Yesterday, December 30th, was the 103rd anniversary of the establishment of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), then comprised of Russia, Belorussia, Ukraine, and the Transcaucasian Federation (later divided into the republics of Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan). It eventually grew to encompass 15 republics, only disintegrating from its own rot in December of 1991.

And today, December 31st, is the 25th anniversary of Vladimir Putin’s accession to the presidency of the Russian Federation — the day in 1999 that Boris Yeltsin walked off the job. His departure left Putin, then Prime Minister, in charge as interim President until the next scheduled election in March of 2000, when he officially took hold of the reins . . . reins he has tightened again and again until it almost seems as though the Gorbachev-Yeltsin years of glasnost and perestroika (1985-‘99) were nothing more than another Russian fairy tale.

The five years between the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the formal establishment of the USSR, or Soviet Union, in 1922 were politically chaotic, and represented perhaps the most world-altering events of the early 20th century.

But the arrival of Vladimir Putin at the head of the world’s second most powerful nation, though quieter and less dramatic, signaled changes that would prove as life-changing to the Russian people — and to the rest of the world — as that brutal revolution nearly a century earlier.

Putin had served for 15 years as an officer of the Soviet KGB and was at his then-assigned post in Dresden, East Germany, in August of 1991 when news was received of an attempted coup against Russian President Mikhail Gorbachev. Correctly assessing the possible future ramifications of the event, he quickly left Germany and returned home to Leningrad (soon to be renamed St. Petersburg), joined forces with Mayor Anatoly Sobchak, and began his ascent from jack-of-all-trades to Deputy Mayor.

In 1996, when Sobchak lost his bid for reelection, Putin moved to Moscow, where Yeltsin was duly impressed by the younger man’s ability to get things done . . . by any means. Starting out in the Presidential Property Management Department, he rose to Deputy Head of the Presidential Administration in 1997, and First Deputy Head in 1998.

In July of 1998, he returned to his professional roots when he was appointed Director of the Federal Security Service (FSB), successor to the KGB. In March of 1999, he added to his duties by becoming Secretary of the Security Council — one of the most influential positions in the Russian government.

And finally, in August of 1999, Yeltsin — then on his last legs due to ill health and long years of alcoholism — appointed Putin his Prime Minister.

And that, my friends, is how history is made. It takes just one person with the right skills for the job, in the right place at the right time, to alter the course of events for an entire nation . . . and, by extension, the whole world.

Tragically, sometimes that individual also happens to have a narcissistic personality disorder, the instincts of a cold-blooded killer, and a complete lack of conscience or scruples.

The good news is that nothing — and no one — lasts forever.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/25

This is how Putin demonstrated his desire to end the war in Ukraine last night:

***

Instead of peace and progress, he has begun 2026 with still more death and destruction.

But did anyone seriously expect anything different?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/25

THANK GOD THAT’S OVER!

And now . . . onward and (hopefully) upward. Happy New Year, one and all!

WE’RE READY!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/25

My blog site asks a daily question on a wide variety of subjects, which can be answered and shared on the site or simply used to encourage individual introspection (my personal choice). And as the clock struck midnight today, a new question was revealed: “What makes you feel nostalgic?”

This being New Year’s Eve day, that query could not have been more timely. As the world prepares to sing about Auld Lang Syne (“times long past”) in a few hours, my thoughts turn back to a lifetime of New Year’s Eves . . . some great, some not so great, and a few utterly disastrous.

As a child in the late 1940s and early ‘50s, of course, it was all about being allowed to stay up until midnight. There were always a lot of adults around — mostly family, and often a few of their friends — and while they chatted among themselves, we kids dug into the food and tried to sneak sips of their cocktails when no one was looking. Then as the clock struck twelve, we all cheered and set off our noisemakers, everyone kissed everyone else, and we were hustled off to bed. It was great fun.

Of course, that’s only satisfying for a few years. Times change, and children grow up. From around the age of 16, if you didn’t have a date for the New Year, you were a loser. So you did the only thing you could do: you lied to your friends, telling them you had a big family party to attend, or the 24-hour flu, or a great-grandparent had died. Anything to save face.

But in retrospect, those dateless years were actually not as bad as some of the disastrous actual dates I recall. Let’s see now . . .

There was the year when my date was someone new, and it turned out we weren’t really compatible. We had gone to a big party, and I hate big parties, so I wasn’t having a great time. At midnight, I looked around and he was across the room, planting one on someone else’s girlfriend. I later thought about trying to get my money back for the dress I had bought for the occasion, but my asshole date had gotten drunk and spilled a drink on it. I drove myself home as he snoozed in the passenger seat of his car; I assumed he made it home somehow, because the car was gone in the morning and I didn’t hear any reports of fatalities.

Another year, another big party, but this time with a steady boyfriend (that’s what they were called back then). I don’t remember what triggered it, but there was an argument followed by a breakup. I was home by 12:30, beginning the year with a good cry.

And then there was the year I finally had a date for New Year’s Eve with my latest crush (yes, that’s a real word). I had the new dress, the coordinating accessories, the hairdo and makeup . . . the complete package. The snow started in the late morning. It snowed, and snowed, piling up faster than the plows could handle it in total white-out blizzard conditions. Everything was cancelled, and my would-have-been date and I spent the hours leading up to midnight talking on the phone. And I have to tell you . . . blowing kisses over the phone is no substitute for the real thing.

But eventually those dating years were (mercifully) behind me, and I was married with two children. New Year’s Eve became a time for quiet celebrations with a few friends at someone’s home, good food and drink, lively conversation, and a designated driver for each car because we all had families to consider.

Even after the kids were grown, those quiet evenings continued to be my favorite way to celebrate, not only on New Year’s Eve, but on any occasion. No crowds of strangers, no obnoxious drunks, no ear-splitting noise . . . and no need to pretend to be having fun, because those get-togethers with good friends really are the most fun.

Maybe it’s all part of getting older and tuckered out . . . or maybe just smarter. But I don’t miss the big parties, the spilled drinks on expensive new dresses, the breakups, or the hangovers. So tonight I’ll toast the New Year with some well-chilled bubbly as I watch the Times Square ball drop on TV, snuggled into my favorite chair in my robe and slippers.

And as for that New Year’s kiss . . . well, there’s always this guy:

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/25

It’s nearly time to consign 2025 to the dustbin of history. And for the occasion, from the pen of Austrian poet and novelist Rene Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke — better and more simply known as Rainer Maria Rilke — I offer you these words of hope and inspiration for the coming year:

“And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.”

So let’s celebrate the passing of the old, and cheer the beginning of what awaits us . . . with renewed hope, determination, courage, and the spirit of kindness and brotherhood in our hearts.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/25

This one is unusual, in that it comes from the day’s headlines rather than the archives of history or literature. In fact, it is doubly unusual, because it is part of an article published yesterday by Russian news outlet Komsomolskaya Pravda — described by the EU as Vladimir Putin’s favorite newspaper, and obviously not one of my normal sources of inspiration.

In general, Russian media have been hailing Donald Trump’s stance on the “special military operation” in Ukraine as being decidedly pro-Russian. And this is a prime example, as reported today:

“America no longer sees our country as a threat. The threat is now a militaristic Europe. The US leader’s philosophy is closer to the values of Russia’s president, not the politicians of the Old World . . . he understands that a clash between two nuclear powers means the Apocalypse. He sees Europe as a liberal stronghold that must be destroyed to Make America Great Again.” [Charlie Bradley, Express.co.uk, December 29, 2025.]

*. *. *

Winston Churchill once famously described the Soviet Union as “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”

To me, the language from Komsomolskaya Pravda sounds more like a smirk wrapped in a “hallelujah” inside an existential threat.

Is it any wonder we’re feeling as though the world has turned upside-down?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/30/25

This one needs no commentary from me. You know who you are.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
– T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Looking forward to a new beginning.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/30/25

During the countdown to the New Year, I’m trying to focus on three things: avoiding the news, working on my January 1st retrospective of 2025, and starting the book I received from good friends for the holidays.

And maybe cutting back on the chocolate. (But not the Haagen-Dazs . . . never, ever the Haagen-Dazs!)

So, other than my daily quote from someone else’s wisdom — coming at you a little later today — this is it for now.

Enjoy the day.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/30/25

But why would anyone have expected anything else, when Donald Trump’s meeting at Mar-a-Lago with Volodymyr Zelensky was — yet again — preceded by an hour-long phone call to Vladimir Putin?

Everyone knows that Trump’s thought processes are always influenced by the last person he talked to. So he went into the meeting — bolstered by his army of attack dogs, including Marco Rubio, Pete Hegseth, and Stephen Miller — with Putin’s words ringing in his ears.

Not surprisingly, although both sides emerged from the three-hour session spouting the usual banal assurances that progress had been made, and that — in Trump’s words — “ . . . we’re getting a lot closer, maybe very close,” they were still a long way from a resolution to the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

Confusingly, Trump also said:

“I think we’re in the very final stages of talking, and we’re going to see. It’ll either end or it’s going to go on for a long time, and millions of additional people are going to be killed.” [Kevin Liptak, CNN, December 28, 2025.]

As clear as mud . . . as usual. But I suppose he was hoping to sound reassuring when he added:

“There are one or two very thorny issues, very tough issues, but I think we’re doing very well. We’ve made a lot of progress today, but really we’ve made it over the last month. This is not a one-day process deal, this [is] very complicated stuff. It’s possible it doesn’t happen. In a few weeks, we’ll know one way or another.” [Id.]

Zelensky, on the other hand, remained concerned about future security guarantees, saying:

“Without security guarantees, this war cannot be considered truly over. We cannot acknowledge that it has ended, because with such a neighbour there remains a risk of renewed aggression.” [Bernd Debusmann, Jr. and Harry Sekulich, BBC, December 29, 2025.]

And, as if to prove Zelensky’s point — while Christmas bombardments continued unabated in Kyiv and elsewhere in Ukraine — Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov claimed today that Ukraine had targeted one of Putin’s several residences, and that Moscow would be retaliating and further reviewing its stance in the negotiations.

While Zelensky called Lavrov’s statement a lie, saying that it was a tactic to undermine the peace talks and provide an excuse to continue its strikes on Ukrainian territory, Donald Trump once again chose to believe his friend Putin. He said that he had learned about the alleged attack from Putin himself, that it had made him “very angry” at this “very delicate time.” He pointed out his earlier refusal to provide Ukraine with long-distance Tomahawk missiles, saying:

“It’s one thing to be offensive, because they’re offensive. It’s another thing to attack his house. It’s not the right time to do any of that.” [RFE/RL, December 29, 2025.]

I wonder how the thousands of Ukrainians who have lost their homes to Russia’s missiles and drones over the past four years would feel about that.

In the meantime, as Ukraine, Europe and the U.S. scramble to schedule further talks on a wide variety of outstanding issues, Putin maintains his rock-solid refusal to compromise . . . and continues to pursue his unchecked killing spree.

And we enter another year with peace looking less and less likely in the foreseeable future.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/29/25

My Bubbe (grandmother) had a lot of colorful old-world sayings. One of my favorites was her standby when anyone spoke hopefully or optimistically about some future event: “From your mouth to God’s ears.” Once she had added her blessing, I was absolutely certain that everything would turn out well.

Their paths never crossed — they were from different lands, and he died when she was just a baby — but had my Bubbe met Alfred Lord Tennyson, I’m sure she would have had the perfect response to his New Year’s wish:

“Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering ‘it will be happier’ . . .”

– Tennyson, “The Foresters”

I can almost hear my Bubbe now, in her warm, fragrant kitchen, whispering, “From his mouth to God’s ears.” And, while I no longer retain that childish certainty, I still hold out hope that everything will indeed work out for the best. Because she said so.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/29/25