A Mother/Daughter First


(Free cyber-shot of vodka to the first ten readers who correctly translate the above greeting.)

Well, to paraphrase John, Paul, George, and Ringo I’m back in the U.S., back in the U.S., back in the, um, U.S.A. And alas on the way the paper bag was on my knee. But after that it was smooth sailing and a terrific terrific sojourn to the land of blinis, borscht, balalaikas, and babushkas. Over the next few weeks I’ll share a bit of the trip. High point was definitely the Hermitage. And Catherine’s Palace. And a visit with a cosmonaut.  Outta this world.

And now for the mother/daughter first which went down while I was kicking around the Kremlin: my essay/her art.  She will knock you out. I hope it’s the first of many such collaborations.

пока пока

(Free cyber-chai to the first ten translators of the above phrase.)

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4 thoughts on “A Mother/Daughter First

  1. Cindy La Ferle

    Welcome back, Debra!
    You were missed … can’t wait to read about your adventures! And oh yes, I subscribed to your blog feed. (I’ve got a new design on mine, which shows you how to do the RSS Feed thing…since you asked.)
    Go easy on yourself as you unpack. Re-entry is hard word!
    hugs, cindy

  2. Elissa Schwartz

    Great post, Debra! You do have that amazing touch with words that transports readers to your place and time. Any literary agent would be fortunate to represent you and enriched by the touch you bring to their life. Looking forward to hearing more about Russia!


  3. Debra

    Thanks, Elissa. I’ll keep you posted. Check out the blogs listed to the right. They’ll inspire you.

  4. Aunt Judy

    Sorry, can’t read the challenge! My father used to talk about the beauty of all the seasons in Russia – the forests – the meadows – the rivers – songbirds and ice-skating that were all part of his childhood. When I asked him if he had learned to read and write Russian, since he knew Englilsh, German, Polish, Yiddish, and Ruthenian well, and whether he would ever want to return, his answer was explosive! “No” he said. “Why would I ever want to go back there? In Russia a Jew was less than a human being – there was no opportunity for me – no future! I had no reason to learn Russian and I would never go back.” His village, Volochisk, still exists, but to my knowledge, no Jews remain. Volochisk is near Kiev.

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