Hard tack…
Scientists have tended to note Hartshorne’s hypothesis but have not always taken it seriously —
it harkens back to Darwin’s presumption of an avian aesthetic and would be too hard to quantify…
But Kroodsma believes that Hartshorne is right in one crucial sense:
It is not the total number of song types that create complexity,
but the contrast between one phrase and the next…
Variability must be perceived as it goes along,
and its constant presence must indicate some evolutionary advantage…
Hartshorne,
as a believer in a God who manifests Himself in our world through the eternal unfolding of life,
heard something else in the song of birds that he was not afraid to bring up:
BLISS…
— in WHY BIRDS SING, a journey into the mystery of bird song by David Rothenberg
Less than,
a fortnight ago,
I experienced,
a dream,
in which,
I found myself,
in front,
of a series,
of Viking barbeques,
where I was taking,
outdoor grilling,
to a whole,
new level,
in the locker room,
of The Vancouver Canucks…
I hummed along,
to the sizzle,
of my own,
drum sticks,
when suddenly,
Coach V,
stepped out,
of the darkness…
He was totally,
decked out,
with the tongs,
the fork,
the timer,
the head lamp,
and a standard,
bib apron,
like a kitchen,
cowboy…
He asked me,
Are you sure,
you know,
what you’re doing???
and I felt,
my confidence,
waver,
like a candle,
in the win,
as he removed,
my rib eyes,
and replaced them,
with his own…
It’s a challenge,
not to take things,
personally,
to think they’re pervasive,
and/or permanent,
when you’re working through,
the release of,
a belief system,
and the patterned behaviour,
of undermining…
And it certainly cuts,
both ways…
Yesterday,
I heard a clinician,
tell a story,
about a participant,
and how he’s on,
his own program…
And I saw how,
the man’s face,
dropped,
when his wife echoed,
with a look,
that killed…
We’ve all seen,
the t-shirt,
that says,
Marriage is a relationship,
in which,
one person is right,
and the other,
is the husband,
and by now,
we all should know,
that this way,
of dis-honouring vows,
to love,
and to cherish,
each other,
is a crocodile,
done deed…
And we all,
at this day,
and age,
should certainly know,
a lot better…
Last Thursday,
Little Gem,
left me,
a voice mail,
full of excitement,
and the news,
I finally have,
something I’ve,
always wanted…
When I called,
to discover,
what the big deal,
was all about,
she told me,
I was at Children’s Hospital,
and I have a cast…
When I asked her,
if she was okay,
she said,
Don’t worry Mama,
it’ll be just fine,
in a week or so..
This is only,
a clean fracture…
Pip squeak(s)…
for the ear bone
is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where
once, in the lively swimmer’s head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing…
— in Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver
Sometime,
last Saturday night,
I saw,
Coach V,
some where,
ethereal…
He made casual,
inquiries,
into,
what I’ve been,
up to,
since,
the butterscotch,
sundaes,
a few years back now…
All the detail,
I had to offer,
was a certain,
Je ne sais quoi…
He thought,
on that a moment,
and said,
I’ll be,
looking forward,
to reading that,
when it’s all,
said,
and done…
The weather man,
expected flurries,
at higher elevations today,
and the traces,
were sure there,
when I went walking,
this afternoon…
It isn’t unusual,
for daughters,
to find,
nothing more,
embarrassing,
than the things,
their fathers think,
are acceptable,
to wear,
out,
in public…
Whenever Starshine,
and Little Gem,
complain,
about their Papa’s,
cycling pants,
and how they don’t,
want,
to be caught dead,
with him,
in those,
I tell them,
they don’t have a leg,
to stand on,
compared,
to my dad,
and his cutting,
of the grass,
in lederhosen…
Starshine told me,
post trade,
Raffi was THEN,
and Zack,
is NOW…
You can’t go sending,
letters bombs,
to Mike Gillis,
every time,
things,
don’t go,
your way…
I wondered,
Why not???
She said,
Because…
Like getting us fake i.d.
so you can take us,
clubbing,
it isn’t mature…
Sometimes,
maturity,
is getting old,
and sometimes,
it’s all about,
seeing,
what’s old,
as new again…
And that,
my friend,
is the perfect sense,
of a woman…
Memory lane up in the headlights... (photo: Starshine)
Dolly grip…
On March 4, 1942 22,000 Japanese Canadians were given 24 hours to pack before being interned…
They were first incarcerated in a temporary facility at Hastings Park Race Track in Vancouver…
Women, children and older people were sent to internment camps in the Interior…
Others were forced into road construction camps…
There were also “self-supporting camps”,
where 1,161 internees paid to lease farms in a less restrictive environment,
although they were still considered “enemy aliens”.
Men who complained about separation from their families,
or violated the curfew,
were sent to the “prisoner of war” camps in Ontario…
— on BritishColumbia.com, researched and written by Diana Breti for The Law Connection
You know you’re getting somewhere,
with your children,
when you can lip sync,
to Adele’s,
someone like you,
with them watching,
through the window,
while you’re waiting,
at the cashier,
to buy shrimp cakes,
and they don’t,
go bezerk…
In fact,
after dropping off,
a friend,
of Little Gem’s,
after a walk,
in the woods,
and me singing along,
to Gord Bamford,
I looked in the rear view,
and both girls,
were right there,
with me,
completely in tune,
to my daughter’s father,
like it was,
a regular day,
at the recording studio…
And when we pulled away,
from the side walk,
I heard a,
Thank you, Mama,
from the back seat…
I wondered,
For what???
She said,
For being yourself,
right from,
the very beginning…
I remember the day,
I found a poem,
filed under Documents,
on my laptop,
and three of the lines read,
Love is very mysterious
And at the same time it is the most beautiful
thing in the world…
When I asked about,
this treasure,
I was told,
in plain language,
I wrote that,
when I was mad,
at you…
The adult world,
thinks it knows,
what children see,
and imposes,
its views,
with an authority,
of ignorance…
When I want to know,
what children see,
I give the choice,
of language,
with which,
they wish,
to communicate,
their own vision(s),
and even then,
I’m well aware,
that I can’t see,
the snap shot,
the child sees,
as it is…
I can only see,
the image,
as I am…
Last Friday morning,
I returned a race horse,
to his stall,
after morning gallop,
and a hot walk…
As I stood there,
on the other side,
of the divider,
from my new,
found friend,
his owner/trainer asked,
from the darkness,
at the end,
of the aisle,
What are you doing,
with my horse???
I condensed it,
to say,
I’m showing him,
how much I BELIEVE,
in what,
his heart,
can do…
Shook me up like a leaf in a hurricane... (photo: Little Gem)
Canuck'd 