Then he became the button man. That was his name for it. Quickly elevated to G4 or G3 status and assigned to military intelligence, he carried a bag around and was always no further than 10 feet behind President Nixon. I guess they thought that if a war broke out, they wanted a smart guy throwing switches.

Because of this story and others like it (he missed the moon landing, because he was on the aircraft carrier with the President and didn't get to see it) I have always wanted to see Russia. I've always wanted to know what the big deal was.

Since my father would't let me join the military, though he was a two-tour vet, I had always wished to travel there and do business or just live, seeing beneath the dark and minor tones that Russia seemed to call to mind.

So when my company offered me a position that meant moving from the USA to Russia, I didn't stand around. I had my hand up and my bag packed before anyone knew what was going on. There was more to going than just going, though, and I had to slow down and think about how to get there.

Asking around (I had a budget and a deadline but no help from headquarters), I picked an international moving company that offered special packages moving people from the USA to Russia. This international moving company was right down the road and very easily accessible to me. I was lucky. They were professional, efficient and, after a while, even likable.

My rep took me through the process and made sure I understood it. There were taxes and duties to pay on my stuff. I said this stuff? He nodded emphatically and moved on. There was packing to do and a van to hire to get my junk from point A to B and then to my residence. I did have a residence, right, said the international moving company rep, sternly. Yes, that was one thing that I had definite info on, the flight and the flat.

From then on it was just filling out forms, updating my passport, getting an exam, buying the appropriate insurance, writing check after check, and finally I stood at the gate of the international moving company dock, receipt in hand and nothing but a week worth of underwear in my valise. My stuff, in eight mammoth boxes, was going ahead of me and would probably arrive a tad behind me.

Good bye. Or should I say, ``Dos svidaniya``.