I have been a “gym rat” for over twenty years. It has become a compulsion, a drug. Even on business trips, my profile reads, “Book hotel which has a gym; non•smoking room can be sacrificed for a gym if necessary.” What is it that makes me give up walking in the warm sunshine, a rarity […]
So it finally hit! Or did it? The Pandemic, that all prophets of doom had been forecasting. And as predicted, the media began feeding on it faster than the virus eating at its victims. But this time, global panic never happened. Why? Well, for starters, haven’t we seen this stuff before? Aren’t we numb from
Is it time for the next round of global teamwork? Read More »
After Good Friday in Auschwitz, it was time for Holy Saturday in Krakow. The religious orders were everywhere – black and brown robes scurrying about. Despite soaring global unemployment, employment in the Church seems to be in good shape in the city that gave us John Paul II. So were the Catholic places of worship:
Disembarking off a night train from Prague to Krakow on Good Friday, we boarded a tour bus to Auschwitz. The train set us up for this visit. It traversed the same route along which many Czech Jews were sent to their deaths, packed in dirty, unheated railcars. We travelled in relative comfort, in a sleeper,
Auschwitz – testament of man’s inhumanity to man Read More »
A picturesque city teeming with cafes, bars, bookstores, churches, palaces, red haired women and hordes of strolling tourists; a city framed by two majestic citadels – Prague Castle and Vysehrad – between which snakes the Vltava River dividing the Lesser Town (now filled with embassies and lesser nobility) and the old town Stare Mesto, with
Prague – a city of churches, palaces, memories and renewal Read More »
I took up playing the ukulele when I was 10 years old, sick in bed with a chicken pox that would never leave, it seemed, for when old sores healed new ones replaced them. The itching and the silence in my room were deafening, so the ukulele helped me get through my illness. Its tinkle
Don’t let the music die Read More »
As I get my third book ready to send off to the publisher, it reminds me of the preparations we made for the birth of my last son, many years ago: the suitcase packed, the hospital on notice, the preparations made for when the baby arrived home, the nanny employed, the relatives overseas notified. Life
Writing Books – like producing children Read More »
As I go about the land reading and promoting my book Fringe Dwellers, I am beginning to wonder if I have tapped into a hidden secret of Canadians. My book was written about the marginalized people in society – widows, divorcees, immigrants, unemployed executives, beggars, bums, sick, dying and the even the dead. I thought
Are We All Closet Fringe Dwellers? Read More »
John Steinbeck had a habit of writing in his journal before attempting to write his daily quota of fiction; a sort of flexing of the literary muscles before tackling the arduous task of creation. He wrote so many journal entries—one per day almost—that these notes and letters were compiled into books that are still in
After the Flood – a dystopian novel of hope Read More »
When I moved out into the country from the city, I did not think I would lack for universal health care, the magnet that had drawn me to this country in the first place. Even our southern neighbour did not have this wonderful system that Canada had, and is still trying to copy it; hopefully