A package from Russia

I got something in the mail.  A package from Mother.  Not the mother who, last week, ever so sweetly sent me brownies she’d baked and a box of junior mints for my old-lady-candy-lovin’ roommate (exposed!), but the other mother.  Mother Russia.

As the U.S. government is already suspicious of my post-Soviet sympathies, I had to go to the post office to pick up my little parcel in person.  It was quite banged up and had been shrink wrapped in plastic somewhere on its journey, probably because its brown paper wrapping was not actually held together with any tape.

But anyways, it’s what’s inside that is important.

In September I received a message from a photo editor at the Russian Afisha Mir magazine, asking to use a picture that I took in Stockholm in a travel guide.  I gave my “da, da” of approval and waited anxiously at my mailbox for four long months, and finally that nice pink slip was in my hands, the sender marked: Russia.

So there I am, name and everything!  Page 143!  If you’re in the market for a Russian-language travel book on Stockholm, I’d say there’s no finer one!

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