Wordweavings, Japanese origami cranes, VWMC...

Jeanette, Minister of Music at FLC once said, "Life is anything but boring at First Lutheran." Looking back at one month and a half since my last post, it's hard to agree more. From October 30 to November 22, the church displayed "Wordweavings"--ten-meter-long paper scrolls made by German Canadian artist Brigitte Potter-Mael. The programme of the exhibition included presentations and workshops. Then, the Japanese students who visited First Lutheran early October came with an idea to make "senbazuru"--a thousand origami cranes of red and white paper, colours of Canadian and Japanese flags, symbolizing friendship between the two countries. Officially making of the cranes started on N

ovember 15 in the First Lutheran Church and continued for almost two weeks with the installation of senbazuru on December 5.

Another memorable event was the practice of the Vancouver Welsh Men's Choir on November 21. I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for almost four hours to enjoy this one of the best choirs in Canada, not just British Columbia.

Last Sunday our own choir had the last performance of this year and there will be no choir practices on Thursdays until mid-January, meaning that it's going to be quiet evenings. On the other hand, it's good as there will be no need for the choir members to drive to the church through the cold, dark, and sometimes snow. At least, we had a wonderful time last Thursday after the practice at our pre-Christmas party.

Next week is the time to decorate the Christmas tree, just ten days before Christmas. It should be a very interesting and unique time.

Jerome, Zamyatin, Orwell, Bradbury

I've got amazing powers of observation
Pink Floyd Nobody Home

I read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 when I was thirteen or fourteen years old--the book in Russian translation was in my parents' library. I liked it a lot, but to me the novel seemed too pessimistic; after all, like the majority of the Soviet Union's population, I was brought up to believe that the humanity was just one step away from the luminous future of total prosperity and happiness. So, I thought of Fahrenheit 451 as a wonderful piece of science fiction whose author just happened to be a nihilist. I read all short stories that were included into the book. One of them, The Murderer, was quite memorable partly because the narration had an unexpected humorous tone, and I brought my friends and myself to hysterical laughter reading it to them. Yet, the characters, events and technological fantasies seemed in many cases, like The Fox and the Forest of 1951, improbable or irrelevant--it still was just a fiction albeit scientific, same as The Hour of Bull (1968) by Ivan Efremov (the novel was banned in the USSR in 60s and 70s; I really appreciated it when I had a chance to get it into my hands, but found his The Andromeda Nebula of 1957 too rosy and boring despite the fact that it was highly acclaimed by the Soviet literary officialdom), Stanislaw Lem's Return from the Stars (1961), The Ugly Swans (1972) by the Strugatsky brothers, Isaac Asimov's stories, and others. That was one of the reasons why eventually I lost my interest to the science fiction genre in the early 1980s, but I never forgot those books--they played an important role in forming my philosophic views.

Then I lived through the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the first four years of the chaos and turmoil of the post-Soviet Russia. My family and I were very fortunate to stay in Japan for two years. Since 1997 we have been residing in Canada. It was amazing to witness how rapidly new technologies were changing the daily reality, lifestyle, and psychology of the society and individuals. That was when those books I had read so many years ago started ringing some new bells. Ray Bradbury's The Murderer, published in 1953, sounds like a 2009 story or a news report about somebody who decided to rebel against being wired and online 24/7/365. Ray Bradbury with an astonishing precision predicted what kind of detrimental effects could be brought about to the human nature and behavior by technology. That was impressive enough to revisit his ideas as well as other serious sci-fi writers. Then, I finally read 1984. Despite the fact that it was greatly influenced by Yevgeny Zamiatin's novel We, George Orwell taps into his own power of observation which brings him among other things a foresight of a dispute over the Arctic between the "super-states." However, for the sake of fairness, it should be noted that Zamiatin himself was not completely original in his view on the future of the humankind--allegedly he was familiar with Jerome K. Jerome's (I read his Three Men in a Boat in Russian translation in mid-70s and in English several years ago--one of the best comic books ever written) The New Utopia (1891) and borrowed some ideas from this work. However, it's unlikely that Zamiatin would have included Jerome K. Jerome's concepts into his writing if he had totally disagreed with them; same applies to Orwell. It means that they all, through studying history and observing their contemporary societies, built extrapolations and projections of the future and came to the similar conclusions. And the works of their predecessors confirmed that they were on the right track.

It looks like life is finally catching up with the best pieces of science fiction of 50s and 60s and many of them read like today's accounts. But the work of the observant mind never stops--even the popular culture in the last 10-15 years (films like Blade Runner, Fortress, Outbreak, Twelve Monkeys, Gattaca, The Matrix, Artificial Intelligence: AI, Minority Report, I Robot, The Island, Children of Men to name the few) created a very detailed picture the human civilization can turn into within 100-200 years. This picture doesn't seem very appealing, but it probably shouldn't concern us, should it? Aren't these merely futuristic fantasies of pessimistic culturati, which have no chance to come true? Time will tell, but at least we have been warned.

141 days.

You wake up just shortly before seven. Morning routine, breakfast. No, I forgot--you don't make breakfasts any more, you just have milk shakes. Before you leave, you give our son instructions for the day mainly to make sure that he won't sleep in. Around eight you are at work. I won't call you before nine, because I know that you are normally very busy in the morning. When I finally hear your voice on the phone, you will be telling me about your morning, about our cat who always barges into our bedroom at six or even earlier to see the manager to complain that he's been waiting for his meals for too long, all night, to be exact; about your and Dmitri's evening the day before. I am ready to listen to you for hours, but you need to get back to work. We may briefly get in touch after your lunch, but most likely I won't be able to call you until you come home or even later, when you and Dmitri finish your dinner. It is a blessing that I can talk to you on the phone, but it simply can't replace the joy and happiness of seeing you every day, enjoying our breakfasts or dinners together, when all three of us discuss a book or a film; it can't replace talking to you looking into your beautiful eyes, or just sitting beside you in silence, having your head on my shoulder. So, evenings are the worst part of the day when I, again and again, come back to reality that I can't go home to be with you. 141 days. Driving ten hours a day at 100 km/h for one hundred and forty one days theoretically I could have made three and a half travels around the world covering 140,000 kilometers, but it's still not long enough to conquer these mere five or seven kilometers that separate us. Even if I walked, it would take me just one hour and a half to reach you. 141 days--gone, will never come back.

Happy Thanksgiving

One of the famous novels by Strugatsky brothers has a title "Monday Begins on Saturday." This year, my Thanksgiving (which falls on Monday) began on Saturday. Late afternoon, when I least of all expected it, I was visited by Gina and Suzanne. Gina brought her mother along to meet with me and show her the church. Irina came around six, and then, after work, Dmitri joined us for dinner. He didn't feel well, so we decided that it would be better for him to go back home rather then stay in the church. Irina drove him to Joice station and was back shorty; we spent a nice and quiet evening together.

Sunday morning, after breakfast, I was busy preparing for the service--I was performing with the choir and playing a duet with Jeanette. To my surprise, I saw Bill M.--he accompanied Tomoyo, a Japanese student from the Friday's group, who wanted to attend the service. Everything went really well that day, but Irina had to go home almost right away. For about two hours I stayed in the office, and when the Chinese congregation's service was over, I moved up to my room. Around 6 p.m. it became very quiet, but I was startled by the knock at my door--it turned out that Gina and Suzanne brought a little bit of Thanksgiving dinner from Gina's Mom. That was so sweet, but it wasn't the last visit for that day. Just half an hour later, Olga called and offered to see me with her boyfriend Vincent--they hadn't had dinner yet and were thinking to bring pizza. In about forty minutes, they were in the church. It was a nice treat and, most importantly, Vincent was just back from his native France where he had stayed for more than a month, so there were a lot to talk about.

Monday, on Thanksgiving day, I was able to see Irina only in the evening--she had to stay with Dmitri--and then she came again on Tuesday. That was the first time since June we could see each other four days in a row. Thank you... And a Happy Thanksgiving!

The Little Hedgehog in the Fog

One evening, when I stayed in the church's office longer than usual and it was quite a late hour to call my family, I decided to search YouTube for a couple of animated films produced in the USSR, Treasure Island and Adventures of Captain Vrungel, which were very popular in 1980s--I felt like watching them again. As it usually happens in the Internet universe, one search lead to another and I ended up on the site rating Soviet and Russian animated films. I was amazed and pleased to discover how many respondents put on the best spot The Little Hedgehog in the Fog of 1975. This 10-minute film based on Sergei Kozlov's script, in 2003 was voted "No. 1 animated film of all time." I always loved this deceivingly simple but profoundly philosophic and highly poetic work, where answers are intended to be found, not just given away. In 1981, my mother happened to buy for my younger sister a book of short stories by Sergey Kozlov titled The Little Hedgehog in the Fog. I don't remember if I had already seen the film--I don't think it makes any difference--but when on one of my visits to my parents this book accidentally got into my hands and I read two-three stories, I felt like I found Atlantis or something. I borrowed the book to show my friends at the Asian Studies Department--most of us lived in the same dormitory. It was returned to my room a month or so later with visible signs that it had changed many hands. "Man, it's pure Zen," was all one of my fellow students, who was the first I gave the book to, could say. It is wonderful that this masterpiece is available on YouTube with English subtitles.



Another work that is considered one of the best animated films is There Once Was a Dog.



The Soviet and post-Soviet animators created a large number of outstanding films many of which have become an integral part of the cultural identity and contributed into the contemporary folklore. This short account would be incomplete without mentioning three films about Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends--Winnie-the-Pooh, Winnie-the-Pooh Goes Visiting, Winnie-the-Pooh And the Day of Concerns Part 1 and Part 2. Understandably translation is incapable to deliver all nuances of the narration and dialogues, yet the English subtitles these films are coming with are giving a pretty good grasp of the jokes and the language fabric.

P.S. After reading Jakes comment, I decided to add one more animated film which doesn't need translation at all. It's a very cute, warm and touching story. I always loved it to tears.

Week Nineteen. Konnichi-wa

This is what happens when a blog gets neglected; instead of short and nice posts--easy to write, easy to read--the account of even major things that happened over a week turns into a lengthy and heavy narration, but at least I can take this off my shoulders.

It was expected that the week would be busy, and was it indeed. On Monday, after Jeanette finished her practice, I went to see her with my music book. "Perfect timing," she said, "I started wondering if we were going to play today." We played two or three times, without major mistakes and the piece sounded beautiful--it was ready for the Thanksgiving service. We decided to play again on Wednesday, just once.

Wednesday, at 9:30 I was supposed to meet with a group of exchange students from Japanese university Ritsumeikan. They started arriving around twenty to ten. It was a beautiful sunny morning and I met them at the entrance on the office side of the building. After a mandatory group picture, I invited them inside. Our conversation lasted for almost two hours. They were already familiar with the story--most of them had read July's article in Los Angeles Times--but nevertheless they were interested to hear it from me. I told them briefly about my family's life in Russia, Japan and Canada. Then there were questions and the students were asking mostly why I chose to study Japanese language, what I did in Japan and what my memories of the time my family and I lived in Japan were. At the end of the meeting, they asked me what I thought of Japanese manga (comics) and anime. It turned out that as a group project they were thinking of turning the story into a manga or anime. I can't wait to see what they will come up with.

Shortly after the students had left, I was visited by K.T. and R.C., my former Japanese colleagues from UBC. I've worked with them for many years--both are wonderful teachers and amazing people. We had a lovely chat over Japanese lunch and decided that we should meet again some weekend so that the whole family could be together. Actually, on that day Dmitri came to the church around 2 p.m., and Irina joined us after work. Dmitri had a rushed dinner and left for his classes. Irina didn't have much time either--she was supposed to attend a membership committee meeting in the co-op, so after 6:30 it was just me, so I spent the remainder of the evening in the office.

Next day, I had a meeting with Jack B., Professor Emeritus, University of Regina, and his daughter. He wrote me a letter in June and we talked on the phone several times; also, we had been in touch by email. He was visiting Vancouver on a family business and wanted to stop by to see me. To my surprise, the professor greeted me in Russian--he studied it in 1940s. We spoke at least one hour and a half and it was just an unforgettable conversation. We decided to keep contact after his return back to Regina.

Almost immediately after the professor and his daughter had left, came my old friend Boris whom I've known for eleven years. He moved from Burnaby to Mission five or six year ago, so we met on very rare occasions, but that day he had some appointments not very far from the church.We were nearly at the end of our meeting, when my family's friend Olga showed up--she needed help to make changes on her website. The day continued to escalate--Dmitri came home and called me to give details of some situation that had happened in the morning. Finally, Thursday ended on a high note, literally--we had a choir practice before the performance on the Thanksgiving Sunday.

Friday morning had a little bit of déjà vu--a meeting with another group of Ristumeikan students. Whether because it was Friday or for some other reason, they were much livelier and more engaged in the conversation than the other students two days earlier. When the meeting was over, one of the girls asked if she could attend the choir practice and was very happy to learn that she could and it would cost her nothing to participate. It looked like she really meant it to come next Thursday.

After dinner, I spent over an hour with Jordan who was filming the church at night. Among other things, he took shots of the lit votive candles in the dark--it looked really beautiful. I hope we'll be able to use this video or part of it on First Lutheran's website.

It's been a long week, it's been a long day--time to say "o-yasumi nasai."

Four months and a day

The idea of showing the First Lutheran Church from different angles at different time of day, when it is empty and when filled with people, turned out to be quite a captivating project. Every day for the remainder of the week I had my camera with me looking for an opportunity to capture the parts and elements of the building under various light conditions. I was very pleased that the camera was capable of taking quality shots of the lit candles in the dark without flash. Some pictures were included into the web page with the virtual tour around the church, but many still wait for their turn.

On Wednesday, Jeanette and I for the first time practiced "Thanks Be To Thee." The organ and piano together sounded very beautiful but I kept screwing up a couple of bars in the middle and at the end of the piece--it certainly makes a huge difference whether one plays alone or in a duet or in public; plus my eyes kept running into the organ's part. I copied the sheet music and left only the piano's part and promised Jeanette that by Monday I would be ready to play nearly by heart. I think I'll be able to keep my word, as I've been practicing every day. Same day evening, we had a very interesting discussion at the Adult Studies over "People's History of Christianity." When shaking hands with Pastor William I noticed that his hands were cold--it was difficult for me to realize that September was over and it had been getting colder and colder at nights. One or two more weeks and we'll be in one non-stop rain. I am going to miss the colours and the air freshness of the early fall, my favorite season.

Saturday morning Pastor Hergy and I met with several members of Partners in Mission & Ecojustice Committee of The Anglican Church of Canada who were in British Columbia on a visit. As this Committee is involved, among other activities, in sponsoring refugees from areas affected by military and ethnic conflicts and natural disasters, our guests shared their experiences and listened with an interest to the stories of families from Rwanda and Kenya whom the First Lutheran Church helped move to Canada. A meeting that was planned to last about a half an hour went on for almost two. At the end of our conversation, the Rev. Iola Metuq (left on the photo) said a prayer in his mother tongue, Inuit language.

Around 2 p.m., when I was still working in the office I saw outside on the parking lot two gentlemen, who noticed me and showed that they would like to enter the building. They were father and son and used to be members of the First Lutheran many years ago before they moved 150 km up north from Kelowna. I showed them pictures of the previous ministers and they recognized Pastor Hagen who preached at the First Lutheran in 1952-1962. I also invited them into the sanctuary as it was something they obviously wanted to do. Understandably, to them it was a back-in-time trip, bringing up memories forty-forty five years old, and their faces were telling that those were good ones. They mentioned that they stopped by at the church five years ago but weren't that lucky--they couldn't get inside. They said that when they plan their next trip to Vancouver they will make sure to come to the service. Delighted, they got into their truck and left, still probably talking about the things that happened to them many years ago. Memories...