Friday, November 30, 2007
> Date: Fri, 30 Nov 2007 09:03:31 -0500
> Subject: [Fwd: Golden Compass]
> From: email@example.com
> To: firstname.lastname@example.org
> ---------------------------- Original Message ----------------------------
> Subject: Golden Compass
> From: "IreneGarcia"
> Date: Thu, November 29, 2007 11:23 pm
> To: "Irene Garcia"
> There will be a new children's movie out in December called "The Golden
> Compass". The movie has been described as "atheism for kids" and is based
> on the first book of a trilogy entitled "His Dark Materials" that was
> written by Phillip Pullman. Pullman is a militant atheist and secular
> humanist who despises C. S. Lewis and the "Chronicles of Narnia". His
> motivation for writing this trilogy was specifically to counteract Lewis'
> symbolisms of Christ that are portrayed in the Narnia series.
> Clearly, Pullman 's main objective is to bash Christianity and promote
> atheism. Pullman left little doubt about his intentions when he said in a
> 2003 interview that "my books are about killing God." He has even stated
> that he wants to "kill God in the minds of children". It has been said of
> Pullman that he is "the writer the atheists would be praying for, if
> atheists prayed."
> While "The Golden Compass" movie itself may seem mild and innocent, the
> books are a much different story. In the trilogy, a young streetwise girl
> becomes enmeshed in an epic struggle to ultimately defeat the oppressive
> forces of a senile God. Another character, an ex-nun, describes
> Christianity as "a very powerful and convincing mistake." In the final
> book, characters representing Adam and Eve eventually kill God, who at
> times is called YAHWEH. Each book in the trilogy gets progressively worse
> regarding Pullman's hatred of Jesus Christ.
> "The Golden Compass" is set to premier on December 7, during the Christmas
> season (and starring Nicole Kidman), and will probably be heavily
> advertised. Promoters hope that unsuspecting parents will take their
> children to see the movie, that they will enjoy the movie, and that the
> children will want the books for Christmas.
> Please consider a boycott of the movie and the books. Also, pass this
> information along to everyone you know (including church leaders). This
> will help to educate parents, so that they will know the agenda of the
> movie. I am sending this to those of you who have kids or friends with
> kids, grandkids or have influence with kids. So many things today are
> darkness concealed in what appears to be innocent. FYI.
> Don't let kids see "The Golden Compass"!
> For anyone with kids, grandkids other relatives or friends who this may
> concern, I have checked it out at
> http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/compass.asp and it is true. Read
> the info in the link.
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Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I hope all is well? Just a reminder that the Verdun Reunion is coming up the first Friday night in December downtown Toronto at The Strathcona Hotel!!! You will know a ton of guy’s as it is run by The Boyle brothers and the Hurley’s show up as well as a cast of others!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Season's first sighting of P챔re No챘l brings out huge crowd
Santa blows kisses and ho-ho-hos his way through downtown on chilly, snowless day
ANNE SUTHERLAND, The GazettePublished: 15 hours ago
Santa Claus ruled the downtown streets of Montreal yesterday as the annual holiday parade shut Ste. Catherine St. for several hours.
There were marching bands, clowns, Shriners in funny little cars, floats depicting elves making Christmas lists, a Christmas fairy and rapturous children clamouring for views of all of the above.
The crowd brought camp chairs, all manner of strollers, blankets to sit on and wagons to pull the overwrought children after the big event.
Entrepreneurs selling felt-covered and bell-bedecked reindeer antler headbands were doing a brisk business: $3 apiece, two for $5.
An a capella quartet in 1940s clothing serenaded the crowd behind the barricades on Drummond St. and some teenagers played street hockey on the deserted thoroughfare before the first marching band arrived.
Spectator Ashley Charette, who will be 2 on Dec. 19, was cozy warm in a fluffy leopard-print snowsuit as she sat on the sidewalk with her brother Kyle and her mother, Cynthia.
"She's having fun, although I don't know how much she understands," Charette said as stiff-legged toy soldiers marched by.
Ioan Bojdanas, 31/2, was a perpetual motion machine, waving his bare hands, both of them, at every float and cartoon character that passed.
Dancing snowmen with brooms, perambulating Christmas trees and a penguin lip-synching the Bing Crosby version of Let it Snow wowed the crowd, which in some places was six deep from the curb. Whoever did the facial make-up on the various elves, soldiers and fairies is to be commended; it was worthy of the Cirque du Soleil.
Elizabeth Garcia, age 3, and her mother, Stephanie, arrived 30 minutes before the parade began at 11 a.m. and got choice seats at the edge of the sidewalk near Bishop St.
"She understands the getting part (of Christmas) but I don't know if she gets the giving part," Garcia said of her daughter's comprehension of what was going on.
Alessandro Nielsen, 10, was at his second Santa Claus parade with his father, Bentley. They arrived on the commuter train from Kirkland to spend the day downtown, taking in the parade and just walking around.
"I used to write to Santa when I was younger," Alessandro said. "Now I just like the parade." With a mixture of sun and cloud and a temperature of zero degrees Celsius, the only snow at this parade was the artificial stuff the F챗te des Neiges characters were pitching into the crowd.
Crowd-pleasing stilt-walkers preceded the youngsters dressed up in pajamas, who urged the the spectators to chant ''P챔re No챘l, P챔re No챘l'' as if they weren't excited enough already.
And there he was, bringing up the rear, Santa himself, ringing a hand-bell, blowing kisses and ho-ho-ho-ing his way down Ste. Catherine from Fort St. to St. Urbain St.
An army of street-cleaning machines and their crew followed Santa at a respectful distance, vacuuming up the discarded cups, streamers and wrappers.
Ten minutes after Santa passed by, there was no evidence at all of a parade on the now-pristine street.
Except in the hearts of the youngsters who were there.
asutherland@ thegazette.canwest.com On the Web:
See the Santa Claus parade slideshow, only at montrealgazette.com
............................................Christmas not far off now............YIKES !!!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
ADULT LEARNING CENTER
REGISTRATION MUST BE COMPLETED
by Monday, November 10, 2007
NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVEL
OF THEIR CONTENTS, CLASS SIZES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS MAXIMUM
How To Fill Up The Ice Cube Trays--Step by Step, with Slide Presentation.
Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.
The Toilet Paper Roll--Does It Change Itself?
Round Table Discussion.
Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours.
Is It Possible To Urinate Using The Technique Of Lifting The Seat and Avoiding The Floor, Walls and Nearby Bathtub? (Marking your territory!)--Group Practice.
Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.
Fundamental Differences Between The Laundry Hamper and The Floor--Pictures and Explanatory Graphics.
Meets Saturdays at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.
Dinner Dishes--Can They Levitate and Fly Into The Kitchen Sink?
Examples on Video.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning
at 7:00 PM
Loss Of Identity--Losing The Remote To Your Significant Other.
Help Line Support and Support Groups.
Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM
Learning How To Find Things--Starting With Looking In The Right Places And Not Turning The House Upside Down While Screaming.
Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.
Health Watch--Bringing Her Flowers Is Not Harmful To Your Health.
Graphics and Audio Tapes.
Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.
Real Men Ask For Directions When Lost--Real Life Testimonials.
T uesdays at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.
Is It Genetically Impossible To Sit Quietly While She Parallel Parks?
4 weeks, Saturday's noon, 2 hours.
Learning to Live--Basic Differences Between Mother and Wife.
Online Classes and role-playing
Tuesdays at 7:00 PM, location to be determined
How to be the Ideal Shopping Companion
Relaxation Exercises, Meditation and Breathing Techniques.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.
How to Fight Cerebral Atrophy--Remembering Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Important Dates and Calling When You're Going To Be Late.
Cerebral Shock Therapy Sessions and Full Lobotomies Offered.
Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.
The Stove/Oven--What It Is and How It Is Used.
Tuesdays at 6:00 PM, location to be determined.
Upon completion of any of the above courses, diplomas will be issued to the survivors.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Kingsolver when I came upon that one. When I
Googled, there it was! ENJOY! Paul.
ON A COOL OCTOBER DAY IN THE OAK-FORESTED HILLS of
Lorena Province in Iran, a lost child was saved in an
inconceivable way. The news of it came to me as a
parable that I keep turning over in my mind, a message
from some gentler universe than this one. I carry it
like a treasure map while I look for the place where
I’ll understand its meaning.
I picture it happening this way: The story begins with
a wife and husband, nomads of the Lori tribe near
Kayhan, walking home from a morning’s work in their
wheat. I imagine them content, moving slowly, the
husband teasing his wife as she pulls her shawl across
her face, laughing, and then suddenly they’re stopped
cold by the sight of a slender figure hurrying toward
them: the teenage girl who was left in charge of the
babies. In tears, holding her gray shawl tightly
around her, she runs to meet the parents coming home
on the road, to tell them in frightened pieces of
sentences that he’s disappeared, she has already
looked everywhere, but he’s gone. This girl is the
neighbor’s daughter, who keeps an eye on all the
little ones too small to walk to the field, but now
she has to admit wretchedly that their boy had strong
enough legs to wander off while her attention was
turned to—what? Another crying child, a fascinating
insect—a thousand things can turn the mind from this
to that, and the world is lost in a heartbeat.
They refuse to believe her at first—no parent is ever
ready for this—and with fully expectant hearts they
open the door flap of their yurt and peer inside,
scanning the dim red darkness of the rugs on the
walls, the empty floor. They look in his usual hiding
places, under a pillow, behind the box where the bowls
are kept, every time expecting this game to end with a
laugh. But no, he’s gone. I can feel how their hearts
slowly change as the sediments of this impossible loss
precipitate out of ordinary air and turn their insides
to stone. And then suddenly moving to the fluttering
panic of trapped birds, they become sure there is
still some way out of this cage—here my own heart
takes up that tremble as I sit imagining the story.
Once my own child disappeared for only minutes that
grew into half an hour, then an hour, and my panic
took such full possession of my will that I could not
properly spell my name for the police. But I could
tell them the exact details of my daughter’s eyes, her
hair, the clothes she was wearing, and what was in her
pockets. I lost myself utterly while my mind scattered
out, carrying nothing but the search image that would
locate and seize my child.
And that is how two parents searched in Lorena
Province. First their own village, turning every box
upside down, turning the neighbors out in a party of
panic and reassurances, but as they begin to scatter
over the rocky outskirts it grows dark, then cold,
then hopeless. He is nowhere. He is somewhere
unsurvivable. A bear, someone says, and everyone else
says No, not a bear, don’t even say that, are you mad?
His mother might hear you. And some people sleep that
night, but not the mother and father, the smallest
boys, or the neighbor’s daughter who lost him, and
early before the next light they are out again.
Someone is sent to the next village, and larger
parties are organized to comb the hills. They venture
closer to the caves and oak woods of the mountainside.
Another nightfall, another day, and some begin to give
up. But not the father or mother, because there is
nowhere to go but this, we all have done this, we bang
and bang on the door of hope, and don’t anyone dare
suggest there’s nobody home. The mother weeps, and the
father’s mouth becomes a thin line as he finds several
men willing to go all the way up into the mountains.
Into the caves. Five kilometers away. In the name of
heaven, the baby is only sixteen months old, the
mother tells them. He took his first steps in June. He
can’t have walked that far, everybody knows this, but
still they go. Their feet scrape the rocky soil;
nobody speaks. Then the path comes softer under the
live oaks. The corky bark of the trees seems kinder
than the stones. An omen. These branches seem to hold
promise. Lori people used to make bread from the
acorns of these oaks, their animals feed on the
acorns, these trees sustain every life in these
mountains—the wild pigs, the bears. Still, nobody
At the mouth of the next cave they enter—the fourth or
the hundredth, nobody will know this detail because
forever after it will be the first and last—they hear
a voice. Definitely it’s a cry, a child. Cautiously
they look into the darkness, and ominously, they smell
bear. But the boy is in there, crying, alive. They
move into the half-light inside the cave, stand still
and wait while the smell gets danker and the texture
of the stone walls weaves its details more clearly
into their vision. Then they see the animal, not a
dark hollow in the cave wall as they first thought but
the dark, round shape of a thick-furred, quiescent
she-bear lying against the wall. And then they see the
child. The bear is curled around him, protecting him
from these fierce-smelling intruders in her cave.
I don’t know what happened next. I hope they didn’t
kill the bear but instead simply reached for the
child, quietly took him up, praised Allah and this
strange mother who had worked His will, and swiftly
left the cave. I’ve searched for that part of the
story—whether they killed the bear. I’ve gone back
through news sources from river to tributary to
rivulet until I can go no further because I don’t read
Arabic. This is not a mistake or a hoax; this
happened. The baby was found with the bear in her den.
He was alive, unscarred, and perfectly well after
three days—and well fed, smelling of milk. The bear
was nursing the child.
What does it mean? How is it possible that a huge,
hungry bear would take a pitifully small, delicate h
uman child to her breast rather than rip him into
food? But she was a mammal, a mother. She was
lactating, so she must have had young of her own
somewhere—possibly killed, or dead of disease, so that
she was driven by the pure chemistry of maternity to
take this small, warm neonate to her belly and hold
him there, gently. You could read this story and
declare “impossible,” even though many witnesses have
sworn it’s true. Or you could read this story and
think of how warm lives are drawn to one another in
cold places, think of the unconquerable force of a
mother’s love, the fact of the DNA code that we share
in its great majority with other mammals—you could
think of all that and say, Of course the bear nursed
the baby. He was crying from hunger, she had milk.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
It was on this day in 1918 that the First World War came to an end. It's now considered one of the most wasteful and meaningless wars in human history, fought mainly because Austria, Serbia, Germany, Russia, France, and Great Britain got caught up in a tangle of alliances and none of them wanted to back down from a fight.
But nobody realized how the brutal the war would be, especially with the introduction of modern weapons like the machine gun, which could fire 600 bullets per minute. The machine gun turned the war into a long and intensely bloody stalemate. Most of the fighting took place along the Western front, stretching for 475 miles through Belgium and France, with about 10,000 soldiers per mile. Each side dug trenches for cover and then each tried to charge the other side, only to be mowed down by machine gun fire. There were numerous battles in which entire squadrons were wiped out in minutes. Some 260,000 French soldiers were killed in just the first month of fighting. On just one day in 1916, more than 50,000 British troops were killed without advancing a single foot. By the end of the war, on this day in 1918, 9 million soldiers had died and 21 million were wounded.
It has long been thought that the United States helped end the war by getting involved in 1917, but most historians believe that all the armies involved were ready to collapse — especially after the flu epidemic hit in 1918 — and the Germans just happened to collapse first. Rudyard Kipling was one of the millions of parents to lose a son in the war, and he wrote a poem about it that consisted of two lines: "If any question why we died, / Tell them because our fathers lied."
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
School for sale in Crawford Park
Sunday, November 4, 2007
|From: ||Sent: 30/03/2007 5:03 PM|
EXCERPT FROM ROOTS BENEATH
THE PAVEMENT, a Tribute to Verdun
by one of her reluctant children,
In retrospect, there was a strong attitude of live and let live in Verdun. I recall that when we children became old enough to go to school, eventually we would hear, of course, two different perspectives on what happened in the eighteenth century battle of the Plains of Abraham. Then we would call each other les maudis Anglais and French pea-soupers. Why? I didn't really know because my mother frequently made pea-soup which I greatly enjoyed.
Were we Verdunites of those days, generally, the consummate example of the two solitudes? Perhaps, but each solitude was buttressed by institutions that created community that fostered culture as communities do. The German poet, M. Rainier Rilke, first coined the phrase, two solitudes, in reference, as I understand, to the need of respect for one another's individual identity within a relationship. I believe, therefore, the meaning of two solitudes was not to convey the inevitability of sharp division, but the challenge for a balance in relationship; it seems to me that the Canadian novelist, Hugh MacLennan meant to convey nothing less than this in his novel, Two Solitudes, set in Montreal.
I remember the crest of Verdun, a fortress supported by two towers; beneath, are the words, E Viribus Duorum, [built on the strength] of two peoples. My perspective today, therefore, is that the Verdun of my childhood and youth, with few exceptions, was marked by tolerance, which, in spite of change in the makeup of the people, continues as an important part of Verdun's legacy.
provided by M. Laurel Buck:
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