Rima, from Moldova

Rima left Moldova twelve years ago to join her American children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren in Portland. When I retired and moved here five years ago, we became next-door neighbors. We've been as good friends as we can be, given that we don't speak each other's languages. She once gave me a rubber chicken keychain, and I brought her some Hungarian Paprika when I went to New Orleans. We meet each other's grandchildren and rave about how beautiful they are. She brings me borscht. I take her ice cream. I was the only non-family member invited to her 80th birthday party four years ago. She tells me, "If I could English, I tell you how beautiful is my Moldova. You love Moldova if you see." When we meet in the elevator or the hallways, she shouts, "I love this woman!" I fling open my arms and we hug.

Every year my building has an "international dinner," and today was the day. The Chinese, Russian, Armenian, and Moldovan people bring wonderful food. The rest of us buy breads or desserts or make fruit salad. We always have a Russian accordionist for the party, and until this year, Rima and a Chinese woman in her eighties have always danced for the party. Sadly, the Chinese woman died last year, and so Rima danced solo tonight. I made this picture during Rima's dance, and I've cropped out all the distracting background to emphasize the expressiveness of Rima's face when she saw me with the camera. I was able to keep her moving hand in the picture. I feel about her as she feels about me. I love this woman!

Apologies to Terri, I dithered about whether to use color or B&W and then decided to go with the B&W. The color version is here, and I just found a picture I took at that 80th birthday party, of her holding a photograph taken in her youth.