Memories of Russia

There were lots of sandpits in the area where we were allowed to play. One in particular was on the way to the ice cream store. The sand constantly needed replacing as kids emptied it out over the sides. I suppose it also needed rebuilding as the sand swallowed the edges. Over the years, a hill developed in the place where the sandpit stands. You can’t dig to the bottom of it, the sand gets wetter, then stiffer, then mixed with dirt and pebbles. But the bottom is out of reach. I wonder what it will be like there once I return, whether they’ll have a community-famous Mt Sand, or whether someone will set their minds to it and get rid of the sand and probably the buried sandboxes underneath, leaving a flat space, and make a fresh sandpit filled with fresh sand. It’s the sort of the thing Australian culture sees the purpose in, but Russian culture doesn’t. Near the sandpit were those little styrofoam balls hidden in the grass that I used to think insects played with – who knows, maybe th...

Our backyard was so much bigger than our playing area here in Australia, because it was shared. Since we lived in an apartment, the area outside was shared. A few apartments faced each other, creating a courtyard. But unlike the big city courtyards, or the ones over here up in Darwin (I suppose also in Melbourne) the courtyard was full of grass and trees and playgrounds and children, since it was on ground level. The school was also here. The whole courtyard was huge, and our parents let us play with this area. Later on, we could also go to the much smaller courtyard that had a rather large playground. Right next to it was a small ice cream shop. Sometimes during the summer Mum gave us some money to get ice cream. We even got to know the old lady at the shop there.   The place was the definition of freedom. I got to know so many other children on the playgrounds there over the year, sharing bikes and chalks, jumping out of and climbing trees, picking wild cherries and fetching lo...