I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 253 - Kazakhstan Part 26

Every Sunday, this blog will describe our life-changing trip to Kazakhstan in 2005 to adopt our two youngest children. While some of our friends and family have seen a few of the pictures, we've never put it all together in an organized format. One of the reasons is that I hesitate to subject others to a 21st century version of the endless slideshow of vacation photos harking to some relative's visit and a lost evening of my childhood. Still, the story must be told before details are lost since this is my children's unique birthright. When we get to the end of the story, I'll edit the posts together into an extended and separate blog page and then have it printed by one of the blog-to-book(let) services for my kids. For people with less interest, these posts will be easy to identify and avoid. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The icy fingers of the November wind made me pull the hood of my jacket over my ears. With hands in pockets and shoulders pulled up tightly against the cold, we walked toward the closed amusement park rides. Inna walked somewhere behind us, her tall boots clicking against the rocks. Terry was still feeling sick, though I was hoping that it was merely the contrast between the cold, open park and the 80 degree apartment where we had been spending most of our time.
It certainly felt cold enough to snow but the ground was clear and the sky was slowly changing from gray to a robin's egg blue. Most Uralsk days had seemed the color of dryer lint, so this was a delightful change.

The wind whistled across the adjacent water. The closed buildings gave the park a feeling that would have been ominous if not for the blue sky.

Terry seemed to feel worse and worse. We waited for Inna to catch up. With as much delicacy as possible under the circumstances, he inquired about the presence of a rest room. She seemed noncommittal and said that nothing was probably open. Under the circumstances, this was neither adequate nor comforting.

There was a large building up ahead. It had a bulk that seemed to promise some stability and, if we were really lucky, maybe plumbing.

The building is exactly what it looks like. The Cyrillic lettering proclaims this a cafe and bar. An 'original' one at that.

It is probably a terrific place to eat in the summer. In November, it is boarded up tight. We walked the perimeter looking for a door that had drawings or words that indicated the presence of a rest room. No luck.

Inna pointed to a small building a short distance away. Despite my tourist bent, I did not take a picture of the outhouse. Terry went inside and emerged almost instantaneously with two words: "No way."

It seemed to be farther back to the car than we had remembered walking originally. As you might imagine, the trip back had a lot less meandering. Terry was extremely happy to see the apartment. Inna and Dima took off in the little car. Unfortunately, that was our one allotted day of seeing the countryside without hiring a guide and a car. Since we were still erasing and ironing American bills at night in an attempt to have enough money to last however long we were going to be there, luxuries were off the menu. Anyway, it didn't look like Terry was going to be up to leaving the apartment for quite a while anyhow.

The childrens' homes have strict rules against visiting when ill. What kind of problem was this glitch going to cause?

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