What I’m Blogging

It was on this day in 1066 that William the Conqueror of Normandy arrived on British soil. He defeated the British in the Battle of Hastings, and on Christmas Day, he was crowned King of England in Westminster Abbey.

…one of the most diverse languages on Earth…

One of the most important consequences of the Norman conquest of England was its effect on the English language. At the time, the British were speaking a combination of Saxon and Old Norse. The Normans spoke French. Over time, the languages blended, and the result was that English became a language incredibly rich in synonyms. Because the French speakers were aristocrats, the French words often became the fancy words for things. The Saxons had “house”; the Normans gave us “mansion.” The Saxons had “cow”; the Normans gave us “beef.” The Normans gave us “excrement,” for which the Saxons had lots of four letter words. The English language has gone on accepting additions to its vocabulary ever since the Norman invasion, and it now contains more than a million words, making it one of the most diverse languages on Earth.

I‘m not sure how it works in other parts of the world, but in Canada coffee is a sacred trust. The average Canadian commuter spends about 1-2 hours on the road every day getting from home to work and back again. The only thing that keeps us sane and prevents general civil disorder and mayhem from erupting in the frozen north, are the strategically placed coffee shops along the avenues and highways of the nation. These bastions of caffeinism are the very symbol of social cohesion.

…I nearly spit the unholy mixture across my windshield…

We each have our favourites; Tim Horton’s is the most popular and most identifiable with Canada. Coffee Time, Starbucks, and others make up the rest. Being a fiercely democratic and individualistic people, Canadians also have their own unique ways of drinking the dark waters of life. You can have a regular, sweet or lite, cream only, a “double double” - twice the cream twice the sugar, or as I like it, black (as Jaun Valdez and his donkey intended coffee to be consumed). Most of us early morning road warriors pick up our fix at the drive through window. We mumble our order into the microphone, drive to the appointed window and receive the communion that powers our morning.

Now I like to get on my way after picking up my coffee. I drive down the highway for 5-10 minutes and let the coffee cool from volcanic to drinkable temperatures. While keeping my eyes firmly on the road I do the one hand lid open maneuver and consume the black gold. Ah coffee the way I like it, what could be better? Well I don’t rightly reckon I know, but I know what’s worse. Worse is taking a big swig of precious rich black coffee only to be assailed with the taste of too much sugar and too much cream! Any trace of those two elements is too much for my coffee. I nearly spit the unholy mixture across my windshield. A trust has been broken here. If a man’s home is his castle, his coffee has to be something right up there with say the front portcullis. They got my order wrong. I feel violated.

It’s the birthday of composer George Gershwin, born in Brooklyn, New York (1898). He made his name as a composer with the piece Rhapsody in Blue (1924), when he was just 26 years old.

Shakespeare tells us that “we are to the gods as flies to wanton boys. They kill us for their sport.” This may have been the case for the capricious deities of the the Greeco Roman mythology, however, the Lord Almighty, King of Kings, This That and the Other Thing, of our current Western theological happenstance prefers to merely torment us with the elements. In my current case it is rain.

…sometimes I prefer the old gods just hurling a thunder bolt and getting it all over with in one big bang…

Don’t get me wrong now, I’ve got nothing against rain per se. I’m an old farm boy and rain is generally a good thing. Like all good things it is chiefly good in moderation. When taken to excess, rain is not good for anything.

I’ve just spent the last few days cleaning up from a particularly nasty precipitational marathon, otherwise known as an “Act of God.” A torrent of rain fell on my house. It fell for hours. It fell in buckets. Being the flowing liquid element that it is, the rain, now become ground water, sought out the lowest point possible on it’s rush to the sea… namely my basement.

Now as acts of deities go, this was a pretty straight forward affair, or so it appeared. Basic, normally harmless element water, added to basement full of stuff, equals destruction of said stuff, with a mustly after smell of soaked carpets. The real sublte genius of the divine, was the creation of Insurance Companies that then use the “Act of God” excuse to excuse themselves from any form of compensation… so sorry, bye bye now.

So there you have it. God and the Insurance Companies - one, Me and mine - zero (“naught” for you British types).

You’d would think a self confident deitiy would stop there… but no! The rain is still coming, and it doesn’t matter how loud I yell Uncle! Sometimes I prefer the old gods just hurling a thunder bolt and getting it all over with in one big bang.