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My days begin with pitch-dark, five am wakeups from bright-eyed little people. Stumbling downstairs, I find our living room littered with crayons and Mr. Potato Head parts, headless Barbies, and wooden train tracks. The little people and Mr. G require … Continue reading
I always thought I’d be important. Not famous, necessarily, but that I would do something really meaningful in my career or for my community. I’m sure this is the product of my upbringing. Raised in a relatively stable and … Continue reading
Blink. Our living room is filled with a yellow haze. A dull and persistent ache fills my head. I have one thought: get me out of here.
Moscow was filled with smoke. Fires raged outside the city. Peat Fires. Forest fires. Dachas, towns, and farms ignited in the record-breaking heat. And in the city, smoke, smoke, smoke. St. Basil’s was nothing but a few colorful domes peeking from a murky brown haze. We closed all the heavy drapes and moved like moles through the house and embassy passageways. In the brief moments that we dared venture outside, we breathed only through scarves and masks, gasping at the air conditioner on our return.
I’d already tried a simple escape, heading to the gorgeous and historic St. Petersburg with my parents and the kids. But after five days in a hotel room with the toddlers, I was utterly fatigued. We returned to Moscow to find it still choked with smoke. The embassy doctor told me it wasn’t safe for the kids. The Community Liaison Officer couldn’t understand why we were still there. They all said one thing: Evacuate.