Today is 49 years since I met my husband. That’s how it happened on January 27th,1968 in Kiev, Ukraine. “Your Mom asked me to dance with you Victoria,” smiled Felix. “She is quite a woman and I hope you will grow up to be just like her”. He was obviously not impressed with Victoria. However, he was holding her tight, expertly moving them through the dance floor. He was not joking when he asked, “What grade are you in?” Furious Victoria was lost for words; she thought she looked very elegant in her “little black and green dress” with cold shoulders. Mom’s famous tailor Clara had made it specifically for her trip abroad. She combed her red hair up “Babette” style and long strait bangs swiveled in front of her eyes. She smiled thinly, ready to kill her obnoxious dance partner. “Just for your information, I am not a school girl. I am a doctor, a widow with one-year-old son. And although I agree that my Mom is a stunning woman, she is married!” Victoria almost added, “Here you have it, you self-confident prick. “ Her Mom loved Felix. She brought him back upstairs and introduced him to her friends. During their nonstop conversations and drinking, she managed to learn everything about him there was to learn. She was a real woman. As it turned out, Felix lived last year in Moscow where he was briefly married and divorced amicably. “There were no children to share, no assets to divide and only my ex father-in-low would miss his drinking partner,” he chuckled. He just returned from Moscow when his Mom asked him to accompany her to the wedding. “If this is not a coincidence, I do not know what is” Sarra tried to involve still bitter Victoria in their conversation. Felix was a charmer. He told jokes, he danced, drank, told stories and by the end of the night he escorted women to their home across the city. “Please, give him the telephone number, Victoria” whispered Sarra in the taxi. She squeezed her daughter’s hand: “He looks so much like Dima. Please. “ They exchanged their telephone numbers at five in the morning and promised to keep in touch. After cold sleepless night, Victoria was happy to jump into her parents’ bed next to her Mom. “OK, he was cute,” she mumbled falling asleep. The telephone rang at seven and half a sleep Victoria lifted the receiver. “It is probably Dad.” “Good Morning, Victoria” the deep velvety voice in the phone was to die for. “It is Felix. Would you join me at the movie tonight? I got us two tickets for the American movie “The Apartment”. I will pick you up at seven than”. With that, his voice, the beautiful sexy voice, which made Victoria to want more, was gone. They never made it to the movie that night. They both wanted to show each other the best of them. It was a cold January and Victoria invited Felix to her room, which she abandoned after Dmitry’s death. “Let’s stop by my house,“ asked Felix. They just figured out that they were almost neighbors. “I can pick up my guitar.” Victoria offered to wait on the street, but Felix would not hear of it on the evening like that. ”I do not want to find your frozen body here, Victoria, not yet.” He introduced Victoria to his Mom, who immediately wanted to serve hot tea and to learn everything about Victoria. Eventually, Felix picked up guitar and they left. They drank Champagne and Felix played. They sang old Russian romances and Gypsy’s songs all night. They sang as if they rehearsed together all their lives. They spent their childhood on the same streets and graduated from neighboring schools. They went to the same movie theaters and knew the same people. They read the same books; Felix knew “The twelve chairs” and “The Little Golden Calf” by heart and Victoria recited her favorite “Black Man” by Esenin.

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First blog post

Hi curious,

this is my first blog so I have no idea what I am doing. But I wanted  to try. Today,  I cried after watching the movie . Not just any  movie though. It was an opera performance from Salzburg, Austria; Cavalleria Rusticana by  Mascagni and Pagliacci by Leoncavallo. It was a majestic performance and I cried at the end. Not because it was sad, but because of “the magic power of art”.   I have to admit, it happened once before, after the performance of “Mamma Mia” in London, and my husband was surprised, ” There  is nothing sad, what’s wrong?” There was nothing wrong, of course, it was  a pure  Art with the capital A.