I am still attempting to elicit a response, since January 24th, other than “he’ll get back to you”, from our lawyer. He holds funds in trust for us and I simply want to know if they were paid out to the government. This is not a complicated question, yes or no, so I fear that the reason that we are not getting a response is that the funds are still held in trust and are gathering interest in the lawyers account. It could be worse than that, or it might be that he is busy with other things and even a simple answer is takes too much time out of his busy schedule. I hate having to wheedle for information that I feel should be forthcoming. But we need to know, so wheedle I must.
The weather is warmer this morning, only -14C just outside my kitchen window. It will take another day or two for the interior of the house to recover itself to a comfortable temperature. It is easy enough to bundle up until it warms up in here.
It is snowing. It is very pretty.
Today I am pondering reality. I know it is a malleable, chaotic entity, subject to endless debate, object of countless universalizations. I know that my reality intersects with the reality of the other, to varying degrees. I am thinking about two comments made to me by intimate friends, one a brilliant intellect, the other a brilliant musician. Of the academy, my intellectual friend told me, “it isn’t what you think it is”. He was right of course, my idealistic view of how knowledge is generated by scholars was sadly just that, idealistic. Of the experience of “normal” human interactions and social structures, my musician friend told me, “I hope you never find out.” What a beautiful wish he had for me, a kind and loving wish. I did find out though, about the numbing mediocrity that sustains progress, defines normal; but I also found out that nothing is so powerful that it never fails, including mediocrity, indifference and evil. Honour and beauty, truth and kindness may not always win, nor do they always fail.
As a small child I acquired language with a colloquial Scottish accent, for which I was ridiculed at school. It was my Great Great Grandfather who hailed from Scotland on the one side, and his wife’s parents on the other side of the family. A close knit family, the accent came down the generations to me, a gift. I met my Great Grandfather when I was a babe in arms. These ancestors, who came to Canada with their dreams and determination are a part of my makeup, both physically and psychically. For that reason the essence of the performance below speaks to me directly. When I play my bodhran, this is the spiritual experience I am having; alone and strong in the bush. Attila says my tongue is as strong as my spirit; slow to anger and passionate if roused. That’s me.
More information about this band at http://www.albannachmusic.com/
Pressure: 103.0 kPa
Visibility: 2 km
Humidity: 83 %
Wind: NE 5 km/h
Wind Chill: -17
“I passionately hate the idea of being with it, I think an artist has always to be out of step with his time.”
1915 – 1985
“Albannach in Scots Gaelic means “Scotsman”.
And Scots they are, born and bred; Jamesie, Jacquie, Donnie, Aya, and Colin write and perform tribal music with roots set firmly in their native soil’s haunting ballads and ancient war songs. A traditional pipe band they’re not… you’ll probably never see them march in a parade. But Albannach’s rhythms and melodies take you back to that bygone time when pipes and songs were banned because of the power they have to stir stout hearts and Celtic souls. Ye canna resist…”