During the multi-day layover in Moscow, I had the companionship of Svetlana, the woman who was working with the United Way to help fund my visit. She took me on tours all over the city. One of my favorite places we visited was an old church, built in the early 1700's. It was a sweet butter yellow on the outside. The interior floor was paved with large, rough flag stone and partially melted snow and ice brought in by careless crowds. As I entered, I passed a large group of people surrounding a traditional Russian choir. The walls were lined with gold encased icons. Beautiful haunted faces peered out from their metal wrappers. An old Babushka, dressed in a house dress and woolen coat with a scarf tied neatly around her head, bowed herself to the floor repeatedly, knealing before an icon, and kissing the ground beneath him. Candles burned everywhere, but still the place was cold and dark. After I had investigated the church, I turned to leave and discovered that what I thought had been an assemblage to hear a choir, was really a funeral. Three simple wooden caskets, each draped with large black shawls stood in the middle of the crowd. Dozens of red carnations lined the inside each casket, the occupants exposed from the waist up. It was so... real, and sweetly beautiful. It took my breath away. It wasn't until I looked up and saw a man on the other side of the room really truly glaring at me, that I realized I was staring and needed to not be one of those tourists. When I got outside, the sun was shining.
Sunshine today, and lots to do. I've not been feeling great between last night and today. No workout for me.
My sis it here. She'll kick me into shape!
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