My Saturday

I discovered that I enjoy book fairs a lot more as a reader than an author. Self-promotion is not my thing. I feel weird and uncomfortable.

The writers were all great. There was a lot of solidarity and mutual help among the authors. There were some really interesting people but I felt out of place. My whole parish turned out in support, including the priest in funny shorts. When I told my mother, she immediately asked me if he’s got nice legs.

The author of children’s books in front of my table at the fair was the mother of a friend of Klara’s friend. This is a really small town.

Now I’m on my way to take out the Russian teacher. She’s clearly miserable, and in spite of everything, I feel bad for her. Nobody was supportive of her coming here. Her parents were very opposed.

Being human is a heavy burden.

P.S. By “taking out the Russian,” I mean I’m taking her out for a ride and dinner.

Postmodernism In Action

Russians are so desperate for videos of victorious battles that they organized street fighting in the occupied Kherson and are desperately filming it. There are no Ukrainian troops in Kherson. These are Russians playacting shootouts with other Russians for the cameras. It’s convenient because in a fight where both sides are theirs, they are doomed to win. This is all accompanied with joyful social media posts of “See how we are winning in Kherson.”

Book Fair

This our table at the local book fair. 100% of money we make goes to the Ukrainian Armed Forces.

We are one of two Ukrainian tables at the fair. The other is a book about the 1930s Ukraine. The author is a grandchild of Ukrainian immigrants, so her book about Ukraine is tragic. My Dad was an actual Ukrainian, so his book isn’t.