Act Three, the return to Volgodonsk is off to a rocky start. Life, at this point, is a beautiful mess. I have mixed emotions; I don’t know where to begin.

I now have four stamps in my passport with trains on them. This makes me smile. Strange, maybe, but I love stamps in my passport. I also love how the European ones have a picture of the mode of transportation by which you entered or exited the country. Four trains.

After hopping my 17 hour train out of the smelly hole that is Zaporozhe, Ukraine, I arrived in Morozovsk, Russia. I was greeted by the smiling face of my fantastic Russian papa, Vladimir. Oh, the joy of coming home to someone that loves you. As if this was not enough… he let me drive home! First day back to the Mother Land and I got to drive a car. Delight!

My arrival to my lovely apartment entailed balloons, flowers, and one very happy roommate. Again, the joys of coming home to someone who loves you. My return to Russia has brought several other delightful and not so delightful things…

There was a wedding. It was out-of-town. My Russian pseudo-sister got married to the handsome Oleg. Pop was short on qualified drivers. Thus, I was enlisted. Initially, I was quite excited about the prospect of driving for 9ish hours over two days. The next time you get the opportunity to be the driver in a car with one Russian roommate, a Ukrainian mom, a Russian aunt, and a Russian babushka, do not, I repeat, do not accept. Holy headache. As if the quality of the Russian roads, one bad knee, and crazy Russian drivers are not enough…

In the future, I will be flying solo, and in cases of passengers, they are not allowed to comment on the quality or speed of driving unless they actually know how to drive! In general, this will make for a quiet car. Despite the pain and suffering of my far too long journey, I now have free range use of the lovely white Toyota Camary wagon with its steering wheel on the right-hand side. Road trips are in the works, stay tuned.

The city turned off the hot water. Again. Three days. I now know that cold water showers are far more painful in April than in July. When I say painful, I actually mean painful. It should also be noted, apparently, it is terribly bad for one’s health to take cold showers in April. You should never do anything in the presence of a Russian that is bad for your health. Consider yourself warned.

I made a trip to Rostov with one happy roommate and purchased a United States Visa. In a week or so, we will see if they will actually give us a visa, or if they will just keep my money with a smile. This trip also entailed a jaunt to a restaurant titled, “American Pizza.” It should be called, “Not so American Pizza” instead. I saw Lenin and Pushkin too. They are still standing tall and proud as ever.

Most exciting of all involves babies. (1) There is a new one in my family. Last week, the second of my two brothers and his lovely wife successfully welcomed Charles Franklin Rankin III into the world. Charlie is brilliant, just like the other two fellows that he was named after. Being far away is hard on this one… worse than missing Thanksgiving and Christmas. I feel like I am missing life. In a potential attempt to find some solace from all that I am missing, my little family (me and the Katya) welcomed Sam into our home. Sam is a puppy. He is real; he lives in my apartment, and he is Russian. He is also brilliant.

I find myself crazy contented and painfully miserable. My work responsibilities upon my return to the HOPE Russia Volgodonsk office are very much not what they once were. They are not what they once were, meaning, I actually have them now. Data analysis and numbers crunching are a thing of the past. Well, I am still doing those things too, but I am now the eyes and ears of the boss and the boss’ boss. Being the eyes and ears of the man is not a particularly pleasant job. I am still waiting for the pile of messiness that this work has buried me in to sort itself out. It has to get better. Right?

Work is painful at the moment. Home is delightful. I keep trying to remind myself that work is not my life. I am trying to disconnect. It is hard. I find myself wondering why I am here trying to help these people if they don’t want my help. I keep finding myself wondering why Russians are so stubborn.

On the flip side of the coin…

I have family here. I still love this place. I feel like I am home. I hung out with a two little boys this morning that think that I am about the greatest thing since sliced bread. I have a puppy sleeping in my lap that loves me in unexplainable amounts. Hugs are in abundance.

My heart is happy. But… I am emotionally exhausted. Life is hard. I had a talk with Leah, my fantastic American roommate in the Zaporozhe, just before I left. We talked about how life will be different in Russia, compared to what it was in Ukraine. I said that it will be harder, that life in Russia is just really hard. I knew this. I prepared for this. All the same, I forgot how hard it was.

I am tired. Really tired. I am seeing now, more than ever, how swell life in the Land of Liberty really is. Please, do not take the little things for granted. I am over here missing them desperately. Take a minute and enjoy them for the rest of us that are here in the not quite so lovely places.

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