Chisinau Blue

Yesterday I highlighted our trip to a little village outside of Chisinau. It was an hour bus ride away and besides being a little dusty and bumpy, the bus ride to the village was hardly incidental.

And the bus ride home was almost as incidental, until we were just inside the city and the bus driver hit his brakes.

Hard.

We were all sitting in the very back, talking, not paying any attention to the driving, so when he hit the brakes, we all had to hold on for dear life to our seats. Adriana let out a little wail. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see what was going to happen next. Bela, being the protector he is, threw himself across me so that I wouldn’t get hurt (not really, and although he is protective, there wasn’t any time to think to throw one’s body across another’s. I’m not actually sure what he did. My eyes were closed and I could only hear Adriana wailing).

So, when we stopped and I pried open my eyes to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened, I was indeed in for a treat. For John, our at least 6 foot friend, hadn’t slid out of his chair, but the whole chair had slid from its spot! The seat wasn’t bolted into the steel at all! And so, he’d slid off the little hump the chair had sat upon, and into the spot where our feet had just been resting.

Picture this, an over 6 foot tall man, still sitting in his chair, which is now sitting where his feet were resting, his knees located just below his chin, eyes open wide in wonder.

Of course, my first maternal instinctive response was to ask Bela to take a picture of him. But, out of courtesy to our dear friend, Bela refused. And so, all I have to show you now is where the chair sat in its humble beginnings, and where it ended after John had been ejected.

It was truly funny. And if you know John, then, it’s even funnier. (I did ask him if he was okay after I got over my disappointment of not getting a photo).





And, a few final pictures from our time in Molova…drinking a spot of coffee,an old door knob and some peeling paint. Since the French have their own shade of blue, I'm thinking of calling this particular hue Chisinau blue.

And maybe, when any of us see Chisinau blue, weathered and fading and peeling, we'll think of little stranded hearts caught in a green land, who are reaching for the love of a Father.





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