Large Fierce Mammal

On this Long Winter’s Night, I offer, for your consideration, The OceanMaker.

After the seas have disappeared, a courageous pilot fights against vicious sky pirates for control of the last remaining source of water: the clouds. ~ mightycocunut.com

As a former aviator and student of aviation history, I enjoyed the recognizable but apocalyptically modified airframes while simultaneously cringing periodically at the Physics defying flight manoeuvres, but I can shelve my reality in the spirit of a good yarn, and I know you can too, else you wouldn’t be here.

All of the best science/speculative fiction takes a current condition and takes it to at least one illustrative extreme. Here, we have our heroic pilot desperately attempting to maintain a resource that other, more powerful interests, are hell bent on, quite literally, sucking dry.

I wonder where they got that idea? (more…)

I have always felt a comradeship with Ravens and Crows, and fortunately for me, the feeling appears to be reciprocated. What I have for you this Long Winter’s Night is the story of two fellow beings. One, a solitary Man interrupted at his ease by a persistent caller. The other, as it turns out, merely in quest of a last meal, and a companion to bear witness to the end of a life well lived.

The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window

By LFM

A perfect Winter day it was!
A log upon the fire tossed,
I took my book and whisky where
Both Man and mind may best be lost.

Midst walls festooned with volumes rare,
Containing all a Man should know,
My tongue caressed the whisky as
My mind, the works of Edgar Poe.

The morning wore, and hunger called,
So whisky drained, I left my tome,
And stalked below for meat and cheese,
With hearty beer to wash it home.

The laden platter soon adorned
The darkly lacquered table where
My faithful book awaited with
Its own sweet kind of darkling fare.

But scarce had morsel crossed my lips,
And questing mouth the tankard sought
Than came to ear a knocking sound –
Some caller at my door, I thought.

My book, my luncheon, beer and all,
Reluctantly I put aside,
And sought my bedroom dormer whence
No caller on my stoop could hide.

No person known or strange to me
Was standing at my cottage door,
So snorting then, I turned away
And soon was seated as before.

Yet, two things weighed upon my mind –
The first, that I was sweating so
I threw the lofty window up,
And laid aside my warming throw.

The second though, was hard to grasp,
Then dawned as bright as sunlit snow –
I sought the dormer yet again
To view once more the path below.

I scanned the trail up to my door,
From left to right, the road and back.
Upon the snow that covered all,
No living thing had left a track.

And then I heard the knock again.
More loud and clear than ’twas before.
My anger was what spurred me now,
To find what fool was at my door!

I gained the door and paused to take
My hanger down from off its hook,
And only then I opened it
A sword blade’s width to take a look.

No living thing met eye or steel,
No nimble trickster there to catch.
I came to stand with portal wide,
En garde, one hand upon the latch.

My eyes confirmed the yard around
Still gleamed with n’er a track to see,
Then, at my feet I found the proof
Of who had come to call on me.

Two large and taloned tracks I spied,
Part trampled by my slippered sole,
And next to them a feather lay,
A Raven’s pinion, black as coal.

I stood in thought, though not for long
Ere came a thump from up the stair,
And then I knew the trickster’s game –
The window standing open there!

I entered in and slammed the door,
Then sword in hand I mounted up
To find my empty platter and,
Upon the floor, my empty cup.

And there upon my reading chair
An ancient Raven watching me,
More grand upon its lofty back
Than any thro-ned King could be.

And then, as though the Raven felt
Its mission only part fulfilled,
It settled on my open book,
Beside a pool where beer had spilled.

A moment it regarded me,
Ere startlement could turn to rage,
The Raven inked its beak with beer
And pecked a mark upon the page.

Then silently it fluttered back,
Enthroned again, with solemn stare.
From thence it tumbled to the floor,
Stone dead before it landed there.

I found my book still open but
Three chapters on than ’twas before,
And on the page the Bird had pecked –
Beside its mark read, “Nevermore“.

As I’ve written here before, the quest for the most fascinating toy promises the downfall of the unwary. Our case in point this Long Winter’s Night is Alma.

Written and directed by Rodrigo Blaas, and produced by Cecile Hokes with music by Mastretta, Alma (Spanish for “soul”) tells the story of a little girl who, one cold day in Barcelona, finds a wall bearing the names of countless children, and decides to add her own.

(more…)

Source: collegetimes.com

The shitfaced Elf from yesterday’s Long Winter’s Night did rather well when he so vigorously snatched the neck of his bottle with both eyes open. It’s often hard for someone in such a state as requires an earthquake to walk straight to divine which of the two objects standing before them is the genuine article.

Our hero today may not have learned the perils of over drinking, but he knows how to solve this dilemma as old as fermentation.

The Drunkard’s Song

By LFM

A dram or ten had come to pass,
Poured down his throat by quaich and tasse,
He needs both hands to find his ass,
And one eye closed to grope his glass.

If living life has taught him little
And one eye closed won’t solve the riddle
Still viewed in twain, resists bediddle,
Just shut them both – go down the middle!

Festive Greeting and Well Met ! (Photo credit: Joel Sartore – http://www.joelsartore.com/)

There’s a standing traditional association of revelry at this Yule time, for reasons aforesaid, and with that comes the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Oh, and Elves. Not the consumption of them, you understand, it’s just that Elves are also associated with it all, for reasons not so clear other than it might have something to do with drinking. Here’s an animated Christmas greeting by way of the CGBros, produced by the Mad Crew team in December 2014, to enliven this Long Winter’s Night. (more…)

You may recall from previous scribblings here that …

“In many parts of Europe, the “Feast of Saint Nicholas” is celebrated on December 6th. The evening before the feast, however, is known as Krampus Night or Krampusnacht, when the hairy beast roams the streets in a … rage, visiting homes and businesses to punish and/or terrify the children who were not on their best behavior.” ~ Krampus : The Dark Origins Of Christmas

It being the twenty-fourth day of December, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since Krampusnacht 2015. If you know you deserved a visit, and yet are reading this unscathed, here’s a delightful reminder of the rough justice you escaped. For now. (more…)

Margaret Visser (Source: www.filmwest.com)

Cultural anthropologist Margaret Visser was for many years a regular on an assortment of radio programmes produced by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC). She has authored six books on a variety of subjects ranging from the traditions of dinner to the expression of gratitude, linking the origins of the world we know to that of our distant ancestors.

I have loved the ever so British voice of Margaret Visser since the first time I heard it. I could listen to her talk for hours and hours. Her delivery conveys a spirit of delight that can’t fail but be a vehicle of wondrous education.

This Long Winter’s Night, we’ll tune in Margaret Visser’s Christmas, courtesy of the CBC by way of Michael Enright’s Rewind. The fireplace, the giving of gifts, mistletoe, the decorated Tree.

So stoke the hearth, Goode Reader, and join me in a most enlightening hour that awaits by the simple act of clicking right, bloody, HERE.

Pre-Christian history is full of spiritual beliefs that personify the sun as a deity who dies and is resurrected, even as the sun that reaches its shortest period of life in the sky is reborn to linger just a little longer each day in the blessed march toward what is hoped to be a new year full of hope and prosperity. With Christianity came a similar legend in the story of Jesus Christ, who gave his name to the festival we call Christmas. And so it continues.

Spiritual observances surrounding the winter solstice, even in such climes of winter dearth as northern Europe and North America, are often characterized by feasting and revelry of a degree that seems logistically ironic to the point of negligence if taken from a purely practical view, but ill befall him who shows lack of trust in his Gods by hoarding instead. ~ A Long Winter’s Night – The Winter Solstice is the Reason for the Season

Welcome back, Goode and Weary Traveller, to another Long Winter’s Night. Alas, we meet again in troubled times, but that we’ve met again at all is cause for celebration. True, some us won’t live to smell the first breath of Spring, but no matter. We’re here now, and let’s make a pact to go forth from this place resolved that ere we meet again, and in the face of all adversity, to make such a full and absolute accounting of ourselves as will be worth a song. (more…)

Source: The Stanfiields. Click to enbiggen.

They’re rattling their rapiers
And prancing in their livery,
They’re howling at the gates again,
Hot time in the olde town tonight.

~ Fight Song ~

I’ve mentioned Halifax, Nova Scotia based band, The Stanfields, a couple of times before; on 12 February and 3 October of 2011. Today I’d like to introduce you to a fierce spirited ditty from their recent album, Modem Operandi. (more…)

Approaching me in a dark parking lot while I’m strapping my child in their car seat is a REALLY stupid move. Don’t you know that a mother protecting her young is one of the most dangerous things to tussle with? ~ Mrs. LFM

At approximately 18:30 Atlantic Time on the evening of Monday, 30 November 2015, Mrs. LFM and I had a brief and ultimately uneventful encounter with a young male of questionable intent. “Uneventful”, at least, to any onlooker beyond the three of us involved, and with “questionable intent” limited solely to the young male, because speaking for Mrs. LFM and me, nothing was open to question. You will not be surprised to learn that much water had passed beneath the bridge beforehand that contributed to nothing outwardly visible happening, so that someone else’s misguided son could realize continuance of the simple pleasures of breathing, and a functioning circulatory system.

We were returning to our vehicle with our two boys – two year old Viktor, and five month old Lukas – after grabbing a quick snack and some much needed caffeine at the MacDonald’s in the Dartmouth Crossing shopping district. I had parked backed up to the rock strewn downward slope that formed the boundary between the MacDonald’s parking lot and that of the adjacent Tim Hortons coffee shop, and as we left the restaurant, I noted that the state of things was as it had been on arrival – no other vehicles parked for at least three spaces to the right of it, and forever onward to the left. Approaching our late model Ford Escape, which in itself may or may not, by its very appearance, contributed to the events under discussion, we could see no human presence in or around the cars parked to the right of our vehicle, nor on the rock strewn slope that led down to the all but abandoned Tim Hortons lot below.  Their customers seemed more interested in lining up at the drive through window than parking and even briefly exposing themselves to the late Autumn chill.

Halfway to the car, I remotely opened the rear cargo hatch and unlocked the other doors. I was carrying Lukas strapped into his car carrier as I ensconced the diaper bag in the back, Mrs. LFM by now strapping Viktor into his seat in the rear driver’s side position. All the while, we were heads up and vigilant, as is our way.

One more casual look about – nothing – and I had Lukas locked in the rear passenger position almost before the rear hatch had closed and latched.  Standing up and scanning again as I walked toward the front of the vehicle preparing to open the front passenger door for Mrs. LFM who was just finishing with strapping Viktor in (toddlers are more work than infants, who travel essentially in bondage). It was at the beginning of that scan that I spotted the subject of today’s commentary.

Mrs. LFM was aware of him first as she saw him exit Tim Hortons and head toward the slope leading to MacDonald’s. She reported later that he appeared to be attempting stealth as he clearly spotted her and noisily dislodged several rocks mounting the slope in her direction. She made adversarial eye contact with him but he seemed unaffected. It was as he crested the slope that he came into my view – tall and rail thin, about 17 years old, wearing a knit touque and a capacious parka in  the pockets of which he had his hands firmly planted, out of sight. All I knew about him at that point was that he was less than 25 feet behind my Wife, clearly focused on her, and approaching fast.

I moved, one hand filled with a compact high intensity flashlight, the other with my working knife, and eyes locked onto that one who now qualified for the title of “target”. My mouth opened for a challenge as the light came to bear and the opening stud of my knife pressed into my thumb. Neither was necessary.

Suddenly aware of my presence, the miscreant looked into my quickly approaching eyes, clearly understood my purpose and changed direction at high speed – first straight for the side of a car that was idling in the drive through lineup, and then veering left through the same MacDonald’s door we had just made our egress through. We stood a moment watching his retreat, I for my own part feeling a swelling anger that only the presence of a Man changed this creature’s mind, whatever may have been festering in it.

We remounted our vehicle and did not pursue. He may have been nothing more than a homeless panhandler with ill advised to nonexistent social skills after all, and children don’t you know. We drove home without further incident.

Lest all the references to scanning, awareness, preparation, and equipage in this account leave the uninitiated reader with the impression that we are paranoid and in a constant state of fear, I would add that this was nothing more than long practiced awareness coupled with preparation and a severe dose of all out nasty awaiting anyone who won’t take no for an answer. Remember, if it comes to “FIGHT ON”, then it’s all in, the way every other animal in Nature does it. To the degree that either can muster, a Bee is dangerous, and a Bear is dangerous, but neither seeks conflict. Be dangerous. As often as not, that will prevent the fight altogether, just so long as your own contribution isn’t mere bluff lacking commitment. (more…)