Park of "Eternal Glory"

Coming out into the vast green spaces lining the Dnipro River north of Pechersk Lavra, one comes upon Vichnoyi Slavi Park, or the Park of "Eternal Glory." Dedicated to the fallen of World War II, it has an impressive granite obelisk as the focal center of several long walkways. These looked very beautiful in the early morning sunlight, glancing up off of the new fallen snow. Coming out onto the round plaza surrounding the obelisk, I saw for the first time a wide (and clear weather) prospect of the Dnipro River and the rest of the City beyond. With this perspective, one sees how really big this city is, sprawling in all directions for dozens of miles. On a clear day this spot might provide the furthest possible perspective that this city affords.

After visiting Pechersk Lavra, I returned by the same way, and saw that the Vichnoyi Slavi Park was a popular gathering place for wedding parties and families with small children. While the little kids rode their sleds down the surrounding hills, newly married couples and their guests had pictures taken with their backs to the Dnipro. I suppose that on this, one of the most important days of their lives, they want the furthest possible perspective from which to launch forward together.

Giving Away Pysanky

When I came to Ukraine I was anxious to take home many pysanky (Ukrainian singular is "писанка"), which are Ukrainian Easter eggs decorated with vibrant and highly symbolic colors. The word "писанка" is related to the word "to write," as the process of creating the eggs involves literally "writing" on the eggs. This morning I bought dozens of pysanky, both the original eggshell and more recently used wooden varieties. This is something that I had hoped to be able to do, since the hand decorating of Easter eggs has been the defining tradition in our family since our children were infants.

I have talked to a few Ukrainians about the various pysanky traditions, which are not universal by any means, but the following is my summary understanding: The purpose of the pysanky is to give them away as blessings to those around you. You don't keep pysanky--you give them away. I like that. To give away a pysanka is to give a unique symbolic gift of life and happiness. Each of the designs on the pysanka is supposed to have a deep, symbolic meaning. Traditionally, pysanky designs were chosen to match the character of the person receiving the gift. Usually pysanky would be displayed prominently in the largest public room of the house.

At Easter the women in a large family would create about 60 pysanky. In some communities, the preparation itself would be a deeply religious experience, requiring a certain peaceful and receptive state of mind, because blessings were to flow through the giving away of the pysanky to loved ones. The finished pysanky would be carried to the Church in a basket to be blessed by the priest on Easter Sunday, after which they were given away. I understand that the gift giving might proceed roughly as follows:

• One or two pysanky might be given to the Orthodox priest in the village Church.
• Three or four might be carried to the cemetery and placed on the graves of departed family members.
• Ten or fifteen might be given to children or grandchildren.
• Ten or twelve might be exchanged by the unmarried girls with the eligible young men in the community.
• A few might be saved to place in the coffin of loved ones who might die during the coming year.
• Several might be saved to keep in the home for protection against fire, lightning, storms or other dangers and intrusions.
• Two or three might be placed in the mangers of cows and horses to ensure safe calving and colting and a good milk supply for the young.
• At least one pysanka was placed beneath the family's bee hive to ensure a good harvest of honey (Ukraine is famous for honey--I have been having bread and honey for breakfast almost every morning since my arrival).
• One was saved for each grazing animal to be taken out to the fields with the shepherds in the spring.
• Several pysanky were placed in the nests of hens to encourage the laying of eggs.

Everyone in the family from the youngest to the oldest would always receive at least one pysanka for Easter. Young children and teenagers were given pysanky with light colors and bright designs; dark pysanky were given to older people. I understand that it was appropriate to give very young children pysanky which were very nearly white, signifying that they still had much in their lives "to be written." The pysanky for those of old age were glorious and rich with many deep hues and intricate designs. A bowl filled with pysanky was invariably kept in every home. It served not only as a colorful display, but also as protection from all dangers.

So, its a wonderful tradition. There is something powerful and moving in the idea behind pysanky--that it is better to give blessings away than to hoard them for ourselves. Though the colors and patterns are bright, we never really enjoy them unless they are given away. I will take home pysanky to give to my family and friends (and maybe even one for my Golden Retriever, "Lady," and one or two to give to the "Bishop" of my village church, and, of course, a bowl full of pysanky to sit in the large family room of our house).

Where Will the Children Play?

I fear a little for Kyiv. From my first day here I noted how few children are seen on the streets and in public. Olga once commented to me that Kyiv was no place for children. I have previously commented on how this is a city for the few with cars, not for the many on foot. Though I have traveled on the Metro many times each day, and probably seen ten thousand fellow commuters or more, I have seen only three children--two toddlers, and one infant asleep in a baby carrier. This appears to be the city of the University student, of the worker, of the professional, of the party-goer, of the entrepreneur, of the fashion model, but not of the child. I imagine that outside the City center there are many children living happy lives in happy homes and growing into beautiful young people. Among the most touching things I have seen in my few days in Kyiv are the parks with playgrounds, where each evening a very few parents can be seen playing with their children in the snow, running and laughing, or throwing snowballs playfully. I fear a little for Kyiv. There ought to be children on streets that are safe. This all brings to mind the words of a song I very much liked in high school:

I know we've come a long way,

We're changing from day to day,

But tell me, where will the children play?

"Keep Your Hands and Arms Inside the Vehicle At All Times"

It is difficult to describe the speed with which the Metro cars arrive in their various stations, and the speed with which they depart. Yesterday I barely got on the car when the tail of my overcoat was caught in the door. Two days ago I saw an old woman fall in the doorway and she was only rescued by three men just before the doors closed. Olga tells me that the Metro can be a dangerous place for children, and that is very nerve-wracking escorting a child by the hand into this underground world. This video was taken this morning at the Universityet Metro Station. Note that this is not rush hour, and so the number of riders is unusually small. It is said that over one and a half million people ride Kyiv's Metro system each day.

(Incidentally, the English speaking voice you hear faintly in the background is the Protector, Olga, urging me to take more pictures of the statues in the Metro station so that the Antagonist will emerge from his lair to challenge me again.)

Helping Hands on the Metro

There is an old Russian proverb, Старость--не радость (I guess one translation would be, "Old age is no fun"). I saw a touching demonstration of this today on the Metro in the Vokzalna Station. A very feeble woman, quite aged, was exiting the subway car with an armful of parcels, when she tripped and fell directly in the doorway. One of her parcels fell partway into the crack leading down to the tracks. Immediately three men, one middle aged and two teenagers or young men in their early twenties, sprang to her assistance, and without a word lifted her gently up and gathered up her parcels, leading her to a bench on the platform, where she sat weeping. One of the young men, with pierced ears and a red streaked Mohawk hair style, had reached quickly into the crack between the car and the platform to retrieve her last parcel. By this time the train was rushing out of the station, and the last I saw, this poor little soul was seated in tears on the bench.

There is an innate goodness in all people regardless of their nationalities, religions, political persuasions or (in this case) the color of their Mohawk. It is comforting to know that the spirit of peace, cooperation, compassion, friendship, good humor and Wisdom runs strong in every human heart.

Afterwards, I discussed this little incident with Olga, and she commented on how the Metro is really a place for healthy adults, and not for children, the elderly or the handicapped. She said that when children are brought on the Metro, that parents will scarcely dare to let go of their hands.