Hettie’s Reflections – Blog Posts

Featured

Welcome to Hettie’s Reflections!

Hello! My name is Hettie, I was born and raised in Saint Petersburg, Russia, and I emigrated to the United States in October 1996. I live in Palatine, IL and work in Chicago.

I’ve been very active in the Russian blogosphere, and my American friends keep asking me when I am going to tell my story in English. Well, the time has come.

I am going to write my story for my granddaughter Nadia, and for all my American friends, who has been so supportive through all these years, and hope that my children, Igor, Vlad and Anna will help me through this journey.

My Russian blog used to have “a lot of everything”, because first, I just like to write a little something every day, reflecting on everything happening in the world around me, and second – because I believe that people trust me more knowing me as a person. Everything I’ve done in my life so far, and everything I am doing every day, made me – and still making me the person I am.

This being said, although this blog is intended mostly to record our family history, there will be still “a lot of everything” here. However, for those who is interested in the history solely, I will paste all the links to the Hettie’s Timeline page, which will hopefully allow to read all these entries in a chronological order.

The links to my interviews and videos (mostly professional) will be pasted on this page, and also for those who is interested what I am doing in my professional life, feel free to check out my blog The World of Data.

My blog Hettie’s Cooking is hardly a cooking blog, at least I do not update it often. However, some of my legendary recipes, like “Mom’s soup”, can be found there.

Enjoy 🙂

TIME Magazine: People Are Living Better

One more interesting article (I am catching up on my TIME Magazine reading for the past month)

The article addresses common dystopian fears that people are living longer but in worse health, thus straining the health system and taking more money from the rest of society.

And that’s another topic I was thinking about a lot recently. When I read books that describe life in a not-so-far-away past (both fiction and non-fiction, especially diary-based), I am constantly stumbling over descriptions of people of my age and even more of Boris’ age as “old” and “very old”, having trouble performing daily activities. And I find it encouraging that that’s a trend, not us being exceptions.

Full text below.

Continue reading “TIME Magazine: People Are Living Better” →

TIME Magazine: What Is a Democratic Socialist?

Interestingly, as it often happens when I am in Finland, I was thinking along the lines of this Time Magazine article. Each time I am here, I see and experience the outcome of a social system very different from the one we have in the US. I like what I experience, even though I see the cost of all of the things I like.

This article, however, emphasizes that Democratic Socialism is something different.

Full text below.

Continue reading “TIME Magazine: What Is a Democratic Socialist?” →

My Mom And Her Memories

It’s not even that my mom forgets things that happened many years ago, but the fact that she does not have real memories at all, but rather memories of the memories. She often combines several past events in one, or forgets the seqence of event entirely, like for example not remembering whether my children were born in the US or not. A couple of months ago she said that “I never told her anything about my first husband,” and would I tell her something about him, like what was his name, and who he was, and when we got married, and where he is now. I was more than shocked (I believe I blogged about it), but wrote everything down for her. For some reason, she seemed unhappy with what I wrote.

About two weeks ago, when she wanted to talk with me about her diaries, she mentioned that she found one of them, and she didn’t remember that she wrote it. I recognized the notebook when I saw it: that was the one I didn’t ever want to see again. She opened it and ask whether I remember how I yelled at her, and read one paragraph aloud. I told her that I indeed remembered. I didn’t ask here whether she remembered why did I yell at her, because she clearly didn’t. Then she said that she would type all the texts from this notebook on her computer (which was not a bad idea at all; she already did it with some of her diaries). And then she said that she was not going to change anything in her words, although now she thinks that she was wrong regarding “what she wrote about me” because “I am the best daughter ever.” To be honest, that was a tryly remarkable statement, because I would never imagine that she could take her words back, so I really wanted to aknowledge it.

Unfortunately, immediately after she said this, she added “as I mentioned, you never told me anything about your first husband, so I don’t know… it’s not about your Boris, is it?” I told her that it was indeed “about my Boris,” but she didn’t believe me. Now, adding two and two, I am beginning to think that she was reading her diaries, and could not imagine that she wrote all these horrible things about Boris and decidede I was married to someone else. Igor’s dad, apparently, had completely disappeared from her memories.

How I Got Accepted To School Number 30

In my recent historical posts (here and here), I described my situation by the end of the eighth grade: I wanted to transfer to School Number 30, but it was, technically speaking, forbidden because I was already attending another specialized school.

I can’t remember who told me to start attending one more math class at the same school: this one met twice a week and was taught by Mr. Maiselis, the most decorated math teacher in the whole city. He was teaching these classes to prospective students, which allowed him to assess everyone’s skills and pick and choose the best students for his upcoming 9th-grade class. There were always seven 9th-grade classrooms. Two were taught by Mr. Maiselis, two by Mr. Ilyin, two by Ms Kursish, and one by Ms. Klimwitsky.

There was some sort of rivalry between Maiselis’ classes and Ilyin’s classes, and everyone was keeping an eye on the school competition, even more than on citywide olympiads. But I learned about all of this later. At the time I am talking about, I was still fifteen, still attending the eighth grade, and still wanting to transfer. The reason I started to attend Mr. Maiselis’ classes was that I was hoping for his help with facilitating the process.

I think I was not the worst student, and when I got a chance to talk to Mr. Maiselis, he told me that a person in charge of math education on my district school board was a friend of his, and I should get an appointment with him and ask for an exception.

Looking at that situation from today’s perspective, I am unsure why my mom just let me do this. I remember that later she was telling someone that “she told me it’s up to me, and if I want it, I should figure this out.” That’s so out of her character that I can’t imagine why she would do that. Nevertheless, she left me to my own devices, and I went to the district school board, and asked for an appointment, and talked to this gentleman. First, he appeared to be very compassionate, but when he learned that I held several city olympiad diplomas, he exclaimed: why would I let you leave our district! Yes, an additional problem with that transfer was that I wanted to transfer out of my home district. Finally, he told me that he would sign the papers if I could convince my current math teacher and my homeroom teacher to sign a letter of recommendation for me.

I went back to my home school, pleaded with both teachers until they signed all the papers, then went back to the district office, and was finally accepted to School Number 30. I do not recall taking any entrance exams. I believe that Mr. Maiselis’s recommendation would suffice. My homeroom was 9-2. Vadim and Tolya were accepted as well. Vadim was in room 9-4, and his teacher was Mr. Ilyin; Tolya was in room 9-6, and his teacher was Ms Kursish. Can you believe I still remember all of these details?! That’s how important it was for me at that time!

Transferring to School Number 30 was one of the defining moments in my life, one of the events that changed its trajectory. I got an access to likely the best available secondary education, not only it STEM, but also in social studies and literature, even though, looking back, I am astonished seeing how one-sided was this best education. The environment I was immersed into fostered independent thinking (again, to certain extent only, but probably the best I could have at that time). I got to know many people whom I would never get to know otherwise. Most importantly, if not for School Number 30, it would be rather unlikely for me to even think about applying to the Leningrad State University, which means that none of my life would happen. There were very few decisions of life-altering decisions of that magnitude, and transferring to School Number 30 was the first of them.

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.

Pink Morning

My attempts to capture these subtle minutes of the sun just about to rise, this “here for just one minute” peach-pink…

Water For Elephants

Yesterday, I saw the musical Water for Elephants, and I could hardly wait to tell everyone about it! I liked it so much!!! I love circus. I know these days circus is a controvesial subject, especially when animals are involved. However, I have to admit, that I love circus the same way I loved it as a child, the same romantic love i still there. By the way, my mom never liked circus, and she avoided going to the circus with me, but aunt Kima loved it as enthusiastically as I, and we would often go together.

This was good old previous-turn-of-the-century circus, and the quality of the performance was not compromised for being “just a background for the story.” And the show has a drive (something I, surprisingly, didn’t see that much of a drive at Kinky Boots).

And now I want to read the book!

Navy Pier – First Time In A While

When my kids were kids, we used to go to Navy Pier a couple of times a year, even though we lived in the suburbs. Somehow, although technically speaking, I live closer to Navy Pier than I did back then, I only visited Navy Pier once without the kids, and it was for a Corporate Party two years ago.

I tried to take Nadia and Kira when they visited, but somehow more “cultural” activities took priority.

This time, Anna’s family came on June 19. It’s Nadia’s birthday, and Kira’s birthday was on June 15. Anna thought that rather than arranging my mom’s visit to them, they would come to Rogers Park to have a Chicago-side celebration. Conveniently, I have Juneteenth off, while Anna and John both had to work, so I told them they can work from my home while I take the girls to the Navy Pier.

It was pretty much like “old times” – we spent seven hours there! Nadia and Kira walked all the way from the Grand Red Line station with no complaints and loved every moment at the Navy Pier! The only thing they were a little bit scared of was a new Ferris Wheel (and I told them a story on our way there). One thing I didn’t know was that on the new Ferris Wheel, they take you for three rounds instead of one! The girls were not prepared :).

Then we did some rides

And then to the Children’s Museum, which has changed significantly since the time my kids were kids. More than half of the activities were new!

This was one of the few old ones
And this fountain is still in place 🙂

Oh, and the girls only started to argue during the last 15 minutes of our ride back home!

Other Cultural Events Of Last Week

On Wednesday, even though I had all this X-ray thing, I was on time for Kinki Boots in the James Nederlander Theater.

This was “as expected.” Very well staged, great music and voices. My neighbor said that that’s what she needed at that moment, amid all the nrgativities. I think I would enjoy it more if I weren’t constantly checking my phone for the X-ray reading results (which I actually received in the middle of the evening), and if I weren’t trying to figure out when I could pick up my prescription.

On Thursday, I went to the Members’ Third Thursday at the Art Institute. This is a new thing that started recently: the Members’ Bar is closed to everyone except those who purchased tickets. There is live music, a drink ticket, and light bites available for purchase. I thought it would be a nice, relaxing thing to do, but somehow it didn’t click with me. I checked it, and I probably would never do it again. The only positive thing was that I now know the Bar is inaccessible on the third Thursday of the month.

And finally, I went to the Haymarket Opera to David et Jonathas. I liked the first time I saw a performance by the Haymarket Opera, and was looking for another opportunity. I like this one significantly less than the previous one, and I do not think it was because of the concert version. Can’t really put a finger on it. I liked the music, the conductor, and the voices. I liked how the performance was positioned as “very timely for both Pride Month and Father’s Day.” Maybe it was just a rainy day 🙂

The Night Ministry “On the Frontlines” Series – 1

Shelter/Homelessness/Other Things That Are Wrong

This will be a long one, and I will start with my recent visit to the ODS.

When I was there last time, someone who shopped for dinner ingredients bought a jar of spread instead of real butter, and the moment I learned about it, I realized that Chicken Alfredo wouldn’t turn out as it should. Another, and more serious thing, was that when I came, all the residents were gone, since it was one of the first nice days! I do not think that was planned; it’s just that J., who had been my kitchen helper for many months, was gone, and she was the one who had asked for Chicken Alfredo. I knew that if she were still around, she would’ve stayed to wait for me, probably with a couple of her friends.

I left the dinner for the staff (they said that when the kids are back, they’ll eat everything), and, for the hundredth time, thought about whether it is worth coming so irregularly. Then N., a staff member who really cares about me, texted me asking when I was coming next time.

This next time was last Tuesday. Several days earlier, I asked her if she would mind asking the residents what they wanted, but I already knew that she wanted my baked salmon, and I knew I would end up making it. I also promised I would bring a Finnish berry pie (I promised to bake it there in May, but since there was nobody and no butter, I didn’t.)

Then, on Tuesday morning, I fell off the bike and hurt my hand. There was absolutely no way for me to cancel, but I texted N. and told her I would need help cutting and peeling potatoes. When I arrived, another volunteer had organized two kids to peel potatoes and actually taught them how to do it right (it was day one of my injury, and I couldn’t even demonstrate the techniques). With that, it could be an amazing experience, because the kids actually figured that out, and three people ended up peeling enough potatoes (just a little bit less than I would do if I weren’t incapacitated). Unfortunately, it was almost for nothing, because there was not a single drop of milk in either the kitchen fridge or the big storage fridge, and I only found it out when all the potatoes were cooked and mashed. It didn’t even occur to me to check, because milk was on the shopping list, and because we made mashed potatoes so many times that it was not even a question that someone wouldn’t know. Besides, milk has always been in the kitchen fridge, just because it has to be.

One of the staff members said they would go to the nearest Jewel-Osco to get some milk. It would be great if I could figure out the absence of milk right away, but … unfortunately, that was not the only problem. Instead of our usual half-fish “never frozen” salmon from ALDI, there was a large bag of frozen portions. When I opened the bag, I saw that they were indeed frozen and that individual pieces were of very different quality. I tried my best to make something with what I had, but when we took the salmon out of the oven, it was absolutely not what we expected. Well, it was edible, and that’s all I can say. The trip to Jewel Osco took 30 minutes, and I was even able to reheat mashed potatoes with milk, but once again, there was spread instead of butter.

I didn’t even announce that the dinner was ready because the results were miserable. I left my berry pie for everyone to eat, and went home. N. texted me several times the next day asking about my hand, so I gave her the full report, but I also knew it was not just about my hand. I knew she felt bad about the mix-up and was afraid I wouldn’t come again. I could have said that the ODS staff should have paid more attention to the shopping list, and I probably could even feel hurt, if not for one thing.

The thing was, while N and I were texting that morning, she accidentally replied to me with something she meant for someone else, and because of that, I knew there were some problems at the ODS that day. When I arrived, I still could tell that “something was going on.” All the staff waved off my concerns, but I could tell that dinner was definitely not their top priority that day. And that day was not an exception.

The ODS staff solved bigger problems every day, with more and more uncertainties coming up every day. And in general, homelessness in Chicago rises at an alarming rate, with fewer people trying to solve it.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw a man hiding in our recycling bin (he made an effort to hide when he saw me approaching, and I pretended I didn’t see him). Afterward, however, I saw him, and it was visible that he had just gotten out of the dumpster by the way he was brushing himself. His shoes were bright red and very memorable, which is why I noticed him around Jarvis Square several times. Then, I saw him sleeping under the overpass on one of my early morning bike rides (once again, because I noticed these shoes sticking out of the black cover). That was one of those moments when you feel incredibly guilty for having any problems at all, or worrying about anything at all, while one of your neighbors has no place to sleep. I thought that the next time I saw him, I would ask if I could help him in any way (he was not asking passersby for change), but I stopped seeing him immediately after that.

There are more and more homeless people around. The encampments along the lake are growing. At the same time, I see many businesses taking measures to keep the homeless away. Not only businesses, for that matter. For example, the so-often-mentioned lack of public restrooms is also rooted in the same issues. Recently, I stepped into the Target on State, which used to be one of the guaranteed places with public restrooms. I saw they were doing major remodeling, and when I walked to the bathrooms, I noticed the access code panel had been freshly installed. And do not take me wrong, I understand that the number of homeless people using these bathrooms for pretty much anything was alarming, and I understand that Target must have heard numerous customers’ complaints. I understand why so many people want “all this mess” to be out of sight – out of mind, but the problem does not disappear because of all these measures. I saw people sleeping on Michigan Avenue. I saw people sleeping in the grass, not even in the tents, along the lakefront. It does not look pretty. But how it looks is not the root cause of the problem.