The Theft of Baby Ily

A Short Story Inspired by True Events

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Analynn Riley THEFT OF BABY ILY 19 Sept 2020 BLOGDownload

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Preface

The wooden docks at the port of Halifax, Nova Scotia, are saturated with the tears and footprints of immigrants who fled their homelands at the end of the nineteenth century in search of a better life in Canada. The trip was arduous and long, with hopefuls surviving unthinkable conditions in the bellies of ships that weaved through turbulent Atlantic waters. Sadly, many did not survive.

More often than not, Halifax was not the final destination for these travel-worn immigrants. Settlements sprung up across Canada, settlements that would benefit from the rich culture the new arrivals brought with them.

Inspired by true events, The Theft of Baby Ily is the fictional account of one Hungarian family determined to start life anew in our great nation. After enduring tremendous hardship for weeks of sea travel, the family is thrilled to be able to submit their official documents to Canadian Immigration authorities at the docks in Halifax. While the father is dealing with government officials, Baby Ily is ripped out of her mother’s arms.

The Art of Aging: Part VII – It Ain’t Necessarily So

Orcus Mouth | Parco dei Mostri / Sacred Grove | Bonarzo, Northern Italy

Rethinking What We’ve Believed To Be True

In Act III of life, we, the players, question what we’ve believed to be truth up to now. We may decide to hang onto those beliefs, or we make changes because we suffered a reality wake-up call.

We’ve been shaken by the unveiling of maxims that once guided us through decades. We’ve suffered the dismissal of beliefs because advances in science shook them until new evidence popped out and proved old research incomplete, wrong, or obsolete. We travel and see atrocities in other countries, returning home and giving thanks that we live in Canada… until some of those atrocities begin showing up on our soil. For many of us, it’s taken a rude awakening to accept that Canada’s government institutions, for example, may not truly hold our interests at heart. From provincial and federal institutions to local agencies and companies, we may feel betrayed by dishonesty and sometimes fraudulent operations. Our naiveté may well have warped us into believing things that simply weren’t or aren’t true.

Following are only ten of the numerous points that Canadians once believed to be truth, but are now singing, It Ain’t Necessarily So.

The Art of Aging: Part VI – Religious Practice

BLUE MOSQUE, Istanbul, Turkey

Have life’s batters and challenges left you abandoning religious faith all together? Years of experiences and trials leave you questioning the reality of an ultimate deity who cares about us, who truly loves us, who guides and protects us? Or, are you engaged in religious practice now more than ever before?

Maybe you’re in the process of deciding whether or not to adopt religious conviction. As we age, it’s natural to reflect upon our religious beliefs, and upon religion in general. Research says being religiously active is good for us! Time to buy in?

The Art of Aging – Part V: Friends

A Friend In Need

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge 1903

Friends come, they go, and they stay. There are instant friends—you know, the ones you click with on first meeting. There are passing friends—the ones you connect with on an overseas trip or special work project, and even though you stay in touch via technology, the friendship link soon dissipates. Maintaining long-distance friendships is difficult at the best of times. One also can’t ignore that with aging comes changes in our friendships.

Friendship … is born at the moment when one says to another “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .”  ― C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves

And, there are the friends that some people have that become part of their forever life.

The Art of Aging – Part IV: Our Past, Our Stories

Do we go gently “into that good night”, or are we raging, “raging, raging against the dying of the light”? (Dylan Thomas) Either way, our past rises up to haunt us, endorse us, renew us. What’s interesting about its power is that we continue to try to control it, not realizing that we’re doing so until it’s too late.

What is it about our past that we hang on to? That we indulge in? That we nurture? That we use to make conversation? That we depend on for our identity? Is the past our story?