Celebrity death week went worldwide when the most famous Russian folk singer and the namesake of an asteroid – Lyudmila Zykina died on July 1st, just weeks after her 80th birthday. Even when I was a kid, she seemed old, I was actually surprised that she was only 80, I thought she was eighty in 1976. It’s probably safe to say that there is no person who grew up in the USSR who doesn’t know who she was or couldn’t recognize her distinct voice. She was everywhere – concerts, radio, TV and at that time not exactly someone my generation wanted to listen to, but in a system with 3 TV channels and a few radio stations we got our share of her singing. Seems pretty good now, not so much when I was 10.

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXg5h_lzG_A

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFHOO72GoMA

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httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNddW2xmZp8

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Few days ago a Russian writer and a blogger passed away. One minute he was discussing something pedestrian, like finding chemicals to develop photo-film, and the next minute he was found dead on his own porch. By some cruel twist of fate his last words weren’t something profound, something to be passed  around as quotes for generations, but something really insignificant like the location of the nearest photo supply. His last post is still gathering comments, where in the beginning people refused to believe the rumors about his death and continued to talk photography. He was popular but not hugely so during his lifetime, thousands of people read his blog and judging from the tearful comments many felt a connection with him. Strangely, so did I. Strangely, because his blog wasn’t really about anything, just his life and observations, mostly short blurbs about being a writer, living in a remote Russian village where he moved few years ago, few photographs, infrequent stories. Nevertheless, maybe for the first time, I found myself tearing up about a person I’ve never met. 46 years old, small child, so much more left unsaid and unwritten.

To me a sudden death like this is always tragic; something unfinished about a person dying in the middle of a conversation, or coaching a baseball game like one of my co-workers, or in a car accident, or on the way to work like my father. No time to say good byes, to reflect on one’s life, to tell someone your deepest secrets before you go. One minute you have a purpose in life, and the next you are neatly packed in a body-bag with a ID tag on your big toe.

What’s left of us when we are gone? People used to leave diaries, neat stacks of letters, photo albums, trinkets and tchotchkes, old wedding gowns, family jewelry and crystal. With every new generation the amount of physical memories shrinks; no one has time or room or desire to move the old junk around, so it gets sorted out multiple times until it fits in a small shoe box somewhere in the back of a cabinet. I still remember the day we were ripping up old photos so we can get our luggage under the weight limit.

My father left two folders of his writings and newspaper clippings, a photo album, a stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor. Even less will be left when I go. This site will disappear when I stop paying for hosting, in a year this space will be filled with links to erectile dysfunction medicine sites. There is no written correspondence and only few photos where I was coaxed into the frame, and even those are not in print form. Nothing material. No grieving widow, no beautiful woman shedding a tear and thinking “he was so good in bed”. No article in the Wikipedia, no chemical element, no star, no book, no restaurant chain. My whole life can fit on a thumb-drive. At least my kid won’t have to haul around a dusty trunk of my moldy possessions.

So what’s the choice here – to drop everything and discover a chemical element, name a star, write myself into the Wikipedia? Suddenly become amazing in bed? Or just continue filling up the thumb-drive of my life with insignificant drivel? Every time someone dies, people project the death upon themselves and sometimes make changes – starт buckling up, or eating better, quit smoking, spend more time with kids, learn something new, have more sex, travel – there are many things we realize we could be doing better or different or not at all.

It’s just unfortunate that it takes one’s death to reevaluate one’s life.

RIP

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According to the original Life Magazine article published in 1952 these photos were taken in the Cathedral of Holy Virgin Protection in New York. In Russian Easter is called “Pascha“; after the all-night vigil the believers declare “Christ is Risen!” and everyone responds “Indeed, He is risen!”.

The rest of the photos.

Russian icon depicting the resurrection. (source)

Sergei Rachmaninov: Liturgy Of St. John Chrysostom, Op. 31

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHmSzN84p6w

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It’s true what they say: eating sausage is like riding a bicycle, do it slow and everything will be OK. For years I was longing for a firm piece of sausage that would taste like real meat. Industrial sausages are like marital aids – they may have the right look and size but they just don’t taste right. Finally I got tired of living with mediocre impostor sausages, the time was right to visit Krizman’s House of Sausage in Kansas City, KS (<–click on the link for the address to magically appear).
Finding Krizman’s is pretty easy. Moving North on the 6th street, go past “Fat Matt’s Vortex”.

This view on the right is a good sign you are on the correct track.

Slow down by the VFW post.

Right by the tattooed chick…

…turn left into the parking lot.

If you are driving past this…

…you missed it.
Just to reiterate, this should be the view ahead of you…

…and this is where you came from.

According to this site, Krizman’s has been making the real sausages since 1939. The assortment is not mind-boggling and the Polish sausage seems to be the item most women people want. If you are lucky, Vice President Joe Krizman himself will weigh you several hefty links of this delicious sausage. While I was in the store they were packing a special order of sausage to be shipped off to California where the sausage seems to be in high demand but there is an unexplained abundance of tacos.

Krizman’s Polish Sausage costs just little over $4/lb leaving no excuse to munch on a limp corporate sausage.

For those who crave some exotic sausages they offer blood sausage and other unusual varieties, but I am just a traditional Polish sausage guy.

On the way home I took a few pictures of this church with an Orthodox Christian-looking cupola…

…and a view of the downtown worthy of showing to people who will never visit this area.

Leaving Kansas City,KS I thought that Krizman’s should call themselves Joyeria to better reflect on the small pleasures they share with the sausage lovers everywhere.

Fresh sausage calling my name from the back seat of my car, I drove home to enjoy the rest of my day.

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