Two times in 1990 while in Russia. We had been in Moscow for only a few days. we were with a group of young amateur musicians. we all went to an Orothodox Church outside of Moscow. Their new patriarch was being elected, and after years of not having one. Hard to remember. I stepped into the chapel where the “ordinary” people were. A care worn lady, with a scarf over her head, thin, tired looking, started to sing, and her notes vaulted the ceiling, filled me - if liquid amber had a sound - that was it. Beauty of the utmost from the unknown, a theme that constantly calls me. The other time was after the Coup in 1992- thought it was 1990, but no. Three young boys were receiving national attention in Russia. We were living in Dneperpetrovsk, but must have been in Kiev to witness their funerals. They had been killed by army tanks or something. I would have to check my notes, or book for details. But long story short. Two of the boys were being feted by the Orthodox Church, and the other boy, whose picture was posted on top of a long stick. He had dark eyes, dark hair, and was sooo young. His mother was beside his coffin as a lone violin played. Her hands twisted in agony, and I thought of a poet’s phrase (Roger White) “to everything but anquish the mind will soon adjust,” and then later all three young men were buried, and the people came from everywhere. They were in trees, by the coffins, just around, a people emerging after being so oppressed. The coup was over. The people individually threw handfuls of dirt into the open spaces on top of the coffins, and I was profoundly silent as my soul witnessed the emergence of the Russian people from long years of opression.

Responding to Lady Bug; yes, i used to be that way. It’s like a beginning writer having great ideas about writing, i.e., topics, themes and then having the chance and sitting down and nothing. Perhaps it’s a learning curve or experience curve. You’ll find your way. I like being alone, but I love being connected to my husband Bill. we have had an incredible marriage for the last 23 years. A lot of illness on my part, living in different parts of the world, Russia and the like, tremendous amounts of people in our lives, economic struggle which showed me how blessed we are; a sort of fringy life, but tremendously rich in community, service, vibrancy of friends, and a lot of laughter. I like to be alone though and read, and write, and walk. I love walking by myself, pushing myself up a hill. Bill was away a few weeks ago, and I didn’t sleep well. A friend said I had a low grade anxiety without him. Perhaps that’s true, but my days were filled, and evenings. I think losing someone and missing them is so different from being alone. I used to be terribly afraid of being alone. I started out this life as a twin, but over the years, I have faced it. I find once I face something, it’s usually pretty glorious, or at least acceptible. Regards to all, esther

my son nicholas is a Cinco de Mayo baby; he’s 6’5, 39 as of May 5th; hey Happy birthday Mugsy! lucky world to have you in it!

No one will replace her; you will never stop loving her, but perhaps someone else will come into your heart to love. There’s no easy answer to that. My twin was widowed twice; first husband was mentally ill, and that to me was a relief, but her second husband was wonderful. She just passed this year, and I believe they are reunited. Stay well and strong.

From Harper’s Weekly, by computer, a summation of events around the world - this was one sentence, “C3, the firmthat developed Disneyland, announced plans to build a $500 million amusement park in Baghdad.” It gives the word “internecine” an astonishing urgency.

yes, horrible isn’t it!

Wonderful comments. I have lived in 17 different places in the last 23 years. Now, Bill and I are in Pasadena, and live in a small pool house, down a long driveway. It’s two rooms, high ceilings, kitchen the size of a postage stamp; mullioned windows that open inward and overlook a patio, incredible landlady. We had house sat in a large condo on Lake Avenue in Pasadena before that, but our friend had to sell after 3 years. I never expected to love Pasadena. It’ s sort of a flat San Francisco, great libraries, great friends, people; meet different people every day; pug dogs live here, people talk to each other and stop on the flat wide sidewalks. It has the reputation of being 2 cities, one wealthy and one poor, and my husband and I are on a racial justice committee, and do other stuff. For some reason, I am always grateful for a roof over my head. My twin was like that also. We didn’t have to worry about money, and even lived in a 12 room house that was an adventure. Still, we live on a low income, but even when it was higher, I always am grateful for my bed at night, a roof over my heads and clean sheets. I have lived in Ukraine and Minsk. We lived in the Soviet Union 1990-1993-before, during and after the coup. We lived in a city Dneperpetrovsk, which we chose because I said, “We can’t spell or remember or pronounce this city’s name,” and at first it was a “beam me up Scotty” experience. It was like entering a world in the 40s after a war, with rubble, empty shelves, no food, and an incomprehensible language. We were the first Americans to live there - there was a small municipal library which saved my life. I offered free English conversation classes and also read every book the library and read every book the library had to offer; It wasn’t easy; we lived simply and met incredible, incredible people. About 8 years ago I went back, and I was taking the trolley past the army tank on Karl Marx avenue, and feeling “at home,” I thought, “boy I’m in trouble.” But the point is I am at home with friends i can communicate with and particularly my husband, and I have often felt I didn’t belong in a particular place. A friend said, “Esther, you belong everywhere,” and that is true. I am particularly adaptable. I value community, people who care, definitely my husband, books, and the ability to be of some service. That’s home to me. As I am older, I hope to stay near a granddaughter and a son, but I never take having anything for granted. One thing about moving around is you meet people you love sooo much, and that wouldn’t have happened unless you had been willing to go through the discomfort.

I’m from Boston too; West Roxbury

This is a great issue. Nothing stands alone. There’s such intricacies. Try as we might, no single person can handle the world’s complexities anymore. Vision is helpful though, but sometimes I wonder if the next leader will be like someone immersed in oil (like quicksand) with his/her limbs pulled apart.

Helen Mirren is such a class act. A film about Tolstoy’s wife should be interesting. He did not treat her well. My husband and I traveled from Moscow to Siberia in 1990 with amateur musicians, and I felt like an aging rock store. They put on concers for 63 days - from Ulan Ude, Russia, which has the biggest fattest head of Lenin in the town square and a KGB building also I might add. Ukraine stuff was roughing it, but fascinating. Queen Marie of Romania will be interesting also. she was a Baha’i, the first monarch to become one. I don’t know if that is a publicized fact. Also, Tolstoy said “There is a prisoner in a cell in Akka, who has the key” meaning the solution to humankind’s problems. A Russian professor friend of mine in the 1980s gave a talk about that. He was a Pasternak expert and had written a book praised by the NY times. Guy de Mallac. He opened his lecture at UC Irvine with that fact. Interesting. We lived in Ukraine and Belarus for a couple of years, before, during and after the demise of the Soviet Union. My book Without A Net, a Sojourn in Russia, is almost out of print. I write this because of all the connections in your comments about Helen Mirren. Fun references to Wall Street too. When my mom died, my father took my twin and I to New York and to visit his brokerage firm, Hornblower & Weeks. Women were not allowed on the floor of the stock exchange then. That was 1956. We’ve come a long way baby!!!! Thank you for mentioning Literacy Partners. Such a gift literacy!

Hi, I’m writing my second book, Writing on the Fly, series of essays poetry; my first almost out of print. Without A Net, a Sojourn in Russia, Esther Bradley-DeTally, i am also a voracious reader; will respond to that on separate note; good for you. I have moved soo much-17 times in 23 years; i had to give away tons of books! oh my; i love the Pasadena Library system in Pasadena, CA

Isn’t this what we are all about? Invitation Oriah Mountain Dreamer It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’ It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

it’s not the colonoscopy; it’s the dread stuff you drink; ugh

apologies for the typos; sought, not saw, abounding, loved the poem!

Wow; it strikes me there is a lot of institutionalized racism aboudning. I feel Hillary made dreadful innuendos towards Obama, and really revealed a side of her that saddened me. It seems like lust for power. Perhaps it isn’t. Michael Moore suggested in his recent letter that the Clinton’s saw Rev. Wright’s counsel re the Monica affair. Who knows. Some of the newscasters project stuff onto the debates, and it becomes Gospel. Either one will have a difficult time getting us out of this mess we are in. I think Obama shows more character, and he’s intelligent. Hillary can duke it out in a touch neighborhood for sure and that’s part of our world, but the American people it would seem to me are tired of lies, of people kowtowing to corporate interests - both sides of the aisle. Thomas Friedman said on Charlie Rose that the American people know what’s going on. the whole thing seems to have descended into a dinosaur fight; and one wonders when the dragon breath is the strongest, and the fire out of their mouths, the most emblazoned, if they really aren’t at their weakest. It does not bode well for the fabric of civilization for them to continue this. But I think one candidate really brought the bar down low. Sad.