The Wedding Crashers

That's us. We crashed a wedding.
We had wanted to go dancing our last night on the island. We went for a walk and followed the music. Then we got to the ocean. There were lights and lanterns and beautifully adorned tables. These festivities were set among pools of sharks and sea turtles and sting ray fish. This wedding was breathtaking.
We helped ourselves to some hors d'oeuvores.
And mingled. Like good wedding guests.
We were about to get to the dance floor when we were stopped by some security guards.
"Please leave" they said. So we left. For a while. And returned. We wanted to dance. This time we didn't get as far, and were escorted away.
I dont get it. If somebody crashed my wedding I would be so pleased; I would let them eat cake.

Take Two

We played shuffleboard in the sunset.
Read in the pool for hours.
Floated down the lazy river, as lazy as can be.
Danced in a brick paved street.
Swam with jelly fish in ocean.
We were in the Bahamas, and just returned.
It was what a honeymoon should be.

Lost in Translation

I want Ukrainian people to come to faith, and I don't want my someday-children to think their mama isn't very intelligent. Therefore, I'm learning Ukrainian.

I have had some moments of glory, like at the market when I order "dvi charne buhanki"- two black breads.

I have had some moments not quite so great, like the time I greeted my mother-in-law into my home for the very first time, "sprizdom d'domu"- welcome to my prosthetic leg.

I don't have high hopes of her opinion of my intellect, but "ya natyskayu na"- I press on.

A Bedtime Conversation

Miriam: Can you pass me a pillow.
Bogdan: Here you go. Do you want to watch a movie?
Miriam: No, I'm pretty tired.
Bogdan: Can I get you some water?
Miriam: No, but I do want coffee in the morning!
Bogdan: OK. Goodnight Sweetie.
Miriam: Goodnight, I love you.

There's nothing interesting about this conversation except for this:
it was all in Ukrainian

The Donut Princess

There's a little girl at church
whose frame is not nearly as round as her face
and whose face is not normally as round as that of a walrus.
only on Sundays.
when she drowns in frilly lace dresses,
her face under the powder of bavarian creme donuts.
Back and forth she goes, between her seat and her treasure box,
with no regard for the populace around her.

It's by her influence alone, I'm sure of it, that her family comes back again and again.

The Barber Shop.

 Welcome to the Bilskiy Barber Shop: home of where my husband gets a haircut.

Today has been a photo documented experience: due to our lack of spare mirror situation. 

Were nervous.

"Sweety, please, this is a face you can trust."

So here we begin.

It goes on and on.

And on.

Consultation.

Missed a spot!

We think we like it.

My husband is so handsome.

The Mohican Forest

We hid far away from the world
Built a polyester home in the trees
Fell asleep to the flow of the river
And awoke to french press on the fire.

Morning Rituals

My husband wakes up long before the sun to tend to his Greek lexical studies, his exegetical Scripture meditations, and his discection of the care of souls. Once I eventually wake up, I do as I please, and the following is a typical early morning dialogue.
"Sweetie, really quick, did I tell you I got a great deal on milk at the store?" yes my love
"Sweetie, want to hear something funny I thought of? Little Tima from church calls me 'Meowmeowm'." That's funny my love
"Sweetie, do you think if I wear my pink dress today it will go with the new sandals you got me?" yes my love
"Sweetie do you think I'll look pretty?" Of course my dear
And so it goes on, and on and on, until eventually he leaves for work. And then I wait, and wait and wait, for his return, so I can tell him even more wonderful and interesting things.

A Synopsis on Marriage

I dont think I have any words in which to tell of the life of man and wife: such hours are beautiful to live, yet complicated to describe, so I will leave most to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that my husband is as kind as he is wise, and our home is filled with genuine strife and happiness, for my tender hope has been realized. For once he was just the man at school with the purple pants, who stole my heart with a wink. And now we are one.

Marriage is a walk in the park. Most of the time figuratively, sometimes only literally.

The nearby park is where we go to have some very serious conversations. The other night there was taut discourse.  We sat on a bench and I cried. He eventually wiped my tears. We kept walking.

The Vintage Bridal Shop

This happens here.

There is a vintage bridal shop located a little ways down from our place. Its a little store front filled with many beautiful and elegant vintage bridal gowns. This boutique is every girls' dream. These dresses are transformed by a seamstress named Miranda, who owns the shop, and turns out to be one of the sweetest and most darling friends I have made in this new place.

That being said, I think someone is out to get her.

Just the other night, already past dark, she closed up shop and went to her car. A brief moment before she turned the door key, she saw a bright light getting closer. Some could say she was saved by a thread. It collided head-on into her car, and then drove off.

It was a fancy new car, driven by a fancy young woman. Upon deliberation, I have concluded that this is no accident. Someone is out to get Miranda.

A bridezilla.
A maid-of-honor from hell.
A threatened competitor.
A psychotic maniac.

Regardless, it has now become a dangerous world for this sweet sweet shopkeeper. In due time, justice will be served, and the perp wont look so good in lace satin doilies.

On the Loose Again

You already know little Johnny. He is a "redheaded boy of 4, shirtless, too skinny to keep his pants up." A broken chain with each new day, and incredibly unsupervised. I saw him again just the other day, on a walk with my husband; he was on the loose. This time he was free riding on a scooter.

Goodbye freckle-faced smile. Hello angry mother who is stuck at the other side of the red light, screaming from the passenger's seat.

When she realized a crowd had gathered, her demeanor changed. "Hi little Johnny, where have you been?" she comes near and crouches at eye level.

"I-I-I-" Little Johnny has a stutter.

The story comes out. He has escaped from day camp, all are looking for him. How can you blame him?

Schwinn/ Lose Situation

Last weekend I joined a bicycle gang. I rolled with the toughest thugs around: my husband, my sister, and her husband. On our old school schwinns.... we ran this town.

Hassling those who owe us money and have done us wrong [namely Mitch]

Stealing from innocent shopkeepers [a local shop was giving away free ice cream]

Buying gangster attire [went vintage thrift shopping]

Sharing strategy on thug-like behavior [stayed up late talking, laughing, looking at wedding pictures].

Then fate caused us to disperse. Half of us are here all alone. The other half of our gang is currently driving to the other end of the country, ready to tear apart bears with their own hands, ready to find a new town to run. I cant say I'm pleased, but there are two schwinns here eagerly awaiting another visit.