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 say...

I found myself in the retail business after serving a church for many years. Can't resist the temptation to compare the church and the retail worlds! In two short months, I saw plenty of contrasts: a Middle-Eastern woman, who hides her face behind a veil, and a transgender guy, who fearlessly displays his/her new breasts to the public. I was told that money doesn't have gender. Dollars are still dol lars. Gays, lesbians, blacks, greens, immigrants... Does it really matter? The world of retail is more accepting, more encouraging, and more sincere than the church world. How refreshing to be appreciated after being pointed at my accent for way too long. As for me, I still have my accent but, if in the church I was criticized for having it, in the world of retail, I am praised for it. I'm told that people are curious of someone who is different from them. In the church, Christians look down at those who are different. Today, I was told that I have an accent. Here we are again...

“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...