First Phone Call to "Family Home" from Russia
Monday, February 22, 2010 at 8:00AM Monday and Tuesday (Feb 22nd & 23rd) are “Defenders of the Fatherland” holiday here in St. Pete, and the family home will be full to capacity. Natasha, the Mama there, asked me if I could stay from Saturday through Tuesday. I usually spend the night Saturday and Wednesday nights, but since this is a special occasion, and I’ve just returned after being gone so long, I quickly agreed. I can’t wait to see the girls.
When I called Natasha to finalize plans and find out what I need to bring she told me something I didn’t want to hear. “It’s cold here!”
I know it’s cold in St. Petersburg. Tonight I planned to run errands at four places including a trip on the metro to another part of the city. It was 2°F (-17°C), which isn’t that cold, but the wind was blowing hard. The snow pelting my face felt like little rocks. After walking fifteen minutes to the first place, I began changing my plans. I couldn’t smile and could barely bite my lips to keep them moving. I’ve had fingers and toes almost freeze, but never my face. I bypassed the metro, tempting as it was with the warm glow of lights inside, went to the grocery store, then straight home.
I asked Natasha for clarification, “It’s cold in St. Petersburg? Or it’s cold inside the apartment?”
“It’s cold inside the apartment.”
“Cold? or cool?”
“Cold.” This was not good news. I’ve never quite been sure why God sent me to Russia since I don’t like being cold. Usually our apartments are toasty warm through no doing of our own. Someone, somewhere controls our apartment temperature for us. Mine is 78°F (25°C) now. The family home is not. I packed my warm wool socks and extra-warm pyjamas.
I’ve been thinking for a few days about what we will eat while I’m at the family home. I’ve missed Russian food. Natasha knows I love her pilaf (rice with chicken and carrots) and had planned to make that my first night. Borsch (beet soup) another of my favourites was on the menu for another day. They wanted something American. I always have trouble when people ask what we eat in America, because we’re such a melting pot of cultures. One night I will teach them to make spaghetti sauce and we’ll have spaghetti, garlic bread and salad (with lettuce, which is a novelty here).
They wanted to bake something. “Do you want chocolate chip cookies or cake?” I asked. Natasha explained to the girls what chocolate chips are because they don’t have them here, and if you translate it literally “shokoladnee chipsee” (which is what I call them because that’s what they are) it sounds like “chocolate potato chips”. I heard a chorus of . . . something. I couldn’t tell what it was. Was it “torte” (cake) or “pecheniyi” (cookies)? What I was hearing didn’t sound like either.
“Everything!” Was their answer. It’s settled. We will make chocolate chip cookies and cake. I was hoping to make carrot cake, my favourite, but they wanted “the chocolate cake you make with the white icing in the middle.” Natasha said, “We’re so excited! We miss you so much, and your cooking! We’ll see you soon!” I’m really excited too. This will be a fun weekend.
Reader Comments (1)
Nicola,
I check your site almost every day. I love hearing about your ministry and adventures in St. Pete. I am sorry some apartments don't get heated as well as they should... I grew up in St. Pete and never knew who heats them up in the winter :)
God bless you! I am praying for you! God is with you and in you!
Lena