Author: Geri Krotow

Award winning author of over 35 novels ranging from cozy mystery, to thrilling romantic suspense, to women’s fiction-y romance.

How Do You Beat the Winter Blahs?

I went to Scotland. Castles, mountains, wool, history galore. A writer’s heaven.

Where JK Rowling Wrote Harry Potter
Where JK Rowling Wrote Harry Potter
As a kid in Western New York I loved winter and faced total confusion as my grandparents complained about the cold and snow. As long as I could make a snow man, ice skate, or even better, go sledding/tobogganing, I was thrilled.

Edinburgh Sun Rise
Edinburgh Sun Rise
The years have blinked by and now I “get” what they meant. It’s tough to drive in ice and snow, and worse to walk in it, especially in Russia where the ice can be inches thick on the sidewalks. If it’s hard for me and I consider myself in okay shape, how hard it must be for the elderly who need to walk to get to the kiosk that sells their favorite (most affordable) fruit or bread.

Swan on Loch Ness
Swan on Loch Ness
My children get a week off at the end of February for Winter Break, and we used the off-season prices to afford a trip to Edinburgh, Scotland. Friends and family in the States thought we were crazy–Scotland, in the winter? It’ll be cold, rainy, miserable! Nope. It was chilly the first few days, but a relative heat wave to us. And the last couple of days were downright balmy. In the 30’s at night, but 40’s, maybe even 50 during the day.

Edinburgh Castle--View from The Elephant House
Edinburgh Castle–View from The Elephant House
Enjoy the photos–if you’re still in the grips of Father Frost, wherever you are, I hope they give you hope for the coming Spring. By the way, it’s 9 degrees Fahrenheit as I write, -2 wind chill.

Do You See Any Literary Fairy Dust in the Air?
Do You See Any Literary Fairy Dust in the Air?

Where are You?

Belorusskaya Train Station is across the street from me as I write this. You know it; it was made famous in Dr Zhivago. I never pass it or stop in it without my mind seeing Lara and Yuri under the layers of fur in their dacha.  As a kid I wondered how they slept under such weight but as an adult and romance novelist I think of other things now.

St Basils, Moscow, Russia on New Year's Eve 2011
St Basils, Moscow, Russia on New Year’s Eve 2011
John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas” is on this Starbuck’s stereo. Yes, it’s January 12th—Christmas and New Year’s last longer in Russia thanks to the Gregorian calendar and Orthodox Tradition. I’m probably the oldest person here. Not the oldest looking, as the hard life that Moscow offers often prematurely ages folks and I’m always surprised to find out someone I think of as ten-to-fifteen years older than I is indeed the same age or younger.  But chronologically I’m sure I’m one of the “senior” people here. Moscow is a young person’s town and it reflects in the clientele. There are of course the usual smattering of super-model-thin, tall, blonde girls. They are most certainly younger and better dressed than I am, even in the new sweater my dearest gave me for Christmas on December 25th, American-style. Yet I’m content, serene.

The skies are so bleak and the snow dirty and slushy. It’s a tough time of year when the sky is still pitch dark at 8 am and never quite gets bright with the nonexistent sun. All daylight is gone by 4pm or so, adding to the anxiety that I’m not getting enough done in a day. I make a cup of green coconut tea (another nice gift, this one from Sally) and I remind myself I still have 6-7 hours of the day left to be productive.

Ah, productive. That used to mean getting more and more things done, writing another chapter, revising another manuscript. Today it means I’ve completed my writing day and in the evenings I’ll enjoy my family as much as possible with two teens who lock themselves into homework after dinner.  I may knit or play with our new puppy or play with my Weight Watcher points to see if I can fit in dark chocolate M&M’s or if an apple is a better choice tonight.

I’m learning that I’m most productive in the old sense and the new when I just am.

Yoga, Russian-Style: A Metaphor for Life?

Honest, I’m not going to bore you with my transcendental journey while sitting in lotus or laying in corpse pose yesterday at yoga. Probably because my journey was more of a muscular nature, as in my lower back cramped up so badly I thought for sure I’d be laid flat and told to “take it easy, rest, eat whatever you want for the Holidays and no more hard work outs.”IMG_0328 [1600x1200]

Yet the class continued. Somehow I got through each pose, at times sweating out the discomfort. My lower back has been my nemesis  ever since college, and of course being a runner for so many years didn’t help it. I’ve learned to balance my exercise–heavier on walking, lifting (resistance), stationery bike, etc, and I only run for fun occasions like a road race I want to do.

I know that to keep the back pain away I have to work out–hard, especially on my core. It’s just part of the I-want-to-be-healthy-and-strong gig. Still my lower back and I have our moments when I’ve been doing all the right things, and it still fusses and gives me grief. My inclination is to take an anti-inflammatory and rest. Yet if I work through it (carefully, not abusively) the spasms ease and I enjoy another long period with negligible pain.

Hmm…sounds like the same prescription for writing relevant, real, touching prose. If I ignore my craft and blow off my regular morning pages and daily writing, I start to feel like crap. And then when I do get back to the page, I’m writing, well, crap. It takes a lot longer to produce a great dialogue or to insert a much-needed metaphor.

Writing regularly, practicing anything that’s our vocation on a regular, consistent basis, is tough. At all the writer’s conferences and workshops I’ve attended or given, no one has ever stood up and said “this is so easy! I write whenever I want and I’m a successful New York Times bestselling author!” The most successful among us are either quiet and listening carefully to glean new insight into their craft, or they’re not there because they’re at work—writing.

The yoga instructor is Russian and when I first started her class I thought “great, Soviet gymnastics-turned-torture.” But while her style is different from what I’m used to, it’s not bad. Just different. She has us hang indefinitely in painful poses so that we get past the pain. So that my muscles finally trust. Relax. Take in more oxygen.

Hang in there. Don’t beat yourself up. Enjoy the peace and joy this season is meant to bring. Soak in the beauty of a brightly lit Christmas tree, sigh in delight as another Menorah candle is lit. Breathe. Relax. Let your true vocation come through.

Swimming in Jam

Do you ever feel like you’re swimming against the tide? Okay, maybe not against the tide but instead of flying in the current of life it’s tossing you around a bit, maybe leaving a few marks?
I’ve felt like this for a while now and I can’t put my finger on when it started. When we were evacuated from Moscow this summer, due to the smoke from the peat fires? When our stay in the States turned from 4 to 6 weeks and I was out of my routine for too long? When it hit me that life is constantly moving by whether or not I “hop on?”
It really doesn’t matter what caused this type of funk. And I feel guilty even saying it’s a funk. I enjoy life. I took myself and my laptop out into the city today to write this blog–I don’t know many people who can say they took their office out for a trip. Of course, they probably make a lot more money than I do, but that’s another blog (the I’m-not-defined-by-my-royalty-statement essay). It’s 55 degrees Fahrenheit in Moscow Russia on the 15th of November and I’m out here to enjoy it, for heaven’s sake.
Maybe when I was younger I wasn’t as aware of the fragility of life, the reality that we all get older if we’re blessed to live long enough. And getting older means saying good-bye to some youthful pursuits. Self-pity and self-centeredness top my favorite things to say “so long” to.
I must say I love the confidence and sense of knowing myself that maturation brings. It’s liberating and thrilling. The younger me would be horrified to know that indeed, my body can weigh the number of pounds it does–that my figure hasn’t stayed reed-thin and my clothes choices too often fall into the “comfortable writer” category. But the younger me had no clue as to the joys of raising children, dogs, novels, marriages (just one so far, Thank God).
The younger me didn’t notice she was swimming through jam. I was spinning my wheels too quickly to even note if I hit a speed bump.
Today I feel the speed bumps and heart palpitations. But I’m not afraid of any of it–it’s okay, it’s life, and I’m happy to be here.
And that means accepting when I’m treading in thick, syrupy jam. This too shall pass.

Proud to be a Veteran

When I resigned my commission fifteen years ago, I couldn’t wait to bid my active duty days adieu and head into the full-time Mom and writer sunset. I was proud of the nine years I’d served after graduating from the Naval Academy. My jobs in the Navy had been challenging and enjoyable, and at times felt so natural to me that I couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.

Almost.

The call to motherhood came and for me the personal choice was clear–in order to keep my marriage thriving and provide the stability level for our family that I was comfortable with, it would require me to leave the service. Maybe if my husband had been a civilian I would have chosen a different path, but he was and is still, active duty. Active duty Navy, which means months away on ships or in squadrons, all over the world.

So with heartfelt good-byes I left the US Navy to become…a Navy wife. The first year was an adjustment. No longer the active duty woman in uniform, I was relegated to the back of the line at medical, the pharmacy, and even in the commissary or exchange where doing rush hours active duty in uniform have front-of-line privileges. As they should, of course. I relished time with my toddler son and before long we were blessed with his sister. The kids gave me a sense of purpose I’d never had before.

The people who meet me now have remarked that they can’t imagine me as an active-duty officer. The people who knew me as Lieutenant Commander Krotow have a hard time believing I went from the service to stay-at-home wife and mom, and now romance novelist.

I don’t see the issue. Because to me I’ve continued to serve my country. As a vet I can say that I know my contributions mattered while in uniform, and they matter now. Even if I wasn’t married to the military, raising and guiding healthy children to contribute to the greatest nation on earth is not only just as viable but essential.  From a global perspective, I’m raising two kids to whom I hope I’ve imparted a sense of self-sacrifice and healthy esteem. I hope they understand and live the fact that the world doesn’t revolve around any one individual or country–we’re all connected.

Where I learned the “we’re all connected” the most was firstly in my own home with a mother who always invited strangers to our Thanksgiving table or sent a meal to the hermit who lived across the street. Secondly, I learned it during my Plebe year at the Naval Academy.

I’m part of a special, privileged, blessed team of people who’ve served their country and indeed the world for the sake of freedom and peace. What I did to deserve this I’ll never comprehend, but I’m so grateful today. Thank all of you who’ve served and support those who serve. To the countless souls who’ve lost their lives for all of our sakes, thank you.

Dog is God Spelled Backwards

Pets can be the anchor in a Navy family that moves not only from coast to coast in America but around the globe. My husband and I brought home our baby parrot when we’d been married two years, and for the next five years he was our practice infant. We spoiled him and moved him from Florida to California to Alabama to Washington State to Tennessee and back to Washington. He came to Italy and Belgium with us. When we found out we were moving to Russia for two years we were saddened to have to leave him behind, but grateful for the dear friends who are fostering him until our return. The twelve-week-old baby parrot is now 22 years old and loves to torture his foster family.

We adopted our first dog, Shadow, while in Memphis. I rescued her from the unkempt backyard of a lawyer in a very nice part of town. Animal abuse and neglect knows no socio-economic borders.

Shadow with Cookie Flour on her Nose
Shadow with Cookie Flour on her Nose
Shadow quickly became part of the family and joined us on our moving adventures. She came to Moscow with us at age 10, and I had some fears about her making the full two years here but she’d been so strong and healthy to date (save for the usual lab-mix issues of skin, allergies, and eating whatever she could find wherever she found it).

She stood guard at our apartment window when the President came to town and watched the First Lady’s motorcade go by.

Shadow gave the kids comfort when Daddy had to go far away for months on end, defending our freedom. The Christmas Eve that it was just the kids and I on Whidbey Island, WA, Shadow provided the comic relief needed by taking off with wrapping paper as I tried to valiantly to play Mom, Dad and Santa while the kids slept and my husband prepared his squadron for wartime a world away.

Shadow was the Gandhi of dogs. Little kids flocked to her as did adults who’d say “I’m not a dog person but Shadow’s different.”

So it was with great sorrow that the kids and I returned from our vacation/smoke evacuation this summer to find an emaciated dog that’d barely made it through the record-breaking heat and debilitating smoke. Our housekeeper took wonderful care of her, so I knew it was something more than just the rough summer. Within days we knew our beloved dog had cancer and there was no going back.

Making the decision to put a pet down is heart-wrenching. Shadow went to heaven in my arms, in our apartment (they come to the home for such events in Russia). I knew I’d never love a dog as I’d loved Shadow. The kids and my husband where equally distraught but each of us showed it in different ways. Our vet gently suggested there are so many dogs that need homes in Moscow, but I didn’t want to hear about that. Not yet.

As we grieved Shadow the house seemed so empty. The grieving brought us all together and we were able to laugh over the silly things she’d done. What I’ll remember most of all is Shadow’s strength. She could have let go while we were gone but she didn’t. She waited until we came back and could say good-bye to her properly.

Within a month I had that “feeling” that there was another dog waiting for us. Nothing tangible, but those of us who have adopted pets know the deal.

I wanted another lab-mix female. But when I showed up at a local shelter the puppy fitting this description all but ignored me. A male German Shepherd mix puppy kept leaping up on my lap and kissing my face. The mastermind behind Moscow Animals rescue, Barb Spiers, snapped a few photos. I held the boy puppy’s sisters, but they weren’t interested in me either.

I left the rescue apartment and as I walked the streets of Moscow I had an incredible feeling of peace settle over me. I figured it was just my husband’s telepathic relief that I wasn’t bringing a new puppy home on impulse.

Over the next few days the puppy wouldn’t let go of my thoughts.

“He’s going to be a regal dog, like Shadow. He’s the one for us.” I told my husband this and he quietly acquiesced to my need for a new pet in our home.

I’m a woman of a certain age with children preparing to leave the nest. It’s a sad, exhilarating, scary time.

IMG_1157 [1600x1200]Yet instead of getting a new sports car or plastic surgery, I got a puppy. And for today, it’s just what not only I need but our family needs. Instead of allowing a lump to grow in my throat each time I watch my eldest walk into the room, knowing he’ll be at college less than a year from now (if we both survive the application process), we toss the ball back and forth and play with Misha.

My daughter and I giggle over how the men of the family lavish oodles of praise and “touchy-feely” cuddles on the new dog.

I’m still grieving Shadow’s loss. I feel her, see her face around the corners of the apartment. But I can’t help feeling that somehow she brought us Misha.

For this last year that we have both of our chicks in the nest, an unlikely new family member is helping us to continue to bond and love each other through the inevitable changes. Misha, our native Russian dog.

Where is Home?

“Where are you from?” I answered this question dozens of times this summer, from Buffalo, NY to Orlando, FL to Saratoga, NY. I think that most people are really asking “where’s home for you?” and it can be a complicated answer for me, even more so for my Navy-family-born children who’ve never lived in the same place for more than 3 consecutive years of their lives.

In my heart my hometown will always be the place of my birth–Buffalo, New York. I’m a descendant of Poles on my Dad’s side and an Anglo mix on my Mom’s, plus some Czech and French thrown in for exotic affect. Yet I left Western New York to see the world via the US Navy when I was only 19 (I know, I know, I look like it was only a few years ago but it’s really almost a few decades ago). My four years at the US Naval Academy was the longest time I lived anywhere while on active duty.

Each tour has yielded new discoveries for me. Geographically and culturally it’s thrilling to see and meet so many different ways of life, just in our own great country. Add the overseas locations and I’ve experienced a cornucopia of global ways of life.

In spite of all of the aforementioned, I’ve had to come face-to-face with what home means to me these past several weeks. Our family was on a planned vacation home to the States when we found out we couldn’t go back to our home in Russia. Peat fires had spewed toxic fumes and waste into the air in and around Western Russia including Moscow.

At times my home was with extended family, enjoying a great meal or laugh together. Home was sitting with my writer sisters at Romance Writers of America’s national conference in Orlando, FL, catching up on career and life goals and dreams. Home was a day at Daytona beach with a BFF, or with my kids at the Jersey Shore. Home was spending the morning with my husband in a coffee shop. He surfed the net while I wrote. Home was crawling through a yarn shop in Saratoga Springs, or hearing my favorite band sing my favorite song in my hometown. Home was another BFF bringing me flowers or great family friends throwing us a crab feast in Annapolis, MD.

Still, home is more to me.

As I looked at the photos coming across the newswires my heart broke for the Russian people who lost so much,  and too many who lost their lives. I was here in the States with family but my heart was with the Russian people and our embassy colleagues, US and other, who had to face the crisis head-on.  Where “home” is for me isn’t so complicated anymore. It’s where I’ve left my heart most recently, where my family makes its home for the time being.

When the evacuation orders are lifted and we return to Moscow, I know I’m going “home.”

Manuscript to Novel to Mass-Market Availabilty

It’s fate that I write for Harlequin. Their distribution center is only a few miles from my childhood home in Western New York. It’s only natural that on a trip home this summer I made a stop by the plant to see exactly how the manuscript in my computer turns into the beautiful product that gets into a reader’s hands. But if not for the thoughtful effort of a high school cross country teammate and the miracle that is Facebook, I would have missed this great opportunity.

They Sang "Name"
They Sang “Name”

It started back in May when Dave Genoccro, Quality Control Manager for HDC, noticed on Facebook that my career is “novelist” and that I write for Harlequin. Dave shot some great photos of my June 2010 book on the palettes in the warehouse and shared them on Facebook. That lead to Dave’s boss and HDC General Manager John Reindl suggesting that I stop by the next time I’m in town. Little did John know I was already planning a trip home. After all, my Dad was having a significant birthday (he still looks 35) and the Goo Goo Dolls were playing Darien Lake the same week. What goes with Dad’s birthday, The Goo Goo Dolls, and writing? A tour of the Harlequin Distribution Center, of course!

Dad's Big Birthday
Dad’s Big Birthday
Before I left for the tour of HDC I thought “how ‘business’ do I have to be?” It was a business appointment, sure, and I usually would wear a suit or equivalent. But I knew I’d be walking through a 400,000 square foot warehouse…still, I opted for my new comfortable pretty sandals. Not the best choice, I found out, as open-toe shoes are not allowed on the HDC production floor. Safety first! Fortunately, one of the many wonderful employees at HDC came to my rescue and provided me with an alternative.

Foot Safety!
Foot Safety!

We started the tour at the area where Harlequin is now able to print smaller batches of books as needed, to meet or top-off print-runs. Usually the actual printing for the 100 million Harlequin books handled by HDC takes place at a separate printing facility, Quad Graphics, located nearby. In the past it wasn’t uncommon to have an “overage” on the run–meaning anywhere from a few hundred to thousands of extra books printed of a title that never sold. Today Harlequin is able to have a tighter print-run and distribution by using an in-house system that’s not quite “print-on-demand” but enables less waste in terms of paper and time.

Next we walked through the order fulfillment area where dedicated workers sort all incoming mail orders, and where online orders are processed as well. It’s an amazing thing to see so many hands working to make sure each reader gets what they’ve asked for–and often more. Harlequin is known for sending out incentive gifts to readers, like wine glasses or figurines, but more importantly, Harlequin makes efforts to introduce readers to new authors or series they may like based on what they’ve purchased in the past.

Loading Books by the Pallette
Loading Books by the Palette

It was a thrill to see my book on the shelves, and to see where copies of it wait to be shipped out to a waiting reader. It’s one thing to write a book and try for years to sell it. A thrill like no other. But I have to admit that realizing my book is given such attention, right along with New York Times bestsellers Debbie Macomber and Susan Wiggs, and more recently USA Today bestselling author Kristan Higgins, was at once humbling and thrilling. Another affirmation that “yes, I’m watching my dreams come true!”

I was fascinated by the mail sorting area where a computer and conveyor belt join through space-age technology and sort boxes of books into the correct bins in order to place the books deeper into the US Postal system. John pointed out that the deeper Harlequin can get the books into the postage (e.g. sending them to the right USPS center first, instead of just out locally) it saves Harlequin money. And that in turn, to me, could mean that the price point of the books stays lower and readers can get more for their money. I’m not an economist, but as a business woman it makes sense to me.

Mail Sort
Mail Sort
SASHA's DAD for other Markets
SASHA’s DAD for other Markets

I was especially impressed by the massive recycling effort  run by HDC for returns and books that don’t make the quality control cut. Each novel produced in the HDC is touched by at least one set of human hands if not more. Special stickers like WalMart or KMart discount prices are put only on books that make the quality cut–everything from the cut of the cover, pages, and book inserts are checked for accuracy. The employees affectionately refer to the paper recycle machine as “The Tin Man.” I apologize for the poor quality of the photo, but I think it gives you the idea of the scope of HDC’s positive environmental impact nonetheless.

The Tin Man
The Tin Man
View from the Top
View from the Top

Another positive community innovation at HDC is the Suburban Adult Services which involves giving employment to mentally challenged or disabled adults in Western New York. I met the group working the day I toured as they were loading books into huge cardboard containers for future shipping. It makes me proud that my publisher isn’t only about global romance and passion, but also passionate for the community in which it does business.

Dave Genoccro, Me and John Reindl
Dave Genoccro, Me and John Reindl
Community Minded
Community Minded

A Birthday, A Book and a Mammogram

This month is a banner one for me. I hit a significant milestone albeit sad in many respects in that I have lived longer than my mother did. We lost her too soon, too young, to breast cancer. Because it’s my birthday month, I have my yearly mammogram scheduled. Have you scheduled yours yet? If you’re age 40 or over, go do it now! If your insurance won’t pay, or you don’t have health insurance, find a community outreach program in your area that provides free or reduced-cost mammograms. Because as women we are the rocks of our families and communities. And we need to manage our health–no one else can do this for us.

The third and great thing about this month, this year, is today! My third book, Sasha’s Dad is released by Harlequin Superromance. I have an excerpt and behind-the-scenes information for Sasha’s Dad on my website, and if you join me on my Facebook Author Page you’ll get more frequent updates on how the launch is going, where people have taken pictures of Sasha’s Dad, and what I’m doing in my local area to promote my third novel.

Brown Bag Lunch Presentation for SASHA's DAD
Brown Bag Lunch Presentation for SASHA’s DAD
Today I gave a workshop or in local parlance, a “brown bag lunch” presentation to interested American Embassy staff and personnel in Moscow, Russia. I came away so motivated to continue to pursue my art and get my characters and stories on the page. While copies of Sasha’s Dad haven’t arrived in my mailbox yet, I was able to hand out bookmarks and Russian chocolates to keep the group happy and alert. I promised signed copies of Sasha’s Dad and champagne/sparkling apple juice once the books arrive. My publisher graciously offered several complimentary copies for me to hand out here at the embassy.

Several readers have emailed to let me know they’ve already downloaded Sasha’s Dad onto their Kindle or other e-reader, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. My children thank you, too, especially the oldest who will be going to college next year.

Each book, each story is so special to me. It takes many people to bring the story to publication, from me the writer to my agent and then my editor; copy editors, the art department, marketing, distribution…I am grateful to each pair of hands that worked on Sasha’s Dad.

A last note–once again the “small world” theory is proved. A high school track alumnus of mine now works at the Harlequin Distribution Center in Western New York. He sent me some great photos of my book on the warehouse shelves. If you’re curious, find them here on my Facebook personal wall.

Enjoy your day and please enjoy Sasha’s Dad!!

A Yankee in Red Square

Last night a girl from Buffalo New York stood in Red Square, Moscow, Russia and watched the practice for the 2010 Victory Day Celebration. This year is a HUGE year for Russian World War II veterans (and indeed all WWII vets) as it’s the 65th Anniversary of the defeat of the Axis powers and the end of the war.

In Front of Victory Day Banner
In Front of Victory Day Banner
My husband came home and said we had a lucky opportunity to go view a practice of the Red Square ceremony last night, if we were willing to find our way around the shut-down streets and through the crowds lining the roads to see the practice. I couldn’t believe it and still am amazed that we got there and witnessed something that until now has only been a small blip on the news for me, with the famous shot of the Kremlin on Victory Day.

March-On in front of St Basil's
March-On in front of St Basil’s
I’ll save you the devastating history lesson on WWII in Russia–it’s one I study almost daily as I research story ideas. You can find summaries of dates, battles, lives lost and other historical facts readily enough. But you won’t find what I’ve had the privilege of witnessing on the faces of the many Russian WWII vets I’ve had the honor to meet during our posting in Moscow. Whenever one of the veterans holds my hand and tells me a bit of their particular story, I feel as though I’m talking to someone from my family. Any boundaries of country or nationality drop when the discussion of WWII comes up, for we are all human and utterly vulnerable when it comes to war.  In the Russian veteran faces I see strength, love of homeland, sorrow, and resilience. Just as with our own generation of WWII vets in the States, these vets saw and did deeds that the vast majority of us will only know snippets of from film and television. Thanks to their sacrifices you and I have lived to see this generation enjoy the greatest life has to offer.

In Front of Gym ("goom")
In Front of Gym (“goom”)
As I sat and watched the thousands of troops marching, I marveled when I saw the US contingent stride by, along with other Russian WWII allies. When I was doing air raid drills in 2nd grade against the outside hallways of my school I never could have imagined I’d not only see Red Square in person, I’d live in Russia as a military spouse. So many emotions flooded through me as I listened to the incredible orchestra play the most complicated pieces, yet all in unison across the expanse of the square.  The years I served during the Cold War. Our grandparents and parents who fought and/or lived through the war. The suffering of so many on all sides during WWII. The tireless diplomats who’ve worked to make sure this Yankee can indeed sit in Red Square in 2010. Then the recognition of Russia’s rich, at times incomprehensible history. All of the Tsars and Tsarinas. The peasants who provided merchants with food and cloth. The many centuries of people who’ve walked across Red Square, day or night, in all seasons, all states of being that a country endures–war, peace, uncertainty, victory.

Lights On Full View!
Lights On Full View!
I’m here because of my husband’s job but I am a writer and I see Moscow and Russia with my writer’s eyes and writer’s soul.  I am so grateful to be able to absorb what I’m learning about Russia and her people not just through the television or a book. I’m living it, with each trip on the Metro, each walk through a wonderful museum, each taste of a pemeni or borscht.  Last night I realized what a blessed Yankee I am.

View on the Walk Home
View on the Walk Home