Sunday, April 23, 2006

bells and cheese pascha

It's raining in Connecticut: forsythia, grass and sky all drenched in gray.

It's also Pascha in Connecticut. And in New York, Chicago, Portland, Tokyo, Boston, and Moscow. Toru awakes me calling from Japan, "Christ is Risen!" he proclaims, and then inquires as to what I'm eating. "I'm in bed," I say. I yawn and think of my friends celebrating Pascha in Illinois, Portland, Finland, Oxford. I squint at the rainy windows, and then I think about cheese pascha.

Nostalgia is off at church doggedly directing choir, I lie in her bed under layers of down. I remember the way the church bells burst life into the sleepy church. My mind wanders past dreams—a boat, a wave, the whales—and then returns to cheese pascha. I don't think she has any. She doesn't have any milk either, she never does. But she has kielbasi, kulich, red eggs, horseradish, pickled tomatoes. It's too early in the morning for savory Russian food. But kulich will be good, buttered with honey or marmalade. It's a wet Pascha morning, cold and bright.

Last night, when the bells rang at midnight, it was as though they rang from inside me.


Nostalgia said...

Too early in the morming? We had all this food after church at 3 am - and you didn't complain... Though, Amber doed like Cheese Pascha. At some point she started mumbling to herself: "May be I should re-name myself... May be I should be called CheesePascha."

Jenny said...

I LOVE the last line about the bells ringing from inside. I love the whole thing--the rainy morning, thoughts of cheese pascha, snuggling into down and thoughts of friends celebrating all over the world. It is all so bittersweet, isn't it? Pascha always makes me ache like that.

Charlie Brown said...

Your blog gives me life between breaths. Blog on.
Charlie Brown