I had an interesting visit with a new friend tonight, saying he was Hungarian.
He put on some videos of a Hungarian trio, bass and drums, with that big, table-top sized stringed instrument,
not played with mallets, but with sticks with knobbed ends.
I liked the tone far better than a harpsichord.
Talking about my Scottish background got my new friend talking about his,
saying he was really Magyar, a race with an ancient history.
When Sumerian writings were discovered, they were the oldest known writings of the Mediterranean,
and no-one could translate them, a unique language with no local variations.
But when a Magyar tourist saw them, he could read them right away.
I'm usually very good with age and nationality, and thought he was forty or so.
He was sixty-two, a year younger than me.
Three masters degress in mathematics, being a former stock-broker in Toronto,
playing guitar and keyboards without lessons, sounding good and nice to jam with.
He moved to Welland to live with his mother while she was dying,
and probably will be moving back.
I like the words to The Song of Hungary.