Tag: family

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

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years old, they were taken south and lost to their families as they were given
an education that could not be applied to their northern way of life.
The soft voice of the Grandmother ended the story by saying, “Perhaps
it would be good to have Isumataq.”
Isumataq, Ken learned, also meant many things—big, or spokesperson—
but the most accurate definition seemed to be “an object or a person in
whose presence wisdom might reveal itself.”
This was the exact point at which he discovered the meaning of his
life in Canada—the unknown purpose for which he’d embarked on this
mysterious and gruelling quest.
The idea that wisdom was a thing that existed on its own and could
only show its value if one was prepared to allow that to happen, was
electrifying. I felt a driving urgency to gather as much information
as possible—a burning need to disseminate that knowledge to those
who could not otherwise experience it for themselves. I had a definable
purpose.
The time came when the Grandmother took Ken aside. She sat on the
floor in front of him and pronounced, “In our mind you are Inuk. You are
learning our language and eating our food and you are a part of us. Our wish
is that you will stay with us, but you tell us that you have to go back to your
world, and that is as it must be. It is our wish that you tell the people in your
world of the many things you have seen—all of the things you know.”
And that was when Ken made the promise to the Grandmother that
would shape, drive and guide him for the next thirty plus years of his life.
I felt I was equipped with the knowledge of something unique. The
spirit of Isumataq had become a living thing in my heart! And as an
artist I had absorbed stunning material at the cellular level. It would
never leave me.
By his own calculations, Ken spent thirty-one years, several million
dollars, ended a marriage and lost numerous friends to his fixation on
keeping his promise to bring the story of the desperate plight of these
indigenous peoples to the 90% of Canadians who lived, totally unaware, in
the southern portion of the nation.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

Prairie Roots

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ridiculously low prices; even the children may not have fetched
much, being offspring of immigrants. Life was indeed a struggle,
as the first four boys arrived into their care.
My initial memories of that farm include a vague vision of a gray
two-storey frame house and chickens all over the yard. The chickens
I remember looking at in some puzzlement, from an upstairs
bedroom window, and wondering as to their relationship to me. I
also remember the big blocks of “relief” cheese which mother sliced
on the kitchen table; however, I do not remember whether or not I
liked it. It seemed to me that the weather was always sunny, perhaps
because we were only let out when the sun shone.
My most vivid early memory is associated with the 1938
Beeston school Christmas concert at which time I was three and a
half years old, having been born in May of 1935. I remember not
the concert itself, having slept through most of it, but being awakened
in my Uncle Mike’s arms by the noise of Santa’s arrival. Obviously
my name was called and my Uncle hastened forward with
me to see Santa, who scared me half to death before presenting me
with a red toy truck. I have liked trucks and have been leery of
long-haired men ever since!
We lived in our home until the spring of 1940 at which time my
parents bought a 320 acre tract of virgin land from the Hudson Bay
Company, seven and one half miles north of Hubbard. Where is Hubbard,
you ask? Half way between Goodeve and Ituna or, to locate it another
way, about 100 miles northeast of Regina. The new land had not seen a
plough. The neighbors had pastured cattle on it over the years, otherwise
not a tree had been cut nor a stone picked. All this was about to change.
But first a house had to be built to …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

Jazz with Ella

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ILLEGAL INTENT
ULYANOVSK, JULY 18, 1974
Maria’s eyes were dreamy and romantic as she twisted her own “first promise” ring. “They were such a cute couple,” she sighed. “Did you see how he looked at her—with so much love?”
“I only hope she feels the same way,” Jennifer said.
“I can’t believe he just walked out of that park without a backward glance,” said David. “I couldn’t do it. Leave my life behind, my family back in Canada…”
Jennifer, Ted, Maria and David had gathered at a dinner table aboard ship where they were reasonably sure there was no bugging device. They had determined this the day before by the simple expedient of dousing the table “accidentally” with a pitcher of water. A waiter had immediately stripped the table and replaced the cloth while they watched.
“We have to be cautious,” said David, indicating the room at large. Only a few other diners were present and the dinner had been delayed once again. “Our first item of business…”
“Excuse me. Have we elected you leader?” Ted asked.
“Could you at least listen to me? Our first item of business is how much we tell the others—here’s Hank now and he looks as if he wants to sit here. And then there’s Lona, who some of us mistrust, and we should decide that before she arrives.”
“Everyone’s got to know,” pointed out Maria, “except Natasha, of course. Don’t you think people are going to miss Paul? Though maybe not everyone needs to know about the second part of the plan, about Volodya…”
“Agreed,” replied Ted. “But there will have to be a few of us who know about the second part so that we can help.” Jennifer thanked him …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Circle

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“Thank you, Hakim; I’ll be in touch when I’m in L.A. Bye for now.”
He has committed himself to the task he and Ibrahim discussed the last time
they were together. This makes Bevan Longhorn feel more relaxed and peaceful
inside. His good, old friend, as he calls him, is right and Bevan knows what needs
to be done, before the end of the year.
Hakim’s mind flutters to a variety of things, as he tries to figure out what the
Admiralmeans by his crypticmessage about needing to see Ibrahim before the end
of the year. He shreds themessage and then sits at his workstation and opens the line
to communicate with his uncle. It’s no later than ten o’clock at night in Baghdad.
“Hello my dear uncle; are you there?”
“Hello, my dearest son. I’m here doing some paperwork; Mara is in bed already.
How are you?”
“I’m good; Talal is flying today via New York. He is flying with American
Airlines, flight number A3552. Expect him in Baghdad by four o’clock in the
afternoon, tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll have Rassan pick him up; is Emily Roberts with him?”
“Yes, of course. Bevan sends his regards.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear boy. Please tell him hello when you see or talk to him,
alright?”
“Yes, my uncle, everything else is the same here. Bye for now.”
About 12:30 p.m., Hakim and Jennifer start off to pick up Talal and Emily.
Jennifer is still jittery and Hakim tries to calm her down.
“Come now, baby, relax. You behave as if you are the one who is traveling;
it’s Talal and your mother. They’re going to be just fine and will have a good
time, you’ll see.”
“I know. I know all that; yet, my mind doesn’t know how to stop worrying.
What do you want me to do?” she looks at him distressed.
“I know what you need; when we get to the airport I’ll show you. Don’t forget
you must be strong and relaxed for your mother’s sake.”

Emily is still very upset about the idea of flying on such a long trip. Talal goes to
the bar and pours two glasses of wine.
“Come, my love. Have some wine. It will relax you; we’re going to be fine.
Don’t worry; you’ll make Jennifer worry if she sees you like that. Then she’ll have
a hard time while we’re away.”
Thinking about Jennifer and with wine in her system she feels better in a
matter of minutes, and when Jennifer and Hakim come in, they find Talal and
Emily relaxing on the couch waiting for them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Water in the Wilderness

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Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, be with us sinners now and the hour of our death. Amen.”
After a moment, she said aloud, “Please keep Morley safe, Lord. Send him to me, I need ….” Her words cut off by another sharp pain, she cried out, “Dr. Rosthern, please hurry.”
Rachael knew she couldn’t go any further. Her feet and hands were blocks of wood. Her whole body felt as though it didn’t belong to her. To make matters worse, she was beginning to see things that weren’t there. Several times she had called out to Ronnie where he walked ahead of her breaking the trail.
“Ronnie, look,” she’d called, “there’s a house up ahead of us.”
But each time he had dashed her hopes. “No, there’s nothin’ … no buildings … nothin’.”
She had felt like crying but was too exhausted to do even that; anyway, her tears were all dried up.
She glanced at Bobby on Ronnie’s shoulders. Her brother had been quiet for a long time. His head had fallen forward, and he looked to be fast asleep.
Sleep – that’s what she needed. She absolutely could not go on another minute without sleep. She stopped walking, sank down on the snow and let her eyes close of their own accord.
“Rachael, get up. Get up.”
She struggled to open her eyes. Her mother was calling her. She must have overslept and she’d be late for school. She tried to sit up, but a heavy weight on her whole body seemed to be holding her down.
“Rachael, Rachael, please get up. You can’t go to sleep. We’ve got to keep moving or we’ll freeze.”
Ronnie stood over her, jolting her back to reality – the reality that seemed more dream that real. He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Bobby’s sleeping,” she said tonelessly. Actually, it made no difference to her whether she slept or whether she froze. She teetered on her …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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so that the next morning there they would be – mysteriously having arrived
out of nowhere.
Salvador thought it was a marvellous plan, but his reason for the visit
was to arrange a meeting with Albert Reichmann. It had to be planned
several months in advance, but it could be done.
At last! Ken stipulated that the meeting take place at the Reichmann
home on an afternoon when Salvador and his crew were working in the
garden. “And this is what I want you to say: ‘Mr. Albert, there’s the man
in the garden – the man I told you about. He’s been sent.’ Just use those
words.”
“Why would I say that?” Salvador asked.
“Because that’s what I want you to say.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I promise I’ll tell you when the meeting is over, but those are the
words that have to be used.”
“Give me some idea about why those particular words.”
“Right now I can’t, but I just know that those are the right words.
They’re magic words. Merlin put them in my ear.”
Salvador promised to say the exact words, but as Ken got up to continue
painting and looked back at him, smiling enigmatically, he admitted
to himself that he had no idea whether he would say those words – or
indeed, what he would say or do.
The fundraising campaign was a flop. Most of the corporations sent no
reply and the two that came were gracious refusals. “Send more letters,”
Ken said.
“But they’re not working,” Diane protested.
“It doesn’t matter. Send more anyway!”
The Canadian Cancer Society sent a letter asking for his help in their
own fundraising campaign. Would he donate a painting of an Inukshuk
for a raffle? He and the Premier of Ontario, David Peterson, would pick
the winner at a large media event. Ken saw an opportunity for more publicity
and cheerfully said yes.
On the last day of the campaign, he met with Peterson, an affable, witty
man who was also an art lover. He told Ken that he and his wife had attended
his show at the Columbus Centre, but by the time they had arrived
every painting was sold.
Ken invited him to his studio for a private showing – and a guarantee
that some paintings there would not have a sold sticker. A few days later,
Peterson and his wife arrived and lingered in the studio, taking in the
large paintings and the sketches of Isumataq. They picked out a canvas
and, while Diane and Peterson’s wife selected a frame, …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Wellspring of Love

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“Oh yeah, Grandma Milligan rang. Said she’ll call you later.” She
swung around to face Tyne. “Is there any mail? Anything from Pa?”
“No, I’m afraid not, honey.”
Rachael shrugged. “Yeah well, I guess he’s more interested in his
new family now.”
Tyne walked over to the girl and put her arm around her. “Oh
Rachael, I’m sure that’s not the case. He’s likely busy getting them
settled, as well as going to work every day in the railway yard.”
“I know, Mom, but he used to write at least every two weeks before
he married that woman and took her kids on as well.”
Tyne frowned and withdrew her arm, but kept her voice gentle.
“Rachael, Margaret has a name. Please don’t refer to her as that
woman. She seemed very nice when we met her, and I’m sure she’s
going to make your pa happy. Don’t begrudge him that.”
Rachael sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She hesitated, then blurted,
“Mom, can I go to Lyssa’s tonight after supper? She said she’ll come
pick me up.”
Tyne’s eyebrows drew together. “You were there just two nights
ago, honey. Is there something special planned for tonight?”
Rachael shrugged. “Naw, just hanging and listening to records, I
guess. Please, Mom. It’s Saturday night. Lark’ll be there, too.”
“What about your Aunt Ruby? Will she be at home?”
Rachael hesitated. “I … don’t know … that is, I don’t think so. So
Lyssa says we can have the house to ourselves and play the record
player as loud as we like.”
Tyne took a deep breath. Should she give Rachael permission to
go to the Harrisons’ when there were no adults at home? Although
Lyssa considered herself an adult, Tyne would be far happier giving
Rachael permission to spend an evening with fifteen-year-old Lark
than with the precocious eighteen-year-old sister.
“Mom?”
“We’ll ask your dad when he comes in from the barn. If he says it’s
okay, then you can go. But I want you home by half past ten.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

Swamped

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the process. Then she went to the bathroom and emerged a moment
later looking professional and businesslike again. She sat down next
to him and talked business as if nothing but business had ever happened
between them. Eteo listened carefully and agreed on what
needed to be done for his new company, now registered under the
name Alexa Ventures. While Rebecca talked business, Eteo played
with her combed-up hair and neck and ears to the point of giving
her goosebumps, and Rebecca loved every moment of this but without
giving any hint of her awakening desire.
But when she had finished talking business, she let him undress
her to nothing and let him place her on top of him and ask her to
make him feel as wild as he had felt earlier, and Rebecca did her best
and rode his firmness deep inside her and like an amazon gave him
the utmost sexual pleasure once again. They both went to heaven and
back numerous times until they couldn’t have anymore, and then
rested in each other’s arms until the time came for Eteo to drive to
North Vancouver and Rebecca to her husband and child in Kitsilano.
Over the next few days Eteo’s work kept him busier than ever.
Golden Veins was getting a lot of attention, and its price had risen
into the fifties. This enabled Eteo to unload some of his clients’ stock
and use the funds to buy shares in Wheaton for them. Platinum Properties
was also doing very well, trading at a dollar and a half now and
with good volumes every day. John from the trading desk had gone
in and out of it a number of times as the stock moved upward, and
Eteo had sold many of the shares he held, getting good profits for his
personal accounts and his clients. Even Helena made a few dollars
on Platinum Properties. This delighted her, since as a conservative
girl she usually stayed away from risky penny stocks, except of course
when Eteo advised her to take the plunge.
One morning Eteo asked Mitch to meet him, and within half an
hour, he entered Eteo’s office, wondering what this was all about. He
didn’t have to wonder for long.
“Have a seat, Mitch,” Eteo said without any preamble. “I had a
meeting with Rebecca Horton. She has put the wheels in motion for
a new company incorporated for me with the name Alexa. You’ll
serve on the board of directors along with Peter, the engineer…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Small Change

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The Best of Friends
ALL I KNEW ABOUT ETERNITY in those days came to me through the agency of its little cousin, boredom. It was Friday and it was spring. The big windows on the left side of our second floor classroom had been lifted as far as the old paint in their grooves would allow. All afternoon, an intermittent breeze came through the protective metal grill carrying coal gas and bus fumes and the oddly fishy odour of soap from the Colgate factory down by the river. It wasn’t much, but it was news from the world and I sniffed it with a perverse pleasure.
We weren’t allowed to look outside, but as often as I could I snuck a peek at the vacant lot with its bottle chips, rusty concrete, patches of crabgrass, and minute particles of coal that lay in thin drifts where the wind had blown them from the smoke of locomotives that passed all day on the elevated tracks across the street, beyond the wooden fence of the Delaware-Lackawanna coal yard.
Sister Violeta, with her lugubrious monotone and her black visions of life before death, seemed connected somehow to the nearly purple hills (piles, really) of pea coal, which I had a privileged view of at this height. They looked like black sand blown up into dunes in the desert landscape of an alien planet. I used to imagine she had been hatched there.
Father Brackendorf, who came every Friday to teach us religion, was fond of looking out toward the coal yard and explaining that our souls were like the snow before a train went by. Once we were born, the soot came down. Scrubbing did no good. You had to let confession melt the snow, and let the sin fall to the bottom. (The bottom of what, I wondered). Then a blast of grace would freeze it white again. This is what he was saying now. It made me feel empty and restless. The clock above his head, round and white and edged with black, was soft-clicking back and hard-clicking forward, minute by minute. And then the minute hand hit twelve and it was three o’clock, and we were free.
But there was this debt I owed to Danny Amoroso.
He was three or four years older than we were, but he was slow. And he seemed to enjoy it. Being slow, I mean. He was a titan among …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Fury of the Wind

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which Will had taken up his position at the desk. Only the monotonous
tick of the pendulum clock on the waiting room wall, and the
occasional tap tap of telegraph keys disturbed the quiet. And once
in a while Will Andrews cleared his throat.
Try as he would Will could not keep his eyes off her. His curiosity
grew with the minutes but he did not think it his place to ask
who she was waiting for. He just wished the tardy individual would
hurry up and get there. He didn’t think he should leave the young
woman alone to go to his quarters, although his feet now screamed
to be released from his boots, and his throat felt parched just thinking
about Molly’s lemonade.
He pulled his watch from the fob pocket of his trousers. Half past
four. Half an hour since the train had passed through town, and its
passenger – who had expected to be met – still waited.
A faint sound startled him and he looked up to see the woman
crossing the room towards the wicket. She appeared cool and composed
but Will could see the lines down her cheeks where rivulets
of sweat had streaked her face powder.
“Excuse me, Mr. ah ….”
“Andrews.”
“Mr. Andrews, I wonder if you could tell me if the train was early
today.”
“Nope, right on time as usual.”
“Oh … I see … thank you.” She bit her lower lip and turned away
but suddenly she swung around to face him again.
“Mr. Andrews, would you mind placing a telephone call for me,
please? It would be a local call.”
“Sure. Who to?”
“Fielding. Mr. Benjamin Fielding.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “Ben Fielding?”
She brightened. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Ben Fielding ain’t got a phone.”
“Oh.” She said it so quietly he scarcely heard her. Her lips trembled,
and the hand resting on the counter, still gloved, began to
shake just a little.
Again she turned to go but she stopped when he said, “Can I get
my missus to bring you a glass of lemonade? I was just going in for
some.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530