Red-eyes

A dreadful ailment is affecting Malaysian Grey Squirrels. The characteristic symptoms are blood-shot and droopy eyes and a tendency to drift into a comatose state in the middle of the day. After much research, medical experts conclude that the epidemic will be over by the beginning of March. But will the squirrels be able to survive till then?

And what causes the blood-shot eyes and comatose state during the daytime? Television. Or rather the television coverage of the Olympic Winter Games from Vancouver which unfortunately screens at the twilight zone hours of 1 am - 4 am in Kuala Lumpur. After several days of keeping such vampire friendly hours, my eyes are sore to the light of the sun, my skin has a ghastly parlor and my brain goes into REM sleep at work .

Just the other day, I struggled to stay awake with a gallon or two of dark hot coffee while trying to watch this particularly interesting winter sport with an exciting match between Team Canada and Norway. I desperately needed to sleep but the game had interesting changes in fortune that kept me glued to the TV set. I invested an hour and a half of my slumber time to watch the match and would you believe it...........the local station cut the coverage just 10 minutes before the close of the match. How frustrating!

Now what was this interesting sport that caught my attention? Well, here is where this post really starts. Are you familiar with that delightful rhyme that goes; "Stick and stones will break my bones......."? Well, this sport has sticks and has stones.

The stones are made of granite, weigh about 20 kg and have handles. The sticks are actually broomsticks. You also need a long stretch of ice with frozen droplets of water on the surface which are called pebbles. There is also a painted house with no walls and hog lines.

Briefly, there are four in a team and they take turns to throw the rocks at the house which is down the far end of the ice. One guy throws the rock, one guy tells him where to throw the rock and the other two use the brooms to sweep the ice so that nothing gets in the way of the rocks. The guy who throws the rock must also make sure he throws the rock before he crosses the hog line or else I think the hogs get angry.

Oh yes, this has also been called chess on ice cause it is obviously very intellectual. The Scots claim to have invented this game in the 16th century but the Lone Grey Squirrel doubts this. I think guys in kilts would not have a lot of fun on ice. Also we all know that Scots toss cabers and not rocks.

I am more inclined to believe that during the 17th century, a bunch of Americans from Salem set off to throw stones at some local witches but a peace-loving witch enchanted them and they ended up playing a game with their stones and the witches' brooms.

There! I have done my best to educate you on the special sport of curling but if you are still not satisfied, you might want to get the truth from wikipedia. Or you could watch this video.

Banff Squirrel

What else could I be posting about if not about this now infamous Columbian Ground Squirrel? The story is that two British tourists visiting Lake Minnewanka in beautiful Banff national Park, Canada, wanted to take a photo of themselves with the lake and mountains in the background. They placed their camera on some rocks and set it to take the photo on timer.

However, attracted by the sound of the timer, this squirrel pops up just at the right time to crash the photo. The couple were so amused by this photo, they posted it on the National Geographic website and from there, the squirrel photo has made it round the world. In fact, the squirrel is now appearing in other photos too.

He is now a global celebrity. Way to go, brother.

A Magical Musical Place

There is a wonderful place located behind the National Gallery in Ottawa, Canada. It is called Nepean Point and is essentially a small hill from which there are stunning panoramic views of the Ottawa River and the Canadian Parliament buildings in the distance. Also on Nepean Point is an open-air theater, the Astrolabe Theater, which holds many fond memories for me because I spent many summer days there soaking up the sun's rays and also many warm sultry and magical evenings there listening to enchanting streams of music performed by talented artistes in that intimate setting. With the view, atmosphere and music combined, I feel like I have been given a preview of heaven.

View of Parliament Hill from Nepean Point

On one occasion, I had the privilege of watching a young family band from Nova Scotia back in 1991. They had released two albums but was still not widely known yet. Their breakthrough was to come just 2 years later when they won all kinds of awards and became a household name in Canada. I can claim to have also enjoyed free concerts from Alanis Morrisette before she made it big and also Celine Dion while she was still a rocker and before she became Disnesque.

Anyway, this band was called The Rankin Family and consisted of the siblings Jimmy, Raylene, Cookie, Heather and John Morris. This lively group draws inspiration from their Celtic-Scottish roots and their Nova Scotia heritage and delivers both soulful songs as well as live affirming jigs. That night, their music had me enthralled. Later, I waited with the rest of the crowd to buy their CDs and to have them personally autographed. The signed CDs and a friendly kiss on the cheek from Cookie completed my capitulation to their charms (that's my memory of the night and I am a sticking to it!).

They disbanded to pursue their own interests in 1999 and John Morris was tragically killed in a car accident in 2000. The Rankin Family rose again though to have a successful tour in 2006 and are active again this year. May their musical legacy "live on in the faces of their children" (lyrics from their song, We Rise Again) Now, through the wonders of YouTube, I hope to put you under their spell too.

The Hotel That Got Away

It was 1994, I had been studying in Ottawa on a scholarship for more than 3 years. My stay in Canada was coming to an end and I saved up money so that my wife and I could enjoy one big Canadian travel adventure before we had to leave. My brother and his wife also was keen to visit Canada while we were there. So it was agreed that we would meet in Vancouver and drive through the Canadian Rockies to Banff and then on to Calgary.

While I was definitely excited about this and sharing the car rental helped a lot to stretch my limited resources, choosing accommodation became a problem. My brother and his wife were accustomed to a better quality or level of accommodation whereas I was more concerned about the costs.

As the date neared, I desperately scoured the Internet for information on the best deals for accommodation. In Vancouver, I narrowed it down to two places. The first was Sylvia Hotel. It seemed too good to be true. From the pictures, it looked like it had a lot of character and the price was incredibly reasonable. I could not believe the price and I suspected a con job. Back then, the web pages were not as interactive as today's travel pages and more importantly it did not have comments from previous customers. If we had that, I am sure we would have gone for it.

Instead, I delayed making a decision and lost the rooms. I eventually chose a place called Shatto Inn which was a bargain and near Stanley Park but it was not Sylvia Inn. When we finally arrived in Vancouver and saw Sylvia Hotel for ourselves, we could find nothing wrong with the place. It would become, in our family lore, the great hotel that got away.

A funny side-story was that I spoke to my brother on the telephone and told him to make his way to Shatto Inn when he arrived as our flight would arrive some 6 hours later. He thought he heard "Chateau Inn" which conjured up some thoughts of a rather opulent establishment and was therefore a little taken aback when the taxi took him to Shatto Inn - a three star rather than five star establishment.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, A Majority of Two, posted about the Sylvia Hotel and talked about the hotel in detail, even about a cat called Mister Got to Go. Please follow the link to read more about it. At that time, I mentioned that there was a song by Cheryl Wheeler about the Hotel and the cat is even mentioned.

Here is the only version I could find which is a cover version by a German fan who actually got to stay at the hotel. She heard the song first and was determined to see the hotel whereas, the squirrel never got to stay at the hotel but got to hear the song. Be warned that it is a soppy, sad, emotional type song and that it gets more interesting after the cat appears. Enjoy.

Choosing Seven Natural Wonders

Almost two years ago, I posted on the effort to declare the New Seven (Man-Made) Wonders of the World through an unprecedented global internet voting process which led to the results announced here in 2007. At that time, four of my choices made it into the final seven; they were Machu Picchu (Peru), Taj Mahal (India), Petra (Jordan) and Great Wall (China).

I recently discovered that there is now an attempt to identify the New Seven Wonders of Nature through the same global internet voting process. In this preliminary stage, you are allowed to nominate up to seven candidate sites or vote for seven candidate sites already nominated or any combination in between. The top 77 sites from this voting process will then be shortlisted and then the final round of voting will allow voters to select the top seven from that list. Those with the most votes at the end of that round will be declared the New Seven Wonders of Nature.

Currently as of 5th July 2008, the top 10 on the list are;

1. Cox's Bazar Beach (Bangladesh)
2. Ha Long Bay (Vietnam)
3. Ganges River (Bangladesh/India)
4. Tubbataha Reef (Philippines)
5. Chocolate Hills (Philippines)
6. Mount Everest (Nepal)
7. Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park (Philippines)
8. Mayon Volcano (Philippines)
9. Amazon River/Forest (South America)
10. Mount Fuji (Japan)

It is early days yet but the top runners are surprisingly almost all from Asia with the Philippines having a high number or percentage of nominees. If you disagree, do please join in and vote.

Below are my seven choices;

1. Banff National Park (Canada)

My personal vision of paradise is closely represented by Banff with its forests rich in wildlife, stunning turquoise lakes, glaciers and mountains. I have visited Banff and it was beyond my expectation. I could live there quite happily. It's a pity about the seasonal hordes of tourists but there is still sufficient wilderness to get lost in.



2. Auyantepui Mountain (Venezuela)

The Devil's Mountain, in the native tongue of the Pemon peoples, it rises like other tepuis, almost vertically from the jungle floor and has a flat plateau like top. Tepuis are often referred to as islands in the clouds. Auyantepui rises to a height of almost 3,000 m and the world's highest waterfall, Angel Falls, cascades off its plateau. It is rich in rare and unusual plant life. A wet and wold place.


3. Hardangerfjiord (Norway)

I have always been fascinated by the scenery of fjords and the geological power of the glaciers that it often represents. I visited here more than 25 years ago but was blown away by the grandeur even then. I would love to revisit this place of haunting and reflective beauty.


4. Milford Sound (New Zealand)

This is the Antipodean reply to the Norwegian fjords and beautiful and lush with its own wealth of flora and fauna. I have been on the cruise and have seen the unusual darkwater corals but would one day like to hike the spectacularly wet Milford Track.


5. Plitvice Lakes (Croatia)

Another place that I have visited that has captured my imagination ever since. This rates very high on my personal list because of its fairly unique nature and because I just love the landscape of waterfalls and crystal clear lakes linked by cascades and streams. It was just beautiful water everywhere and i just love water. The limestone outcrops and caves are added attractions.


6. Mulu Caves (Malaysia)

I know that this is in my own backyard but I have not visited it (relatively costly for me). However, I could not leave out from this list the world's largest cave system and largest single cave chamber. Other special caves are also found in this system with individual characteristics. The large bat population is an attraction too as is the rich forest life surrounding the caves.


7. Pamukkale Springs (Turkey)

I have never been here but the thought of its rather special and delicate attractions gives me goosebumps. I would love to soak in its hot-springs.

Don't miss out on casting a vote for your picks for the new Seven Wonders of Nature.

David Archuleta Sings Our Song

When I left Malaysia to study in Canada, I left my future wife behind. At that time we had been going out together for a while but had made no decisions or commitments to one another. The truth was I had a fear of commitment and our separation seemed like an easy way of letting fate decide.

I had always enjoyed traveling and coming to Canada was a real treat for me but in that first year I came to realise that as much as I enjoyed experiencing Canada, I missed not experiencing it with her. I just knew then that I wanted to experience every joy and every sorrow with her for the rest of my life. It was not fate but God who acted because just as He made me understand this and to recognise my own insecurities about commitment before, He also moved her to make a bold decision to save up and visit me on her own accord.

The timing was perfect. When I was informed that she was coming, I was excited and got prepared. The first day when she arrived I practically showed her the whole of Ottawa as if I was trying to share a year's experience in one day. She gamely put up with it but of course she was tired and she slept soundly that night.

However, I knew what I had to do and so the next day, as soon as she awoke, I proposed to her by singing "And So it Goes" by Billy Joel. I chose this song because the lyrics accurately expressed how I felt in an honest manner that I felt she needed to hear. Needless to say, this song has remained special for us.....our song.

So, we were so pleasantly surprised when we learnt that American Idol this week, Puala Abdul chose this song for David Archuleta (also my wife's favorite contestant) to sing.

And so it goes that ......DAVID ARCHULETA SINGS OUR SONG!!!!




I had posted about this song before and here are the complete lyrics of the song.

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows.

Cool Trick

We squirrels share the woods with many animals and some of them know some real neat party tricks. Remember David Blaine's Frozen in Time act where he encased himself between two blocks of ice with only a 2 inch gap between him and the ice. He stayed entombed in that icy prison for 61 hours and 40 minutes. At the end of the act, he had to be rushed to hospital.

Well, forget David Blaine and say hello to my friend the North American Wood Frog (Rana sylvatica) or as we like to call him, "Lazarus". Lazarus' party trick is literally way cooler than David's act. Lazarus doesn't get entombed in blocks of ice, he becomes a block of ice.

Lazarus and his kin actually gets through the winters of Northern U.S.A. and Canada by freezing solid and then thawing out again in Spring. When he is frozen, more than 60% of his body water will have turned to ice and he will have no heart beat or any respiration. He may be considered clinically dead but give Lazarus some warmth and presto, he thaws from the inside out and starts living again. Back from the dead just like his namesake from the Bible.

Somehow, Lazarus is able to use glucose like an anti-freeze and protect his cells. Somehow the brain survives without oxygen using an anaerobic metabolic pathway. While science may at least understand a little bit about the process when Lazarus freezes, it remains baffled at how Lazarus revives. There is no known explanation for thawing from the inside out and science has yet to figure out how the heart restarts after months of being frozen.

The early European Explorers in Canada described this frog's amazing ability as early as the 1700's and today, Science and Medicine is very interested in Lazarus' natural ability because it may point the way for extending the lifespan of organs harvested for transplant operations and perhaps one day lead to the perfection of human cryogenics. I think with Climate Change occurring, it is also a neat trick to learn in case we face the onset of a new Ice Age.

A National Treasure Lost Too Early

The other night, I was watching a TV program called "Air Crash Investigations" which is a regular program that investigates the causes of certain significant air crashes. On this occasion, it featured the ill-fated Air Canada Flight 797 on 2nd of June 1983. This flight left Dallas, Texas and was supposed to land in Toronto, Canada. Unfortunately, a fire developed in one of the toilets and the whole cabin was enveloped in thick, acrid smoke. Despite these appalling conditions, the pilots managed to make a successful emergency landing in Cincinnati while the cabin crew succeeded in keeping the passengers calm and breathing from oxygen masks.

However, after landing, many passengers were unable to find the exits in the dark and smoke and succumbed to smoke inhalation. Adding to the problems, when the escape hatches did open, the fresh air entering resulted in a flash fire throughout the plane just a few minutes later. Basically, all the survivors were the ones who managed to get out in the first few minutes. 23 died and 23 survived. This was a significant event in aviation history because it was from this tragedy that the airline industry began many life-saving innovations such as lighted strips to guide passengers to the exits, smoke detectors in the toilets, non-toxic materials for the cabin and so on.

The program then went on to note that Canadian Folk singer Stan Rogers was one of those who perished that day. I never knew this fact. I had heard of Stan Rogers and I really liked his music but I never knew what happened to him.

My mind drifted back a full 26 years back in time. It was a cold, blustery and wet winter's night. It was past midnight but I was still up watching the sheets of rain coming down and listening to BBC Radio. There was an interesting program on which I had been following. It was a competition between the national radio stations of Britain, Canada and Norway. Each of them were given an opportunity to showcase their country through a one hour radio program every Saturday. At the end of the series, a panel of judges in each of the countries would vote for the best program.

Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) won the series with their entry which was an hour long travelogue of Canada represented entirely by the music and songs of Stan Rogers. I listened to the program and felt that I had discovered a priceless pearl. I have always enjoyed the melancholic Scottish laments and the lively Irish jigs but the music of Stan Rogers seemed to be a combination of both and yet more. I also found that I could really sense the essence and struggles of the people that he sings about. I was mesmerized.

I have kept an eye out for his music ever since but it is unfortunately difficult to find outside of Canada. Now I know what happened to him and can only think that it was a sad day that such life and potential was loss in that manner.

I wish I could play all his songs but I chose three to showcase here.

This first song was one that I heard 26 years ago and just gripped my heart with its poignancy. It tells of the brave men that died trying to find a Northwest passage through the artic ice to reach the Orient and how they inadvertently helped to build the nation. This was the best video I could find and happened to use footage from the TV series about a Canadian Mountie sent to Chicago to work with the American police, called "Due South". Obviously there is a clash of cultures and personalities and hilarity ensues. That's just background info. It's the song that is haunting.




This second song also represents the hardships of the Canadian worker so,so well. It is a touching lament and at the same time a stirring battle cry. i just love the words.




This third one is actually one that i have only recently heard. Daysgoby mentioned this in one of her recent posts saying "I'm a little surprised I wasn't required to learn it before they'd let me over the Nova Scotian border..." Indeed! Anyway, this is just a great lively song to compliment the slower songs above. You also get to hear Stan explain how he came about to write this song. Enjoy

Locked In

This post began its life after my post on Juliet and how I have tried to find my friends on the internet. Newly enthused to try finding people on the internet again, someone I knew for less than a year came to mind. I googled her name and this post has resulted.

If I were to imagine my worst nightmare, it would be to be fully conscious and yet unable to move or to speak; to be acutely aware of my surroundings but unable to communicate. Alive but not able to interact with life. For a rare few, this situation is a daily reality and a possible life sentence. It is called "Locked-in Syndrome" which was a term coined by Dr. Fred Plum, MD '47, former chairman of the Department of Neurology and Neuroscience at Cornell's Weill Medical College.

Judy Mozersky was an active, vivacious young woman; a dancer and a student at Cornell. Then one day in 1990, the 19 year old suffered a stroke affecting her brain stem. She had no predisposition for stroke except that she had a history of severe migraine and that she was on birth control pills. No one had ever warned her that this could put her at risk.

After spending sometime in intensive care, during which she fought to get off the respirator and to get rid of the stomach tube, she was finally stable enough to return to her native Ottawa and was warded at the Rehabilitation Centre on Smyth Road but she was "locked-in". She was able to breathe, swallow with some difficulty but apart from that the only thing she could consciously move was her eyes and then only up and down.

I had been volunteering at the Rehab Centre for about a year and up to then I assisted in art and exercise classes for stroke patients. These classes were supposed to encourage rehabilitation of fine motor functions in a fun way. They were indeed a lot of fun. In fact, I learned a lot of crafts while helping out there.

I also played wheelchair basketball with some patients once a week. I really sucked at that but that did not mean I was not willing to risk life and limb competing with guys who knew how to use their wheelchair as an offensive weapon. Perhaps to spare me serious injury, my volunteer coordinator, Dale Patterson, asked me one autumn evening if I would like to try something challenging. Nursing bruisers and fingers crushed between wheelchair rims, I said that I would and thank you.

That's how I was introduced to Judy. Dale seemed to think I would know how to handle myself but I think I must have just stared and stared that first time. I did recover however and tried to make myself useful. I visited once or twice a week with Judy. I was meant to be part of her recreation time because other volunteers, family and friends visit her also but it was more to do work or to help her rehabilitate.

So I started to read to Judy. Sometimes, she would chose something. Other times she would allow me to bring something of my choice to read to her. One time, I brought the Secret Dairy of Adrian Mole to read to her because I was finding the book very funny and I though funny would be good. It went reasonably well until the book touched on Adrian Mole's sexual awakenings. I felt most uncomfortable because it seemed like a little inappropriate for me to be reading that to her and I was afraid that I had broached a subject that would upset her. I am unsure if she was uncomfortable or she sensed my discomfort but she signaled with her eyes for me to stop. She then told me to read a letter from a friend instead.

How did we communicate, you ask? Judy can only move her eyes up and down. She flutters them to get attention. Eyes up mean "yes" and eyes down means "no". Then we use a special board in which the alphabet is divided into quadrants. I would call out the quadrant number and she would indicate the correct quadrant and then the correct alphabet as I read it out. By using this letter by letter spelling, Judy is able to communicate and she can even dictate letters, essays and eventually a book.

Apart from that very first visit, I don't think I felt uncomfortable around Judy again. I believe that this was because, it was very evident that there was a very normal, active woman there and we were able to communicate. There was no overwhelming depression or despair nor any wallowing in self pity either. Here was someone who was looking forward and trying to get on with life.

Of course, there were moments of frustration and perhaps doubts. Initially, she was reluctant to have friends visit and was not keen to read their letters. It was painful for her to see their lives moving on while she was not able to keep a pace. It was particularly difficult around the time when her friends were graduating. Yet, it did not keep her down for long. She worked through it and began to enjoy receiving news from her friends and at the same time, set about trying to get her own life moving.

Judy would also write a book entitled "Locked In" which seems to have become a very important book; a book that brings inspiration and hope to many stroke patients and their family. Many who have read it are struck by the positive outlook of the book, of Judy's. Today, Judy is finishing her degree course in psychology.

I was still around to witness some of the excitement and frustration when the medical personnel worked with Judy to try to get computers to recognise her eye movements and to operate things like lights, kettles and other household objects. This was in grand preparation for getting Judy to move out of the Rehab Centre and have her own customised apartment. I know they succeeded because Judy is now installed in her own apartment and she goes to the malls to do her shopping with some assistance from her friends or nurses. She is regaining her freedom, her life and she is moving on.

There is an old saying that goes something like this, "I was complaining that i had no shoes for my feet until I saw a man who had no feet." Having known Judy and her positiveness through what for me would be my worst nightmare has helped me to deal with life's lesser problems more positively too.

I met Judy's parents once and they thanked me profusely for my visits but I can honestly say that I needed no such accolades. When I think of what Judy has achieved and in such a short time, I feel I have done no more than hand a cup of water to a marathon runner. In return, I have learnt so much about the strength of the human spirit and it has been a privilege to have been even a small part of Judy's journey. Furthermore, I recognise that it has been a long hard journey of love and devotion by Judy's parents too and really, anything I have done pales in comparison to their dedication and commitment to their daughter.

My last meeting with Judy was a short one and a surprise. She was already installed in her new apartment and I literally bumped into her at one of the shopping malls. She looked like she was happy to be moving on with her life.

Maybe one day, we might meet again, Judy, and have a laugh about how embarrassed I was about reading Adrian Mole's Diaries to you on that winter's night so long ago. Until then, I wish you a full and happy life. God bless.

If you would like to read a more complete article about Judy, please go here.

Win the Peace

Claudia has a wonderful post about winning the peace. It was a very honest post and I was compelled to respond. The truth is that the human race has generally sucked at being at peace and there has been hardly any period of time when there has not been war on this planet. So is the idea of winning the peace an illusive dream?

I think Canada’s history while not perfect, has a few gems to teach us about winning peace. There was Lester Pearson who won the Nobel Peace Prize for envisioning the use of soldiers to establish and keep the peace - the birth of the U.N. Peacekeepers. Canada also led the way in the campaign to ban landmines.

The one which always grabs my imagination involved Sitting Bull and the Sioux nation. After massacring Custer andthe US 7th Calvary, the Sioux fled to Canada and who do the Canadians
send to meet him?. Certainly not a regimentof well-armed soldiers. Instead, an unarmed detachment of five North West Mounted Police (fore-runner of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police) bravely rode into the midst of more than 1,000 Sioux and they told Sitting Bull to respect the land of the Blackfeet and Crow. Sitting Bull was so impressed by the sense of
justice that he agreed to peace.

At the root of being able to fight for peace must be the pursuit of justice. We will fail if our agenda is tainted by anything else such as political influence or economic gain. May we indeed find a way to fight for peace in our modern but divided world. Shalom.

Below is the detailed story of Sitting Bull and the NWMP (taken from "Sitting Bull and the Mounties" by Ian Anderson) :-

On May 7, 1877, some 11 months after Custer's bloody disaster, 34-year-old NWMP Major James M. Walsh, a sergeant and three troopers followed an Indian trail to the dun-colored hills and ravines of Pinto Horse Butte, some 280 miles north of the Little Bighorn. Around noonh, Walsh's scouts spotted mounted Indians sitting motionless on hilltops, watching them--a sign
that an Indian camp was nearby. As they rode on, they saw more and more Indians on the hills, until the small patrol was surrounded. None of the Indians, however, made any attempt to stop the scouts.

Moments later, Walsh and his men rounded a hill to find a large camp spread before them. Reining in, they sat in their saddles while a group of Indians rode toward them. Spotted Eagle, war chief of the Sans Arc Sioux, told them they were the first white men to dare approach Sitting Bull's camp so unconcernedly. Walsh asked to meet Sitting Bull. Shortly, the Hunkpapa chief, at the head of a retinue of lesser chiefs, approached.

Sitting Bull must have been just as curious about Walsh and his Mounties. Walsh, almost as tall as Sitting Bull, held himself straight as a lance. Wiry as a mountain lion, he had intense brown eyes set in a weathered face, a full mustache, whiskers below his bottom lip and wavy brown hair beneath a blue and gold cap.

Walsh and Sitting Bull shook hands. At first Sitting Bull treated the redcoats with cautious reserve, but he gradually warmed up to them. They all retired to the camp and sat down for a conference that lasted the remainder of the day. Walsh asked them why they had come to the White Mother's (Queen Victoria's) country. To find peace, they replied. The Sioux claimed they had suffered greatly at the hands of the blue-clad Long Knives, that they had been fighting on the defensive for years. They hoped the White Mother, or Grandmother(the term preferred by the Sioux), would give them sanctuary in her land. Spotted Eagle said they had been forced to cross the medicine line (the border--the Sioux also called it "the big road") to protecttheir women and children from the Long Knives.

John Peter Turner, historian for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (that name didn't come until 1920), wrote in Volume 1 of The North-West Mounted Police 1873­1893: "Sitting Bull said, in effect, 'Yesterday I was fleeing from white men, cursing them as I went. Today they erect their lodges by the side of mine and defy me. The White Forehead Chief (Walsh) walks to my lodge alone and unarmed. He gives me the hand of peace. Have I fallen? Am I at the end?'"

Walsh explained that the purpose of his visit was to find out their intentions and to tell the Sioux about the White Mother's laws, which everyone, white men and red men alike, must obey.

They must not make war against other tribes and must not steal horses or anything else. They must not kill or injure any other person. They must not use the White Mother's country as a refuge from which to strike back across the border at the American soldiers. They could not
remain in her country if they would not obey her laws, Walsh told them. Sitting Bull said he and his people would obey the laws, adding that he had "buried" his weapons before crossing into the White Mother's land.

Sitting Bull liked what Walsh told him about the White Mother's laws, especially the principle of justice for all, regardless of race. He showed Walsh medals King George III had given his grandfather for service to the British Crown during the War of 1812. His grandfather had fought alongside the red-coated soldiers of the Shaganosh (British) king. They were good men, Sitting Bull's grandfather had said, adding, "If you should ever wish to find peace, go north to the land of redcoats."

Sitting Bull asked for ammunition for his people to hunt buffalo. He said they had used up all their bullets fighting off the Long Knives. Walsh agreed to allow them enough bullets to hunt meat, but he warned that no bullets were to be used for warfare across the border. Walsh and his men spent the night in the Sioux camp.

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Dungeons and Dragons (Part 2)

Having chosen or rather been given no choice but to choose a thief, I was ready to be drawn into the Dark Realms conjured up within the twisted mind of Almighty Wally, our host and Dungeon Master.

The Plot
Wally explained that our party had come across this small village at the foot of the mountains. In recent times, some ancient religious sect had taken over the abandoned castle on a nearby mountain. Since then, strange things and creatures have been seen. The villagers dare not venture out at night due to the presence of werewolves and other creatures of the night. Then last month, members of the cult met the village heads to demand 10 virgins each full moon for sacrifice to their demon God. That first sacrifice was due in two weeks time. The village leaders offer to pay us to go to the castle and defeat the cultists before then.

We, of course, agreed to do this gallant task as they were paying us a lot for a succeessful mission. But the way to the mountain castle is protected by a thick thorn hedge and patrolled by packs of werewolves and Giant trolls. We first needed to visit the labyrinth of Gath because at the centre of the labyrinth was a mural that would tell us more about the ancient castle and a map to guide us through the thorn hedges. Oooo. I listened intently to Wally. Not a bad story to give us a little semblence of sense in what would otherwise be a series of senseless encounters and fights. Before long, our merry band consisting of a Paladin, a Barbarian Warrior, a Ranger, a Cleric, a Druid, an Assasin and a Thief (squirrel jumping up and down, that's me! that's me!) entered the dark underground Labyrinth of Gath.

The "Staying in Character".
Woweee. In the labyrinth, it seemed that everywhere we turned there was some beast or monster to be killed. Most of the time, the Ranger got them at a distance with her bow and arrows. Whatever got past that were soon chopped down by the Barbarians axe or the paladin's sword. Even the Cleric (or Mage as they called him) and the Druid got the occasional beast using their magical powers or by calling on their deities for help. I was happily sneaking past all the fighting and collecting hidden treasures and artifacts. This was okay for awhile but I soon got fed up of missing the glory and excitement of the fight.

So in the first encounter after the morning tea and rest room break, I decided to live dangerously. We had entered a chamber and there was a giant Troll in it. Every one took their expected action stations. Once again I was expected to stay out of the way until the big heroes dealt with the baddie. But enough was enough, I told Wally that I chose to sneak behind it and attack with my dagger.

Jaime said, "Are you mad? You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Cause you're a thief! You've got to stay in character. And what are you doing? You're pricking away with a puny dagger, for goodness sake!"

"I may be a thief but I am a brave and fearless thief!" I replied.

Jaime appeals to the Dungeon Master to intervene. Wally decides to let me do what I want. He's sure that I will soon learn the folly of my ways.

I have a small theoretical chance of throwing the dice where the outcome would be that I had a lucky stab at the monster and it just happened to sever the juggular and the monster keels over mortally wounded. Like a gambler at Las Vegas, I blew on the diced and willed for the right numbers to appear. Like most gamblers at Las Vegas, I lost.

The battle goes something like this;

I jump on the back of the troll and stab him with my small dagger. (Roll dice). Miss. No damage.

Troll busy fighting with Paladin. So I try to poke him with my dagger again. (Roll dice) Hit but only 1 damage point against the troll. Equivalent to a bee sting.

Troll decides to swing his club at me. (Rolls dice) Hits me with 12 hit points. Wally tells me this means that I have lost my left arm and am suffering from internal bleeding. My character may be suffering but my adrenaline is up.

Being the gallant thief, I stab away again with my dagger. (Roll dice). My blade breaks off because of the hard troll skin.

Troll swipes at me. (roll dice) Another 15 hit points. Wally tells me I am now splattered all over the cave and am definately dead. Ah well.

They thought that I had learnt my lesson about staying in character but I can be really, really stubborn about learning things. So they allow me to rejoin the group as a new character (also a thief) and I am promptly fried to a cinder while on a suicide run towards a dragon with my little pocket knife. They respawn me again and I die two more gruesome deaths before lunchtime.

Wally and Karen come to me and say, "Look, stay in character or else you're not resurrecting after the next death." It seems my attempts to make my thief a hero is not going down well with everyone else. They don't think I should rise above my station. It's also slowing down the quest as each time I die, they have to return to the village to get a new thief. Okay, now that my sense of immortality had been lost, I decided to conform and stay in character.

The Great Boredom
Before long, we had killed everything there was to kill in the labyrinth and all we needed to do was exit the labyrinth. Our party turned left, left, left. Dead end. Right, left, right. Dead end. Left, left, right. Dead end. We keep going. Before long 15 minutes of fruitless wanderings had passed. Almighty Wally speaks from heaven, "look you guys are supposed to be bloody scientists! The way out has a simple mathematical solution!"

With one voice we murmured, "Oh, a mathematical solution! Why didn't you say so!" One hour later we were still stuck in the labyrinth. People were beginnning to yawn, read magazines and nod off. We were going nowhere.

Finally, Wally asked what did we want to do next. We said go left. Not because we knew what we were doing but because we didn't know what else to say. Wally solemnly rolls his dice and says, "hurray! you are out at the base of the castle!' Now, we all suspect a bit of divine Wally intervention there but we were so glad to be back in the sunshine we kept quiet.

The Climax.
By dinner time, we had reached the inner sanctum of the castle. Victory was at hand. There were a few minion guards to occupy the heroes. But my thieving eyes was on this beautiful giant crystal sitting in the arms of the bronze idol in the centre of the room. I rushed towards it, skirting the fighting (notice, I am keeping to character) and as a thief would do, I placed my sweaty hands on the crystal and lifted it up. Before Karen the Assasin can call out a warning to me, Wally rolls his dice and proclaims that white smoke begins to rise from the idol.

The cleric and the Druid rush to my side and attempt to call on their Gods to stop the billowing smoke. (Roll dice). The smoke grows in volume.

The cleric and the Druid try throwing holy water on the idol. (Roll dice). Smoke turns black. Team memnbers are blaming me for picking up the crystal. I say, I am a thief, what do you expect! They say, they would expect me to check for traps before picking up the crystal. "Oh" I say.

The Druid takes out some scrolls and begin chanting but the black smoke gets worse and sparks appear.

Then I had an inspirational thought! I told Wally, "I smash the crystal to pieces on the floor." Wally looks pale as he rolls his dice. He turns paler when he sees the result.

"Um. There is a big explosion, an earthquake, volcanic eruption. The castle collapses. All of you have to do saving rolls to see if you survive."

The team is not happy with me cause half of them are dead and the other half gravely injured. I am dead for the fourth time. They drag their sorry, battered bodies back down the mountain to the village only to find that the villagers have lost everything in the earthquake and eruption and they were attacked by angry mobs.

Everyone was stunned.

The aftermath.
It was almost midnight when Karen and I walked to the bus stop. We had left the place like every one else a little shocked and subdued by the game outcome. We sat at the cold bus stop for a few minutes before Karen turned to me and said,"You know, that almost never happens." I nod solemnly.

She added, "I wish it happens a bit more frequently. It was so funny." The bus came and the driver found us laughing hysterically. Karen, Wally, Jaime and I remained friends but I was never ever invited to another campaign. Jaime never got over the fact that his Paladin was lynched by the village mob!

Dungeons and Dragons (Part 1)

Dragons

This is the story of my experience, while I was at University, with the strange gaming world of Dungeons and Dragons.

The Initiation

The world of Dungeon and Dragons is a strange and secretive one. I was always interested in it and made my interest known but I got no response from my colleagues other than some vague mumbling about how they had read about it somewhere. Yet every Monday, I saw sleepy, bloodshot eyes all around - evidence that each weekend, there was a secret gathering with long, wild, serious D & D marathons going on.

For weeks, I felt left out. Then one winter day, Karen asked me what I was doing for the weekend. I said "Nothing much - feeding squirrels."

"How would you like to see some real action?" she asked teasingly. Of course, I was ecstatic. "Meet me outside the labs at 9.00 am Saturday. Come alone and don't be late!"

I was there early and had to wait for her. Eventually, Karen appeared out of the blowing snow and led me into the white landscape. We took some creative short cuts through some hedges and fences and we walked along some streets for a good fifteen minutes. I realised that we had been going round the same cul-de -sac for the last five minutes and it was a familiar cul-de-sac too.

"Karen, are we headed for Wally's pad? I ask only cause we've gone round it four times."

"Shhh!" and she pushes me up the driveway and to Wally's front door. "Had to make sure we were not followed" she offered.

She tapped the door three times, paused and then tapped twice. Wally, opened the door and ushered us in without a word. Only when we were inside did they both relax. "Sorry about the cloak and dagger but not every one's significant other or supervisor knows where we are today and we want to keep it that way!"

I was led into the den and there assembled were six other comrade at arms waiting and eager for the coming adventure into the Dark Realms.

The Rules

I enthusiastically asked lots of questions but nobody really wanted to waste time helping the novice out. So the rules were simplified and summarised for me. Chose a character. Play the character. When the character does something, I get to roll the dice which determines the outcome of the action. Everything else was under the control of the Almighty Wally our host and Dungeon Master.

The Pecking Order

The wonderful thing about D & D is that you get to chose from a variety of characters. For example, you could be a wizard, not unlike Gandalf. Or perhaps a super-righteous defender of all that is good, a Paladin. Even a Ranger with special abilities like talking to animals seemed like a cool character. Or perhaps a cleric, skilled with knowledge of the supernatural.

"Why can't I be the Paladin?" I asked.

"Andy is the Paladin." Karen replies.

"How come he gets to be the Paladin?"

"He brought the beer."

"Ahh!"

"Druid?"

"Jaime. He brought the chips."

"Ranger? Wizard? Elf?"

"Taken, taken, taken."

"What's left?"

"You can be a thief."

Beggars can't be choosers. "Okay!" I said cheerfully. "I'll be the best thief there ever was. Let the games begin."

(end of part 1. To be continued......)

Famous Blue Raincoat - Analyzed to Shreds

I was challenged by nancycle to explain what I meant when I referred to Leonard Cohen's lyrics as "being able to carry messages at several different levels". I will probably regret this severely when I consider the knowledge and caliber of some of my readers. Still part of blogging is the exchange of ideas and I am sure I'll learn a lot from the dissenting comments.

Okay, my previous post was on "Villanelle for our time". The lyrics was not by Cohen; only the music. So in order to explain my statement, I am making use of another popular Leonard Cohen song which is "Famous Blue Raincoat".

Squirrel Nitpicker (the critic) says:

This song/poem is in the form of a letter. When I read the lyrics, I am first struck by the background detail that paints an atmosphere and a mood. It is not just trivial information. It is cold, at the end of December and it is very early in the morning. It's 4 o'clock to be specific. Why would someone be up at that time of the night? Probably the letter writer is depressed, unsettled, melancholic (with music from Clinton Street) and lonely?

On the surface, it is a cordial letter. The purpose of the letter is to ask if "you" are better. We are not told what is wrong with "you". But, I surmise, that this and the concern about how "you" is living in second stanza, are just the smokescreens of the writer.

If we look to the next level, I believe the writer is actually troubled by a pivotal incident which is Jane coming by "with a lock of your hair". We now realise that Jane, "You" and writer are somehow intimately related and yet seem to be separated. Jane came by but after what must have been sometime...going back all the way to the night that "You" went away. Yet Jane also spends the night at writer's as if it was natural.

Now clearly there is some history and some hurt that has occurred between writer and "you". If it was myself penning the words, it would have resulted in a very two dimensional descriptive of my feelings with regards to this hurt. Leonard Cohen, instead, is able to give us insights to all three characters and how the incident has affected all of them.

And what is it that we learnt? This letter tells of a love triangle. Possibly the writer and Jane are or were married ("you treated my woman") but "you" could be writer's brother ("my brother, my killer") or a very close friend. What amazes me is that we learn so much about all three characters and it is done in such a natural an uncontrived manner.

Jane's relationship with writer was obviously set back or damaged by some level of infidelity when she runs off for a short time with "you". She liked the excitement of "you" in contrast to the dull, conservativeness and passiveness of writer. She needed more than what writer could supply and despite her short liaison with "you", "you" was able to "take the trouble from her eyes".

"You" is a free spirit. Seeking an ideal woman ("Lili Marlene")which doesn't exist, he is unable to be in long term relationships. Yet, "you" being the idealist is more an expert of the heart than writer and is more passionate.

Writer is the saddest but most complex of all. He hated "You" for what he did but now that time has passed, he realises that "You" was able to give fulfillment to Jane in a way that he was impotent to do. His anger has disappeared ("enemy is sleeping") and is replaced by resignation and an acknowledgement that it would actually be better for "You" and Jane to be together.

Well, that's my understanding of this song and is multilayered because it covered three characters not one and the surface words are often contradicting the underlying intent and finally the story may be about betraytal but the message is about self-effacing love.

As a footnote to this, I actually am most familiar with the version sung by Jennifer Warnes. In this version, just a few choice words were changed. These are shown alongside the lyrics below in yellow. By just these few changes, the story changes to that of an estranged couple. The writer is the mother who seeks reconciliation. She recognises that their daughter, Jane, loves and needs her father and hopes her estranged husband realises that his ideal life or whatever he was seeking for is just a mirage. The writer invites him home.


It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.

I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene (But she never turned up I mean Lili Marlene)

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life (And you treated some woman....)
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free. (...and your woman is free)

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

Sincerely, L. Cohen (Sincerely, a friend)

Uncovered Nuts from 22nd October 2006

When I first began to post, I wondered if there was life out there cause I got no visitors or comments. However, I think some of these posts were worthy of a second look. So from time to time, I will re-post one of these old buried treasures. I hope you will receive them with the same joy a squirrel has when in spring, he uncovers a nut he had buried last autumn........

LGS's Cultural Tour 1 : Leonard Cohen's "Villanelle for Our Time"


Squirrels dance and make noises all the time. On those tissue-thin credentials, the Lone Grey Squirrel bases his right to give a tour of the cultural world and to throw in his views and comments. Critics nit-pick while squirrels nut-pick. Close enough.

Today, I am in a funk (funk n. a state of severe depression). I really cannot tell you if that I am in this funk because I have been listening to my new CD, "Dear Heather" by Leonard Cohen or that I was already in the funk which is why I went to buy a Leonard Cohen CD. Anyway, I have decided that a good funk and a Leonard Cohen CD were made for each other.

I generally enjoy Canadian artists. I find most of them refreshingly uncompromising about not selling out their art to commercialisation, at least that is the impression I get. I have enjoyed the "angry" young women like Alanis Morissette and Avril Lavine. I have actually seen the former in a street concert in Ottawa just before she became an international star. I have enjoyed the social crusaders like Bruce Cockburn as well as the fun-loving but strange bands like Crash Test Dummies and Barenaked Ladies (the latter, I was disappointed to learn is an all male group). There are many more and I will revisit them again.

For me though, two giants stand out because of their soul-baring lyrics. When you hear them, you feel as they have given you the most intimate of glimpses into their inner sanctum. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.

Leonard Cohen was born and bred in Montreal. The singer, songwriter, poet and novelist is now in his seventies but has been one of the most influential song writers of the 20th century.

The lyrics of his songs are often emotionally as well as lyrically complex and seem to carry a message at several different levels. Many of the songs deal with the mysteries and complications of women and relationships. Some seem to be almost too painfully real and very potent in their ability to provoke an emotive response.


"Villanelle for Our Time" is a song that seems to appeal for all of us to search ourselves in the hopes that we begin to understand that people are more important than our differences whether they are petty or imagined to be big and is also more important than transient, personal gains. Truly a meassage for a fragmenting world, driven by unbridled capitalism. Enjoy the lyrics below, go out and get your own copy so that you can feel the impact of his complementarily, evocative music. Finally, join me in a long good funk.

"VILLANELLE FOR OUR TIME"

words by Frank Scott (1899-1985)

music by Leonard Cohen

From bitter searching of the heart,

Quickened with passion and with pain

We rise to play a greater part.

This is the faith from which we start:

Men shall know commonwealth again

From bitter searching of the heart.

We loved the easy and the smart,

But now, with keener hand and brain,

We rise to play a greater part.

The lesser loyalties depart,

And neither race nor creed remain

From bitter searching of the heart.

Not Steering by the venal chart

That tricked the mass for private gain,

We rise to play a greater part.

Reshaping narrow law and art

Whose symbols are the millions slain,

From bitter searching of the heart

We rise to play a greater part.

Senators on Ice

Mike Fisher scores for Ottawa Senators, a short-handed goal

against the Buffalo Sabres in a Stanley Cup Semi-final Playoff game (2007)

.....AND HE MAKES IT LOOK SO EASY!!!!!

As far as sports go, there are two games which I would not dare to play for fear of loss of life and limb or at least a few teeth. These are rugby and ice hockey. Yet strangely enough, these are the two sports that I watch and follow with a passion. If the New Zealand All-Blacks lost a finals or a series or if Team Canada failed to secure the ice hockey world championship, I'd just feel that something was not right in the world. Maybe even the sun won't rise the next day.

This is strange cause in my part of the world and really in most of the world, soccer rules supreme. However, having watched ice hockey when I was in Canada, I couldn't help notice that soccer seemed to be played in slow motion. It was like watching 22 snails on a large playing field. Why do I like these two violent, full contact sports?

The truth is these games are played with more passion and sense of fairplay than most non-contact games. Soccer is riddled with shameful acts like Maradonna's Hand of God incident. I used to play basketball and believe me its a dirty game of elbowing and tripping. The most contact for a non-contact sport. Also strangely inspite of the mayhem on the playing field (fights are regular in both ice hockey and rugby), the fans are generally well behaved.

This is in contrast to sedate games like cricket where fans fight, umpires are beaten up and even coaches are murdered. Soccer too is full of violent fan related incidents. So maybe part of the appeal of watching rugby or ice hockey is that I feel very safe in the stands while watching my team work out my aggressions for me on the field or ice rink.

I did not grow up with ice hockey, so what made me pick up the fever. I have to say the combination of speed, agility and precision passing and shooting. When it all comes together it is like a well choreographed dance. And what an adrenaline high to watch a game in multiple overtime and playing sudden death.

When I was studying in Ottawa, the Senators were only just re-formed. I was so excited but then later disappointed when almost all the tickets were snapped up for the whole season. At any rate, it was a bit too costly for my student budget. However, the newly formed Senators were pretty much the whipping boys in those days so I didn't miss much. The teams that were doing well included the Edmonton Oilers and the New York Rangers. I was there when the great one moved to California. A day of national mourning in Canada. The names I remember were names like Fleury, Messier, and the notorious Lindros.

Today, the Senators are 3 games up in the best of 7 semifinals against the Buffalo Sabres. The Senators are on the ice and heading for the Stanley Cup. Go Sens Go!!!!

Two years ago, I was in Denver for just a couple of nights but I was thrilled that I managed to get tickets for the Colorado Avalanche and Edmonton Oilers game. This was my one and only live NHL game. I went with a friend who had never been to a hockey game before either. Our tickets turned out to be as far up in the rafters as possible. I'm told they are called the nose-bleed seats because of the high altitude!

I went dressed for the occasion in an All-Blacks Rugby T-shirt just to confuse everyone. To my surprise, a guy just two seats away was also wearing the exact same T-shirt. What are the odds of two nutters wearing a rugby shirt to an ice hockey game? We were pleasantly surprised.

It was a great experience even though I was supporting the Oilers who eventually lost 5-3. I am now plotting for an opportunity to go to an international rugby game wearing the Ottawa Senators T-shirt!

(all photos except the first one are by LGS in Denver 2005)

World Food Spot 4 : Pommes Frites

Some tempers and patriotic fervor may still be flying high over whether fried strands of potatoes should be called “French” fries or “freedom” fries, but in the culinary arena it is of little consequence because the champion is Belgian and the name is “Pommes frites”.

Frites are thick strips of potatoes which are fried twice to give its characteristic crispy outside and soft insides. It is often served in a paper cone with a dollop of sauce on top. It is the wonderful choices of sauces that add to the charm of frites. British like their “chips” soggy and soaked in salt and vinegar; Americans like their fries sized up and dipped in tomato sauce; Malaysians would prefer sweet chilli sauce. Frites connoisseurs can chose from scores of sauces.

The origin of frites are somewhat debated between the French, Belgian and even the Dutch. The Belgians are given the benefit of the doubt as they are by far the largest consumers of frites and of potatoes per capita. The Belgians also have a strong tradition of having stalls selling frites in every town. These are more than 7000 of these “ frite kots“ in Belgium and they can have a lot of character. The Belgians even tell a little story about its origins. During winter, a certain village traditionally fried small fish which was available from a river near. However, one year due to harsh weather, the villagers did not have any fish. Somebody tried frying potatoes cut into strips like fish and that is how the pommes frites began.

Back to the variety of sauces. Frites have begun to invade USA and one shop in New York offers about 30 of these sauces and these have been rated for us by Geegaw and friends. They are all Americans so their taste may not really represent the global view but it was the only taste test I could find on the web. I remember trying and enjoying the following; tartar sauce, rosemary garlic mayo, pesto mayo, Dijon garlic mustard, Curry Ketchup Special and curry sauce.

Another regional variation which merits some attention is poutine which is a French Canadian staple and a welcome body warmer against the bitingly cold Canadian winter. Poutine is like thick frites but it is always accompanied by beef or chicken gravy and cheese curds. Probably a nutritionist’s nightmare but all the more reason it comes highly recommended.

Gross, Messy, Unhealthy but DeliciousPoutine

If one of your new year resolutions is to eat healthier, then the good news is that you still have a few days to try pommes frites and poutine.

Defend the Oceans

Canada, I love you but lately the Government has been making some really bad decisions on the international environment scene.......decisions that impeach the previously good reputation of the country on these matters. Please wake up and stand for what is right for our world. Remember our children need a world to live in too. May it still be a beautiful and life-sustaining one. As for the oceans, overfishing and damaging fishing techniques have already resulted in much grief and diminished fish stocks around the world. Now is the time to put a stop to these destructive activities. I show this with a heavy heart and a hope that Canada returns to being a "green" nation.



My thanks to http://eclectech.blogspot.com/2006/11/blame-canada-and-espaa.html for creating these messages.

LGS's Cultural Tour 1 : Leonard Cohen's "Villanelle for Our Time"

Squirrels dance and make noises all the time. On those tissue-thin credentials, the Lone Grey Squirrel bases his right to give a tour of the cultural world and to throw in his views and comments. Critics nit-pick while squirrels nut-pick. Close enough.

Today, I am in a funk (funk n. a state of severe depression). I really cannot tell you if that I am in this funk because I have been listening to my new CD, "Dear Heather" by Leonard Cohen or that I was already in the funk which is why I went to buy a Leonard Cohen CD. Anyway, I have decided that a good funk and a Leonard Cohen CD were made for each other.

I generally enjoy Canadian artists. I find most of them refreshingly uncompromising about not selling out their art to commercialisation, at least that is the impression I get. I have enjoyed the "angry" young women like Alanis Morissette and Avril Lavine. I have actually seen the former in a street concert in Ottawa just before she became an international star. I have enjoyed the social crusaders like Bruce Cockburn as well as the fun-loving but strange bands like Crash Test Dummies and Barenaked Ladies (the latter, I was disappointed to learn is an all male group). There are many more and I will revisit them again.

For me though, two giants stand out because of their soul-baring lyrics. When you hear them, you feel as they have given you the most intimate of glimpses into their inner sanctum. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.

Leonard Cohen was born and bred in Montreal. The singer, songwriter, poet and novelist is now in his seventies but has been one of the most influential song writers of the 20th century.

The lyrics of his songs are often emotionally as well as lyrically complex and seem to carry a message at several different levels. Many of the songs deal with the mysteries and complications of women and relationships. Some seem to be almost too painfully real and very potent in their ability to provoke an emotive response.


"Villanelle for Our Time" is a song that seems to appeal for all of us to search ourselves in the hopes that we begin to understand that people are more important than our differences whether they are petty or imagined to be big and is also more important than transient, personal gains. Truly a meassage for a fragmenting world, driven by unbridled capitalism. Enjoy the lyrics below, go out and get your own copy so that you can feel the impact of his complementarily, evocative music. Finally, join me in a long good funk.

"VILLANELLE FOR OUR TIME"

words by Frank Scott (1899-1985)

music by Leonard Cohen

From bitter searching of the heart,

Quickened with passion and with pain

We rise to play a greater part.

This is the faith from which we start:

Men shall know commonwealth again

From bitter searching of the heart.

We loved the easy and the smart,

But now, with keener hand and brain,

We rise to play a greater part.

The lesser loyalties depart,

And neither race nor creed remain

From bitter searching of the heart.

Not Steering by the venal chart

That tricked the mass for private gain,

We rise to play a greater part.

Reshaping narrow law and art

Whose symbols are the millions slain,

From bitter searching of the heart

We rise to play a greater part.

Introducing the Cast and Actors

It began on a cold autumn day in Canada, this love affair. I was a poor student in need of lodgings and I was checking out a cosy basement apartment. Now generally, I am in the category of people who need the sky. The thought of being underground with only tiny windows at ground level from which to spy the heavens did not thrill me.

Yet the apartment had its charms, starting with the fact that there was a lovely wooden broadwalk through a small but enchanting garden. This led to the apartment's entrance which was a pretty white door with a window to the world. Next, you had to descend a wooden, romantically spiral stairs to the apartment. The apartment was a one bedroom with a living room and a tiny kitchen but the hardwood flooring was another hook to my heart strings. I loved it. It had character. I told myself that could always come up and look at the sky like a groundhog does when he emerges from his burrow.

Having pretty much decided that I would be telling the nice, old and slightly deaf French landlady that I would be calling that Hobbit hovel home for the next two years, I came back to the surface. That was when our paths crossed. The squirrel and I.

He was there, no doubt to visit with the pretty young girl who had been the previous tenant. He sized up the situation quickly, his eyes darting between the tiny, darkened windows to the apartment dungeon and at me. There was an intellegence behind his dark eyes that immediately caught my attention. He seemed to deflate with the realisation that the young girl was gone to be replaced by this paleskinned wonder. He looked at me again more critically, his gaze moving up and down.

I made various silly animal voices to entice first contact but I am fairly sure that he decided all was not lost when he noticed that I just happened to have a bag of blanched peanuts in one of my hands. With that, he went into social mode and did what I latter knew to be his dance enticement routine that soon parted the human fool from his peanuts.

I would name him, "Spikey" for the many subsequent mornings, he would come by for breakfast with his fur spiked and disarrayed from restless slumber. He would eventually introduce me to a whole cast of comic and tragic characters. Speedy, Sneaky, Loonie, Patches, Lizzie and others were to be my regular companions and in turn, they would be my guides, allowing me glimses in to squirrel world.

Later I realise that many people have their corresponding squirrel-types. I invite you to join me as the lone grey squirrel rants about the world through squinty squirrel-opened eyes.