A GOOD ‘SIGN’
The story that follows is the first segment of my memoirs. My earliest childhood recollections are of post-war, pre-revolution Hungary, where I was born to a former ballerina whose first husband had abandoned her and their two young children and a twice widowed agronomist who loved the “smell of kids”. My father had lost two wives in most tragic ways and, even more tragically, two children. So when he met my mother, he fell not only for her but the two kids and the match was made. Well, almost. . . My mother being very religious, a convert to the Catholic faith, took the...
Read MorePoor Darling.
Upon hearing my screams of terror coming from the bathroom as a small child, Mum would rush up the stairs knowing there was a gigantic human eating spider in the bath tub, it’s black shape more prominent against the white enamel. Picking it up, she would say, “Look at the poor thing, no one loves it with all those hairy legs.” We would walk downstairs and out the front door where she would carefully place it on the grass saying, “You can’t live here, poor darling.” My mother also believed in fairies and when it would rain, she would bring in the ceramic ones from the flower pots...
Read MoreScience Lesson
My son Will was the kind of kid that just had to investigate everything in his path.My other two, his older sister and brother, when I would tell them, “no”, they stopped what they were doing. With Will, that word was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. “No, you say? Well let’s just see about that!” With Will, it was necessary to invest in those nifty little plastic plugs that would prevent two-year old would-be electricians from sticking things like bobby pins or even fork tines into electrical outlets. We also invested in those door-knob-thingies that prevented him from...
Read MoreLost Sisters.
Why had no one ever mentioned Mum’s twin? After she passed away last month, we daughters had the job of going through the house and finding things family members had requested, sorting clothing that likely would all end up at the Thrift Store, and finally shredding all those old house bills that she and Dad had kept for the last thirty years. Why? We could never answer that question but it was common to believe they might come in handy one day, or someone might call to verify the bill had been paid. Lots of people felt they were important papers and should be kept. It certainly kept us...
Read MoreMikulás
December 6th is a day of celebration in Hungary..It is the feast of Saint Nicholas, in Hungarian, Mikulás. Children put their polished shoes filled with hay out on the windowsill for Mikulás’ white horse. Of course they also set out treats for the old Bishop, delivering gifts to good children. At age seven a child is thought to be able to think logically and sequentially. In my seventh year, a mere two weeks before reaching that magic age, mother let me produce some rather crooked cookies for Mikulás. She said he would not mind because he is kind and loves crooked cookies. I was...
Read MoreLesson Learned
You know how when you’re in a hurry, everything conspires against you? How the lights are always red, and the crosswalks are full of ancient people pushing their walkers at a snail’s pace, so that even when the lights turn green, you’re still stuck at the intersection, waiting for the crosswalk to clear or Christmas to come, whichever happens first? Well, yesterday I was on my way to work, running late, when I realized that I hadn’t had a cup of coffee or eaten breakfast. A sensible person would have kept driving. I am not a sensible person, and I was born hungry, so I stopped at...
Read MorePretty Polly…
Every morning it was the same routine for Martin. The 6.30 am scratch on the bedroom door, the gleeful kisses from a six year old Corkie, Spam, patiently waiting all night for his early morning run in the garden. Next coffee and off for a walk with Spam, just around the neighbourhood. A few neighbours would be out walking as well. Martin chatted with each of them as they met. It was leisurely and somehow fulfilling. Since retirement the routine seldom changed. Martin was in his early 70’s now, a widower, with Spam his loyal companion. He often mused on the wonder of the smell of the...
Read MoreI HELD MY BREATH
The letter came in the mail . It was postmarked Cambridge and I recognized the return address. It was months ago I had sent in my poetry to the Cambridge writers collective for blind judging. I had been writing poetry since I was a kid in high school but never before did I have the nerve to put my work out there for scrutiny. It felt as if I were giving away my firstborn. “Am I being presumptuous?” I thought . How could I compete with the likes of writers like David who encouraged me to submit? I bet it’s a rejection letter. They say you often have to expect hundreds of rejections...
Read MoreTo Bathe or not to Bathe.
Through the ages tales have been told of tubs and bathing. Here are some you may recall. Long ago Agamemnon, a solder returning home from the siege of Troy, while soaking his battle worn body in a hot bath, had a wife, who perhaps thinking he had been gone too long, creep up and whack him twice with an axe. On a kinder note, Homers’ Odyssey tells how travellers were always greeted with a warm bath in a metal tub, the water heated over a wood fire and carried to the bath. Who could forget Cleopatra soaking in her milk bath, or the ancient Greek Archimedes, discovering the physics of...
Read MoreGreta
It was my thirteenth birthday party. The pizzeria was full. Kids occupied every table. The noise was overwhelming I saw Greta right away. She stands out from any background because of her waist-length silver hair. There is more to it, though. She has a way of drawing attention when she wants to, without saying a word. She smiled at me, and I made my way to the table where she was dishing out pizza. If she had wanted the room to be quiet, it would have been quiet, but I knew she was enjoying the cacaphony. Maybe that’s why Greta became our nanny. Kids can be depended on to produce plenty of...
Read MoreWhy oh why?
”Why in the world does she keep having children?”‘ This thought raged through my mind as I watched a TV Program. A small eight- year- old boy, wheelchair bound, kept alive with medication and a profound love of life, was being interviewed. He suffered from a DNA transmitted disease resulting in little muscle control, pain, various other related conditions and a built in life expectancy of less than twelve years, usually much less. His lovely mind was not affected. He was home-schooled and had a gift for poetry and literature far beyond his years. His devoted parents had...
Read MoreOn the Horizon
Her heart swelled with gratitude as she watched the sun glint on the great expanse of blue, rolling ocean. The sand shushed beneath her toes as small pebbles rolled and bounced in the drag of the waves. With a deep breath, Ashley swept her arms above her head and took a long delicious stretch, savouring the fragrant Maui breeze. Life of late had been slammed with meetings, stressful phone calls from Corporate Suits and clients needing her attention now, now, now! When she started her small Interior Design company, she had not dared to dream that within 5 years she would have staff and be...
Read MoreRiding the All-Night Train
When my husband and I moved from Ontario to this our lovely island home in the dead of winter 2004, we came by train. Crazy, some would call it. It was on January 6th that we began our sojourn to the West. That train ride was actually three nights through the frozen North Country of Canada. Not exactly tourist season. But it was breathtakingly beautiful. The days are shorter in winter and the nights start early. We had lovely bunks. We kept the window blinds open and for much of it we lay side-by-side in the lower bunk with our heads against the outside wall looking up and out the large...
Read MoreMama Said There’d Be Days……..
Martha was having a rough morning. Mind you, it started okay. She woke up smiling. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember her dream, but its afterglow followed her to the kitchen, where she proceeded to drop her French press on the ceramic tile floor and shatter it – the press, not the floor. Nothing would ever chip, dent, or scar those tiles. Martha suspected they were made from diamonds, or maybe Kryptonite. She dug through her cupboards and found the instant coffee her sister Harriet (she of the tone-deaf taste buds) had left when she last visited. It had hardened to a rock-like...
Read MoreHOLIDAZE
It is that time again! Hidden Halloween wrappers finally all discovered and vacuumed up. The last of the frozen Thanksgiving turkey stewed, and now every store isle is full of Christmas. It’s here and you better hurry because one, two, three, and you are making New Year promises. I am older now, a great-gramma and Christmas is calmer. No, not anywhere near as exciting as shopping for the just right gift, or taking five small children to Eaton’s mall to visit Santa so they could tell him in person how they desperately needed the latest toys advertised on TV. I loved watching their...
Read MoreThe Mystery of the Stone
The stone sat on the front lawn, grey and solid. Over the years, a third of the stone had sunk into the dirt but it’s overall shape was a smooth oval. The whippersnipper kept the grass around it neat and trimmed but people failed to notice it any more. It had originally been placed as a decorative element for the front garden, dragged out when the basement was being dug and dropped from the bobcat scoop where it lay to this day. It’s surface was lined now, years of exposure to the elements showed wear and tear, could it have shrunk? It seemed smaller. I was busy planting some...
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