Time Travel Trip, The Samovar's Story: Russia Bound (part 2)

Judy Дорогая моя, 

I wrote in my last letter, that I’d fill you in on my little Period Pilots jaunt to past times Russia. Funny thing about that trip, it didn’t work out at all like I’d planned.

Isn’t that always the way it is when one of us goes on an excursion?

I did my homework really thoroughly and had pretty much decided that I’d head back to the court of the Russian Empress Elizabeth, mainly to check out the outfits. I mean, some of those clothes are to die for, literally in the case of a some of her servants I guess. But wouldn’t you just love to get close to some of those dresses; silks and satins in bright colors, and absolutely encrusted with jewels. 


The woman had thousands of dresses! Would she even notice if I started trying a few of them on, in one of those more deserted palace wings? I would guess her ensembles would probably not be something I’d want to have to slip into on a daily basis, but for just one night, I wouldn’t mind being a lady-in-waiting. I’m pretty sure if I just showed up in a big group of women, properly togged out, she’d never even notice me. I hoped that if she did notice me, she wouldn’t recognize an outfit she wore once five or six years back. It would be so worth it if I got to attend one of her banquets and check out some of that beautiful Russian court porcelain of the period.

Travel Plans Journal: Note To Self: Keep a low profile. Do not cheese the Empress off.

It’s not just the clothes. I was also crazy to see Rastrelli’s work on that Rococo palace of hers, out by St. Petersburg. The aftermath of World War II leaves so much about the palace to the imagination. Though, if we’re voting here, I’ll take major property damage over genocide, mass murder and lengthy sieges any day.

Travel Plan Journal: Note To Self: When it comes to reflecting on the horrors of past times, remember that my own responses to rotten situations, might keep other people from turning into monsters. Just be kind!

Hummmmm…. Where was I? Oh yea, back in time in Elizabeth’s pied-a-tierre outside of St. Petersburg.

You know I’m a nut for blue and white, chinoiserie and anything gilded. The first two are all your fault, of course. You’re the one who got me going on blue willow motifs back in our freshman year. Of course I’ve got my own modern day set of willow-ware now, but wouldn’t it be fantastic to see some of the originals that inspired centuries of fascination with those designs? Yards and yards of blue and white and not just ormolu clocks and picture frames, but gilded walls, ceilings and roofs.

It sounds like the little place in Tsarskoye Selo had it all. No wonder that after a few centuries of rulers indulging themselves like that, the citizens got cranky and had a revolution. That woman’s spending habits make those people at AIG look like a bunch of monks who’ve taken a vow of poverty.

I wasn’t totally committed to Elizabeth’s reign, though. I also considered heading back just as far as Catherine the Great’s take on that same little part-time residence. All her complaints about how much Elizabeth spent rebuilding the house six times and then what did the budget-minded Catherine do? Well who doesn’t like to redecorate? I sure wouldn’t mind taking in that cool, spare Greek Revival look she went for, with Adams fireplace mantels and Neo-Palladian arches. Yum!

And don’t even get me started on the way the gardens must have looked back then!  I was planning to set aside a day just for those. I wonder how the photographs would have turned out….

Everything was pretty much set. I’d arranged for someone to come in and feed and walk Rufus for a few days, stopped the mail, and packed. There are few items I find essential.  Even when I pickup clothes when I get there, I’ve rarely found adequate replacements for my own toothbrush and deodorant, though the people around me in my past times destination always seem to be perfectly satisfied with whatever they’re using, or in most cases, aren’t using.

I got my boarding pass for Period Pilots online. There was some problem with the queue for the closest portal, of course(!),  and it looked like there was no point in leaving for another hour at least. You know I like to have a good attitude about things like that, so I figured I’d just use the time to get myself culturally acclimated.

I don’t know if I told you that I bought a beautiful old samovar at a garage sale a couple of weeks back. (The things people throw out in Atherton!) It’s a bit of a job heating the water, since I have to heat it outside over an open flame, but I’d rigged up my own little mechanism using the camp stove and my ancient Webber barbeque. (No, I don’t actually recommend this as a safe practice.) It’s also good to do outside because I have to stuff charcoal down inside the chimney and that gets all over me and, well it just gets all over everything!  I suppose it seems rather silly heating up all that water just for myself, for a short period of time. It certainly doesn’t fit the whole point of the lengthy communal tea drinking experience. What can I say? I was in the mood, And so the whole process seemed worth it.

That samovar is a beautiful thing. It’s silver. No, I didn’t say it was cheap! People who live in Atherton know what things are worth. That’s how they stay rich. But I paid less than I would have for the markup in an antique store, and the householder got a better deal out of it than if she’d paid the auction percentage. The antiques market isn’t doing that well around here right now anyway.

That’s solid silver Bud, not plate!.  There are monograms above the tap but the engraving is pretty much worn away. The lady I bought it from hadn’t been able to decipher them or known anything about who it had belonged to. While the water was heating I got out my antique mother-of-pearl magnifying glass to try to check out the letters. Do you remember when I got that glass, the day we went to Portabello Market?

That is the best glass! I see things with that I’ve never seen with my super-sewing magnifier.  Not only could I distinguish a ‘N’ and maybe an ‘A’, I was able to make out some kind of crest just above the monogram.

I was trying to get a better view of the crest symbol, when the oak trees in the patio started to vibrate. I knew right away what was happening, so I turned off the stove and zipped my jacket pocket with my toothbrush and deodorant up right away. It’s not the first time Period Pilots has gotten their wires crossed.

Who would have thought that old samovar was a time portal?

It’s getting late. I’m looking forward to telling you more about my trip in my next letter.

Larisa

Time Travel Trip Planning: Russia Bound (part 1)

Please, click on the picture to fully enjoy it's Russianesque roots

Judy Дорогая моя,

I found my old spiral notebook from Russian class when I was cleaning out my closet today. Gospadee Boza Moi! Isn’t that what we used to say? It’s been over thirty years and I’ve forgotten so much of what I learned. That notebook had a Peter Max design on the cover. I’d forgotten how much I loved him when we were in college. Remember the poster of his we put up when we were freshmen, and what that gross boy down on the second floor wrote on it? I’m so sure he’s either incarcerated or else working for the prison system now.

Of course these days, nobody even thinks twice when somebody says something like that.

I loved our Russian teacher, Anya. Do you remember how much fun she was? And her little girl, Annychka? Holy Moses, Annychka must be almost 40 now! She used to have so much fun drawing all over the back of my old greenbar printouts. Do you remember when I took her down to the computer lab and showed her how to use the keypunch machine? She loved those IBM punch cards! I bet she’s working at Facebook or Sun now.

Bernadette, she was so awful, always made fun of Anya’s clothes and hair style. I don’t think there was anybody else at the university who dyed their hair in those days, and Anya’s was that brilliant, shiny coppery-red that just glittered in the sun.

It’s so funny to think now, how we were all into those seventies ultra-natural styles, and there was Anya, freshly arrived from the Soviet Union and feeling fine with herself. All the women students were wearing earth shoes (remember those God-awful things?), earth colors, and those boring skirts that hung down almost to our ankles and were shaped like feed sacks. Next to us, Anya, in her sixties era neon polka-dotted mini dresses, with her hair shingled like Mary Quant, looked like a psychedelic flower.

Secretly,I loved her clothes because they were straight out of a Peter Max graphic. But I never had the nerve to stand up to Bernadette and tell her so. At the time, I thought that maybe Anya hadn’t had access to modern clothes in the Soviet Union during the actual sixties, and that she was determined to make up for it when she managed to get out and come to the U.S. Now I think she just liked her pretty, brightly colored clothes. Being a little older myself these days, I wear what I like now. And no, I don’t have any earth shoes or feed-sack skirts in my closet.

I wonder what Bernadette is doing now? She was always telling me to eat my alfalfa sprouts, because they were full of protein. I still hear her voice in my head when I tell the guy at the sandwich shop to leave the hay off my turkey and rye. What do bossy people like that end up doing? I suppose they develop nuclear power plant security systems, teach or get m.b.a.’s Remember that really, really rude phrase that the gross boy on the second floor made up to fit the m.b.a. acronym? OK, that really was funny.

The other person that my notebook reminded me of was Piotr. He wasn’t that good at learning the Cyrillic alphabet but he was a hot musician. He was such a nut with that balalika at the Russian store in San Francisco, when we went up there on that fieldtrip to the orthodox church, the one with the gold onion dome. I wish I had a recording of him playing it with me when I sang Katyusha for our Modern Languages-Department End of Term Talent Show. Расцветали яблони и груши!

I certainly hope Piotr didn’t end up developing nuclear power plant security systems. I bet he’s a crocodile wrangler or maybe a rodeo clown.

Anyway…. What I really wrote to tell you about was that my parents gave me a gift card for Period Pilots! I’ve been saving it for a really special trip. When I found that notebook I was thinking about dropping back in on Russian class, just to say privet to Anya. But then I remembered Bernadette. Still, that book’s got me in a Russian mood, so I’m thinking I’ll be heading off in the general direction of Krashnaya Ploshitts.

I’ll write again soon and let you know how that trip turns out. Желаю всего хорошего!

Larisa