Climate Change

 

Here's the thing, the land of the ice and snow was more like the land of t shirt and shorts for most of the past week. Obviously someone remembered to pay their carbon tax, and then they didn't. Yesterday dawned grey and chill, with the cold seeping into your Arctyrx fleece as a harbinger of things to come, Winter.

the climate has changed

So I took the young 'un out for an enormous burger at the Inglewood Diner, tasty, and prophesied, "Son, it feels like snow." He agreed, and sure enough that's exactly what happened. A biting wind kicked in at around 6 pm and white supremacy fell from the sky, indifferent to the fate of the oppressed.

random Canadian fridge magnet

"Look, Dad," exclaimed Junior LSP, "A winter wonderland!" And so it was, "Welcome to Narnia, Son." We spent the rest of the evening watching John Wick movies along with superlative Chinese food ordered up from Chinatown. Big fun.

brrrrr

Today dawned clear, crisp and bright, beautiful. Climate Change, you see, has its benefits and to celebrate this I shoveled the sidewalk and scraped ice off the car. Then SL's rig pulled up from High River and off we went to the airport, mission accomplished.

Stay Frosty,

LSP

High River BB Gun

 

Drive about 45 minutes out of Calgary and you get to High River, which is "a vibrant, People-First community and the back door to the Kananaskis." Marketing aside, it was fun to get out of the city and visit family within sight of the mountains; there they were, at the very end of the road, and you can imagine the toughness of the people who pioneered this place, in the winter. Like Texans but Brits and Scots in the snow for months.

what a daisy

War against the Weather aside, I was knocking about in the backyard, watching the grass grow, when all of a sudden I spotted a Daisy lying nonchalantly against a wall. Yes, it was loaded, and there was a tin can.

Put two and two together and what do you get? No, not maths racism, but a backyard shooting range, so I set to, practicing abominably rusty off-hand with the little BB monster. Big fun, watch that can pop around the lawn. It brought me back to my youth and an air gun, a BSA pump, in Oxford. Sorry, birds, I genuinely apologize.

gotcha

No sooner were hundreds of BBs exhausted than feminine cries echoed from the kitchen, "Please, please get us Poutine! It's just at the end of the street!" Huh. Off I went to the end of the street and there were the mountains, most majestic, but no poutine shop, so I recced around, miraculously found the place, and all was well in High River.

note horse totem

Maybe I need to invest in an air gun when I get back to Texas, just for backyard plinking and keeping the eye in, sort of thing. Shooting is, well, shooting, eh?

Cheers,

LSP

Remembrance Sunday

 

In the States we honor veterans on November 11 but in Commonwealth countries people mark the date as Remembrance Day, looking back to the terrible slaughter of World War I, which ended with the "passing of the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month." In respect of this, churches keep the following Sunday as Remembrance Sunday and St. John the Evangelist, Calgary, was no exception.

Except perhaps it was, with a full Requiem High Mass, complete with Catafalque, Absolution at the Bier, two minutes silence, both Canadian and English national anthems and a heartfelt homily by Fr. B. I was moved and so was my youngest son. The liturgy began with an Act of Remembrance:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We shall remember them.

And the Mass continued according to the Anglican Use of the Roman Rite for the ordinariates, designed for Anglican converts. Pretty much Anglican Missal or for all you RC trads, the Extraordinary Form but in Cranmerian liturgical English as opposed to the attack language of 1970s worship experts. It was good and you knew you'd been to church.

Here's Flanders Fields, included in the Mass bulletin:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

Lest we forget and God bless you all,

LSP

Be All You Can Be

 

I'm confused, why are there no trannies in this recruitment vid? And here's another, check it out.

This is weird. Yet again, not a tranny in sight, just some white guys jumping out of a plane like soldiers. What does this mean, are we actually going to war or is the Army bizarrely trying to recruit from its natural demographic. 

On topic, would you fight and die for the rainbow?

Your call,

LSP

Welcome To Calgary

 

The plane touched down and off we went into the frozen expanse of Calgary's airport. It's larger now and the new terminal seems a bit less friendly than the original but whatever, it works, and some 30 minutes and a taxi later there I was in Inglewood, right off of downtown. Hippies? Use the backdoor, without exception.

a typical Calgarian kitchen scene

Entering appropriately through the front door, the fun began, beginning and ending, curiously, at the Swan pub. Nice. It was good to be back in the land of the ice and snow and I like this part of Calgary, with its shops and eateries and downtowny vibe on a UK meets US tip.

Colonel McLeod

The next day was all about strolling around town, which isn't hard because the city center's only 20 minutes walk away. March over the bridge from Inglewood to Fort Calgary, admiring the Bow river to your right, with its excellent fly fishing, salute the the statue of Colonel McLeod, then walk with purpose through East Village towards the hideous new city library and find yourself on Stephen Avenue.

Stephen Ave

All good, but gasp in dismay at the Hyatt's bar, why, you fools, did you remove the BISON HEAD from above the fireplace? Walk away in disgust from that place. Also wonder at hideously overpriced steak houses as you mourn the loss of the Arctyrx/Mountain Adventure shop. Huh, I guess COVD got you while sparing the unpleasant Patagonia store. 

Just look at this hideous concrete portrait of tyranny

So yes, the scamdemic claimed a few victims in this High Street and there you have it, but think of all the money others made; rejoice for your rulers. Speaking of which, on your return take time to walk through the brutalist concrete nightmare that is Calgary's Town Hall.

 

Is that a Bofors gun sitting idle?

Then, safely back in Inglewood, detour by Crown Surplus. What a neat little store, complete with artillery in the yard. And there you have it, what a lot of fun to be back in Calgary, I like it here.

More on this exciting adventure as it unfolds,

LSP

Off To The Land Of The Ice And Snow

 

The land of the ice and snow, aka Canada, which means getting up at an unearthly hour tomorrow and venturing forth to DFW and the joy of modern air travel. What will Alberta be like? Will you still be able to pay with cash, will there be giant billboards of Justine Trudeau staring down at you from Orwellian rainbow hoardings?

A typical Albertan house

Who knows, and this mission's all about reconnaissance, it's a recce patrol. And I tell you, it's been a few years since I've been there, not since the deadliest plague to lockdown humanity in the history of deadliest plagues. That's passed over now, leaving 99.9% of the populace alive, so let's see what's left of Calgary, Alberta, in the aftermath of the horror.

My feeling is that the Ranchmen's Club still stands. Regardless, see you on the other side.

Ite,

LSP

America: What Time is Love?

 

Good question, let's see if this song enlightens us:

No one I know or have ever known had anything to do with this video. That is all. 

Cheers,

LSP

The Worm Ouroboros

 

Hi-Stepping

Do you remember the annoying saying, "What comes around  goes around"? And another is like unto it, "As ye reap so shall ye sow." Maybe Hi-Stepping Soros-backed New Orleans DA, Jason Williams, is thinking just that after being carjacked with his 78 year old mother last month.

According to Gateway Pundit: 

Williams was helping his mother into her car when armed masked men held them up at gunpoint and took off with the elderly woman’s belongings.

Williams said in an interview that having a gun pointed directly at him was “horrific” and it made him think of crime victims. 

 

Right, well done, you paid-off, POC, diversity hire, corrupt puppeteer, masquerading as a civil servant, who dismissed 66% of all violent felony crimes in your district. Good looking out, now your egregious malfeasance is coming home to roost as your aged mother gets ripped-off at gunpoint and you're horrified. Go figure. Oh, woe is you, all the way to the nearest bank account.

Dear readers, I won't bang on, but yet again we see an axiom in force. Viz. Everything the Left enacts produces the exact opposite of its intended result.

Cheers,

LSP

Take Note You Heathen

 

This seemed especially on point, from Evening Prayer (1928 BCP obvs) tonight:

"Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world? And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many. And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows."

 

just coz

See that ye be not troubled, stay steadfast to the end and win the crown of glory.

Here endeth the Lesson,

LSP

DrawMo Contest!

 

Thanks to LL, we're reminded that it's the time of year when we challenge you to send in your best drawings of Mohammad, the desert prophet who spoke with a demon in a cave. By way of inspiration, here's a few examples.

Look, Mo and Aisha, she's 9.

 

And here's head chopper killer. So very religion of peace, not least in Texas.

You see, what happens when you hold a DrawMo is that Jihad savages are drawn to the event like moths before a flame, and dealt with. So feel free to send in your best DrawMos, and may the best artist win!

Kizmet,

LSP

All Souls

 

En lieu of a homily by me here's Austin Farrer preaching at All Souls chapel, Oxford, after World War II: 

‘May they rest in peace, and may light perpetual shine upon them’ - those millions among whom our friends are lost, those millions for whom we cannot choose but pray; because prayer is a sharing in the love of the heart of God, and the love of God is earnestly set towards the salvation of his spiritual creatures, by, through and out of the fire that purifies them. 

The arithmetic of death perplexes our brains. What can we do but throw ourselves upon the infinity of God? It is only to a finite mind that number is an obstacle, or multiplicity a distraction. Our mind is like a box of limited content, out of which one thing must be emptied before another can find a place. The universe of creatures is queuing for a turn of our attention, and no appreciable part of the queue will ever get a turn. But no queue forms before the throne of everlasting mercy, because the nature of an infinite mind is to be simply aware of everything that is. 

Everything is simply present to an infinite mind, because it exists; or rather, exists because it is present to that making mind. And though by some process of averaging and calculation I should compute the grains of sand, it would be like the arithmetic of the departed souls, an empty sum; I could not tell them as they are told in the infinity of God’s counsels, each one separately present as what it is, and simply because it is. 

The thought God gives to any of his creatures is not measured by the attention he can spare, but by the object for consideration they can supply. God is not divided; it is God, not a part of God, who applies himself to the falling sparrow, and to the crucified Lord. But there is more in the beloved Son than in the sparrow, to be observed and loved and saved by God. So every soul that has passed out of this visible world, as well as every soul remaining within it, is caught and held in the unwavering beam of divine care. And we may comfort ourselves for our own inability to tell the grains of sand, or to reckon the thousands of millions of the departed. 

And yet we cannot altogether escape so; for our religion is not a simple relation of every soul separately to God, it is a mystical body in which we are all members one of another. And in this mystical body it does not suffice that every soul should be embraced by the thoughts of God; it has also to be that every soul should, in its thought, embrace the other souls. For apart from this mutual embracing, it would be unintelligible why we should pray at all, either for the living or for the departed. Such prayer is nothing but the exercising of our membership in the body of Christ. God is not content to care for us each severally, unless he can also, by his Holy Spirit in each one of us, care through and in us for all the rest. Every one of us is to be a focus of that divine life of which the attractive power holds the body together in one. 

So even in the darkness and blindness of our present existence, our thought ranges abroad and spreads out towards the confines of the mystical Christ, remembering the whole Church of Christ, as well militant on earth as triumphant in heaven; invoking angels, archangels and all the spiritual host.

May they rest in peace and rise in glory,

LSP 

All Saints

 

Today marks the Solemnity of All Saints and we join them in the worship of God and holiness. St. Bernard of Clairvaux offers us this:

Why should our praise and glorification, or even the celebration of this feast day mean anything to the saints? What do they care about earthly honors when their heavenly Father honors them by fulfilling the faithful promise of the Son? What does our commendation mean to them?

The saints have no need of honor from us; neither does our devotion add the slightest thing to what is theirs. Clearly, if we venerate their memory, it serves us, not them. But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning.

Calling the saints to mind inspires, or rather arouses in us, above all else, a longing to enjoy their company, so desirable in itself. We long to share in the citizenship of heaven, to dwell with the spirits of the blessed, to join the assembly of patriarchs, the ranks of the prophets, the council of apostles, the great host of martyrs, the noble company of confessors and the choir of virgins.

In short, we long to be united in happiness with all the saints. But our dispositions change. The Church of all the first followers of Christ awaits us, but we do nothing about it. The saints want us to be with them, and we are indifferent. The souls of the just await us, and we ignore them.

Come, brothers, let us at length spur ourselves on. We must rise again with Christ, we must seek the world which is above and set our mind on the things of heaven. Let us long for those who are longing for us, hasten to those who are waiting for us, and ask those who look for our coming to intercede for us.

We should not only want to be with the saints, we should also hope to possess their happiness. While we desire to be in their company, we must also earnestly seek to share in their glory. Do not imagine that there is anything harmful in such an ambition as this; there is no danger in setting our hearts on such glory.

When we commemorate the saints we are inflamed with another yearning: that Christ our life may also appear to us as he appeared to them and that we may one day share in his glory. Until then we see him, not as he is, but as he became for our sake. He is our head, crowned, not with glory, but with the thorns of our sins.

As members of that head, crowned with thorns, we should be ashamed to live in luxury; his purple robes are a mockery rather than an honor. When Christ comes again, his death shall no longer be proclaimed, and we shall know that we also have died, and that our life is hidden with him. The glorious head of the Church will appear and his glorified members will shine in splendor with him, when he forms this lowly body anew into such glory as belongs to himself, its head.

Therefore, we should aim at attaining this glory with a wholehearted and prudent desire. That we may rightly hope and strive for such blessedness, we must above all seek the prayers of the saints. Thus, what is beyond our own powers to obtain will be granted through their intercession.

But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning. Amen to that, and as Farrer reminds us, "the saints are our evidence." Yes indeed, that even we can be transformed by grace and the indwelling presence of Christ into holiness, and so reflect the features of our Lord and Savior.

Saints, pray for us,

LSP