Saiga's Notes

“Short hand!” a voice came from behind when the ball hit the rim. A granny passing by the court smiled with sarcastic triumph. Lots of folks cross this court in our yard, many tempted to comment on us (me and my son Archie) playing. Some praise (“It’s so amazing seeing you two working out every day!”), most banter. Jokes simple as rocks – one or another cliché regarding us missing shoots, typically. And I have always been buying it with a thought jumping in my head “Show me your shot”. I seen that granny a hundred times - a ball with a walking stick who had nothing common with whatever type of fitness or healthy living for the last fifty years or so. Yet, something’s changed today. It occurred to me that I really missed the shot. She was right, I was a short hand indeed. Ten minutes before, I was a sniper, shooting five straight baskets. I was both. In fact, every short hand has his/her noble reason to be it. And it had nothing to do with the question if she could shoot. That moment, I...

I was walking up the stairs in a kindergarten, watching a new collection of historic photos hanging on the wall, when this one nailed my stare. Beluga or great sturgeon, 1930s. Staggering is the fact that it was taken not somewhere in the Amazon River or other exotic places but in the middle of Europe, near the place on the link below, somewhen in 1920s or 1930s. This photo is a reminder that hydroelectricity may not be as sustainable as it's touted. "Migrating fish was suddenly meeting a concrete wall on its way and, gathering in this bag, was swarming on water surface," citing memoirs of Pavel Malenyov, a journalist and political activist, who was a teenager living in that region through the 1940s and 1950s and witnessed construction of the Gorky hydroelectric power station. According to Malenyov, three years after the dam was built, fish migration exhausted. Great sturgeons are critically endangered now and you definitely can't see them in Volga anymore. Convention...

Pets and children are small and don't have the power, an adult's privilege. Yet, both are skilled manipulators thanks to well-developed intuition. My cat Shakira uses the family members to get what she wants. The other day she was messing about with my ankles demanding her supper. But I was busy and didn't pay attention. Then, she sat right in the middle of the gateway leading to the kitchen, the bathroom and the toilet. She was sitting there a few yards away from me quietly and patiently. It was brilliant. Soon, my wife stumbled upon her and immediately shared her surprise with me: "Watch the cat! Why is she sitting here?" Chalk up a point to the pet. But I was busy still. After waiting a little longer, the cat walked to the bathroom door and sat in front of it, her tail and back to the door. That was my son who called out: "Look, the cat’s a bathroom guardian!" Two points. I capitulated and fed the cat ahead of other work. Such ingenuity just has to be...

Archie was desperately afraid of fires. The fear petrified the son immediately at the idea of lighting a stove. All attempts to teach him how to cook came to a dead end at the gas stove. Guess how his brutal father reacted? One of either two things: forcing the kid to try to overcome the fear or blaming for absence of courage.  My hysteria was only to fuel the child’s resistance and fear. So, finally, I put it off for the better time to try again. Motivation first We suddenly faced the issue again at a lesson dedicated to self-learning methods. My son is a homeschooler so we his parents started teaching him about managing self-education as early as primary school. That day, I offered the son to write down his goal and break his plan into feasible steps.  “Let me see,” I asked when he finished.  ‘Cooking pasta’ in the Goal line while the first step was “not to fear fire”. I scrabbed my chin. The son looked upset. How can I get through this first step, the little face showe...

I’m a jerk.  When the quarantine situation was in the very beginning of the trend to reverse back to normal life, I had to visit a dentist. Don’t forget you mask and gloves, the receptionist said when making an appointment for me by phone. “What are the gloves needed for?” I asked. “You’ve got that hand desinfection gel at the entrance.” “Yes, you also must use gel,” answered the receptionist. “And wear gloves over desinfected hands?” I put some sarcasm. “Exactly.” “I don’t get the logic here. So the gel doesn’t work?” “It does.”  “Then I can go without gloves?” “I’m sorry but that’s the law,” she answered apologetically. I gave up. At the office, I was cocky. I couldn’t help grumbling at the receptionist and didn’t wear gloves. She was restrained and polite to the end and pretended not noticing my hands were bare. Seeing me so unusually uptight (I’m a calm disciplined person normally), my dentist asked empathetically, «You don’t like all this, do you?» “Radically,” I answered...

Five hours in a row, I watched six-year-old Archie’s getting ever more exhausted and headstrong. He half-lay on the park bench twice with eyes closed just to bounce up hearing the dad’s soft voice asking if he wanted to sleep. I could remember the other day last year when he got stuck in песочнице until he peed twice in his pants, desperately chilled but kept playing on and on.  I tried reasoning that tomorrow we’d come again, that other kids were gone and he got bored. Proposals of cartoons, drinks, food were sharply set aside. Did he want to pee? “No” again. I didn’t feel like taking him home by force. My wife and I had put so much efforts in coping with his reluctance to go outdoors. It’s for the first time after the winter that he took his bicycle with him and immediately got so crazy about that. And now me going back? No way! The fifth hour was coming to an end when finally I could make it right. “Archie, will you tell mom how your time out was?” He shook his head: “It wasn't ...

I sat down on the sand and said, “Let's tell funny stories by turns.” Three turns later, it seemed like Archie was ready.  “Ok pal, rules change. Let's both stand in the shallow water and step forward with each new story.” I started telling my next story and took a step, sinking ankle-deep. But it wouldn't work. The river talked louder. Its language was acutely chill streams and sudden touches of gravel, plants and snails, all hidden by the gleaming surface. The fear gained power with Archie’s every step until it overwhelmed when waist-deep. Watching him, anger was stirring inside of me. Why, the kid's kidding me, it can't be that scary, he's pretending in order to shun a difficult task! I wanted to press on him, to shout... but that moment I looked into the face I loved and saw fear in his big brown eyes. He didn't pretend. It was not fear but the Fear.  It broke the spell I was under. The anger blew away, remorse and relief taking its place. He's just ...