Monday, 7 May 2012

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth   





Photo courtesy www.johnpowell.net.




Sunday, 6 May 2012

Compassion

Rob and I attended a Michael W. Smith concert on Saturday night in Toronto.  It was amazing!  One of the highlights of the concert was a testimonial given by a young Hispanic man named Pedro who was helped by an organization called Compassion Canada. 

Pedro, who grew up in the Dominican Republic, was so poor that he thought about running away so he wasn't a burden to his mother.  He used to cry out to God, asking Him why he and his family had to suffer such hardships. 

Then a Canadian teenager named Ashley talked her parents into sponsoring him.  Ashley's parents were able to afford the $41-a-month fee by cancelling their second phone line.  As Pedro said:  "I am more important than a second landline."  The money went towards Christian teaching, learning opportunities, nutritious meals, medicare, life skills and vocational training for Pedro.  The young Dominican was able to train to be a computer software technician and now holds down a steady job.

One day his Mom came to him with a problem:  "Son, you are making me fat.  For the first time, Pedro and his family were able to eat meat, a rarity in the past.  Pedro is able to provide for not only himself but his family. 

Pedro's story moved us that night.  We have always given to charity, but it was nice to be able to put a face and a name to charity.  Rob and I decided that next Christmas, rather than going overboard buying gifts that we don't need, we should sponsor a child like Pedro.  Afterall, a child is more precious than any gift under the Christmas tree. 

Note:  For more information about Compassion Canada, visit www.compassion.ca.






Photo courtesy http://amazonaws.com.

Saturday, 5 May 2012

The Run for the Roses



The Kentucky Derby winner in 1973 courtesy http://upload.wikimedia.org.


On May 5, 1973, guests arrived in droves at Churchill Downs in Louisville for the 99th running of the Kentucky Derby.  Under the twin-spired grandstand, men dressed in suits and ties and women in lavish gowns and fancy hats settled into their seats.  As they waited in the hot sun for the race to commence, they sipped on mint juleps served in souvenir glasses and ate burgoo, a thick stew filled with beef, pork, chicken and vegetables, and Derby pie, filled with walnuts and chocolate.  Guests in Millionaire's Row had the best view of the track, paying handsomely for their front row box seats, but fans who could not afford stand seats sat in the infield.  They listened to the University of Louisville Marching Band perform the traditional derby song "My Old Kentucky Home".  Bettors made their last minute bets on horses like Our Native, Navajo, Royal and Regal, My Gallant and Secretariat.

Back at the stables, grooms, trainers, vets, blacksmiths, jockeys and owners all prepped their 3-year-old colts for the "Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports".  The colts munched on oats and molasses as their grooms brushed their coats and their owners paced nervously back and forth.  The smell of hay permeated the air.  The whinnying of the tall, lean horses echoed through the stalls.

One stall in particular was occupied by a chestnut-coloured stallion named Secretariat, standing 16.2 hands tall and weighing 1,175 pounds.  His owner, Penny Chenery, was a housewife who had no horse-racing experience, but had taken charge of his care after her elderly father fell ill.  His trainer was Lucien Laurin and his jockey was Canadian Ron Turcotte.  Secretariat had won races in the past, but had lost his most recent race.  He was definitely not a sure bet.





Photo of Kentucky Derby 1973 Lineup courtesy www.secretariat.com.

As the thirteen competitors stormed out of the gate and pounded down the track, kicking up dirt, the horses known for speed took the lead in the one-and-a-quarter mile race, but Secretariat was content to sit back and set his own pace.  When the colts passed the 50,000 fans in the stands, Secretariat ranked only eleventh.  However, bit by bit he inched his way forward.  Rounding the far turn, he still only sat in fifth place.  Even so, with each length, he gained speed and ground.  The announcer tossed names around:  it was anybody's race.  As the colts ran the final stretch, Secretariat made her move, passing the last of his competition and clinching the victory in a record time of 1:59: 40.  As a spectator later described Secretariat's race, he "built power like a locomotive and finished like a jet".   The chestnut-coloured colt was decorated with a blanket of 554 red roses and his owner was awarded a prize of almost 1 1/2 million dollars. 

As security guards slowly emptied the stands at Churchill Downs, some spectators reluctantly emptied their pockets, having bet on a losing horse.  Others filled their pockets, having bet on the winning horse.  The fans then returned to their Cadillacs and pick-up trucks to make the drive home; the horses returned to their stalls, glistening with sweat; the jockeys stretched their tired legs and hit the showers.  But for one horse the story continued:  Secretariat would go on to win the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes, all in the same year, to claim the prize of the Triple Crown.  The stallion graced the covers of Time, Newsweek and Sports Illustrated.

Note:  Many thanks to my sister, Lisa Allison, a horsewoman, for giving me information for this post.






Secretariat draped with red-roses blanket, accompanied by his owner, Penny Chenery, trainer Lucien Laurin, groom Eddie Sweat and jockey Ron Turcotte at Kentucky Derby 1973.














Friday, 4 May 2012

Long Live the Highlanders!

Highlander (noun):  1.  a Gael inhabiting the highlands of Scotland
                                 2.  a soldier of a Highland regiment
                                 3.  an inhabitant of any Highland region
                                
                                 (www.dictionary.com)

Tonight I attended Westmount Secondary School's 50th reunion in Hamilton.  It was nice to reminisce under a big white tent with people that I hadn't seen for 25 years.  It was nice to see my name still engraved on the marble wall in the foyer.  It was nice to walk down the hall where I used to have my locker.  However, one important thing was missing:  the giant crest in our gymnasium with the Highlander playing the bagpipes and the words Laboris Dulcedo (Sweetness in Work) emblazoned across the bottom.  I had to get to the bottom of this:  where was my Highlander?

Well, a lady I met in the hall explained to me that my Highlander suffered a cruel death at the hands of Political Correctness.  Apparently, the Highlander, who watched me play volleyball, badminton and basketball, the Highlander who watched me dance to "True" by Spandau Ballet during school dances, the Highlander who watched me cheer from the stands during pep rallies, the Highlander who watched over decades of Westmount students, he offended someone.  So they painted over him and replaced him with a Wildcat. 

Rather than spending money on textbooks or on computers, or on hiring a new teacher, or on hiring a new custodian, they bought cans of paint to cover up my Highlander.  But it doesn't stop there:  they had to buy more paint to decorate the gym with the new crest.  They had to use someone's time (and maybe pay them) to design the new Wildcat logo.  They had to throw out the old Highlander crest emblazoned on stationery in the office.  They had to erase my Highlander from their online website.  They had to purge the entire school of my Highlander, Soviet style, as my political scientist husband would say.

Rob says why stop at the Highlanders?  What about his alma mater, the Sherwood Saints?  Rob and his schoolmates used to sing the Christian hymn "When the Saints Go Marching In" before every football game.  Or why stop there?  How about the Minnesota Vikings?  Or how about the Chicago Blackhawks, Cleveland Indians, Washington Redskins, and Atlanta Braves?  We'd better hurry because we have cans of paint and rollers to purchase, painters to hire, artists to employ and techies to track down, all in the name of political correctness.

Back at Westmount, my husband and I said goodbye to the gray-haired alumni in the tent and went around to the front of the school where we met a pony-tailed brunette who is currently in Grade 10.  She vouched for us that the school is still a great place, just as it was 25 years ago.  It still has great teachers.  It still has great students.  It still has great sports' programs.  But I still knew something was missing. 

When I got home, I took off my name tag that said Linda (Tufts) Jonasson and I thought:  I'm glad they didn't paint over my name in the foyer, or change it to something else.  Tucked inside my name tag holder was a stationery pad with two crests emblazoned on the bottom:  the Highlanders on the left and the Wildcats on the right.  Taking a page from Soviet history, I took out the scissors and cut out the Wildcats:  I find them offensive.  Long live the Highlanders!

P.S.  I went online to find the Westmount Highlanders crest and it is all but erased.  I found it only on one website and am currently trying to copy and paste it.






                          

Thursday, 3 May 2012

Song of Survival




The three Dutch sisters, Helen, Antoinette and Alette photo courtesy www.baymoon.com.



Dutch native Helen Colijn sat in the audience of a choral concert on December 27, 1943, listening to the strains of Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Beethoven sung by a 30-member choir.  She did not buy a ticket to this concert, however, for it was an outdoor affair held in the jungle under a thatch-roofed pavilion.  The audience of hundreds was not elegantly dressed in gowns, but rather in rags; their cheeks were not pink, but rather were yellow due to jaundice and malaria.  Their ushers did not hold programs in their hands but rather bayonettes.  Helen was not in Holland but in the jungles of Sumatra, captured by the Japanese in 1942 shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Helen Colijn was a 21-year-old woman born in Holland in the early 1920's.  She and her two younger sisters, Antoinette and Alette, were raised by upper-middle-class parents Anton and Zus.    Their father believed in being physically fit and took his girls on long swims and hikes including a climb up the side of Mont Blanc, Europe's highest peak.  Anton served in the Dutch Navy and was posted in the Dutch East Indies at an oil refinery in the early 1940's. 

Indonesia was invaded by the Japanese in 1942 and 100,000 civilians were captured, including Helen's mother who was taken to a Borneo interment camp.  Helen's father, siblings and herself fled on a freighter which endured heavy bombing by the Japanese and sunk.  Helen and her father endured six days at sea on a crowded lifeboat, under the beating sun, taking turns lying in the bottom of the boat for two hour stretches to sleep.  Finally they reached land and wandered in the jungle looking for civilisation.  After a couple of days, they saw two white girls approaching them in the distance:  they were Antoinette and Alette who had survived on another lifeboat.  It was on the island of Java that the foursome was overrun by the Japanese and placed in separate internment camps, one for men and one for women.

The three sisters were transported to the neighbouring island of Sumatra and interned with about 2000 other inmates from Holland, Australia and England.  Prison conditions were harsh with little food and beatings by guards.  Diseases like malaria, dysentery and beriberi were rampant.  One Chinese man passed by the camp one day and threw some bread over to the emaciated women and children; as punshment, he was tied up and starved for three days until he died.  The internees were forced to line up and bow to Emperor Hirohito everyday; if someone did not bow correctly, the whole line had to stand in the beating sun for long stretches. 

Hope sprung eternal in the Sumatran jungle, however, as the prisoners found ways of relieving the tension:  the women would climb on the wall of the compound when the men would march by from the neighbouring camp.  This march gave Helen, Antoinette and Alette the chance to see their father.  The girls even snuck out of the compound one Christmas to meet with Anton.  Their years of swimming and hiking had built stamina in the girls which they drew on daily in the camp. 

The women held lectures and language classes to relieve the boredom.  The biggest source of hope for the women, however, came in the form of music.  Two British women, Margaret Dryburgh, a Presbyterian missionary, and Norah Chambers, a former student at London's Royal Academy of Music, formed a choral choir.  The two women used pencil stubs and old copybooks to transcribe musical scores from memory.   After hearing a few notes, the Japanese guards were ready to pounce.  But then they too started to mellow and let the practice continue.  The choir staged a big concert at which hundreds of women and children were in attendance.  The guards also attended the musical soiree, reclining in rattan chairs, listening to the strains of Bach, Mozart and Schubert.  When the last note was sung, and the applause died down, the guards presented the choir members with five cans of Spam in appreciation for the evening. 

The songs helped raise the spirits of the camp inmates and would linger in their heads for weeks.  Antoinette and Helen battled malaria, but were able to overcome the disease.  Sadly, a third of the inmates in the women's camp did succumb to malnutrition or illness.  Internees also perished in the men's camp, including Anton, who held on until March of 1944.  His daughters, however, remembered his last words and took them to heart:  "Whatever happens to you don't feel bitter because bittneress will destroy you." 

The Allies liberated Java in August of 1945 and the three sisters were reunited with their mother.  The foursome immigrated to California, where they had lived for a brief time in the 1920's when Anton was posted there.  In 1989, Helen wrote her story in Dutch called De Kracht Van Een Lied:  Overleven In Een Vrouenkamp.  In 1995, the book was translated into English titled Song of Survival:  Women Interned.  In 1997, a screenplay was written called "Paradise Road"; one of the main characters was played by Glenn Close. 

Source:  www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20122013,00.html





Photo of women in Sumatran Concentration Camp bowing to Emperor Hirohito courtesy www.baymoon.com.


Wednesday, 2 May 2012

St. Pierre Snake Invasion



Mount Pelee blows its top in May 1902 courtesy http://en.wikipedia.org.



Travel back to the year 1902 to an island in the Caribbean called Martinique and a small city called St. Pierre.  Montagne Pelee, or Bald Mountain, was a volcano about six kilometres north of the city which had sat dormant for years.  However, on April 23, Mount Pelee slowly awakened.  By May 2, white ash rained down on the mountainside, home to about 100 six-foot-long fer-de-lance snakes.  The serpents, growing hungry because the plant and wildlife on the mountain was dying off, slithered their way down the mountain into the city below where they killed 50 people and numerous animals.  The St. Pierre residents were only spared by the large street cats who started to eat the snakes.  However, by May 5, a landslide of boiling mud made its way down the mountain.  An earthquake followed causing a tsunami which flooded the streets of St. Pierre.  On May 8, Mount Pelee blew its top, reducing the city to a pile of rubble within three minutes.  The city burned for days afterwards and legend has it that only two of its 30,000 inhabitants survived.  The volcanic explosion remains the worst one of the 20th Century.





Remains of St. Pierre, Martinique in 1902 courtesy http://en.wikipedia.org.













Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Flowers

 







I will not have the mad Clytie
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly queen,
Whom, therefore, I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of everyone.

The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand
The wolfsbane I should dread; -
Nor will I dreary rosemary
That always mourns the dead; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me -
And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush,
She is of such low degree;
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom's betrothed to the bee; -
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.

Thomas Hood