How the world loved him! We couldn’t get enough of him: that dear, sweet man — a professional entertainer, charming, witty, outspoken, honorable, instantly likable. Suddenly thrust into a presidency for which he was only partly prepared; faced with an invasion that no one foresaw until it was gathering on his doorstep.

Suddenly he was everywhere: in a bunker, in a hospital cheering up the wounded, in the streets encouraging his people, in the trenches encouraging his soldiers. Discarding the suit and tie, living in his now-signature khakis, growing a beard. Visiting the countries all too eager to help out, to save his beloved Ukraine from the Russian invaders . . . from the hell of war. Stepping up and doing the job with a courage and fortitude few had believed possible. Inspiring a nation and a world.

It all began in February of 2022. It was supposed to be over quickly. The Russian leader bragged that the Ukrainian people would welcome him as their “saviour,” that he would “rescue” them from the “Nazis and fascists” that only exist in his mind; and that within days, or a couple of weeks at most, he would have “reclaimed” the Ukraine he believed was rightfully Russia’s. But he didn’t count on Volodymyr Zelensky, or on the Ukrainian people’s determination to hold onto the country they love. Nor did he count on the unity of the West, the NATO nations that banded together to help an ally that wasn’t yet a member of their alliance. Vladimir Putin had seriously miscalculated. And so, twenty months later, Russia’s “special military operation” — Putin’s war of attrition — slogs on, mired in a bloodbath of their own making.

And where is Zelensky today? Still there, still standing strong against his enemy, still resolved to save his country from the invaders. But twenty months of war will inevitably bring changes. Daily bombings, missile strikes, death, destruction, hunger, privation. Optimism vanishes, hope fades, weariness settles in. Cities are decimated, families are broken — what is there left to fight for? Can even the strength of their President keep them going? Does he have any strength of his own left to share with them?

As long as he had the Western nations standing firmly behind him, he was a bastion of strength, of determination, of hope. But what is happening to the support he depended upon all these past months? Where are the Ukrainian flags flying in neighborhoods and town squares all over the world? The civilian groups collecting food, clothing, household goods for the refugees? The borders opening to admit those refugees? The world’s anger at this unnecessary suffering? Have we simply wearied of a war that isn’t “ours”?

And where is the international support from all of those allied nations? Why is it slacking off? Are countries simply running out of missiles, and planes, and tanks, and weaponry . . . and money? Or are they just running out of interest in a war that isn’t “theirs”?

And where is the daily press coverage? The live reports from the front, the brave men and women of the BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera? They haven’t suddenly gone chicken, have they?

Absolutely not. But here’s what has happened:

Hamas invaded Israel; and Israel retaliated. That’s what is different from just a month ago. The focus has shifted. The world suddenly has more of its children to care for, and we’re all spread too thin. The money, the weapons, the aid workers . . . they can only stretch so far. Our attention is divided between two fronts; we’re desperately needed in two places at once, and we’re having trouble handling it.

There are those — even in the U.S. Congress! — who want to give Ukraine short shrift, rationalizing that the war in the Middle East will have more far-reaching consequences and is thus more important. But they’re wrong. Because the two wars are not disconnected. Behind both lurks the ominous presence of a terrifying triumvirate: Russia, China, and North Korea. Determined to rule the world, to create a “new world order” based on their demented vision. And countries and organizations such as Iran, Syria, Hamas, Hezbollah, are all too willing to be the pawns on their global chessboard. And too many people just . . . don’t . . . get it.

And caught in the squeeze is President Volodymyr Zelensky, who, after 20 months of living in hell, must surely be nearing the limits of his strength, his optimism, and his hope. He is said recently to have changed. He is “angry with allies and no longer optimistic, but continues to believe in Ukraine’s victory.” [Simon Shuster, Time, as reported by Ukrainska Pravda, Oct. 30, 2023.] Mr. Shuster tells of a conversation with a longtime member of Zelensky’s team, revealing that Zelensky’s “usual sparkle of . . . optimism, his sense of humor, his tendency to liven up a meeting in the war room with a bit of banter or a bawdy joke . . . [are gone]. Now he walks in, gets the updates, gives the orders, and walks out.” His team members feel that his convictions haven’t changed; in fact, they’ve hardened. Some believe that he is deluding himself, that “We’re out of options. We’re not winning. But try telling him that.”

*. *. *

So that’s where Zelensky is now. Not missing, but lost in a different sense. And if he cannot stay the course, and Ukraine is ultimately lost to the red menace from the East, it is we in the West who have allowed it to happen. It is we who have been misled, who have incorrectly read the signals that have been in front of us for years.

It is not Zelensky who will have failed his people; it is we who will have failed Zelensky.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/1/23

I am not the biggest fan of former Governor Chris Christie. But even the least of us will do something right every now and then; and that is precisely what happened recently in an interview on CNN’s “State of the Union” when he spoke about Donald Trump, and about what Christie called Trump’s “bad worldview.” Quite an understatement for one not in the habit of soft-pedaling his opinions.

Christie has thrown his hat into the ring in opposition to Trump (and others) for the 2024 GOP presidential nomination, and would be expected to be less than complimentary in speaking about any of his opponents. But in this case, he avoided blatant name-calling, and instead reminded listeners of a few already-known facts. Disturbing ones . . .

Like Trump’s intention — should the country go totally batshit and reelect him in ‘24 — of doing exactly what the new GOP House Speaker Mike Johnson wants to do: divide U.S. aid to Israel and Ukraine, expedite a stand-alone bill for Israel, and postpone a decision on continuing aid to Ukraine pending a resolution on a reduced amount to be allotted. (My blog post of Oct. 30th expounds on that very subject.) Christie attributes Trump’s view on this to a desire to “coddle” Vladimir Putin; and considering Trump’s cozy history with the Russian dictator . . . er, president . . . Christie is probably right on target.

He goes on to explain — as have so many others — why Trump’s view on Ukraine is not just wrong, but treacherously so. Yet Trump continues to scream to the world, from his imaginary throne on Mount Olympus, that only he knows best. And he does so while in reality he sits — right here on lower Earth — in court, charged with numerous crimes and misdemeanors, including fomenting the January 6, 2021 insurrection in Washington . . . and while under a gag order to boot, which he has already violated, resulting in a court-ordered fine. The man just cannot shut up. Where most people would, by now, have sensed the inevitability of defeat, he just keeps fuming.

I’m not here to campaign for or against anyone; I don’t do that. I simply feel the need to express my frustration at the constant barrage of misinformation, disinformation (yes, there is a difference), anger, hatred, and outright stupidity spewing from this one individual’s little rosebud lips. But unfortunately, Trump is news, and we are stuck with him, at least for a while.

I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if his rhetoric were at least benign. But his pronouncements — such as his promise to withdraw from NATO “when he is reelected” — are inherently dangerous. And no one knows that better, or is more anxious to take advantage of it, than Vladimir Putin. But what’s the solution? Can we plead with the press to stop writing about him? Nope; First Amendment. Do we lock him in a rubber room until 2025? Kidnapping. Whack him with one of his own golf clubs? Assault and battery. Ask Melania to . . . oh, yeah. Never mind.

It seemed hopeless until I discovered that Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial cartoonist Ann Telnaes had already gotten it exactly right:

Now, who wants to hold him down while I wield the cork?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/31/23

On Friday, the little known but already controversial new House Speaker, Mike Johnson, urged President Biden not to lump together his proposed aid allotments for Israel and Ukraine, but rather to bifurcate the two by creating a stand-alone bill in favor of Israel, while essentially leaving Ukraine — albeit temporarily — dangling in the wind. His rationale? First, to remove aid to Ukraine from the continuing resolution that was passed at the end of September to keep the U.S. government running, since Congress seems incapable of doing that in any normal fashion; and additionally, to give consideration to a reduction in the amount of aid to Ukraine in order to “make sure that the White house is providing the people with some accountability for the dollars.” He did say that he “still supports the Ukrainian war effort versus Russia,” but added that “the House should focus on limiting spending.” [The Hill, Oct. 27, 2023.] I saw no mention of a stand-alone bill in favor of Ukraine.

So, if Mr. Johnson has his way, and if I understand him correctly, it appears that Ukraine will essentially be placed on the back burner for an unspecified amount of time. Aside from the obviously calamitous effect on the Ukrainian people, what does this say to our NATO allies — who have also been making enormous contributions to the defense of Ukraine against Putin’s war machine — as to what their continuing obligations should be? And what does it say to the entire world about America’s reliability in terms of its commitments to its allies?

But that’s not all. Because on the same day, in Telegraph’s podcast, “Ukraine: The Latest,” it was reported that:

“Yesterday [October 26, 2023], Russian officials met with Hamas, who praised them for taking an active role in the war [with Israel] and released several pictures of the meeting [in Moscow] between Russian officials, Hamas and Iran’s deputy foreign minister.” And further:

“Some [Western-leaning nations] . . . have asked whether it shows Russia is forming an axis of terror with Hamas, mediated by Iran, which already of course supplies Moscow with drones for its war in Ukraine.”

What more do we need? Pictures? Well, here you go . . .

Don’t they look like three old poker buddies, retired businessmen, some lucky children’s doting grandfathers? Yet here they are, plotting the fate of the Middle East and, for starters, Eastern Europe. And make no mistake . . . that is precisely what they are doing: First we wipe Israel off the map, and bring Ukraine back within Russia’s borders. Then we’ll let the world know what we’ve got lined up next. And behind it all, the man in the Kremlin. Else, why were they brought together in Moscow?

But oh, no-o-o, Mr. Speaker . . . there’s no need to give Israel and Ukraine equal consideration. Well, perhaps that’s true in your parallel universe, but in the real world — the one in which the rest of us live — the truth is something entirely different. And we need a government that understands that. Perhaps we could start by “bifurcating” a few members of Congress from their jobs in the coming election.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/30/23

While surfing the news headlines the other day, I ran across this little gem: “English speakers, here’s how to pronounce ‘Qatar,’” by the delightful AJ Willingham, a Senior Writer for CNN Digital who “covers internet subcultures, religion, positive news and various obsessions.” [CNN Profiles – AJ Willingham – Senior Writer, Culture] . . . just the sort of oddball stuff I find it impossible to resist. So I knew this was going to be good.

She began by telling me something I already knew, which was that most English speakers will pronounce “Qatar” something like “kuh-TAR.” This, of course, is what I had always done until fairly recently, when I heard from some so-called expert that it should be pronounced more like “cutter.” That never sounded quite right to me, but hey, it’s the Qataris’ name, not mine, so who am I to disrespect them?

But AJ is apparently a stickler for accuracy, and she had dug much deeper. Here is the explanation — or most of it, anyway — that she unearthed (and you never know what treasures you might unearth once you start digging in that ancient part of the world):

Now, I love languages. I’m not actually a linguist, sadly; but the nuances, the similarities and differences do fascinate me. And I studied Russian, which I believe entitles me at the very least to a medal for bravery. And I can say “yes,” “no,” “please,” “thank you,” and “bathroom” in several languages. Just the essentials.

But I’ve read the foregoing explanation of “Qatar” three times now, and I even tried making that guttural sound with water in my mouth and directed my tongue to touch the roof just behind my teeth. That simply resulted in my choking on the water . . . or the part I didn’t actually spit out all over my iPad. And after all of that, I have come to one conclusion, and one only: I will never study Arabic. That is not in any way a political decision; it’s simply that I know my limitations.

A lot of people are impressed by my ability to have learned the Cyrillic alphabet, and to decipher words like человеконенавистничество. (That’s one word, 10 syllables, 24 Cyrillic letters — 26 in English, but please don’t ask me to explain why the extra two.) It means “misanthropy,” and I’m quite proud of having conquered it, even though it doesn’t come up in conversation very often. So I’ll stick with what I know, and if the Qataris don’t mind, I’ll probably just continue saying “kuh-TARR.” And if they like, they’re welcome to mispronounce “Worcester.” Most Americans do, anyway, except those from Massachusetts and nearby Rhode Island.

*. *. *

All of this has started me thinking of the confusion I encountered when living in Prague back in 1991. I’ve told this story before, but even those who did read about it have probably forgotten it, so I’ll take a risk and repeat myself. If you do happen to recall it, just skip to the end, okay?

I don’t speak Czech. But Russian and Czech are both Slavic languages, so I figured it wouldn’t be that difficult to learn. However, since I was working long days there, and spending my evenings wining and dining, and weekends sightseeing, there wasn’t a lot of time for actual study. I managed to learn to communicate with shopkeepers, waiters, and taxi drivers, at a time when most locals did not speak English yet, and I got along just fine.

On one of my early days there, I was walking to work when I spotted a sign in the distance that read “OZ.” There didn’t seem to be a yellow brick road in the vicinity, but I was curious and kept walking toward it. And when I got closer, I saw that it was a sign on a produce shop, and that “O” and “Z” were merely the initials for “Ovoce” and “Zelenina.” Now, in Russian, “Ovochi” (roughly the same pronunciation) means “vegetables.” There is no “zelenina” in Russian, but the word “zelyoniy” means “green.” So I reasoned that I was looking at a place that sold . . . vegetables and green things? Uh . . . nah. I knew Prague was quirky, but that was just silly. So when I got to work, I asked one of my local co-workers who did speak English, and she told me that, in Czech, “ovoce” means “fruit,” and “zelenina” are indeed vegetables. So much for the two Slavic languages theory. And so it went, for three lovely months in Zlata Praha (Golden Prague). For the most part, I spoke Russian, they spoke Czech, everybody made a lot of gestures, and we all muddled through.

*. *. *

I also had fun with words once at a local theater performance in Virginia, where a young comedian was asking the audience for the first words that came to their minds in different categories. He would select one word and write it down to be used later in his skit when he built a story using the chosen words. I was uncharacteristically quiet, until he asked for a nonsense word. For whatever reason, no one in the audience came up with a response, until I suddenly blurted out into the silence: “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” My sister was seated next to me, and did one of those sliding-under-the-seat things she always did when I opened my big mouth in public . . . though the young man on stage did a very funny double-take and pretended to try to write it down. At which point I, of course, proceeded to help him out by spelling it for him, and received a very satisfying laugh, from him and from the audience. That’s 34 letters, by the way — ten more than that Russian monstrosity.

*. *. *

I have had the pleasure, throughout the many decades of my life, of knowing quite a few highly intelligent people, a number of whom spoke several languages. I’ve never understood how they keep them straight. One woman I worked with had even mastered Chinese and Classical Greek. I’m not sure why she did, but it was impressive as hell. I am not one of those people. My English skills are quite good, but I have only studied one additional language, and that is Russian. So when I try to remember how to say something in French, for example, the only thing that comes to mind is the Russian equivalent. Once in Montreal, when I tried to answer “oui” to a question, it came out “da,” and “non” of course became “nyet.” I’m hopeless.

But the fascination is still there, and I appreciate AJ Willingham’s attempt to explain “Qatar” to me. Sorry to disappoint. And thanks for the effort.

So, “do svidaniya” — goodbye, or more accurately, ‘til we meet again,

Брендочка (Brendochka)
10/29/23

He’s not missing. We know when he visits the United States, Canada, and elsewhere. Today he is in Malta, engaged in a third round of peace talks with representatives of 50 countries. Fortunately for the people of Ukraine, he continues to seek support for his beleaguered nation throughout the free world. He hasn’t disappeared.

Except from the media. Not completely . . . but not far from it. Quite simply, Ukraine has been upstaged by yet another global disaster: the war between Israel and Hamas. And that is so wrong. Yes, the eternally screwed-up situation in the Middle East has horrendous, far-reaching implications. It always has. And yes, it needs — and deserves — to be at the forefront of the news, and a focus of all the nations of the free world. There should be no doubt of that.

But not — I repeat, not — at the expense of Ukraine. Do we now relegate that war to second place in the belief that it is less important? Are we now to overlook what havoc has been wrought, and continues to be inflicted, upon Crimea, Donbas, and cities like Mariupol and Avdiivka?

And have we forgotten that — while Hamas and much of the Middle East wish to wipe Israel off the face of the world map — Putin sits in the Kremlin, planning, in concert with his cohorts Xi Jinping and Kim Jong Un, to bring their contorted version of peace and order to the entire world? Can we not see that this is exactly what they want us to do?

As Ukraine prepares to enter its third winter of this brutal invasion, we in the West complain of being weary . . . of having spent so much time, and effort, and money to help our non-NATO ally. But we overlook the domino effect that the loss of Ukraine would engender: Moldova, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, the Czech Republic, the Baltic states . . . We forget the lessons of the Cold War, and ignore the prospect of a second, hotter one.

We cannot afford to do that. Israel and Ukraine need and deserve equal billing. You do not ignore a sick child just because a sibling has also become ill.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/28/23

All right. So I won’t make it to the Australian Outback, or pet a penguin in Antarctica, or watch the sun rise over mystical Stonehenge. I’ve never strolled along the Champs Elysees in Paris either, or marveled at the Angkor Wat Temple in Cambodia, or been skiing at Zermatt in Switzerland. So what? I know a few people who have been everywhere — people with unlimited funds and lots of free time. But I know a great many more people — the vast majority, in fact — who have never been anywhere exciting, or been able to step outside their own little worlds, even for a while. And just look at what I have been able to do.

Nope, not the ski thing. But I once climbed a mountain in Czechoslovakia.

Sound familiar? It should. It was the introduction to my very first blog post, back in December of 2022, titled “This Is Me.” It went on to tell of my strolls through Moscow, Prague, Budapest, London, Helsinki, Berlin, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Tallinn . . . wonderful, magical, incredible places, all of them. It described riding the White Pass Railway along the edge of a terrifyingly steep ravine in Alaska; and being transported in the luxurious King’s Elevator in the Royal Palace at Stockholm. And it told of being nearly — but not quite — mugged in St. Petersburg, Russia. And of a boat ride up the Danube to an artists’ village called Szentendre, and playtime with a friendly jellyfish in the Black Sea at Sochi, and a visit to a hospital in Kyiv for child victims of Chernobyl.

Oh! The places I have been.

And stories I haven’t mentioned. Like the one right here in the U.S.: the cross-country drive in 1962, when I saw the wonders of New York City and Chicago, Mt. Rushmore, the Black Hills, Yellowstone Park, the World’s Fair at Seattle, the hills of San Francisco; rode the ferry from San Diego to Coronado Island, then back east through the Grand Canyon, the Texas Panhandle, and the vast midwest plains all the way home to Virginia. Along the way, we encountered a sudden sandstorm in South Dakota that we rode out in our car by the side of the road; the friendliest people in Cody, Wyoming; and surely the world’s biggest, crunchiest bugs in a gas station rest room in Oklahoma.

*. *. *

And there have been other places and other things — adventures, great and small — that I haven’t mentioned. Little memories that pop up, unbidden, from time to time when some word or picture or smell brings them back from the dimmer recesses of my mind. Such as . . .

Food. The best steak, aboard each of the Holland America cruise ships I sailed on to Eastern Canada, Alaska, and along the Baltic Sea. The best salmon, in landlocked Prague, of all places. The best Dover sole, in a little restaurant in Stockholm. The best meat and potatoes en cocotte in another little eatery in Kyiv. The tenderest fried clams on Cape Cod, of course. And the most decadent desserts, seated outdoors at a bakery in Budapest. I’m gaining weight just thinking about them.

People. The ten years I had the privilege of working with the attorney who, in his earlier days, had been the chief legal draftsman of both the Marshall Plan and the NATO Treaty; and how during those ten years I chatted with the remarkable widow of the late Shah of Iran, attended social events at the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China, and made a lifelong friend of an official at the Soviet Embassy. And the famous singer in Prague who pointed me out as his “new American friend” in the audience at one of his performances; the not-so-nice Soviet official who wanted me to be his “new American friend” in London; and the KGB officer who became my unofficial guardian in Moscow. The adorable tour bus driver in Stockholm who didn’t speak English, but loved it when I asked him for a “boost” to help me up onto that first high step. And the waiter on the cruise ship Maasdam who remembered our names and the fact that I drank tea instead of coffee. Odd friends; unexpected friends.

Little things. The warmth of the people who “adopted” me in Moscow: the women who worked with me, and the neighbor who looked after me and my apartment on behalf of the apartment’s owner. Bumping into an American acquaintance at a concert in a city of nine million people (Moscow again). Placing a rock on a headstone in the Old Jewish Cemetery in Prague. And doing the same at a concentration camp outside Berlin.

And sad things, losses. People loved, and then gone. Family, friends, bosses, doctors, my masseuse, the sweet guy at the gas station up the road who took such good care of his customers and then drowned in a boating accident. Heart attacks, cancer, old age took them. And others lost due to the circumstances of life: people retiring, moving away, or just drifting away. Children growing up — no more little kids around the Christmas tree.

*. *. *

But I’ve decided to concentrate on the happy times; dwelling on the losses doesn’t bring them back. It’s too easy to allow ourselves to sink into the sad memories; and it’s not necessary, when there are so many happy ones. I’ve said it before: a life without tales worth telling is a life only half-lived. Everyone has them, though they may not have seemed exciting at the time; we just need to let them come forward.

Maybe I’ll write another book.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/28/23

You’ve heard it before: “Getting old ain’t for sissies.” I don’t know who said it first, but he or she sure nailed it. I’ve written at some length about the aches and pains, physical changes, and emotional adjustments we have to deal with as the years slide by. Those of us who are fortunate enough to retain most of our mental faculties still want to do the things we used to do. But we can’t, and so we are told that even though we can no longer climb a mountain, we should be grateful that we can walk at all; and although a bowl of chili would set our digestive system on fire, there’s always a nice serving of oatmeal to warm our tummies.

Crap!!!

I don’t just want to walk around the block . . . again, and again, and again. And oatmeal isn’t chili. I want to keep traveling, and dancing, and eating exotic foods in exotic places with exotic people. And there are so many places I still want to see, and probably never will, before I give up the ghost. Places like . . .

Antarctica, before the ice floes shrink and the penguins become extinct. I want to see those adorable little critters in their headwaiter suits, sashaying around like Charlie Chaplin’s “Little Tramp.”

The North Pole. I want to see Santa Claus. If he’s not there, never mind.

The Swiss Alps. I want to learn to yodel, and make cheese, and sing like Julie Andrews. But realistically, I want to see the beauty of the mountains, the clear lakes, the picturesque towns, and the inside of a Swiss bank vault. (Just kidding on that last one.)

Australia: the Outback, the Sydney Opera House, kangaroos, a pangolin. I want to go walkabout, and sing “Waltzing Matilda” while sitting by a campfire and waiting for my billy to boil. And I want so badly to hold a baby koala. They are simply too cute for words.

*. *. *

I also want to get a look at some of man’s greatest creations:

Stonehenge. Right at the top of my list is this magical, mystical, manmade monument to . . . what? There are lots of theories, but will we ever know for sure? I want to be there at sunrise on the summer solstice. Surely, then I would learn the meaning of life, or something equally wonderful. Maybe.

The Pyramids. How on earth did they do it with no heavy lifting equipment? And why? What’s inside?

The Wailing Wall at Jerusalem. Not the safest place to vacation just now, but some day. I want to write my prayer on a little piece of paper, roll it up and insert it into a niche in the wall. I just want to stand where my ancient ancestors stood.

The Great Wall of China, and the Terra Cotta Army at Xi’an. China may be politically touchy right now, but there’s no denying the awesome scope of its history and the skills and talents of its people. Did you know that the Great Wall can be seen from space? Or that the Terra Cotta Army is still only partially excavated? I saw a few of those incredible carved soldiers at a National Geographic exhibition in Washington a number of years ago, and now I want to see the whole vast expanse of them, and to walk at least a small part of that Great Wall.

Machu Picchu. Again, how did they do it? And at that altitude! I have a friend who climbed it, and she said she nearly expired from the effort and the thinness of the air. She also said it was worth it. In the 1940s, an entertainer named Jimmy Durante sang a nonsense song called “Inkadinkado.” I wonder whether he was singing about the same Incas. I doubt it; but the real ones sure did do something great.

*. *. *

I’d also like to see a few things happen while I’m still here to appreciate them:

Peace in the Middle East. I’m sure I don’t have to explain this one. That conflict has continued for centuries, and I doubt I’ll live long enough to see it resolved. But I can dream, can’t I?

Donald Trump apologizing . . . to anyone! (All right — you can all stop laughing now.)

Congress approving the annual budget without threatening to shut down the government . . . year, after year, after freakin’ year! (You’re laughing again, aren’t you?)

And last, but definitely not least . . .

The Terrible Trio: Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Kim Jong Un. If you’ve been reading my blog, you already know my views. I want these three to disappear from the political scene; all peace-loving people do. Perhaps we could entice the three of them onto one of their rocket ships — preferably one that actually works — and send them to establish the first colony on Mars. Elon Musk can help them with that. And without the Triple Threat around to cause trouble here on Earth, maybe we could then concentrate on clearing up our other problems and once again make this a beautiful, happy world to live in.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/27/23

Well, that all depends. Are you ingesting a reasonable amount of heart-healthy olive oil? Or are you an executive in the Russian oil and gas industry? In the latter case, you might want to think about updating your will, sending the wife and kiddies out of the country, and barricading yourself in the safe room, because the life expectancy of the top brass at companies like Rosneft, Lukoil and Gazprom is dropping exponentially, almost day by day.

Two days ago, Lukoil, Russia’s second-largest oil company, announced the sudden death of its chairman, Vladimir Ivanovich Nekrasov, at the age of 66. In its public statement, the company said: “According to the preliminary conclusion of doctors, death occurred as a result of acute heart failure.” A request by CNN for further comment from the company was declined.

You’re probably thinking there’s nothing strange about a person dying of heart failure at any age, right? True enough. But consider: 1) that Nekrasov’s immediate predecessor at Lukoil, Ravil Maganov, died just over a year ago after falling out of a hospital window in Moscow, according to Russian state media; and 2) that “Lukoil . . . made headlines in March 2022 when it became one of only a few Russian companies to take a public stand on Moscow’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In a statement to shareholders, customers and staff, Lukoil’s board of directors called ‘for the soonest termination of the armed conflict’ in Ukraine.” [Mark Thompson, CNN, Oct. 24, 2023.]

Consider also the death this week of Olga Nazarenko — not an oil company official or employee, but an outspoken Russian anti-war protester, who also allegedly took a “fall from a height.”

In September of 2022, it was reported that “At least eight prominent Russian businessmen have reportedly died by suicide or in as yet unexplained accidents since late January, with six of them associated with Russia’s two largest energy companies. Four of those six were linked to the Russian state-owned energy giant Gazprom or one of its subsidiaries, while the other two were associated with Lukoil, Russia’s largest privately owned oil and gas company.” The article went on to say that “Earlier this year [2022], the company took the unusual public stance of speaking out against Russia’s war in Ukraine, calling for sympathy for the victims, and for the end of the conflict.” [Ivana Kottasova, CNN, Sept. 2, 2022.]

Mr. Maganov was included among those eight persons. At the time, Lukoil said that he had “passed away following a severe illness,” with no mention being made of a fall.

In May of 2022, Aleksandr Subbotin, another top Lukoil manager, was found dead near Moscow after reportedly visiting a shaman’s home. Authorities responding to a call found an unconscious man “suffering from a heart failure” in a basement room used for “Jamaican voodoo rituals” (as reported by TASS, the official Russian news agency).

On January 30, 2022, Leonid Shulman, head of transport at Gazprom Invest, was found dead in his cottage in the village of Leninsky near St. Petersburg, according to RIA Novosti (also a Russian state media outlet); a suicide note was reportedly found at the scene, and the death was being investigated as a suicide.

Less than a month later, on February 25th, another Gazprom executive, Aleksandr Tyulakov, was found dead in his garage. This one was also reported as a suicide.

On April 18th of that same year, a report was made of the murder-suicide of Gazprombank former vice-president Vladislav Avayev, his wife and daughter, found dead in their Moscow apartment.

The very next day, April 19th, Sergey Protosenya, a former executive at Novatek — a gas producer partially owned by Gazprom — was found dead in the garden of his home at a Mediterranean resort near Barcelona, Spain. Found inside the home were the bodies of his wife and daughter, “showing signs of having suffered violence.” The case was investigated by the Catalan police, who concluded that the deaths were a double murder and suicide.

Also outside of Russia, a Ukrainian-born Russian oil and gas billionaire, Mikhail Watford, had been found dead in his home in Surrey, England, on February 28, 2022. Surrey police found nothing suspicious about his death.

Back in Russia, Vasily Melnikov, the owner of a medical supply company, was found dead alongside his wife and two young children in Nizhny Novgorod in late March. All had been stabbed to death. The investigative committee did not return CNN’s request for comment, but said at the time of the incident that there “were no signs of unauthorized entry into the apartment,” and that “knives were found and seized . . . [Investigators] are considering several versions of what happened, including the murder of the children and wife by the head of the family, followed by self-inflicted death.” [Ivana Kottasova, CNN, Sept. 2, 2022.] The report did not mention the number of stab wounds Mr. Melnikov had allegedly inflicted upon himself.

*. *. *

The litany of cases continues into 2023, with such people as Kristina Baikova, vice-president of a Russian bank who — whoops! — fell to her death from a window in her 11th floor apartment in Moscow on June 23rd. This was the same day Yevgeny Prigozhin and his Wagner Group began their ill-fated march on Moscow. Any connection? Who knows?

Artyom Bartenev, a judge appointed by Putin, was found dead after — oh, no! — falling 12 stories from his apartment window in Kazan on June 8th.

On May 20th, Pyotr Kucherenko — a senior Russian official who had previously made the mistake of publicly criticizing the Russian occupation of Ukraine — fell ill on a flight from Cuba to Russia. The plane made an emergency landing in the Russian town of Mineralnye Vody, where “doctors tried to save him” — and obviously failed, as Mr. Kucherenko did not survive. No cause of his illness was given.

*. *. *

I have a list of more than 30 such incidents, just in the past year, but I think you’ve gotten the point by now. What stands out is the number of these unexplained incidents being written off as accidents (falling from windows has become a favorite), suicides, or heart attacks (the old Soviet standby).

And let’s not forget the recent high-profile cases of Alexei Navalny (poisoned, successfully treated in Germany, then arrested back in Moscow for “violation of parole” and still serving a lengthy sentence for alleged “corruption”); and Yevgeny Prigozhin, head of the mercenary Wagner Group, who voiced complaints about the Russian military’s handling of the war in Ukraine and attempted to march on the Kremlin in protest, and then — like so many others — also died in a fall from a high place . . . but this time, more dramatically, in an airplane.

Either Russia has a remarkably high number of very careless or very depressed people occupying high positions in government and industry; or someone — someone who doesn’t care who knows it — is killing off those who dare to misspeak.

And the point of all of these gruesome statistics? Merely to emphasize the limitless extent to which Vladimir Putin will go in protecting himself and defending his administration. Simply stated: In today’s Russia, it is illegal — and obviously dangerous — to criticize Putin, to speak in defense of Ukraine, or even to call Russia’s “special military operation” what it really is: a WAR. Russia has once more become a totalitarian state, with a narcissistic autocrat at its helm, reinforcing ties with other autocratic leaders around the world.

*. *. *

There are those in influential positions in our very own U.S. government and industries today who have fallen under Putin’s sway and who believe his blatantly bullshit propaganda. And that is most terrifying of all.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/26/23

Oops! JetBlue’s face is a little red this week.

“A shift in weight and balance during deplaning” was the stated cause of a JetBlue passenger jet tilting back on its tail, and then seesawing forward again, at JFK International on Sunday, October 22nd. Luckily, no one was injured; but I have to wonder what the passengers who were standing in the aisles, reaching for their carry-ons or waiting their turn to exit, thought when they found themselves sliding back toward the tail and forward again. Probably not amused. The incident does serve to remind me, however, that I’m not the only one who occasionally finds myself off-balance due to a weight-shift. It can happen to an airplane, too.

*. *. *

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is in talks with the Musee Grevin in Paris — a wax museum that sounds much like Madame Tussaud’s in London — to have his likeness “improved.” It seems some people have complained on social media (where else?) that his doppelgänger’s skin has been “whitewashed.” Mr. Johnson is multi-ethnic, and apparently his statue is “suffering from a melanin deficiency.” Those are not my words — I swear, that’s what the CNN article said. Frankly, I find the whole thing refreshing; certainly far better than the bad old days when a few Black people actually tried to make themselves look Whiter. Seriously . . . shouldn’t we all just be as proud of ourselves as The Rock is?

*. *. *

Have you ever seen a pangolin? They’re just too cute for words . . . in a Jurassic Park sort of way. Also called scaly anteaters, they’re found in Asia and Africa, and are an endangered species. And their body parts are being bought by 72 licensed Chinese drug manufacturers, backed by major global banks, for use in at least nine different medications. Now, wait a minute, you guys! They’re endangered! Just stop that . . . right now! Apparently, some of the same companies are also decimating the populations of leopards, similarly endangered. If I start an “Adopt-a-Pangolin” movement, will you join me? For one thing, you’ll never have another ant in your kitchen. And I guarantee you’ll have the most popular pet in your neighborhood.

*. *. *

Martha Stewart, according to a CNN headline, “does dress her age, thank you very much.” At 82, she’s apparently in great shape, and doesn’t plan to give in to her advancing years. She says she still dresses the same way she did when she was 17. Let’s see, now . . . that would have been 1958. So, which one do you think she most resembles (below)?

And by the way, that ‘57 Chevy looks like a Bel Air. Anybody else remember those?

*. *. *

No, this is not Kim Kardashian! But it is her underwear. Or, rather, underwear being designed and sold by her company, Skims, now aiming at the male market. Apparently, “Men’s sizes will also encompass Skims’ body positivity focus and stretch from extra small to 5X.” Knowing how the Kardashian women love to appear in public wearing nothing but their mostly see-through undies, I wonder whether the men are now being encouraged to do the same. Uhh . . . no comment.

*. *. *

No, this isn’t Kim K. either. But, though she and her siblings are everywhere in the news lately, I couldn’t find a single picture of any of them that was fit to reprint, so I went with the enigmatic (and decently clothed) Mona Lisa. Just sayin’ . . .

*. *. *

I haven’t even reached the Entertainment section, yet here she is — the lovely and ubiquitous Taylor Swift, at yet another Kansas City Chiefs game, cheering on the equally omnipresent Travis Kelce. And people are still speculating as to whether they’re a couple? Really? The business-savvy Ms. Swift certainly knows the value of publicity; and it’s a pleasure to note that she’s keeping it wholesome — unlike a few others of whom we see far too much!

*. *. *

In the Science department, the moon has now been found to be 40 million years older than originally estimated, based on further testing of materials brought back by the Apollo 17 mission in 1972. Remind me never to have myself carbon-dated!

*. *. *

Finally made it to the Entertainment column, and found it oddly lacking in shockers this time. But . . .

First it was Will and Jada; now the ever-beautiful and multi-talented Meryl Streep and her husband of 45 years, Don Gummer, reveal that they too have been separated for the past six years. Sorry to hear that. But what is this — a thing in Hollywood? Pretending to be happily married years beyond your marriage’s expiration date? I can’t imagine why. I mean, it must be quite a strain, always smiling and looking adoringly at each other that way. It’s their own business, of course, but I don’t think I could carry it off.

*. *. *

Well, let’s see what else we can dig up. Jennifer Garner and Reese Witherspoon are “true friends.” Oh, good; I was worried about that. There’s speculation about a “Crossroads” sequel for Britney Spears. Eh. And more of the usual drek from Will and Jada. Yawn.

I guess that will have to do for this episode, folks, but I’m sure the gossip mill will pick up soon. See you when it does.

TTFN,
Brendochka
10/25/24

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If only time travel were possible . . .

Think about it. Isn’t there at least one time in your life you’d like to revisit? Not to change things, but to relive it because it was so wonderfully memorable the first time and you mourn the fact that it will never happen again.

For me, it would be the summer of 1993, when I lived and worked in Moscow — the one in Russia, not Idaho. (Yes, there is a Moscow, Idaho.) What I have already written about that summer, in the early days of this blog, was largely from a political standpoint. So today I’d like to bring back the memories of some of my favorite places and the best times — the ones that show up in my happy dreams, not my nightmares. The ones I would love to be able to repeat. So, off we go on a little guided tour.

The first thing most visitors are desperate to see when they arrive in Moscow for the first time is, of course, the famous (and notorious) Kremlin — and with good reason. It is nothing short of spectacular. The word “kremlin” means “citadel,” and thus the reason for the supposedly impenetrable walls and towers on all four sides. Inside those walls is a small city, with office buildings; residences for the elite (or so I’ve heard); churches; a theatre (I attended the ballet there once, and they charged me ten times the regular price because I was a foreigner); and the Kremlin Armory, which is a museum containing the most incredible treasures from Russia’s glorious past. It’s the first place I always took my American friends when they visited so I could play the knowledgable tour guide. To me, it perfectly reflects the personality of the Russian government: awesome in its presentation of itself, yet somewhat overblown. But the architecture is glorious and the history fascinating.

*. *. *

Yup, that’s where I lived for three months. Moscow’s many Soviet-style buildings were obviously designed on the theory that bigger is better. This one, on the outskirts of the city, was (and I assume still is) “owned” by the Ministry of Defense, and is home to many of Russia’s higher-ranking military officers. We (the U.S. humanitarian aid organization with which I was working) rented a large apartment — three big bedrooms, two bathrooms, living/dining room and kitchen — from an officer who had been transferred to Tajikistan, poor man. It served as both our office and my home, with others crashing from time to time when they arrived from the States. As you can see, the ground floor front was occupied by shops, a bank, and a small post office. The residential entrances were in the rear. Unlike our American buildings, there was no single entrance with a big lobby or long corridors on each floor. Instead, there were multiple entrances, each with a small lobby, empty but for a lady seated at a rickety desk, keeping track of the comings and goings of the tenants; and only four apartments on each floor. There was one elevator, which never broke down while I was there; a trash chute that didn’t smell great but never backed up; and a cleaning crew that must have been there because it was always clean, but whom I never saw. Our dezhurnaya (the lady at the lobby desk) was obviously suspicious of the Americans coming and going from our place; but I used to bring her treats from the American market, and she and I eventually reached a sort of detente. She even smiled at me a couple of times — most notably, when I left at the end of the summer.

*. *. *

Very briefly, the history of the village of Izmailovo dates back to the year 1389. From the time of Ivan the Terrible (16th Century), it was an estate of boyars (old aristocracy) in the Romanov family. It is now the site of a gigantic park area, with rides and other attractions that were not there in 1993. But there was a huge weekend outdoor market for vendors selling everything from the Matryoshki (nesting dolls) that you see above, to handmade Oriental rugs brought in from the Central Asian republics, to hand-sewn linens, to china and crystal, to jewelry, to tacky souvenirs. I decorated our apartment with several of the smaller rugs, and brought home to the States a beautiful embroidered linen tablecloth with napkins, and a number of the nesting dolls. Mostly it was just fun wandering among the kiosks and chatting with the vendors, who at that time were curious to meet an American woman who spoke a little Russian and had the chutzpah to live in Moscow.

*. *. *

A lovely, historic street in central Moscow, the Old Arbat (yes, there is a New Arbat) is beautifully preserved, a place where modern architecture is not allowed. The shops may have changed since 1993, but the buildings haven’t. In fact, that pink-and-white building on the left side of the street, with the rounded corner, is where I saw my very first CCTV camera, on my first visit in 1988. Of course, I smiled and waved at it, then wondered if I’d be spending time in a Russian prison for some stupid infraction of an unknown law. But that didn’t happen; I was probably written off as just another obnoxious American tourist.

*. *. *

The Moscow Metro escalators are not only terrifyingly long and steep; they’re incredibly fast. You literally have to jump on and off to keep from being bumped from behind. Some were originally built as temporary bomb shelters during Soviet times, with their own water system and power generators. But a direct bomb hit could have caused the entire structure to collapse, so who were they kidding? It was a wonderfully efficient Metro system, though, and I rode it quite a bit; the nearest station was only about a kilometer from my apartment building.

*. *. *

One of the great thrills of my life was being able to acquire tickets to the opera at the Bolshoi — again, at “foreigner” prices. My friend and I arrived a little late (our driver was stopped by the traffic police for speeding on the way there), and we had to sit through the first act all the way at the top, in the “cheap seats,” to which we were directed, one floor at a time, via the stairway! But that’s where the less affluent locals were seated, many of them with their children; and watching their faces was a delight. Can you imagine American children being dragged to an opera? We were able to take our reserved seats in the orchestra section after the first intermission, but I rather missed the little kids. During the second intermission, we mingled with the other audience members and sipped champagne in the lobby. It all felt a little dreamlike, and still does.

*. *. *

Known by its address, 38 Petrovka Street, Militia Headquarters is one of Moscow’s scariest locations — right up there with the Lubyanka and Lefortovo Prisons. Muscovites used to say (and probably still do) that too many people have been seen going inside and never coming out again. I was there, a couple of times, and — as you can tell — I survived. In fact, I even had lunch there. Those stories are quite funny, actually, and you will find the details in Chapters 17 and 21 of this blog (“An Unholy Triumvirate,” 4/6/23, and “The Bones In the Basement,” 5/4/23). They’re two of my favorite memories of that summer, mostly because I don’t know another person (other than the three who accompanied me on those occasions) who can say they’ve “been there, done that.” Anyway, I just thought I’d share the photo, and maybe pique your interest in reading a bit more.

*. *. *

I made two trips to Kyiv that summer on Foundation business, and I’m so glad now that I was able to see it at its best. I traveled by overnight train, and each trip was an adventure (also detailed in an earlier blog post). But two other experiences stand out — one happy, one not so much. The first was meeting a wonderful new friend, who eventually moved with her husband, two children and mother to the Washington area. The other was a visit to a hospital for child victims of the Chernobyl nuclear accident just seven years earlier — an unimaginable tragedy that left its mark, both physically and mentally, on an entire generation . . . and beyond. It has also left its mark on my soul.

*. *. *

And finally . . .

First of all, it’s not a square at all; it is a rectangle, and a very long one at that. After all, it had to accommodate all of those Stalinesque military parades, didn’t it? Straight ahead, at the far end, is St. Basil’s Cathedral, ordered built by Ivan the Terrible in the 16th Century. Legend has it that the architect was then blinded so that he would never be able to create another structure of equal or greater beauty. To the right is one side of the Kremlin Wall, and to the left, the famous GUM “department store,” which is actually a huge, multi-level, indoor shopping mall — very upscale now, I understand. Not so when I was last there.

For some reason, at the end of each trip to Moscow (August 1988, February ‘92, February ‘93, summer ‘93, and February ‘94), I made it a tradition to visit Red Square one last time before leaving town, to say farewell to Moscow and to promise that I would return — my own version of Rome’s Trevi Fountain. For reasons too complex to explain here, I wasn’t able to pay that superstitious farewell visit in 1994.

I never saw Moscow again.

*. *. *

I hope you’ve enjoyed visiting some of the choice bits of “my” Moscow, as I remember it still, some 30 years later. If I’ve inspired you to travel there . . . don’t! I was there during the Gorbachev and Yeltsin years of post-Soviet glasnost and perestroika. These are the Putin years, and my Moscow — my Russia — no longer exists. And that breaks my heart. Maybe circumstances will change for the better in the future; we can only hope! In the meantime, I have my lovely memories.

TTFN,
Brendochka
10/24/23