Mosow and It's People.

Moving into Moscow has been quite an experience. Although I've only been here a little over a week, I feel as if I have been here for long time. Only now and then do I feel the awkwardness of the newcomer. Particularly when I am interacting with strangers here in this strange town. Morrison had it right, "people are strange when you're a stranger."
Yesterday morning, I was waiting at the shuttle stop for the Moscow Valley Transit free shuttle service, dressed up a bit for my first day of teaching, sweating in my button up blouse at the thought of standing before a room full of freshman, reading a novel for my nonfiction workshop class and catching a back draft of warm air off the wheaty hills. It was the first time in months that I dabbed a little bit of essential oil on my neck and wrists and the smell seemed overwhelming even though it was very faint. As I'm plowing through a memoir of childhood lived in Idaho, The Enders Hotel by Brandon Schrand (Coordinator of my program at UI) and waiting for my ride, this obnoxious yellow-jacket gets and starts taking interest in the book, or maybe it was my wrists, as if I was a freshly cracked cardboard bowl of fried chicken.
So I start doing my discrete 'leave me alone dance' which entails walking forward a few steps and moving my hands around while kindly asking the yellow-jacket to "Go find a flower or something." I have to do this trot up and down the gravel sidewalk a few times before the bee decides to go find some Peonies somewhere. Of course, I am afraid he has landed in the nest of hair on my head or in my vest so I am still paying close attention to the space around me and my clothes. So focused on being sure the bee is gone, that I don't notice a car has pulled up and stopped at the stop sign with the window rolled down.
"You ok?" the guy asks.
I am a bit startled because, in all honesty, I don't think that I am flailing over the yellow-jacket. Nothing that looks out of the ordinary as far as I am concerned but here is this guy, who seems to intuitively know that I am a bit distressed. I tell him it was a bee and he goes about his day.
Ok. Now that's just sweet. So onto today...
I had to stop into the local eye glass shop to get new pads put on my glasses. So, I park my bike outside the window, left unlocked with my bag in my basket and walk inside. The lady working has a slight limp and is obviously not getting around as well as she might like. I have class in fifteen minutes but am patient, happy to have a nice day to ride my bike to school. She takes care of everything efficiently, perfectly, charges me a few bucks for a new case and sends me on my way with a little friendly conversation and welcome to the city.
As I walk out the door, a woman passes by me and says "Great glasses! And a beautiful woman to go with them." Smiling, she keeps walking and says something to every person she passes on her way down the block. She's not crazy, no, she's happy actually. Happy in the way that Portland people used to be.
I'm not baggin' on the Portland folk because 99% of you reading this are likely of the Portland breed (as I am). But the whole reason I came running back from Seattle (besides Sept. 11th interrupting my sabbatical) was due to the friendly nature of the Portland horde. Seriously, what I loved (past tense) about Portland was the way people recognized each other. "Hello" or "Nice shirt!" or "I like your hair" or even something as impersonal as "Good day for a walk!" This is the whole reason I returned (and to go to school). And here I am, over 300 miles from Portland and I have found it again. A city that recognizes each other and I love it!
Is friendliness lost with the growth of a city? I'm curious. Or is it just the kind of community that a city creates? Maybe a kind of persona that a group of people collectively decide to embody? Whatever it is, I am grateful to be a part of this community. I feel as if all the doors opened on the journey to where I am and so far, nothing has indicated this decision wasn't the right one.

Moscow, Moscow, Moscow...

I've arrived...

Since showing up in Moscow with my U-haul trailer packed full of accumulated odds and ends, I've experienced the great hospitality of the local folk. Betty, my sweet overtly religious piano instructing neighbor, showed up on my doorstep Saturday in 100 degree heat with a plate of veggies. "I would've baked cookies" she said "but, its just too hot, so welcome to the neighborhood. Here's some veggies from the farmers market."
Sweet huh? I had just come back from the farmer's market myself. Nugget and I tromped down there in the heat of the morning and got there just before closing. I scurried over to buy a few tomatoes and the guy behind the counter said to me, "Grab as much as you can for a dollar. It's gotta go." So there I was fiendishly filling this box with a bunch of produce: Cantaloupe, blueberries, cucumbers, zucchinis, squash, and tomatoes. "Five bucks." he said when I finished. The thing was, I had to lug that full box all the way back home, which entails going up one very steep hill. Since I have no upper arm strength I balanced that damn box on my head the whole way. About a mile and a half. I thought about the women in the Sahara who carry water on their heads or backs for many more miles regularly. Although I felt like the town weirdo with that box on my head, it made me consider why us Americans don't carry more on our heads. Is it a pride thing. Or am I just behind the times and don't have my rolling-cart.
Anyway, my landlords and next door neighbors on the other side are quite the opposite of Betty but just as friendly. They have loaned me their bike for the week so I can get to and from campus until I get my own ride. They invited me over for ice cream on one of these oh so exhausting days. They are dropping off a box of my things at Goodwill today and they have sent me links to god-knows-how-many resources in town. From local veterinarians to the Lentil Festival (happening this week), I've got plenty of local digs to check out.
And this week, I am in Comp. Camp with about twenty other TA's. We are essentially learning how to deal with incoming freshman. Now, I've taught women transitioning out of prison classes on Life Skills, Communication, Healthy Relationships, and Self Identity. But I am terrified of teaching incoming freshman. How does an instructor contend with the age of IPODs and Myspace?