It hardly seems possible. It’s been thirty years since I last saw Moscow — the city I once called my “second home.” Looking at it today, I doubt that I’d feel the same way about it. In 1994, Russia was a country in the midst of growth, testing the waters of democratization, capitalism, and personal freedoms.

Industries were being revitalized, and new ones created by a youthful generation of entrepreneurs — soon to become “oligarchs,” counted among the wealthiest in the world. Technology found its way into the mainstream; independent news media were founded; young men and women looked to a bright future, free of the restraints and fears that had plagued their parents and grandparents. Life was exciting.

And seated at the head of the government was a man named Putin, hand-picked by his predecessor, Boris Yeltsin. Vladimir Putin: former KGB officer; born, raised and educated in Leningrad — now once again renamed St. Petersburg — and mentored by the one-time mayor of that city; then oozing his way through the ranks to sit at Yeltsin’s elbow, eventually to slide into the president’s seat upon Yeltsin’s resignation.

And, over the course of two decades in that seat, gradually showing his true colors, openly becoming the savage tyrant he had always been beneath the surface.

*. *. *

But not everything was rosy 30 years ago. Behind the scenes, we — Russia and the United States — were still political adversaries, spying the daylights out of each other. And on February 21, 1994, as I was returning to my Moscow apartment from a day of business meetings, a CIA officer named Aldrich Ames was being arrested near his home in Arlington, Virginia, where it was still morning. The charge: Treason. He was alleged — and later proven — to have been selling classified information to the Russian government since 1985. In Moscow, we didn’t hear about it on TV until the morning of February 22nd due to the time difference. And the general reaction was: “I’ll be damned! Are they still playing those games?”

That was pretty much my first thought. After all, I had never heard of this Ames guy; it had absolutely nothing to do with me. Did it?

Well, not directly, anyway. But life is funny. You think you’re on a straight path to a known destination, when suddenly — like one of those dreams that make absolutely no sense — you find yourself in a totally different location. Alice was about to enter Wonderland.

I’ve written about all of this, and even re-posted parts of it. It’s the tale that inspired me to begin this blog in the first place. Look back at Chapters 1-28, if you’re curious enough; it’s fascinating reading. But it’s not the main point of today’s monologue.

My point today is that tempus really does fugit. Those days of travel, of living and working in Prague and Moscow, of being caught up in the mysterious world of international intrigue . . . they’re as real to me now as they were 30 years ago, while what I did last week is already fading into oblivion. Perhaps because these past few days were unremarkable. Would I really want to write about a day I spent sitting at the computer for a couple of hours, then doing a little laundry, and talking to a friend on the phone? Would anyone care to read about that?

God, no! But that’s what happens when those 30, or 40, or 50 years are gone and the best times — the exciting times — are just memories. Vivid memories, but memories nonetheless. Maybe that’s why we (or most of us) are blessed with surprisingly clear long-term recollection, while short-term . . . well, not so much, really. Because the long-ago is more worthwhile remembering. Yesterday was okay, but it wasn’t the stuff I want to write about. The 1990s were.

And the 1990s, for me, were all about my Russian experience. Now, unexpectedly, those times have once again become disturbingly relevant. The things that make the headlines today, that don’t involve us directly but do impact us as human beings who live in this world . . . those are the events that have occupied my thoughts lately, and kept me tapping away at this keyboard. Compliments of Vladimir Putin, we are in another Cold War. I never expected or wanted to see it, but here it is. So, while I’m still regurgitating the memories of three decades ago, I’m also living through this new one vicariously, by way of other people’s experiences. That’s okay. I’m just glad to still be here.

But daily commentary is no longer enough to satisfy me. The reality of those long-ago days is still fresh in my mind, still significant, and already partially memorialized in writing. There is substance there, and it’s time to finish the job. Our time on this Earth is finite; we shouldn’t waste it . . . myself included.

So, back to work now.

Brendochka
2/21/24