1.     The summer before my freshman year of college I went to visit my Dad who was still working in Moscow as CNN’s bureau chief. It was the summer of the 28th Party Congress, the last one that was ever held in the USSR, as it turns out. Political changes were afoot as Yeltsin was vying for power and Gorbachev had but a tenuous hold as the Eastern Block was crumbling. CNN had built a platform right on the cobblestones of Red Square and I spent those white nights of July watching Bernard Shaw and my Dad, Jim Clancy, and Eileen O’Connor broadcast live (which was a VERY big deal in 1990). Days I worked inside the walls of the Kremlin chasing down politicians for sound bites in between the sessions of congress. Once someone had been spotted, me along with my camera and sound guys would rush for them and try to get our questions in among the scrum of other journalists. Grabbing Yeltsin would be a big prize since he was making waves, and one afternoon I did see him and rushed over. He looked at me and asked, “CNN?” I nodded yes. He then said he knew it because I looked just like my father who he knew from TV. I didn’t know whether to be proud or mortified, but flushed, asked the questions I had written down. I did love handing over my tape that day to the editors, keen to see how my work would be used for that night's story.

2.      When September 11 happened I lived in New York City, had just moved to Park Slope in Brooklyn, in fact. Fortunately, but also sadly, on that fateful day I was in Decatur, Illinois visiting my Grandfather who kept proclaiming in his booming way as we watched the live coverage, “It’s the end of the age of the skyscraper!” I knew a lot of people in finance back then and when I got back to the city, they were all haunted by what they’d seen. I lived not far from the Park Slope fire department which was one of the first responders to the World Trade Centre. For weeks after that horrible day there were funeral processions on the main road. Most of their brigade was killed that day.

3.     I pledge allegiance to two kings: King Charles III and King Abdullah of Jordan. I received both my UK and Jordanian citizenships through my husband, Ghazi (we often joke that it's the first time a Jordanian has given an American UK citizenship). Sometimes I feel a bit like Jason Bourne as I flip through my three passports and decide which one I’ll use. Before I was involved with Ghazi again, I took for granted the power of my US citizenship. That’s something I’ll never do again. 

4.      Learning to drive was something I waited for from the time I was like 12. I don’t know if it was the accompanying sense of independence driving would give me or if I just thought it looked cool, but I just couldn’t wait. In one of life’s weird coincidences, my husband’s older brother gave me lessons in their stick shift black Mercedes sedan in an unused parking lot that had been built for the 1980 olympics in Moscow. I spent hours it seemed, trying to release the clutch just right. I then took official driving lessons with some man in his Lada jeep that was missing its side-view mirrors and the speedometer didn't work. He had a device that would push on the breaks in case of emergency. It was deep winter and the snow was piled in drifts along the busy Moscow roads, most of which were 8 lanes wide. I remember careening around the city, feeling free and terrified and satisfied to finally be in control.  

5.        When I lived in San Francisco I ran a half marathon. It was the Nike Women’s Marathon, the first time it was held in the city. I spent weekends running, evenings running, and everyone told me how amazingly accomplished I’d feel after completing it. Being San Francisco there were stupendous hills to be conquered. Oh how I hated training on those steep hills. But I ran it, finished it, and as I was icing my knees later that day, felt like I had just wasted a whole bunch of time training for it. 

6.        I'm quite certain I have thick files in the bowels of both the CIA and KGB. When I was studying in Soviet school in the late 80s my best friend was a girl named Elina whose father was the Prime Minister of one of the Soviet republics. I think she actually was ok with being my friend because she lived relatively well and wasn’t as afraid of being associated with an American. Hardly anyone else in my school wanted to be more than casual acquaintances. I certainly was never invited to anyone else's home. Elina and I did everything outside school together (we’re still in touch today). But one day a friend of her older sister’s came over to her apartment and didn’t say a word or take off his coat. He simply took a bunch of black and white photos of the two of us from a large envelope and spread them out on the dining room table. There were photos of us inside each other’s apartments, on the streets, in school, on public transport, in cafes. The man left them there for a brief moment before saying, “ostorogno” or be careful, quickly gathering them up, placing them in the envelope, and leaving.

7.          Ten years ago today, on my 40th birthday, my husband was rescued after having been kidnapped inside Syria for 5 days. He and his team at NBC News walked over the border from Turkey and into the hands of a criminal gang. There’s been some debate about who exactly held them, but all I knew was that he was gone and there was no end in sight. We lived in London at the time and I immediately flew to be with my parents in Washington, DC. I answered questions from his network and the FBI, used any contacts we might have had to get information about where they were being held, how we might get them out. Every morning I woke up early and just told myself that this would be the day he’d get out. I worried he was being tortured or might be one of those who just never came back, but tried my best to stay positive and not lose hope. The FBI was in my parents’ living room on my 40th birthday, coaching me on what to do if I got a ransom call. Afterwards I insisted we all go out and try and do some Christmas shopping, anything to distract from the awfulness of it all. On our way home, sitting in traffic as it was getting dark, I got a call that there had been a fire fight, but they’d been rescued and were on their way back into Turkey. Ghazi called me from a satellite phone and the first thing he said was “happy birthday!” It was the best birthday present a girl could wish for.

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