Want to hear something funny?

I left Ukraine in 1998 because:

1. People did nothing to help themselves except for pouting that “the government” wouldn’t solve their problems.

2. Nobody could be bothered to pick up their own shit, and the streets were hideously dirty.

3. People were scared to have opinions. They were passive and obedient like sheep.

It was such a relief to come to North America and see the exact opposite. It was glorious finally to live among people who were proud of their surroundings, proud of their freedom.

This is my native city of Kharkiv after 14 months of heavy bombing by Russia. It’s right next to the border, so it suffers badly. Every day. It’s hit every single day. But look at how clean and nice everything is. 40% of the pre-war population has come back. People are living their lives.

Can anybody explain to me why there isn’t now and never was anything here like miles of Philadelphia or LA-style homeless encampments filled with addled, dehumanized people? I simply can’t comprehend what extraordinary hardship befell the residents of Seattle or San Francisco that Ukrainians haven’t experienced. I don’t think there’s an excuse at this point. Bad politicians, hard lives. We’ve heard all that but it’s no excuse.

And that’s a very conservative estimate. Think about it. 100,000 (or actually closer to 150,000) people. For what? It’s a small town with no strategic importance. Why did they all have to die?

A Ukrainian officer reports on how, at the beginning of the war, he managed to defend his area with a tiny group of men against a Russian assault force 30 times the size of the Ukrainian defensive troop.

“We were stunned,” he says, “to see that they would repeat the same attack in the exact same spot, 10, 15, 20 times in a row. That’s the only spot we were able to defend, and they kept hitting it. If they tried to outflank us, we’d be done for because we had no resources to defend the flanks. But they refused to deviate from the original plan by a millimeter. By the end, we were laughing because we destroyed all of them simply because they kept doing the same thing.”

Lesson learned: if something doesn’t work, do something else.

Today’s farmer market finally made sense. I made roasted new carrots and asparagus (coated in real maple syrup + mission fig balsamic vinegar + smoky olive oil in equal proportions). There are also some turkey kotlety.

We have a simultaneous collapse of plumbing both at home and in my building at work – seriously, what are the chances? As a result, I have to cook stuff that doesn’t produce much dish-washing.

Russian supporters in other countries don’t really like Russia or know anything about it. They simply hate America. It’s particularly sad when they are from America.

Being the mother of a small child is like being a movie star with an audience of one. And that audience member invariably thinks you are stunning, brilliant, hilarious, and endlessly fascinating.

People will say that this passes with age but I found my father endlessly fascinating until he died last year. Of course, when they are grown, it isn’t automatic. You have to work for it.

It’s an excellent, excellent book, my friends, and what’s even best, it’s part of a trilogy. Which means I can keep on reading the next two novels after devouring the first in two days.

This is a very British novel, in the best sense of the word. It’s funny and soppy in a clumsy, apologetic way. It’s about an old British gentleman who is nearing the end of his life and is saying goodbye to all of its components. He’s surrounded by a cast of verbose, clacking women who keep telling him he’s unable to feel love. Readers observe his inner life, however, and see that this is a man of very profound feeling. People in the novel seem to confuse the capacity to speechify with knowing how to love.

There’s so much in this novel. Amazing adventures. The British Empire. World War II. Romance. Friendship. Child abuse. Murder. Very British meals. Queen Mary. Unforgettable characters. And all of it, extremely funny.

I’m off to read the next book in the trilogy. It’s the same story but told from the perspective of the main character’s wife.

A human brain is really funny. For years, I told myself that the most I can write in a day is 300 words. So I’d write 300 words, and hit a wall.

Now I told myself I need to do 1,000 words a day. So I do a thousand, and then hit a wall.

And to make your evening even better, this is Kyiv earlier today:

It’s the National Day of Vyshyvanka (traditional embroidery), and people always take it very seriously.

Here’s a good, positive story for a nice finish to your day.

A Ukrainian drone spotted a Russian soldier in a trench and positioned itself to kill him.

It’s OK, I promise, this is a positive story.

The Russian soldier didn’t want to die, so he started raising his hands, showing he wanted to surrender himself.

The drone dropped a box which the Russian soldier first mistook for a grenade, almost expiring from terror.

But the box contained a note in Russian saying “Follow me, and you’ll live.”

For the next two hours, the Ukrainian drone operator led this Russian soldier across the frontlines to safety. Russian troops tried hard to shoot him in the back but missed.

The drone led the surrendered soldier to the Ukrainian side. He’s very happy, giving interviews. I saw the whole thing on video. It’s very surreal.

The point of the story is that some people will always remain human.

And others will never become human.