Remembering the summer

Right now, it seems that summer is something that happens to other people. Still, I have pictures proving otherwise.

I wait for this year’s summer with the knowledge that when it comes, I’ll be set to become a parent. I guess that this may seem a little odd, all things considered, though it was last summer in particular that convinced me that being a parent is something that I want and can do. It was the Black Sea that showed me these things about myself, and the Crimean mountains, and the steppe. Moscow sealed the deal. It’s interesting how Ukraine and Russia work in my life. Ukraine gives me gifts – Russia forces me to do something with them. (America makes sure I do it well.)

I’m grateful, really. For the past and for the present. I’m grateful for the snow now, and for having the chance to walk across it, to meet people I like. I’m grateful for the afternoon phone-calls, for work, for having the chance to read and re-read Anna Yablonskaya’s plays. I’m even grateful for being sick, because then I have time to lie there and think, being unable to do anything else. And to everyone I’ve known and loved, I’m grateful too.