"Back in the USSR!"

Every time I've traveled from Arkansas to Russia, I've been tempted to title a posting, "Back in the USSR," but have resisted.  "Too corny, too trite, too politically incorrect," I've reasoned and opted for something more . . . literary. Call it coincidence, the work of cosmic forces, or an Apple executive with knowledge of my travel plans, but the very day I returned to Moscow, the company changed its "start page," and using the taboo title instead felt fated.  Trying to stay awake the afternoon of my arrival, I opened my computer expecting to find the screen filled with the same Apple ads, new products, list of tutorials, and picture of Steve Jobs delivering his latest keynote address.  Instead, staring directly at me, from left to right, were George, Paul, John and Ringo.  "The Beatles. Now on iTunes."

It's a sign.  Forget the fact that there's no longer a "USSR," to get back to, but rather a "Russian Federation."  Try fitting those 6 syllables into the song.  Even the genius of Lennon and McCartney at their song-writing best, couldn't have pulled that one off.   I was destined to connect this week's writing to these heartthrobs of my almost-adolescent youth; the only question remains, "What's the connection to my recent transition back to Moscow besides the obvious?"  The answer lies within the question itself.

Transition or T-Word, as I not so lovingly named it in an earlier blog entry.

I was 12 when the Beatles performed on the Ed Sullivan show.  I somehow convinced (more like begged) my parents to skip Sunday night church,"just once" so I could watch.  Considering that my father called them the "Mop Heads," it's obvious that God must have been a Beatles' fan and had a hand in Daddy's decision to say "yes."  The following week when I bought their LP, without a record player in the house on which to play it, God again came through.  Perhaps he whispered in Daddy's ear, "Go buy a record player," over and over until my father could no longer withstand the pressure from the Divine and his daughter who kept whining, "Please, please, please get a record player."

Looking back on the album's cover,

 I realize that it was the Beatles who pushed me over the edge from childhood to adolescence.  I was in love for the first time, with Paul, along with a horde of millions.  The way he shook his head as he sang, "Oooooo," the way his "long" hair fell just shy of his dark eyebrows, and those penetrating chocolate brown eyes.  I sat staring at his picture for hours, dreaming that he secretly knew about me and would find a way for us to meet.  To prepare myself for that event, I took up dancing (not sure why I thought that would impress him) in my friend's attic bedroom.  Her big sister taught us a made-up version of line dancing, and we traveled from one end of her room to the other to the beat of "I Want to Hold Your Hand," until the rug showed signs of a nervous breakdown.

Adolescence is the first transition (major upheaval) I can recall, but it took another 40 years or so before I learned the terminology and strategies to cope with such changes. Having transitioned through marriage, childbirth (3 times), death of a parent and 2 grandparents, moves to Alaska, Singapore, Cairo, Arkansas and Moscow, marriage of 2 children and another in February, birth of 4 grandchildren, to name roughly the Top Ten, being "Back in the USSR" seems like "another day at the office."

"Gee, it's good to be home," is a literal lyric I'm learning to apply to Arkansas, Moscow or wherever my family is.  As a metaphor, it speaks to the woman I've become, the one I'm "at home" with, and the one who, thank goodness, is no longer an adolescent.

As for Paul,  he's still around at 68.  Perhaps there's yet a chance. . . that he, Drew and I could meet for a cup of tea.