RELICS OF THE PAST (PART II OF III)

JULY 13, 2019 – As an early post disclosed, in October 1981 I took a ride on the railroad—the Trans-Siberian—both ways. During the journeys, I drank lots of tea dispensed from the samovar at the end of the carriage. The attendant poured the tea into a tea glass in a commemorative (70 years of Communism), silver-plated holder. At the end of the journey on the return trip, the chief of the train crew, who had befriended me and kept a watchful eye on me at station stops, gave me a tea glass-in-silver holder as a souvenir. I thanked him profusely.

Magically, the glass survived a rough and tumble journey out of Russia via (then) Leningrad, through Finland, deep into Sweden, back out of Sweden, across to Denmark, through Germany, down to Holland, over to England, off to New York, and back to Minnesota.

It would survive all the way to my first law office . . . and moves to my first bank office, my second law office, my second bank office, my third law office, my third bank office, and miraculously, land safely yet again in my fourth law office.

One year along the way, while visiting my oldest sister in Boston, I accompanied her to some big international exposition in Back Bay. Among the many exhibitors we encountered none other than Sergei Khrushchev, son of the former premier, Nikita. He was signing copies of the book he’d written about his father, Khrushchev on Khrushchev. Since I was still in my “Russian phase” (buying, reading all kinds of books on Russian history), I naturally bought Sergei’s book and had him autograph it. I proceeded to read it and found it quite fascinating on a number of levels.

A decade later, I dedicated a shelf of one of my bookcases (in my fourth law office) to “Russian stuff”—lacquered boxes, a copy of the “Constitution of the USSR,” the Khrushchev book, which I opened slightly so it would stand on its own on the shelf, front facing outward, and . . . that (still-intact) tea glass-in-silver-holder in front of the book.

Thus appeared my display until it had gathered considerable dust.

Then early one morning about 25 years after I’d detrained in Moscow with my precious souvenir, I entered my office and found that Russian tea glass shattered on the floor at the foot of the bookcase. Shattered with it, I felt, was my connection to a very fond memory. In my mind I immediately blamed the cleaning people. How could they have been so careless and uncaring? Why hadn’t they cleaned up the glass? Why no note of apology? I felt full-on crazy with grief.

Just then I noticed something else askew: Khrushchev on Khrushchev had fallen on its face. Instantly I put two-and-two together. Overnight, the book had tipped over and knocked the glass down and over the edge of the shelf and onto the floor. It was Khrushchev who had knocked over the Russian tea glass!

I laughed aloud at the irony . . . and moved on.

To be continued.

© 2019 Eric Nilsson