I'm really glad that I found my new apartment long before I moved in yesterday. At the end of the long drive it was so nice to have a destination. And unlike the last one, this landlord seems really nice. An older Russian woman lives with her upstairs, a very nice woman who speaks only Russian. It's interesting to have an apartment with a built-in babushka.
The building has an interesting smell, of tea and Russian food which reminds me of my friend Olga, who lived in St. Petersburg. I met Olga on a Russian exchange in high school and I liked her a lot. We giggled about boys and silly things. We talked about our dreams and realized how similar we were. It was to stare in the face the utter stupidity of the Cold War, the nonsense of being raised to hate someone who, it turned out, saw the world so much the same as me.
KFOG-FM is a radio station in the Bay Area that from time to time plays "sledgehammers": listeners call in and tell the stories behind why certain songs conjure up incredibly strong memories or emotions for them (hence feeling like you've been hit by a sledgehammer when you hear them.) I never called in, but if I had I would have told the story about why my sledgehammer is Seal's "Kissed by a Rose."
When I was in college I went back to Russia a few times to see Olga. Olga has an artist's soul. Although her English was good enough that we were able to converse, she wasn't able to pick up the lyrics to songs she liked. One of them was "Kissed by a Rose." She had a sense that it was deeply poetic and asked me to transcribe the lyrics for her. The exercise forced me to listen to it closely and I realized she was right.
Olga was planning to emigrate soon after the last time I saw her, and I think she said she was going to Germany. But I haven't heard from her since and it saddens me greatly to have lost someone whose friendship meant a lot to me. The horrible thing is that it's probably my fault. I was youthfully irresponsible and did a terrible job keeping in touch. Maybe she decided I didn't care anymore and didn't bother to write me her new address. Or maybe, and I fear this, her move didn't go so well. It's been several years now since I've last seen her, but someday I hope to find her again. In the meantime whenever "Kissed by a Rose" comes on the radio I change the channel.
But I digress. I wanted to mention that I had learned a bit of Russian, both before the high school exchange and again in college. Unfortunately I don't seem to remember much of it, and this is driving me crazy whenever I see Nana (the grandmother). I used to know enough Russian to be conversational, but now whenever I open my mouth French comes out instead. With one exception.
In the month or so since I'd last seen the apartment the gas stove was replaced. When I moved in yesterday Nana was bustling about turning on the burners, and one didn't work. This morning she came down again to check it out and suddenly the word for it flashed into my brain, "duhofka".
During the high school Russian exchange there was a contest between the American students to see who knew the most Russian words. I competed against someone who may have grown up hearing some spoken at home. But I'd made an effort in preparation for this trip and so I won the battle. This was partly because I could count to twenty and that took care of a slew of words right there. But before I pulled that rabbit out of my hat I spouted off other random words that I'd picked up.
One night in Olga's kitchen her mom (who spoke only Russian, incidentally) had pointed out things to me and told me what they were called. Since we were in the kitchen, she pointed out the oven and said, "duhofka". (I'm not entirely sure if the word refers to just the oven part or the entire oven/range appliance. I don't think it actually matters to the story - you get the point: I knew some obscure word for a kitchen appliance.)
So during the contest, I blurted out, "duhofka". And everyone laughed. I wasn't entirely sure why they laughed, but I think it had something to do with an American who knew maybe 30 words of Russian randomly blurt out a completely esoteric word. And it must have been very funny indeed, because when we got home after school Olga regaled her mom with the story and they both laughed at me AGAIN!
But now I get the last laugh, because this morning when Nana was messing about with the unworking stove I KNEW THE WORD FOR IT! I couldn't even remember how to say hello, but I knew the word for the random piece of kitchen equipment that was the focus of our interaction. So who's laughing now, huh?