I raced around Holmdel taking photographs for our adoption dossier—schools, Holmdel Park, the Holmdel Commons shopping center, even the police station. In March 2003, we were already late to apply for a program that brings Russian children, ages 6 to 13 to the U.S. every summer. Ten children arrived in Holmdel and adjacent towns that summer in hopes of finding a permanent adoptive family. Our daughter Kristina was one of them. She was almost 12 years old, born half the world away in Siberia. After 24 hours, she knew we wanted to be her “forever family.” It was a joyful summer. Fireworks on …

Through pellets of hard snow, a round-faced babushka placed a frozen cone in my hand. “Morozhenaya, da—2 rubles.” What? Ice cream in the middle of a blizzard on the steps of the Kremlin? So this is Moscow. 1991. My first trip to the U.S.S.R. The year the Soviet Union officially collapsed. It couldn’t have been more surreal, eating vanilla ice cream as heavy snow descended on Moscow. Just hours before, my husband Steve and I emerged from Sheremetyevo airport, just in time to catch the scrappy Lada that transported us into the city’s center. Our driver navigated the chaos of traffic, stopping …

More snow, they say, another foot or so. But it was clear still, and the only thing moving was the skeleton of trees between here and the Ompompanoosuc River. I settled in by the woodstove, writing and content enough with the crackling fire and lifeless wind. So tame, this New England winter, I thought, nothing like that bone-chilling winter in Chicago. Snow and cold were the last things on my mind as my husband, Steve, our 2-year old son, Daniel, and I left the city behind and drove westward on a blazing blue July day in 1970. I thought I was prepared for Montana’s winter offerings. October …

That night, the Blackstone Rangers saw fit to make my life miserable. The most famous street gang from Chicago’s South Side marched single file into Hyde Park, just below my window. Steve, my husband, was on 24-hour medical call, and though the University of Chicago’s hospital was not far, I couldn’t leave our building. Cars stood still as gang members crossed the Boulevard. The sky had just cleared from a powerful thunderstorm that blew in from Lake Michigan. Lifeless traffic lights swayed in the wind. Landlines didn’t work. I held Daniel, our 1-year old son, close to me. We were trapped. …

The last thing I expected to see was a horde of deer on my front lawn. They formed a perfect circle, undaunted by the abrupt glare of headlights from my SUV. I entered the driveway slowly, careful not to disturb a fawn nestled by its mother. What a tranquil scene, I thought—Bambi in my yard! Just moments before, I’d been at full stop, watching the NJ Transit train from Bayhead race towards New York. The train’s echo seemed to stir the peaceful throng which, in unison, leaped suddenly away. I’m always surprised to see deer roaming around suburban New Jersey. But in Montana, where I’d spent …

It felt like an eternity, the traffic light at Laurel Ave and Holland Rd. I clutched the wheel and waited impatiently, watched east/west traffic whiz along like birds in flight. I always get stuck here—the longest red light ever.  It was already dusk. I counted minutes and followed a sliver of sunset across the windshield. Thisisunbelievable, I said out loud, my words slurring together. Unbelievable. Sunbelievable. And there it was, as suddenly as the new green light clicked on…the title for my new book. I drove through the intersection in a daze, repeating Sunbelievable all the way home. I …