A hearty welcome back to Poland

A rare post from Trevor:

I needed to go to Ukraine. Our options were 1) apply for a visa extension and pay a few hundred PLN and much unneeded legwork, or 2) make a lengthy and unneeded trip to cross the border
into Ukraine but spend only 60 PLN on a weekend ticket to anywhere in the country. The major drawbacks to the eventual choice of going to Ukraine (1. the chance of having to eat some more Ukrainian food, 2. the possibility of being threatened by guns and violence again, 3. no shiny new visa extension form in my passport [I don't know why, but I really like them], 4. massive amounts of time on the train with little relief, 5. far less time to get my home teaching done by the end of the month) couldn't compare to how much sweeter 60 PLN sounded to the few hundred alternative.

The final and best plan was to catch the 6:15 train to Krakow, then have one minute to change trains to Przemysl, then take a bus to Medyka, and cross the border to Ukraine. Return and get home by 4 AM in time to sleep a bit before going to church, where I would be speaking on Elder Bednar's much-needed, much-neglected talk on 'less-actives' and being offended, and speaking during the combined Relief Society/Priesthood meeting about the PBS documentary recently shown on Polish TV, then Branch council, a meeting with the missionaries, and hopefully two home teaching visits.

Well, that 6:15 train was really a 6:11 train and me missing it by 3 minutes was compounded by the near 35-minute wait from my first call to the taxi company to the arrival at the train station (something that usually takes 10 to 12 minutes took 20 minutes longer than usual). So missing that train made an already long trip even longer. Leaving my house at 5:45 (I'm counting it from there even though the taxi didn't come for those 20 minutes), the soonest I could make it back to Lodz was 3:00 p.m. on Sunday. That means 5 hours too late for my talk, 3 hours too late for my combined meeting talk, 2 hours too late for Branch council, and no-real-sleep-for-2-days-aside-from-the-15-minutes-here-and-there-in-the-all-night-cafe-and-the-train-station too late for the home teaching (plus I didn't even really confirm one of the visits). I did end up doing one visit, but I gave up on the other, and decided to count the one I did do even though I was alone.

However, Ashley had had a rough few days as well and I'm more selfish than any of you know (even if you think you do), so even though she had agreed to go get my colon-cleansing medication from the pharmacy (which had to be special ordered at the last minute on Saturday because the original medication was discontinued and I had to have it on Sunday for my 8:00 a.m. colonoscopy on Monday, so that's why we had to get it on the sabbath—though the ordeal did lead to two discussions about the church and my doctor promised to watch the PBS film on 'The Mormons'... but he's also promised to do a lot of other things that haven't happened), I decided to go get it after changing my shirt and putting on some deodorant.

And on the way back from the pharmacy is where our story begins.

I was walking back when, about a block from our apartment, I saw a man who appeared to be drunk. A couple tried to pass him and their glance at me confirmed my suspicion. As they walked by, he stepped into the street, missing a speeding car by less than a foot. In my weakened state, I tried to keep my head down and walk by quickly, but I noticed that on top of his drunkenness, his face had been cut by glass recently, the cuts still fresh with blood. I heard him start to yell as I passed, but I tried not to pay any attention as I've learned from experience that such situations only get worse when you acknowledge them. I hoped he was talking to someone else, as his language was foul and tone violent. I heard the phrases, "Who do you think you are?" and "What do you think you're looking at?" decorated with obscenities, while I walked all the faster. I heard him behind me with heavier steps that muffled his words. I finally heard "What are you, Jehovah!?" I turned back to make sure he was following me, and he in turn started pursuing me even more vigorously.

Instead of out and out running from him (I thought that would only make him madder), I thought I might diffuse the situation. "Excuse me? Can I help you, sir? Is there something wrong?" He started swearing so much at this point that the only words I understood were "you" and "oh you." Not wanting to run, I'm sure I looked silly with my bag of medication, switching between an intense speed walk and a light jog. I think this man was too drunk to run, but I could hear his pounding steps behind me.

Suddenly two girls, who I thought were asking me for a light, stopped me and asked what I was doing to their friend. Both of them, drunk as well, pushed me up against the fence. I started to say, "I don't know your friend, I don't know what's wrong with him" when I was interrupted by the man, who had finally caught up to me, and he promptly head butted me in the face. I pushed him away from me and he grabbed my bag of medication, ripping it in two. He then punched me twice in the face and then once in the neck. I pushed him away twice more and he finished with one more punch to the stomach. I'm sure I said much more in the middle, but the only thing I remember concretely, as I picked up the torn bag, my receipts, and medication, was repeating, "I don't know you. I've never seen you. I don't know you."

Now the man wasn't a trained fighter and drunks are never at the top of their game, but I can't remember ever being punched in the face before. (This is especially interesting considering the post I just wrote about how Latter-day Saints should be interested in Fight Club). After I walked away, the only sensation that lingered was shock and a little adrenaline. (Though there was a couple with a baby passing by whom I warned not to go down that way but they ignored me, assuming that I too was drunk. I realized people saw the whole thing and did nothing.)

I don't have any cuts or bruises, and, if anything, it wasn't nearly as exciting as the four liters of diarrhea juice I drank later that night. But it still makes for a good story, and so much so that the 74-year-old woman I went home teaching to an hour later decided to walk me back home, just so I'd be safe.

Flashback

I was going through some old photos and videos on our computer and found this little gem. I thought I'd post it just so you could all be reminded of what a cutie Anna was at 10 months. I love the constant blinking, how she sticks her fingers in her mouth after almost every bite, and the flirtatious head-tilt-and-wave combo that was loved by all.

Mice tales

Everyone has a good mouse story. Or a bat story. Or one with a rat. I, in fact, have several. What with that time the bats were dive-bombing our heads as Jen and I tried to sleep at Lake Powell or the time my brother threw a pesky mouse off the houseboat and into the water, again at Lake Powell, only to have it swim back to shore and hop right back on, I've got rodent stories coming out my ears. (Sick.)

My friend Kimber recently posted a great mouse story on her blog and held a contest for people to submit their own rodent encounters as a comment and then she picked a winner. While I'm not exciting enough to make it a contest or nice enough to send a prize, I thought I'd put my favorite mouse story up just because I like it. (I don't actually like hurting animals, but I do feel like it's pretty top-notch when it comes to these kinds of stories. Just for clarification.)
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So here goes. When Trevor and I were first married, we lived in a small old house that's in somewhat of a remote location. One afternoon, I was doing some baking and noticed a small flurry of fur run out of the pantry and then back behind the fridge. I kept my eyes peeled, waiting for the mouse to come out from behind the fridge so that I could do something (I don't know what) to take care of it.

Finally it did and, after meeting face-to-face with the broom, it scurried behind the oven and stayed there. I had to get back to whatever I was doing and then I eventually left the house to run an errand. When I came back, I saw the mouse on the stairs just sitting there. I thought it had died right there and was thoroughly grossed out.

But then I saw it move . . . really slowly. It was so bizarre. When are mice ever slow?

I then realized that since it got caught behind the hot oven, I probably cooked it a little bit! Ew!

I believe I put a bucket over it and then I made Trevor take it outside so it could die out there in its natural element.
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Be they about mice, rats, spiders, bats or other creepy creatures, I know you've got stories. So let's hear 'em.

This is what you do for fun...

...when you're poor and you don't want to spend a lot of money on toys that you won't be able to take with you after your yearlong stay in Poland.

You save your empty water bottles and let your daughter play with them in her crib. (You'll see the water bottles again. Just you wait.)

You turn the port-o-crib on its side and make it into a cage. You also tie a scarf around the neck of your cowgirl daughter.

You let your daughter dance around in the rain cover for the stroller. (With the apple t-shirt and pajamas on underneath, I call it haute couteur.)

You eat cute little pastries that a friend brings by, therefore allowing you to avoid spending any money. (Really, I just wanted an excuse to put this picture on the blog. Kind of random and sorry for the bluriness, but aren't they cute chocolates?)

You make a toy out of a store-bought salad container and water bottle lids. Anna was playing with this when a friend was over and she took one look at it and said, " Oh. That's . . . creative."

I think this photo speaks for itself.
You save all your empty water bottles and then let your daughter bowl with them . . . and eventually fall into the pit of plastic.

And the epitome of economical fun:
You wrap up a broken computer you found in your apartment upon moving in and give it to your daughter as a present.

Strawberries and fun in the morning (a.k.a. the lamest title in the world)

It's time for another short post about the wonder that is Anna Summertime (as though I don't write about her ALL the time — I try to spread it out, really I do). Anyway, though there are countless reasons why she's amazing, two specific things are on my mind.

First, Anna has been loving strawberry season in Poland. She can't get enough, and she even does a bang-up job at pronouncing the word. I was in the kitchen the other day fixing lunch and she politely requested a strawberry. I handed her one and then went back to my task. When I looked at her a second later, I saw that she was rubbing the strawberry all over her neck and chest. My first instinct was to tell her to stop, thinking about all the stains I would have to deal with. But then she put both hands over the strawberry and held it to her chest, saying, "Hug." Melt my heart! How could I put a stop to that? It was sweet, but it also made me laugh. At least she knows how to treat something she loves. It also reminded me of this incident from a couple months ago, which never fails to make me laugh.

Secondly, Anna has always been a fan of hide-and-seek- and peek-a-boo-related games. (No more hyphens . . . my pinky finger is worn out.) She loves to cover her face with anything and then quietly say a drawn-out "Annnnna!" so that we know we should start looking for her. Sometimes she'll walk around the apartment with her blanket over her entire head, and all we can hear is a muffled "Annnna . . . Annnna . . ." as she bumps into things, since she can obviously see nothing with a blanket over her eyes.

Anyway, this is what she has been doing for the last little while. The instant I open the door to her room in the morning, I hear her drop to the floor (of her crib) and then scramble to a corner. When I peer over the edge, I see that she has covered her face with her blanket. This is my cue to start searching. Sometimes I'll call out to her in other rooms, sometimes I'll open the closet doors and look for her there, you know, to mix it up a little — I'm a fun mom. But my favorite is when we have a funny little dialogue like this:

Me: "Annnnna! Where are you?"
Anna: Silence.
Me: "Where did you go?" [opening the closet] "Are you in here?"
Anna: Silence.
Me: "Anna? Are you in the other room?"
Anna: "Yes."

A funny moment

Trevor's lovely mother sent us for Anna's birthday "The Ultimate Lullaby Collection," a set of four lullaby CDs and the lyrics to all of them. I was totally amazed that the company who made it could come up with 50 lullabies (when I could come up with approximately 3). It's got all the classics, like Brahms' Lullaby, Rock-a-bye Baby, Hush Little Baby, etc. There's also a CD with all classical music, which is great — Anna will be even smarter now. So then I started flipping through the lyrics book and stopped when I saw the title "Raisins and Almonds." It reads:

To my little one's cradle in the night,
Comes a little goat snowy and white.
The goat will trot to the market
While mother her watch does keep,
Bringing back raisins and almonds.
Sleep, my little one sleep.

I read them aloud and said, "You can't just add sleep words to the end of a weird poem and call it a lullaby."

Trevor agreed and said,

"Dear baby,
Today I went to the market and got some raisins.
Now go to sleep.'"

The Birthday Girl

Anna's birthday was last Saturday, but since we're the worst parents in the world and we decided at the last minute to go to a friend's wedding instead of doing anything for her, we've been randomly celebrating it over the past several days.

First Day of Fun

When you were a kid, especially when Mother's Day or Father's Day came around, didn't you always whine and complain, asking why there isn't a Children's Day? I know I did. And I'm pretty sure most parents answered like mine: "Because EVERY day is Children's Day." But not so in Poland. Children's Day is supposedly bigger than Mother's Day or Father's Day here. Even though Anna didn't really know why she was getting cool presents, she didn't mind celebrating one bit.

Our kind neighbor Nina invited us over a few days before Children's Day (June 1) for a huge lunch, and she showered Anna with flowers and gifts to celebrate. Here are a couple pictures of her blowing out her special candles (which she requested to blow out several times) and her flowers. (Nevermind the number three sticking out of the bouquet — she's only 2.)



On Children's Day, friends at church gave her so many presents. She came away with a bar of chocolate, a stuffed animal, a big ball, a bucket with a shovel and rake, and a Barbie. Anna loves the Barbie and calls it her "lala," the Polish word for "doll."

Second Day of Fun

A few days ago, we had a friend over and we ate strawberry shortcake to celebrate. This time we actually sang "Happy Birthday," so it was a little more official. Don't ask me why I left the gorgeous-looking strawberry shortcake out of the photo, but isn't Anna absolutely adorable?


Third Day of Fun

Yesterday, Anna opened her presents and this picture nicely captures her new sunglasses and hat and the chocolate on her face (if you look closely) from the kinder egg that she devoured immediately upon opening.


So we're apparently too disorganized or lazy (or both) to do it all on one day, but there you have it. I wish I could say that it's hard to believe that she's already 2 because she's been saying she's that old for the last six months. I think "two" must be easier to say than "one," so I'm pretty used to it by now. But at least now it's official.

Happy Birthday, Anna!

A few thoughts on film and some recommendations

When Trevor decided a few years ago on filmmaking as his career path, he dove head first into it. He read much more than he was assigned to, and he even cut back his class schedule one semester in the early days so that he could learn more about and watch more historical and world cinema — all so that he would be more well read and better prepared for his forthcoming classes. He continues reading about film all the time and watching all that he can, and he soaks in as much information as possible. His passion for it is amazing.

With that said, Trevor's film tastes are quite "academic," for lack of a better word — more so than I'm used to and more so than many of you are used to, I'm guessing. When pressed to watch another silent or slow foreign film, it seems like I'm often defending myself and my tastes, saying, "Hey, I'm not the film student here." Trevor usually prefers "art films" that are challenging and subtly transcendent (if I could be so bold as to categorize his tastes in one fell swoop), which means my untrained mind may find them a bit slow and boring at times. But I have also found that with the more "difficult" films I watch, the more I am able to handle and appreciate.

(As a sidenote, I keep using words like "art" and "difficult" to describe the kind of films I'm talking about, but that's really just a short way of referring to the films off the beaten path and on the other side of the spectrum, those opposite the ones most of us are used to: the mainstream and sometimes mundane, manipulative, or fluffy, if you will.)

So it's been an interesting journey for me as the wife of such a passionate student of film. Because much of our free time together is spent watching movies, I have seen quite a few and we tend to cover a fairly broad range. Along with the silent, black and white, foreign, and art films, we still watch lighter films and a few "mainstream" features as well. But I've probably seen more art films than I EVER thought I would. A few years ago, I don't think I would have enjoyed many of my current favorites, so I know that I've grown some and that my tastes are a bit more refined through such exposure. And I'm glad for it.

It's in this light that I've been thinking about my role in all of this. I've started to fancy myself as somewhat of a bridge between the world of meaningful, artistic cinema and the world of mainstream movies. I've covered some ground and poked into some corners of the world that I otherwise wouldn't have, if not for Trevor, and we've found a few treasures along the way.

Now this may seem pretty arrogant of me, but I see myself in a somewhat unique position, having seen this wide variety of movies yet still keeping one foot in popular culture, so to speak. If you're looking for a film experience that's a little different and/or a little more meaningful but you don't know where to start, read on. I may be able to provide you with a few worthwhile suggestions to fit a variety of tastes and moods. Some are old, some are obscure, and some may be better known than I think and I've just somehow missed them through the course of my movie-watching life.

Silent but sweet. Two silent films worth noting are Sunrise (1927) and The Master of the House (1925). Both are sweet but incredibly well-made films that deal with the topic of marriage. Sunrise, subtitled A Song of Two Humans (isn't that awesome?), tells the story of a farmer who is bewitched by a city woman and convinced to "get rid" of his wife. Make sure you take note of the amazing montage near the end. The Master of the House, a Danish film, centers around a poor family headed by a cranky, demanding father and an overworked but angelic mother. Watching it will make you grateful for the luxuries of butter and sugar and also for your spouse.

Subtle suspense. I'm really not one for horror movies, but I don't think The Thing (1982) classifies as a typical horror film. Sure it deals with aliens, sure there's death and some 80s mechanical gore, but both its subtlety and simultaneous power to immediately capture your attention make it absolutely stunning. Plus, what part of the alien-assuming-the-shape-of-the-people-it-kills plot doesn't make you want to run out and rent it right now? While it's still a science-fiction masterpiece, The Thing is also a fun, suspenseful film for those that can handle some fake blood.

*** I should note that this movie is rated R. Before you gasp and delete this blog from your links, take a look at an essay Trevor wrote on a friend's blog about R-rated movies and the rating system in general. It thoughtfully discusses the issue and provides some important background information for Mormons especially that all of us should consider. I'm not promoting R-rated movies (besides suggesting that you might like this one here...heh heh), I'm just saying we should be well informed about the media choices we make and that it would be wise to devise a more involved personal rating system of our own. ***

A chick flick like no other. Boyfriends and Girlfriends (1987) is a French film with a lot of talking, very little action, and a romantic web so tightly woven that you can't help but get caught up in the middle of it. Trevor and I both loved it.

On filmmaking. The 5 Obstructions (2003) is a Danish documentary featuring film writer/director Lars von Trier (Dogville, Dancer in the Dark) and his mentor Jorgen Leth. In the documentary, von Trier challenges Leth to remake a short film Leth made in 1967 called The Perfect Human, but he has him do so five times, assigning him new obstacles to overcome each time. One film is made in Cuba, another in Bombay's red light district. Another is an animation. I didn't know much about Lars von Trier and even less about Jorgen Leth, but I was riveted the entire time. It was an engrossing look at filmmaking, artistry, and the way Lars von Trier can mess with your mind.

Mood swings

So this is a new little game we like to play with Anna. I try to teach her new emotions all the time, but these are the ones that have stuck thus far.

Here's proof

My parents came to visit us a few weeks ago, on one leg of their mega-Europe trip, and now it seems like a dream. It's so weird to think that they were actually here ... in Poland ... with us. We have spent eight months in Poland now and I feel like it might as well have been Antarctica, for how far away we've felt. But it's true — our two worlds of home and Poland combined and now Anna can correctly identify Grandma and Grandpa and, though she has stopped asking to play with them, she at least points to the computer (where she sees them on Skype) and asks for them there.

Anyway, when my parents got here, they were pretty tired from their whirlwind trip to Normandy, and Trevor and I were totally spent after our rigorous trip to the Freiberg temple, so we didn't do much of anything while they were here. We showed them a good time at a huge grocery store, the park (several times), and a fancy Polish restaurant ... where my mom and Trevor took turns staying outside with Anna the whole time because she was a total crank. We didn't see many sites, but we LOVED having them here. We loved talking and laughing (my parents are a riot) and reminiscing about how my dad's first interaction with the Polish people was when he bumped into a drunk man while getting off a bus in Warsaw and getting yelled at and hit on the back. But I'm pretty sure the week hits its peak when me and my dad whooped up at Pictionary. It was such a fun time.

So here's proof (for you and for me) that my parents were actually in Poland.

So my parents aren't actually IN this picture, but someone had to be taking it, right?