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Manual changes to the list will be removed on the next update! Christian von Conersheim and his Wife Elisabeth von Brauweiler. Landscape with the Rest on the Flight into Egypt. Portrait of the Artist Disguised as Robert Mugabe. Portrait of Dr. MacCallum "Lord Lonsdale". Farmland at Fort St.

John, North of Dawson Creek. First Class: The Meeting The Virgin and Child with SS.

Mill at the Edge of the Woods, Sunset, Charlevoix. A Poetics of Global Trolling. Volume: 86, Issue: 4, pp. Volume: 79, Issue: 2, pp. Robert D. Levitan and Caroline Davis. Related Articles. Sciences humaines. Ugo Foscolo and Some Englishmen. The Drift of Modern Fiction.

Energy and Action. The Problem of Spiritual Authority in England. The Early Architecture of Ontario. If I was nice to her shed feel better about taking care of me so he could continue what he was doing without interference. I accepted the guilt of causing my mother grief until years later when I found out about his affairs with other women. I remember her frequent complaints and his calling her crazy.

When I questioned a cousin about my adoption after both my parents had died, she told me their marriage had been arranged. My mother was older than my father which surprised me because they always said they were the same age. Whos to know? They came from Russia with no papers, she said. When I asked my father how they met, he said my mother had been en She was going with his best friend and he, with another woman.

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They just switched dates and then got married. I had no privacy at home. My father wouldnt allow me to close the door to my room saying we were a family, had no secrets and therefore no reason to close doors. Not being able to trust himself he projected all his mistrust onto me. The only door I could close, other than the bathroom door, was the one to my closet. If left open that big black hole scared me when I awoke during the night and Id call for my father who, while I went to the bathroom, would squeeze a glass of fresh orange juice for me.

A ritual was established. I was seven years old when wartime rationing came to an end. Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip were married and we watched their wedding ceremony on television.

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It was dreamlike with the two of them riding in their royal carriage that looked like Cinderellas coach. Annie, a Ukrainian woman, cleaned our house and took care of me if I happened to be sick and home from school. She was heavy, with stringy, shoulderlength hair, and teeth widely-spaced with one missing in front. She worked hard, was quite jovial, wouldnt put up with my moods and I liked being with her.

She had a young daughter. When we played together I remember becoming cranky and jealous when Annie showed her more attention than me. It didnt matter that they were mother and daughter. All I thought was what about me?


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Craving a mothers attention blinded me to everything else. During second grade my mother, president of the Home and School Association and interested in creative opportunities for kids even though she had a difficult time relating to me, initiated an art program for children to attend after school, one day a week, free of charge. With the gym floor covered with sheets of paper, paint trays and small containers of water, we could let our imaginations roam unrestricted, creating magical masterpieces of illusive impressions from past lives and present predicaments.

I loved art. After school and some milk and cookies, my friend Judy and I walked to Hebrew School, where the teacher, a man with bad breath, tried desperately, for one hour, to teach us this archaic language, for what reason I didnt know. He was short on patience and used to hit the backs of our hands if we werent paying attention. The songs he sang with gusto, completely forgetting about us, were fun and I remember them to this day.

I didnt particularly like going to Hebrew school nor to synagogue but we went because it was the thing to do. Mello-Rolls tubular vanilla ice cream in a cone , miniature bags of chips, The building on the corner of Peel and Sherbrooke sent shudders through me, the halls and elevator smelled of decay, and opening the door to the waiting room was hell itself.

I never got out with fewer than too many fillings and I was allowed to hold the switch to turn off the drill but never used it because that would just have prolonged the pain.

I collected many. Israel became a nation and was immediately attacked by her Arab neighbors first Arab-Israeli War.

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America promptly recognized Israel but Britain and Canada refused to follow their lead. Laurent did Canada agree to acknowledge the new Jewish state. Mohandas Gandhi, advocate of nonviolence, was assassinated. The government of South Africa began its racist apartheid policy which gave blacks no political rights. Neither of my parents read books, only newspapers and magazines, yet my mother was adamant about me reading. She taught me that books were precious and not to fold the corners of pages but to use a bookmark.

She also expected me to play the piano. I was actually proud that she played since none of my friends mothers could do anything like that, but I hated to leave my playmates skipping rope to come in to practice. I felt pressured to please her. If only she didnt click her tongue every time I hit a wrong note, I might still be playing today. Elocution lessons were torture. Being terribly shy, I hated to recite on stage. But ballet was different. I loved to dance and the most thrilling of all was going to the ballet. Giselle, The Nutcracker, Coppelia. We went to every ballet that came to Montreal.

My mother always bought a program and read the synopsis to me at the beginning of each act. I cherished and saved these programs for years.

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Suddenly the theater lights dimmed, a hush fell over the audience, the conductor stepped up to the podium and the strains of the overture enveloped the room. I held my breath when the footlights lit the deep red velvet curtain that opened, slowly revealing a darkened stage with frozen silhouetted dancers and the magic began. Everything melted away for those few blissful hours. I was the princess, I was Sleeping Beauty with the wicked queen as my mother.

My father obediently accompanied us and always fell asleep during the performance. My grandmother died during the summer when I attended camp in the Laurentian Mountains north of Montreal. We had spent a lot of time together and I loved her dearly. Afraid to draw any attention to myself and embarrassed by my feelings, I let her death pass without a reaction from me.

My mother cried a lot. But she cried about everything. My parents rented a cottage in the country along with many of their friends.