Escorting the Russian Bears

Some of you have followed with great interest the saga of our household improvements over the past nine months. January's delivery of a new refrigerator had a sequel with today's delivery. This morning, I was greeted by a pair of sleek and stout Russian delivery boys who installed my sleek and stout new range. It replaces the wretched little Crosley that those cheapo developers left me when I bought this place 12 years ago.

These Russian dudes were probably in diapers when the Berlin Wall fell and were cordial but intriguingly cocky. When I pointed them towards the kitchen, the lead delivery guy raised his eye brows and asked, "Could you escort me there?" I was tempted to ask him to clutch his bear claw at my elbow, but I thought that might be pushing my luck. When I saw his pushing the range forward repeatedly at his waist while grunting in Russian, I had to leave the room.

It took barely 10 minutes to be all set up, and I hope some of my culinary-inclined blogger friends might volunteer to come teach me all the wondrous potential of this new tool.

Meanwhile, Bow is trying to wrap her mind around the accompanying miniature version of the kitchen.