This post is brought to you by the verb “to cut”

Last week involved a lot of uses of the Russian verb “to cut”, which translates to English in numerous ways
– slaughter the bull
– mow the law
– “fix” the cat
– chop the veggies

And a few uses of the English verb “to cut” that translates in various ways into Russian
– haircut
– cut my arm

And a stretch in both languages but I like my theme and want to stick with it
– cut glass (yeah, that doesn’t really work for my new glasses, but I tried)

Igor and family have been anxiously awaiting for almost a year for the day the baby bull turned into dinner. That day was last weekend. Bill came to the village with us to partake in the festivities. He did a great job hauling slabs of meat from the field to the house.

We were both surprised and really impressed how quickly and efficiently the “masters” worked. The first pieces of meat were cut, cleaned, fried and on the table in just under an hour.

No, I did not eat it. I’ve been a vegetarian for over 20 years and have no desire or intention of changing that. So you may be surprised that I was involved in this very carnivorous process. One of the reasons I stopped eating meat was out of horror and disgust with the US meat industry. The terrible inhumane conditions animals live in, the over-use of vaccinations to stave off the rampant spread of disease (caused in large part by the horrible and unnatural living conditions),  the hormones and chemicals used to “pump up” the meat- just a few of the things that horrify and disgust me. The disconnect between most Americans and the sources of their meals also makes me mad. I remember when I was working at a grocery store as a teenager, and one year after the annual Ohio State Fair we had some of the prize-winning livestock in the meat department. As I was ringing up a lady’s groceries, she suddenly saw the sticker on her package of meat “1st Prize Lamb”. She had a conniption, “Oh, I petted this lamb at the Fair! I can’t eat it!”  Why the hell not?, I wanted to say. What’s the difference between the lamb you didn’t see alive and one you did? I have no desire to eat either of them, but the hypocrisy of pretending your dinner started out in plastic wrap and not as a living, breathing creature just boggles my mind.

A few months living in a small village in Moldova, where you grow and prepare almost all of your own food, gave me a new persepective. First, the animals on a small farm live a pretty darn good life. You don’t get much more free-range than a yard full of chickens and geese running around. The sheep are out in the field all summer long. And those are some damn happy pigs (and now I really understand what it means to “pig out”!).  The animals are slaughtered with respect, and every single part of them is used – nothing is wasted. I mean nothing (I had no idea what could be done with duck feet!).  The same is true on the small farms in Ukraine.

Even though I still don’t personally have a desire to eat meat, if I was going to, it would be here in Ukraine. I don’t have any problem with people eating meat that has come from an animal that has lived decently, has been treated well, slaughtered humanely, and used completely without waste. Such was the meat from the bull in Bekhi. It was a day of celebration for the family, and definitely an interesting experience for Bill and me – one that we are not likely to find in the US!

There are more pictures on Flickr, (and I promise, nothing gruesome).

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So, the other “cutting” this week. The delicous smell of fresh-cut grass around our apartment building was such a quintessentially “summer in America” sensation for me this week. I can’t wait for vacation! No big adventure plans this summer, but a couple of weeks enjoying summer in Columbus is very much what my soul needs right now.

I finally took Ziggy to get “cut”, aka castrated. I’ve never had a boy cat before, so yet another process that was (morbidly?) fascinating to me. The vet underestimated not only our tubby cat’s girth but also his stubborness, and she ended up giving him three doses of anethesia before finally accepting that he was just not going to go to sleep. I stepped out of the room, and just a few minutes later they told me he was ready to go home. So quick and easy! He was dopey and unhappy the rest of the day, but good as new the next morning – terrorizing us early in the morning until one of us would get up and feed him. And he seems fairly oblivious to what happened to him, at least so far.

Ziggy’s one of the best cats I have ever lived with – hilarious, a purr-machine, and sooo much personality. But he can get a bit out of control when we play sometimes, getting pretty rough with the scratching and biting. I had hoped getting him fixed would help settle some of his agressive playing. But the other “cut” of the week was more serious scratches on my arm last night. Let’s hope that was just some lingering testerone that will fade out of his system sooner or later. Man, I hope so.

Bill and Eilene had an awesome party last weekend, at which Igor learned how to make sushi. He’s been anxious all week to try it on his own, so we picked up the ingredients on Saturday and had a fabulous sushi feast for dinner. Yuuuuuummmmm!

I also got a cut and color on Saturday, which always requires in instant re-do of the style. I swear, they must have only one style template in cosmetology schools here. No matter who has cut my hair or what kind of cut I’ve asked for, the stylist inevitable sends me on my way with a mushroom cloud on top of my head. Anybody know a good stylist in Kyiv who can do something decent with short wavy hair?

After the haircut I popped over to the optician. I accidentally broke my glasses a few months ago, and while the repair job was a valiant effort, they just didn’t fit right anymore and were increasingly uncomfortable, so I grudgingly accepted it was time to shell out the money for a new pair. I always admire interesting and bold glasses on other people, but somehow never have the courage to get myself something more daring than your basic discrete frames. As usual, I kept picking out frames that were essentially like the ones I always buy, but not being happy with them. The poor saleslady was trying hard, though, to help me, but kept picking out crazy stuff that she insisted were “fashionable”. Lo and behold, she finally got it right – not too bold, but not too boring. Before I could wimp out, I ordered them up – and 30 minutes later went home with my swank new look!

(And you gotta admit, it takes some confidence to post a picture of yourself with serious bedhead)