25 random things (my list from Facebook)

At first I thought this meme was obnoxious. Now I'm glad I wrote it because I can paste it here in my blog to save for posterity. I can also add to the list. For those three of my readers who didn't see it when I posted it on Facebook, be amused, be annoyed, wonder who starts these things--but read on.

1. I am terrified of heights. This dates back to my study abroad in Jerusalem when I was hiking along an old Roman aqueduct, looked down at the canyon below, became dizzy and nauseous and froze. A very nice tall guy in my group walked into the water in the aqueduct and let me hold onto him while I walked until I arrived on solid ground. Driving over tall bridges makes me nauseous. It took me several years of living in Portland, Oregon before I could drive over a bridge without breaking into a sweat. When I climbed the Brunnelleschi dome in Florence, I struggled to let Parry take our picture because I wanted to throw up when I looked over the edge.

2. My two biggest weaknesses are my temper (combined with my mouth) and procrastination. I have also been known to hold a grudge. I'm working on all of these. I don't think I've really yelled at anyone for a long time, but I have procrastinated a lot over the last month and I have a few grudges that need rooting out.

3. I watched the second plane hit the World Trade Center on September 11 live on Good Morning America. I had woken up early (west coast US) to take a phone call from my New York City based editor. It was the first time I remember having a personal interest in a national tragedy. I still have videotapes of that day that I can't bear to throw away. As I side note, I was in NY and DC a month, to the day, before 9/11 visiting the same editor. One of my favorite memories from the DC trip was sitting on the steps of the US Capitol eating a burger from Johnny Rockets. It felt like America's living room. Now there are security fences, barricades and barriers around the Capitol. This makes me sad, but at the same time I have to confess that I might have to slap Nancy Pelosi if I ran into her. Perhaps the barricade is a good thing.

4. I love Van Gogh's paintings. There is something intimate and personal about the pain and passion he expresses in his use of color and his brush strokes that I can't help connect on a visceral level. One of the most unique, stark, pained VanGogh paintings I've ever seen is in the Pushkin Fine Arts Museum here in Moscow. It is called " Prisoners Exercising (After Dore). My favorite painting is "Cafe Terrace At Night."

5. I have stress nightmares about transportation. I dream about being in flooded airports, being trapped on trains, racing across town to catch a flight, and organizing my driver's schedule. I had a premonition in a dream the night before Bologna, Italy that there would be a problem with our flight and lo and behold, we reached the airport and found it had been canceled. We were rerouted to Rome (instead of Milan) and arrived four hours later than we were supposed to. After the recent temple trip to Helsinki, I had dreams of Russian women crowding around me and yelling at me to cook faster or telling me that I was cooking all wrong. When Sara's flight was rerouted to Canada because of the crazy drunk, it probably set my nocturnal mental health back about a decade.

6. When I am in Russia, I often want nothing to do with Russian culture--literature, borscht, music etc.. There is something so immediate and intense about living in this country that to immerse myself fully in it makes me feel like I'm drowning. At the same time, I love it here. I make a mean borscht, for the record.

7. If I could go anywhere in the world it would be Africa. I have always wanted to go to Tanzania and Kenya. I dream of safaris and savannahs.

8. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy are the most influential books in my life and are also my favorite films. After I saw "The Return of the King," I told my friend Bethany that I was afraid that I had just seen the best film in my lifetime and it would be downhill from there. So far, I've been right. My favorite writer, however, is Jane Austen. I adore her and read her books over and over again. I have never been able to finish "Mansfield Park" because I think Fanny Price is a ninny. I will keep trying.

9. Living in Moscow has killed any dreams I had of spending my twilight years in a big city. I'm campaigning for a small farm in a rural area where I can raise goats, make gourmet cheeses and figure out how to raise a garden of heirloom tomatoes with killing them with my black thumb.

10. I have an idolatrous relationship with food, especially Italian food. I had a five cheese risotto in Bologna that is *this close* to Shangri La. My love for dairy is obscene. Whenever family members go on quack health food diets that eliminate dairy, I listen politely and dream of Gruyere cheese. I would walk barefoot on hot tar for exquisite chocolate desserts.

11. I saw a naturopath, had acupuncture and did a nearly year long cleanse before Oprah made it trendy. At the time it was a good decision but I wept during a movie that featured a couple eating spaghetti believing that I might never have spaghetti Bolognese again. I have since re-embraced the world of dairy, chocolate, gluten, tomatoes, onions and citrus and I'm okay with that.

12. Speaking of Oprah... I hate Oprah Winfrey. I think she makes women feel bad who can't afford her favorite things.

13. I've never had a massage. I had my first pedicure three months before my 40th birthday and I despair over ever figuring out how to pluck my eyebrows so they look chic.

14. I will celebrate my 50th birthday by purchasing an expensive, classic purse--like Louis Vuitton--that I will have until I die. I will find my perfect pair of trousers, the perfect crisp, white starched blouse and procure a lovely Hermes scarf. This will be my uniform with a few important variations until I'm too old and senile to care.

15. I never thought I would be a good mother. Now I believe it is the thing I'm best at. I think I have the most extraordinary children in the world. They are brilliant, clever and far cooler than I could ever dream of being.

16. Pet Peeve: white kids who dress and talk like gangsters and hip-hop/rap videos. Especially if they're suburban white kids. Pet Peeve 2: People who mercilessly abuse the English language and fail to understand the meaning and power of their words. Pet Peeve 3: Being late.

17. I met my husband for the first time the summer before our Junior year in high school. We were introduced in the Republican cloakroom of the US Senate. I was a page; he was a returning page. I thought he was a smarmy punk in plaid Bermuda shorts. He thought I was a snob. Together we are yin and yang and it is AWESOME. I married the best guy in the world. Sorry everyone else--you'll have to settle for second best.

18. I have three honorary daughters: Bridget, Chelsea and Louisa. Chelsea once told me that I was her Mrs. Weasley and my home was her Burrow. I cried I was so touched. I still get choked up thinking about it. I love them all and am very proud of what exceptional young women they are becoming. They are also wicked cool and exceptionally funny.

19. I started university on a fine arts scholarship with the notion I would major in film studies. I changed majors at least five times before giving up, going to work and supporting my husband through his first years of university. I still haven't graduated, but I'm working on it.

20. I was born to parents who are members of The Church of Jesus-Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Mom's family converted when she was little; Dad had pioneer ancestors. I found my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel when I went to Jerusalem at age 19. Living those principles makes me happy.

21. When I die, I hope Heaven looks like England--Kent, Cornwall or the Cotswolds. Don't care which. I suspect when I finally visit Scotland, I will feel like Heaven should look like Scotland. The Swiss Alps are a very close second.

22. I hate sunbathing. I get sunsick. I wear hats. I am beached whale pale. I, however, love the sun.

23. I have a weakness for sleazy celebrity gossip. It was a banner year with Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears had their meltdowns. I listened to all of the OJ Simpson murder trial on the radio while I stripped wallpaper. Watching rich, famous and undeserving celebrities crack up brings me warped satisfaction. When Paris Hilton final crashes and burns, I'll be waving my pom-poms.

24. I love TV procedural dramas when I need to turn my brain off: Law & Order, Without a Trace, ER marathons on TNT. I also love the Food Network, especially "Ace of Cakes" and the Food Network Challenges. My current favorite shows are "LOST" and "Chuck." In my fantasies, if I could be on any reality TV show, it would be "Project Runway." Fierce!

25. Cooking is easy. Sleeping--for 7-8 hours, without disruptions--is hard.

Sing Your Way Home

There's a great song by the Talking Heads called "This must be the place (naive melody)" that was also an amazing, poignant cover by Shawn Colvin. I've been thinking about this song a lot because I'm feeling sentimental about home and family. Home is where I want to be Pick me up and turn me round I feel numb - burn with a weak heart (So I) guess I must be having fun The less we say about it the better Make it up as we go along Feet on the ground Head in the sky It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing Hi yo I got plenty of time Hi yo you got light in your eyes And you're standing here beside me I love the passing of time Never for money Always for love Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight Home - is where I want to be But I guess I'm already there I come home - -she lifted up her wings Guess that this must be the place I can't tell one from another Did I find you, or you find me? There was a time Before we were born If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be I am going to America today (TODAY!) [Thanks Neil Diamond]. I feel like I am cheating--that there is an unwritten rule that I'm not allowed to go to the US between August and June. Still, the doctor's office calls and I have three appointments with specialists (there is no endocrinologist to speak of in Moscow). When I checked in online for Delta, I had to mark my country of residence. I hesitated for a second but realized that yes, we pay Russian taxes so I live in Russia. But is this home? (Queue another song from the Broadway musical "Beauty and the Beast": Is this home? Is this where I should learn to be happy?). I came to the profound, but unsurprising conclusion that home is my family. When Allyson and Rachel are in Thailand, part of my home will be in Thailand. When Parry is traveling to Nizhny-Novgorod next week, part of me will be hanging out on a Russian train. I'm going home to America to be with my daughter, my sister, my parents, my in-laws so it doesn't matter whether they live in the SL east bench or Provo. Not having a home to claim is vaguely disconcerting. I don't consider this overpriced "cottage" in Rosinka, home, but I don't have a house in the US to call my own either. There are moments when I look around Moscow and I can't imagine the day I'll being leaving for good, but when I land in Atlanta or New York, I don't know quite where I fit either. I want to smack my fellow Americans and warn them that they are trading their inheritance for a mess of pottage when it comes to how to recover from this economic downturn. Unlimited fast food and NFL All Access cable isn't worth it. And yet I love them in all their idealistic, patriotic glory. When I was at school yesterday, I talked to a lovely woman I know from my Russian class. She's from Ecuador. She told me to enjoy my vacation to which I responded, "You that moment when you get off the plane and you look around and you understand everything?" She nodded and replied, "It's the best isn't it?" I nodded. Maybe home is where your family is because they are the ones that understand you best in the world. You know you're an expat when....you clean out your purse and find trash in five languages and lip balms from four countries.

Plans, Plans, Plans

I realize I need to talk about the Swiss part of our Christmas vacation. For whatever reason I'm drawing a blank. Switzerland is clean, gorgeous and has incredible dairy products. Also--my very cool baby brother and his family live there and we love spending time with them! Parry told me once that talking to Christina felt like "talking to a mirror." For Parry, this is a tremendous compliment. We love their kids (only our girls can out-talk Ruby-do) and Abby loves mothering Henry. In fact, we had such a wonderful time that we are having the 1st Christmas Vacation Reunion Tour--London edition in April. Also cool baby sister Julie will be along for the ride, beautiful baby Hannah in tow, and we hope the parental units, Jeff and Marge. We anticipate that there will be many other Christmas Vacation Reunion Tours before our time in Moscow is up. I'm campaigning for Spain/Morocco next April break and we're already talking about Israel for Christmas. Which brings me to the way a Moscow expat stays sane in the winter time: planning. Even for a compulsive list-maker planner like me planning takes on a new dimension during the Russian winter. When weather.com pronounces the forecast as "dreary," when you haven't seen the sun directly overhead for a month and everywhere you look seems to be coated with a layer of sludge and scum, you need to know that at some point, you're going to get out. For me this is especially important because of the rash of headaches I've had. I've been prone to migraines lately with no real logical trigger. When you're in a country that hates you, the weather is lousy, inflation rampant, the financial crisis bottomless and everyone around you, including your kids, are tight-lipped with stress, a migraine is the proverbial pond scum of your days. In fact, I'm writing this, squinting at my laptop because my head feels like an axe is embedded in my scalp and it is two hours too early for bed. I am COUNTING the days until I go to the US. You know things are ridiculous when an endoscopy and a bunch of blood tests are something to look forward to. I want OUT. My daily life has to be very planned. Unlike some expats, my driver is more like a personal taxi service than a personal driver. He is paid a flat fee per month to drive us; we give him a weekly schedule of when he is needed. The rest of the time is his--it is rare to never that I can simply call him in the middle of the day and say "Hey, McDonalds, пожалуйста." This means that I have to know when and where I'm going every day, a week in advance. This is anal retentive even for a control freak like me. A routine makes it easier : Mondays--shopping and/or lunch with Elke; Tuesdays--Anglo-American School Russian class; Fridays--International Women's Club Architecture Group. Sometimes my Indian cooking class breaks up the routine. Sometimes I take the bus and metro to the center for business lunch. And sometimes, I feel like I am a rat in a maze and one more week of planning is going to make me crazy. This is why I like vacations: I can come and go as I please without having to put it on a spreadsheet. I want a spinach salad from the pre-prepared food aisle at Waitrose--grab the Oyster card and head to the nearest Tube station. I want to walk aimlessly or go to a bookstore or window shop--all can be done at my leisure. I love to plan vacations. I spend hours online and reading travel books. I have become an expert on airports, airlines, hotels, public transportation and shopping. I can pack an under 20kg bag in 15 minutes and be out the door at a moment's notice. I don't do that often because I'm usually supervising the packing and document procurement for three children, but I can. Planning to get out is the best escape from living the plan. It's one of those twisted Catch-22 things about being Russia. Someday when I have my own car and the ability to go to Costco and indulge in rampant consumerism at will, I may recall with fondness the odd sort of simplicity that my planned life here has forced upon me. For now, I look forward to the next escape plan.

Thoughts on the new presidency from the girl with a migraine

I don't have a lot of recollections about being punished as a kid. The one memory I do have is of my father answering a tearful apology with, "Talk is cheap, Heather." He essentially said that saying your sorry and making amends--doing the right thing--are two different things. As someone who has at various junctures in her her past dealt in the world of words, I can definitely testify that any competent wordsmith can craft a deft turn of phrase that means absolutely nothing if it isn't backed up with action. I didn't watch the inauguration. I took a test, came down with a migraine headache, tried to read a chapter for my history class and gave up before the festivities were over. What I did read about were the polls portraying buoyant optimism on the part of the American people that President Obama can fix our problems. I saw journalists and commentators tripping over themselves to see who could come up with the most articulate superlative to describe the wonder that is our new president. I was reminded of reality when I read an article about the assassination of a human rights lawyer and his Novaya Gazeta journalist colleague near the Kroptinskaya metro here in Moscow in the last few days. Ah that the world were so simple that saying the right things could fix it. My take on things is decidedly more pragmatic. In an email to a British friend, I wrote, "...if I were less of a cynic, I would allow myself to be swept up in the optimistic tide of the American public and believe that everything will be sunshine, ponies, puppies, rainbows and unicorns now that we have a new president. Alas, I am a cynic and I have spent too many years watching politicians to believe that any politician can ever be a messiah. One can only hope they leave office without breaking all the toys." President Obama is a bright, charismatic, articulate, ambitious individual who has thus far made some shrewd decisions in who he has selected to work with (I think he could have done better than Hillary Clinton at State, but at least she can be a pitbull. Conflict of interest issues over her husband's foundation and library taking money from people like the Saudis makes me nervous. ) If he does try to reach beyond partisanship, avoid the temptation to spend the next four years prosecuting former Bushies to please the extreme Left, and do more than simply increase the size of government and throw money at the problem, he may have a shot at a second term. Absolving American citizens of personal responsibility for their bad spending habits and self-indulgence does not equate to solving problems. We don't need Santa Claus; we need a leader willing to make hard decisions, even if they are unpopular--even if it means people have to suffer the consequences of their choices. President Obama's election is historical but so far, he is symbolic, not substantive. Talk is cheap. Symbols are cheap. In many respects, what his team has excelled at so far is marketing him and selling him to the public. There isn't a lot in his record to justify the accolades that have been heaped on him nor to substantiate the expectations that he can fix all that ails the US. Reality is far more complex than rhetoric. So he said the right things. I can say the right things. Anyone with a good speechwriter can say the right things and say them eloquently. Until his actions show me that he is a man who is willing to deal honestly with the challenges facing our world in a substantive way, I will wait and hope, placing my faith in a merciful God.

My Christmas Vacation...Gay Pareee

I have never been a Francophile. It isn't that I don't appreciate France--particularly French art--but I've never understood what could possibly be so amazing about Paris that people drop everything in their lives to move there, wear berets, live in rat infested garrets and smoke in cafes while discussing Proust. This is, of course, an exaggeration, but I honestly couldn't imagine a city that was more amazing than, the Swiss Alps or the Norwegian fjords or more enchanting than the Cotswolds in England. I am more a Lord of the Rings girl than a Hunchback of Notre Dame girl. That being said, Paris is cool. It has a certain vibe--not to mention its streets being rife with history on every corner--that its hard not to love it. From goose-stepping Nazis to impressionists hawking their wares to generations of backpacking college kids camping out in the Tuilieres gardens--it all feels like it is alive in Paris today, no mater how long ago it happened. Parisians are unapologetic about their history. We all loved the irony of placing a Ferris wheel, more or less, on the spot where Marie Antoinette and her ilk were guillotined. Where else in the world do you put a kiddie ride on the spot of a famous person's death? Most people would have a plaque or a memorial. Not the French. They are shameless about tarting up Versailles with horrid modern art (nowadays, you must look past a plastic rendering of Michael Jackson and Bobo the monkey to take in the King's bedroom). At the same time, the top floor of the Musee Orsay is sacred space. I fell in love anew with VanGogh. What sad, tragic, brilliant painter. Loved the Orsay. Loved the Orangerie. Loved the Eiffel Tour by night. LOVED felafels in the Jewish Quarter. Didn't love the Louvre. I feel guilty for saying that. How dare I not love the Louvre. I love museums. I've queued in line for many museums of lesser status and thoroughly enjoyed everything about those museums. But the Louvre left me a little blitzed. Imagining the opening scenes of the DaVinci Code was probably the most entertaining aspect of the visit. "And that's where Sauniere's body was laid out in the pentagram with all the blood..." The rest of the time I felt like I was fighting for life and limb just to make it up an escalator with my purse, ticket and sanity in tact. My favorite moment was when my niece Ruby, after noting the throng around the "Mona Lisa", proclaimed, "I can't see!" and proceeded to crawl underneath a sea of legs, up beyond the security barrier right to the front where she was gently escorted away from DaVinci's most famous girl. I have been in Disneyland in August and managed easier crowds than the Louvre. Loved Michaelangelo's "Slaves." Loved DaVinci's "Madonna on the Rocks." Loved the Louvre-Rivoli metro stop font. It is the only stop on the Paris metro stop that uses this font. Wish I could find it and use it on my blog. Loved the garishly out of place pyramid over the lobby. In Paris, it makes a strange sort of sense. Won't be going back anytime soon. I'll be saving up my crowd queuing karma for the opening of Harry Potter World at Universal Studios Florida.

What Happened Over Our Christmas Vacation--a story in several parts, not in order...

I'm going to write these entries out of order. I'm just in one of those moods. I'll start off with Sara's story because I think it is more interesting than tales of meltdowns in Finnish grocery stores and complaints about the French ability to queue aren't what I'm in the mood to write about today. And what can you say about Switzerland? Boy, is it clean. Best restroom in the world is at the Gruyere Cheese factory, hands down. No one would ever get Hep A if we took a lesson from the Swiss sanitary habits. That being said, there are points of interest beyond self-cleaning toilets, all night cook-a-thons in Helsinki, being trampled before the Mona Lisa and watching "Australia" at a movie theater on the Champs Elysees. On Sunday, January 4, after a lovely holiday in Switzerland and Paris, we prepared to send Sara back to the US. She's done this flight what, five, six times now? She's flown back and forth between Western Europe, Russia and the US enough times that she can sleepwalk through JFK--this is saying something. The worst part of the journey, typically, is Sheremetyvo Airport. On some surveys, Sheremetyvo nips at the heels of Charles DeGaulle as the worst airport in the world. Let's just say that Heathrow is a welcome change from SVO. The trip started off poorly whenI discovered that the Moscow-Atlanta flight was delayed by 90 minutes. I gave Sara some rubles for a snack, she went through at least three security checks just to get to the gate and then we waved good-bye.I had plenty to do that afternoon. We were joining the Moscow, Russia and Moscow, Russia-West districts on a week long temple trip to Helsinki, Finland. An overnight train to St. Petersburg followed by a day long bus trek was ahead of us. We ate normal food (you never eat normal food on a Russian train), packed our bags and went to our cattle car third class bunk on the Petersburg train. And then we checked the Delta website to see what the status was of Sara's flight. The webpage said: DIVERTED. You expect delayed, in flight, landing, boarding but not DIVERTED. There are only a handful of reasons to divert a plane: mechanical problems, medical emergency, terrorism and inflight disruption. None of those are happy. Especially for a parent crammed into a cramped coffin of a bunk on a Russian train heading off into the bleak, freezing cold expanse of northern Russia. We tried using a calling card to contact anyone we could find in the US. No luck. I tried my brother Peter's cellphone in Geneva--he has Vonage VOIP and could call Delta for us. No answer. We finally sent an email to Parry's brother who had been charged to pick her up in SLC and take her back to university. The long and the short of the email was "FIND HER." And then we waited. All through the long night in the cramped bunk, my ipod noise-reducing headphones crammed in my ears, my Kindle hugged close to my chest so it didn't accidentally fall down the 5 feet from my bunk to the floor. In the morning we discovered that she had been diverted to Newfoundland, the first airport you can touchdown at once you're across the Atlantic. Not a great sign. She was delayed so long she missed her connection in Atlanta. What a wonderful development when your child has an 8AM econ class. The story of what happened on the flight is copypasted into this entry. The bottom line is this: Parry's brother Peter worked a miracle and got Sara back to SLC on Monday morning. The other people on that flight had to wait until Tuesday evening. Her luggage was lost, she hadn't had much sleep but she made it in one piece. We are eternally grateful for Peter helping her out. As a parent, it ranks up there as one of the scarier moments I've had, crossing your fingers that your child isn't on the flight where the suicide bomber has figured out how to mix the Delta lavatory handsoap with the lip balm in his bag to make an explosive device. In some respects the situation is pretty funny and fairly typical if you know what it is like traveling with Russian. That being said, I don't think Sara is that keen on traveling back to Russia any time soon. Perhaps a double major in European Studies isn't what she wants after all :)

Unruly Passenger Forces Emergency Landing Of Delta Flight

Sunday, January 4, 2009 – updated: 9:00 pm EST January 4, 2009 ATLANTA -- A Delta Air Lines flight bound for Atlanta was forced to make an emergency landing Sunday due to an unruly passenger.A Delta representative, who called the incident a security threat, told Channel 2 it happened aboard flight 47. Officials said the plane took off from Moscow and made an emergency landing in the Canadian town of Gander, Newfoundland.Delta said there are about 200 passengers on the Boeing 767.They confirmed the plane was met with Royal Canadian mounted patrol in Gander.Delta didn’t release details Sunday, but said the incident was grave enough to re-route the flight to another country where the problem passenger could be dealt with Sunday.“They are going to get everyone back to Atlanta safely,” said Delta spokesman Susan Elliott. “This is a rare occurrence.”The flight was scheduled to land at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport Sunday night.Copyright 2009 by WSBTV.com. All rights reserved.

Atlanta-bound Delta jet diverted to Canada

Unruly Russian passenger in jail in Newfoundland after being restrained by 8 people

By CHRISTIAN BOONE

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Sunday, January 04, 2009

An unruly passenger so disrupted an international Delta Air Lines flight that the Atlanta-bound plane was diverted to a Canadian airport where authorities took the subject into custody. Flight 47 from Moscow to Atlanta made an unscheduled stop Sunday at Gander International Airport in Newfoundland, and the passenger was removed by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, said Delta spokeswoman Susan Elliott. Canadian authorities identified the passenger as Sergey Kotsur, 39, of Russia. Elliott said the decision to eject the passenger was made by the plane’s captain. She would not release details about Kotsur’s actions. According to a RCMP news release, the plane “was diverted as the result of an intoxicated, unruly male passenger.” The plane was carrying 206 passengers when it departed Moscow earlier Sunday. It landed at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport about 10 p.m., more than four hours behind schedule. Flight 47 passenger Eric Feliciano, waiting for his luggage late Sunday night after clearing customs, said the Russian passenger was sitting ahead of him in coach. He noticed an empty 1.5-liter bottle of Chivas Regal next to the man’s seat. Kotsur allegedly started fighting with his wife and banging on the side of the aircraft. “He was drunk,” said Feliciano, 40, a Tallahassee, Fla. resident who was returning home from vacation.. “I was afraid he was going to try to jump out of the plane or something.” Another passenger, Irakli Bolkvadze, 30, of Moscow, said he watched as crew members assisted by others confronted Kotsur. “The steward said some guy was sick,” and that he had mixed alcohol with “pills,” said Bolkvadze, who was flying to the United States for a vacation. It took eight people — male and female flight attendants and passengers including Feliciano — to hold Kotsur. They tried putting him in plastic wrist binders, but “he broke the restraints a couple of times,” the Florida man said. After police took Kotsur off the plane and put him in a police car, he tried to kick out a window of the vehicle, Feliciano said. He said he came to the crew’s aid because “you do what you need to do when you see a disturbance like that.” Kotsur remains in jail on assault and mischief charges. He is scheduled to appear in Gander Provincial Court on Wednedsday. — Staff writer Ben Smith contributed to this article.

Merry Christmas!

I'm sitting in an uncomfortable airport chair at Schiphol International, babysitting piles of backpacks and coats while the girls are off finding sandwiches and real European milk. European milk, for the record, rocks our world. We have no idea how they do it but European cows are happy cows. We needed a dose of happy cow after spending three hours sitting on a plane with not one but three under four year-olds screaming within a two row vicinity for what, 1/2 the plane ride? KLM has civilized food (couscous salad, Greek style), Russians are the worst airplane passengers I think I have ever seen and I am grateful for new Christmas headphones. Wanted to wish you all Happy Christmas (the British way) and hope that you aren't stranded in an airport somewhere or waiting for lost luggage, that you are with family or people you love and can enjoy the gift of the season. Tomorrow we will be in the land of yodeling, crepes and Gruyere cheese with the Swiss branch of our family. We love and miss our friends around the world--from our beloved Kangs, Brimhalls, Densleys, Benners, Packhams, Chelsea, Laurel and Bridget in Portland, the Clayton and Jarman clans scattered around the Western US, friends along the Wasatch front--too many to list--and friends from the Moscow branch who are scattered to the winds until the Russian holidays are over. We are thinking of you and remembering you fondly!