Category Archives: Ukrainian stories
Shall I Try to Reach A Higher State of Consciousness or Drink the Cherry Wine?
I told my sister the other day that I was profoundly interested in exploring my solitude, now imposed on all of us. I told a friend that I was embracing solitary confinement with sadness but that I was going to … Continue reading →
Blue Christmas, Blue Birds, Blue Water
I walked to church yesterday for the Blue Christmas service. I wore that very expensive coat I bought twenty years ago as a Christmas present for myself, and, at the time trembled as I gave the card to the cashier, … Continue reading →
The Blue Whales Are Coming
I sat out there in the garden just a while ago. And while the world outside was raging in hot winds and fires and pestilence and murders and all sorts of heinous human things, in the garden still, now and … Continue reading →
Chrysanthemums, The Beautiful, and Dmitri Hvorostovsky
There are some people, when they die, whether you know them personally or not, when they die someone digs a deep hole in your heart. Makes you feel dizzy like all the blood just drained out, like all the evil vampires just got you. Makes you cold and frightened uncertain of where your hands or feet or face are. Continue reading →
Posted in Always the Garden, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Eating, Drinking, Cooking, Ukrainian stories, Uncategorized
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Tagged Dmitri Hvorostovsky
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The White Trees of Easter
There was a sea of madness surrounding me or maybe I was the sea. Then morning, how still, how white, how blue, how beautiful it all was. Why did I go and buy all those flowers the last minute on … Continue reading →
Ukrainian Christmas Missing
Like a missing person it seems I will never find Ukrainian Christmas again. It is now almost gone completely, even from my memory. How to bring it back again? I can’t even find a real Ukrainian person to talk to. … Continue reading →
The Scorching Table of Thanks
via Daily Prompt: Scorched I remember pictures. That burning child in Vietnam 1972. All the scorched things in this earth on her little child face. My front lawn 1995, just back from Ukraine but elated, thinking maybe the war was … Continue reading →
This Savage Place
Almost all the leaves blew off the maple last night. Suddenly Indian summer, the prolonged weird heat just vanished and cold and wind took its place. My mother used to hate the wind. She stood at the doorway howling at … Continue reading →
Easter Lilies, Vodka, Mother’s Babka
Easter has come and gone, or has it? Like Christmas it doesn’t just fly in and out like a bat in the night, brushing against your face and hair, making you scream and jump with your stupid human fright. And, … Continue reading →
Bacon and the Bed of Roses
Running late again. What’s new? I always make it on time, a little less for wear. About a block from the bus stop I smell the delicious scent of bacon frying or maybe already on someone’s fork hovering before their … Continue reading →
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