Blessed/cursed with a Slavic face.

I have a good feeling about Russia and Russians.  Wouldn’t mind living there. For an extended time.  Of course, language would be a problem. I don’t speak Russian. And at my ripe age, I wouldn’t have time to learn to speak (and understand) fluent Russian. But I’d seek out English-speaking Russians. Just as I look for English-speaking Italians when living in Italy.  I try to make the best of every situation. I’m of Slavic ancestry on my mother’s side of the family. Czech. Maybe that draws me to Russia.  Russians that I’ve met have a Slavic pulse beat. I like it. My Italian true love tells me I look like a Russian. She tells me there’s a slight resemblance to Boris Yeltsin. I’m not sure if she means the living or the dead Boris. I take it all in stride. ‘Don’t I look more like an Italian gentleman?’ I ask imploringly. She replies, ‘No way.’  Well, that’s life when one is blessed/cursed with a Slavic face. –Jim Broede