It’s hard to argue that most of it was done not because the national elite, as was the case in neighboring Baltic states, had both the plan and the overwhelming support of the population. On the contrary, in the early years of independence Belarusan nomenclature, that continued to dominate in the government, with various degrees of vehemence and success fought against many democratic and economic reforms. The government of the then premier Vyacheslav Kebich pursued, as it seemed, the only viable policy—staying in Russian economic space as long as possible by bartering its goods in exchange of preferential prices for energy. It was the government of Kebich which first introduced the issue of a monetary union, which to this day continues to haunt bilateral relations between Minsk and Moscow.

Most of the advancements in nation-building should be attributed to the efforts of national-democratic opposition, which has been able to wield significant influence on the country’s political life. The brief democratic thaw of the late perestroika period and the years before Lukashenko’s coming to power, along with the modest media exposure, allowed them to lay solid foundation for the edifice of future Belarusan statehood.

In contrast to the Belarusan governments’ inertia, resulting partly from unwillingness, partly from incompetence in state building, Baltic states all have embarked on a road of ambitious market reforms, supported by national consensus. Russian government, headed by liberal reformers under Yegor Gaidar also started a radical economic program, and in Ukraine all the branches of the government supported state and nation building and pro-Western foreign policy.

But a retrospective analysis of the events of the early period of Belarusan independence should be based not on criticizing past mistakes and blunders, willfully or inadvertently committed by the then government of Belarus, but on acknowledgement, that sheer complexity of the task, facing the government in 1991-1992 clearly surpassed many similar attempts, known to political science in other historical circumstances and regions of the world, let alone anything Belarusan nation faced in its previous history.

In dismissing the progress made by Belarus in the first years of its independence many commentators remind of some events of this period, that show reluctance of the then government to fully invest its energy into nation- and state building. Among such events—enthusiastic support by Belarus of the creation of the Commonwealth of Independent State, which was perceived as an attempt to preserve at least some Soviet heritage, the signing of an agreement on military co-operation with Russia, decision to join the CIS Collective Security Treaty, which undermined the neutral status of Belarus, proclaimed by its 1990 Constitution.

Nevertheless in the same period, Belarus democratically adopted new constitution, which formalized its status as independent and unitary republic. This constitution, with all of its imperfections, which has become later exposed by Alexander Lukashenko’s cynical manipulations, was based on the universal democratic principles, it declared the separation of powers, rule of law, respect for human rights and individual freedoms of Belarusan citizens. With several exceptions, which, when compared in retrospect to gross abuses of power by the Lukashenko regime, today look trifling , the then powers did not prevent emerging Belarusan civil society from laying foundations for true democracy, the rule of law and market reforms.

A translation will, in time, follow… Right now I struggle with a Sunday afternoon —and spring has finally arrived to stay— and other things I'd rather do, though the day is already well spent on other things. This morning, the final nine reviews for the DCShorts film festival, and taking the bicycle downtown to return those films. This midday, finishing The Professor and the Madman, which has been sitting on my shelves since I borrowed it from my father eight years ago. I digress, again, by way of putting off Belarus, in hopes that it might go poof in a puff of something definitive and final…

By way of putting off the inevitable, I turn to the funnies and lo and behold— my father (1915–2006) ... protesting again ....

They told me later, toward the end of the watch, that sloth bears are responsible for more human deaths than any other species of bear. A public broadcasting camera man filming in India not too long ago watched one burst from the woods to chase a 500-pound Bengal tiger away. O mercy. All this and 95 percent of their diet (that's the sloth bear, not the tiger) is ants and termites. How good to know that M and I are friends.

On the drive home through the park, six miles along Beach Drive, I noticed a light on the dash. CHECK ENGINE. Heart moved to throat. I chunked the final three miles home at 28 miles an hour. "Was it flashing?" asked the dealership service fellow. "No," said I. "That's good," said he. "O god," said I. We made an appointment. "What do I do if it starts flashing while I'm driving?" I asked. "Pull over," he said. I'd rather not think about that.

I hung up the telephone and looked at the computer screen, where I had just sat down. On the task bar, the Internet connection icon sported a yellow dot flashing at me. "Limited or no connectivity," it explained. Make that no connectivity. Five hours, three telephone calls, and never mind the technical details later, I contemplated another wasted day.

Is there time, I wonder, for a bike ride before settling down and finishing the final two chapters before going to bed? You've heard tell of the hollow laugh. And what do I do about Emma, which I haven't finished watching? How do I sell the old bike at the swap tomorrow if I have to be at the dealership?

How, as they say, was your day?

Earlier, at dawn, it poured with rain. This has abated but the sky remains gray and dank and the day promises both more of same and more downpours. Having gotten in fact halfway through chapter 9, I had wanted to finish it before leaving for the Zoo, which leads me to ...

Alas, I have a tête à tête with my boyfriend this morning, our last. I daresay I might catch a glimpse of him now and again, but our liaison ends officially today. Sigh.

I shall miss him, that lumbering sweetheart.

How desperate, how agonizing, such a feeling would be ...

It was wonderful seeing you Saturday... Ken and I both enjoyed our too short visit with you. You look terrific and you have had so much happen in your life, both good and bad.

I was frantic this morning , as you might guess... since Chris [older son] goes to VA Tech and some of the shooting happened in his very dorm... took several hours to get a hold of him to verify he was safe... had slept through it all (as did his roommate) since their classes didn't start till later in the day this morning. Thank God. I can't imagine how someone could walk on to a campus (or anyplace else) and commit this heinous crime. Figure has risen to 31 dead now.

The papers today are naming most of the victims, having begun later yesterday, including photographs and bios, which catch at the throat. The numbers become people, students most of them, amazing smiling very alive people, all of them. Were. Liviu Librescu, to survive the Holocaust and communist Romania and achieve international renown as an aeronautical engineer so that he might block a doorway so that his students might escape through windows ...

What does one say?

A good day, all this cold and rain, a good day —thirtieth college reunion aside for the moment— for mundanities. Taxes. Tea parties. This year's ritual unfolds not as nicely as it has done. My sister —"So how was the reUNion? did you have FUN?!"— has just suggested TurboTax, simply to avoid the inevitable headaches of the pencil, the manual calculations, the pencil sharpener, the recalculations.

Note to self, in next life avoid opting for older sisters notably prone to offer what almost always proves to be notably logical advice. Very annoying.

It is getting late. Each time I review the numbers (which is to say, the calculations, did I mention how petty numbers are, I should have done) I find another form on which I forgot to update something or other. To think that once I contemplated, even undertook graduate school for, batted my eyes at the notion of, a CPA certificate neatly matted and framed and hanging on the wall.

I brood. The amount in question is $89.95 or something or other. Do I really want to deal with this now? A plague on sisterly advice. TurboTax Home & Business Download for Win w/ Free State Download. Consider it bookmarked. I shall think about it tomorrow. In the morning. After all, tomorrow is another day. Sigh.

Two pages of notes in reasonably neat handwriting, an accomplishment in and of itself, though scarcely worth $300, but I digress before I begin. Not promising. Among the scribbles —scarcely the drunk Pakistani wandering across the street that Bill once described (note to self, must find alternate and elegant image)— several ideas, which tripped over themselves and each other as they occurred to me in rapid-fire sequence.

Mardi Gras portrait ...

That much is clear. I refer to Nin's of 1905, now being restored by the National Gallery conservator. The accompanying text is not clear. "Patchwork story — snap, snap, snap — begin with restoration?" What on earth, I wonder, was I getting at.

Tennis court brunch post-Mimi ... telephone call from nephew ...

This one is clear. Even now, perhaps thanks to this cold and windy April, the match played the day after Mimi's service is clear. Bloody Mary's for the onlookers, reasonably a propos.

The notes that follow are strictly transcriptions of her talk. She (her name doesn't come to mind) recommends Sandra Cisneros's The House on Mango Street, Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, and Wally Lamb's This Much I Know Is True. Most of her references are about writing what I describe as journal essays, personal experiences rather than historic family experiences. This doesn't seem to matter. The idea, she explains, is that such stories are definitely our take on what has happened. Memoir, she continues, is character driven rather than plot driven. I think, oddly, of Barbara Vine and her handful of psychological mysteries, so unlike her Ruth Rendell detective mystery series.

Find the emotional background to the idea to write. Identify the driving emotion. Write through the truth for strength of the piece. Revise to soften, but only afterwards, not while writing. Do not bypass the truth of the story. Build scenes, even if they're tangents. Follow what pulls, there's a reason for the pull.

Odd lines on their own ... circular motion to quiet the left brain ... fight or flight ... expectation versus destination ... knowing what to do with your feelings, being able to put a cap on it ... if you hear voices (she quotes) take notes.

She mentions Rebecca McClanaghan (easy to spell as the Ingles and White Marsh come to mind) and The Riddle Song, writings based on place. When tackling unresolved questions or issues, when a person is dead, for example, list the topics to cover, then circle the most important one. Find out why it's the most important. I add question marks in the margin next to two notes to self.

...(weekends) Bill ... Mimi (xmas) .. Wesley & Theo ...

She —name being cloaked to protect the innocent— did try to put him —name being cloaked to protect the guilty— on the spot last night, due perhaps to my formal terse protest. It was fun. It unified everyone openly against the bombastic inarticulate nit. Eye met and rolled. Sideways smirks were almost in step. No formal reprimand, of course, that being beyond the scope of some people's text, alas. Thick skins, even greater alas, are not likely to get the point and step down as MAL. One wonders, suddenly, about stirring discontent in the ranks, such that electoral ballots might be written in to oust all bombastic inarticulate nits, of which we seem to have only one, mercifully.

MY author !

WTOP
Washington Post
New York Times

My contact at Random House telephoned last May. "I have a manuscript for you," she said. "Great," said I. "It's about 450 pages," she replied. "Typewritten." I paused, wondering. Of course it's typewritten. All RH jobs are hard copy. Tedious, but the price of having Random House as a client. "Typewritten," she said again, "as in on a typewriter. The author is 95 years old." Ah. Well, then ...

The Invisible Wall, by an old man living in Brick, New Jersey— where we watch movies on rainy summer weekends, right down the road from the Lyon-Vaiden cottage at Manasquan. It was a delight, a well-done and revealing tale of a decade of his childhood in an English town before World War I, of the Jewish-Christian divide in a working-class neighborhood in a working-class town. It was also the manuscript that got me a reprimand note for stetting the commas in simple compound sentences. Random House doesn't like commas in simple compound sentences.

I glow, however. I'm all atwitter. I worked on a famous book. Okay, not famous, but newsworthy.

I'm still tickled.

I'm even emboldened to write my person at Random House on the strength of it ...

At the same time, bad news. Alas, my poor neighbor, the one with the dog ...

Yesterday, to the tune of $6000, she had her heat pump replaced. At 3:30 in the morning I heard the dog barking loudly for what seemed like a half hour. "What on earth is going on," I said to myself. "It must be something." As it turned out, it was. At half past seven the telephone rang. It was not my sister. It was Karen. Karen is emphatically not a morning person. "Did you hear Finley barking early this morning?" she asked. "Yes," I said....

She had woken up feeling what seemed like raindrops on her face. Water was streaming through the ceiling (from the new heat pump) around the ceiling fan (which was on) and onto her bed. She got up and stumbled into the hallway to turn off both the fan and the heater. The fan then fell onto her bed, followed by the ceiling. Water continued to pour (as it had been for several hours) into her unit and the unit below, soaking the carpet of the basement of the unit below. The fellows who had installed the heat pump the day before —taking from 8 in the morning until nearly 6 in the evening to do so— had failed to test it properly after installation. They checked the air conditioner, but not the heater. Had they checked the heater, they would have seen that they had installed a faulty valve. By the time dawn came, the emergency units had arrived and pumps were installed and pumping madly, drains leading through the hallway and out across the yard, down the outside steps, and into the street. And so on ....

[HGC] My real reason for asking about how many lessons are outstanding has to do with my invoicing. I realize that we are only in the midst of the first round of edits, and that we have at least two more to go. However, the total word count, even with the documents we haven't yet received, is much lower than what we estimated when I bid on the project. How do you think we should handle this?

[Client] Thanks for your honesty, but it's also your time and flexibility that are valuable to me. I don't think you need to invoice according to the word count, just the description of the task. ...you do a lot more than general editing-so that the word count does not have to be emphasized. Thanks again.

Ah, the power of language.....

Client and consultant acknowledge informally by email beforehand that work schedule will not correspond with payment schedule, and that payments will often be in advance of work. Consultant isn't comfortable but agrees because Client insists.

Work begins. Work proceeds well enough. Client is happy. Consultant is happy.

Client nags Consultant to submit invoices on payment schedule. Consultant realizes along the way that the word count on which the bid was made is far higher than what will pan out. Work is in midstream. From consultant's perspective, what's already been paid will likely be already a generous enough amount for the work done and yet to be done. Client, meanwhile, writes again, nagging Consultant for the third of four invoices.

What does Consultant do?