View From the Hammock brought to you by Purple Frog

My marriage started with moving Russian and American households into one small apartment. The moving company was unusually reckless, and it was surprising. I moved in Kansas City at least three times before and never saw workers as rude and as negligent, no less than Russian gruzchiki – men who load and unload – whose manners and culture are replaced with muscles. I would swear that they were Russians if not for their Midwestern accents. The three strong men had not secured our furniture in the truck; neither had they put any padding between cabinets, sofas, and boxes. I would not care for anything, but the view of the broken mirror in my china cabinet was the last straw. “They broke the mirror! Honey, did you see it?! This is a terrible sign in Russia! We are doomed!” My new husband laughed, “We Americans don’t believe in superstitions !” “You might not believe in anything, but this company will pay for damages!”  “Honey, the contract clearly says th

Russians and Work “They pretend to pay us, and we pretend to work.” –Folk joke Practically no one worked during the broadcasts of the Supreme Soviet meetings. People didn't want to miss a single word. Next day at work, they spent time in heated discussions. It hardly mattered that no one worked, because salaries almost never depended on performance, nor did bonuses! Every time we had idle time at work, I thought of our children. What was the point to leave my daughter at the Day Care if there was no work, just an appearance of it? I would rather do all my work in four hours and then go home, even though I would be paid only half of what others in our company were getting for sitting idle all day. "If we have nothing to do," I used to urge other women, "why don't we better go home and take our children from state 'incubators’?”–that was how we called our overloaded state kindergartens. "Of course, it would be nice," re