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Daylight savings time started yesterday. Since St. Petersburg is practically in the next westward time zone anyway, this makes the day pretty lopsided. Sunrise was around 7:30 this morning, but it’s 9:00 p.m. and it’s still twilight! And it’s March.

Y’all may be sick of the weather and sunlight report, but this sort of thing fascinates me.


Reading Brian’s latest blog entry made me laugh, and made me think I should make some kind of comment about Easter.

The Russian Orthodox Church uses a different calendar than the rest of the Christian world, so the holidays are never at the same time as the ones I’m used to. Being a devout Agnostic-Buddhist-Unitarian raised in an unreligious household, religious holidays mean fuck-all to me, but you know, you grow up with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the year is forever delineated by these events.

The St. Petersburg Times (twice-weekly free paper in English mostly read by tourists and expats) usually makes passing reference to western religious holidays, like “West Christmas is on December 25th this year.” Last week it mentioned that “West Easter” (isn’t that great? I’ve decided to contract it to Wester) was on Sunday, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have remembered. As it happened, I was hosting a small dinner party and halfway through I suddenly felt like I should be eating a ham rather than the quasi-Indian food I’d prepared. Which was all the more weird because I always thought my mom’s Easter ham was nasty.

I must apologize for being less regular about my posting. The thing is, now that I’m working at the kindergarten five days a week, most of my stories fit for public consumption involve three-year-olds saying cute things, which is nice I suppose, but I don’t want this to become The Kindergarten Blog!

I will say this, though — today Tima, who is one of the youngest and newest kids in the kindergarten, who barely talks in Russian, let alone English, suddenly started saying my name and one of the other teachers’ names. He was being all cute and cuddly and pointing to me and saying “Megan!” Awww.

Recently I was asked whether working with children encourages or discourages my “maternal instincts.” I guess it discourages them, not because the work is unpleasant, but because the instincts in question are more than sufficiently fulfilled by spending a few hours with kids at their very cutest age, reading them stories and feeding them soup — then I get to leave and get drunk and watch R-rated movies and go out with friends and not have to worry about being responsible for anyone else. Not to mention not having to deal with diapers (nappies, that is, at the British Kindergarten) and a household littered with toys, eek. So, really, it’s the perfect arrangement. But I suppose this is the selfish attitude of the postmodern twentysomething urban dweller and is symptomatic of the breakdown of the family in western society. My apologies, western society.

About This Blog

I'm an American who started blogging when I moved to Russia in 2004. Eventually I moved to Sweden, where life is pleasant but uneventful, and stopped blogging for lack of interesting things to say. And then I joined Facebook, which further destroyed any motivation for blogging. Maybe someday I'll start blogging again, but for now, this blog is dormant, an archive of The Russia Years: 2004-2008.

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March 2005
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