Happy Canada Day!

A Canada Day mini-film festival.

From France to Canada, and to Eternity!

In twelfth century Brittany (today part of France), the university professor, philosopher, and theologian Peter Abelard wrote a hymn in Latin: O Quanta Qualia - which can be found today in Lutheran Service Book as hymn # 675 ("Oh, What Their Joy") - a magnificently beautiful anthem that calls to mind the victory of "the blessed ones" in Christ, the "endless sabbaths" the "crowns for the valiant" and "rest" for the "weary ones."  It ends in a high doxology to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The hymn made it into English in the 19th century via translator John Mason Neale (whose own life and ministry are extraordinary!), often sung in English to the 1681 Parisian tune Antiphoner.

Hoping to find a Latin version, I ran across the above absolutely euphonic plainchant rendition, recorded by singer Azam Ali, who was born in Tehran, raised in India, lived in the United States, and now resides in Montreal.  And so Peter Abelard's French hymn written in Latin, popularized in English, has been recorded in French Canada by a Persian singer - in its original Gregorian form.  It is simply magnificent!  I have never heard of Azam Ali, and I discovered this video by accident - or should I say, serendipity.  What a delight!  This version of O Quanta Qualia appears on Miss Ali's 2002 album Point of Grace, a multilingual collection which features medieval music sung in Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Arabic.

Could Peter Abelard have ever imagined that his Latin hymn would have made such a journey through time, space, and nationality from 12th century France, being sung by 20th century Lutherans after being translated into English by an 19th century Anglican priest who was named after a Puritan but who became a persecuted high churchman of the Oxford Movement, then being recorded in Latin by an Iranian-Indian-Canadian and listened to worldwide on iTunes and YouTube in the 21st century?

That is a long way indeed!

And yet this is nothing compared to the eternity confessed by the hymn:

We, where no trouble distraction can bring,
Safely the anthems of Zion shall sing;
While for Your grace, Lord their voices of praise
Your blessed people shall evermore raise.

Amen!

Best of "I AM CANADIAN" (plus bonus, eh?)

Bonne Année and Happy 20!

Today is the 20th anniversary of our first date at Parliament Hill in Ottawa!  Quite a bit has changed in the last two decades, including the advent of our son (who turns seven in a fortnight)!

Below is a pic taken five years ago at Parliament Hill.  Happy New Year, everyone!  Bonne Année and Happy Twenty Years, Miss Grace!  Here's to Auld Lang Syne, Veuve Clicquot, and the next 20 years of fighting the Sassenach!

Why we still need seminaries...

If this is a joke, they fooled CNN.

Flower of Scotland and the world since '68

This is a very early performance (1968) of the Corries singing Flower of Scotland, which has since become the (unofficial) National Anthem of Scotland.

And the world has changed considerably since '68.

In the spirit of Flower's theme, there has been a decisive global move toward devolution, home-rule, and self-determination. In 1999, Scotland seated its own national parliament for the first time in centuries. The pro-independence Scottish National Party not only openly holds seats in the government, but at this time, holds the most seats of any party (though lacking a majority)..

The Soviet Union, so mighty in 1968, is but a memory, having been devolved through peaceful secession into smaller republics in 1991. The Iron Curtain (1945-1989) and the Berlin Wall (1961-1989) are no more. Even Czechoslovakia managed to have a peaceful split into two smaller nations in 1992.  It goes without saying that orderly devolution is far more peaceful and less disruptive of hearth and home than violent revolution.

And the momentum has carried the spirit of independence across the Atlantic.  In 1995, Canada did not prevent the people of Québec (whose own parliament was renamed the National Assembly in 1968) to hold a referendum on independence (it failed by less than a single percent). In our own day, secession is being openly discussed in American political discourse, and both Left and Right have rediscovered the great American virtue of nullification.

The spirit of Flower of Scotland transcends the hopes and dreams of the Scots highlanders and lowlanders.  It is the universal spirit of freedom, of the throwing off of the chains of tyranny, of reminding government that it is our servant, not our master, and sending them homeward "tae think again."

Lutherans in Africa!

Pr. Jonathan Fisk, in his unique and kinetic style, gives us the skinny about Lutherans in Africa, especially the work of the Rev. James May and his family, and how we can help - especially by providing hymnals to Lutheran pastors and congregations.

There are more Lutherans in Madagascar than there are in North America. Christianity (including Lutheran Christianity) is exploding in Africa. The newly-released French Lutheran hymnal from Canada is a wonderful resource for the large swath of Africa where the French language is still widely spoken.

Let us keep our African brethren in our prayers.

O Canada!

Happy Canada Day, Bonne Fête du Canada!

Bonus: Here is the greatest Canadian commercial ever, as well as a PG-13 spoof of that same spot with a Québécois spin. Here is another Molson Canadian commercial entitled "No doot aboot it," and the sequel.

Feel "strong and free" to find your inner Canadian today by cracking open a Molson Canadian, a Labatt's Blue, or a Moosehead, listening to an old Rush album (or other classic Canadian rock), putting on some hockey reruns, enjoying the CFL season kickoff, and if you've had enough Canadian beer, settle in with a viewing of Strange Brew.

And one of the best things about Canadians is their sense of humour (with a "u"): check out this video, please (politeness is a must).

So here's to Canada: "More square feet of awesomeness per person than any other nation on earth!"

Mrs. H. (right) and friend, Canada Day 1988 in Ottawa

Dog Sledding in Quebec

In 1990, I went on a dog sledding trip in Quebec. I previously posted my pictures here. This was a magnificently beautiful rural region in Quebec near the village of Rapides-des-Joachims ("Swisha"). It really was in the middle of nowhere. The village itself was so remote that they lived in a kind of libertarian anarchy of coexisting French and English speakers. The nearest police were 200 km away. There was no crime to speak of, because the village basically policed itself. I have never heard pure, unadulterated quiet until I took a little walk out of our cabin into the wilderness. The blood in my own veins and my heart beating was all I could hear. It was indescribable. Also, I was the only person who spoke English primarily. The only time anyone spoke English was to converse with me.

The guy on the video "training" me (and what you see really was the extend of my training) was learning English. We had a blast together, as I tried to speak French to his English. When we were stymied, I had a pocket-sized electronic translator that came in handy.

We stayed in cabins, and really did eat boeuf bourguignon and drank wine. I guess North American French people are basically the same, be they Canadians or Cajuns. They love food, music, fun, the outdoors, and joking around. The trails were pretty difficult for beginners. I took several spills, but never let go. My legs were pretty bruised. At one point, we hit a frozen lake, and the dogs "opened up" the throttles to unbelievable speeds. I think aside from eating, that was the dogs' favorite part.

The weather was perfect - sunny and clear, and just below freezing. At night, however, the cabins were pretty brutal by the morning (after the stove went out). We cooked breakfast on the griddle, and sweetened our coffee with maple syrup.

I had no idea until I got there, but a Canadian TV crew from On The Road Again was along for our expedition. There were really only a couple guys, and they were for the most part invisible. They shot their footage and stayed out of the way. The above video is from a VHS of the program - which was copied for me by my friend Jacques - one of the guys on the video who had (has?) a corn farm in Quebec. All things considered, the quality of the video isn't too bad.

Last I checked, Daniel is still a guide in the Dumoine Valley. Les Guides still offer dog sledding and other activities. At the time, Daniel told me about their summer moose expeditions. That sounds pretty cool, you have to admit.

Leo says he would like to go dog sledding. Man, that was twenty years ago, and was a good bit of exertion back then. I guess I had better stay in shape!

Quality of Life Worldwide

Some interesting findings in the 2010 Mercer Quality of Living survey.

This year's top city in terms of quality of life was judged to be Vienna. The small-government, neutral, and guns-and-gold friendly Switzerland has three of the top ten cities, including number two Zurich and number three Geneva.

The top American city (Honolulu) came in a disappointing 31st, well behind Canada's top five cities of Vancouver (4), Ottawa (14), Toronto (16), Montreal (21), and Calgary (28).

Of course, such surveys are rather subjective. But this is an interesting snapshot of our changing world and America's current place in it.

Leo's Favorite Song...

...at least in the pop/rock genre. I'm not sure how it stacks up against the themes to Spider-Man or Dino-Squad. Iron-Man (the cartoon) may also have Leo-approved music - I'm not sure. But he does like rock and roll - and he assures me that "Rusted From the Rain" by the Canadian band Billy Talent is his fave. Maybe it has to do with his heritage from the Great White North. But for whatever reason, he enjoys both music and video.

The video is quite nice, but was removed from YouTube (I had previously blogged it along with how I found it). But it is available above. One would think that YouTube would be the place a band would want a promotional video to be - but that's not my call.

In case any of the Billy Talent guys are reading, though, y'all might want to get your manager on the horn and ask them if they're on drugs...

Anyway, a couple observations. There are Christological themes in the song and video. "Rust" is a form of corrosion, of corruption, something of the post-fall paradigm. To be "rusted from the rain" is really to be beat down by this fallen world. The main character in the video has indeed been beaten down. He looks weary. He is obviously marginalized. He is an outcast.

And yet, he is patiently and without fanfare taking the junk of the fallen world and redeeming it. He works without recognition in his redemptive work. And in the end, the darkness becomes light, ugliness becomes beauty, the rust yields to luster, junkyard chaos becomes an oasis of concord, and the redeemer-artisan is surrounded by happy children who benefit from his labors.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy today's FH "Canadian content" musical interlude.

PS: The line about being "crushed like a flower" is also vaguely familiar. It may have been from Hammer of God, Diary of the Country Priest, or from the writings of St. Thérèse of Lisieux - maybe Deacon Gaba knows.

My Day as a Flâneur

My friend and brother in Christ, Deacon Latif Gaba, posted this wonderful reminder to enjoy life, encouraging his readers to be flâneurs in their own cities. If you don't know the term flâneur (as I didn't), I would encourage you to read Br. Latif's blog post The Virtue of the Flaneur. It is a treat.

I took Br. Latif's advice yesterday, being a flâneur in New Orleans - more specifically the French Quarter.

I have to say that it was a glorious experience.

It has been so long since I have had a true day off, I forgot what it means to relax, to be a flâneur. Now that the Lenten and Holy Week flurry of activity has ended, and now that school is out all week, I am trying to catch up on some relaxation. The way that I speak of it as a "to do" item demonstrates that I really need to pay heed to Deacon Gaba's admonition - as well as that of some of my own parishioners (you know who you are, and I really appreciate your concern and desire to take care of your shepherd).

Mrs. H and Leo are spending their days this week in French Camp. It is run by Lango Kids and held in New Orleans at one of the campuses of Ecole Bilingue de la Nouvelle Orleans, a local French immersion preschool and grade school. Mrs. H., a native Canadienne whose first language was French, is serving as a teacher's aid - which enables Leo to attend gratuis. They are having a great time.

Though I don't like to be separated from the fam, it is allowing me some quiet time, time to reflect, to relax, and even to get some work done at a slower pace and in a more contemplative setting.

Yesterday morning, I walked to the French Quarter from my front door. And yes, I did walk across the Mississippi River. Unlike our blessed Lord, I required the assistance of a boat. The Gretna Ferry now connects us West Bankers to the Canal Street ferry station. Walking to the Quarter is describable in no other way than by the French injection: Super-cool! It was also free, at least as far as any government operation is free (in other words, it is paid for by property taxes and other government funding schemes).

The ride was a relaxing twenty minute cruise along the bend of the Mississippi, water spraying as the ferry cut its way through the rapid currents near the mouth of the world's third largest river.

The weather was a glorious 70-something with the sun shining upon Canal Street as I headed toward the French Quarter with my backpack. I carried only the essentials: books, notebook, camera, and more books. I did leave room in the backpack for books, as there are some magnificent bookstores in the Vieux Carré. I did break a strap on my backpack (I wonder how that happened...), but that was a little later in the adventure.

There are always tourists in the city, in various degrees of sobriety, from every imaginable socio-economic level, of every race, and speaking many languages. There are also plenty of locals - both residents of the Quarter and flâneurs like me out for a stroll. It is never difficult to find French-speakers in New Orleans. Although we are nowhere near as francophone as the parishes to our west, there is still a remnant dating back to the age of the deportation of the Acadians, to the era of the Creoles, and even further back to the age of French colonialism to account for the language's survival even to the 21st century.

Near the St. Louis Cathedral (which viewers of The Princess and the Frog will recognize), I found a little French import store. I wandered in and was greeted with a "bonjour" by the friendly and proper frenchwoman behind the counter. We chatted in French, which means she spoke beautiful native Parisian while I stammered - but my interlocutress was most gracious and patient.

It turns out that she is not the owner, but was helping out her friend who owns the shop - which features elegant French knick-knacks, clocks, artwork, soaps, etc. In fact, she is actually a French teacher who works at Alliance Française de La Nouvelle-Orléans. Her father was born in Paris and her mother was born in a small town in Québec. She lives in New Orleans full time now, and isn't fond of our hot summers, but prefers them to the cold Canadian winters.

We had a delightful conversation - about 90% of which was in French - at least insofar as my own attempts can be classified as a recognizable version of the language. My own experience with French people is far from the stereotype of Gallic arrogance and rudeness. Like this temporary shopkeepress, I have found most French people - be they European, Canadian, or Lousianian - to be kind, polite, easy-going, and filled with joie-de-vivre.

I wondered around the streets of the Quarter with no particular place to go, in no particular hurry, not wanting to see anything in particular. I snapped a few pics here and there. I did visit William Faulker's old house on Pirate's Alley - which is today one of the landmark French Quarter bookstores. While there, I picked up yet another copy of the bookstore map - that is, the map showing the various bookstores in the Quarter. Have I mentioned books yet?

Strolling north of the Cathedral on Orleans Street, I visited the Acadian Bookstore. The owner has signs on the window indicating that he is also a French speaker as well as being a supporter of CODOFIL - an agency dedicated to the promotion of the French language in Louisiana. It is a sad reality that most young people do not speak French - whereas their grandparents often did. The state constitution of nearly a century ago forbade the use of French in public life - including in the public schools (where children were given corporal punishment for speaking French). That ill-advised policy nearly rendered Cajun French extinct. Fortunately, there are those (like CODOFIL) working to resurrect the language. They have made inroads among the young.

The Arcadian Bookstore is what a bookstore should look like. It contains a wonderfully disordered sense of order - the owner knowing precisely where to find any genre amid the anarchic and chaotic stacks and piles. The only thing missing was the typical bookstore cat - and he may have been lost in the stacks anyway. A bracket was laid diagonally connecting two stacks of books. It contained more books in addition to an electric fan. I hit the jackpot, finding the stash of books pertaining to Latin pedagogy - not to mention hundreds of French language books. To Mrs. H.'s relief and delight, I restrained myself, only purchasing two inexpensive Latin titles. But it was a fun place to hang out.

The Crescent City Books has a completely different feel, but was also a bibliophile's delight - with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, old couches, and rickety stairs connecting to even more books.

Contrary to what most book-lovers would like to believe, man cannot live on books alone. It was time to eat. I have always wanted to dine at the Napoleon House. And so that is exactly what I did. The Napoleon House is just that, a house - a building built as a private residence at 500 Chartres Street (at the corner of St. Louis) for the mayor (Nicholas Girod) in 1797.

In 1821, Dominique You, the half-brother of the famous pirate Jean Lafitte (it is impossible to write about New Orleans without the word "pirate" - and I have done so twice already- I think it is part of the Napoleonic Code as a literary requirement) was persuaded to hatch a plan to liberate the deposed French Emperor Napoleon (living in exile at St. Helena) and move him to New Orleans, with the intent of putting him up in this very house. Napoleon died that year, which ended the plot. But his personal physician, F. C. Antommarchi, did move into the house and practiced medicine there for some 13 years. This is why the State of Louisiana has one of the three death masks made of Napoleon Bonaparte - housed in the New Orleans Cabildo Museum next to the St. Louis Cathedral (the other two are in Paris).

The Napoleon House was purchased by the Impastato family in 1914, and remains in their possession to this day. The house was converted to a landmark restaurant and bar, and is still run by the family. It features open beams, peeling plaster, and a wood floor. The doors and windows are wide open. There is no air conditioner, as ceiling fans move the breeze around. I was seated at a small round wooden table next to one of the plastered brick walls. Graffiti abounds - not the crude and crass variety, but rather various odes and proclamations of love to the city. I watched the horse-and buggy roll by outside, observed every kind of person walk past - from well-heeled conventioneers to liberally-tattooed local denizens. Classical music plays as the waiters and bartender efficiently and yet with great warmth ply their trade - clad smartly in traditional white shirts and black bow ties. There is additional seating available in a peaceful little courtyard in back, featuring a fountain and banana trees.

Lunch was a pleasurable experience consisting of an Italian sausage po-boy and a Stella Artois. I did some writing before and after my meal: old fashioned pen-on-notebook - no laptop, no MicroSoft Word. No hurries and no worries. It was sheer delight.

And here is a video that captures the essence of the Napoleon House.

After lunch, I continued to wander to and fro, finally heading back towards the Cathedral. I decided to drop back into the little French store, realizing that I had not taken any pictures to show Mrs. H. or to share with Fr. H. readers. Upon entering, it became apparent that the nice French lady had been replaced by her less cordial friend - whose mannerisms and speech came across in a more stereotypically French way. It was really rather comical.

When I asked if I could take a couple pictures, she scowled: "No!"

I smiled and said "Pas de probleme."

She then barked back with great suspicion in a heavy accent: "Why do you want to take pictures of my store?" perhaps supposing me to be a terrorist or a rival importer of French goods looking for trade secrets.

I replied: "Because your store is so beautiful."

"I know it's beautiful" she replied, tossing her head back in an exaggerated gesture of pride. "But why do you want to take pictures?"

I did my best Gallic shrug and repeated that I understood her prohibition: "Ce n'est pas une problem."

So, I won't give her store a plug or a recommendation. Pas de problem. But in this day and age, courtesy is a nice policy, as anyone with a camera could be uploading a full video to YouTube. You just never know. So, I won't mention the name of the store or give it a bad report, but will try again at a later time. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Or she may be the living stereotype of French hauteur that has actually pretty-much evaded me until now.

In spite of this little blip of unusual rudeness, my time as a flâneur did not end on a sour note. The sun was still shining, the air still exuded the scent of flowers, the streets and shops and buildings were still every bit as charming as before. C'est la vie.

I strolled back by the Cathedral where a brass band was playing and a man had hair dyed the same color as the magnificent azaleas that were in full bloom. Jackson Square was all gated up in preparation for the upcoming French Quarter Festival, as workers put finishing touches on equipment. From St. Peter Street, I headed back to Canal Street to the ferry ride home.

The set of pictures of my little adventure as a flâneur can be found here.

Ham Radio and the (Really!) Great White North

On a Tuesday afternoon, August 1, 1978, I tuned in a radio station called VE8RCS.

This was an amateur radio station that also happened to be the most northern radio station in the world (450 nautical miles from the north pole), located at a small Canadian weather/military outpost in Alert, Canada - at that time part of the Northwest Territories (now Nunavut).

And at that time, I also lived up north (in Ohio, which is downright tropical by comparison to Alert) and I also had an amateur radio station - WB8VNR (which is still my call-sign today).

I tuned in VE8RCS on the 20 meter ham band (14.162 MHz) at 1758 Greenwich Mean Time. The operator, Brock, was using voice communication. I could not contact him by voice, as the FCC only allowed for Morse Code communications for American radio stations in that portion of the 20 meter band. So, when he finished his previous contact, I called to him in Morse code.

Brock was a little surprised, but we carried on a nice conversation - he using a microphone and I responding using a telegraph key. It was a little unusual, but worked out just fine. I received a QSL card from VE8RCS to confirm our contact. It is shown above. This was a more memorable QSO (contact).

I ran across the card today, and was curious about whether or not the station is still there.

So using technology that we take for granted today that didn't exist in 1978, I went to www.qrz.com, and found out the rest of the story, which is found here. Since May 15, 1997, VE8RCS is no more. But it was temporarily revived in 2008 for the 50th anniversary of the radio station. A more complete history is found here.

Until today, I had no idea that in 1978 (32 years ago, when I was 14 years old), amateur radio was the only means of communication between Alert and the world, and that men were stationed there for six months at a time. Nor did I know that this was considered the most sought after radio contact in the world (followed by KC4AAA, the American Antarctic station, and JY1A, the King of Jordan).

Time and technology have turned my contact with VE8RCS into a thing of the past. But it was a great thing that ham radio was able to keep the guys stationed there in communication with the outside world, and did so for decades.

I do hope they keep some amateur radio equipment there "just in case." In a climate like that, I imagine it is wise to be "alert."

Government at Work

In his letter to the Romans (13:1-7), St. Paul instructs us that government is sent by God to keep order, and we are obliged to obey the law and subject ourselves to the "higher authorities." However, government itself is obliged to likewise submit to "higher authorities" - especially its own obligation to act out of protection of its citizens and the motivation to do good and restrain evil. Government at all levels is prone to corruption and the perils of "absolute power."

Hence, part of the exhortation of Romans 13 is for government to obey the moral law and any other limits imposed on the government by the law itself.

In 1849, Henry David Thoreau wrote: "That government is best which governs least" (a quote sometimes incorrectly attributed to Jefferson or Paine). Since this writing, we've seen such worldwide exponential growth in government as : the American federal government's complete takeover of the states, the centralization of Italy and Germany, the creation of the American Federal Reserve and the IMF and World Bank, two world wars, the Great Depression, the rise and fall of worldwide Communism, the press for a united European state, and the rise of the post-WW2 American superstate. In the 20th century alone, government has killed 203,000,000 people.

Some recent arbitrary and ridiculous examples of why small government is better than big government:

• Lap dancing teachers get "punishment by paid vacation"
• Private citizen prosecuted for not handing over a coin found on private property as a child
• Government takes money from citizens to buy 7,000 olympic personnel 14 "free" condoms a day, and sends more when that runs out
• Heroic county bureaucrats ban coffee and doughnuts at hardware store

Bonus: a commenter on this last story wrote:

Stop me when this sounds familiar:

Step 1: You are free to do XYZ.

Step 2: You are free to do XYZ, but you must ask permission first.

Step 3: You are free to do XYZ, after getting permission, but are subject to reasonable "health and safety" regulations.

Step 4: You are free to do XYZ, but only after applying for a permit or license, paying the fee and getting permission. XYZ is subject to a variety of restrictions and regulations for the good of the community.

Step 5: You are free to do XYZ, but only if you are a member of a class with a certain kind of education or training and accredited by an "independent" XYZ organization or association. You must apply for a license with a steep price tag, and only a few licenses are available each year. XYZ is heavily regulated and managed by distant government bureaucrats. Cottage industries spring up to navigate you through the legal, procedural, and insurance issues involved with doing XYZ.

What's step 6? Come on, everyone, you know it.

Even a cursory glance at the news on the internet on a day to day basis is chock full of the folly of government - even here in my small city Gretna, Louisiana (the Louisiana part should have been a giveaway of funny business). And the one guy on the City Council who is saying what needs to be said is himself a crook.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Since government officials are God's ministers, they should be held to the same standards of conduct that you would expect of any other minister. We should not allow government officials to use Romans 13 as a fig leaf to cover their own misdeeds.

If you're being tired of being taxed and controlled to the hilt by corrupt government at all levels, you might want to read this book. It also explains why the majority of Americans now believe this about their own federal government and several states are starting to decentralize and wrest control back from the feds. And when you are ready to hold government accountable, you might want to read Lew Rockwell every day instead of the MSM and pro-government talk radio mouthpieces from the left and the right who all complain about Big Government and then propose the solution: Bigger Government.

Annual Mardi Gras "Debauchery"

Another glorious Mardi Gras is here (we just shifted the party from the church parking lot, where Grela and Bes rode past, to home), and I still have not received an apology from the pastor from a certain potato-producing state who has never been to New Orleans in his life, but felt qualified to use our beloved tradition of Mardi Gras parades as an illustration about sin in a popular Lutheran devotional the day before Ash Wednesday a couple years ago.

My congregation was not impressed.

The potato pastor was called on it. He was asked to retract it. He was even invited to come and join us for a real New Orleans Mardi Gras. But instead of joining us for the party, he dourly stood by his insulting words and just blew us off. Nice. Having grown up in Ohio, I know that the cold weather (especially this time of year) can certainly make one's world rather gray and drab. But why is it that the cold doesn't turn Canadians (nor Wisconsinites and Minnesotans) into wet blankets and scolds? That is one of the great mysteries of North American culture.

Well, it's his loss. Although the weather was chilly, it was beautifully clear. For yet another year, we had a wonderful time of family fun (you can see pictures of the "debauchery" here - note all the children, both tossing and receiving beads, stuffed animals, candy, and toys. Quelle scandale! Well, one of our cats (who, incidentally, was not wearing a stitch of clothing) did vomit when we got home. And I did manage to drink an entire Corona over the course of the day. I can just hear some of my more northerly brethren clicking their tongues from here. Tsk tsk.

And, incidentally, I am only kidding. It is Fat Tuesday, after all.

The mood this year was rather footbally, as this years Carnival colors (green, purple, and yellow) were augmented by a healthy dose of black and gold. I got some really nice fleur-de-lis throws. There were quite a few spontaneous chants of "Who dat?" and eruptions of the anthemic Stand Up and Get Crunk - especially as one of the Saints' players rode past us in one of today's parades. For his part, Leo was very excited to get a couple sets of beads featuring insects and spiders (as well as a crab and an octopus) from "Aunt Jean," who rode in the parade and was "scandalously" tossing beads from the Charlotte's Web float with her daughter and granddaughter. Leo was replete with joy. I immediately thought of the Nunc Dimittis: "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace" - Leo's life had become complete at that point.

However, I half expect to see Jean's parade picture make the cover of Lutheran Witness as an example of sin - especially as payback from angry Colts fans.

Sigh.

Who dat?

We dat!

The Olympics are Underway!

The Hollywoods are doing something kind of rare - watching TV. The opening ceremonies of the winter Olympics are on the telly.

Mrs. H. is drooling over Vancouver - her hometown for a brief period. It is also one of my favorite cities. My first visit to Vancouver was unforgettable, thanks to my cousin and her husband who lived there at the time. My first exposure to Indian food was in Vancouver. I've always found it clean, beautiful, cosmopolitan, and quintessentially Canadian. And in the Hollywood household - at least among the human denizens - the Canadians outnumber the non-Canadians two to one.

The athletes have just finished parading in. Canada has just made its entrance to the roars of the crowd. I could do without the disturbing idols set up on the stage, though. But political correctness is part of Canadian (and Olympic) culture.

The Canadian national anthem is rather shocking - mentioning both "God" and "the cross." Strangely, this is not the stuff of lawsuits in the Great White North. It is sad, however, to see that O Canada is now being warbled up American Idol style in the same way that the Star Spangled Banner is routinely butchered. It is a pretty awesome thing to see the Maple Leaf brought in by a unit of Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Hopefully, all the athletes will be safe and there will be no more fatal mishaps as happened to Georgia's luger, Nodar Kumaritashvili, in whose memory the games are being dedicated.

Your Complimentary 80s Flashback

During an expedition to Walgreen's today, I heard the above 80s anthem by the Canadian band "Glass Tiger" (with fellow Canuck Bryan Adams singing background vocals).

And before Brother Latif gets all excited that this is going to be about the decade of the Sixth Ecumenical Council (Constantinople III), this video is actually the 1980s, not the 680s. The music of the 7th century was indeed fantastic, but unfortunately there was no G-TV for Gregorian chant. Sorry, Bro!

You gotta hand it to Walgreen's - they do play quite a wide swath of music. But then again, it also means that my generation is now starting to make its way to the pharmacy more often. Uh-oh...

Back in the day, my metal-head friends and I used to make fun of this song. And now, more than 20 years in retrospect, it is delightfully dated. So, get out your 80s Bingo cards (is there such a thing?), and watch this video.

Of course, the "free space" in the middle is for "big hair."

Bingo!

Differences on Winter

My dear esteemed northern colleagues, churchmen Father William and Brother Latif, are both singing the praises of winter as most of the country is in a cold snap. Their enthusiasm reminds me of my time at Fort Wayne attending seminary. My brethren from Minnesota made a point to wear shorts year-round - even during blizzards. I would be bundled in a parka, fur hat, boots, and elbow-length mittens while they strolled around campus looking like half-naked savages. All that was missing was for them to be slurping on ice cream cones or orange push-ups. I like my brothers from Minnesota, but I could not help but view them as specimens from another species.

I grew up in Northern Ohio, not far from the swirling hiemal blasts off Lake Erie, and Mrs. H. grew up in the second coldest national capital on the planet (Ottawa, the capital of Canada). However, both of us have reached the same conclusion: we don't care if we ever see ice and snow again. By far, we prefer palm trees, lush tropical foliage, citrus fruits, banana trees, and bulbs popping up in mid-February over the necessity of scraping ice off of windshields and getting slush inside the boots (though Mrs. H. still retains a perverse pleasure in shoveling snow, though this is almost certainly the result of a childhood trauma or some such...).

Of course, chacun à son goût (to each his own) and all that. But as for me, today was more than enough winter than any warm blooded mammal should ever have to endure. I mean, I had to wear a leather coat, a scarf (originally purchased in Cleveland), and a fur police hat made in a country that no longer exists, as the mercury dipped scandalously below 40 degrees F (a meteorological phenomenon which my in-laws in the Great White North would consider "balmy").

There are a couple saving graces to this inhuman level of frigidity: the temperatures will be back in the 70s in a few days (God be praised!), and the oranges and lemons are pretty much ripe, serving to remind us that even though global warming is a hoax, the sun still has the ability to bring glorious fruits to maturity unimpeded by the kind of weather that folks in Illinois and Wisconsin find attractive.

But as for the cold, I've had enough. I'm ready to go back to shorts, sandals, and tee shirts any day now...



Postscript: Add Father Christopher to the list of "snow people." Brrr!

It's aboot time...

What a joy to see Canadians taking a stand against tyrannical government - especially since two thirds of the people living in my house are Canadian citizens.

The so-called and Orwellian named Human Rights Commissions (both national and provincial) are a stench in the nostrils of any human being who believes in liberty. They are a blot on the long Anglo-Saxon tradition of fundamental freedom and the rule of law.

We don't have exactly the same type of quasi-judicial bodies in the U.S. (yet), but the creeping police state is making use of a similar principle - the use of "implied contracts" to take away our fundamental liberties - even those freedoms explicitly protected by the Bill of Rights.

For example, the courts routinely rule that by signing up for a driver's license, you are surrendering your 4th Amendment rights against unreasonable search and seizure. In other words, police officers may detain and question any driver without a warrant or reasonable suspicion. Why? Because, by signing his driver's license, the driver has waived his rights.

A similar trick is used when matters that should be criminal are redefined as civil. For example, our speed and red light cameras in Gretna, Louisiana operate under the color of law by creating a system by which drivers can be fined without due process, with no witnesses, and with no evidence that the person has broken any law - and there is no judicial recourse. Such fines are civil matters, and the normal constitutional protections do not apply.

While such tyranny is minor at this point, and can be avoided by driving at 25 mph at all times in my otherwise wisely governed hometown of Gretna (the speed cameras are mobile and attached to a little white van and are often set up where the speed limit is not explicitly stated), what has happened in Canada is that Christians are being fined thousands of dollars for simply expressing the opinion that they agree with Holy Scripture. Pastors can (and have been) brought before these extrajudicial star-chambers and given fines in the thousands of dollars.

I had previously posted this video of Canadian freedom-fighter Ezra Levant's testimony before the HRC that he was summoned to. Compelling stuff.

Liberty is not just an American slogan. All people around the world crave liberty. Nobody wants to be ruled by tyrants. We all want freedom. And woe be to those who want to take or withhold liberty from people determined to have it. Both liberty and government are gifts of God, but when government tramples on our liberties - especially our freedom to preach the Gospel - it's time for those governments to change.

Bully for the Canadians!

HT: Rev. Mike Keith, the Scottish Lutheran.