I’m a week gone from the early morning Acela that transported me to Peace Corps Staging in Philadelphia. I was a mess of nerves and excitment – in fact, was nearly derailed by the fleeting impulse to stay awhile among the Liberty Bell and her brothers. Nevertheless, I’ve made it safely across the pond and beyond the Iron Curtain.  And here I am.  Hello, Ukraine.

Adin. Dva. Tri. It’s friday night and I’m memorizing Russian numbers. Along with verbs, cases, conjugations, pronunciation, intonation, and seventeen thousand other essential elements of language. My brainfeels like a blowfish on the edge of danger.  I worry I’ll burst at mere mention of the genitive case.  Guppies, beware.  So, for now and for the sake of what brain cells remain, I’m on my way to bed.  Which is to say, I’m on my way to make my bed.

My bedroom. A big, wood armoir stays the east corner of my Ukrainian bedroom. There’s plenty of room for trikanasana , for total-body homework assignments (of which there have been many), and for a little mandolin in the afternoon.  There’s a sofa that sits between an end table and a desk on the opposite wall. Lot’s of sun, too.  Three compartments slide under the sofa like a trundle bed and each holds a load according to its depth and height.  Matching bed sheets, pillow, blanket and duvet.  Every night, I pull out theunderbelly and play like Pandora.  I unfold, do up a hospital corner or two and, snap, the sofa becomes a bed.  I nod off.  Next morning, tak tak tak, all comes back together again – each into its own compartment.  These days, to begin and end each day with a task completed is really satisfying.  During my waking hours, I sturggle with personal pronouns, buying toilet paper, telling people my name, but when it comes to my Ukrainian wonderbed, the world is full of possibility!  I keep saying to myself (and it really is to myself), “I am so into my Ukrainian bed.”

And then I think – here I am – on my twelfth bedroom in 24 years and only now do such modern conveniences show themselves? Where was such innovation when I was balancing spread eagle between the mini-fridge and the corner of my closet to reach the extra blankets from the top shelf in my dorm room?  Yes, Ukraine was in the middle of the Orange Revoluation but a few more under-the-bed compartments really could have helped me out.  If I had spent less time fishing for linens,I would have had more time to study, or to practice free hits, or to bake baklava.  Who knows how much time I wasted thinking organization was overrated?

Regrets aside, let’s just say that after only three overnight experiments, I really think the Ukrainians have got something here.

I mean, I must have missed this at Ikea.  It’s got it all – wood, foam, tactile fabric, those tabs that tell you where to pull. This Ukrainian wonderbed has a future, at the very least, beside the multi-use chair-bed-desk-motorbike and the first floor bal pit. I wonder if I have any contacts in the bedroom furniture market. Is there a bedroom furniture market? If not, I should definitely create one. Tomorrow, I think I’ll see how the Cyrillic alphabet looks in Helevetica.

You see? There are endless possiblities here in Ukraine.

That is to say, tomorrow I believe there will be endless possibilities.  And this cautious enthusiasm for the future seems to be something I share with the Ukrainian people I’ve met in the past week. In Ukraine, possibility is peeking onto the stage. A few steps forward, a glance back  I get the sense that markets materialize overnight.  Elections loom. Walking through the city, my eyes are big from listening.  And in absense of understanding, I hear whispered preparation for the world stage.

Very exciting stuff, this Ukraine.

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