Old friends, new technologies

Does it count as a blog if I post once a month? I think so -- this is just the electronic equivalent of all those notebooks and diaries on my shelf which have the first few pages filled out. Some of them are new year's diaries, when I do a recap at the end of the year. Still others represent new ventures, new times in my life.

I hope this new period will be a time of travel. I attended the Russian language class of a t.a. yesterday -- ostensibly to give her feedback on her teaching and to be able to speak authoritatively about it in my letters of recommendation as she goes out on the job market. The theme of the class was "verbs of motion," but in the end it turned into "Professor Brintlinger -- a great traveller!" (Профессор Бринтлингер -- великая путешественница!) How great is that. The students were asking me questions about my trip to China this summer, my trip to Crimea, my trip last year to Lake Baikal, and I got to end the class by saying: "And in spring term I'm going to Warsaw."

So travel and writing remain the same, but technologies change. I was logged into skype briefly this afternoon and my friend German noticed and called me. I was reminding him of what he said over 20 years ago now -- that by age 30 he wasn't really looking to find new friends, but was sticking with the old group. And here we are, connected by new technology but still maintaining old friendships. Both of us agreed that we have added a few new people to our circles. It is nice to see the old ones, though.

Gera promised to continue to be out in front, passing those landmarks and mile markers and lighting the way for those of us coming from behind.

Comments

Cringeworthy? Really??

It's so sad. I've gotten my first reaction to my new book. Well, second reaction. My sweet husband was brought to tears reading the introduction (possibly because he remembered just how many drafts of each section of the book, and of all the sections left on the cutting room floor, that he had read, and read, and read before). But now I've heard from a potential reader that his Russian friend-in-exile (and more importantly that friend's teenage son) think the title is кринжовый. Ouch. That hurts. Why do we need Russian literature? Do we? My Polish friend wrote to encourage me when she saw my linked in post about the publication and assured me that SHE and all her friends still love Russian literature ... even and despite the fact that Russians sometimes misbehave. (Some Russians more than others, and sometimes not just misbehaving--the world's reaction to the murder of Alexey Navalny in prison is noteworthy and important. We need to hold those responsible in contem

RIP Randy Nolde

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri and piroshki made by the

Personal Sanctions. Second Reactions

On Thursday I fled Denver in the face of what was promising to be an epic snowstorm. (My AirBnB host, who grew up in Michigan, advised that Denver is quick to hit the panic button, but I didn't dare stick around to find out. I needed to be home before Monday!) In the plane, waiting for de-icing, I checked my e-mail and learned that I had been added to a so-called "stop-list" of U.S. citizens who are being personally sanctioned for our attitudes toward the Russian government and its internal and foreign affairs. It's not often that you end up on a list with the head of Lockheed Martin--certainly nothing I ever expected. But then, I also had never thought of myself as a Russophobe, and now that's the label that has been affixed to me by the Russian Federation. I had just been upgraded to first class--apparently not a lot of people were fleeing Denver that morning!--so I did what any Russophobe would do: I ordered a vodka from the flight attendant. An American vodka,

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