C-A-K-E

    Friday is Nellie's 88th birthday. She asked me to brush and style her wig on Tuesday. "I'll need to wear it on Friday and then again on Sunday for my nephew's concert," she informed me.
    "What are you doing on Friday?" I asked.
    "I don't know."
    Confused, I tried to get some more information. "But you need your wig?"
    "Yes," she answered. "I don't know exactly, but I heard some of the women talking. 'Nellie's birthday is on Friday,' they said. So I think they're planning a surprise. Maybe cake. They had a cake for another lady."
    A few minutes later, Melissa poked her head in Nellie's room. Melissa is one of the residents who tries to take care of everybody. "You know Friday is Nellie's birthday," she began, and I nodded. "Well, she doesn't know what we've got planned and I don't want you tell her..."
    I stopped her. "Better be careful what you say! She understands a lot of English."
    Melissa looked worried. Whispering behind her hand, she spelled it out. "Do you think she'd understand c-a-k-e?"
    I laughed. "Yes, I think so."
    "Ummm..." she thought for a moment. "Um...we're going to sing Happy Birthday to her on Friday."
    After Melissa wheeled away, Nellie nodded to me wisely. "I told you!"

    Happy Birthday, my Babushka.

You Forgot.

    Nellie called me this afternoon in panic. "The little girl...oh, oh, oh, I can't remember her name...you know, the girl...it's her birthday on the 18th! And I forgot, and you forgot, and we have to send her a package!"
    I wanted to say that I didn't forget anything. I never knew about it in the first place. Come to think of it, I don't even know the girl, although I know exactly who she's talking about. I've never met the girl, or any of her family, but I've been responsible for sending them birthday and Christmas packages for a year or two now. What I wanted to say was that it really wasn't my fault.
    What I actually said was, "What kind of candy do you want me to get?"

Borrowing Trouble

    I may have mentioned that Nellie tends toward pessimism. If there is a possible interpretation of any set of circumstances that involves death, sickness, hospitalization, jail time, etc., Nellie will immediately jump to that conclusion. And no "glass-half-full" talk from me will change her mind.
    There's a lovely Russian lady who used to live nearby and visited Nellie often with her two daughters; sadly, her husband's job moved them all near Washington, D.C. a little over a year ago. Nellie still loves to hear from them, to get Christmas cards and photos of the girls, to send packages of random treasures for birthdays. It had been awhile since Anna had called, and Nellie began to worry.
    "I haven't heard anything from them in so long, and I'm so worried that something has happened!"
    I tried in vain to reassure her. "I'm sure they're just busy--the girls probably have lots of schoolwork and exams, and you said Anna was finishing her nursing studies..."
    Twisting her hands nervously, Nellie shook her head. "I'd give anything for that to be true. But I know it isn't! I keep thinking--maybe they were in a car wreck. I'm sure that's what has happened. And maybe Lauren died, and Anna's been in the hospital, maybe in a coma...or maybe it's her husband. I know he was deployed, and then he came home, but maybe he had to go again and got shot! And what about Katya? She's old enough to drive too--I'll bet she wrecked her car and was killed. Or maybe she got pregnant. She has a boyfriend now, you know. Oh, why won't they call and tell me! If I only knew, then I could bear it. You have to write them a letter and tell them that I've been so worried!"
    She was nearly in tears, and nothing I could say would calm her. It was time for me to go, so I hugged her and promised to write the letter. I prayed that she would hear good new from her friends soon.

    A week or two later, Nellie called me with some request or another. After relaying her need, she said, "Oh, Anna called me yesterday! They're all doing fine, just very busy with the holidays and exams and everything."
    You don't say.

Chulki

    Katya is turning 18, and Nellie, as an adopted Baba, wanted to get her a special gift. Well, to be more precise, she wanted me to get Katya a special gift. "It's a box about this big," she indicated with her hands, "and there are three rows of candy--gold, silver, and...umm...dark. Will you get one and send it to her in Virginia?"
    "What kind of candy? Is it chocolate?"
    "Yes, of course it's chocolate.What other kind of candy is there? We've had them before--gold, silver and dark. Kind of round, you know, and some of them have nuts in them. And if you go into the store, then you turn left and go a little more and then there's some other candy and then the ones I want. And a birthday card, a pretty one. And I need face cream too. I only have enough left for one week, and then it will be gone."
    I thought I knew what she meant, even though the directions weren't terribly clear, and began my search on Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, I ran into trouble immediately because Walmart had run out of that particular box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates--the only assortment was a much bigger box than Nellie had requested. Not sure how to proceed, I decided to call and ask.
    "Nellie, it's Jessica. I'm at the store and they don't have the little box of candy, only a big one. Do you still want it?"
    "What? Jessica? What are you talking about?"
    "The candy, for Katya's birthday. Remember? You asked me to buy it?"
    "Oh, yes. So what's the matter? Where are you?"
    "I'm at the store. And I'm looking at the candy, but they only have little boxes of all gold, or all dark. There's great big box with all the colors, but it is more expensive. Do you still want it?"
    "Yes, that's fine. It's her eighteenth birthday. But it's such a good thing you called, because I tried to call you and you didn't answer and I really, really need you to buy me some chulki."
    I racked my brain trying to remember if I'd ever known that word before in my life. I determined that I hadn't. "Chulki? I don't know what that is. Can you describe it any other way?"
    Nellie thought. "I don't know...it's just chulki."
    "But I don't know that word. What is it for? What do you do with it?"
    "Well, they're like socks, but black and long. Not too long, just to the knees. And not thick; they have to be thin to wear with dress shoes. You wear them with skirts. I need black."
    Perhaps she meant knee-highs. I hoped so. "Alright, Nellie, I think I understand. I'll try to find some and bring them with me on Tuesday. Do svidanya (goodbye)."
    And I continued on my hunt. Candy, check. Black knee-highs, check. Birthday card, check. Face cream...oh dear, Olay decided to raise the price on their night cream. Day cream was fine, but Nellie's night cream apparently now cost twice as much as usual. With a sigh, I called Nellie again.
    "Hello, Nellie, it's Jessica again. I found everything except the night cream. The one you like is much more expensive than it used to be--do you still want it? Or I could get the store brand, but you didn't like it as much."
    "What? Chulki, chulki...I told you, they're like socks, but long, to the knees, and black."
    I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "Yes, yes, I found those. Now I'm looking at face cream."
    "I don't understand. What's wrong? You found the chulki? And now you're going straight ahead?" The word for "cream" and the word for "straight ahead" do sound a bit similar.
    I tried speaking louder, as clearly as I could. "Cream. Remember, you needed face cream? I found your day cream, but your night cream costs too much. What do you want me to do?" But although I was practically shouting (in Russian) in the middle of Walmart's facial care aisle, Nellie simply could not understand what I was talking about.
    "You're going straight ahead? Where are you going? I don't understand." She sounded so tired, but I was at my wits' end.
    "Cream for your face. I'm not going anywhere right now. I'm looking at face cream and I need to know what you want, since your night cream costs twelve dollars now!"
    "Ohhhh, cream. Why does it cost so much?"
    I rolled my eyes. "I have no idea."
    "Well, just get the other one."
    Phone adventures with Nellie are exhausting.

Little White Things

    Nellie wears dentures. She had only a few teeth left when I met her, and it wasn't long until all of them needed to come out. So I took her to the dentist and we sat for a very long time, fitting and re-fitting, until finally we left with a new set of teeth. I think it took two visits. It was excruciating, for Nellie at least--the poor thing was completely exhausted. But now she has a mouth full of teeth, which would be very handy for chewing if she could find something to hold them in. Unfortunately, she isn't interested in denture glue. I tried. She might have used the stuff I brought her, several years ago now, but she didn't like it. So most days, even when she remembers not to talk with her mouth full, it's still a little tricky to understand her because her teeth just won't hold still!
    One afternoon, however, she came up with a solution. "You know what I would really like to have?" she asked me. I couldn't guess, so she went on. "I saw it on TV--a lady went into a drugstore and they gave her something and she put it on her teeth and smiled and everything was wonderful! I would love to have some."
    I don't watch a lot of television, and I don't have very much experience with dentures, so I wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that she would love to have. "But what is it?" I tried to get her to clarify.
    "It's little white things," she demonstrated with her hands. "There are big ones and little ones, I think. I'd rather have the little ones."
    "And you can get it at any drugstore? Or is there a specific place I need to look?"
    "Oh, I think you can get it at any drugstore. And the lady smiled big, like this--and everything worked out perfectly!"
    "But what is it? Is it glue for your dentures?"
    Nellie made a face. "No, not glue. Who wants glue? It's little white things."
    I still wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking for. "What does it do? Does it hold your teeth in?"
    "I think so."
    "So it's like stickers for your teeth, maybe?"
    "Maybe so. They show it on TV all the time! Doesn't your grandma wear dentures? You can ask her."
    I shook my head dubiously. "No, my grandma has all her own teeth still. But I'll try."
   
    I've looked at two different drugstores and asked various denture-wearing and non-denture-wearing friends. No one has heard of such a thing, but we haven't given up hope yet.

Does he eat milk?

    My sweet sister gave birth to a perfect baby boy just a few weeks ago (I could digress, waxing eloquent on my newest nephew's darling elfin features and cute facial expressions, but I'm sure you can imagine for yourself). And Nellie is in love, although she's never actually seen him. She asked me his name and then tried to Russianize it: "So-ya," she pronounced carefully, nodding her head. "That's a nice name."
    Each week she asks me how the "little boy" is doing, and each week I give her a progress report. One afternoon she threw me for a loop. "What does he eat?" she queried. "Does he eat milk?"
    "Yes, of course," I answered, not sure what else a fairly newborn baby might consume.
    "Where does your sister get it?"
    I wondered if Russians were shy on the subject of breastfeeding. "Well," I said, "she nurses him."
    Nellie spoke a little louder, as though I had misunderstood the question. "But where does she get it? At the store?"
    "No," I repeated, "from herself. She nurses him."
    "Moloko," Nellie said in Russian. And then, in English, "MILK." Back to Russian: "For the baby. Where does it come from? Where does she buy it? Don't you understand milk?"
    I was mystified. "Yes, I understand milk. For the baby. Moloko. She doesn't buy it anywhere; she nurses him. Haven't you ever seen women nursing their babies?"
    Nellie shook her head in disbelief. "But my mother told me that American women NEVER nursed their babies. They ALWAYS buy milk at the store."
    I had almost no words. "Well...umm...that's not true." And Nellie was astonished.

Vindication

    One of Nellie's old students also happens to be an old schoolmate of mine, a lovely girl who moved away, married, had a beautiful baby and still keeps Nellie posted on her grown-up life. And Nellie, knowing that we were acquainted, keeps me updated too. So when a birthday card arrived with a new photo of their family, of course Nellie showed it to me.
    "Oh, how nice!" I exclaimed. "What a sweet picture."
    Nellie frowned and pointed at each of them in turn. "But look, he's shorter than she is. And his face is so round. And why does her hair look like that? How can she have married a man who's shorter than herself? A woman wants to look up to her husband!"
    I had a sinking feeling about the direction of the conversation; Nellie was moving quickly into her stubborn and irrational mode. I tried to reason with her: "He's not short--he's just sitting down. Maybe he's hunched over a little. Look at that older picture (I pointed to one on her wall). See, when he's standing, you can tell that he's quite a bit taller than her. Besides, short isn't bad...he's a handsome guy."
    "No, no, he's just short. I don't like short men. Nobody likes short men. I know what happened: she didn't get married right away, so she just said 'yes' to the first person who asked. I never heard anything about him until her mom said they were married, so she must have just met him and got married in a week! Didn't you know your husband a long time before you married him?"
     I could feel irritation rising like a wave of heat as I listened to her carry on about how incomprehensible it was that her student should marry a short man she barely knew; I could tell that it was futile to argue, but I couldn't ignore the injustice of it all. "How do you know that they didn't meet months before they married? And anyway, don't you know that people are different? My husband and I were longtime friends, but I know people who have gotten married in just a few weeks."
    "Well," Nellie demanded, "would you marry him?"
    "Of course not."
    "There!" she was triumphant. "Because he's short and has a round face, right?"
    I wanted to shake her. "No, because I've never met him and I already have a husband!"
    But there was no convincing her. I left that day so frustrated that my head hurt.

    Last Tuesday, Nellie waited until I'd been there about half an hour to mention a surprise visit the previous weekend from my old friend. "And she brought her husband and baby--and her husband was so handsome! So tall and strong and good looking, and so nice. She said in the birthday picture he had been sitting on the ground, and she was on something to make her taller. Such a lovely family."
    I rolled my eyes at her in exasperation. "I TOLD you."
    She chuckled sheepishly. "You did, didn't you?"