New Year’s eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights.
Hamilton Wright Mabie
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Photo: Gizmodo.com via Boingboing.
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Photo: MotyPest @ Deviantart
And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?
It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags!
And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before.
What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?
Dr. Seuss
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I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.
Charles Dickens
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Presents have been opened, food has been eaten, laughter has been shared: ghosts of yet another Christmas past. Now, on to Boxing Day sales? I think not: this year, nothing but rest is on my agenda. Which is not to say that I’m complaining. 
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Noël, c’est la veille, c’est l’attente. (Georges Dor)
La veille de Noël: on y est arrivé. Un matin tranquille, perturbé uniquement par le développement d’un petit rhume chez moi. La neige tombe doucement sur la ville. Les rues sont pleines de gens qui quittent le travail tôt et qui courent partout en essayant de trouver des cadeaux dernière minute. Edie dort dans sa petite maison, les lumières sur l’arbre de Noël brillent, les gens dans l’appartement voisin rient… C’est le moment des fêtes.
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Whilst visions of sugar-plums dance in our heads…
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What is important is that each of us begins to trust in our own beauty and our capacity to do beautiful things.
-Jean Vanier
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“Take a look at the five-and-ten glistening once again/With candy canes and silver lanes aglow…”
Photo: Swiv @ Flickr
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Oral Roberts, televangelist extraordinaire, founder of Oral Roberts University, has died at age 91.
At the link below, you will find an audio excerpt and transcript of an early “sermon” he delivered to the faithful. It makes my brain hurt, really it does. Follow the link at your peril; unicorn chaser highly recommended.
Listen and learn at Pandagon.net.
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Ce qu’on emprisonne nous retient dans la prison. Ce qu’on détruit nous détruit à son tour.
Christian Bobin
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A new little being has come into my life, and I confess I’m still a little unsure how to proceed.
Animals, both wild and domesticated, have been a huge part of my life since I was a wee lass. Growing up in the boonies on Vancouver Island sort of sealed that fate: aside from my family’s own herd of critters, there were the minx, deer, bears, and cougars who roamed out back. (Not content to remain in the background, these creatures were often found rummaging in the foliage or scouting out our more tame feathered and furry friends right in the backyard, not just on the outskirts of our property.)
In addition to the beautiful yet at times deadly wild beasts I encountered on a fairly regular basis, we had our own team of non-human animals to contend with: chickens, pheasants, homing pigeons, mourning doves, rabbits, canaries, budgies, fish, and, of course, a dog. Each day consisted of a myriad of chores; early in the morning, long before school started, I could be found running about the backyard in my red rubber boots feeding everybody, refreshing the many water pails, opening the coop so the chickens could spend the day in their yard… After school was the time to collect eggs and pick fresh veggies from the garden for dinner – but most of all it was playtime. I used to play hide and seek with our Airedale Terrier, I picked up and talked to each of my chickens, I sang to the canaries, I took the dwarf bunnies inside to run around the house.
In later years, a move to a more urban centre dictated an end to the “farming” way of life. My animal experience was reduced to a single dog – a lap dog, at that – which was quite an adjustment. But she was a sweetheart and we had a lovely life together, right up until her death 2 years ago.
Now, still in the city and facing the reality of an unbelievable (to my eyes) shortage of pet-friendly apartments, yet not being able to bear being without animals for any longer, I had to venture out of my comfort zone. My mind turned to small, caged critters, suitable for small spaces and less likely to raise the ire of anti-animal apartment landlords. Ferret? Cute and sociable, but perhaps too sociable: I wouldn’t have enough time to spend with him. Rabbit? Been there, done that, but whilst the rabbits of my youth lived in cages, they were outdoors, and I took the animals out to play in the grass or in the house every day; a life spent mostly in a cage in an apartment just seemed sad to me. Gerbil, hamster, rat, mouse? All adorable (yes, even the rat). The only experience with rodents that I had had was with Rudolph and Dopey, lovable honorary Polish gerbils. I wasn’t against the idea of a rodent. Guinea pig? A definite contender: I always wanted one as a child. Sugar glider? Very cute, exotic, expensive, tiny: I was worried I’d somehow break it.
Then the idea came to me, out of nowhere: the humble hedgehog. Cute, it’s a solitary animal that is naturally anxious and wary of change – sounds like yours truly! What could go wrong?
After finding a local breeder, and arranging for a visit, I selected the smallest of the litter, a female cinnamon who was just 5 weeks old at the time. Now 3 weeks older, she is settling in her new home and, hopefully, is getting used to the new people in her life – whilst those same people get used to this prickly new critter in their lives. It has been a novel experience; never before have I worried that an animal might not bond to me, never before have I worried that I would be a “bad” owner; never before have I worried that I don’t know how to handle an animal… Yet all of these things are a constant soundtrack of nervousness playing in the back of my mind these past few days. Meanwhile, my little pincushion is adjusting to this life change, going about her business, huffing and puffing when she’s unhappy, yet maintaining a level of curiosity and energy that I almost envy. She seems like a little trooper; I can only hope I will measure up.
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Bon, ça y est…
Conditions actuelles – température: -28,5; refroidissement éolien: -37. Ouf!
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Photo: globeandmail.com
Twenty years ago today, 14 women were gunned down at a university in Montréal, for no other reason than the fact that they were women. The anger and frustration of a 25 year-old man who had tried, unsuccessfully, to get admitted to that university turned his rage on the female students there. In his twisted mind, every female student was a threat to him; and every female student’s spot in a university program was one that could have potentially gone to him. As far as he was concerned, women were the cause of all of his problems: eliminate the women, eliminate the problems. He did eliminate himself too – though not after extinguishing 14 young women’s lives.
Since that day in 1989, December 6th has been known as Canada’s National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. Violence exists in many forms, and claims many victims of every sex, gender, age, race, size, shape, ethnicity, religion, and sexual orientation. Yet this is a day to focus on the still oh-so-prevalent violence against women, a whole sub-class of violence that has existed since the dawn of humankind: the rapes, spousal abuse, sexual discrimination, human trafficking, prevention of access to abortions, the burqa, polygamous cults, sharia law, honour killings… Sadly, the list goes on.
As a wide-eyed 9 year-old watching the news that day, I felt something I had never felt before, an idea that had never even occurred to me, despite the history lessons I was learning in school: that I could be hated and attacked simply for being me. It was a harsh realisation, and it has stuck with me ever since.
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