm guessing that besides the airport, this monument to Genghis Khan has the biggest parking lot in the country. From the traffic we saw today, it is a successfully busy Tourist attraction tho you have to hire a driver and travel an hour outside the city to find it. When you are in his neighborhood, he looms over everything. This is gigantic hunk of stainless steel.

Happy Birthday

Around UB, the tell tale sign of an upcoming celebration is a  box tied with a string. Russians brought with them the decorated tort. It has become a must-have for almost every holiday. But no one bakes at home since most families don't have ovens. Bakeries are thriving businesses here in the city. After a birthday party, the guest of honor gets to carry the leftover cake home in the sturdy box. This was Liz's privilege today after everyone at Streams helped her celebrate by throwing a lunch time party. We had pizza (catering to Liz's meatless tastes), coke, m&m-like candies, chips, and this cake. Happy 52 Liz!

Just a Season

And THIS one is good.  My usual habit is to pine for a previous period or wish for the next.  It is not often that I sit still and contemplate how good the now is.

 When I was young, I assumed my extended family would exist forever. There would always be a grandma’s house to go to. The sometimes unwanted expectations would eternally plague me.  Our baby would never grow old.  Petting the super soft puppy would be a perpetually available therapy and cleaning up her messes would be an unending chore.

But the bright, lively, green, grass that needs mowing twice a week in the spring, predictably becomes the moss of June, seeded tufts of July and the brown prickly unmow-able sticks of August.  Like grass,  life changes.  Relationships bloom and die. Children are born and grow old. People pass by in friendship and pass on from this world.

I used to visit a bed bound friend one afternoon a week; she lived a 40 minute drive from my house. Some weeks, I packed my day so full that I was late to arrive, early to leave and settled for only a few minutes of a true visit. After 10 years of that treasured friendship, she died.  I have never thought; “Sure wish I hadn’t spent so much time with her.”  But three years after her death, the opposite still occasionally occurs to me.

Indeed, now is good.  There are six sparrows skittering about on the balcony adding soft tan and fluffy grey to the charcoal metal mesh and the ash colored cement, chirping away as they dart here and there for bread crumbs.  I am part of an amazingly dedicated, loving, and talented staff.  Our work is rewarding. The lives of the ladies bring daily challenges keeping us guessing, jumping, and learning.  As I look out my living room window, I see gers (yurts) peppering the hillside reminding me that I’m living in a unique place.  Functioning constantly in a foreign tongue brings laughter, concentration, endless lessons and fun.  My husband loves me, our daughter appreciates us, and we are healthy.

I’m perpetually tempted to worry about possible disease flare up, undone tasks, future visitors, family members, and myriad of other things. But pondering such topics only shortens the joy of this very moment.  The sky is blue, our home is warm and comfortable, we have family and friends who express their love.  This season where I sit is sunnily beautiful and I’m grateful, knowing full well that it is ONLY a season.

Heavy Day at the Shelter

One of our live-in ladies likely has decided to go back to her old life rather than continue with us. She is in love with one of her customers and just cannot pull herself away. Love, what is love? It makes one feel needed, wanted, precious, important, desired.  Adding mystery, clandestine meetings in the dark, co    mmanding phone calls and a bit of naughtiness seem to make false love all the more attractive.  

But true and healthy love is about trust, giving, light, support, encouragment; it is about the other rather than about oneself.  If someone has never experienced such love, how can they even know to pursue or wait or expect it?

And what is the balance between grace and discipline? Where do we draw the line on someone else’s behavior? When they themselves are being harmed? When others are being hurt or led astray? When they are under our roof or authority?

               Choices.  If only the experience of one could teach another.  Age does seem to carry at least a small amount of wisdom if only from one’s collection of failures. It is painful to watch another fail, especially to see them take the first step onto the driveway toward that end. But step they must and watch we may.  Letting go, knowing full well that they may not return to your arms is a necessary risk.  

Welcome Back!

       Monday morning, Degi told me she didn't have her keys and that I needed to unlock our work room. I wasn't suspicious until my ladies said I should close my eyes while I turned the key and opened the door. The walls were plastered with greetings and brightly colored hearts. "We missed you." "We love you." Aaaaah. What a wonderful way to start the week. Later in the morning I passed out small gift bags of make-up, earrings, and candy. Everyone spent half an hour trying out the colors and tasting the sweet treats. It was their turn to feel loved.

Fire!

 The entrance into our apt's stairwell is dark on a bright day. But at midnight after the visit of a fire it was cave black. It is customary in UB for each entrance of an apartment building to have a sentry/janitor called a 'jijure'. This person/family lives in the tiny space under the first flight of stairs.  The fire started and was limited to the jijure's home and happened a few days before we returned from a visit to Olympia. But our apartment welcomed us with the lingering odor of a burned structure.
It takes a lot to burn down a concrete building but not as much for drifting smoke to invade every crevice and crack, even 5 floors from the source. Our house sitters said that on the day of the fire, when they opened our door, smoke billowed out and the smoke alarms were screeching.
After a few days of opening the windows and lighting scented candles, we don't notice the smell any more. The substitute jijure (in the photo) says the lady who lived under our stairs was not hurt. We're grateful.