week twenty-one

Just before bedtime we headed over to the angel (otherwise known as Palace Square) to see what, if anything, was still going on for St. Petersburg's birthday celebration. We heard the very beginning of a set by a renowned Muscovite jazz musician named Sergei (according to his intro).

This was before he came on. The girl can dance!

week twenty

Yeah. I thought you'd notice.

I'm not very good at choosing ONE picture each week.
And didn't I say this blog wasn't just going to be darling
photos of my little cherub? Huh.

Well, change is good.

This week: Peterhoff!

(And believe me, that was selective.)

also week nineteen

A quiet morning in the park behind Church on Spilled Blood.

And an afternoon of bubbles on Palace Square.

week nineteen

No matter what the train track configuaration, one thing remains constant. Standing on the train station are Lexi, Mama and Kristina. Just waiting. Together.

week eighteen

I realize this challenge is meant to be all pictures and no story...but I feel compelled to share the story behind each one instead of letting them speak for themselves. Control freak? Poor photographer? Logophile? Trying to prove that a picture = 1000 words? Dunno.

This is what is parked right outside my window--and has been for most of the day.

This morning, Lexi was up at 6 (no surprise) and I wasn't even dozing at 6:30, so we got up, had some yogurt, and went grocery shopping.

When we came back, it was rainy and miserable, and I really didn't want to haul groceries for blocks. (Our street is the staging area for the big trucks for Victory Day and so no parking is allowed. All cars will be towed.) Since Victory Day is tomorrow, I asked the militsia standing across the street if I could park here today. Da, koneshna moshna. Yes, of course you may.

I asked our concierge. Of course! Move the car tomorrow, but today it is fine.

We went home, put our pajamas back on, and settled in to watch a new Peppa dvd. Then, just as a familiar noise was entering my subconscious, my mobile rang. I dashed to the window and saw the car behind me being towed! I threw on jeans and a poncho, answered the phone, and thanked my principal for the heads up. I dashed out, telling Lexi I was moving the car; hoping Peppa was engaging enough that she'd be okay.

The "evacuator" driver took the time to slow down, open his window, and THANK me for coming out to move my car. That was a little bit of happy. He even told me where to move my car.

The view as it wraps around the corner and heads to Palace Square.
The soldiers get out their buckets and wash their trucks as they wait.

Mia, keeping an eye on things.

And a picture I love but won't keep up long. Do you like her long, pink "ponytails"? She was happily singing about being n@k ed and skipping around following a quick bout of bedjumping.

Her jeans were wet and the obvious replacement was her dancing skirt. When she decided to be n@k ed, her shirt got stuck on its way off. She was delighted with the result. ;>

week seventeen

The soldier-boys (and the grown men, too, I suppose) have been practicing in Palace Square for Victory Day. This is so Russia to me--need to cordon off something? Use people! People seem to be as expendable today as they were when the serfs were around. (I think #4 was texting as I photographed.)

Further down the street you might be able to see more groups of soldiers assembling to march into the Square.

I find the practices amusing. The different groups must be meant to march in at specific times, perform their maneuvers in front of the important invited guests (not me), and then assemble elsewhere. But when they are practicing...oi. It's a MESS! I've never been in a dance number where so many people were, quite literally, marching to their own beats. It's cacophonous!

They do this every year with no variation...and there can't be that many new soldiers. So why is it such a mess? Will it be a mess on the day? Who knows? Not me, clearly, as I'm not invited.