Return to America

Two Months Not Two Years

Daina, our wonderful Latvian attorney, came to meet us at Children’s Court on Thursday. We had to stay for a while afterwards in order for some papers to be completed, so she and her son, who was our driver, went to lunch with the four of us.

Daina laughed and laughed at everything Baiba said. She told us, “She is so funny! I wish you knew Latvian because everything she says is funny.”

We had kind of gathered that because she is very funny in English too, and every time she was with friends she had them in stitches as well. One of the things Daina found particularly funny was Baiba’s description of a milkshake she had not been very happy with. She said it was like fruit and milk that someone mixed together and some ice cream accidentally fell in.

After the paperwork was completed, Daina drove us all back to Selga where we had to say goodbye to the girls. There we stood at the back door that they had bounced out of only two weeks before. While David hugged Agnese, I gave Baiba a very long hug, and then instinctively started rocking her. She willingly rocked with me and it occurred to me that she had possibly never been rocked before in her life. We finally broke the hug; I kissed her cheek and she said with me, “Be safe. Be smart. Be strong.”

Agnese allowed a hug but only for a short time. She is not one for big displays of affection. She said to us, “It’s only two months this time, not two years.”

So true.

We instructed them to think of our skeptical faces when they’re making plans, and to try to think before they do. Then they went inside, and we got back in Daina’s car and drove away.

It’s In the Eyes.

Never having been comfortable with public crying, I blinked back my tears and started a conversation with Daina. I told her that we were surprised at how people stared at us while we were there. I didn’t see a big difference between how we look and how Latvians look. Yet we drew stares everywhere we went and were consistently greeted in English rather than Latvian. I asked what set us apart.

She said, “I can tell you exactly what it is. I always know an American, especially an American man, the minute I see one because their eyes look happy. Latvians are very sad people. They are really struggling for money right now; they can’t feed their families. They’re tired and discouraged. It’s in the eyes; Americans have happy eyes.” 

Wow. Yes, Americans do have happy eyes. It was a great reminder that even those of us who are economically categorized as middle, or even lower middle-class have much more wealth than the vast majority of struggling souls in this world.

We’re not only richer monetarily; we also enjoy freedom, free enterprise, freedom of speech, and freedom of religion. Ironically the words describing America’s greatest riches all start with the word free. In Latvia’s long history, it has been occupied time and time again by different countries and has only been liberated from Soviet occupation since 1991. No wonder Latvia’s citizens, especially the older ones have sad eyes. This resonates with me even more significantly on this Memorial Day.

“Hell”-sinki

David and I spent our last night in Latvia in a nice hotel in downtown Riga. It was the beginning of a slow reentry to what’s more commonplace for us. We heard a lot more of our language because the hotel staff all spoke English. We had a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant and dared to have ice in our water.

We still had all those suitcases, and now the two we’d brought with Sunday school supplies had some of the girls’ belongings in them.

On Friday we took the short flight from Riga to Helsinki, this time on a small jet instead of the puddle-jumper we had on the way in. Once we were in Helsinki we had to pass through a rather intense security process at the gate. Each passenger was asked a series of questions and then allowed into the boarding area. Off to the side was a corralled section for random searches.

David and I were two of the first passengers to arrive, so fortunately the line was very short for us. However, in the time remaining before boarding was scheduled, the line grew very long.

We were intrigued by the people they were taking into the private area for extra screening, mostly elderly women including one in a wheelchair. Thank goodness they were giving those villainous ne’er-do-wells a second look.

Just as boarding was set to begin, everything came to a grinding halt. After a few minutes they announced that there was a problem with one of the engines and there would be a slight delay.

Three and a half hours of “slight delay” later we were finally on the plane. Delays are inconvenient enough but to have that long to wait before a nine and a half hour flight was cruel and unusual punishment. To add to the torture, we were in our little quarantined area and unable to easily get to restrooms, vending machines or shops. Of course we were very grateful that the problem had been discovered, and it’s way better to be safe than sorry when it comes to flying over the Atlantic. However, by the time we boarded, it was a plane full of hungry, grumpy people, one and all knowing that connecting flights in Chicago would be missed.

The scene at O’Hare was chaotic and stressful with everyone learning their fate as decided by American Airlines. We ended up with a voucher for a very nice hotel including $5 for breakfast the next day. Of course $5 for two people in Chicago buys about half a glass of orange juice, but it was better than a sharp stick in the eye, and the layover provided a nice chance to get a head start on our jet lag recovery.

 

Super-sized

The next day we returned to O’Hare early for our flight, and had lunch at Chili’s To Go. We laughed at how huge everything looked. Our glasses, packed with ice, looked like pitchers to us. The burgers were the size of our heads, and even the tables looked enormous. The bed in our Chicago hotel felt like sleeping on a soft, tall cloud.

This morning we went grocery shopping and it was like a trip to an amusement park. It was great to see all the wonderful selection of fruit, to be able to read the labels and know what and where everything was. I have taken my life here so for granted.

Our time in Ventspils was mind-expanding, character building and soul satisfying. I am very grateful that Latvia makes this requirement of adoptive parents; grateful that God has cast us as main characters in this divine plot; and grateful to our many friends and family members that have supported us to make this dream come true. I will treasure forever the memories of this first adoption trip to Latvia.

All Creature Comforts Great and Small-Part Three

The Fire is So Delightful

Last Friday as I was getting dressed in our hotel in Riga, I noticed that my clothes smelled like a campfire. I was immediately transported back to our little guesthouse in Ventspils. The first week it was cold enough that David had to light the fireplace. Apparently it is not uncommon in Latvia for some people to have limited electric heat vents while a wood-burning fireplace provides the rest of the heat for the house.

We have a fireplace in our home in Lakewood that we find very quaint and charming on cold winter nights around Christmas. David is great at creating a roaring fire. He pops in a Dura-flame log and with a stroke of a match the job is done. We’re not quite as sophisticated as other people we know that merely flip a switch to create a warm gas fire flickering around fake logs, but we do what we can.

However, this fireplace was different. It had a function and a purpose, to keep the whole house warm. It was jam packed with beautifully split wood, and on the hearth were little fuel-soaked white squares and a box of matches—couldn’t be simpler. David meticulously placed the small Styrofoam-like squares strategically around the stack of wood, and started lighting matches.

After he’d gone through about half a box of the handy dandy starter cubes, it became apparent that this was not going to be as easy as it seemed. I came over to help by blowing on the embers while he moved the wood around and, in an exercise in futility, continued lighting matches.

I thought, “Now how is it that some careless person flicks away a cigarette butt and ignites an entire forest, but all the kerosene and matches in the world will not kindle one small pile of wood?” At last, with a little more effort, we had achieved an anemic but steadfast flicker.

Next, David tried to remember what our Russian landlady had instructed about the multiple flues. One was to be slid to the left, one left open, and one not to be touched. Unsure of what she said, or which was which, he just moved levers around and hoped for the best. Meantime, the flimsy flame was fizzling. Right about then, Baiba came home. She said, “What you are doing?”

“Trying to get the fire going.” David responded.

“Why you don’t do this?”

And with that she pulled out a knob and, boom, there was a healthy roaring fire. She obviously knew something we didn’t about how to get helpful oxygen into the mix. It was just one more example of our dependence on the girls while in their territory.

Eventually David became quite adept at building and lighting the fire. The girls asked the landlady for kindling, which helped tremendously, and we had all the firewood we needed. The hearty supply seemed to be directly connected to the fact that the landlady had two teenage sons who came home on weekends to help around the house. Agnese requested more wood, and before you knew it we had enough to tide us over from now through Christmas 2012.

Even with David’s newfound skill, this was not an efficient heating system; the girls froze and we sweltered. Every evening our room would fill for a time with hazy smoke, and in the morning our lids had to be peeled from our dried out eyeballs. Eventually the weather became warm enough that we didn’t need to light the fire. It’s funny, but I’m going to miss that fireplace.

Julie Payne and The Six Dwarf Beds

Our little guesthouse had enough beds to sleep six. I’m not going to say six adults because the idea of six full-sized human beings in that tiny house is a little frightening. Three of the beds were in our room, two were in the girls’ room, and one was in the bathroom. Don’t picture enormous rooms; picture tiny beds.

The beds were about two feet off the ground with teensy little headboards. They were long enough for someone who at maximum is about 5 feet nine inches tall; they had no box springs and the mattresses were about three inches thick, tops.

The mattresses and the pillows were reminiscent of sacks of flour. Trying to fluff up the pillows was like trying to fluff up a punching bag. There was absolutely no give, and no dent in the pillow in the morning where our heads had been.

In spite of it all, I slept really well there, and so did David. I don’t know if it was a hidden benefit of jet lag, the fact that the days were long and the nights were short, or just the contentment of knowing that two Sleeping Beauties were fast asleep in the next room. All I know is Snow White couldn’t have slept more sound.  

So Many Memories, So Little Time

I had such good intentions of writing everyday and logging each moment spent with the girls. The reality is, with two teens in a small house, and not a whole lot to do, computer time has to be rationed. I’m finally getting my turn after 10:00 p.m. Latvia time.

So here are some highlights.

Boiling Over

Monday, May 16^th was our thirtieth anniversary, and the girls made dinner for us. It was bar none the best and most memorable anniversary celebration we’ve ever had. We all sat at our small table, Agnese in her robe because she was getting ready to go out later, and we talked and laughed and had a great time.

This was also the evening Marite, the orphanage director, decided to drop by for tea. Marite, a social worker, and the judge will all be making visits to see how we’re doing. Monday was the day I had sort of hit a wall with adjusting to the culture, the overwhelming release of emotion I was feeling at finally being with the girls, stressing over appropriate Latvian etiquette, and simply general overload.

Marite came just as the girls were making dinner, the potatoes were boiling over, and they were arguing with each other. She flew into the kitchen to help, and I stood by horrified that this was the moment she had arrived. I mouthed to David, “Perfect.” Then we all sat down for tea, coffee, and cookies.

The three of them chatted away in Latvian. Baiba tried to get Marite to convince me to buy the five inch heels she wanted, and Agnese showed her the dress she had gotten for her big

upcoming 9^th grade party. As I smiled and nodded, I sat fretting about whether this was the time I was supposed to give Marite the gift we brought for her or not.

After she left, we had our lovely dinner, and David pointed out that Marite had indeed arrived at the perfect moment. The girls were being completely themselves, no pretense, and no stress. She knows them better than we do, and she had seen exactly what she’d hoped to.

Shopping, Running, Bonding, and Humpala

What better way for females to bond than shopping? Both girls have had big occasions coming up at the end of the school year. These occasions required pretty clothes, so off we went to the stores.

It’s been fun to see what kind of taste they have in clothing. Unfortunately for our bank account they are not the orphan waifs one might think of in these situations, content with whatever meager hand me down might come their way. Baiba calls undesirable clothing, “humpala” (hoom-pa-la). Which I learned was a term for secondhand items. 

All of our adoption training assured us that they would probably not even be certain of their sizes, let alone have any real sense of fashion. By the way, ninety percent of our adoption training had nothing to do with teens, and they obviously never met Baiba and Agnese.

These girls know what they like, and although politely mindful of how much things cost, they like to look quite sophisticated and grownup—sometimes too grownup in my opinion. But you have to choose your battles carefully.

I would be curious to know how many fellow moms out there have agreed to something in the store, as a result of sheer fatigue, and once home see the item on your little girl and shudder. I can’t help but think back to my teenage years with Sizzle Skirts and low cut hip huggers. Sorry, mom.

Baiba especially wants to grow up fast fashion-wise. Today she was all decked out in her leggings, heels (no, I didn’t get the five inch ones), and animal print top. She has a new haircut that looks adorable, and she applies her makeup very nicely—not too overdone. She looked every inch a model, until at lunch she speared a large round piece of meat with her fork and gnawed around the edges like a little girl. She is very much in that bridge time. She wants to wear tall womanly heels and run to the skate park to play.

All the consternation aside, shopping has been a great way to bond with the two of them. I decided to buy a pair of shoes for myself while we were out, and their eyes lit up like Christmas trees. They were so excited that I was joining in the fun. Then they were very concerned that David was the only one that didn’t get new shoes.

When we got home they asked if I wanted to go for a run with them. I agreed, prefacing it with the fact that it’s been a long time since I’ve gone for a run, and they’d need to go easy on me. I didn’t clarify that “a long time” meant since I was about ten.

They were so sweet jogging along side of me. Baiba who could have run twenty circles around me, paced herself to stay right by my side. Agnese would run ahead and then loop back. She kept her eyes trained on me the whole time. I think she was worried that I would fall over or pass out or something. The best part was the cool down. We walked around the neighborhood, and had a great heart-to-heart about many things. My sore legs the next two days were well worth it.

Have I mentioned that I love these girls?

The Pearl of Latvia

We Go With Legs

Ventspils is a beautiful town filled with wonderful people. It is a port city on the deep blue Baltic Sea, claiming just fewer than 44,000 citizens. As is true throughout Latvia, the people here love music and flowers. There are flower shops on just about every corner and people on the streets are routinely seen carrying colorful bouquets to bring as gifts for friends or family.

The principal of Baiba’s school said that Ventspils is called, “the pearl of Latvia.” David and I would have to agree. For almost two weeks now we’ve driven and walked the narrow cobblestone and paving stone streets. We’ve eaten the food, soaked in the scenery, and grown accustomed to the sound of the melodic language.

The girls like to go out walking in the evenings. They link up with friends and go wherever they feel like going. At first we didn’t understand this and had reservations about letting them go, but they explained that it is common here. They say, “This is normal. We go with legs—all here do this.”

The patterns of the sun in Latvia have fashioned a night owl culture in the warmer months. Families, teenagers, and elderly can be seen out walking as late as 11:00 p.m. No one seems the least bit wary as they “go with legs” in the familiar late night light.

We Wait. We Always Waiting

Getting to know our daughters in their native country has been a moment in time together like no other. Our only purpose and agenda in the past two weeks has been to be with them. It’s too bad every parent doesn’t get this kind of opportunity to have time set aside that is exclusively about their children.

We heard from everyone who knows Agnese that she is bright, responsible and polite. She is much more confident and outgoing here than she seemed when they visited us in America in 2009. She has enthusiastically enjoyed our time together, even for what seems to us like the simplest things. She told David how nice it is to have someone pick her up from school. Usually she and Baiba take the city bus. She said, “We wait. We always waiting.”

She is very excited about being adopted and coming to the U.S., but doesn’t fully understand yet what a miracle it is that this is happening.

Baiba has a heart of gold. She loves animals, and connects herself with the underdogs of this hard world. Today she insisted that we go to the store for bread and sugar cubes but she wouldn’t tell us why. Then we got in the car and she directed us to a stable outside of Ventspils where she used to work. She would clean out stalls and take care of the horses in exchange for riding time. Baiba can be a bit capricious, and I think she needed for us to see her in the environment that completely grounds her. She snuggles up to us like a warm puppy, and loves it when we tell her to “be safe, be smart, be strong” when she goes out.

Tomorrow we will leave Ventspils and two of its pearls behind. We’ll go back to Colorado and our usual routines, and Baiba and Agnese will go back to living in an orphanage, eating only what the food service workers prepare, waiting hours for the city bus, and having no one ask where they are going or what time they’ll be back.

This time when we say goodbye, our hearts will not be broken but full. Knowing that we’ll definitely return in about two months to bring them home will help all four of us endure this latest separation. Our Monday afternoon phone calls will be richer because we can visualize where they’ve been and what they’ve been doing. David and I will continue nesting and preparing for their arrival with a refreshed understanding of who they are and what they like.

God’s perfect timing, grace, and provision will reunite us at the cusp of another season, and the beginning of a new life. Meantime, we wait.

All Creature Comforts Great and Small-Part Two

Clog Blog

In addition to adjusting to the shower and the Russki washing machine, we also have had a very interesting request from our landlady concerning the toilet. Two days into our stay, she called and Baiba answered. There was a brief conversation and then Baiba hung up the phone. “That was Inga.”

“What did she want?” I inquired.

“She say we need to not put toilet paper in toilet.”

“What?” I asked, certain that Baiba must have gotten this wrong.

“She say we not put toilet paper in toilet. It’s not very big and it will clog, so we need put in trash.”

I really wanted this to be a product of the language barrier but that notion was completely nullified by the fact that Baiba speaks Latvian and so does Inga.

You need to understand that I am a card-carrying germaphobe. Public restrooms are a challenge for me, and outhouses are completely out of the question. I am amazed at the miraculous capabilities of my body to ignore its basic needs if conditions aren’t just right. I delight in contemporary hands free public facilities, even if people do come off as bad mimes waving their hands incessantly in front of the automatic paper towel dispenser.

The Urban Dictionary defines a germaphobe as, “any person who is obsessed with cleanliness and defeating bacteria.” 

The landlady’s request was clearly going to be a very big deterrent in my battle to defeat bacteria. An unofficial germaphobe himself, David was no happier than I at this new turn of events.

We asked again if Baiba was sure. We somehow believed that if we asked enough times the answer would miraculously change. However, Baiba responded, “Yes, I’m sure. She said to be careful. She said it’s okay if we sometimes forget, but most times put in trash.”

David made up his mind right then and there that he was likely to “forget” pretty much every time. This is not really the place for details, suffice to say I’ve had to move into another dimension of consciousness, and the trash gets emptied often.

Coffee, Tea and Sympathy

David and I are not coffee drinkers and never have been. We enjoy tea of just about every kind, and especially the nectar of the gods, chai tea. My first stop the day after we return will be to Starbucks for a satisfying grande chai latte.

Here in Latvia, we have tea bags and a really great electric teapot that heats the water in an instant. This has been a very good thing since David spent the first five days here not feeling well. He caught a bad cold and really had trouble shaking it. The tea was some consolation as Baiba sympathetically delivered cups to him. 

Baiba likes red tea, and enjoys having her friends over in the afternoons to have tea with her. This is so cute I can barely survive it. Can you imagine American kids having their friends over for tea?

Agnese drinks coffee, and I was a little mystified by the fact that every morning there is about a half inch of sediment left in her cup. We thought she had instant coffee, but it never quite dissolves and always remaining is the sludge at the bottom. Not being coffee drinkers, there has never been any such thing for us as “a good cup of coffee;” but this looks over the top unappetizing.

I was concerned because I knew we would have social worker visits and would need to offer coffee. Since Agnese is a teenager, I wasn’t sure she was doing it right.

Then one day last week we went to visit Baiba’s school. Her English teacher did not want us to stay in the classroom during an exam, so she shuffled us off to the principal’s office and had someone bring us coffee.

David, who was not feeling well anyway, and is possibly the world’s pickiest eater, stared at the coffee cup like he had been sentenced to die before a firing squad. I was not much happier, but knew that with enough sugar almost anything can be made palatable.

We sat quietly in our prison sipping the hideous sugar packed brew, and there at the bottom was the familiar muck. David lifted the cup to his down turned mouth, choking down sip after sip. He could “hide not thy poison with such sugar…” Even die-hard coffee drinkers may have gagged.

I found the bright side in the fact that I now knew that Agnese was making the coffee correctly.  David garnered little consolation in this discovery. At long last, Baiba returned to take us with her to her next class. We left our half finished coffee on the principal’s desk, and tried to put the whole thing permanently out of our minds and palates. 

All Creature Comforts Great and Small-Part One

Culture Shock

We thought we knew everything we needed to know about functioning as a family based on hosting the girls in December of 2009. Now we see why we’re required to live in their country for a while. Of course we’re discovering more and more things about them but we are also discovering things about ourselves. We’ll have a much deeper understanding of the struggles they’ll have adapting to our culture. It’s hard when you spend the entire day feeling like an idiot and wishing people could know what kind of person lies beyond the language barrier.

The first Monday we were here, the feeling of being an outsider hit me like a ton of bricks and I had to fight depression for the next day and a half. I emailed my friend Jean, who lived in Europe for many years, and warned that that might happen. She sent lots of words of empathy and encouragement, which helped tremendously.

As we begin our second week with the girls we’ve adapted fairly well and can find the humor in our differences. This is the first installment in a series recounting the adjustment to our new living circumstances.

I hope you enjoy this, especially if you’ve ever traveled overseas. Not ever having been fond of roughing it, I’ve discovered I truly am a spoiled American.

These Are the Towels That Try Men’s Souls

Every time I’m ready to get in the shower I find myself standing, staring, and sighing, knowing that this will not be the satisfying experience it is at home. Showers here are sort of open with only a token shower curtain, a mere nod to the real thing. The showerhead is handheld and in our little guesthouse the hot water heater provides just about enough for one and a half somewhat hot showers. If you’re lucky enough to be the first, you have to be careful about possible scalding. If you are the second, you’re more likely to get frostbite. I made this discovery on our first morning in the guesthouse since I was unlucky shower number two.

The bathroom is large enough to hold an extra bed, a small Russian washing machine (more on that later), a toilet, a sink, and the dreaded shower. The room smells a little like a cat box, which is somewhat disconcerting since none of us are cats and we don’t seem to have one living with us. There are porous rubber mats on the floor because of the inevitable water all over the place. Before we left I wondered why it was recommended that we bring filp-flops for showering and now I completely understand.

To top off these unsatisfactory bathing episodes we have been given what we laughingly call “towels” with which to dry ourselves. David fondly refers to his as the “dish towel.” What they lack in size they more than make up for in a total absence of absorbency. At least the stiff laundry tags are almost as big as the “towels” themselves.

I have learned that to get the best possible shower encounter I must don my flip-flops, turn on the shower—timed precisely with the moment of entry—spray water all over myself and the room, turn the water off, apply shampoo, spray water all over myself and the room, turn the water off, apply conditioner, and so on.  It’s sort of the old “rinse, lather, repeat” routine with a twist made even more challenging by the fact that the hot and cold are on opposite sides here. 

Once the shower is over I grab for my “towel” and dry off as much of myself as possible accepting the fact that I will then only go through the motions of drying off the rest of me. I wrap my soaking wet head in the soaking wet “towel,” put on my robe, which sticks to my wet skin and switch to my dry slippers. Invariably I will have forgotten something making it necessary to walk over one of the porous rubber mats which makes a squish, squish sound as I go.

With the shower ordeal now concluded I look ahead to drying my hair and using my flatiron with the only outlet in the bathroom conveniently located about a foot away from being able to see my reflection in the mirror.   

The Vashing Machinsky

While we are very fortunate to have a washing machine and my friend, Jean warned me it would be small, I did not anticipate that the instructions would all be in Russian.

Fortunately, Baiba takes Russian in school so we’ve been able to make hit and miss guesses as how to use it. The first time we did an entire load with no water. The second time I set if for a spin cycle that if given a chance would have catapulted all of the contents to Mars. The third time Agnese put in one item and an entire packet of soap re-creating our own I Love Lucy episode with soap bubbles and water all over the aforementioned bathroom. 

I dearly miss my dryer and dryer sheets too. Once the laundry is done, if it’s raining, which it has been the majority of the time here, the laundry has to be strewn all over the house including draping heavier fabrics on the two heat vents that we have. The real treat is when we get to put on our stiff as boards underwear and socks. Those babies are there to stay.

Next installment: Further bathroom woes, and heating a home primarily with a fireplace

Adoption Misadventures

What a Gas!

There is a huge advantage to adopting teens because they are old enough to know their way around the city, they both speak English well enough to translate, and they understand the basic needs involved in keeping a household running. On the other hand, how would you like to be almost completely dependent on your teenager?

Don’t misunderstand, they have been wonderful and doing the best they can but, especially at first, they have had to help us with almost everything. We can’t read signs; we can’t understand what’s being said to us. We don’t know how to prepare the food, our guesthouse is heated by a wood burning fireplace (not uncommon here), the washing machine is Russian, and we don’t know the difference between diesel and gasoline pumps.

The rental car that was given to us to get by for the weekend, with the intention of switching to another on Monday was diesel. They made this very clear to us so that we wouldn’t make the high stakes error of putting gas in a diesel engine. At the gas station on Friday Baiba assured David she knew which one was which. It all seemed so clear; it was the green handled pump and it fit in the fuel tank, just like home.

However, on Saturday morning as we were leaving the B&B and heading to our little guesthouse, the car had an extremely rough start as billows of smoke filled the small gravel parking lot and surrounded our car. We figured we’d been given a lemon since we had definitely put diesel in the tank. We drove straight to the dealership to see if anyone was there to make an early switch. Much to our frustration no one was working that day. Agnese even called someone who knew someone who…I’m not sure, but whoever it was couldn’t help either.

Every time we started the car it would sputter and spit and puff smoke out the tailpipe. The girls were convinced David is not a good driver. It was a stick shift and it’s been years since he’s driven one, and with the rough engine they drew a natural conclusion.

We had planned to go to Talsi on Sunday to visit the church we had gone to in 2009 and see our Latvian friends, but we were worried about going such a long distance in this particular car. We decided instead to go see Madara in Kuldiga, which is a bit closer.

We stopped to put diesel in the car and as we started back up the puffs of smoke reappeared. At that point Baiba asked a man if the green nozzle actually was diesel and he told her no, it was gas. We had not once, but twice put gasoline in a diesel car. The man said we should not drive anywhere until the gas could be removed and replaced with diesel and since we had driven all around on Saturday with gas in the car, we may have already ruined the engine. Then the helpful man assisted in pushing the car away from the pumps to a corner of the parking lot. 

Most of you reading this know that we’ve experienced miracle after miracle in this process. As you can well imagine, we started praying for another. The girls chatted away with each other and then cheerfully ran off saying that they would be right back.

We waited about ten minutes and they came happily back to the car. In their broken English they explained that they had gone to a nearby auto repair shop and even though it is usually closed on Sunday a young man was there working. He said he normally wouldn’t be available to help on a Sunday but he couldn’t say no to two beautiful girls. I’m pretty sure Baiba and Agnese could get just about any young male to do just about anything.

He drove over with his truck, towed us to the auto repair shop and then siphoned all of the diesel out of the car with the girls giggling and innocently flirting the whole time. He then towed the car back to the pump and waited to make sure it would start once the diesel from the RED pump was dispensed. He advised that we not mention it to the dealership since there was no harm done, making us really glad that no one had been there on Saturday. For all his trouble he charged only ten Lats, which is about $20. God is good!

Sisters, Sisters

After the fuel confusion was all sorted out the car ran great so we decided to go ahead and go to Kuldiga to see the girls’ oldest sister Madara. On the subject of being at the mercy of two teens, David has to rely on them for directions everywhere we drive. The GPS we brought doesn’t work here so Baiba and Agnese are it.

Pretty much every time we come to an intersection David says, “Which way?”

Baiba confuses the words “left” and “right.” She’ll say, “You go right.”

Then Agnese says, “No! Left! Left!”

Baiba replies, “Right.”

“No, left!”

This is followed by a brief argument all in Latvian followed by,

“Straight, straight, you go straight.”

Meantime, David starts to turn right then left then right then left and then goes straight.

Then Baiba will say, “Okay, now slow, slow, slow, slow, okay go, go, go, go, go!”

More than once they have led us down a one-way street going the wrong way. David will ask, “Is this one-way?”

“Oh, yes, yes, it’s one way. It’s okay, you get off this street and go left.”

“No right.”

“No straight.”

And it all starts over again.

Somehow we arrived all in one piece in Snepele, which is the countryside just outside of Kuldiga where Madara lives.

If you recall, Madara came to America for about three months over the holidays. Paulette and Marv Gutwein brought her over and although she decided not to stay in the U.S. permanently she became their daughter, a member of their family. She and her boyfriend are expecting a baby, which is due anytime now.

Agnese and Baiba had not seen Madara since the Gutweins were here in October of last year. We came with gifts from the Gutweins and baby presents from the four of us. She is nine months pregnant and of course looks very different than she did last October. Baiba said, “Madara, you are one big mama!”

It was fun to watch the three of them chatter away in lively Latvian and giggle and giggle and giggle. Madara served us tea and then we all went out for a late lunch. In the car the conversation became more serious and heartfelt. I don’t know what they were saying but it was obviously quality sister talk.

Madara is a sweet, sweet young woman and it was a treat for us to see her again as well. My heart went out to Marv and Paulette who I know, miss her dearly.

On the way home Agnese said to me, “You are going to be a grandma because Madara is going to have a baby.”

I said, “No, Paulette and Marv are going to be grandparents. They will also be your aunt and uncle.”

She smiled and said, “What a strange family we have.”

There is much more to tell, but it will have to wait until the next blog. Meantime, I’ll leave it at this: This is by far the best experience of my life and I love our daughters beyond all imagining. 

The First Few Days in Latvia

Departure and Arrival

We were given about two and a half weeks’ notice for our travel dates to Latvia. There was way too much to do before we left the country. Along with all the usual, David’s show at Logan had to be ready to open the day after we left, we had to complete our end of the year school tasks early and I was working on a major writing project. 

Every spare minute before we left was spent chipping away at our To Do list. As I was running frantically around I wondered how people like our friends, the Gutweins do it. When they went to Latvia they were all packed in advance and enjoying a leisurely evening at home the night before their departure. Then I realized that David and I have operated this way since the beginning of our thirty-year marriage. While engaged, we were in rehearsals for a show, which opened a couple of weeks before our wedding day. So really this is nothing new.

The flight was long and innately grueling, but it was exciting to finally be on our way. We arrived in Riga, the capital of Latvia, around 1:00 p.m. on Thursday 5/12.

International Incident Dodged

Jet lag was our new and persistent companion as we lumbered through the small Riga airport with many bags in tow. We’re delivering two large suitcases full of Sunday school supplies to our sister church in Talsi. Between that and the lengthy list of required items for us to bring personally, we had a tower of suitcases. 

We're happy to deliver the supplies and will do so again on our next trip, but I felt very self-conscious about looking like ugly Americans as David piled three large bags and a day pack onto a cart while I pulled a fourth large bag and carry on suitcase. All I needed was a little Chihuahua in a purse and the image would be complete. It was a good lesson in not judging a book by its cover. I immaturely wanted to wear a sign that said, "We're delivering Sunday School supplies. What's in your suitcase?"

Instead, in my jet lagged haze in Helsinki I announced loudly and with a laugh to a couple of airport workers that these were not all our bags. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how unwise that was. David, horrified, quickly interjected, "They most certainly are!" Thus averting our first potential international incident and body cavity search.

Saldus Sapnus (Sweet Dreams)

We checked into our hotel in Riga, went to dinner, and after nearly falling asleep in our pasta, we decided that 6:30 p.m. was a perfectly reasonable bedtime. We were out like lights until 6:30 a.m. the next morning.

The long night's sleep really helped and we felt ready to go on Friday morning when Daina, our Latvian attorney picked us up for the two and a half hour drive to Ventspils. She told us we would go to the orphanage (Selga) first and then to court.

On the drive she pointed out two storks flying by and joked that those were the storks delivering our two babies. We found out later that storks are considered good luck in Latvia.  About two hours into the drive she received a phone call from the director of Selga saying that she had two beautiful girls in her office who wanted to know, “How much longer?” 

DAY ONE: The Reunion

There they were at the back door as we pulled into the parking lot. It was strange to see Selga again after so much time. We've only been there once before when we found the girls in 2009. And now waiting at the door for us were our daughters. 

They looked absolutely gorgeous. Agnese has matured into a strikingly attractive young lady and Baiba is as beautiful as ever.  We hugged and smiled and hugged and smiled some more. Then we were led inside to meet briefly with Marite, the orphanage director. Afterwards we all went to court. 

Court was held in a small office in an old building. We sat down in a room with a court reporter, our interpreter, Daina, Marite, the girls and three court officials. They briefly asked questions of each of us.

Marite was asked how she felt about the girls leaving Selga. She said because they came to the orphanage at such an early age they feel like her own children, but she knows this is best. It’s obvious that she cares about them very much. After the questions, we were granted the right to take the next step in our adoption, which is to spend these next days here with the girls.

The four of us dashed in the rain to our rental car. I told the girls that the other very important day in our lives that it rained was our wedding day. Agnese decided that this must be a sign of good luck. 

The First Night

We were told that we would spend the first night with them in a two-bedroom hotel room and then move to our guesthouse the next day. The hotel was a Latvian Bed and Breakfast—very small, but charming. We went to dinner at a place called, Tex Mex. It was a mix of what we experience in Colorado and Latvian fare complete with potatoes and green beans. Since we would have nothing to do that evening we bought a game to play and returned to our room.

Once there, we presented the girls with their favorite foods from their visit to America, chips and salsa for Baiba and potato chips and French onion dip for Agnese. We all munched away and laughed as we played a sort of Latvian Shoots and Ladders called Cirks.

True Confessions

When we saw the girls again for the first time in so long, I had a moment of panic, a feeling of— what have we done?  It's one thing to romanticize an international adoption and the long struggle to get them; it was another thing to see them sitting in front of us, two human beings, fully our responsibility. I wondered if all adoptive parents feel this way, or in fact all parents. In the morning I shared these feelings with David who had gone through the exact same thing. By the time the sun was up however, the trepidation had passed for both of us and we were ready to begin the next chapter. 

DAY TWO: The Guest House and Dandelions

On Saturday we moved into our cute little guesthouse. It has a good-sized bedroom for David and me, a living area with beds for the girls and a kitchenette, as well as a large bathroom complete with a small washing machine. There is a small yard outside our door blossoming with spring flowers. 

There are big healthy dandelions in everyone’s yards. The Latvians consider them just another beautiful wild flower, not the lawn-wreckers that we make them out to be. They even make wreaths for their hair out of them for an annual festival. Wouldn't life be a little lovelier if we could accept weeds as flowers? That's the Latvians for you. 

We dropped off our luggage and went to the grocery store to stock up for a few days. It's a good thing the girls were with us because I would’nt have known what half the stuff was. They picked out several favorite foods that they rarely have as well as some cooking staples. 

Heartstrings Tugged

After dropping off the groceries and settling in, we went to Selga for the girls to get more of their things. While there David and I gave the other orphans gifts—candy and toys for the little ones, and lip smackers and mechanical pencils for the teens. Even a few days later I can’t shake my emotions about that visit. I couldn't help thinking about the feelings of the children, including Baiba, Agnese and Madara, as they are being left off at places like this. I also can't help thinking about the tiny ones who followed me around wanting to hold my hands and be picked up. So heart wrenching. 

Selga is a good place as far as orphanages go, with really nice workers and a very caring director. But as we walked through the halls with the girls I thought about how it would be, kind of like growing up in a run down DMV or some other government facility—barebones and entirely lacking the warmth of a home.

Don't worry, we're all full up for orphans at the Payne household, but if anyone reading this is so inclined…

It's time to pick the girls up from school. Next posting I'll fill you in on our visit with their sister, Madara, taking driving directions from two teenage Latvians, and the near disaster with our rental car.