Daily Sketches #5. An Act of Kindness

Krasnoyarsk Museum Center (former Museum of Lenin) where I used to work.

(Photo source - and many more beautiful photos of Krasnoyarsk)

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Write about an act of kindness that made you look differently at what kindness is and maybe look differently at life. What was the situation? Maybe it was in your childhood, or maybe it happened last week. Maybe you were the person who was being kind, when someone needed it the most, and maybe did not expect it. If nothing comes to mind, invent!

When I was a university student, I often visited all sorts of theater plays and concerts, everything from classics to pop and jazz music. Wait a minute, jazz burst into my life a bit later, in my early years working for a newspaper, with a man of many talents, from writing and appreciating wine and cheese, to his knowledge of the art of cinema and jazz. There was nothing romantic between us, but he became my guru in the world of jazz, creating and recording his own jazz mixes for such a rooky in jazz as myself, with his own portrait printed on them – in a caricature style, to keep the pathos down. He enjoyed being a guru, and I enjoyed learning, so this model worked for us for quite a while. But I shifted somewhere from my original story.

In my last year of university, I had to find work in the field of my expertise, which was language and literature. And while majority of my classmates choose schools to work for, I had never been interested in a teaching job, and contacted a local museum that was in the process of becoming a museum center and was looking for helpers for the preparation of their very first international museum biennale. I was bright, well-educated and back then not especially confident in my own ideas, but a very good doer, so they were happy to hire me. Other than myself, there was another girl of my age, also in her last year of college, and also named Natasha, but with a very different background from me. Natasha was becoming an architect, and was very talented at her field. Other than talents and bright mind, Natasha had a great sense of humor and kind heart, and we rapidly became good friends, which we remained so even after I quit my job and she was still working for the museum. So that day, I was attending a concert that was a big deal to me, the problem was typical – when a concert finished late, I had to find a place to sleep over in the city, because I lived 40 kilometers away, in a small town, and the last bus to my town was leaving at 9:30 PM back then. Some plays and concerts which took place not too far away from the central bus station, I could attend and then run to be in time for the last bus, while others ended way too late, and I needed a place to stay. It did not happen very often, and usually in such cases I would go out with friends and just stay with them after all, we’d have a great evening and chat all night long, so it was a win-win for everyone. That time though, I did not have a company to go out with me. I invited Natasha, but she was busy finishing her graduation project – she had to stay up late and basically lived in the museum where she had all she needed for the project, versus the small apartment on the other side of town where she lived with her mother, a college professor. Natasha offered me the opportunity to still go to the concert and then just sleep over at her mother’s place. I felt uncomfortable, but she assured me that it would be totally okay with her mom. So that’s what I did. I was a sensitive kid, and apologized probably about a thousand times for all the inconvenience I caused to the woman. If Natasha was there, then it would be her problem to make sure I had a place to sleep and something to eat, but since Natasha wasn’t there, the college professor herself was kind enough to give me a place to sleep and a bite to eat. I slept in Natasha’s room, which I don’t remember very well, but I do remember the bathroom in their small apartment. Natasha wrote down dozens, or maybe hundreds of quotes that somehow touched her, made her think, or made her smile – all in all, made her the person who she was becoming. Never before that had I seen a bathroom (or any room, for that matter) quite like that one, with wisdom written down on wallpaper, from floor to ceiling. I was so surprised by my discovery – I couldn’t not comment to her mother about it. Her response was short and surprised me not less than the wallpaper wisdom itself.

“Natasha is an unusual girl.”

Unusual girl? I don’t think my mom would characterize me like that. Maybe a kind girl, a nice girl, a good student. “Unusual” was not something she saw in me, not when I was 20. When I was 40, maybe. It took her time to see me as a person, not just as her daughter. So when Natasha’s mom said “unusual” about Natasha, well, it was unusual to me to hear and stuck in my mind for the longest time.

When we were leaving the apartment the morning after that, she was going to her job to one college, and I was going to my study, to another college, and as we walked to the bust stop, I apologized and thanked her again, saying that I didn’t even know how to thank her properly and how to pay her back for her kindness. So many things struck me as unusual that day. The unusual stay with my friend’s mother. The unusual bathroom. The unusual definition of a daughter. But the way the woman responded to me was the most unusual of all and changed the way I saw gratitude and kindness forever.

“You don’t need to pay me for what I’ve done. I helped, when I was in a position to do it, and you will help someone else, when you are in a position to do it. And so it will go on. That’s how it works.”

Never before I thought of kindness as a chain. That you do not pay for kindness directly to the one who was being kind to you when you needed it, but there will be times when you will be able to help someone else, and even though it does not seem logical or straightforward (I give to you, and you give back to me), this is exactly how kindness works. This is how it goes on and on, not in short little chains when a few people exchange kindness between each other and do not touch the rest of the world. It’s a long and beautiful sparkly chain that wraps around the whole world, touching magically those who needs it the most right now, this very moment. There will always be someone who will be able to help you, and someone whom you will be able to help. So it will go on and on. And that’s how it works.

Rise and Write 1-7

Daily Sketches #4. The Tree from My Window

Mountain Ash (Rowan) Seen from My Kitchen Window

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Write about a tree (or another plant) that you see from your window. What kind of tree it is? How tall it is? Does it bear fruit or berries? Is it a home to birds or small animals? If not, could it be a home to mythical creatures? What would you think of it as a child?

As I was coming up with the ideas for these prompts, I thought (I can't not think at all what I would write about, even though I try to stop those thoughts and sort of forget my own ideas, so they will still feel fresh when I sit down to actually write about them) that I would probably write about our front yard that looks more like a park. A variety of overgrown trees and bushes, huge ferns, the holly tree which could very well be the tallest holly tree in the world, or the blooming (often twice a year) azaleas and rhododendrons – so many plants to write about, so many visitors we get in our front yard, from the cute and naughty neighbor cat that drives our indoor cat mad, to adorable wild rabbits and raccoons and all sorts of birds – blue jays, robins, hummingbirds and more. But when it came time to write this prompt, I actually decided to not write about our woodsy backyard. I decided to write about trees that bear berries on our driveway.

I love the place where we live, for so many different reasons. I feel surprisingly at home here, from the first time I visited this humble little house. And one of the reasons that makes me feel at home are a few trees that remind me about my native home. As much as I love rhododendrons, I mostly admire them, they take my breath away with their bright beauty, abundant blossoms and almost infinite variety. But there are a couple of trees that do not strike a passersby as magnificent – their appearance is on a quiet side, but if you care to stop by and look for a minute, you will find a soft spot in your heart for their quiet beauty. One of them is a birch tree, and another one a mountain ash – both are very common in my homeland, both have deep roots in the Russian folk culture, and somewhat similar meaning too, symbolizing young innocent girls or women in love, with their long flexible branches, soft tender leaves, the ability to stretch their hand-branches and to lean towards other, stronger looking trees, with thick trunks and strong, straight-up appearance. So very similar to the feelings women tend to have towards a man they love – big and strong, the one who won’t break in the wind, the one you can lean on, hugging him tenderly in a miserable weather. Sometimes, in the folk songs, the girl-tree is crying, longing for her beloved one who is way too far from her, and again, being a strong upward tree, cannot lean in her direction, does not see her, does not recognize her – so she is sad with her unrequited love and the destiny that separated them.

I see both a beautiful birch tree and a gorgeous mountain ash tree from my front window, at the neighbor’s yard across the road, but we also are lucky to have a gorgeous, tall mountain ash tree growing right by our driveway. It is tall and strong, with the branches upward, not at all what thin and feminine mountain ash trees are back in Siberia (you can see them both in the woods, and in people’s yards). It is a strong woman, a proud one, an independent one, with bright and abundant berries decorating her beautiful leafage - not at all sad, not at all week, not at all lonely. She stays there knowing her own worth, not asking to love her, but rather knowing that she is worth of love. Yet under that strong appearance, I still see the sensitive, flexible side of a mountain ash, I see tenderness.

I’m often surprised by the fact that birds do not eat the berries for many months – I guess, just as to people’s taste, they seem too bitter (I heard that birds to not taste spiciness, but I guess they do taste bitterness). In Russia, people say that you need to wait for the first frost to gather mountain ash berries – then the bitterness goes away. People make all sorts of preserves and drinks out of those berries which contain all sorts of vitamins and other good things in them. Here, mountain ash starts showing off the bright orange berries as early as July, and they will be up on the tree, big festive bunches of them, till late Fall. I think our local birds have plenty to choose from, so they leave these berries towards the end, when there is less variety in nature. Or maybe they leave these berries till the first frost, like Russian people do? I will try to observe when the berries start disappearing from the branches this year.

Rise and Write 1-7

Daily Sketches #3. The First Dentist Visit

Enthusiasts Street - the street where I lived and where my parents live now (photo source)

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Write about your first visit to a dentist – or the most memorable one. Do you remember the dentist’s face, voice, the smell of the office? Do you remember your pain, fear, or a pleasant feeling of knowing that you are taking a good care of your teeth? You don’t have to write about yourself – write about your child’s visit, or about your character’s visit.

It was a regular school day, and I was in school, as always, in my Mom’s class. She couldn’t leave her work - there were 40 children to teach how to read and write and do arithmetic. Mom loved her job and treated it responsibly – she was in her classroom one hour before the classes started every morning, and she had a few packs of thin little notebooks to check and write little notes to students every evening – 40 notebooks dedicated to learning spelling and writing, and 40 notebooks dedicated to arithmetic. 80 little notebooks to check on every single night, Monday through Saturday. Of course she couldn’t just leave all those 40 little children only to take me to a dentist. I was one of her students for the first three years of my school life. I felt miserable, but I knew I had to wait. After the school was over, she took me to a dentist lady named Natalya Vasilyevna.

“You remember Natalya Vasilyavna, don’t you? She has a son, I taught him, remember? She works in the First School where I used to work before,” said Mom.

I did remember Natalya Vasilyevna – she had a kind face and she smiled a lot.

“Will she remove my tooth?”

I worried. The tooth was very sensitive, and I did not want to suffer the pain, but the idea of removing the tooth was even worse.

“She won’t. She will just look at it,” Mom assured me.

“But what if she has to remove it?”

“Don’t worry. She will just look at it, that’s all.”

“Will it be painful?”

“No, not painful at all.”

We arrived to the office of Natalya Vasilyevna which was located inside of the First School – the very first school built in our little working town. You see, it was a common thing back in Soviet times to have a children’s dentist in schools. The dentists would do regular check-ups, perhaps once a year or so, and if there was a problem, they would treat it. It was common, but our new school which just opened that year and where Mom started teaching as soon as I had to start school, still did not have our own dentist. So she telephoned Natalya Vasilyevna from the school office and asked her to check on my tooth.

The dentist’s office seems like a blur to me now, but I remember that it did not seem especially bright. Or maybe it’s my memories that make the office dark and the lights dim. The smells were unusual, the strong smells of medicine. Natalya Vasilyevna was wearing a white doctor’s robe, and still had a very nice and kind face, the way I remembered her. She greeted us and asked me to sit in a special chair. The metal machines which seemed big and scary were surrounding me. She had a special light and a special mirror attached to a headband, and special metal sticks that she took in her hands which smelled like soap.

“Please do not remove my tooth,” I asked.

“I won’t. I will just look at it. Do not worry, it won’t hurt. Open your mouth.”

I felt reassured. The tooth bothered me all day long, and worries about removing my tooth bothered me all day long, but this lady had a kind face, a nice smile, and a very honest voice, and I relaxed. I trusted her. She will just look at my tooth. Of course she will. There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about. She promised me. With all my trust I opened my little mouth as wide I could.

Natalya Vasilyevna looked in it for a little while. Her hands were gentle, and that reassured me even more. Nothing to worry about. Not a thing.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Sudden, incredible, sharp, unbelievable pain – the biggest pain I experienced in my whole seven years of life!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

She promised! She promised me! Mom promised me!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

“That’s all, shh, shh, that is all,” Natalya Vasilyevna tried to calm my cry that was bigger than the office, bigger than the school, bigger than the whole little town, bigger than my whole universe.

Pressure, pain, and the cracking sound. Something that was a part of me cracked, and my flesh was wounded. Then I saw my own blood.

“Shhh, that is all… You are a good girl… You did such a good job… Now it’s all behind you… It was a bad tooth, it did not let your good tooth to grow right, and so we had to remove it.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

A million of tears, a ton of pain. They promised me! They promised! How can someone with such a good, kind face and such a good, honest voice, break their promise? How could they do this to me?

Even though it all happen long after medieval times, most probably in 1980 or 1981, but in a regular Soviet school’s dentist office in a small working town somewhere in the middle of Siberia, there was simply no anesthetics to make the suffering easier. Nothing to sooth your pain. Nothing other than a kind smile and an honest, reassuring voice of the dentist who knew, of course, that the troublesome tooth had to be removed before bigger problems started. Who knew, of course, that a seven year old child would never understand any explanations, and there was no other way to make her feel relaxed, than telling a lie. That was the only medicine the dentist had – the mixture of kindness and lie. None of which would work without another. It had to be both. Only in this strange mixture she could find at least some relief from the shock and from the pain.

I did not know it back then. My shock was not only physical – it was the shock of breaking the trust, my trust. They promised me that they wouldn’t remove the tooth. They promised me that they would only look at it. They promised me that it wouldn’t hurt. And they broke all the three promises, in one short violent moment.

It’s hard to point a finger on the roots of our beliefs. But maybe that’s when I realized that in life nothing matters as much as both kindness and honesty woven together – that kindness without honesty heals no more than honesty without kindness. 

Rise and Write 1-7

Daily Sketches. #1 The First Thing You See in the Morning

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Write about the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning. Is it something in your room? Is it a photograph? A cat? A person? The world outside of your window?

It's a message from my little one. A few months ago, on my birthday, she left a note for me, right on the tall dresser by my bedside. "Happy Birthday!" it says. "Check the microwave. There is a surprise (a good one!). Love, Anna and Justin." So when I opened my eyes that day, it was the very first thing I saw. It warmed my heart in an instant. It made me smile. A surprise! And not just any surprise - a good one! Who wouldn't want to wake up to a good surprise waiting for them? I knew I wanted. My day was destined to be happy before I completely woke up. I did not take the note off - it still hangs there, the bright yellow note on my bright red dresser. As bright and sunny as the walls of my bedroom. As bright and sunny as a smile of my daughter. It reminds me of that morning, when she asked Justin to wake her up earlier than usual, so she had enough time to get ready for school and make pancakes for me. So when she left for school, and Justin left for work, and I was, as usually, still sleeping, there was a little proof of their love waiting for me to wake up to. Who would take such a proof off? I didn't. 

It reminds me now of one morning in our small apartment in a far away city where we lived before, when I woke up and saw a printed in colorful inks note on the wall in front of me: "I love you... I love you... I love you..." I smiled. I went to the bathroom. "I love you... I love you... I love you...", the mirror said. I smiled. I went to the living room. "I love you... I love you... I love you...", whispered every wall, every piece of furniture, from every corner of our small apartment. "I love you... I love you... I love you..." Anywhere and everywhere I looked, I saw the proof of his love to me, the proof that everything is well with the world, because more than anything, before anything else, don't we all want to be loved, to know for sure, that we are loved, always, at any and every corner of our world, at any and every point of our day, of our life, we are loved, fully and completely, colorfully, happily loved? I did not take those colorful notes off our little apartment walls for many months, maybe a year, maybe longer. Who knows when I decide to take off the "good surprise" note from my dresser. I love to wake up and know that there is a surprise waiting for me. And not just a surprise. A good one!

Rise and Write 1-7

Rise and Write Link-Up: Daily Writing Sketches 1-7

Dear fellow writers, here are the very first seven prompts (ideas of sketches) that I offer you to write this week. The link-up will be open for 7 days, and you can either write all 7 sketches at once and link them all together, or write one daily, or 2-3 at once, then take a break... do whatever works for you! I like the idea of writing both fiction and non-fiction - feel free to write either about yourself, or about your fictional characters. Don't think too much - they are supposed to be impromptu! You may link as many posts as you want - one with all prompts or seven (one prompt per post).
Happy writing!



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Write about the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning. Is it something in your room? Is it a photograph? A cat? A person? The world outside of your window?

2

Write about the first bouquet of flowers you received (or gave to someone). What flowers they were? Do you remember their smell? Were they from a garden, field, market? You may also write about the flowers you did not receive (or gave) – of a disappointment. A friend of mine said to me once that it was her idea that when she gets married, she would wake up on her birthday, and there would be flowers on her pillow. She never told her husband that dream of hers, but was really surprised to wake up to no flowers on her pillow, and was deeply disappointed. You don’t have to write a true story – invent a character if you like.

3

Write about your first visit to a dentist – or the most memorable one. Do you remember the dentist’s face, voice, the smell of the office? Do you remember your pain, fear, or a pleasant feeling of knowing that you are taking a good care of your teeth? You don’t have to write about yourself – write about your child’s visit, or about your character’s visit.

4

Write about a tree (or another plant) that you see from your window. What kind of tree it is? How tall it is? Does it bear fruit or berries? Is it a home to birds or small animals? If not, could it be a home to mythical creatures? What would you think of it as a child?

5

Write about an act of kindness that made you look differently at what kindness is and maybe look differently at life. What was the situation? Maybe it was in your childhood, or maybe it happened last week. Maybe you were the person who was being kind, when someone needed it the most, and maybe did not expect it. If nothing comes to mind, invent!

6

Write about your favorite dish as a child. Do you still remember the taste of it? The smell? The texture? Who was cooking it? What ingredients they used? Did they say anything while cooking? Where it was? How old were you?

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Write about your morning ritual. You wake up… then what usually happens? Write about how your body feels, what you think about, what you like to do, to eat or drink the first thing in the morning. It does not have to be about you. Write about your character if you prefer – what is their morning routine?

Rise and Write: Daily Writing Sketches

I find myself more in the writing mood lately, than in the creating outfits mood. Good! After all, I started this journey about two years ago with this particular goal, or better say, dream in mind - start living the life I've been dreaming of for many years, a writing life. In many ways, I've done it. Now, looking back at these two years, I can definitely say that I've done it. I started with reading books about writing (I might make a post about them in the future) - encouraging books, kind books, books that became not only my mentors, but also my friends. I've been writing stories (mostly in my native language). And I also started writing in English - a language that I do not know very well, as I am basically self-taught in it, and it was a huge leap of trust to just dive in and start writing my first blog in English. I remember when Justin mentioned the possibility for me to write a blog in English, I thought he went mad. Me? Writing in English? Never! And yet, now, almost two years later, I write in English practically every day, still with errors, of course, but getting stronger with every post - and most importantly writing with true joy and freedom, and that's exactly what it's all about... about liberating your soul from fears. And as another leap of trust, I started writing fiction, short stories in English, and even initiated a link-up that is going very well. At first, I worried a little about the idea of limiting myself with an "opening phrase" for each story. But in the end, I find that it actually helps and I have no problem at all to start writing, to feel inspired, to work with the particular phrase, let it tell me a story - the story that would probably not happen, if not for that phrase.

So all of my almost two years of experience of becoming a writer (in English - because I've already been a writer in my native language, writing since a very early age, and published since the age of 12) lead me to a new idea. One of the things I've done in the past, in one of my Russian blogs, was daily writing sketches (or exercises, if you will). Initially, I wanted to do them every day for a year, but in the end, I've accomplished a little over a month of such daily sketches (34, I believe). Some of them became short stories or flash fiction, others became essays, while still other remained simply that - sketches. The idea behind them was to get in the habit of writing daily, and I still consider that project a success, even though I did not complete the whole year of writing them. But they did their job - after a long period of not writing regularly, they brought me back to my true love of writing... After that, I found a book by Barbara Abercrombie called Kicking In the Wall - A Year of Writing Exercises, Prompts and Quotes to Help You Break Through Your Blocks and Reach Your Writing Goals. Again, I've completed over a month's worth of prompts, and it helped me to keep my pencil sharp. I love the main idea - keep your exercises 5 minutes short! If you happen to want to write more, then go ahead and do it, and if not - then that's it. Do not stop and edit yourself, write for the whole 5 minutes - that's Barbara's approach. Some of your 5-minute exercises will lead you to creating essays, stories or even novels - who knows where they'll take you. And others, well, they will be just that - exercises.

So I've decided to combine these two ideas, my old idea of daily sketches, and Barbara's idea of 5-minute prompts, and start a new link-up here, on the blog that I started last year for this particular reason, to get into a writing life. The rules are simple. Every morning, I will offer a theme (prompt), most probably random, borrowed from the outside world, from my dream, from a dictionary or a random book on my bookshelf, and post it here on this blog. If you, like me, want to get into writing habits and feel that such exercises help you, by all means, create a post in your blog, write for 5-10 minutes whatever comes to mind (you can edit it after all, but not during those few minutes of writing a sketch) - and link it to my post. I also will write and post my sketch on the same day. So we can share, encourage and hopefully help each other. I call it Rise and Write - meaning, get up, have your first cup of coffee, and somewhere between that cup of coffee and brushing your teeth, sit down to write. Just for 5 or 10 minutes. I think we all can manage it, can't we? And if you don't find my prompt inspiring (it happens!), then come up with your own, or change mine to the form that inspires you - and write. Only 5-10 minutes, no more. Don't worry about it being perfect, finished or polished. They are sketches! They are not meant to be finished or polished - they are meant to be improvisations, free form, imperfect! We'll take it a short block at a time, not the whole year (seems like forever when you  think that you'll be doing it for 365 days in a row). We'll start on August 1st. Deal? :)

PS And Justin and I paid for participating in the Writer's conference today - two full days of classes in October!

Солнечное сплетение

Вера Васильевна работала в школе учительницей – вела литературу у ребят в средних классах. Она была покладиста, добра к окружающим, отзывчива к чужим бедам, умела порадоваться за других и всегда была первая в общественно-полезных обязанностях, которые с облегчением скинули на ее плечи сослуживицы без тени сомнения – конечно, что же еще делать Вере Васильевне, как не заниматься общественно-полезным трудом в свободное от работы в школе время? Семьи у нее не было, жила она одна и стремительно старела, особенно, как казалось им, в последние пару лет. Вера Васильевна была незлобива по натуре, и хотя коллеги по работе никогда не озвучивали мысли в ее адрес вслух, она читала их как по ладони. Вот вы бы обозлились, если бы на вас, мой читатель, свалили общественно-полезный труд, считая, что ни на что большее вы все равно дано уже не годитесь? Наверное, кто-то бы и обозлился. А кто-то бы и нет. Вера Васильевна нет. Свободное время у нее все равно оставалось – оно у всех, в общем-то, остается после всех дел, общественно полезных или не очень. В эти драгоценные часы она читала. Когда-то давным-давно, в советские еще времена, ей досталась по великому счастью, можно сказать, что в наследство от нежно относящейся к ней такой же одинокой соседки, полное собрание Библиотеки всемирной литературы. Вы помните, наверное, томики ее можно было достать, после того как сдашь энное количество макулатуры, ну или, что называется, по блату. У Веры Васильевны и ее соседки Нины Андреевны никогда не было столько макулатуры, чтобы собрать мировую литературу – но ей хватало, чтобы приобрести томики советских писателей. Блата у нее не было – какой там блат в самой обычной советской школе, что вы – да вы и сами все понимаете. А у Нины Андреевны блат был – была она уже давненько на пенсии, но в свое время служила секретарем у зампредседателя местного поселкома. А это, и вы, наверное, тоже понимаете, большое место – нет, не секретарское, конечно, а зампредседателя. И зампердседателя была на редкость раполагающая, можно даже сказать, душевная женщина, и привязалась к Нине Андрееевне, которую иначе как Ниночка не называла, как к родной сестре. Поэтому можно сказать, что блат был, а можно, что связи были, а можно, что просто очень повезло Нине Андреевне, а можно, что она попала под крылышко к хорошему человеку – как вам больше нравится, так и считайте.