• Thank you to Carol and Steve Bowman, the forum owners, for our new upgrade!

Russian lifetimes? (merged)

In the early 1400's

HI Open Heart,

I was born in Russia in the early 1400's - to a middle class family. My father was very religious and we didn't get along too well. I was sent to the Netherlands to a school at about age 15 - to learn with the Masters. I became a painter - painting walls and small icons.. images for the Church. They were my biggest patron at the time. No one famous - that I can tell - just another painter who sometimes slipped in symbols against the churches ideas and without them realizing it! ;) I am still looking -for my work. Haven't run across it yet. I have a feeling - I ended up in Spain. Someday I hope to go there and visit their museums.

I work large now - 6 foot by 4 foot mostly. This past year I did a few small self portraits of me as a child. 6 inches by 8 inches. Oh the pain! I remember -the detail - the tiny tiny images of icon painting. What surprised me most?? How easy it was so for me do!
 
I have a connection to Russia.

It was around the 9th century, give or take. I was raised near what would later be St Petersburg. My twin sister and myself were raised by a nasty old woman who was not our biological mother. Neither of us ever knew what happened to our parents. In my later teens I fell madly in love. Unfortuantely, he was killed before we could elope. I spent the rest of that life very bitter, angry, and alone. (My sister was around, but he caused a rift between that could never be fully mended.)

He shows up here and there throughout the ages, though I don't think we ever really captured the dream of living a long happy life together. (Except for that one in Russia, I am not very good at the long life part.)

I found my twin years ago. My lover's siblings found me last year. Unfortunately, no one has met her (I assume the gender as I am male this time around) yet. Still, I keep looking, I can't help myself... :)

Be safe.
-rob
 
Russian lifetimes?

Hello everyone! I happened upon this most intriguing site today, and am thrilled that I have. Yes, I too hail from Mother Russia, and strongly feel, discern, or plain "know" that I was a resident of St. Petersburg from 1860 or 1865 to the 1917 Bolshevik revolution. As I said to another member here, I truly miss and yearn for a parade that has long gone by. I am "homesick" for the architecture, the long winters, the ambiance and the thrill of living in what was a truly magnificent and cultural city. I miss the Hermitage, I miss the sounds of horses and carriages along the avenues lining the Neva. I miss trips to Finland, I miss the Russian ballet, and on a more personal note and level, there are those individuals whom I once loved, and have vague memories of. Photos of Russian Orthodox churches/cathedrals especially fill me with sadness and joy at the same time.

Cheers from Canada (It's cold here, too - but nothing like Petersburg!)
 
The Alexander Palace And Other Russian Delights

One item I had long forgotten was the fact that the Grand Duchesses were responsible for their own accounting of their allowances. I must point out here that I think, I think I met only 2 of the daughters once or twice - our family, while well off by Russian standards of that era, did not enjoy the level of opulence enjoyed by the Imperial family. We were not really privy to the inner court of the Romanov family, but my father was connected somehow to Tsar Nicholas' court in terms of legal consultation, I believe, and I can discern that I accompanied him to the Alexandra Palace on a few occasions - I LOVED the carriage ride, and later, MOTOR CAR ride out to Tsarskoe Selo, as the grounds surrounding the palace were well tended. (I must return for another regression; hopefully more information about this life may be gleaned through the assistance of hypnosis).

Aaaah, but I am in a nostalgic mood today, and what comes to mind is the great poetry and literature of Pushkin and Tolstoy.

I also have a feeling this particular incarnation was not my only life in Russia, as I strongly believe there was at least an additional one before this particular era, but to date I cannot confirm this.

It would be extremely interesting to learn if Grand Duchess Anastasia did in fact survive the execution of the Romanov family - I have a very strong feeling that she did, but again, this is mere inner feelings and instincts, and I cannot prove or confirm it.
 
For years there have been rumours that one (or more) of the children survived. I- of course- don't know whether that is true or not. I do know that anything I hear or read about the slaughter of that family makes me very very sad. The sadness lasts for hours or days afterwards.

I don't remember if I read this anywhere or not. But does anyone know..was it raining in the area the night it happened?
 
I lived in the Pripyat' marshes in the Pole'sye region (today straddling the Belorusian/Ukrainian border), in the early-mid 19th century. An entirely rural life, spent among the reeds and marshy inlets of the Pripyat' river. Once on dry land, roads were wide, muddy, lined with white barked birch trees, the sky often blue; the yearning for the onset of spring, the glorious singing in even the most humble Orthodox church; frogs croaking in ditches, gardens outside wooden houses, wooden fences.

From time to time I catch a glimpse of this in rural Eastern Poland.

Michal
 
Here's my story:

When I was 7 years old, I remember I was fascinated by the tetris game..the music, the St Basilica church and the cossack dress. I still remember the feeling was like finding my fellow countrymen. Since then I had very strong interest for Eastern Bloc nations, especially former SOviet Union. Even before encountering Tetris, I loved ( even now) to draw a guy with big, tall hat with big nose and jaw. I even imagined myself as a dude having a name like "Yevgeny, Konstantin etc"

Whenever I watched James Bond movies, for some reason I always had sympathy for the Commies soldiers. I always side with Russian in the war videogame/strategy game. I loved drawing Soviet Union missiles and jet fighters. My fav pics were the parade of Red Army soldiers in Kremlin.

Somehow I could also decipher the cyrillic alphabet and I managed to master the alphabet by learning it for 1 hour.

I've even had a dream I was talking to East bloc commie officials with a language I don't understand. I can't remember how it sounded like though :(

Just recently I've downloaded Red Army choirs songs..man the songs blew me away. I actually almost cried when I heard SOviet Union anthem.

Even now, my fav outfit would be Red ARmy winter uniforms.
 
I lived in St. Petersburg around 100 years ago. It was a beautiful life that ended horribly. I haven't concentrated on this life very strongly yet, but it seems many of my most beautiful and terrifying PL memories come from this life.

Karoliina
 
Ekaterina

Does anyone know where the name Ekaterina is from? It sounds Russian to me but I am not sure. I would guess its English equivalent would be Katherine but is it Russian?

Last night I dreamed I was standing under a tree talking to a tall slender dark haired woman. She had a dark ankle lenght skirt and a white blouse with long puffy sleeves. Her hair was up in kind of a bun at the top of her head and she carried one of those old fashioned umbrellas (a parasol according to my wife). She was in her late teens or early twenties.
I was wearing a soldier's uniform. Dark pants and a stripe down the pant leg.
She wanted me to go somewhere with her. I kept telling her I couldn't and I kept saying "Ekaterina is my wife".
 
Yes, it is a Russian name. :) Your dream sounds interesting. Judging by the clothing, the woman was roughly from the turn of the last century. Maybe you should check how the Russian army uniforms looked like back then.

I had a life in Russia at that time and I had a sister called Ekaterina (her nickname was Katyusha), but unfortunately she died when still young, so she couldn't have been your wife (if you think this was a PL dream).

Karoliina
 
Hi GreenKnight,

Have you found out anything more about Ekaterina?

I know it can also be written Yekaterina. Shortened forms can be Kata, Katia or Katya, and as Karoliina pointed out nicknames vary in Russian -- depending on the relationship between the individuals.

Have you also considered the name Katarina, which is a German equivalent?

Ailish :)
 
Just to help clarify things, Ekaterina (also spelled as Aili said - Yekaterina) is definitely Slavic. It has been used in places such as Ukraine and Belarus, but the assumption that it is Russian is a fair one to make.

As Aili said, names vary in Russian. It is quite possible for any given person to have four names. Their given name, their informal name, their name that serves as a term of endearment, and another name. The fourth name is more one to be used in the family as what would be an embarrassing nickname here. If anyone uses it outside the family, it is likely that the person will be offended.

For your reference, I have all four forms of Ekaterina for you:

Given: Ekaterina or Yekaterina
Informal: Katya
Endearment: Katyusha
Fourth: Katka

A male name would be constructed in a similar fashion, such as the name Aleksandr (Alexander).

Given: Aleksandr
Informal: Sasha
Endearment: Sashenka
Fourth: Sashka
 
Russia in the 1950s/1960s


This is really just one short flashback and impression, but I thought I'd share it with you ;)


Last night I listened to an MP3 file a Romanian friend had sent me; it was a satirical song using the tune of "Moscow Nights". (I've just found a nice recording of it on

, too.) I've always loved that tune, but I hadn't thought of it in quite a long while. All of a sudden, I had a flashback of standing on the "balcony" of a tower block like the one in the second picture on this site in what felt like the suburbs of a large city somewhere in Russia in the 1950s or 1960s. I don't know if I was male or female in that flashback, but I sense I was still rather young and most likely male. I'm leaning on the railing and just looking out, letting my thoughts wander.
It's an evening in late summer or early autumn in my flashback, and I'm a bit melancholy for some reason. In a storey above me, a mother is calling her child from their balcony; I think the name sounded a bit like "Belenka". The sky is getting a little pinkish already because the sun is setting, and though the air is still warm, I feel it's going to get cold soon.


Someone switches on a radio, and I strain my ears, trying to hear what they are listening to.


Unfortunately the flashback ended here, and when I tried to meditate about it, I fell asleep :(


The country around the houses was flat, you could see no hills or mountains even in the distance, and the grass that covered some places in front of the houses was hard and wiry and slightly brown, so maybe it had been a hot, dry summer.


That flashback would definitely explain why I was so obsessed with Juri Gagarin and the early cosmonauts for a while - maybe I was alive during that time. Oh, and I also eat sunflower seeds, have always done that; nobody in Germany does, they're only bird food over here, but some Russians I've met were quite surprised and said it was "a Russian thing" :D
 
I've just had another memory, driving along the motorway on the way back from an appointment, and letting my mind wander, thinking of nothing!


I think I worked as a lorry driver in that life, at least sometimes, and my payload were machine parts and appliances. (That must be why I thought I was training to become an engineer at first.) The lorry I drove was big, ugly and painted powder blue; it had seen better days and was pretty slow, but it could haul great loads and was more reliable than some of the others we had. In my flashback I was driving along a road that had a yellowish surface; it was either a dirt road or a concrete one. The landscape was flat and monotonous, with only a few clumps of larches and birches interrupting and every now and then a lone house, so I amused myself whistling and singing when it got too dull. There was nobody else on the road, just me, but I enjoyed it since it was a relaxed and carefree way of driving, not like today. I think I always had a small samowar or kettle and a gas burner with me so I could stop and make tea or heat a can of soup whenever I felt like it.


I have the feeling I used to drive from an enterprise on the outskirts of Moscow to some other place, but I don't know where. I have a few ideas but won't jump to any conclusions yet, as I'm afraid of influencing my memory.


That flashback finally helps me place a weird flash I had while driving to Spain two years ago; in one place I stopped to spend the night, and washed at rather primitive but clean facilities that were inside old freight containers "recycled" for that use. There was a stainless-steel trough-like sink outside those containers, and when I stuck my head under the tap to wash my face and rinse my mouth after brushing my teeth, I suddenly saw myself doing the same under similar circumstances, and I felt it was "in the 1950s". I must have had a memory of one of the rest stops I took in that life, at last that makes sense!


If I was a lorry driver back then, it would probably explain why I've always loved driving vans and small lorries, the older and more "primitive", the better!
 
Another memory that has just come in; I thought I'd share it while it was fresh! :)


There was a park near where I lived, nothing great but we still liked it and were rather proud of it. People used to go there in their free time, children would play ball games while their parents sat on benches and watched them and talked, and there were little kiosks where you could buy roasted nuts and seeds and small cakes that might be some kind of blini.


My friends and I liked going there, buying one bag of snacks and sharing it among us, sitting on and around a bench painted green (the paint was peeling in places), chatting and telling jokes, and when we'd finished one bag we'd throw coins or draw blades of grass to find out who would buy the next one.


I remember lying down on the bench and declaring everyone else would have to sit on the ground, since the bench was "mine", and the others saying at least they'd have a nice soft cushion if I didn't move. Then they grabbed my arms and feet and threw me off, but very gently, then they told me I could only redeem myself by buying the first bag of snacks. ;)


The roasted seeds and nuts came in small white paper bags that were folded at the top, and the paper wasn't very good and soaked through quickly if the food it contained was a bit greasy. So we usually put it on a clean handkerchief once it threatened to tear, and sometimes we made bets as to how long the bag would last.


I think there also was a small playground with a small hand-driven carousel or something like that for the children, it was all a bit rusty, too, but maybe paint was scarce at the moment. There was a game some people played there; I keep getting the impression that it was quite similar to boule/boccia, but I'm not sure if that memory is correct. I'll have to think on it and see if I can find out more!


It seems as if we didn't often have time for those days off in the park, but we did enjoy those we had!
 
I had a small memory flash of the whole family being together for a meal, and myself coming in a bit late. Everyone else is already eating, so I just fill a plate with something that looks like pea soup, grab a few slices of bread which I hold between my teeth and go to my seat, realising too late that the plate is a bit too full. But I'm too proud to put some of it back into the pot and rely instead on being able to transport it without spilling anything. The table is on the left as you come in, with one side to the wall, and the stove, an older model that still runs on coal, is to the right, opposite. I have to squeeze past my sister to get to my seat, and I'm a bit nervous about pouring my dinner down her neck, but I manage. ;)


I think the balcony - or rather, miniature "terrace", since we lived on the ground floor - can be accessed from the kitchen, as I can "see" something like a big window or glass door facing the kitchen door. The sink is to the left of the stove, towards the wall with the "terrace" door.


I remember teasing my sister by calling her "cow" or "little cow", either because it was a pun with her name or because I insisted she was fat and lazy. She wasn't, of course, but you know how nice little brothers can be at times :D What is "cow" in Russian, Sunniva? :)


We didn't have the two doors you described, just a very flimsy one in a colour like spinach that, er, has already been eaten, with a lock anyone could have picked without problems. But there was nothing to steal anyway, so perhaps that's why nobody bothered. The door you described does sound weird, but I can imagine that kind of thing. Did all the people in the building have them, or just "your" family?


Another thing I remember is the bathtub, an enamelled one with four feet, and a boiler that I think was operated with wood or coal as well. I don't think it ran on gas, that would have been too modern and too fancy, I think...


Thank you for the link to the picture; yes, those buildings come close to what I remember, they even have the same, well, slightly faded look ours had.


Another funny thing I finally realised today; they built a new public building containing the library, the town hall, the evening school where I teach Spanish, and some other institution, two years ago, and called it "House of Culture". That name always struck a chord with me, but the puzzle piece only fell into place last night, when I read a Wikipedia article about Soviet popular culture that mentioned an institution called "House of Culture", containing cinemas, libraries and such...(Wikipedia link)What a funny choice of name for a place here in the extreme west of Germany, and how ironic that I should teach there!
 
I can entertain you with a few more stories, since I had another flashback while driving home, probably triggered by the snow we've been having.


In that memory, I was walking to work early one winter morning, wearing a cap with ear flaps that was lined with what looks like faux fur; the cap is slightly too large and comes down almost to my eyebrows, but I don't mind since at least it's warm.


The cap is a greyish green, much like the parka-like coat I'm wearing, and there's a thick dark grey scarf which I think my sister knitted wrapped around my throat. I have nice warm boots that go up to mid-calf, and as I'm plodding through the snow I'm glad I took the trouble to wait in line for those boots because I hate having cold, wet feet and they keep them warm at last. It's important to have warm clothes, since our trucks have no heating and of course you get very cold just sitting behind the wheel.


I'm carrying something that looks like a milk can, full of hot stew that my sister insisted on giving me, even though I tell her it's not going to be a long trip today, and I'll be back for dinner. Sometimes she can be really fussy!


I'm a bit sleepy because I only returned from a longer trip the day before, so I don't really pay attention to my surroundings. Suddenly, a loose handful of snow hits me in the face and I jump. I look into the grinning face of one of my friends from the park memory, and he asks me if I'm still asleep. I can see the thick mitten I'm wearing as I wipe the snow out of my face, then set down the milk can thing carefully, bend down to pick up some and throw it at him, but he's faster since he's slightly more awake. I call after him, telling him I'm letting him go but he should fear my revenge; he just laughs and makes a rude gesture at me, but I can't quite remember what it looked like :)


I also remember that Vadim used to play the accordion; he had a battered black one that had been repaired several times and didn't have a perfect pitch anymore, but it was still good enough for our little gatherings and celebrations.


In the other flashback I had I was sitting at the kitchen table, just come home, and playing a simple board game (nine men's morris?) with Belanka while my sister - I still can't remember her real name - is standing at the stove and stirring something, probably making one of the stews we used to eat.


Vadim comes in, carrying a large cardboard box and grinning like the proverbial cat that got the canary. He sets the box down on the table and says it contains lots of food tins. He explains that he's "done somebody a favour" (I guess he's "found" some stuff someone else could use at his workplace) and received the tins in return, and adds that the only downside is that they aren't labelled. I take out one tin, weigh it in my hand and declare: "I bet this one is fruit". My sister throws me the can opener, a primitive affair that has nothing to do with the comfortable ones we have today, and tells me to open the tin if I really think it's fruit, as it would be nice to have fruit for dessert. I say "Wait and see" and confidently start opening the can. But when I lift the lid I see that there's no fruit in it, just sardines, so we have sardines on toast with our stew and decide that's nice as well! Of course my darling sister makes a sarcastic remark, but I tell her to be nice and shut up :) We really liked each other but enjoyed the teasing very much!


I'm glad you could confirm that bit about the watches, cameras and such; that must be why I'm so stubbornly attached to my two old-fashioned (but not Soviet) cameras! The watches and cameras were of a very good quality as well, I think; have you made that experience with yours?


It's no wonder they were prized items for trading; I can't remember doing that myself, but I think Vadim and a few of his friends were very good of it, and if you needed something you only had to ask them and they could get it for you.
 
As for the new memory, it came to me while driving again, and this time it was in "real time", too. I suddenly saw myself driving along a narrow, probably unpaved road along the side of a mountain in what must have been the Ural. To the left, there's only rock, but to the right I can see a deep, lush valley with a river running through it, slightly like the one in this Google Earth photo. I'm whistling a song, as usual, and a patriotic one I'd heard on the radio some weeks before comes to my mind. It was a song about how beautiful our country is, and when it was on the radio I rolled my eyes because I thought it was cheesy and overly patriotic, but as I look down into that valley, I think the song was right, and our country is beautiful. I realise at last that it has far more to offer than just steppe, a few clumps of trees, some marshy bits and more steppe...I'm feeling really happy as I drive along, so happy that I even burst into song, then grin sheepishly at myself and think it's a good thing nobody has heard!


I remember that this was my first trip to the west, into the mountains, since I usually went east or south, and that I only took it over because there was nobody else to do it at the time. Everyone showered me with good advice, and Vadim told me to be careful and come back in one piece. I slap him on the shoulder and say: "Don't worry, Vadimka, I'll be back - after all, who should annoy you if I was gone?" He grins back at me and says he'd expect nothing less, and that he'd really feel lonely if "that little plague" wasn't around anymore and he had nobody to tease.


My sister comes in carrying a pot (a teapot?) and gives us that smile that says "Men! They're all the same!" then proceeds to do something at the stove. Maybe she's putting on the teapot, because I can "see" her setting some mugs on the table then...


As I set off for that trip, the man who coordinates the loading etc. (I think his name is Oleg) walks up to me with more advice, telling me to give the truck a rest after driving uphill for a long time, so it doesn't overheat. I ask him how long and he says with a wink that the time it takes to brew a cup or two of tea, have a snack and smoke a cigarette while enjoying the view would be fine. Then he tells me to stay off the brake while going downhill, since it might overheat, and to always have a look at the brake discs after going downhill, to make sure they're not too hot, or worse still, glowing red, and to wait another half-hour or so if they are so they have time to cool down.


I was glad to have that flashback, since it explains while I've always tried not to use the brake too often while driving, looking a long distance ahead instead to get off the accelerator and slow down if necessary. Of course, the brakes of a small car like mine wouldn't overheat, but those of a truck certainly would, especially when driving in the mountains!


Another thing I realised was that our trucks didn't have synchronised gear shifts, like modern vehicles have, so changing gears could be a bit tricky at times. You had to find the right moment when both the engine and the shaft had the right number of RPM, and then change gear, because if you didn't, the gear shift produced all kinds of nasty noises, and it wasn't at all good for the poor thing :)


We had a nickname for the newbies who still didn't have the hang of it and were liable to produce said noise when shifting gears; I think we called them something like "noisy ones" or "squeakies". Unfortunately I can't remember the Russian word, only that it ended in "-niki", but that probably isn't much help...


Edit: Google Earth yielded a few more pictures of tower blocks like the one I remember:


first photo


second photo


third photo
 
I had missed the exit to the supermarket in the neighbouring town where I had to teach a Spanish course, and since the street is currently one-way because of construction, I turned left into the next car park and walked back to the supermarket. As I was walking along the street, it started snowing again, and I had this memory. Oh, and by the way, I now think I remembered my sister's name incorrectly; I think she was called Natasha and Olga was someone else!


In that memory, my sister and I are walking back from the shop in winter. The shop is not very far from where we live, a flat cube of a building, light blue paint flaking, and with a faded sign on above the door, white with red letters. It says something like ??? Magasin; 'Magazin' is 'warehouse' in German, so maybe it means 'shop' in Russian? I'm not sure what the word before 'Magasin' is, but it's the genitive form of some word...


It's snowing heavily, so we're wearing our warmest coats, those caps with ear-flaps, scarves, sheepskin mittens and warm boots. I'm carrying a jute sack over my left shoulder that seems to contain lots of tins and sturdy boxes. It's rather heavy, and I can feel those things inside it poking into my back. My sister is carrying a large, flat cardboard box that seems to contain something big and fragile but light; there's a string tied around the box so you can carry it more easily, but she's carrying it under her arm. It may be something like an ornamental glass or china plate, a little treat my sister has bought for herself, and I think it's quite pretty.


In the other hand, she's holding a basket with more food and household stuff, but those are the more fragile and lighter things.


It's cold enough for our breath to condense, and again we're glad we took all that trouble to get some decent warm clothes. We meet a few people we know on the streets; one of them is a tall young man, about my age (mid-twenties), quite good-looking and with a friendly smile. I think he's a soldier because he's wearing a long brown coat with what looks like insignia on his shoulders, and his fur cap has a red star on the front. He's not here on official business, maybe he's stationed somewhere else and has come to Chelyabinsk on leave, to visit his family. We call him Yuroshka - the pet form of Yuri? He asks how we are and if we've been shopping, then makes a joke and says "Give my regards to the family". We say we will, and as he turns around to leave, I call after him, telling him to be a good boy and behave. He turns around again, grins and makes a hand movement at me as if he were shooing away a fly.


That was another "compressed" flashback again, as it all happened during the minute or so it took me to walk to that supermarket. It was really intense!


I've always loved potatoes, herring and egg - apparently, another carry-over! And I just thought I liked it because it was the ideal food if you have no time to cook a big meal! :)


Russian Orthodox church definitely feels familiar, it has always fascinated me. I think we were quite religious, and glad that things were a bit more relaxed now. Of course, the Soviet Union was officially atheist, but since a relatively large number of people still wouldn't give up their religion, the government probably turned a blind eye, realising that they couldn't make such a number of people swear off religion. But I don't think we went to church very often, maybe that was because the next one was rather far away, or there weren't always services.


The Chaika looks like the kind of car we would only have known from newspaper picutres, as does the ZIL. But I definitely remember the Moskvitch and the Pobieda! I think it was Pobiedas the local Party representatives had, I don't know why they had more modern and elegant cars. The Pobieda still seems very refined and fancy if I look at it through Maxim's eyes, though!


Funnily enough, I think most of the Moskvitchs I saw every day were white - maybe white colour was the easiest one to produce, or it simply was the most common one...


Wow, that was an amazing flashback you had last night; it's a pity you couldn't detect more! That feeling of "I've done that before" without being able to place it properly can be very annoying, can't it? Of course I hope you'll let us know if you can find out more!


Thanks, I'm glad I was right with the meaning of 'Zemlya'! Hmm, it's interesting that you mention the nuclear tests, as I can remember that the name somehow resonated with me when I spotted Novaya Zemlya on the map at school during a Geography lesson about the economics of the Soviet Union! And again, it's a place where you think you flew reconnaissance missions - it really is a small world! Was it dangerous to fly there, was there a lot of air defence? I can imagine that it wasn't easy flying there because of the weather conditions etc., even if you weren't shot at!
 
I'll try to remember something every day, then, for your new episode of "The Maxim Show"! :laugh: Today's yield wasn't so big, unfortunately, I only remembered that Yuroshka and I had gone to school together, and that he told me once, strictly between the two of us, that the first year or so in the army had been horrible, but after that it got better. Once he'd reached some rank (lieutenant?) he said it was alright, and he was glad that he'd "clenched his teeth and plodded on", as he put it, earlier...


I also managed to remember the joke Yuroshka and I exchanged - he congratulated me on being as crazy as ever, and I returned the compliment, saying that he was as ugly as ever. I think we usually teased each other like that, it feels like an old, well-worn in-joke, a "ritual" between two people who had known each other for a long time. We were always glad to meet him because he was a very nice fellow, but unfortunately he wasn't often at home.


A large glass lightshade like the one you describe sounds right for what was in the box! I think my sister had wanted one for ages, and now that there was one available at last, she decided to get it, no matter what. It definitely was very ornamental and very colourful, much like the bright patterns I remember being printed on the bed linnen. I'm trying to "see" the patterns but can't, though I have the impression they usually were floral ones, in all kinds of interesting and rather daring colour combinations.


The surly babushkas you mentioned sound very, very familiar as well; some of them looked as if they were going to bite, and they made you feel guilty, as if you had to apologise for existing, and, still worse, wanting to buy something from them! The assortments of goods that were available were truly weird at times; as you said, the lightbulbs always were the wrong wattage, and you'd get things like garden rakes in mid-winter and warm mittens in summer, but only rarely exactly what you wanted. Ah, the wonders of planned economy!


"Universal'ny magazyn" does sound like the name I was trying to remember! If they actually had some useful stuff, you had to be there early in the morning, before all the good things were gone, and sometimes it meant getting up very early to get in line and be the first, or one of the first as soon as it opened, and then grab whatever you could.


Thank you for the explanation; the Pobieda must have been the car I remember from my childhood and teenage days then, maybe it impressed me more than the Volga did.


In another memory, I'm driving along what must be a strategically important road, since it has a surface of either asphalt or some adventurous mixture of gravel, asphalt and God knows what else, but at least it's quite comfortable to drive on. I have the right hand on the steering wheel, and with the left I'm smoking a cigarette. I'm in high spirits, humming snatches of songs that drift through my mind, and look at the landscape. It's very flat, with the usual clumps of birches and larches, and there's a telegraph or telephone line on the right side of the road. I'm looking forward to something we're going to do when I come home again, maybe we've planned an outing or something similar.


A gas station comes in sight, and I turn right, off the road, because I remember that my truck is low on diesel. The gas station looks a bit derelict, but it's still in operation. The building is flat and squat, it looks a bit like the shop in the previous memory, and the outside is covered with faded, light-blue tiles. It's sloppy work, obviously someone has just stuck them on without taking great care, and some of them are cracked or have fallen off.


I stop my truck a few metres away from the rusty and rickety-looking pump and jump out (of course I've stubbed out my cigarette), grabbing a fake-leather binder that probably contains my papers or fuel ration cards. I briskly walk over to that building, and just as I'm about to open the door, the man responsible for the station comes out and tells me there's no diesel. All of a sudden, my good mood is gone, I feel like a balloon someone has deflated with a needle. I know there isn't enough in my tank to reach the next one, so I'll probably be stuck in the middle of nowhere until the new fuel arrives, and of course nobody knows when that will be! Oh, great. So much for being back in time, and so much for the planned outing!


I know yelling at the gas station guy won't help anything, so I just sigh, hunch my shoulders and plod back to my truck. For some reason I've forgotten to pack a book, and now I could kick myself for that. I make tea on my gas cooker and smoke, then I drink the tea and smoke some more. I sit down with my back against the left front wheel of my truck, eat some bread and other small things just because I'm bored, and I take the grubby notebook out of my shirt pocket and make doodles in it with the equally grubby pencil I keep in that space formed by the binding of the book and the cover. Sometimes I get up and pace a little, but that only makes me more irritated, so I sit back down again and make more doodles, mentally cursing that idiot and the fact that there's no diesel for me to go on driving. The memory stops there, but I think the new diesel still arrived on the same day - guess I was lucky after all!
 
And now for the promised memory flash from last night! It was nothing exciting, but I thought I'd share it anyway.


In that flashback, I come scuffling into the kitchen in my pyjama, feeling very tired because I haven't really slept much. Maybe I returned late from another trip, probably once more because of delays caused by something important missing, as usual.


My stomach is feeling a bit queasy, and I think eating something might make it feel better. I open the large jar of pickled gherkins standing on the counter next to the sink and fish one out with a fork. I eat it from the fork, hoping to be finished before Natasha sees me and tells me off, since she's told me several times not to do that. But, like the KGB, my sister sees and hears everything! She comes into the kitchen just as I fish for the next gherkin and yells "Maxim! You're such a pig!", then takes a plate out of one of the cupboards hanging on the wall overhead and slams it on the counter beside me, giving me a very black look.


Tired as I am, the last thing I want to hear is a lecture about good manners and hygiene from my sister, but I bite back the comment, let my head drop forward and against the cupboard, sigh quietly and roll my eyes behind closed lids. But I obediently take a fresh fork from the drawer, take two or three more gherkins from the glass and eat them from the plate. I loved my sister, but sometimes I could have strangled her for being so fussy, but she probably felt similarly about me!


Another thing that has just come to me - I think the failed Virgin Lands Campaign became a kind of byword for something that has been screwed up on a grand scale. I don't know if it was a universal saying, maybe only the people I knew said it, privately and not to everyone, of course!
 
Another little flashback that has just come to me - thought I'd share it, too!


It's early summer or late spring, and we've borrowed a friend's car, another while Moskvitch, to drive to a lake outside Chelyabinsk. I tried to find the correct one on Google Earth, but there are too many, can't say which one it was. I have the feeling it was to the west of the city, though, and that we lived in the north-west of the city as well.


The lake is surrounded by the omnipresent birches and larches, with a sprinkling of what must be pines. It looks rather flat, and the water is a light blue. I have the feeling it's a popular picnic spot, but we're lucky, there aren't any other people there today.


The car we used to drive there is white, as I said, but its passenger door had to be replaced at some point, and since apparently no white one was available, the new one is light green and looks marginally better than the rest of the vehicle.


The ground we're sitting on is soft and springy, and it's covered with dead leaves and pine and larch needles. It smells very nicely of earth and moss, something we don't experience very often. Natasha has spread a checkered tablecloth on the ground, and there's a small hamper sitting in the middle of it. It contains the usual "finger food", stuff like blini and what seems to be small meat pies, but also a very rare treat - a packet of biscuits and, wonder of wonders, some chocolate! Those are indeed rare treats, but perhaps Vadim has pulled some strings again, or we've actually been lucky and they've had some good stuff at the shop!


I don't know what we have taken along to drink, but perhaps a few bottles of water and the portable gas cooker I usually take on my trips, to make tea. I think I can "see" a steel thermos flask, but I'm not sure if we had one, or if that is only "interference" from the one I own in this life, the one I wanted so much that I bought it directly as soon as prices for them went down. If we did have one, it probably contained some hot milk for Belanka, who seems to be about eight in the memory.


The ground is warm enough to sit on, but we still don't want to risk a cold, so we sit on folded jackets, jerseys or blankets. We grown-ups are talking quietly and I think we're playing cards, while Belanka is running around playing with her cosmonaut doll. She runs in circles holding it up to simulate flying in his imaginary rocket, and then she makes him "land" near a fallen tree trunk and "explore" it. We watch her, smiling, as it's just too cute, she has such a vivid imagination!


Later, after we've eaten, Vadim stretches out on his side and Natasha cuddles up to him, I find another comfortable spot to lie down and doze with half-closed eyes, while Belanka, full of energy like always, is still running around and playing. I think she's also brought another toy, a red rubber ball, which she somehow includes in her game with her doll.


We're all feeling quite content, glad to have some time together, reasonably good food, some nice sunshine...I think things could be so much worse!
 
Here's the latest "revelation", as promised - I finally worked out why I must have had such a childhood fascination with ice hockey and even decided I wanted to be an ice hockey player when I was about ten in this life!


I played around with Google Earth this morning and came across an orange dot that said "Mechel Chelyabinsk" to the north of the city. The name somehow resonated with me, so I clicked on the "Official Site" link and came up with this site (Babelfish translation) of the "Mechel" ice hockey club of Chelyabinsk. It was founded in 1948 and seems to have been very successful; perhaps Maxim was a Mechel fan then!


I always wanted ice hockey boots as well, and finally bought a used pair. I still have them, almost twenty years later, and I still use them, I'd rather be seen dead than with figure skating skates on my feet! ;)


I had two more small memories today, in one I'm sitting at a table, not at home but perhaps in the factory I work for, and I'm trying to fill out a form printed on paper that seems to be yellow on purpose, and not yellow because it's of inferior quality. It's still bad quality, though, and the pencil I have definitely matches it. I fill the stupid thing out, and as I'm nearly done, I either notice that I've done it wrongly, or the pencil tears the paper. I make a large "X" across the whole paper, then write something very rude on it, scrunch it up and toss it into a corner. I take another one from the pad or clipboard the previous one was on, and grudgingly start to fill it out again. I have no idea what kind of form it was, but it was very complicated and a real pain in the rear!


In the other memory my friends and I are celebrating, I think it's Yuroshka's promotion. I have the feeling that he got a few days' leave in honour of the event, so he returned to Chelyabinsk to visit his friends and family. He's due to return to where he's stationed the next day, and he wants to have a farewell party with us, his old school friends.


Yuroshka comes in, still in his uniform, and sets a brown paper bag on the table, grinning broadly. He says "Well, children, Uncle Yuroshka's got something nice for you" and reaches into the bag. He pulls out a few bottles of vodka, some snacks and treats, and distributes everything on the table, and we start eating, drinking, laughing and trying not to think of the fact that he's got to leave again tomorrow and God knows when we'll meet again.


Later, much later, Vadim fetches his accordion (I think we're celebrating in the appartment of Yuroshka's widowed mother) and we all try to sing "Katyusha". Our rendtion may not have been of artistic value, but at least it was loud and a lot of fun!


I think Yuroshka was always happy to be home because he could just be himself there, and a break from the strict discipline must have been very enjoyable for him!


Another thing I remember - there was a kind of mosaic with energetic-looking, powerful and enthusiastic workers in a kind of large corridor that led to a small office in the factory, it may have been the one where we drivers went for our fuel coupons, route descriptions and freight papers, as I can remember leaning against it clutching that fake-leather binder of mine and being slightly annoyed and very tired. I wonder where they got the models for those people in the mosaic, and I come to the conclusion that obviously it wasn't round here...


That anthrax outbreak you spoke of must have been terrible indeed, and the fear in the city must have been enormous. And again, they told nobody what had really happened, just told them to drive through there quickly...got to love those cover-ups!


It's funny that picknicking was so popular in Russia - it also was in Elizabethan England, and my family and I did it quite often as well. It's funny how some preferences never change!


I've put the film on my wish list; at the moment Amazon only has a very expensive DVD which I can't afford this month. But it definitely is on the "To Buy" list!


I've played with Google Earth again, and one of the very small lakes near Kasargi, to the north-west of Chelyabinsk (about twenty kilometres away as the crow flies) could have been the one we went to. It was rather small, but there are enough small ones that look like "ours". How strange that you can see pictures of the places you visited in a past life on the Internet like that! Wow!
 
I had another mini-memory today; I arrive at a freight ramp somewhere in a wide, open landscape with even fewer trees than usual. The grass is a yellowish red, maybe it's autumn and it's dying already. I have a jersey in my cab, but it's still warm enough to drive in your shirt, I put the jersey on as I get out, though, because the wind is so cold.


Three men of about forty come to meet me, and I tell them who I am and why I'm there. One of them pats me on the shoulder and says: "We're sorry, comrade, you can't unload," and then tells me why, but I don't remember that. Maybe the person who had to sign all the paperwork wasn't there.


I'm not really happy (putting it kindly), but another one cheerfully informs me that things have been gone wrong all day, and that they've decided just to sit it out. (So much for Soviet productivity!) They invite me to sit down where they've made themselves comfortable, in the shelter of a kind of air trap made of corrugated iron that surrounds the gate leading from the freight ramp into the factory. They've put up the omnipresent gas cooker with tea, and one of them has even found a portable radio, a real treasure! It doesn't give off much volume and can only receive one station, and that badly, but nevertheless we crowd around it and listen to it, very quietly so as not to drown out the faint music and voices. They call me "little one" or "little man" because they're all so big, strong and broad-shouldered, and I'm only about 1.60 m wearing shoes, and I feel like a dwarf among the giants!


My annoyance fades slowly, and I begin to enjoy hanging out with them.


My truck is finally unloaded in the early evening, and I'm on my way home a short time later. It's a full moon, so I decide to go on driving, the light is good and the roads are nice and dry. Maybe I had some sleep later on, but I think I wanted to be headed towards home as soon as possible!
 
Another one, fresh from last night, as I was falling asleep...


In that memory, we're walking through the park, I think it's a Sunday afternoon in early winter, as it's cold, but not too cold, we're all wearing mittens and fur caps and our winter coats, and there's a slight sprinkling of snow on the ground.


We're off to visit our friend, the one who owns the radio, to listen to a programme we like quite a lot because they play good music on it, classical and folk music and songs like "Podmoskovnye vechera", and nothing about the victory of Communism and how our country is the best in the world. It's presented by a man who speaks very clear and accentuated Russian without a trace of dialect or local accent, and I always imagine that he's one of those suit-and-tie types like the one who came to lecture us about Civil Defence and protection from radiation in case the Americans throw a bomb. But that one was rather stiff and seemed stuck-up, whereas the radio presenter seems quite nice. Between songs, he tells stories and talks about "the majestic Don river" and other landscapes, usually in connection with the song that has just been played, or reads poems. Escaping reality for an hour while listening to that programme is quite a nice change, it's a pity that the programme isn't on every week, only every now and then!


Natasha is carrying something that contains still-hot food, maybe one of the milk-can-type containers in which we sometimes take food to work. I think we always bring something to eat when we go to this friend's house, as a little thank-you for being allowed to listen to the radio with him.


Belanka is in a bit of a bad mood and complaining she'd rather be at home, so I promise her I'll either buy a snack for her or play a game she's particularly fond of later. That seems to cheer her up a little. She normally likes visiting our friend, too, she only isn't her usual cheerful self today. Maybe she's a bit tired, or not feeling well.


I don't remember the name of that presenter, but I think his programme was called something like "[Name]'s Golden Hour" or "Pleasant Hour". I think it was quite popular, at least among the people we knew. I'll have to do some Googling about Soviet radio programmes when I have some time!


What struck me is that I seem to remember so very few people having children now that I think about it; maybe all that pollution made them sterile, or nearly so! There were enough young couples around, but most of them had no children, or only one, like Vadim and Natasha...
 
Speaking of memories, I had another one today! In that memory, something in our household is broken, and since we all know that we won't easily get a replacement, I volunteer to make a provisional repair. I think it's the kitchen window that is the problem, it doesn't close properly anymore. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, making something like a wire loop and holding a bit of string or wire between my teeth. No matter what I do, the stupid thing just doesn't work properly, but I'm stubborn and determined to finish the silly thing, even if it means that I'll have to sit there all night.


As I'm fiddling with the wire, trying to improve my construction, I suddenly think: "That's what holds this country together, wire and string...I hope they give the cosmonauts wire and string as well, in case something breaks down up there!" The thought makes me grin, and Natasha, who is in the kitchen as well - I think she's cooking supper - asks me what is so funny. I reply: "Nothing...just thinking", since I feel she wouldn't understand my train of thoughts anyhow.


I tried to Google the radio show, but haven't found anything so far. There was a website about old radio shows in Russian, linked from the Wikipedia article on Soviet radio and TV programmes, but when I put it through Babelfish, nothing on it seemed familiar. I really have to learn Russian so I can read all those pages!


By the way, I think the friend who owned the radio was called Doshka or something similar, and I have the feeling that it was the pet name of a pet name, used to express special affection. It probably was the pet form of "Alyosha", which is a pet form in itself, but I'm not sure, this is just the impression I get. That friend was a bit on the quiet side, and an avid chess player, but we all liked him a lot. He always had a kind word and an open ear for everyone, and he was very kind to Belanka and always saved up something special for her, a few biscuits, some chocolate, things like that.


Poor Belanka, sometimes I asked myself if she wasn't a bit lonely, not having many children to play with. But perhaps she didn't feel it, since she didn't know anything else...


Oh, I forgot to mention that before - I'm pretty sure now that Natasha worked in the watch factory, putting watches together at an assembly line. I think they said it was a job for women, since they had smaller hands and had better fine motor skills, and I think Natasha was quite good at her job!
 
Had another memory today, I think it was triggered by a similar kind of landscape I drove through, and the colour of the sky and light. In that memory, I'm driving through a flat landscape with mountains in the background, I think I'm headed for the Ural for the first time. The road is a dirt road, I think, but it's surprisingly good, so I only steer with my left hand with my right one resting on the gear lever, and I'm relaxed and whistling a song. There are people working in the field, hoeing the ground, and suddenly I remember that I should do something with my truck before driving into the mountains, something that has to do with water - I suppose I have to top up the cooling water, since my truck apparently loses some from time to time, which isn't a problem in the flat country but could become one when the engine has to work more going uphill.


I pull over and get out to approach the people working in the field. The first one I encounter is a frail-looking old man, and as I see him I feel sorry for him and have a bad conscience because I think an old man like him shouldn't toil in the field, he should sit by the fire, enjoy his rest and play with his grandchildren, leaving the hard work to the young and strong men. I really feel bad when I think that I sit on my butt all day and just steer that truck while he works so hard!


I ask the man, "Dadushka (or Dedushka/Dyedushka? A respectful address, the male equivalent to "babushka"?), do you have some water for my truck?" and he asks me how much I need. I name a quantity, and he says he'll get that for me.


He hobbles off to fetch a canister, and while he's away I go through my duffel bag with the spare clothes, food, washing things and so on, to see if there's anything I can give to him. I find two cans of sardines and three boxes of matches, that's all I can spare, but I think he'll be able to use it, since such things are difficult to get in the country. I'm not sure if I also take some tobacco, or if I only consider doing that but change my mind.


Anyway, I take those things and carry them over to the old man, who has returned with a metal canister of water. I thank him and slip the things into his hand; his eyes go wide and he thanks me, hiding the cans and matchboxes in the inside pocket of his faded blue jacket. I ask him when he needs the canister back, since my engine will have to cool down a bit before I can top up the water, and he tells me to just leave it by the roadside when I've emptied it, and he'll come and pick it up. I thank him again, then pick up the canister, feel the engine hood with my hand as I walk around the truck, and sit down next to its front wheel, as I always do when waiting, on the opposite side and roll a cigarette. I hug my knees, rest my chin on them and think about life and about lots of other things.


When the engine has cooled down enough, I top up the water and leave the canister by the roadside. As I drive on, the old man lifts his head, leans on his hoe and waves at me, and I wave back and honk the horn (one of the few things that work without problems on that truck!).


I also had a short glimpse of an old woman selling flowers in that square in front of the shop, the one from the memory of going shopping in winter and meeting Yuroshka. The flowers she sold looked like nigellas or scraggly pinks, nothing great, but they had bright colours, and I think I bought some and brought them home to put them in a vase on the kitchen table, since we all liked flowers and we thought they made our home a bit more cheerful...
 
I had another tiny glimpse last night, again as I was falling asleep: I'm driving along a dirt road somewhere in the country. The sun is relatively low, it feels like it's about 3 or 4 PM (hard to say without a watch) and it's to my right, so I guess I'm driving eastwards. I see another ZIL approaching, a dark green one splattered with mud, the wooden "container" on its back full of white cabbages. I assess the situation and decide to pull over and stop since I'm on better ground and will have no problems starting again, whereas it would be fatal if the other driver stopped and got stuck in the mud. There are no trees nearby to which one could fasten the rope of the winch in front and pull the truck out, but stopping and letting the other guy pass isn't below my dignity.


As we approach each other, we honk at each other, and as we pass we open the windows and shout a greeting at each other. The other guy gives me a mocking military salute and yells "Thanks, comrade", and I return the greeting and shout "No problem". I watch him fade into the distance in the mirror, and when he's passed the muddy patch and I'm sure he won't need any help, I drive on.
 
I had another "past life hangover" yesterday afternoon (I like that expression!), as I stood in the kitchen, looking out of the window and waiting for my coffee machine to finish the mug of coffee I'd been brewing. All of a sudden I didn't see the neighbour's house anymore, but the view out of Maxim's kitchen window, the paved empty parking spaces in front of the house (not really used because only very few people have cars), a rusty streetlight whose metal parts are sloppily painted a sickly green, with the anti-corrosive paint coming through in places. On the far side is another row of tower blocks, I think three, and in the middle is a lawn where the children and young men sometimes play football in summer. It was very real for a moment, but when I blinked it was gone. That was really funny!I've just had another memory flash, when seeing an enamel teapot like the one in the picture! I remember that the one I had in my truck looked just like that, only it was darkl blue. There was a lot of soot on its bottom because I usually put it directly into the embers when building a fire to make tea, as I only used the gas cooker if it couldn't be avoided - those gas cartridges were hard to get, even if you knew someone like Vadim! ;)In that memory, I'm stopping by the roadside; the ground is yellowish, sandy clay mixed with coarse stones and pebbles. and there's a rather large spot to the right of the road where you can park your vehicle and have a rest. It's just an enlarged bit of road, nothing special, with no "infrastructure", but the ground has been hardened with more bits of stones and pebbles and it looks as if it's been compacted with a steamroller. I pull over and park my truck on that spot, then get out and build a fire. I don't know if the wood for it just lies around or if there's a box with wood for truck drivers' convenience, I only know I have enough in relatively short time. When the fire has burnt down enough, I put the teapot on the embers, putting the water and tea leaves in simultaneously and boiling them together, and I think I have a smoke while I wait for the tea to be finished. Then I take the pot from the fire, wash my mug out with the first bit from it, and pour myself a nice cup of tea, rejoicing in the fact that I still have some sugar left in a grubby brown paper bag. I do like my tea very strong and very sweet! After I've drunk the first cup, I suddenly get it into my head that I might as well wash some socks while I'm stranded here (there's a reason why I had to stop relatively early, but I can't remember; from the light it seems to be early afternoon), and so I fetch another pot from the cab, a medium-sized one I normally use for boiling eggs, heating canned stews and so on. I fill the pot with water, throw in my dirty socks and some other pieces of laundry, chop some flakes off a bar of soap and then settle down again with my mug of tea and my cigarette and wait for the water to heat, stirring it occasionally with a stick. It's a good thing the socks and things aren't so dirty, just very sweaty, so I don't have to scrub them; I just fish them out with the stick when they've been in there long enough, wring them carefully and lay them out to dry on an old blanket or towel I've spread over the hood of my truck. I have to laugh when I think how strange I must look, hanging round in the middle of nowhere, washing socks! But I'm rather meticulous about that kind of thing, even when I'm all alone...I remember actually enjoying those rest stops all by myself, probably because it was a welcome change from living in a crowded apartment with other people, but being stranded somewhere because there was no fuel, the pump had broken down or similar reasons was something I truly hated!

8dd0_1.jpg

/monthly_2007_11/8dd0_1.jpg.6ec4b651f180096e44e4d057095910cf.jpg
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top