Well then. When I arrived as a tourist for three months, right after the Christmas holidays I started studying Norwegian on courses and trying to drive a car. Just a little. And it was good that I had the chance to try living in Norway and get used to a completely different way of life.
After all, when you have lived in a city your whole life, you get used to public transport, but here it turned out that for any minor reason the whole family would jump into the car, and papa Vanya — the head of the family — would take his little ones and their friends in any direction and at any time of day or night. And they took me along as an honorary guest as well. Here I am, of course, joking.
At that time it is hard for me to say how Vanya’s daughters perceived me. I think “not at all,” “just papa’s guest.” (that is how I think now). I will not describe in my blog the very specific life of teenage girls, but that my arrival was a stress for them, as it was for me — that is beyond doubt. Now I am grateful to them for being polite enough and patient toward me.
Having arrived on the eve of the Christmas holidays and the pre-holiday bustle, we practically “never got out” of the car. I had the impression that the girls needed to buy “everything that was for sale” before the holidays in Norwegian boutiques. (the word butikk in Norwegian means shop). And papa Vanya patiently drove and provided everyone with everything.
And I felt like a sheep, modestly trailing through the boutiques, quietly and curiously glancing at Norwegian price tags and, like Kisa Vorobyaninov from “The Twelve Chairs,” uttering (to myself) only one Russian word: “However!”
Of course I, as an adult woman, wanted to take an active part in preparing the holiday. And I knew exactly for myself where to start. And I had to start with a general cleaning of the house, “clearing” territory for myself, and also cooking edible food. (the main food in the family was ready-made pizza, Pepsi-Cola, chips, ketchup, taco (Mexican tortillas with vegetables).
Ivan tried to be both mama and papa to the daughters. (I immediately recall the phrase from the Soviet film “their mother was Novoseltsev!”). And “any whim” on the daughters’ part, for Vanya’s money, was carried out without question.
And then I appeared, “the aunt from Kyiv,” with my worldview and a rationalization proposal about a “subbotnik” all together “on Saturday morning”; I think in a teenager’s head the word “morning” is not earlier than 2 in the afternoon. Ivan politely suggested it was “better not to start” and continued to perform his household duties for “everyone and for everyone.”
It seemed to me then that he had adopted me too, “the little orphan.” Since up to that moment I had lived “in orphanhood” for 18 years, such excessive care both strained me and delighted me at the same time.
To be continued…. I promise.😀