Invasion of Flesh-Eating Plants

I love my B grade horror movies like the "Creature from the Black Lagoon". These movies are so bad and full of genre cliches that they are superbly fun. I just enjoy yelling at the characters in the movie things like, "Look out behind" or "Stay away from the water!" or even "Don't go down to the basement!"

Following up on Halloween, I thought of writing about flesh-eating plants. Even though "Invasion of Flesh-Eating Plants", may seem like a good title for a B grade horror movie, I am actually writing about bog plants which are specially adapted to the low nitrogen levels in such environments. These plants are specially adapted to catch insects, digest them and to get the nitrogen they need from such sources.

During my recent trip to Australia, I had the opportunity to visit Mount Tomah Botanic Garden which is located 1000metres above sea level and is nestled within the world heritage listed Greater Blue Mountains area. The garden contains over 40,000 plants arranged according to geographical location and is home to a large variety of native wildlife. It also had a wonderful artificially created bog which housed a collection of these wonderfully strange plants.

This first beauty is the famous Venus Fly Trap (Dioneae muscipola). It is actually very small. The specimen in this picture was probably about just 2 inches across. If however, you encountered one that was about 8 feet tall, then you would have a close approximation to the fiendish plant from the musical/comedy-horror show, "Little Shop of Horrors".


This second photo is of a plant that is found in most parts of Australia except Northern Territories and is called Fairy Aprons (Utricularia dichomata) and it's small traps are said to resemble ladies purses.


This final one is one of my favorites and is a species of Sundew (Drosera). The insects are attracted to the red, sticky glogs at the end of the hairs and are trapped. The leaves then curl inwards and the insect slowly digested.

(All photos by LGS)

They make great pets, don't cha think?

Undead Nuts from October 30th 2006

I wish I had time to do a good post for Halloween which is one date that I look out for. Unfortunately, I have not been able to do so. instead, I have used unholy science to resurrect a dead and buried nut from 2006. Beware.......it stinks!

Monday, October 30, 2006

Spirits of the Season: Fright or Hide

(Pennywise the Clown from Steven King's "It".)

What thrills you? Gets your adrenaline up, gives you a buzz that lights up our smile and your sense of general well being. In fact it makes you feel like superman. The scientists call it the “fight or flight” response; our bodies are being prepared to fight or to run for our lives. Either way, the adrenaline tones our muscles in anticipation,
our blood rushes oxygen and we feel powerful. For some, they get this high from riding roller coasters and kamikaze rides. Not for me, I just become catatonic – completely rigid, neither capable of fight or flight, not even sound unless you count moans.

However, since it is Halloween, let us consider my other favourite way of getting thrills which is to watch horror movies or read a scary book or listen to a campfire ghost story. I call this the “fright and hide” response. This is where once again the adrenaline courses through the
body, getting the heart beat up and blood rushing but the muscles are not primed to run but to crawl under the blankets and hide. A really powerful invocation of the response is manifested by other symptoms like “tingling in the spine”, “goosebumps” and “chattering teeth”. I love it. I much prefer this than actually risking my life on a roller coaster. Horror stories is just safe entertainment with no real risk of being flung to your deaths from a roller coaster ride. After all, there are no such things as ghosts and monsters………… right? Er, right?

What makes a good horror story? I much prefer good story telling than an over reliance on mutilated bodies. Hence, I discount movies like Halloween and Scream and such slasher movies as body count movies. Most times, a couple of dead bodies can be scarier than a bus load.

Camp fire ghost stories are just great because it makes use of our imaginations which is usually far scarier that special effects. Although, I did not think that the Blair Witch Project was exceptional, it made use of simple things to great effect. Think of the sounds outside the tent, the strange arrangement of twigs, the disappearance of friends. You never see the horror but you get hints of it. Right at the end when you see the man at the corner with his feet not touching the ground; well, you knewthen you had it even though you still did not
see the horror. But you could almost touch it. Or worse, it could touch you. Brrrrr.

Perversion of innocence is another scary tool. This is where you take something sweet and innocent and turn it into evil personified. This worked well in “It.” A clown is turned into a monster with pointed teeth but he still looks like a clown all the way down to his red nose and balloon animals. If you can’t trust a clown,……. Just imagine cuddlying up to Barney and then seeing him transformed into a velociraptor. Now that’s scary. It did not work with “Chucky” because that doll looked like bad news even before he showed his demonic side. Children are also meant to be innocent and that’s why they can be very scary. In “The Ring”, we are actually led to sympathize with the girl, Samara. Oh poor little girl, how she was mistreated by her parents. Later, when we realize that the parents were actually scared of her that we feel the full impact of her evilness. Yikes.

Removing our comfort zones. Some of us have no problems watching movies about
old haunted mansions or about werewolves lose in the Everglades. Why? Because we know that nothing will ever drag us to go to a haunted mansion or camp in the Everglades. It is far away from our comfort zone. Movies on Vampires in Transylvania? No problem since the last I checked, there were no direct flights from the Kingdom of Darkness to our international airport. However, what if the horror came into our house? What if it visits in our dreams even though we are tucked in our own beds? That is the premise that made Nightmare on Elm Street so horrifying (the sequels degenerated to a body count movie). What if hell itself wanted to draw you in through the static of the TV screen as it did in Poltergeist? Yaaaaah!

I think Hollywood horror movies have lost their way of late and have acknowledged that by
copying or reproducing some of the scarier movies from Asia. The Ring, Dark Water and The Grudge are some examples. Even in the case of The Grudge, I would still recommend the Japanese version despite the fact that I am a Sarah Michelle Geller fan.

A few more that I would recommend from Asia include;
a) Shutter (2004; Thailand; The moment the hero finally understands what was happening was truly chilling.)
b) A Tale of Two Sisters (2003, Korean; Is it real or is it imagined the evil that seems to appear?)
c) One Missed Call
(2003, Japanese; Okay, not one of the top ones but I like how they use an everyday item like the handphone to rock us out of our comfort zone).

Happy halloween. Sleep well. Have pleasant dreams and watch out for your teddy bear.

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Meme from Meggie

This is a meme and Meggie made me do it!

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night?
My wife always makes me laugh.

2. What were you doing at 0800?
Cursing the alarm clock.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Trying out Facebook.

4. What happened to you in 2006?
I grew older. Darn it!

5. What was the last thing you said out loud?
"Are you hungry?"

6. How many beverages did you have today?
Just floral tea and water today.

7. What color is your hairbrush?
If I had a hairbrush, it might be black with white tips!

8. What was the last thing you paid for?
Lunch.

9.Where were you last night?
I was down at the local shopping centre trying to protect terrified little old ladies from punks skating around in leotards. Or I might have been having a boring night at home.

10. What color is your front door?
Dark Brown.

11. Where do you keep your change?
I have a little soft toy in the form of a beagle that has a zip and a pouch for coins and it hangs in my car. His name is Bobby Brown.

12. What’s the weather like today?
Hot and humid with scattered showers.

13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor?
Vanilla. It's gotta be vanilla.

14. What excites you?
Certainly not writing about what excites me.

15. Do you want to cut your hair?
No, I like it loooooong.

16. Are you over the age of 25?
I am so far over the age of 25 that.......what was the question again?

17. Do you talk a lot?
No.

18. Do you watch the O.C.?
Nope. But my better half does.

19. Do you know anyone named Steven?
.....King?

20. Do you make up your own words?
No but I steal other people's made up words.

21. Are you a jealous person?
Seriously, no.

22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘A’.
Andrew. Not sure how this is any use to you.

23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘K’.
Hmmmm. Need more friends.

24. Who’s the first person on your received call list?
A work colleague.

25. What does the last text message you received say?
Sadly, that was work related as well. Hmmm. Getting a little depressed here.

26. Do you chew on your straw?
Afraid so.....when the service is slow.

7. Do you have curly hair?
Most of it is straight.

28. Where’s the next place you’re going to?
Probably Thailand but again work related.

29. Who’s the rudest person in your life?
Currently, my boss.

30. What was the last thing you ate?
Open face sandwich topped with fish cooked with chilli and coconut milk.

31. Will you get married in the future?
Too late. Been there, done that.

32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks?
I haven't seen any in the past two weeks.

33. Is there anyone you like right now?
No, I am one grumpy, grouchy grinch.

34. When was the last time you did the dishes?
Couple of days ago.

35. Are you currently depressed?
Grumpy isn't good enough?

36. Did you cry today?
Naw. Sorry to disappoint.

37. Why did you answer and post this?
Beats doing something original. Also I suspect Meggie of having underworld connections.....better safe than sorry.

38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey…
Those 5 already did it! Okay, here's hoping the following will play along; 1) medstudentwife , 2) Leslie , 3) Cheryl , 4) Ruth and 5) Kimber.

A Fabulous Mess

It has been a topsy-turvy month for me. Starting with my dad's brief illness and then his passing; all those trips to the doctors, hospital, arranging things, family and friends visiting etc. Then between that and my nephew's wedding in Australia, I was forced to do a lot at the office to clear my work before I left to attend the wedding. I was a week in Australia and then straight away on my return, off on a field trip and working right through the weekend.

During that time, the All Blacks were knocked out of the Rugby World Cup at the quarterfinal stage - which as I have mentioned before is an omen that all is not right in the world. I did not have time to post about ghost stories and Halloween. In fact, I didn't even see any horror movies which is another sign that the world isn't as it should be. Finally, I have been darn right negligent about maintaining my blog and acknowledging my fellow bloggers.

Yet, it was in the midst of this topsy - turvy milieu, that one kind and generous blogger threw some cheer into the mix in the form of an award. I apologise to Claudia that it has taken me this long to acknowledge the award and to pass it on.

Well, after this last month, I don't feel very fabulous but hey, thanks....I needed that.

Below is the definition which I have stolen from the Merriam-Webster online Dictionary.


Main Entry: fab·u·lous
Pronunciation: \ˈfa-byə-ləs\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Latin fabulosus, from fabula
Date:15th century

1 a: resembling or suggesting a fable : of an incredible, astonishing, or exaggerated nature (fabulous wealth) b: wonderful, marvelous (had a fabulous time) 2: told in or based on fable

I would like to pass this award on to Meggie for providing us with life's free treats. I am still confused about quilting but otherwise, a visit with Meggie is often a rewarding experience as she regales us with wonderful tales and observations of people she has met both past and present. These wonderful, nay, fabulous tales, can only mean that Meggie is a fabulous people person and deserving this award.

Conquering the Bridge

Photocredit: Bridgeclimb
My wife is afraid of caves. As far as phobias go, this is a relatively good phobia to have. It does not interfere much with daily living. After all, few of us today need to enter a cave in daily life. I imagine she would have had a lot of trouble if she was born during the last ice-age when caves were the "in" thing but it's no inconvenience at all today. I don't get any opportunity to tease her about it cause she just steers clear of caves. Her phobia does extend to tunnels which provides the only opportunity for me to rib her a little when we drive through a long road tunnel. Strangely and sadly, when I try to convince her that shopping malls are very similar to long, covered tunnels, it has no effect on her at all.

I, on the other hand, am afraid of heights (acrophobia) and this gives my wife ample opportunities for merry-making at my expense. Invariably, I find myself trying to conquer my fear on suspension bridges, mountain gondolas, helicopters, fun fairs and mountain climbing. I would be sweating buckets to the sound of my wife's jovial and unsympathetic laughter.

One of her long time desires and my long-term source of panic is to climb Sydney Harbour Bridge. This last week, an opportunity arose and I bit the bullet and got us registered to do the climb. Well, actually, my brother got us registered for the climb and I just whimpered my agreement when he suggested it.

Ah, the things that love makes us do. Well, on the 17th of October 2007, I risked falling to my death, heart attack and/or catatonia and actually climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Now that I have done the climb, I can say with pride that it was a "piece of cake", "a walk in the park". "The 3.5 hour ordeal is nothing." you'll hear me say through clenched teeth. Why, it is a mere 503 meters long and a trifling 134 meters high at it's peak. That's a 134 meters asl. which stands for "above sea level" or as us acrophobics prefer, "above splat level".

As the tour operators will tell you, the first and last 15 minutes of the climb are the worst. You have to physically climb up on scant and shaky ladders and stairs, walk on flimsy, catwalks suspended under the bridge and over both roaring road traffic and the waters of Sydney Harbour. There's also the little bit where you have to climb up between two lanes of the busy bridge road. If you can make it this far, the rest of the climb is indeed a pleasant and exhilarating experience. Walking the arch of the bridge is a wonderful experience which is rewarded by a beautiful panorama.

I recommend going for their dusk climb. You get to see Sydney in daylight, at sunset and after twilight. Beautiful. It also makes the return trip easier as you can no longer see how far above ground that you are. A big advantage to acrophobics.

I believe that climbing the bridge has earned me some bragging rights. So, what did you do last week? Heh, heh, heh.

The Witness Protection Agency presents Mr. Jacko Lantern and Ms. Cherry

The Masked Lone Grey Squirrel and Mrs. Squirrel; "Hand over all your nuts."

Down Under Report

It has been a very hectic last two weeks and the madness will continue for at least another week. The net result is that my posting will be a little bit irregular for at least another 10 days. Sorry about that in advance.

I shall actually be flying back from Australia later today but here is a short summary;_
1. Faced one of my greatest fears.
2. Took part in one of the happiest occasion ever.
3. Watched my family grow and also my waistline.
4. Visited a beautiful garden and shared something with dinosaurs.
5. Having faced one of my greatest fears, I stuck out my tongue at it.

Good night Possums. play nice.

The Men in the Dame's Life

In my last post, I included a video clip of an amazing Australian woman, Dame Edna Everage. She recently celebrated her 50 years as a celebrity on stage and television in 2006. She has become such an icon and representative of Australia to the world that the Australians have chosen to commemorate this anniversary by placing her image on both the new fifty cent coin and on postage stamps. The city of Melbourne has even named a street after her.

Dame Edna is a widow with three children as any of her fans will tell you. However, apart from her late husband, there were three men of great significance in her life. One of them is Barry Humphries who found himself also commemorated on stamps at the same time as Dame Edna. Little is known about barry in the tabloid news as he generally tries to keep a low profile while at the same time promoting the welfare of Dame Edna.

The next man in Dame Edna's life is a big surprise. He is none other than the infamous Sir Les Patterson, the one time Australian Cultural Attache to the United Kingdom. They are like direct opposites. Where Dame Edna is sweetness and charm and everything nice, Sir Les is uncouth, chauvinistic, a drunk and a womaniser. Yet despite Dame Edna's publicly stated disike for Sir Les, they have often worked together and appeared together on talk shows.

A bigger surprise was the recent revelation by Dame Edna that she had an affair when she was very young with a mysterious Spaniard painter by the name of Pablo Picasso. She could not really explain why it happened. She was young. Perhaps she was foolish. Perhaps she pitied him because he was such a bad painter that none of his images looked at all realistic.

The biggest surprise of all for those who do not know Dame Edna well is that she and Sir Les are one and the same person as Barry Humphries. Indeed, both Dame Edna and Sir Les are his creations and he has been playing them on stage and TV for the last 50 years. Below is a clip commemorating this fantastic achievement.

Where in the World is LGS?

The Lone Grey Squirrel is traveling on a secret assignment. He is not in Malaysia. Your mission should you chose to accept it, is to figure out where in the world is LGS. To help you along......let's just say that this lady is a wonderful representative of her country.

One Year Old

With so many things happening, I missed the occasion of my 10,000 visitor and I almost missed my one year blog-anniversary. However, I started my blog on October 9th 2006. I have done 220 posts and have had almost 11,600 visits to my blog. However, these numbers mean less to me now than when I started because I have made many friends in the blogosphere and these are the real rewards of blogging.

It has been a roller coaster year for me and I thank those of you who have joined me for that ride and for your support.

Where do I go from here? I never imagined I had enough material to churn out 220 posts. I don't really know how much material I have left and how much further it will take me. I have no intention to end anytime soon but I imagine a day will come when I will stop before I scrape the bottom of the ideas bin. In the meantime, you can take the poll on my sidebar or leave a comment and I might just take up some of your suggestions.

My Father

My Father passed away last week after a short illness. He was 93 years old and had lived a long and happy life. I knew, of course, that I would be writing this post but I have wrestled over just how I would write it and what would I say. How does one compress 93 years in one short post? You just can’t. Instead I will just share my thoughts about him.

He was 48 years old when I was born. By then, he was already at the peak of his successful career and had already been a father to two boys and a girl. It had been 8 years since there was a baby in the house. Being the last child and coming so late in his life, I missed out on a lot about my father.

For me, he was never a hands-on type of dad and yet my brothers will tell you that he was very much like that. Their memories are full of family rides on the motorcycle and later the car. They remember him teaching them how to fly kites and the great disastrous day when they let him down and much to his chagrin, failed to hold on to the kites.

For me, he was not an affirming and encouraging dad either. Again my siblings would beg to differ and our family photo albums are full of moments captured of my father posing proudly with his children on the occasion of some academic award or other achievement. I missed out on that too as he seemed too busy with work to be involved much with my school activities and my interests.

My father was a quiet man; a man of few words. It took a long time for me to learn more about him. Most of my childhood, I knew my dad only as the successful office executive who led a conventional but unexciting middle-class life. It was only later that I learnt that early in his life, his work involved him traveling through much of the country at a time when it was certainly adventurous and not particularly safe to do so. Indeed, on one occasion he was robbed and tied to a tree in the jungle.

I never knew the man who was the life of the party, who frequented the lively night-spots or who knew all the smooth dance moves. He surprised me when he danced the cha-cha-cha at my wedding dinner. I never knew.

I believe that life is about choices. My father was not the adventurous, flamboyant playboy because he made a choice and gave it up to be a family man. He chose to be my solid, quiet, constant and dependable dad, who put his family first above all things. He provided me with a stable, happy environment to grow up in.

I know that I am like him in many ways. I am also a quiet person. Like him, I have a passion for books. Through his example, I learnt to be content in any situation. He was scrupulously honest and some of that rubbed off on me. I inherited his passion for food too, perhaps a little too much.

Many people are tempted to claim that their father was the best father in the world. I don’t see how anyone could really know that. When I think of my father and see him with through untinted glasses, I see is a man who could have been much more but who chose being a father and providing for his family as his priority. And he did this to the best of his ability.

I love you dad and I thank you for all the unspoken lessons that I learnt from your life and your example.

Dance, Dance

Claudia seemed to think that I would have interesting stories to tell related to dancing and she tagged me to do this. Hmmmm, Claudia, I think you have been misled. Phil Collin says it all for me in the following video:



I did try to learn how to dance and took some classes in jazz dancing. I enjoyed that but luckily I didn't have to sit for any exam cause I would have failed. I struggled for weeks to learn how to do the waltz so that I could dance with my wife on our wedding day. Apart from that, my other dancing efforts could be described as being similar to Animal from the Muppets after twenty cups of coffee.

My latest effort was to try to do the traditional bamboo dance. The idea is that according to the song rhythm, the dancers are to dip their feet between the clapping bamboo poles. With correct timing, the feet are in the bamboo when they are held open and the feet are out when the bamboos are clapped. This beautiful professional dancer gets me on the stage and showed me what to do. The beat starts slowly and we get to try it out really slow. No sweat!

Photocredit: LGS

The beat picks up a little. Still no problem. You tell yourself that all you need to do is keep to the rhythm. The pace picks up. Still no problem. The pace increases. I am still doing this well. I am actually impressed with myself. This of course awakens my self doubting ego. "Who are you trying to kid? You are a klutz and will always be a klutz."

I begin to falter. The pace builds up again but this time....*WHACK* "Ouch!".....*Whack* ....Ouch! Suffice to say, the whacking picks up speed and I am soon hopping about, not to music but in pain. My dance partner tries to get me back on track but ....Whack* Whack* Whack*. The pain. The humiliation. The sound of Phil Collins singing..."I can't dance."

Nature doesn't like a dancing klutz.

Oooookay. Now is where I tag 5 others. Who might have interesting dance stories to tell? I tag geewits, eastcoastdweller, gina, jessica and mago.

Half Post, Half Mast, Full Life

This is just a short post to mark my father's passing. After a short illness, at 6.20 pm on Wednesday the 3rd of October, he drew his last breath and peacefully went to be with the Lord. He was 93. He was alert and aware until the last moments and experienced little pain. All his children were able to come to see him before he passed on. God has indeed been gracious. The whole family will be busy with funeral arrangements for the next couple of days.

Bears Just Wanna Have Fun

I know I have been giving bears a hard time on my blog recently but the truth is that bears like anyone else should not be stereotyped. For all the good and gentle bears out there, I offer this as proof that not all bears are big and bad.

Theory of Relativity ...... Explained

If you are expecting me to explain to you Einstein's Theory of Relativity, you are in need of medical treatment. Please seek the help of a health care professional or refer to Wikipedia for an explanation of THAT theory. Suffice to say that there is something about how time slows down in relation to speed and gravity.

I will instead be explaining the LGS's Theory of Relativity. This theory similarly predicts that certain physical parameters such as quantity, distance and time may change in relation to one's cultural upbringing. Don't understand? I am not surprised. Pseudo-scientific mumbo-jumbo is often more confusing than the real thing. However, do not despair. All will be clear after you read the following examples of the phenomena.

QUANTITY:-
A story is told about a missionary who was befriending a native tribe in the rainforests of Papua at the beginning of the 20th Century. This tribe live in very small family groups in a very remote part of the forests and have had little contact with other tribes. As the missionary began to earn the trust of the leader of one of the family groups, he also learned much about their culture and their beliefs.

One interesting thing was their counting system. They had words for the quantity or numbers 1 to 5. The word for "5" was "liman". "Liman liman" was the expression if the number was more than 5 and "liman liman liman" when they wanted to express a very large number.

Another pecularity was the way the different family groups often fought each other over small disputes. The fighting was ritualistic with small group of warriors facing each other at a predetermined location. They would fight with great ferocity but as soon as someone was killed, the fighting would end and one side would accept defeat and pay compensation in form of fruits and livestock. Some others though may later die of their wounds. Usually not more than "liman" were killed. It was a rare fight where "liman liman" were killed.

Nevertheless, the missionary worked amongst the family groups and eventually managed to get them to stop these petty wars and to resolve their differences over a peace table. The family group leaders generally were happy with this change and the missionary became their good friend.

Then there was the outbreak of the First World War. News of the war reached even into this jungle interior. The missionary met with one of the family groups in the jungle and the leader of the group could see that the missionary was sad. He asked the missionary what the problem was and the missionary said that he was sad because men were dying in a great war.

The leader asked if "liman" had been killed. The missionary shook his head. More. The leader kindly said to him, "It is sad that liman liman have died. Too many have died. It is time to offer fruits and pigs and make peace." The missionary wept. He knew that the old man would never comprehend that millions had died in the war. Even "liman liman liman" was never meant to mean millions.

DISTANCE:-
An American Woman was traveling on her own in Ireland, driving through the countryside just following her whims and fancies. As she drove past some beautiful pastoral country with rolling hills and sheep farms, she came to a fork in the road. The road sign was most peculiar as there was an arrow in each of the two directions but each arrow had the name of the town Donnegal and both said 30 kilometers. She stopped the car and pondered about it. Seeing a farmer nearby in the field, she got out of the car and called out to the farmer.

The farmer came over to the farm wall next to the road and asked how he could be of assistance. She asked if the road sign was correct and that both roads led to Donnegal. The farmer said that was right. She then asked if it was true that it was 30 km to Donnegal on either road. The farmer replied pensively, "Aye, that would be right."

"Then what is the difference?" she asked curiously.

"Well now, the road on the left would be the longer way." the farmer replied.

"But both roads are 30 km from Donnegal" she protested.

"Now there, young lady, if you take the left road you will find it is longer than if you took the right road." the farmer persisted.

The woman did not understand but she thanked him and said goodbye. She then drove on taking the left road. She was very happy to have taken the left road as it went along the coast and there were spectacular views of cliffs and beaches. She stopped in many places along the way to walk and take pictures. As a result, she got into Donnegal after dark and had a little trouble looking for a place to stay.

Eventually, though she found a place and as she was registering she explained to the clerk at the B&B that she was late because she had seen so many wonderful sights along that road. The clerk nodded knowingly and said," Yes well, you took the long way here, that's why you were late. If you had taken the other road, it would be much shorter as there is nothing to see."

Suddenly she understood what the farmer meant.


TIME:-
The American couple had hired a local guide from among the Orang Asli or Aboriginals in the Malaysian jungle to guide them to the Buaya Sangkut waterfall. The couple who had been hiking in the area were told by other travelers about this spectacular waterfall in the jungle but they were also warned that it would be a difficult and long trek.

When they got to the staging point, they could not find anyone who could speak English well but managed to get the guide through a mixture of pointing at maps, gesticulting and a few English words. Nevertheless, they were in high spirits as they followed their guide into the jungle.

At the start of the journey, there were lots of animals and plants to distract them and they did not notice the time passing but after they had been walking for about two hours, the guide allowed them to take a short break along the trail. They asked him how much further and he replied, "Not far now."

However, another hour passed and they were still on the trail. "How far now?" they asked and the reply was "Not far now". But the trail seemed to be endless and endlessly going upwards. So they stopped the guide, pointed at their watches and said "How far? How many minutes? Don't say not far now."

Now Orang Asli have no use for watches and they measure time by the sun. They do not have the concept of minutes. But as the American couple kept pestering him about how much longer the journey would take, he took out some tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette. He lit the cigarette and said to the couple, "Not far. One smoke away."

The American couple were relieved. They estimated that it meant that their destination was only about another 15-20 minutes away. They sat there for about five minutes taking a break and when it was finally time to move on, the guide put out the cigarrete with his fingers and put it in his pocket. They would walk for another hour before he took the cigarette out again during a break and smoked it. Again he put it out and kept it in his pocket when it was time to move on. In the end they did reach their waterfall but that "one smoke" turned out to be 3 hours.

Be Thou My Vision

I previously posted on the song "Just As I Am" which was the first Christian song that was meaningful to me after I first became a follower of Christ. My knowledge and preference for Christian songs was to grow and change even as I grew in my young faith and journeyed along life's road.

The next song that held a special place for me is this lovely hymn "Be Thou My Vision". Having placed my trust and surrendered my life to Jesus, I found my experience of God to be just wonderful and vibrant. This song, in my opinion, is a love song to God and most suitable for this was the time I was caught up in the wonder of God's love and loving Him back in response. The words of the song were originally in ancient Irish and is at­trib­ut­ed to Dal­lan For­gaill, dating from the 8th Cen­tu­ry (Rob tu mo bhoile, a Com­di cri­de). It was then translated to English in 1905 by Mary E. Bryne and versed by Eleanor H. Hull in 1912.

I also just love this melody. I really like Celtic and Irish music and this lilting tune is a fantastic representation of the genre and tradition. It was derived from an old Irish folk melody called Slane which in turn recalls how in 433 AD at Slane Hill in County Meath, the Christian Missionary, St. Patrick defied the High King Logaire of Tara by lighting candles to celebrate Easter. The King had forebade anyone to light a fire on that day as it was his privelege to light a bonfire on Tara Hill as part of the pagan Spring Festival. However, instead of punishing St. Patrick, King Logaire was impressed by his bravery and devotion and allowed him to continue spreading the Gospel of Christ.

I only learned most of that in recent times through the wonders of internet. So as interesting as the history and stories related to the song are, it was the sincere and honest words of the song that would most entrap my heart. This now is my love song to God and my prayer that from now to the end of life, no matter what may befall me, He would remain my Vision always.

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Bumper Crop

Dear Blogging friends,

Your generosity and kindness is quite overwhelming and I thank you for these awards that you have bestowed on me within this month.........

First of all, I got the blame for Claudia's obsession with ice cream this summer. I would have been bummed but it came with this rather innovative award which is a license to spread the blame to others! Mwahahaha!

Next, I was awarded this by one of the nicest persons herself, Stock City Girl.

Finally, my good friend, Mrs. Wolfe says that I make her smile. Awwwww. What a nice thing to say.

Now I think you can understand that this has given me a really, REALLY, BIG Headache! Somehow, I have to blame people but to do it in a nice way so that I don't tarnish the "Nice Matters Awards" and make them smile while they are getting lambasted.

Okay, let's see. I have to accuse and blame people for things but in a nice way and leave them smiling. According to the rules, I have to blame 6 people, be nice to 7 and keep 4 smiling.

Aaaarghgghghhghghghghh! (Squirrel going nuts! Unlike "squirrel going for nuts", "squirrel going nuts" is not a good thing). Can you see the impossible dilemma that I am faced with? I suspect that climbing Mount Everest nekkid while reciting the value of Pi and discovering Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction hidden there would be an easier task.

So unless you want to see me foam at the mouth (Rabid squirrel), I plead with you to allow me to quietly just keep the awards with thanks and to blame all of you for being way too nice and for bringing smiles to my face when this squirrel is in the blues.

I will, however, blame Evalinn, Claudia and Becky for putting me in this dilemma in the first place. Thank you ladies.

The Sting in the Twist

Photocredit: New Straits Times
This pretty and happy girl is Nurin. She is eight years old and has two sisters. On August 20th this year, she went to the night market which was just a 100 m from her home. She disappeared.

For the last month, her parents have left no stone unturned in their efforts to find her. In fact, her case has galvanised people from all segments of the community to do what they can; from helping to distribute posters of the missing child to raising money as rewards for information leading to her being found.

As I mentioned in my previous post, last Monday a body of a young child was found stuffed in a sports bag that had been left in a stairwell. The police called Nurin's parents to identify the body. To everyone's relief, Nurin's father emerged from the morgue to announce that the dead girl was not his daughter and asked that efforts to find Nurin continue unabated. The girl in the morgue remained unidentified and unclaimed.

This sad story took an unexpected twist with a nasty sting in its tail. Yesterday, the police announced that DNA tests had confirmed that the dead girl was indeed Nurin. The parents could not accept the news. My heart broke as I read his reported statement in the newspapers, “I am Nurin’s father...I know my daughter better than anyone else. My heart is saying the body is not my daughter."

Sadly, the DNA evidence seems to be quite conclusive. Finally, today, the parents agreed to receive the body for burial. Pictures were circulated in the newspapers of the body but I have chosen not to reproduce them. I want this post to have the image of Nurin being happy.

Nurin had been missing for almost a month. During which she was abused and tortured and had bruises all over her body. She had lost a lot of weight and appeared gaunt. Her murderers had shaved part of her hair off. Her teeth appear large because death had caused her lips to become thin and taut. These may be the reasons why Nurin's parents did not recognise her.

Of course, it is said that the first stage of grief is often denial. Perhaps there was an element of that here with the parents not willing to recognise that battered body as their daughter's because with that comes the end of hope.

Now all we can do is offer our condolences and prayers to Nurin and her family and hope the police will be able to apprehend her killers and to give her justice.

Tragic Child

Picture : New Straits Times

This post is graphic in nature. You may find its contents upsetting.

This is a multi-faceted tragedy with each facet vieing with the others for tragic prominence. The picture above shows some of the Malaysian public responses to the death of a little girl.

On Monday morning, a bookshop in Kuala Lumpur opened for business and one of the staff saw a sports bag in a small recess next to the stairwell. Thinking that it belonged to the shop's owner, she moved the bag into the office. However, when the manager arrived, he confirmed that it was not his bag. They were shocked when they opened the bag to examine the contents.

Inside was the abused body of a young child who is believed to be about 8 years old. Police forensics would reveal that she had been dead for about 3-6 hours. This child had been assaulted and tortured with foreign objects inserted into her private parts. She would have been in immense pain as the assaliant had caused her intestines to rupture which is believed to have led to her death even though there were also strangulation marks.

This girl's fate is tragic at so many levels. Clearly, her death had been violent, frightening and painful. The way her body was callously packed into a small sports bag and abandoned in a stairwell also shows the total lack of respect of her as a person. Even worse, if that is possible, no one has claimed her body or reported her missing. Did no one care for this child? Where are her parents? Her family? Was she homeless? Was she abandoned or was she kidnapped form far away? Could it be her parents are seeking her but unaware of her fate? Will she be buried unclaimed, unidentified and unloved?

There is a sense of sadness in many Malaysians this week as the news and information about the child unfolded. There was a close circuit camera of the shop which show a man and a woman who used the stairways prior to the discovery of the bag and they are being sought by police for questioning.

Incidents like this always lead us to ask the question "Why?". Perhaps we may feel uncomfortable that such evil could come out from the dark side of men; that humans can be so inhumane. But whatever we feel, we must not look away. We must not forget. Most of all, we must not be silent. We must cry, we must grieve and we must rage and act against the evil.

Dogs' Day in Court

This is for our Kat who loves dogs and did a series of posts on this topic. Thought you might enjoy this cartoon.

http://a7.vox.com/6a00b8ea06d78fdece00e398a04f370001-pi

Barter Trade

PhotoCredit:- Kate by LGS

The train journey out of Yugoslavia was interesting in its own right even though it lacked the drama of my train journey into that country just a few days earlier. As I boarded the train at the Zagreb station at eleven at night, I had used up almost all my local currency earlier. I was quite hungry as I had not eaten since morning but with the last of my local currency I bought a bottle of water as I decided thirst was even harder to ignore than hunger pangs.

When finally the train pulled out of the station on its way to Austria, I found myself alone with an attractive Aussie backpacker in the train compartment. Strange as it may seem, I was however, more distracted by the sight and smell of the doner kebab that she was eating. We exchanged pleasantries and I learned that her name was Kate. After a short conversation during which she had made no offer of sharing the doner kebab with me, I decided to excuse myself and to try to put the gnawing hunger out of my mind by catching some shut-eye. Not an easy task as visions of food danced before me.

Not long after, a uniformed soldier with a rifle came into the compartment and sat next to me. As I did not have a pleasant experience with soldiers on my way into Yugoslavia, you will forgive me if I was a little alarmed at his presence. However, he seemed friendly enough, flashing a smile at both Kate and I. He had stored his kit bag away so it seemed he would be our companion for the journey.

He said something to Kate in what must have been Serbian. Kate just shrugged her shoulders to indicate that she didn't understand and went back to her book that she was reading. The soldier tried a few times but got nowhere with Kate.

The compartment settled down to some quiet with only the sound of the train on the tracks and the passing wind to be heard. I was actually about to nod off when suddenly I felt the soldier prodding me. I open my eyes to see a smiling face but I couldn't comprehend what was happening.

He said something to me in Serbian. I shrugged. He pointed at my backpack. I followed his gaze and realised that he was pointing at a little white book that I had in my backpack's side pocket. It was in fact a small travelers' phase book for the Balkans which had English, Serbian and Italian phrases alongside one another.

I took it out of the pocket and showed it to him. He was delighted. His eyes lit up as he opened the book. He scrutinised it for awhile and then he pointed to the book.
I looked and his finger was showing me the phrase, "Hello. My name is..." and then he said "Josef". Okay, I got the idea and so using the phrase book, we had the rudimentary tool for communication, although we were stuck with phrases like "where are you going?", "where did you come from?" and such. We seemed to have made a connection.

This went on until, he found the phrase "this is home-made". He took out a bottle from his kit bag opened it and offered it to me. "Slivovitz", he pointed out in the book which in the English translation read, "plum brandy". At his insistence, I took a swig from the bottle. How should I describe it? Liquid fire comes close. It did have a kick and I felt instantly warmed from the inside.

He then produced an apple and gave it to me. I was overwhelmed by his friendliness and generosity. As I bit into the apple, he reached over and took the phrase book. He looked something up and then he went over and sat next to Kate and showed her some phrase. Kate nodded in response. Then they both got up and made their way out of the compartment. As she walked past, she winked at me and mischievously said, "He's invited me out for a smoke. Don't wait up for us though."

Then, suddenly I was alone in the compartment. As I finished off my apple, I suddenly realised that the soldier was a real smooth operator and that he had been after the phrase book all the time so that he could make a move on Kate. I felt used. Still, I reasoned, I was hungry now I am fed and besides, I had a bottle of liquid fire to dull the sense of humiliation. I wouldn't see either of them again for at least a couple of hours and when I did, they were both positively giggly. I did get my phrase book back eventually but it had become dog-eared from recent use.


Post-script:- After we ditched the soldier at the border, Kate and I got to know each other better and we were to spend the next few days as traveling companions in Vienna, Austria.

Go West, Bears!

I am short of time as I actually find myself facing a 3 hour commute to attend a wedding dinner in a small town. However, I wanted to put up a quick post and here it is.

This one's for Kat. Thanks for the positive thoughts and the Hex. Together, we can see off all marauding bears. In the meantime, in celebration .........

13th September

In 1999 there are 300 men and women living and working on a base on the Moon, Moonbase Alpha. On 13th September 1999, stored nuclear waste on the Moon explodes, flinging the Moon out of orbit. Drifting on a random course through deep space, the Moon and the crew of Alpha encounter aliens and strange worlds.

This was the basic premise of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's TV sci-fi cult success of 1975-1977. Many people associated with the series would become leading exponents of their field. Special effects director Brian Johnson and most of his team would later go on to work on Ridley Scott's Alien as well as Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. The lead character of Commander John Koenig was played by Martin Landau who at that time was relatively unknown except for his role in TV's Mission Impossible. He would later be nominated for the Oscars three times, finally winning for Best Supporting Actor in 1994 for his role in the movie Ed Wood.




This was one of my favorite TV shows as a kid. The beautifully designed and crafted models of the Eagle Transporter was the work of Martin Bower who also did work for Aliens. The Eagle Transporter was one of my most common subjects when I drew or doodled during a boring class session in school.



The opening sequence of the show always replayed the crucial fireworks of 13th September 1999 which started the moon and its stranded adventurers on its hurtling journey through space. Such fireworks are a fitting way to celebrate another anniversary on the same day (though not same year).......my birthday.

I had a great birthday yesterday which I spent seeing off a pesky bear and then celebrating with a large crab dinner. It was a good day.

Sometimes.....but...

Sometimes you think you are doing the right thing but you still get into trouble. Do you know what I mean?

Click picture for larger, clearer view.

This cartoon strip is by Berke Breathed and I think he has excellent story telling skills and wonderful comedic timing.

Odd One Out

I have a knack of being the odd one out in a crowd. As I mentioned before, I have been the only guy in a group of ladies for many occasions in my life. What you may not have known is that on other occasions, I was the only Chinese in a hall of Irish patriots, the only Chinese in a Jewish synagogue and the only non-Muslim in a closed fundamentalist Muslim community. These are stories to be told at another time but which clearly demonstrate that I have a knack of ending up as the odd one out and standing out like a sore thumb.



Well, I did it again last Friday. My assistant told me that the women's wing of a political party were inviting people to attend a meeting to discuss common concerns. I work for an environmental and conservation organisation and so for me common concerns related to the environment. Although generally, not keen to attend political party meetings, I happened to be very near the venue of the meeting and agreed to drop in after I completed some work.

I went to the registration desk, they took my name and then ushered me personally to my seat. As I entered the hall, I suddenly became aware that there were about a hundred women seated there and as I scanned around, I could not spot another male anywhere (where were they, the cowards!). My usherer insisted on taking me almost to the front. I am sure my arrival was the focus of everyone's attention. I sat down and my spirits plummeted further when I read the program and saw there was nothing on the agenda on the environment. In fact the order of the day was a discussion about "Violence against Women".

As the discussion got going, I began to sense a lot of hostility in the room to the male gender and so I tried not to attract any attention while my eyes surveyed the nearest exits in case a quick get-away was needed.

In the end though, they were very civil about my presence. I also got to learn a lot and at the end I really thought that more men should indeed have been there to listen.

I was particularly shocked to learn how callous the bureaucacy treated women who had been victims of violent crimes in Malaysia. I was disappointed to learn that one-stop Rape Crisis Centres in hospitals had been axed in cost cuts. I was appalled to hear of police officers who asked rape victims if they enjoyed the experience.

Police officers were clearly in need of learning gender sensitivity. Some told victims that the way they dressed implied that they invited sexual attack. Others have actually told some rape victims that they were not pretty enough to attract any one to be interested to rape them.

Honestly, I had no idea that things were so bad. I applaud those who are trying to make a difference. In Malaysia there is even a male organisation that exists to speak out to other males against domestic violence. Malaysia just celebrated 50 years of independence but our attitude and treatment of women clearly shows that we have not matured as a society.

Stop the World......It's Rugby World Cup

This last week has not been a great one at work with some bad news and some aggravating correspondence. The sort of things that just seem to take the wind out of your sails and sap your enthusiasm and concentration for the job. I could be feeling a little down in the dumps as a result but I am not. This weekend is the start of a month of first class international rugby at the Rugby World Cup 2007 in France. I am going to park my worries aside and enjoy myself this weekend.

Long-term readers of this blog will already know that rugby is one of two sports that I really get into and have blogged about it before.

This starting weekend has not failed to entertain. It began with a surprise upset in the opening match between the host France and Argentina. France is considered the best European team having won the 6 Nations Championship in both 2006 and 2007. Argentina in contrast is not generally considered to be one of the major players and are not one of the eight seeded nations in the World Cup. However, Argentina may be the boogeyman for France as they have won four of their last five encounters with France and they did it again winning 17-12. France must now be cautious with all remaining games if they are to live up to their pre-tournament expectations of reaching the finals.

The second game was between the tournament favorites, New Zealand and the very credible Italian team. This Italian team had won three games in the 6 Nations Tournament in 2007 which makes them one of the better European teams. However, New Zealand was able to convincingly stamp their superiority with a final score of 76-14.

Doug Howlett scores 3 tries for NZ

As I type this, Australia is trashing a spirited Japanese team by 84-3. This was always going to be a bit of a mismatch between an ex-World Champion and one of the minnows of the sport. However, even if the Japanese look dimunitive against the large Australian players, their spirit was inspirational and the crowd appreciated the Japanese efforts.

I am then going to overdose on rugby by watching the England vs USA until the wee hours of the morning.

This grey squirrel's eyes will be red by tomorrow morning. Ta Ta for now.

Squirrel's Secret Spot No: 9 Bruges

PhotoCredit: LGS (1. View from Belfry; 2. The beautiful canals; 3. Jerusalem Church; 4. Inside the Church; 5. Windmills; 6. Romantic canals and horsedrawn buggies)


This UNESCO World Heritage Site is a gem; a portal to a different age. The old town centre transports you magically back to the Middle Ages for this compact 430 hectare site has hardly changed since its heyday from the 12-15th Centuries when it belonged in the Flemish court. Today, it lies within the boundaries of modern day Belgium.

This city made its wealth as a trading port and as a centre for the wool trade and for weaving. Later, it would also become famous for producing intricate lace. This delicate craft is still demonstrated and displayed at a local museum.

For the visitor though, it is like a wonderland with its cobbled streets revealing historical and architectural marvels at every turn. You can find the influences of the First Crusade in the form of relics found in certain churches. The Jerusalem Church is said to be a replica of a church found in that distant Holy City. Another landmark is the Belfry with its 47 bell Carillion which is still played till today.

The canals are beautiful and both surround the city centre as well as penetrate into it. Some parts of the canals weave past tightly packed buildings and might be reminiscent of Amsterdam or Venice while others are bordered by belts of green which are a great place to rest weary feet and have a picnic. Around the edge of the city there are also picturesque windmills to enjoy.

At a certain time of the year, the streets come alive with clourful and gay period costumes and parades which represent all the guilds that once made the city wealthy. This is probably one of the best times to visit except for the accompanying crowds.

Bruges is a place to immerse oneself in history in a pleasant environment and at a wonderfully slow pace. It is also a very romantic location and to top it all off, the cuisine and the local beer are also exceptional. It packs a lot into a small compact space. You could probably see it all in a day but it would be so much better to savour its charms over a week.

Unburied Nuts from 5th January 2007

Squirrels always scavenge for fresh food and nuts but when things are scarce, they will unbury a nut from one of their caches either in the trees or buried in the ground. Likewise, when I am stressed for time or if I find new ideas for blogging scarce, I uncover an old post for recycling. This unburied nut is called........

Romancing Gravestones

div align="left">If you like this post, you might like to visit my fellow grave vulture, Dave.

Fort A' Formosa, Melaka

I am not sure when my fascination with graveyards started. It seems I have always had that interest. Perhaps it was when I visited the ruins of the Portugese fort, A’Formosa, in the ancient trade city of Melaka. I was quite young then, maybe about 8 years old. The fort had once defended the Portugese dominance of spice trade and control of the vital shipping lanes in the Straits of Malacca.

Anyway, there are some large tombstones that can be found leaning against one of the walls of the fort. These were marked in Portugese and Dutch. The Portugese built the fort after defeating the Sultan of Melaka in 1511. The Dutch were to in turn expel the Portugese in 1641. I was mesmerized. I ran my fingers along its eroded carvings, trying to make out the letters and the words, piecing together a puzzle into a story. I wondered who they were, how they had felt being so far from home in essentially an exciting but dangerous place and I wondered how they had died. These questions would remain unanswered since I could neither read Dutch nor Portugese. Yet, my mind was alive with visions of these youthful adventurers, soldiers and their possibly reluctant wives and families.

Dutch graves in Bogor, Indonesia

It was when I studied in England, that I advanced this hobby further. There I was introduced to the practice of taking brass rubbings of tombstones which made me also appreciate the artistry and craftsmanship of some of these tombs and markers. However, in England I felt empowered to learn more about the stories behind the tombstones because I understood the language and there were usually good supporting historical records.

Nicholas Gaynesford, esquire of the body to Edward IV and Henry VII, and wife Margaret, gentlewoman to Queen Elizabeth Woodville and her daughter Elizabeth of York, c. 1485, Carshalton, Surrey

One adventure into the past took place in a small Oxfordshire village which I happened to stop at while traveling along the Oxford Canal by canal boat. I came across a small but ancient English church with a lovely churchyard with many gravesites. However, it was in the church itself that I made an interesting discovery. There was a plaque on the west wall of the church that had names of some of the Pastors that had served at the church. What stood out was the fact that over a short two year period in the 1350’s, there had been at least 6 different pastors. Why did this happen? Was it a period of dispute within the church? I was fortunate that when I asked one of the local parishioners, he was able to explain the history behind the plaque.

It seems it was related to the coming of the Black Death. In many neighboring villages, the people and the priests fled when the disease began to appear in their areas. However in this village, the pastor saw it as his duty to stay with the sick and tend to them. Not surprisingly, he himself fell ill and died a few months later. His subsequent replacements were similarly inspired by his example and they all stayed to minister to the sick and those who could not flee. In quick succession they too shared in his fate. I felt honored to learn about these men and their selflessness and am glad that a record of their deeds is etched in stone.

It was in another country village in Sussex, England, that I would make my most unsettling and yet poignant find to date. It was autumn and it was wet and dreary as I made my way through this small cemetery. This was not particularly well kept and there was lots of fallen branches, overgrown bushes and decaying leaves all over the place. There were parts where low hanging branches forced you to bend over to proceed. The damp decay of autumn can make a graveyard appear to be a less friendly place. I was not expecting to find much of interest as the graves were relatively new.

Then, I stumbled across it and was physically shocked. There was something black and rotting sitting next to a gravestone. It was about a foot high. I had goosebumps. Swallowing hard, I plucked the courage to go closer. Fortunately, the dark shape never moved. When I got close enough, it still took me a moment or two to comprehend what I was seeing. Finally, I realized that the dark shape was actually made out of wicker which had been tightly woven into the shape of a teddy bear. The wicker had gone dark and was rotted in places giving it a very macabre look. Even more bizarre, was the fact that the wicker bear was hugging fresh flowers.

The grave was for a young girl who had died at age 6 and was only about two years old. I suppose the grieving parents had a wicker bear made to accompany their child in her slumber and to watch over her grave. They probably visit regularly and place fresh flowers. It is always so sad when a child dies. The parents’ grief was still evident. I was quite overwhelmed by the scene. However, even today, thinking of that black, rotting bear still gives me the creeps.

Don't Move.....Be Quiet.

As far as movies go, I think the British are superior at making the historical drama. They seem to be able to create a sense of realism that is true to the period and yet reaches out and enthrals the modern day audience. The recent success of movies based on the reign of Queen Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria, staring Helen Mirren are such an example. To further illustrate the point, here is a short clip from a film done by a well known British actor (Lenny Henry) and set amidst the carnage of the English Civil War.

September Morn

It is the beginning of September and I noted a number of my blogging friends from the Northern Hemisphere are lamenting or at least marking the passing of summer. However, a few like me are ready to welcome September and the beginning of autumn. September has always been a special month for me. It seems like some of my happiest moments have been tied to this month or at least this season. In celebration of September, I offer this posting on the theme of "September Morn". Below is a famous painting by Paul Chabas and the music is by Neil Diamond.

"September Morn" by Paul Chabas

Quoted from Bonnie Bull
"On a September morning in 1912, French painter Paul Chabas finished the painting he had been working on for three consecutive summers. Thus completed, it was aptly titled "Matinee de Septembre" (September Morn). As was typical of his style, the painting was of young maiden posed nude in a natural setting. This time the icy morning waters of Lake Annecy in Upper Savoy formed the natural setting and the maiden was a local peasant girl. The head, however, had been painted from the sketch of a young American girl, Julie Phillips (later Mrs. Thompson), which he had made while she and her mother were sitting in a Paris cafe. Apparently, he had found her profile to be exactly what he was looking for.

The completed painting was then sent off to the Paris Salon of 1912 to be exhibited. Although the painting won Mr. Chabas the Medal of Honor, it caused no flurry of attention. Hoping to find a buyer, the artist shipped the painting overseas to an American gallery. It was here in America that the painting was destined to receive undreamed of publicity and popularity.

One day in May of 1913, displayed in the window of a Manhattan art gallery, it caught the eye of Anthony Comstock, head of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice. Horrified by what he saw, he stormed into the store, flashed his badge, and roared: "There's too little morn and too much maid. Take her out!" The gallery manager, however, refused to do so.

The ensuing controversy was given wide publicity by the press and the painting was simultaneously denounced and defended across the entire country. Meanwhile, curious crowds filled the street outside the shop straining to see the painting that caused such a stir.

Soon enterprising entrepreneurs were reproducing September Morn on everything conceivable: calendars, postcards, candy boxes, cigar bands, cigarette flannels, pennents, suspenders, bottle openers and more. Purity leagues tried to suppress it. Postcard reproductions were forbidden in the mails. The painting became the object of stock show gags and even inspired an anonymous couplet that swept the country, "Please don't think I'm bad or bold, but where its deep it's awwful cold."

The painting went back to Paul Chabas who sold it to a Russian collector for the ruble equivalent of $10,000. After the Russian Revolution it turned up in Paris in the Gulbenkian Collection. Ultimately the painting was purchased by Philadelphia Main Liner Willaim Coxe Wright and donated to Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum in 1957 after being refused by the Philadelphia Museum of Art because it had no significance in the twentieth century stream of art. It's estimated market value in 1957 was $30,000. The painting still hangs in the Metropolitan Museum as an example of 20th century French works and reproductions can be purchased in the museum's gift shop."

I had to disable Neil Diamond as he keeps insisting to sing even when visitors are looking at a different post. You can listen to him here.