Tag Archives: past

Poland Remembered IV

By Stu Whitley
Bio

This is the fourth in a four-part series.

During his entire life, my father has adhered to a habit of truth—‘truth’ in that he has not been afraid to question the ‘why’ of a thing. This included the way in which the past influences the future, and his determination to manage events to the extent that it has been possible.

“It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it,” he’d say.

This
was nowhere more apparent than in his decision to emigrate to Canada to
seek a better future for all of us. Three homes in three countries
within the span of a decade:

my childhood in England droppedbelow the horizon of the grey Atlanticen route to a different life in a new worldwell I remember a worn train groaningto a halt for us in a remote northern townof tarred felt paper, clapboard and tin

two brothers and I jostled our way
to the smoke green Pullman cars
only to be yanked back sharply
by a skinny old man in a pillbox cap
declaiming ‘Canadian National Railway’

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The Mirror of New

By Shae Hadden
Bio

Snow blankets the crocuses today… I can see the remnants of autumn leaves nourishing the roots of these fragile blooms, reminding me that the blossoming of new growth is part of life’s natural cycles of birth and death.

I’ve been looking at myself and my life from the perspective of ‘new’ for the last while…(see my post on the Mirror of Old)
and the view has freed me. Each morning, I’ve taken an extra moment to
really look at myself in the mirror, to take in the woman staring back
at me as if she is someone I’m creating anew each day. The signs of age
are still visible, but I see something else I hadn’t noticed before.

I
can see my mother in my

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Riverboats and Bone Yards III

By Stu Whitley
Bio

This is third in a five-part series.

It is inevitable that the pressures of the past that are felt by the present have to be contained in some sort of manageable context. Life must be worth living.

Gazing upward to the crumbling decks of
those forlorn leviathans from my canoe on the Yukon River, I wondered
about the men who worked those paddlewheel steamers. Back-breaking work
it must have been to feed those enormous furnaces. Even the ship’s
wheel needed to be six feet across to achieve the mechanical advantage
necessary to turn the fat twin rudders under the paddlewheel. It must
have required Herculean

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