С Празником

Yesterday was two important days in the cultural life of Russia. Well it was only one day, but two important anniversaries were noted. Important Thing Number 1: Day of the Defender of the Fatherland. This is the Russian Federation’s replacement of Red Army Day. In effect, this holiday is a combination of Memorial Day, Veterans’ Day, and Armed Forces Day (I vaguely remember that we have such a holiday-- we do, right?) But then, as International Women’s Day is coming up, or maybe just as a cultural relic of a time when every man was a veteran, the holiday has picked up the added role of Men’s Day, and you have to congratulate every man. This is especially ridiculous when people congratulate the boys in the Middlebury program, who, as I repeatedly pointed out to them after they were congratulated by babushkas, defended nary a fatherland.

I approve of this holiday: it makes Russians festive and cheerful, which is quite a feat. It is in fact the only holiday other than New Year’s upon which I heard people congratulating each other days in advance, on “the approaching holiday.” This puts it way ahead of Christmas, Epiphany, and Day of the Forest Worker. I personally celebrated this holiday by laughing at Russians trying to get into the post office, which was obviously closed; by going to look at the Eternal Flame by the river, and at the other people going to look at the Eternal Flame; by making a heroic effort to read the long poem on the WWII memorial, about the “Leninist sons of city and of taiga;” by almost getting run over by a group of students from the police academy going to march about by the Eternal Flame; and by attending a concert for veterans in which V.P.’s choir took part. You may point out that I am not, in fact, a veteran, so what was I doing taking the seat of some deserving old man who, were it not for me, would have had a better view of the balalaika orchestra? I do not have an answer for you, other than that when Valentina Petrovna commands, I obey. The best part of the concert was the folk dances, especially when performed by cute little 6-year-old girls. Now I am jealous that I did not grow up in Russia and couldn’t be in an awesome Russian dance troupe.

The second significance of the twenty-third of February is that it is the anniversary of the birth of Anastasia Vladimirovna Shulga, my Chinese-restaurant-singer host sister. This meant that the day was a frantic flurry of salad-making, mostly involving beets, and that the extended family assembled at the apartment for a birthday dinner. I don’t really know how to describe this event. The important elements were 1)“the table” which was assembled before the guests arrived, with the aforementioned salads and strives for the adjective “rich” and 2) the giving of toasts, which as far as I could tell were all very similar but all went on for a long time. This doesn’t sound that OOC, I know, but it was, especially by about the 4th toast. Singing and dancing became increasingly involved, as did the intensity with which V.P. yelled at people who she didn’t think were drinking enough. My response to this problem was to escape whenever possible and play Marble Blast Gold on the computer with the grandchildren, but after a while I would always be summoned back. Ok, I have completely failed to capture this event, but oh well, I can’t think of anything else to say.