http://www.chfi.com

“It is often said that one has but one life to live, but that’s nonsense. For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in many parts of the world, in all periods of time.” Louis L’Amour from Education of a Wandering Man, published by Bantam, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the July 1994 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine. The author certainly gave us an opportunity to experience what it might have been like to live in the Old West.

We are turning to the “artificial” in increasing numbers. We spend an increasing amount of time on the Internet. In fact, a whole new generation would much rather spend their free time in that “virtual” world than in the “real” world. They are more comfortable exploring cyberspace than they are their own space in the backyard.

This past weekend, there was an interview with the great wildlife artist, Robert Bateman, in the Saturday edition of the Toronto Sun newspaper. He was reminiscing about all the times spent in the outdoors with his family. He also remembered the many times he went exploring on his own. I did the same thing, too. I can’t tell you how many weekends I spent with friends exploring the countryside around where I grew up. My friends and I left no stone unturned, no woods unexplored, no creek and stream undiscovered. We were familiar with all of nature in every season. There was no virtual world in those days, unless you count Saturday morning cartoons or the books we read. If you wanted to escape the “real” world, you picked up a book and got lost in the make-believe world of a writer’s imagination. At night, we looked up and marveled at the stars in the heavens.  There wasn’t a lot of light pollution in those days. There were very few lit billboards and tall buildings were mostly dark at night. Busy thoroughfares, like Yonge Street, still had their marquees lit, but the harsh glare seemed to fade just a few blocks away. Now, instead of being outside in the warm sunshine, we want to get lost in a virtual world, lit by all the gaudy neon lights of the new “Wild West.”

In the Star Trek universe, the crew was entertained in a virtual world on-board the spaceship. It was called the “Holo-Deck,” a room where they could create any setting or world and interact with computer-generated figures. If they wanted to climb a mountain, they could do so, the simulation created was that “real.” In one of the series, the captain interacted with a computer-generated Leonardo da Vinci. She sought his counsel when she needed a fresh perspective on a problem. In another series, the chief engineer needed to run a simulation concerning the engines. The only safe environment to do this was a “simulated” one.  He could “conjure up” the engine’s original designers from information in the database and figure out how to get around a problem before testing it out on the real engines. That’s a virtual world that seems intriguing to me. In our world, “virtual reality” is very rudimentary. We’re a long way from being immersed in a false environment that for all intents and purposes feels ”real.” We see headgear being worn to simulate a virtual world for the eyes. One game system allows the user to wield a “wand” to simulate sporting activities. I think I’d much prefer to play the game itself outdoors. I’m not against technology, so let’s clear that up right away. I just think our world outdoors offers more adventures than any man-made environment.

In Star Trek: The Next Generation, Captain Picard had a book under glass in his ready-room off the ship’s main bridge. In Gene Roddenberry’s vision of the future, books had all but disappeared. All the literature of the world was available to be read on a computer screen, but there was something tactile that the captain missed by not holding a book in his hands. That book was held in high esteem. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the book was. If a reader to this blog remembers, I’d like to know. Send me a note…

Books are still the most sought-after product on the Internet. In today’s world, we haven’t completely done away with one in favor of the other. Not yet, anyway. 26,312 people in 48 countries were surveyed by Neilsen Online. 48 percent of users of the Internet had bought books online. Some authors have produced e-books available to be read only on your computer. But we seem to still favor holding the book in our hands, as Captain Picard did. The source for those figures was BBC News and the Thursday January 31st, 2008, issue of The Globe and Mail’s Social Studies column. Books are still a virtual world that most of this world seems truly comfortable with.

In one segment of my radio program tonight, I discuss how we love to get so caught up in a book that we’ll even stay up through a long night of reading just to find out how the story ends and how our fictional friends fare. We know the characters aren’t real, but if the story is compelling enough, we just can’t put the book down. It reminds me of this quote: “Books say, ‘She did this because.’ Life says, “She did this.’ Books are where things are explained to you; life is where things aren’t. I’m not surprised some people prefer books. Books make sense. The only problem is that the lives they make sense of are other people’s lives, never your own.” Julian Barnes from Flaubert’s Parrot, published by Knopf, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the December 1997 Reader’s Digest.

Saturday night, we turned off our lights for an hour with cities all across Canada and the rest of the world. It was dubbed Earth Hour. Even Google went dark, so to speak. They offered a black background while Earth Hour was underway. For those who couldn’t stay offline for the hour, they were reminded of what was going in all over the world by the world’s most popular search-engine.

At our house, we dimmed the outside security lights and lit candles inside. I went outside after it got truly dark and noticed the streetlights were still lit in our community. I guess for purely safety reasons the city could not switch them off. I really believed they would. I looked up and saw the familiar constellations of stars overhead. Maybe it was just my imagination but I believed they seemed brighter, more vibrant. More stars seemed visible than normal while I was outside. There was still enough light pollution that it was unlike the great blackout some years back. Maybe it’s been awhile since I’ve actually taken the time to really look up that made me think that there were more stars visible. I was the only one out on my street, though. I thought others might come out for a peek, but I was alone.

I watched CNN later that night and saw people in other cities counting down the seconds to Earth Hour as they might count down the seconds to New Year’s. One of the goals was to save about 5% of electricity. I would imagine some of that percentage was saved. The other was to raise awareness of global climate change. If this generation was truly comfortable in the outdoors, they may have seen some of those changes first-hand.

“The relation between what we see and what we know is never settled. Each evening we see the sun set. We know that the earth is turning away from it. Yet knowledge, the explanation, never quite fits the sight.” John Berger from Ways of Seeing, published by Viking Penguin, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the July 1994 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

***

Don Jackson

Just the other night during my radio program I mentioned a TV commercial that ran sometime back. It was a commercial that showed a migraine sufferer being affected by all the light in her apartment. She goes to great lengths to extinguish every light source. She even pulls the plug on the phone because the lighted dial and numbers cause her pain. And then she takes a remote control, aims it at the office building in the distance, seen through her living room picture window, and when she hits “enter”, all the lights in the office tower are extinguished, leaving her in blessed darkness.

Tomorrow night in Toronto, and in cities all over the world, the lights will be turned off early for one hour. It’s called Earth Hour, designed to conserve electricity and also bring attention to global climate change. You’re being asked to dim your lights between 8 and 9 p.m. to show your support of this very important issue. The second hour of my radio show tonight will feature some thoughts on all this.

There used to be an old-time radio show called “Lights Out” that you wouldn’t want to listen to alone in the dark. It was great theatre of the mind.

My blog is short tonight, but I wanted to conclude with another thought about “light.” It’s an excerpt from the 1990 edition of The Friendship Book of Francis Gay published by D. C. Thomson and Company. Francis Gay writes: “In the remote country areas of India, lighting is still by simple oil lamps. In one village temple there hangs from the ceiling a great brass structure with numerous places into which small oil lamps will fit. There are no lamps in the structure itself, so the temple is in darkness until the people come in to worship, each family with its little lamp to guide them along the dark roads. Entering the temple, they put their lamps into a place in the great brass fitting, and so, gradually, the temple grows brighter until, when all the places are occupied, the interior is a blaze of light. Yes, it is the people themselves who bring the light to the temple. If they ignored their temple, there would be no light and no worship–only utter darkness.”

***

Don Jackson

“Everywhere I find the signature, the autograph of God, and he will never deny his own handwriting. God hath set his tabernacle in the dewdrop as surely as in the sun. No man can any more create the smallest flower than he could create the greatest world.” - Signature by Joseph Parker, an excerpt from The Treasure Chest, edited by Charles L. Wallis, and published in 1965 by Harper and Row, publishers.

“We are not hen’s eggs, or bananas, or clothes-pins, to be counted off by the dozen. Down to the last detail, we are all different. Everyone has his own fingerprints. Recognize and rejoice in that endless variety. The white light of the divine purpose streams down from heaven to be broken up by these human prisms into all the colors of the rainbow. Take your own color in the pattern - and be just that…” - Variety by Charles L. Wallis, and published in 1965 by Harper and Row, publishers.

And before you think there is nothing more to create, I’d like you to think about all the songwriters playing with a lyric line and a melody right now, the artists in their studios standing before an empty canvas, ready to apply the first brushstroke, the writer sitting in front of the word processor ready to begin Chapter One, the inventors who tinker away at an idea in their workshop. Eventually, they will all end up with something they can attach their signature to, even if the song is only sung for themselves, the painting hung on the wall of one room, the words read out loud as a bedtime story, or a better mousetrap that only works for the person who created it.

We recently lost a prolific writer who gave us so many remarkable visions of the future. I read his science fiction stories with great interest. It was partly his vision that got us dreaming about the year 2000. And then he got us thinking ahead to the year 2010. In his vision of the future, a journey to the stars was just the beginning. He was a creator of fantastic worlds that still live in our imaginations. When we dream of the day when computers and humans will engage in a conversation, we hope the computer isn’t called ‘Hal’. We lost a great mind with the passing of Arthur C. Clarke. We can only imagine what he would have created for us next. His next chapter is just a beginning.

“God gave us a world unfinished, so that we might share in the joys and satisfactions of creation. He left oil in Trenton Rock. He left electricity in the clouds. He left the rivers unbridged - and the mountains untrailed. He left the forests unfelled and the cities unbuilt. He left the laboratories unopened. He left the diamonds uncut. He gave us the challenge of raw materials, not the satisfaction of perfect, finished things. He left the music unsung and the dramas unplayed. He left the poetry undreamed, in order that men and women might not become bored, but engage in stimulating, exciting, creative activities that keep them thinking, working, experimenting, and experiencing all the joys and durable satisfactions of achievement.” - Our Unfinished World by Allen E. Stockdale, another excerpt from The Treasure Chest, edited by Charles L. Wallis, and published in 1965 by Harper and Row, publishers, Pg 8.

In other words, it’s  time to put your own signature on your life…

***

Don Jackson

Oscar Levant (1906-72) was a famous U.S. pianist, writer, and wit, as evidenced in this anecdote from Bartlett’s Book of Anecdotes: “Levant was playing a virtuoso passage at a college concert when a telephone began ringing offstage. The pianist carried on, but the ringing continued and soon the audience became restless. Levant, without pausing in his playing, glanced at the audience and said, ‘If that’s for me, tell them I’m busy.’”

Chances are, it was a wrong number…

In theatres and concert halls, we’re asked to turn off our cellphones, but you’ll still hear the occasional one ringing right at a crucial scene in the film, during the quietest moment of a stage-play or symphony concert. …And don’t get me started on those telemarketers who always seem to call at dinner time. I can’t tell you how many wrong numbers I’ve answered over the years on my home phone as well as on my cell. Some people are polite and apologize for misdialing; others just hang up. It may have a lot to do with those tiny buttons on our cellphones. When you had to use a rotary dial in the past, it wasn’t so easy to make a mistake. That said, I do remember wrong numbers that came to our old rotary phone at home. Now, most people have the numbers of friends, family and business contacts programmed into their cellphones and home phones, so you don’t even have to dial a number anymore. My children programmed my cellphone with all the important numbers I need. They are certainly the generation that seems comfortable with the changing technology. Their spelling will no doubt improve, too, with text-messaging being so popular.

When phones first appeared on the scene, there were no dials. You picked up the phone and got the operator on the line. Any wrong number could then be blamed on the operator. There might be someone reading this blog who remembers those “party lines” in the past, where a whole group of neighbors shared the same line. Ever try to get an operator today? More often than not it is a recorded message you’re greeted with. If you really need help, a “live” operator will eventually come on the line.

The phone booth on the street corner is almost a relic of the past. How often do you see them in use today, except in the movies? That’s how cellphone technology has really changed the way we make phone calls. In the past, you had to pull the car over and park if you absolutely needed to make a phone call. Now, we just use the speed-dial on the cellphone while driving. Hands-free sets allow you to keep some of your concentration on the road. In the past, anytime you saw a lone driver talking in a car beside you, you might have assumed he was talking to himself, or singing along with his favorite song on the radio. Now he could be having a conference call with business associates while stuck in traffic.

For the longest time I drove without a cellphone. I wanted there to be one place where I could be unreachable. I bought my first car-phone back in the early 90s to be used only in the case of an emergency. I must admit there have been times I’ve been thankful I have a cell. I really do try to make the drive to and from the studio without the phone “on.”

Finally, one more anecdote from Bartletts. It’s about French painter and sculptor Edgar Degas [Hilaire Germain] (1834-1917). “By nature Degas was a conservative. His friend the etcher Jean-Louis Forain believed in progress. Forain had recently installed that newfangled invention, the telephone. Arranging to have a friend phone him during the meal, he invited Degas to dinner. The phone rang; Forain rushed to answer it, then returned beaming with pride. Degas merely said, ‘So that’s the telephone. It rings and you run.’” 

It sounds like a pretty good description of how we all still react these many years later…

***

Don Jackson

One of the most popular books of the new Millennium has to be The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, published in 2003 by Doubleday. If you’ve read it, then you’re no doubt familiar with the number 1.618. As the lead character in the novel, Robert Langdon, said, ‘The most beautiful number in the universe.” In that short section on the best-seller, The Da Vinci Code, you can see our interconnection with the world around us, and it does give us pause to consider some kind of divine arrangement, doesn’t it?

Is there such a thing as ‘the most beautiful number’?

You would have to take into account these numbers: 4-8-15-16-23-42. Those were the numbers that made Hurley super rich in the hit TV series, Lost. They proved to be a nightmare to him in the end, though. He so hoped his newly acquired wealth wouldn’t change his relationship with those around him. In the first season, we saw that it did. Ask any lottery winner if their new-found riches solved problems or created more, you might be surprised to discover the latter to be true in most cases. I often wonder how many times that number sequence has been put through the lottery terminals since they first appeared in the series. The numbers become even more of a nightmare, when it is discovered this same sequence had to be put into the computer in that underground complex accessed by the hatch the survivors blew open.

“The greatest displeasure of the largest number / Is the law of Nature” an excerpt from a very old poem called The Ruined City by  Pao Chao (416-466)(China) translated by C.J. Chen and Michael Bullock.

I was never very good with numbers in school. My mother was a whiz with numbers. She could add and subtract all kinds of number in her head. I routinely failed mathematics in school. My mother had a hard time with spelling. I excelled in spelling. (That said, I’m careful to use the spellcheck feature on this blog before publishing.)

“Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only the truth, but supreme beauty - a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture, without appeal to any part of our weaker nature, without the gorgeous trappings of painting or music, yet sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show.” -excerpt from The Study of Mathematics by Bernard Russell, Earl Russell (1902).

Lewis Thomas in The Medusa and The Snail, wrote: “Photographed from the moon (the earth) seems to be a kind of organism. It is plainly in the process of developing, like an enormous embryo. It is, for all its stupendous size and the numberless units of its life forms, coherent. Every tissue is linked for its viability to every other tissue.”

The greatest number in the Universe, I believe, is ‘one’. One is the total number of living entities that carry your unique set of genes, memories, personality, character. There is only one ‘you’. Cherish the fact that you are unique, one of a kind. There will never be another person exactly like ‘you’. But we are linked with every other living thing on this planet, as Lewis Tomas alluded to. Most importantly, hopefully, we will be inextricably bound to at least ‘one’ other life form.

“You and I / Have so much love / That it burns like a fire, / In which we bake a lump of clay / Molded into a figure of you / And a figure of me. / Then we take both of them, / And break them into pieces, / And mix the pieces with water, / And mold again a figure of you, / And a figure of me. / I am in your clay. / You are in my clay. / In life we share a single quilt. / In death, we will share one coffin.” Married Love, written by Kuan Tao-Sheng in the 13th century, featured in the collection, The Oxford Book of Marriage edited by Helge Rubenstein, published in 1992 by the Oxford University Press. Its ISBN is 0-19-282930-0

***

Don Jackson

“Houdini had a reputation for not paying his fair share of the bill when he dined out with friends. On one occasion, however, a conjurer called Meyenberg managed to get the better of him. After lunching in a restaurant with Houdini and a number of other vaudeville artists, Meyenberg turned to the escapologist and asked, ‘Would you like to see a new trick? Lay your hands flat on the table, with your palms down.’ Houdini did as he was told. The conjurer then filled two glasses with water and carefully balanced one on each of Houdini’s hands. ‘Let’s see you get out of that without paying the bill!’ he cried as he and the other performers beat a hasty retreat.” An excerpt from Bartlett’s Book of Anecdotes published by Little, Brown.

The date was March 24th, 1874 when Harry Houdini was born in Budapest, Hungary. Harry Houdini was really Harry Ehrich Weiss.

 This interesting trivia was from the book Celebrity Trivia: A Collection Of Little-Known Facts About Well-Known People by Edward Lucaire, published in 1980 by Warner Books. Houdini “..became interested in magic at an early age but after he read Memoirs of Robert-Houdin(Jean Eugene Robert-Houdin was France’s greatest magician) he became obsessed with the idea of being a magician. It was Jacob Hyman, Ehrich’s friend and co-worker who suggested that he add an ‘i’ to ‘Houdin’ and adopt the name Houdini. The name ‘Harry’ came from Ehrich’s nicknames ‘Ehrie’ and ‘Erie’ although some sources say that he used the name Harry because Harry Kellar was the most popular American magician at that time.

“Like Rudolph Valentino in the same year, Houdini died of peritonitis in 1926.”

He died of a ruptured appendix on Hallowe’en. Some people thought there might be something suspicious about his death, which I will talk about late in the program tonight.

One last anecdote from Bartlett’s. “Broadway producers Charles Dillingham and Florenz Ziegfeld were among the pallbearers at Houdini’s funeral. As they carried the coffin out of the church, Dillingham leaned across to Ziegfeld and whispered, ‘Ziggie, I bet you a hundred bucks he ain’t in here.’”

***

Don Jackson

Before setting out for church on Easter Sunday morning, the family would be sure to wear not only their “Sunday best” but new clothes that would be “…modeled at the informal fashion show that followed the services”, according to an interesting writing concerning the very old tradition of the Easter bonnet. It appeared in the 1984 Avon Calendar Of Roses, published by The Ariel Press Ltd., Hong Kong. This writer goes on to say: “In some places in the country the custom of Easter finery lingers but without its old force. Easter parades are out of style and the competition to see who could find the most ravishing hat has languished.”

This writer also tells us that in some places people used to visit stores before Easter in search of the perfect head-wear to complement or accent their new spring outfit. The writer describes a scene that could have taken place in one of these stores, and the effect of finding the perfect bonnet. “…the inimitable effect of a wisp of veiling across a sparkling eye, the crisp roll of a brim that complements an alabaster brow, the insouciant silk rose that echoes the delicate color of a cheek are noted, and then, too delicious not to be shared, taken home to be admired by other loving eyes, before the hat is retired to an honored place in the top of the closet, there to await the coming of the day when the Easter Parade returns.” Again, an excerpt from the 1984 Avon Calendar Of Roses.

My wife and I visited New Orleans late in the summer of 1999. We stayed in a condo/hotel in the old French Quarter. It was a short walk up the cobble-stoned street to a milliner. On one of our afternoon walks together, we dropped in and admired the assortment of finely made, imported head-wear. The shop was filled with fashionable attire for every occasion. I had always wanted to buy my wife a beautiful yet functional garden hat for the long hours she spends in our gardens under the intense summer sun. The proprietor of the shop told us that the term “milliner” originated in the 16th century. My further research found that it was created to refer to “The importation of women’s finery from Italy.” The beautifully soft, Italian straw hat, that caught our attention that day, was elegantly designed to provide shade from the harmful effects of the sun. It has a wonderfully wide, curving brim, and a linen and lace band. The photo above is that hat. You would have to see it worn by my wife or daughter to fully appreciate the effect.

My daughter is one of those people who suits hats. No matter what hat she wears, it seems as if it was designed just for her. I’ve promised to take her to New Orleans one day to meet the milliner my wife and I visited. I’ve also promised her one special hat that I hope she will always treasure.

Easter, of course, is not about hats or bonnets. It’s not about chocolate, either.

This is an excerpt from a very old reference book. It was a teacher’s study and teaching guide for students published by The Holst Publishing Company in 1924.

“The night when Jesus was crucified, a rich man, Joseph of Arimathea, and another, named Nicodemus, took Christ’s body down from the cross, and buried it in a cave in a beautiful garden.

“And to make sure that the disciples should not remove their Master during the night, and pretend that He had risen from the dead, Caiaphas sent soldiers to see that none came near the tomb.

“So all night long the soldiers paced up and down that quiet garden, thinking, perhaps, what a foolish thing Caiaphas had sent them to do. But suddenly, at daybreak, the earth shook, and the stone before the tomb was rolled away.

“‘Look! Look! cried one in amazement. ‘Is not that an angel seated upon the stone?’

“‘Yes! It is a spirit–an angel!’ said another. And they were all so frightened that they ran back to Jerusalem to tell Caiaphas what they had seen.”

Tomorrow night on my radio program, an hour devoted to the dogwood.

Happy Easter!!

***

Don Jackson

It is Good Friday. The sun is shining as I write this blog, and the world around me seems at peace. In other parts of the world, though, conflicts rage placing our soldiers in harm’s way. In some places, horrible things are being done to human beings by other human beings. All of this on a day when we should take a few moments to reflect on the significance of what happened thousands of years ago.

On this day, I can’t help but think of the trees around us that are still without leaves, trees that have withstood the ravages of winter, that still grow straight and true and that will soon put forth leaves and blooms.

One of my favorite writings by an unknown author has been requested by my radio listeners every year at this time. I thought I might take a few moments on this Good Friday to share it with you.

It is called Three Trees. If you ever do find out who wrote this, please let me know so that I can give credit where credit is due.

“Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, ‘Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty.’ Then the second tree said, ‘Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull.’ Finally, the third tree said, ‘I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me.’

“After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree, he said, ‘This looks like a strong tree. I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter…’ and began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest. At the second tree, the woodsman said, ‘This looks like a strong tree. I should be able to sell it to the shipyard.’ The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship. When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened, because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, ‘I don’t need anything special from my tree, so I’ll take this one.’ And he cut it down.

“When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a fishing boat. His dreams of becoming a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

“Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

“Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn’t think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said ‘Peace,’ and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it carried the King of Kings.

“Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible.

“The moral of the story is that when things don’t seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you.

“Each of the trees got what they wanted–just not in the way they had imagined.”

Are you familiar with “The Divine Comedy” by Dante Alighieri? There is a new verse translation of “Purgatorio” by W. S. Merwin, a Borzoi Book published in 2000 by Alfred A. Knopf. “Purgatorio” has been described by Harold Bloom as “…the most welcoming part of the Commedia.” In the notes section was another legend about another tree that has some significance to this day.

“According to legend, the Cross was made from wood of the forbidden tree in Eden. Seth, in legend, planted a shoot from the Tree of Knowledge on Adam’s grave. By the time of Solomon, it was a big tree. Solomon cut it down and used the wood, some say for his palaces and others say for a bridge across a pool. The Queen of Sheba, who had been miraculously informed that the Savior of the world would hang on this wood in the future, refused to step on it, and warned Solomon against doing so. In order to prevent the prophecy from coming to pass, Solomon had the beam buried deep in the earth. The Pool of Bethesda welled up from the spot, its healing properties rising from the wood. Shortly before the Passion of Christ the wood itself rose to the surface and was used for the Cross.”

And finally, one last tree…

This is The Legend of The Dogwood Tree, featured in the April calendar page in the 1990 edition of Harris’ Farmer’s Almanac. “Any pathway in the beautiful spring countryside will do as a special, proven cure for ‘down-in-the-dumpitis.’ There are so many special and beautiful things to see that you will be a different and happier person before you use up very much of that trail. Take, for instance, the tree of Good Friday, the wild dogwood, that is full of delicate cross-shaped flowers. Those blossoms are the flower-symbols of the Crucifixion of Christ. In those long ago days when the wood of the dogwood was not shamed yet by its use for the Cross, the tree grew tall and straight and strong, which was the reason it was used for making crosses upon which criminals died.

“But after it was used for the Crucifixion, God ordained that it would never be strong or straight enough or large enough again for the building of a cross. To this day, the beautifully blossomed dogwood is a misshapen, scraggily [sic] tree with twisted branches bent towards heaven in supplication for forgiveness. Its blossoms tell the story of its shame, blossoms so beautiful that in most places it is against the law to harm or cut a dogwood tree, not even a branch.”

We have a dogwood on our property that was planted by a previous homeowner. It is planted in a spot that doesn’t seem suited for it. I have been tempted to move it to another location, but I’m hesitant to do anything with it after reading the legend.

“To see a hillside white with dogwood bloom is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty, but to walk the gray winter woods and find the buds which will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity.” Hal Borland in The New York Times, November 28th, 1948.

***

Don Jackson

“Heaven is like an egg– / And the Earth is like the yolk of the egg.” Chang Heng (A.D. 78-139) from Sources of Chinese Tradition, edited by William Theodore De Bary.

“they say we are / Almost as like as eggs.” Shakespeare from A Winter’s Tale.

Legend has it that Helen, the cause of the Trojan War, sprang from an egg , the result of the meeting between Leda and the swan who was, of course, Zeus is disguise.

In A Dictionary Of Greek And Roman Mythology by Michael Stapleton, published by Bell Publishing, a division of Crown it said: “The story of Helen’s birth from an egg does not appear in either the Iliad or The Odyssey.”

In The Goose With The Golden Eggs by Aesop, we were told that the man who spirited the goose away was later disappointed to discover that he had to be content with one egg at a time. He figured that if he served the goose for dinner, he would also be rewarded with all the eggs at once, and that, of course, was not the way with any of Aesop’s fables. There was always a moral to be learned by the folly of man. And this little piece of sage advice from Thomas Fuller from Holy and Profane State [1642] of Marriage: “Deceive not thyself by over-expecting happiness in the married estate. Remember the nightingales which sing only some months in the spring, but commonly are silent when they have hatched their eggs.”

So, in reality, what came first, the chicken or the egg? One source, quoted in The Globe and Mail’s Social Studies column on January 6th, 2006, said that reptiles laid the first eggs and apparently the chicken came long after the reptile.

I’ve always wondered about those huge eggs that Wilma served up for Fred Flintstone’s breakfast…

So now that we have that out of the way, is there any truth that an egg can be balanced on end today, the first day of spring? Apparently there is some truth to this. It is easier to attempt this today due to the gravitational pull being more equal, or some such thing. You might want to try it tonight.

“They can be salty / They can be sweet, / They’re usually beaten / But they can’t be beat, / They’re oval in shape / This well-rounded food, / A comfort, a treat / When you’re in a bad mood. / Coddled or scrambled, there’s nothing better, / An omelette holds anything / (Except hard-to-store sweaters). / In a quiche or a souffle, / Floating island or egg cup / They gently remind us / ‘Keep your sunny-side up.’” An Ode To Eggs that was featured in the April 2000 issue of Victoria magazine.

My children like those cream eggs that appear in the stores months before Easter. I must admit, I do, too…

“Love and eggs should be fresh to be enjoyed.” A Russian proverb.

“Russian Czar Alexander IIII commissioned the first of the elaborate eggs from craftsman Peter Carl Faberge as an Easter gift for his wife, Empress Maria Fedorovna. The empress was so enamored of that 1885 piece–an enamelled egg with a gold yolk, gold hen, miniature diamond crown and ruby egg inside–that the czar commissioned a new egg every Easter.

After the czar died in 1894, his son Nicholas continued the tradition until the Russian Revolution in 1917. Nicholas and his family were executed in 1918. Faberge created more than 50 eggs for Russia’s Imperial family, though not all survive.” Raphael G. Satter of The Associated Press, and featured in the Thursday November 29th, 2007 issue of the Toronto Sun.

Bryan Ferren president, Disney Imagineering R&D, Inc, from The New York Times Magazine and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the October 2000 Reader’s Digest wrote, “Art, story-telling and humor are wonderful things. In a future when intelligent machines will reason and do our donkeywork, human artists will become the most valued and irreplaceable of professionals - unique in an automated world. Painters, sculptors, writers, actors, architects, animators and even people who can decorate a decent Easter egg will achieve unprecedented fame and fortune.”

Let’s hope that what he says is true…

“Our lives are like fragile eggs…They are brittle…They crack and the substance escapes. Handle with care! Handle with exceeding, tender care for there are human beings there within. Human beings vulnerable as we are vulnerable; who feel as we feel, who hurt as we hurt.” An excerpt from an inspirational writing called Be Gentle, its author unknown.

***

Don Jackson

When the ancients looked up into the nighttime sky and saw the Milky Way overhead, some thought it marked the path of angels…

When the ancients saw the trees buffeted by the strong winds, some believed they were witnessing the passage of an angel. If that is true, even a wisp of a breeze in passing may be nothing more spectacular than an angel in flight…

In past programs, I have mentioned the tale about the two traveling angels who asked for shelter in the house of a rich man. They are not welcomed warmly, but they are given lodging in the cellar of his dwelling. While there, the older of the two angels finds a hole in the wall and repairs it. Puzzled, the younger of the two asks why the older one would expend any effort to fix the hole in the wall. The older one replies, “Things aren’t always as they seem.” On the next night of their journey here on Earth, they ask for lodging at the house of a poor farm couple. They are welcomed warmly and given the couple’s bed. The old couple have given up their own comforts to ensure their guests have a restful night’s sleep. In the morning, the farmer and his wife find their cow lying dead. This animal was their only source of income. The younger of the two angels is furious. The angel scolds the older one even more than the night before. The angel says that while they were in the home of the wealthy man, the older one patched up a hole in the wall. When they arrived at the farmer’s home, they were treated like royalty, and yet the angel let the cow die. Again, the older angel says: “Things aren’t always as they seem.” The older one reveals what the younger one missed. There was a hidden stash of riches in the hole in the wall. The older angel, realizing how greedy the wealthy man was, decided to ensure the man didn’t find it by fixing the hole. During the long night at the farmer’s home, the Angel of Death came to claim the farmer’s wife; the angel gave him the cow instead.

It’s a wonderful story that was sent to me via e-mail some years back, penned by an unknown author. What you just read was my telling of the tale.

I wonder how many people the world over have had a traveler pass through their lives, a presence that seems to show up at the right place and time. This “stranger” might help a person through a rough patch. Then, just as mysteriously as that traveler appears, he or she is gone…

Sophie Burnham in her wonderful writing, A Book Of Angels published by Ballantine, suggests it may be more common than you think.

I have always liked a western that suggests some kind of presence from beyond is called forth by the strength of a single prayer. This nameless traveler was actually played a few times by Clint Eastwood. One role was in High Plains Drifter. A slain sheriff gets to come back to the town where the townspeople stood by and offered little or no help while he was being challenged. In that surreal film, he returns to get his revenge on the town.

And then there was Pale Rider. This is what one reviewer said about the film in Videohound’s Golden Movie Retriever: “A mysterious nameless stranger rides into a small California gold rush town to find himself in the middle of a feud between a mining syndicate and a group of independent prospectors.” I think it was more the prayer of one of the people that brought this so-called “nameless stranger” to help the miners in their plight. Incidentally, he arrives in the guise of a preacher wearing a black shirt and white collar. An angel in black? Perhaps…

“What remains constant in every account of angels, from ancient days to the present, is that they are both messengers and companions to humans, sent from a realm beyond the earth. In every great book of belief and devotion, in the highest art forms known to us, angels appear and, in one way or another, help us, advise us, or amaze us.” An excerpt from the introduction to a book called Angels by Armand Eisen, published in 1993 by Andrews and McMeel, a Universal Press Syndicate Company in Kansas City, Missouri.

In the 2003 edition of The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, published by D. C. Thomson and Company, the author features a quote by the hymn writer, F. W. Faber. “Kind words are the music of the world. They have a power which seems to be beyond natural causes, as though they were some angel’s song which had lost its way and come to earth.”

I often wonder what gets sent back the other way…

“The Accusing Spirit, which flew up to heaven’s chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in; and the Recording Angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out forever.” Laurence Sterne.

…If only it were that easy…

***

Don Jackson