Whew boy, I have been a busy girl.  Between Halloween celebrations, visits from Americans, and organizing a Thanksgiving coffee house extravaganza (totally how we celebrate Thanksgiving, right?), I forgot to update my blog, and for that absence I am sorry.  I’ll work backwards from now:

.hcnul rof rettub tunaep dna, elppa, yenoH  .sranimes ssucsid ot anna htiw gniteem a daH  .gnigagne dna lluf erew snoissucsid eht tub, gninorm siht ssalc rehtie fo yteritne eht rof yats t’ndid anveialokiN aidyL

This is way less fun that I imagined it would be.  Here’s the actual recap:

Helen, my former teammate who is now studying in Moscow, came down for Halloween.  Though many Orthodox Russians say this holiday is an abomination (I’ve heard it likened to worshiping dead evil spirits, like Osama Bin Laden), the students in my department think it is greater than dancing bears.  They invited us to dress up with them and then go from class to class demanding candy.  Unsurprisingly, no one had candy, so we ended up painting their faces like zombies instead.  During the big break in the afternoon, they staged a short performance that explained the history of the holiday as well as how we celebrate it today.  Some students sang “This is Halloween” from The Nightmare Before Christmas, and then I was asked to tell a traditional story.  In a moment of complete sacrilege, I told Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow in simple English, hoping to reach at least half of my audience.  Luckily, only Helen felt the absence of Irving’s lyrical language, and the rest of the students loved the tale.  Following the performances, everyone was invited to go into the “horror room” to be scared silly by darkness and groping hands.  I’m glad that along with all the other inane and ridiculous bits of American culture that make it out over here, the wonder and excitement of Halloween crossed the Atlantic intact.

Helen’s visit ended with an afternoon spent hiking and exploring the hills and woods surrounding the fresh water spring in Shopino.  We were able to revel in our team’s recent Conference Championship – go Yeo! – and the fresh air of the country side.  I hope the purity of the istochnik buffers her from the polluted Moscow air, if only for a little while.  It probably will.  Maybe likely.

Two days later I was laying out the red carpet for Masha, a Fulbrighter working in Voronedj.  Her city is a mere six-hour bus ride away, and though that would be reason enough for a visit, I also really love her company.  We barely know each other, but as we walked around the city in search of free wireless and tasty persimmon, there was not a quiet or dull moment.  I’m glad that she’s the ETA closest to me.  I foresee many such short visits in the future.

Finally, this past weekend my friend Bryan, the Fulbrighter working in Moscow for the year, ditched the Moscow snowdrifts in favor of Belgorod’s blanket of fog for the weekend.  I got to show off my university, and even got a shown a thing or two myself.  Igor, my sometimes beloved, sometimes insufferable language partner, regaled us with stories from films and history, fed us biscuits with sweetened condensed milk until we were want to explode, and then led us though the labyrinthine hallways and staircases to the winter garden.  I had no idea there even was one - complete with aquariums, terrariums, and aviaries, no less!  To be fair, it was on the sixth floor of a building I didn’t know existed.  Maybe I should get out more.  Probably.  Yes.

After the university, we braved the market in search of veggies, fruit, and fish for dinner, which we later cooked with Susanne to the sweet tunes of the Weepies and Feist.  The whole evening felt so much like college that when we later embarked on a walk to see the statue of Prince Vladimir, I was shocked to see street signs in Russian.  Maybe this is why I can’t seem to nail down a foothold on fluency.  I spend so much time searching for the similarities between here and home, so much time being excited about other Americans, that I miss the real Russian-ness of Russia.  Lamentably, I rarely use Russian – my students, colleagues, and even strangers in cafes are so excited to meet an American and practice their English that the thought of me breaking the flow of the conversation with my wobbly Russian is not only inconvenient, but daunting and maybe even rude.  I keep telling myself that I will exhibit a bit more backbone in the next conversation and just plow through, wrong cases and mixed conjugations be damned!  But eventually I stumble onto a word that I just can’t get around, and that one word is like the pebble-sized hole in the damn: once it’s breached, I can’t block the deluge of my English.  Someday, I will gather my courage about me and stick my finger in the hole, probably.  Maybe.  (Likely not.)

Vladimir’s shadowy relief against the foggy night sky was well worth the three hundred eighty-three stairs, and while Bryan fiddled with his camera we explored the ridiculousness of the phrase да нет, наверно which literally means, “yes no probably,” and which is used in every context imaginable.  Do you like tomatoes?  Is there a lecture this afternoon?  Will you marry me?  The strange thing is that despite its vagueness, native speakers always seem to get some sort of concrete answer from the phrase.  Meanwhile, Bryan and I are scratching our heads, thinking about how the combination of да нет‚ (yes no) makes “of course not,” while наверно by itself is usually something similar to “probably, but maybe not.”  So, “Of course not/yes no, probably/maybe not.”  Will you marry me?  Maybe this is why I can’t quit finding Americans.  Even if I don’t like them, I can at least understand them.  And they won’t think I’m out of my mind for running along the streets.

Bryan left last night, and now I’m back to a full week.  My American Studies lecture series ended; I picked up two more classes a week of discussion seminars.  Three nearby schools and gymnasiums want me to come talk about America, my family, myself.  Our Thanksgiving spectacle is fast approaching, and with it the homesickening business of feasting on tofurkey and vegetarian stuffing.  Thankfully, one professor has invited me to join her and her husband for the day, and she promises to join me in my meatless celebration.  He’s British.  I guess if the fundamental feeling is there, the presentation is really just gravy.