Love and Starting Traditions

Our first year wedding anniversary was on October 22nd. On that day one year prior, we brought out all of our friends and family to one of our favorite bars and surprised them all with an announcement that we were actually having our wedding ceremony right then and there. We were thrilled not only to host a different kind of wedding, but were looking for ways to invite all of our friends without having them all show up. I think our preliminary guest list was about 350 not including +1's. Hubs has a big family, but not that big. We were getting carried away and I didn't want to leave anyone out. Now, I can actually say that I invited most all of my facebook friends and family members, but only had to deal with the 150 that wanted to go to a wedding shower/going away party for Hubs. Sheer genius.

Also genius was the fact that I now had two anniversary dates to celebrate. One being our courthouse wedding and the other being our surprise wedding. So we spent the better part of this first year trying to come up with what would become the first real Dan and Sarah Callis Family Tradition. We decided that our courthouse wedding anniversary would be the traditional anniversary, and we would celebrate with the annual themes and flowers associated with the year. First year being paper, this was pretty easy, and if you haven't read the blog about that anniversary, you really should, because it might go down in history as the best one ever.

For our surprise wedding anniversary, we wanted to do something unique, just like our unconventional ceremony. When it occurred to us that we should just keep the tradition going. That we should surprise at least one person every year on October 22nd in honor of the most fun surprise day in our history. Brilliant.

But then, we remembered that we're in Moscow. And our anniversary was in a day. Who were we going to surprise and with what? I mean, we surprise ourselves every day by buying milk instead of buttermilk (kafir). Or by buying weird black olive flavored mayonnaise instead or regular mayonnaise. How on earth are we gonna catch anyone by surprise in a city where we live in a constant state of surprise ourselves? Most of our new friends know what kind of mayonnaise and milk to buy, and are WAY more savvy about ex-pat life. How on earth are we going to pull this one off?

In the end, it was a simple solution. No one in Moscow is ever expecting a cake. Baking here is a real bitch. I've heard all the excuses. "I can't figure out my oven,""the flour and sugar are different," "chickens here aren't happy and give us awful eggs..." You name it. And frankly, I believe it all. I've ruined every single thing I've ever tried to bake and roughly half the things I try and cook on the stovetop. (although I have mastered the meatloaf.) So, we took a trip to our new favorite store, Stockmann's which keeps a good amount of not only cake mixes with English instructions (something you don't think about until you buy a bunch of brownie mixes in Dubai only to find the instructions in Arabic...) but also frosting!

So, we baked the best yellow cake from a box, topped it with some chocolate icing and headed out to our friend's apartment down the street.

About halfway there, I think it hit us both that our new friends are not familiar with our somewhat eccentric qualities. You don't really consider yourself eccentric when you're surrounded by equally eccentric friends. It took awhile, but on this long walk to start a new tradition celebrating our marriage, we had to come to grips with the fact that we were in a new place. That we would either embrace these slightly off-beat, maybe a little weird qualities that kept us so entertained between the two of us for so long, or we would change. We were about to have our first test in grown-upness really. Funny that it took this long for it to happen.

As usual, the walk was long and full of nagging doubts about our quirks and crazy ideas. But I have to go on record now and say that I wouldn't have survived this long without those quirks. Not only my own, but Hubs' as well. He keeps me laughing and sane and hopeful and content and loved. All with his crazy ideas and witty banter. What a great year we've had. And what great years await us.

We may have woken up our friends, but I think they enjoyed a hand-delivered cake/mini anniversary celebration. And it felt so much better to be in the company of people who strengthen our marriage, our purpose and our sanity while we're so far from home. It takes so many more than just two in order to make a marriage work and every October 22nd from here on out we want to celebrate those people. We wished this year that we could have celebrated with many, many more dear friends who have been there for us, but we only had a day to plan and Hubs had to be back at work the next day.

There's always next year...

Cheers to our people. And to our confidence in those people as well as in who we intrinsically are as people and now as the most blessed married couple.

Love and Soccer

Let's face it, America. We just don't watch soccer. Maybe I'm wrong (doubtful...) but soccer is pretty much only used as an introductory sport for little ones. Kind of like how everyone should have a basic knowledge of the piano before trying another instrument, everyone plays soccer before going on to the sport they actually want to play. That, and those little ones look so cute in their soccer uniforms. So, unless a major game like the World Cup is on, a hot, famous Bristish player comes to play in America or our niece/nephew/kid are playing, we as a nation tend to be pretty uninterested in soccer. If you say otherwise you're either lying, saying it only because you watched the World Cup last time it was on or you're part of a small percentage of actual fans.

The last time Hubs watched a game as a matter of fact was when he last played in one at the age of five. Poor guy got bored and into a fight. With one of his teammates. So when we were invited to go watch a game with one of Hubs' co-workers, I was the only one excited about it. Hubs has his own theories about soccer, none of which I will share with you today.

It started off great. Our friend came over and we pre-gamed with some snacks and drinks, since we didn't think alcohol was served at the stadium. Which is crazy because you always here about crazy soccer fans killing people over bad calls, good calls, losses, victories, bad hot dogs, ect. To think that there's not booze readily available at the event means that people just really feel that strongly about the game of soccer. (and how hot dogs should be made)

By the time we left, we knew we'd be a little late, so we walk/ran as fast as we could to the metro station. When we got off the metro, we couldn't help but notice the crazy amount of military men and women in full on SWAT gear. I'm talking helmets, those sticks they beat you with, protective armor over their chest, the whole deal. And I'm serious, there are HUNDREDS of them! So we ask our friend about it and he says that because of a riot that killed a lot of people after a soccer game, they've really tightened up security on game days. We were a bit confused, surely this riot would have been televised, right? Well it was. When it happened twenty years ago. It's like the old Russian proverb... "Fool me once, shame on you...Fool me twice, I F***ing KILL you!!"

As we got closer to the coliseum, we started to hear it. The dull roar of fans. Fans who spend their entire lifetimes dedicated to their team. Generations of lifetimes. And the coliseum is open, so I really felt like I was headed to an ancient stand-off in the Roman Coliseum. I was a bit surprised when we got in and the players weren't wrestling lions.

Inside fit 75,000 people and I'd say we were at about 50,000 at least. Whats even more impressive are the fans. In America, we have to post all the words to the one-line chants and have some kind of clapping noise so that we can all keep the beat correctly. But here, the fans just know the chants. And they keep their own beat. AND they manage to lead the chanting and clapping with all 50,000 people at the same time. There's no prompter telling them to start chant #3, they just do it. And it. sounds. awesome. Our friend was excited about the crowd doing the wave, which seemed more like child's play after a taste of all the fans could do.

And getting a goal. Wow. We were pretty excited about that. (see the money shot Hubs took with the camera of the goal. as it's happening...) Nothing like seeing 50,000 crazy fans going ballistic all at the same time. Until they start waving those team scarves and you get repeatedly hit in the face by the fan in front of you. That's kind of a shock. But only to Hubs and me apparently.

Back to the military. They're still everywhere. They're lining the field between the field and the fans and we both wondered if they actually thought that they would be able to stop a rabid crowd from rushing the field. I think it's mainly there for the random naked streaker, which apparently is still a problem in Russian professional soccer.

And on the way home, they were everywhere. In fact, they lined the way to the metro. First time we had to wait in a giant line to get into the metro and certainly the most intimidating. A few were on horses and one even nipped at Hubs. I can't help but laugh a little at that one, since I was following, saw the whole thing and laughed then too. Luckily, he has this awesome thick wool coat that protected his handsome arm. That coat now has some horse slobber dried into it. Not funny but so funny.

On the way home we stopped at our favorite, El Cantina for some drinks and food and ended up closing the night with a rockin' cover band, fajitas and margaritas. Just like home.

We are so blessed to have these kinds of experiences. What started out as a soccer game (meh) ended up being this crazy combination of outrageous, hilarious and memorable. We had so much fun and it kept us giggling about horse nips, scarf slaps and getting "Ground Control to Major Tom" stuck in our head throughout the week following.





Cheers to expanding our ideas of fun and enjoying it through and through. Dahvi Spartak!

Love and the Life of the Party

Hubs is always a hit at parties. He's my favorite party accessory because everyone loves him and he loves everyone once he has a drink or two in him.

So when "Oilfield Workers Appreciation" weekend happened and the office threw a big party for the entire staff, I was excited for Hubs to get to know his co-workers a little bit better. Even though spouses weren't invited, I knew the night would be a great time for Hubs to break the "new guy in the office" blues. Or maybe "the only guy speaking English" blues. Either one, I was happy for this equalizer of people - vodka.

I got the phone call a couple hours into the party when Hubs called and asked me to meet up with him at the restaurant. Having already experienced a night out in our tiny Siberian town, I was quick to redeem myself and/or make the same mistakes again.

When I arrived, Hubs had quite the posse surrounding him. Just as I had suspected. Hubs had become the life of the party. I jumped right in.

Immediately we were ushered to the already packed dance floor. Apparently, Hubs had avoided hitting the dance floor by saying that he only dances with his wife, so he had no excuse once people figured out I was there. Dancing in Russia makes me laugh because anything goes. If they've seen it on a random music video, they'll try it on the dance floor. It was also on the dance floor where I caught myself humming along to the techno songs and I realized that somehow this music had made its way in and I had no idea how. Probably because they play that kind of music everywhere, from the supermarket to waiting rooms. Even Hubs was singing along, it's all they listen to in the shop at work.

Even now, I'm really not embarrassed. We were both swept into the Russian way. And love it or hate it, the Russian soundtrack is weird techno music.

If I thought the Russian club scene took some getting used to, Russian work parties are even more or a culture shock. That much booze at a work sponsored party in America would be a liability. Here in Russia, it's the standard. I don't know how people look their co-workers in the eye on Monday.

Hubs told me that Monday that at least two people greeted him by name in the hallway. He didn't recognize either of them. If that's not proof of a successful work function, I don't know what is.

Cheers to the successes in the workplace with the people we only half-remember but will never forget.

Love and the Dacha

I can get on board with the Russians when it comes to play.

One of the examples of the Russian brilliance is the Dacha. Most people have them, they're summer cottages outside the city, in the woods meant to leave your troubles behind, even if only for the weekend. And not just one weekend here and there. We're talking every weekend that the weather will allow, these people are out. It's genius. 

From what I've seen, not all these dachas are in the greatest shape. Some that we passed by looked like they were on nudge away from toppling over. Others seemed to be randomly shaped pieces of plywood held together with twine and prayers. We were lucky enough to have a Dacha experience while we were in Siberia. One of Hubs' co-worker's family had a Dacha a few miles out of town, and off we went! 

The Dacha that he had was beautiful, right on the river and complete with a banya. Food is of primary importance to a good Dacha weekend, second only to vodka and we were well taken care of in both categories. When we walked up, while preparations were being made to the shashlik (grilled meat). This meat had been marinated for a full day then cooked over hot coals and wood chips. So delicious. We learned all the tricks. You eat the shashlik then chew on some fresh dill to really bring out the flavor. Vodka. More meat. More fresh dill. More vodka. Repeat. Throw in fresh fruit like wild blueberries straight from the vine. Vodka. 

The men had some banya time, which was followed by a dip in the icy cold river just a few feet away. Seriously, it doesn't get much more Russian than this. I didn't get to participate in the banya part. I didn't bring a bathing suit (lesson learned...) and wasn't about to join the menfolk in my birthday suit, so I sat it out. 

We had the best time with our new friends. It truly felt like family. Pictures in this case tell the best story, so I'll leave you to enjoy our special Saturday without too many words.

Cheers to the family you find abroad. And the rivers you jump in with them.

Love and a Summary of Siberia

Siberia was a little rough on the home stretch. In the end, here's the final numbers...

24 Days

12 Books

3 Bottles of gin 

2 Seasons of Downton Abbey (twice)

20 Mystery meals

3 New album releases

15 Ramen soup dinners

30 degree fluctuation in temperature

8,652,136 Cups of coffee in the hotel cafe

But we really can't complain. Yes, we were isolated, bored and walked every inch of the town at least two dozen times, but we gained some memories that we will treasure forever. Siberia was good to us. And I can say that now that I'm sitting comfortably in my favorite Starbucks.

While Hubs was at work, I was on my own for meals, which I decided to have some fun with and try lunch roulette. Since Siberia isn't very expat friendly, English menus are few and far between. And by few and far between, I mean they don't exist. There was one at our hotel, but everywhere else, we were on our own. Pointing at things and hoping for the best. It's like the Hail Mary of eating out. I would love to say that I got really good at this game, but unfortunately, I only digressed. So badly, in fact that at one cafe I went to often for lunches, I almost always accidentally ordered the same thing... goulash and this barley stuff. I didn't mean too, but I would get so nervous right before ordering that I would point and realize immediately after that it was the goulash. They must have thought I was crazy for the stuff. 

I did manage to find a hamburger in Siberia. What a treat. First off, they spell it "gumburger"which, of course cracked us up. It wasn't the best, certainly not Whataburger, but it might as well have been by the time I got to it. It had the texture and taste of a meatball, shredded cabbage was used in lieu of lettuce, the sauce was unidentified but one was green and one was orange. It was perfect. This cafe also had nachos on the menu. Too good to be true? Yes. The chips were some type of nacho flavored corn chips, with strings of mozzarella burried underneath sour cream, salsa and guacamole. But they had jalapeños, so it was totally worth it. I ordered it a couple times while we were there. I also ordered sushi at this place. I know. Not ok. But I was looking for an adrenaline rush and it's about the best I could do in this town. 

People are much nicer in Siberia. It's the same thing that you would find back home - small town charm vs. big city. People smiled more often and are much more helpful in stores and restaurants. I made one friend at the tiny grocery store close to the hotel and we "chatted" every time I came in. We had a system. I walked in, pretended to look like I knew what I was doing, she would push past her co-workers and help me with what I needed. And at checkout, she would talk to me in Russian. Unfortunately, all I understood was "Americanski", so I imagine she was asking what an American was doing in Siberia, then proceeding to lecture me on being careful. As small as the town was, I wouldn't be surprised if she managed to put our story together, which would explain why she seemed almost maternal in our interactions. No proof since I have no idea what she said, but I did feel taken care of. And it wouldn't surprise me if her clucking was offering some bit of advice. That tone is universal among all maternal types. 

Hubs' co-workers were a huge part of keeping us sane during our extended stay, but those stories don't have to share the spotlight with anything else. 

The misery is definitely outweighed by the sweetness of memories and love. In fact, I do believe that the reason we found ourselves so lucky at the end of our stay in Siberia (besides the fact that we were leaving...) was that there were parts that were so unbearably miserable and low for both of us. It's true that you can't understand pleasure without the pain. 

Cheers to the pain, to getting down low and rising up to see the greatness in it. 

Love and a Whole Year

On August 29, 2011, Hubs and I married on a Monday over my lunch break at the Courthouse. It was an easy decision. We knew we needed to be married for me to join him in Russia and wanted to be prepared for leaving at any time. (Little did we know that we wouldn't be leaving until late March 2012...) If it doesn't sound romantic, believe me, it wasn't in the beginning. But neither of us really cared. We knew we would have the big wedding and this was just to cover our bases legally, so let's get on with it. Off to the Justice of the Peace!

But no one told the JoP that it was just a formality. And in the sweetest, simplest exchange of "I Will", in an empty courtroom, we were married. I am forever grateful to Judge Santana, who started us off on the most unexpectedly romatic path our love story has taken. It was overwelming and beautiful. And during a time that I was driving myself crazy with wedding plans and becoming infinitely frustrated with budgets, themes, food and all the wedding fixin's, it was a pause in time. A reminder to slow down. A glimpse of the tenderness of love on its own, without the fluff and fancy. I now had a new last name, a new responsibility, a new future and a perma-grin that hasn't left my face yet. (Hubs had the same, plus a new tuxedo t-shirt, which he was pretty excited about...)

On August 29, 2012, Hubs and I were stranded in Noyabrsk, Russia. Thinking that we would be back in Moscow, we had made plans to go to a fancy restaurant for dinner and walk around town, soaking in the life and energy of our crazy new home. Maybe stop in an Irish Pub for some Guiness. Tell everyone who spoke English that it was our Anniversary. Settle in our apartment and watch the DVD of our wedding.

And even though I knew we wouldn't get to do all of that stuff, I was optimistic about our celebration. We managed to celebrate Hub's birthday last week just fine and I was sure that I had learned my lesson over bad attitudes and unrealistic expectations. And I had found a card store (all of which were in Russian, so I have no idea what my card to Hubs actually says...) and some decorations, so I would even be able to somewhat decorate our hotel room. I learned my lesson alright.

We didn't even make it till noon before bad news hit. Our visa application had been rejected (again) because we didn't have our marriage license. We had an official copy in Moscow, and the original in Texas. Not only was it frustrating to hear that we were missing documents, but I was instantly terrified that we would send in our original marriage license and it would never be returned. I'm a little sentimental about things like that, and even though I'm bound to lose it eventually, I wasn't too keen on the Russian government gobbling it up. This on top of now two weeks of getting the run around on our visa application and I freaked.

Hubs is so good to me. I know he was frustrated too, but he just let me freak out. He listened while I threatened to march up to the government office if they didn't return our marriage license. He listened while I made plans to call the office in charge of our visa process and give them a piece of my mind. He listened while I fretted about the potential to not get our multi-entry visas before our single-entry visas expire the end of September.

It was an exhausting roller coaster of a day. Somehow we managed to get them a copy of our marriage license. (Yay!!) But then they needed confirmation that I was the Sarah Hill on the marriage license AND the Sarah Callis in my passport. (Whaaaaaaat...?) Then my mother-in-law found my old passport and birth certificate. (Yay!) Now we wait to see if they will accept our packet 'o papers, even without a marriage license. (*hold your breath*) I can't say I was in a foul mood, though, despite the fact that it was an emotional day.

So I went upstairs to the hotel restaurant where we eat every day. We've been here so long, they really have to know us. They're nice enough, but like I've said before, Russians aren't know for giving you the warm fuzzies. Everytime we ate upstairs, Hubs was convinced they hated us. (I knew better. Who could possibly hate us?) I wanted to get some ice to greet Hubs with a Gin and Tonic when he got home (insert cheesy housewife comment here...) and while I was up there, I asked about the champagne list. I told the ladies that it was our 1st wedding anniversary tonight and we would be getting a bottle to celebrate. They congratulated me, but I figured their smiles and congratulations were mainly because I had that big, silly, perma-grin while talking about it.

I went to go downstairs and our normal server ran to the door and asked what time we would be coming back, so I told her around 8. I was immediately embarressed because I thought that we were supposed to make reservations every night, and we hadn't. Maybe they were icy stares and not just their normal relaxed faces. But I chose to not think about it. I'm pretty good at that. Who can fault us for making a small mistake like that? We're not from 'round here...

Hubs got home to the hotel with the most beautiful flower arrangement. He had gone to three different florists looking for pansies, which are the official one year anniversary flowers, but there were none in the city. Isn't that something? Even learned the Russian word for pansies from his co-workers! I hadn't been expecting anything, because he had been working the last two and a half weeks with only one day off, so I was so surprised and thrilled. My gift to us was a lock. Pretty romantic, huh? Let me explain. In Russia, almost every park I've been to has an area where you hang a lock. In Gorky Park, they put locks on this one bridge that crosses a pond and here in Noyabrsk, they have a "tree" in the park. I have no idea what this actually means, but I can deduce from the engraved or written names and dates that it's something romantic. Maybe they put a lock up on their wedding day? Day they met? Anniversary perhaps? So, off we went with our lock and hung it on the lock tree that we had found in the park. People will see it and wonder how two English-speaking people ended up in Noyabrsk to continue this tradition, and I hope they make up a good story about us.

We went back to the hotel and up to dinner. Our rough morning was forgotten after a long walk, the love lock tradition and holding hands. We had done it. We had salvaged an anniversary and made it extra special. Despite being a million miles from family, friends and everything we knew. How could it get any better?

I'll tell you how. The kindness of strangers. We sat down and saw our server busy in a secluded corner of the restaurant scattering roses, lighting candles. My initial reaction was that it was for us and I had to fight to control my inner giddiness. Hubs thought that I had orchestrated some elaborate dinner for two and was grinning at me sweetly. But then the same server walked away and handed us our menu while we sat in our regular table. Oh. Guess someone else is gonna have a sweet, romantic dinner...

But then, with the biggest grin I have ever seen on a Russian, she told us in English, "I have something for you." And she pointed to the secluded, romatic corner. All three of the employees working that night were now behind us, with the biggest smiles as we raved about the gift they had given us. We had our champagne. And with it rose petals, candles, smiles and friends.

I was a blubbering idiot. Within five minutes our faces hurt from smiling so hard. We felt like royalty. It made sense that after a year of surprising other people, we were completely blown away with a huge surprise by complete strangers in a foreign country.

We talked about our year. And we both agreed that aside from our wedding, our favorite part of the year was the first month we were in Russia. Isn't it strange? The most difficult month we've had as a married couple happens to be our favorite. We knew nothing. And we learned. Some about this new world we were living in, but mostly about each other. We learned how to comfort. We learned how to be happy. We learned how to create a home. We learned how to live in the deepest of love. We learned how to share strength.

What will we learn in year two? Well, we learned last night to never underestimate the capacity for people to show kindness. I have a feeling, based on all this visa nonsense that we will continue to sharpen our year one skills. And I know, above all that we will learn even greater depths of love, support, strength and determination.

It could be a scary thing to think about the future, especially the way our day started out. But it's hard to be scared when all you can smell are the roses.

Cheers to surprises and the dear, sweet people who pull them off.

Love and Camping

Whitewater Amphitheater in New Braunfels knew we were coming back to Texas before our own family.

I had seen a show advertised when they first released the schedule and moped all day when I saw that two of my all-time favorite bands, The Wheeler Brothers and The Avett Brothers would be playing on July 28th. It affected me so deeply that it was the first thing I thought of when I found out we would be home the month of July. And I promptly bought tickets. Most people might start planning, writing lists and packing when they know they have to leave the country in two weeks and still don't have a permanent apartment to call home. Not me. I was making different kinds of plans.

It also happened to be one of the first things I talked to my friends about after the great surprise. And just like that, we had recruited four people and started researching campsites for the weekend. 

Fast forward a month and the day had finally arrived for us to get to NB for a weekend of camping, tubing and Brothers-watching. And the best news was that a big group of friends had been planning the same trip and would be camping a short ways away! When we made the connection at a late-night bonfire, we all screamed like little girls. (And I was the only actual girl...) How much better does it get? Camping and concert-going with an amazing group of people? Yes, please. 

Hubs and I also took this as a chance to buy our first home. That's right. We bought our first tent! It was  a special moment, but Hubs wouldn't let me take a picture with our "realtor", a very helpful sales associate at Cabelas, so you'll have to use your imagination.

We were first to arrive and set up camp. We had a great campsite right on the river and took full advantage watching all the sunburned, frat guy tubers float by. Hilarious. The rest of our crew showed up and Hubs and I introduced them to Pimms, a delicious British drink some friends of our introduced me to while in Moscow. It's a perfect summertime drink, like a sangria, only gin based and with Sprite and cut up fruit and mint leaves. I sent some pictures to our friends who are used to drinking it on the lawns of Oxford and I'm sure they got a kick out of seeing it served out of a blue drink dispenser with a dirty river in the background. But it was for sure a hit and will be the drink of choice on camping trips from here on out. 

Our first dinner was steak, shrimp, caesar salad and a strange potato concoction I made up. In my mind, it was supposed to end up like a warm, German potato salad, but it ended up being mashed potatoes with bacon bits and sour cream. Oh well. It worked. And proved the point that you really can't put too much sour cream on something, which is something we've picked up in Russia. It may not be what you thought it would be, but its still good. We're kind of awesome at camping food. And it'll only get better when we're back in the states permanently and I can rescue my dutch oven from whatever closet has eaten it.

It was good to be outside with good friends. Late night dunks in the river, good conversation switching from the serious to the absurd is exactly what we needed. And the next morning? Connecting with our other friends for a few hours of tubing! I'm ashamed to say it, but this was my first Texas tubing experience and I was ready. Being the smartest idiot on the planning, I brought a bag of wine, which is basically four bottles of pinot grigio while everyone else crammed as many Lone Star's as they could in our small cooler. When they were out of beer, I was sure to still have plenty of wine and take up less space. Brilliant. 

Only I didn't count on the kindness of strangers, especially drunk strangers and as anyone who's floated a Texas river knows, you never run out of beer. It's the strangest concept. Almost as strange as how no one has to pee when they're floating... Just the magic of the river I guess.

As much fun as I had with hands down the best group of people to go with, I'm ashamed to say I didn't like tubing as much as I thought I would. I loved the company and my face hurt from smiling and laughing so hard, but every time someone stood up, either to help their tube along or to shotgun a beer, all I saw was their drunk ass losing their balance and cracking their heads open on the rocks. And a lot of people were standing up to shotgun beers. 

I fell asleep in the car on the ride home. (no comment please.)

But I'll be damned if I'm going to miss the best concert of my life, so lots of water and a delicious meal of burgers and ranch style beans, we were off to the amphitheater!

This concert did not disappoint. It was everything I missed about live music. And very reminiscent of seeing Mumford and Sons at Jazzfest with one of my best buddies. Imagine with me... Avett Brothers would start out a song we knew and we immediately screamed our fool heads off, certain they were singing straight to us. People within a certain radius were switching between watching us make asses out of ourselves and the concert. By the end of the night, my voice was gone after trying to sing loud enough for the band to hear us. And they may have. It was glorious. Beiber fans know nothing of crazy fandom. We love music. 

Our plan at the end of the night was to get a taxi back to the campsite and one of my friends promised to take the reigns since I was having weird anxiety about the whole thing. I don't know when I got so anxious about not having a plan, but it seems to be happening a lot more these days. But the cab was late. And I was tired. And then the cab still wasn't there. Every time we would see a cab, we were convinced it was ours, only to be completely disappointed. My friend and taxi point person did everything right, except use a good cab company, which she had no way of knowing which was good or not. And even though I hadn't been drinking (I wasn't about the need a potty break during the greatest show of my life...) and probably could have drove, it beat fighting with all the other thousands of concert-goers to get back to camp.

Finally, after two hours of waiting, our buddy took the initiative to make friends with a large 12 passenger van who shuttled us to our campsite. I was furious, but glad to be "home". And glad to unwind. We didn't have a campfire, but we had the light of an iPhone and tunes from the bands we had just seen work their magic on stage. And we had the kinds of good conversation you should have when you're camping. The deeply personal mixed with the reminiscent mixed with the absurd. By the time I shut my eyes for the night, my heart was bursting at the seams. 

Like most things in life, it wasn't a perfect experience. But in its own special way it was. I think its important to balance the great with the not-so-great. I don't know if we have the capacity to just know good. Its those extra, unexpected downers that make the good so very great. And its even better when they overshadow the bad so you don't even remember it at all. 

Cheers to camping with balance. With a badass soundtrack in the background.

*Important Side Note: Hubs is NOT smoking a joint in that picture. (don't pretend you didn't notice...) It's a piece of gum and there is no explanation to why it is hanging out of his mouth. And its the best group photo, so it has to go in the blog. He'll be responsible for explaining that to our future children...

Love and Surprises

It's time now to get to the stories of our trip back to Texas. Brace yourselves.

We found out mid-June that our visas would be expiring, leaving us in our new country illegally, so we were told to get ready for a trip back to the states to start over completely. The news left me completely torn. On the one hand, I was ecstatic to be going home to friends, family and Tex-mex. On the other hand, I was just starting to get into the rhythm of living in Moscow. I had friends who I love dearly and would miss terribly. I had routines. Lunches, AWO meetings, office hours at the Starbucks at the corner and Banya Tuesday. I was the most excited to be not excited about something ever in my life.

So, with the company tendency to do things at the last minute and the stress of Hubs being gone for four weeks, we decided to keep it a secret. Honestly, we did it only because I didn't want to hear "when are you getting into town" over and over without knowing the answer. We ended up waiting two weeks from the time we were told we had to leave to the time we had a flight booked. We made it out of the country with two days to spare before our visa expired. In those two weeks, we got real excited about the surprise. (in-between bouts of frantic email checking and worrying about getting outta town...)

With the flight being so last minute, we ended up flying AirFrance and it was everything you could imagine a French Airline could be. The food was the best we had on any flight and the booze was free, as it is on most international flights, and also encouraged. My Swedish neighbor, noticing my second empty mini-wine bottle, pointed and said, "You get more. Is free." As he got up to hunt down the drink cart.

(Unfortunately, the landing was choppy at best and from our seats in the back of the plane, I have to admit, I was pretty close to losing it all. As it turns out, I managed to keep it together, unlike four of our section neighbors. Thanks, bottomless vino and turbulent skies.)

We made it to Houston completely exhausted. We had been traveling close to twenty hours but we made it. We were home. And after months of complaining about shitty customer service, we were ready to bask in good 'ol fashioned southern hospitality.

And this is where our memory of hospitality had failed us. Because no one in any country has a friendly airport. In fact, I would even say that America has the least-friendly airports. Specifically, TSA and customs employees. So, while we as weary travelers tried to find the right line for us to get to baggage claim, Hubs is chased by a short, old man frantically wagging his finger at him. Yet, when Hubs asked him where we go, he stood in stunned silence and walked off, still staring, daring him to try walking through a gate again. I'm so proud of Hubs for keeping his cool.

We made it to the hotel and treated ourselves to Chicken Fried Steak. Aaaaahhh... back home.

The next day, we set off to Dallas to surprise my parents. We got in around 8pm, knocked on the door and that's when we discovered that no one was home. Talk about buzz kill. We knew this was a risk we were taking, and Mom was out of town, but where on earth was Dad? We called from our new temporary phone (one with a Houston number, mind you...) and got no answer. But Dad did call us back, and as luck would have it, thought we were calling from Skype. (even though you can't call back a phone on Skype...) So, we got to play along, and set up a Skype date for when he got home from church. When we called again to make sure he was by the computer, I knocked on the door and gave him the surprise of his life. Thanks, Dad for letting us have that.

Mom was our next victim. This time we had an accomplice in Dad who text and called nonstop that morning to give play-by-play on when she would be getting home from visiting my aunt. Come to find out, Mom was getting phone calls the whole way home as well. She walked in and didn't even look in the living room where I was sitting, but went straight to the bedroom to drop off her bags. That's no fun. So I stood in the doorway and asked if she needed help unloading. I've never been very good at surprising my mother. When I was little and woke up in the middle of the night, I would stand over my sleeping mother and try to wake her up nicely but always scared the bejeesus out of her. That was kind of the reaction I got this time around, only with more crying and less threats of killing me.

My brother was another fun one to surprise. We just showed up at his girlfriend's house, not sure if he would be there, but knowing she would be the best accomplice if he wasn't. Celebrating with them and Shiner Bock beer was a real treat. From there, we went with them to Shakespear in the Park. It was a perfect day for a picnic and a great close to a quick weekend home.

We had a great visit in Dallas, but it was time to head off to Corpus Christi.

Our first stop was to see the in-laws. Unfortunately, we missed my mother-in-law, who was in small-town Texas visiting our new niece for a week. (I guess she would occasionally run into my brother and sister-in-law too...) Pulling up to the house like it was nothing was quite a surprise for my father-in-law relaxing on the front porch. He probably surprised us more than we surprised him since we had spent the better part of the seven hour drive brainstorming a good way to surprise them and then there he was, like he was expecting us! The phone call to MIL was pretty classic. Having fallen for one too many practical jokes, she adamantly did not believe FIL that we were at the house. So we did get her good when Hubs got on the phone to confirm.

On to our friends! We sent out a few texts. Mostly implying that we were long-lost lovers looking to meet up and make amends. Hilarious for us. Probably not as much for them.

Especially when it came to one of our dear friends. Her surprise spanned a couple days and was by far the funniest of all our surprises. This friend happens to be very direct and only has time for shenanigans she is privy too. So when she received her "hey, would love to meet up, you free tonight?" text, there was no hesitation in a "who is this?" response. After an hour or so elusive texts from us, a couple threats to block our number and call the cops, I gave up. So many clues in the texts, including a special nickname. Had we been away that long? So I promised to not bother her. End of story.

But thats just no fun. So a couple hours later, I couldn't help myself and sent a quick text, "hey, sorry, you're right this is a wrong number I'm so sorry. But you sound really nice, wanna hang out later?" The response? (don't read this part, mom...) "$%*& off." The entire conversation was a work of art. Best prank ever.

When we finally showed up at her apartment, she came downstairs with a bat and a can of Coors Light. Thats why we're friends. Like a girl scout, she came fully prepared. To either kick some ass or party.

There were lots of other little surprises here and there. And with every one we were reminded how many dear, dear friends we have been blessed with. And our family and friends were reminded that they should always be on their toes, ready for anything. Hugs are tighter and reunions are sweeter when unexpected. And we needed those tight hugs after a long and sometimes rough absence. It certainly healed a multitude of homesick aches we had recently acquired. And it got us a few free drinks, too.

Some of our friends and family would probably say that nothing surprises them anymore when it comes to us. Which is the last thing we want, since it's kind of our thing...

Cheers to our friends, for being good sports to indulge us in all our surprises.