HANNS’ BLOG

SPRING TO LIFE 

“Hope springs eternal” So wrote Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744).

In the cycle of the seasons of the year, Spring is the time of hope. It is the promise of new growth and life. 

On the evening of my 86th birthday, Marlene, my spouse and I, enjoyed a delicious meal at Le Cafe at the National Arts Centre here in Ottawa. The view of the Rideau Canal was still obstructed by mounds of ice and snow , no longer white but dirty grey. Following that we adjourned to Southam Hall for a concert that featured Beethoven’s 6th symphony, the Pastorale. He wrote about this composition that, “it is no picture but something in which the emotions are aroused by the pleasure of the country.” It is preeminently  a symphony of hope.

The musical themes of this, one of his most popular works, are familiar, even whistleable. Did I hear someone in the staircase at the end of the performance rehearse those tunes?

For the Ottawa crowd who have just emerged from a hard, cold winter it spoke of a hope for a new season in the wings. The streets are still fringed with dirty ice and snow  but the surface of the roads are mostly bare. Potholes abound. A few days of balmy weather have wakened the anticipation of spring. 

But than back again to the old reality. On Friday the Thirteenth wet snow covered the streets. Old Man Winter seemed only half beaten. He still had a few ounces of strength in him. 

As a child my parents read to me a book that anthropomorphized the seasons of the year such as the aforementioned Old Man Winter with his shaggy grey beard confronted by a young damsel full of life and joy, the embodiment of spring, dancing rings around the aged embodiment of bleak winter.

As I reflect on this past season I recall that not only were the days short and frigid ( though I must admit quite sunny) but the news from the world and our own country had a negative feel about it. War in the Ukraine, Iraq, Syria and Libya, the rise of ISIL and their atrocities have cast an icy coating over life, even if those countries have never seen a flake of snow. (Except for the Ukraine someone will undoubtedly remind me)

Us humans cannot live without a sense of hope as Pope intimates. It dares to move us beyond pessimism and fear. It beckons us to confront what stands in the way of a new world and to recognize the possible ; “to accentuate the positive” as the old swing ballad had it.

Beethoven loved nature . He commented that, “my bad hearing, (he was going deaf) does not trouble me . In the woods there is enchantment which expresses all things.”

On the wall of our living room hangs an original painting that I inherited from my inlaws . When we visited them when they were still in their home in Charlottetown, I coveted the painting of the Sugar Shack in New England by Georgie Read Barton, a Maritime artist. Smoke and steam issue from the chimney. A team of horses haul logs to the fire to boil the sap. Sugaring time presages life to come as the sap surges up from the Maple roots. The very smell of syrup can be perceived in the painting. 

As Pope wrote, Hope springs eternal and the young maiden portrayed as spring in my children’s story dances around the withering old man. Spring will prevail.

Hope also makes me feel that the forces of nature will overcome our greedy selves that have been so destructive of the environment. I am aware that such optimism may seem unrealistic. It would be easier to yield to despair or even to join the other, the exploitative side. But that is not the way of hope. 

Thus let me dream that some day the tar ponds of northern Alberta will dry up, that healthy fish and other wildlife will find their home, that our Aboriginal people will reinherit their lost lands, way of life and spirituality, that cities will become truly international communities and that we will celebrate our differences. 

Dream on, you will say, and dream we must . Without dreams the future is in doubt. But to dream is not enough, hope must be put to work.

I believe that the human heart is hard wired for hope. I trust that peace and justice will prevail even as spring will follow winter.

Don’t believe me? Then at least join me in my hope. It makes life worth living.  Thus:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never is, but always to be blessed:

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

– Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man

Hanns F Skoutajan,

Spirit Quest

15/03/20015

Other “Quests” may be found at skoutajanh.blogspot.com

THE GOOD AND THE GOODS

..... “A factory manufacturing good rather than goods,”.... was a childhood fantasy  of Vaclav Havel, the first president of post Velvet Revolution (1989) Czchoslovakia. His biographer Michael Zantovsky  in Havel: A Life wrote that Vaclav grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. In other words his family was not short of goods even during the depression  when Vaclav was a small child and later during the Nazi occupation when he was an early teen.

Young Vaclav saw that things were wrong and he wanted to repair them. This fix demanded more than “things and stuff.” Throughout his life as a writer, particularly playwright, a dissident that frequently landed in the jails of the communist government, his wish was to make his country, Czechoslovakia, if not the whole world, a “good” or at least a better place to live. 

In 1989 he walked out of the infamous Pankrac prison in Prague straight to the presidential residence. His author and long time friend and associate says he was honoured to carry Vaclav’s total possessions in a string bag. 

According to our materialistic thinking good and goods are often equated. Society and customers according to Margaret Thatcher are one and the same thing, indeed she is well known for stating that there is no such thing as society there are only consumers. Goods are good, she believed, and the more you can amass the better. 

When the people share the goods of the nation, when its citizens are well and creatively employed and when the basic needs of the people are met by publicly financed plans such as health care and education and the welfare of its seniors and children is assured then truly that society is good, 

The early Czechoslovakia that emerged from the Austria Hungary Empire after WW1 was such a country. It wasn’t perfect especially in the thirties when the world was gripped in a depression. 

On my birthday I like to remind friends that I was born under a form of medicare. My birth, my subsequent health care including dental care, and my schooling was entirely covered. What a shock when we came to Canada in 1939 and found that one went to a doctor only if you could afford it. Often times of course medical practitioners especially out in the country were very generous and frequently accepted pay in kind, a dozen eggs, a side of beef or a cord of wood to compensate for services rendered.

The early Czech system could be a model for our own country where the amassing of goods is given priority over social needs. In early times the good was provided by charitable institutions and to some degree still is. When I attend the cancer clinic I am made aware of the many who have made generous donations for its establishment and I am grateful. 

When I entered the ministry in the fifties churches were very much involved in charitable activities, delivering Christmas baskets to the poor, collecting and distributing used clothes and in many ways they still do.  The church manse was often visited by the down and outs for help.

As I peruse my old sermons I recognize that I did not so much evangelize to fill the pews with new converts  but rather emphasized the responsibility of Christians to be a force for good, to work for justice and peace. This didn’t necessarily fill the pews I admit. I was no hell-fire and damnation preacher.

I found much support for that in the message of more liberal and progressive denominations such as the United Church of Canada.

Havel did not die a Catholic rather he is best described as a non-denominational believer. Nevertheless his funeral took place in the cathedral in Prague attended by the Roman Cathollc hierarchy of the country. 

Havel was from his childhood dedicated  to building a good society. His main emphasis was on human rights and social justice. I hope we can keep that in mind in this election year when the emphasis seems to be on economics, goods that is, even at the price of ecology , and on security at the cost of freedom and justice. In that contest the truly Good is often 

overlooked.

Hanns F Skoutajan

Spirit Quest March 6, 2015

THE PIPER’S TUNE

Hanns F Skoutajan

It was in the summer of 1970 that my family and I journeyed to Germany to visit my relatives for the first time. Of course it was also an occasion to do some of the touristy things of which there are plenty. Thus it was that on one week end we visited the charming medieval town of Hamelin famous as the setting of the story of the Pied Piper who had cleansed the town of its infestation of rats. Then when the town fathers refused to pay the piper he played a different tune that attracted all the children of the community and led them into a mountain never to be seen again - a rather rough ending but not unfamiliar in German literature even children’s stories.

Each Sunday the burgers of the town reenact the world famous story. Thousands descend upon this community to witness the event. The town square which becomes the stage is crowded by visitors from all over Europe and beyond.

My family and I squeezed into this crowd. We managed to get our son and daughter into the front row where they watched bug-eyed as children of their own age masqueraded as rats scurried about doing all sorts of mischief, chased furiously by housewives with brooms while their husbands discussed the dilemma in council .

As I watched a thought came to mind and I turned to my wife to tell her that I had the feeling that friends of ours from Canada were present. She corroborated my feelings, but when the show was over and the spectators were dissipating down the narrow alleys to their tour buses or other vehicles we did not catch a glimpse of our friends although Jack, the father was a rather tall man with a large head of black hair. 

Months later when we encountered them again “back home” we checked our notebooks and lo and behold our two families had been in Hamelin at the same time watching the same reenactment of the famous story. Unusual? Well perhaps not given the huge audience that had gathered for the play. 

The event came vividly to mind a few days ago when I received word that our friend Jack, only a couple of years younger than I, had passed away.

We had kept in touch over the years and were saddened by his departure from this life.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin is of course an old morality play. But unlike most such stories which deal with individual responsibility this one is directed at corporate sin. It shows the town fathers’  unwillingness to live up to their fiscal responsibility. They broke their deal with their employee, the piper who had done them such a good service. Their malfeasance had an extremely  tragic ending. Their most precious possessions, their progeny, the future of the community, was taken away.

I have often thought about our investment in the future. In my last blog 

“ Birthdays”  I wrote about this future generation, particularly my own grandchild.  I am greatly upset when our leaders, politicians and corporate elite forget about the human investment in favour of bank and stock markets. When the “crash” comes as it did in 2008 the bail out did little for ‘the least of these”, the children of “Hamelin.” while banks and their managers escaped prosecution and indeed prospered.

Undoubtedly this sounds all rather simplistic . I don’t have a masters degree in economics as does our prime minister, mine is in divinity, both rather awesome subjects, but I do believe that our first concern as a nation must be about the many pipers that make up this mighty orchestra of ours. Their welfare is of prime importance if we are to function as a society. Nor can we allow one segment to flourish while the others lag far behind as is the case today, it makes for disharmonious music.     

I also wrote about our responsibility toward our environment, as I often do. 

It can only be short changed with dire consequences some of which are manifesting themselves already. 

The story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin is a simple story which every child on the town square of Hamelin that day could easily comprehend. Its economics takes no postgraduate degree to understand. My own children certainly did. Its moral thrust is simple, why is it so hard to employ it in the larger sphere and indeed throughout the world? The future of civilization depends on it. 

SQ 23/02/2015      

         

BIRTHDAYS

Hanns F Skoutajan

Eighty-six years ago I stretched and wiggled in the semi dark of my uterine confines.  Only a few more days were left before my emergence into the light. Outside they talked about me. In those days the infant’s gender could only be guessed at unlike today when with x rays and other means the pre-born’s sex and features are revealed.

One day my grandfather placed his hand on my mother’s abdomen to feel the movements underneath. Sadly it would be the closest that he would come to his grandson. He died before my birth. My other grandparent, mother’s father, passed away with tuberculosis decades earlier. Thus I never met any of my grandfathers and therefore am aware of the great privilege  I have had in seeing my granddaughter shortly after  her birth on February 12, 2007 and then to watch her grow and develop talents, wisdom  and an indomitable sense of curiosity, as well as a beautiful head of red hair. You bet we’ll celebrate.

I was born on March 13, 1929 in a city near the border of Germany in what was then Czechoslovakia, a new and wonderful country. I was born under a form of medicare. I didn’t cost a cent but have gotten more expensive since. My birthday was halfway between the two world wars and my family and I managed to avoid the second one in the safe refuge of my new home in Canada. It is my fervent hope that Sophia Elizabeth Skoutajan, my only grandchild, will be as fortunate as I. 

We look out on a much troubled world in which there is no safe haven as Canada afforded me in 1939. Not only are humans in conflict with one another but with the very environment in which we live. We may be so fortunate as to avoid warfare but we share climate changes with the rest of the world . We dare not live with the illusion  that economics can trump ecology, which our PM seems to think, without serious consequences. We cannot say that we have not been warned by a host of scientists and thinkers about the perils of global warming, rising sea levels and destruction of nature that has been taking millennia to build up. But humankind especially the top .1% of the richest and particularly our industries are energy hungry, or is it greedy, and unwilling to leave fossil  fuels in the ground, and develop renewable sources of fuel such as wind and solar energy, or perhaps best to learn to live more frugally.

Jeff Rubin in his prophetic book The End of Growth concludes

“Sustainability isn’t just an abstract notion; it is the governing idea behind the kind of economics we need to foster....  We can still shape the future we want , but only if we are willing to relinquish the past we have known. .. Our challenge is to learn that doing without  is better than always wanting more.”  

For me there is no remote hope, it is all very personal and present. It is so for many others who have been privileged to father/mother new generations on all the continents of this globe.  As we regard our progeny develop, do we not sense a tremendous sense of responsibility. We can’t prejudice their lives and the lives of those to come, not just here in this blessed land  but world-wide.

In the daily press we evidence unrest, disease, hunger, thirst and war. These confrontations cannot be easily contained. The world is so much smaller than it was in 1939 when I boarded a “steam” ship  and spent seven days crossing a mighty ocean that was still very much cleaner than today, and arrive in another continent. The Internet has further shrunk our neighbourhood and shall continue to do so. Our very thoughts are public. There are no secrets any more. 

As I approach this month of  birthdays , mine, my son (Feb. 17), and his daughter, I sense an urge to plead for sanity and a will to live in peace. What is needed is the will. We have all the means to do so? 

SPIRIT QUEST 1-/02/2015             

    

OUR BATTLES

Hanns F Skoutajan

The obit in the daily paper often begins with the words “.... after a courageous

battle ... surrounded by a loving family ...”

In my forty years of ministry I have often been privy to that struggle and sought to

comfort the loving family that surrounded him/her. I recall walking through many a

hospital or bedroom door to witness that final contest. I have, however, come to

realize that physical death is not a defeat. There is another battle in progress.

Wait, more of that later!

I have been fortunate to have lived a rather healthy life. Only in the last few years

and most intensely in recent months have I acquired a more intimate knowledge

of this battle.

This last year, beginning with February 2014, when I began chemotherapy I have

been made aware of an inner contest, of spirit and body. On the first day of the

year 2015 that battle was underscored when my beloved partner and copy editor

suffered a stroke, a mild one but a stroke nevertheless, that sent me dialing 911.

I will not bother you with the dramatic details of that event. It remains to be said

that she is making a great recovery with only the occasional memory and word

lapse, otherwise she is able to function quite normally. She still knows very well

where a comma should go or be deleted. There are of course the frequent trips

to occupational and speech therapy sessions and other medical consultations.

Undoubtedly the most severe loss was the temporary suspension of her drivers

license. I am now her principal chauffeur, though there are other volunteers.

In this trauma we have been supported by our wonderful family, particularly our

Karla and Stephen , who have attended the many and varied consults at

hospitals and clinics with us. Some time ago when I was losing my hair, now

back in full bloom though a bit curly, my seven year old granddaughter

announced that she was growing her beautiful red hair long in order to have it cut

to make wigs for the victims of chemo. I don’t think I would look good in red , nor

do I need a wig but of course there are many others waiting who do.

In a months time I shall have reached the age of 86 - a number that appears with

alarming frequency in those obit announcements which make me only too aware

that not far down the road - how far I do not care to know, I shall have my own

headline.

To get back to my rather bold statement (paragraph #2) which undoubtedly will

be countered by a number of my “faithless” friends, that beside the physical

battle which we are all destined to lose at some point , there is also an inner

contest in which we need to feel that we are not alone. Many a medical doctor

has affirmed that the state of our spirit has an important determining factor on our

bodies. As in my last blog, I believe not so much in “spiritual healing as the

healing of the spirit” that we may go into warfare fully armed.

Pain of which I have had some experience recently is a very physical and

spiritually debilitating factor. I have not only suffered from

“Weltschmerz” ( Jan. 17 blog) but just plain pain. We are not quite certain of its

origin . It is at that time that the spiritual battle is most decisive as I ponder

whether I should get up and risk more pain or remain prone on couch or bed for

another hour or two?

I firmly believe that I am anchored in that “ground of all being” (Paul Tillich’s

definition of the divinity) , or touched and borne by Jesus’ simple definition of

God as Love. It is this conviction that offers to lift me above the physical battle

and give me a sense that I am not alone.

I know that by the responses to my blog that there is a “great crowd of

witnesses,” that the stands are full of rooters for my team . You are important to

my spiritual welfare even if you don’t believe in “the spirit.” So in the words of the

tele-evangelist as he closes his “harangue for Jesus”, “keep those letters and

cheques coming.” No, I do not need cheques , but appreciate letters, not

condolences but appreciation and support especially when my words have rung

a familiar note.

I introduced my first blog of the year “Weltschmerz” on January 17 with the

words, “My first and hopefully not my last blog.” Some have commented on what

seemed a statement with questionable overtones. Let me assure you that I aim

to remain faithful to that hope and invite you to join me in my, I was going to write

“struggle, but prefer to use the words “life journey” of which, of course, struggle

is an integral part.

Thank you for your prayers, if that is your thing, or the fervent hopes and

thoughts of the many others , all my very dear friends.

Spirit Quest, February 1, 2015

WELTSCHMERZ

Hanns F Skoutajan

A cartoon, not from Charlie Hebdo, depicts a figure reclining on a hospital bed. A clipboard dangling from the headboard bears witnesses  to disturbing vital signs of the patient. The face on the pillow is familiar not in any personal way, indeed it is a picture of the globe with all the meridial lines formed into a sad frown. Obviously the patient isn’t happy.  The caption of the cartoon, as is this blog, is “Weltschmerz.”

“Weltschmerz” ( world pain) is one of those German terms that is difficult to interpret with any exactness. Like “heilgeschichte” (salvation history), “voelkerwanderung” (mass migration) the attempt to convey the meaning in another language does not quite cut it. Thus the German term persists particularly in academia.

“Weltschmerz” is a kind of psychological malaise caused by observing helplessly  as the world goes to hell in a hand basket . The daily news brings on a sense of world weariness, even depression. I am well familiar with this dis-ease.

The New Year is usually hailed with a sense of happy expectation for the time ahead, but as in this year, few hours go by without countering that optimism. The dateline of January First is artificial. The problems of the past do not dissolve at midnight or even present a hiatus in the events of the days gone by. Wars, famine, disease and global warming continue as before. Only a few hours had elapsed before fresh reports of homicides and other tragedies hit our TV screens.

Evangelical Christians have a hymn that asks the question “Is there any balm in Gilead that makes the wounded whole?” Its scriptural reference is to the writings of the prophet Jeremiah. His time, the 6th century BCE was a troubled era in Israel. Jeremiah's sole purpose was to reveal the sins of the people and explain the reason for the impending disaster (destruction by the Babylonian army and captivity), and the end of the Northern Kingdom. Doubtless there was lots of “schmerz” about , even in the prophet who had a difficult message to proclaim to the people and the leadership of the country. 

Gilead was a region of Israel that produced a scarce perfume that was believed to have medicinal qualities. When used in the hymn it referred to a cure for the sickness of sin. 

Is there some kind of balm for Welrschmerz? Of-course there are all kinds of palliatives and placebos, ways of distracting minds from what is going on in the world and closer to home. Cruises are very popular not merely to escape the cold of winter but just a way of getting away from it all. Sport spectaculars  such as gladiatorial contests on ice is a kind of balm of choice as is what nowadays passes for music.  None of these resolve the political situation in the Middle East, the financial crisis threatening the world economy , the ecological disaster waiting in the wings.

I can sympathize with the patient in the cartoon. Weltschmerz is not a figment of the imagination, its pain is very real. Nor do I have any easy fix for the problems faced by the passengers of Spaceship Earth. Obviously the cure for Weltschmerz cannot reside in solving the world’s problems.

Weltschmerz is a pain of the spirit. My friends, many of them outspoken atheists, laugh at what is known as spiritual healing , that is praying to some divinity to intercede, to heal the sick, to right wrongs, even to end global warming. I prefer to think of the healing of the spirit, that is dealing with the sufferer. 

Basking in Weltschmerz is of little help. What is needed in our world and time  is a willingness to face reality, to address the problems that beset us, to speak the truth to adversity and a willingness to make changes. Above all it rests in an awareness that we are not alone in this task , there are many involved in working for a better world though I admit that sometimes we feel very much alone. Weltschmerz is a solitary malaise and what is needed is the support of the like willed.

In my younger years my spouse and I participated in marches demonstrating against the production of bombs ( “refuse the cruise”), apartheid in South Africa, free trade treaties etc. I was often criticized for wasting my time. Perhaps it was ineffectual in changing the course of events but it did give us a sense that we were not alone in our opposition. I learned that lesson early in life when with my parents we demonstrated against fascism.   

Therefore, be aware that we are surrounded by a great crowd of witnesses. We are truly never alone. 

Spirit Quest 18/01/2015

Other stories may be found at  skoutajanh.blogspot.com  

TOMORROW AND TOMORROW.........

                              AND ALL THE YESTERDAYS....

                                                                                           Shakespeare: McBeth: Act 5

Hanns F Skoutajan

It was the eve of a new year and I was sitting by myself on a beach on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico. I had decided not to go to the party at the pool. I could hear the sound of revelry as the celebrators gassed up for the big moment, the ringing of the New Years Bell and the explosion of fire works followed by Auld Lang Syne  sung by a hundred inebriated voices. I have never been much tempted to party on that last night of the year. I prefer to be by myself meditating about the events of the last 12 months. 

So it was that hugging my knees I sat on the sand, my back to the coloured lights, my ears tuned off as much as possible to the carousing, I looked out into the dark night.  I had observed a freighter that had left the port and watched as its lights dimmed and finally disappeared into a new year that was fast approaching. 

I imagined the new year to be like a curtain moving from across the sea toward the land. It would soon sweep over me like the tide that comes rushing in and transport me  into a new calendar page. Onward it would go without pausing until somewhere out in the Pacific it crosses the International Date Line and all the world will be a new day, a new year.  

I keep a journal and each time I crack open the binding of a new book I look at the lines and pages and wonder what news, events and reflections would be recorded thereon. 

These last twelve months have not been easy as I battled metastatic prostate cancer. Soon after New Years Day I found myself hooked to an intravenous  apparatus that dripped “poison” into my system to kill the cancer but much else as well. 

The chemo did a good job knocking down my PSA considerably but it also played havoc with the blood cell production. The chemo was terminated and deemed intolerable to my system. I spent 2 weeks in hospital for blood transfusions and whatever else to restore my health. By the time I left the hospital I hardly had the strength to get up out of a chair. I was put on oxygen and with exercise gradually recovered. I began a new medication ($3,700 a month) that has no side affects but is only covered by healthcare if chemo fails or proves intolerable as in my case. Thank you dear tax payer! It brought my PSA reading to under “1” - quite a relief. My hair grew back, a bit more curly than before. I regained my weight and feel normal again. People comment on my healthy appearance if not my good looks. 

Against this personal background a lot has been happening out in the world, much of it not good. A deadly ebola epidemic caused thousands of deaths in western Africa. In the Middle East war continues to rage against ISIS, Syria, the Kurds and Iraq. Thousands have become refugees in neighbouring countries . In eastern Europe the struggle between Russia and the Ukraine with other nations taking sides recalls the Cold War of the sixties. This time its not communism against capitalism, we are all capitalists now it seems. On the positive side half a century of hostile relations between the USA and Cuba are being “normalized”.  Gas prices have plummeted but that may have dangerous consequences and there is talk of a major recession in the months ahead.

In Ottawa there are plans to construct a memorial to the victims of communism on the Supreme Court lawn. It is being supported by our very right wing government.  Why not a memorial to the victims of fascism, racism, sexism and capitalism. All of them have left a trail of victims in their wake. How about a monument to man’s inhumanity to man. 

In many countries economics is allowed, nay, encouraged to trump environmental concerns. The signs of global warming are readily apparent in aberrant weather behaviour and a continuously rising CO2 rate bodes badly for the future of life on this planet. 

I could go on and so can you for there are many other concerns that flood our minds as the New Year dawns on the face of our globe. John Greenleaf Whittier wrote : “I know not what the future hath of marvel and surprise... “ Sometime it seems best not to but we can’t help but contemplate what lies ahead. 

Thus, my thoughts inevitably turn to the next months and I am reminded that 2015 is an election year, a chance for Canadians to bring back “good government” on behalf of all Canadians. Electioneering including gerrymandering has already begun.

Friends of Public Broadcasting, an organization I support, has been struggling against our government’s intent to weaken and destroy the CBC. They send me a book every year about a notable Canadian. This year it is about Stephen Harper. “Party of One” by Michael Harris who documents the Harper government, or as the author puts it, the one man rule of Stephen Harper, to turn Canada into a corporate welfare state as well as an extraction venue. Harris argues that Harper is more than a master of controlling information; he is a profoundly anti-democratic figure. He illustrates how Harper has made war on every independent source of information in Canada since coming to power. Read it! 

Naomi Klein in her recent book This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs the Climate  paints a rather bleak picture at times and in the end quotes  Desmond Tutu , “to serve as custodians of creation is not an empty title, it requires that we act, and with all the urgency the dire situation demands.” The world has changed even since the 1980s. Dare we ask what it will be like at the end of 2015 if left unchecked?

My health struggle shall continue but my hope and heart is set for my wonderful granddaughter who in a few months will be eight years of age. I think of her and all her friends who deserve a country and indeed, a world at peace and an environment that is not threatened by human avarice. This is something worth fighting for. Don’t forget this as you face the ballot box.

The curtain sweeps from east to west and a new era is coming. Happy New Year!

Spirit Quest : December 30, 2014 

Previously published stories may be found at skoutajanh.blogspot.com