Liankacreations

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Khvorost for Fred

He was the only one in my extended family who ate my okroshka the right way, and with enjoyment. Fred was my brother-in-law, the husband of my sister-in-law. We met many moons ago, when I had just come to this country and moved into Daniel’s house. Thirteen years ago, I married Daniel and became part of the family. I was surprised by how well I was accepted. There was no judgment or prejudice . I felt at home, and I was always happy to see my new family at gatherings. Joanne and Fred, and me Joanne and Fred I always tried to make something Russian for my extended family, just to introduce them to some of our dishes. Once, for a family party, I baked khvorost. Fred called it “frost.” He was surprised, because these were the same cookies his Polish grandmother used to bake for him years ago. So I, a Russian, surprised Fred, an Polish American, with a taste from his childhood. Fred and I did not talk much. We came from different countries, and we were different in age. But khvorost ...

A Simple Life

Today I heard from my half sister. Did you know I have two half sisters and one whole sister? Lol. Olya just turned 61, and I, not being a very good sister, forgot to say happy birthday. Well, we didn't communicate for a large part of our lives. We lived not too far from each other, but she lived in a closed city where I couldn't go without a special invitation. We didn't have a phone at home, so contact was very limited. Then we started getting together, first to visit our common father's grave, and later just to meet and talk. That was right before I relocated to the US. Have you ever noticed that the further away you are, the closer you become? So, I sent her my late happy birthday wishes, and she sent a few messages back. She said she was tired from working at her dacha. Do you know what a dacha is? My husband does. It's a summer cottage with a garden, and not a small one. So Olya was tired from growing vegetables and berries and preserving them. Other than th...

A Conversation Across the Ocean

Today, thanks to the internet and advances in cell phone technology, I had a conversation with a friend. My friend Olya lives in Gelendzhik, in southern Russia, on the Black Sea. I live in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Seven hours in differences in time and the entire Atlantic Ocean between us. Because of the current circumstances, Olya has internet access only at home, not when she is outside. The stars have to align for us to talk. Luckily, today they did. We talked about many things: recipes and workouts, menopause and hormones, children and grandchildren — my grandchildren, since she doesn't have hers yet. And then, when we decided that I probably don’t sleep well because of hormones, she told me that she doesn’t sleep well because of the sirens warning about drone attacks. Lately, it has been happening almost every night. She said something like: "We live close to the mountains, so we don't have drones flying directly above us — but we can see them flying closer to...

A Doctor Bill From Last July? Welcome to US Health Insurance

Today I got a bill from the doctor. The doctor I saw last July. Really? I stared at it for a minute, trying to remember what that visit was even for. And then I laughed, in that tired way you laugh when something is absurd but also just... normal here. Because this is the United States, and this is how healthcare works. You go to the doctor, you think you're done, and then months later, an envelope shows up asking for money you didn't budget for, for a visit you'd already half-forgotten. It made me think, again, about how different this all feels from where I grew up. I grew up in Russia, where healthcare was a public service. You were assigned to a hospital based on where you lived, and that was that. Everyone had the same rights — except, of course, people in positions of power (there's always an exception, isn't there?). The system wasn't perfect. It had plenty of its own problems. But one thing people didn't have to do was lie awake wondering whether t...

You Have to Be Who You Are

It all started innocently enough. I was doing something around the house, and something reminded me of Russia — and then, as they say in the famous Russian novel by Ilf and Petrov*, "Ostap was carried away." One thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was lost in memories. My husband's words came back to me, or maybe it was a quote from a movie: "You have to be who you are. Life is what you make out of it." Many years ago, in what feels like another life, I was a good seamstress — no formal training, just an ordinary hand-operated sewing machine and a natural feel for it. I should have gone to sewing school, studied to become a fashion designer or at least a pattern maker. But my mother had other plans. In her view, once you finished high school, you went to work — preferably at the factory where she herself had worked for about 25 years. There was no room in that plan for three more years of school. But I was never simple, and maybe not always smart e...

Where Did All My Free Time Go?

I don’t know what happened to all my free time. A couple of months ago, I thought I was doing just fine. I was managing work, school, house chores, the dog, and even a little bit of knitting. Somehow, I was keeping everything under control. Now it’s August, and I feel like a big mess. I blame the news. Nothing good in the news lately. Smart people say, “Don’t stress about things you cannot control.” But for me, it’s not the lack of control that stresses me. It’s the “worrying” about things that stresses me. And there is plenty to worry about. Russia is getting ready for the election, if you can call the process of facilitating the election. Putin suddenly started traveling around the country, heading mostly toward the eastern part of the country farther away from Moscow and the danger. Apparently, he is trying to communicate that everything is fine and that he is still the president of this wonderful country. On Tuesday, he visited the “Microfocus” research station. The sta...