Sometimes is odd running into the stereotypical image of what some people think of a place in the flesh. When many people think of Russia, an image of this lady appears. She is bent over, she is kerchiefed, she has a few teeth here and there. This is in Kiev, Ukraine and from this distance, this woman did look like either my grandmother, a small, Jewish woman who would feed you until your stomach would burst, never taking no as an answer, or a witch, who….oddly would do the same thing to your stomach, except cook you and eat you before it got to the bursting point. There were many ladies like this in the Ukraine and you could tell from a single glance that they were the backbones of their families. Hard worked, constantly aware, and with voices to conquer all banshee wails, these old school woman demanded your attention, deserved your respected, and ignited your imagination. I couldn’t help but thinking of Fiddler on the Roof the entire time I was there. I felt that I was returning to my roots, my past, and even if I couldn’t communicate with it, I could look to it to see what these old black and white photos of strangers who were related by blood looked like in color and in motion and in sound. Truly a place I would want to take my children to see, not just for the buildings, or the rustic country, but for the well endowed culture and past that I feel very connected to.
Apologies for the delay…working on a few new films had me on a twitter/blog/photo of the day hiatus. No more! New Episode next week! And of course…a photo of the day.
Really needs an explanation, but I don’t have one. Posted on the entrance to a park in Moscow. I presume it means no homeless people, but maybe they have a stigma about chimney sweeps. Possibly that when they band together they tend to put on terrible cockney accents and dance and sing late into the evening on people’s roofs.
Yessiree. I am a Jew. Through and through. What that means is that my family can make you feel guilty for committing atrocities that you didn’t commit, let alone weren’t born in the same decade that they happened in, so that even if you had an inkling of wanting to kill us all, which, God, if you meet some of my family members…..(holds breath and exhales sooo very slowly). So anyways, my mom, also, just so happens to be a Jew as well. But like an American who thinks they’re flag is also a fashion statement and something to plaster all over your house and lawn, my mom finds it hard to not mention the fact that something in the conversation is Jewish, or was Jewish, or once she gets through with it, will be Jewish. I am a Jew by culture and food. Nothing more. But, I love my mother dearly and am also still and yes, I am still in a wee bit of awe when I see something Jewish. It’s kind of like seeing Canadian Geese in another country, I mean, they exist there, but in your head, the image doesn’t sit right. Canadian Geese in Mexico, really? Maybe it’s the opposite situation as it is with humans.
Anyways. So I took this picture to make my mom happy. Was she happy with this picture? Welp, she hasn’t seen it yet, so hopefully it will garner the admiration, which I so seek out by appeasing the little old yente in her. Love you mom. Whoopi Goldberg is still not Jewish, but don’t worry your gaspritzin punim, Drake is.