Newlyweds

The bride was beautiful, the groom was dashing. Doug Fox officiated with charm and grace.  Friends and family fit comfortably in the small chapel. The only question was, would my shaky internet connection hold up?

The Bride was Kay Carlson, my mother. The Groom – Terry Prindiville, my new stepfather? Not sure I am there yet, but he is my new friend.  A whirlwind romance by two people who, in the past 2 years, found themselves alone. Was it too soon? Were they merely trying to fill the vacuum?  Could this possibly work? No, No & Yes.

Terry and Kay have both spent most of the last several years lovingly  caring for a spouse in declining health. They lovingly fulfilled their vowels to “love and cherish, in sickness and health…”.  No matter how strong your marriage is, there is a 50/50 chance you will end up alone.  Terry and Kay know this math all too well. In the fall of their lives they were alone. Terry would have been happy to live out his days with Gail by his side, Kay with Bill.  That was not to be.

But living alone was not God’s plan either. They could not replace what they had lost.   But together they could ease the pain and mend the wounds of the the last several years. This is a validation of their decades long marriages. Years of loving marriages left them needing to serve a companion.  Love is not a finite resource which must be moved from one person to another. It grows in new places, not diminishing what came before.

By the time the impending nuptials were announced to the family, our departure to Russia was just days away.  I was torn between attending my Mother’s wedding and leaving my wife alone in a strange land. In the end, with Mom and Terry’s understanding, we decided my attendance would be virtual.  I would be reduced to voyeur. But I would still be a part this happy day.

(Skype held up long enough for us to see the whole ceremony)

 

The internet connection in our new Russian apartment is spotty. But somehow, Saturday evening (Moscow time) we enjoyed 45 minutes of continuous video streaming from the First United Methodist Church in McKinney Texas, some 9000 miles distant. It was good to see my son, brother and sister in attendance.  But most of all, it was good to see my Mother. Beautiful, happy and smiling.  I cherish that smile, and I welcome into my life the good, earnest man who gave her that smile.

London’s Parthenon

The room is cavernous. Spanning 200 feet in length and 60 feet wide, the stone floors, walls and high ceilings make the Duveen Gallary the perfect echo chamber. But despite presence of a hundred or so patrons, the sound is muted. On any given day you can hear Chinese, French, German, English and a host of other tongues.  But the conversations are soft and respectful. They are all humbled by the 2500 year old contents of the room. For here, in central London, is the a historic collection of statues, friezes and metopes from the Parthenon.  This exhibition contains more than half of the remaining artwork from the legendary building.

How these pieces came to be in this room is a complicated, controversial history, spanning more than two centuries. Depending on your viewpoint British looted the Parthenon in a act of imperial might or they found the classic building in ruins and saved what could be legally purchased, for future generations to enjoy. The real answer is probably somewhere in the middle.

But this we know for sure. More than a century before the British Empire arrived, the Ottomans where engaged in a war with the Venetians.  In a colossal miscalculation the Turks decided to use the Parthenon as a weapons depot on the belief the the building would never be attacked.  On September 26, 1687, they were proven tragically wrong. The resulting explosion and fire nearly destroyed the Parthenon which had remained in fairly good condition for over 2000 years.  The building had made the transitions from Pagan Temple, to Christian Church to Islamic Mosque fairly intact. One well placed cannon shot nearly brought it all down. Given the Greeks inability to care for their own antiquities, I’m going to side with the Brits on this. The Greeks themselves did not start a major restoration/renovation of the site until the late 1970s.

What is important, is that they are here, they have been well cared for. They have been housed inside the British museum for the last 2 centuries (except during WWII when they were hidden in an unused metro station to protect them from German bombardment). They are accessible, at no cost,  to anyone who can make their way to the Royal British Museum.

These marble stones were painstaking carved by artisans who died five centuries before the birth Christ. Will anything I create survive until the next half century, probably not.

Moscow Monday Morning Metro

Its late September and (“I really should be back in school”) the Moscow days have gotten noticeably shorter in the three weeks we have been here. Temperatures are down in the high 30’s when we start the morning’s commute. In Dallas terms, its a nice December morning.

I’ve been riding the metro in with Kim each morning to her office. Its keeps her company in the foreign land and, more importantly, gets my day going. We’re trying to figure out the best time to go in to avoid crowds. What we are finding is….there isn’t one.

Long, packed trains arrive every few minutes. Russians are very efficient at running trains!

This morning was the worst so far. The car that stopped before us was completely jammed. Commuters pressed against the doors like crowded fish in an aquarium.  The doors opened and a couple of riders tumbled out before the rush of new riders began squeezing in to he already full metro car. No hope of sitting, in fact, I couldn’t even reach a handhold. My 52 year old body will be surfing today’s 4 stops.

Kim and I were jammed against the door. There no personal space. I assume this is similar to the rush hour rides my daughter in Chicago must endure, but as a boy of the South this is all quite new to me. At the first stop a elderly woman a few feet behind us raises here voice in (angry?) Russian, pushing her way off the train. She barrels right through me. Guessing by here age, this woman survived Stalin. I wouldn’t dare stand in her way.

My Kindle remains useless under my arm. Not enough room to use the reader. Regardless, 100% of my attention has to be focused on remaining on my feet as the ancient train lumbers down the track. I’m still surfing, unable to reach a handhold. Tomorrow I’ll probably leave it at home.

Update:

We had our first dinner guest over the other night and we related the story of the old woman who forcefully and loudly pushed herself off the train. Apparently ours was not an uncommon story. It happens all the time, more often than not the woman is pulling a small cart full of groceries. These women are legend on the Metro. The mystery is, where are they going an why the hurry? These women are clearly retirees, not working so why do they choose the height of rush hour to go shopping? Even Muscovites don’t seem to know.