Russian Preserves: Berries for Winter

I was growing up in a house with a garden, which belonged to my grandma and later in a new apartment block with birch trees all around it. I was never bullied, and I had friends, I even liked school, and I  didn’t mind having a baby brother (for about two days, after that it was all downhill). Every New Year’s Eve we had a decorated Christmas tree with  gifts under it. Everybody at the time seemed to live in a “nice suburb”, because there were no “bad suburbs”. Phones were scarce so people had to visit each other, host dinner parties and cook yummy things.

I never experienced food shortages, or hours of queuing for the essential; my parents were never sent to Siberia for work and my grandma had a fruit orchard. I guess I had it lucky. Not everybody else did, though.

This is what this new blog is about. The USSR,  the largest and one of the most resourceful countries on the planet, was a fantastically inefficient place. Sending people to space was one thing, and it was easy. Providing kids with toys was totally different, and boy look at those toys. They managed to build cars of the finest caliber, yet fashion was sooo behind, it makes me feel teary just to look at it.

In one word, very controversial. Yet it is very dear to me, maybe that’s why I so feel enthusiastic about it. See you there.

However, last night, when I was feeling lower than my carpet and had to physically stop myself from blogging “lousy lousy lousy lousy lousy Eva“, I thought that if 50 different people wished me a happy birthday on the day,  I’d take that back. Guess what? I just counted my chickens, and there, the 50th* text message said: wanna wish you heaps but leave it to say personally. Go girl!

______

*Yeah, lousy enough to actually count.

Moreover, get yourself a solfeggio teacher, and in six months you’d nail all the Korean karaoke joints. In a year you’d sing in a local pub, and then the suburban sky is really a limit there. I just suspect that the whole success of Ms S Boyle is based on the contrast of how ugly she looks and how pleasantly she sings. Like hey, this crap’s got talent. Oh well, shame shame shame.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and a pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Congratulations on your academic success. This reflects the effort ad commitment you have made in your studies.

I wish you every success in your future studies.

Yours sincerely

Prof Des Graydon
Dean, Business School
Pro Vice Chancellor International.

****

Well-well-well, it does not surprise me. When I just started in 2003, I had two jobs, a half dozen eligible bachelors to go out with every night of the week and a very busy schedule to stick to. Now, being a suburban housewife with no hobbies, I have nothing better to do than to excel academically. Sad I run out of steam too quickly, I could bear the next star of shining knowledge in the whole of Business School.

However, I recently happened to overhear an idea which I have fallen in life with.Two women in their 50s talking about a friend who came to New Zealand for some OE trip, had a fabulous time, fell in love with some islander, never had the guts to stay, went back to the States to her planned life, grew more and more nostalgic of NZ and then ended up naming her daughter Maori. Of course she spelled it as Maory, and of course she pretended it was Native American.

And I thought that if I ever had to live somewhere else, and ever had a baby and nothing better to call it, I would pick the name Maori (or Maory, or I could even pronounce it with the O stressed) and this will be my little secret and my penance for my misspent New Zealand youth.

Of course I will never have the guts to do it, and will probably end up picking some classical boring name, like Alexandra or Anastasia.  Urgh.

It’s better to have a split personality than to have no personality at all.

&

You cannot become a better person, because what’s then? Become a much better person? I don’t think so. Youcan relax now - you are good enough.

And yes, McCain is a great guy, yet there are jobs where you need to be young and energetic, and being President is on the top of that list. The mess he got himself into with that silly woman might have cost him the role, and I suspect he is smart enough to have realised that. I like Obama, I like his fresh blood, I like his African roots and Muslim middle names - I hope it will help him in the Middle East and across the world to make some peace.

As for the tomorrow’s elections’ in New Zealand.. I am going to vote for the first time here, and boy, am I excited! I deeply respect Helen Clark and I do not care whether she gets photoshopped for billboards profusely, or whether she really lived with that woman, or else. I would love to see her elected again, yet I realise that these are the hardest times, and not only she and her party will be in the fire, she will always be to blame for all the lows and downs. So I wish her luck - but I doubt women like her, with no plan B, need luck.

Anyway, the saddest thing about the American elections is that Cindy McCain is history now. I kind of grown to like her pedigree face - I wish I looked like that when I am 70. But this is a story with no comebacks, so farewell to those all.