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A lovely writer friend of ours, who knows the author has kindly gifted us this book.
She quite rightly ascertained that it will resonate with us. A few days ago we started reading it. I say we, but in fact it is I who is reading it - aloud so Kitty can enjoy it too.
And how right she was!. To say that we love it does not really cover it. How can one love reading about the horrors that are retold and that affected us and countless others? Yet, no matter how familiar we are with the facts - each retelling has got its own compelling narrative. And if it is coupled with good writing - as it is in this book - the experience is more than satisfying.
Quite at the beginning the story goes into some detail about the Jewish men who were conscripted (from as early as 1939) as forced labour to accompany the ill fated Hungarian Army to the Russian front. Although prior to being deported to the concentration camps my father was also part of this monstrosity - even if only within Hungary only. Alas, he did not survive to 'tell the tale'.
However, my adoptive father did. He got as far as the Don and somehow with less than a handful of his 'battalion' he made it back. Occasionally he would recount some of his escapades. Some, like how he barely survived typhoid were quite moving some others half 'hilarious' in a sort of surreal way.
One such story that I remember well...
Quite frequently the conscripts were lined up and had to put all their possessions in front of them. Over time most of their meagre 'valuables' were confiscated with one pretext or another. On this occasion one of the Hungarian Gendarmes was doing the inspection. Officiously, pipe hanging in his mouth he would arbitrarily decide what the conscripts could keep or not. When he got to my father he noticed that he had two different kinds of tobacco. So you filth I see you smoke a pipe. Well you don't need that much do you? He asked rhetorically and with his foot he kicked away the more expensive pouch. Then, for no good reason he changed his mind and gave it back only to confiscate the cheaper one. Little did he know that this seemingly act of kindness netted him a valuable gold ring that my father with 'clever' logic hid inside the cheaper tobacco.
For anyone interested in the history of those times - from the perspective of one family - I strongly recommend this book.
www.amazon.co.uk/Scattered-Ghosts-Survival-Holocaust-Revo...
Thanks to the group "115 Pictures in 2015" this Teddybear sat perky and bright.....although a little bit worse for wear after 35 years in the loft. Teddy now at 69 years old, was Janina's (my cuddly wife) favorite when she was 3 years of age.
Theme #47 - A Childhood Memory
Thanks for being so patient Keron!
This was done for my 1:1 exchange with the colourguru..... www.flickr.com/photos/thecolourguru/
A scene from last weekend, when the sun was shining. It has been
raining the past several days and expected to continue throughout
the weekend. Thank goodness for photos to keep our spirits bright!
HAVE A PEACEFUL WEEKEND, FRIENDS.
ok so its cute, but i was trying a lil experiement and it didnt turn out too bad :) inspired by gwyn
A candlelight vigil was held 23 July 2014 night in memory of innocent lives lost in flight MH17 from Amsterdam - Kuala Lumpur 17 July 2014. This vigil in my neighbourhood Subang Jaya is one of many held recently in Malaysia.
Speaker: Hannah Yeoh
Memories of my primary school, 1982 when I was in Grade III. This is St. Mary's Convent School, Tumkur City, Karnataka state, India.
The first year that Steve and I were together, we were apart. We only saw each other for a few days every month until he moved here permanently. We sent each other cards every week. I have amassed quite the collection.
We were meant to do a MOC for a contest at Comunidade 0937 to celebrate it's 10th birthday.
So I did a memory book to keep things registered. This one features an important mark for the LUG it was the Fan Weekend at Paredes de Coura and also a party, one of the coolest nights I've had in a long time.
Vídeo Here: www.flickr.com/photos/88457810@N05/28872382300/in/datepos...
So I never liked growing up in Winthrop, and I avoid going there as much as possible. Yet it seems I have a lot to say about it. Kinda weird. This memory map thing is pretty damned interesting.
Every time we meet someone new, we have a chance to retroactively reinvent ourselves. We tell them stories... what our childhoods were like; how we were in our teens; how we landed (or lost) our first jobs, our first loves... and, each time it happens... depending on the audience... we might just trim or tuck or embroider or completely leave out certain facts.
I know a woman who denies (to her partner) her entire 1980s experience. One day I was visiting and started to tell a hilarious story... which I'd just assumed she had shared with her partner... and suddenly, there she was, standing behind him... waving her arms at me, shaking her head and mouthing 'NO NO NO!!!' Later she explained that she found that whole era of her life terribly embarrassing and chose to just pretend - to herself as well as him - that it simply never happened. An entire decade.
This same woman regularly purges her belongings - clothing, furniture, music, books - to eliminate anything that does not currently fit her identity-du-jour. Essentially, she doesn't like to make "mistakes" - and so prefers to act as though they simply never happened.
I have another friend who does exactly the opposite - believes that his "mistakes" are to be treasured, kept and learned from. He quite happily hauls out pics of his bad 80s hair and even worse outfits and... even when they blow goats... keeps (and listens to!) the worst CDs... just because he bought them.
They're two extreme examples, I suppose. Most of us are probably somewhere in between.
But... memory being imperfect and subjective... I bet we'd all be surprised to see real-time tapes of certain parts of our pasts played back.
I'm writing this now because this pic strikes me as a representation of memory... its layers and levels and complexities... some parts soft and vague and fuzzy... some etched sharply... some aloft... others dark, deep and - ultimately - impenetrable.
Also... like this pic... they have no real objective form. They only exist in the mind and the eye.
I have not been in poem mode at all this year, so I was
surprised when one began to emerge the other day. I'm
not sure it's finished, and the punctuation is all wrong,
but it's all I have for now!
memory foam
the bed has come between us
furniture and issue
when night comes on.
while you sleep
the blue angels bust
the sound barrier.
while you sleep
the lumberjack
whirs his saw blades
my dreams go boom
and poof
I wake in the next room.
bedroom walls
have come between us
blocking the bombardiers
keeping the locomotives
on the track
no more jackhammers
blasting holes in the night.
the bed has come between us.
for good.
I am the perfect sleeper
get my beauty rest
beat my chest like King Koil
in victory
over the "Hammerklavier Sonata"
which you conduct next door
but like Beethoven
never hear.
I have chosen sleep
traded sonic booms
for silence
but I have not forsaken you
as long as my skin remembers
where you fit.
time for change
sửa xog mà cứ thấy kì kì màu hai cái nó k ăn khớp với nhau j cả
post lên 1 lần rồi xog xóa đi sửa lại , hỏng mất rồi
điên =))))))))