You Smoke Too Much, Your Feet Stink

DJ: We both wake up around 7. I make the cowboy coffee in the Turkish coffee pot. It’s Candace’s method, but she says my technique is better. (Boil water, two rounded tablespoons in bottom of pot, pour water, let rest five minutes, add an ounce of cold water, wait ten seconds, then pour like you’re decanting a fine old red wine.) Breakfast is blackberries, raspberries, brown bread, butter and some cheese Zoya recommended.

Sasha calls around 9:00 to say that cable guy will be here at noon to install English channels. We are reading (me: James Ellroy’s Destination Morgue; CD: Peter Hopkirk’s The Great Game), and listening to Vin Scelsa on Itunes. Cable guy shows at 11:55, (exactly as promised!) asking about decoder, Sasha arrives two minutes later to make sure we get “All the English channels,” which turn out to be a grand total of three: Fox News, Sky News and BBC News. Great - two right wing news channels and one tight-ass news channel.

We take a walk, then meet Sagat to see Otis. Arrive at #3, ask Zoya to inquire about getting translation of Otis’ medical records (we’ve been asking since day one of visits) and meeting with his caregivers to find out about his schedule, what he eats, likes, dislikes etc. Zoya checks with Director: records still not ready and we are not allowed to talk to caregivers, only doctor, but not today, grrrr! I call Galina, our lawyer, she says she’s sorry, she’s busy today, she’ll see us tomorrow, nothing on translations, no court date yet, double grrrr! Zoya further tells us that Otis will be waking up at 2:10, so we can see him at 2:15. CD says, “So that means our visit lasts until 4:15, correct?” Zoya agrees.

Otis is brought in, big smiles for both of us. I show him the piano, he’s fascinated for a minute, but wants to look outside. The great outdoors has a huge allure for the boy, that and ceiling fixtures. I hold him way up in the air like Superman, and he smiles big and vocalizes. We sit at a desk, he grabs my watch and won’t let go. I take it off, hand it to him, he shakes it, puts it in his mouth and shakes it some more. Candace sits on the floor with him while he plays with toys. He still has a cold and is drooling a lot, but he is in a much better mood than Saturday, lots more smiles and vocalizing.

My cell rings, it’s Milena; she asks about medical records and promises to get on people. Milena then tells me she wants to pass on some concerns from the orphanage. They’re not happy about my smoking and the fact that Candace doesn’t wear socks when she visits. (At this point I feel constrained to ask that none of you leave comments or send e-mails to the effect of, “You really do need to quit smoking, you know, you’re about to raise of a child, don’t you want to be there for him?” If you do, I promise to hunt you down and arrange for a lung transplant; yours for mine, got it? As to the issue of Candace’s bare feet, what can I say? There’s no defending the indefensible. CD: This notwithstanding the facts that the orphanage asks you to take your shoes off, I have yet to see a Kazakhstani woman under the age of 80 wearing hose, and no one told me to wear socks.)

We have a nice hour or so more of playing with Otis (CD: He’s almost sitting on his own, and almost rolling over!) and then at 3:55, they take him from us; so much for the two hours. We communicate our unhappiness to Zoya and Sagat and are told, “It’s the orphanage, not us. We’re just the workers.” (CD: the age old, unfortunately usually true, refrain.) We return to apartment, where after some beers and grumbling, CD starts dinner, and I start typing this. Dinner is yesterday’s leftover rack of lamb, turned into a pilaf with hot peppers and onions, a salad of heirloom tomatoes, dill, scallions, basil & parsley, along with a slightly corked, indifferent Cotes du Rhone.