Dear Unknown Soldier,
Every year we’re asked to take time to remember those who gave their lives so that we might be free. You were one of them. But I don’t remember you. You died in battle before I was born. You once had a life. People loved you. You loved people.
But I don’t remember you.
I do remember the stories told by those who came back. When I was young, the stories were about the antics you and your comrades got up to during the war, the kind that broke the boredom and mitigated some of the terror. As I matured, the dark and unthinkable began to seep into those story lines.
You saw sights I can’t bring myself to imagine. You felt fear that I have been sheltered from. You endured hardships that made you tough, or broke you down, hardships I have never experienced. And you did not get to come home.
Those of your comrades who did come home were never the same. How could they be? Their experiences had redefined them, made them look at the world they had come from with new and strange eyes.
Many learned to create a new way of being; a new normal, and they enfolded themselves and their families into that safer place. But the memories were always there, lurking somewhere beneath surface. And when they were in danger of bubbling up, those who came back found solace in each other.
Some did not fare as well. Their experiences haunted them. Badly. It was hard for them to find a place of comfort. They lived, but their dreams and their will perished somewhere along the way. And so, while they survived their war, the battle was not yet over for them, not for years afterwards… if ever. These are the ones who might even have thought of you as the lucky one, hard as that may be to imagine. You died suddenly. They died a piece at a time. Tragedy lives in both places.
The popular motto associated with Remembrance Day is “Lest We Forget”. The fact that we in the World have always waged war, tells me we are good at forgetting. Or, perhaps we never knew, and still don’t know, how to be at peace. The important thing for you to know is that we keep trying.
In time, I hope we will find ways to achieve more, even lasting, harmony. In the meantime, we must learn to take better care of your comrades when they come home from whatever hellish situation we place them in. It’s the least we can do. They deserve something that goes beyond the pomp and ceremony of Remembrance Day. Much more. I think you’d agree.
I don’t remember you. But I know you. You died for me and for those who come after me.
I’m very grateful. Thank you. With Love, Gwyn
while being white, has managed to slip by without its usual ceremony. I’m beginning to feel just a tad like Miss Haversham sitting in her parlor waiting for a 
When I began this post, I was coming at the Christmas season with a very bah humbug attitude. The wet weather and the winter darkness tend to push my cynical buttons and before I know it, I’m grumbling like an old grampus and complaining about all that I have yet to do. This seems to happen every year. And every year I come to a point when something in my head says, 
someone ready to pounce in indignation). To me, this movie is not only depressing but annoying as well. Before we come to the part where George finally realizes that he has a great life , we have to drag ourselves through the rest of the movie witnessing all the things that cause him to be disappointed, resentful and well, just bloody miserable. And all I want to say to him throughout the piece is 
Over) 
remind us that in spite of the time of year, there is still a lot of pain in a lot of households. I heard this song many years ago and must admit that, at the time, it sounded so ludicrous I laughed. Now, in my perhaps more mature (okay, old) psyche I simply find it offensive. What makes it even more annoying is that it is one of those songs that sticks in your head and simply won’t let go…something like s…t to a blanket.
leftovers come out of the fridge and are unceremoniously nuked for a dinner requiring little work and not much clean up. Yum.
something magical about going for a walk at night and looking at the Christmas lights in the neighbourhood. Some people do a beautiful job of decorating their homes. And when the air outside is crisp, clear and still, I am reminded of just how lucky I am to be here.
In the past few days, we have seen and heard a lot about the U.S. elections. And for good reason. Not only has history been made in America but people around the world are feeling something they perhaps have had little experience with of late. Hope. Of course, hope takes many forms and is born out of a variety of expectations but It sure feels good when it happens. And when it emanates from the words of one man, well, then it takes on a life of its own. 
people, and that through his influence, the rest of world will seek to be transformed as well. Transformational leadership contains an element of charisma but is grounded in a set of high ideals, a solid work ethic and the expectation that all people have the capability to raise themselves up and through their own hard work, reach the higher ground.
Don’t”
House. He said that because one of his children was allergic to animal dander, they would have to be very selective about their choice. He said too, that if his daughter was not sensitive in this way, he would prefer to go to the pound and pick out, “A mutt like me” .
Recently, I went with my husband on a trip to New York City. Usually, I am not happy about the prospect of being among millions of people . In fact, I tend to avoid crowds and tight spaces like the plague. But there is something about New York that transcends all of that. New York encourages and invites even the most claustrophobic of beings to break free and become part of the chaotic to-ing and fro-ing that constitutes daily life there.
ella is in her eighties and used to live in the same neighbourhood as the hotel. We met her at the Blue Note Jazz Club where we went to see Sophie Milman, a jazz singer from Toronto 
say, the art collection is right up my alley with many amazing portraits by artists like 
interesting piece of art in itself. The exhibit, on the other hand, was not to my taste at all. It featured the work of 
little of it)
On our last evening in New York we went on a dinner cruise. It is something people do when they are in tourist mode, or, if they are celebrating a special milestone. I guess we were doing both of those things so the cruise seemed appropriate. The boat left Pier 81 at about 7:00 p.m and travelled up the Hudson River, past all of the Manhattan landmarks. The piece de resistance was of course, the Statue of Liberty. I mean, you can’t go to New York without seeing her can you?
I’ve never been very good at saying good-bye. Of course, not too many people are very good at it. After all, good-bye is a word more often tinged with melancholy than anticipation, unless of course one is waving off relatives who have come for a visit and then outstayed their welcome. But saying good-bye, for me, has always been particularly painful.
Of course the sadness of a good-bye has a way of heightening the joy of a hello. Recently I was at the airport waiting for some friends to return from their vacation. The Arrivals area was relatively calm, the air flat and uninspiring. And then scheduled planes began landing.
I am not generally a fan of reality shows. To me, they are designed only to provide a forum for people to be unspeakably mean to each other. It is not something I care to watch. Makes me cringe actually.
I was thinking about my father today. Dad died a few years ago and yet, I don’t think a day goes by without my thinking about him and, as father’s day approaches, I reflect on the impact he had on both the quality of my life and many of the perspectives I hold about it.
over him in the process. It was my Dad who sang 
Jerome is a Ghost town in Arizona, or nearly a ghost town since it currently embraces about four hundred and fifty permanent residents. We decided to pass through there on our way to Prescott where we hoped to get some retail therapy.
There are a lot of quaint shops in Jerome and some very decent galleries displaying a variety of art pieces for both interior and exterior decoration. To be honest though, once you’ve seen one old building, well, you know the rest.
Perhaps it was that I was not in the mood for browsing or appreciating the historical value of Jerome, but I felt less than excited about it than about other excursions we have taken on this trip. I have no doubt missed something important so if you have an opportunity, it’s probably worth checking out for yourself.
Prissyperfection 