Botkin Cemetery

Tashkent summers bring the kind of heat where everything seems to sag and wilt. It's so hot, the wind blows halfheartedly, and sweat and tears evaporate like they never existed. The sun lays down a heavy blanket of UV rays, the color of an overexposed photo. Not a single soul moves faster than they need to, unless of course, they are driving. Sidewalks might exist or might not, and the roads are a constant work in progress, so it is anybody's guess to how a neighborhood walk might go. Even though wearing a mask and hat should in no way hinder my ability to walk around potholes, roots, and chunks of broken sidewalk, I struggle to keep my bearings underneath all the fabric. I'm pretty sure locals understand exactly how awkward I feel, but then maybe they smirk because no sane person should meander in such heat without purpose.

I had no purpose on this particular Sunday other than to get out of the house, lest I explode on my family for doing what all normal people should be doing on the weekend: relaxing  I don't relax particularly well. Leaving in a huff propelled me down a road that was lined with stores selling construction materials and home furnishings. I passed mechanics, for-hire laborers wearing rubber sandals, and women selling packs of gum and sweets from their two wheeled carts. Hugging any shade I could find, I turned a corner and walked beside a blissfully cool wall surrounding the Botkin Cemetery where flower and headstone vendors were in full swing. The sharp noise of faces and names getting engraved onto pieces of granite cut through the non-moving air.

When I lived in Namibia, a touristy visit to a cemetery was never encouraged - they were supposed to be places where people visit perhaps annually and/or during solemn ceremonies. But here, there were visitors gardening, picnicking, and even napping in the shade. A clarinet busker played near the fountains used to fill up jugs of water meant for gladiolas and mums, though a number of people were washing their shoes too. Two young women were changing into long skirts outside the Orthodox church entrance and a cyclist was making a delivery to the tiny store selling religious relics. Most of the headstones had the deceased's face and/or entire body etched onto them. Some displayed Orthodox crosses and others had red stars. Most plots were cordoned off with wrought iron fences and nearly all of them had had visitors at some point. I wound my way through narrow paths avoiding jagged edges of unmaintained fences, crunching through waist high yellow grass and had to talk myself down from panic when I thought there might be snakes or lions hiding in the brush. Funny how old habits die hard. 

I realized perhaps my panic might have been related to sun exposure and dehydration. But I had no money and no water to safely drink. In a full on rage of immaturity, I had skulked off with only a phone which meant I had a lovely time making my way home, blistered, sunburned, and thirsty, and a tail between my legs. 

Surviving Boredom

After two isolated and lonely weeks, we got internet back today. I was so excited that I handed the kids iPads and I haven't seen nor heard from them since. These past two weeks were spent entertaining ourselves without the pleasure of streaming and having none of our stuff, so in addition to the usual quarantine activities (day drinking, reading, sleeping) we made up stories or themes for the different rooms in the house.

Vanity Hall: Andie Walsh's makeup check

The Sleepless Reader

The Nighthawk Diner breakfasting at home.

The Pillow-top Wall: indeed is NOT soft.

Hall of Mirrors Chandelier on loan.

The Filter Room: nothing but tubules and loops of Henle.

Summer of Quarantine and Travel: VA to MO to CO to UZ

When arriving to a new country, the excitement of taking in new sights, sounds, and smells usually make up for the hassles of flying, jet lag, and bewilderment of navigating unfamiliar expectations. Exploring neighborhoods and wandering through grocery stores are among my favorite activities for not only finding calm and gaining independence, but also to help with the activation energy that is needed to overcome an eleven hour time difference. Instead, we were sequestered inside the walls of our new home (a wonderful home to be sure) for a strict fourteen days, relying on grocery delivery services, our shitty grasp of Russian language, and the good will of Mark’s work sponsor to be our connection to the outside world. 

We knew our arrival to Uzbekistan would be super isolating but it was still a surprisingly hard adjustment. It didn’t help that one of our computers crapped out and the internet went down after the first day. Jet lagging exhaustion came in waves and it took all I could muster not to pass out on the couch, so I took running the stairs or pacing the hot tiles of our inner courtyard. Nothing seemed doable in the fog of nausea and there were only so many movies, games, and reading material we could stomach and rewatch for the tenth time. Every afternoon we’d take a strict, one hour nap. Getting up afterwards was brutal and for rest of the day we all looked like we had raging cases of pink eye. We’d pick at dinner and crawl into bed, hopeful that this time, we’d get to sleep an extra hour… five. Only to have our bodies bing us awake at 2:30am, 4:00am, and 4:40am like some sort of effed up clockwork.

We are lucky. We have our own beds and space in which to reacclimatize to Tashkent’s timezone and quarantine. I was told the repatriated citizens who were on the the charter plane with us from NY would be required to do the same at a state run facility. I keep this in mind when I get a case of the whines. 

Getting here at all took a lot of heavy lifting by the embassy crew. I am humbled by the travel team who waited hours long lines to add us to the long waitlist. I am grateful for the team who prepared our home, left us food and drink, and delivered our weary bodies to the doorstep. Boredom and jet lag are a small price to pay for us being able to move our lives forward after months of waiting, cancellations, and the annoyingly all-too-common anxiety of not knowing what’s what with life these days.

Speaking of gratefulness, I would be remiss not to mention all the joy and valuable family time we got to spend in Missouri and Colorado. Mark finished his training at the end of June which meant our lease was up in Virginia and we had all of July and possibly all of August to take home leave. At the time, we couldn’t find any airlines flying pets so we opted to rent a car for our travel. Aside from Margo vomiting into the wind while we were driving on the highway causing apple-pastry scented spray-back throughout the car, the drive was unremarkable. It took us many wipes, towels, and attempts to clean it up. Even the dog needed a bath. 

It took us 15 hours in one go to get to Missouri where we spent our days road biking, canoeing, and boating. Mark often complained that cycling in Missouri meant never finding a rhythm because of all the short and steep hills, but I loved it. I did well with the short bursts of energy needed to climb and descend. Deets all but lived in Grandpa’s garage woodworking, and Margo was her Grandmother’s wee sidekick, making cookies and swimming in their hot tub. We blew up fireworks, watched Hamilton, and ate blackberries from their backyard.

In Colorado, we enjoyed our first ever family reunion with my parents and my brother’s family. It was such a special experience introducing the cousins while we hiked until our knees gave out and grilled all the meats. Road biking CO-style brought back brutal memories of Mark effortlessly prancing up long-ass climbs while I heaved for every breath in the saddle. Visiting my home state made us remember how much we loved living there. Mark and I decided that Salida would be our backup retirement location, should the Slovenian mountains not pan out. 

I use the memories and hugs, photos and mementoes, and laughs and tears we collected during this time to carry me through the sadness of moving away from the U.S. I wasn’t ready to leave, especially under the circumstances that no one knows what’s going to happen next. It was a gift to spend the summer with my MO & CO family, and not just because they willingly accommodated 4 people, 1 dog, 1 kennel, 8 bags, and all the miscellaneous crap/essentials we thought with us. It was also a gift to know that regardless of what happens or where we go, we will always have more than one place to hang our hats and hearts. 

Photography Diversion

To balance out free time spent playing Soccer Manager and Civilization, Mark created an account with Guru Shots, a site that calls itself "The World's Greatest Photography Game." In a nutshell, signup is free and players submit their best photos and votes are cast. Tinderesque, you swipe right for photos you like, swipe left for the ones you don't. Some contests last for days, others for only a few hours. 

The winning mechanism is a bit more complicated than winning the most votes. Players also have to put in the work, voting through stacks of photos, sometimes hundreds worth, in a wide array of categories to move up the ranks. Challenges change daily and like any good video game, it requires attention, strategy, and constant updating. The lazy ones can literally buy votes for level boosting, but you still have to depend on entering even semi-decent photos. Overall, the site advocates photographers of all sorts of talent to experiment with curating photos and it creates a like-minded, world-wide community. Mark likes it because it forces him to scour through his vast collection, edit, and also to reminisce. 

This morning's category was "Match the Cover" (https://gurushots.com/challenge/match-the-cover9/rank/gurus-top-pick) allowing only 8 hours of voting. The photo in question is displayed below. There's nothing like that in the burbs of Arlington, so David put together LEGO windows and walls, Mark photographed and uploaded it. The photo ended up earning an All Star ranking and placed 400-something in the competition. Not too bad for a few hours work and a few hours killed. 

The Challenge

The Match

The creation

The Competition

Mom-Margo Interview

Margo and I decided to interview each other for one of her writing assignments for whatever counts as school these days. While she asked me questions about childhood pleasures (like, what was my favorite book? What was it like when I lost my first tooth?) she shared her stance on living the quarantine life and came up with useful advice to give her past and future self. 

Mom: For this interview, what title would you like to give yourself?

Margo: Please call me Margo Amelia Schlink Sparkle Unicorn. Yes. You can call me that.

Mom: Can I shorten that to MASSU?

Massu: (laughs) Sure!

Mom: Since we've been living quarantine life, what has been your favorite thing to do?

Massu: I love getting to spend time with my family.

Mom: What was your favorite thing to do prior to this?

Massu: I loved playing on the playgrounds and having water fights without being worried about catching coronavirus. I miss being able to hug people. 

Mom: Let's talk about things you don't miss doing. Is there anything you can't do now, and you are glad because of it?

Massu: I don't exactly miss that people tell me that I can't do things. Like, when we used to pick up packages from the front desk, the lady would tell me it was too heavy and wouldn't let me bring it back to our apartment.

Mom: What are you most excited to do for the rest of this year?

Massu: I can't wait to get into our new house and moving to Uzbekistan and seeing my grandparents. I also can't wait to make new friends. 

Mom: Is there anything you'd like to tell your younger self, like any advice you would like to pass on?

Massu: Don't let other kids take you over!

Mom: What would you like to tell your future self?

Massu: I would remind myself that I always love my mommy and daddy and David.

Mom: You have accomplished a lot of activities with home school. What are you most proud of?

Massu: Oh, learning my multiplication facts. 

Mom: Which one is your favorite?

Massu: My favorites are 11x11 and 12x12 because you were so surprised that I knew them in a snap!

Mom: That's definitely true, I was shocked! My favorite has always been 8x4 and I have no idea why.

Mom: What have been some of your favorite books to read and why?

Massu: I love the Hank Zipzer books because they are so funny. I also love I Am Jazz. My grandma sent it to me. I like it because it shows that you should be whoever you want to be.

Cutting Some Slack

Day 57 

I've started this posting about 5,000 different times, and of those 4,999 attempts, different emotions have gotten in the way. One moment I am fine, resigned to the status we are in. I make peace with the waiting and unknown. In other moments, I am hopeless, mad, hysterical, anxious, sad, or embarrassed, though usually all of the above. Or I feel nothing at all. Worst of all, I know I am not the only one with these ups and downs. The fact that "we are all in this together" gives me no comfort. Instead, I feel even more angry and helpless on behalf of every single individual's suffering, whether you are a friend, stranger, neighbor, or family member. It sucks and I hate it. 

The world has a palpably negative vibration and enduring it is exhausting. Processing feelings is exhausting and for a while I was pretty good at avoiding it. One day, I looked into a mirror and saw nothing but a sour, dark eyed hag with a pinched, butthole-mouth looking back. My emotional poker face fools no one. But, now I write to hold myself accountable to my feelings. Every day I work to maintain a separation of self-worth from the brittle ups and downs of the unknown. I remind myself they are not one and the same.

Some days are productive and positive. Some days are only meh and blah, while others are sorrowful. These woes don't even include the news which packs such an unjust and emotional punch, that it makes it hard to sleep at night. I feel like I don't have the right to write (rejoice or complain) about anything in my life because others have it so badly. But I realized I can and should take care of my own soul and still do my part to make things right. So, I write.

The reality is, of course I am fine, and will continue to be fine. Our short term plans are like everyone else's: stay at home, continue with school and training, and keep our fingers crossed and our faces masked. My kids are fabulous and brave. They seem to be handling the seclusion from friends and stress of having me be their teacher quite well. I have gotten to know their strengths and weaknesses as writers, readers, and mathematicians, as they have gotten to know my displeasure of understanding poetry and discerning fractions from decimals. Margo taught me Common Core however, which to my surprise, actually isn't that bad. 

Mark is my rock. He's my planner, doer, and positiver. When I am tossing and turning, and grinding my teeth through the night, he stays up thinking alternative game plans for our future should prior plans not work out. He is endlessly encouraging and when I am berating myself, he lifts me up. Sometimes I ask him why he loves me. He tells me that I don't need to know why (although he would give me a rundown if I asked), but that I need to simply accept that he does. 

Self care: when I am not teaching the kids, I doodle and sketch, and collect CEUs, continuing education credits, to maintain my nursing license. I am required to complete 24 credits every two years, and right now I have about 80. I have a nursing job waiting for me in Uzbekistan so with luck, I will get to put the knowledge to use this fall. Or maybe I don't want to- because it would mean I'd be dealing with STDs and fungus infections and diarrhea and of course corona virus, none of which I would wish anyone to have. I have really missed patient care.   

Long term wise, things get more complicated when Mark completes his training in June. We were told to plan as usual, which is to go on Home Leave (government mandated vacation) and onward to our post at some point. Ideally it would be July, but due to well... life, no one knows the when or how. We have friends and colleagues waiting to return to the States upon completion of their tours and others waiting to move abroad. Some families are waiting here to go back to their previous lives overseas. The entire system is navigating blind and making adjustments along the way, all the while with manpower scattered around the world holding their breaths like we are. In short: it is complicated, so we wait and fake embrace the icy cold-warmth of the unknowing and settle into whatever counts as patience these days.  

Forest Bathing 

Yellow Smock, Blue Dress, Black Suit

I have a deep appreciation for my husband's sense of humor and patience. Today he let me dress him up in tights and fashion his likeness to a knight from the Middle Ages for the Getty Art Challenge where art lovers recreate famous pieces of art using only what we have on hand. Mark was modeled after Jacques de Lalaing, a guy who was good with a sword and lance in the Middle Ages. Apparently, Jacques regularly fought and won in tournaments and was considered be quite chivalrous during a time where it was normal to stab people with poleaxes and call it a day.

The kids were also enthusiastic participants for this weekend craft project. Margo dressed up as the Getty's "Young Woman with a Fan," a pastel painting done by an Italian artist who was a high roller for royalty portraitures. The girl's eyes caught my attention and reminded me of Margo's uncanny ability to look into my soul- for better or worse. 

Finding David's likeness was bit more challenging so I had to expand my search beyond the Getty's online collection. I won't lie. It felt very creepy to google "famous art with boys" because I wasn't sure what foxhole I would find, but it ended up being super fitting. I found a piece that would show his creative side and his smoldering side. David could legitimately be a model. He posed in "Hat Storm" by Yann Faucon, a French artist who creates barren, yet oddly full collages as his expressive medium.

Tomorrow brings us Monday- another day full of worksheets, writing, teaching (attempts at), Russian, and daydreaming about what we will do next weekend... inside.

Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing

Young Woman with a Fan

Hat Storm