Trekhprudny Lane

Did I mention that, in Poland over Christmas, my eyebrows and lashes were died with henna? It was a salon gift from Basia, though nothing was explained until afterward. I looked like Jack Clark at first but now it is better.

Lula finally better -- though skinnier.

We've been skating in the mornings on the pond, a giant expanse of dark, deeply cracked ice that is often covered with snow. It's a hushed and frozen, refreshingly open space. It's not a rink, and it's not maintained; there's no admission fee, not even a fence. "We're in a Brueghel painting!" we said the first time -- normally, all around are scattered clusters of people against a wide white background, some with bags and parcels, families and single expert skaters, some feeding the pigeons, kids playing games or sledding down the tiny hill nearby, even strollers wheeled onto the ice. No plastic cones or walled off "children's" areas, no monitor, no music, no skate rental, no appointed direction to skate in (thus no crowds of wobbly people all circling obediently clockwise). And natural ice makes odd tectonic popping and groaning sounds, like artillery I imagine. We were startled at first by this but now it's part of the pleasure. We get very cold very fast, however.

This morning we were early (ten-ish) and the place was almost empty. A took some videos.