If you're not Scottish, today is just another day. However, today we remember the birthday of our national poet, Robert (or Rabbie) Burns. Many people around the world will attend a Burns Supper where his poetry will be read and many a haggis, neep and tattie will be devoured enthusiastically. His most famous work is probably Auld Lany Syne which is often sung at New Year. All I know about Burns is that he was a Freemason, a womanizer and he didn't think much of the church. So, all in all, I wouldn't vote for him but he's a famous Scot nonetheless.
Here's one of his poems about accidentally destroying a mouse's home while ploughing a field. It contains a lot of old vocabulary which I don't entirely understand myself.
To A Mouse (On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough)
1785
Type: Poem
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Monday, January 17, 2005
New stance - new lease of life!
Last night I was at Blue Mountain for the 3rd time this season. It was rather chilly. (or flippin' baltic as we'd say back home) It was so cold, in fact that I discovered ice forming on my moustache which was the only exposed area of facial hair. Rather odd sensation, it was. I felt like I'd spilled hair gel on my lip and now it had dried.
The biggest thing about last night, though, was the significance of my new stance. For those of you not sure what I'm talking about, your stance is the positioning and orientation of your feet on the board. I made a change prior to this trip and widened the stance a bit and rotated my right foot so now I ride in a duck feet stance.
The result of the change is that now I can crouch down a lot more as I ride and I can balance over the board better. With that new-found skill, I think I probably made a new personal land speed record last night. I was going pretty fast and I hit a bumpy patch of snow and just crouched and hoped for the best. I got catapulted into the air once or twice and came out the other end with a slightly higher pulse and an amazing sense of exhilaration. It was awesome. Now I just need to get more air over these bumps...
The biggest thing about last night, though, was the significance of my new stance. For those of you not sure what I'm talking about, your stance is the positioning and orientation of your feet on the board. I made a change prior to this trip and widened the stance a bit and rotated my right foot so now I ride in a duck feet stance.
The result of the change is that now I can crouch down a lot more as I ride and I can balance over the board better. With that new-found skill, I think I probably made a new personal land speed record last night. I was going pretty fast and I hit a bumpy patch of snow and just crouched and hoped for the best. I got catapulted into the air once or twice and came out the other end with a slightly higher pulse and an amazing sense of exhilaration. It was awesome. Now I just need to get more air over these bumps...
Alyn & AJ's Wedding
I had a great day on Saturday. It was the wedding of Alyn Jones and Allyson Jean (or AJ) Mallett. I was priveleged to be asked to play the flute and tin whistles at the ceremony and it was a great sight to behold. I found it so amazing to witness the coming together of family and friends, all cheering on these two great people as they commit their lives to each other. I have no doubt that they have a long and wonderful future together.
I hired a kilt outfit for the occasion but I was not alone as there were many other Scots at the wedding, since Alyn and his family are from Edinburgh. I was asked a total of eleven times whether I was wearing anything under my kilt or not. It's interesting how people are so intrigued by that question. Well, I can now reveal (maybe not the best word) that I was in fact braving the elements without anything under there. It was -9 plus wind chill but i couldn't bring myself to compromise on that!
In the evening there was the reception and I was calling the ceilidh. To those not in the know, a ceilidh is a Scottish dance where people have a ton of fun throwing each other around the room, roughly following the music that accompanies it. My task was to explain how to do the dances and keep people involved and excited about it. The guests were great and everyone seemed to have a fantastic time!
I hired a kilt outfit for the occasion but I was not alone as there were many other Scots at the wedding, since Alyn and his family are from Edinburgh. I was asked a total of eleven times whether I was wearing anything under my kilt or not. It's interesting how people are so intrigued by that question. Well, I can now reveal (maybe not the best word) that I was in fact braving the elements without anything under there. It was -9 plus wind chill but i couldn't bring myself to compromise on that!
In the evening there was the reception and I was calling the ceilidh. To those not in the know, a ceilidh is a Scottish dance where people have a ton of fun throwing each other around the room, roughly following the music that accompanies it. My task was to explain how to do the dances and keep people involved and excited about it. The guests were great and everyone seemed to have a fantastic time!
The core problem with computers
I've solved the almost age-old mystery of why computers are so temperamental in their nature. This new discovery will herald in a new ear of understanding between users and their computers alike.
Every computer in the world has a motherboard but where is the fatherboard? He's gone, vamoosed, scarpered. He has left the poor computer with only a motherboard to take care of it, resulting in the machine maturing without a masculine board-model to follow. What hope is there, I ask you?
Every computer in the world has a motherboard but where is the fatherboard? He's gone, vamoosed, scarpered. He has left the poor computer with only a motherboard to take care of it, resulting in the machine maturing without a masculine board-model to follow. What hope is there, I ask you?
The Winner
My good friend Sgt. Steve just forwarded this story to me. It made me cry. It's from an Inspirational E-Mail sent out from allworship.com. It's longer than my normal posts but hopefully you'll find it interesting.
The Winner
I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - a serious game - two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents.
I didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing. I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal.
The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you're five years old because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them.
Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac - shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late - they scored a third goal.
I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office; he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them.
He didn't quit, but he became quiet. Desperate futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.
After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed it to the referee - and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he cried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to; the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all, he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me."
"Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference. I could tell it did.
When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field, and they scored two more times. But it was okay.
I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being. And Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless.
And my Father rushes right out on the field right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you The Winner."
-Author Unknown
If you want to sign up for Allworship.com's weekly inspirational e-mail, go to this page.
The Winner
I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - a serious game - two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents.
I didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing. I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal.
The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you're five years old because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them.
Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac - shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late - they scored a third goal.
I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office; he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them.
He didn't quit, but he became quiet. Desperate futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.
After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed it to the referee - and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he cried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to; the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all, he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me."
"Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference. I could tell it did.
When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field, and they scored two more times. But it was okay.
I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being. And Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless.
And my Father rushes right out on the field right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you The Winner."
-Author Unknown
If you want to sign up for Allworship.com's weekly inspirational e-mail, go to this page.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Desperate for God?
Last Wednesday night I was at a meeting where Todd Bentley was speaking. He was challenging us and asking "Are you desperate for God?" While it's all too easy in these passionate meetings to shout out "Yes!" I took a moment to step back from the moment to consider whether I am in fact desperate for God.
I came to a disappointing conclusion that I'm not in fact as desperate as I would like to think I am. I want more of God. I would like to be living a more out-there crazy life on the edge. The truth is, though, that I'm somewhat happy where I am just now. If I was truly desperate, I would be crying out to God all the time, spending hours seeking him and enjoying his presence. I'm not doing that, though. I'm plodding along, working away but not really in a place of desparation.
God, make me discontented with my current situation. Make me hungrier, craving a deeper experience of you, a closer intimacy with you. I never want today to be the peak of my walk with you. May it be a step up each time, never levelling off or falling. I know there's more than my present experience and I want to pursue it with more enthusiasm than I have been.
I came to a disappointing conclusion that I'm not in fact as desperate as I would like to think I am. I want more of God. I would like to be living a more out-there crazy life on the edge. The truth is, though, that I'm somewhat happy where I am just now. If I was truly desperate, I would be crying out to God all the time, spending hours seeking him and enjoying his presence. I'm not doing that, though. I'm plodding along, working away but not really in a place of desparation.
God, make me discontented with my current situation. Make me hungrier, craving a deeper experience of you, a closer intimacy with you. I never want today to be the peak of my walk with you. May it be a step up each time, never levelling off or falling. I know there's more than my present experience and I want to pursue it with more enthusiasm than I have been.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Why do nice cereals only come in small boxes?
What's the deal with breakfast cereals? I was just replenishing my supplies last night at my local (not very) super-market. It bothers me that all the best cereals come in ridiculously small boxes. If I wanted a cheap and nasty cereal that's 90% sugar, I can get a box the size of a small house. If I want something like "maple pecan crunch" or Alpen, though, it's a different story. We are being conditioned to eat bad cereals! I had a bowl of Alpen this morning which was very nice but I couldn't help noticing that the box was half empty (or half full?) after ONE BOWLFUL!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Happy New Year - I think...
I have to say, this was the most confusing New Year of my life. No, it wasn't due to alcohol or any other mind-altering substances. It was the band who lost track of the time.
I was at Niagara Falls with some friends for New Year, hoping to have a laugh and see some bands perform to celebrate the coming of 2005. Well, the weirdest thing happened. I've never seen anything like this before. We were watching some band playing (whose name escapes me) and all of a sudden we saw a lift/elevator rising towards the top of the tower nearby with a big firework on top of it, making it look like some kind of sparkler. All this time the band played on so we reasoned it was going to wait at the top until midnight and then drop, indicating the start of the New Year. Well, no such luck. As soon as it got to the top there was a burst of fireworks from the top of the tower and across the river. After some mild confusion, people started cheering and wishing each other a Happy New Year and blowing small throw-away trumpets. By this time the band stopped playing and sheepishly shuffled off the stage.
It was such a confusing sequence of events. I was expecting an MC type person to get on stage and say "Here we go! 5....4....3..." or something like that. I didn't really feel like I was part of the whole celebration at all. Surely the countdown is one of the main reasons people are there. Ah well, I suppose it's not that important in the grand scheme of things. Just a mild disappointment.
I was at Niagara Falls with some friends for New Year, hoping to have a laugh and see some bands perform to celebrate the coming of 2005. Well, the weirdest thing happened. I've never seen anything like this before. We were watching some band playing (whose name escapes me) and all of a sudden we saw a lift/elevator rising towards the top of the tower nearby with a big firework on top of it, making it look like some kind of sparkler. All this time the band played on so we reasoned it was going to wait at the top until midnight and then drop, indicating the start of the New Year. Well, no such luck. As soon as it got to the top there was a burst of fireworks from the top of the tower and across the river. After some mild confusion, people started cheering and wishing each other a Happy New Year and blowing small throw-away trumpets. By this time the band stopped playing and sheepishly shuffled off the stage.
It was such a confusing sequence of events. I was expecting an MC type person to get on stage and say "Here we go! 5....4....3..." or something like that. I didn't really feel like I was part of the whole celebration at all. Surely the countdown is one of the main reasons people are there. Ah well, I suppose it's not that important in the grand scheme of things. Just a mild disappointment.
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