Culbert Report

Winter Walks

2012-01-12T04:47:00.000-07:00

I had always wondered how these Russian super moms here managed to warmly walk their children for hours at a time in below freezing temperatures. Could it be some secret slow release foot warmer contained in the high heel? No. Now I know: the awesome power of the stroller muff. I thought about asking a mom passing by if I could just warm my hands in her muff for a few minutes. Then I realized I didn't know the word for "muff" in Russian and figured the possible consequences of asking in my own words could severely limit my trips to the park in the future. I guess it's off to Ashan to pick up a stroller muff...

Baby's First Christmas

2012-01-03T04:40:00.003-07:00

Here are a few pictures captured on A's 6 month birthday, just days before Christmas.

A Day in the Life: Shopping

2011-12-22T05:02:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have always wondered what our day-to-day life looks like here in Moscow, I'm happy to present a series entitled "A Day in the Life." For the first installment, I'll show you what a big grocery store run looks like. As I've learned, this approach to shopping is a bit counter-cultural as most Russians make a quick stop into a local store to pick up what's needed on a daily basis. Day-to-day shopping and eating makes a lot of sense here, especially without a car, and I'll often pick up a few last minute items in this fashion on my way home from the metro. Moscow is peppered with grocery stores, convenience stores, kiosks, and fruit/vege stands appropriate for this kind of life-style, but most of these places don't mind charging a little extra for the convenience. When keeping a tight food budget, I try to stock up on staples and big price items (meat, cheese, milk, etc.) at our nearest warehouse-type-super-market (a mix between a Safeway and a Costco) called Ashan. I try to make one of these big store runs once a month or once every two months. It's about a 3-4 hour round trip (give or take traffic that day) and every time I get home, I wonder why I do this in the first place. It's quite a work-out in every sphere of my life: physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially, philosophically, grammatically, etc.. But Dan's beaming face always greets me upon return: "Ashan Christmas," he calls it, as he eagerly unwraps bag after bag of provisions for the next month or two. Perhaps if "Ashan Christmas" came as seldom as regular Christmas, I'd look forward to it with as much anticipation as Dan.

I'm just headed out the door with my very non-Russian looking backpack. Inside I have my wallet and two other large hand-bags to fill to capacity. I make my way to the bus stop - if I've timed my food run well, the bus is just slightly quicker than the metro and takes me just a tad closer to my destination - more important on the return trip with 3 heavy bags.

That's my ride, the number 72 trolleybus. Corners like a dream and picks up speed as subtly as a hurricane. A bus ticket is 28 rubles, just under $1. I'm in luck, the bus isn't too crowded today. Standing room only is fairly typical here - public transport being much more popular than in the States.

On one's way to the store, one can pick up fisherman's pick straight from the Moscow River. Actually, seeing fish sold on the street is the true sign that winter has come to the city. It was a bit pricey for me today, so I just walked on by.

Upon entering Ashan, the first thing one's obliged to do is seal any personal bags or belongings. It's a theft prevention method reminiscent of those infomercials which allow you to make your own ziplock seal. Good times. Here's my newly wrapped backpack in my cart.

Finally entering the shopping arena, it's every man for himself. Particularly approaching the winter holidays, Ashan can be a bit of a mad-house. Typically here, you keep your cart close by. You never know who may be shopping right out of your cart if left unattended at the end of an aisle.

What a nice surprise! Peanut butter! This is the first time I've seen Peanut butter at Ashan, good thing I had a camera on me! (If you're curious, this small jar is 180 rubles, roughly $5.60.)

Whew! After a long line at check-out, I'm finally bagged up and ready for the commute home. This is roughly 50-60 lbs of food goods to haul home and will last a month or two. Home again, home again, jiggity jig! Hope you enjoyed your trip with me! Let's do it again in a month!

While we were away...

2011-12-02T11:00:00.000-07:00

Tens of thousands of people stood in this line.

For this.

Why?

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/24/world/europe/virgin-mary-belt-relic-draws-crowds-in-moscow.html

Apparently, we've missed quite a bit. We're still catching up.

Austria

2011-11-25T00:55:00.005-07:00

While on our visa foray to Budapest, we allowed our hosts a brief rest (from us) by taking a day trip to Austria, Dan's homeland! The train ride was about 2 hours - a rather smooth trip to Vienna. Dad looks a little tired here, but Anna, as always, is wide-eyed and curious about everything. She made several friends on the train ride there - her German being much better than ours.

Our first stop was, of course, a cafe to enjoy a hot cup of Austria's specialty coffee: melange. The coffee roast is a bit lighter and it's served up with extra creamy milk for a flavor that's just heavenly no matter how delicate your coffee palate. This picture encapsulates three of Nana's favorites (in no particular order): melange, Dan and baby A.

We then ventured to the Christkindlmarkt, one of Vienna's finest Christmas markets. We ventured from stall to stall, surveying the beautiful woodwork and other Christmas gifts.

We tried gluhwein (mulled wine) - the perfect thing to warm even the chilliest of spendthrifts.

It was here that we met a friendly Austrian grandmother who carried on quite a lengthy conversation with Anna smiling and laughing along. She then turned to us and asked how old she was, one year? We held up 5 fingers to indicate 5 months and the friendly Austrian grandmother proceeded to puff out her cheeks, pillow out her tummy, and most delicately indicate to us that Anna seems to be a bit large for her age. Of course we couldn't understand all that she said, but hippopotamus seems the same in all languages...

All in all, we had a most wonderful day in Vienna, as always - and look forward to the possibility of returning sometime.

Dancing Queen

2011-08-16T11:49:00.002-06:00

Yes, we've become those people. Those people who blog about their children. Those people who talk about their children excessively. Those people who seem to have no other life. These posts are for you, grandparents and others who enjoy seeing excessive amounts of new baby Anna. And for the rest of you... we promise we'll find other things to blog about... at some point.

In the meantime, enjoy this video of Anna dancing at our friends' wedding in July. What a gem!

Welcome Anna Sophia!

2011-08-04T21:02:00.005-06:00

She's here!

She's beautiful.

And every chiche we'd heard about parenthood has never been more true.

Happy April 12th!

2011-04-16T01:26:00.004-06:00

For those of you who don't typically celebrate the 12th of April, or are even, dare I say it, ignorant to the nature of the holiday, let me be the first to congratulate you with a happy 50 year anniversary of "The Day of the First Man in Space!"

Billboards like these have been up for weeks in our neighborhood:

(April 12th: World-wide Day of Aviation and Astronautics - Congratulations)

At many of the universities where we work, students are quick to ask us who we think was the first person in space - a Russian or an American. You can probably guess the answer just by the way the question is asked... But just as Neil Armstrong's first step onto lunar territory, as well as his epic words on that occasion have formed a critical part of the American identity, so it is with Yuri Gagarin, the USSR's national hero, the very first man to burst into the unknown showing definitively that the sky was no longer the limit to human progress. April 12th marks a pivotal moment not only in the world-wide space program, but in the Russian identity as well: Yuri Gagarin, first man to go to the cosmos!

Dan's favorite monument in Moscow, a very heroic Soviet Yuri demonstrating the strength, drive and power of the Soviet man. Congratulations, Russia, on Gagarin's momentous feat!

To infinity...

-rkc

The Way Things Work...

2011-03-10T12:28:00.003-07:00

We recently started teaching English at Moscow's Sports' University on the far north side of the city (just under an hour and a half commute from where we live.) Our first week there, we were given a tour of their enormous facility, complete with separate gyms and equipment for over 40 different types of sports for students there. While we work primarily with students in the volleyball department (yes, that's right, you can declare “Volleyball” as your major at this university,) I believe many of Russia's future professional athletes study here now. Most students dream to go on to the professional sport world, while others will become future coaches or trainers. I am still a bit curious what kinds of classes are offered for students here, however, 5 years of volleyball seems like a substantial amount of time in class... Their chalkboards are field diagrams with magnets for different players and positions. I'd like to take an exam here just to see what it's like. Most likely I would fail volleyball, but maybe I could pass a running test.

At any rate, walking home from our class yesterday, I was struck with the utter randomness of our situation there at the Sport's University. Because of the girth and expense of the university facilities, security there is actually very strict. There are turntables and guards at every entrance by which students can only enter by swiping their electronic student cards. As we don't have these cards, a volleyball program director or coach must meet us at the entrance every week to swipe us in for our class. It's a very elaborate system. Our coworkers with the Athletes in Action program in Moscow, who actually invited us to undertake this venture, actually all have student cards, though. How they came across those cards, how they even began working with this prestigious place in Moscow, is really a fascinating story in and of itself. It also serves as an intriguing look into how things actually get done in the Russian culture and it all begins, if you hadn't guessed, with a trip to the Russian Banya.

For those of you who don't know what a banya is, it's worth attempting to experience rather than reading about. It's best compared to a sauna here in the US, but so, so much more. You begin with a steam in a stifling sauna room with temperatures over 100 degrees. Once you've reached your heat maximum, you file out of the steam room and quickly jump into a pool of ice water (or if available, into the deep snow outside.) That will really get your heart going. You may take a little pause at this point in a common room reserved for tea or vodka, but then quickly repeat that same cycle of sauna and cold pool. After a couple rounds, out come the birch branches, for which the Russian banya remains infamous. Your third trip into the sauna, a fellow banyaneer beats you with birch branches. The purpose of this tradition is not merely sadistic (as is often thought to be the case), it is intended to draw the blood to the surface of the skin, increase circulation, and clear one's pores for further cleansing. The task of beating is not for the faint of heart. As it turns out, it's actually a skill much prized in the Russian banya sub-culture, and, as we'll see, can be a very handy tool to have at one's disposal.

Our friend, Victor, a former professional athlete and banya-goer extraordinaire, had long been going to the very same banya as the head Dean of the Moscow Sport's University. Not until recently, however, had Victor shown his true talent with the birch branches and befriended the Dean with a connection as hearty as the blows delivered. During one banya trip, where Victor particularly effectively pummeled the Dean with a fist-full of branches, the Dean exclaimed, “You're the best I've ever met with the branches. Ask for anything you want, anything, and I'll give it to you.” “My friends want student cards so they can go to your university.” “They're yours.” Within a week, our Athletes in Action were presented their very own student cards for full access to the university and facilities there.

And that's the way things work. No American could have predicted that outcome, let alone begun to try to secure student cards in that way or had the ability to do so. No amount of paperwork, bureaucratic tape, polite requests, overbearing demands seem to substitute for a good beating in this culture. One never knows quite where the gift of the birch branches, once shared, will open doors here in Russia. However, with visa qualms always lurking in the ever-present future, it may be a skill worth learning.

-rkc

2011-02-08T11:02:00.001-07:00

Every time I think I have Russia figured out it surprises me. I've asked students about the complexities of the Russian psyche, seen the variations in the Russian landscape, and attempted all sorts of ways of collecting a package at the Russian post office. One of the best windows into understanding Russia itself has been by looking at their history. Each day I walk outside my apartment I'm reminded, just by the architecture, of all the faces that Russia has had in the last hundred years. Here's a picture that I took in downtown Moscow.

The contrast of the Russian orthodox church, the European-style apartments in the foreground, the large Stalinesque monstrosity, the concrete condos, and the newly constructed western skyscrapers in the background remind me that Russia is changing all the time and her people are running to keep up.

-drc

Liquid Milky Way

2011-01-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

Are you tired of chewing your candy bars?

Do the layers of chocolate and caramel being broken down by your bicuspids take time and energy away from your enjoyment of your treat of choice?

Don't you hate how chewing your candy bar annoyingly negates the calorie intake for consuming it in the first place?

Do you ever wish you could just sip on your candy bar at your leisure rather than chewing precious minutes of your day away?

We have the product for you: Drinkable Mars bar!

That's right, available now in your grocer's refrigerated section: Drinkable Mars bar. The perfect pick for anyone who's ready for the easiest possible way to enjoy fine Mars products.

I'll drink to that!

Sand Volleyball - Russian style...

2011-01-15T12:15:00.000-07:00

A little on the chilly side, but still fun.

Christmas at the Children's Home

2010-12-31T11:52:00.007-07:00

This year our Humanitarian State University English club ventured to a children's home to share our Christmas celebration. We had a wonderful time there and we're already looking forward to our next opportunity to return.

Here are some of the things we did:

First, we prepared what you might consider a classic Christmas pageant, complete with Shepherds and Wise Men following the Christmas star to find the Christ child. A show of hands demonstrated that of the children in the audience, very few actually knew the original Christmas story - they'd never seen this kind of pageant before. Our student actors did an amazing job!

Then we played some games together. It's always a kick to see similar children's games no matter what country you're in at the time. This is a game very similar to our own hand clapping games like Miss Mary Black, Down by the Banks, Miss Suzie, etc.. As you may be able to guess, the game counts to a determined number (like 10) and if your hand is hit when 10 is spoken, you're out!

We then did some origami angels, while just chatting and playing with the kids before wrapping up to catch our train back into the city.

Interestingly enough, far and away the most popular thing we did with the boys in particular was provide them with candles and matches for our sing along at the end of the night. They were proudly covered in wax and small finger burns as we were packing up our things. Boys will always be boys, I guess. Please pray that the Children's home will still be standing when we return next semester!

What a wonderful way to celebrate the Christmas season.

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise Him,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

-rkc

Marvel of Nature

2010-11-30T12:15:00.005-07:00

Life is full of questions, some much more compelling than others. Nonetheless, moving to a big city, Dan and I have been exposed to an inexplicable phenomenon of nature unobserved in suburban areas: the pigeon, a crowning jewel in the evolutionary process. These fine, feathered friends, who are neither fine nor friends, eat anything from tin cans to cigarette butts. They bathe lavishly in refuse water. They drink, it seems exclusively, from discarded beer bottles. Last night the Moscow temperature dropped from 32 F (0 C) to -4 F (-20 C); yet, there they were at sunrise, standing on our window sill, their beady little eyes staring into our warm apartment as if to say, "you'd best give us your bread if you knew what was good for you, spoiled little aristocrats."

Why won't the pigeons die? What is their secret? What biological purpose can they possibly be serving by continuing on in this manner?

The pigeon: one of the 7 greatest wonders of the world. I guess not all miracles of life are beautiful.

-rkc

Children of the USSR

2010-10-30T08:00:00.002-06:00

Do you remember the first time you saw a banana?

Do you remember your first sip of Coca-Cola?

How about the first time you held a slinky in your hands, watching in waver back and forth?

"The slinky was like a miracle. Really, it was." The girls at English club explained to me. When the slinky first came to Russia, it was an unbelievable combination of metal and miracle, moving almost of its own whim. The girls' eyes lit up as they spoke about it: "Rachel, we are children of the Soviet Union, this thing was to us a miracle."

Other students have told us stories of their parents' first encounters with Coca-Cola. One family, who resided in Azerbaijan during the time of the Soviet Union, told us how one of the uncles had traveled to Moscow and while there had somehow procured a bottle of Coca-Cola. He brought it back with him, nearly 75 hours by train, to show all of his friends, neighbors, and relatives. He then proceeded to pour out a tiny taste for all 20-some members of the family to try. Hardly enough to make an impression on one's taste buds, yet more than sufficient to create an endearing memory of the product.

Approximately the same time frame, bananas began to become available for purchase - imported all the way from South America. Bananas! I can't imagine my childhood void of bananas; in fact, I can't even imagine a time when "B" in any alphabet book did not stand for "Banana." For goodness sake, what word did they find to represent the "Б" in the Russian alphabet book?

It's incredible to take in these moments of history, to better and better comprehend the unique cultural differences that go easily without being said or noticed even apprehended. In some ways, it feels just like that splash of Coca-Cola when you want the whole bottle. Though bit by bit, we're taking it in.

No Smoking.

2010-10-12T10:02:00.000-06:00

Medical Exams - Russian Style

2010-08-19T00:45:00.001-06:00

Right now we're in the process of transferring out visas over to official work permits. It's a lengthy and convoluted legal process that I have no hope of understanding. Praise God for Keith Beyar, Sergei Volkov and some of the others who are dealing with all this.

However, I do have a part to play. In order to get a work permit, I need to be medically certified as healthy and able to work by the Russian government. That makes sense. They don't want me spreading crazy diseases through their work force. The fun part comes in actually acquiring said medical permissions. Here's a little run down of what we've had to do (by “we” I mean everyone on the team except the wives who don't actually get permits but “accompanying spouse visas”):

Day 1: We came into the country (from Ukraine) on a pre-work permit visa and get it registered with our organization. Then go and start the medical stuff in the afternoon. We didn't realize that the part of the medical office we needed closes at 4pm. Oh well, try again tomorrow.

Day 2: We gave blood to test for AIDs and probably other stuff too. The ladies were really kind. I don't mean that they just smiled, they were more like kindergarten teacher kind. Used to dealing with foreigners she spoke to me like I was a two-year-old. “Now, you go and sit over there” -pointing to a chair- “go on, right over there,” her voice lilting as if she were talking to a favorite cat. I didn't mind, I'm over being offended at condescension. I feel like a toddler in this culture sometimes so I don't mind getting treated like one every once in a while.

Day 3: A couple days after giving blood we go and pick up the results (I don't have AIDs!) and find the next building about a 20-minute walk away. Why they can't be in the same place I have no idea. The next test is a drug test, but with a twist: It's an interview.

“Where are you coming from looking so handsome?” says the grey haired, portly, and smiling nurse.

“Um...” I respond intelligently. Is this just more condescension or am I looking especially good today? “Colorado” I've decided that I am, in fact, looking pretty good today.

“Do you like the heat in Moscow?” She asks, still smiling.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself now so I try to dazzle with my language ability. “Heat ok, but heat and smoke together no good.”

“Have you every done drugs?”

“No.” Ok, perhaps she was just catching me off guard with the banter to get the real answer out of me.

The interview ended. The piece of paper got it's stamp in another office and we were done with this step.

Day 4: We had to be there (a completely different office) at 8am and we left early to go find some urine analysis containers. All the pharmacies were closed and we showed up without the required jars and much apprehension.

The first step was a finger prick blood test. Knowing that the urine test was next I asked the lady taking blood where I could find some urine analysis containers.

“Cross the street,” she said “and buy a small bottle of water. Drink the water, go in the bottle, and turn it in to urine analysis.”

So we did. Bon Aqua I think. Then we gave them the the nice lady at urine analysis.

“Good job!” she cooed at us as she unscrewed the tops of the bottles “very well done!”

If you have a problem with self-esteem, but are still able to pee in a water bottle, getting a Russian work permit just might be the thing you need.

Tuberculosis x-rays finished our day of fun. Now we go back Friday to get the results, take it to yet another building and get our official certificate.

-drc

Up in Smoke.

2010-08-11T14:00:00.009-06:00

Hopefully the brunt of the national emergency has passed and life, as we knew it, has returned to normal. Yesterday, Dan and I watched perhaps the most spectacular downpour outside our windows for over 45 minutes. This thunderstorm was not particularly special, but simply came as a sign of relief from the intense smoke and heat plaguing the city this past week. Moscow's been affectionately titled "The Cauldron of Hell" by reporters sent to cover the record-setting summer here and we were affectionately beginning to agree. We've never seen rain with more grateful eyes.

Moscow has been shrouded in smoke from forest fires raging all over Russia due to combustible peat moss igniting during the hottest summer Russia's seen in hundreds of years. This smoke seeped into the city somewhat imperceptibly. I remember waking up early one morning a few weeks ago convinced something in the apartment had caught on fire. After a quick walk-through and closer examination of our outlets and appliances, I figured the incredibly pungent smell must be coming from outside and went back to bed. Days later, thick clouds of this smoke began to accumulate over the city. Due to wind direction and the sheer size of the fires spreading in all directions around Moscow, the smog settled over the city for days on end. It has been reported that one day while 230 fires were extinguished outside Moscow, 250 new fires were discovered; the problem escalated faster than help could be administered. And the effects of such were quickly and poignantly apprehended by all Moscow residents.

Medvedev made various statements during this time, first calling attention to the State of Emergency, urging Moscovites to travel away from the city if possible, to cease all and any unnecessary work, and to stay indoors as much as possible, seeking refuge in shelters or even shopping malls throughout the city. Typically locking down at home would not be a difficult thing to do, our water was running, we had plenty of food and other supplies, but with temperatures well above 100 degrees outside and no access to any kind of cool or fresh air, the temperature of our apartment never dropped below 90 degrees that entire week. We even realized the futility of our one oscillating fan as the air simply got warmer. A general sense of weariness, nausea, headache, sinus pain, dehydration, shortness of breath, and body ache seemed to be related either to the influence of the smoke or the lack of relief from the heat, perhaps both. The necessity to constantly drink more fluids seemed obvious as every place you sit is wet from sweat after just minutes. We felt like we were losing water as quickly as we consumed it - now imagine how our apartment began to smell after the first 24 hours! Reminiscent of high school cross country practice in the wrestling gym... not a pretty picture :) I'd like to give you a glimpse into our lives during those days as we lived through an unexpected but accurately titled "State Emergency."

10:00 pm - Begin filling the bath tub with cold water for the pre-bed soak. Dan and I each took a long cold bath before bed. The unnerving thing about this practice involved getting out of the tub and feeling the heat of the objects surrounding you. The floor is hot on your feet. Your towel is hot. The books you touch are warm, each page is hot to turn. Of course this is not because these particular objects are that hot to the touch, but your body temperature has been significantly lowered. The cold bath became an essential part of our sleeping routine, it gave us a good 2-3 hours of cool with which we could fall asleep.

1:00 am - Head to bed. The apartment is just slightly cooler, perhaps 90 rather than 95, in the night hours, so we adjusted our schedule to head to bed later in order to maximize our time in "cooler" temperatures. We'd soak two towels with cold water and lay them over us, positioning the fan to blow directly on us all night. The cold towels worked incredibly well. I think we got that idea from my dear and amazingly traveled cousin, Molly, who told me about sleeping techniques in India during her time there in the hot summer. Wow, things you think you'll never need to know when moving to Russia!

4:00 am - Wake up sweltering! At this point, the towels are already completely dry and your body has been working overtime to warm itself after the cold bath and towels. It's hot and stuffy, perhaps even a bit claustrophobic. At this point in the night we'd re-soak the towels and try to go back to sleep. Typically, though, sleep wouldn't come easily so we'd either opt for a cold shower, or depending on the look of the smog that morning, don our masks and walk outside for no more than 10 minutes to try to cool down. Waiting for sleep to come again felt a little like the "Zombie Phase." You feel like you're always only half there, just hoping to fall back asleep, but physically unable to do so. Lots of iced water and books were consumed during these restless hours. However... how much of those things we remember might be a more appropriate sign of our level of consciousness.

6:00 am - Back to sleep for a few more hours.

8:00 am - Wake up to ice coffee in the fridge and smoothies with frozen strawberries and bananas, yogurt and orange juice. Nothing like a chilly morning treat to begin the day. I got a blender for my birthday in July and we've made daily use of it ever since. Thanks, Dan, great gift!

9:00 am - Depending on the plan for the day, this might be the appropriate time for a morning cold bath.

10:00 am - Out the door! Taking Medvedev's advice, we switched into survival mode. We would put on our "Anti-Smog Masks," available for sale, even given out at almost any store in Moscow, and every day we ventured somewhere new in search of the coolest and cheapest places available to us in the city. Staying at home for another 100+ degree day with no relief from the stuffiness and congestion of the air was not an option! We're so thankful for the Beyar family here in Moscow who took us in two days in a row to their air conditioned apartment just ten minutes away. We packed books, games, and even exercise gear for our day-trips there. At one point there were over 18 people in their apartment seeking refuge at the hospitable and generous hands of the Beyar family. Not only did they allow us entry, but Lori had baked ziti waiting for us and snacks to last the day. From their view on the 13th floor, we marveled that the massive sky-scrapers surrounding us were completely blanketed and invisible through the smoke. I'd never seen anything like it before - and no end in sight. We stayed at the Beyars until we felt like the warning of Proverbs 25 begin to take effect: "Seldom set foot in your neighbor's house - too much of you, and he will hate you." We wouldn't want to wear out our welcome so quickly during a national emergency with no immediate end in sight!

We similarly ventured to malls around the city, or places we knew we could find free seating in cooler conditions. Typically we would stay until the mall or facility closed. We certainly were not shopping for pleasure, but simply looking for relief. I'm not really sure how effective the "Anti-Smog Masks" actually are in this kind of smoke, but we did laugh at ourselves and the people around us embracing, as best we could, the encouragement we received to wear them. We saw this kind of thing fairly frequently - I guess some are more particular than others about the kind of smoke one should ingest...

10:00 pm (or thereabouts) - Arrive back home again and immediately start filling the tub with cold water

Needless to say, it was not an experience I ever expected to have in Moscow, Russia. As we are currently enjoying day 2 of relief from the smoke due to wind change and the storm which passed through last night, we are earnestly praying that the smoke will not return. Sadly, many have not been as fortunate as to enjoy the cool homes of generous friends, or cannot travel easily through the city, and this "State of Emergency" has brought a tragic and abrupt end to many lives. Several homes and lives have been lost in the fires raging outside the city and it's at this point difficult to ascertain the economic aftermath of this kind of devastation. Please join us in praying for Russia, for rain, for relief, for restoration.

-rkc

Top 10 Ways to Survive the Moscow Heat Wave!

2010-08-01T13:46:00.006-06:00

Moscow hasn't seen the likes of temperatures like these is over 130 years! July 2010 has just become the hottest month on record for the city, EVER! So how do we beat the heat? In short, we don't. The heat is currently winning the battle, but we'd like to share some of our tactics in living in the midst of it!

10. Orange juice popsicles! Just like when we were young, we fill our ice cube tray with orange juice, yogurt, or any other tasty liquid we can get our hands on and just hours later enjoy a moment of cool, sweet, frozen goodness. It's a great treat to help pass the long afternoon hours.

9. An ice bath! Filling the bath tub with cold water and taking a dip for as long as I can bear has become a new favorite past-time. Usually I set up my computer to play an episode of the Cosby show and I'll simply settle into the cool waters for a few peaceful minutes of brisk refreshment. I've found it best to actually not dry off afterwards - this prolongs the feeling of cool an extra hour, maybe hour and a half.

8. Wait for the Oscillating Fan to come your way. Those few seconds of cool air are bliss.

7. Research the USA's new climate weapon!

6. Embrace the night life! While typically Dan and I are fast asleep by 10 pm, we've recently discovered the rest of the city at that time just begins to come to life. Who knew? Staying up later, venturing to parks, walking around the neighborhood, going on a quick ice cream run, we've not only enjoyed cooler evening temperatures, but met a lot of fun people!

5. Hang laundry to dry! While in the winter laundry took 3-4 days to dry on our balcony, it seems like a mere 3-4 minutes with these warmer temperatures. If you can wash it, it's hanging on our balcony to dry right now.

4. Think wintery thoughts. Dan and I walk through a bit of a wind tunnel on our way to the metro simply because of where the buildings are positioned. We were walking that way the other day and remembering the scarves, the hats, the hoods we'd don just to pass through that area. Back then, it seemed near impossible that that particular location in Moscow could ever be warm. Reminiscing about the cold seemed to briefly help us feel slightly cooler.

3. Develop an intricate system of opening and closing windows and blinds at different times of the day depending on where the sun is located and what side of the apartment it's currently hitting and also just how much and how cool of a breeze might be blowing by that day. Sadly, I don't know if it makes that much of a difference, but it's nice to think so!

2. Bike rides in the forest! Just breaking away from the black asphalt streets, running engines, and hot exhaust can reduce the temperature by 5-10 degrees very quickly. The forest is a lovely place to be!

1. Find air conditioning! An extended trip to an air conditioned coffee shop, a shopping center on the other side of the city, or even blatantly self-serving visits to our only dear friends with a/c have become a little more frequent than normal: "Hi, Lori, do you need me to come read a book in your living room today for a few hours while the a/c's running? Maybe you could make cookies or something. I'm definitely willing to help you in that way if need be!"

It's hard to believe that at one point in time there were 5 feet of snow piled outside our apartment window. Ah, winter, come back soon. We miss you!

Зарядки

2010-07-16T03:21:00.009-06:00

Зарядки or “morning exercises” were a part of every good Soviet's morning routine. It's a tradition that continues to live on in most Russians' ideal schedule, particularly when traveling or vacationing in a new place. Hotels, camps, resorts all offer their vacationers morning exercise before breakfast each day. I decided that this would be a fun “optional” activity for our summer project, and apparently so did several other Summer Project participants - I was shocked when nearly 15 people showed up on our first morning! Every morning at 7:30, the brave fitness gurus and I would run together to the rocky shores of the sea for a 30 minute exercise routine I'd planned out the night before. We did just about every exercise I could think of, including, but not limited to the following: stretching, running, skipping, jumping, lunging, balancing, squating, push-ups, tricep raises, calf raises, holding a plank, leg extensions, wall sits, obstacle courses, and just about anything we could think of with the materials we had at hand! It must have been quite a sight to behold for passer-byes. What a great way to begin each morning, testing the limits of my personal creative prowess and my participants' physical abilities! We had a great time, even though behind those smiles, I knew they all were thinking, “what does this crazy American want me to do now?” Here are some clips of our morning зарядки.

2010-06-26T04:53:00.002-06:00

Urban Cycling - Moscow Style

One Sunday, in celebration of Dave's birthday, a bunch of us got up and rode our bikes right into the heart of Moscow. It was so much fun to see the city from a bike and not have to deal with the crazy weekday traffic.

I heart Mr. Darcy

2010-06-21T11:00:00.000-06:00

Today I saw a Russian girl wearing this t-shirt. I so wish I had brought my camera with me so I could ask her to take a picture with me. I wonder where she found the t-shirt. I wonder if she even knows who Mr. Darcy is!

Пух

2010-06-08T07:11:00.003-06:00

I'll give you three guesses...

No... it's not snow...

It's not frost...

It's not even cold!

It's пух (pookh)!

I definitely did a double take walking by the window the other day. If it hadn't been over 70 degrees, I might have believed it was an early June snowstorm. The cotton pollen was falling so steadily, leaving banks of white fluff over the grass, cars, and curbs, I was tempted to grab the sled and try it out anyway.

This feathery, cottony pollen has been floating around town for weeks now. The season of "пух" can last up to two months here and seems to grow more predominantly in the northern areas of Russia. Thankfully no allergies have surfaced with it, even though it can quickly fill a room if you accidentally leave your window open. By far the best trick we've discovered (dedicated to all of you pyromaniacs out there - you know who you are Louise, Bush, Justin, and Beffy) is to light one end of a пух trail with a match and in seconds, the entire brush has puffed out of existence leaving no trace. It's amazing how far a пух train can carry you. Plus, it's really fun to say: pookh.

2010-05-25T12:00:00.003-06:00

Spring is in the air! It's difficult to decide what the best part actually could be. The grass is greener, emerging in places long covered by snow and ice. White and pink blossoms are budding on trees all over the city. Temperatures are on the rise! Dan's been steadily recovering from his winter hibernation, even braving the strange looks from venturing outside with flip-flops. The best part? People are happier. It's so much easier to see smiles from local vendors, women talking and laughing while walking together, and young people dancing and joking in groups together in the park. Spring is a wonderful time in Russia. After so much winter, life is returning in new colors, scents, even faces all over Moscow.

Quite Literally!

2010-05-10T06:56:00.002-06:00

Recently, Dan and I have been thinking though literal translations of conversations we have with people we know here in Moscow. We thought we'd provide you with just that – a literal conversation. Of course, the Russian comes across much better, but a word for word translation can be quite entertaining:

Rachel: Hello!

Dan: Hi!

Rachel: How business of yours?

Dan: Everything normally, saved God. And of yours?

Rachel: Also normally. Today went you to study of Russian language?

Dan: Went.

Rachel: Interestingly?

Dan: No very. Today we with Tamara Leonidovna busied ourselves with verbs of movement. On example: To go. To go. To go. To go. To go. To go. And to go.

Rachel: Nothing to myself! Pitily to me that me no was!

Dan: Also to me. Difficult to me to busy myself with Russian language one. But, on own business, to me need was to study, everything equal.

Rachel: You I understand. Next one, come!

Dan: Let's! Ok, I go store. To us needed something?

Rachel: No. We will see each other.

Dan: Until meeting.

Boulder Top 10

2010-04-24T00:09:00.004-06:00

Dan and I had the recent privilege of traveling to Boulder for my brother's wedding. As you can imagine, there are always small things we look forward to doing/seeing/eating while we're home and I thought you'd all like to know what made this trip's top 10! It goes without saying that time with friends and family, for such a joyful celebration, trumps any kind of list like this one. We were so grateful for the chance to be home and to share in a day celebrating two of the funniest, well-suited, and wonderful people I know! Congratulations, Andy and Karyn! But now... without further ado...

10. Mexican food is always a must when home in the States. Hacienda Colorado, as well as Americanized giant burritos available at Q-doba and Chipotle, really hit the spot! Viva la Mexican food!

9. Chicken and a Biscuit by Chick-Fil-A is a little known delicacy. They only serve it during their breakfast hours, but with a little honey on top, it tastes like one of the seven wonders of the world.

8. Greek Salad at Panara Bread is loaded with fresh vegetables, peppercinis, and flavors hard to find on our side of the world in Moscow. What a delight to have all the chopping and preparing done for you. Sit back, take in the view, and enjoy!

7. Friendly customer service! We so enjoyed chatty servers, friendly greetings when walking into a store, and the fun small talk with customer service representatives over the phone.

6. Casual dress code. Only in Boulder could I wear a t-shirt, denim skirt, and Chacos to church and get the response, "Why are you so dressed up today?"

5. A tall, extra-room Americano from Starbucks. There is something about Starbucks espresso and the employees who work there that always make our experience enjoyable. We could not seem to get our fill of good coffee and good cream while in Boulder. Wish we could take my old store back to Moscow with us!

4. So many delicious spicy sauces! Hot buffalo sauce, tangy Carolina bbq sauce, Sweet Baby Ray's... yum!

3. Dan pulled out his road bike, while I adjusted the seat on my Dad's classic old Schwinn road bike, and we took a couple tours of the North Boulder area leading to the Boulder Creek Trail. What magnificent views of the North Boulder farmland, just coming to life under the panorama of Flatirons and larger peaks behind. When we left Moscow, the air pollution level was 3 times over acceptable levels. This, needless to say, was a taste of paradise.

2. Vanilla Lattes at Peet's Coffee. Wow, if you haven't tried one, you don't know what you're missing. Whole milk is your best option - so creamy and caramelly sweet from the vanilla and espresso.

1. After a few days to acclimate to the change in altitude, I decided to try out a run I used to do quite often in college at CU. Approximately 9 miles, the run took me up a long but steady climb up to NCAR which overlooks the city of Boulder, then around the Mesa Trail through Chitauqua Park and down a beautiful residential descent back to where I began. The run was breathtaking in every sense of the word, perfect weather, the run a challenge, but the sights simply spectacular.

Flowers in the Metro

2010-04-05T02:16:00.007-06:00

Russians have special traditions involving the buying and giving of flowers for friends and loved-ones. Students and friends here have explained to me multiple times that you one can only purchase and present odd numbers of flowers on special occasions like birthdays and holidays. Even flower shop owners will refuse to sell you an even number of flower stems in a bouquet - it's a very exact and delicate science here. Even though I'd heard explanations and reasons before, they remained very nebulous and obtuse to me. "You just don't do it."

On Tuesday, the 30th of March, one day after the tragic metro explosions that shook the city, I finally grasped the full sense of those traditions. As we boarded our metro wagon, I was alarmed to see passenger after passenger holding two flowers. Young people had pairs of red carnations; older people had sets of two roses. I have never in my experience in Russia thus far seen even numbers of flowers in the hands of Russian people, it is such social taboo; honestly, it was a bit unnerving. These passengers, like Dan and myself, were traveling to the two metro locations which had been hit the day previous, to mourn with the city after the tragedy the day previous. Memorials had been constructed at each metro location and near them, shrines of flowers, icons, candles, and mourners gathered to grieve together. Even numbers of flowers are for these kinds of occasions: when the unthinkable and unconceivable happen, when innocent lives are ended abruptly, when death comes unexpectedly and tragically. I will never forget this poignant and living explanation.

When we arrived at the first memorial, we bought our first ever (and hopefully last) pair of flowers to lay on the memorial. The atmosphere was uncontrollably emotional. We mourned with the city over these losses, unable to stop the tears, and unable to find consolation.

"At this place on the 29th of March 2010 on the wagon of the metro, a terrorist act occurred, resulting in the death of people. In this station there will be a memorial plaque."

Tragedy like this is alive and present in the hearts and minds of every person braving their daily commute on this metro which was just a week ago necessary even mundane, but now suddenly terrifying and anything but commonplace. There was, one week ago, an unspoken social norm for riding the metro never to look at other passengers. One could gaze blankly at advertisements, read one's book, or play games on one's cell phones, but looking at other people riding along was unacceptable. But now, and who knows for how long, that social norm has been swallowed by fear. Eyes of passengers flit from face to face, looking, wondering, fearing with whom one may be sharing a wagon. Fear has descended over the city, it's dark grasp almost tangible over people here. Please pray for us and for this city.

For I know that my Redeemer lives,
and at the last he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been thus destroyed,
yet in my flesh I shall see God,
whom I shall see for myself,
and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
My heart faints within me!

Frozen Laundry

2010-01-27T02:03:00.002-07:00

Yeah, it's happened again!

New Year's Run

2010-01-04T11:20:00.004-07:00

This year, Dan and I took part in our team's tradition of running the Garden Ring around Moscow's center the morning of the 1st. It's one of the only times a year this run is possible - due to lessened air pollution, little traffic, and few pedestrians out on the streets. It was entertaining to see so many Moscovites just concluding their New Year's Eve celebrations as we were just beginning our morning run - we were certainly a shock for many! For those of you who'd like a closer look, here's a link to our run on mapmyrun.com: http://www.mapmyride.com/view_route?r=294126251184364644

Now, for your viewing pleasure, some footage from the run. This was just as we popped out of the metro to begin. It was still fairly dark - the sun wouldn't really rise until closer to our ending time, but we were excited none the less!

Our team consisted of two parts, the half-ringers and the full-ringers. The half-ringers, already in full stride, Liz and Lola, show their enthusiasm for the day's adventure.

The full-ringers, obviously unaware of what lay ahead, smiled for the camera... smiles we would not see again until 10+ miles later! Okay... maybe once or twice...

We were close to approaching Red Square and on our way to the finish line. Here's a shot of us crossing Крымский Мост.

Just another quick bridge, and we were almost there. What a magnificent sunrise. It's amazing to imagine just what this location would have been like hours before, teeming with people celebrating the new year with friends and family from all over Russia! But at 8 in the morning, it was fairly easy to grab a picture at this usually crowded vista.

Finally, the Starlight Diner, our finish line and makers of a fantastic breakfast for all hungry runners! A little more worn, a little less energetic, but quite satisfied. Guess it's time to retire the running shoes...

Or maybe not! (This means you too, Dan!)

Christmas in Moscow

2009-12-30T04:27:00.004-07:00

This year Dan and I celebrated Christmas for the first time by ourselves in Moscow. We had a great holiday, a lot of presents, a lot of friends, and a lot of fun. Here are a few highlights of the season.

Our team hosted "An American Christmas" English club for over 30 students! We had so much fun decorating cookies, singing Christmas carols, sharing Christmas memories, and creating some new ones! We are so thankful for these new friends here in Moscow and for their joy in celebrating the holidays with us!

We ventured to Red Square for a morning ice skating session. You've already seen the evidence, but we're looking forward to trying this again, what great fun!

We gathered as a team on Christmas Eve for carols and a Secret Santa gift exchange. We had a lot of fun together.

Then it was off to downtown Moscow for a Christmas Eve service at the Anglican church and some Starbucks to warm us up afterwards. I've decided it's officially better to visit Starbucks during Christmas than work there during Christmas.

The next morning we sat down to a delicious Christmas brunch. It was our first Christmas morning just the two of us. The food was great, and we enjoyed our morning, but still missed our families back in the States. Merry Christmas to you all at home! We miss you!

Then it was off to some sledding with our friends Jessica and Dave. We had a lot of fun (despite the terrified expressions.)

Jessica and Dave then invited us over for cider and hot chocolate to warm up after the sledding adventure. We gladly accepted and ended up there the whole evening! Now they know not to make such generous invitations to the Culbies! We had a great time with games, cider, and delicious appetizers. Thanks Jess and Dave!

And there you have our first Christmas in Moscow. We hope and pray all of you are enjoying the holiday season as well. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

-rkc

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-26T02:58:00.005-07:00

To those of you who thought our Christmas picture background a little "too good to be true," here's further proof of ice skating on Red Square. This video is particularly dedicated to members of CU Intramural Hockey Team "Eh." Miss you all, eh... please come visit and we'll shoot some more footage, eh!

-rkc

Apartment Tour!

2009-11-05T00:46:00.004-07:00

Welcome to our new home! Here's a short tour to show you where we live in Moscow. Hope you enjoy it.

Sunday Tea!

2009-11-01T08:02:00.003-07:00

My favorite meal of the week is Sunday tea. A hangover from my family's England days. I always enjoyed having tea, crisps, cheese, fresh bread, egg salad, and sausage rolls. As Rachel and I make our new home in Moscow we've decided to make Sunday tea one of those traditions that we hope our children can enjoy when they're grown up.

Although the food (and tea!) itself is essential, what makes it even more fun is praying a vespers service from the book of common prayer, reading some scripture, and then talking about God.

The next time you are in Moscow swing by on a Sunday night and break some (freshly baked) bread with us!

-Dan

Using One's Noggin'

2009-10-19T05:35:00.003-06:00

Translation: V. P. Nogin

-rkc

Sveta

2009-10-19T05:25:00.003-06:00

Sveta, or full name, Svetlana, was born and raised in Baku, Azerbaijan. She looks back on her youth in the Caucasus as some of the best years of her life. Like many Russians of her generation, Sveta looks back fondly on her years as a child in the Soviet Union, agreeing that "life was better then." She misses these old days, and is never pressed for a story about life back in the good ol' days. This makes for continually interesting conversation, but an even more mysterious, and surprising woman. For a few weeks, I lived life by her side, understanding more fully her values, her priorities, her goals, her dreams. What a wonderful example and friend. Thank you, Sveta.

She takes after her Dad in every imaginable way, from the tip of her nose to her feisty and exuberant character. She grew up swimming, as her Dad managed a sports' facility in Baku, and eventually wound up at Moscow's prestigious sport's institute on a scholarship for synchronized swimming. She learned from her father that in order to get things done in a Soviet society, you start at the top of the food chain and work your way down. Always go see the director first, get him to see your side, and your battle's basically won. More easily said than done, but that's Sveta in a nutshell. She chooses her battles carefully, but fights to the end to the benefit of her children, her family, her friends, and her guests, (to which we can attest from personal experience.)

Sveta has always been a believer. Since she can remember, she has always believed in God, and walked with Him wherever He lead. Faith is an easy thing for her. She can recount mystical experiences that make your hair stand on end! One night we stayed up until 2 swapping spiritual stories - she has some doozies! These acted for her as proofs along the way, compelling and telling of the life she's lead. To her very intelligent and pragmatic son, stories of his mom's experiences both torture and fascinate him. He cannot intellectualize what his mom has experienced. In a post-Soviet, rationalistic society, this is the legacy of faith she leaves for her family. If only there were more like her...

What will I carry with me most from our time with our host family? Sveta's inexhaustible hospitality. Daily, Dan and I were humbled by her generous and gracious manner toward us, at first complete strangers to her, and later dear friends. She never once lost patience with our mumbled and incomprehensible speech, never once expected something in return for our stay, never acted out of disingenuous or insincere motivations. She intentionally welcomes people into her home, meager as it may be, and provides not just a place to stay, but life for these people there. Countless times, she would return from dropping Dasha off at swim practice, or taking Yan to school, with a new acquaintance or fellow mom to have some tea or to make a salad together while their children swam or studied together. She befriends new people easily and lovingly, welcoming them quickly into whatever she has to offer. She seems to understand when people, from her closest friends to these new contacts, are in need; she is not deterred by the messiness of their lives, but still jumps into difficulties with them. Each week she watches her friend's problem child so as to provide her friend some much needed rest and solace from a difficult situation at home. Her hospitality is not a manufactured set of behaviors when company comes around, it's a genuine state of her heart. By that I was daily challenged and refreshed.

Sveta taught me not something I'd like to do and create in my own home, but something much deeper, somebody I'd like to be. Her lessons were not of Russian etiquette, or cultural do's and don'ts, or 6 easy steps to being a more hospitable person with a home for entertaining... Her gift to me was hospitality in its purest, deepest form. Her gift to me was herself, a gift of which she is most likely unaware. Sveta, thank you for showing me the best possible side of Russian culture. It was a pleasure to share in your life and home. Here's to many more memories down the road.

Cheers!

-rkc

Happy Birthday Dan!

2009-10-19T04:08:00.005-06:00

October 9th was a big night at 173 Bolshaya Cherkizovskaya. The little apartment rang with good conversation, games, and a thundering round of Happy Birthday, half in English, half in Russian. Birthdays are a big deal in Russian culture: one spends all day preparing food and desserts for all of your guests to enjoy, cleaning the apartment, and thinking up toasts and happy wishes for all invited. We were no exception! I started preparations at 10:00 am, and finished up as guests started arriving at 7:00 pm! But the caviar and crackers, chicken fajitas with homemade tortillas, fresh salsa of all natural ingredients, sliced $6 avacado (a rare find here, but worth every rouble!), pan seared Kubanski peppers and onions, hot tea with sugar, lots of local cookies and treats, and a double decker chocolate chip cookie cake (courtesy of our teammate Kim,) made the day very memorable for all.

Here are some moments from the evening. I hope you enjoy them as much as we did!

The boys (from left to right Egor, Chris, Dan, Yan)... and Dahsa enjoy the appetizers and some Pepsi.

Dan and Robi dig into some black caviar, a tasty treat served at most big occasions.

Yan built this delicious fortress out of the cookies and treats available. He's in a prep school to become an engineer and constructor one day. Off to a good start!

Our teammate Kim and her oh-so-fabulous-cake, complete with icing spelling С Днем Рождения Данил! (Happy Birthday Daniel!)

Dan managed to blow out almost all of his imaginary candles. He missed two. Better luck next year.

Our happy crew enjoying tea and cake after a round of pictionary.

Happy Birthday, Dan. And many more.

-rkc

Dasha Cherripasha

2009-10-13T03:43:00.006-06:00

Meet Dasha, our youngest roommate, at just 8 years of age, known as Daria to her teachers and acquaintances, Dasha to her friends and family, and Dahsa Cherripasha (Dasha Turtle) to her Dad, Slava. Quite the bubbling ball of energy and excitement, like most 8 year olds, she's eager to try anything that looks fun or entertaining, with unending commentary for any adventure. She's a constant chatterbox, full of stories ranging from lunch in the cafeteria that day, to finding dragons' eggs at show and tell. We've enjoyed helping Dasha with her homework this semester; she attends an American Christian school here in Moscow, so actually speaks both English and Russian very proficiently. Her spelling and vocabulary lessons are much more fun when we reverse roles and Dasha teaches us, well, much more fun for her anyway... We're so thankful for Dasha, and have enjoyed our days seeing life through her eyes here. Please pray for Dasha, that she would listen and obey her parents, that she would grow in her knowledge of a God who cares for her and hears her every word, and that her overflowing joy for life and adventure would remain with her all of her days.

(Yes, she's literally climbing the walls... welcome to our family stay...)

-rkc

Slava

2009-09-30T03:19:00.004-06:00

Who is Slava?

The father of our Russian family is called Slava. Slava works hard. He works most days at a men’s clothing retailer and often works 24-hr shifts at the American Christian school as a security guard. We really haven’t been able to figure out when he sleeps. When he’s home he is kind, fun, and always smiling. Usually he arrives hungry sometime after everyone else has already had dinner. When the kids are doing their homework in the other room, I’ll often sit with Slava in the kitchen drinking tea, eating an omelet, and listening to him tell stories.

Where’s he from?

Before moving to Moscow, Slava and Sveta lived in Baku, Azerbaijan. They have fond memories of warm weather, watermelon, friendly neighbors, and trips to the sea. Slava served in the Soviet army before the fall of communism. He was trained as a radio operator and was about to be sent to the war in Afghanistan when the government began unraveling. He moved to Moscow and joined a friend in a venture selling various things at the six stores they owned in town. In the post-communist chaos they were making a good living providing the clothes and products that were hard to find in most stores during that time.

Jacket = Car

One day, in the early 90s, a old, scruffy-looking man with a backpack came to their store wanting to try on a leather jacket. Slava and his business partner Pushkin looked at the man skeptically but gave him the jacket to try on. The man said “I’ll take it” and opened his backpack that was full of cash. Pushkin took the money from that sale and went and bought a car with it the next day.

The 1998 economic crash

Slava and Pushkin had 6 stores full of men’s clothing that they had purchased with dollars. Overnight the ruble dipped to about a sixth of what is was worth the day before. Sveta’s family had sold their car and put the savings into a bank, the next morning they woke up to find that their account had gone down to just a few dollars worth of rubles. Slava and his partner lost an estimated $600,000 and were stuck with a bunch of men’s clothes that no one was buying. They eventually had to shut down all but one store. It was a good week when they could sell one pair of pants.

Paying taxes

In the 90s almost no one paid any taxes. The government was so disorganized that they never knew who wasn’t paying. Sending taxes in just caught the attention of the tax ministries. If a tax collector did come they would pay him some arbitrary amount (which went into his pocket). One day Slava decided to figure out how much it would cost the business to pay all of their taxes to see if it was even feasible. After a long time of adding everything up he determined that to be above board they would have to pay 118% of everything they sold as tax.

Police protection racket

One day the police came to their one remaining store and asked if they had paid their taxes. Of course they hadn’t so the cops told them that there was a $1,000 fine. When they said that they couldn’t afford $1,000 the officer said “Listen, we’re in the same boat as you, our police station burned down and we can’t afford to build a new one. The government won’t give us any money. Now we’ve figured out that we need $150,000 to build a new station, so we are going to all of the 150 stores in our district and taking $1,000.” Slava and Pushkin refused and tried to figure out a way not to have to pay them. Eventually the cops won, shutting down their store and taking away their business license.

-drc

Michael Jackson Sighting!

2009-09-30T02:47:00.008-06:00

Just outside the American Embassy, the Russian people have constructed their own memorial to the man, the myth, the legend, Michael Jackson. If you're in the area, bring some flowers, a picture, or your own poem to commemorate "the man in the mirror."

Michael Jackson,

From Russia with love...

-rkc

Home Stay

2009-09-14T03:14:00.020-06:00

It's been a while since we've had the opportunity to check in... While in the midst of several conferences both on our old and new sides of the ocean, as well as settling in with a Russian family with whom we'll be living for the next 6 weeks, we've been quite busy! We've enjoyed getting acquainted with our new family: Slava (the Dad,) Sveta (the Mom,) and their kids Yan (11 year old boy,) and Dasha (9 year old girl.) But we've certainly missed access to more consistent connection with many of you back home. We are a bit unreachable at present, with no internet access at home, but hope to check in weekly with short updates about our adventures and misadventures settling in.

First, I thought you might like to see our new place. It's a two room apartment in the north-east corner of the city, about a 15 minute walk to the closest metro. It's located in a very nice area, with a park and beautiful Orthodox church just across the street, and lots of trees and small paths in between. I've already found a couple great running-routes, and a kiosk that sells Snickers Ice Cream bars. Ahh... the simple things in life...

This is the view from our bedroom window. September will usher in some colder temperatures, and the leaves on the trees will quickly change and fall from what we've heard, but we're enjoying our pleasant surroundings while we still can.

So far, we've only managed to snag a picture of Yan, our resident lego maniac. He's studying in a prep school for Moscow's top secret weapon and flight design and engineering university. He's a fairly bright boy - just yesterday we were talking about the logical complexities of predestination and free will. Whew... talk about feeling in over your head a bit... He's also a very good natured, caring, honest, and responsible boy, who brings hope to Russia's future. Please pray for him, for his health, which has been poor the last two months, and for his heart and mind to come together in God's love for him.

Please stay tuned as we'll feature a new family member each week - I hope you enjoy getting to know them as we have. Finally, we've made a short video tour of our temporary apartment. Whenever you enter a Russian's home, first things first, you take off your shoes and put on тапoчки (slippers,) to keep the floors clean and your feet nice and warm. Next, if you're returning to your own home, you переодеваетeсь (change clothes,) out of your nice work or school clothes into comfortable home clothes. This habit keeps your work clothes cleaner and free from excess wear, while allowing you to feel much more "at home" when you're home. So, take off your shoes, put your feet up and enjoy a glimpse into our life here.

-rkc

Blue Ribbon Dessert!

2009-07-20T11:26:00.007-06:00

Take your marks... Get set... Bake! This 4th of July, I entered a bake-off hosted by our Cross Cultural Training Conference. My friend, Krista, and I proudly display our entries above - just a drop in the bucket of desserts we enjoyed that day. Red, white and blue cakes, cookies, fruit pizzas, salads, layer bars, cupcakes, tarts, fruit bars, candies, even marzipan crowded three long folding tables for judges and on-lookers to admire longingly. My entry, Pavlova, traditionally an Australian dessert named for defected Russian Ballerina (very patriotic, I know,) took first place in the miscellaneous category! It IS summer's perfect, light dessert, if I do say so myself. Now, by popular request, the recipe for Pavlova for your next bake-off:

Pavlova: serves 10-15

Depending on where you live, you may want to make the meringue shells a day in advance, keeping them in the oven (turned off) to continue to dry over the next 24 hours. If you live in a rather dry climate, like Colorado, the natural dryness of the air will sufficiently crisp the meringue shells.

Preheat oven to 300

Ingredients and Directions:

Meringue Shells:

3 egg whites

1 cup sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract (or 1/2 tsp. almond extract for a little different flavor)

1/2 tsp. salt

Beat egg whites until stiff. Add salt. Add sugar gradually until whites and sugar form stiff peaks. Be careful not to overbeat. Fold in vanilla extract. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and using a spatula or spoon, create little shells or bowls out of the meringue mixture. Depending on how many people you plan on serving, make the shells larger or smaller to accommodate the masses. Place the shells in the oven to bake for approximately 40 minutes. After 40 minutes, turn the oven off. You may leave the shells in the oven (if possible) until serving dessert - the hot air will create a crisper texture.

Whipped Cream:

1 pint whipping cream

1 Tablespoon Vanilla Extract

2 Tablespoons sugar (or powdered sugar for lighter sweetness)

Combine ingredients and whip together until creamy. Add more sugar or vanilla according to taste.

Fresh Fruit:

Whatever seasonal fresh fruit is available at the market: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, cherries (pitted!,) peaches, or any combination of the above are all proven delicious choices. You shouldn't need more than a quart of berries or fruit, unless you take your berrying very seriously. Make sure berries are clean, and peaches or nectarines are sliced into bite-sized pieces. Personally I don't sugar the fruit, but that is also an option for more tart fruit choices or if you prefer a less sweet whipped cream.

Layer the whipped cream and berries in the meringue shell to taste, or allow guests to fill their own shells.

Enjoy!

-rkc

Jens Voigt

2009-06-26T17:49:00.001-06:00

With 4th of July so close everyone’s attention of course turns to France, where lycra-clad, smooth-legged men will soon spend almost a month racing each other around the country. Le Tour de France gives the French press opportunities to write insanely effusive and poetic things about the heroic exploits of these modern-day knights.

Usually, having grown up in England, I’m adept at quickly dismissing this kind of thing as very… French. But this time I’ve been intrigued by a German rider named Jens Voigt, described by the cycling press as the German Giant – he weighs a massive 170lbs!!! The first thing I noticed was how hard he works. He has a style on the bike that makes his racing look more like a wrestling match with a steel monkey.

Jens has been teaching me how to be part of a team by showing me Giftedness and Servanthood. What I mean is this: Jens is a gifted rider. He’s really aggressive and is always looking for opportunities to attack. Often times he will attack early in a race knowing that a) If no one chases him hard, he’s going to win or b) If the other teams have to chase him hard they are going to be more worn out than his team. So he’s gifted, he uses his skill and his talent to courageously compete. Jens is also a servant. In a stage race like the Tour, each team usually has one specific rider who has a good chance at winning the overall race and the rest of the team supports him. Jens isn’t that guy, he’s never going to beat those 130lbs guys in the mountains. Jens is the guy who rides as hard as he can, with his leader in his slipstream, effectively pulling them as far and as fast as he can. Here’s a great example:

In the 2004 Tour de France, on the 15th stage, Voigt was in a breakaway a couple minutes ahead of the rest of the riders. Then another German from a different team, Jan Ulrich, started attacking. Jen’s CSC team leader was getting left behind by Ulrich and was in danger of losing his 2nd place in the Tour so Jens, giving up his chances of winning, stopped pedaling and waited for his team leader to catch up. Jan Ulrich passed by but still Jens waited. When his team leader caught up, Jens rode right in front of him “pulling” him, after a hard effort, back into contact with Ulrich. Jens successfully helped his leader and team defend the 2nd spot against Jan Ulrich. When the German press was labeling him a traitor and a Judas for helping CSC beat Ulrich, Jens was ferocious:
“If my team leader Ivan and my boss Bjarne ask me to stop and help the leader, then there is no choice. I would have been a Judas if I’d kept going… I put all my effort and my honor and everything I have into helping [my team leader] Ivan.”

That’s the kind of teammate I want to be. A ferocious attacker who gives everything to help his teammate win.

See a video about Jens on youtube
Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-SH05G7vAs
Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4NSZa9X1jg

-Dan

Moscow 5K

2009-05-20T01:07:00.008-06:00

On Saturday the 16th, I dragged Dan out into a mid-40 degree morning to a Moscow 5K Road Race hosted by the Marines stationed at the Embassy here in Moscow. It was a fundraiser for the U.S. Wounded Warrior Project, to aid and help veterans injured during their times of service. The race course wound along the Moscow River, really a beautiful area, and hosted about 80 participants from around the city. We really had a lot of fun, and did the Culbertson name proud: Rachel placed second overall with a time of 21:24 and Dan came in fourth overall with a time of 22:11. The unexpected prize commodity of the race? Safety pins. We each got one safety pin a piece to attach our race bibs to our shirts. Safety pins are apparently not easy to come by here, and thanks to a seamstress participant who supplied the entire race with pins, we didn't have to carry our bibs while running. In general, good times were had by all.

Also, while racing we stumbled across Moscow's bike lane. Dan's anxious to peddle on over and see where it goes!

-rkc

Stroller Bandits

2009-05-10T00:36:00.011-06:00

Today, as Chris and I were walking back from the office we came across an overturned stroller on the side of the path. All the wheels had been stripped off and we have to assume they took the sound system too since we couldn't find it. The moral of the story is: Don't let your stroller break down in the wrong part of town.

-DRC

Victory Day!

2009-05-10T00:29:00.004-06:00

May 9th is victory day in Russia commemorating the end of WWII. Veterans on the streets are given flowers by passers by, patriotic slogans and posters are all over the city, and heavy armor rolls down the streets. Since it's always been a life goal of mine to see ICBMs driving through Moscow, I thought I'd share a video in case someone else out there has the same goal but is forced to live vicariously through me.

-DRC

Let's Go Fly a Kite!

2009-05-05T10:11:00.006-06:00

Beautiful day for a picnic! On Friday evening, our team ventured to a beautiful city overlook to picnic on the Moscow State University grounds. The last time I'd been to this same location was the winter of 2004 - barely recognizable as the same place on a bright Spring day! We enjoyed all kinds of fun activities like kite flying, football, frisbee, racing scooters, a game of tag, and snacking with our current team of ten.

Dan (bottom left) acted as general jungle gym for Emma (middle,) Joel (bottom right,) and Nadya (top,) the children of our city directors, Keith and Lori. The kids keep us adequately entertained here, such fun personalities, and even humbled with their incredible Russian language acquisition! Plus, they make a pretty good pyramid, don't you think?

We happened to be out and about May 1st, May Day, a national holiday here in Russia. Although traffic throughout usually busy streets was minimal, lots of people were out enjoying the beautiful day with us. Of course, that means the vendors were out in force offering everything from traditional nesting dolls (Матрёшки,) to dried calamari... Not too many takers from our group.Moscow State, impressive in its sheer size alone, is home to one of Stalin's Seven Sisters. I don't mean actual relatives of Stalin, but skyscrapers in the city designed and built during Stalin's later years. Moscow State is visible from certain vantage points throughout the city, as are the other sisters, and serves constantly to remind it's onlookers of Russia's looming and impressive position on the world scene. Imagine, we know a student who lives in a dorm room on the 23rd floor of this gigantic building, and goes to class on the 16th. What history must be contained within the walls of this monster of a building!

Free Parking...

2009-04-25T22:51:00.007-06:00

There is ample supply of free parking in Moscow. Sidewalks, when not being used as alternate routes for automotive traffic, can double as parking places. Also... Dan and I, pretty early on, have been forced to shed our Boulder pedestrian mentality. Cars will actually speed up to hit you here, I think it's a kind of local game they enjoy. At any rate, we've gone almost overnight from not even looking before we cross a main thoroughfare while texting a friend on our cell phones, to dodging cars hurtling down the sidewalk.

-rkc

Off to the Races!

2009-04-25T02:18:00.009-06:00

6:00 came early Thursday morning, as we took to the road headed to DIA for the first part of our journey to the Motherland. Now, almost 40 hours later, we're happily situated in Moscow, Russia, with our teammates Chris and Liz, steadily adjusting to the time change (10 hours ahead of Colorado.)

Due to a logistical change, we will be staying with our gracious hosts during this initial jaunt to Russia and transitioning to life with a Russian family in the early fall. We were so thankful for our new room, recently converted from Chris and Liz's office, and our full sized air matress, especially luxurious after 30 some hours of travel!

Bright and early this morning, I woke full of energy, ready for the big city! Having the apartment primarily to myself - as nobody else seemed quite as energetic at 4:30 this morning, I collected some thoughts about our first day that I'd like to share with you now.

It's been a long time since Dan and I have been in Russia. Our full half day in the city yesterday brought back so many memories. On a quick trip to a corner market, smells and flavors bombarded me, reminding me of the foods I ate, the things I bought, some things I even missed, from almost four years ago. Quite a walk down memory lane...

Boarding our flight from Chicago to Moscow, we heard Russian voices all around us. After adjusting from the surprise and delight of so much Russian at once, I realized that Russian is no longer an interesting and unique hobby of mine, it's now a job requirement.

Landing in Moscow, we were greeted by two of our teammates waiting to drive us home. What a wonderful surprise, warm friendly faces eager for our arrival! It was so nice to see familiar people in the midst of so much change. Even in the short time we've been in the US, Russia, Moscow in particular, has changed dramatically.

Constant noise. Horns, car alarms, jackhammers (inside and out,) children playing, adults shouting, cell phone cocaphony, trams rumbling, busses pulling in and out of stops, pipes creaking as hot water flows thoughout the building, music blaring from the apartment below, an argument ensuing between neighbors... wow.

Last night we joined our team for a student meeting. I eagerly (perhaps too eagerly) introduced myself to the Russian students who came. They were not impressed. They politely answered my questions about where they study, what they do here in Moscow, but all as if to say, "Don't take this the wrong way, but don't get attached. I'll probably never see you again." This is the big city, where it all happens, where Russia's future hangs in the balance. People are busy: Places to go, people to see (not me, aparently.) No more small towns. No more villages. No more simple life. Russia has lost some of its Russianess here. Ironically the cultural, economic, political, entertainment, educational, etc., center of Russia, Moscow seems very different from the Russia I know and love. "Просто нужно привыкнуть" (You simply need to adjust,) a student told me last night. Let's hope she's right...

-rkc

International Sensation - Susan Boyle

2009-04-15T10:58:00.005-06:00

Introducing Susan Boyle

If you have yet to see this clip from Britain's Got Talent, (click here,) you may be one of the few remaining world citizens. Susan Boyle, with over 3 million views (and still climbing) for her BGT debut, has stepped literally overnight from obscurity into fame. And bravo. From the thunderous explosion of applause after Susan's first line, to the audible gasp of surprise I emitted during my first viewing, we recognize that we have stumbled across a moment in our human experience that will stay with us for quite some time. Unexpected, to say the least, Susan's vocal timbre instantly quells the rolling eyes, the smug whispers of audience members caught on tape during Susan's quirky answers to questions during the judges' initial interview. It's not only the shock of these two very different selves emerging from this one person, but the delight in discovering something astoudingly beautiful in a very unexpected vessel. In Susan's performance, perhaps even in Susan herself, we experience something so incredibly human - the hope of a happy ending, after years of what we can assume to be disappointing mediocrity. Part of this illusion is created by her brilliant song choice, I Dreamed a Dream. In Susan's persona, demeanor, appearance, we easily perceive a potential Fantine. We enter into a bigger story. In these three minutes of song, all of Fantine's sufferings, despair, and failings are thrust onto the person of Susan Boyle, and in the same three minutes, Susan's success can somehow, in some small way, redeem a part of Fantine's plight. Every part of us that has ever known even a taste of the sufferings contained in Hugo's Fantine character, suddenly stand to applaud for Susan's victory, to overcome this tiger in the night, to live the dream, rather than curse ever dreaming something better at all. This all seems a bit over the top, but that is part of the unique journey Susan offered to us in her audition. This is the hope of humanity, bottled in a moment of time. Somehow the success of this unemployed, never-been-kissed, taunted by neighboring children, 47 year-old woman with a cat named Pebbles matters to us all. Good luck to you, Susan/Fantine, whoever you are.

-rkc

Science, The New and Improved Miracle

2009-01-24T15:16:00.013-07:00

Recently I've been thinking a lot about miracles. We throw the term around quite a bit. When asking my husband to define miracle, he appropriately replied, "happy, happy things that happen, especially at Christmas!" Precisely, I thought. This exactly summarizes what we would like miracles to be. Two summers ago, Colorado was bursting at the seams with the miraculous: "It's a miracle that the Colorado Rockies made it to the World Series!" Also miraculous, our ability to come up with such a catchy term marking the month of their success on such a short amount of time, "Rocktober." Although the Rockies' success was yes, far-fetched and incredibly unlikely, miracle is still a bit too hyperbolic to use in this instance. Wikipedia (well reputed source on miracles) tells us that a miracle "is a sensibly perceptible interruption of the laws of nature, such that can only be explained by divine intervention, and is sometimes associated with a miracle-worker" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miracle). While some continue to attribute the Rockies' success to divine intervention, it in no way contradicted the laws of nature. The idea I'd like to focus on here, what really distinguishes a miracle from other merely amazing moments, revolves around our ever changing understanding of the "laws of nature."

Put everything that has ever happened into a line of observation. Of this line, the spectrum which we perceive is extremely limited, due to our presence in time and space, as well as our historical and cultural biases. One might categorize these events with the distinguishing mark of explain-ability. Events either fall under the laws of nature as we know them or do not (yet.) Whether or not we attribute these supernatural moments to divine intervention or merely chaos, random or "unknown," we recognize a distinction between them. We also observe that over time, and with the increase of our technology and understanding, the spectrum of scientifically explicable events has begun to overtake some events formerly chaotic or inexplicable. We are gaining ground on the inexplicable. Some of the projects my brother-in-law works on at the University of Washington physics' department lead me to wonder if eventually all things inexplicable, random, and/or chaotic will become natural and explainable. He theorizes about what we, the general populace, deem impossibilities. These things cannot be! But they are... and are becoming more and more common all the time. Perhaps, in time and with more knowledge, the supernatural will be explainable natural phenomenon. At any rate, the laws of nature seem to increasingly encompass more of our surrounding world. Even in a brief fifty years, science has swept further down the spectrum of chaos; and miracles, by definition, have either become more difficult to find or obsolete.

Historically, miracles have served to reinforce the existence of the divine, the supernatural. The God of the Israelites lead his people out of Egypt with ten plagues very much at odds with the natural order. Jesus the Christ went from town to town, healing people, performing miracles, in essence, proving his divinity by his ability to interrupt and control the known laws of nature. Miracles, as we observe them in the Holy Scriptures, provide an essential element by which we have understood and characterized faith. Miracle and God have been easily spoken in the same breath.

Dostoevsky gives us keen insight into men and miracles in his Grand Inquisitor chapter of The Brothers Karamazov. The Inquisitor (narrating,) attempts to admonish Jesus for his exaltation of a free faith, a faith not bound by expectations, security, or serenity. He desires to show the mass' need of miracle when contemplating the divine:

"But Thou didst not know that when man rejects miracle he rejects God too; for man seeks not so much God as the miraculous. And as man cannot bear to be without the miraculous, he will create new miracles of his own for himself, and will worship deeds of sorcery and witchcraft, though he might be a hundred times over a rebel, heretic and infidel. Thou didst not come down from the Cross when they shouted to Thee, mocking and reviling Thee, 'Come down from the cross and we will believe that Thou art He.' Thou didst not come down, for again Thou wouldst not enslave man by a miracle, and didst crave faith given freely, not based on miracle" (The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky, Garnett, The Grand Inquisitor).

Historically, as we see in Dostovesky's time as well as other periods in history, people have searched for miracle, have demanded miracle to showcase the divine.

I remember a debate I attended in college about God's existence. Although it began well, it ended very personally, rather than conclusively. The debater arguing against the existence of a god surmised that he would never believe in God's existence until God spelled his name in the stars. As this is a common argument, it goes to show what seems to be a characteristic of a certain paradigm of thinking. As in Dostoevsky's day, as well as my university campus, people want miracles to prove God's existence, not just general miracles, but specific and personal. Recently, however, I feel that this paradigm has begun to shift.

In the last few years, people have replaced their desire for or need of miracles, with desire for and need of explanation. Rather than desiring more of the inexplicable, more miracle, an increasing majority are starting to demand explanation for those things random and chaotic. Science is the new and improved miracle. And science fills a void of faith. People can now assume a physical, natural explanation for every phenomena, rather than searching for a supernatural answer to fill the void of unknown. Our demand for personalized miracles, (God, show yourself!) seems to have shifted to a thirst for natural explanation (Tell me how it happens.) I dare not take on God's case for existence in the midst of this shift, but merely to show that, yes, this seems to be the proverbial word on the street these days. People want scientific explanation, not the mysticism of years past. To what can we attribute this increasingly popular paradigm transition?

Intellectualism has taken a more prominent role in our thinking, due primarily to the educational system constantly fluxing to keep up with the philosophies of the time. It almost feels like a revival of the type of thinking prevalent during the Enlightenment of (loosely) 1650-1800. Reason rules the roost! Science and the many advances made in practical explanations, as well as the increasing accessibility to this type of thinking, have made science our first response in moments of uncertainty. "There must be an explanation!" This is the mantra of the generation nurtured on the internet, fed by schools separated from theological thinking, Myth Buster fanatics, and entrepreneurs of modern marvels. A far cry from the mystics of old, even the mystics of just a few years ago, miracle has taken on a softer, more emotional tone in the classroom: "It's a miracle I passed that exam!"

Also, we begin to see the ramifications of our postmodern culture in our thinking and categorization of the miraculous. As early as the 1930's, subjective reasoning began to usurp objective thought.

"Largely influenced by the Western European 'disillusionment' induced by World War II, postmodernism tends to refer to a cultural, intellectual, or artistic state lacking a clear central hierarchy or organizing principle and embodying extreme complexity, contradiction, ambiguity, diversity, interconnectedness or interreferentiality, in a way that is often indistinguishable from a parody of itself" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postmoderism.)

The scientific model emergent throughout the Enlightenment provided a framework for thinking and organizing philosophical and artistic ideas, as well as those scientific and mathematic. Postmodernism brought with it a distrust of this strategy. Although the scientific characterization of miracles has not changed through this postmodern deconstructionism, our appreciation of, even our language describing the miraculous, as perceived in literature and art, has. What may be miraculous to one, fails to amaze another. The subjective experience of "miracle" displaced the objective categorization. Miracles are left under the scrutiny of the individual, thus relative to the observer.

Science has remained, but how we philosophize about science has changed. Our language of the scientific, in vernacular circles, still struggles through its own deconstruction. Ironically, though, we cling more heartily than ever to this source of tangible explanations, however varied communicating these explanations may be. Miracle cannot satisfy us. Unknown for the sake of unknown, no longer pacifies, amazes, even allures us. Give us clarity! Give us reason! This new mantra shows us that inadvertently gazing up to see our names spelled in the stars above us would not push us toward faith, but toward demand of a scientific explanation. Miracle, at least for the time being, is nothing more than a potential space for rationale, leaving mystics like me very much in the cold. Yet, let today's generation relish in their new and improved miracle. My fellow mystics and I have other generations to which to cling. Our paradigm will come again.

"My goodness, what are they teaching children in schools these days? It's all in Plato, I tell you." - Professor Kirke.

-rkc

Crazy Uncle Dan

2009-01-24T14:02:00.004-07:00

We've recently enjoyed the company of some dear friends of ours out in the bustling metropolis of Junction City, Oregon. Our friends were delighted to introduce us to their darling girl, Elizabeth, whom we hadn't had the opportunity to meet these last six months of her existence. While we savored watching her small hands, busy feet, and endlessly changing (often humorous) expressions, we enjoyed so much more watching these new parents glow in the joy of their daughter.

As visits with these dear friends are rich, but seldom, we jokingly began a yarn of folklore to assuage the sadness of living far apart, missing more moments with Elizabeth, the new source of daily life and chaos for our friends: Crazy Uncle Dan. Crazy Uncle Dan lives in Russia and does Crazy Uncle Dan things, like hanging his wet clothes on the clothesline outside in negative 40 degree weather, then shattering his jeans when he tries to put them on immediately after taking them off the line. Or like learning to slide rather than walk because the streets where Crazy Uncle Dan lives are so covered with ice that nobody walks, everybody just slips along, all around the town. Crazy Uncle Dan communicates by beat-boxing instead of talking. It's a hard language to learn, but he will teach you when you see him. Crazy Uncle Dan was born, somehow to be connected to Elizabeth, to be in her life as she grows, so that Dan won't be so foreign and unfamiliar when we do happen to see her.

Crazy Auntie Rachel, on the other hand, has been busy creating quite a different reputation with the mothers of the children in her life... I'm not quite sure the same type of lore will be attributed to her when she leaves. More likely, children will be better behaved, mothers will use fewer time outs, and peace will again return to these households.

Today was not a good day for these kids in the life of Crazy Auntie Rachel.

At church Crazy Auntie Rachel was playing a game with lil' Culbertson cousins, Sally, Tilly and Otis. Sally and Tilly would join hands with Crazy Auntie Rachel, close their eyes, then be lead around the church bumping into various things/people along the way. Finally, we decided that the circle made by our joined hands would be better filled with a person. Who better than lil' brother Otis? We started to sneak up on him from behind, preparing for capture, when Otis suddenly took off running down the hallway. Some say he has a sixth sense for this kind of thing, others believe he may have been tipped off by our giggling and shushing and, "Sally don't hold my hand so hard!" as we approached. We continued our pursuit when suddenly, the voice of Mama Kamiyo stopped us as quickly as we started, "Otis, we do not run in church." The eye of the all-knowing mother had found us. We immediately dropped hands and returned to the lobby, sulking and sorry for what we'd done. Of course there's no running in church! Any adult could tell you that! Any adult even half Crazy Auntie Rachel's age!

Later that day, my friends Amanda, Kristy and I ventured to Target together for some overdue errands and time together. Joining us for the adventure were Kristy's children: Lukas (7) and Eli (3 and a half.) Little did these two unsuspecting boys know the amount of trouble which could be created in a few hours' time. They started well, Lukas holding the side of the cart and Eli either Amanda's or my hand. But after a few aisles of women's clothing, women's intimates, shoes, home decorations, etc... restlessness began to creep in. It started with bursts of laughter when I'd hide, then sneak up behind them. Then we looked at the toy aisle so Mom could have some time to try things on. There were a lot of fun things to see! I think we can all attest to the rise in one's energy level when surrounded by interesting, fun things to see! So, when Mom found us again, they fought the transition back to errands as usual. So, to pass the time looking at tables, chairs, kitchen ideas, we started a little game called let's all hide from Amanda and Mom! Apparently turning around and having no idea where your kids are is a mom's worst nightmare. When we were found, boy did we get it. There were threats of riding in the cart for the rest of the day, no treats, and definitely no more leaving Mom's sight for the rest of the day. Wow. Sorry kids. I know I learned my lesson: Ask Mom first; always ask Mom first! And if you can avoid it, no running around Target with your friend's kids, and hiding from Mom when she comes looking.

I guess sometimes it's easier for legends like Crazy Uncle Dan and Crazy Auntie Rachel to live far away from those who love them. Everybody gets into a lot less trouble that way.

-car (I mean rkc)

Herd of Pigs

2009-01-19T12:42:00.003-07:00

An attempt to modernize this moment in the gospel of Luke.

Herd of Pigs
Luke 8:26-39

It was that same smell that always smacks into you on that same corner: that revolting blend of stale alcohol and dried urine. We always quickened our pace around that corner, a sort of unspoken pact, anxious to get to the light and cross to the cleaner side of the street. But he was there today, marinating in his own filthy odor and trash. As he sensed our approach, he began spewing his senseless fragments:
“Adime t’day? Shum change?”
“How abow shum help for a body down on he sluck.”
“You kids got shum money?”
I looked over at my brother, who stood staring unabashedly at the desolate man. This corner, this man, seemed, for my brother, as much a part of our Friday routine as swimming at the Y, candy at Michelle’s, and reading magazines at the library. I could see the subtle fascination creep over his face. He just lives like that. Lives. Why doesn’t he do something for himself? Like stop lying in his own filth for one thing. Clean himself up. Fix it. The complete helplessness, total surrender to inebriation, depravity of drunkenness, do not yet exist in my brother’s reality. The sparkle of manifest destiny still saturates completely his every perspective. His childlike blindness, his dreams, his “you can be whatever you want to be,” his blissful inexperience with the realities of darkness prevent him from seeing the stark disappointment this corner showcases so blatantly. The look of mystification vanishes as we both take in the man waiting to cross on the opposite corner of the street.
“Repent! The kingdom of God is at hand!” The voice bellowed simultaneously to both everybody in range and nobody in particular. His cardboard sign swung violently to his side as he jabbed the walk signal button. I pulled my brother behind me as the drunk pushed himself to his feet, sloshing like the past night’s nectar, and stumbled to the streetlight where we stood waiting for our chance to walk.
“Whadda you wan wif me, preacher?” He shouted, gulping in mouthfuls of air to recover from his feat of standing and waddling to the streetlight. “I beg of you, don you come and torment me like all dothers.”
The street evangelist removed his bulky sunglasses, and stared at the drunken mass quivering pitifully and clinging to the light post. His gaze seemed to push the inebriate methodically to the hot cement. His tortured breathing continued as he attempted to block the sun’s constant glare from his view of the preacher.
“He’s coming this way!” My brother’s terrified whisper drew my attention from the rank mass of man shaking below us to the aggressive stride of the street preacher quickly approaching. I jerked my petrified brother to the cool brick wall of the building beside us, making room for the preacher to pass.
“What is your name?” His voice, somehow calm and soft now close by, pierced the abhorrent lump of a man, sent him flailing, without control of his arms, legs, bodily functions.
“Rife.” The man shouted suddenly sober and controlled. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”
“Be clean.” Whispered the preacher. He dropped his sign to the ground beside the drunk, and kneeled down next to him, still whispering. Traffic resumed in the opposite direction, we had missed our light unconsciously transfixed by what happened before us. A city bus ambled to a stop a block away, now picking up speed to make the green light. The drunk’s thrashing worsened. Limbs shot back and forth, finally propelling the man uncontrollably into the road. The preacher raised his voice, his incomprehensible incantations sounded mystic and seemingly potent and effective on the violent drunk. My brother gasped, stifling his scream with sighs of hyperventilation. The bus careened into the light post, just missing the bum, now sprawled over the crosswalk, but lying still.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Demanded the driver, jumping from the dented bus door. The drunk sat up and looked over the scene, like he’d just woken up. “You,” continued the driver, shaking an aggravated fist at the preacher, “you saw all this. What’d you do? You push this bum into the road? Look at my bus!” Passengers filed out behind the driver, a siren sounding in the distance, and bystanders shoved excitedly past my brother and myself.
The bum pulled himself to his feet with an ease that surprised and perplexed him. He took two eager steps forward, then skipped once, jumped three times, and danced his way to the preacher’s side. The preacher smiled, but murmurs from the crowd clouded the conversation between them.
“I seen you before. I see you every day on my route. Both of yous! You’re that worthless drunk. Always begging, just a disgusting piece of trash! And you’re that trouble maker! You walk around here with your sign, yelling at people. Street preacher. Nuisance! Look at my bus! Look what you did. I can’t believe I’m losin’ my job for your sake. Save the life of a worthless bum and I’m outta work.” The bus driver’s rant flowed on, rallying the crowd to his cause. All the while, I began to wonder if my brother and I were the only ones privy to the change that had come over the drunk. His speech was now clear, concise. He was joking, laughing with the preacher, free. “This is my livelihood! I’m gonna lose my job. You don’t crash a bus and go back to drivin’ the next day. No. I’m outta work. Because of this worthless drunk. This was a good payin’ job. Back to the unemployment office for me. My wife’s gonna kill me. Who’s gonna pay for this? Look at that bus!”
The police arrived and began taking reports, preparing pictures, exchanging information. They briefly placated the driver, and accosted Rife like a familiar patron. Snippets of their conversation emerged in the lull of the crowd. The police surrounded Rife, who remained standing, tall, sincere, confident.
“Rife, this is your third strike. You remember what we agreed on?” Rife’s mumbled reply was inaudible.
“What’re you on, Rife? You doin’ something bigger than whiskey?”
“Sir, he isn’t normal. You think that preacher gave him something?”
“Preacher! Get over here.” The cops’ circle opened to include the preacher. Their discussion continued, the preacher remaining, for the most part, silent.
“He saved me, gentlemen. Freed me. He didn’t give me anything but life.” The bum’s composure seemed to push the cops, anger them.
“Preacher, I’m going to ask you one last time, what’d you give him?”
Silence.
“You did something to this man. And I’m going to find out what. In the meantime, I want you to look around you. You totaled a bus, destroyed this street light, cost a man his job, all for some worthless drunk who’ll be back on the bottle tomorrow. Now we can’t prove anything now, but we will. And I recommend you laying low and keeping away from trash like this guy until you’re cleared.”
“But gentlemen, he saved me!” Rife’s argument fell to deaf ears as the police’s attention turned back to damage assessment. The preacher turned and began to walk back across the street from which he’d come.
“Let me come with you!” Rife called out, noticing the preacher had ventured away.
“No,” said the preacher. “You tell everybody how much God has done for you.” The preacher smiled again briefly, and turned and walked on. Rife stared after him, disappointed, confused. He stumbled forward after the preacher, tripping over the cardboard sign the preacher had dropped during his visitation. Rife gently picked it up, dusted it tenderly. His eyes flickered. He hoisted the sign proudly above his head and proclaimed,
“Repent! For the Kingdom of God is at hand! And it’s a good place to be... let me tell you!” He trailed off, breaking up the crowd and walking backwards up the route the bus had taken.
“Crazy fool!” The bud driver called after him.
I gently lead my brother back to the street light. We pressed the button and waited, two more blocks until we reached the library.

-rkc

The Love of Money

2008-11-05T10:52:00.002-07:00

Our family has some close friends who are caught with two houses. They built a new, fancy, house to sell right before the bottom fell out of the housing market. Now they are paying two mortgages and have had to put both of their homes on the market. A falling stock market is taking care of whatever else might be left. I should mention that they are very Christ-like people. It's easy to tell that they know God in a very intimate way. A couple nights ago they came over from dinner. The husband, Jack, told us about his recent trip to their financial advisor. He described it, with a hint of southern drawl, something like this:

Financial Advisor: "There's some cash left over in here. Do you want to pull it out? Do you need it?"
Jack: "Nope."
FA: "Ok, 'cause I want to invest it and it might be tied up for a little while."
J: "Ok, that sounds good."
FA: "I want to make sure you feel comfortable about doing this. How do you feel in your heart about it?" [He taps his hand over his heart]
J: [Jack looks quizzically at him. Tapping his hand over his heart he says] "There ain't nothin' in here 'bout money."

I'm so impressed by them. Not just because that's what they tell their financial advisor, but because that's the way they live.

-drc

My novel, in the works...

2008-10-13T13:05:00.003-06:00

The primary difficulty I've come across in writing my novel involves saying all the things I hope to convey in narrative and dialogue rather than direct statements about these people. "Subtlety" becomes more and more in my eyes the true art of the author: the ability to introduce you to a character whose life encompasses those thoughts, actions, ideologies with which we are all familiar, guide you into their daily dilemmas, treat you to their philosophical outcomes, and thus show you yourself and your world in them without once your ever knowing that we had intentionally journeyed together through this.

The secondary difficulty involves simply writing it.

My life fails not to supply ample characters for a mighty work, rather my ability to truly capture them on paper does.

To a novel, a life, a character in progress, cheers!

-rkc

Fevangelist

2008-09-29T15:47:00.009-06:00

Nation, let's talk Palin.

I certainly don't know much about politics. I have opinions, just like the next Joe six pack, but nowhere near the level of knowledge to defend my ideas thoroughly, even adequately. I do have observations and questions sufficient to supplement my lack of data. I'd like to attempt to articulate some of these observations - particularly on the Palin-fanaticism rampant in areas across America.

The McCain campaign chose Palin, among a myriad of reasons, to attempt to leverage the women's vote. How effective this decision has been remains to be seen. Newsweek recently put forth the statement: "Most women are saying thanks but no thanks to John McCain's running mate" (Are Voters Feeling Alienated by Palin, from the magazine issue dated Sep 29, 2008.) However, from what I have observed in the primarily conservative evangelical environment in which I now find myself, the response to Palin remains extraordinarily enthusiastic, perhaps among the wives and mothers, but particularly among men! I can understand the appeal and admiration toward such a candidate for VP; however, it seems McCain's decision might be producing the opposite result intended.

My questions arise from what seems to me to be a contradictory stance, or perhaps simply a misunderstanding, on the role of women in leadership. Several conservative Christian environments remain hesitant at best to embrace women in teaching, preaching, or pastoral positions, citing historical tradition, Biblical guidance, various other reasons, etc. I don't mean to question the role of women in church leadership, but merely to seek understanding on the distinctions between political and spiritual leadership. By observation, I ascertain that male leaders in this same conservative, evangelical environment eagerly embrace Sarah Palin, for a position of leadership beyond that of a single church body, but a democratic nation.

Perhaps the difference lies in the nature of the sphere, either spiritual or political, in which women might potentially lead. The New Testament, although silent in regards to women in political roles, does distinguish requirements for spiritual leadership of men. In what ways might these qualifications differ? How can we understand these recommendations in a political realm? Do (should) those for spiritual leadership within a church also dictate the character (and gender) of a leader of nations?

I am not a feminist; I'm also no conservative. I excelled as a manager in the secular world, but do not have those same opportunities for leadership within the mission organization for which I work. However, I wonder how enthusiastically fellow workers within my ministry would receive me if I ran for VP. I do wish to understand the irony of our current political dilemma -- the overwhelming evangelical support for a VP candidate who would face an insurmountable undercurrent of tension by attempting to take the pulpit in their same churches.

-----

"I'd rather be lead by a competent Turk than an incompetent Christian." -Martin Luther

-rkc

The Shack

2008-09-24T11:31:00.011-06:00

The Shack... the buzz... the controversy... the middle aged black woman... the revolution... the lack thereof...

For months now, murmurs of The Shack have rumbled around me - reviews, recommendations, discommendations, swirling around me like the aromas from Sarayu's fractalesque garden until I finally had no choice but to give in and read. My dear friend, Ashley, first gave me the book months and months ago to read; but I, however, evaded her under the pretense that I am incapable of reading more than one book at once; moreover, I am a slow reader and must make careful choices of the books I read for woe to me for wasted time on empty pages. And, hearing what I had heard about the Shack, I feared for the worst... There is nothing like popular Christian fiction, or popular Christian music, or popular Christian anything to induce me to question its quality.

But, alas, it is finished. And I find myself very much where I was when I began the book. The Shack failed to redeem itself from my stubborn preconceived expectations - but, then again, when I am set against something from the beginning, wow, often my own vigilance surprises me.

However, I found myself, much to my chagrin, indifferent, no, ok, aroused, ok, pleased with certain parts in the Shack. Those moments were few and far between, as my "see I told you so" determination to find all that I disliked quickly dispelled those more pleasing passages.

I think I know now what I think. And with the help of excellent criticism from John Stackhouse, Carolyn Culbertson, and other friends, will attempt to put my thoughts into words. Questions have arisen about the book's theology. The theology, though sparse and loose at times, did not offend me. The imaginative quality has put many ill at ease - my "African American" grandmother cannot be an adequate picture of God! I rather like that... No, The Shack represents to me what is wrong with literature today: it's too easy, it all works out in the end, and it fails utterly to convey the voices of our time. Simply put, The Shack may be many things, but literature it is not.

John Stackhouse, professor at Regent Seminary gives the following most excellent comparison between ideological fiction (books set to exhibit ideas) and propaganda.

Now, when does fiction become propaganda?

First answer: when it propounds an ideology I don’t like.

Second, better(!), answer: When the fictive art is compromised for the sake of the ideological message. When dialogue becomes stilted, when characters become inconsistent, when events become implausible, when a deus ex machina saves the day—in sum, when “what would happen” is sacrificed to “what should happen.” -John Stackhouse (please read more and often: http://stackblog.wordpress.com)

Yes! Literature tells us of our experience. Literature is like coming across people you might meet in real life and gleaning from their ideas, worldviews, behaviors, even outlandish experiences. It is not that Mack's experience seems unrealistic, it's that he was created by the author to fit the experience and not the other way around. Everything that transpires seems perfectly cast for our poor, befuddled, lovable, emotionally sunk protagonist. How many depictions do we come across describing Mack's mental incapability to take in all he was hearing and experiencing: Mack was stunned and speechless... struggled to find footing... felt like his head was going to explode... Given the type and intensity of the experience, wouldn't anybody feel this way? That's just it - Mack is too general, too universal. Mack could be any of us and none of us, all at the same time. You know, a guy like Mack who had all these like "unspecific" preconceived notions of the Christian life, then like, they were totally changed when he had that crazy experience!

What we don't get see of Mack is the working out of this experience in the messy reality of life. That was where Mack might have gained back some of his humanity, but no, "...Mack? Well he's a human being that continues through a process of change, like the rest of us. Only he welcomes it while I tend to resist it. I have noticed that he loves larger than most, is quick to forgive, and even quicker to ask for forgiveness." (Young, The Shack, p.247) What a general, obtuse, and intangible conclusion to our adventure. Mack, however, remains unavailable to comment as he "is testifying at the Ladykiller trial" (Young, The Shack, p.248.) This, for me, remains the book's greatest downfall. Justice. Earthly justice. Not only is Mack miraculously reconciled to God, to his drunk abusive father, to his family, but, the icing on the cake, God provides a way to bring that killer to justice! Mack and Missy's longing for justice is answered, within 250 pages. The rest of us live our lives in the torrent and despair of injustice - both on smaller and larger scales. This is nothing new under the sun: "In the place of judgment -- wickedness was there, in the place of justice -- wickedness was there" (Ecclesiastes 3:16.) We have simply the promise of justice, much more difficult to live with than the real thing.

Despite my critique, The Shack serves to encourage many, provoke many, delight many. With those reactions I will not argue. If you enjoyed The Shack, read on! Act as though you never came across this response (not difficult as you probably have not read it in the first place - my blog is not what we term "popular"). But there are bigger and better Shacks out there, with bigger and better Macks, and bigger and better trinities. If you come across one, let me know, I'd like to visit.

-------------------

When we tell these little ones' stories - we best attempt to make it worth it... Thank you, William Young, for speaking on their behalf...

Can you understand why a little creature, who can’t even understand what’s done to her, should beat her little aching heart with her tiny fist in the dark and the cold, and weep her meek unresentful tears to dear, kind God to protect her? Do you understand that, friend and brother, you pious and humble novice? Do you understand why this infamy must be and is permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs so much? Why, the whole world of knowledge is not worth that child’s prayer to ‘dear, kind God’! I say nothing of the sufferings of grown-up people, they have eaten the apple, damn them, and the devil take them all! But these little ones! - Dostoevsky, Rebellion, The Brothers Karamazov

-rkc

Sermons...

2008-09-24T11:23:00.005-06:00

"There is, perhaps, no greater hardship at present inflicted on mankind in civilised and free countries, than the necessity of listenting to sermons." Anthony Trollope " Barchester Towers vol. I, chapter 6.

Truly there is nothing like a good sermon to draw a crowd to the chapel, and nothing like a mediocre, even bad sermon to drive us back to the ideals from whence we came.

And here, for sheer comedic value, the quote in its entirety:

There is, perhaps, no greater hardship at present inflicted on mankind in civilised and free countries than the necessity of listening to sermons. No one but a preaching clergyman has, in these realms, the power of compelling audiences to sit silent, and be tormented. No one but a preaching clergyman can revel in platitudes, truisms, and untruisms, (sic) and yet receive, as his undisputed privilege, the same respectful demeanour as though words of impassioned eloquence, or persuasive logic, fell from his lips. Let a professor of law or physic find his place in a lecture-room, and there pour forth jejune words and useless empty phrases, and he will pour them forth to empty benches. Let a barrister attempt to talk without talking well, and he will talk but seldom. A judge's charge need be listened to per force by none but the jury, prisoner, and gaoler (sic). A member of parliament can be coughed down or counted out. Town-councillors can be tabooed. But no one can rid himself of the preaching clergyman. He is the bore of the age, the old man whom we Sindbads cannot shake off, the nightmare that disturbs our Sunday's rest, the incubus that overloads our religion and makes God's service distasteful. We are not forced into church! No: but we desire more than that. We desire not to be forced to stay away. We desire, nay, we are resolute, to enjoy the comfort of public worship; but we desire also that we may do so without an amount of tedium which ordinary human nature cannot endure with patience; that we may be able to leave the house of God without that anxious longing for escape, which is the common consequence of common sermons.

-rkc

Boggarts

2008-07-15T10:29:00.004-06:00

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"

Hermione put up her hand.

"It's a shape shifter," she said.

"It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

(Rowling, The Prisoner of Azkaban, p. 133)

The boggart - "fear itself," as we behold it in Harry Potter, evolves from the British belief in a house spirit. The boggart exists to muddle intermittently in the conveniences of its house's inhabitants, (ie spoiling the milk, spooking the horses, chilling the beds.) As legend explains, a simple horseshoe on the door can keep boggarts away - but beware of claiming or naming a boggart - it'll become yours for life!

This passage, as only children's literature can do, explores the mysteries of the boggart, touching on the immense and abstractions of fear itself in a particularly adult way of thinking and reasoning. What is the relationship between humans and fear? The trick to dispelling fear - really as simple as laughter? Through the HP series, we peer into the characters' experiences of various levels of fear, various causes, shadowed through their run-ins with closet boggarts. For Ron, we gaze upwards in terror with him at the classic room-sized spider. With his mother, however, we feel the acute stab of desperation at the image of her children falling dead into her arms.

I would like to believe that the opportunity to battle a boggart, tete-a-tete, would be very worth the potentially disarming discovery of what it is specifically that I fear. Finally, some concrete closure on the sensation that often begets hesitation, worry, self-consciousness, even paralyzation. There is something very childlike in the ability to pinpoint one's fears. Adults are prone to recognize the sensation of fear, but struggle to dissolve feeling into cause. Moreover, sweet Ron, wouldn't it be nice to fear large spiders above everything else? Ahh the simplicity of fears we remember from our childhood: bugs, snakes, thunder, monsters, the dark... the child's boggart easily renders insects, rats, vermin, and other more concrete fears. Too quickly, it seems, we're pushed away from these simplistic, childlike (however, I'm certainly not saying I have by any means mastered my "childlike" terror of snakes) fears and forced to cope with rather adult concepts of fear. Failure, dying, insufficiency, o Boggart, just try to emulate these notions.

It seems easier to me to recognize when I'm afraid, but much more difficult to put that fear into words or images. "I'm just afraid something's going to go wrong." "What if..." "It's not going to be worth it." Perhaps the recognition of fear remains greater than the actual fear itself? Or at least the "unknown" aspects of our fears supply added influence and trepidation. If we all but had our own personal closet boggart, to keep us informed and healthily balanced in appropriate fears. And if only dispelling those fears were as simple as visualizing Snape in an old fashioned woman's dress.

-rkc

Road Trip

2008-07-15T09:39:00.008-06:00

We realized what kind of people we are, sitting on our two folding chairs in the middle of a parking lot in Yellowstone, making our daily peanut butter sandwiches on a makeshift table (two cardboard boxes,) with utensils salvaged from a McDonald's run, marveling at the various makes and models of the RVs and campers surrounding us. Almost all of our earthly belongings crammed into our 4 door Elantra bounced (we have no shocks) across the country with us, a bike tied to the bumper, a box of vittles precariously laid over a crate of camping gear, and the two of us, two days into sleeping in the great outdoors, camping and driving through the upper 90's with no AC. A sight to behold! A sight to elicit responses such as, "now aren't you glad we have a camper?" or "y'all need any help?" or, resonant of my dad's personal favorite from growing up, "stay in school, kids, stay in school." Somehow we have become those people. And somehow we didn't notice the transformation. But hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Starbucks Stock Goes Up

2007-12-31T18:19:00.001-07:00

In light of my experience observing the human condition, it's natural to assume than when people are given the opportunity to treat others badly, they will... If people might be permitted to stand a head above the crowd, even by battering others down to get there, they will. On one hand, I see this macrocosm created daily in my store; on the other, is this blog topic not just another reproduction of this same tension, only the roles reversed? Anyway, not to be swayed into self-deprication... My friend/co-worker and I one day observed that ironically of the business executives that enter the store daily, those whom have succeeded are those who treat us with courtesy, diginity, and respect. While those whom take every opportunity to complain, condescend, speak down, belittle, or blame, are typically the ones being swallowed alive in the office. Any attempt to shed a small percentage of the verbal beating they receive each day is well worth the cost. My friend/co-worker's response? "I could buy and sell you." My friend/co-worker retired early from her first highly successfuly career in stained glass. She rendered many of the glassy prisms in Boulder which make Boulder Boulder. When she says, "I could buy and sell you," it's because she really could. Oh pawn of the American dream, please try to pull yourself away from your phone long enough to tell us decaf when you're ordering, rather than making a scene when you receive your regular coffee. It's just nickels and dimes to us - easy come, easy go.
-rkc

Crazy Old Man

2007-12-31T18:18:00.001-07:00

At what age do you specifically reach the "you're an old man, so you can do and say whatever you like?" The other day we had an older gentleman (well, gentleman is generous) in line in our lobby who asked the woman in front of him, "Are you an Indian?" She graciously responded, "yep, what part of India do you think I'm from?" He replied,"the part with the elephants?" No, sir, the part with the highly successful optomologists who own and operate two eye clinics in the area and vacation bi-annually in the tropics. We all laughed at his off-hand remark, "oh that crazy old man," as he continued to offer lewd suggestions to the "blonde, red-head, and brunette" working behind the counter. What a character, huh?! Why, in some cases, do we settle for, "crazy old man" - and in others, prosecute to the fullest extent of the law?
-rkc

Milk Money

2007-12-11T11:36:00.001-07:00

Working inside a shopping mall, our Starbucks experiences particularly high volume on weekend days. Most of the day, we have a line of customers out the door to that model car mall management displays to encourage passer-bys to give out their personal information for a chance to win, not the car, but a courtesy phone call for an opportunity to pick up a time share somewhere in Arizona! On one of these busy days, I was working my way down the line asking customers what they would like to drink in order to speed the paying process at the registers. I came across a woman who briskly held up a boxed child's chocolate milk. "I just need this," she glowered. "Ok, sounds good, we will ring you up as soon as we are able." I turned to greet the customer behind her only to barely miss the boxed milk sailing right by my ear. Had this bundle of joy actually thrown a box of milk at me? Indeed she had! As I looked at her for some sort of explanation, she thundered, "My child is choking, I don't have time to wait in your line!" Oh chocolate milk, elixer of choking children, salve of life-threatening emergencies. "I appologize ma'am, you're welcome to take a box of milk and I will take care of payment later, I didn't realize it was an emergency. We also have a free water station right behind you if you'd rather..." It was too late... my words fell deafly on the backside of b.o.j. exiting the store in humiliating haste. Perhaps she suddenly comprehended that yes, she had just thrown a box of milk at another person, and yes, every other customer in line was glaring after her, and yes, throwing boxes of milk at another person in any public place is far from appropriate, adult, mature behavior. I watched her scuffle back to her husband and uncoughing child outside the store and returned to "my line," this time ready for anything, even flying milk.
-rkc

The Customer is Always Right

2007-12-11T11:19:00.001-07:00

This is an introduction to a blog series entitled, "The Customer is Always Right." In it, I'd like to highlight key moments in my experience of customers blantantly blurring the line between right and wrong. As a practical application, I'd like to encourage readers to endure a thorough self-evaluation. The next time you're in line for service from your local barista, hamburger flipper, delivery man, banker, etc., consider, this person across the counter may actually be smarter than me. This person may have graduated validictorian from their high school, or speak three languages, or graduated summa cum laude (with highest honors) from a prestigious university, or been a member of the Phi Beta Kappa honors society, or retired early from a highly successful first career, or be a millionaire working for fun, or dance professionally, or sing professionally, or research alongside nobel laureates, or simply exist outside of said establishment's walls... A good rule of thumb I appreciate is the following: assume the service agest across from you is a human being, treat them as you would treat a human being.

Now, without further ado... customer greats...
-rkc

Fantasy Football

2007-09-10T18:32:00.001-06:00

This year I became a member of my extended family's Fantasy Football League - White House Rules. As it turns out, I'm pretty amazing. My secret? Making good choices. For example, this year, I chose to auto-draft my team rather than selecting players based on their teams' colors or helmet designs. I figured ESPN's systematic ranking of players based on their performance rating, may produce a more "competent" team, rather than the color coordinated team I stood behind previous to this year. However, certain decisions do carry grievous consequences. Did I specifically request a garish combination of bright yellows, faded oranges, and deep golds? Of course not! Although my team can't all wear catchy tiger striped Bengal helmets, or even sport a non-offensive Eagle jersey's color scheme, I settle for Plaxico Burress (Mr. Plax-tastic in my book) coming through with an unexpected 34 point total his first week - thrusting me to a victorious lead. My team, not necessarily a combination of patterns and colors I'd like to see all at once, does manage to perform moderately well when adding an objective point total based on their merits and performance during the weekend's matches. Critical considerations like these seem to propel me closer and closer to bringing home the grand prize. Yet, worst come to worst, I'm only out ten bucks.
-rkc

Michael Vick... The Inhumanity...

2007-07-31T16:27:00.001-06:00

"Indeed, people speak sometimes about the 'animal' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to animals, no animal could ever be so cruel, so artfully, so artistically cruel. A tiger simply gnaws and tears, that is all he can do. It would never occur to him to nail people by their ears overnight, even if he were able to do it." (Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov (Pevear and Volokhonsky,) Rebellion p. 238.)

Interstingly the title inhumane seems to appertain to those dispicable, unimaginable, abominable acts which could never be conceived of as human. However, when do these premeditated, artfully torturous exploits occur naturally in the animal world? The human capacity to reason - the boundary between the man and animal kingdoms, must neccessarily include the human propensity for evil. Not only the ability to do and understand that which is evil, but imagine, carry out and moreover pleasure in an artfully crafted evil scheme. Does not our capacity to be evil, and appallingly so, further separate us from animals? Our ability to dub an act "inhumane" makes us men and women of reason. Shouldn't then our ability to create these "inhumane" acts distinguish us further? I would argue the human aptitude for evil adequately differentiates us from the animal world - thus making Michael Vick the quintessential man. "Inhumane," that which we cannot conceive of being, but indelibly, assuredly are.
-rkc

2001: Blog Odyssey

2007-07-30T18:20:00.003-06:00

"O, brave new world, that has such people in't." The world of blogs, open wide before us! I'm not sure we'll get any hits, until we do something really exciting, or leave the country and desperate friends come looking for remnants of our charming company... but, in the mean time, let's hear it for unwarranted life perspective!