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It’s so cold that when I got up this morning, my liquid dish detergent that had been sitting on the counter near one of our kitchen windows was frozen.
It’s so cold that a can of pop left over from Saturday’s party, stashed on the floor of our dining room in front of the patios doors, froze and exploded.
It’s so cold that our propane has frozen and ice has clogged the pipes of our monitor oil stove.
Yes, it’s that cold!
We’re still in the deep freeze. While I can handle this for a few days, any more than that and I start to feel like a caged animal. This cold spell is supposed to last until Sunday at least, at which point I will be a raving maniac.
I was woken at about 2 in the morning by my bed shaking. I vaguely remember thinking, “Must be an earthquake” but then I fell back to sleep. Turns out I was right.
| It’s another cold one: minus 47 with the windchill. Further north it’s minus 60. When it gets this cold, nothing wants to work. When I drove to dance last night, the engine light was on in my car – not a good sign. I’ll try not to drive it again until I can get it serviced. The propane in our tank has turned to jell, so it’s really hard to get our fireplace to work. And me? Well, it took all the willpower I could summon to get out of bed this morning. I felt like a little fox in my warm den, and to have to leave that cosy place was torture.
So what does a person do in temperatures like this? Cook up a big pot of Yukon grown rye cereal, with lots of blueberries, sunflower seeds and maple syrup. And place my seed order! |
Environment Canada says the temperature this morning is -34, but with a strong wind blowing, it actually feels like -50 degrees. Even with all my multiple layers, it was a rather bracing walk to and from the bus stop. Hopefully we’ll see some change over the next few days.
Speaking of change, Alan is undergoing a sort of transformation. He got his long hair all cut off, says he wants to form a blues/rock band (in addition to and not in place of his heavy metal band Sanctuary), and has decided to apply to a couple of Canadian colleges that offer music programs instead of applying to MI in Los Angeles. He’s cutting it close in terms of getting his application in, but being a Taurus, he’s always been prone to taking his own sweet time getting from Point A to Point B. Trying to push him along has never worked. So I have offered to help with the application process and now I sit and wait for him to take me up on the offer. Being an Aries though, patience is not one of my virtues.
While I’m on the topic of music, I recently found out that the father of one of my dance teachers is the Toronto musician/composer Russ Little and has played a few gigs with my brother. Another example of what a small world we live in these days.
And speaking of dance, Iris absolutely loved Dirty Dancing. She went out for drinks with some of the cast afterwards and had a blast. She seems a much happier camper these days. Yeah!!
| It was one of the coldest nights of this winter. But nonetheless, people came. In fact they packed into our house, making it so warm we had to open the doors at one point to let some cold air in. From my point of view, it was a great night. Just about everyone brought something for the meal, and our table was piled high with haggis, roast beef, caribou, champit tatties (potatoes), bashed neeps (turnips), salads, scotch eggs, bread, and no fewer than five desserts!
Gramma Iris said the Selkirk Grace, and then it was time to pipe in the haggis. Joe went first, playing the pipes, and I followed, carrying a big platter with a fat steaming haggis decked out with heather. We marched through the house a couple of times, and then set the haggis in front of Glenn, who proceeded with the Address to the Haggis. Then it was time to eat. After dinner came the entertainment. Joe and his two bagpipe students played a few tunes for everyone. Donna gave us a tune on her fiddle. Calvin sang (I accompanied him on the piano) and plied with scotch, I even attempted a highland fling (the execution left a lot to be desired but people didn’t seem to mind!) There were the speeches (Immortal Memory, Address to the Lassies, and Reply from the Lassies), more piping, and then we sent people off into the night with plastic containers filled with haggis, and with sprigs of heather carefully wrapped to protect them against the cold. It pleases me to no end that we can do this each year. People genuinely seem to have a good time. It pleases me that Alan brought a gang of his friends this year, including the lead singer in a local heavy metal band. This rather tough looking fellow, with his tattoos and black painted fingernails, came up to me at the end of the night and like a sweet child he gave me a big hug, telling me he loved me. Such is the power of haggis and a good Scotch I guess! This night is as much about forging traditions and making memories as it is about celebrating Burns. My kids look forward to this celebration every year, and my hope is that when they grow up and have their own families, and Joe and I toddle off to some old folks home where we won’t be able to remember our own selves let alone who Burns was, they will keep this tradition going. |
Most people who know me realize that I love my job. However every once in a while, it gets so busy that I can hardly breathe. That’s the way it’s been for the last week. Luckily, the worst is over, and I’m hoping things can calm down at last.
On top of my duties at work, Joe and I have been busy getting ready for our annual Robbie Burns party on Saturday night. My job this year is to give the Immortal Memory speech. I’ve had little time to prepare, so it’s pretty rough around the edges, but here it is, for those of you who are puzzled about why anyone would celebrate the life of some dead Scottish poet who wrote in some wierd dialect.
The Immortal Memory
Robbie Burns was born in a small cottage in Alloway, Scotland on January 25, 1759. He was the oldest of seven children.
Robbie Burns was born in a small cottage in Alloway, Scotland on January 25, 1759. He was the oldest of seven children.
Times were tough for the family, and Robbie had to work hard in the fields from an early age. Growing up, Robbie saw his father struggling to make the farm pay and witnessed firsthand the callous treatment of a tenant by a landowner (his father didn’t own the land but leased it, as so many people did at that time). Burns’ anger and frustration over this class system turns up in his poems. He writes a number of times about the idea that being rich didn’t mean being better.
For example, one of the most poignant of Burns’ songs is “A Man’s a Man for A That”. The piece describes in the most potent words just what makes a true man…it’s not the money but the man’s character that is the gold.
Is there for honesty poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward slave — we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a’ that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that,
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.
And in “To a Louse”, which is one of my favourites, he addresses a louse that he sees crawling on a rich lady’s bonnet in church. With tongue in cheek, he chastises the louse for crawling about on this upper crust lady when instead it should be satisfying itself with some poor common soul.
Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’, faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn’d by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her-
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.
And later in the poem he writes:
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!
In spite of his poverty Burns was extremely well read – at the insistence of his father, who employed a tutor for Robbie and his younger brother Gilbert. The fact that his father found the money to do that shows just how much importance he put on education.
At 15 Robbie was the principal worker on the farm and this prompted him to start writing in an attempt to find “some kind of counterpoise for his circumstances.” Burns would often compose on horseback, in the field, by some beautiful landmark or while seated in an alehouse.
His first verse was “My Handsome Nell”, written for his harvest partner Nellie Kilpatrick. It was an ode to one of the two major subjects that dominated his life: scotch and women.
Once I lov’d a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I’ll love my handsome Nell.
As bonie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But, for a modest gracefu’ mein,
The like I never saw.
A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the e’e;
But, without some better qualities,
She’s no a lass for me.
But Nelly’s looks are blythe and sweet,
And what is best of a’,
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.
She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there’s something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it’s innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.
‘Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
‘Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
Another poem written for the ladies is “My Love is Like a Red Red Rose”. It’s probably one of his most famous love poems and songs, and is one Calvin is going to sing for us tonight.
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
My luve is like a melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
So fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
Just out of curiosity, I flipped through Burns’ poetry to see how many pieces he wrote about women. There are poems about Anna, Alison, Katie, Mary, Jeanie, Chloris, Clarinda, Nancy, Nell, Molly, Polly, Peggy, Bessie, Jessie, Eliza, Maria, and Delia. I’ve probably missed some too.
When Burns’ father died in 1784, Robbie and his brother became partners in the farm. However, Burns was more interested in the romantic nature of poetry than the arduous task of ploughing. He was, of course, also far more interested in women.
He had been courting Jean Armour and she became pregnant with twins by him. Jeanie actually had four children by him before Robbie married her, five more after, and he fathered several more children with other lady friends during their marriage.
In any event, the first time this happened with Jean, her father and the local community were outraged. The Presbyterian Church of Scotland held strong influence within the community, and it was severe in its views. His punishment was to show public penance in church for 3 consecutive weeks.
Following this humiliation, Burns wrote “Holy Willie’s Prayer” in defiance of the hypocrisy he saw within the Church. This poem suggests a prayer made by one of the church elders, in which that elder’s own indiscretions are defended.
When from my mither’s womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung’d me deep in hell,
To gnash my gums, and weep and wail,
In burnin lakes,
Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain’d to their stakes.
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I’m here a pillar o’ Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, and example,
To a’ Thy flock.
After his humiliation at church, Burns decided he’d had enough and decided to emigrate to Jamaica. He had a book of poetry that was about to be published, and he planned to use the money from that venture for his passage.
He became infatuated with a young Highland woman named Mary Campbell, who he secretly married in a Gaelic ritual. He asked her to come to the West Indies with him, but she died of a fever.
In the end, whether it was because of her dying, or because of the love that he had for his twin babies, or because he became an overnight success in Scotland, or maybe it was a combination of them all, but for whatever reason he cancelled his plans for Jamaica.
Before I go any further I want to talk a bit about the political situation at the time, because it helps to understand who Burns was and why he was such a hit.
Remember that Scotland had just gone through a period of being demoralized by the British. It had been defeated politically and militarily and had been brought close to economic ruin.
There was the 1707 Act of Union with England and Wales, which was seen as a betrayal by many, including Burns. That was followed by two unsuccessful attempts to restore a Scottish throne.
Scotland’s leaders, whether the Royal family or the politicians, had all appeared to fail its people. The country was looking elsewhere for inspiration. There was a growing feeling that hope lay not with the establishment or the aristocracy, but among the common people.
Then, out of the Ayrshire countryside, here was this young farmer with little formal education but who produced a book of poetry, chiefly in the Scots dialect, with such passion, wit and power that the country went wild over him.
In a matter of weeks he was transformed to a national celebrity, fussed over by the Edinburgh hobnobbers of the day, and even Jean Armour’s father changed his tune and allowed her to marry Burns, now that he was a celebrity.
However fame did not bring fortune and he took up a job as a tax collector to supplement his meagre income.
While collecting taxes he continued to write and collect songs. Burns revised several hundred songs and tunes that may well have been lost otherwise. Many of these inspired work by composers such as Beethoven and Haydn.
Through his efforts both writing and collecting traditional songs, Burns helped to generate an interest in Scottish culture across Europe that would eventually spread across the world.
More than 400 of Burns’ songs still exist today.
Burns also became increasingly involved in politics, writing some of his best known political works such as “Scots Wha Hae”. It was the telling of what Robert the Bruce might have said to his troops as they were heading into battle at Bannockburn. They knew they were sadly outnumbered by the British, but they were prepared to fight to the end for their freedom.
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power-
Chains and Slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland’s King and Law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa’,
Let him on wi’ me!
By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!-
Let us Do or Die!
I just want to read a part of one more poem, because this one, “To a Mouse”, demonstrates Burns’ deep feeling for humanity and his gentleness.
One day while he was ploughing a field, he noticed he had cut through the nest of a small field mouse. This clearly upset Burns. He wrote down his thoughts, as though talking to the mouse, commenting on the destruction he had caused, his guilt and his sorrow. He compares the life of that mouse with his own wretched life and human frailty.
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 !
Burns died aged 37 of heart disease exacerbated by the hard manual work he had done most of his life. His death occurred on the same day as his wife Jean gave birth to his last son, Maxwell.
On the anniversary of his birth, Scots both at home and abroad celebrate Robert Burns with a supper, where they address the haggis, the ladies and whisky.But the question remains: why do we remember Robbie Burns, almost 250 years later?
I think Burns’ work goes to the very heart of the Scot’s psyche. The themes of his poems focus on things like struggle, persecution, love, nationalism, and great victories in the face of adversity…….all of which are things that I think a Scot identifies with. Scots view themselves as being rugged fighters, standing up for their rights, humorous, friendly, fiery yet gentle, passionate, and incredibly proud.
I think it’s because Burns’ immortality runs in the veins of all Scots that he has evolved from mere man to being the symbol of all things Scottish.
So with that, I would ask all of you to stand and raise your glass to the Immortal Memory of Robbie Burns.
Wow! Last night I attended a performance of Christos Hatzis’ Constantinople, that involved the Gryphon Trio, two singers (Patricia O’Callaghan and Maryem Hassan Tollar) and some digital audio/video. It was so very beautiful! I have never seen anything quite like it before. If it comes to your city, do go see it if you can.
Speaking of performances, my daughter is going next week to see Dirty Dancing. It has gotten some mixed reviews, but one of her former teachers is in the cast so she got a special invitation. I’m envious.
I have, once again, been worrying about Jamie’s performance at schoool. Final exams are coming up, I’m seeing very little studying, and my offers to help are quickly dismissed. With some of his marks being borderline, a bad exam could mean the difference between passing and failing the course.
I think as parents, we all want our kids to do well, to be happy and engaged in life. It’s hard for me to hear Jamie talking about how stupid school is, and how stupid he is. Nothing I do or say seems to make a difference.
Today, I ran into a woman who I used to spend a fair bit of time with, but whom I hadn’t seen in several years. Her son, who has ADHD, struggled throughout his childhood. He’s now at Yukon College, and failing every subject he’s taking. He never did graduate from high school. In my friend’s words, “Life sure doesn’t turn out the way you expect.” And yes, by many accounts, her son might be considered a failure. But there are the positive things too: he’s living on his own. He just got a part-time job. He spent a week at home with his family over Christmas and everyone held it together. Those are no small feats for someone who doesn’t fit the mold.
Life is hard sometimes. Things get thrown at you that you need about as much as you need a hole in the head. People disappoint. Curve balls come at you from an invisible and strong armed pitcher. But my friend’s words were a good reminder to me that the best thing you can do is fiercely celebrate the good in as many ways as you know how, and say ‘to hell’ with the bad.
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You may have heard about the movement to go 21 days without gripping or complaining. It’s something that was started by a minister in Kansas City. People wear purple wristbands, and every time they complain about something they have to switch their band from one wrist to the other. It’s a way of bringing attention to their grumbling, and hopefully stop or at least reduce it. This small gesture, started in one church, has really taken off. Apparently the church has received requests for more than 300,000 wristbands from people all over the world. Of course this isn’t meant to stop people from raising valid concerns and issues. Rather, it’s to address all the snipping, gossiping, and general grumbling that creates so much unncessary bad energy. Yesterday, in a particularly foul mood, I found myself in a place I didn’t want to be, behaving like a person I didn’t care for one bit. So I’ve decided to take the 21 day challenge. Actually, I’ll be happy if I can get through one day without complaining. If I manage that, then I’ll set my sites on longer periods of time. Wish me luck! |
Last night was our post Christmas staff party. Below is a (not very good) photo that someone snapped of Joe and I.
For me, it was not really a relaxing evening. I was MC, plus I was the one who had arranged the location, food, door prizes, entertainment, etc. One of these days I’m hoping that someone else will take on this job. However I feel pretty good about how things went – I got the sense that people had a good time, and that’s the important thing.
Oh, and Joe won an iPod, so that was a bonus!
