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Monday-Monday
Jul. 6th, 2009 09:38 pmIt was nice to hear the patter of little feet in the morning, and to make breakfast and break bread.
I then "turned to" and sent off invoices for the work I did over the weekend and (finally) my expenses for the Moscow trip.
That kind of stuff is always fun.
My next task was to send off a package of materials to get a visa for Galina to go visit her mom and sister in Moscow, and for something so seemingly innocuous, it sure took a lot of time.
Over the years, "the rules" have gotten tighter and tighter with respect to visa applications, perhaps as a result of so many people applying. One new wrinkle was a requirement to print the application on both sides of one piece of paper (no more two-page applications, it would seem).
Another is a requirement to fill in information within the little blocks provided, which normally is not a problem, except when the space allowed for one's mother's name and one's father's name is about half of what is needed.
Yet another new wrinkle was a requirement for former citizens of the USSR/Russia who were now US citizens to provide evidence that they had renounced their former citizenship. The visa service said that, in Galina's case, because she had left so long ago, she'd have to provide a statement blah, blah, blah, but fell short of actually providing any information on what kind of key phrases such a statement should contain, or what points it should cover.
Anyway, before we knew it, it was about 2 pm and I was at the post office, buying a money order to cover the cost of the visa and the service, and dispatching an envelope via Express Mail.
* * * In between much of the proceedings, Galina came down to my office, cluthching a yellow rag. She was followed closely by Huntur and Mathew. A mouse, it would appear, had been saved from Hana's clutches.
In short order, we deposited the little creature into a clear plastic box along with a whole lot of grass that was gathered outside by Huntur and Mathew. Once the excitement had died down, it was pleasant to watch the grandkids watch the little creature with wonder and interest.
Huntur seemed genuinely concerned about its welfare, and I was particularly impressed by how well she understood the importance of leaving the traumatized and frightened animal alone, to "give it some room" and enable it to recover, which it apparently did after a while. We then let it go, hopefully far enough away from the house that Hana won't find it again.
* * * In the Adventures-in-the-Kitchen Department, a couple of days ago I saved about a half cup of the kefir I had made a little while ago and let it warm to room temperature while some milk that I had scalded cooled down. Once the milk cooled down to below 98.6°F, I added the kefir to the milk and let it stand.
I theorized that the probiotic content of the kefir wasn't killed by refrigeration, only "incapacitated," else why drink the stuff at all if the culture is dead? I also theorized that said content ought to survive in ninety-degree milk (instead of the sub-80°F environment suggested by the starter instructions), else (again) why drink the stuff at all, if the culture can't survive body core temperatures (which are, if memory serves, higher than the 98.6°F we've all come to love and adore).
My hypotheses were borne out with another excellent batch of kefir, which makes everyone very happy (though Huntur won't touch the stuff this morning). The stuff disappears so quickly around here, I'm thinking of perhaps making a half-gallon batch next time.
But that's later; this is now, and I'm tired. Time for a little rack drill.
Cheers...
I then "turned to" and sent off invoices for the work I did over the weekend and (finally) my expenses for the Moscow trip.
That kind of stuff is always fun.
My next task was to send off a package of materials to get a visa for Galina to go visit her mom and sister in Moscow, and for something so seemingly innocuous, it sure took a lot of time.
Over the years, "the rules" have gotten tighter and tighter with respect to visa applications, perhaps as a result of so many people applying. One new wrinkle was a requirement to print the application on both sides of one piece of paper (no more two-page applications, it would seem).
Another is a requirement to fill in information within the little blocks provided, which normally is not a problem, except when the space allowed for one's mother's name and one's father's name is about half of what is needed.
Yet another new wrinkle was a requirement for former citizens of the USSR/Russia who were now US citizens to provide evidence that they had renounced their former citizenship. The visa service said that, in Galina's case, because she had left so long ago, she'd have to provide a statement blah, blah, blah, but fell short of actually providing any information on what kind of key phrases such a statement should contain, or what points it should cover.
Anyway, before we knew it, it was about 2 pm and I was at the post office, buying a money order to cover the cost of the visa and the service, and dispatching an envelope via Express Mail.
In short order, we deposited the little creature into a clear plastic box along with a whole lot of grass that was gathered outside by Huntur and Mathew. Once the excitement had died down, it was pleasant to watch the grandkids watch the little creature with wonder and interest.
Huntur seemed genuinely concerned about its welfare, and I was particularly impressed by how well she understood the importance of leaving the traumatized and frightened animal alone, to "give it some room" and enable it to recover, which it apparently did after a while. We then let it go, hopefully far enough away from the house that Hana won't find it again.
I theorized that the probiotic content of the kefir wasn't killed by refrigeration, only "incapacitated," else why drink the stuff at all if the culture is dead? I also theorized that said content ought to survive in ninety-degree milk (instead of the sub-80°F environment suggested by the starter instructions), else (again) why drink the stuff at all, if the culture can't survive body core temperatures (which are, if memory serves, higher than the 98.6°F we've all come to love and adore).
My hypotheses were borne out with another excellent batch of kefir, which makes everyone very happy (though Huntur won't touch the stuff this morning). The stuff disappears so quickly around here, I'm thinking of perhaps making a half-gallon batch next time.
But that's later; this is now, and I'm tired. Time for a little rack drill.
Cheers...
