Birth and Anniversary Dates

Birth and Anniversary Dates  It was Sunday, February 24th, 2001.  My father had just turned 70 years of age at the end of January. In many ways, that was a remarkable triumph, considering how difficult his life had been: being imprisoned in Hungary for 7 years, escaping from Hungary during the 1956 uprising, and starting his life all over again in a new country Canada – all the while suffering from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis which he acquired during his confinement in dark and dank prisons. Husband and I had just moved into our first house. As was my custom I
Read More

Categories: Musings.

Why Canada is Important to me

Why Canada is Important to me We stepped off the ship in Saint John, New Brunswick on Easter, April 22, 1957. We were at last in Canada – our new home! I had turned nine years of age, while waiting to be processed in various Austrian refugee camps, since that Christmas. My father had chosen this country as our destination: the land of freedom. Canada had opened its doors to thousands of Hungarians following the October 1956 uprising there against tyranny, and the subsequent escapes. My family was among them. Father had been a political prisoner for nearly seven years,
Read More

Categories: Musings.

Written in the Stars

Written in the Stars She had tried to reach him for days. In fact, she had already warned him two months before. He hadn’t listened then, and apparently, he was shutting her out now. Several years before, she had unearthed interesting information about him. Although these might have been well kept secrets, they were not as deeply tucked away as they have since become. For example, it was never discussed that his first wife held serious superstitions. No surprise. People from Eastern Europe are still very much enmeshed in ancient folk lore, fantasy and ritual. Add to this, his own
Read More

Categories: Marlie Stories.

That which lies within

That which lies within She doesn’t know my secret name; nor therefore, the power of its magical spell. I told her once, shortly after I came to her, in this my sixth life. Sometimes when she stares deep into my eyes though, I sense that she knows. For a minute-second of intense concentration I grasp that she connects to the magic. But then it is gone. I came into existence in my natural form, from somewhere long ago. Then I was revered. I was worshiped by Pharaohs. Even when they buried me in the far-reaching caverns of their tombs, my
Read More

Categories: Marlie Stories.

The Clock of Time

The Clock of Time How many rotations to turn back the clock – to halcyon days? And once there, how long could that time be maintained? A day, a week, a month – maybe forever? It was a house warming gift – way back when at the old house – where the afternoon sunshine glowed onto the wall-clock’s round face, from the wide picture window. The noise of each tick-tock was noticeable at first, until the sound became one with the rhythm of family life. Sometimes it was drowned-out by the young boy practicing on his chanter. Other times, it was
Read More

Categories: Musings.

In Celebration

In Celebration He was sometimes known by the name Rapha Olam. No one knew when he was born. No one knew where he was born. What is known, is that he leaves with us a mark of timeless remembrance which no one will ever be able to match. Those who recall his early days speak of him being exceptionally idealistic; others saw him as far too naïve. He unconditionally accepted  that everyone could be a perfect human being and could exist in a state of absolute harmony. With time his optimism shifted. As many young men, he joined the military.
Read More

Categories: Musings.

How wide is your world?

How wide is your world? Sometimes my world includes only my house and my cat. Sometimes it includes my neighbours: the man who mows my lawn; the one who shovels my driveway; and the others who keep my house safe. Sometimes, it opens out to my church, my club and my college. Sometimes it moves farther out to the country, to the farms of friends. Sometimes, it spreads even further, to the city ‒ to all the people I’ve known and to all the places where I spent most of my adult life. Sometimes, on rare occasions, my world stretches
Read More

Categories: Musings.

At Our Doorstep

At Our Doorstep   Pastor asked from the pulpit: “Has the Anti-Christ come?”   Is this the last hour? Can one Deceiver rock the planet Through fanatic nationalism, Spreading Its sinister arms to all those elsewhere? Keep out!   Seen before, so often, so often… Back in the day ‒ Viewed now on black and white films, The transmission of unscrupulous orders, Marching through Europe.   And Europe saw it again. In this time, in this hour. Hordes streaming from far-off, Meandering through distant lands. Meeting closed borders.   Oh, but not here! We want them to come. Begin anew,
Read More

Categories: Poetry.

The Creation of Poetry

The creation of poetry There is no way of knowing, when the art of poetry first began. It is assumed that the origins are steeped in an oral tradition, frequently employed as a means of recording history, storytelling to an audience, perhaps sung, often paying tribute to deities. To aid memorization, there was already a form to these, including rhythm and repetition. When written composition began, it meant poets began to write for an absent audience, though likely scholars. The earliest written work may have been The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor which is a story of an Ancient Egyptian’s
Read More

Categories: Poetry.

Travelers

Travelers She was glad to see him. The morning tour guide had left the group at Grand Place. It was the intoxicating aroma which had drawn her to the Neuhaus chocolate shop. While heading back outside with the delectable package in hand, Sophie had bumped into him. He politely asked if she minded him tagging along. “Not at all!” she had answered, much to her surprise. She generally liked being alone. But from the time she had boarded the tour coach in Calais, she had noticed something about this man that had intrigued her. Perhaps a long ago memory? Now
Read More

Categories: Marlie Stories.