MSI Press Blog

  German Although I could speak German, Johanna and I always spoke Russian. Living in the University of Moscow dorms, we both naturally communicated in Russian all day long. So, when we had some together time, staying in Russian seemed natural. Besides, my Russian was better than my German, at that time at least, and Joanna did not speak English. Russian was the most obvious and best lingua franca. I did know how to speak German, however, I had started my study of German with two years of high school study, followed by upper level university courses. As a linguistics major, German was one of the languages I ended up studying to a high level. Then, in graduate school, I majored in comparative literature, with an emphasis on German and Russian literature. I took comprehensive exams in comparative literature and language exams in Russian and German. I lived in Deutsches Haus (German House) in the university dorms, where my roommate, Brigitte, was from Koeln (Cologne), Germany. She, ju...

    Leaving Kabul The Kabul Airport had nearly no souvenirs. No embroidered shawls, no carved wood, no postcards with minarets or mountains. But one likes to bring something home—proof of one's existence abroad, as advertised. I picked up a few bags of noghl —sugar-coated roasted almonds, one of my favorite treats from any culture. Afghan food is hard to beat for flavor, not just the sweets. I added a glass cup with the Afghan flag to my worldwide coffee cup collection. That was about it. Like the world outside, there was not much to be had at the airport. At least, in the way of material things. People—that was a different story. Relatable, kind, helpful folks at every turn. While the major wrapped our box of lead vests and pot helmets—quite heavy—at the popular bubble wrap stand, I got us checked in with the counter agents for Safi Airways. Two chatty young men, instantly relatable, perhaps more so because I approached them in Pashto. Greeted me. First surprised, the...

  As I sit in my “office”—a modest 10x12 she shed that, post-Covid, doubles as the inventory hub for MSI Press—I’m surrounded not by filing cabinets or ergonomic chairs, but by relics. Remnants. Reminders. Each one a whisper from a life lived across continents, cultures, and hemispheres. Hanging from the coatrack, where coats and sweaters ought to be, are artifacts that defy seasonal utility: A Christmas bell ornament adorned with camels from Jordan A painted hand fan from Korea A swath of fabric in Uzbekistan’s national colors A small woven purse from Turkmenistan A banner from Lithuania International University, where I once subbed for a professor on maternity sabbatical—a generous two-year leave that American mothers can only dream of Nearby sits a dilapidated Russian Mishka bear, its head precariously held by my own crude stitching. My daughter Echo, then 11 or 12, carried it everywhere during our shared days in the USSR. It’s more than a toy—it’s a talisman of a time and ...

  Precerpt (excerpt prior to publication from the forthcoming memoir, In with the East: A Mary Poppins Kind of Life by Dr. Betty Lou Leaver Chapter One: Acton I was born in Rochester, New Hampshire, but my earliest memories belong to East Rochester—a small mill town that felt big to a child on a bike. I spent my early years pedaling down its streets, ducking in and out of the Main Street shops, and playing games on the lawns of the two churches that sat directly across from each other like old, watchful neighbors. Back then, life was as local as it gets. I knew every sidewalk crack and shortcut path, every neighbor’s barky dog, and every familiar bell above a shop door. But as our family grew—eight children in all—my father couldn’t support us on a town lot alone. So we moved across the Salmon Falls River to Acton, Maine, where land was cheap and farms were many. That’s the place I truly think of as my childhood home, the place that shaped my bones and burned the soles of my feet ...