I recently had the opportunity to be interviewed by writer Zuzanna Fiminska, creator of Project Neighbours, a series of interviews with people from around the world about diversity and a world fit for purpose. This unique initiative is demostrating that there are many ways to see the world, and that they're all right. Please subscribe…
President Trump was asked a little more than a year ago about the number of senior vacancies in the State Department, and he said I don't really care about that. I'm the only one who matters.
On February 14, 1979, Dubs was kidnapped by armed militants posing as police. The kidnappers demanded the release of the imprisoned leader of their party. Hafizullah Amin’s government refused to negotiate with the militants. Dubs was then assassinated. A successor to Dubs was not named and the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in December 1979. The U.S. embassy was finally closed in 1989 as security deteriorated.
Mom lay listening to the looters shuffle by, wondering how she had ended up in a South American revolution 3,000 miles from home. None of it made any sense.
Wednesday's opposition rally against Venezuelan President Maduro (and pro American-supported activist Guaidó) marked the 61st anniversary of the overthrow of Venezuelan president Perez Jimenez. I have recreated the events of that day in 1958.
The Maduro standoff recalls a similar time 61 years ago this month when my parents, Robert and Nancy Amerson, listened as then-dictator Perez Jimenez, fled Venezuela. The flight path went directly over our head. This is from my draft memoir, WHEN THE DICTATOR FLEW OVER OUR HOUSE & OTHER TRUE STORIES. My father wrote a…
About a week into the new year, Susie and I were playing when a clod of dirt came flying over the brick wall, narrowly missing Susie’s head. Hey!” I yelled. The wall was too high to see over. I jumped back as another clump of dirt soared into the air. I was getting mad now. “Ma, cosa fai?"
Sarah Miller's recounting of Charles Ingalls' pioneer dreams in Caroline: Little House Revisited could have been written about my father's Foreign Service passion.
Susie has always had to share her day with New Year's Eve at the worn out tail end of the Thanksgiving-Christmas holidays. By then, the idea of giving more, and getting more, seems unnecessary.
I am not ready for Christmas until the manger scenes are unwrapped and assembled. It’s a tradition that began in the late 50’s in Dad’s first post, Caracas, the first of the three Catholic countries we called home in which the creche is the center of Christmas commemorations. During the early 60’s in Italy, our…