Христос воскрес! Easter in Ukraine

Easter is one of the year's most significant holidays in Ukraine. In fact, I'd say Easter is more of a season here than just a holiday, the same way that virtually all of December is Christmastime in the US. You start seeing the signs everywhere - the lines of people at shops, the seasonal paraphernalia, the festive feeling in the air and the bustle of preparation.

I picked up some flowers at the bazaar to adorn the kitchen table

Easter is interesting in Ukraine both for the traditions, and for the logistical details that surround them. As a newcomer here, I am equally fascinated by the divine and the mundane: the priest in his gleaming ceremonial garb, closely followed by brigade of men in rubber boots carrying plastic water buckets to keep him supplied. The 4am church services, the candles, the bells, the blessing of bread and wine - and then the clearance sale on Easter decorations at the bazaar almost immediately afterwards, and the huge lines of people at bus stops downtown on Easter Monday, waiting to head back home after their holiday weekend. Holidays manifest in fascinating ways.

The day before Easter: I just wanted a picture of the paska bread, but my host mom is very conscientious about making sure pictures look good, so she fixed up the whole table.

My childhood experiences of Easter in the US were definitely very different from what I've seen here in Ukraine. Yes, there are Easter baskets, but they are not filled by an Easter Bunny who comes in the night with candy and toys; rather, baskets are brought to church filled with bread, wine, and other foods to be blessed by a priest slinging rather intimidating amounts of holy water in the cold morning air. Thousands of people stand together in the dark, their baskets glowing with candles and draped with decorative Easter cloths. Or, as in the case of my host mom, they shove through the crowds like devoted fans at a rock concert, making sure they get their turn to be blessed.

Priest blessing the waiting crowds with holy water. He was closely followed by a bucket brigade, to keep him well-supplied. 

Leaving the church after we paid homage to the various icons inside. We came around 4:45am, and people continued to arrive until well after 8am.

In Ukraine, we also have Easter eggs - but we do not hide and then hunt for them. Rather, we have a competition in which two people at a time strike their eggs together, and the owner of whichever egg doesn't crack is declared victorious. I did pretty well at this, actually :-)

These Easter eggs are simple to make - you buy plastic sleeves, put them around the eggs, and then hard-boil the eggs in these sleeves so that they adhere. The paska bread takes quite a lot more work, though! 

Church is followed by a feast that is not for the faint of heart - especially given that we are feasting at 6am. On Easter there is no taboo about drinking alcohol early in the morning. I had something like 5 glasses of wine with my breakfast, to toast the resurrection of Jesus.

I think my favorite thing about Easter here is all the picnics. After my post-breakfast recovery nap, I took a walk along the river, and for a good mile the parkway along the shore was dotted with families out to enjoy the holiday. Men were out fishing, young people had stereos and soccer balls, old folks and families had picnic blankets laid out with cheese and wine. Many people took advantage of fallen trees to sit on, and most gathered nearby branches to build fires and makeshift barbecue spits. The rain deterred nobody, and some people even had tarps strung up in the trees to cover their little folding tables.

I got concerned looks if I tried to photograph the people who were out picnicking, so I just took a photo of this motorcycle. 

Easter Season is not quite over, it seems. Stores are filled with leftover paska bread, and people are busy visiting the graves of deceased loved ones to bring offerings of eggs and wine. My host mom was telling me that on the 24th, there will be another holiday specifically for memorializing those who have passed, although she already visited the graves of her parents the day before Easter.

To all those at home in the States, I hope all is well! I miss the chocolate bunnies and Reese's peanut butter eggs, but I am still glad to be here experiencing one of the biggest holidays in Ukraine!


I am required to say, "the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ukrainian Government.”

Моє місто - Чернігів (My city - Chernihiv)

Hello from Chernihiv, Ukraine!

First things first: I am required to say, "the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ukrainian Government.”

Okay! Onward with the blog.

When I was taken under consideration for Peace Corps Ukraine, I knew of exactly one Ukrainian city: the capital, Kyiv. That's where we flew into, but so far I have only seen the airport. My group - PC Ukraine Group 51 - is spending 3 months in Chernihiv, a smaller city about 2 hours to the northeast, for Pre-Service Training (PST). Look at the tippity-top of the map below, and you'll find it. 

I got this image HERE (citing sources is important, y'all)

I would say that Chernihiv and Kyiv have a healthy rivalry going (perhaps from back in the 11th-century golden age of Kyivan-Rus, when both Kyiv and Chernihiv were principalities?) To this day, people in these cities disagree about which city was built first, and which one has the oldest cathedral. Both cities are over 1,000 years old - although my host mom insists that Chernihiv was definitely here first. 

Transfiguration Cathedral was built in the 1030's and is the oldest building in Chernihiv.
Photo cred: My picture, don't steal it.  

White plaster was added some decades ago, but sections of the 1000-year-old original brick-and-stone construction are still visible. 

Chernihiv has a marvelous historical district called the Val, from the Ukrainian word for "ramparts." In Medieval times, Chernihiv was a walled city protected by a fortress. The fortress is gone now, replaced by a lovely brick walkway lined with cannons that make for great photo-ops. It's the kind of place where one goes strolling with a good friend and an ice cream cone (or hot chocolate at this time of year). Also - yes, you are absolutely allowed to climb on the cannons. It's great. 

The view from the Val.

This is one of the small cannons. Somewhere out in cyberspace, there may lurk a picture of me climbing on one about three times this size.
Thanks Laura-Ashley for indulging my need to take a cheesy tourist photo. 

While Chernihiv definitely has plenty of appeal to the history nerds among us, it also offers most of the diversions of modern life. The Latin dance scene is pretty solid - plenty of opportunities to social dance and take lessons in salsa, bachata, zouk, and kizomba. I've been out dancing twice so far, and aim to go again this coming week. 

A salsa line dance at a party to celebrate Viva La Vida, a dance studio in Chernihiv that just passed the 6-year mark since its founding. Happy sixth birthday, Viva La Vida! 

There is evidence! I went dancing! This was at a venue called SkyDance. 
Photo cred: SkyDance friends, help me out here.
If you know who was the photographer on March 24th, 2017, let me know so I can credit him. 

There is a craft brewery in town, although I have not tried it. I've been too busy enjoying some soul-satisfying Lviv-style hot chocolate at a place whose name I'd rather not transliterate, so I'll just write it in Ukrainian - Льівська Майстерня Шоколаду. 

Say it with me: Chocolate Is Life.

There are plenty of other things to write about - our language courses, our meetings with various agencies and organizations, our nerves about site placement interviews next week, ongoing memorials for the soldiers who continue to be lost on the eastern front - but for now I'll keep it short and sweet. Although in June I will most likely be moving to another part of Ukraine, Chernihiv is my first Ukrainian hometown and I wanted to share it with you all. 

6,000 Miles, 70+ New Friends, and a Lot of Borshch

Hello! It's been a few weeks, but I'm home with a headcold and it has finally slowed me down enough to sit down and tend to my blog.

First things first: I am required to say, "The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ukrainian Government.”

And on we go:

Here's just a quick run-down of my journey from West Sacramento, California, USA to Chernihiv, Chernihivs'ka Oblast, Ukraine. 

• Saturday, March 11th: Hauled many, many bags and caught a red-eye flight to Washington, D.C. First success - bags were all under the weight limit! First failure - I forgot to keep my luggage receipts for reimbursement. 
• Pro-tip: Have a good backpack! I used my backpacking pack as one of my checked luggages, and it made my life much easier than if I were trying to roll everything.

• Sunday, March 12th: Landed in DC, locked my bags in the hostel, grabbed Mexican food with a local buddy, and then walked over to the Capital Mall to meet some of my new Peace Corps compadres. It was so great to meet in person with the people I'd been connected with for months via social media. Love you guys!!!! 
• Pro-tip: Fly in to your staging city a touch early so you can explore! Your extra day or two of lodging won't be covered, but your flight will be. Also, make sure you have arrangements for storing your luggage while you are out and about. 

•  Monday, March 13th: We checked in to our hotel in Georgetown for staging. We did some icebreakers, and tried to soak in lots of information that I am pretty sure none of us remember. Also, we got cupcakes. Or that might have been Tuesday. I don't know, but I do know I got the peanut-butteriest peanut butter cupcake that I have ever had in my life. No regrets there. My sole regret is not packing a giant tub of peanut butter for my life in Ukraine. 
• Pro-tip: If you have even the slightest inclination to pack peanut butter with you, PACK THE PEANUT BUTTER. 

• Tuesday,  March 14th: Departure day! And also, Stormageddon! Winter Storm Stella really sounded like she was going to delay our flight, but luckily that wasn't the case. We got some pretty pictures of snow, and still made it out on time. 

• However - we did have to entirely re-pack the luggage compartment of the bus because we failed to fit everything in the first time. I like to think of it as our first hands-on training exercise. 
• Pro-tip: Plan how your bags will go into the bus in an organized way (big, hard-shell suitcases can go in first, with smaller or softer ones on top. Carryons will quite possibly end up on your lap. Don't just throw everything into the bus and hope for the best. Especially if it's snowing and gross outside. 

Look at all these beautiful people. They each have over 100 lbs of luggage. 

• Wednesday, March 15th???? It was that vague sort of time that happens when you are journeying across time zones. Anyway, we transferred through Frankfurt and had to take some little bus around the tarmac for a ridiculous amount of time, and then spend a ridiculous amount of time waiting on the stairwell up to the plane. But it wasn't real time, right? It was, like, surreal travel time. 
• Pro-tip: Lufthansa Airlines serves free wine. It's a long flight - enjoy. But also drink some actual water, because you will hit the ground running upon arrival.  

• Wednesday, March 15th - I am pretty sure this was, in fact, Wednesday, March 15th. We got to Kyiv, hopped a bus to Chernihiv, and had some info crammed into our heads that we were too sleep-deprived to remember. We got to a hotel in Chernihiv, and then had a lovely traditional Ukrainian welcome ceremony with salt and bread. This hotel was to be our home for the next three days, until meeting our host families. 
• Pro-tip: Have some business casual clothes in your carry-on, along with your toiletries and anything else you will need for the first few days. We didn't get to unpack until meeting our host families, so I had to live out of my carry-on bag. 

And now, just writing all this has made me really tired!!! Long story short - we made it! 

Ode to Indiana

It's an uncommonly sunny late-November day in Indianapolis; the kind that beckons for a walk in the park. But first, a blog. Leaving my adopted home only a year and half after I loaded my life's possessions into my Prius and drove some 2,3000 miles to get here is, apparently, what it takes to get me writing again.

"And you decided to come here?" 

That's what people always ask me when they learn I moved to Indiana from California, where I lived a 10-minute walk from the beach and could go watch baby seals during my lunch breaks.

"Why the hell would you come here?"

I came here for work, technically. But the job was just a happy accident - something tangential to the experiences that have made me love this place. It feels more honest to say I came here to dance all around the city with my new friends, walk to the beautiful Central Library in a snowstorm, and watch how quickly the cornfields grow in summertime.

So, do you want to know why this California girl came to Indiana? Take a look and see:

That time we danced all around the city. If you've never seen Indianapolis, Naptown Stomp made a lovely highlights reel of some of the most famous spots!

Video credit to Kerry Kapaku and Doug Sutton, dancers are from Naptown Stomp. 

The Lindy 500.  Nowhere else in the world can you name a dance team the Lindy 500 and throw an Indy car race into your performance routine. And yes, you should watch both videos because you can never have too many Indy cars made out of dancers.

Seasons. They are this thing that happens in Indiana (albeit sometimes unpredictably, and sometimes with tornadoes).

Spring: Flowers and thunderstorms!

Summer: What, you didn't know there were beaches in Indiana?

Fall: Too wonderful for just one picture.

Winter: Nothing like the feel of fresh snow beneath your feet (assuming you are wearing nice warm boots - don't go out there barefoot).














My horse loves it here. I brought him to his new barn warning the trainer that he could be quite hot-headed and tricky, but his long days grazing out in the fields of the Midwest have made him pretty mellow. Tarquin has won the respect and affection of many - including the dressage judges! Our first ever horse trial together was here in Indiana, and we finished in second.

Photo credit: Michelle Rakotomalala

Photo credit: Lee Ann Zobbe

Indiana has been a jumping-off point to so many other great places, too. I finally made my country music fan pilgrimage to Nashville, Tennessee. I've eaten sooooo many tacos in Chicago. Went to the top of the arch in St. Louis. Had sweet tea in Atlanta. Danced in the snow in Michigan. Made a beer run to the next county over in Kentucky ("'s a dry county here, y'all. Go on up over the hill, about 12 miles, and just across the county line there's a Shell station that'll sell ya some beer...")

And now I'm jumping off to the next thing: Joining the Peace Corps to serve for 2 years in Ukraine. Stay tuned for a revamp of this old blog as I prepare for my big move to Eastern Europe! Until then, I'm flying west for a little while, to that land where my parents complain of freezing temperatures when it's 50 degrees outside, that land so wonderful and big and complicated it makes people the world over ask me why the heck I am anywhere else.

Thanks, Indiana! I shall see you again someday!

Photo credit: Michelle Rakotomalala

The Diary Project: Volume 1.1 - 1.2

Hello, and welcome to a more formal beginning of The Diary Project!

This is the first volume of my diary. I purchased it from a book order form, the kind we used to get on a regular basis in elementary school. My friends and I would pore over them, circling the items we wanted.
We got our parents' help filling them out, and we'd turn them in to our teacher with some money. Then our books would be delivered to us in our classroom. The resulting atmosphere was a beautiful blend of Christmas-day enthusiasm, and library-esque wonder. My very first entry in this diary is about receiving my book orders.

I have now typed up all of my 1998 and 1999 entries. Here are some basic stats: 

1998:

Total number of entries: 29

Top 5 themes/topics:

• School
• Complaining
• Horses
• Holidays
• Books, toys, and Beanie Babies 

Quote of the Year: "And school is terrible. People do dumb things for dumb reasons, too". 

This was on Friday, March 13th. I was not pleased with that day. 

1999:

Total number of entries: 51

Top 5 themes/topics:

• School
• Pets and Possessions
• Horses
• Holidays
• Traveling 

Quote of the Year: "Whooopee!"

My reaction to my parents agreeing to buy me a horse. It is in addition to many entries that included exclamations of "yipee!" "wow!" and "woo-hoo!"

They usually had to do with vacations, field trips, and horses. 

Reflections:

In both 1998 and 1999, I talked a lot about decisions. I decided things, or I was trying to decide them, or I couldn't decide them. It's one of the most striking patterns of verb usage in those two years of writing, especially since looking back on my childhood I don't remember deciding much. As an adult, I kind of figure my parents decided most things for me. But as a child, I didn't feel that way. In my diary, I ruled my world and I decided things - even if they were decisions my parents had influenced or made for me, I expressed them as my own. My parents have always told me they learned early on how much I craved having power to control my own world and my own life, and the fact that in my diaries I express agency and decision-making reflects their efforts. 

Fun observation: 

While typing up my old 1999 entries on my computer, I encountered an excited entry about an upcoming trip to Canada. I had commented some years later on the entry, once again going to Canada. I was typing up these entries while on a train, going to Canada. 

Original entry: March 18th, 1999: I’m going to CANADA! Yippee!

Comment on entry: 5/21/2007: Hey I’m going to Canada! Hell yeah, 9 y/o self!

By the way, I'M IN CANADA! RIGHT NOW! Woohoo!!! 

 

The Diary Project: Introduction

Hello everybody!
I have been meaning to start this project for a while, but various graduate school assignments have monopolized my time until now. Finally, after two shots of whiskey and a glass of mediocre Cabernet Sauvignon, I've typed up the entirety of my diary entries from the year 1998, which I began as an 8-year-old and ended as a 9-year-old. I definitely drank neither whiskey nor wine at that age.
(I currently have the tipsy hiccups. It makes it hard to type).

My latest project is what I am calling "The Diary Project."
I started writing in a journal when I was 8 years old. I called it a diary at the time, because I liked that word better than the word "journal"(although since learning that "diary" implied "daily", I have amended my language to calling my work a "journal").  Since starting on January 26th, 1998, I have kept a journal or diary of some sorts, continually, since I was 8 years old, and I have filled up 8 volumes.
Over the course of the next few months, I intend to read through my entire diary. We will see what I find out about myself. If it was worth writing about back then, what can it tell me now?

My life history - scrawled in various colors of pen and pencil.

My excursion into 1998 has brought me something simultaneously startling and comforting. Somehow, my casual 8-year-old promises have come profoundly true. Here's an excerpt from May 22nd, 1998 (almost exactly 16 years ago):

"Tomorrow I’m going to Montaray. Now I take riding lessons. The first horse I rode for the first 3^^lessons, was Babe. Now I ride Rosie. In Montaray, there’s a horse named Prit. He’s nice. He’s reddish with white frome his forehead to his nose. He’s my best friend. I rode Smokey. He did everything right when you told him! He’s sandy colored with a black mane and tail. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to Montaray.

When I wrote this entry, Monterey was a vacation spot for me and my family. I grew up in Sacramento, and my parents and I would often make the 3.5 hour drive to Monterey for the weekend. And of course I worked in some time to visit horses when we were there. 

In 1998, horseback riding was something new that I was just beginning. Every family vacation involved a ride on a horse for me. And today, my horses are dear, dear friends of mine. 

I moved from Sacramento to Monterey 1 year ago, for graduate school. I moved two of my horses to Pebble Beach Equestrian Center, where I had met Prit as a child. I walk regularly by the stall where I met him. It's usually unoccupied. The trails I went on as a child - today, those are my playground when I have the courage. 

That diary I promised to bring with me 16 years ago is here, in my desk drawer, in a little apartment at the corner of Jefferson and Larkin Streets, Monterey, California. That promise was only made for a weekend vacation, and yet it is still true. Dear diary, I have brought to you Monterey with me. 

It's amazing how we can sometimes be true to ourselves without even realizing it. 

Cantering on Babe. My first canter on her made in into my diary on July 1st, 1998.

Cantering to a jump on Tarquin, October 2013. Pebble Beach, CA, where I met Prit and Smokey as a child. 

 

What's in a name?

"O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet" ~William Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet, Act II Scene II We had a talk about names the other day- a seemingly fluffy exercise in my weekend workshop class on counseling skills. What is your full name? What's its story? Significance? What's your attachment to it? In groups of four we answered these questions, one person at a time. And for the first time it hit me - hard - what's not in my name. My name is Cortney Copeland. Nice and simple. Nothing hidden there. I was almost Cortney June Copeland, according to an unofficial birth certificate I found during one of my childhood forays into old cabinets. June was my maternal grandmother, though I never knew her. My parents couldn't agree on using that name, and never picked a different one. On all my legal forms I just put a dash through the section for middle name. I might have ended up Cortney June Maska-Copeland, had my mother chosen to keep her name and do one of those hyphenated deals that seem to be popular among couples lately. I could even have been Cortney June Merczejewski-Copeland, had my maternal great-grandparents not been required to Americanize their name when they immigrated to the USA from Poland. Is Cortney June Merczejewski-Copeland really the same person as Cortney Copeland? Because as my name stands, it obfuscates so many realities. The reality of my immigrant roots, of my connection to the pariah side of my family - marginalized by the strong strain of schizophrenia running in their blood, by poverty and "disfunction" among my mentally ill aunts and other relatives. My name hides these things. It erases them from what identifies me. Juliet asks Romeo to "Deny thy father, and refuse thy name." She asks him to turn away from the blood feud tied to being a Montague, as I've been turned away from all things on my mother's side of the family. Granted, I've fared much better in life than Romeo, and I can also understand why he'd want to no longer be a Montague. At least family doesn't practice blood feuds. And we do have Thanksgiving dinner together, schizophrenia and all. I mean this in no way as a statement of absolute opinion on naming decisions. People have their reasons for giving, taking, or leaving a name. But now at least I understand that little twinge of discomfort I feel when somebody I know changes their name for whatever reason - I am still grappling with the changes in mine. What's in a name? The visible bindings that would compel me to call my mother's side of the family my family.