Learning Precision

Writen by John Dir

One of my first lessons in precision occurred at the home of my best friend when we were children. We decided it might be fun to rig a zip line across his back yard, stringing some plastic coated rope between two trees about 25 feet apart.

When it came time to experiment to see whether or not the line would hold our weight, we chose my younger brother for the test because he weighed less than the rest of us. We figured if the line would hold him, we could try the next lightest person until we all made it across the divide. My brother balked at taking the maiden run, because the line was about 10 feet off the ground, and there was no padding to cushion his fall if the rope were to break.

To ease his fears, my friend ran into his house and emerged with a throw pillow from his couch, about a foot square, and placed it about mid way between the start point and the finish of the run. Assured by this safety precaution, my little brother grabbed the slide bar and launched. The rope broke under his weight, and he plummeted to the ground, landing precisely on the throw pillow in a seated position. Unfortunately, the pillow did not provide enough cushion for the drop to avoid a solid thump, but we were pleased with our precision in placing the pillow in the right location. After that, we did not have enough rope to try again, so we abandoned our project, satisfied that we had at least learned something about geometry.

Director of Software Concepts BHO Technologists - LittleTek Center http://home.earthlink.net/~jdir

Crouching Tiger Flying Squirrel

Writen by Christopher Jon Luke Dowgin

Now last summer I had seen Crouching Tiger Flying Squirrel. Three against one running up and down the Pine Trees. Well falling down. What was amazing was they were still fighting as they fell, with no fear. They just figured that a twenty foot Pitch Pine tree, on average, would have anywhere from 11 to 21 branches. If they miss six they can grab at any of the remaining 15 or so as they fell and run back up the tree to start this free fall Kung Fu once more.

Now I thought that was amazing.

Until this Spring.

Did you know that squirrels in heat turn bright red. I did not. Also that modesty in the female of the cuts against species. Also the single mindedness and intense focus of men, when they are getting laid that is. I caught two squirrels in a tree. She kept giving me the look of death. She turned upside down to stare at me to leave, then went around the tree to the top, still seeing me watching, fell through the remaining fifteen branches to catch three from the ground, and run away to a more private perch. With the male still pumping away upside down, turning around the tree, ignoring me, falling a great height, and being carried across the forest with single pursuit.

Now that was amazing.

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Rituals and Identity - The Case Of October The Twelfth

Writen by Hans Bool

A ritual is the celebration of an important event. Sometimes the importance of the event fades or the celebration changes due to some reason. In Holland — for example — there is a national holiday on the thirtieth of April, due to a Royal tradition; the celebration of the queen birthday. In fact that specific date is no longer the birthday of the actual Queen, but that doesn’t make the celebration less important. In fact the 30th of April continuous to be a national day. And a day off.

Rituals are important because they forge the identity of a group. And it can also be used to rebuild the identity of a group.

The twelfth of October is a day that is celebrated by many countries in the world, all referring to the same event. Yet throughout the years the celebration has been changed in the various countries, according to the interpretation of the historical event that lies behind the tradition.

In Spain for example the twelfth of October is a national holiday. It is called Hispanic Day (Dia de la Hispanidad) and celebrates the discovery of America by Columbus. But not everybody in Spain shares the ritual. There is a small group in Catalonia that does ritualize this celebration but as an “a Spanish imperialistic legacy,” to which they oppose.

In South America (Argentina, Chile, e.o.) the twelfth of October is also celebrated but as the — Day of the race. The “race” refers to the new heritage that emerges from the Spanish and indigenous cultures.

More recently, in Venezuela the same day is baptized as the — Day of Indigenous Resistance, also a new interpretation that goes without saying. Also in the U.S. the same day is celebrated under the name “Columbus Day.” But apparently even there appears to be a group that doesn’t agree with this ritual. In the state of Minnesota, Columbus Day is not celebrated, because many people in Minnesota believe that Vikings arrived in North America before Columbus.

The way in which these rituals are differentiated amongst the various communities show how each group protects is identity. In the Netherlands there is a group that uses the 30th of April to exhibit republican ideas. In Spain we see a similar differentiation where sub-communities follow their own plan (probably not only in Catalonia). But in the end, even though a few will oppose to the national identity (and ritual), they will accept their day off, and that is probably enough for the ritual to be successful.

© 2006 Hans Bool

(Information for this article is partly based on: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Columbus_Day / Hispanic_Day)

Madness or Malady: What REALLY Happened to King George?

Writen by Linore Rose Burkard

George William Frederick, (4June 1738-29January 1820), or King George III, is said by many to have gone mad, necessitating the Regency. But is this what really happened?

Not according to recent research.

Actually, the research isn’t all that new, which is why it is inexcusable, to my thinking, to continue to characterize the King as merely having gone mad.

In 1994 the movie, “The Madness of King George” tried to set the record straight-sort of. If I remember correctly, there was a little blurb at the end stating that the King actually suffered from Porphyria, a disease of the blood. One is inclined to think, however, that most people never read the blurb, though this is, in fact, the modern consensus of what the King’s malady actually was. Porphyria.

So-what, we ask, is porphyria? Dictionaries will merely tell you that it is a metabolic disorder that affects the blood, secondarily. The main cause of symptoms, however, is not a result of how the blood is affected, but the accumulation of porphyrins in the body, which are toxic to tissue in high concentrations.

Porphyrins, in turn, are actually precursors of heme-an essential part of the blood. In the disease state, porphyrins are not manufactured into heme as they should be, thereby leaving them to roam the system, which is the root of the trouble.

There are differing types of porphyria, which result in differing symptoms, but the King is thought to have had the blood type (”hepatic porphyria”) which affects the nervous system, and results in abdominal pain, neuropathy, seizures and mental disturbances, including hallucinations, depression, anxiety and paranoia. (Little wonder that 19th century doctors thought he was nuts!)

Interestingly, research has shown that the disease is hereditary and plagues the British royal family, stemming from Scottish monarchs James 1 and Mary 1 of Scotland. Queen Anne of Great Britain, Queen Victoria’s granddaughter Charlotte, and prince William of Gloucester (not to be confused with the current Prince William) almost certainly suffered from the illness (as well as Vincent Van Gogh).

They suffered from what is called, “Acute Intermittent Porphyria” which is certainly what the King had, as can be attested by his record of attacks;

1.1765 - a brief episode.

2.1788 -a longer episode. A Regency Bill is discussed.

3.1810-final,debilitating attack; the King is considered insane and Parliament meets to enact a Regency Bill.

The King never returned to his senses, or to power, and he was “locked away at Windsor Castle” where he also fell subject to the misinformed and sometime brutal treatment of his physicians, and to eventual neglect.

Some of the mystifying behaviour he was said to display? For starters, he claimed to talk to angels. By itself, and by modern standards, we would likely not label him insane for such claims. (Questionable, eccentric, or odd, perhaps, but probably not mad.) But there’s more.

He spoke for hours on end without pause; and he once greeted an oak tree as though it were King Frederick William III of Prussia. Sadly, before he died, he prattled incessant nonsense for upwards of 50 hours, then lapsed into a coma and death.

King George was a popular monarch in Britain for most of his reign. Here in the States we tend to think badly of him, no doubt due to the fact that our forefathers saw fit to blame him entirely for all the injustices and wrongs we suffered as a British colony. (Parliament is not mentioned in the Declaration–only the King.)

But he was a thoughtful, domestic family man; he loved to cultivate crops and build gardens and was dubbed “farmer George” because of it. He remained faithful to his wife for his lifetime, which was singular for a Hanoverian monarch and much admired by the British people. And he espoused thrift and economy; ( the very opposite of what his son, the Regent, later did.)

In short, I cannot help but to like this King. He was not able to foster a good relationship with his eldest son, and in fact, was disliked by his own father. But he was a King with a conscience, and, except for an occasional stubborn streak (which he showed in his refusal to give up the colonies for so long), he was a reasonable man, savvy enough in the political arena to retain the power of the throne during his reign, and had a sincere desire to do what was right.

As to the misfortune of his having had porphyria, the best thing I can say is that, if not for the disease, we would not have had the Regency. That, indeed, would have been a great loss–at least to us Regency authors!

Sources: WordNet

Painful Lessons from the Maternity Ward

Writen by David Leonhardt

Whoever dubbed New York, New York “the city that never sleeps” should visit The Maternity Ward. My recent visit included a drop-in on several screenings of “A Star Is Born” at the late-show theatre, right near Mama’s Breast (all night milk bar) and Papa’s Gas Station (”We burp you on your way.”).

To a chorus of infant cries, I drafted this column at 1:00 a.m. Of course, it was 3:00 p.m. in Tokyo, so I suppose it wasn’t so late after all.

The whole experience of birthing seems to be a very traumatic way to build a family. Fortunately, it did lead to two very happy results. It gave me a new daughter, Lauralee, the Little Sister. And it taught me some valuable lessons, which it is my patriotic duty to share with you.

The first lesson - all men, take note - is that my wife is my hero.

As the husband, I experienced the whole birthing outburst second-hand. After careful observation, I conclude that this is the best way to experience it. (Apparently I had some first-hand experience over 40 years ago, but I can’t remember too many details.)

Most husbands suffer great humiliation during childbirth. Wives hurl razor-sharp insults like “I hate you!” and “You fink!” and “You did this to me!” and “I HATE YOU!!!” My wife, truly original even in pure agony, didn’t use any of those words. In fact, she didn’t say a thing. Instead, she threw up on me.

Of course, I don’t hold the throwing up against her. The second lesson I wish to share with you is the importance of forgiving people who act in haste, in anger, or in excruciating pain from pushing a six-inch wide baby through a one-inch wide hole in their bodies.

Did I mention that this was a “natural” childbirth? Natural, as in no painkillers. OK, so there was the epidural, which should have relieved the pain, if even one of the four dosage increases had worked. And I suppose you could call morphine and nubain painkillers if they had actually killed any pain.

So my wife, with a permanent back condition amplifying the stab of every contraction and reverberating it through the spine with no momentary relief between contractions, felt every glorious minute - 487 in all - of the unplanned “natural” childbirth. Did I mention that she is my hero? The third lesson is, when the best-laid plans go astray, improvise (which might explain the throwing up - I have reason to believe it was not planned, either).

My wife’s trauma was nothing compared to what Little Sister overcame. Her shoulders got stuck, pinching the umbilical cord and cutting the oxygen supply from her not-quite-yet-born brain. To do the equivalent, you would have to press your shoulder up into your nose, while a bulldozer on steroids pushes you in a river of blood through your mailbox. (Don’t try this at home, folks.)

Thanks to Quick Thinking Doctor, the focused team of nurses, and a well-sharpened pair of scissors, Little Sister is enjoying great suction at the all-night milk bar with no more damage than a limp arm. (That’s “brachial plexus injury” in medicalese.) The arm will hopefully recover. Even if it doesn’t, we know what the alternative would have been … and we do not look good in black. Lesson number four is to appreciate what you have rather than worry about what you don’t.

The Maternity Ward offers far too many lessons to share with you now. My fatigue is overtaking me. I feel like a wad of gum squished on the asphalt, baked in the sun, and stuck on a motorcycle tire burning rubber on a gravel trail. Ha! Bet you never felt like that in New York, New York.

About The Author

The author is David Leonhardt, The Happy Guy. To receive his satirical happiness column weekly in your inbox, sign up at http://TheHappyGuy.com/positive-thinking-free-ezine.html

Info@TheHappyGuy.com

Civil War in the USA

Writen by Sharon White

New war was about to start. It was a war between the States, between North and South. Here in this case the author describes both parties, he tells about views and beliefs of both sides. It is really hard to make up one’s mind which is right and which is wrong. When he tells about opinion of Northerners who fought against slavery, one will take their noble position for sure. It is nonsense to have slaves in a well-developed and educated society. It is so noble to fight for the rights of all people, no matter what colour of skin and origin they are. It sounds so great and civilized to promote anti-discrimination and equal human rights. But then there is another part of the case. It is South who owns those slaves and does not wish anybody to interfere into their inner state affairs. They have owned slaves for centuries and they are not able to run their business without hands of strong black people.

This was the way how their fathers and grandparents lived and there is nobody who should tell them what and how to do. It is understandable that Southerners will protect their land and their views no matter what, even if they will have to fight against their friends and brothers. They have no choice but to defend their native states and their families from those ‘Yankees’ who should rule on their land. When one reads a book and sees the events taking place in both parts of the country, he realizes that it is impossible to say who’s right in the situation. Both parties have positive and negative aspects of the led politics. Nobody really wants that war which brings only death and suffering, no one is ready to take weapons and armors and kill his co- citizens. Who needs this war? As it usually happens in our world there are influential politicians ready to neglect and ignore human lives but get more wealth and power.

The Mains and the Hazards have already become relatives when the war started. Orry’s sister married Charles’ brother and their families became even closer friends and already shared some ideas for common business. It was hard for both friends who had been close mates at the military academy to fight against each other. They have never quarreled about the war and its reasons. Though they both knew why the other one is going to fight. They respected each other as military officers and realized that the other one is a true patriot of his country and that is why he is going to be at battles. They never wanted to kill each other; they were both afraid of the war. They were afraid that their next meeting would take place on the battlefield.

Will they have enough courage to put up their weapons when there is a friend in front of you? Or rather does it matter if it is your friend who is going to shoot or who is going to be shot by you? Isn’t it unimportant who the man you are fighting with when it is in any way your brother, your co citizen? No doubts at that time it was a hard decision for everybody in the country. Civil war is always the most outrageous and the most severe for its citizens. Civil war means destroying within the country, means death of your sisters and brothers, means hatred among the citizens, means that the whole country is filled with rage and disaster is everywhere. No one will be able to profit from the outcome of the fighting.

The book is not about the war battles themselves. It is about people, about men and their emotions. Having taking for instance two families from different parts of the United States John Jakes describes their feelings and fears about the coming war. He shows that there is nobody absolutely right, and on the other hand no one can be justified or guilty for those bloody events.

Hail the Sultan of Submissions, Lance Winslow!

Writen by Robert Crane

The prolific King of the Keyboard has been writing articles for publication in Ezine @rticles

Midget Tossing - A Lost Art

Writen by David Stephenson

It’s 2am. It’s dark outside. I look over at my clock with the sudden realisation that there are literally hundreds and thousands of people out there getting wasted on cheap booze and generally having a much better time than me. I rub my eyes, sigh, shake my head and get back on with it. Not because I’m better than them. And not because I’m some sad, locked-in loser either (although that is debatable.) You see, I don’t need the usual distractions - booze, fun, women, daylight, other people, normal human society - all fade into obscurity. I care not for these things. Why? Because I have stumbled upon the ancient art of Midget Throwing!

Perhaps it’s a sign of the times. Perhaps I have finally gone crazy. I’ve spent all night looking at flying dwarves. There’s a story to this - you may have seen our recent article ‘The A-Team - Then And Now.’ If you haven’t, then you’d better drag your worthless ass over there. After putting that particular masterpiece online, I read through and one sentence in particular lept out at me: “Mr T is winner of the World’s Toughest Bouncer contest. One of the events in the competition was dwarf tossing (since outlawed.)” Dwarf Tossing?! That sounds amazing! I just had to find out more!!

The lost sport that is Dwarf Tossing / Midget Throwing originated in Australia in the 1980’s - a pub game for bored white trash country types, bored with driving their tractors. According to one website (hosted on the ever-trusty BBC.co.uk no less):

“This pub sport can be played by anyone, as the need for heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages as preparation purposes is completely optional, but strongly recommended. Both men and women can play and even compete against each other head-to-head. Unfortunately for the men, the women who generally participate tend to have male like qualities. This has meant the customary swapping of shirts at the end of each competition has been scrapped, due to the women’s constant complaints that the shirts given to them were always too small and that they wouldn’t want to wear the shirt of a ‘chauvinist pig who got his kicks throwing persons of restricted growth anyway’. Large muscles, strong legs and the arbitrary beer belly are the physical secret weapons of a true dwarf-throwing athlete. However, to fully master the sport the athlete must also possess the strength of an ox, the speed of a leopard, the timing of a magician, the patience of a predator and the appearance of a rather large bull sitting on a wasp. In order for ‘persons pacified with their horizontally-perpendicular circumstances’ to take part in a throwing competition they must always wear full protective clothing. Injury is a serious threat to the career of a Throwing Dwarf who, if on tour, can earn a six-figure sum for allowing people to share in their very specialised field of expertise.”

“Unlike golf, this is a true spectator’s sport worthy of any Olympic games but thanks of the interventions of ‘persons who negotiate a humour deficiency’ no professional body has been created to globally organise and fund what can only be described as the only sport that promotes an unprejudiced view of society (even though a British Association of Dwarf Throwers does currently exist).” Christopher Reeve shudders in his grave. Lois Lane silently weeps. These flying midgets get six figure salaries? Can this be true?! Which makes me wonder - who in the name of Jesus H Jones pays these people? Is there a Flying Midgets union? Can you imagine putting this on your resume? I wonder if these talented human missiles get hazard pay?

Basically the rules are as follows; you pick up your selected midget (who will likely be adorning some kind of safety helmet and vest), take a three step run-up and throw the little bugger as far as you possibly can. And there you have it - possibly the most non-PC sport ever invented. Whoever gets their human missile the furthest is the winner. Although I shudder to think what kind of prizes would be given. Sexual favours perhaps… who knows?

The Roots.

The first of these twisted little events to get any real recognition was The Dwarf Throwing World Championship (I kid you not) which took place some time in 1986 - further proof as to what a messed up decade that was. That particular toss-fest was won by Team England - Danny Blue, Roy Merrin and Lenny The Giant the heroes of the hour.

Making And Breaking Records.

Take a glance at the rather marvellous newspaper clipping to the right. I guarantee it is genuine. The current world record for the longest throw is held by some white trash nutcase called Cuddles. Bless. I bet he loves his mommy and everything. The throw was an impressive 12 feet 9 inches. Cuddles belongs to a team of circus escapees calling themselves Oddballs. The Oddballs are mainly famous for their rather racy (and un-nervingly homo-erotic) ‘baloon dance,’ which basically involves them prancing about naked with baloons covering their pinkened, shrunken manhoods.

It seems the local newspapers were all over this event, keen to bring you the latest on this extreme spectator sport for the new millenium. It seems not much happens in whatever sleepy-hick-filled country hovel this took place in (we will call it Sheepball-on-sea.) Either that, or there was some crazy, sickening midget sex fetish going on at the time…

Oh, and by the way (if you give a shit) - according to some random, haggared site I’ve since forgotten about, the English are still world champs. Another black eye to national pride, methinks. We might suck at the Olympics, or any other real sport for that matter, but damn - we really can let those midgets fly.

Understandably, when people heard about this sick, non-PC, offensive, yet strangely fascinating sport, they rallied en-masse to have it banned. Wow, that must have been one hell of a sight - hundreds of people marching down on the houses of law, demanding that the vertically-challenged have the right to stay on the ground. I wish I could have been there. Damned hindsight.

The year was 1989, and the world’s only support group for the vertically-challenged - The Little People Of America - went to Florida and convinced the lawmakers there that this strange sport is infact cruel and should be stopped. The measure banning dwarf-tossing was passed with a wide margin, and dwarf-tossing was outlawed in both Florida and New York. Yet, in the LPA’s home state of Texas, you can still throw migdets about to your heart’s content. Want to abuse a midget? Now you have to get in your car and drive… Later Dave Flood who appears on a morning radio talk show as “Dave the Dwarf,” took the issue to court and made the sport illegal in bars. Thanks Dave.

In Ontario, Canada, the Dwarf Tossing Ban Act, 2003 was enacted, with penalties of a fine of not more than $5,000 or to imprisonment for a term of not more than six months, or both. Perhaps they have a special wing in the jails for the dwarf-tossers. Hmmm…

Despite all this fancy legal action, this bizzare sport is still taking place today. During my research for this article / compulsive waste of time, I stumbled across some random Satan-type website that had a section on Dwarf-Tossing. These photos (see below) were taken at a recent event, probably deep in the heart of Sheepball-on-sea. One thing I noticed - if you look closely at the photos - it’s the same midget being thrown by each one of those hickory hillbillies. The poor bastard! That’s just not right! He doesn’t even get a helmet or anything!

Remember folks no matter how bizzare, different, or strangely fascinating this obscure and perverse sport may seem, don’t try it. Johnny Law will be two steps behind you ready to throw your bitch ass in jail. You’ve heard about what they do to rapists in prison, right? Imagine what they’d do to a Dwarf Thrower. In conclusion… it’s never cool to be a tosser.

An Article By: Part-time Ninja of http://www.twistededge.co.uk

The original article for this is at: http://twistededge.org/articles/Midget_Throwing/

This article is one of many amazing and bizzare articles available for free at: http://www.twistededge.co.uk

Article is from http://www.twistededge.co.uk - where humour goes to die.

There are two kinds of people in this world; those who love TwistedEdge… and those who haven’t been there yet.

An Exploration into Eurasians, the Burghers of Sri Lanka

Writen by Rajkumar Kanagasingam

Asia was from time immemorial a crossroad for human migration and a meeting point for the different Homo sapiens cousins.

Negroid, Indo-Europeans, Dravidians, Semites, Mongoloids and other tribes mixed together in Asia and contributed to a blend of culture and religious practices as seen today.

Even there were pre Indo - European presence in the region before Indo - Aryan invasion.

The evidence of the Dardic languages, including Kashmiri, are apparently descended from the first wave of Indo-Europeans into South Asia, but then got isolated in the Himalayas during the diffusion of Indo- Aryans.

Asia added more genetic richness with the Indo - Aryans infiltrating flourishing Dravidians communities in the North-Western Frontiers around 2000 B.C. to 1500 B.C.

But new chapters started in Asia once again with the European colonizers were conquering most of the Asian coastal countries since 1500 A.D.

The Burghers are a Eurasian ethnic group, historically from Sri Lanka, consisting for the most part of the male-line descendants of the European colonists and of the maternal ancestry of Sinhalese and Tamil.

Burghers always have European surnames including German, French, Russian, or even Flemish with the common surnames of Portuguese, Dutch and British origin.

Most Burghers are Christian, the majority being Catholics or Presbyterians, although Lutheran and Jewish denominations are not unheard of.

Though today the mother tongue of the Burghers is English, they spoke a form of Portuguese Creole, even those of Dutch, German and other European descendants.

It is now only spoken in the parts of coastal towns of Trincomalee and Batticaloa in the eastern part of the Island. Most of its vocabulary is from Portuguese, but its grammar is based on that of Tamil and Sinhalese.

The origin of the Burgers has an interesting past. When Portuguese arrived in the Island in 1505, since there were no women in the Portuguese navy, they married local Sinhalese and Tamil women.

This practice of intermarriage with local people was encouraged by the Portuguese, not only in the Island, but also in other Portuguese colonies including Batavia in Indonesia, Macau in China, Malacca in Malaysia and Goa in India.

When the Dutch took over in 1653, they expelled all the Portuguese. However, they permitted stateless persons of Portuguese-Jewish descendants and of those who were mixed Portuguese-Sinhalese-Tamil ancestry to stay.

The term “Burgher” was first introduced to identify the mixed Eurasian people in the Dutch period.

It comes from the Dutch word Burger, meaning “citizen” or “resident”.

People of mixed ancestry were not allowed citizenship of the country of their European fathers, nor of their Asian mothers, so a compromise was found whereby they would be citizens of the towns of their birth, and they were known as “Burgers”.

Burgher culture is a rich mixture of east and west, reflecting their ancestry.

They are the most westernised of all ethnic groups in the Island.

Burghers share a common culture rather than a common ethnicity.

While the older generations of Burghers tried to dismiss the obvious Asian side of their ancestry, many younger Burghers today highly value the mixture of their heritage.

Individual families have traditions which reflect their specific family origins.

The Feast of Saint Nicholas in December is celebrated by the Burghers of Dutch origin.

The Portuguese-Jewish origin observe customs such as the separation time of a woman after childbirth, the redemption of the Firstborn and the purification bath after a daughter’s first period.

A Catholic slant has been given to those customs and traditions while that was of Jewish origins.

However, some of these so-called Jewish left over traditions can also be explained as borrowings or retention from neighboring Tamil and Sinhalese communities with whom many Burgher families also share a genetic admixture.

For example the purification bath after a girl’s first period is a common cultural feature of the Tamil and Sinhalese communities of Sri Lanka and neighboring India.

Hence its prevalence amongst some Burghers families of Sri Lanka is not necessarily of Jewish origins.

Burgher community has cultivated a culture of tolerance and has become part of their attitude.

While inter-communal strife has sadly become a feature of modern Sri Lankan life, Burghers have on the whole worked to maintain good relations with other ethnic groups.

It is safe to say that racial and religious tolerance is an integral part of Burgher culture too.

The VOC, the “Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie” or the Dutch East India Company which had overseen the Dutch colonial operations was in almost constant conflict with the British and the relationship worsened after the Amboynas Massacre in the Indonesian Spice Islands in 1623.

When the British took over in 1796, many Dutch people chose to leave. However, a significant number chose to stay, mostly those of mixed descent.

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, many Burghers left the island and emigrated mostly to Australia where there is an area of Melbourne known as “Little Ceylon” as Sri Lanka was known as Ceylon during their migration.

No Comprendo

Writen by Kenneth C. Hoffman

The noontime peace on our townhouse patio was suddenly shattered by the raucous bellow of a leaf blower. A South American gardener’s helper and his blower machine inexorably advanced toward my patio and my waiting lunch. The dust swirled in the sun as he swept the patios clean.

I frantically looked around for a non existing cover for my lunch. Knowing that he spoke no English, I semaphored for him to cut off his blaster, alternating my signals between chopping at my neck with stiffened hand and pointing to my mouth and my food. A blank stare confirmed my suspicion that I wasn’t coming across.

Finally, the young man looked up with what seemed like comprehension and turned off his machine. I pointed to my lunch (which consisted of a bowl of hot mushroom soup, a piece of Russian rye toast, a cup of coffee and a slice of pound cake for dessert.

I thanked him for the silence, prepared to enjoy my lunch. He suddenly broke out in a big grin, pulled out the chair and started eating! Dumbstruck, I watched him dig in. Bemused, I allowed myself two brownie points, one for not saying anything and one for doing my good deed of the day.

Retired portrait photographer. Now I can laugh.