A Revised Plan

Last night after supper in our apt (more delicious roast chicken, carrots with butter and honey, corn from a can that actually was as corn-y and good as corn on the cob in August, and macaroni and cheese made with extremely good Swiss, white wine, cream and butter) we continued the discussion about a plan of action for our 3rd appt… whenever that comes.

When we did our homestudy, our social worker asked us what age group did we wish to adopt from and we said up to 4 years old, but we were really crossing our fingers for a child between the ages of 2-3. We also knew that everyone who wants to adopt wishes to have a child as young as possible and that there are no infants in the Ukrainian system for international adoption. (To read why, please go back to one of the earliest posts- I can’t remember what I titled it but it was answering a bunch of questions.)

I think it’s important to point out here that people in general assume all sorts of negative stuff when it comes to older kids and adoption. (And when I say older I mean children who are over 5-6+ years old.) In pop culture, we are all familiar with garbage like horror films with an orphan child who is evil and ends up killing family pets and a sibling and burns the house down. People also assume that just because a child is older in the system, they will automatically have much more serious problems with coping, attachment and psychological issues. It’s “bad kid” syndrome- like the parents finally couldn’t handle their wayward child a day longer, so they were dumped off to the orphanage once and for all to become somebody else’s problem. All of this is such utter nonsense, it’s actually offensive. Even well-meaning, educated people are prone to believe these things, because they seem to follow a leap of logic: if being in an orphanage is “bad”, then the assumption is the child who is older who is in an orphanage must have been there for a much longer time, therefore they must automatically be more damaged and unwanted, right? It just isn’t so.

Every situation is unique, as is every child. Ask yourself, who would be a better candidate to join a new family: a child who is 3, who has never bonded with any caretakers in the orphanage, who has serious developmental delays due to neglect and abuse and who has been passed around to half a dozen family members before landing in care, OR a 5 year old child who has been in an orphanage for a year, who has lovingly bonded with his caretaker, who receives attention and affection, who has lived only with his grandmother since infancy after Mom disappeared?

You simply can not make assumptions about children in care no matter what their age may be, because the backgrounds and individual characteristics are completely unique to the child and situation. And nowhere was this more obvious than when we went to visit the little girl we chose from a file outside of Odessa a couple of weeks ago, and then subsequently also met the disabled girl who we could not adopt even though we wanted to do exactly that. She was younger in years than the little girl we had travelled to meet, yet she was much more relaxed, social, and obviously very bright. It was a real lesson. Had we had seen her file in the Dept office, we would have not even considered her- she was “too old” and being told about her disability would have seemed too daunting. However meeting that little girl in person was another story all together; she was perfection.

Since then, we have talked a lot about our age expectation. Mostly, Ois & I are in agreement: we thought 4 years old would be our ceiling, but if we happen to meet another child who is 4 years and 11 months and there is a connection- are we really going to walk away because of those 11 months? Similarly, that little girl was slightly older than 5. If we changed our age category to 0-5, and a child is 5 years and 6 weeks old, we would be categorically denied even for those few extra weeks. So we have been talking and talking about this. Finally last night we called our social worker in Montreal, and said before we dialed that whatever her professional opinion was, we were going to stick with it. And we want to have all our ducks in a row so to speak before walking in to our last appt so what happened to one of the other couples here does not happen to us: they found a child that was slightly out of their age range, and while they were rushing to change their paperwork, the child was adopted by somebody else and they were both blindsighted and broken hearted.

When we filled her in on our situation over here, to say she was dumbstruck would be an understatement. She couldn’t believe that there were virtually no children under age of 4 available for adoption by a “young” couple. (When you are 35 or less, you are considered to be a young couple and typically- although not always- you are favoured into being given the opportunity to adopt an infant or a toddler as a first-time parent in many countries.) She also couldn’t believe we were still in Kiev waiting for appointments. And she was so sad for us and shocked by our experience of seeing binder after binder of incurably sick kids so far. I have to say that getting some sympathy felt pretty good. It was also a nice reality check from someone in a professional position who is on our side but also removed from the deranged little world we’re currently living in. You get so used to the craziness over here where it’s Adoptionland 24/7 and all the armchair analysis of “what does a 3rd appt mean when it’s a rainy Tuesday and the moon is in Scorpio, and the lady looked at us like that coming up the stairs at the Dept and why are they whispering in Ukrainian, now?” Just to hear another person who is a voice of reason in the abyss saying, “WTF you guys! That’s crazy! How can this be happening to you?” was a nice reminder that we’re not nuts for having some baseline expectations and that we are ALLOWED to ask for some basic stuff after what we’ve been through just to get here in the first place: Yes, we want a little girl and we shouldn’t have to feel like we should be made to apologise for that fact, and yes, we would kind of like a child who is not on death’s door.

She was also a bit concerned about the fact that they try to pushpushpush your limits here, with respect to age groups and even the possibility of siblings. We know this. But we told her that in fact it was us who asked at the Dept if we could please see the binder of 4-6 year olds for the heck of it and that they didn’t even want to show us. I think that made the difference to her in easing her mind on our behalf. In any case, we asked to have our age category raised to 6 years old. She said she would call our agency immediately and get the paperwork rolling that afternoon for us, which was great. Then I fired off an email to Nadia to alert her to this revision in plans, however we also indicated that we have zero intentions of adopting a child even a minute after 5 years old, to cover our butts. In reality, if the circumstances were extremely special we’d consider up to 5.5, but there would have to be heavens parting and angels singing. I just want more time home with Mena before she would have to start school to ensure she’s got a good understanding of English, and that she’s secure enough in our family and routines so she can fully focus on just being a little girl who can do well at school and can make friends easily.

So that is where we are today, exactly one month after we arrived. Now let’s just get to our third appt, and move on with things.

A Kitten, a Chicken and Some Swans

I haven’t updated in a couple of days because there hasn’t been much happening. My dreams at night are more interesting than what’s been going on in the daytime, ha. I do have good news about the kitten though- the next day, I needed to go grocery shopping because this new apt actually has an oven this time, so I wanted to roast a chicken. I love cooking so much, that when I can’t do it, I feel like my arms have been cut off. And nothing makes me more excited than going to a local market to see what they have, especially in a place like this where chicken isn’t going to come from an industrial factory-farm but somebody’s own chicken coop in the backyard. Anyhow, the market is on route to the Supermarket (Billa) where the kitten was stuck. Ois forbid me to go back there because he didn’t want me upset for the whole day if nothing seemed to be happening, but of course that was the first place I went as soon as I left the house. I had knots in my stomach the whole way. It didn’t seem too plausible that anybody would care that much for a stray kitten when there were goats on the road and hot dog water soup being served in other parts of the country. As soon as I rounded the corner though, I happened to catch sight of a man with some sort of hacksaw going into the basement of the store, and already the awning off the vent was removed and there was a ladder down the drop. I was so happy! They really were going to get her out! It wasn’t an empty promise for the tourists!

Later that night, the entire apt smelled like roasting chicken. We had it with roast potatoes, caramelized carrots in a bit of balsamic vinegar, roast onions and then I made a sauce out of the chicken & vegetable juices mixed with a bit of white wine and cream. It was like we had been locked in jail for 5 years and this was our first meal “out”. Sadly, there wasn’t much conversation as we ate ourselves silly while watching animal planet. The irony was rich.

Yesterday we decided to get tickets to the ballet. We went down with the Smiths who are now absolutely dying with colds. When we got to the box office we were luckily assisted by 2 people in line behind us who offered to help translate what was being said by the ticket man. It seemed that he only had less than a dozen tickets left, and the seats were in the nosebleeds. The Smiths opted to nurse their poor colds at home, but we figured what the hell, and got a pair of tickets. Later that night we were pleased to realize that the seats weren’t bad at all- they were to stage right, on the third balcony- but this wasn’t a new build concert hall- third balcony was still close enough to see nail polish on the ballerinas (happily there was none). The only problem was that some people have no clue about leaning forward in their seats so they’re nearly hanging off the balcony- zero theatre manners- and they weren’t tourists, either. If people just sit properly in their seats, then everyone can see. But the minute one person leans forward to drape themselves over the balcony, then NOBODY can see. Rude, rude, rude. Drives me nuts.

It was Swan Lake, and when it started, I could see the catch-22 of why this ballet company probably must have next to no money: the PAIR of tickets we bought cost less than $10 for BOTH of them (!) but the first act was just terrible. I don’t think you could have charged more than that to see such plain costumes, ugly sets, and a corps de ballet that was clumsy- to just call a spade a spade. They weren’t even in time with each other- forget the addition of the music. It was pretty shocking to say the least. I can’t think that by how unprepared the corps looked that anyone worth their artistic salt would let them near a public stage. Happily the second act got a lot better once the principal dancers appeared, though the sets and costumes still were a bit disappointing until the scene with the dancers at the castle. The ballerina playing the swan princess was miles better than the rest of her company, but by the end she really lost steam which was sad. Also another sad thing that was indicative of the lack of money was the fact that all the dancers, including the prima ballerina- had dirty slippers. The soles were black and the toes were dirty, no fresh pair for each performance here. I guess I notice these things because it’s just how I am, but also because when I was younger I studied ballet at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet with the serious desire to be a professional ballerina. To this day I am sorry I gave it up. But in the end it was probably a saving grace because there aren’t any 5’9 ballerinas in their stocking feet- nevermind the pointe shoes. It still breaks my heart a bit every time I see a ballet or think about it though.

The opera house itself was magnificent. The interior had marble staircases and crystal chandeliers, heavy golden sconces and standing floor lamps in front of antique floor to ceiling mirrors in heavily gilded frames. Inside the theatre itself, the domed ceiling was intricately decorated in relief and more 24kt gilding. All of the balcony boxes had wooden chairs with heavy raspberry coloured velvet upholstery with golden hobnail studs. Each balcony box had it’s own paneled door hung with matching velvet drapes. With all of the crystal lights sparkling and catching the gold leaf everywhere and the contrasting heavy silk tassels on the deep red velvet stage drapery, it was like being inside a jewelery box. It was spectacular!

Today we’ll probably hang around home and have a lazy day. I think I’m in the mood to work on a small album I’m making about Kiev that is just for me- not adoption stuff. It’s a grey miserable day outside, perfect for crafty stuff and a bubble bath later and if there is any luck some true crime shows on TV later! It’s either that or more animal planet, and unless it’s the hunky Canadian lion tamer again, I’m not interested, LOL.

Drama Magnet

You know that saying, better have people think you are stupid than open your mouth and prove them right? Well in our case, it’s more like better have people wonder if you’re crazy than to phone them and prove them right.

I’m actually proper worried that Anna the translator thinks we are loony tunes at this point, and that nobody should be giving us another human life to look after. It’s just been odd situation after situation, which I admit, some of them are of our own doing, and then others are like what happened tonight. First randomly calling about Ukrainian saunas possibly being a code word intended for gay men or not, wanting to change apartments because neighbors either are constantly playing awful dance music and/or are having loud sex (maybe the AWOL nipple clamps belong to them?), then wondering if I could buy the lovely blanket from the landlady of the last apartment (my reasoning being that hey, if we’re out in the boonies at an orphanage like the last time, at least I want to know I’ll be able to have a decent sleep! Nothing weird about that IMHO, though Oisin says otherwise), and now a phone call about a cat down a supermarket heat duct. She’ll probably throw a party when we finally leave. I’m sure we’ll be a footnote in future stories of “goofiest couples I’ve ever helped adopt”.

We found a good pizza place that was actually pretty cheap, so we ate lunch there this afternoon to take a blissful break from eating various potato concoctions. (I love perogies, but there are only so many a person can eat in a month.) While we were there, we were able to call our good friend Emily who is looking after our cats while we are here, and because she also has an iPhone, we were able to do “Facetalk” over the magic of Wifi. Naturally, we got to see Peanut & Betsy in all their adorableness, and we did quite a bit of cooing and squealing at their cute little faces. Betsy knew my voice for certain and she was a bit confused because she made her famous little frown. Peanut was on Emily’s bed, relaxed and purring, I don’t think he reacted much when we tried to talk to him. It was so great to talk to Em, and it was good to see our fur babies so happy and well loved. When we hung up we were a bit verklempt over missing them, and before going home we decided to hit the supermarket to get some milk and bread for the next day.

As we were walking into the store, all of a sudden I heard loud, panicked meowing. I quickly glanced around alarmed, and found the source of the sound to be coming from a half-covered vent in the sidewalk that was against the building. I got down on my knees and tried to stick my head inside, and sure enough there was a little black kitten dropped about 10 feet below at the bottom of the vent, completely freaking out in amongst the dirty old cigarette butts and crap down there. Clearly, some asshole thought it was funny to drop a baby kitten in there for a lark, there’s no other way that a kitten could have just magically jumped or fallen down there on it’s own in the middle of a busy downtown area. I was in a right state- there was no way on earth we were going to walk by and let it die down there, and not tell anybody. Since nobody would understand what we were trying to say, the first thought was that I ran into the supermarket to grab a small box, then I got a big long roll of plastic bags from the fruit section, with the thought that I could knot them together, through the box, and lower it down there with a bit of food in it, hoping that the kitten would be hungry and would crawl in. Then we could cross our fingers and pray that it wouldn’t jump out before we could raise it back up to freedom. But but by the time I returned, I looked in the vent again and the kitten was gone. There was a metal box in the vent that led into the ventilation system, and it was the only place the kitten could have gone. We could hear it meowing so frantically, it made my guts go cold. There was no way for us to get it out, so we used the Bat Phone (the phone our agency gave us so they could contact us anytime) and we called Anna to see if she could translate to a store employee what was wrong with the kitten. When she answered, she was clearly exhausted from being in the region with another family who was visiting an orphanage, and could barely understand what I was trying to say about some supermarket vent and a cat. I had to repeat myself 3 times before she sort of understood what I was trying to say. Then I thrust the phone at a girl who was overseeing a delivery close by. She listened, spoke to Anna, and gave the phone back to me. Anna said that the girl was going to get somebody after the delivery. So we waited. I kind of thought that she wasn’t thrilled that these “American toooreests” were making such a fuss about a stupid cat. She went inside and came out with a wrench so we could take the industrial bolts off the awning thing over the vent so we could fully see inside without blockage. It was a space of about 2.5 feet by 5 feet, below a 10 foot drop. So Oisin climbed through and jumped down. We could still hear the kitten, but we couldn’t see it, yet when Ois made meowing noises the cat was answering back loud and obviously terrified. He got on the filthy ground and jammed his arm into the duct, but he just couldn’t reach the cat. And the cat was too afraid to come out. So he used his iPhone as a flashlight to try and see into the duct, and discovered that there was another drop inside the duct, and that was where the kitten was- and it was impossible to reach her.

The supermarket girl stood beside me looking down at Oisin, by now he had been down there for more than an hour. Still no kitten in grabbing distance. The girl had been chattering on the phone, and then she said to me, waving the phone, “811”. I assumed she was trying to say she had called some sort of emergency service. I went into the supermarket and bought some water to go with the tin of sardines we lowered in there, hoping to lure her out. Another half hour went by, and then suddenly a guy in a red suit appeared, and he spoke to the girl, and then he waved a van over with blue flashing lights. Help had arrived!

Half a dozen men in red suits came out of the van, with a ladder, flashlights, clipboards, etc. One of them went down to see if he could reach into the duct, to no avail. Then a couple other guys followed the girl into the store to see if they could reach the cat from the basement. They were gone for a good while, and we waited. One man spoke English, and asked if it was our cat, we said no, and he looked a bit puzzled as to why we were the cause of such a fuss over a cat, but he seemed nice enough. I called Anna again to find out what was going on by translating: she said that they needed to saw into the ventilation system to reach the kitten, but they couldn’t do it because the store manager wasn’t there to give permission. They disassembled it as much as they could and they could see the kitten inside but it was too scared to come closer with all of the commotion. There was nothing more anybody could do, but the man said that the next morning some sort of animal rescue people would come, with someone in particular that had experience with ventilation systems. I don’t know if he was serious or not- Oisin said he felt in his guts he was, and I would like to believe that, but I really don’t know. We stayed there for close to 3 hours and it was a sad, frustrating end. I couldn’t believe that there wasn’t anything more that could be done- it wasn’t fair to want to something so badly, and not have it turn out right. I am still worried that the kitten will die from exhaustion and dehydration before they’ll get it out, but there’s no point in going back there now because we don’t have the wrench to take the awning off even if the kitten came out of the silver duct and we could see it… which would feel even worse.

Now I’m going to be dreaming about stuck, terrified kittens all night, on top of everything else. Life would be so much easier if you just didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone else but yourself. There is nothing worse in the world than feeling completely powerless.

Big Fish, Little Fish, Cardboard Box…

We have moved apartments again. There was a conference of some sort on in Kiev, and we asked if it was possible to move someplace even cheaper than where were were to save a few extra bucks but we had to wait until this morning. Man, our place before was pretty much the Taj Mahal compared to our little chateaux now. We are over a McDonalds in a studio apt that over looks a parking lot. Our neighbor next door evidently listens to Ukrainian techno music at ear splitting volumes which causes the wall to vibrate against the headboard of our bed. Seriously, it’s like having schizophrenia with her music and our TV on at the same time. God help us.

Ruslav the taxi driver came to get all our suitcases, and his car was packed so we just walked around the corner to our new place. I had wet hair still from the shower, I was carrying a wine bottle with a long stem rose in it, and a makeup bag. Ois carried a plastic shopping bag of trash and a random shower puff that we almost forgot in the bathroom and down we paraded through the street, past people dressed for work, staring at us in the early afternoon sun. “Jesus, we look like we’re homeless!” he blurted and I seriously laughed harder than I think I have since we got here- like, tears in the eyes laughing, which I’m sure made me look like a CRAZY homeless person, to boot.

Here is a list of pros and cons about our new place:

PRO:  We inherited a free bottle of balsamic vinegar in the cupboard. Score!

CON: We live above a McDonalds.

PRO: We still have a teeny balcony.

CON: It overlooks a parking lot, garbage cans, and a dead pigeon on the roof.

PRO: If we need to take out the garbage, all we have to do is aim carefully and chuck it off the balcony.

CON: If we need to take out the garbage, all we need to do is aim carefully and chuck it off the balcony.

PRO: We have a showerhead.

CON: The showerhead is not connected to the wall.

Well, all I can say is that when we do eventually get home, I am going to love on my house like never before. I mean, honestly there probably hasn’t been a day that has gone by where I didn’t consciously think about how much I love our house- every inch of it, every day, but this is just going to make me into a hermit for good. I can’t even wait to take pleasure in just cleaning it, knowing that it’s ours, that we don’t sleep under the ugliest sheets in the universe that give your skin polyester burns each time you change positions, and that nobody else’s vinegary feet have trod across our carpet dropping cigarette ashes. In 5 days it will be a full month that we’ve been away. That to me is incredible.

Oh, and it’s 4:30pm and I’m drinking wine straight out of the bottle. Because I’m haaaaaardcore.

The Buck Stops Here!

Today I want to tell a secret. Some of you are already in on it, but I am going to let the cat out of the bag.

I have posted for the last 13 years on a particular chat board with a bunch of women from all over the world, which I affectionately call, “The Ladyboards”. More than one book could be written about these girls- we have all followed each other’s lives through dating, marriages, divorces, babies being born, turning into teenagers, getting married themselves, new jobs, new houses, life-changing illnesses and getting well again, family trials and tribulations and Chi hairdryers. (LOL) Some of us have travelled across the world to meet each other in person, some of us have never left our homes. All of us are deeply connected to each other and the friendships that have made over all of these years have truly been life-changing. No matter what the situation, a minimum of one of these incredible women will have lived through it or something similar, and will be a human poncho for whatever hits the fan in life. They are the greatest coaches, they are the biggest cheering squad when you need it, and it’s a real life miracle that so many good and talented people are all in one place.

We have so many friends and family rooting for us and we are thankful beyond measure for each and every email of support & encouragement we have been so fortunate to receive. But this one is for The Ladyboards, today.

I woke up, wondering what the day was going to have in store. I left O snoozing in bed and I turned on the laptop (the only time I seem to be able to ever get it!) and checked in. It had been a hard day the previous day with the appt that never materialised. And then I looked at my thread where I’ve been filling the girls in on the entire adoption process from the get-go, and what did I see but message after message after message full of more love & support than I could even imagine. Even more than the usual treasure trove. This week has been a giant test of faith, but the resounding chorus was, “It doesn’t matter if you feel like giving up, because we’re here sending prayers even when your words stick in your throat, and when the load gets too heavy to move even one more step, we’re going to make a human chain and carry it for you.”

I can’t even communicate how much these words have meant to me over the past weeks in particular. Today they were like a conduit for lightening, and they gave me such a zap of renewed energy and strength because I have no other place left inside me to pull it from. I got into a scalding hot shower, brought out the double loofah mitts, and scrubbed away raw under the water. Enough is enough now. There is too much work left to do- and feeling sad isn’t going to accomplish much other than greasing up a downward spiral. I will NOT give up! We’ve come too damn far to quit now, so what if it’s hard and draining and it generally sucks. So does living for years in an orphanage with no family- Mena is out there and she’s not complaining. The very least we can do is be strong and collected and determined for her sake, if for no one else’s. My iron resolve has kicked in and I’m taking no prisoners!

Since there is only so much you can see or do for free here, I spent the morning sending a few emails to some places connected with Chabad Ukraine, asking if they could use a couple of volunteers for anything while we are here anyways: soup kitchen, stuffing envelopes- I don’t care. But I am sick and tired of wasting time when I could be doing something valuable. In any case, something has changed- no more moping around, worrying, and preparing for the worst. We are lucky to be here, to get to see and experience this city while we are here for such an extended time period. We are going to enjoy it and make the most of it no matter what comes of it.

No Appointment

Just back from having lunch after going to the Dept. The result is bupkis. Evidently there were no little girls left, as they were all taken by the end of the morning, in addition to the fact that the remaining files in the afternoon were all unhealthy kids left over. So rather than waste the last appt, we were advised to be sick so we could buy some more time for ourselves.

The kinda sad thing is that the other couple who has been here for 6 weeks and was on their last shot today chose a child, but it looks like it’s a 50/50% chance of the little boy turning out to be adoptable. If not, they will be returning home with no child after all of this. I hope it doesn’t come down to that for them.

Things in Ukraine are getting pretty bad for international adoption. 5 years ago it was another story- you could be a single person, have had cancer, and have been in your late 50’s and you would have been given a selection of healthy, happy kids. But with governments and agendas changing, it is a different story today- even from just a year ago. The Ukrainian government has put into place a system where Ukrainian couples are paid to foster kids with no intention to adopt, just to get them out of orphanages. This sounds like it could be a good thing, as living in a family would seem to be better than living in an institution, however what happens is that for each child that is in state care, they get a bank account with money from the state that is there for them as they grow up. The problem is before this system was put into place was that less than 1% of Ukrainians would adopt children. Now people are doing it for the benefit of the available money, draining the child’s account and when the money is gone they are bounced back into state care because they can no longer afford to take care of them anymore. So tell me, who wins under that system? The people who work within it just hate it- they want to see kids get permanent, loving families instead of being treated like a human boomerang.

Because of the shortage of children available and this new program, there has been a lot of talk in the past year to shut down Ukraine for international adoption, period. They have tried to pass it into law 3 times, and the next vote will be in December. So right now, we are the last wave of adoptive parents in Ukraine, similar to how China had tens of thousands of baby girls in state care for adoption, and now there are none- with the waiting time for Chinese adoption currently at 6-8 years. After all of us this fall, it’s dicey. In any case, with what we’ve experienced so far, I can’t say that I would recommend Ukraine for international adoption. It’s not because of the people or the country- it is beautiful here and the people are beyond wonderful- it’s the system and the games you have to play within it. It’s a damn shame, because the ones who suffer the most are the kids who really have no voice in the entire situation.

So today we submit our notarised paper indicating the meeting missed due to illness, it goes up then down the food chain, and then we will get our absolutely last chance 3rd appointment where it’s make or break. We have no idea when this could be, 2 weeks, 3 weeks… who knows. But we’ll be living in a 15 minute alarm zone the entire time- if Xenia hears about a file for a little girl, we’ll be called and possibly be told to get our butts down there ASAP.

Now I’m going for a nap to try and get rid of my migraine. Thanks for the prayers and support, everyone. Back to the waiting game.

One Hour Till Appointment Time

We’re sitting around the house for the last few minutes before we leave for our 3rd appt this afternoon at 2pm. Last night we went out with the Smiths for supper, which is actually cheaper than cooking if you eat at one of the many Kiev cafeteria type restaurants that are all over the city- I will devote an entire post to that, later. Because it’s pretty interesting, and if you ever come here, it is an incredible money-saver, as well as eating pretty authentic Ukrainian cooking, like home-cooking.

When we came home, we got the call from Anna to be ready for 2pm. And then she said something that dimmed the excitement: “Have you guys called in sick yet?”

Instantly, stomach plummeted to the floor. Why is this an unhappy question? Because if today is really a catch-up day where there are supposed to me many new files for review, then surely there has to be ONE decent file meant for us! But if they are asking about the possibility of calling in sick, that only happens if it’s not looking good and they don’t want to waste our last shot at the Dept on kids that are not healthy enough to be adopted into Canada. We will not know until we get there, and even 2pm could come and go with Xenia delaying us deliberately if she hears of a couple of new files that are ready to appear late in the afternoon before the Dept closes for the day. So technically, we could be standing in the hall waiting for hours, and it will be no problem to then just say we’re too ill all of a sudden to make the last appt. That’s just how it is done, it fools no one, and then we’ll have to go to another damned lawyer to have special paperwork drawn up saying we were unable to attend the appt due to illness which will have to be submitted, another week to go up the food chain to be stamped and signed by the Dept Director, then back down through the bowels of every Tom, Dick and Vladimir once again until the psychologist finally gets it, and puts us into the appointment book for the following week or so.

OMG- phone just rang- it was Anna. I think we’re going to be fucked again for this week. She’s already talking about strategy. If we are stuck here for another 2 weeks I’m going to scream! And then I’m going to cry because I just don’t know how we are going to do it. In any sense of the definition.

Gotta go- as soon as we know ANYTHING, I will update the blog. And I’m already going to take some 222’s for the migraine I feel coming on. Migraine, Ukraine! Hilarious. They rhyme.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Tanqueray Martinis With Twists!

Well, talk about not being given more than you can handle. This morning I woke up and was feeling so crummy about everything- had nightmares last night, was not looking forward to a day of more endless waiting, looked at photos of the cats on Facebook and burst into tears, etc etc. I just felt like I had finally hit the wall of No More Ukraine. It felt like there was going to be no end in sight to the waiting- first for all the crap we had to do with paperwork and governmental red tape at home, the intrusion of privacy with being questioned and judged about your entire life to strangers deciding on if you are “allowed” to parent a child, then being at the mercy of strangers over here who really don’t give a damn about putting everything on hold in your life so you can dance to the beat of their own little drum like a marionette attached to an ATM machine. It was pity party, table for one, please!

Then out of the blue, a phone call from Anna, our translator saying that Xenia is at the Dept right now, and we have our 3rd appt for tomorrow! We were NOT expecting it at all- the most we were expecting was to hear sometime this week when our appt date would be for next week. We were eating lunch when I answered the phone and I nearly fell off my chair.

Instant butterflies and knots in my stomach. I could barely get my lunch down and keep it there! At this time tomorrow, we could be laying eyes for the first time on a photograph of our future daughter. This is it. And we could be meeting her for the first time on Weds or Thurs morning! Whoa.

We don’t know what time yet, Xenia is trying to get us the best time for what must be “catch up day”. We’ll be going with one other family from our agency who have been here for 6 weeks- I have no idea if they are looking for a child in the same age group or not, but it doesn’t matter. Who is meant for you is who is meant for you. It all works out as it is meant to be.

The only thing that we have left as an ace up our sleeve so to speak, is that we are allowed to call in sick one time. I don’t think this will be a factor, as this is going to be catch-up day with the most files to choose from. However if it wasn’t looking good, Xenia would be given a blow in the ear by somebody she knows in there that the files weren’t good, and then she’d tell the Dept we were feeling ill so we could not attend our appt that day. This would buy us more time until she got word of either another catch-up day, or a normal day when a particularly good file came in. In any case, I am going to pack our suitcases TONIGHT so all we have to do is zip them up and run if all goes well tomorrow. I am feeling very, very positive about tomorrow in a way I have not felt yet for our other appts. I feel like this is really it. Tomorrow is going to be the day we see Mena for the first time- via photograph. I’m getting ready to savour and remember everything about the exact moment when it happens. Finally! Finally! All this waiting, FINISHED. Now we’ll really have a little face and a voice and a real person to cuddle that we have done all of this for- everything just for her after all of this time! I don’t know how I am going to sleep a wink tonight!

Gathering Speed

I'm awake and twiddling my thumbs this morning.

Can't make anything super nice for Sunday breakfast, bc I have the kitchen implements of an 18 year old boy in his first bachelor pad. Not even a serrated knife, people. You try cutting Russian black bread with a filet knife- it's lethal! So I am eating a mauled piece of bread ripped off the loaf with a bit of delicious butter and the best sour cherry jam I have ever come across in my life. Basically while we are here, I am devising ways of eating as many cherry products as possible, because I love them so. I'm actually not much of a jam fan back home bc I tend to find everything way too sugary, and not enough tartness in the fruit. But here, let me tell you, I can fully understand how somebody could go at a jar with a spoon. All I can think about is getting a hold of some Greek yogurt and a pair of elasticated pants!

Last night after breaking our Yom Kippur fast, we met up with a great couple from our home city that we met at last winter’s pre-adoption classes. We went out for super cheap perogies and borscht, then to an Irish pub for a drink and to continue the chat as the restaurant closed pretty early. I will not go into their story as the details are personal and private, but if there was ever a couple on this earth who deserves a happy ending to their quest for a family, it is them. I even wish it more for them than I do for ourselves. And I just know it’s going to work out for them, so it’s an exciting time to see them as a couple, before all of this becomes just a happy memory of how everything started.

I don’t really have anything to say in terms of an update. Friday brought no news from our facilitator, but in this case, no news is good news. I’m betting by tomorrow or Tuesday we’ll hear when our last appt will be, and we’re guessing it will be for next week.  Last night at dinner, “Mrs. Smith” shared a story of another example of how amazing our facilitator Xenia is. We are so lucky to be dealing with an agency like ours where the people here especially don’t just do their job for a paycheck, but they do it with passion and personal satisfaction and a real love of creating families from their gut level. Another couple who was here from our city had had no luck with finding their child weeks and weeks into the process. She was at the Dept late in the afternoon with the Smiths, who were also there, waiting for their 2nd appointment but she had a feeling there wouldn’t be anymore new files for them, so they were hanging around bc sometimes at 4pm a single new file will turn up of a healthy kid out of the blue… so she was stalling to see what would happen. Indeed she got wind of exactly that situation. The child was not in the age category for the Smiths, but he *was* in the age category of another couple from our city who had been waiting multiple weeks. There was yet another couple from another country who were also in line at the Dept, and she knew this foreign couple would definitely take the child if they went into the office first. Xenia went nuts! She was on that phone quicker than a flash, telling the other couple they needed to RUN over there literally in 10 minutes to grab this chance, or the little boy would be gone forever. The Smiths said she was chain-smoking and pacing like a panther, waiting for the Browns to arrive. When they arrived breathlessly, she practically pushed their bums up the stairs and into the office, while the other foreign couple waited on the stairs, not having a clue of what was going on, bc their facilitator was not there to wait with them. What happened in the end? The Greens are leaving today to get their new son, who they wouldn’t have met if Xenia wasn’t as dedicated and amazing as she is. She may be tiny, but she’s a human dynamo! To know she is fighting in all of our corners is the only thing that is keeping us from going off the deep end.

People like this are few and far between. Facilitators especially. She’s been doing this for 20 years, and has such good contacts within the Dept, plus she says she lives for her job on both a moral and personal level, you could not ask for someone more dedicated and professional. We just continue to thank our stars that she is overseeing the process on our behalf.

A Meeting, a Statue & a Schnitzel

After our meeting yesterday with renewed wind in our sails, we decided to do a bit more sightseeing at the WWII museum. One thing for anyone who comes to Kiev, plan on taking double the time you think you’ll need when you go anywhere. Even though we had been in the area of the museum twice, it *still* ended up taking us 2 hours to finally get there. The main problem is that on all the subway and city maps, they anglicize the Cyrillic so it can be pronounced in conversation by non-Ukrainian speakers, but when you are physically standing on the streets or in the subway stations, of course everything is in Cyrillic again- so it really is impossible to understand anything unless you can remember all the sounds of the Cyrillic alphabet. Somebody really needs to make a map that properly combines both.

We bumbled around when we got out of the subway, and began walking. After we got about 1km away, we still had no idea if we were on the right track and we stood on the sidewalk trying to consult the map. An older lady was walking toward us, babbling in Russian or Ukrainian- we couldn’t immediately identify which. Ois thought the was a crazy old lady and nearly waved her away, but I tried to figure out if she was telling us something and indeed she was trying to ask us if we needed help. Indeed she ended up insisting on walking us back to where we had come from as we all tried to make conversation happily ignoring the language barrier. There was a funny moment when as we were walking she saw a small grey rat scoot across the sidewalk and she started shrieking and hopping around, much to everyone’s amusement passing by. We discovered her name was Tanya, she had a cousin in New York city and her father was from Greece. She had beautiful green sparkly eyes and a quick smile. What a lady- despite being in her mid to late 60’s she walked all the way back to the subway, and making signs on the back of a shopping bag, she told us what trolleybus number to take, and that we needed to take it all the way to the last stop to get to the “Hitler” museum, thanks to Ois’s John Cleese imitation. Then she waved and we thought we were just parting ways, but she turned around and began heading all the way back to where we had met her way down the road. See? This is the type of thing that I mean about people over here. Everyone is so helpful and kind, it just knocks your socks right off on a daily basis. What a country.

We finally arrived at our destination, only to find that the museum was closed- so much for the website stating they were open until 7pm! So we walked around the grounds, and took photos of some of the outdoor sculptures about the Ukrainian resistance fighters, which the word “breathtaking” falls short of properly describing.

The 1st photo is the giant entrance to the large tunnel with the scenes cast in bronze and inset into the concrete walls, with gaps above for bits of sunlight to peek through. The play of shadows and light against the figures was so powerful. I’ve never seem anything like this. The scale was enormous, and the detail was so studied and carefully done. Especially all the different faces and the muscles in the bodies- everything communicated pure strength and resolve. Incredible.

Walking out of the tunnel, you are presented with Ukraine’s own Statue of Liberty- “Mother Motherland”, built as a monument to the battle of Stalingrad. With these photos, unfortunately you have no proper concept of the scale of this piece- it is actually larger than the Statue of Liberty, and when it was completed 40 years ago, it was the largest statue in the world. It is so beautiful, with touches of art deco and the shining silver surface reflecting the sky. We were just about the only people there, so I lay down on the marble bench running around the diameter of the foot of it, and looked at it for ages upsidedown.

Then it looked like it might rain, so we began to walk back to the subway. We stopped for our $1 beers in the park so we could sit down for a bit, and Oisin told me about how a pear just about fell on his head from the tree above. I didn’t even notice the pear tree! It was the only one there! I saw a pear, and I said this one in particular looked like it would be so delicious and perfect off the tree and we played eye-spy until we were looking at he same one. Then Ois decided to see if he could throw up something to knock loose the exact one I wanted. He’s so funny like that! I didn’t expect for him to be able to do it, but he did, much to the gathering crowd’s delight. Victory!

And then we left and decided to have supper at this place we read about on our city map, simply called “Schnitzel”. We have been dying lately with not-so-good food here, the choices are getting repetitive, I’m crippled in our apt without an oven to bake things in, and we have 2 pots and a single small frying pan. Plus we have to guess at a lot of the ingredients at the supermarket. And we have no moolah for better restaurants. So today we thought  we’d treat ourselves to a $20 supper of beer and schnitzel after all the stress of the past week. We did, and it was great. With our beers, they gave us teeny individual bowls of what really were about 6 long skinny croutons of dry black bread rubbed with a bit of garlic. I will be making these at home to go with beers. They were good! I had apple strudel for dessert that was out of this world, it was even better than the meal. Then we came home.

Oh, but before I go, here is “Rabbit of the Day”. He was in the park where we I got my pear, and I have no idea what his little sign said, so I took a photo so my stepmom can translate. I think he thought his 2 bunnies were magical or fortune-telling or something. One of them had milky blue eyes and clearly was special. He looked like a salty old sailor, and didn’t mind me taking his picture. I said that he probably loved the fact that any lady coming over to admire the bunnies had to bend over and he was happily exactly the right height to admire cleavage all day long.

So here you go:

Tears Of A Snake

Yesterday we were both starving, as we had a pretty rotten supper the night before at the little place we go to, which you will note for future reference will just be called “our place”. That’s what we call it, anyways. It was a super hot day and we just had the worst luck there. The soup was barely lukewarm. The chicken cutlet turned out to be dried out old beef and was too greasy tasting to eat. The mushroom perogies that I had been dreaming of which was to be the main attraction fooled me: they contained poppyseeds and raisins. We took home a pizza feeling like greedy, ungrateful tourists after not knowing what the toppings would be because the menu was completely in Cyrillic and I was dying of embarrassment as Ois stood there, very loudly and slooowly stuttering and trying to sound out the words like a lost episode of Life Goes On.

So we were a bit cranky when we woke up, plus we hadn’t heard anything about our 3rd appt date, so we decided to just get out of the house and wander around. Also there was an art exhibit I really wanted to see while we were here, as I had read about it on the plane and it featured work by Anish Kapoor, Jeff Koons, Cindy Sherman and a specially commissioned piece by Elmgreen & Dragset. (Those were the guys who did the Prada store in the middle of the Texas desert a few years back, maybe you remember that.)

The Amish Kapoor pieces we great, as to be expected. All 3 works were memorable and stole the show for me. He had a GIGANTIC (like, over 16” tall and probably as wide) rotating bell made of red wax, with a metal wall that went around it, smoothing the bell down and also shaving some of the wax off in ribbons. Ah- I should probably mention what the show was called, it was Sexuality & Transcendence at the Pinchuk Art Center. The next one was called “Male & Female” and was this stainless steel sculpture polished to a jewel-like mirror finish with a bunch of facets cut into it so everything sparkled. On one side, the sculpture had 2 gentle indentations while viewed from the other side there were 3 rounded shapes. It was beautiful. The last piece was inset into the wall but gave the impression of a painting. It was this deep, pure, velvety purple with a concave center that you weren’t quite sure if it was flat and made with deeper shades of paint, or it actually went into the wall.

Jeff Koons was Jeff Koons. They had his gigantic blue diamond sculpture there, his marble bust self-portrait, and the enormous purple sculpture with a mirror finish of a- wait for it- balloon RABBIT. I had no idea this would be there, BTW. The balloon rabbit was 2 stories tall. I liked seeing how he made the twists of the balloon look at each joint. The best of the show though for me was a Ukrainian artist called Illya Chichkan, who I had never heard of. He had a room full of a series of blown up photographs of mainly middle-aged Ukrainian soldiers in their uniforms copying the poses in well-known fashion ads, except they didn’t know that’s what they were doing. Beside each photograph was the original magazine ad. Each photo was fab- on the way out of the gallery I stopped in his room again and sneakily took a fast picture as if I got asked to leave with a wagging finger we were going anyways.

The one you see first was my favourite. It was a Bingo-type lady in her early 50’s with brassy blonde hair and who had too many gold rings on her fingers on top of a small table, crawling forward like a little panther, as she copied a perfume ad. There was also a middle-aged man in his uniform with carefully combed hair and shiny shoes lying on his arched back like Sophie Dahl in the Obsession perfume ads. That was my next favourite. It was just really clever, and a great idea behind the entire body of work. I can’t wait to look up more stuff on this guy.

After the gallery our feets were soresoresore so we looked for some place where we could sit down and nurse a coffee. We’re basically doing just free stuff while we are here, so our only expenses will be rent and food. We found pretty much the only place we could sit down in the bottom of one of the city’s peculiar underground shopping malls. These underground malls are going to give me nightmares, I just know it. They are so weird and labyrinthine, and so much of everything looks the same, yet it’s also a bit like a Chinese Bazaar down there too: you’ve got tablecloth shops sitting cheek to jowl with a shop selling only nail polish, sitting beside someone selling Q-Tips and air conditioners, sitting beside someone else selling hooker shoes and a selection of frying pans. I would say it’s in the league of Waiting for Godot, however with all the cell phone stores all over the place, it’s more like waiting for Oisin.

We sat down beside a fountain spewing eerily green water and were given a menu. Now I don’t know about you, but when I’m travelling and I see something so irresistibly badly translated on a menu, I feel compelled to order it. So my choice was easy. While Oisin ordered just a coffee to drink, I ordered “tears of a snake”.

Our blond teenage waiter came back to the table smiling and presented Oisin with his coffee, then with a flourish, he placed 3 glasses of stuff in front of me. One was a martini glass filled with colourless liquid. The second was like a very tall shot glass with a handle, like a beer glass for a baby. It contained a liquid that was deep, deep brown. The third looked like it was juice of some kind, possibly lemon, with thin bits of pulp suspended in it. We both sat there looking at this concoction for a few minutes while Ois drank his coffee thoughtfully. I figured what the hell, and began to raise the martini glass to my lips when instantly I heard,  “Nyit! Nyit! Nyit!” and the waiter and his boss, an older lady literally came *running* to the table, motioning for me to stop. I froze. In quickly chattering Ukrainian between them both then looking at me and waving their hands, finally the young guy said in broken english, “First. Make fire! Then-” he said thrusting a black plastic drinking straw at me, “You drink! Fast! Fast!” And suddenly he was trying to light the glass on fire with a cigarette lighter while his boss animatedly waved her arms around as he struggled with the lighter. He stuck his thumb in the liquid in the glass and she huffed in disgust, whooshing the glass away while he followed her back to the bar like a scolded puppy. She returned with a new glass and a pack of matches. This time the liquid was lit on fire successfully. I had no idea what I was about to drink but I stuck the straw into the contents, praying the plastic wouldn’t melt with the fumes like a miniature Chernobyl, and sucked it all down. It burned my throat. While I was slurping, he was yelling at me to drink the brown glass next, all at once, immediately! I jabbed my straw in and did it. Then they both cheered me on to finish the last right away again with the straw all at once. I closed my eyes and slurped. With beaming smiles, they whooshed away the empty glasses and disappeared. My throat was on fire with the combination of what I imagined was homemade Ukrainian tequila of some sort, Tia Maria and lemonade, and my eyes were watering. Tears of a snake, indeed.

A few minutes later the kid returned, and Oisin, who is never one to refuse a drink, asked if he could try it too. I think with the trouble they had lighting the first thing on fire they were reluctant to look foolish in front of the tourists again, so he suggested something else that he exclaimed would make “big fire!” He was like a kid with a chemistry set. He was so excited it would have been a shame to disappoint him, so Ois nodded and he scooted away victoriously to the bar. He came back with a snifter of Sambuca, three coffee beans, and empty snifter, a white square little napkin and another black straw. He jabbed the straw through the center of the napkin and put it flat on the table. Then he lit the liqueur on fire with the coffee beans, and slowly swirled it around the glass, holding it horizontally. He poured the flaming liquid into the empty glass, turned the previously fiery one upside down on the napkin, and told Ois to “Drink fast! Now!” Then he told him to suck on the straw inside the upside-down glass like some sort of boozy-fumed bong which Ois did with red eyes. Now, please remember this is at 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon in an underground shopping mall food court. It was like we were in another world.

We paid the tab and left for home, stopping at a grocery store on the way to pick up some more bread and yogurt and ingredients for chicken paprika for supper tomorrow night. When we got back we checked the cell phone from our agency to see if anybody called, but no one did. Still no news on the date of our 3rd appt. Sigh.

Rabbit Of The Day

Seen in somebody’s window as we walked up the street to the Presidential Mansion, used for state occasions.

Bunnies, Bunnies, Everywhere

I’ve neglected to talk about this yet mainly because I’ve been spending a good amount of time thinking about it and truth be told, I’ve enjoyed having this little secret and wearing it inside like a gem.

Before we left of course I said some prayers about how I hoped everything would work out and if possible, to please get some sort of sign that I would understand as such. After that I just let everything go and had the peaceful knowledge that somehow I would know if or when it would happen.

Well, it happened in the most unusual but obvious way. While we were on the plane in Paris waiting on the runway to depart for Kiev I happened to look out the window and I saw a greyish-brown bunny out in the middle of nowhere, hopping through the grass oblivious to the roar of the aircraft engines and gigantic moving planes all around it coming in and off the runways. I smacked Oisin on the arm and told him to look out the window- but it was too late. The rabbit had disappeared from sight somewhere in the grass. I continued to watch the entire time we waited on the runway hoping to see it again, but it was gone for good. Our plane began to rumble off, and we departed.

Here in Kiev, I continue to see rabbits in the funniest and most unexpected places. Oisin, who doesn’t believe in any of this type of thing tells me it’s the same principle as learning a new word then reading it and hearing it everywhere- it’s just an attention thing. Well, I’m pretty sensitive to paying attention to visual stuff all around me all the time, and I *do* think there is something more to it. It is too strange to me to just be an “everyday” coincidence.

I’m seeing tiny rabbit figurines for sale in the subways, I’m seeing stuff like an advertisement for “Lapin House” on a moveable billboard that is frozen for ages until the light finally changes and I have to walk away, I saw a calendar with a giant white rabbit hanging on it while we ordered an ice cream cone from a kiosk on the street. I went to look for a stuffed teddy bear to take to the orphanage, and there were some adorable bunnies- so I bought one instead. Bunnies on painted trinket boxes, tiny glass bunnies made by peddlers sold on the street, rabbits, rabbits everywhere. It is weird. And good! So I’m thinking about rabbit symbolism in Eastern European culture and beyond, and what it all means.

The main thing I am getting over and over (aside from the obvious fertility connection) is that rabbits are agile and extremely sensitive to the world around them, and spend much of the time looking for danger. This is a tiring way to live, and indeed rabbits have short life spans, perhaps partially due to the energy expended on this never-ending quest. Also, rabbits need to make quick decisions and take opportunities that present themselves at the time they are presented: hemming and hawing may cost a lifetime of regret. Also, rabbits are a symbol of spring and re-birth and celebration. Isn’t this something? I have to keep closing my jaw. It’s just too strange!

The best stuff I read is about animal spirit guides, on this link about Native American culture and beliefs. It is fascinating. So now I’m going to hop into the shower, get dressed and head out into the beautiful sunny, hot day for a cup of the most delicious coffee (seriously, I don’t know how I’m going to live again without it back home- it’s so good, it’s like dessert with the happiness it gives you) and I’m going to walk around with a revived sense of peace and happy anticipation for whatever comes next. And maybe see a few more rabbits.

http://www.manataka.org/page291.html

Other Beautiful Things

I want to leave you with some good things to think about, after all that negative stuff. Kiev really is a beautiful place, and the people here are nothing short of fantastic. There isn’t a whole lot of tourism here, so people are not worn out by forever being barked at, “D’ya speak ENGLISH?” Virtually everywhere we have gone, somebody is always waiting to go out of their way to be helpful- it is a genuinely lovely and truly touching thing every time it happens, because it’s just so easy to ignore other people’s problems or situations. The spirit of generosity and friendliness has just enriched every experience we’ve had and I would recommend Kiev to anyone who would like to go somewhere completely different, untouched by mass tourism, and generally pretty affordable.

Last week I had one of the best days of my life, and I will always remember it that way. We decided to head down to the giant park and monastery, this is meant to be the main attraction that you have to go see if you are in Kiev, the Caves at Lavra. First we stopped at the monument to the Ukrainian Famine/Genocide of the 1930’s. This is when millions died by a man-made famine to try to get the people to submit to Mother Russia instead of independence. The monument was absolutely beautiful. It had such clarity of vision and it was so eloquent, it really took your breath away. Breaking free of stone, indeed.

Underneath the tower is a museum that is a huge dark room with a circle of leather bound volumes of the names of those who died of starvation. The names also play on the screens that run around the circular room, with old farming machinery and empty baskets in the space. In the center of the room which is directly under the monument is the most gorgeous carved vertical slabs of marble, made to look like Ukrainian embroidery that surrounds an inner sculpture which is suspended in the air from a skylight. There is a glass column filled with grain and 4 small alter-like areas where you can light a slim beeswax candle in memory of the dead. An illuminated modified cross sits on top of the grain. It was truly stunning- the play of light, the scope of the piece and the effect of suspension, the glassed-in grain that you could see but could not have- all of it was just executed so powerfully. It may be one of the most moving pieces of art I have ever seen.

Outside as you approach the monument from the street the first sculptures you see are double angels that serve as gates to the path. Then you see the bronze sculpture of a child survivor of starvation with her head turned towards the rising sun. The last thing that I loved (and forgot to take a photo of because I was just so involved looking at it and thinking) was a sculpture on a platform above the stairs down into the museum. It was a grouping of golden metal rods that were swirled as if by the wind, meant to be a swath of growing grain and also people standing in solidarity- bending to accommodate the force of the unseen wind, but not breaking. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!

On to the monastery and the caves at Lavra. Oh my god, if I only had any idea of what we were about to see! I keep thinking about it, and I get both a chill and a warm rush all at once. It was one of the most moving experiences of my life, and I will remember it until the day I die. Absolutely everything.

It is nearly impossible to put into words the grandness and majesty of everything before your eyes. It’s holy, it’s carnival-like for your eyes, it’s still and ancient and peaceful, it’s a celebration of God and people and faith and what the two can do together, it feels eternal but precious like all this beauty might disappear before your eyes like a rainbowed soap bubble before you can drink it all in forever. Imagine an ancient town of about 20 buildings on small streets set on hills that are cobblestoned with expanses of greenery and tall scarlet roses the colour of velvet movie theatre curtains growing in rows. Imagine stone walls and sun-bleached frescos painted onto chipping plaster walls, and old ladies in babushkas walking arm and arm with each other and young, fresh faced men wearing full length black fitted cloaks with black buttons briskly passing by as if you are in an invisible time machine. And then the bright, 24kt golden onion domes reflecting all the light in the sky like crowns. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I believe that in a handful of years if not fiercely preserved, it will have signs up in English and a Starbucks across the street.

My favourite photos below so far- ones that I can’t wait to blow up big when we get home, I just can’t choose which lens is cooler:

Then there is this mesmerising singing that echos out from each of the churches when mass is celebrated. And this faint ghost of frankincense that floats on the air and mixes with all the roses; words just can’t do any of this justice. One of the churches had an open door that was up by the alter where perhaps 2 or 3 people could peek in behind a velvet rope. The singing was so- pure- that’s the only word that keeps coming to mind, that we were drawn to it and we stood captivated by the door losing track of time completely.

Inside the church again, words can’t describe. I just keep saying beautiful over and over again, because that’s what it was. I will never forget what my eyes saw. It was so dark inside, and the dome of the ceiling was so high, with small slants of light coming in from tiny windows. The ceiling was deep navy blue painted with angels, and the alter was entirely gilded, it must have been 20 feet tall. There were scenes of biblical paintings and saints in pastel coloured robes, all surrounded heavily in gold. There were two large golden (I’m sorry I don’t know the correct terminology) candleholders that held so many tall, thin yellow beeswax candles that reflected their flickering lights into the golden alter and on the faces of the women in prayer, making them all look younger than their aged years. Some of the babushkas had embroidery, some had small beads or sequin details that glittered like fireflies in the candlelight. And then the men singing with such peaceful belief in their voices and the priest in his embroidered gowns swinging the incense that perfumed the room with the beeswax burning candles… it was like a tidal wave of beauty washing over you, it was just about overwhelming to your senses and too much to take in. I don’t know how long we stood experiencing all of this, and it was an experience- you weren’t just looking but you were smelling and listening and feeling- but all of a sudden I just could not hold the tears back, and so there we were. Oisin was standing in front of me, and he had no idea I was a crying mess, and then I heard sniffling and I realised he too, the Confirmed Atheist, was crying. It was just all so beautiful. It was even better than making it to the Klimt gallery all those years ago on my own after saving so long and working so hard and coming out of all that bad crap I had to wade through before dropping out of university because of exhaustion… it was just unforgettable, incomparable beauty like a living, breathing thing.

And then yet another experience of kindness that would take our breath away: one of the monks obviously had noticed us, and he walked over and unhooked the rope and beckoned us inside instead of standing in the doorway. I was wearing jeans, not a skirt, though as a mark of respect I did buy and wear a head scarf before we went. (I wondered about this quite a bit before we went because I’m Jewish, but then I figured if non-Jewish people wear kippahs out of respect if they come to a service at a synagogue, then surely it would be OK if I did the same, not out of religious obedience, but out of sensitivity & respect to the beliefs of others.) He motioned to my jeans and shook his head to say it was OK, he understood and yet we were still welcome, and it just added to the tears, this kindness of inclusion by a stranger. He led us inside personally past those in prayer and I will never forget that moment. It was so expansive and beautiful. How lucky we were to experience it.

I’m skipping ahead now to the next day, because all we did after that was literally wander around for 4 hours back and forth uphill and down, trying to find the damn caves without being able to properly read Cyrillic signs. Truly, nobody spoke a word of English. So we went home and decided to come back the next day to find those caves!

I’m leaving out so much again, but we did find the caves, experienced more kindness by people who helped me figure out that they had skirts I could rent before going into the caves so I would be suitably attired. First off, no skirt, no caves. I would have missed all of it. Secondly, even if I saw other people paying and getting a skirt, I would have never known that they were only giving a deposit- I would have just paid and would have been out that much-needed money. So kindness, kindness, kindness once again by people just wanting to help a complete stranger and who wanted nothing in return when it would be so easy to take advantage of somebody.

Those caves just blew our minds. You go down steep stone steps through small silent hallways lit by only the beeswax candle you carry in your hand. The walls are white, and in the dim snaking hallways and alcoves there are hanging tiny oil lamps above the glass coffins of mummified saints, wrapped in blankets heavily embroidered with pearls and jewels and golden thread. I do not mean to give the impression of ghoulish spookiness, because it’s the furthest thing away from that. It is peaceful and curious. Also, I am seeing it as a non-Catholic, so I’m coming from a place of appreciating the history of the place (10th century) and the power of the connection that people who share this faith have for the saints who are remain there. Some of the saints actually chose to live inside the caves, and had food and water brought down to them, and then died there. Not all of the saints were within the special glass coffins, some were still encrypted within the walls, and there were little covered windows that you could look into in places to see their skeletal remains. The other striking thing about the ancient saints were just how tiny people were, hundreds of years ago. None of the coffins were more than 5 feet long, and even then there was some room at the head and feet. A few of the saints had a hand placed outside a slit in their robe, the hands were tiny and blackened with age. Above each coffin was a painting of the saint in life and their name. It was pretty amazing to see a painting match the person inside the glass coffin in front of you, knowing that hundreds of years ago they walked through the very cave you are standing in; they brought comfort to the faithful, and to be able to think about what they did to claim sainthood after their death. People were kissing the coffins and were crossing themselves in blessings. What a thing to be able to come to a place like this as a Catholic, to have this experience! It was incredible to me as someone who is not a Catholic- I can only imagine what this would be like coupled with the power of one’s faith. Amazing!

Stinky, Tired, Jaded

Writing from the train, after a whirlwind 24 hours that began in Kiev, travelling overnight to Odessa, a 4 hour car ride to (pardon my French) B*mf*ck, Ukraine, back in the car another 4 hours, and back on the train overnight to Kiev.

It started at our second appointment. We went through 2 binders full of the very sick kids we had previously seen, a handful of new files of more sick kids, and then when there was nothing else to review we asked to see the files of 5 year olds just for the heck of it- though our homestudy specified (by our own request) for approval of a child up to 4 years old. The last file in the last binder was a little girl with an impish smile taken when she was about 2. There was very little information in the file on her medical history, and we were already past the hour of our appointment, so our translator phoned the orphanage to see if she could get more information on the girl, while the psychologist at the Dept removed her page from the binder so nobody else could see her until we figured out what to do- which is stretching the rules of what’s allowed, truth be told.

It turned out the Director at the orphanage refused to tell anything more about the girl, which is within his right, other than the fact that she had just been transferred from the “baby house” (which is where kids under 4 live until they age out and then enter into more of a boarding school/orphanage environment) 2 weeks ago, and had some delays. We needed to decide pretty much immediately if we wanted to visit her to obtain more medical information, so we decided to go. In less than 3 hours, we had train tickets booked and purchased, we had to have our permission letter from the Dept, and our apartment cleared out. These guys work fast! We boarded the overnight train and arrived in Odessa at 6am this morning where we were picked up by our driver, who then took us the 4 hours to a tiny, tiny village literally in the middle of nowhere. Like, goats and crumbling houses and National Geographic territory. We first had to meet with the regional inspector who would check out our paperwork and accompany us to the orphanage with our translator. At her office (again, it’s hard to explain how basic we’re talking- the office toilets were literally an outhouse outside the building with a squat hole in the ground) it was hard to read body language but it seemed like she didn’t think too much of our “big city” translator coming into town, however practically all quickly-spoken Russian sounds like arguing anyways, so who really knows?

We all drove to the orphanage through the town center with literally everyone staring at our car and the “outsiders” inside it. The orphanage from the outside was as nice as it could be in the circumstances- the patchy brown grass was cut, there were a couple of climbing structures in the yard, a path to the entrance of the building. We were ushered into another office and sat down waiting for the Director to come in. When he arrived, we were surprised to meet a guy that appeared to be about our own age, dressed like he was running an Eastern European nightclub. Somebody began reading information from the little girl’s file, which wasn’t much other than the fact the girl was abandoned in the maternity ward, the mother had no idea who the father was, and she wanted to relinquish all parental rights from birth. So she had been in care since infancy. This was alarming right away and one of the things our social worker said to pay attention about- to question why wasn’t this kid adopted when she was a cute little two year old in the system. First red flag. We asked our translator to ask about the fact she had an older brother- where was he? The Director said he had no information. We asked him if there was any medical info on Mom, and could he tell us how the little one was adjusting in the new orphanage and who were her friends? This provoked a loud arrogant snort- like we were idiots- and we were told she had only been here about 2 weeks so of course she had no friends. Later we found out from the caregivers that she had arrived with 5 other children in her playgroup, and they were all transitioning into the new environment; at least they all shared a little room together with all their beds in a row. At this point I think we both felt that we had more information given to us when we went to the SPCA to adopt a kitten, yet we were being asked to take on the irrevocable responsibility of another human life. We were really put off by the Director in this place- his body language, the tones of voice, the fact that he leaned against a wall the entire time than to sit down and make eye contact and talk about this kid like her life actually mattered. One of the women asked us if we wanted to meet her, of course we said yes. After what seemed like an eternity, a hysterically sobbing child was brought into the office of stern looking adults and my heart broke for her, it must have been terrifying. She was too upset so a caregiver carried her out and returned a minute or two later with a beaming, calm child who ran into the room like a tiny cyclone and was instantly into everything! She ran to the bookcase and began trying to pull books off the shelves. She ran to the desks and tried to grab papers and pens- she was a whirlwind of activity, babbling every now and again. She really was cute. The thing that all had us in stiches was when I said her name and she abruptly turned to look at me, stuck out her tongue, and then gave me a fist up in the air like a comic little international “fuck you!” I thought what a funny story to tell her one day if we were able to adopt her! Honestly, it was a thing she probably learned from a frustrated Baba at an orphanage and it was so unexpected, it truly was hysterical. The caretaker attending her nearly died of embarrassment. She had a small cloth she carried around and was trying to clean everything, and kept folding and refolding her little handkerchief. We had brought some tiny stuffed animals and had hidden them in a pocket so we tried to get her attention by calling her over to look but she wasn’t too interested. The caretaker said she didn’t like toys and didn’t really play (red flag #2) she just preferred to put things in order and wipe stuff with her little cloth, I guess she had seen adults do this so many times it was what she was mimicking. The next thing that is difficult to communicate to you all is just how tiny this girl was: she was about the size of maybe a 3 year old. Her language skills were also hugely delayed, she babbled incoherently like a toddler. This was not a child who would be ready for kindergarten next year, nor probably the year after nor possibly even another year after that. Once that reality sunk in, we began to relate to her more as an infant. I picked her floppy then flailing little body up to see if she would accept contact OK, and I rocked her a bit and carried her around like a baby, pointing out things to look at, and speaking in a hushy-hush voice. This was OK for about 3 minutes then she wanted to get down and scoot around again, exploring. It was pretty exhausting after about 35 minutes, she really had zero attention span. There was no way you would even be able to go to the bathroom for 2 minutes without bringing her in with you and locking the door- she was just tearing into everything but also without having any sense of the word “no” either, which was frightening. She seemed so all-over-the-place that this would be the kind of child you would legitimately be frightened of having her drink a bottle of bleach one day if you happened to answer the phone for a minute. We already knew we would not be the right parents for bringing out the potential best of this little girl; it certainly would not be fair to her or to ourselves, but we did want to see the conditions of the rest of the orphanage. We were led around to the play room, bedroom and meal room by a teenage boy who was a resident there. He was wearing what looked like hospital scrubs, though it was really probably homemade clothes and it broke our hearts. His feet did not fit his shoes so he wore them like slippers with the backs crushed down. The conditions in the building were much better than what you would expect though, lots of sunlight, the rooms were comfortably warm and very basically furnished. They even had a rug. In the bedroom 5 other caretakers (an assortment of grandmotherly and young mom types) were playing with the other 5 children from the group, we were happy to see such a ratio of obviously very dedicated, and warm women who had a genuine connection to these kids even in the short period of time they were there.

As I sat down on a couch loaded with stuffed animals, the loveliest little girl with sandy brown hair and clear blue eyes came up to me to show me a book about a teddy bear. She was chattering away in Russian, and she was just so immediately engaging and bright, it was an instant connection. Instant. We looked at her little book together and I smoothed her hair and felt bad that the other little girl we had come to see was bouncing around the room oblivious that we were even there, and I just didn’t feel any connection to her at all. Oisin was watching this new little girl too out of the corner of his eye, I could see him. I asked our translator what her name was, and her age. He passed the question on to the ladies and they replied she was 5. The contrast was beyond striking- this girl was probably almost twice the size and certainly was far more developmentally like a true kindergartener; it really hammered home the point of difference between the two. I think I was already in love with this kid- everything just felt so natural and “right” immediately. I could absolutely imagine tucking her into bed, kissing her warm little forehead and turning out her nightlight. Then one of the caretakers pointed out her disability which I hadn’t even noticed at all because she had learned to compensate so well, but her left arm was paralyzed and her left leg was very stiff, though she could walk pretty much normally. In any case, at that minute I couldn’t have cared less. It would have been like saying oops, she really has green eyes not blue ones, it made zero difference in picturing a life with her as our daughter. Expecting to hear medical terminology for whatever birth condition she might have had, I asked about the name of her disability so we could look it up immediately when we left and could get online, but I was utterly, utterly unprepared to hear the words, “Oh, her parents beat her until she became paralyzed on her left side. She’s had many surgeries, but it will be a lifetime affliction.”

I literally felt the room spin and the air was knocked out of me. The little girl continued smiling and giggling and reading her book out loud at my feet, while the caretaker just said the words as simply as she might have said what was for dinner that night. This gorgeous child who instantly came up to me to show me her book had not lost her ability to trust a pair of strange adults that could have been two more child beaters. Watching her sweet, open face and thinking about her laying broken and bloody in a hospital bed due directly to her own mother and father was more than I could take in. I had to leave the room to get myself together. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t see where I was going because of the tears in my eyes. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Back at the car, we asked our translator to find out more about this little girl. It was all I could do not to scoop her up and carry her out of there myself that instant. I was kind of shocked at his response, it seemed he was a bit put out for us asking him to do this- he just shook his head and said it was very unlikely she would be available, so there was no point. We were truthfully annoyed and said we didn’t care, and we wanted him to ask about it irrespective of what he thought “might be”. We figured it cost nothing to ask (which in fact is pretty ironic, because it *did* in fact cost something to ask, which we found out shortly) so why not do it while we were there, rather than phoning from Kiev later? At this point we had also refused to proceed any further with the first girl and were ready to leave anyways and start all the paperwork and legal stuff that is a requirement in Ukraine with a lawyer drafting a letter stating to the Dept that we had refused the first referral.

So he went back to the Nightclub Director while we waited nervously outside the car, pacing on the dusty road and staring into a dirty field. We could see them speaking outside then our translator came back with the following news: Apparently the Director couldn’t “remember” if the little girl was available or not, but for about $30 he could perhaps open his files. We just paid him. We didn’t care at that point if he was going to be in liters of Vodka and polyester ties for the next 3 weeks or not. We waited anxiously outside the car, I said prayer after prayer while black birds flew over the field like pepper being sprinkled across the sky. Our translator came back to the car and said that she wasn’t available for adoption, the state had tried to get her mother to relinquish her parental rights but she refused and threatened to take the state to court if she had to, to prevent this from ever happening. It was also noted that in almost 5 years, she had not bothered to visit her own daughter a single time.

We got into the car, and I cried silently all the way home.

This bright, smart, beautiful little girl will sit in an orphanage until her 16th birthday which will be attended by nobody, and then she will be put out onto the street to fend for herself for the rest of her life. Nobody will adopt a half-paralyzed child. Certainly no one in Ukraine, and certainly no one internationally will read her file, see the words “paralysis” and “age over 5 years old” and will choose to adopt her. Without meeting her ourselves, we wouldn’t have either, though it is perfectly clear that she is able to function like any other kid her age to the point that we didn’t even notice her disability until it was pointed out to us because of her ability to cope. I was furious at the selfishness of someone who would deny their child the chance for a life where she could be and do anything she wanted, and get the expert medical care she needs so that perhaps with serious physical therapy she might be almost 100% again one day. And I was sick at the fact that someone, somewhere thought it was OK to brutalise a defenseless child less than half their size to the point of permanently robbing her of her complete, bodily functions and that it was done most likely without punishment because there was no indication that either Mom or dad went to jail for child abuse in her file. And I was disgusted once again at laws both in Canada and abroad that seem to give lip-service to children’s human rights to live in safety and be loved and wanted; yet all the while the rights of their biological parents to perhaps one day trot on back to “parent” them if they feel like it, are still held in higher regard. It defies any morality or common sense in the world.

There is a whole other side-story to all of this too, which I’m too exhausted to go into at this point, but we also had a bit of a blow-out with our translator this morning when we FINALLY arrived back in Kiev. All I’m going to say is that it’s pretty evident that many people think that Canadians and Americans are all multi-millionaires and can be duped into opening their wallets without having the right to question it. We are painfully aware of the sad economic differences between having the pure, dumb luck of being born into a life lived in Canada, while other people have to pee in outdoor toilets in a hole in the ground. We have been extremely careful in our words and actions to show the utmost consideration and care and respect for this difference wherever we go, and the only place I have ever let loose is on this blog and even here I’m only giving selected bits and pieces to friends and family who are reading it. However, having travelled all over the world more than once now, neither of us like being taken for idiots who should pay any price just because we are resented for having more money. We may be Canadians, but our last name isn’t Trump. In reality, we will be paying off this journey for the next 5+ years whether we end up with a child or not, which we explained to our translator in no uncertain terms. Angry phone calls were made to the facilitator, we had no idea what was being said about us in Ukrainian but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. We made our own phone calls to the facilitator and asked for a face-to-face meeting to discuss how shit is going to go down, going forward about how expenses will be calculated. Nobody is happy, we can’t meet until tomorrow because evidently she’s ill, and it’s a tense, miserable ending to 3 days worth of stress and running-on-empty.

On Monday, we file the refusal paperwork at the Dept which is also a request for the third appointment. If stuff with our facilitator hasn’t gone completely and permanently tits-up, we’ll probably have to wait another full week in Kiev to get the last appointment, though we’re thinking of asking if it’s possible to get one sooner. Russian Roulette with available files seems to be Russian Roulette. If new files come every day, spending another entire week here vs another few days doesn’t seem like it would make much of a difference if all of this is up to fate anyways. When we started this process one of our main questions was, “Out of everyone that has worked with your agency, how many have returned home childless?” We were told it only happened once because the woman in question was unreasonable and looking for a “Barbie doll” child that didn’t exist in the first place. I’m beginning to get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that eventually there will be a couple #2, and I’m terrified for it to end up being us. I tried to have a nap this morning, and when I woke up I was happy for an instant before I remembered everything again from the little girl we can’t adopt to the rotten argument with our translator and I just wanted to go back to sleep to escape it all. The thought of coming home to that room all ready and waiting only to have to take it all apart again and re-paint it like none of this ever happened is more than I can bear. But I guess it is a real possibility at this point. That, and completely blown life savings on top of it all too, ha.

Sorry I don’t have better news, you guys. But we also don’t want to sugar-coat everything in case it doesn’t work out, and then we have to explain it all again and again. Please just somebody pray for us that we find Mena, that she’s relatively healthy, that everything goes smoothly, that we don’t run out of money before it happens, that we get back home safely together without having to be here for 3 months.

Everything else will be gravy. xoxo

UPDATE: Just as I was finishing this, Nadia called us back from Montreal. We rang her at 3am (yikes) in a panic with all of this and felt awful and then said we’d speak to her at a more human hour. She said we did the right thing with the angry translator, and that she was going to call our facilitator to make that clear. We’re at nobody’s mercy over here, we’re decent people, etc. God, we feel like the piano isn’t hanging over heads by a string anymore. Yay for Nadia and her professional support!