IDON'T KEEP a journal for the same reason I don't tweet, blog or update my Facebook status every five minutes: My life just isn't that interesting.

That's not a complaint. Just a fact.

My memoirs, if they existed, would never make the New York Times best-seller list, though they might make a perfectly adequate paper weight.

The only time I deviate from that rule is when I travel. I'm not wealthy, so when I go abroad, I generally assume I'll never have enough money to return. I've been right every time.

Hence, I usually keep a journal so I can remember the once-in-a-lifetime adventure that punctuated my otherwise humdrum existence.

I bring it up because 20 years ago, I spent a summer studying in Moscow. I filled three journals there--one of which my beagle used as a chew toy when she was a puppy. But I hadn't looked at any of them since 1992.

Since my parents were leaving this week on a bucket-list trip to Russia, I decided to leaf through them to see if I could recommend places for them to visit.

It was an interesting trip down memory lane. My handwriting was considerably better in those days, something I'd forgotten.

I'd also forgotten how well Starburst and gum passed for currency over there at the time or how ecstatic we all were whenever we found a public restroom with both toilet paper and toilet seats. It was a winning, and rare, combination.

Like a lot of 20-year-olds, I usually had no idea what I was talking about, but that didn't stop me from sharing my thoughts. Here are a few I found mildly amusing:

;">On garbage disposal:

;">On buying ice cream:

;">On stomach ailments (probably due to all the ice cream we were consuming):

;">On taxis:

;">On shopping at outdoor markets:

;">On spending the summer abroad:

Edie Gross: 540/374-5428
Email: egross@freelancestar.com