Seems I meandered a bit off the blogging trail in the last year. Well, I'm back, back to meandering and musing.  Nothing earth-shattering to report. No new book contract.  I'm still hobbling along in that general direction, though.  In my case, I guess it's a long and winding trail full of potholes, and various other little detours. But, I'm still on it and have met some wonderful fellow travelers. It's a journey, not a destination—a lifestyle. And like that philosophical tree that falls in the forest, I will continue to write, whether someone reads my words...or not.

A book I've been reading is called When the Gods are Silent by Mikhail Soloviev. I've got the German translation which I found in my father's book collection. It's a well-used book, taped up with a tattered homemade cover, and filled with pencil markings and notes which I assume are my dad's. I love the idea of reading a book he once read. I can still see him sitting at the kitchen table with his mug of instant Nescafe coffee, and a piece of homemade raisin cake, head immersed in a book.

This book was published in 1953. (Originally in Russian.)  It's an amazing narrative that follows a main character and his family through the Bolshevik revolution up until the end of World War 2.  As I read I have to keep googling places, people and events. It's an eye-opening look at how communism attracted the Russians and then became their worst enemy. I can't find any information about the author, Mikhail Soloviev. If anyone can guide me to some, I'd be grateful.

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