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Trite Ukraine musings

~ 10:52 EST — There are many other angles, but I buy the analysis that Putin’s ego and attempting to exploit Soviet-era World War II pride and shame (if not subsumed into it himself)) is part of it.

When I visited my sister studying in Moscow the most common question we were asked by Russians was if we were related to a famous WWII General with the same family name.

That sister and another now live in Vienna, Austria.

I’m reminded that Slovakia — between them and Ukraine — is not a large country. With missiles falling in Western Ukraine, they’re as close as if they were on the far North side of the Adirondacks back home and bombs were hitting Northern New Jersey or so.

This doesn’t put them in the middle of it, and isn’t meant to imply any personal ownership or intimate knowledge or expertise with regards to the Ukraine conflict, but my knowledge of that geography as well as our home geography reminds me of the privilege of sense of scale and remove that I and most of my fellow US citizens have. That said: With the news that Russian and Ukrainian forces are battling over Chernobyl, and the worries that artillery hits might disturb and spread radioactive dust over the region, suddenly Vienna doesn’t seem far enough away.

~ 1200 EST — From a friend who lived in Russia in the early aughts: “There’s all this talk about going after the Russian oligarchs. I’m certainly for it, but I think we should strike the modifier ‘Russian’ and go after all oligarchs.” Amen. (Later I was reminded this friend and Putin were once in the same room together, along with George W. Bush, in St. Petersburg. Nothing high-powered; simply because of a program he was involved in, he became part of an obligatory audience and backdrop for them.)

~ 14:00 EST — I’m reminded my mother visited the Soviet Union as part of an extended student tour, and her visit included Kiev and “the Ukraine” at that time. (I’m surrounded by family and friends with various Russian and Soviet life experiences, echoes of the cold war influence on the boomer generation in various ways and not deep hereditary ties, really.)

I remember when the BBC News web site was dense (text dense) and full of often dry but fascinating news from all corners of the world. Now it is barely smarter than CNN (which hasn’t gotten smarter) and even less dense.

We visited the trains at the United States Botanic Garden this past weekend. Kiddo was mesmerized, nearly solemn (head-on shots we exclude from the public web, as best we can).

Dad might’ve liked it too.

A great small loss

I just lost a series of images I thought I had elsewhere. They were of a friend in his family homestead’s kitchen, setting to work on some writing. Nothing dramatic or technically special, but documentation of a man, set to work he was good at, in a place he loved. A small tragedy to be sure, but a tragedy nonetheless. There is now a little bit of fresh mourning this morning.

… when I don’t tell anybody anything, but they catch-up, and they say “that’s crazy,” which is to say they’re telling me that I am not crazy.

Living in the rotor wash

The Presidential Fleet is flying lower than normal over NE Capitol Hill again (others fly this low on occasion, the medical trauma choppers heading to Children’s and Washington Hospital Center, the police choppers). The airspace tracking Twitter accounts seem to validate our visceral experience - and supply attribution.

Crichton and Gibson are right, again

Been sorting out how to “come back online” (sort of literally, more metaphorically) for a while. Haven’t been entirely unplugged, but came the closest in a while over Thanksgiving.

Dialing back into our new Crichton-Gibson-esque reality with the Omicron strain and international spat over intellectual property.

Figuring out which blogging software/CMS I might want to use for another project. Micro.blog would actually cut it, maybe. If it weren’t for some other wrinkles-but Hugo might be the choice.

This (the rest of this) is a fucking war

Tides are rising, but are our boats floating?

I don’t think I’ve cried more in the rest of my life than I have in the past two years. For the good and the bad.

Finally

Fence in front of the East face of the US Capitol is disassembled A forklift moved a pallent of disassembled fence segments in front of the US Capitol

The Capitol Fence Comes Down (HillRag)

The footprint of the fencing was reduced to the Capitol Square itself the weekend of Mar. 13 and 14th. Matthew visited the Capitol Grounds Friday with his 22-month son. The family lives nearby, and said that the Capitol Grounds are part of the neighborhood. “I felt a little bit of emotion,” he confessed of the moment he saw the fence dismantled. He said he felt lucky to witness such historic moments, but views the future with a touch of cynacism [sic].

“I appreciate the eventual response to the insurrection, but also feel like I see a lot of security theatre in this town. So I wonder what’s next? When you put up walls and you shut things down, and you do it for what I think is way longer than necessary, you set a precedent. And I’m not sure we’ve rolled anything back –we’ve just paused,” he said.”

Fight greed

Rough, with a side of sweet

It’s been a rough couple of weeks, and this and subtweeting the nature of my sleep interruptions is how I vent.

But there are good things too, I wish felt like I could share them fully on the open Internet. My kiddo is into making dinosaur noises and I’ve got a sweet video of it from this morning. He seems to be on the tail end of this bout of HF&M.

Inconvenient truth

Foot in mouth about Hand, Foot and Mouth

At the end of last week my wife and I were congratulating ourselves for missing a Hand, Foot and Mouth outbreak at our daycare. But, by Saturday morning it was clear something was off about the kiddo and a rocky weekend was underway. By Saturday afternoon, blisters were visible. By Sunday he had broken out and he had a fever.

Luckily he kept eating, drinking enough to not get dehydrated and children’s Tylenol and Motrin do their thing fairly well. Sleep came hard from the irritation of the rash and an incessant fusillade of neighborhood fireworks, with near professional grade barrages lasting for hours, going past midnight. After hours of trying to console him in his room, we brought him into our bed and we all slept, some.

Today we measured no fever, but the blisters continued to break out and cause havoc. Sleep still did not come easy.

It’s been an exhausting weekend with no bandwidth for catching-up on anything, let alone for relaxing.

This—these few words—are the extent of the “breaks.” I hear him awake again and crying despite being exhausted himself.

I understand this is not an exceptional hardship in the panoply of parenting challenges. It is merely another first for me, and it is wrapped in skating on the edge of burnout, and limited ability to get the kind of childcare help we’d normally have the privilege to tap because of the pandemic and other circumstances. So, I’m just kvetching.

Living nightmares

I’m sitting in a blacked-out room with a sick child clutching to me, listening to the world explode around us. That’s got to be a metaphor for something.