Worse gets Worser

Just when I thought it could not get any worse, it did.

The other night when I went to bed,I noticed that the temperature was just above freezing. Great, I thought. Maybe we are going to have a February thaw. I woke up this morning and the temperature was still a little above freezing. Fantastic! No more slipping and sliding. I was gleeful.

Then I went outside..

The rising temperature had managed to melt the top layer of snow. It's this layer of snow that provides what little traction there is.. In its place were huge puddles of water with pure smooth ice underneath. I repeat SMOOTH ice underneath.

It was horrible. It took me 15 minutes to go a half a block. I should have turned back, but instead I pushed on. It began to sleet. That's a nice way of saying freezing rain. I took off my glasses because they were getting misted and then freezing. I could not see.

Every step was tentative. I could not really walk at a normal speed. I felt like an inch worm who was in the wrong season. Thank goodness, I had my walking stick. It kept me from falling several times.

My normal 15 minute walk to the Hearts of Love Center took me about 70 minutes. I was soaked and chilled. Miserable to the bone.

Ukrainian friends tell me that this kind of winter is rare. They cannot remember the last time. Lucky me, I get to experience an old fashioned Ukrainian winter.

As I finish writing this, it's starting to snow. Believe me, I am very happy and relieved. Now Traction will return in the morning. And the worser will get a little better.

Winter Ice

I notice her from afar. Slowly she creeps up the incline leading to the Eco Market. Under each tentative step is 4 inches of ice.


The first snows in December were beautiful. I felt like I was walking through a Currier and Ives painting. I remember walking down a path in the city park and thinking how sparkling Konotop looks. Clumps of snow hung on pine branches. Other trees glistened in the frosty chill. I felt enchanted.

But December snows have compacted and worse yet thawed and frozen again into ice. The traction that compacted snow provides is disappearing. Everyday islands of ice expand as people-traffic takes away the snow.

I am no scientist, but I think it works like this. The friction of foot steps melts the snow and then wicked cold temperatures freeze it. I fear that the ice islands will soon transform into forbidding continents - slick and treacherous. Already the pathway to the Market is mostly ice.

The woman pauses. She is probably in her 70s or maybe older. She is well dressed with a typical long coat and fur collar and fur hat. She is dressed for winter.

In Ukraine, even when the temperatures dip to minus 20 centigrade (that's about 10 below zero F), people are out and about. There is food to buy and bills to pay. The mail is not used and each bill requires a personal appearance. People walk through the cold and snow and ice to do their daily business.

Today the woman is on her way to Eco Market. The Market is like an A&P that I recall from my boyhood. It's small. There are three aisles and a side meat counter. Half of one aisle is dedicated to Vodka and Cognac. A produce cooler and a dairy corner complete the display.

As the woman and I move closer, our eyes make contact. It's then that I see the panic. Her look links into something primal within me - my own fears. "Will I make it? Will the next step be secure? Or will this be the time I fall and break something?"

Like her, I inch my way along. My YakTraxs, that I bought from America, do not work on 4 inches of ice. I have fallen several times. Nothing serious, thank God. Constantly I search for compacted snow so that my YakTraxs can dig in. A 10 minute walk can take twice as long. It is mentally exhausting deciding where to take the next step.

Lenin in the snow.

I think I know some of what the woman is feeling. I am touched. I offer her my arm and hope that we do not slip together. Slowly we inch our way toward the steps which have been swept clear. She looks up at me as we depart. The panic is not gone.

Winter is hard in Ukraine.

As I finish writing this blog, I get a notice that a package has arrived from America. A friend has sent me a pair of walking sticks. What a blessing. These walking sticks will give me added traction and safety. But now I'm wondering - Is there a Ukrainian groundhog to predict how many more weeks of winter remain?

It's a Wonderful Life

Finally the holidays are over. It's not that I am complaining. I think I had the best of all possibilities. I got to celebrate both American and Ukrainian versions of the holidays. And I got to travel to Istanbul too. It's a wonderful life and a cheery counterpoint to this cold gray weather.

My holidays start with a visit to my niece and her family for Thanksgiving. They are living in Kiev and I have a great opportunity to be with my family and get to know their two sons - Brendan and Aidan. Both are smart inquisitive boys. They call me "Great" Uncle Jud and who am I to argue with their impeccable judgment.

Thanksgiving is great fun with other international guests. One couple is from Poland and another from the UK. Shannon (Jenny's husband) gives us a little quiz on Thanksgiving history and we all tell a few family tales.

I tell about a time when "Great "Uncle Peter ate a pound of butter from the dinning room table. Mom could not understand where it had gone until she discovered Peter with an empty dish under the table. At least that is the way I remember it.

Holidays pick up with the Ukrainian celebration of St Nicholas Day. At the Hearts of Love Center a big party is held for about 50 children. There are clowns who play a series of games. Miss Konotop, beauty pageant winner and her court of runner-ups, make a surprise appearance. They parade across the room with runway poise. The young girls and older men are delighted.

Then St. Nicholas comes along with another game and a special Bible lesson on the 10 Commandments. Sure its a potpourri of activities but when all get a sack of candy and sit down for cake, everyone is thrilled.

Next I leave on December 22nd for Istanbul. After a 3 1/2 hour delay I arrive near midnight to discover that my checked bag is no where to be found. ""Please help me," I whine to the woman behind the desk. She does not speak real good English, but she reads my exhausted body language well enough. I am close to melt down. I fill out a form (luckily I kept the little bag claim slip) and left with a promise.

The next day, the hostel crew follows up and my bag is found. The night manager teases that he will even place flowers on the bag when it arrives. I awake the next day and my bag is awaiting me...yes, with flowers! Hooray! You can read more about Christmas in Istanbul in my earlier posts.

I returned to Ukraine on December 29th. After a brief stop-over with my niece and family, I catch the Electrechka (electric train) to Konotop. While I was away. a new and more secure door is installed on my apartment. I also see a new cabinet doubling the space for food preparation to about two feet. Wonderful!

Tomorrow is New Years Day. For Ukrainians this holiday is more like American Christmas, but without the religion. Homes are decorated with New Year Trees. I am invited into a family's celebration.

By 10:00 pm we are all gathering at Babushka's house for a meal. Last moment preparations are underway. The 12 year old is excited because this meal features an entire roasted chicken. Yum! The dinner is delicious. As is typical, we nibble and drink and toast for several hours. As midnight arrives, a bottle of champaign is uncorked and hugs are shared.

A big bouquet of balloons is brought out. Everyone selects and pricks a balloon. We cringe as each explodes. Inside is a wish for the New Year. I think this is a splendid tradition and I pass it on. Simple, yet so magical and fun.

Later, Anna gives me a hand made card, The special New Years wish touches my soul.

We wish you health...so you may enjoy each day in comfort.
We wish you love of friends and family...and piece (sic) within our heart.

We wish you beauty of nature ...that you may enjoy the work of God.
We wish you wisdom to choose priorities...for those things that really matter in life.

We wish you generosity so you may share....all the good things that come to you.
We wish you happiness and joy...and blessings for the New Year.

We wish you the best of everything that you so well deserve.
Happy New Year!

Ukrainian Christmas follows a week later. I track down an Orthodox Church, but I think I missed the worship. Prayers are being said by a priest behind a wall, but there is no worship that I recognize. I must learn more.

A short Marschuka ride takes me to Oksanna who did not want me to be alone on Christmas Eve. My Ukrainian friends are so thoughtful. I vow to emulate their hospitality. It is such an important gift when you are a stranger in a different land.

Oksanna has prepared a wonderful meal and we all sit down for an evening of eating and laughing. Maxim, Oksanna's son, with Babushka.

Their Babushka joins us and at 79 she tells me she does not think of herself as older than 40. "But sometimes my body does not agree." She is healing from nasty fall on the ice. She needs a pair of YakTraxs. So I order her a pair and my friend Jim will forward them to me.

As I leave this loving home, it begins to lightly snow. Few cars or people are on the streets. I cannot help but feel nostalgic...home, family, and friends. It's a Wonderful Life... celebrating both American and Ukrainian holidays.
Town Square, Konotop, Ukraine

O Holy Night...Part II

Our Holy Night pilgrimage continues inside St Antoine's.

The pews are only partially filled. I lead the way and we take a seat a little less than half from the front. Then remembering my parents, my mind is flooded with memories. Every Sunday at the Presbyterian Church, they sat on the right hand side and a little less than half way from the front. So here I am in Istanbul replicating it 60 years later.

We do not know the worship schedule and wonder if the mass will be sparsely attended. The choir is up front and appears to be practicing songs. I notice that it's a multi-racial choir. Africans, Asians and Turks are all noticeable. They sing several beautiful melodies, yet unknown to our American ears.

Then they begin to sing O Holy Night. In this far off land this familiar sound floods my mind again. I lean over to Fran and say, "My mother use to play that song on the piano in our living room." Fran smiles and says, "I was just thinking the same thing. It was my mother's favorite too."

I sit listening and imaging all the places where this song is being played and heard tonight and every Christmas Eve. My eyes settle on the pulpit and I imagine Pope John XXIII preaching a Christmas message.

Christianity in Turkey has deep roots.

Emperor Constantine Christianized an empire here. Early creeds were formulated in the Hagia Sofia before the Church split in two - Roman and Eastern Orthodox. Crusaders came and went. Islam prevailed through centuries of the Ottoman Empire. Then in the 20th century, the Republic brought tolerance and Christianity found itself in a crowded Bazaar of faiths. Islam, Judaism, Secularism, Christianity and more contending with one another.

Would Pope John's years in Istanbul result in a faith with a siege mentality or would there be a generous openness to new ideas? Having just spent the afternoon at the Grand Bazaar, I know you can either fight the flow or move along expecting the unexpected.

I imagine Pope John teaching about the unexpected birth of a savior. I think of him trusting God to spread love of one another. I think of a grand bazaar of faiths adding understanding to the human experience. I don't know if Pope John XXIII said such things. Maybe I can find where his words are kept alive on the Internet.

Meanwhile the Church is filling up. Pew seats are no longer available. Rings of people are crowding into the aisles. Some are taking pictures and many are chatting on mobile phones. Humanity from the boulevards of Taksim Square is being drawn in. Spilling into this place, the buzz of energy grows louder. It seems some what surreal.

Then unexpectedly (at least to me) a television crew shows up along with a photo journalist. Aggressively, they push down the center aisle. The photo journalist takes pictures of the pulpit...the choir....worshipers...while the TV crew pans the front and captures the growing crowd...digitally.

I have never seen a Christmas Eve service covered as if it was a news event. But then again, maybe, it should be. Isn't it a better way to think about this holy night than the usual one all wrapped up in store-bought excess? I wonder how will they spin the story?

Alarmed ushers lasso the TV crew and photo journalist escorting them to the back of the room. They resist. They are not happy. I get the image of bouncers at a night club. The atmosphere is more charged than any prim and proper worship service that I have ever attended. I surprise myself. I like it.

The choir begins to sing in earnest now. Beautiful melodies. Are they Filipino words? I am not sure. A group of African men gather in the corner by the pulpit. Drums beat. Rhythmic chants are sung and shouted. The crowded sanctuary is captivated. At least six rows of humanity encircle the pews now. People put away mobile phones and listen. A carol is adapted to African drums.

O come all ye faithful...boom....boom...boom. Joyful and triumphant...boom...boom, O come ye...boom. O come ye...boom
to Bethlehem...boom...boom...boom."

The old and familiar is unexpectedly new and exciting.

Next to Fran is a young woman. Her name is Fatama. After some conversation about the Peace Corps and how it emphasizes cross cultural sharing, we learn that she is Muslim.

She is very engaging and explains that she is a practicing Muslim even though she is dressed in western fashion. I am learning that Islam has many forms and is much broader than the caricatures portrayed in western media.

Fran, always the inquisitive historian, asks the question we all are wondering. "How does a young Muslim woman come to a Christian Church on Christmas Eve?"

The young woman smiles and says,"Istanbul is my home. Islam is my faith. And the faiths and cultures of the world are my interests and passions. I wanted to pay my respects."

In a strange way her words are a Christmas blessing. I think if her thoughts can be shared over and over again, maybe, there is hope for this tired world.

I look up at the pulpit and find myself saying, "Pope John XXIII, Your words, your faith are still alive here." A captivated crowd. Fillapino melodies. African drum beats. TV news casters. Muslim passion and respect. All mixed together.

Expect the unexpected. O Holy Night...It's Christmas in Istanbul.

O Holy Night....Part I

O Holy Night...it's Christmas Eve in Istanbul.

Of course you would not know it. For most people here, it is just an ordinary Thursday evening. This is a modern Muslim nation. Mosques seem to be around every corner including the famous Blue Mosque

( http://www.sacred-destinations.com/turkey/istanbul-blue-mosque )
and Hagia Sofia which was an early Christian Church turned Mosque turned Museum.
( http://www.sacred-destinations.com/turkey/istanbul-hagia-sophia )

Now mosaics that were once covered up by Muslim intolerance of images are being stripped of plaster to reveal their original glory.


While the minarets announce prayer five times a day filling air waves with a strange wailing, men and women, for the most part, dress in ordinary western clothing. Many of the young are actually quite fashionable and carry ubiquitous mobile phones permanently attached to their ears or so it seems. They obviously are hip and have frequented the shops and boutiques which line the pedestrian boulevard running off of Taksim Square.

We have traveled there on our way to a Catholic Church for Christmas Eve worship. We use the modern Metro and Tram Way system that helps to move the population of over 12.5 million people across Istanbul.

What a surprise to emerge from the Metro and see a Square filled with holiday lights. While Christmas is not a holiday, the city seems to embrace all. I am struck by the openness of ordinary people.

Street vendors, couples strolling, shop keepers are all friendly and helpful. Not only do they offer to show you the "very best carpet in all of Istanbul" or "help you spend your money," but they also are patient and generous in giving directions.

We ask for directions to Saint Antoine Roman Catholic Church. We are told "it's about a kilometer stroll down" We walk down a very upbeat boulevard that's so alive with energy and festooned with blue lights. If I did not know better, I would think I was in Time Square...but only cleaner.

O Holy Night in Istanbul - an energized mixture of Islamic and modern hip cultures spanning both Europe and Asia. The earth crust may have split the continents in prehistoric times forming the Bosporus, but now Istanbul is bridging differences and seems to be conscious of its role and possibility of bringing people together.

We are making our pilgrimage to St. Antoine's. It's a longer walk than we thought. We stop several times to ask directions. People look at us with some puzzlement and then remembering they say "yes, yes" pointing further down the boulevard.

Fran is the first to see the Church. She along with Justin are Peace Corp Volunteers or as they say in the land of acronyms - PCVs. We have come from the far corners of Ukraine to meet in Istanbul.

Fran is an historian and has been an executive with the National Council for the Humanities in their DC and Florida offices. Justin is a philosophy and ethics graduate from the University of Northern Michigan. Fran and I work at Community Development and Justin is Youth Development volunteer in his small town of about 1400. We have become great friends.

St Antoine's is tucked behind a high iron fence and if it wasn't for the people streaming in through the gate, you might miss it amidst the glitter of the boulevard. We stop to take a few pictures. It is an attractive structure. Don't you think?

Near the front steps is a bronze statue. It is a likeness of Pope John XXIII. None of us realized that the reforming Pope who initiated the Second Vatican Council, also served here for 10 years before becoming Pope. I imagine him walking up these stairs. Greeting the people and preaching from that pulpit.

I wonder what he taught Istanbul and what Istanbul taught him. He was a Pope of Peace and ecumenical outreach. I think we need his spirit among us now more than ever. My heart is full and my eyes brim over as I mount the steps and enter the sanctuary.

O Holy Night in Istanbul...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Anthony_of_Padua_Church_in_Istanbul

Throw a Pebble

Throw a pebble into a stream and watch the concentric circles spread out. Every child who has ever gone fishing with his father knows how this works. Maybe with amazement he watches the circles form and with delight he follows them outward until they blend into the current.

That's the image that comes to mind as I think about the Hearts of Love Charity Fund's first ever open house and fund raising event. We took a pebble and plunked it into the stream of the Konotop community.

Yelena, Director of the Charity Fund, is the energy and passion. She is not alone. Others join in - mothers and a few fathers working together make things happen. "We want to raise awareness. We want Konotop to see the possibilities of our children. And how a little help can make their lives better."

So it is important to showcase the crafts and art of the children and their families. Yelena makes a special point of showing me a beaded flower that a mother and her daughter has made even though the child is unable to walk unassisted and rarely gets out. "They wanted to participate," Yelena says. I'm touched. It's important to be included even if your body does not always cooperate.

Look at the display of crafts. Imagine the stories that are behind each hand-crafted item. The circle expands including more children. Families are no longer alone.









I'm asked to be the auctioneer at the live auction or as some of the parents say "the loud" auction. We are having a silent auction too. But they want me for the "loud" one. I think they are type casting me knowing that I am comfortable in front of groups.

OK, if the truth be known, I can be a bit of the ham. Still this is different. Doing a "Russian" Auction gets my nerves on end. Is this Russian Roulette? I worry a bit. But then the adrenalin kicks in and the good humor of the people makes it all a lot of fun.


That night after all the people leave we decide to have some chi (tea) and cookies while we count the collected funds.

At the silent auction we are amazed to have 11 new businesses supporting the work of the Hearts of Love Center. One volunteer quietly thanks me, "You helped us get over our fear of being rejected. I didn't want to go into the shops. I was afraid of what they might say. But together, we did it."

Several of the businesses offered to give free haircuts for the children and their families. "Just give us a call, it doesn't matter how many. We just want to help." The circles move outward catching others in the flow.

A collection box in the shape of a giant golden heart contains over 700 grievnah. The auctions and sale of crafts bring another 2100. That's a grand total of over 2800 Grievnah. By American standards, it is not a great deal of money - about $350. But when you realize that I am living on about $200 a month, it has a lot of buying power. We are pleased.

We wish more people had come. Of special concern are some of our local leaders who were invited but did not show. A discussion starts on how we might do a better job next time. I smile thinking that having this discussion is a Peace Corps success. We are evaluating and planning over chi and cookies.

A few weeks pass. An article in the paper reports the results of our auctions. Prominently is a big thank you to all the businesses. A good positive energy surrounds the Center.

Then late one afternoon,Yelena is all smiles. She gathers an interpreter and ushers me into a class room. She wants to tell me something.

"Last weekend a local cafe had a benefit for us. We didn't know it was happening. They auctioned off drinks. Imagine, one went for 600 grievnah. A Konotop leader, who had failed to show up for our auction, bought it. They raised over 2000 grievnah."

My jaw drops. This is totally unexpected or is it? Throw a pebble into a river stream and the circles spread outward rippling across the water...maybe into infinity. I wonder what will happen next?

TGIF Ukrainian Style

He brings the drill out of the closet complete with bits of assorted sizes. It looks strange sitting on the small kitchen counter next to the cheese and bread. Guests are arriving now. Tonight we will crack open an ostrich egg and make a giant omelet.

Actually, you don't crack an ostrich egg. The shell is indestructible. It's maybe more than 1/4 inch thick. That's why Sergey, our host, has brought out the drill. I hold the egg as he drills and drills.

I'm included in a TGIF party (at least that is what we would call it in America - Thank Goodness It's Friday!). Oxanna invited me. She has been in my Leadership English Class and directs Konotop"s social welfare programs. I get to meet her boss and a lot of her colleagues.

All are very friendly hugging and greeting me and one another even though they just left work a half hour ago. I find out that among the 8 people, only one has met an American before. This is typical in this part of Ukraine. Travel is limited, not by the government but by economics, and tourists just don't make it much beyond Kiev.

I easily fall into feeling part of the group. I am always amazed at the warmth of Ukrainian hospitality. It's a great experience to be included in just ordinary day-to-day activities.

I am told that Sergey use to raise ostrich at his Dacha on the outskirts of Konotop. But no longer. I am not certain why. This is the last of the eggs that has been sitting in his refrigerator for a number of weeks waiting for a festive occasion.

The apartment is small. Coats and shoes are piled in the entry way. That's the custom to remove shoes upon entering a home. Streets are mostly dirt and gravel so the dirt that can be tracked in is a housekeeper's nightmare.

I know. Having carried heavy carpets down four flights of stairs and beat the dirt out of them and carried them back up four flights of stairs, I can attest to the wisdom of removing shoes.

Early guests pull out a side board table and get another from the kitchen. Within moments, the all purpose room is transformed into a dinning area. The sofa will seat three or four and stools will accommodate others. Setting up this long table reminds me of Thanksgiving with all the relatives jammed into a small efficiency apartment. In Ukraine, it's normalna (normal).

Other guests arrive. More hugs are shared and the conversation becomes even more animated. Ukrainians may seem reserved in public, but with friends behind close doors, they know how to have a good time.

These folks bring typical foods for a Ukrainian meal. There is dark bread, cheese wedges, kielbasa, sliced apples, and cucumbers (always fresh cucumbers and in season, tomatoes and radishes). Tonight there is also a jar of pickle fish and some kind of cabbage salad. A plate of fresh lemons and oranges gives color to the table setting.

Small plates about the size of coffee saucers are before each place. I have never seen large Texas size plates. That would be shocking to Ukrainians.

All is laid out in duplicate since our make-sift table is so long. I notice that Ukrainians do not typically pass dishes. They reach from their place and spike whatever food they want. They will often fill your plate too - whether you want more or not. It happens to me often - not that I look under nourished, but because of their hospitality.

Traditionally there are a series of toasts - one is for friendship, another for the women, another for the men, another for health and still another but I forget for what! All of the toasts are spread out over the coarse of the gathering. But even at that, I am careful to not drain my glass for it surely will be refilled.

Nearly five hours later, we had consumed all of the food and a good quantity of vodka. We dance and sing and laugh and have another toast. It is a wonderful evening, but it's time to say farewell. TGIF Ukrainian style...until next time.

Oh by the way, we never had the Ostrich omelette. After careful inspection, it was determined to be a rotten egg. A real pity....

Color me Grey and then...

The sun will come out tomorrow....Like an old vinyl record stuck in a groove, I have been singing that song for 19 days. We're in a terrible weather pattern. That's right 19 days without sun. I wonder if the Russian language has a collection of words for cloudiness like I've heard the Eskimos have for snow.

Every day I open my eyes hoping to see something other than grey. Even the day light that seeps through the blanket of clouds is gone by about 3:30 pm. Night comes early and stays long in these parts.

It's true sometimes the weather teases me. Today it's a pale grey instead of the thick foggy grey or the deep dark grey or the wet raw grey. I think the clouds may part, but no. The weather is consistently grey...grey....grey.

The streets are a mess. Many of our roads in Konotop are unpaved. Rain digs into the dirt and gravel spreading little ponds and streams every where. Mud slimes across pathways making it difficult to walk. Yuck, I am slipping and sliding. Just look at my shoes

Ukrainians pride themselves in a neat appearance. So even though the grey wet weather makes it hard, clean shoes are expected. I got the message last week when a colleague asked if I needed a new pair of shoes. "No I don't think so," I said. "I just need to clean mine." She smiled.!



While Konotop has been wrapped in a wet grey blanket, my work at the Hearts Of Love Children's Center has sprung forward.

Every week I get to oversee an art session with the children. It's becoming rather popular with as many as a dozen kids at a session. They are all ages so it's challenging giving direction and doubly challenging to do so in Russian. The children take great delight in correcting my Russian language attempts.

We have been concentrating on flowers and sunny pictures. Do you think the weather is a factor? I look forward to Fridays. We all laugh and paint and have a good time.

About a month ago, Yelena (volunteer director of the Center) asked if I would help them develop a fund raising plan. She explained that they needed funds to heat the Hearts f Love Center.

There is bare minimum heat. While I have not guaged the temperature, I think it is hovering around 50 F degrees most days. I know that my nose gets real cold even with three layers of clothes and a skull cap. Everyone keep their coats on.

Fortunately, the grey cloud cover has also meant warmer than normal temperatures. So for now, we are spared the frigid winds and have a small reprieve from massive heating bills.

I am delighted to be asked to help with fund raising plans. The request comes out of the blue or is it the "grey."

I think it's a result of just consistently showing up every day and pitching in however I can. I think it is a result of people at the Hearts of Love Center being open to trying some new ideas. I think it is because more and more children are coming along with winter.

Whatever the reason, I take the weekend to pull together some ideas. I want the plan to be adaptable to Ukrainian conditions and over time, to build financial capacity. I am pleased with how the ideas flow and even translate them with the help of Google translator (a little Internet gadget that can come in handy.)

At a meeting on Monday, I lay out some suggestions like starting a Friends of the Center program, holding an Open House Celebration and identifying a few Major Donors. I pitch the idea of asking businesses for donations for a live and silent auction so that we can build our relationships with them. I included a few next steps.

Several weeks pass. I begin to wonder if this fund raising plan is stuck in the muck

But unknown to me, many conversations are taking place.

It seems like Ukrainian planning is less formalized than American. Ideas perculate until a kind of consensus emerges. At least that's what I think is happening at the Hearts of Love Center.

My suggestions are passed around and spark discussions until enough people are on board to move forward. "Can you help us with a training too," Yelena asks? She and other volunteers are nervous about asking businesses for help.

I couldn't be more delighted. I put together a training drawing upon my experience with the Lafayette Urban Ministry and my Legacy Work. The following press release summarizes our next steps.

Press Release

Contact: Yelena Yushenko, Volunteer Director of Hearts of Love Center and Charitable Fund

Here in Konotop children with special needs and disabilities are emerging from the shadows of isolation. They are discovering possibilities for a good life.

Their story may be one that most Ukrainians do not know. In former times, the old saying of out of sight and out of mind was practiced widely. Disabled children were expected to stay home or placed in institutions.

Even today in many communities, the sight of a disabled child in a public place is rare. Public awareness barely registers and understanding of special needs is minimal. A family with a disabled child can anticipate a life time of struggling with few resources, feeling helpless and coping with growing despair. The whole family system is affected - mother, father, brothers sisters and grandparents.

But in Konotop for the first time ever, the Hearts of Love Center is inviting their entire community to become aware and understand more.

On December 4th at 16:30 hours, they will hold an open house celebration in honor of the International Day of People with Disabilities. This special day recognizes the achievements and contributions of people with disabilities.

"We want to raise awareness," says Yelena Yushenko, volunteer director of the Hearts of Love Center that serves about 60 disabled children and their families. "We want Konotop to see the possibilities of our children. And how a little help can make their lives better."

As part of the open house celebration, the community will have a chance to meet families, see crafts that the children have made, and enjoy some entertainment and refreshments.

A highlight will be an auction just in time for holiday gift giving. Area businesses are showing their support by donating goods and services. People can bid on electronics, dinner for two at a local cafe, a massage and even a clown birthday party. Many crafts will also be on sale. Yelena and her team of volunteers hope to raise enough money to purchase 200 gifts for the children of the Center as well as others in the community with special needs.

This event is the beginning of building on-going local support for a cause whose time has come. "We are working hard at recruiting at least 100 new friends for the Hearts of Love Center during this event," says Jud Dolphin, US Peace Corps Volunteer who works at the Center. With more friends aware of the Hearts of Love Center, we can broaden understanding and develop new programs. Maybe one day we will have the resources for a much needed computer center and connect these special children and their families with the world."

###

Wish us all well and remember us in your Thanksgiving Prayers.

Oh by the way, the sun came out today for several glorious hours.
.
n

Bakhchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye)

Today my friend Barb and I are off to Bakchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye). I just love the sound of that word. Apparently it means "garden palace." It was the capital of the Tatar Kanate dynasty from the 15th to the 18th century. Here a highly developed Islamic culture ruled the area. I know nothing about it so I am excited to be here. .

Fortunately, the Khan's Garden Palace has managed to survive the ages and Soviets destruction.
We arrive on a day that is bright and warm. Traveling here in October spares us of the hordes of tourists that come this way in summer months. In fact as we enter the main gate we are surprised to see so few others. It almost feels like we are having a private tour with attendants friendly and escorting us along the way.
The Palace is actually a compound composed of buildings clustered around a central court yard. While it is not as extensive and grand as Granada in Spain, it does have those wonderful turrets and intricate carvings of Islamic architecture.

Each building had its own function. Some were official buildings where ambassadors from far away could be received or other important matters handled. Others were living quarters where the the extended royal family lived and relaxed. There is even an entire building (only one of four to survive) dedicated to the harem.
I imagine life five centuries ago while walking through the maze of interlocking rooms or pausing at a fountain for a moment of reflection or soaking in the cool breeze of an outside garden tucked in a nook between buildings.

Here are a few pictures that will help you to imagine a little about people who lived so differently than we do.
A lovely fountain sits in the center of an even more lovely rose garden.

Ornamentation adorns buildings.

Intricate designs on ceilings are incorporated into rooms.

A typical passage way connecting different parts of the Palace.
A sitting room in the Harem.
A nook with a fountain.
The famous Fountain Of Tears. The advances of an ancient ruler were shunned by a polish beauty. His greif was so intense that carftsmen built this fountain as an outlet for his tears. Water drips from side to side portraying the duality of life - good and bad, joy and sadness and so forth. Russian writer Alexander Pushkin was so moved by the story that he wrote a poem about it. in 1823. To learn more about the fountain, go to http://www.hansaray.org.ua/e_obj_sls.html
Gold woven into material for royal garments.
Intricate carvings are everywhere.

Later that day, Barb and I take off for the 6th century cave city of Bakchysaray. I sure am glad I have gotten use to more walking. Today's hike is challenging. The first 20 minutes is a steep climb as we wind up the side of a mountain. I gasp, "It feels like a 30 degree angle." But like the tortoise in fables, I slowly make progress.
As we come around a bend, an amazing church reveals itself. It has literally been carved into the limestone rock along with cubicles for the monks. The Upensky Monastery got started by Byzantine monks in the 8th century. It was closed by Soviets, but since Ukrainian independence, monks have come to reclaim it.

As if on cue, the bells in the tower start to peal out a call to worship. Priests and lay people slowly climb the steps as if worship has already begun. I pause to listen and allow the devotion to God to surround me.

Our hike is just beginning. Next stop are the foot hills of the ancient Cave City - Chufut-Kale. Historical records are unclear, but people have probably lived here since the 6th century. The list includes Christianized Samaritans, Tatars, Turks, and the Jewish Karaites, a small sect

The steep climb to the the first caves is difficult, but I make it. Although no one, but Barb is around, I cheer my accomplishment.

Here are a few pictures of the vistas.

With dusk approaching, we scurry back down the hillside and discover that going down is almost as difficult as going up. But sights and accomplishments fill my memory. Say it again, "Bakchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye)." - a garden palace and cave city. Places filled with history. What a privledge to be here.