An elderly woman sweeps snow from sidewalks outside a Kaliningrad hotel. Elderly Russians have been hit hard by the decline of the Russian economy. Most are trying to survive on a small pension of $19 a month. Many, if they are able, need more than one job to survive.

SCHELKOVA, Russia -- The accordian music could be heard outside.

Quad-Cities volunteers from ChildLife International shed their coats in the foyer of an activity center for the elderly in this Moscow suburb. The rollicking notes of a Russian folk song put smiles on their faces as they were greeted by their hosts.

``They have just radiant, radiant faces,'' said Nancy Edlund, of Moline, who visited the center two days earlier. ``They've lived through a lot of changes and you could just see the strong character in their smiles.''

Four couples sashayed around the floor while others sat along the walls and clapped. Women danced with women because there were not enough male partners. Only five of the 27 people in the room were men. Russian men have a shorter life-expectancy than women and it has dropped further since the fall of communism.

The song ended and the stout Russian women quickly eyeballed the newcomers, chose their targets and swooped in for the kill. Before the Quad-Citians knew what was happening, they were on the dance floor spinning in the iron grip of a Russian babushka (grandmother).

``I tried to watch her feet and do what she did,'' Mrs. Edlund said, laughing.

Here, the elderly spend the day socializing, dancing and eating good food. The remodeled building is spotless and impeccably decorated, with new curtains, light fixtures and furniture.

Retirees pay about one-third of their monthly pension to spend 20 days at the center on `vacation'. The center's waiting list stretches for months, the director said.

The song ended, and the Quad-Citians began distributing gift bags. Joyce Haskins, of East Moline, sewed cloth tote bags at home and the volunteers filled them with good things -- apples, crackers, a Russian Bible, a handkerchief, playing cards, toothpaste and more.

``When we left the other day, we said we'd come back,'' Mrs. Edlund told the group through a translator, as Mrs. Haskins handed out bags. ``We've come back to show you we love you and we will take home in our hearts the wonderful, wonderful experience you have shared with us.''

The audience clapped delightedly as she spoke, then looked through their bags. A woman pulled out toothpaste and other small items and a $10-dollar bill. Her eyes widened, and she nudged her neighbor to look in her bag. She found a $10-dollar bill, too. Everyone in the room began chanting ``Spa-see-ba, Spa-see-ba'' (thank you, thank you).

``It was a most fantastic day,'' Mrs. Edlund said later, smiling at the memory.

Many of Russia's elderly cannot afford time at such an activity center, as Jean Mueller, of Bettendorf, and Eric Misfeldt, of Davenport, discovered in Moscow.

They were walking from a souvenir market back to their hotel when an elderly woman asked them for a handout.

Mrs. Mueller gave the woman a dollar, and the woman pushed a plastic carrier bag with a picture and some Russian writing on it at her. Mrs. Mueller first said `No,' but the woman pushed the bag at her again. She took it, realizing the women wanted to give her something for the money. She did not want to be a beggar.

The two women stood face to face in calf-deep snow, while snowflakes settled gently in the birch trees behind them. Their countries once had tried to teach them to hate each another. The Russian woman began to cry.

``She was very old, and very stooped,'' Mrs. Mueller said. ``She looked in her 70s at least. I couldn't look her in the face for very long.''

Russia's elderly have survived two world wars, one Cold War, starvation and political purges. Now, they face an even tougher battle -- freedom.

They have been cut loose on a sea of change they do not -- and probably never will -- understand. Everything they were told has proven false. Communism has not brought properity, but neither has freedom.

Once promised cradle to grave protection, elderly Russians struggle to survive on pensions of about 430 rubles ($19) a month. Meanwhile, the living minimum for an elderly person is 982 rubles ($43), 732 of which is for food, according to a Moscow commission of government, unions and business.

While pensions remain fixed, the economy does not. The ruble has lost 72 percent of its value since August and prices have tripled. Many elderly once tottering on the abyss of poverty have now plunged into it, as Karen Paytash saw in GUM, a ritzy shopping mall on Moscow's Red Square.

The East Moline woman, and other Quad-Citians, were having lunch at a restaurant in the mall while sightseeing in Moscow. They relaxed under iron scrollwork on GUM's upper floors, full of shops like Benneton, Calvin Klein and Estee Lauder.

They were chatting over the remains of chicken lunches when an old woman approached their table. A frayed coat covered her stooped back and a faded scarf hid her white hair. She pointed at the chicken bones on the Quad-Citians' plates. They didn't understand her words, but they knew what she wanted.

The group gave her their uneaten food -- a piece of chicken, a few cold french fries, some untouched rolls. Then the woman asked for the half-eaten rolls and pieces of chicken. She even took the gnawed-on chicken bones.

The food went straight into her purse. She told a translator she would make soup with the bones.

``I kept trying to tell her I had a cold, but it didn't matter,'' Mrs. Paytash said.

The woman turned to leave, and the Quad-Citians pressed rubles into her hand. She said, ``Spaseeba, spaseeba'' again and again.

``It makes you realize how fortunate we are, how wasteful we are,'' Mrs. Mueller said.

``I think every person in America should do something like this, whether it's Russia or some other struggling country,'' Mrs. Paytash said. ``See how these people are living, have it there in front of you where you can't miss it. You hear about it all the time, but it's a surface thing. You don't really understand it.''

Mrs. Mueller and the others understand, now.

``I brought that plastic bag home, and I still have it with my `keepers', the things I keep,'' she said. ``When others see my old plastic bag, it doesn't mean much to them, but it's a good reminder for me.''