I apologize for a delay in posting. There have been many events. The worst, however, is difficulty logging in to Windows/Microsoft. I supply a password. It works, but suddenly it no longer works. I do not think the password is the problem but something else. I am also facing criminality on the Internet.
As for my posts, the next one is a song in which the Vent du Nord ensemble express an opinion on Confederation. At this point, statues of the main father of Confederation have been removed. A building or buildings named after him have been renamed.
I have been updating posts on La Fontaine. La Fontaine’s Official Site is no longer the same, so the link to the text of the fables must be changed. These posts are listed on a page and, to my knowledge, all have been updated. In the days of Covid-19, informative posts may benefit students.
Where the Pandemic is concerned, the rapid emergence of variants combined with civil disobedience are undermining the vaccination campaign. The number of victims has risen. It seems that Easter has been as deadly as Christmas and refusal to wear a mask or to be vaccinated are deadlier still. It would be my opinion that governments respond to protest by loosening sanitary measures prematurely.
My memory is playing tricks on me. It’s a neurological issue caused by the virus H1N1, which I caught in February 1976. Beware of “slow Covid.”
Given the passing of Prince Philip, I am playing my “royal” music, the second movement of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony. It has long been a favourite.
Most of yesterday’s post was written online. It was quite the adventure. It was published before I had finished writing it. I had a copy in Word, but it was not complete. Moreover, I am not the only person writing my posts. Parts of my posts can be and have been removed by someone else.
Yesterday’s post lacks a formal conclusion, but it is fine as it is. Missing from the post is the name of a Danish scholar and a link to his publication: a booklet.
This morning I added links. One needs a link to Blanche de Castile and Louis IX.
We know that four Bibles moralisées were realized in France in the 13th century and that they constitute paradox literature. You may have noticed the feet of our depiction of Gods. They are nicely depicted if the side of a foot is drawn, but not if the front of the feet is depicted. Dimensionality had not been fully explored when our Bibles were illuminated and it remains somewhat problematical.
On a more personal but interesting note, I would like to tell you that I have recovered from myalgic encephalomyelitis after 44 difficult years. The problem started when I caught a virus in 1976, but ME was not diagnosed until 1991, after I underwent a SPECT scan at Mount Sinaï hospital in Toronto. I was told that my brain was damaged and that I could no longer lead a normal life. I chose to remain intellectually active as a university teacher.
ME disappeared quietly during the last eighteen months to two years. I cannot tell how it went away, but I can tell when my life started to change. It did after a strange three-month flu and voice extinction that triggered advanced emphysema. I had never smoked, not even one cigarette, and I am feeling quite well.
I apologize for rebuilding my post online. It took a long time because older versions would eliminate changes. Life can be strange.
This painting by Edouard Manet is so intriguing. Where is the gentleman looking at the young woman?
However, this picture fits my topic. This post was written yesterday and it is about Covid-19. It’s incredible, but Covid remains a major threat. Yesterday, there were 2,641 new cases in the province of Quebec, revealing that some people celebrated Christmas and the New Year. One couldn’t. However, there was no demonstration against sanitary measures. Somehow, that is not the sort of thing Canadians do.
I pity the people of Washington, DC. There was a huge pro-Trump rally, which means that a thousand or thousands of people were infected. I believe they wanted life to be normal, which has been Mr. Trump’s attitude. Life is not normal and the pandemic will not end if strong measures are not taken. We must accept that there is a pandemic and stay safe. What choice do we have? I’m glad I live in Canada.
Despite the new lockdown, efforts are being made to keep street people safe. As I told you, I didn’t vote for Monsieur Legault, but I admire the way he is dealing with the pandemic. However, after ten months, Quebec still sits at the top of the list of Canadian victims, followed closely by Ontario. Many are working from home, and many are considering instituting a universal basic income. As for retired persons, it seems that pension funds are not decreasing. I keep thinking that poverty is at my door, but that is not the case.
Covid will not relent and too many are in denial. On Christmas day, the Montreal police force was making sure regulations were observed. There is a vaccine, but vaccinating everyone will take a long time and the very humble will be the last to be protected. Moreover, there are individuals who will refuse the vaccine. I hope the citizens of the United States will receive their stimulus cheques as soon as possible. This money buys food and keeps a roof over people’s head. No government has the right to neglect its citizens. People pay taxes in order to be safe. It’s the social contract. Besides, if there is money to launch rockets, there is money to keep everyone fed and housed. We must also prepare for other catastrophic events. Losing one’s income is tragic.
I read yesterday that many of the people who travelled and congregated to celebrate Thanksgiving have been infected with the novel coronavirus. I can understand their wish to escape isolation, but Covid-19 is highly contagious and it may be fatal. Did these people have a right to travel and congregate? Staying at home is not easy. I had a moment of sadness so intense that a young man at the bank called the police.
When I spoke to the two officers, I said the truth. I have been in this apartment since early March, my lovely cat died, and I was not fully settled. Boxes of books must be carried out of this apartment, which I believe could present a danger. I may therefore put them in the hallway the day they leave. The boxes are small and have handles.
Moreover, there are a few compensations that one can arrange. On 4 December, I will share a gourmet meal with a neighbour. The meal will be delivered to her in the lobby of the building. She will then separate it and leave my portion at my door. I will pick it up after she has returned to her apartment, two doors down. We will both enjoy the meal. We will not sit together, but is sitting together necessary?
As for Christmas, it is cancelled. Paulina will be at home and so will John. No one will come to my door. But I will remember the Christmases of my childhood and may re-read The Wind in the Willows. People are rediscovering books.
Today I will order a poinsettia and amaryllis. Last year’s amaryllis is growing again, but it may not flower. These flowers will make the apartment look cheerful.
My freedom ends where yours begins…
I have a little rule and will share it again. My freedom ends where yours begins. There have been demonstrations by people who wish to work and live “normally.” We cannot live “normally.” It is too dangerous. The premier, François Legault, was spotted buying a pile of books, wearing a thick mask.
One is tempted to socialize, but gatherings must be at a distance or postponed. There are four vaccines. Canada has developed its own. In due course, we will all be vaccinated, but our current conditions preclude get-togethers. I was crying when the young man from the bank started to talk to me. His orders were to call the police. He did what he had to do and what he did turned me around. There are very good and kind policemen in Sherbrooke, Quebec. When they left, I was fine. I needed a “break.” As for the remedy, another cat, it made sense. I am still meditating, but I’ve heard of a cat named George who was homeless.
I cannot use the Block editor. I’m old and have health issues. There is nothing I can do. However, I need my posts back, because many have content I require. Not all are in Word and I have changed computers twice.
No, I will not post again. It is driving me to tears. At 76, one can be a little fragile. My posts were my main activity. I need them to finish a book on Animals in Literature. It’s a short textbook I wrote for my students. There was no textbook. I also wish to keep a record of all I have written. These posts remain my intellectual property and have provided information to the internet.
Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (I caught the H1N1 virus in early 1976) has damaged my brain (short-term memory, concentration, fatigue and minor strokes [paralysis, vertigo, double-vision, headaches]). I may forget or repeat words.
My best advice to WordPress is to give people a choice of editor and never kidnap posts. Please return all of my material to me. They are my intellectual property. Content and form are inextricably linked. I will get a new printer and print all relevant posts (the voyageurs, fables, Canadiana, etc).
I was fooled into relinquishing my tenure at StFX University, so my pension does not allow unessential purchases. I am experiencing difficulty settling into this apartment. It requires repairs and books must be removed. It has one bedroom only. Given the above, encephalomyelitis and advanced emphysema, I have genuine limitations.
Please return my posts. They would cost a lot of money to purchase, but I can’t continue. I can’t operate my Smartphone. It seems I need a man.
We are all the same, but we differ in little yet important ways.
I thank you for the good years. I live alone, away from my community. So, my blog was important. It was my job. My computer is failing me. A technician came over who said it was fine. I cannot use my mouse.
P.S. If writing an article drives me to tears, it’s over.
Publishing “The Negro-Spiritual” was difficult. First, my computer is on the blink. A technician came and told me that all was right. But it isn’t. At any rate, yesterday’s post was sent to trash twice and I had to rebuild it. I had a copy of the text and my images, but finding images is now more difficult. No human being would do this to me. The Classic editor was more useful to me. I felt I was being punished and after a day’s labour, I was crying like a child. At that cost, my career is definitely over. My brain was damaged because I caught the H1N1 virus, in February 1976. I developed Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. In 1991, it was found that the rate of perfusion of blood to my brain was too slow and that the damage was significant. It has affected my memory, but not my intelligence. I am lucid.
As you know, I made a mistake. I left Antigonish, Nova Scotia, where I owned a lovely blue house across the street from the Campus. I was overworked and fell ill. I had no strength left. The insurance company agent was asked by her doctor, the one she hired, to please tell me not to sell my house or make important decisions until I had recovered. I would recover. She didn’t say a word.
I had presented a doctor’s note, but it was not taken seriously. No one replaced me. After a short rest, I returned to work. In the eyes of the Insurance Company’s employee, by returning to finish the year’s assignment, I proved that I was an imaginary invalid. The Company stopped paying benefits. I therefore decided to return to work asking for a normal load. I was fooled into relinquishing my tenure.
I never recovered from losing my career and access to a research library. No one would buy my apartment because the purchaser could not take a mortgage. Life is very humble.
In the meantime, I write posts and try to make my apartment beautiful. It’s a bit expensive and help is difficult to find during a pandemic. Workers do not all wear their mask. It cannot be seen, but the virus kills.
But let us return to Blacks. If the Blacks, who were often captured by Blacks and ended up in the bottom of a slave ship to be sold to plantation owners who could be very cruel, they needed a promised land. Death becomes a promise. One enters eternal life. This is something I can understand as I have often wished to commit suicide to end the pain.
As for the Blacks being black, it tells nothing about their personality and their qualities. In fact, I am reminded of a legend in Quebec, and perhaps elsewhere, about the beggar at your door. According to the legend, he may be Jesus in disguise. So, one must feed him and give him a bed. The legend is Notre Seigneur en pauvre (Our Lord as a poor man). I discussed it elsewhere. Sir Ernest MacMillan set it to music. For my part, I wrote a song. The music resembles the negro–spiritual, but the words are about the beggar, or Our Lord as a poor man. And it is a love song.
The song has three parts. The first and the third are sung, but the middle is for wind instruments preferably. It is entitled “The Beggar.” The melody is intricate and it is for an excellent singer.
There came a beggar to my door. A man I’d never seen before. I let him in, He’s been here since. The Beggar is King. No…I’ll never let him go, I’ll never let him go.
(INSTRUMENTAL) mostly improvised
I told my mother my father ’bout the beggar; I told my brother, my sisters ’bout the beggar. They said: The’re law…yers, The’re doc…tors, Drop…the beggar. (Drop is a very long and high note) But, I will never let him go… But, I will ne…ver let him go… But, I will…ne…ver…let…et him go (syncopated)
(INSTRUMENTAL I – IV – I)
In short, yesterday, I wanted to change the video I had chosen. I preferred the video I had discover.
The singer is Maescha Brueggergoshan, and the pictures turn the post into something more coherent and almost poetical.
I wish Maescha would learn my Beggar. I had a lung illness just before Covid-19. I could not speak for three months and lost two thirds of my lungs. My voice has returned, but I can’t sing.
Please don’t laugh. I have been asked to customize my page, which I cannot do. Nor can I customize my social media icons. For that matter, I cannot use a Smartphone.