Pumpkins for Ukraine: An Update for NPR

At the English Club this week, Stacey and I asked about the recent NPR report, which many friends told me about and I read online, that in Ukraine pumpkins are not especially welcomed, because they mean rejection. "The big kiss-off!" reported NPR. In this Ukrainian tradition, if a man proposes to a woman, for example, and receives a pumpkin in return, the answer to the proposal is a resounding "no!" No man in Ukraine wants to be seen with a pumpkin.

Club members nodded and smiled. Yes, they know about this tradition. It used to be the big "no-way!" But that is an old tradition, they said. Today it doesn't really mean that. Now it means Halloween. Ah, the influence of American culture. Maybe that old tradition should be revived, I joked. No, No, club members agreed, "We like pumpkins!" So much for the NPR report.

As if to prove the point, we went on to make origami pumpkins! Stacey led the way. She had helped us with peace cranes before, a great success, so now she led us in folding this way and that, and again and again, until we had our pumpkins. Actually, they were square pumpkins, pumpkin boxes, and we added funny faces for carvings. Then we had members don a mask and come to us saying "trick or treats," and to their delight, we passed out candy. Oleg, who is just learning English,turned us down, and left the room. Hmm, wonder why. He came back in a few minutes as....oh my goodness, the Joker! The bad guy Heath Ledger played so brilliantly in The Dark Knight, his last Batman movie, before his sudden and untimely death. But this Joker was all in fun. An authentic Halloween moment in Ukraine.

I am sure Heath Ledger was on no one else's mind but mine. Nor were any thoughts of negative pumpkin symbols. I think NPR would have had a great time updating their story here in Starobilsk. They could have interviewed "The Joker," and we would have been happy to give them our pumpkins!

I did read a few poems,too,among them the one my mom wrote about going trick or treating with my brother Loren, when he was about 6 years old. I printed it last year, to Loren's great pleasure. Here it is again, a treasured Halloween memory.

"Armed and Unarmed" by Roselynn Curro

It is dark, crispy cold,
A silence fills the trees.
Soft sounds, faint lights,
The smell of burning leaves.

Suddently, war hoop cries,
and bands of ghosts appear.
Howl, howl, howl
Tricks or treats,
They charge, attack and disappear....

Hurry, hurry time to go,
the conquerors' battle won
Tired flapper, weary soldier
the ghosts all had their fun.

Deep the night, frosty cold,
My soldier leaves his gun.
Welcome sleep, contented smile.
I'm his mother, he's my son.

"Welcome sleep, contented smile." You and mom together again, loren, with dad, who we think about always at this time of year when he died, his birthday, and you took your nieces, all dolled up in their Nana's clothes and makeup, trick or treating in Rochester, and now you are with all those we loved but who are not here with us the living. We are sad without you.

"Ill Be Seeing You"

Top: Great Falls, Genesee River, Rochester (flickr). Collage: New Hampshire, Carpathians, Grand Canyon; Chile mountain top (flickr); Aydar River, rainbow over Luba's garden; paths (flickr). Below, flickr photos of Tallahassee, St. Petersburg, and Toledo (sculpture in front of Art Museum).

Oh how I am missing Loren. He occupied such an immense space in my life, emotional, psychic, spiritual space, from the time I was 8 years old, for over 60 years. It's hard to explain. The silence saddens my senses. I console myself with fantasy, even knowing that's what it is.

Maybe Loren's soul is floating around somewhere, I tell myself. If

so, he may be in one of the places that he loved and in some that we shared. Beyond that I don’t know where he might be, although I know his passion for space exploration was unabated, from its

earliest days to his last. I'll look on the moon or Mars one day. But for now I’ll look for him on earth, in some of these familiar places:

* Above the High Falls on the Genesee River because he was born in Rochester, NY, thought of it as home, his mom’s parents and dad are buried there, and he always wanted to go home again.
* Walking along his path, the path he made, through a forest,

thinking, performing his special rituals, giving thanks to the goddess.

* Going through Tallahassee, where his beloved mother is buried, stopping to check on his sis and her family.
* In the Carpathian mountains, or the White mountains, or Rockies, or Smokies in his favorite North Carolina places, because he climbed every mountain, following his dream.
* Somewhere “over a rainbow, way up high, because there's a land that [he] dreamed of once in a lullaby.”
* Walking along a river, because that's where he took his last hike, along the Aucilla in northern Florida, and although this photo is of the Aydar in Starobilsk, Ukraine, it doesn't matter where the river is now, Loren might be there. It could be the Colorado, the Mississippi, the Danube, the Amazon or the Nile, any river, anywhere.

* In New Hampshire in fall, because he remembered childhood trips, returned there whenever he could, got an MA in Social Ecology up there, in Vermont.

* On top of a Chilean mountain with a guacano, because he joined the angels to save the miners in that gold and copper mine.
* Stopping for a rest on a lovely bench along a hiking path, maybe with his name on it.
*The Grand Canyon Skywalk, because he loved the awesome beauty of the Southwest, the red canyons of Utah, the plateaus and mountains, the Indian spirits that lived there.
* In St. Petersburg, FL, or Toledo, Ohio, to check on family, his beloved nieces and their kids.

So, Loren, as I fervently hope, with all my heart, and as our Dad’s favorite crooner, Frank Sinatra, sang (and several other famous singers):
I'll be seeing you
In all those old familiar places,
That this heart of mine embraces
all day through.

In that small café
The park across the way
The children’s carousel
The wishing well.

I’ll be seeing you
In every summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way.

I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon,
But I’ll be seeing you.

this is painful, this missing Loren, this wishing.

Halloween Cheers from the English Club

English Club members in masks they made (guess which is me);(upper far right) librarian Alla and PCV Stacey put up a poster with some of the masks.

The English Club was one year old on 19 September. We've held 44 meetings in all, 32 in 2010. We've focused on many themes and events: Winter, MLK and Taras Shevchenko, Valentine's Day, Women's day, Easter, the environment and Earth Day, the Global Village, "We are the World," travel and geography, flags of the world, national pride and national anthems, celebrating English language books, books from Toledo and books we want to buy (and did buy), May in the park, summertime and river days, and now we're back to Fall and turning into winter. On the agenda, Autumn poems and Halloween.

At our 24 October meeting we talked about Halloween, carving pumpkins, dressing in costumes, and “tricks or treating.” Ukraine doesn’t have this ancient Celtic tradition, so the topic fascinates. We also made masks. Fran showed examples of different styles of masks, we chatted about that, then went to work. Stacey, our TEFL volunteer at School #3, a good teacher and creative whiz, helped. We did a pretty good job, leaving a poster for the Library as our Halloween exhibit. We were rewarded with Stacey’s homemade pumpkin pie, a rare and welcome treat.

So the English Club is on to harvest holidays,Thanksgiving, and Christmas. To everything there is a season, and that has characterized our English club meetings, too.

Next week we’ll read from the poetry anthologies in the English book collection, which makes me wonder if we also have Poe. I love the idea of Poe readings for Halloween, like they do at the Boyd County Library in Kentucky, the best of the best libraries in America, thanks to the fantastic work of cuz Amanda Stein. I'll read my mom's poem about "tricks or treating" with Loren. It's always a special time of year, filled with memories of my growing up in Rochester, and my kids and their kids dressing up to go tricks or treating. Now little Philip is carrying on the tradition. So many costumes (many of them homemade by my mom), so much candy, so much wonderment. May the good spirits reign!

Musings: Me and Marat

Where I am. Ukraine (yellow) in eastern Europe, and Ukraine map with Lugansk oblast in red. Starobilsk is far east, Lviv far west.

Photo collage, Marat and Iryna (lower left), Olga and Natalia, Alex and Natasha at Library meeting, and lower left, Marat and Vera Flyat, Victoria NGO.

Marat Kurachevsky came to Starobilsk on Wednesday. He is a program director (Community Development Lead Specialist) at Peace Corps headquarters in Kiev, in charge of finding and placing Community Development (CD) Peace Corps Trainees (PCTs) at various sites throughout Ukraine. Youth development and TEFL volunteers are another matter. I met Marat during training in Chernigov. I admired his ability with languages, his thorough planning and training sessions, his dedication to our cause. He was articulate, positive, and helpful. Still is.

I also remember looking at him askance when I first learned that I was going to far-eastern Ukraine, to a place called "Starobilsk," in a county called Lugansk oblast. In a group of 55 trainees, I was placed the farthest east. As placements were announced, people held their breaths, then cheered. I held my breath, then groaned. Good lord, I thought, how can the Peace Corps send an almost 70-year-old trainee, the oldest in our Group 36, so far away from Kiev? It was a daunting thought. It hit me harder after I found out just where it was and how long it took to get there. I arrived in Starobilsk on June 19 with the flu and in a state of shock I think. It hit me even harder after I broke my arm and had to take an 18-hour train-ride-from-hell to Kiev, in excruciating pain with no medication, so I could be treated by PC-approved doctors.

I've thought about it ever since, mostly every time I have to make a long trip somewhere, and no matter where I go in Ukraine, it is always a long trip. So I've had to do some attitude adjusting in my thinking about this far-away placement.

I'm still of the opinion that volunteers over 60, let's say, should not be placed more than 6-8 hours away from Kiev, on a direct train or bus line. That might mean some shifting around, but for the most part I believe it can be done. I still wonder about a site near Poltava, say, or even Khargiv, someplace not so isolated, not so out-of-the-way.

But I've been here for a year and one-half now, and I've adjusted. I've come to love the town and its people. I've made many friends. I’ve learned the community, it's history, its culture, it people. Although I get frustrated at resistance to change, clinging to old times and old ways, the slowness of getting things done, I understand it, have written about it, accept it. In this way I am learning about patience, an ever-present challenge. and about "letting go and letting god," as they say in Al-Anon.

Above all, I've met many fantastic and talented people in Lugansk oblast who are creative, resourceful, forward-looking critical thinkers. Yes, here in the East. These future leaders and thoughtful citizens challenge stereotypes about eastern Ukraine, and give hope for Ukraine's future.

I've come to realize that the most important thing I have done here is in the category of human relations and cultural exchange. People skeptical of Americans and of America have become a little more open. People who expressed skepticism (to put it kindly) about how we could elect Barak Obama president are a little less closed-minded. Some organizations have become a bit more flexible in taking on new projects . Another saw that a Peace Corps Volunteer could be helpful even though he or she cannot speak Russian; a PCV can write grants, produce a bi-lingual program, do research, create handouts, find translators, and serve a need. New connections have been created between organizations and people who think alike but have never worked together before. The next PCV can build on this foundation to promote further collaboration for community change.

So when I greeted Marat here on Wednesday, it was with delight, and a more optimistic outlook. If Starobilsk does get other Community Development PCVs after me (Marat is exploring that option now), I hope I will have made it easier for them, paved the way a bit. It hasn't been earth-shattering change, but it's been a positive evolution in cross-cultural relations. An older Amerikanka has become an accepted fixture on the Starobilsk community scene. Some doors, and some minds, have been opened. And that's not bad.

The Universe Expands

A daisy from Luba's garden.

To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

A friend from my former life in the public humanities asked me about retirement. How is it? "The universe expands," I replied.

“What does that mean?” Ceri, a dear Facebook fan asked. To me it means that the world gets larger, deeper, more enchanting, I responded. I’m not sure if it expands literally, physically, to the ends of time, something scientists debate. For me it has more of a spiritual meaning. It means we have just begun to learn, that horizons broaden, perspectives change, and unexplored energies beckon and await us. It means, as Mary Oliver put it, we can let go of “the sharps and flats” of past regrets, and lie still in nature, on the blades of green grass that will let us be.

Aging is universal, like babies and families. No matter who we are, where we are, how we have lived, everyone ages.

But the way we age is not universal. It’s not like watching babies grow from one developmental stage to another, into childhood, adulthood and family life. It’s more like watching a movie with lots of different ways to get to the same ending.

At this mighty stage in the lifecycle a lot depends on circumstances and luck, and genes and luck, and the basics--enough money to live on, good health, a lively mind and vigorous body, a family or good support system. Most of all, it depends on our attitude towards life, change and newness. It takes a certain toughness, as the body resists the mind’s desires, and a certain acceptance of things as they are and an openness to things as they happen. It also means letting go

It is a final chapter in our life story that we write ourselves, and leave for posterity. We are free to experiment, or not; free to define our own boundaries, or not.

Maybe something exists beyond the known universe, maybe our souls live on, but I don’t think so. I have my doubts. But in this, Loren is my guide and, one way or another, I will follow him. For now I am following an inner voice that reaches to the edges of an expanding universe, to where I do not know.

Patience
by Mary Oliver

What is the good life now? Why
Look here, consider
The moon’s white crescent

rounding, slowly, over
the half month to still another
perfect circle—

the shining eye
that lightens the hills,
that lays down the shadows

of the branches of the trees
that summon the flowers
to open their sleepy faces and look up

into the heavens.
I used to hurry everywhere,
And leaped over the running creeks.

There wasn’t
Time enough for all the wonderful things
I could think of to do

In a single day. Patience
Comes to the bones
Before it takes root in the heart

As another good idea.
I say this
As I stand in the woods
And study the patterns
Of the moon shadows,
Or stroll down into the waters

That now, late summer, have also
Caught the fever, and hardly move
From one eternity to another.

An Asperger Journey

Front and back cover, An Asperger Journey: From Hell to Hope (Cover designed by Elissa Alden Cary).

Memorial book gatherings:
Memorial book gatherings took place in Tallahassee, Florida, last week to honor the publication of my brother Loren’s autobiography, An Asperger Journey. The gatherings were sponsored by the Florida Trail Association and The Center for Autism and Related Disorders (CARD) of the Florida State University. It is a bittersweet time for us, for his family, loved ones and friends.

My sister Andy attended these events with Loren’s good friend and former counselor Tim Jens. They read passages from his book. Moving, engaging, sometimes painful, sometimes exuberant. Loren was supposed to be here, the star, glorying in his hard-earned achievements, signing copies of his book, talking about his experiences and his hopes.

But it didn’t happen this way. Loren died in May, suddenly, his overburdened heart overcoming his impassioned will. Now we carry on his crusade, my sister Andy and I, as best we can. But it’s not the same. No way Andy and I can fill in for Loren. No way we can see the world as he did, or share what he saw from his unique perspective, through his special insights. It's what makes Loren irreplaceable, the loss so great, our grief so deep.

Howard Pardue, an environmental activist with the Florida Trails Association, said "Loren's words helped me better understand what I experienced as we spend time in the woods on hikes and trail maintenance....that sometimes we sensed a need to keep a special eye out for him because of the disability that was then unnamed. I am honored our relationship was strong enough to warrant mention in his book. His story and that of the family is remarkable...and it is now available to all of us."

Overview of the book:
It took a long time to understand the unspoken problems that caused him to falter, time and again, on the road to adulthood. For my dear brother Loren, the journey to self-discovery required a warrior's courage, doing battle with a problem that had no name.

Some people in his life recognized this and stuck by him, encouraged him, our mom above all, and also some friends in Rochester, a professor at Culver Stockton, and reformers and friends who shared Loren's passions in Florida. But others along the way, maybe most people, didn't understand, and didn't care. They labeled him, got impatient, would not intervene on his behalf, would not offer special tutoring or instructions, would not hire him, would not mentor him, dropped him from their social lives. Rejection was a constant, and intensified his personal struggle. What makes Loren's story so special, so amazing, is his bravery in the face of such enormous challenges; as hard as the journey got, as heavy the burden, he never gave up. His story is about achievement against the odds.

Loren tells his story of growing up with Asperger's Syndrome, undiagnosed until he was in his mid-fifties, in his moving, honest, and inspirational autobiography, An Asperger Journey. As he put it, the book is about "my struggle to escape 55 years of torment by an unnamed demon to create a life of strength, grace, hope and dignity!" Andy and I thought that was too many words for the cover, but Loren stuck to his guns, and he was right, because these words convey his soul, the essence of his being.

Today, there is a lot more public awareness of the autism spectrum than there was when Loren was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s. Educators, the medical profession, and social service providers as well now recognize the importance of early diagnosis and intervention. The whole field of autism and Asperger's has taken off; books, websites, how-to guides and information are widespread and accessible. An Emmy-award winning TV biopic on Aspie Temple Grandin recently made the news. There is not always agreement in the autism and asperger's communities about causes or treatment, but at least there is an awareness and an activism that didn't exist when Loren was growing up.

Loren applauded these efforts and was a tireless advocate for the Tallahassee (Florida) Center for Autism and Related Disorders (CARD). He hoped his story would speak especially to adults on the spectrum and adult Aspies like himself with the message to never give up. As Alison Letzow of CARD said, Loren was persistent in making sure that adult issues were on the agenda.

Loren quoted Helen Keller: "To keep our focus on hope and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable."

Loren had the strength of a couger (on his favorite t-shirt from Costa Rica) and the free spirit of an eagle (on a large photo in his bedroom). If spirits live on forever, if the soul survives, surely Loren's is among them.

Chilean Miners' Rescue: The Global Village United

A guacano, a sturdy and elegant camel-like animal indigenous to South America, stands guard on a mountain top, like an angel watching over the miners, the Chilean flag in the foreground (flickr photo boringL).

Ukrainians watched the news, too, and cheered the meticulously planned rescue of all 33 Chilean miners in the coastal Atacama desert.

A copper and gold mine, essential to Chile’s economy, became the scene of a global life watch, and the stalwart miners, buried deep under 700,000 tons of rocks for 69 days, became heroes not only of Chile, but also of the global village on planet earth.

“Extraodinary luck,” one miner said. Yes, and from news reports incredibly efficient and thorough rescue planning and implementation. The mining company and the state, and other public and private enterprises, worked together to get the job done. It was a model for other nations.

One by one, the 33 miners took a half-mile journey in a capsule from the depths of the earth to the light of day, after lanquishing in a deep mine “that could have been their tomb," wrote Frank Bajek and Vivian Sequera in their excellent AP report.

The capsule, built by an Austrian company, was named the Phoenix, after the mythical bird that rises from the ashes. And so it was for the miners. They emerged to an outpouring of joy all over the world. The tenacity and faith that had sustained them for 69 days enveloped and united the global village. We are one in our celebration of human survival and achievement!

Carpathian Memories

Carpathian memories. карпатский избранное. Cultural immersion.

культрное погружение. A few more highlights from a great Peace Corps adventure.

From top: Collage of our visit to the lovely valley town of Skole, with seasoned cultural leaders Stefa, who has 50-years experience in cultural preservation, and Mikhail, noted singer and choir master who welcomed (and honored) us on a traditional Ukrainian instrument, the very long trembita (I think that's the name), and Sveta, director of the cultural center (дом калдтура), which honors Mikhail; tile detail from center; town scenes. Once an Austrian center of culture, Skole is now wholly Ukrainian in outlook and cherishes its indigenous traditions with great pride. The importance of a Community of Memory is nowhere more evident than in Skole.

Photo 2: Collage of our Sokol sojourn, with Olga and her dear friend Maria Yakivna, a 90-something year-old Gulag survivor, representing East and West united, surrounded by cultural leaders such as Tanya, Bogdan, and poet данило кулиняк, who gave me a book of his poems; a painting from an exhibit portraying the fierce struggle against Soviet domination and some of the heroes in the struggle. We were treated
 to a tour of the exhibition, followed by a fantastic  song fest, joined by Oleg Solodyak, Sokol's administrative director, over coffee and cookies.

Singing is ubiquitous in Ukraine. No matter where you are or what the occasion, people will burst into song, wonderful songs, songs of struggle and memory, songs of the land and of legends, songs of love, patriotic songs. We have nothing like it in America. The thought hit me that Ukrainian history is all in the songs. Hearing Ostop on the bandoora the next day, in Lviv, evoked the same feelings. And in fact Tonya leaned over to tell me that one of the songs was "from Sokol!" The songs are stories, they are prayers, they are ties that bind. "We sing to survive," Olga told me later.

The singing in Sokol was superb, spontaneous, yet it sounded like a choir that had long practiced for a special performance. Lovely harmonies, solos, duets, more choral singing. The voices of angels.

Sokol--the name itself sounds like a town in Tibet tome, or like a song--enchants and delights. It has a special energy and optimism, even though it has been hard hit by the economic crisis. Town leaders, from the Mayor on down, are progressive and forward-thinking. They expressed interest in having a PCV, and I will follow up on this. The opportunities for a volunteer are fantastic, from helping with the town's strong interest in cultural preservation to the development of heritage tourism linked to its proximity to Lviv. From its architecture to its attitudes, Sokol embodies western Ukraine's distinctive culture, and the hope for a vibrant united nation.

Photos 3 & 4: The four of us in the Carpathians, in the hills of Slavsky, having fun, including a photo of our fearless leader Olga with her head in a bag, which made us laugh hysterically every time we looked at it. We were a great traveling team!

Photo 5: The Lviv Theatre, interior grandeur, Die Fledermaus production.

Photo 6: Touring the beautiful and colorful trans-Carpathian city of Mukachevo and meeting famous Ukrainian sculptor Iван бровдI (Ivan Brovdi). "Just call me John," he said with a smile, as we gathered round for photos, thanking our lucky stars (нам повезло). We had been admiring the statues in the center square when I just walked up to the little group in front of them and boldly asked what the statues represented, what they meant. I was obviously an Amerikanka! Turns out I was asking the sculptor himself, and he understood some English, having traveled abroad! Good Lord, what serendipity! He was with a filmmaker and an assistant, Tamara, filming a documentary of his life and work. How exciting is that! He gave me an autographed copy of his beautifully written and photographed autobiography. He was happy to meet an American and I felt so honored. Truly blessed. Be sure to look for the documentary, by the way. Tamara said it will be broadly disseminated on public television. In this wonderful town, on a bright blue-sky day, we also strolled a bazaar ablaze with the bright colors of fresh flowers, vegetables and fruits, and stopped for a cup of coffee in a great little cafe. So European. All unforgettable!

я буду помните зто поездкау всегда.

In the Carpathian Mountains

My photos don't do justice to the Carpathians of western Ukraine, but offer a few glimpses. It's the spirit of the mountains that lives with us, Tonya said, it's having been to the mountain top, having "touched the clouds." I will always remember our journey. я буду помнить наша поездка всегда. We are lucky. We are blessed. нам повезло. Мы благословенны.

This was a special journey with my Ukrainian friends Olga and Tonya, and Olga's niece Julia, from Russia’s Ural mountains. Olga, Tonya and I had hit if off right away when I first got to Starobilsk, 16 months ago. We just liked each other instantly, and we became fast friends. I've spoken of them many times in my blogs. Olga is a retired French teacher who knows some English and is a world traveler. Tonya lives on a farm with her husband and teaches English at Korychevka Village School. She speaks English well, loves languages and music, loves to sing. She reminds me a lot of my mother, a young version, lovely and curious, smart and sensitive. It is such a pleasure to spend quality time with such wonderful women. I feel blessed.

We started out from Starobilsk on Thursday morning, 30 September, at 5 am. Vitaly, Luba's older son, drove us to Khargiv and from there we caught the overnight train to Slavsky (славське) in the Carpathian mountains. We met some great fellow travelers and laughed most of the way West. This Amerikanka took lots of ribbing, all in good fun. Tonya translated with drama, and that made us laugh harder. After a good night's sleep, we ate breakfast together (Ukrainians always travel with lots of food), and then we were in Slavsky.

What a lovely mountain town (какой славный горный городок), to me more like Hanover, New Hampshire, than Colorado Springs, more like a small town in the Smokies than in the Rockies. The first day was cloudy and cool, with mist on the mountain tops. We actually had perfect travel weather the whole time, sunny during the day, clear starry skies at night. We explored the town on foot, visited a beautiful golden-domed church, and took in the fresh mountain air. What joy!

The next day we took another long walk, past the church, past farms and pretty houses with flowers, through a park, past a culture center for children, to a ski resort. It's not the height of the season so there were not many people. We settled into the double ski lifts and slowly rose, up and up, to the mountain top. We stood speechless when we got there, in awe of the beauty. We had no words in any language (and between us there were four of them) to express our feelings. We just enjoyed the views and vistas, the yellows and golds and colors of fall. The spirit of the mountains, Tonya called it. On our way back to our lodge we visited a castle-turned-hotel, and enjoyed the grounds and the grandeur.

Our hosts, Galina and Nikolai Matlak, the builders and proprietors of the lodge where we stayed, were as gentle and welcoming as the mountains. It's a great lodge with reasonable rates, nice rooms with private baths, an equipped big eat-in kitchen, and access to a cooking kitchen. We ended the day with a great shaslick dinner cooked by Nicolai, with special trimmings, including mushrooms Galina herself had gathered. It was the best barbeque meal I have ever had. The best! I learned to say thank you (дякую) in Ukrainian, since this is the dominant language in western Ukraine.

On day 3 in Slavsky we went to another mountain, another ski area, another chair lift. It was as beautiful as our first trip up, and this time we wandered around the grounds, had a picnic lunch, and even looked for mushrooms. We found some, were very excited, but Galina told us when we got back to the lodge that they were not the eating kind.

Day 4 of our adventure took us by a short train ride from Slavsky to the valley town of Skole (сколе), an old medieval town once dominated by the Polish, under several kings, queens, and other royalty. We were lucky that Yura, an architect, agreed to take us on a guided tour in spite of his busy schedule. It’s a beautiful town, with magnificent churches, the grand but faded glory of the palace of a former Polish prince, a lovely Cultural Center, and varied architecture, parks and monuments. The people, Mikhail, Stefa, Yura, Sveta, the poets, painters, historians and folklorists, are talented, dedicated, fantastic. Great food, music, stories, tours. Such warm welcomes and such generosity.

From very early times, as I understand the history, and I am still learning, from before and through the Middle Ages into the 20th century, the western part of Ukraine has been dominated by various nations--Poland, Austria, Hungary, other European tribes and invaders, the Nazis, then Russia. Yet from earliest times, it seems, the indigenous Ukrainian people fought them off, and most of all fought to retain their own language and cultural traditions, which is why Taras Shevchenko, who wrote in Ukrainian and sang the praises of the country's landscape and legends, is such a national hero. People tenaciously fought the repeated attempts on the part of these invaders to absorb their culture and obliterate their memories. It was always a struggle, tales of sadness, loss, famine, terror, cruelty. The struggle itself, in fact, has shaped the life and spirit of the people in this part of Ukraine.

At times it was like being in a different country, so different from the eastern Ukraine I have come to know and love. In the east, east of the great Dnieper river, the Russian influence has always been the strongest, and it continues to this day. Kiev, afterall, was the root and seat of the Kievan-Rus nation, and it still is in many ways, although it is the capital of an independent Ukraine today. Russian roots, culture, heritage, and family ties characterize eastern Ukrainian life.

In western Ukraine, the European influence is stronger, reflected in churches, buildings, varied architecture, and stories, as well as in a spirit of freedom that dominates daily life. Western Ukrainians are strong nationalists and patriots who strive to remember and to honor all those who fought for freedom, “freedom fighters” like Stefan Bandera and many others.

In general,too,this part of Ukraine seems more prosperous, more upbeat, more open. The highly regarded and charismatic mayor of Sokol spoke of modern agriculture and agri-business as the basis of a thriving economy. We had an interesting tour of a large agricultural enterprise with its modern equipment, tremendous grain bins, healthy cows, and bustling activity, a business that provides jobs and makes a profit. The administrative director of Skole extolled the virtues of preserving cultural heritage for future generations. Nikolai talked about construction in Slavsky, slowed a bit by the economic downturn but still going, and indeed we saw many beautiful examples of new homes and buildings, traditional log cabins and great wood-working skills. Nikolai and his family are central contributors to this enterprise. A spirit of exhilaration and pride predominates.

East and West, the Ukrainian people share many experiences and struggles, as well as many traditions and folkways. Sometimes a tension exists between them. The debate about language, not to mention the recent presidential election, symbolizes this tension. Many Ukrainians believe that a united nation will survive, while others wonder if it’s possible. The differences, they claim, are too vast. Nor does today’s political climate inspire much confidence.

“United we stand, divided we fall,” Tonya said, recalling the words of Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War. This is the dream of many Ukrainian people today. It may take time, but I believe time is on the side of the proud and the optimistic. The Carpathian mountains hold a key to Ukraine’s past, present and future. It echoes on the mountain tops. It inspires awe and hope.

Lviv or Lvov

The classical, elegant Lviv Theatre, above; Ospan and the bandoora; some members of Women of Ukraine. I'm in a traditional Ukrainian vest. Below, Ivan Franko gravesite and street scenes; inside the Cathedral

In Ukrainian or Russian, in any language, this is a fantastic city. We didn't have a lot of time here, but the time we had was wonderful. We attended a meeting of a chapter of the Women of Ukraine, celebrating its 20th year of rebirth after being dissolved during Soviet times. The group, led informally by our energetic host Stefa, gathered reverently to reminisce and talk and to honor the Americanka in their midst.

After questions and answers and home-made food, we had a special appearance by noted Ukrainian folk singer and bandoora player Ostap Stakhiv. The bandoora is an ancient Ukrainian instrument, now with 64 strings, that sounds more like a piano or harpsichord than a guitar to me. It's a beautiful sound, haunting. Ostap's presence was an incredible gift, thoughtfully arranged by Olga and Stefa, and of course a total surprise and delight to me. Ostap travels the world to share his talent and love of his native folk music. He's been to America several times. He lived in Philadelphia for some ten years; his two daughters still live there with their families, one in Philly, the other in Chicago. It was not only fun to talk and share, but it was also profoundly moving to hear the music, to have Ostap with us. The pride of culture is everywhere in this part of Ukraine. Ostap and his music embody this pride.

After the meeting we had a whirlwind tour of the city with Yuraslava, a professor at one of the universities, of which there are many (and many are built in grand European style). She was a knowledgeable guide, with an encyclopedic mind. It was another one of the surprises that characterized this whole journey, all planned and directed by Olga, our fearless leader. I didn't have to think about any details or logistics at all, not a one! Just enjoyed it all, every minute, every place, every surprise.

A walk through the Lviv cemetary, where many famous Ukrainians are buried, encompasses a magical history tour. It's the resting place of heroes, like writer Ivan Franko, of political, cultural and military leaders, and of ordinary Ukrainians. Our walk through the old cemetary, full of green and gold trees, bushes and flowers, led to the Lwowska Cathedral. Unassuming on the outside, it is magnificent on the inside, like the many churches found throughout Europe and throughout the world. Its Polish roots reminded me of St. Mary's Cathedral in Krakow, both, not surprisingly, visited by pope John Paul in his time. I prayed for all those I love, wherever they may be, and for my brother, a few blessed moments of silence and reflection.

The walk from the Cathedral to our next destination, the Lviv theater, was also rich in architectural delights, history, and urban spirit. At the center stood the ubiquitous Taras Schevchenko, another great statue, anchoring the city square. The central city's built environment is beautiful, reflected in the stunning theater itself, a massive monument to culture for the ages. Inside and out, it reminded me of the Budapest Opera House, grand, magnificent, textured, art-filled, splendid in every detail.

And so was the performance, which happened to be Strauss' fun operetta "Die Fledermaus." The stage settings, lighting, costumes, classical ballet, orchestra, and the voices were spectacular, among the best we had ever seen and heard we agreed. Such a feast for the senses. We left the theater full to the brim with the beauty and majesty of an extraordinary performance in a majestic setting.

I was moved by the arias, which I remember my mom practicing and singing, especially the "Laughing Song," I think it's called. Oh how I thought of mom, and Loren, too. I could hear her voice, feel Loren's delight. Such pleasure, and such sadness. A tear rolled down my cheek, and Tonya touched my hand. I carried these mixed feelings back to Starobilsk. But above all, I feel blessed to have spent such a joyous holiday in western Ukraine, culminating in the fantastic city of Lviv/Lvov.

P.S. In honor of 10/10/10, the date on which I am writing this blog, I recall another conjunction: As we rushed from place to place in Lviv, from Vinnity to the central city, from our meeting to other rendevous, from cemetary to church, from theater to train, from here to there, I blindly but happily following along, we bumped into my PCV friend Mike Young, a volunteer at the university in Starobilsk, and the Lugansk contingent from his TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) group 35. How amazing! They had just attended their "Close of Service" conference and were going to dinner, then to take the 1:00 a.m. train to Lugansk. Such serendipity. I never expected to run into these great PCVs at that time, in that place, in that spot near the Taras Shvevchecnko statue in the center of Lviv in a rush to catch a marshruka. I attribute it all to the alignment of the earth, planets, stars, and moon that brought us to this fantastic part of Ukraine. Maybe it's like today, 10/10/10. It's all beyond words. "And it's ALL good," as my brother Loren would say.