I am home. I arrived in San Francisco last night, where my folks met me and took me back to Napa. It was much cooler in the bay area than it was in Moscow and Rostov. This morning, after going for a short run with Dad, I had to put on a sweatshirt because it was so chilly. Now the afternoon is here. The morning fog has dispersed, and the sky is as blue as can be. I like the view from this little room. Since they cut the sick pine trees down you can see a lot farther. Were it not for the foothills at the entrance to the Valley, you'd be able to see clear to the ocean from here. I haven't picked blackberries yet. That's next on the list. Then I have to put a loaf of bread in the oven, and bike to Vallerga's - I don't have to bike, I'd just like to; I want to make some watermellon gazpacho for dessert. I'll probably keel over when I see how expensive they sell watermellons over here.
Memories of the summer camp are already fading. My life there is as from a dream. Of course, some memories will never fade. The good memories stay forever. The other memories have already left me, so I'm left with the impression that things really weren't so bad there, were they?
That's about how I feel about the whole year in Rostov. It's as though I've completed a race. I wasn't competing against any other people, only myself. I was trying to do the best I could do, and now here I am. As in a real race, with the finish line behind you, being able to walk and relax, you can't help but be proud of the challenges overcome, some well, others not. It's during the race itself, when you're stuggling to overcome those challenges that you ask yourself what you were thinking, singing up for this gig.
The race ends, you're happy and proud, and then, without thinking, you go and sign up for another. I don't doubt that I'll teach again someday, the questions are what and where. If English, then I might like to find a job in a Spanish speaking country. If not English, then what - is math still in my future? I think so, but in what way?
I took the bus with the students in the third group from Krinitsa to Novorossisk, took the train back to Rostov, arrived at midnight ten days ago, and got a lift to a colleague's place where I was to stay the next three days.
I had to leave Rostov quickly because I was no longer registered there. In those three days time, I met with some students and friends, repacked my things, determined what not to take with me, and finally got on the overnight bus for Moscow.
I was in Moscow for a week. I didn't do much. I walked all over the place, but didn't go inside anywhere, except for bookstores, supermarkets, internet cafes, and a few restaurants. I visited the chess club on Sunday. They held a blitz tournament there, just like in Rostov. Bobby Fisher was playing - at least he looked like Bobby Fisher. I watched him play in one of the final matches. It appeared as though he was toying with his opponent, not that he was winning by much. He was just playing rather lackadaisically, defending only when necessary, otherwise waiting for something to happen and not attacking. I got distracted and turned away for a short time before I realized their match had ended. I don't even know if Bobby won or not.
In the last two days there, I didn't have much desire to do anything, so I spent some time reading in a park, and went to the movies. I saw a movie by Silverster Stallone, called, I think, "The Expendibles". At another theater I saw "Casablanca". On the plane ride home, I finished reading "The golden calf" by Ilf and Petrov. It's filled with jokes and satire, very much of which I didn't understand. I'll try reading the sequel "12 chairs" after a few more months of study.
I've also started my first novel in English since long ago. It's called "The Sea Wolf" by Jack London. A friend and colleague at Bloomington gave it to me for my birthday before I left. I like it so far.
After packing some things away here I find there's no shortage of interesting things to read. Part of me says I should get to it while I have some free time. The other part wants to go pick blackberries. What's a man to do?
Here are some pictures of the past year.
