First day

So I forgot that in Russia all the blankets need to be covered with a cover. It must be against the law or something to just have a blanket exposed. When I first arrived at my new home, the blankets and sheets were folded at the edge of the bed for me, so I assumed I should make it. But no, my host mother had purposefully left out the blanket cover, probably in hopes that I would not touch the bed, but silly me thought that a blanket could go on a bed naked… boy was that a mistake. As soon as she came in a few mins later, she gasped said something in Russian, of which all I caught was “bed” and “pillows.” She came in a few minutes later with the blanket cover in tow and she put the blanket in its smelly floral sac and she left satisfied..probably because she felt that she had just taught an American girl how real women cover blankets. She seemed to have so much pride while she was covering that blanket, like this was a skill that her mother taught her, a real family tradition. O well. I was too busy holding my nose from the stale moldy smell of the cover to really get the full grasp of what a privilege and honor I had was a witness to.

Later, after unpacking, I was told that we would have tea. And so I walked out of my room into the narrow hallway into the kitchen, where some green tea was ready for me at the table, along with an array of chocolates and Russian baked goods. I was not hungry, not in the slightest, plus the baked goods would swear anyone off food forever. I could hardly speak Russian, let alone understand it, I had been flying for about 24 hours and my brain was pooping out on me. All I could muster was “tea good” “ugg tired.” Despite my little talking, and obvious droopy eyes, she continued to talk. She rambled on about her recent trip to France and how the airport and the bus stop at Helsinkiare 30 mins apart from each other… the nerve. And as I stared at her, pleading with my eyes to let me go so that I could sleep, I began to dream dreaming of Frodo Baggins and all of the characters in Lord of the Rings. Odd I thought, very odd. But then it hit me, my host mother is the Russian woman reincarnation of Smigel. She even kind of walks like him. What a find. To have the Russian woman reincarnation of Smigel as my host mother. What a privilege. I mean, how many Smigel reincarnates can there be. Not many, I would suppose. As I made this discovery, I must have smiled to myself,… which unfortunately was not at an appropriate place in my host mother’s story to smile. A bit embarrassed I went on to dream about sleep and when the story would end, wishing that the city of Helsinki would have just put the bus stop and airport in the same place. Finally, however, her story ended. And I was free to sleep. One day to go, four more months left.