Sister Found

    Homesickness strikes in so many forms. For Nellie lately, it's shown up in her wish to reconnect with family and friends from Moscow and Baku.
    "I have a sister who went to teach at an institute in Vienna," she informed me one Tuesday afternoon, midway through tea. Russians use the terms "sister" and "brother" for every degree of cousinship, and I was pretty sure this time she meant a cousin. "I haven't heard from her in so long. How can I get in touch with her?"
    Nellie has an ancient spiral notebook, with loose pages falling out at every turn, scribbled phone numbers and addresses in no particular order, scratched out and re-written so many times it's nearly impossible to find anything. I was hopeful that perhaps she had this cousin's information somewhere. "Do you have her address? Or phone number?"
    She pulled out the notebook and started scrutinizing the pages. "Well, I thought I did. But I can't find it. Maybe you could ask the address table."
    I didn't think I'd understood correctly. "The what?"
    She said it again. "The address table."
    "You really mean address table?" I used the English words to make sure.
    "Yes, yes, you know...the address table. If you can't find somebody you ask them and they find them for you."
    I've read about sending mail to the local post office in a foreign country, to be held until called for. But that was in very old stories. I wasn't sure such a thing as an address table existed anymore. Or if it did, I wasn't sure how to find the one in Vienna. I wasn't ready to give up yet, however. "What's her name?"
    "Ira," Nellie answered, as if that was plenty.
    "How about her family name and patronymic? Do you know which institute she went to teach at? What year did she move to Vienna? Is she still teaching?" If I was going to have any chance at finding this sister, I'd need a little more to go on than her nickname.
    Nellie searched the recesses of her memory and filled in some of the gaps. "But how can we find her?" she wailed. "I don't know what happened to her address!"
    I didn't mention the possibility of an internet search, because Nellie has absolutely no concept of the internet. And if I were to fail, she'd probably fall into the depths of despair. But I intended to try. The next morning I typed the name she'd given me in a Google search bar. Guess who came up on the first page? Nellie's long-lost cousin, at the Institute of Vienna!
    I could hardly contain my excitement. Could it really be that easy? I sent a message to Irina, explaining that I was writing on behalf of Nellie. Irina immediately responded. Yes, she was Nellie's cousin, and she was so happy to find her again! Did Nellie have a telephone number so she could talk directly to her?
    We decided that I'd better warn Nellie before she got the call. Otherwise, as Irina said, "too much emotion, even good emotion, might be bad for her health."
    So I told her. "I have good news! I found Irina, and she still lives in Vienna, and she wants to call you!"
    Nellie was flabbergasted. "How did you do it? Oh, you good girl! But I don't understand. You just put her name in the computer? But that's amazing! And here I was all worried that I would never talk to her again."
    If only all stories had such a happy ending.

Concert

    Nellie's nephew gave a spring concert on her birthday weekend, and when I came on Tuesday I asked how it had gone. Usually her response is that it was absolutely wonderful, positively miraculous, and I really should have been there. This time I got a slightly different answer.
    "Well, they came about 4:30 to pick me up and we went to this restaurant where they serve sandwiches. I got some sort of roll with kitchen in it." She used the English word "kitchen" and I raised my eyebrows at her.
    "Are you sure? Kitchen is kukhnya (kitchen)."
    She wrinkled her forehead and thought. "No, that's not right. It was...let me think...chicken." English again.
    I laughed. "Ohhh. That makes much more sense."
    "And then we went to the university and they had to set everything up, so I rolled around and watched them and waited and waited and then finally it was time to start. So they played lots of music and it was very nice and then there was an intermission and I thought, What are they going to do in the second half? They've already played everything! And when they came back, they started congratulating everybody who was graduating. If it had only been two or three, it would have been alright, but they went on and on and on. And everybody had to say something, and everybody had to give presents and get presents and I was so tired I just wanted to go home. I was nervy and overexcited...you know how I get! Finally they were done, but then he had to clean up. So we waited and waited, and I said, 'Karik, can we please go?' and we went out to the car and then he couldn't find his keys so he had to go back inside and look for them and at last he came back and we left and THEN they wanted to go to a restaurant!"
    I was laughing so hard at her telling that she chuckled a little herself.
    "You're laughing, but it wasn't funny! So I said, 'Why can't we just go home?' and Karik said 'It's your birthday! We have to celebrate.' So we went to this restaurant, and it must have been a very fancy one because it was so dark. So there we were, sitting in the dark, trying to read the menus like this." She held her hands like a book a few inches from her eyes and peered at her imaginary menu. "And then finally we ordered...at five 'til eleven!"
    I could hardly catch my breath from laughter. "So was it good?" I gasped.
    Nellie waved her hand. "Oh, it was fine, I guess. I just wanted to go home!"

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.