A Thing or Two About Life: A Birthday Chronicle

A photo of the besties in costume for their big performance honoring/teasing my aunt

My aunt turned the big 6-0.

She’ll probably kill me for broadcasting this to the world.  But I think it’s necessary for my purposes.

Mostly because, it’s kind of a big deal.  In Russian, we call this a “circular date.”  A milestone.  Something huge that deservedly requires something grand to mark its presence.

To commemorate, my aunt invited friends and family from our town, other states and other countries.  I’m pretty sure she invited everyone she knew.  Old friends, new friends, relatives I’ve never met and neighbors who treat me like family.

She decided to put aside that whole “shit I’m getting older” situation and decided to have a big damn blow out.

And we applauded her.

And we braced ourselves.

Because we knew this meant a “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” style party, during which we would eat enough food for 30 days and those of us “youth” would stare with mouth agape wondering how it was possible we ever made any friends.

One of the tables. It could have fed a 1st world army. Instead it fed 50 of my aunt’s closest friends.

Unfortunately, this post isn’t about my eventful childhood (we’ll save that for later).  It’s about my aunt’s choice to ring in her important birthday with a positive attitude and a hell of a lot of fun.

She always tells me about the parties she and her friends throw together.  The kind of fun they conjure up, seemingly from nothing.  When she phones me to catch up, the conversation inevitably turns to some gathering these friends had and the songs, skits, poems, readings and/or ensembles they put together.

My aunt’s birthday offered me a peek into their traditions.

These weren’t ordinary toasts.  The MC’s main job was passing the microphone around from group of friends to group of friends so they could start on their “prepared piece” in honor of my aunt.

My expressions went from awed shock to laughter.

And at the risk of showing the world the insanity that is a birthday party in “my culture,” I’ve attached the video of one of the performances here – my favorite one.  Where they dressed up in “Ukrainian wear” and sang a Ukrainian folk song in jest to tease my aunt.

You don’t need to watch all 2 minutes and 48 seconds of this video.  I realize it’s a lot to ask.  But should you choose to click on the link below, keep in mind that these women are dentists, lawyers, doctors and engineers by day.  Also – I had no idea they even knew how to speak Ukrainian (my family speaks Russian).  Also – I had no idea our friend the MC could play the accordion.  Or that people still played the accordion.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

But so damn fun.

I’m thinking my aunt and her friends have a thing or 2 figured out.  Maybe they know how real fun is had.

Between catching up with my cousin and family friends, dancing with my boyfriend, my uncle and my dad, stuffing myself with deliciousness, taking hundreds of photos, and watching my family members dance together, I was absolutely caught up and living in the moment.

My dad dancing with his sister, the birthday girl.

Admittedly, I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

We laughed.  We danced.  We sang.

What more can a person ask for?

Awesome.

An Autumn Sail in July

The old saying goes: “it’s all how you look at it.”

Never is this truer than when your oldest friend in the world comes to visit and you plan to bop up and down with a bunch of other boats on Lake Michigan….

And it’s 61 degrees in July.

(Yes, this is a first world problem post)

Let me lay out the significance here.

My friendship with oldest friend was kind of pre-planned in the womb.  Back in Soviet times, when our parents were perfecting the art of homemade vodka distillation well-behaved model Soviet children, their entire high school class started to like one another.  And then married each other.  And then had some babies at the same time (it’s like a backwards Brady Bunch).  And then moved to America around the same time.  And then vacationed every year together.

We were basically destined to be besties.  Mostly because no one else was going to understand the trials and tribulations of having parents who started their life anew in a new country with small children and little knowledge of English … but I digress (I’ll save this enthralling sociological theory for another post).

Back to the significant problem at hand.

Months of preparation, one flight, one taxi, one night of serious dancing and too many hours of hype, we were ready for my promised day out on Lake Michigan (how else was I going to get her to move to Chicago?).

I told her to pack nothing but bathing suits and get ready for pool, beaches and BOATS.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up Saturday morning, felt around for my iPhone, found the weather app while squinting with one eye (daily morning routine) and was told by Yahoo! That it was winter.

I quickly checked the calendar app to make sure I hadn’t slept through July, August and September.

Nope.

It was 61 degrees in Chicago on July 27.

The Mother Nature Gods were testing us.

Do we throw in the towel and… see a movie??  Go sight-seeing with sweatshirts and fall scarves??

NO.

We put bikinis on.  Bring hoodies.  Buy snacks.  Go anyway.

After all, having fun is really about whom you’re with and our history shows that we can basically tear it up under any circumstance.  Like when we were 10 and our parents took us to Lake Placid for New Years and we decided to make memory cups by dripping candle wax into wine cups and… set her hair on fire.  We danced all night anyway (tears were brief).

Lucky for our positive attitudes, the friends we were joining (on their boat) were in too.

The ride out to the location of said boat party induced a bit of sea sickness and it was cold but we indulged in the day anyway.

Once anchored and tied to a row of boats (for boat hopping), adrenaline (and beer) took over and we jumped in the water, made friends, played with water toys, took  pictures, laughed, drank, danced and truly vacated.

Most of all, there was a lot of laughter and bonding.  I’m pretty sure that was the whole point anyway.

I’m really glad we got out of bed on July 27 and went out to sea.

It was Awesome.

Russian Thanksgiving: An Exercise in Over-Eating and Food Hopping

I am accustomed to wading through crowds, airports and screaming children to make it home for the family – oriented holiday of the year.

This year was no different.  I was home for thanksgiving.  However, having moved to Chicago (from NYC) a few weeks ago – my heart sang when the typical airplane ride home was replaced with a friend picking me up and delivering me to my hometown in Michigan a few hours later.

The rest of the weekend was business as usual.

Of course I say weekend because a Russian family’s thanksgiving couldn’t possibly consist of one evening or of one household.

Instead, we prefer to see how many times we can prepare an entire feast and how many other homes can provide the feast for us.

My arrival on Wednesday prompted the setting of a celebratory feast.  A visit to the grandparents called for a banquet.  A check in with family friends was the perfect opportunity for a ceremonial spread.

By the time today rolled around, I had eaten more than I had in the past month and was really starting to crave bare vegetables.

For those of you from the Ukrainian/Russian/Jewish/Immigrant variety, you’ll probably relate to the following:

• Roasted chicken instead of the traditional turkey
• Spanakopita (the always beloved Greek addition to thanksgiving)
• Herring, sardines, lox, cheese, salami and prosciutto (favorites the pilgrims overlooked)
• One too many toasts about being thankful (for a reason to toast)
• Turkey (or chicken) for breakfast
• Family members discussing your figure while simultaneously scoffing at how “little” you’re eating
• And of course (my favorite)… using what’s left of Vodka as gravy (see picture above)

We watched our family’s favorite movie (Other People’s Money) for the 187^th time (and recited lines together).  Sis and I told stories under the covers with flashlight (modern times: flashlight app) and engaged in cartwheel competitions that dad judged (I still got it!).  Days were culminated with family swim hour after our hearty meals (not advisable).

Aside from the fact that comments such as “you should eat more” started to have negative effects on my aggression meter (I can’t fit anymore!), I’d say it was a perfect thanksgiving.

Awesome.

Babs: The Early Years

On Day 46, I attended the William J. Mann book signing pertaining to his new work:

Hello, Gorgeous: Becoming Barbra Streisand.

Yes.  I was the only person there under the age of 62.

Yes.  The older folk and I gave each other weird looks.

Cat’s out of the bag: I’m a Babs fan.  I realize I was born about 20 years after her big break, but I was born to parents who went to Barbra’s concerts, bought me her CD’s and introduced me to her movies.

I’ve seen Hello Dolly about a hundred times and I’ve choreographed about a dozen figure skating programs (as a 12-year old) to Tell Him (a duet with Celine Dion).

Highly reminiscent of my mom’s love for soulful love songs, I immersed myself in her inspirational story.

Some info on Babs: she was born in Brooklyn and lost a parent at a very young age. She didn’t always have the means or the support that was much needed to pursue her dreams.  She fought hard and achieved unbelievable success.

She might be from a different generation, but her story is inspiring and relevant to me just the same.

I listened to people speak up from the audience who had gone to middle school with her.  I thought about how my mom would have enjoyed the event. I met the author (who gave me a surprising and great compliment ;)).

Awesome!

Miniature Cameras, Bugging Devices and False Bottoms

On Day 40, one of my friends suggested we head to the theater district and skip Broadway in favor of a Spy Exhibit.

SPY: THE EXHIBIT, was an interesting way to start the evening.

I’m not sure what I expected but everything you might imagine such an exhibit to have, was included in this extravaganza:

• Dead mice used to stash secret documents during the cold war?  Check.
• Aircraft designed to fly 3 times the speed of sound and pick up foreign secrets?  Check.
• Fake bricks known as “dead drops” with secret containers for money/messages?  Check.
• Laser room where one embarrasses oneself by fiercely dodging strobes of light while random passerby’s watch outside on screen?  Check. (Uncharacteristically, I skipped this activity… but LOVED watching).
• Remote controlled catfish AND dragonfly developed to “explore the use of underwater and aerial vehicles?”… CHECK.
• Voice recording station where one records oneself and changes voice intonations (and broadcasts comments about said friend)?  Check.

One of the coolest parts of the exhibit was the history lesson we received.

I’m no history buff! But even I shut up and paid attention once we entered “The Vault” with relics from WWII, the Cold War and the Russian Revolution.  All of these hit close to home and I was mesmerized by two displays in particular:

• A limited edition copy of Dr. Zhivago captured by the CIA and originally banned by Soviet Union Officials (author was given the Nobel Prize but was forced to decline it by the Soviet Government)

•  A letter written in May of 1945 by Richard Helms – a commanding officer in USA’s Office of Strategic Services – on Adolf Hitler’s stationary to his young son (age 3), explaining the significance of the victory.

Chilling.

Awesome.

Holidays: A “Family” Affair

On day 39, lil bro and I found ourselves in Brooklyn for rounds of toasts with our New York family in honor of Rosh Hashanah.

Today my brother and I toasted to the New Year with our family friends from back home (Michigan) who now also live in the boroughs of NYC.

Our history stems back to our pre-teen days.

Our moms introduced us when we were about 7 and 12.  They would have girl time while my brother and I were “baby-sat.”

These stories are legendary (including one hairbrush incident that involved the loss of some of my hair…).

Fast forward 20 years.  Marriage and kids for her and running wild in NYC for us and you have yourself the second generation of our family unit.  We celebrate birthdays, important anniversaries, milestones and promotions.  Our version might be different than the original but we still get together in much the same way our parents did 20 years ago.

Tonight was no different.

We told inappropriate stories.  Discussed bedroom incidents.  Teased each other mercilessly.  Attempted to remember the endings to old Russian children’s stories (wine was involved).  Feasted for 8.

Add a plethora of apples with honey for a sweet New Year (to increase our odds) and you have one great night.

Mom would have been proud.

Awesome.

The Art of the Russian Feast

Filled with inspiration and energy from spending two weeks at home, I decided I would love to prepare a feast of my favorite Russian home-cooking for some close friends.

A small dinner party was organized and I set out preparing the menu.

3 days of slave labor (and phone calls at midnight to my family asking for help) later, I had enough food to feed a small army (just like home!) and wasn’t hungry at all (really takes it out of you).

The fact that this kind of table is set for my siblings and me every time we are home and in multiple locations is mind-boggling.

I GREATLY appreciate my mother, father, grandmothers, grandfather, aunt, parents’ best friends, neighbors who are culturally close to Eastern Europe and just random people who spend/have spent time preparing food for my arrival… (and don’t just outright tell me off on the phone when I demand certain foods are made)

Without further delay, I present the menu served:

• Red caviar on traditional black bread
• Russian Havarti and “Doctorskaya Kalbasa” plate (type of sausage)
• Pelmeni with sour cream (hand rolled dough filled with different types of meats)
• Olivier Salad (type of Russian potato salad that includes egg, potato and bologna among other ingredients and too much mayo.  This is my favorite food by far)
• Vinegret Salad (Potato, beets, carrot… http://www.ruscuisine.com/recipes/salads-and-dressings/n–603/)
• Chicken Cutlets (admittedly these were a bit overcooked)
• Chicken Liver Pate
• Herring
• Russian Waffle Cake
• Russian Chocolate Candy (The favorite candy of my childhood: “mishka and “belachka”)
• Vodka (“Russian Standard”)
• Wine (every kind)

We laughed at the sheer amount of food (“what were you thinking about quantity here?!?!”).  We ate until we couldn’t move.  We told stories (Customary).  We planned future get-togethers and laughed until we cried.

Verdict?

Success.

Awesome.

Vodka and Reunion-ing – Jewish Style

On Day 30, I found myself at a Russian rooftop concert wildly dancing in circles and singing along with other Eastern-European vodka-drinking twenty somethings.

Upon first glance, you’d think that I attend these types of events frequently.

Not true.

Although I hailed from the Soviet Union, I rarely find myself gravitating towards the youth of my Ukrainian past.  There are several reasons for this.  One is that I was a small child at the time of our arrival to the Land of the Brave.  Another is that my parents never pushed me to necessarily hang out with other former Russian/Ukrainian children.

Nevertheless, one important lesson was learned here: you can take the girl out of the Russian-Jewish land but you cannot take the Russian-Jew (culturally speaking) out of the girl. There’s nothing I can do (believe me I’ve tried).  The only thing left to do is have a drink and sing along.

I went with it.  I clapped, I abused wine, I swooned at the music of my parents generation (which I still love).  The highlights are as follows:

• We danced (as previously mentioned) holding hands in circles, kicking our feet up, turning from side to side (let’s be honest, if you’re at a Jewish event and you’re not running around in a circle, you’re lost.  Leave and find the correct address)… if you’ve been to a bar mitzvah, you know what I’m talking about.  All we needed was an MC handing out inflatable toys for best kick and I would’ve been in middle school heaven

• We drank vodka like it was water (and chased it with watermelon) and made sure to toast to family, friendship and being together …  le’chayim! (means: To Life… Yes, I looked up the spelling)

• We spontaneously burst into song recalling famous Russian songs and rhymes… one particularly loved one about birthdays.  The band started singing along as well and we all swayed to the music as one bonded group, as if we’d all known each other for years.

There was hilarity, there was wine, there was fruit, there was bonding of sorts, song, dance, laughter and vodka shots.  As we stood there on this rooftop overlooking Manhattan, I felt surprisingly and yet totally predictably… at home.

Awesome.