View From the Hammock brought to you by Purple Frog

“You are so smelyi !” I wanted my husband to know that I am  proud of him. “Excuse me, why I am smelly?” Scott sniffed under his left shoulder, then under his right armpit making the funniest wrinkled grimace, “You think I am smelly?” “Did I say you were smelly?” “Yes, you did. Am I?” Oh, goodness. The international conflict was coming. “No, you are not smelly!” “Yeah, maybe I am. I am stinky because I just held the cat…” Scott managed to catch our asocial cat and placed him into the carrier. The cat’s fur odor was still fresh.  "Love, S-M-E-L-Y-I in Russian means brave, courages, not stinky. Can you trust me?" My husband moved the sofa and it seemed like the right moment to thank my husband for his effort, “Honey, ty takoi silny !” “Silly?!”  Scott paused in amusement. “Not ‘silly,’ SILNY ! It means ‘strong’ in Russian!” My Mother was already laughing at us, getting the meaning out of the Russian words, and of our frustrated faces. “Oh, su

Have you ever noticed that your dryer eats your socks? To my horror, I found out that in America it doesn’t matter how many socks you buy - you never have enough of them to pair. My daughter was the first one in our family, who said, “I think the dryer eats them.” Back in school, we had a "Home Ec" class where we were to learn to mend socks, cook and sew. I learned many things, but mending socks was something that required more patience than I ever knew. One morning, I noticed a little hole on the big toe, but, shrugged my shoulders and carelessly put on my new shoes, leaving the house with a smile. Nobody will ever notice. If not for my aunt Fisa, I would have never learned the lesson. In Russia, we always take our shoes off when we enter the house. My aunt looked down first and then up straight at my face and said, “Lida, one day a young boy will take you on a date and will hold your hand, while you are balancing on the rail road rail (in Russia, it is very

               When I stand over the watermelon section next to other watermelon lovers at the local grocery store, trying to interpret the decision-making process behind their gestures and facial expressions, I know what they go through. I enjoy their sniffing and squeezing efforts to find the best watermelon. I smile when I see their puzzled looks.      A crisp, sugary and meaty watermelon is the sign of Paradise on a hot day. Yet, still a stranger to you even after you took it home: a watermelon introduces itself fully only under the fear of a knife. Here is the moment when two complete strangers finally meet: your watermelon and you. This moment is sacred; you are either a winner or a loser in front of the whole family. You do not want to hear that painfully familiar sighing behind your back, “Awww!” caused by the view of a greenish “unsweetened” fruit, because what you truly anticipate is a “wow!” caused by the view of scarlet in