Forty years ago today my wife and I woke up in our Warsaw apartment and learned that martial law had been declared. Heading to her aunt's for Sunday dinner, we found the road blocked by Polish soldiers. It was the first time I had seen a tank activated for use.
We finally arrived and were served a modest meal. I left a tiny piece of fat on my plate. "You don't waste things now," the aunt's sister admonished me. "We learned that during the war. You ate then every crumb of bread and you wiped up every spot of grease. The same now."
I think of the Cold War as my war, as it's the only one I observed at close range. (This explains why as a writer I keep returning to it.) I might have been a foot soldier in it but for the fact that the wrong side tried to recruit me.
