Bøger af Michael Ostrogorsky

Ostrogorsky family history and archive circa 1949-1960. Archive of photos, letters, and documents covering the period of time following World War II when the family relocated to Canada and the United States to start a new life in a new world.

Archive of family photographs, letters, and documents from post-World War II period circa 1945-1950 while my family lived in displaced persons camps in Kempten, Germany, in the United States zone, while searching for a new home in a new world.

Family history and archive circa 1885 - 1960 distilled from documents that survived two revolutions, a civil war, two world wars, Great Depression, military coups, a military invasion, Nazi conscription, and World War II Allied aerial bombing.

I originally got a parrot because an old black guy with a parrot store convinced me that would help me pick up chicks. And I don't mean the poultry kind. Picked out a parrot at this old black guy's bird store here in Seattle that was big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The loudness I didn't learn about until too late. But that was the least of my problems. First of all, turns out I did not actually pick out the parrot. The parrot picked me. Not only was the parrot big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The parrot was a witch. Not a figurative or allegorical witch. A literal witch. A witch of the spell casting kind. The abracadabra kind. A witch with a coffee addiction, and a penchant for pizza and beer. Once I entered the bird store the parrot cast a spell. The kind of spell that caused me to clean out my bank account for a big, loud, blue-feathered witch. The kind of witch who did not abide with girlfriends. The kind of witch who did not abide with not getting her way. The kind of witch who turned out to be my guardian angel and the proverbial albatross around my neck at the same time. A witch named Princess Tara.

My earliest memory ever is the first time I successfully walked. Me and my mom. Well, of course, my mom already knew how to walk. But not me. Me and my mom. We were in the kitchen of our first family home. Dad must have been at work. I can't even remember how old I was. Couldn't have been too old. I stood up by myself, leaning against a kitchen counter. My mom walked to the other side of the small kitchen, big to a little tot like me who had never successfully figured out this walking trick before. She wordlessly motioned for me to come to her. I remember feeling scared to death to try, fearing I would plop face down on the yellow linoleum floor if I dared, never to get up.I desperately wanted my mom to come to me, but my mom kept motioning me to come to her. I finally relented and pushed off against the kitchen counter. One step. Then two. A third. A fourth and fifth. Thinking back on this adventure all these years later I can recall we had a small kitchen. Not too many steps required. I fell into my mother's arms, upright, triumphant. Spent.That's life. Challenges and conquests. Falling flat on your face on the linoleum, picking yourself up, and trying again. They say death and taxes are the only things you can count on in life. I say bull. Taxes are for suckers. Just ask any politician. And death is a con game dreamed up by holy rollers, preachers and grifters. I have learned that death is just another challenge to overcome. Challenge itself is the only thing you can count on in life. No matter how many challenges you face and conquer, there will always be another challenge knocking you face down on the linoleum. Comes the true challenge when you grow up and become an adult. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. No, not the ones you think. Love. Desire. Ambition. Faith. These are the greatest challenges of all. Overcoming these challenges is what makes life such a bitch. Love. Desire. Ambition. Faith. Without them, life is so simple, believe me.

I must finally have gone over the edge to totally batshit crazy. There could be no other explanation. No other explanation for why the cannibal warlock Hamatsa's procurer of bodies, the svelte seductress Kinqalatlala, stood before me with her razor-sharp hand stabbed through my chest while her tongue pushed into my mouth. No other explanation for why I stood frozen in shock while blood streamed down my legs. My blood. No other explanation for why my girlfriend Jean lay unmoving and unconscious on the pavement. No other explanation for why a tall naked muscular Amazonian goddess with glowing crystalline blue skin and only one eye and one breast let out a screech that threatened to burst my head.Well, wait. There could be one other explanation. I could be dead. I couldn't discount the possibility that I might be a new resident in the spirit world. Crazy or dead. This day was not going well.