Only Today

I've been neglecting writing the requisite post describing the wonders of spring and the burgeoning of life in Ukraine after such a dismal winter. It all seemed too cliche. But I've come to realize the Ukrainian response to spring illuminates a deeper mentality some would say is peculiar to Soviets.

In one of my favorite accounts of the Soviet Union, Off The Map, there is a dialogue between an American and a Soviet woman. When an American woman expresses her wish for pancakes every day like the ones she has just tasted, the Soviet woman replies, "It is wasteful to think of tomorrow...tomorrow is only tomorrow and it will come and you cannot change it." The American woman questions, "Then you never think of tomorrow?" "I wait for tomorrow. I see only today," is the Soviet's answer.

Beginning the week before Easter, Ukrainians exploded in a torrent of work. The snow had melted only a very few weeks before. People began raking yards, burning piles of what they raked, painting curbs, shoveling and sweeping dirt off streets, patching potholes, installing new storefronts to shops, washing cars, on and on. After this was all accomplished, tilled earth began appearing everywhere. Almost any patch of available ground became the foundation of some form of garden. I imagine all these gardens have been planted by now, but the fruits of such labor have yet to be realized, except where the barren stalks of recently planted flowers are waiting to burst into full bloom.

It is as if Ukraine has awoken from a long slumber, much like any place I can imagine that experiences a true winter. But not so much as waking from sleep, as rising from the dead. The difference these past few weeks have made is night and day. If I ask myself what visible efforts Ukrainians made to prepare for winter, I could not point to any. Last fall it was as if everything stopped in time. Roads were washed to ruin, trees cut down and left where they fell, yards overgrown with weeds, roadsides covered in trash, and worst of all, manhole covers crumbled and left wide open. I found a few of these the hard way.

I think back to my American memories of frantically trying to get everything ready for winter. I remember my family toiling for days in the yard making sure every leaf and acorn was cleared. We meticulously covered the pool and added appropriate chemicals to the water. Those of us who had boats or other such summery toys took the proper precautions for what winter might do to them inside garages. Exterior vents were covered. Water pipes were insulated. All of this done so either nothing would be ruined over winter, or reconditioning would be made easier in the spring. I'll never forget the joy of only having to pull off the cover of the pool, set up the filter, and add a little water during the first heat wave of the year if the pool had been winterized correctly. And nothing was worse than trying to mow the yard the first time if the leaves had not been raked the previous fall. But everything done in preparation for winter was done with the expectation that spring was imminent, and winter only to be endured.

The way Ukrainians have treated their work this spring seems as though no spring were expected. Why pick up the tree if there's no guarantee of spring? Why build the roads to withstand winter if there's no guarantee for winter to end? And what is lost if nothing is done before winter? If spring does come, it can all be taken care of then. Life is dealt with as it comes. Problems are addressed when they need to be, but not before.

Now, don't mistake this for procrastination or laziness. The moment Clean Thursday came before Easter, everyone, I mean everyone, began working with a zeal any American would envy. It was as if my city suddenly became aware of the mess and was embarrassed by it. It simply exemplifies to me the mentality to live for today, for the moment. If that moment is good, it will be remembered, even glorified as will soon be shown by the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the victory of WWII. But to work ahead is pushing it. The bitter sting of disappointment is still strong in the former Soviet Union of failed hopes for tomorrow.

Evidence of 'только сегодня (tolka sevodnya)', 'only today', is everywhere, whether it be the white paint on curbs already washing off, or the factory worker standing at the ATM pulling out every penny in his account on payday. It's been difficult getting used to living and working in this mindset. But maybe with time, a little bit of 'завтра (zaftra)', 'tomorrow', a much more poetic word in my opinion, will creep into the frozen Soviet mindset.