Rita Ulyanova
I grew up in a very poor section of Moscow. The fair weather lasted too long and the winters lasted even longer. We were always cold; always hungry; always in need of something.
Both of my parents worked very hard and still we suffered from great want.While we didn’t have much, our lives were full of love and great passion. For entertainment we made up stories at night in the dark of our apartment because we could not always afford electricity. My mother was creative with scraps she would scrounge for that others had thrown away and we ate with great relish for the feast she would prepare.