It's time to reboot a bit to keep the writing muscle engaged. But just like getting back to the gym, it can be painful. So we'll start out slow and maybe taper off if needed. No promises, but with loads of photos and plenty of stories

Artyom is 11 years old and is a regular at the Children's Center located in Burlacheni near the Ukrainian border in Moldova.  He loves to sing and recite poems.  Despite a difficult family life with a father and brother who disappeared when he was young, the leaders at

"Shoebutt," the older woman growled under her breath as we pushed the up arrow button at the elevator in the lobby of the hotel again.  Not really understanding her, or even knowing if she was talking to us, we ignored her and pushed the button again.  We were

The fat Nazi sat on a box in the attic and continued to interrogate our Opa (grandfather) while the soldiers searched the small drug store and house above it.  He barked his questions in German and Opa pretended not to understand and replied only in his native Dutch. The soldiers

"Mondays were always more difficult," the teacher at one of the children's centers we visited mentioned.  She was describing a particular young girl who started coming to the center several years ago.  Her mom left the country to find work and life at home was difficult.

The questions came fast.  For a group of young students just learning English, they didn't hesitate to try out what they already knew on a couple of native speakers with little knowledge of their Russian language.  What is your name?  Where do you live?  Do you like Mr.

The three young barefoot siblings held hands as they made their way down the gravel road in the dark.  Escaping their home too fast to grab shoes and jackets, the November chill quickly set in as they ran along the same path they walked most afternoons.  Their mother and older

With several more stops until reaching downtown Chișinău (KEE-shee-NOW), how any more people could possibly crowd onto the bus was unclear.  With each stop, I pushed further in as the door I was up against folded open.  One or two riders escaped out the door before four or five more

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.  The anchor chain passed over the bow of our trawler in the secluded cove as the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon.  We backed down to securely set the anchor and hold the boat in the gentle breeze for the night.  The occasional chirp of a