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emergence of an independent Ukraine was a gradual process that lacked the drama of the previously doomed attempts. Except for a few emotionally charged moments, duly chronicled and still re membered, this successful attempt at independence was the end result of centuries old bloody struggle, but itself was carried out in the final stages without a drop of blood. Blood — not much, but nevertheless blood — was spilled on the day we moved. Someone provoked the crowd, the regime was slow to respond with necessary changes of personnel, and as always, it was the students who were arrested. It was also the student protest that got the arrested out of jail, thus reinforcing the continued need for street politics to nudge and even push the regime to some reform. The cloud of dissatisfaction at the regime that finally led to its collapse still hangs over the population, hampering its vision, blocking its actions. Ukrainian leaders continue to discuss, draft program statements, analyze would-be comprehensive solu tions, argue at each other without engaging the op ponent, and then at some point, do what they do best - protest, demonstrate, strike to react to the moment, often without thinking through the long-term con sequences of their actions. So it is in this first year of the millennium. But the people I deal with at this very moment — the plumbers, electricians, plasterers (these are always women), carpenters, welders, drivers, cleaners — these people do not care about the demonstrations, whatever the reason. They like the new system for one reason only — now they can get paid more or less openly. Best of all, they can work at their own speed and to your specifications. In contrast, I once asked a cobbler in the government "personal services center" to put non slip heavy rubber soles on my boots. He refused, even for extra pay. The old soles were still good, and anyway, such soles will ruin the line of the boot. No way would he do it. His colleague refused to restring some beads because "they did not need it." Yet it is a pity these "personal services centers" with their tailors and shoemakers, now supplemented by translators and notary publics, are disintegrating. Their location made them very convenient for Saturday errands. Yet I can see the problem of equal payment for unequal jobs and why these tradesmen can no longer agree on rents. When I moved into the old apartment, in August 1992, I acquired everything that was in it, everything needed to survive the winter (except potatoes, a sack of which a friend delivered a month later and put out on the balcony where they -- forgotten — froze). It was a time of want. The Soviet system dealt .with shortages by oozing out some scarce items a little at a time. Of course, there were always people who had access to needed items or were able to get them from abroad, but the majority of the population learned to adapt their life style to always unpredictable shortages. The family from whom I bought the apartment fell into a mildly privileged category. The man of the house was a functionary of a candy factory, and the wife was also a professional. The apartment was well stocked, especially with scarce items. In 1992, these included toilet paper, glasses, soap, laundry detergent, bedding, buckwheat groats, honey, light bulbs, and sugar. Liubov Davydovna, the wife, as was typical of professional Soviet women, did her own home canning, from items grown on the small plot at the family dacha Thus I had apple juice, walnuts, tomato sauce, sharp tomato puree, and huge jars of canned zucchini. For good measure, she also left a duck in the small freezer section of the refrigerator. The apartment — a fourth floor walkup downhill from the University — had certain advantages. Because the family was emigrating and had been the only owners, there were no legal hassles. The country to this day does not have title insurance. They were also willing to leave the apartment with bathroom and kitchen fixtures — to this day apartments are sold stripped of fixtures. So I acquired an apartment that was a genuine period piece with vintage wallpaper and matching curtains. It came not only furnished, but equipped, but came without owners — a definite advantage at a time when landladies felt it was their right to barge into a rented apartment at any time of day or night. Each room was set up to serve as a bedroom: one bedroom for the grandparents; one room for the daughter, husband and child; and the third room — the dining and living room, served as a bedroom for the son. There was a kitchen table, but no desk. The dining room table was too unstable to hold even a laptop. There were no desks to be had in all of Kyiv. I went to the furniture store — it had samples, but none of them were available for sale. No orders were taken. I began a search for a strong table that could be a work desk. A friend had a friend who knew someone at the furniture store. She found out that a shipment of tables would arrive soon. If I bought her a table, and another table for the man who worked at the store, the third table could be mine. Thus I acquired a table. The hitch was with the dacha It was included in the sale. Hence, I had a chance to learn more than I ever wanted to know about the dacha system in the USSR. The owners were very proud of the building. It was brick, had the beginnings of a cellar, and the first floor was strong enough to build up, once permission Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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