After following this Canadian family of ten throughout their first year of adjustment to their new home in Nizhniy Novgorod, Russia — during which time most of the narration has been provided by the father of the large brood, Arend Feenstra — we have been treated to a solo presentation by the eldest daughter, Cora-Lynn, whom I have frequently heard addressed simply as Cora.

At 16, Cora is a charming and poised young lady, who says that many of the followers of her family’s YouTube program have asked about her impressions of life in Russia, how she occupies her time, what her interests and goals for the future are, etc. And so she was on camera to fill us in — clearly reading, at least partially, from a prepared script.

Cora’s emphasis was on two life goals: becoming a wife and mother, and serving God. She has been raised in a very religious, conservative family, and seems to accept this as her preordained role in the world. She talked about the supreme importance of “faith, family and freedom,” saying that these were the reasons the family had decided that Russia was the best place in the world for them to live their lives.

Her days appear to be filled with work, work, and more work. She says she helps with whatever is needed: cleaning, cooking, laundry, looking after the younger children. Although she didn’t specifically mention it, earlier videos have shown her, along with the other children, working on the farm during the warmer seasons as well, and the endless construction work on the house and farm buildings.

In addition, she teaches the little ones reading and writing, studies Russian online, and enjoys sewing and reading. There is no talk of a social life, other than occasional trips to the villages to interact with the older people and practice her Russian.

Then there was the obligatory homage to Russia: how glad she is that they moved there; how happy she is with the way things are in Russia; and how grateful she is for the opportunity she has been given. There was a brief moment of nostalgia when she mentioned missing her grandparents; but then she immediately changed course and said again that she is excited to “strike out on new adventures,” believing this to be “a better place to live.”

And then it was back to talk of fulfilling God’s plan for her. She wants more than anything to be a wife and mother, which she considers the best way for her to honor God. But if He has other plans for her, she will, of course, accept His will . . . though she still hopes there will be room for marriage and motherhood. I suppose her mother makes it look easy.

She closed with a couple of well-worn aphorisms about light at the end of the tunnel, and sunshine after every storm . . . which sounded strangely out of context after her glowing accolade to life in Russia.

*. *. *

I’ve tried for a year to look on the bright side of this family’s move to the land of tsars and dictators, and I’m saddened to say that I haven’t been able to find it. They are a very close-knit group, and obviously share a mutual love and respect that many of us would envy. That’s a wonderful thing; but they would have that anywhere. Why Russia?

Because of the “freedom” to live their lives as they choose, away from the “evils” of liberalism? Because of the “opportunities” to live fuller, more comfortable lives on a farm in Nizhniy Novgorod than they did on their farm in Canada? To provide their children with a wider range of opportunities and choices for the future?

That’s what they were promised, and what they prayed for and anticipated when they made their choice. So far, they have behaved as is expected of them, and are being treated royally.

I do hope their second year goes as well.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/14/25

We all have them, if we live long enough: those compartmented times of our lives that stand out separately and distinctly in memory, like little soap operas in our minds.

And sometimes a single compartment will contain multiple spaces, each a memory of its own. As in the case of my Russia Years.

Yesterday morning, as I began my customary wandering through the daily news reports, one of those compartmented spaces came flashing back before my eyes, in the person of former Russian oligarch Vladimir Gusinsky.

As I read the rather lengthy and convoluted tale — now the subject of an FBI investigation — of Gusinsky’s past and recent machinations, involving a former diplomat, other oligarchs, a dead Russian press minister, an estranged wife, a retired FBI agent, and a mountain of debt, I thought — not for the first time in the last 30 years — how lucky I was that some unseen guardian angel had been looking over my shoulder back in 1992, keeping me from becoming even marginally involved with Gusinsky’s vipers’ nest.

His tale, excellently set forth by Mike Eckel and Todd Prince of RadioFreeEurope/RadioLiberty (RFE/RL) (January 13, 2025), makes fascinating reading, worthy of a John Le Carre novel. What makes it so meaningful to me, however, is how close I came back then . . .

*. *. *

February, 1992. It was my first solo trip to Russia, for a week of meetings with officials — arranged by the Russian Embassy in Washington — to seek out potential partners for an educational program I was preparing to undertake in Moscow. Those were the days immediately following the breakup of the Soviet Union, when private businesses were being established and the need for well-trained office personnel had become glaringly obvious. It was my plan to establish a business school to provide that training.

On one cold, snowy morning, I was enjoying breakfast in the coffee shop of the Slavyanskaya Radisson Hotel before my first meeting of the day, when I happened to look up in time to see a familiar face from home: an attorney from Washington, Randy Bregman, who at the time was a member of the prominent law firm of Arnold & Porter (A&P) — one of the first U.S. firms to jump into the promising new Russian market on behalf of their clients.

I called out to him, taking him completely by surprise; I was probably the last person he would have expected to see in Moscow. After talking for a while about my reason for being there, he told me that Arnold & Porter had established a consulting/public relations company — separate from the law firm — called APCO. And then he had an apparent revelation.

APCO was in need of an American manager for its new Moscow office, and I was just the person for the job . . . if I might be interested.

“If”??!!! There was no “if” — it was the answer to my prayers. A job with an American firm, in the very place where I was trying to create a business school . . . the perfect opportunity had just fallen into my lap.

Randy had one caution that he felt compelled to mention. APCO’s Russian partner, a man he referred to simply as “Vlad,” could be difficult to get along with. But knowing my background of working with challenging people, he was sure I could handle it . . . if anyone could.

And so we agreed that he would notify the A&P partner in Washington in charge of hiring for APCO to expect a call from me when I returned. We shook hands on it, and parted company.

I could barely contain my excitement when I returned home at the end of the week and made the phone call to the A&P partner, whose name I believe was Sarah. Our meeting a few days later was so disastrous, I believe I intentionally blocked her name from my mind.

Never mind her officious, off-putting manner. More importantly, she had no idea of the challenges of working in Moscow. She wanted to hire one person to fill two distinctly different — and mutually exclusive — jobs, and at a salary that was ludicrous for even one of those jobs. The skill sets required for an office manager are very specific . . . and very different from those of an IT specialist. Yet she was looking for someone who could do both, and for compensation that was an insult.

The bottom line, obviously, is that I thanked her for her time and left her office downcast, my dream of an overseas job crushed by someone who was under-qualified for her own job. It was one of the biggest disappointments of my life.

Until about eight years later.

I was reading a book about one of Russia’s earliest and wealthiest oligarchs, Boris Berezovsky, and the notorious manner in which he and his fellow multi-millionaires had made their fortunes during the wild years of transition in Russia throughout the early ‘90s. In it was a mention of one Vladimir Gusinsky, who had prospered through his association with various ventures . . . including the American company known as APCO.

And suddenly I knew just how lucky I had been when I walked out of that interview with Sarah (or whatever her name was). Because Vladimir Gusinsky was the “Vlad” of whom Randy Bregman had spoken all those years before . . . the Russian partner who was “difficult to get along with” . . . and who was, eight years later, on the wrong side of Russia’s new president, Vladimir Putin.

The same “Vlad” who has ever since been living in exile; has been “dogged by debts, disputes, and divorce”; and is now under scrutiny by the FBI for his association with a number of interesting characters, including a retired FBI agent, Charles McGonigal, who was arrested in 2023 and charged with conspiracy to violate U.S. sanctions and money laundering. [RFE/RL, id.]

*. *. *

Those years that I fondly call my “Russia Years” were exciting, sometimes nerve-wracking, often frustrating, and supremely educational. So many people — large corporations, law firms, accounting firms, and individuals such as myself — saw a huge opportunity there, and gave it our best shot. Some succeeded (at least until Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022); a lot more didn’t. But I think it’s safe to say, we all had fun.

I wonder, though . . . If I had had any inkling then as to how it would all turn out — the criminal activities of the Russian oligarchs, the downslide of the Putin regime into totalitarianism, and the return to a Cold War atmosphere — what I would have done differently.

But I do know one thing for certain: I owe that unseen guardian angel a huge debt of gratitude for keeping me safe through it all, so that I can view today’s events from the secure perspective of an outsider and take comfort in having dodged that bullet.

Thanks, Angel.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/14/25

On a rather gloomy, chilly Monday, I decided to look for some bright events to commemorate on this January 13th; but all I came up with were these three:

Korean American Day: A celebration of the first arrival of Korean immigrants to the United States, and of the continuing contributions of the 1.8 million present-day Americans of Korean descent to our culture and society. A very nice honorific for a great segment of the American population, and the continuing success of our legal immigration program.

Mahayana New Year: This was completely new to me. It turns out to be the celebration of the New Year for all of the folks out there who adhere to the Buddhist faith; so . . . Happy New Year!

And finally:

Stephen Foster Memorial Day: I’m not sure why this date was chosen to memorialize Mr. Foster, as he was born on July 4, 1826, and died — at the tender age of 37 — on January 13, 1864. But here it is, for whatever reason, on January 13th.

In any event, it seems fitting to pay tribute to the man known as “the father of American music,” who after a century and a half, is still remembered for such classics as Oh! Susanna, Camptown Races, Old Folks At Home (Swanee River), My Old Kentucky Home, Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair, and Beautiful Dreamer.

And let us not forget the immortal Old Black Joe.

Well . . . nobody’s perfect.

And to prove it, he also left, as part of his legacy of around 200 songs, a number we’ve likely never heard . . . and that I, for one, would rather not. But judge for yourselves from some titles:

Bury Me in the Morning, Mother
Don’t Bet Your Money on de Shanghai
The Great Baby Show
I Would Not Die in Spring Time
I Would Not Die in Summer Time [Okay, that leaves fall and winter]
If You’ve Only Got a Moustache
Little Mac! Little Mac! You’re the Very Man
My Wife is a Most Knowing Woman
Parthenia to Ingomar [A Greek-Swedish love letter, perhaps?]
Poor Drooping Maiden [Um . . . ]
A Soldier in de Colored Brigade [Different times, indeed]
What Must a Fairy’s Dream Be [Your guess is as good as mine]

And so on. There were, of course, a great many songs about the Civil War (1861-65), a number of romantic ballads, and enough homages to his mother to keep Sigmund Freud happy for quite a while.

A most prolific songster, was Mr. Foster. And so — no matter how corny his work may sound to us now — we salute him for being the first to reach No. 1 on the Hit Parade.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/13/25

I was just a tiny tyke when World War II ended in 1945, but there are a few images — sort of mental screen shots — that managed to implant themselves in my young mind: movie newsreels of Japanese soldiers, U.S. war planes, and “Herr Schicklgruber,” (as Adolph Hitler was often referred to); the banner in my grandparents’ front window with a star for each son and son-in-law fighting overseas; and, at long last, dancing happily around the apple tree in our front yard when my mother shouted out the news to my older sister that the war in Europe was over.

And I recall rationing of staples like butter and sugar; saving our newspapers for the paper drive; and everyone driving more slowly in order to save gas and reduce wear on the car’s tires.

And wondering whether it might have been my seaman uncle in this famous picture from Times Square on V-E Day. (It wasn’t.)

But as I recall growing up through the 1940s and ‘50s, I remember other things . . . feelings, mostly. Like the comfort of knowing that our neighbors, in addition to our families, were looking out for us kids. And being taught that studying hard would lead to better jobs and better lives in the future. And the absolute belief that our parents and teachers knew what was best for us — even when we were being punished for some infraction of the rules.

And the respect and compassion that adults had for one another . . . and for themselves. You didn’t strike out in anger because someone disagreed with you; you didn’t call another person a scumbag, or a liar, or a thief — unless you had absolute proof that the person was indeed a thief. And you didn’t make fun of another individual’s looks, or disabilities or shortcomings, or their political or religious beliefs. Because that would have been mean, and meanness was bullying, and bullying was unacceptable.

Of course, there was no internet then, and no social media to hide behind. If you had a gripe with someone, you had to confront that person and discuss it face-to-face, or avoid them completely. It took guts to stand up to someone . . . and even more to call a truce.

The world I grew up in had heroes: real ones, like Franklin Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and Harry Truman. We trusted our leaders to honor their pledges, and to take care of our world for us . . . and they did. Their self-interests were secondary.

Even our fictitious heroes were the good guys: Superman, the Lone Ranger, and any character played by Gary Cooper. Our movie heroines may have been a bit unrealistically portrayed as frail, pure and chaste; but our real-life heroines were strong and smart, like Eleanor Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, and Golda Meir.

*. *. *

I suppose a nostalgic longing for the “good old days” is a normal part of growing older. And life was never perfect — not in any generation, or any century. But if I had to choose one aspect of my childhood and early adulthood that is missing now, and that I would give anything to bring back, it would be this:

Respect.

Because without it, we are not truly human.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/13/25

For days — far too many days — we have read about the wildfires tearing through the Los Angeles area, turning entire neighborhoods into piles of ash, destroying the lives of thousands of residents . . . and tragically taking others.

We have heard and read and viewed the heartbreaking stories of people suddenly homeless, their precious memories and belongings — collected over a lifetime — taken from them in moments.

And we have heard from those who waste no time expounding on their theories of who is to blame: the Governor of California, the water authority, or some mythical god on Mount Olympus.

I am a lifelong East Coast resident; I know nothing about the water situation in California. I’m not a firefighter, and I have no inkling of the best way to handle or prevent these out-of-control wildfires that seem to strike California more than anywhere else in the country. And I certainly don’t know who or what created the first spark that started this particular conflagration.

But I do know one thing . . . something that has gotten far too little attention in the news . . . and that is the fact that we owe a huge debt of gratitude to our neighbors to the north and south — Canada and Mexico — for jumping in with air tankers, firefighters and technicians to help extinguish the blazes and save as much of the region as possible. [Adeel Hassan, New York Times, January 11, 2025.]

This is what neighbors and friends do for one another. And they do it in spite of border disputes, threatened tariffs, or hard feelings about other issues. They do it because they are good people . . . and because it is the right thing to do.

So, though mine is just one small voice in the wilderness, let me say here: Thank you, Canada. Thank you, Mexico.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/12/25

With the new year has come a new realization . . . or, more accurately, a new willingness to admit to something I’ve realized for a while now: I’m getting stale.

Now, cut that out! Things aren’t that bad . . . yet.

It’s actually this blog that’s getting stale. Because I have, for the most part, been focused on the daily news — some good, but mostly depressing or at least worrisome — and it is, by its very nature, repetitious. I mean, the events in Russia, Ukraine, China, the Middle East, etc., are ongoing, day after endless day. The cataclysmic wildfires in California are still raging. Donald Trump is still president-elect of the United States. And Elon Musk is still . . . well . . . Elon Musk.

Fortunately for the world, there isn’t always something new and disastrous to write about on a daily basis. And I’ve tried searching for good news, happy events, things that make you say “Awww!” And there aren’t a whole lot of those, either.

So I’ve decided to try to make stuff up on occasion — today being the first of those occasions. And, borrowing from an old friend who used to create the annual Library Quiz in my former law firm, I thought I’d start with a little quiz of my own . . . though not nearly as cerebral as his were.

If anyone is still reading at this point, I invite you to reboot your brains by identifying the books, movies, and TV series that featured the following characters, and — for extra Brownie points — the respective authors or actors. There are no prizes, no winners or losers; it’s just for fun.

These are, by the way, some of my personal favorites; it is not a comprehensive list of anyone else’s idea of the “best” or “classics,” though I have tried to avoid really obscure works.

So, without further ado, here we go, starting with an easy one:

Boo Radley (book and movie)
Raskolnikov (book) (hint: Russian, as though you hadn’t guessed)
John Galt (great book, terrible movie)
Bartholomew Scott Blair (book and movie)
Roxie Hart (movie and Broadway show)
Tevye the Dairyman (book, movie and Broadway show)
Lara Antipova (book and movie)
Holly Golightly (movie)
Josiah Bartlet (TV series)
Melanie Hamilton (book and movie)
Lady Mary Crawley (TV series)
Count Aleksey Vronsky (book and movie)
Vladimir Putin (trick question, to see if you’re paying attention)

Well, that baker’s dozen should be enough to keep you Googling for at least five minutes, which — if you’re anything like me — is about the limit of your patience with such nonsense.

But this little exercise did serve its purpose, which was to keep my mind occupied for a half hour or so trying to remember anything I have read or seen in the last 50 years — which, I have to admit, also becomes more challenging every day.

What a load of fun!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/12/25

As we await the verdicts and sentences for three members of the late Alexei Navalny’s legal team — now scheduled to be announced by the Russian court on January 17th — I have added them to the list of those political hostages of Vladimir Putin who do not deserve to be in prison in the first place.

They are (L-R, above): Igor Sergunin, Aleksei Liptser and Vadim Kobzev. Tried on politically-motivated charges of “extremism,” the only act of which they are guilty is having represented their client to the best of their ability.

In Putin’s view, however, their real crime was being associated with a man who dared to oppose him. And that, in today’s Russia, overrides any consideration of legality or morality.

So, once more, here is our list of those awaiting release from various Russian prisons and penal colonies:

David Barnes
Gordon Black
Marc Fogle
Robert Gilman
Stephen James Hubbard
Ksenia Karelina
Vadim Kobzev
Andrey Kuznechyk (in Belarus)
Michael Travis Leake
Aleksei Liptser
Ihar Losik (in Belarus)
Daniel Martindale
Farid Mehralizada (in Azerbaijan)
Igor Sergunin
Robert Shonov
Eugene Spector
Laurent Vinatier
Robert Romanov Woodland
Vladislav Yesypenko (in Crimea)

And yet again, I wish them all continued courage, hope, and a speedy return home in this new year.

Godspeed.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/12/25

Even the name turns me off: “Influencer.” What makes you so special — you young, inexperienced, full-of-yourselves people who were just clever enough to figure out a way to earn money by convincing a large swath of the public that you had good taste and inside information . . . but not bright enough (or perhaps just too lazy) to carve out a legitimate career and get a real job?

Well, you “influencers” have never influenced me into buying a lot of stuff — much of it junk — that I don’t need and can’t really afford in today’s inflated economy. And you’ve never convinced me that you know what’s best for me, or what will make me happy, or bring fulfillment to my life.

Because I’m older and wiser than you are. I can make my own bad choices without your help, thank you.

And now, at last, I have read that your lot are on the way out . . . and I will sleep better, knowing that fewer vulnerable people will be falling into your web of attraction and deception.

“Rejecting the ‘haul’ culture of excessive shopping and promoting conscious consuming, the de-influencer movement is going mainstream — here’s why” . . . writes Megan Lawton of BBC (January 8, 2025).

That’s right — you are falling under the hammer of the “de-influencer movement,” thanks in large part to people like Diana Wiebe, who, back in 2019, was herself taken in by some useless product that seemed too good to be true . . . and was.

*. *. *

Ms. Wiebe now has more than 200,000 followers on TikTok, where her videos ask questions such as, “Did you want that product before it was marketed to you?” And she is just one part of a growing movement that rejects traditional influencer culture, and has more than a billion views (so far) on its #deinfluencing site on TikTok. [BBC, id.]

By sharing messages such as “fast fashion won’t make you stylish,” and “underconsumption is normal consumption,” the de-influencers believe they are helping to turn the tide of the “haul” culture.

Another former victim, Christina Mychaskiw, posts about her experiences on YouTube, TikTok and Instagram, hoping to help others avoid “going broke”:

“Back in 2019, I was $120,000 CAD in debt through student loans, and I was still buying week after week. I hit rock bottom when I bought a pair of boots that cost more than my rent, even though I knew I couldn’t afford them.” [Id.]

She hears story after story from people who call in to her podcast, and says that “People don’t see the value in what they’re buying anymore. The promise of these items just isn’t living up to expectations. It feels like everything is getting more and more expensive, but lower quality and less satisfying.” [Id.]

Her advice: “Put the phone down, use what you already have to create fun looks — maybe you’ll realise [sic] what you have is good enough.” [Id.]

*. *. *

I’m not here to offer financial advice, or to tell you how you should live your life. Because those decisions are yours to make. And that is my whole point: Don’t let some stranger influence your decisions. They don’t know you, and they don’t care about you. All they want is to make money off of your unwise choices.

And if you’re one of those particularly soft-hearted people who will now start to worry that all of those influencers are going to be out of work . . . well, don’t. There are plenty of companies out there that are losing employees and looking for new hires. The out-of-work hucksters could become baristas at Starbuck’s, drivers for Amazon, or White House interns for the new administration in Washington (pretty much a revolving-door job). Not as much fun as virtual shopping, perhaps . . . but honest work.

Honest work??!!!

Now, there’s a concept that could use promoting.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/11/25

Following yesterday’s closed-door hearing on the “extremism” charges against three of the late Alexei Navalny’s lawyers, the court in the Vladimir region of Russia announced that a verdict — which had been expected to be issued on Friday — would be delayed until January 17th. [AFP, January 10, 2025.]

While it is universally expected that guilty verdicts will be forthcoming — as they are in all politically-motivated cases in Russia — the question of sentencing of Igor Sergunin, Aleksei Liptser and Vadim Kobzev remains open. The charges against them carry sentences of up to six years, and prosecutors in their cases have demanded minimum sentences of five years.

While Sergunin has pled guilty, Kobzev and Liptser have denied the charges. In his final statement to the court, Kobzev compared their situation to Soviet-era repression under dictator Joseph Stalin. [Id.]

Another former member of Navalny’s legal team, Olga Mikhailova, who has been living in exile, said that prosecutors are demanding “savage” sentences for lawyers who “honestly and professionally defended Navalny for many years.” [Id.]

And so the three political prisoners await word of their fate for at least another six days. And we wait with them.

In the meantime, their names will join the others on my list of Putin’s political hostages, which tragically keeps growing.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/11/25

No, no, no! Not that road! The one that diverged in the wood:

That’s better. Now, to continue . . .

I had chosen the shadowy one: the one that led to Russia. And what a summer it was!

There I was, just me with my 14 pieces of luggage and boxes at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo Airport, looking for someone named Vitold who I hoped would have a sign with my name on it. And by some miracle, I did find him: a large, rumpled, Bohemian-looking fellow of indeterminate age, who would be my driver, my gofer, my jack-of-all-trades, and my savior for the next few months.

Wisely, he had brought along a friend and a truck, and between them they wrestled all my baggage into the vehicle — although from the looks of the truck, I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t simply collapse under the weight. It shook, rattled and rolled all the way into the city and out the other side, to my new apartment/office on the far opposite outskirts of town. And after an endless night and half a day, I was finally “home.”

(Although the shops on the ground level and the cars in the front parking lot are a lot nicer in this picture than they were in 1993.)

And so began three months of KGB spies, the Russian “Mafia,” scary taxi drivers, undercover militia officers, child victims of Chernobyl, young women with peonies, new friends, and much, much more — followed by another year and a half back in the U.S. with our old friends Aksilenko and Shvets, the FBI, the Russian Embassy, the literary agent, a translator, the press . . . and a CIA turncoat named Aldrich Ames.

Descriptions of the events of May through August in Moscow have already been laid out in excruciating detail in Chapters 16-21 and 23 of this blog (and shared here on Facebook); and re-telling them now would just take up needless data space. So please forgive me if I simply refer you to those chapters for the fascinating, sometimes hair-raising, and frequently funny tales of:

Ch. 16 (8/26/24): Home, Sweet Home in Moscow
Ch. 17 (8/29/24): An Unholy Triumvirate: The Moscow Militia, the KGB, and the Russian Mafia
Ch. 18 (8/30/24): A Yankee Doodle Dandy in Moscow
Ch. 19 (9/5/24): Return to Kyiv
Ch. 20 (9/7/24): Last Tango in Moscow
Ch. 21 (9/9/24): The Bones in the Basement
Ch. 23 (9/11/24): Lenin, Come Home

*. *. *

And if you make it through all of that, and still want to know how it all came out, there are:

Ch. 24 (9/12/24): A Juggling Act
Ch. 25 (9/15/24): Once More, in February
Ch. 26 (9/16/24): Aftermath – Part I
Ch. 27 (9/17/24): Aftermath – Part II
. . . and finally . . .
Ch. 28 (9/20/24): Starting Over

*. *. *

Didn’t realize there was going to be homework, did you? Sorry.

But it’s a long, convoluted story — a cautionary tale, really, about the sometimes unexpected, unintended results of the choices we make in life. But not knowing can often bring about the grandest adventures, because if we could foretell the future, we might never have the courage to try anything new. Someone else said it before (and better than) I could:

“For all the sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’”
– John Greenleaf Whittier, Don’t Quit

*. *. *

And so, in the end, I took the road less traveled by . . . and it has, indeed, made all the difference.

Thanks for reading.

Brendochka
1/11/25

Конец
(The End)

*. *. *