“I have a friend,” he had said.

As I waited for the proverbial second shoe to drop, I knew for certain he wasn’t suggesting a blind date. But what he did say next was every bit as unexpected.

He said that his “friend” — whom he didn’t name — had also been stationed in the Soviet Embassy in Washington in the ‘80s, ostensibly as a reporter for the TASS news agency, but in reality as a KGB intelligence agent. And this “friend” was now secretly writing a book revealing the truth behind Moscow’s operations in the United States. Of course, he said, such a book could not be published in Russia . . . not even in the current post-Soviet climate of glasnost and perestroika.

And Valentin was wondering whether I knew anyone in the publishing industry who might be of help.

Had lightning struck at that moment, I would not have been at all surprised. I thought I was prepared for anything . . . but not this.

And if my mind hadn’t suddenly become a whirl of thoughts — each more ridiculous than the last — I might have been able to see the corollary between what was happening at the moment and the plot of a 1990 Sean Connery movie titled — coincidentally or not — “The Russia House.” In it, a Russian woman delivers to a British publisher in Moscow a manuscript from her scientist friend that cannot be published in Russia. But I wasn’t thinking about Sean Connery just then.

Instead, I was trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to say to this absurd proposal. Was it some sort of provocation? Was anyone observing us nearby? Was there actually a book . . . or, for that matter, was there even a “friend”? Perhaps Valentin himself was the author. And — most concerning of all — would it be legal for me to get involved?

Or possibly even dangerous?

And while my innards were in complete turmoil, something in my brain suddenly clicked into place and said:

“Stall.”

And that’s exactly what I did. Taking a moment to find the right words, I told Valentin — in all honesty — that I did not personally have contacts in publishing, but that I did have friends in New York who might. And while I couldn’t make any promises, I would make some calls when I returned home.

Inexplicably, I suddenly felt quite calm, though it had all become blindingly clear to me that I had just chosen a path that would lead to . . . what? To some final destination as yet unknown. But I did know what my first steps would be.

I had had my “Aha!” moment.

*. *. *

To be continued . . .

*. *. *

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

– Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

The Russian Orthodox Church celebrates Christmas on January 7th, in accordance with the old Julian calendar. But the Feenstras, while Christians, do not belong to the Russian Orthodox Church, and so they celebrated their first Christmas in Russia as they always did in Canada — on December 25th.

And what a Christmas it was! I was able to grab some screen shots from the YouTube video of the occasion — that photographer never seems to have a day off! — to share with you.

It looked as though many days of planning and hustle and bustle went into the preparation for the big day: cleaning, stringing outdoor lights, hanging styrofoam snowflakes, attaching an endlessly long garland of greens to the indoor stair rail.

And then the baking, cooking and candy-making began. With everyone participating as always, the Feenstras prepared enough food to feed a small town for a week: turkeys, potatoes, fresh vegetables of every color, tons of rolls, bowls of prepared dishes . . . and a dentist’s dream of a dessert table. How many people were actually expected? And who were they?

Well, the video didn’t say who they were, but they seemed to be speaking English for the most part. More recent arrivals from the West? Quite likely, as the Feenstras have apparently become the unofficial (or perhaps official) Welcome Wagon for other English-speaking transplants to the Nizhny Novgorod region.

Which would explain that kitchen. While it was still a lot of work, even with a half dozen helpers, all of that baking and cooking was certainly made easier by top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, including a huge side-by-side refrigerator, a five-burner gas stovetop, wall oven, a first-class electric mixer, the proper utensil for every job, and banquet-length concrete countertops and a dining table and chairs enough for a regiment.

*. *. *

Now, I have been honored to visit families in Moscow: professional people, mostly, but certainly not wealthy. And without exception, they were incredibly welcoming and hospitable, and spared no amount of effort in preparing wonderful home-cooked meals for me. But not one of them could have imagined ever having what the Feenstra family has acquired in such a short time . . . nor could they have afforded it, or the amount of food it took to feed that army of guests.

And why has it all been possible for this simple emigre family? Because, sadly, the Feenstras have become propaganda for the Putin government. Which means that whatever they need, they get, whether it’s the materials to build their huge home for their huge family, or a van large enough to transport everyone, or the best medical care. As long as they toe the line.

So yes, a very merry Christmas was had by all, and I’m glad of that. I just have to wonder how long it will take for the novelty to wear off and the reality to set in.

*. *. *

And one other thing I found myself wondering as I watched the video. If I’m wrong, I apologize in advance to Anneesa Feenstra — I certainly do not mean any disrespect. But it looks to me, from this shot in the kitchen and the second one taken at their “Year Of the Family” awards ceremony, as though she may be expecting Little Feenstra No. 10.

If I’m right, then there will be the complex question of citizenship. Since the parents are not yet Russian citizens, the child will not (as I understand it) automatically be granted citizenship. Will he or she be able to claim Canadian citizenship? I presume it then becomes a question of Canadian law, which could become sticky.

Or perhaps Putin will simply sign another decree, changing the citizenship laws to accommodate the Feenstras.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/3/25

Thanks to a sharp-eyed — and knowledgeable — reader, I have added to my understanding of British history, and am able to correct an error in my earlier post of 12/26/24: It’s All In the Genes.

It turns out that I misread a family tree of the British royal family, and conjured up a marriage between Queen Victoria and Denmark’s Christian IX that never actually happened. In fact, it was the marriage of Christian’s daughter, Alexandra, to Victoria’s son, Edward VII, that established the link between the two royal houses.

Thanks to Jillian Nobbs for reminding me — as I should have known — that Victoria was married to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. My late sister, who was a long-time student of the history of the Kings and Queens of England, would certainly have set me straight as well.

Perhaps I should stick to the more familiar territory of Russian history. It’s not any less complicated, but somehow I’m more at home amongst the Rus’ and the Romanovs than the Tudors and the Windsors. It’s genetic, I think.

In any event, mea culpa for the error.

Brendochka
1/2/25

I was bingeing the other day — not on chocolates, but on reruns of my favorite British TV series, Midsomer Murders — when I saw again the episode wherein Tom Barnaby’s aunt is in short-term post-surgical rehab at a senior nursing home where several of the regular residents have died under mysterious circumstances. Well, Tom Barnaby being the local DCI (Detective Chief Inspector), naturally there had to be deaths to investigate.

But it was the living characters that interested me, and the depiction of the sad emptiness of their daily lives, even though it was quite a lovely nursing home. And what one still-vibrant gentleman resident said to a young visitor struck me as particularly poignant. I don’t recall his words verbatim, but in essence he said that when you’re old, you become invisible. When you’re young you have presence: you’re tall or short, handsome or ugly, perhaps smart, funny, sexy, etc. You’re interesting. But when you’re old, you become extraneous. You’re excluded from everything; you are no longer relevant. People look right past you as though you’re not even there. For all intents and purposes, you are invisible . . . or so said the elderly gentleman.

And it occurred to me — from my own experience and observations — that he was right. Absolutely, completely, tragically right. Oh, not in the eyes of my own generation of friends . . . the few who are left alive. (I seem to be the one designated to survive all the others.) But to the younger ones, the people who have inherited the responsibility of running the world that my generation created (for which, please forgive us, by the way). At social events, or dining out with a group — if they’re mostly younger people, they’re so engaged with one another, they forget you’re there. They’re not being intentionally disrespectful; it’s just that you’ve become irrelevant.

I wonder: Is this a typically American thing? Or is it true in other countries as well? I know there are societies that revere their elders — Asian nations, for example. Why do we think we only need to make sure the old folks are “taken care of”? Don’t they realize we miss our social lives? Or that painting pottery in some senior center isn’t enough to satisfy our intellectual needs? Or even that we still have intellectual needs?

Now, I do know that I’m not actually some amorphous bit of ectoplasm floating in the air; I have a body (tired as it may be), and substance. People don’t bump into me in the market; I’ve never been run over on the street or in a parking lot. I am visible, in the corporeal sense. It’s just that younger people don’t seem to care.

But I have things to say. I have experience. I’ve had a long, interesting life. I keep up with the world news, politics, show biz gossip. I know who Volodymyr Zelensky, and Elon Musk, and Taylor Swift are. I have opinions, viewpoints based on all those years of experience. I even have a sense of humor. I have a blog, for Heaven’s sake!

And the same is true of most of my contemporaries . . . the ones who haven’t gone around the bend, at any rate. I can understand if the 20-somethings, who think they possess all the wisdom of the world (and are they in for some surprises!), believe we seniors have become obsolete. But those of you in your 50s, 60s . . . even your 30s and 40s . . . well, you should know better.

And one day you will.

Because your day is coming, kids . . . sooner than you think. I’m glad I won’t be around to see your reactions when you realize that you, too, have faded from sight.

Because by then it will be too late to make amends.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/2/25

(This is a reprint of a post of 4/22/24 … because its relevance was recently brought home to me again.)

And it seems that only in Russia could both be turned into fodder for the political machine.

Yes, Sigmund Romberg did write an operetta in which a good deal of beer was guzzled, but that was all in good fun. This is big business . . . and politics, of course.

First, the beer. Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, numerous Western companies pulled out of Russia in protest, some selling their assets to local buyers, others just shutting down and taking their losses. Relatively few stayed, and later found themselves under “temporary management” in accordance with a decree issued by Vladimir Putin in April of 2023, which grants the Russian manager full control of the assets (with the exception of being able to dispose of them).

In addition, Putin has made it more difficult for the remaining companies to exit by seizing their subsidiaries and requiring the companies to sell at below-value prices. [RFE/RL, December 30, 2024.]

And now Belgian brewing company AB InBev Efes Russia (AB InBev) finds itself in just such an untenable position. In a joint venture with Anadolu Efes of Turkey, the Russian company was launched in 2018. AB InBev originally had wanted to sell control of both its Russian and Ukrainian operations to Anadolu Efes, but they were unable to overcome Russia’s objections to the plan.

Accordingly, in October of this year, the two JV partners agreed to swap stakes in their businesses in Russia and Ukraine, whereby the Turkish brewer would become sole owner of the Russian business, while the Belgian company, AB InBev, would acquire the Ukrainian share.

Finally, under a further decree signed by Putin on December 30th, all of the shares of AB InBev Efes Russia have been transferred to the “temporary management” of a Russian group of companies called Vmeste — an organization created in August of 2024. [Id.]

Other brewing companies that remained in Russia are now finding themselves in similar situations, including Heineken (Dutch) and Carlsberg (Danish).

All of which demonstrates one way in which Russia has continued to finance its “special military operation” in Ukraine despite multi-national sanctions: If something is making a profit, just seize it.

*. *. *

And what does opera have to do with the beer industry? Absolutely nothing. But — like brewing — neither should it have anything to do with politics; yet, in Russia, it does.

During Soviet times, it was a given that any Russian company touring outside the country — whether opera, ballet, folk dancing, or sports team — would be accompanied and heavily guarded by its own cadre of KGB agents to prevent defections.

That is supposed to have changed by now. Yet Russian soprano Anna Netrebko has been taught otherwise.

At the time of the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Netrebko was scheduled to perform at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. In support of Ukraine, the general manager of the Met, Peter Gelb, demanded that she publicly distance herself from President Vladimir Putin before being allowed to perform in his venue. [RFE/RL, December 30, 2024.]

Caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, Netrebko issued a statement on Facebook condemning the war in Ukraine, and saying that her thoughts were with the victims of the war and their families, and that she was “not a member of any political party, nor am I allied with any leader of Russia.” [Id.]

Clearly, that would not have made Vladimir Putin or any of his minions particularly happy. An upcoming Netrebko concert, scheduled in Novosibirsk (Siberia) in June of 2022, was canceled, the theater accusing her of choosing European stages over her “Motherland’s fate” in making the statement.

She subsequently sued the Met and Peter Gelb for defamation, breach of contract, and everything else she could think of, inexplicably including gender discrimination. A U.S. judge has dismissed most of her claims . . . except, oddly, the last one.

And now Ms. Netrebko has had to withdraw from her scheduled appearance at the Vienna State Opera, saying that ill health earlier in the month had limited her preparation time.

When in Russia, you don’t speak against Putin’s policies . . . and especially not against the war in Ukraine. In fact, you don’t even call it a “war” — not if you value your career, your freedom, and your life. The theater operators in Novosibirsk who condemned her for choosing Europe over Russia may not have made the moral choice; but they were not incorrect, because that is exactly what she did. And now it has cost her dearly.

*. *. *

So from beer, to opera, to the number of children in a family (the subject of a couple of my earlier posts), nothing escapes Vladimir Putin’s attention, and no miscreant escapes punishment. He needn’t even concern himself with justification or evidence; he simply signs another decree to cover the situation.

Justice in Russia: the ultimate oxymoron.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/2/25

The celebrations are over; let the carnage resume.

After all of the fireworks, the massive gatherings in cities around the world, and the annual hoopla surrounding the hopeful beginning of a new year, this morning’s headlines proved that, in reality, January 1st is just another opportunity for humanity to get it all wrong.

And, in the “getting-it-wrong” department, we’re off to a rip-roaring good start.

First and foremost in today’s news is an apparent terror attack (possibly of the home-grown variety) on iconic Bourbon Street in New Orleans, Louisiana. Ten people known dead, dozens more injured when a white pickup truck — flying the flag of terror group ISIS — intentionally plowed into a group of partygoers in the wee hours of the morning, with the driver simultaneously shooting into the crowd. He was killed in a shoot-out with police on the scene. Early investigation revealed at least two IEDs (improvised explosive devices) in the area, and authorities have indicated the shooter may not have been acting alone.

Condolences, New Orleans.

*. *. *

— And here are just a few of the headlines from CNN:

Five killed and emergency workers targeted as firework chaos mars Germany’s New Year celebrations.

Breakaway Moldovan region cuts heating and hot water after Russia stops gas flow.

After a quarter-century in power, Putin faces a new test: The return of Trump.

— From BBC News:

The struggle to reunite children with families in war-torn Gaza.

The wars of 2024 brought together rivals — but created new enemies.

What to know about string of US hacks blamed on China.

— And RadioFreeEurope/RadioLiberty (RFE/RL):

Russia Targets Ukraine With Scores of Drones; Kyiv Says 63 Downed.

Volunteers Race To Clean Oil Covered Coastline After Tanker Accident In Kerch Strait.

Tajik Migrants Being ‘Held As Slaves’ On Russian Farm.

*. *. *

Enough now.

I prefer to close on a somewhat . . . well, not exactly lighter, but certainly more bizarre, note. This involves the latest from Elon Musk. Not content with having changed the name of Twitter to “X” when he acquired the company, he has now changed his own name on X to . . . are you ready? . . . Kekius Maximus.

Don’t ask why, or what it’s supposed to mean . . . it will never make sense to anyone with a rational mind. But I’m thinking “Freakius Maximus” might have been more apropos. Just my personal opinion.

God certainly does work in mysterious ways. And this guy is one of the biggest mysteries of all.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/1/25

While taking a leisurely stroll — or scroll — through Facebook the other day, I chanced upon a reproduction of one of my favorite poems: Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” It was accompanied by this beautifully dream-like picture, and I sat staring at it for a full five minutes as my mind took its own backward saunter through time.

Suddenly, it was 32 years ago, and I was faced with a do-or-die choice that would alter the immediate course of my life . . . with just seconds to make my decision. There were no road signs in those woods. Which way to go?

I remember it all so clearly . . .

*. *. *

1993: Another bitter cold, snowy February in Moscow — the second in a row for me. But it was warm in the Business Center of the Slavyanskaya Radisson Hotel as I sat waiting for the Russian to arrive and recalled our last meeting, just a year earlier at this same spot. He hadn’t been well then, suffering (he said) from arthritis and preparing to go into the hospital for some form of surgery. And he had seemed at loose ends, having resigned from his government position with the Soviet Foreign Ministry to try to build a new life in the chaotic Russia of the 1990s.

His name was — and I presume still is — Valentin Aksilenko. (I can only presume, because I haven’t seen or spoken to him for 30 years.) I had met him in the course of my work in a Washington, D.C., international law firm in 1979, when he was stationed in the Soviet Embassy in the U.S. He was that rare Soviet official who actually knew how to get business done between his country and ours, and was happy to be able to help. Smart, competent and relatable, he had been a tremendous asset to our firm’s clients in building mutually beneficial commercial relations. So we had stayed in touch from time to time, even after his return to Moscow.

And then he was there . . . bundled against the cold and the snow, striding across the room like his old self, and not the ailing man I had seen the previous year. As I stood to shake his hand and greet him, I was delighted to note the renewed strength of his grip.

We sat on comfortable chairs perpendicular to one another and began — as people do who have not seen each other for some time — talking about events of the past year. And as the conversation turned to the subject of his new position as a consultant to a British firm, I had no inkling of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in my lap.

As though it were the most ordinary of comments, I suddenly heard Valentin say, “I am so glad to finally be out of intelligence work.”

And I thought I felt my heart stop.

Back in the early ‘80s, when he had been serving as First Secretary for Economic Affairs at the embassy in Washington, we had always known that virtually all of the higher-level embassy officers were members of, or at the very least reporting to, the KGB. It was just the way the Soviets operated. But of course, the unwritten rules of the Cold War game dictated that everyone, on both sides, pretend otherwise.

And yet here he was, never before having admitted that he was in intelligence, flat-out telling me how happy he was to be out of it. What was I supposed to do now?

As luck would have it, I didn’t have to do or say anything for the moment. He just kept on speaking about how his life had changed over the years, and I listened . . . waiting for what would come next. Because this was not a man who spoke carelessly.

But then he became quiet, leaning forward to gaze at the carpeted floor, his forearms resting on his legs, hands clasped between his knees. The silence was . . . well, not ominous, exactly, but unsettling. After what felt like hours but was surely less than a minute, he seemed to come to a decision. Raising his head, he sat back with a sigh, and began speaking again.

“I have a friend . . .”

*. *. *

To be continued . . .

*. *. *

Brendochka
1/1/25

“We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of Auld Lang Syne.”

Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all good health, happiness, prosperity . . . and most of all, peace on Earth.

Just sayin’ (as always) . . .

Brendochka
1/1/25

For the past year, I have paid homage each week — and sometimes more often — to the political prisoners in Russia’s archipelago of penal colonies who have been, and still are being, held hostage to Vladimir Putin’s diabolical ambitions.

I cannot let 2024 go without paying a year-end tribute to each and every one of them, beginning with the one we lost:

He needs no introduction. Vladimir Putin’s most outspoken and most popular critic, he represented a very real threat to the current regime and had to be eliminated. They tried poisoning him, but he survived after a worldwide public outcry enabled him to leave Russia and receive treatment in Germany.

But he returned to his beloved homeland, and was immediately arrested and thrown into a Siberian GULAG, where he was tortured and ultimately died under unexplained circumstances on February 16, 2024.

Unfortunately for Putin, however, Navalny’s death only served to create his martyrdom, as his widow, his former colleagues, and his followers continue his crusade to bring freedom to the people of Russia.

Rest in peace, Alexei Navalny.

*. *. *

The numbers continued to mount throughout the year, as more Americans and other non-Russians were arrested on trumped-up charges. But on August 1st, after lengthy and intense periods of multi-national negotiations, an historic swap of prisoners took place at an airport in Ankara, Turkey. Sixteen of Putin’s prisoners were sent home in exchange for eight Russians being held on criminal charges in various countries.

And so, in a rare moment of great joy, we welcomed back:

Returned to the U.S.:
Evan Gershkovich
Paul Whelan
Vladimir Kara-Murza
Alsu Kurmasheva

Returned to Germany:
Ilya Yashin
Oleg Orlov
Lilia Chanysheva
Ksenia Fadeyeva
Kevin Lik
Rico Krieger
Dieter Voronin
Patrick Schobel
German Moyzhes
Vadim Ostanin
Andrei Pivovarov
Alexandra Skochilenko

*. *. *

And to those still waiting for their New Year’s miracle:

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

I cannot wish you more than this:

Safe home.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/24

No, this will not be a litany of every horrible thing that has taken place everywhere in the world during the past twelve months — I’d never be able to hold your attention that long. And I’m sure you’ll agree that living through it once was quite enough, thank you. Besides, CNN has already done its job, offering links to their 100 top digital stories of the year.

Of course, I couldn’t resist going down their entire list, and the first thing I noticed was that CNN clearly subscribes to my own observation that — with the occasional exception — if it ain’t bad, it ain’t news. In all fairness, though, I don’t believe they have much choice. Seriously . . . aside from the incredible success of Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, and the reappearance of Laverna (a.k.a. Otter 841) and her newborn pup off the coast of California, how much good news can you remember from the past year?

That being said, I’ve chosen a few of CNN’s headlines as perfect examples of what I mean (not in chronological order). And what a hell of a year it’s been!

November 6th: Trump wins. — Oh, crap, we may as well stop right here. No? All right, then . . . let’s go on.

July 13th: Trump survives assassination attempt. — I probably should have put that one first, because if he hadn’t survived, then the election would have been a whole different ball game, wouldn’t it? I am glad he wasn’t killed — I don’t wish anyone harm — but couldn’t he have taken that as a wakeup call and quietly withdrawn? No?

September 15th: Second Trump assassination attempt. — The good news was, no one was hurt. The other news: he’s still not taking the hint.

May 30th: Donald Trump found guilty on all 34 charges in hush money trial. Now, wait just a damn minute. — After this one, do the first three items make any sense at all??!!!

Anyway, moving on . . .

May 17th: Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs says he is ‘truly sorry’ for physically assaulting Cassie Ventura in 2016. — Well, isn’t that special! I’m sure she feels a lot better now.

March 26th: Baltimore Key Bridge collapses after ship collision. — That was a bad, bad day.

July 19th: Global tech outage. The entire world goes into mourning.

September 4th: At least 4 killed in Georgia high school shooting. — Are you beginning to get my drift?

August 8th: Zero calorie sweetener linked to blood clots and risk of heart disease, study finds. — First they tell you sugar is bad for you, and now . . .

September 26th: Hurricane Helene makes historic landfall. — She sure did, and right in my back yard this time. We had localized flooding, downed trees and power lines, damaged roads, and three days without power . . . and we were among the lucky ones. North Carolina, for example, still hasn’t recovered:

October 9th: Hurricane Milton hits Florida. — Another one of a string of really bad ones this year — and right on the heels of Helene.

December 4th: Gunman at large after UnitedHealthcare CEO fatally shot in ‘brazen targeted attack,’ police say. — Horrible, tragic, senseless killings continue. The only good news here is that they did get the shooter a couple of days later.

July 5th: Earth’s core has slowed so much it’s moving backward, scientists confirm. — I don’t even know what to say about this one. I think it may be a good place to quit, because I’m afraid I may be getting light-headed from spinning backward.

*. *. *

And that’s less than a quarter of the whole list. I haven’t even touched on Russia’s war against Ukraine, the ongoing chaos in the Middle East, the U.S. presidential debates, other mass shootings and stabbings around the world, or several more natural disasters. I really don’t think I have the strength to go on.

On second thought, maybe just one more, because it’s my very favorite:

November 12th: Don’t sit on the toilet for more than 10 minutes, doctors warn. — Dammit! Now I’ll never finish that book.

Oh, well . . . Happy New Year, everyone, and good riddance to the old one.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/31/24