Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The New North
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New North, by Agnes Deans Cameron
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
THE NEW NORTH
Being Some Account of a Woman's Journey through Canada to the Arctic
BY AGNES DEANS CAMERON
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
Published November, 1909
Copy and Paste:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/12874/12874-h/12874-h.htm
www.gutenberg.org
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
THE NEW NORTH
Being Some Account of a Woman's Journey through Canada to the Arctic
BY AGNES DEANS CAMERON
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
Published November, 1909
Copy and Paste:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/12874/12874-h/12874-h.htm
www.gutenberg.org
When Snowball Melted
With thanks to Bonnie Compton Hanson (c) 1997.
When Snowball Melted
Lovebirds. That’s what all our friends called us when we first married.
I guess Don and I deserved it. Money was tight because we were both full-time students, working to pay our way through school. Sometimes, we’d have to save up days just for an ice cream cone. Still, our tiny, drab apartment seemed like paradise. Love does that, you know.
Anyway, the more we heard the term “lovebirds,” the more we thought about birds. And one day we started saving up for a couple of lovebirds of our own: the feathery kind. We knew we couldn’t afford to buy both birds and a nice cage, so in his spare moments, Don made the cage himself.
We set our cage in front of a shaded window. Then we waited until the crumpled envelope marked “lovebirds” was full of bills and spare change. At last the day came when we were able to walk down to our local pet store to “adopt” some additions to our little family.
We’d had our hearts set on parakeets. But the minute we heard the canaries singing, we changed our minds. Selecting a lively yellow male and a sweet white female, we named the youngsters Sunshine and Snowball.
Because of our exhausting schedules, we didn’t get to spend too much time with our new friends, but we loved having them greet us each evening with bursts of song. And they seemed blissfully happy with each other.
Time passed, and when our young lovebirds finally seemed mature enough to start a family of their own, we went ahead and prepared a nest area and lots of nesting material for them.
Sure enough, one day they began to find the idea very appealing. Snowball was a very exacting supervisor in designing and decorating their nest just so, while Sunshine, his face aglow with love, bent over backward to put everything just where she ordered.
Then one day an egg appeared. How they sang! And a few weeks later when a tiny chick hatched, their happiness seemed to know no bounds. I don’t know how it happened genetically, but that baby canary was bright orange. So right off we named him Punkinhead. The sunny days passed. How proud all of us were when our fledgling tottered out of the nest onto a real grown-up perch!
Then one day, Punkinhead suddenly plunged headlong from his perch to the bottom of the cage. The tiny orange bird just lay there. Both parents and I rushed to his rescue.
But he was dead. Just like that. Whether he’d had a heart attack before he fell or broke his neck in the fall, I’ll never know. But Punkinhead was gone.
Though both parents grieved, his little mother was inconsolable. She refused to let either Sunshine or me get near that pitiful little body. Instead of the joyful melodies I usually heard from Snowball, now she gave only the most excruciating cries and moans. Her heart, joy and will seemed completely melted by her sorrow.
Poor Sunshine didn’t know what to make of it. He kept trying to push Snowball away from her sad station, but she refused to budge. Instead, over and over she kept trying to revive her adored child.
Finally Sunshine seemed to work out a plan. He convinced her to fly up and eat some seeds every so often, while he stood duty in her place. Then each time she left, he’d quietly place one piece of nesting straw over Punkinhead’s body. Just one. But in a few days, piece by piece, it was completely covered over.
At first Snowball seemed disoriented when she looked around, but she didn’t try to uncover the chick. Instead, she flew up to her normal perch and stayed there. Then I was able to quietly reach in and remove the little body, straw shroud and all.
After that, Sunshine spent all his time consoling Snowball. Eventually she started making normal sounds, and then one day, her sorrow finally melted and she sang again.
I don’t know if Snowball ever realized the quiet labor of love and healing Sunshine had done for her. But they remained joyously devoted for as long as they both lived. Love does that, you know.
Especially to lovebirds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A lesson in true love, without the distractions of our world as it stands these days. ~Helene
When Snowball Melted
Lovebirds. That’s what all our friends called us when we first married.
I guess Don and I deserved it. Money was tight because we were both full-time students, working to pay our way through school. Sometimes, we’d have to save up days just for an ice cream cone. Still, our tiny, drab apartment seemed like paradise. Love does that, you know.
Anyway, the more we heard the term “lovebirds,” the more we thought about birds. And one day we started saving up for a couple of lovebirds of our own: the feathery kind. We knew we couldn’t afford to buy both birds and a nice cage, so in his spare moments, Don made the cage himself.
We set our cage in front of a shaded window. Then we waited until the crumpled envelope marked “lovebirds” was full of bills and spare change. At last the day came when we were able to walk down to our local pet store to “adopt” some additions to our little family.
We’d had our hearts set on parakeets. But the minute we heard the canaries singing, we changed our minds. Selecting a lively yellow male and a sweet white female, we named the youngsters Sunshine and Snowball.
Because of our exhausting schedules, we didn’t get to spend too much time with our new friends, but we loved having them greet us each evening with bursts of song. And they seemed blissfully happy with each other.
Time passed, and when our young lovebirds finally seemed mature enough to start a family of their own, we went ahead and prepared a nest area and lots of nesting material for them.
Sure enough, one day they began to find the idea very appealing. Snowball was a very exacting supervisor in designing and decorating their nest just so, while Sunshine, his face aglow with love, bent over backward to put everything just where she ordered.
Then one day an egg appeared. How they sang! And a few weeks later when a tiny chick hatched, their happiness seemed to know no bounds. I don’t know how it happened genetically, but that baby canary was bright orange. So right off we named him Punkinhead. The sunny days passed. How proud all of us were when our fledgling tottered out of the nest onto a real grown-up perch!
Then one day, Punkinhead suddenly plunged headlong from his perch to the bottom of the cage. The tiny orange bird just lay there. Both parents and I rushed to his rescue.
But he was dead. Just like that. Whether he’d had a heart attack before he fell or broke his neck in the fall, I’ll never know. But Punkinhead was gone.
Though both parents grieved, his little mother was inconsolable. She refused to let either Sunshine or me get near that pitiful little body. Instead of the joyful melodies I usually heard from Snowball, now she gave only the most excruciating cries and moans. Her heart, joy and will seemed completely melted by her sorrow.
Poor Sunshine didn’t know what to make of it. He kept trying to push Snowball away from her sad station, but she refused to budge. Instead, over and over she kept trying to revive her adored child.
Finally Sunshine seemed to work out a plan. He convinced her to fly up and eat some seeds every so often, while he stood duty in her place. Then each time she left, he’d quietly place one piece of nesting straw over Punkinhead’s body. Just one. But in a few days, piece by piece, it was completely covered over.
At first Snowball seemed disoriented when she looked around, but she didn’t try to uncover the chick. Instead, she flew up to her normal perch and stayed there. Then I was able to quietly reach in and remove the little body, straw shroud and all.
After that, Sunshine spent all his time consoling Snowball. Eventually she started making normal sounds, and then one day, her sorrow finally melted and she sang again.
I don’t know if Snowball ever realized the quiet labor of love and healing Sunshine had done for her. But they remained joyously devoted for as long as they both lived. Love does that, you know.
Especially to lovebirds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A lesson in true love, without the distractions of our world as it stands these days. ~Helene
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Religion vs. Spirituality?
By: Dr. Marcellino D'Ambrosio
as found at CrossRoadsInitiative.com
It is fashionable today to disdain “religion” but praise “spirituality.” Religion is oppressive, they say, but spirituality is liberating. Spirituality is about being in touch with your inner self and the life-force that animates the universe. It’s about “values” and “reflection.” The New Age Movement is a manifestation of a thirst for such a “spirituality.” So is the Da Vinci code and the Gnostic brand of Christianity that lay behind it.
Speaking of the Da Vinci code, some wonder why the Gnostic Gospel of Thomas was not accepted by the early leaders of the Catholic Church. The answer is simple. The gospel of Thomas present Jesus as a teacher of “spirituality.” He utters mysterious sayings that awe his followers. But he does not lay his life down for the flock. There is no cross in the Gospel of Thomas. No sacrifice. No redemptive suffering. In Gnosticism, we’re saved through esoteric, mysterious knowledge that we gain through hearing.
That’s why there will always be DaVinci Codes, New Agers and other refried versions of the ancient Gnosticism. The idea of spirituality and redemption without suffering has perennial appeal.
The word “religion,” on the other hand, should cause us to pause for a minute. It comes from the Latin word meaning to bind oneself, to commit oneself. Religion involves taking on the yoke of duty to God and others. Forget duty! We’d rather have rights and privileges.
True, Christianity is a religion of grace. And grace is a great privilege. Salvation comes to us as a free gift which we could never earn on our own. But many Christians misunderstand this to mean that grace comes cheap, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German Lutheran pastor, once pointed out...
On the contrary, grace is very costly indeed. To purchase this gift for us cost Jesus everything he had. The price of our redemption was his blood, sweat, and tears.
But receiving the grace of salvation is a costly thing too. To accept Jesus as Savior means accepting Him as Lord. That means that we must surrender our own will, pick up our cross, and follow him. His yoke may be easy, and his burden light. But keep in mind “Disciple” means one who comes under the “discipline” of a master. And discipline is usually not comfortable.
Jesus is quite up-front about this. Truth in advertising, you might say. It would be reasonable to expect that the closest companions of God would get extra privileges and great honors for their trouble. Like Mohammed, who said he got special permission from Allah to have more wives than allowed by Islamic law (14 in all, with one being 9 years old).
But Jesus was hated, not honored. He was betrayed by one closest to him and delivered up to torture by his own countrymen. And he warned his disciples that they could expect the very same thing (Lk 21:5-19).
“Spirituality” connotes to many quiet, tranquil meditation. An unhurried, restful, low-stress lifestyle. A philosophical life spent discussing spiritual things, like when Jesus might be coming back. Yet Paul tells us otherwise. Though in justice he was owed financial support from the Christian community for his preaching, he chose to accept nothing. Rather he preached for free by day and did manual labor by night to earn his keep. Why? So that he would be a burden on no one, have something to give to those in need, and offer an example to all (2 Thes 3:7-12). Some would say Paul was a workaholic. He admits that he worked day and night, laboring to the point of exhaustion. Others have called this attitude “the Protestant work ethic.” I think a better name for it would be love.
This is really what religion and true spirituality are about. The divine sort of love called agape or charity, that is not a matter of feeling good, but of giving of oneself even if it doesn’t feel good, even if it draws taunts rather than applause.
Of course, we couldn’t ever live out this divine love if it were not poured out into our hearts as a free gift of grace. But this grace is costly, not cheap.
as found at CrossRoadsInitiative.com
It is fashionable today to disdain “religion” but praise “spirituality.” Religion is oppressive, they say, but spirituality is liberating. Spirituality is about being in touch with your inner self and the life-force that animates the universe. It’s about “values” and “reflection.” The New Age Movement is a manifestation of a thirst for such a “spirituality.” So is the Da Vinci code and the Gnostic brand of Christianity that lay behind it.
Speaking of the Da Vinci code, some wonder why the Gnostic Gospel of Thomas was not accepted by the early leaders of the Catholic Church. The answer is simple. The gospel of Thomas present Jesus as a teacher of “spirituality.” He utters mysterious sayings that awe his followers. But he does not lay his life down for the flock. There is no cross in the Gospel of Thomas. No sacrifice. No redemptive suffering. In Gnosticism, we’re saved through esoteric, mysterious knowledge that we gain through hearing.
That’s why there will always be DaVinci Codes, New Agers and other refried versions of the ancient Gnosticism. The idea of spirituality and redemption without suffering has perennial appeal.
The word “religion,” on the other hand, should cause us to pause for a minute. It comes from the Latin word meaning to bind oneself, to commit oneself. Religion involves taking on the yoke of duty to God and others. Forget duty! We’d rather have rights and privileges.
True, Christianity is a religion of grace. And grace is a great privilege. Salvation comes to us as a free gift which we could never earn on our own. But many Christians misunderstand this to mean that grace comes cheap, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German Lutheran pastor, once pointed out...
On the contrary, grace is very costly indeed. To purchase this gift for us cost Jesus everything he had. The price of our redemption was his blood, sweat, and tears.
But receiving the grace of salvation is a costly thing too. To accept Jesus as Savior means accepting Him as Lord. That means that we must surrender our own will, pick up our cross, and follow him. His yoke may be easy, and his burden light. But keep in mind “Disciple” means one who comes under the “discipline” of a master. And discipline is usually not comfortable.
Jesus is quite up-front about this. Truth in advertising, you might say. It would be reasonable to expect that the closest companions of God would get extra privileges and great honors for their trouble. Like Mohammed, who said he got special permission from Allah to have more wives than allowed by Islamic law (14 in all, with one being 9 years old).
But Jesus was hated, not honored. He was betrayed by one closest to him and delivered up to torture by his own countrymen. And he warned his disciples that they could expect the very same thing (Lk 21:5-19).
“Spirituality” connotes to many quiet, tranquil meditation. An unhurried, restful, low-stress lifestyle. A philosophical life spent discussing spiritual things, like when Jesus might be coming back. Yet Paul tells us otherwise. Though in justice he was owed financial support from the Christian community for his preaching, he chose to accept nothing. Rather he preached for free by day and did manual labor by night to earn his keep. Why? So that he would be a burden on no one, have something to give to those in need, and offer an example to all (2 Thes 3:7-12). Some would say Paul was a workaholic. He admits that he worked day and night, laboring to the point of exhaustion. Others have called this attitude “the Protestant work ethic.” I think a better name for it would be love.
This is really what religion and true spirituality are about. The divine sort of love called agape or charity, that is not a matter of feeling good, but of giving of oneself even if it doesn’t feel good, even if it draws taunts rather than applause.
Of course, we couldn’t ever live out this divine love if it were not poured out into our hearts as a free gift of grace. But this grace is costly, not cheap.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Protect animals from cruelty
Posted By Farquhar, Ruth
Posted 6 days ago
So what happens if they catch the person or persons who shot a cat in the head numerous times with a pellet gun?
What happens if they charge the people in Alberta who microwaved a cat, or the person who left the cat Simba out to freeze to death?
Unfortunately, horrified as most of us are reading these kinds of things, we would be even more horrified at the lax penalties given to those who perpetrate these acts of cruelty on a living creature. Right now, our laws regarding animal cruelty are a joke. If convicted, you could be fined $2,000 and/or six months in jail. But have you ever heard of a judge giving the max to someone who deliberately tortured or killed a defenceless animal?
Lately, there has been story after story in the news about animals being abused and it has felt surreal to me. After hearing about the cat being shot in the head (a vet said someone probably held it down while another person shot it), a story started circulating around the Island about a puppy outside at Manitoulin Secondary School being kicked around like a football. I spoke to Principal Laurie Zahnow, who said she saw one student kick a puppy, and she stopped him, but at that time the puppy wasn't hurt. She and another teacher talked to the student about animal cruelty. Zahnow added that if she knew of any students injuring an animal, she would call the police. This puppy did end up at the local vet, where it has since found a home. But even one student kicking a dog raises questions about what our kids are thinking and why are we not giving serious consequences to students who inflict any cruelty to animals?
And then we have the property owners or farmers who feel they can shoot dogs because they are running on their property. To be fair, most farmers do not shoot them, most don't want to shoot them. Most farmers I know love their family's pets.
Last year on the Island, a couple's puppy, called Moose, was taken from the end of their driveway and is believed to have been shot. Unfortunately, the owner of this beautiful eight-month-old Pyrenees was made to feel like she was the one who had done something wrong, that by pushing people to find out exactly what happened to her dog and writing a letter to the press, she was branding all farmers with the same brush.
All Shelagh Saul ever wanted was to find out what happened to her pet. I ask you to put yourself in her shoes. If you had a puppy you loved and it disappeared and all you heard were rumours about it being shot, how would you feel? What would you do?
I wouldn't leave one stone unturned until I found out exactly what had happened.
More recently, there was a story out of Uxbridge in which a farmer had shot two golden retrievers that had run from their nearby home. I have never heard of golden retrievers attacking any livestock before, but this antiquated law, which dates back to the 1920s, allowed that farmer to kill these dogs without any proof that they were even near his livestock.
It is fairly common knowledge that children who are cruel to animals will go on to be abusive to their spouses and their children. One study has shown that 61 per cent of women staying in shelters had pets harmed or killed by an abusive partner and 48 per cent delayed leaving the situation for fear their partners would harm their pet. And I would bet good money that a man who kills animals for the "fun" of it, is someone who may also hurt women and children. After all, to him they are defenceless and he gets some kind of misguided sense of power out of it.
So what can we do? We can push our MPs to change our old laws and not just add to them. There are two private member's bills before the House of Commons. The one by (Liberal) Ajax-Pickering MP Mark Holland, Bill C-373, is the best of the two. Not only does it change the antiquated laws, it also makes the penalties much more severe.
The other bill by Senator John Bryden leaves the old laws in place and just adds stricter penalties. It will be just the same with loopholes and it leaves out stray cats and dogs. Unfortunately it is supported by the conservatives and probably will get passed.
Let your MP know you expect more from the laws against animal cruelty. My sympathies go out to anyone who has lost a pet to cruelty, or a pet that has been shot for no reason. I know how grief stricken I was when my cat died of an illness. I can't imagine what it would feel like to lose a pet because someone decided they could hurt it for no other reason than they could.
- Ruth Farquhar is a Manitoulin Island-based freelance writer.
Article ID# 907228
The Sudbury Star
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted 6 days ago
So what happens if they catch the person or persons who shot a cat in the head numerous times with a pellet gun?
What happens if they charge the people in Alberta who microwaved a cat, or the person who left the cat Simba out to freeze to death?
Unfortunately, horrified as most of us are reading these kinds of things, we would be even more horrified at the lax penalties given to those who perpetrate these acts of cruelty on a living creature. Right now, our laws regarding animal cruelty are a joke. If convicted, you could be fined $2,000 and/or six months in jail. But have you ever heard of a judge giving the max to someone who deliberately tortured or killed a defenceless animal?
Lately, there has been story after story in the news about animals being abused and it has felt surreal to me. After hearing about the cat being shot in the head (a vet said someone probably held it down while another person shot it), a story started circulating around the Island about a puppy outside at Manitoulin Secondary School being kicked around like a football. I spoke to Principal Laurie Zahnow, who said she saw one student kick a puppy, and she stopped him, but at that time the puppy wasn't hurt. She and another teacher talked to the student about animal cruelty. Zahnow added that if she knew of any students injuring an animal, she would call the police. This puppy did end up at the local vet, where it has since found a home. But even one student kicking a dog raises questions about what our kids are thinking and why are we not giving serious consequences to students who inflict any cruelty to animals?
And then we have the property owners or farmers who feel they can shoot dogs because they are running on their property. To be fair, most farmers do not shoot them, most don't want to shoot them. Most farmers I know love their family's pets.
Last year on the Island, a couple's puppy, called Moose, was taken from the end of their driveway and is believed to have been shot. Unfortunately, the owner of this beautiful eight-month-old Pyrenees was made to feel like she was the one who had done something wrong, that by pushing people to find out exactly what happened to her dog and writing a letter to the press, she was branding all farmers with the same brush.
All Shelagh Saul ever wanted was to find out what happened to her pet. I ask you to put yourself in her shoes. If you had a puppy you loved and it disappeared and all you heard were rumours about it being shot, how would you feel? What would you do?
I wouldn't leave one stone unturned until I found out exactly what had happened.
More recently, there was a story out of Uxbridge in which a farmer had shot two golden retrievers that had run from their nearby home. I have never heard of golden retrievers attacking any livestock before, but this antiquated law, which dates back to the 1920s, allowed that farmer to kill these dogs without any proof that they were even near his livestock.
It is fairly common knowledge that children who are cruel to animals will go on to be abusive to their spouses and their children. One study has shown that 61 per cent of women staying in shelters had pets harmed or killed by an abusive partner and 48 per cent delayed leaving the situation for fear their partners would harm their pet. And I would bet good money that a man who kills animals for the "fun" of it, is someone who may also hurt women and children. After all, to him they are defenceless and he gets some kind of misguided sense of power out of it.
So what can we do? We can push our MPs to change our old laws and not just add to them. There are two private member's bills before the House of Commons. The one by (Liberal) Ajax-Pickering MP Mark Holland, Bill C-373, is the best of the two. Not only does it change the antiquated laws, it also makes the penalties much more severe.
The other bill by Senator John Bryden leaves the old laws in place and just adds stricter penalties. It will be just the same with loopholes and it leaves out stray cats and dogs. Unfortunately it is supported by the conservatives and probably will get passed.
Let your MP know you expect more from the laws against animal cruelty. My sympathies go out to anyone who has lost a pet to cruelty, or a pet that has been shot for no reason. I know how grief stricken I was when my cat died of an illness. I can't imagine what it would feel like to lose a pet because someone decided they could hurt it for no other reason than they could.
- Ruth Farquhar is a Manitoulin Island-based freelance writer.
Article ID# 907228
The Sudbury Star
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~