Got some prints made of shots I took of the kids at the baby house. I am putting together some framed photos and a little photo book to leave with the staff as a thank you for all their help during my time with them. I teared up while picking out the pictures and again when I looked at the finished prints. These little buggers have really been impressed upon my heart and the idea of leaving them now, when I have no idea where they will all end up, is breaking my heart. I've kept these feelings at bay so that I could continue with my work and not just break down and cry everyday. However, as the days count down to my departure, I am finding it more difficult to stay strong.

What am I doing here?

This question has been on my mind as I am preparing to leave Ukraine in just 5 short weeks. I was just looking back at the title description of this blog and musing about how much broader my experiences have been than I originally imagined. My 'research' here has expanded to include looking at issue of occupational justice in the community. For those who aren't OTs and aren't following my jargon...that basically means that I have expanded my scope to not just learn about life for a child in an orphanage here, but to examine life for a child with a disability in any form and how the context of their environment supports or inhibits them from having the freedom to engage in activities that they deem meaningful for their lives.

I have been asked to present about my research at two Ukrainian universities in the next few weeks and sitting down to try and compress all that I have learned and seen into a 15 min. powerpoint presentation has proved daunting. I find myself wanting to compartmentalize my experiences to simplify it but the more I try to separate all the things I have learned, the more I see the connections between them.

One interesting piece I am hoping to use in my presentations is a commentary about the inaccessibility of the public spaces in town. I am going to take photos and videos of how someone in a wheelchair (for example) would need to travel to get down one street. There is no consistency in repair requirements so one shop owner can repair the sidewalk in front of his shop and create a curb...the other can make a curb cut (small ramp to allow wheelchair to pass easily). The result is that there is a ramp to cross one side of the street and then a giant curb on the other side, so I have actually seen people in wheelchairs ride in the street because it is impossible to navigate the sidewalks. Also, the trend is to use pavers for the sidewalks right now and I can only imagine how uncomfortable that would be to ride over in a wheelchair..not to mention how dangerous for someone with a visual impairment (one paver sticking up and its a recipe for a fall!).

Я українкая

Okay, NOW it is truly official. I am a Ukrainian girl. I know that some of my other posts may have alluded to my ongoing assimilation here but this morning something happened that really, I think, means that I have made a rather complete transition. Okay readers, settle down, I am going to ease your suspense :)

It all started with a puddle. Not just an ordinary puddle. This one was special in a number of ways. This puddle refused to conform to the generally held belief that puddles should be round in shape, and located out of doors. Oh no, this puddle wanted to be indoors, more specifically it wanted to live in my kitchen and it didn't want to restrict itself to a tidy (and easy to eliminate) pool under the broken faucet from whence it came. Instead, this highly evolved puddle knew what to do to prolong its slippery life. It decided to expand and snake across my kitchen floor and hide parts of itself under my refrigerator, my heavy cabinets and my kitchen table.

I gathered an arsenal of towels, sponges, mops and even (in one last desperate move) bravely traversed the sodden battlefield to turn off the water source for the whole apartment. Nothing worked. That pesky perseverant puddle just would not quit! HELP! I cried. Come quick! I shouted into the phone. But oh no! Another snag… my landlady is in the hospital…she has just given birth!! Thusly, she cannot come help today but, ‘maybe tomorrow’. Wha? Tomorrow???…I quickly struggle to explain that no, she should really not come try to help me tomorrow after just giving birth! ‘Okay Sarah, tomorrow we will send someone to help you.’

Loyal readers….you may be wondering to yourself just now, ‘what bit about this story is telling me how Ukrainian my dear friend Sarah has become?’ Your confusion is warranted because the part of the story that made me realize I was Ukrainian was what happened at the end of this scene.

This morning I woke up to an early phone call from the sister of my landlady who announced in very rapid Russian that she was standing outside my front door and she had a repairman with her. So I groggily went to open the door so they could help me tame the rouge puddle in my kitchen. Now, in America if a repairman comes to my house I do my very best to stay out of his way but stay close enough to just keep an eye on what is happening. I have even had repairmen come to my apartment here in Ukraine before and that is just want I did. Today, though, was different. As soon as he went to work and she sat down to wait I found myself filling my electric kettle and beginning to arrange some biscuits and dried fruits on a plate. I found myself setting the table with three teacups and asking if they would care for some tea. Then…the part that REALLY proves I am a Ukrainian girl now is that when they both politely declined I KNEW in my head that they were just being polite and that I should ask at least one more time to discern if they really would like some. So, sure enough I poured myself a cup and asked again if they would care for some tea. And…then they both said yes and we all sat down together and had a lovely little breakfast of fruits, biscuits and cashews. The repairman would do a little work and then sit down to sip his tea and then go back to work. This all seemed utterly appropriate at the time. I found myself just sitting at my table thinking about how funny it would be to find myself sitting down to a lovely cup of tea with my repairman in the US. HA! To think, it took a puddle for me to become aware of my cultural assimilation. I told you it was no ordinary puddle ;)