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Watching War Begin
Surreal. There is no other word.
Last night I was having a cup of after-dinner coffee, working on my computer with MSNBC on in the background. A correspondent in flak vest and helmet was standing in the middle of Kyiv saying, “We’re hearing shelling in the background . . .” and soon thereafter, “Sirens are now going, you can hear them . . .” And we could.
The screen switched to a map showing movement of troops, tanks, missile launchers. Hearing Russian President Putin make references to his country’s nuclear power was almost too much.
One of my earliest memories is of a night in the late 1930s, when I was about four (Yes, I am that old.) My sister Mimi and I were asleep in our double bed; Mimi was six. It seemed the middle of the night to us — in reality it was probably about 10 PM — when our father sat on the edge of the bed and gently woke us up. Then he lifted us, one in each arm, and carried us downstairs into the living room. It was clear this was not a joy ride; I remember trying hard to wake up.
My mother was there, sitting in her chair in front of the big Philco radio, and my father deposited onto the floor. The announcer — probably Edward R Murrow, the source of all radio news in our house (and most others) — was talking but I have no memory of what he was saying. My father turned the sound down, and said, “This man you’ll…
