Still On Our Way

20 minutes later

As Meg has a tearful reunion with the kiddies on the screen infront of me, and Kelly mutters about "breeder flicks" behind me, I find my thoughts drifting between the fear of getting robbed and/or killed and the general state of the State into which I go. Will I find culture shock of the extremity Dave predicts. I don't know--my father's parents' home is no larger than the four-room apartments described to us. Sure, my own life and home are palatial when compared to what I understand to be the standard there, by American standards, but still--I'd like to think myself more open-minded about all this and ready to accept the differences than the "experts" have claimed we wealthy, insulated Americans can be. But who knows for now, eh?

I am, however, brought to wonder about every single aspect of Russia. Will the students be like mine this summer, full of life and themselves? Will they be like the stereotype I entertain, such as not speaking unless spoken to, or being entirely complacent? Will we be stared at? Will we even be capable of communicating with our families? I wonder like what, in sum total, every breath of lung-shocking, frigid air will be. But of course, that is why I go. I can't find out otherwise.

I picture reaching out to the screen infront of me and allowing it to retract halfway, rolling Meg and Andy and all their collective angst from my view. Perhaps it's time for another cup of coffee.

This is the strangest feeling in the world. I'm traveling on a plane at 33K feet over the Atlantic, at 700 mph, and I feel simply as if I'm in a very large, very loud, very crowded, vibrating room. I feel no sensation of movement, and we haven't hit turbulence in hours. I really am enjoying the flight. This is cool.

MGW

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