My parents’ house is a museum to Soviet nostalgia. It’s like walking into Miss Havisham’s house. Only with Blue Ray and walnut cabinets. Also, Miss Havisham is dead. Some days, I find books I used to read when I was five that are still copyrighted in the USSR. Other times, I use the same dishes that were given to them for their wedding.
Yesterday, I was trying to sew a button that had popped off Mr. B’s pants. “Oh, use the thread in my threadbox,” my mom remarked to me offhandedly. This was some of the thread she had available:
Oh, you can’t see what’s written on the spool?
“25 KOP”. That’s right, that’s 25 kopeiek (kopecks). These spools of thread are from the Brezhnev administration. I should be giving these to an anthropolgist for cultural study instead of using them for every day tasks like securing buttons.