Feb
20
Yes, that is right, -20, and yes, I am well aware of the fact that Oklahoma has enjoyed a pleasant 70 F for the past few days. Luckily, I have found an enjoyable alternative to the outdoor activities I so love. In the past few days, I have spent my evenings warming both my body and spirit around our small kitchen table with some of the most interesting individuals I have yet encountered in Russia. The stories which have been shared have ranged from comedic to heartbreaking, and though I listen more than I speak, I have come to realize that there are some topics which transcend cultural and linguistic boundaries.
With this particular group, it is music. Jazz music, to be precise. My host mother is actually a well-known jazz singer in St Petersburg, and though her English is not fantastic and my Russian is worse, we have spent hours in the past week sharing our love and appreciation for the one thing that unites us regardless of our myriad differences. She tells me of her childhood in a family of musicians, of the persecution and the hunger. She tells me how she would listen to American jazz in secret, but that any attempt to emulate the soulful, gritty vocals was prohibited. With each song we share, each experience we relate, I realize that this, the simple act of connecting, is more important than a trip to the museum or local tourist destination. I look across the table at a woman who has lived through a history and accumulated scars I will never fully comprehend, and yet I see in her eyes that on some level, we understand each other perfectly. If only the whole world could sit around the kitchen table and listen to jazz…
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