Two years is just about long enough. It's the amount of time that I can be away from Australia, and then I start getting "home sick". Although I'm not sure its technically "homesick" anymore, just "Australiasick" or more accurately, "Brisbanesick". I envy those emigre Latvians who were born in Germany and when they moved back to Latvia, just had to fly two hours north and they were there. They certainly don't have the dilemma of missing the specific environment, weather and lifestyles like we Aussie Latvians do. They can go back to Germany on their holidays for short holidays. When they ring Germany, there's only a one hour time difference. When its daytime in Latvia, its daytime in Germany. When its winter in Latvia, its also winter in Germany, etc, etc.
Whereas when I compare Australia to Latvia, everything is upside down - literally on the other side of the world. I know we all know its a different hemisphere, but it makes an impact. I'm awake when you're asleep. When we look in the night sky over here, we don't even see the same stars as you do. When we are chopping down christmas trees in a snowdrift, you're sweltering next to the bbq. I'll bet that its even true what they say about the water spiralling down the sink in the opposite direction!
I remember the last time we were in Oz (that'll be OVER two years ago now) and those magical first three days after arriving - when you see the new land with the new-vision goggles, where you can see everything, every detail and value it as something interesting and inspirational. I remember studying the gum trees in the tiny little bush-park in the 'burbs, and wondering at the texture of the bark and the combination of earthy colour tones, vowing to get my camera and take some snaps of the breathtaking fusion of natural delights for friends back in Latvia. I was overawed by the smells and sounds of the bush and the burnt out grass and rugged, wild coastline. But after a few days those little details - the bark and the colours and the smells - become assimilated and you don't 'see' them clearly any more. And later I could hardly remember which details were remarkable enough to photograph.
But after two more years of life in Latvia I'm getting flashbacks. I really need a dose of:
lazy, hot afternoons with bare feet on wooden verandahs and watching the electrical storm break later in the evening; eating breakfast OUTDOORS when the cicadas have already started up their heat stress song and reading the Saturday paper with its umpteen special supplements and advertising pamphlets; those friendly guys at the take-away shop/deli/newsagents who ask you: "so how was your weekend?" eventhough you've never met them before; ripe mangoes, tinned spaghetti, kalamata olives; garage sales and the crusty recyled-second hand culture; the view from our house in Pullenvale (see above); poking around in rock pools and watching the surf break on the rocks, that salt-spray taste in the air; friendly strangers and helpful bureaucrats. And funnily, after writing this list, I realise that the things I miss about Oz are little details - there's not really much 'big picture' stuff I yearn for. Just small things that I have come to realise are totally ingrained in me. That feeling of hot air on my skin; the humidity after it's rained. Little things that I can't even describe.
And then, of course, its all those people that we miss like crazy. And all of those milestones and life events that we cannot be there to share, no matter how much we wish we could: I haven't yet seen my best friend, Mel, as a parent eventhough Jack is already over a year old. I can't think of anything better than us letting our kids run riot around us while we yabber amongst the chaos. I'd love to give Andy and Leisel's new daughter a kiss and a cuddle, and to offer to take big brother Gabe out for the afternoon to help out. I want to see Matīss and Mikus at their Oma's sitting down for dinner (with the 'good' tablecloth on because we've come to visit!) Again it's those little details which seem insignificant which make my heart ache for Australia almost every day...

The other night, while at the pub, Jem met the sister of an Aussie friend. When he asked her the usual 'what do you do?' she answered that she was a 'mother and a surfer'. Which I reckon is pretty much the coolest job description anyone could have (...and for those people who are WAY too into desktop technology, she meant she was a real beach surfer, not the internet kind). And when Jem and I talked about it later on, I realised that my own job description is similar: 'mother and a Saucēja'. (the group I sing with are called Saucējas, a saucēja in Latvian is a person who calls the first lines of traditional folk songs). And this explains why my blog only has photos of my kids and the things I do with the Saucējas! So here are some recent pics of my scallywags.
And by the way, it's nice to know that there's someone out there! Apparently my father-in-law rang Joel today and complained that I haven't updated my blog lately - thanks Gerry - so this one's dedicated to my handful of lurking readers.
Last night we went to the "Night of Museums", where all the museums have special events and are open until after midnight. The whole of Rīga comes out to join in the festivities. Above is Mikus watching Tiss play games with the older children outside the National History Museum. Below you can see that Matīss was having the time of his life.
At the Riga Navigation Museum they had some zoo animals on display.
Guess what animal we are all looking at (and about to pat)...
So, I bet all you Aussies reckon its a wombat!! Any guesses??? Here's a clue: I felt a bit guilty about employing those hunters after seeing this giant rodent up close...
And here we are a week ago in the country, on Mother's day. Below is Jem ringing his mum (hi Maria!)
A trailer ride with Vectēvs while he mows the dandelions. Best child minding facility ever invented - the trailer fits about six kids (eight if you stack 'em) and keeps them amused for hours!

Ok, I'm going to be brave. And admit that I've always hada slight allergy to anything Russian. I won't go into the reason (if you don't know why and you're interested, try reading some basic Latvian history) - but last week I got a partial cure for my allergy.
My singing group "Saucējas" was invited to a folklore festival in St. Petersburg and try as I might to get out of it, I had to go along. I felt funny about going - partly because I have never been away from the boys overnight, and partly because I'd be travelling in Russia. I dreaded going, but steeled myself by imagining I'd won a free holiday: "Congratulations, you've just won an all-expenses paid trip to.... St Petersburg!!!" (our trip was funded by the national cultural foundation). Secondly, I pondered for a moment and realised there was no point in fretting for the boys when they would be having the time of their lives without me - with their dad, grandma and uncle Joel. Thirdly, I started reading Robert K. Massie's "Nicholas and Alexandra" to try to get a picture of Petersburg before it became Leningrad. And surprisingly, the things I noticed - and loved - were a lot more Petersburg than Leningrad.
The city had its fair share of massive, monumental architecture, but unlike Berlin, it all fit together in a compact and breathtaking way. Many parts reminded me of London sometimes, Paris at other times. Although distances between metro stations were huge, the streets were lined with Art Nouveau buildings, castles, churches galore. People in St. Petersburg seemed a tad more 'western' than in Riga - lots of women wearing short hair, jeans and sensible shoes which was a welcome change from the stilleto, glitter and solarium that affects our ladies in Latvia.
The Russian folklore groups themselves were fabulous - such perfection in their vocal style and execution left us a little nervous - but they were all very friendly and interested in our tradition, and invited us to come again, and commented on the huge differences between our traditions. Of course I could speak no Russian except for 'ņepanimaju pa Ruski' so my contact with everyone was a very basic, smiling and nodding level. There was a certain sense of social justice when we stepped onto the stage at the Rimsky-Korsakov conservatorium, with angels painted on the ceiling and gilt edges everwhere and a huge chandelier above our heads - and we called out some ancient songs, rotāšanas. A quaint detail of our small Latvian culture, which we have managed to preserve tooth and nail, even after persecution and cultural censorship from this massive, vicious neighbour - and then to climb onto their opulent, prestigious stages and sing in full voice, with everyone listening.

Another stunning experience was to see the collections of the Hermitage Museum - wonderful stuff, things I hadn't yet seen in art catalogues - a lot of the 'heroes' of the Hermitage collections were the works of French artists appropriated by the Russians yonks ago. The Russian Art Museum acquainted me with local artists who I had never heard of - we were apportioned only half an hour in this museum and they dragged me out kicking and screaming! A highlight here were the icons, angels with huge, kind, almond-shaped eyes.

We travelled by train which also added to the drama, midnight border crossings and the deep sleep on the top bunk of a retro 60s train cabin as the train clattered over the rails. Coming home was also great - Matiss riding as fast as he could on his scooter towards me down the platform, followed by Mikus running in front of the pram, "Mama! Mama!"

One of my resolutions is to travel outside Latvia AT LEAST once a year - to have a little sojourn in another country for a bit of 'kulcha', to encourage thinking outside the square, to refresh certain faculties that are underused living in Latvia (ie. being friendly to strangers) and to remind myself of various realities that I don't come across here (ie. museums are for children too!).
We've just come back from four jam-packed days in Berlin, where we visited a heap of museums and children's learning centres, shopped and rode the U-bahn; walked too much and slept too little. Highlights of the trip include: sitting on the polished marble floor of the hallowed halls of the Pergamon museum while Matiss sat on my lap and sketched the famous bust of Nefertiti; the 'call-a-bike' service where public bikes are left all over the inner city - to unlock them you sms a special number and they text you back a password - then you ride the bike where you want to go, park it wherever and lock it up for the next user; a moving, clanking, hissing welded metal monster-bat we found in a grotty courtyard; the impressive holocaust memorial which takes up a whole block right next to the Brandenburg gate and looks like a CAD drawing come to life; remembering why I used to love working in (modern) museums; finding a huge second-hand store and rummaging through bins of fabulous vintage fashion; having complete strangers smile at us and tell us we have gorgeous children (never happens in Riga - I've become used to frowns and chastising from total strangers).
As they say, its nice going away and even better to come home. Being in the big big Berlin did also remind me of one of the things I love about Riga - its scale. I like the fact that Riga is compact. You can walk practically anywhere in a matter of minutes. Most of the great stuff to see is all concentrated in the centre - the town actually HAS a centre. It’s also got that village feel - you'll always meet someone you know on the street. Being in the midst of the monumental architecture and mentality of the Germans reminded me of my own belonging to a tiny, precious, quiet culture. In the middle of the Pergamon museum, in a temporary exhibition hall with Matisse and Picasso on the walls and Victorian statues on pedestals, I came across some interesting silver brooches in a glass case in the very centre of the gallery – they looked kind of familiar - and I realised that they were the big saktas of a Kurzeme folk costume. And sure enough, the label said "Lettland", and Matiss asked me why I was crying…

The ultimate tourist shot

I woke up this morning to Matiss' smiling face close up to mine, with his tousled blonde hair and ice-cold feet, crawling in next to me under the duna. His friendly greeting: "Your wishes are all going to come true today, Mummy". Yesterday I had said to him that my one wish was that someone would buy me a new pair of blue jeans because my old ones had just ripped in the knee! So guess what I got for my birthday.
These boys certainly make life worth living. Such intense little animals that are so hilarious, little sponges that soak up everything they see and hear. Lately I have been grateful that I can have this time at home with them: teaching them about the little things, watching them grow, and learning a great deal from them about family, patience, humour and kindness.

Ok, I suppose that might seem like a bit of a negative approach. But contemplating turning 35, it did occur to me that in 15 years time, I'm going to be 50... Which is ok. I think I like getting older. By no means would I like to be in the "head space" of a 20 year old again. I like the wisdom, sense of calm that each new year of life experience brings. I laugh a lot more now than I did years ago. The only problems about getting older (so far) are the fact that you physically start finding it more difficult to do the same old stuff you used to do. And also because lately,there are heaps of things that I want to do, that I have not yet done, and I've finally realised that I will probably never do them. 5 or 10 years ago it still felt like there was plenty of time to achieve all of my ambitions, whereas now, reality has set in. I am now aware that there are quite a few books that I won't manage to read. Chances are slim that I will ever play bass in a rock'n'roll band, work as a volunteer for the W.H.O in some third world country, and getting my PhD is starting to look doubtful! But who knows, maybe one day...