Green Tea for the Ruskies

My apologies for not writing since Tuesday but I have guests! Not one or two but three Ruskies are staying with me for the next few weeks. They are dancers, filmmakers and musicians from Russia here to perform in the second annual Russian Winter Festival in Albany, NY. A total of 12 are visiting, some for the first time.

I agreed to host two thirty-something, married-with-children girls and one vegetarian film director at my empty nest. Their names are Paul, Olga and Irena. Paul can speak just enough English and the girls manage to understand a handful of words. There will be no philosophical discussions or cultural breakthroughs but that doesn't matter. It sure is nice having two worlds cohabitating right here inside my home rather than on the road.

The last two nights we attended the Linda Norris Auditorium on Central Ave for the Russian Film Forum. The first flick was an endearing documentary about a semi-famous Russian poet and his wife that he affectionately calls 'Mouse.' Tonight was a historical docu-drama about an Empress of Russia who brought back civility to the country: Catherine the Great.

Both were fabulous films, the first called "Konstantin and Mouse" made poignant by following an aging beatnik intellectual with a drinking and smoking problem through his memories of the iron grip of the Soviet Union. The second film called "The Empress and the Rebel" was beautifully choreographed and attracted a leading actress to play Catherine pro-bono because she'd always been fascinated with Catherine's complexity.

In the evening my friends insist on a pot of simmering green tea before bedtime. What, no Vodka? I dusted off the shot glasses for nothing? Unlike Russia, maybe our upstate winters aren't cold enough for Vodka. They sip their tea without milk and only two lumps of sugar. Even though I have a dishwasher, they would rather wash the cups in the sink.

And finally my Russian guests want desperately to see a deer behind my house. Deer populate the area because the woods were once theirs, but, of course, when I want one to appear, none do.