Who says watching physically impossible hockey goals isn't titillating? Not Mr. and Mrs. Smirnov, that's for sure!
My husband has a weird relationship with ants. Remember how he used to poke sticks in anthills back in Russia and suck the ant secretions like a lollypop? Now he’s waging war against the ants who’ve appeared in our house (as they always do this time of year.) I’m trying to catch up on “Nurse
Here's your Matryoshka Monday post, one day late. I blame WordPress, who clearly hates pictures and doesn't want us posting any in our blogs...
I was supposed to do a "Matryoshka Monday" post but then my blog acted up, followed shortly thereafter by the voices in my head. Which merited me dropping the F-bomb for the first time in a post, ever. Because I am classy and also, a really great blogger of words. Words that are profane, and
I swear I'm not dialing it in with the post. For real. I'm also not leaning on The Onion as a crutch for content, not at all...
The Russian is a great cook. I'm often greeted with wonderful smells when I arrive home from work at night: chicken baking in in the oven, cucumber and dill being chopped for a salad, a splash of fragrant sunflower oil. He knows better than to ply me with anything herring-related, or cold soups involving
This is not Photoshopped. Two ginormous matryoshkas actually took a ride on the London Eye to kick off a Russian winter festival back in 2008. This is the cutest thing I've ever seen, at least this morning...
I can't stop writing about my mother. She's really been in my head these past few days. I want to thank everyone for the kind response to yesterday's post -- it means a lot. If you'll indulge me once more, I wanted to share some of Mom's writing with you. This one feels exactly right
This is an appreciation for my mother the writer. For the ability she passed down to me. She forgave me when I abruptly ditched writing in college to study art history; little did she know the blogosphere would bring me full circle. This is also an appreciation of the women bloggers I've met over the
What says "I love you, Mom" better than a tote bag splashed with the liquors of the world? Not literally splashed, of course, although depending on your Mom -- or you -- that could very well happen in time.