The weather during the last few days has been so temptingly beautiful that today I finally ditched my homework and took a walk. Going to the grocery store seemed like a much more productive thing to do than sitting and wistfully staring out the window, anyway, and it was great to get out and feel the sunshine. Inside the entrance to the grocery store is a small area set up with flowers and plants. After getting a few groceries, I stopped to look at the flowers, and couldn’t help but think of our neighbour, Valerija. Valerija is a sweet old lady who lives on the bottom floor of the building next to us. She knows everything about everyone, and is always happy to chat. We like to call Valerija our “Lithuanian teacher,” because she is infinitely patient with our stumblings, and has an uncommon ability to understand (or at least pretend to understand) what we are saying, even when we resort to ridiculous mimes and hand gestures.
So today, I decided to buy flowers for Valerija. I should preface the rest of this story by saying that I spent nearly two hours in Valerija’s apartment, talking with her, listening, and looking at pictures. Consequently, my brain is currently a tangle of words, images, and verb conjugations, so telling this story is a bit like spilling a cup of grape juice all over a cream carpet: messy. The words may not come out all neatly lined up or stitched into a pretty pattern, but I want to write this all down before I forget, so please, excuse the mess.
From outside, I buzzed Valerija’s apartment twice, and judging by the uncharacteristically eccentric style of her hair when she answered the door, I think I might have woken her from a nap. Nevertheless, she invited me in with smiles and open arms, and sat me down at her kitchen table. She couldn’t figure out why I had brought her flowers, but she seemed to enjoy the bit of brightness in her day. She showed me around her apartment, which is a bit run-down, but has tall ceilings and a large living room. She asked about my neighbours, filled me in on a few details, and asked about our friends in Klaipeda. I gave her a Lithuanian calendar that has Bible verses for each month, and we used it to talk about the upcoming trip to Canada. I told her that we will visit family in both Canada and the US, but it was a bit hard to explain the scope of things, so maybe next time I visit her, I will take a map.
I told her about all the places that Nathan is working, and talked about the online classes I am taking. She asked if my eyes get sore from working on the computer – which they do – so she went and dug out a book about medicinal plants. She told me that there is a plant that grows plentifully in Lithuania that is good for your eyes, and promised me that she would pick some of it for me while we are away. She explained in some detail (though admittedly, I only understood a fraction of what she said) about how to prepare a compress, and assured me that I would feel much better after a night of having this preparation on my eyes. She also gave me a large bunch of garlic leaves, along with plenty of ideas on how to prepare it. This, she explained, strengthens your whole body, and will keep me healthy while I study. She had purchased the leaves at the market just this morning, and I doubt her pension gives her much room for frivolous generosity, so it is especially appreciated. Like many Lithuanians, Valerija has much more confidence in herbal medicine than modern remedies, and her knowledge of plants is quite astounding. Apparently, she has put this knowledge to good use, since she will be 79 next month, and I never would have guessed.
The eldest of Valerija’s two sons lives in the small, one-bedroom apartment with her. His workdays are long, however, so we rarely see him. Valerija explained to me that her other son had some kind of accident in their home when he was younger, and he now lives in a home for disabled people. She spoke of how active and athletic he was before the accident, and is clearly still disturbed by the thought that his injury occurred in her own home. The picture album she showed me revealed a man who needs constant care and assistance, and since the home is located in another city, Valerija only sees him once a month. Some of our other neighbours appeared in the pictures taken at the care home, so it is some comfort to know that Valerija has help from people around her. She didn’t mention any other family, though, and it is sad to think that she spends so much of her time alone, just contemplating what could have been.
Despite the sadness in her life, Valerija has an unquenchable thirst for optimism. In her 79 years, she has witnessed political upheaval, poverty, tragedy, and persecution. She is certainly not naïve about the realities of life, yet she is able to find happiness in the little things. I certainly found a bit of happiness just in spending time with this remarkable lady, and I hope that the small vase of flowers on her kitchen table helps replenish her seemingly endless supply of smiles. She sure used up plenty of them on me today.
Throughout my immediate and extended family, there runs a common thread of domestically oriented talent. Though the interests and skills vary, using fabric and fiber to create beautiful, useful things is a particularly popular pastime. The artisans in my family have produced a stunning array of creations: hand-stitched quilts, knitted mittens, crocheted blankets, winter coats, curtains, sofa cushions, socks, dish cloths, sweaters, wall-hangings, table runners, toques, pillows, hand-warmers, skirts, upholstered furniture, cross-stitched pictures, a custom-fitted tent tarp, and dozens of other amazing things. It is no secret that my contribution to this fantastic list is limited. In fact, unless you count stitching up holey socks and sewing on buttons, it is virtually non-existent. I have tried – believe me. My efforts at knitting resulted in an un-rescuable ball of knots, hand-sewing is excruciatingly awkward, and the sewing machine practically screams if I go anywhere near it. However, while I can’t knit my own dish cloths, or sew Christmas gifts for people, there is a distinct advantage to being domestically challenged: I have an overwhelming appreciation for the talents of others. 
I’ve been struggling the past few days with a pile of papers and assignments that need to get done. It’s not so much that the topics are particularly difficult, or that I can’t find research material, or even that I don’t have enough time. I seem to have simply become bogged down in the mental mire of syllabus overload: the incapacitating realization that there is way more work to be done than seems humanly possible.