Suffer Little Children

I spent this weekend attending a workshop on Christian Counseling. It was a mixture of learning about counseling as well as receiving some counseling as part of the process. A great portion of the weekend focused on our responses to events in the early part of our lives which resulted in us adopting inappropriate defence mechanisms which in turn cause us to develop self-destructive behavior. For many of the participants, bad reactions to certain actions of our parents was a very common factor.

The workshop is not blaming parents for what happened because being parents are a tough job and yet a single slip at the wrong time can have a major negative result in the child's life. For example, in one case, the child was anxious after seeing something spooky on television and goes to the father for reassurance but the father teases the child by pretending to be scared himself and said "Scared, scared". A seemingly innocent incident but the child becomes easily spooked by almost anything because she does not feel secure.

Another example is when a harassed mother promises a young child to get her a long desired toy but fails to do so due to the rush and busyness of the day. Again something that can easily happen but the child could develop an unwillingness to trust people as a result.

And so many of the participants had such experiences with their parents which have led to some hangup or another.

Later though, I had the opportunity to take part in an informal conversation with some of the participants and one of them was a full time Christian worker with abused and abandoned children. He shared this story about a eleven year old girl. Her mother brought her one morning outside a Christian Shelter for Children and told her that she would be back to pick her up that evening.

Two and a half years later, this quiet and shy girl finally opened up to a student volunteer and told her that she still hoped each day that her mother would come for her one evening. Then after a short silence, she asked the volunteer, " What do I have to do to survive the reality of my situation?" It was as if she was finally coming to terms that her mother may never return. The volunteer was herself from a broken home and was able to share her own experiences. The little girl thanked her for not avoiding the question.

Needless to say, I was greatly touched by the story and it put all of our gripes about our parents in context. Not that some of the problems arising from actions of our parents were not serious but clearly, we were all reminded that having caring but imperfect parents is so much better than being left behind by your parents or having no parents at all.

I think I will do something for the kids in the shelter.

Distinguishing Marks

Last evening, I had the following conversation with my wife.

Wife: Next time don't volunteer me to do salad for the church gathering.

Me: I thought salad would be easy.

Wife: Easy? Just who is going to grate the carrots.

Me: I'll help and we can get it done in no time.

Wife: You? Grating the carrots?

Me: Why? How difficult can it be? Pass me the grater.

I proceed to grate the carrots on the grater but before long, my grip slips and instead of carrot, I am feeding my thumb into the grater.

Me: OUCH!!!

Wife: How bad is it?

Me: Not too bad. Just a single cut. Look it is barely bleeding.

I keep grating the carrots without incident .....for another couple of minutes. Then, my thumb goes flying into the grater again!

Me: OUCH!!! OUCH!!! and TRIPLE OUCH!!! Man down! Man down! It's a gusher!

This time I achieved three cuts and my thumbnail split down the middle about half way. There's enough blood to get Dracula excited.

Wife: That's it! Stop trying to help me. Get out of the kitchen and stop bleeding into the salad!


And that, is pretty much how my thumb got its new scars. It is throbbing with pain to remind me not to send it into harms way again; which in turn got me thinking about the other silly things that I have done in my life and the various scars that my body sports as a result.

My very first battle scar was when picked up when I was a mere toddler. I declared war on a glass door. Well, actually I am told that the door was closed but I chose to walk right through it. Anyway, the entire glass pane shattered. Again, I am told that I could have been decapitated but I got away with a bad cut on my middle finger on my left hand. It resulted in a 2 cm long scar with a curious knot-like shape in the middle.

Next, I got a scar in the shape of an eye and about the same size on my right calf. I think that was from a bicycle accident. Then, I picked up my third scar when they abducted me when I was eleven and they did all kinds of weird experiments on me which they collectively referred to as an appendectomy.

My first visit to the British Council when I was twelve, to see a concert, left me with a chipped tooth after I missed a step coming down the stairs and decided to try to take a bite out of glorious Ol' England. Tooth versus concrete was not really a fair fight.

Bad shoes have left me with misshapen feet. Playing basketball and an ill conceived stunt involving jumping down a stairwell has left me with damaged ankles but you cannot see it on the outside. Well, since we have entered the body cavity, I might as well throw in the fact that I have 3 prolapsed and herniated spinal discs.

I think that is about it. Bet all of these are going to ache more as I grow older. How about you? Any distinguishing marks or scars with stories to share?

Milking, Milking, Milking, .....Burp!

Looks like I'll be working at the nut mines again this weekend. So no time for a long, thoughtful and intelligent post. So instead I will give you this piece of creative madness coupled with a public service message to be tolerant of mothers feeding their babies in public. Yeah, a celebration of the cycle of life. Approve it, don't "a-prude" it.




This concludes our public service announcement.

It's Dragonfruit

The answer to the question in the last post is Dragonfruit. The picture showed a field of dragonfruit plants being cultivated near the coastal area of Sepang in Malaysia. I like to thank the male readers for their imaginative contributions and suggestions which included specially modified rubber trees to mutated space aliens. My personal favorite was Mark's suggestion.

"This is a bootleg photo of the harsh conditions plants in plant prison experience. Locked down in their individual units only to have the breezes and light of day for succor. OH to be free!"

If I had a prize to give out, it would have been for your creative suggestion, Mark.

The ladies seem fixated on it being aloe vera plants. This was quite close to the truth as it is in fact from the cactus family. It is however a pitaya or a dragonfruit plant.

As the pictures show, the pulp can either be white or red. This strange plant is a actually a native of Mexico and South America but is cultivated widely also in South East Asia. It is touted as a health food which is rich in vitamins, roughage and anti-oxidants. All I am saying is that it makes a weird looking fruit drink and if you have too much, your urine can turn pink!

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.

My Ass Hurts!

Ow! Ouch! Ooo! Arrgh! Owwwooowwwoow! Ouch! That was a quick summary of the week that was. If you still haven't got the hint, my ass hurts...............a lot.

Before I go on with my misery report, I would first like to thank all of you for your kind words, prayers and best wishes. They were all much appreciated. Thank you Mark (The Walking Man) for recommending Neurontin; it's the only thing keeping me from screaming. Thank you Proxima for reminding me I am not a spring chicken; I must really remember that so that there will not be a next time.

My mom is doing physically well. Operatio went without a hitch and without any complications. The wound is healing well. She is doing physiotherapy and her strength is returning to her leg. Physically, everything is as good as could be expected but she is a bit depressed and needs to be ordered/cajoled to do her exercise. Surprisingly, her appetite is very good and she might even put on some much needed weight.

As for me, my ass hurts.............. a lot. the doctor has confirmed that I have not one but three prolapsed discs in the lumbar region of the spine. At least two of those are compressing the spine and one is compressing a nerve leaving the spine. I have difficulty walking or standing for more than a minute and I cannot lie down flat. I have been sleeping in a sitting position for the last week.

Prognosis though seems hopeful as it appears to be an old injury which has been aggravated rather than a new one. The doctor recommended a treatment of physiotherapy and traction. I am on neurontin . Surgery will be considered only if the condition shows a deterioration. Doctor cheerfully predicts that I will be incapacitated with pain for at least another two weeks.

That means I am off and working from home. Whether that means I will post on the blog more regularly or less regularly remains to be seen.

In the meantime, a word from the wise, take care of your back or you might get a painful kick in the ass.

Hippy Sick

THIS IS A HIPPIE CHICK

She has n0thing whatsoever to do with today's post other than being a blatant attempt to get more people to visit this blog under false pretenses.

THIS IS A HIP JOINT

WHICH IS ALTOGETHER NOT THE SAME AS A HIPPIE JOINT

My mother, 85 years old, had a fall last Sunday and on Monday, it was confirmed that she had a fracture of the femur near the hip joint. Despite her age, the doctors' concurred that it was best to operate and correct the situation. She subsequently had an operation to insert a metal plate and screw to hold the bone together. Overall, she is recovering well although she now faces several weeks of physiotheraphy. A lot of my time this week has been spent having her X-rays done, visiting doctors, etc.

A few weeks ago, I had a bad fall which resulted in a bruised ego and a trapped nerve. Unfortunately, due to the additional stress from carrying or transporting my mother about, I aggravated the nerve and was in considerable, immobilising pain from that.

So you could say that both of us are currently Hippy Sick and that's the reason I have not been blogging and visiting your blogs lately. I got an injection for the pain this morning and I may be on a Hippie High so please excuse me if parts of this post are senseless, incoherent or even possibly psychedelic!

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.

Run Nurse Run

"Jo Bune" PhotoCredit: LGS

Like stepmothers, I think psychiatric nurses have been given unfair treatment in the media. Just as not all stepmothers are evil witches busy concocting poisoned apples while preening themselves in front of magical vanity mirrors, then equally not all psychiatric nurses are oppressive, dictatorial demons as personified by Nurse Ratched in the movie, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". In fact, although I have no first hand experience, I believe that few psychiatric nurses behave like Nurse Ratched. Overall, psychiatric nurses are well trained, compassionate and dedicated to help some of the toughest patients there are. This post is a tribute to them and to thank them for doing a very difficult and often thankless job.

This is my friend, Jo. She is a nurse. She is one of the sweetest and kindest persons I have ever known. I don't know if she finally became a psychiatric nurse but as a student nurse, she had to do a period of on-the-job training at the high security psychiatric ward of a local hospital.

Once, soon after she started, I noticed that she had cut her hair short. It didn't really suit her and I asked why did she do it. "It's funny, really" she said with her characteristically pleasant drawl. "One of the patients tried to strangle me with me own hair." And then she laughed. I didn't think it was that funny to be strangled by your own hair but that was Jo; she laughed these things off and they became unimportant compared to the work, the good that she was doing.

On another occassion, a few of us were invited to a friend's apartment for dinner. When I got there, Jo and a couple of other student nurses were already there. They were seated in the living area and were laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks. Always looking for a good laugh, I sat down next to Jo and asked what was so funny.

Jo took a couple of deep breaths and dried the tears with a hankerchief before she related the tale to me. "Well, I started on the high security psychiatric ward this week on Tuesday, you see." I nodded as I knew about that.

She continued, "We had been briefed thoroughly on safety measures and I was all pumped up, you know. Adrenaline was rushing as they opened the security doors to let me in."

"I hadn't taken two steps in through the door when I came face to face with this big naked bloke. He stared into my face and I was too surprised to do naught else but to stare right back. Then I heard the voice of the matron yelling, "Stop him!"

"I looked pass the man and I can see a couple of the big male nurses running towards us with the matron behind them. But before I knew it, he slipped past me, through the security doors and was out in the general hospital area."

"I'm sure like me, you'd been rooted to the spot too, uncertain what to do. But suddenly, the matron shouted again for me to stop him and that jolted me into action. After all, if I have learnt naught else on this course, it is to snap to when the matron shouts an order." The other student nurses nodded their heads in agreement.

"So, what did you do?" I asked, captivated by the excitement of the tale.

"Why, I ran after him. I chased him down five flight of stairs, through the cafeteria and we were running along the walkway that runs around that small central garden; the naked bloke in front, me just a few steps behind, much further back a couple of burly male nurses and the matron bringing up the rear, still shouting. What a sight for all to see."

I was visualising it in my mind's eye. It was quite a busy hospital and this must have been quite a commotion. "So what happened next?" I asked in anticipation.

"Well, we were really running. Belting along in that order when suddenly it hit me; what would I, what could I do if I caught up with him."

"So what did you do?" I asked enthusiastically.

"So, I pretended that I got the cramps." she said jubilantly and with that all three nurses broke up into hysterics once more.

As I said, it takes a special breed to do this work. Thank you, Jo and all the others working with the mentally ill. Your patience, resilience, compassion and sense of humor is much appreciated.

Skin And Bones

Spurred on by Mark's comments (The Walking Man), I am re-embarking on my get healthy and lose weight campaign. If you could be so kind, you can be my cheerleading section. I weigh 210 lbs (95 kg). My ideal weight is 165 lbs (75 kg). My nephew is getting married at the end of October; about 2 months away. I would like to drop at least 20 lbs or 9 kg by then.

Today, I returned to the gym after an absence of a year. I tried rowing. I used to be very good at that. I normally rowed 5 km in 20 minutes. Today, I had to stop after only 1.5 km because I was getting severe muscle cramps in the abdomen. Altogether, I was only about 70 % of where I was the last time I was at the gym. I'll keep you updated on my progress. Did I inspire anyone to follow suit?

THIS IS ME, .......... EXERCISING!

THIS IS ME, ...........DIETING!

Cats Over Borneo

Cats in Cat City, Borneo (PhotoCredit: LGS)

This strange piece of public art is found in the city of Kuching which is the capital of the state of Sarawak on the vast, equatorial and forested island of Borneo. The cats' theme is actually in tribute to the city because the name Kuching actually means "cat" in the Malay language. Hence Kuching is actually "Cat City".

However, Borneo is the setting of an even more interesting and bizzare cat related story. This story is often called "Cats over Borneo". The story is set in the 1950's. Malaria, the severe and potentially fatal blood borne disease, was rampant and it was known to be spread by the Anopheles mosquito. The relatively new and young World Health Organization (WHO) was fervent in their efforts to fight malaria.

They had just added to their arsenal of weapons, a new and effective insecticide, a chemical called dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane or DDT. Today, we are aware of DDT's problems including its long half life and tendency to accumulate in fatty tissue as well as its effect on non-target species. However, at that time, the pesticide was being used worldwide, and was widely touted for its safety and its effectiveness.

Anyway, the WHO sprayed DDT liberally in the Dayak villages of the Sarawak interior. Initially, this campaign was considered a success as mosquitoes were killed and the malaria rate dropped. Then authorities were hit by two mystery complaints. The first was very bizzare. The Dayak villages consisted of longhouses which accomodate several families and which were covered by a thatch roof. The villagers complained that their roofs were collapsing exposing whole communities to the elements. Although puzzled, the authorities were forced to act quickly and sent in corrugated metal sheets to be used as roofing material.

Before, they could even take a breather, they were surprised by the outbreak of plague and reports of famine as grain stores were decimated by a large invasion of rats. The authorities urgently investigated the matter and called the Royal Air Force for help. Citizens were also asked to donate cats and to help build special cat baskets. Operation "Cat Drop" was carried out in which hundreds of cats were parachuted by the RAF onto interior villages. This reinforcement of cats eventually solved the problem.

The Day They Parachuted Cats on Borneo by Charlotte Pomerantz relates this true story in the form of a rhyme. It is also featured in an article by Gordon R. Conway in The Careless Technology: Ecology and International Development (1972) and a first-hand account of “Operation Cat-drop” is given by Tom Harrisson in the journal Animals published in 1965.

What transpired in the jungles of Borneo is a clear example and a cautionary tale that man does not know enough about the inter-connectivity of the web of life and many of our actions to address a single problem have often unexpected reprecussions. The DDT did infact kill the mosquitoes and also other insects in the jungle which were non-target species. One of which was a jungle wasp. These wasps in turn played the important role of keeping a certain caterpillar population in check by laying eggs on the caterpillar and when the larvae hatch out, the larvae feed on the caterpillar, killing it. When the DDT killed the wasp, the caterpillar population boomed and as the caterpillar fed on the roof thatching, the roofs started to collapse.

At the same time, the geckos which are a type of lizard which feed on insects were having a great time because it kept finding dead insects everywhere. However, as they ate, the DDT levels in their bodies continued to rise. The cats in the village in turn often catch and eat the geckos. Soon, all the cats died of poisoning. With the cats gone, the rats came out to play. Their population boomed, leading to the destruction of grain stores and the spread of plague. A situation that was only reversed by the airborne drop of cats over Borneo.

A strange but true tale and a warning to man to stop messing with the world's complex and balanced web of life. I did not even mention how all these imported cats caused a great upset to the indigenous squirrel population!

Mad Cows and Angry Chickens

When you think of a farm, do you picture rolling hills with cattle grazing freely or do you see a place where the cattle are locked and immobilized in cubicles and force fed grain and feed made from left over parts of other cattle? The farm of James Herriot's books or the mechanical farm similar to The Matrix.

Photo by itsgriff

Photo by aimhmga

Desmond Morris wrote a book in 1989 entitled, "The Animal Contract". In this book, he examines the evolution of farming. He holds that when men domesticated animals, the arrangement was one of mutual benefit. The farmer for much of human history took great care of his animals, providing them with food, care, shelter and a good life. Even though, the animals were being raised as food and destined for the dinner table, he argues that they were given a quality of life they would not otherwise have enjoyed in the wild. This give and take arrangement is the basis of the social contract between animals and farmers

I know that there are many vegans who feel we should not be farming any animals at all and that all farming is exploitation. However, I believe though that from the moment we are born, we have an impact on the world around us and it is a give and take relation. To live we need to consume resources which we do at the expense of other creatures and sometimes at the expense of fellow man. Every need, every action we take impacts on our world. We all consume water, breathe air, excrete waste, wear clothes, live in houses, travel in vehicles etc. All of these impact the world and is carried out at some expense to our fellow creatures.

Our task and our challenge is to reduce the impact of such actions so as to reach an acceptable equillibrium. In the case, of traditional farming, the equillibrium or the trade off was food in exchange of a better quality (and in some cases, longer life span) than the animal might expect living in the wild. Unfortunately, the quaint traditional farms of yesteryear have been increasingly replaced by large corporate farms which follow the mantra of optimising food and biomass production per square meter. They are definately more productive but their methods are a hazard to both man and beast.

These factory farming methods has led to widespread use of antibiotics and growth hormones in agriculture which are definately deleterious to our health. Mad cow disease and avian flu are greater threats because of this high intensity farming. The impact on animals has been frightful. Animals like cows and chickens are crowded together, often immobilised for their entire life. Such animals develop behavioral problems not unlike having a nervous breakdown. This has resulted in animals injuring themselves or others. To counter this, factory farms resort to mutilation of the animals through actions such as cutting off beaks. The animals are often force fed as well. Clearly the animals are not enjoying a better quality of life. Rather they are sentenced to solitary confinement in inhumanely close quarters awaiting execution. Desmond Morris would definately agree that we have breeched our social contract with farm animals.





I like the convenience of fast food joints but I feel we need to tell these food manufacturers that we want food from ethically managed farms where animals are treated with dignity and given a quality life. We need to say no to the nightmarish torture dungeons that farms have become today.

Many native cultures give thanksgiving either to God or to the spirits of the animals that were about to be sacrificed for food for their people. Perhaps we should try that the next time we order a Big Mac. Perhaps we should add our voices to those fighting for a more ethical approach to animal treatment in factory farms.

Please have a look at this flash animation which warns us further of the consequences of our inaction. You should see this if 1) you want to learn more and 2) if you share by wacky sense of humor.

You let me down, Indonesia

If you checked in on me at my last posting, you would have found me in an officially declared funk and that was at the beginnning of what had promised to be a glorious 5 day long weekend in Malaysia on account of the Hindu festival of Diwali and the muslim festival of Eid. Well, far from being the long anticipated break with which to spend top quality time with friends and family and to hone one's blog writing skills, I instead achieved a rare state of being - that of being in a funk, in the middle of a haze and under the weather. That's my long way of telling you that I have been ill and that I make a grumpy, irritable and irritating patient.

I have been coughing for weeks because of the haze from those peat fires in Indonesia which is just blanketing parts of South East Asia. Although it was only a dry cough, it weakened my immunity and probably made me susceptible to a flu bug that was conveniently hiding amongst one of the sweet, innocent, smiling children in my friends' big broods. Sweet, innocent, smiling children are really the world's best bio-terrorists as they are able to catch with ease the newest germ out in the market and pass it on as quickly. Tag. You're it.

So with a sniffling nose and weepy eyes and a loud hacking cough, and while still delirious because of fever, I read in the local newspaper with great disdain that Indonesia's parliament was not going to agree to Indonesia signing an ASEAN Regional Transboundary Haze Agreement. They decided to try to use their haze creating fires as some sort of bargaining chips for concessions on trade and fisheries with the neighbouring countries. Imagine having a neighbour who wants the rest of the neighbourhood to pay him to get rid of his health threatening bad habits. What are these politicians thinking? How can any one seem to find any benefit from keeping this choking haze around?

When the world faced the possibility of nuclear annihiliation because of the struttings of the USA and Russia, I was deeply comforted by the song by Sting which said "the Russians love their chidren too" and which implied no one was mad enough to condemn their future generations to the horrors of nuclear fallout. Sadly, I do not see such similar stirrings of the heart amongst the Indonesian Parliamentarians who are holding in their hands the fate of millions of Indonesians and other Asians condemning them to further exposure to toxic smoke so that they can bargain their gasps for fresh air for business and trade concessions. Shame on you.

"You let me down, Indonesia.
Your peatland and forest's on fire
High toll on wildlife and on your people
but still your leaders, they want to quibble"

"You let me down, Indonesia.
You do not care for your neighbours
That much is clear, but yet we had hoped
that for the children, you'd stop the smoke."

(to be sung to the tune of "Don't cry for me, Argentina.")

Specially trained Squirrel checking on Veruca to see if she is a BAD nut. ( a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). Similar medical exam. recommended for Indonesian Parliamentarians.