Bits of This and That

I have no grand/confusing ideas to discuss. I only have a couple of unconnected details about my current life.

I've been channeling my literary endeavours into my English course, which leaves few moments or meditations for my neglected blog. However, studying poetry has been highly enriching. In the process, I fell in love with E. Pauline Johnson's poems all over again. Forgive me for mentioning her once more, but she's a genius. Here's a link to my current favourite of hers, called "The Trail to Lillooet." Does anyone else want to travel to Lillooet?

Of historical note, did you know that William Shakespeare wrote his plays around the time of Henry Hudson's expeditions and Samuel de Champlain's establishment of Quebec? Which is exactly why I love history; I love discovering fascinating connections. And yes, I am studying a play of Shakespeare's. Hamlet to be precise. Perhaps I am more accustomed to his writing style, but I can actually make heads or tails out of this play.

Besides normal life, I've lived a bit of abnormal life. I was treated to a fantastic vacation in Alberta involving my cousins' weddings (as in there were two weddings, both involving cousins of mine ;). I got to fly! On an aeroplane! Flying shrinks my age 'til I feel like a little kid, except it lacks some of the thrill it once held. However, observing and learning new details nearly makes up for it. By now I have enough nerve to speak with the pilots as we disembark. One copilot's dazed reaction to a question left me wondering whether the question was surprisingly intelligent or especially stupid. Or perhaps he was simply distracted by his girlfriend's messages, for he had been using his cell phone. One can never be completely sure...

Genius

I recently read a compilation of articles by Albert Einstein, titled The World As I See It. Remarkably, this book excludes all mathematical and scientific writings, simply because we're too dumb to catch on. In fact, most people are too ignorant to realize they're too ignorant to understand his theory. 

Years of study are required to understand all the technical terms, much less the concepts they represent. Comprehension of his theory of general relativity won't fully reveal his genius. Only after one digs through science history to discover what knowledge he had to begin his journey; only after one walks in his mental footsteps; only after one comprehends the "before" and "after" pictures; only after one views and understands the progress his theory made - only then can one more fully grasp his intelligence.

However, this book reveals a more personal side. His sense of responsibility towards his fellow humans amazes me. In his perspective, all that he had - including knowledge and relative ease of lifestyle - was a gift from previous generations. Therefore his responsibility with these gifts was to improve them for the proceeding generations. He writes, "The life of the individual has meaning only in so far as it aids in making the life of every living thing nobler and more beautiful." His foremost desire was to make the world a better place.

At least, that's what I understood from the book. I haven't encountered so many new, big words since Wordly Wise in my school days. (Doesn't that make me sound old?) Never underestimate the effect a single word has on a paragraph. Apparently "anthropomorphic" - er - didn't mean quite what I thought it did.

No need to idolize the man, but the mysteriousness of his theory only increases my awe. However, I must admit I admire genius. I see its streaks in the people I encounter every day. And I marvel at it, wondering if they know it too. For I think when God creates people, he only makes geniuses.

I guess I'm pretty stupid - not in a derogatory way, but simply facing the facts. I think it's okay to be stupid, for God doesn't mind so much. Rather, I think He prefers me - us - that way. Cause when we lose our knowledge, then He becomes Wisdom. 

Swiss Cheese

...vowing that this one would be different. This blog wouldn't fizzle out like so many others. I would stick to it and continue posting. Only I didn't, as you can see. Hark! The sound of crunching as I eat my hollow words.

It hasn't been from lack on ideas. No, they have perpetually bubbled from the great artesian aquifer of Thought. Perhaps the abundance of ideas has churned into a marsh I dare not trust. Other things fill my days. Books to read, routes to ride, obligations to fill, and, of course, work. What would we do without work?

Not work, perhaps?

Ho, ho, so silly. Thank you, smarty pants.

Please excuse us for a moment.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to write full time? Devote every day to the craft, instead of only the spare moments. Forget about work. Hide away from annoying interruptions. Find a houseboat home. Enjoy writer's high - and writer's perspective - every day.

Writing is shockingly similar to painting. I prefer realism when it comes to painting, although I admire all styles (excepting cubism, of course). My limited experience has taught me that everything is never as it seems. Let's pretend we are painting a picture that contains a door. Everyone knows that doors have square corners. Okay, so let's ensure the door we are painting has square corners.

Except not so fast. Depending on the perspective, the door we are painting might have very un-square corners. Therefore, to create a realistic reproduction, we must paint exactly what we see - not what we think we see.

In writing, the picture becomes an idea and the paints become the words. The difficulty lies in "painting" the idea how it actually is, not how one thinks it is. The difficulty lies in choosing concise words that portray no more, no less, than the original. How often do figurative doors contain square corners, simply because I have
mis-chosen words.

Differences of perceptions always form; misperceptions always form. This is simply a product of perspective. Ironically - there is always a flip side - these differences and errors produce refreshing individual style, both in painting and writing. The artist's signature appears through the very inconsistencies of which they are unconscious. Yet the term "inconsistencies" is purely subjective. Who can rightly judge one perception as more nearly correct than another? However, when striving for excellence and all realism flees, humour covers a multitude of sins.

Back to the writing dream, I'm afraid it is an illusion. After all, a dream is purely a vacation from reality. To spend time in recluse is to cut oneself off from reality. And how could one portray - and discover - reality when they are isolated in an artificial world?

Dreams are fantastic, but I'm afraid this one is Swiss cheese - full of holes. Yet very well aged.

Deep Riches

I was shutting down for the night, resting with my Bible in my hand, when a thought struck me: there's nothing like the Bible to put me to sleep. I reflected on this statement; comforted. Then the irony washed over me. As if! 

As if the Bible was light, superficial reading. As if the words of the Majestic One could bore my little mind. As if God's Book is the type that drones on and on until I drift into la la land. As if the Maker of the unimaginable could fail to tickle my finite imagination. As if! 

When I consider God's glory and unlimited power, I wonder how His Word could fail to inspire. Then I look at my weakness, and, well, you know how it goes. For if you are like me, not every verse is a rocket-ride revelation. If you are like me, the Bible lies within reach - and too often, stays there. Exciting things fill my mind. My computer keyboard becomes shiny and polished from use, while my Bible remains shiny and polished from lack of use. Maybe, maybe it is time for a new perspective of God's Word. Perhaps I could fill my mind with a different, singular Exciting Thing. 

I have a quick exercise for you. It will take but a second. Find your Bible and pick it up. Hold it for a moment. Just cradle it in your hands. Please be careful, for you are holding part of God. That binding, those thin pages, most importantly, the words - contain part of God! And since your Bible is in your hands anyway, I'll let you find the origin of this thought: the very first verse of John. Isn't it a miracle that God would trust us with something so precious? 

So, what about those times when God's Word seems rather, I don't know, stale? What do you do when God's love letter stops communicating His love? I'm afraid I haven't found a definite answer either. However, there seems to be a certain mystery about the Bible. After all, aren't God's ways higher than our ways; His thoughts higher than our thoughts? Yet "thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." (Isaiah 57:15) For "an highway shall be there...  for wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein." (Isaiah 35:8) 

God's Word doesn't have to be complicated. He made it for people like you and me. Read God's Word, because I think He wants and waits to talk to you. In fact, I think that He wants to talk to you so much, He can hardly wait for you to give Him some time. I also believe that in waiting - quietly - for Him, He will speak. Perhaps just a little is enough. For I've begun to view God's Word as the Israelite's manna in the desert: enough sustenance for one day. After that, we get to - get to - have some more. 

Jesus encourages us: "Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened unto you." (Matthew 7:7) Read your Bible. Just start wherever. On second thought, I wouldn't recommend the lists of names in 1 & 2 Chronicles. Then again, knowing God and His surprises... So go, search out His ways. Hang on tightly! It's quite a ride as He reveals "the depth of the riches both of the knowledge and wisdom of God! [for] unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:30) 

Irony of ironies, as God’s presence fills you, His Word just might lull you to sleep. Whether faith or doubt fill your mind, God's power does not change. Whether a storm is beating against your house or your heart, God’s promises remain the same. Rest in His loving words: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Camaraderie of Literature

I have a delightful, insightful passage to share with you. It comes from the book titled The Master's Violin by Myrtle Reed. An excellent read if there ever was one.

I'm fascinated by the physical book itself. Copyright in 1904, it is over one hundred years old! My mind wanders through the history of this span of time. The paper and binding that I hold in my hand has survived the mistaken glory of World War I. It escaped the perilous, penny-pinching poverty of the Great Depression. Then it soldiered on through the next global conflict: World War II. In fact, it was forty years old by the time the atom publicly unleashed its astronomical power. Danger wasn't past. Its next foe was subtle: consumerism. The post-war economic success ruled: if it's old, junk it and buy a new one. And still it lived on. Today it combats the digital revolution. Liquid crystal is the new paper and binding. And just this morning, it was bombed by cinnamon roll icing. A certain careful reader wasn't quite careful enough.

I love to wonder where this book has been. Whose bookshelf has it sat in? Whose hands have held it? Whose mind delighted in its semi-philosophical lapses? Perhaps someone... No, to begin would only lead further from the paragraphs I am unsuccessfully trying to share.

So here you are:

      "Of the things that make for happiness, the love of books comes first. No matter how the world may have used us, sure solace lies there. The weary, toilsome day drags to its disheartening close, and both love and friendship have proved powerless to appreciate or understand, but in the quiet corner consolation can always be found. A single shelf, perhaps, suffices for one's few treasures, but who shall say it is not enough?

       "A book, unlike any other friend, will wait, not only upon the hour, but upon the mood. It asks nothing and gives much, when one comes in the right way. The volumes stand in serried ranks at attention, listening eagerly, one may fancy, for the command.

     "Is your world a small one, made unendurable by a thousand petty cares? Are the heart and soul of you cast down by bitter disappointment? Would you leave it all, if only for an hour, and come back with a new point of view? Then open the covers of a book.

      "With this gentle comrade, you may journey to the very end of the world and even to the beginning of civilization. There is no land which you may not visit, from Arctic snows to the loftiest peaks of southern mountains. Gallant gentlemen [and ladies, of course ;] will go with you and tell you how to appreciate what you see. Further still, there are excursions into the boundless regions of imagination, where the light of dreams has laid its surpassing beauty over all.

      "Would you wander in company with soldiers of Fortune, and share their wonderful adventures? Would you live in the time of the Crusades and undertake a pilgrimage in the name of the Cross? Would you smell the smoke of battle, hear the ring of steel, the rattle of musketry, and see the colours break into deathly beauty well in advance of the charge? Would you have for your friends a great company of noble men and women who have wrought and suffered and triumphed in the end? Would you find new courage, stronger faith, and serene hope? Then open the covers of a book, and presto - change!"

Sounds a bit like God's Book, doesn't it?

Sky Scrawl

I am sorry that they missed it so completely.

They were inside where the biggest star was the one who could say the funniest things. I happened to be outside where the biggest star was the One who "tells the number of the stars, and calls them all by their names." (Psalm 147:4)

Don't take me wrong. I think relationships are one of the most important, lasting, fulfilling things in life. But like all introverts, I sometimes tire of an incessant cacophony of jokes. Okay, okay, I admit I was slightly miffed. 

It had been overcast all night. I knew what was up there if only the clouds would roll away. I knew it was new moon. I knew the world's greatest light show was happening - only the curtain was still concealing it. So I waited patiently. Well, I thought I knew what was happening. I returned outside. The curtain of cloud had rolled away. 

Awe.

The sky was on its nightly rotation. Millions upon millions of stars. Jupiter, Pleiades, Orion, Sirius, and Cassiopeia arrayed as only they can be. Their friendships seemed deep and ancient, reaching back to "when the morning stars sang together." (Job 38:7)

The ageless beauty always surprises me, but something else was waiting. It was a message. The size of the letters weren't measured by pixels, but by light years. The power of the message wasn't measured by decibels, but amplified by silence. What I saw was a signature - God's signature. 

The magnificent creation was honouring the Creator. The heavens shouted with joy, "Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable!" (Psalm 145:3) "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing." (Revelation 5:12)

The glimmering stars scrawled God's everlasting promises across the darkness. God can't help but remind us of His love, "for God is love." (1 John 4:8) Through the silence of His signature, His Word thundered: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3) "Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15,16) "But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." (Isaiah 43:1)

Truly "the heavens declare the glory of God." (Psalm 19:1)



I recently received a book called Indescribable. Its title, ah... describes it rather well. It is packed full of amazing, colourful images of God's universe. If you think science-fiction is crazy, then take a look at reality. This book delves deeply into fascinating details - but not so deeply as to lose you in the vastness of outer-space. Coincidentally, one of the authors related an experience similar to mine, which always intrigues me greatly.

And now I will share two excerpts that impressed me especially.

It would take a jet plane flying from the Sun's surface at 800 km/h well over a month... to reach this star's centre. - Thomas Dubay

Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course... We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television. - Paul Hawken

Something New

Dare the precipice of Something New.
Tread the edge, flirt with the ledge,
Stand where you’ve never stood before.
Let the wind whip
Past the treacherous lip
But don’t let slip
Till preparation and consideration are past.
Then brace yourself
And-
        P
          L
          U
          N
          G
          E
          !
Overload!
Up is down, left is right
Disorientation reigns your flight
Catch your stomach as it floats past
Flip-flop through free fall - fast!
Spin, spiral, swooping motion,
Solid ground is just a notion
Perhaps,
Perhaps your plunge won’t ever stop
Dizzy firmament, underneath, on top
So
Settle back on nothingness
Capture the view of upside down
Mesmerized in light-years sped
Enjoy your gently mangled head
From touchdown.
Touchdown! Congratulations on your survival!
No clean pants needed upon arrival
Expectations hardly met!
But you know what?
Something New wasn’t half bad!

Faded Rose

This is one of those "back-burner" thoughts. I've thought it strange that people would study a person that has died, finding out about their life, and maybe even idolizing them.

I've been thinking about my late grandfather, William Isaac. I have faint memories of him, but he died before I really got to know him. However, as I've gathered details of his life, I've become quite fascinated. And disappointed, too, that I couldn't have known him better. From what I've heard, he was different, and not in a bad way. He and Grandma always had time to listen to people. He was given first class service at the local china store because he would buy. He loved to give china to Grandma. He was an expert gardener. His favourite flower was a yellow rose; yellow because that was one colour that his colour-blindness didn't cheat him on. As Grandma's vision failed, he was the one that would cook for them. He replaced his Bibles not because he misused them or misplaced them, but because they actually wore out. 

I've found connections between his interests and my interests. I love skating, and my mom says that he was a wiz on skates. Biking was his favourite type of exercise, just as it is for me. I love to sing and so did he. He led songs until his hearing made it difficult to understand selections from the benches. He enjoyed writing and was a skilled writer, especially of poems. I find poetry difficult to conquer, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying writing. I think I get my "Isaac" walking posture from him as well. But best of all, he served the same God I do. By faith, I will see him again someday. 

Not surprisingly, people haven't mentioned his faults. I doubt he was faultless, but my fascination continues. So I want to say something to all of you that can still speak to your grandparents: get to know them, or get to know them better. And love them especially much for me.

Word by Word

Finishing an enthralling book always fills me with elation. The rush to devour each chapter is over. A million and one ideas swirl through my mind; a million and one perspectives and experiences to digest. So much to learn from: people's reactions and interactions, different life styles, healing wounds, breaking hearts, humour in spite of hurt, and always an obstacle to conquer. The intoxication subsides after awhile, and I wonder at the journey through someone else's imagination. Fifty thousand words, maybe a hundred thousand, weaving an imaginary plot in an imaginary world.

Less Is More

I admire people who can say much with few words. Simple is profound. And now I shall likely disregard my preferences and ramble for awhile. When someone speaks simply and succinctly, their thoughts stay with me. When they don't, on the other hand, I have to sort and sift to find the point, and in the mean time, I've forgotten what they've said, and do you suppose this would be considered a run-on sentence?

I thought I was looking forward to winter. Apparently I was deceived.

I was rummaging in my closet, and suddenly, quite un-biddenly, a winter glove jumped out and plopped onto the floor. Shudder! I closed my eyes to the hateful thing. I've really enjoyed summer, and I'm ready for autumn , but please, no winter quite yet! By the time the snow starts flying I'll probably embrace it whole-heartedly, but just think of bundling up every time you head outside...

Big Little Orchestra

You don't have to pay a penny to hear it; just a bit of your time. Until this year, I had no idea that the big little orchestra didn't start until late summer. Since it's that season now, though, I hear it all the time: while sitting and reading, while driving in the evening, or while dozing off at night.

"A stream of tender gladness,
Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies;
Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies
In mystic rings,
Where softly swings 
The music of a thousand wings 
That almost tones to sadness."

     E. Pauline Johnson

The verse above is from the poem "Shadow River: Muskoka." The italicized lines mention the big little orchestra: big in the area it covers, little in the size of its members. This verse scatters delicious chills all over my skin... The second verse, not shown here, points to the future, to a time when I will "float upon a sapphire floor." I can hardly wait.

Hop, Skip, and a Jump

You're probably wondering about the title of this post. Well, keep wondering a little longer.

Ever been an air traffic controller? Me neither. But I've used this wonderful online simulator. Some days, it feels like I'm an air traffic controller for the radar of my life. Mostly when my job and personal life get really hectic and I need to coordinate fourteen random things that are happening at once. "Air Canada one-twenty-two, descent three thousand." lol

The Tour de France is well on its way. This race is so difficult that most of the riders focus on finishing the race, rather than placing first. Only the elite can dream of covering the 3,400 km in the shortest time. The effect this race had on me is amazing, and I'm still elated. A few days ago I managed to maintain an average speed of 30 km/h over a circuit route for the first time! I have a long way to go before I reach the speeds of the professionals. On similar routes, they can achieve an average speed of over 50 km/h!

In some ways I feel sorry for those cyclists, though. As much as I like cycling on the side, I couldn't enjoy it in the amounts they handle it. It seems to be their life. I have to wonder, "What about playing tennis, or swimming, or watching fireworks with friends, or driving to work in the morning, or falling in love with summer, or, or, or." The list stretches on. So I'll cheer them on and not envy them even a little.

I finished Rilla of Ingleside recently. It seems different from many of L. M. Montgomery's books. This one is far from idealistic. It takes place during World War I, and nothing could be less perfect. Yet it captures my imagination. I am so glad I don't have to face the fear and worry that these brave people had to face every day on the home front.

Did you know that William Stephenson was an introvert? Maybe you don't know him by that name. He was also called Little Bill and Intrepid. During World War II this Canadian was one of the most important Allied intelligence commanders. I've only read about two chapters into one of his biographies, but I can tell already.

And now back to the title. I had all these unconnected thoughts. So instead of carefully organizing them, I let them lump together. Happy leaping!

In The Shadows

I am sailing to the leeward, 

Where the current runs to seaward
Soft and slow,
Where the sleeping river grasses
Brush my paddle as it passes
To and fro.

On the shore the heat is shaking
All the golden sands awaking
In the cove;
And the quaint sandpiper, winging
O'er the shallows, ceases singing
When I move.

On the water's idle pillow
Sleeps the overhanging willow,
Green and cool;
Where the rushes lift their burnished
Oval heads from out the tarnished
Emerald pool.

Where the very silence slumbers,
Water lilies grow in numbers,
Pure and pale;
All the morning they have rested,
Amber crowned, and pearly crested,
Fair and frail.

Here, impossible romances,
Indefinable sweet fancies,
Cluster round;
But they do not mar the sweetness
Of this still September fleetness
With a sound.

I can scarce discern the meeting
Of the shore and stream retreating,
So remote;
For the laggard river, dozing,
Only wakes from its reposing
Where I float.

Where the river mists are rising,
All the foliage baptizing
With their spray;
There the sun gleams far and faintly,
With a shadow soft and saintly,
In its ray.

And the perfume of some burning
Far-off brushwood, ever turning
To exhale
All its smoky fragrance dying,
In the arms of evening lying,
Where I sail.

My canoe is growing lazy,
In the atmosphere so hazy,
While I dream;
Half in slumber I am guiding,
Eastward indistinctly gliding
Down the stream.

E. Pauline Johnson

This poem came to mind while canoeing yesterday, and sums up everything perfectly. Except for the part about September. Instead summer ending, it's just beginning! Isn't "Where the very silence slumbers" a beautiful line? I think so.

High Flight

This poem doesn't need an explanation.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee No 412 squadron, RCAF Killed 11 December 1941

As Pleasant as a Root Canal

Irony is such an interesting thing! You can find it everywhere you look; you can even create it. In the most basic sense, irony occurs when one thing is said, but the opposite is meant. (such as the title to this post)  The following are examples of situational irony, which "describes a discrepancy between the expected result and actual results when enlivened by perverse appropriateness." From Wikipedia's article on irony.

"When John Hinckley attempted to assassinate Ronald Reagan, all of his shots initially missed the President; however, a bullet ricocheted off the bullet-proof Presidential limousine and struck Reagan in the chest. Thus, a vehicle made to protect the President from gunfire was partially responsible for his being shot.

"The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a story whose plot revolves around irony. Dorothy travels to a wizard and fulfills his challenging demands to go home, before discovering she had the ability to go back home all the time. The Scarecrow longs for intelligence, only to discover he is already a genius, and the Tin Woodsman longs to be capable of love, only to discover he already has a heart. The Lion, who at first appears to be a whimpering coward, turns out to be bold and fearless. The people in Emerald City believed the Wizard to be a powerful deity, only to discover that he is a bumbling, eccentric old man."

And here is an image depicting irony, which also happens to be a pet peeve of mine.

If I could cook up my own life, I'd definitely add the spice of irony.

Fin De Siecle

Here's a poem that makes me laugh...

Fin De Siecle

( The End of the Cycle)

This life’s a hollow bubble,

Don’t you know?

Just a painted piece of twouble,

Don’t you know?

We come to earth to cwy,

We gwow oldeh and we sigh,

Oldeh still and then we die,

Don’t you know?

It is all a howwid mix,

Don’t you know?

Business, love, and politics,

Don’t you know?

Clubs and pawties, cliques and sets,

Fashions, follies, sins, wegwets,

Stwuggle, stwife and cigawettes.

Don’t you know?

And we wowwy through each day,

Don’t you know?

In a sort of, kind of way,

Don’t you know?

We are hungry, we are fed,

Some few things are done and said,

We are tired, we go to bed,

Don’t you know?

Business, oh, that’s beastly twade,

Don’t you know?

Something’s lost or something’s made,

Don’t you know?

And you wowwy, and you mope,

And you hang your highest hope

On the price, pe’haps of soap,

Don’t you know?

Politics! oh, just a lawk,

Don’t you know?

Just a nightmeah in the dawk,

Don’t you know?

You pe’spiah all day and night,

And afteh all the fight,

Why, pe’haps the w’ong man’s wight,

Don’t you know?

Society? Is dwess,

Don’t you know?

And a sou’ce of much distwess,

Don’t you know?

To determine what to weah,

When to go and likewise wheah

And how to pawt youah haih,

Don’t you know?

Love? Oh, yes. You meet some gi’l,

Don’t you know?

An’ you get in such a whi’l,

Don’t you know?

Then you kneel down on the floah

And imploah and adoah -

And it’s all a beastly boah,

Don’t you know?

So theah’s weally nothing in it,

Don’t you know?

And we live just for the minute,

Don’t you know?

For when you’ve seen and felt,

Dwank and eaten, heahd and smelt,

Why all the cawds are dealt,

Don’t you know?

You’ve one consciousness, that’s all,

Don’t you know?

And one stomach, and it’s small,

Don’t you know?

You can only weah one tie,

One eyeglass in youah eye,

And one coffin when you die.

Don’t you know?

Edmund Vance Cooke

A Glimpse

"O! pathless world of seeming!
O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal
Is more my own than ever was the real.
For others Fame
And Love's red flame,
And yellow gold; I only claim
The shadows and the dreaming."
from "Shadow River" by E. Pauline Johnson

I had to read this verse a couple of times before I understood it. This verse has such... such a wistful contentedness about it. While other people want fame, love, and money, Johnson only wants "the shadows and the dreaming." A little glimpse into her soul.

Sunday Dinner Musings

Unfortunately, this Sunday has been rather unpleasant, as Gravy Boat sunk shortly after leaving Kitchen-er, Ontario. The ensuing gravy slick prompted Greenpeas to organize a meat-ing for environmentalists in Du Pain, Quebec. The beef-ing from the environmentalists combined with the saucy comments from representatives of Gravy Transport Inc. resulted in a rather flavourful discussion period. The problem was eventually settled with Gravy Transport Inc. ordered to pay 1.1 bullion dollars to cover cleanup costs and environmental damages. Most funds ended up with the cleaning lady. This hiccup appears to have caused Gravy Transport Inc. to be swallowed up by Maersk Sealand, in an effort to preserve the food transport market.

Please don't post searing comments about corn-y puns.

English: The only language where random is the rule.

Disbelief

I found the following paragraph about disbelief towards God very inspirational...

Disbelief has peculiar children. Children who are miserable on the journey, blind to the beauty, and oblivious to once-a-lifetime romance with God. Children who never fully relax in the palm of His grace. Children who forever trim and file at the splendor of His love. And children who hear His proposal but are always looking for the fine print and the hidden agenda.

     by Max Lucado from A Gentle Thunder