It all started innocently enough. I was doing something around the house, and something reminded me of Russia — and then, as they say in the famous Russian novel by Ilf and Petrov*, "Ostap was carried away." One thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was lost in memories. My husband's words came back to me, or maybe it was a quote from a movie: "You have to be who you are. Life is what you make out of it." Many years ago, in what feels like another life, I was a good seamstress — no formal training, just an ordinary hand-operated sewing machine and a natural feel for it. I should have gone to sewing school, studied to become a fashion designer or at least a pattern maker. But my mother had other plans. In her view, once you finished high school, you went to work — preferably at the factory where she herself had worked for about 25 years. There was no room in that plan for three more years of school. But I was never simple, and maybe not always smart e...
Everyday American life of a city girl from Siberia