Three year-old Syrian Alan Kurdi, and the sweet, sweet sound of a voter's pencil



Alan Kurdi - from www.canadim.com

If you're not voting in tomorrow's federal election, or if you make it a regular practice not to vote, let me guess your reason. Is it:

 

Because one less vote won't matter?

Because the polling station is too busy?

Because you don't understand the political platforms?

Because you don't know the candidates?

Because many politicians break their promises?

Because you don't believe in the pledge: "We stand on guard for thee"?

Because you are exercising your right not to vote?

Or maybe...just maybe...not enough people died for your right to live in freedom. Maybe 42,000 Canadian military casualties in World War II wasn't enough for you. Maybe the civilian deaths of an estimated 29,000,000 from related military activity during WW2 were too few. Maybe the ultimate sacrifices made by millions of men, women, and families for the sake of freedom wasn't ultimate enough, or sacrificial enough. Maybe the cries of a child learning that Daddy isn't coming home again because he's dead isn't sorrowful enough. Maybe the tears wept by our aging veterans every November 11 aren't genuine enough.

 

 

Or maybe...you just don't care. You don't care about your rights and freedoms set out in the Canadian Charter of Rights. You'd be perfectly at peace with giving up your:

• freedom of conscience and religion;
• freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of press and other media of communication;
• freedom of peaceful assembly; and
• freedom of association.

If that describes you, I know of a few places in the world where you could live. Places controlled by ISIS, al Qaeda, Boko Haram, and Al-Shabaab (to name a few) all seem 'very welcoming'. They'll even take away your mother, wife, and daughters...you don't even have to ask! And, the best part is: you won't have to worry about such silly and time wasting activities such as casting a vote.

Who knows? Maybe the millions of Syrians trying to escape their homelands have it all wrong. But I doubt it. I do know this, though - Alan Kurdi, the 3 year old Syrian boy (pictured above) who was found dead on the shores of Turkey last month, will never know the sweet, sweet sound of a graphite, HB #2 pencil checking off a name on a voter's ballot. Never.

 

For the love and honour of those who sacrificed their lives so you can vote, and out of thankfulness and gratitude to God for our country - Canada, I urge you to vote.

 

 

Repeating mistakes, expecting different results

We pleaded using our best 'Robinese' but, they ignored us. We told them that ravenous creatures roamed late at night but, they told us they could handle it. We shared stories of previous squatters who boldly claimed the right to nest only to leave on a wing and a prayer - sans fledglings. Year...after year...after year.

You see, we have a covered porch that wraps around most of our house; and many of God's creatures, (some wanted, but many of them unwanted), share living and breathing space with us rent free. Some of our tenants, like our robin friends, have attempted to start a family in the rafters above a certain light fixture under our porch's roof. I guess the warmth and light create an ambience similar to a fireplace in a log cabin conducive to...oh, where was I? Back to the robins. We've never attempted to remove or discourage nest building activity because it usually happens in the span of what feels like "Hey, where'd that come from?" or so. And, more than that, have you ever studied how intricately built a bird's nest is? However, for all their ingenuity and craftiness, they really don't behave wisely or rationally.

I don't know if they are the same robins year after year, but today we witnessed the calamity all over again. The robins had spent the last few days building a nest, slightly to the left of last year's settlement; Mrs. Robin had laid her eggs and had started her 12 - 14 day staring competition with our straw filled scarecrow. Day 1 hadn't even concluded and her progeny fell to the paws of a ruthless, but I can only assume, hungry raccoon. Although, skunks are known to prey on bird eggs, too. Judging by the sort of 'nature' left behind, I'm going with a raccoon!

It's puzzling. Each year, the same scene happens over and over...like Groundhog Day with Bill Murray...but, this one never ends well - save for one mating season a few springs ago. Wouldn't it make sense if the local robin community banded together and taught each other about the perils of starting a family under the Vanderlaan porch - cozy and inviting as it might seem? If only last year's unsuccessful pairing could fly by and chirp, "Hey, we've flown a mile in your talons. We have a much better spot than that poor excuse for a bird house." Nope. Instead, this year's lovebirds thought, (and I use the term 'thought' loosely), this is the year that will be different only to fly away as empty nesters for all the wrong reasons yet again.

And, really, what am I thinking? They're birds!! I mean, if they were rational, and understood predator behavior, they wouldn't make the same mistake, ignore sage advice, or loving help from those who've been there, done that, and got the T-shirt.

So, for the purpose of this blog and really not for the benefit of robins who may or may not be able to read: to all those whose 'nest' is built on vulnerable perches, know that you're not alone. You're not the first person to build a nest where predators prowl. There is hope. More than that, there is help to rebuild.

When you're ready to fly, you won't be alone. Soar like an eagle, my friend, soar!

Fifty Shades of Grey and John McCrae

On Libya's beaches the blood flowed red,

From twenty-one martyrs their bodies dead.

Who heard their silenced screams for aid?

The West? With ransoms to be paid?

From comfort our heads in unison shake,

For not our lives we willingly stake.

Awful! Horrible!

What a horrific tragedy!

And in muted silence thank God it's them - not me.

Put down your Fifty Shades of Grey

and retake the torch from fallen poet John McCrae.

For we have broken faith with those who died

On Libya's beaches -

A crimson tide.

 

Henry Vanderlaan; February 22, 2015

 

Dear Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae;

I'm sorry to have waken you from your near hundred year slumber. You see, we once quarreled with the foe. We once held the torch high. We once kept the faith so you may sleep in Flanders fields under the blowing poppies.

Every year, on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, we faithfully read the poem you so eloquently crafted in May 1915 under the larks above and amid the guns below. Bathed in the poetic prose of your seemingly timeless poem, we praise the sacrifices made on our behalf.Veterans, whose numbers dwindle yearly, adorned with metals and poppies brave the elements and march in silence in remembrance of those fallen in wars past and wars current. We hold high the valor and courage of men and women who have served our nation with little regard for self yet with high regard for neighbor.

And now, on the beaches of Libya, innocent blood was shed because the murdered were "followers of the cross" - Christians. But, Mr. McCrae, can you tell us what torch we're supposed to carry? You didn't make that clear. What quarrel should we take up? Quarrels of faith? Of military might? Of economic power? Of gender equality? What? Mr. McCrae...WHAT??

Maybe...what you meant was quarrel only when convenient...when my rights are being violated. And then I'll shake my fist at the nightly news, turn out the lights, and go to bed. It'll be a new day tomorrow. It makes sense now.

You can go back to sleep, Mr. McCrae. Sorry for bothering you. I got this.

Now what page was I on in Fifty Shades of Grey?

Sincerely,

A beneficiary of your sacrifice and 100 million others.