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The First Voice for Our Lady of Seven Sorrows

2011-11-29T23:46:00.000-08:00

The First Voice

The first prayer for Our Lady of Seven Sorrows, in the oratory at Seven Hills Ranch, was offered up on November 26th 2011 and took the form of two hymns in plainchant, the Ave Maria, and the Salve Regina. The builders and ranch masters halted as time stopped to memorialize the initial sanctification of the new chapel.

There’s a spot in the Valley of Inwood
That is called The Seven Hills Ranch,
Where the hillsides are high cloaked with vineyards
To which I’d return at the chance.
From a crest looking down on the valley
A sanctuary tower may be seen
Dedicated to Sancta Maria,
Stabat Mater of Heaven the Queen.

I sent up a prayer for Our Lady
For Mary the Mother of God,
I sent up a prayer and the hills were still
Like the builders who stopped where they trod.
And the hymn that I sang was as old as the hills
And it rose to the new chapel’s dome,
Filling the air with a hope and a prayer
In a space that will ever be home.

Never before had a song been sung
Never a voice offered up,
Not since the chapel was first conceived
As the venue to raise host and cup.
And the song was the sanctification
It flew to the beams like a dart
And those who were there will remember the prayer
For Our Lady engraved on their heart.

And the valley of Inwood will blossom
Its hillsides will bloom and be fair,
The wines from its vines will fill up the cup
When communion is taken there.
And bells of Our Lady of Sorrows
Will peel out the Angelus Change,
Across the vineyards and out and away
To all seven hills within range.

A Visit To Anselmo Vineyards

2011-11-26T17:51:00.000-08:00

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving we went with Ray and Charlotte Carlson and Jenny Fator to have lunch at a vineyard restaurant. What a delightful surprise that turned out to be. Set to the east of Redding in the Inwood Valley this 2250 acre ranch lies at the feet of Mount Lassen. The term gorgeous comes to mind.

The facilities are absolutely beautiful with large and small intimate dining rooms, and a wedding pavilion down by a lake.

Miss Maddie Merritt was with us between Jenny and Nancy, and Charlotte and Ray to the left and our boys Ollie and Roddy to the right.

We all had delicious lunches in their intimate dining room cum bar, and tried The 2009 Majorette, a Merlot/Syrah/ Petite Verdot blend, which was a winner, but was beaten out by the 2008 Merlot two fine wines.

Then the real magic started to happen. We were introduced to the vineyard owners who have been industriously enhancing and updating the facilities, Reverge and Ramone (Chicken) Anselmo. What fascinating folk they are.

Reverge, low key understated and armed with a Winston between his fingers and a glass of wine and ice, army jump suite clad and warmly inveigling his visitors into his charm. He opens up quickly and easily to divulge how his Wedding Pavilion is drawing in the visitors. Every vista is captivating.

"Chicken" is just about as at home in the barn yard as she is at the salon table, and is captivatingly enthusiastic about the improvements that are underway all around her. The animals love her. She embraces the traditions of the ranch and pointed out the grave in the vineyard of its founder Sylvester Langdon who was killed in 1857 by grizzly bears on the property.

Up on the hill overlooking the cluster of tasting rooms and barns there is a new Catholic sanctuary in construction with artisans and materials from Italy. It is to be consecrated as Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows for the ranch of the Seven Hills.

Carillon is installed in the tower to ring out the Angelus, and resonate throughout the little valley. No doubt the church will be the venue for many a wedding in years to come.

The acoustics were sampled with long remembered renditions of the "Ave Maria" and "Salve Regina" in plainchant.

There is to be a New Year's celebration at the vineyard, and we are hoping to attend.

The new pavilion is stunning

What more can I say but.... Cheers!

And Jolly Good Company

2011-11-26T11:23:00.000-08:00

Well here we all are at the Carlson's in Palo Cedro, to the west of Redding, and what a jolly company we were. I am on the end of the camera obviously. I could not find a tripod this year.

It is delightful to see the young families growing, a foreshadowing of things to come for us McLeod we hope.

Thanksgiving is a great American holiday, a chance to reflect of the many blessings we do not deserve, but yet enjoy so completely.

Seed Thieves- The Garden Birds

2011-11-13T13:33:00.000-08:00

With the Persimmon tree turning to red and gold, our gardener has chosen to fertilize the lawns in time for the rains. The birds are now madly attracted to our patch of grass and flock to glean their share of the newly planted seed. Should I approach to snap a picture they fly off to the adjacent bushes and pretend not to be near, eying me watchfully to ensure that I am completely gone before venturing back and starting their chorus again.

That old Flamingo is left over from our daughter's Alice in Wonderland 18th Birthday Party. It is getting sorry and faded now the last of a stand that pervaded the grounds on that momentous occasion.

Can you spy Ten Little Dickie Birds?

Seed Thieves

I don’t begrudge those birdies on the lawn
Scarfing up the seed the gardener’s sown,
They make me think of Rabbie’s little mouse
Uprooted from his house inside the loam.

What we intend to beautify our home
They flock to steal in such a merry throng,
Caring not to sow or reap or store
But fill the garden air with chirping song.

Should I approach to see they flee away,
Or tap the glass beside my window seat
The doves rise up and mournfully complain
That I should stop their “gleaning of the wheat”

Surmise I then that I am but the slave
That serves the Master who all things provides
Who feeds the birds and decks the lily fair
And gently my possessive nature chides.

I’m set to wonder was it not the birds
Who gathered in the seeds so widely strewn?
Then shed them so they grew for us to find
Not far away from places we called home.

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
Matthew 6:26

So Ruth stayed close to the servant girls of Boaz to glean until the barley and wheat harvests were finished. And she lived with her mother-in-law
Ruth 2:23

When I’m Sixty Four - cake and a bottle of wine.

2011-10-31T08:41:00.000-07:00

I was sixty four yesterday, and after church we all went off with Miss Maddie Merritt, a Hillsdale graduate, to Newport Beach to meet with our good friends the Kendal-Bells and the Hoffmans for an afternoon of gentle sumptuousness. We said grace and enjoyed a really good meal, with wine and ate Mrs. McLeod’s chocolate cake which you can imagine is to die for. I have been attempting to sing and whistle the old Beatles Song but they won’t let me get a breve out.

Photo courtesy of Susan Kendal Bell

Yummy Platter

Maddie Merritt, with Pamela and wee Lizzie Hoffman

Chris Covell at the Cafe Audrey

2011-10-17T06:16:00.000-07:00

Celebrating a friend’s twenty first birthday has always got to be something special, and ours for Chris Covell, the Chapman Film Student, most certainly was. After church on Sunday the McLeods and the Covells pitched over to the First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood for and excellent performance by The Actors Co-op of “To Kill A Mockingbird”. Not to be missed, all the performers made this dramatization become captivatingly alive.

Afterwards we convoyed off to the Cafe Audry . We loved this little restaurant tucked away on Las Palmas off Hollywood Boulevard. The theme of Audrey Hepburn adds a delightful old Hollywood feeling to a menu of tasty treats. My tuna melt did just that in my mouth.

Audrey’s quotations are sprinkled here and there and one looks down from the ceiling. With a chef who comes out to make sure his customers are enjoying their fare we could not go wrong.

Chris got a new Tee Shirt to celebrate the occasion

Our caravan continued to our home for an airing of “How To Steal A Million” the 1966 Hepburn /O’Toole comedy. We all fell in love with Audrey again and it made a perfect end to a beautiful day.

John MacArthur's New Bible - Original King James Version

2011-09-18T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today, Sunday September 18th 2011, John MacArthur, the Pastor, was preaching on “Gratitude for a Faithful Church” with a text from 1 Thessalonians 1 and 2, when he was acknowledged for his huge contribution at Grace Community Church and to the world through the “Grace To You” Ministry. He has completed the teaching of the entire New Testament over forty three years and from the same pulpit.

The Elders and church leaders, and Grace To You got together to find a special gift to express their gratitude and to commemorate this unusual milestone in John or any other preacher’s career. We are humbled and chastened to have such a man of God in our midst to be our spiritual leader.

What kind of gift, one might ask, could be suitable for such an occasion and to symbolically represent our grateful thanks. Well today John MacArthur was invited up to that pulpit from where he has preached so long, to receive a rare treasure, a 1611 first edition of the King James Bible, calf bound with its original case. It was one of the “He” bibles where in Ruth 3 :15 “he” is used instead of “she”. In accepting the gift John compared his church, Grace Community Church, to the ancient church at Thessalonica, saying they were faithful and loving. He thanked God for his congregation and expressed thankfulness for their salvation. Thessal 1:2-5. You are our glory and joy Thessal 2:20.

Greatsite.com says “Because a typo in Ruth 3:15 is corrected to read "she went into the city" instead of "he went into the city", it is often assumed that these 1611 "She Bibles" are actually the SECOND printing of the original 1611 King James Bible, likely done within several weeks of the 1611 "He Bibles". Many scholars now agree that the much more likely explanation is that the "He" and "She" King James Bible First Editions of 1611 were done at approximately the SAME TIME on two different presses.”

“There is no real evidence that one variant is any older than the other. The main reason “He” variants cost more, is simply because there are fewer of them (fewer than 50 known to exist). If you want an ORIGINAL 1611 King James First Edition, you can save a lot of money simply by choosing the "She" printing (of which fewer than 150 are known to exist).”

Click to play
The Photograph and video were taken by Melinda Welsh, Jogn MacArthur's daughter, who had the presence of mind to change the phone setting

Scout First Class- Another Pin For Mum

2011-09-18T01:13:00.000-07:00

On Friday at the Troup 50 Court of Honor, the flag was saluted and the Pledge of Allegiance reiterated as parents and Scouts assembled to celebrate the achievements of the past months. It is a moving experience to see these young men growing up to love and respect their great country, and to strive to manage their lives so that they may become a useful, valuable part in it.
Another Pin For Mum

The flag ceremony starts the proceedings.

It was moving for Nancy and I to see our son Oliver carry Old Glory and step the colors as the ranks of his peers draw off a smart salute.

It takes a lot of work to advance in rank as a Boy Scout. The whole family not just the son needs to be committed to supporting the process.

It is an accomplishment for the family when advancement occurs.
The rank of Scout First Class is an important milestone on the road to Eagle, the highest rank in Scouting, and it was a proud moment for us to see our son receive his rank insignia and shake hands by the left, and for me to watch him pin his commemorative pin on his mother’s chest before hugging his dad.

Such is the Scouting tradition, a tradition that has produced many fine leaders and even claims the first man to step foot on the moon, and Baden Powell would be pleased to see his dream carried on here in Troupe 50.

God bless Scouting, and God bless America!

Farewell to Othello

2011-09-03T21:26:00.000-07:00

Farewell Furry Fellow
My condolences to Rick Baum on his loss of his beloved dog, Othello. We will miss Othello's visits to Le Tip during our morning meetings.

Farewell Othello, furry fellow,
Friend was never loved as thee,
Even in your failing form
The gift of joy flowed fast and free
In all who stroked your coat.
Content you were at foot to lie
While any respondents pet,
Drawing enamored smiles and sighs
From every one you met
Who deigned to rub your throat.

You will not have seen the teary eye
In your tensed master’s face,
Nor heard the faltering in his voice
As he imparts with grace
The loss of his beloved hound.
But we who still have eyes that see,
And empathic hearts that beat,
Will long recall nostalgically
The comfort and the therapy
In your blithe spirit found.

Neil Stewart McLeod - August 19th 2011

Uncle Bill Turns Sixty Five

2011-08-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

Bill Thompson, the retired K9 police officer is a man of a thousand stories. He spends his time doing good turns wherever he goes. I asked at his "surprise"celebratory dinner at Frankies New York Italian Restaurant, if any one felt that he was an uncle to them. There was a roar of agreement.

With Frankie and Terri

The event was captured by Steve Galland the Photographer, and here are a few of his shots.

So here is a brief salute to a man who should definitely write a book.

Taylor, Kerry Sue and Bill

Uncle Bill’s Sixty Fifth

They say you don’t feel the years coming
That we rise up each day with a will.
That the ‘sixty five’ ties
Come as a surprise,
So here is a good health to Bill.

They say good Policemen don’t perish,
They fade off and quietly fill,
A place on a list
Of the loved and the missed,
So here is a good health to Bill.

There’s many a villain not sorry
To know that he’s not at his drill,
Sending his hound
’Till the culprit is found,
So here is a good health to Bill.

Now our friend is a jolly good fellow
You can’t say he’s over the hill,
He’s lending a hand
Doing good where he can,
So here is a good health to Bill.

So to finish I just thought that I’d ask
If you’d join me as I share this thrill
To raise up a glass
To a Copper with class
So here is a good health to Bill.

Neil McLeod 8.28.2011

With Roger - My daughter's teddy bear

2011-08-29T11:48:00.000-07:00

Graduation from high school is done and so is summer, and our daughter departs for college accompanied by her favorite comfy toy.

Only those who have shared the experience can appreciate how it feels to suppress to choking emotion of saying goodbye to a loved child when sending her off to college. It was four o'clock in the morning, we had bowed heads and asked God's blessing and travel mercies, and as Maran turned to go she said, "Daddy, send me a poem so I can share it with my new friends at College." She then turned to get into the car and the vision of her with her bear packed in at the top of her knapsack resulted in this poem.

With Roger

I’m leaving with Roger for college,
His top’s sticking out from my pack,
He can see past each ear
To the front and the rear
And everything that’s at my back.

I’m leaving with Roger for college,
It’s the first time that we’ll be long away,
We’ve left our home,
And our folks all alone
And flown up and off for a day.

I am safe because Roger is with me,
He keeps my spirits buoyed up,
He knows if I’m blue
And I’m thinking of you
To listen and not interrupt.

I can tell that he’ll be a good room mate,
He’s had hours of practice you know,
If it’s logic or rhetoric
Or some other what the heck
He’ll wait for my answers to show.

I’m leaving with Roger for college,
In McIntyre we’ll be there,
Working away
At our classes each day,
Miss Maran and Roger her bear.

With my love, Dad

Launching the Contact Marker CM1

2011-06-12T17:05:00.001-07:00

For thirty four years I have been attempting to provide my patients with the highest standard of care. My USC training and the legacy of Dr Glazier's practice which I took over in 1976 have inspired me to continue to provide beautiful gold onlays and inlays.

Increasingly we are providing our patients with porcelain restorations; Crowns, veneers, inlays and onlays. It is very important that the contacting surface between teeth and porcelain repairs is precise, not too tight, and not loose. Food packing between the teeth causes gum inflammation and bone loss.

When porcelain work comes back from the dental laboratory, it is either tight, just right or loose. The chances of it being just right are slim, therefore I always ask my technician to make it just a little tight so I can adjust it. There are all sorts of ways dentists use to identify where to adjust their work, and I have tried them all. I have found that nothing is as accurate as a soft graphite pencil. So I have developed a way to carry a graphite marker to the mouth so that it is possible to adjust porcelain work perfectly.

On Tuesday 14th June I will be speaking to the Los Angeles Dental Society and will be announcing this new idea.

I am marketing my new dental instrument on http://www.contactmarker.com

Take a look and see:

Contact-Marker CM1 Demo Video from Dr. Neil McLeod on Vimeo.

John MacArthur - Unprecedented Preaching Achievement

2011-06-05T22:19:00.000-07:00

By any standard Grace Community is a big and successful Church, and with good reason, for sound fundamental Christianity is taught there verse by verse every week. The teaching of John MacArthur feeds the need for honest down to earth understandable exposition of God's Word. You can doubt all you want, but once you have heard it you will know the truth of it.

Today was a milestone in the history of this amazing worship center. In a sanctuary packed as usual, John MacArthur brought to a close what can only be described as a nearly unprecedented achievement in his or any other preacher's long career as shepherd of his flock. Today as he brought to a conclusion his study of the Gospel of Mark, he completed a forty three year sojourn through the entire New Testament. All these sermons were from the same pulpit.

John MacArthur is firm and forthright, never wavering in his criticism of sins of our time. He fully recognizes that Christianity is under attack and teaches us the basic truths to which we must attend if we are to achieve the gift of eternal life with our Lord.

His sermons are packed with substantial insights into the real meaning of every verse. Never have I enjoyed the Word of God so clearly explained.

Together with his unfaltering teaching style there is a humor that is playful and understanding of our human foibles.
Showing his humanity and ongoing love for his wife, John presented Patricia with a beautiful rose to thank her for all her support during this academic and preaching epic.

I asked John how he managed to collect and collate all the information he has used to produce the over three thousand five hundred sermons, which are all recorded and available on line through Grace To You, and how big his staff was. His answer, "Neil, I mine all my own data."

Dr. MacArthur, President of the Master's College, and pastor of Grace Community Church is nothing short of phenomenal.

MacLeod Rant - Remembering Ann Skipper

2011-06-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

Honoring Ann Skipper

1925 - 2009

Internationally renowned

Dance Mistress of

The Clan MacLeod Dancers

Est. 1983

Last night, June 4th 2011, at the Pasadena War Memorial, the Clan MacLeod Dancers hosted their annual Rant, arguably one of the premiere Scottish Country Dances held in the Southern California each

year.

The event was a great success with live music provided by Any Imbrie on the piano and Debie Benton Grosjean on the "fiddle" who were stunningly good, making the Scottish snap zing through the air and putting lift in the lassies heels as their partners kilts were flying. A positive glut of MacLeod favorites from Angus MacLeod and MacLeod's Fancy to Peat Fire Flame and a new one from Walt Metcalf called Sea Gate. The food was sumptuous as always.

I had a chance to give a small talk remembering Ann and the huge contribution she has made to the Clan MacLeod and Scottish Country Dancing world wide.

In 2002 John MacLeod of MacLeod the 29th Chief of the Clan MacLeod wrote of Ann when she stepped down as Dance Mistress of his Clan

“I must thank you very much for all the work you have done on the dance scene in clan MacLeod. You have been most successful in your role as teacher and enthuser and the clan is in your debt. I am sure that the heritage of dance will live on.”

Sets complete! Ready for the next dance!

Click to see "Reel of the 51st"

The budget should be balanced

2011-05-09T22:01:00.000-07:00

Cicero 106 - 46 B.C.

When Julius Caesar was invading Britain in 55 A.D. Cicero was at home contemplating the growing weight of government dependants, and he of wrote:

"The budget should be balanced, the treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work instead of living on public assistance."

My Friend Ray MacEdwards sent this to me, and it has so much significance that I just had to blog it.

So what Ray asks have we learned in the last 2,064 years

The actual quote is: "The arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and assistance to foreign hands should be curtailed, lest Rome fall."

Nothing!

The Bride's First Footing - Missing Alan's Wedding

2011-04-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

As my brother Alan lies recovering from a triple whammy I am lamenting not being able to visit with him. He went in to routine colonoscopy, was diagnosed as having had a myocardal infarct, and was whipped away to have his mitral valves tightened up, and during recovery, optical irregularity caused the surgeons to question why and this resulted in a diagnosis of and immediate treatment for a Pituitary tumor.

I had a similar sense of remorse when I could not attend his wedding on a New Years Day back in 1977. Here is a poem about that.

The Bride’s First Footing
Saturday January 1st 10.30 a.m. 1977 For my brother Alan and Nada, whose wedding I could not attend.

Brother Roland, Mike and Brenda, Sandy who
Took photographs,
John McNairn in kilt for show
Like Don MacLeod who read Gibran, and Brenda’s dad
Are all now in my holographs,

My synthesis of that missed New Year’s Day
When crisply lay the snow,
As Alan and Nada plied their troths
With special permission from the Bishop
So many years ago.

I wish I’d been there in my kilt, bearing gifts, to watch them
Blissfully take the oath,
And communion, bread and wine,
Then in the library by the fire share Big Chris’ cake
And hug and kiss them both.

Then out in the country at Brenda’s mother’s house
To be there as they dine.
“The luckiest First Footers of the year.”
Trouping off to Gretta’s to bless her with Nada’s posie
In atmosphere of love divine.

I wish I shared the memory
Of the day when you were wed
Not raising New Year glasses
In Hollywood instead.

Brother Roland, Mike and Brenda, Sandy
the photographer,
Kilted John who sang the songs
And Don MacLeod who read, and Brenda’s dad
Who gave the bride,
Lie far off in the memory now!

Alan MacLeod - Heart Operation

2011-04-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

A prayer for Alan

I’ve been saying a prayer for my brother,
Today he went under the knife,
The doctors had said some days earlier,
That his ticker’s not working too right.
They said that a big valve is leaking,
And putting his heart under strain
So they’re stitching it up on the inside
To make sure it works right right again.

Alan’s off at the Royal Infirmary,
The doctors are Scottish you know,
They probably know what they’re doing
And I really should not worry so.
But its hard not to care when a loved one
Is confronting a challenge so grim,
And that is the reason I’m bowing my head
And saying a prayer for him.

I’m watching my e-mail in-box,
I’m waiting for news to come through,
I dying to hear that to op went well,
That my brother is up, good as new.
I’ve been saying a prayer for my brother,
Today he went under the knife,
I’m longing to hear that he’s alright
And safe at home with his wife.

It Is A Great Day To Be Irish

2011-03-17T08:53:00.000-07:00

It may not get the publicity that it deserves, but my grandfather, Alexander McLeod, The Chief of Police in Featherston, New Zealand, and a master Mason, married the plumber's daughter, an Irish lass. I of course fell for Nancy Neely, so there is much justification in celebrating Saint Paddy's Day.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day to you!

Ballad of Nessie Wrap Party at the Tam

2011-02-23T06:25:00.000-08:00

Disney directors Stevie Wermers and Kevin Deters have just finished production on “The Ballad of Nessie”. The 2D short is described by the studio as having ‘art direction evocative of the Disney shorts from the 1940s and 50s’ and being ‘the honest to goodness true tale of Loch Ness and its most famous resident.’

Stevie Wermers L. yours truly and Kevin Deters R. in the Guards Room at the Tam

Stevie saw me at the Tam O’ Shanter Restaurant on one of the Burns Nights, and wanted to know if I would come back to the Tam to entertain her crew at their wrap party to celebrate the completion of this animated short. Prescindia McIntosh, Cindi the popular lady piper, was also be there to add flare to this luncheon which served to add old time bon homme to their finishing bash. I added tales of 'The Tartan Wot Not', 'The SS Politician', and tried to pitch the idea of having Disney make a new film on the Jackdaw of Rheims, by reciting the old poem

Speculation is that Disney's 'The Ballad of Nessie' may be in the theaters alongside ‘Winnie The Pooh’ and see its debut in the European market first.

Front Crowns a Joyful Result

2011-02-22T08:19:00.000-08:00

Adding life to a smile is something I love to do. After 34 years there is still more to learn and great joy to be had from practicing dentistry. Here is an example of four front teeth with crowns that had lack luster porcelain, and veneers on the lateral incisors that have receded margins. By using all porcelain with no metal we are able to bring a vitality to restorations that make them look real.

Here is the original appearance,with the veneers showing and a yellowy hue to the crowns.

And here are the new zirconium crowns.

From the side you can really see the vitality in the way the light refracts through the porcelain.

DENTISTRY THAT LASTS - QUALITY THAT COUNTS

Missing the Cock ‘n Bull on Sunset

2011-02-20T00:33:00.000-08:00

The times they are a changing, and as they do so also the choices of places to eat when I leave my dental office on Sunset Boulevard. There used to be a famous English pub right across the street called the Cock ‘n Bull, where the Moscow Mule was invented and the best ginger be

er in the world was used to make a

Pims #1 cup.

Their lunch time fare at the buffet was unmatched, and with the 16 story Luckman building right opposite which was ground zero for music business big wigs such as in Warner, Elektra, Atlantic, Asylum Corp. Many music industry executives were officed there, and many music deals were made at the long bar in the pub.

Well ironically, the pub was sold to Hornburg, the Jag uar agency, because John Morgan’s grand kids weren’t interested in taking it over, and when they auctioned everything off I managed to take home the mascot for the pub, the bronze Chantecler that stood over the bar. I always loved it because that French rooster is beautiful, and is my mother’s family crest.

Now Jaguar and Rover are owned and produced by India’s Tata Motors, and the Luckman building has been taken over by some extremely successful Egyptian entrepreneurs, the Mani Brothers. They also own the Sunset Medical Tower, a medical Mecca with 42 dentists in occupation. A new eatery on the opposite side of the street has changed corners and is now BOA.

And down the street Tower Records has disappeared to become a party event and style shop as the music industry is turned on its head by Apple and the internet.

A rainbow may still shine over the Strip, but the world has turned on its axis and I miss having a good pub across the street.

Honored for Slaying the Haggis

2011-01-27T09:21:00.000-08:00

The Tam O’ Shanter Restaurant on Los Felis Boulevard in Glendale was the venue for the celebration of Burns Night on January 25th and 26th. The pipes were played, the dancer danced, songs were sung and the haggis, carried in by Chef Ivan, was slain at every sitting. In short a ‘guid time’ was had by all. My big dirk was brought out for the thirty first year, and this time Isaac Burks, the Arts and Culture envoy from Councilman Tom Labonge’s office, appeared and presented a certificate of appreciation.

I was deeply touched and honored to have received such an accolade for having so much fun all these years in our great city, and for being able to share the occasion with so many close friends and family. Looking back I thank Tom Girvin for introducing me to this event in 1978. In 1980 I took over his part in presenting Robert Burns' famous "Ode To A Haggis"

Neil and Phil
courtesy of Heather Klinger

Celebrate Robert Burns- Eat Haggis

2011-01-21T20:11:00.000-08:00

The Burns schedule is very busy this year I have eighteen Haggis to slay. I start in Fresno this week end for the Scottish Society of Central California Burns Night, when I shall be talking about Auld Lang Syne, and stabbing the Haggis.

Midweek, and on the birthday of Burns itself, January 25th and 26th, the Tam O' Shanter Restaurant has me slaying the haggis at each sitting for two days. That is twelve haggis unzipped before your eyes. Ivan the Chef will be with us to carry in his fare.

Friday 28th is the night when the Faculty Club of CalTech hold their Burns Night at the Athenaeum. Their Chef Kevin, does a wonderful haggis for which I shall enjoy performing the traditional ode. Jan Tappan's Scottish Fiddlers will be performing as usual. My address will include the "Cottars' Saturday Night", one of Burn's greatest works.

Finally a new addition to the rounds, Beckham's Grill in Pasadena is hosting their Burns Night with Cindy McKintosh the piper. Their haggis is going to be from the kitchen of Alex McGilivray, the renowned piper, who played for me when I sang at Raymond Burr's funeral some years back.

Busted

2011-01-16T20:06:00.000-08:00

This incident really occurred and the irony of being condemned by a completely innocent remark must I am sure be shared and ring true with others. So here at Burns' Time is a story about whisky. Here it is!

Busted

I was strolling down the aisle

We were shopping there in style

With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart,

I was stretching out my hand

For the Martinelli’s brand

When the apple of my eye gave me a start.

With the bottle in my grasp

I saw, coming toward us fast,

A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie

And she smirked as I, condemned,

Stood up to comprehend

The reason, as my child said “Whisky Daddy?”

There was nothing I could say,

To make it seem another way,

To vanquish the conviction so compelling

It was the color you could tell

And the shape she knew so well,

The question that my daughter asked was telling.

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

2010-12-31T16:29:00.001-08:00

It has been a good year all in all. There is no question it was tough, but with networking and hard work on everyone's part, and a complete change in internet marketing we must report the final upswing.

There was snow low on the mountains and we could see it clearly from the Griffith Park Observatory

Christmas was sweet. Happy New Year to you all

Dr Bernard Levin - Confirming My Conviction

2010-11-21T21:51:00.000-08:00

On Friday November 19th my professor and mentor Dr. Bernard Levin, was an inductee at the Ostrow School of Dentistry, Hall of Fame. This posthumous award, given to a non USC dental graduate, was made because of the extraordinary contributions he made to the art and science of dentistry, through scholarly research, teaching, professional leadership and development of teaching techniques that advance dental science.

I met Professor Levin as his clinical dresser, an attending house Surgeon, in 1973 when he was on sabbatical and teaching at Guy’s Hospital, London. It was Bernie and Mr Prieskel, the Prosthodontic Consultant in the dental school, who inspired me to go back to the United States to study. It was Bernie who was my sponsor into USC, and my mentor when I did my research into the “Alignment of Precision Attachments”. He edited my papers and advised me on the content. It was Bernie who sponsored me into the Pacific Coast Society for Prosthodontics.

I have always thought the world of Doctor Levin, but it was a complete confirmation of my conviction that he was without doubt one of the best wet finger dentists and teachers by whom I had ever had the pleasure to be taught. His wife Kinuyo was there in his stead to receive his accolade, and she can be seen here with Bernie's sister in a picture taken by Dr Calvin Lau. It was an honor for me to be there with my colleague Simon Gamer, and see the fine new dean, Dr Avishai Sadan, bestow the awards.

Getting Back on Track - Memory Lapse

2010-11-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

Inspired by Billy Cullins

You can’t be tying a string around your finger
Every time you have to remember
Why it is you went into the kitchen,
Or what is was you came into the garage for anyway.

You stand in front of the fridge,
In a room cluttered with thousands of memory joggers-
A block of carving knives, that lasting gift from your wedding,
The painted rose on a plate from a grateful patient,
A colonial tea canister from Williamsburg
With a key to stop its contents being purloined,
And the gallery of photographs held by magnets on the door,

And it is as if you were gazing at some rebuilt city,
Which has been completely redesigned
After an atomic bomb has wiped
All the definitive land marks off the map,
Wondering why you are there,
And what pressing task,
Which was screaming for attention,
Caused you to sleepwalk,
And if the tell tale signs of senility
Are already devastating your mind.

Then picking your way back to the bathroom
You peer into the mirror
Straining for the clue,
And with an Archimedean exaltation,
Discover the switch of memory
And reluctantly admitting your humanity,
Put your day back on track once more.

Frances Cecelia McLeod turns 95

2010-11-11T19:15:00.000-08:00

Mother of Mine

For Frances Cecelia McLeod 95 years old on November 15th 2010

Long before the eye-light twinkled

Mother of mine, Mother of mine

E’re his forehead for me wrinkled

Mother of mine.

You by God’s hand were selected

So we were raised up and protected

And guided in this early time,

Mother of mine!

When the twinkle dimmed and faded,

Mother of mine, Mother of mine,

And our lives grew grim and jaded,

Mother of mine.

You buoyed us up with your intention

Of disappointments made no mention

Filled our hearts with song and rhyme

Mother of mine!

So your life has not been wasted

Mother of mine, Mother of mine,

Sweet has been the life we tasted

Mother of mine!

And the time that still remains

As the hour glass slowly drains,

Is a gift that is sublime,

Oh mother of mine!

Hilda Lane - Frozen in Time

2010-10-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

Hilda Lane

1929 - 2010

Hilda Lane, the graphic artist and illustrator, was the owner of the Hollywood Sign Company, and consequently knew just about everyone of significance in town. She was a great friend and compatriot when I lived in Laurel Canyon, and was on my team during my presidency of the Lookout Mountain Associates. We had enormous fun fighting for good causes and planning Oktoberfests. She also loved the Wajinga gatherings of East African enthusiasts. She lived alone in a house she and her husband built, that became frozen in time after he died in a private plane crash.

On the hill crest above Laurel Canyon

With a view of the city and sea

There’s a ginger bread cookie house chateaux

Where I’ve been invited for tea.

There are carvings on gable and roof line

Repeated in each window frame,

There’s a garden surrounding this sanctuary

The home of my friend Hilda Lane.

I would just say a word about Hilda

Who lived all alone on the hill,

Her life it was thoughtful and generous

Filled with good deeds and spreading good will.

If a cause ever needed a champion,

To Hilda its advocates climbed,

She would listen intent to the story,

Weigh it carefully, and make up her mind.

Now if Hilda decided she liked you,

And she liked the idea that you brought

She would put all her effort behind it

And together the battle was fought.

I had a fine friend Hilda

An ally who never would wane

And together we vanquished the dragons

That haunted each chosen campaign.

Hilda lived all alone on her hilltop

Since her husband’s plane fell from the sky,

And she kept every nuance in order

No matter how fast years went by.

And nothing was changed in her life style

Not a curtain, a cup or a line

And she drove the same car down the hillside

From her Swiss Chalet frozen in time.

Neil McLeod 10.30.2010

Highland Games in Fresno

2010-10-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

When my family were busy, Justin Sloggat, the producer at Six-14 Productions Inc, ran away with me to the Highland Games in Fresno. I have been the story teller up there for years, and I wanted to capture the mood of the event. I really like what Justin has done here.

Bill Gates on Israel

2010-10-11T10:07:00.000-07:00

Please check out this wonderful short impression of the Israeli contribution to our lives. There is so much inferred in such a simple humble way. There is no question that we must support this country against its detractors, not to do so would be cutting off our noses to spite our faces.

Tribute to John Lennon at LeTip

2010-10-09T00:08:00.000-07:00

With thanks to Julie Hopkins, the Portrait Photographer, who shot this footage with her phone, here is the tribute to John Lennon, sung by Michael Tan, the Home Theater specialist. Michael Greenfield of Ace of Hearts Entertainment played guitar, and I am on the harmonica. It was a good effort.
Neil

Blue September Hollywood in Blue

2010-09-19T22:05:00.000-07:00

Some may have wondered when they saw it, why the Capitol Records Building is illuminated in blue this month. It is to support the new GO BLUE Prostate Cancer Awareness Campaign.

Men need to get checked regularly before complications make treatment drastic or futile.

There were other building also shrouded in blue, the famous Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard.

Not to be outdone, Alan Johnson's Ramada Plaza got into the act too!

See the video!

Remembering Alaska - The Last Frontier

2010-09-01T22:57:00.000-07:00

It has taken a few weeks for the significance of our family summer holiday in Alaska to sink in. For a few days I found myself jabbering about the scenery and the game, and feeling I should correct my terminology, and the salmon virtually leaping out of the water onto my hook, and the blue color ice in glaciers. So I stepped back and waited. But now here it is!
We’ve been to Alaska, the whole family flew up to the last frontier, into Anchorage on Alaska Airlines, and then on a shorter connection into Fairbanks.

There to meet us at the airport were the Mikats, what a clan! We know these folks through our online home schooling program which Maran and Oliver took. Greg, the dad, is a sergeant and a musician serving at Fort Wainwright, and he and Laurie really went out of their way to make us welcome.

After a first night’s picnic supper and rest on base, we loaded up Greg’s trailer with everything we needed for a camping trip, and all eleven of us set off to Denali National Park.

A drive across Alaska, any drive, is going to be scenically beautiful. The country side is unspoilt and breathtaking. Of course the weather is changeable, and it is apt to get cloudy and rainy in a moment. But we were blessed and our days in the park were warm and sunny making the drive down to the park a pleasure and the setting up of camp easy.

Sergeant Mikat’s trailer even had firewood in it, and we had a wonderful fireside supper while endless daylight drifted on till eleven p.m.

An early start the next morning allowed us to take the first bus into the park proper, and although we never did see Mount McKinley clearly, we saw just about everything else there was to see.

There were Dall sheep on the mountain sides,

a Grizzly sow and her cubs cavorting in the river draw,

Caribou

and Moose,

a wolf on the kill all right beside the road,

and eagles

and Ptarmigans.

We slept contentedly that night after our campfire dinner, and had a good run back to Fort Wainwright the next day before starting off the next day for Valdez.

It’s a long run following the great Alaska Pipe Line all the way down to Prince William Sound, but gosh the views were spectacular.

It was late when we got into the trailer park and after we set up kitchen it started to rain. Putting up an extra tarpaulin allowed us plenty of room by the fire pit to kick back and enjoy supper. We were going fishing the next day.

When the Salmon are running you could probably scoop them out of the water better with a net than a line, but we were using rods lines an lures.

It wasn’t hard. As soon as the lure hit the water it was being tugged at, and if you jerked the line suddenly you could, and we did, snag a fish by the fin. We ate well that night, with more fresh boat baked Pink than we could eat.

Our final adventure was Glacier Lake kayaking. Rowing right into the crevice of a glacier and looking into the ice which is a deep light blue is a fairing thrilling experience. The color is something to do with the ice being compressed for thousands of years. After that we took out T shirts and drove all the way back to Fairbanks for our final night. We all got along with the Mikats, and pray we will go traveling with them again.

Blue September

2010-08-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

September 1st 2010 sees the launching of the Blue September campaign here in California, which is an Australian idea to boost public awareness of the significance of prostate cancer round the world. You will see well know land marks like the Ramada Plaza on Santa Monica, the Capitol Records building and the Roosevelt Hotel lit up in blue at night, and why, because blue is the the color of the ribbon for this critical new movement. Remember the girls have pink for the breast cancer awareness movement, well now there’s a blue ribbon for the boys.

Tonight we were at the Blue September Eve party at the home of Chis De Cure, the Australian Consul General and his wife Cathe. We were in good company with Alan Johnson, the Ausie hotelier who seems to know everyone. Tom LaBonge was there to present a City of Los Angeles Proclamation to Dr Mark Scholz MD coauthor of the new book “Invasion of the Prostate Snatchers”. We raised our glasses to fine "Messenger" wines grown in Napa by another Australian, Rob McDonald.

Prostatic cancer is a treatable condition which may linger for many years only to be overtaken by other more strident extinguishers of human life. But while this is so, and while most men will eventually develop prostate cancer and live to die from another ailment, there are many who for the wrong reasons decide they do not need to see a doctor, and only when it is too late will they seek help for a condition so advanced that mortality is a certainty. This is particularly true for the men of the African American community.

So run in and get checked. Go Blue!

Keeping Up To Date Professionally

2010-07-04T13:59:00.000-07:00

Continuing Dental Education is a constant feature in my professional life. There is always something new to learn and one is never able to be completely up to date. The highlight in my “academic refreshment program” is participating in the “Pacific Coast Society for Prosthodontics” congress each year, it was the seventy fifth anniversary of the society. This organization of Prosthodontic experts holds its annual meeting in the summer in a different west coast location each year. Papers are presented by original researchers on their recent findings and research. This year it was at the Silverado Resort in Napa, and Nancy and I got away sans children for the first time in many a year.

The Links from the club house at the Silverado Resort

Apart from the updates in the latest porcelain for dental crowns and how the use of implants is growing and improving, we also enjoyed fine wine and a drive up the Napa Valley passing many now famous named vineyards on the way. The setting seems idyllic, rows of neatly groomed vines narrowing away to the gentle hillsides dotted with classically Tuscan or Provencal looking homes and tasting rooms, dabbed with yellow ocher on the fields of green.

One private night out we dined at Neela’s, where caterer and authoress Leena Paniz has set up her new enterprise to bring Indian haut cuisine to Napa. One doesn’t usually associate Indian flavors as being well accompanied by wine, but clearly, though we stuck with Kingfisher Ale, many of the patrons were choosing the local vintages. The food was excellent. The Palak paneer, Cornish game hen and the lamb kebab were delicately spiced and delicious. There was one other thing to note, oh her breads, they are cheese dressed warm and moist. Mmmh! Neela catered a reception one evening and taught a cooking class for the spouses.

A special bindi for each lady

The president’s installation ball was a big hit, and was in the Bollywood theme inspired by Dr. Arun Sharma, our outgoing president. As we entered the ladies were offered beautiful bindis to match their outfits.

Pukah Sahib and Memshib

Later when the dancers came on the whole room was inspired by their vigor, and when they asked us up to join with them the entire audience got up to dance.

75th anniversary pin I designed for the PCSP

Crowded floor

Casa Hogar – Helping the children

2010-06-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

My good friend Nick Medoza, and excellent electrician, invited me to drive down with him to Tijuana, to spend some time with the children in the Casa Hogar Orphanage. We all piled into our cars and shortly after 7.00 a.m. we were on the road. In a few hours we were crossing the border into Mexico. Our arrival at the children’s home on the southern hillside of the city was greeted with a shower of shouted welcomes and cheers, and we all received warm hugs of welcome from these delightful youngsters as we climbed the stairs beyond the iron gates from the dusty dirt street.

My mission was to give dental advice and an examination to all who wanted it. I talked to an attentive audience about the importance of brushing and flossing, and was pleasantly surprised by how well they listened as my words were translated. Then I examined some on the children, and was able to make some treatment recommendations. I wanted to use x-rays and treat, but that I cannot do in Mexico.

Pastor Freddy Duarte and Eva Morales, are doing marvelous work devoting their lives to helping this little band, saving “Just a few star fish”, but each one will have a life that is much better for it.

When the dental exams were over we all trouped out and convoyed to Parque Morelos and there we played ball games and barbequed their dinner.

After prayers of thanks, we said good byes, and then caravanned back to wait in line for an hour watching the hawkers and beggars as we queued up to present our passports and cross back into the United States. The contrast between the chaos of Tijuana and the order and cleanliness of the United States is dramatic.

The children at Casa Hogar need help: Casa Hoar Eben-Ezer, Tijuana , B.C., Mexico.

Let Us Take Care Of Your Dental Emergency

2010-06-15T00:27:00.000-07:00

No matter what kind of dental problem you are having we will able to to help you solve it. We have a complete team of specialist dentists to assist us so give us a call 310 275 5379. Give yourself a biting chance. 310 275 5379 or see our website: drneilmcleod.com

A tribute to Ann FitzGerald Skipper

2010-06-06T15:49:00.000-07:00

A tribute to Ann FitzGerald Skipper
1925 -2009

It is with great sorrow that I have to report of the demise of my dear friend Ann Skipper, who had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for some years and sustained a severe stroke late last December. She was eighty four and passed away on the 30th December. The humility and lack of fanfare typical of the family resulted in my not discovering the truth of it until now, June 2010.

After a very full life raising four boys as the wife of a schoolteacher, Ann took up Scottish Country Dancing, and became an accomplished teacher in the late 1970s. In 1983, Ann and I met at a Highland Games in Costa Mesa as a result of an introduction made by the Broadcaster Tom Girvin. She rapidly endeared herself to me and inspired me to take up Scottish Country Dancing. From that point on Scottish country dancing was a regular activity in the Clan MacLeod Society in Southern California. Together we started a dance team who came with us to the Clan MacLeod Parliaments in 1986, and 1990. In 1986 we published our first book on Scottish Country Dances that relate to the Clan MacLeod, it was called “Dances of An Island Clan”. This book was really successful and helped to inspire lots of McLeod’s across America and beyond to take up Scottish Country Dancing, and five teams were formed in the United States. Here in California the McLeod Rant was one of the most successful dances held each year.

Ann and I continued to gather dances related to the Clan and for the next 10 years worked on producing another book. As the dance teams were formed, Ann took over their coordination and became the Dance Mistress to the Clan MacLeod. In 1991 the “Ghillie Guide” was published, a small booklet with a wealth of information on the nuances of dance steps, figures and terminology needed to understand the many dances we were discovering. As dancing became popular at Clan ceilidhs Mrs. Skipper met the need for simple dances for these occasions and published “Clan MacLeod Dances For Ceilidhs” in 1993. A year later in 1994, “If the Ghille Fits…” was published, and together with“Dances of An Island Clan” it makes a unique repository of knowledge of Clan MacLeod dances and history.

It is not possible to begin to communicate the extent of the commitment and devotion Ann Skipper directed to her labors on behalf of Scottish Country Dancing, and especially to the Clan MacLeod. She was inspired in the Milligan tradition and was tireless in her work. Her academic research resulted in her readership at the Huntington Library here in San Marino, California. In 2000, as if to welcome the new Millennium, Ann published her crowning glory “Best Foot Forwards” a collection of twelve of her own dances each designed to emphasize a particular dance figure she wanted to teach. This little booklet alone represents an enormous amount of work, and places her in the ranks of the great Scottish Country Dance choreographers of the twentieth century, many of whom she new personally.

Ann stepped down as Dance Mistress to the Clan MacLeod in 2002, and in the letter to her from John MacLeod of MacLeod he wrote, “I must thank you very much for all the work you have done on the dance scene in clan MacLeod. You have been most successful in your role as teacher and enthuser and the clan is in your debt. I am sure that the heritage of dance will live on.”

Her four sons Tim, Andy, Brian and Paul, her husband Peter, the many grand children and a myriad of dancers around the world will mourn the loss of this “best of mothers and wonderful American lady” who is much loved.

Dr Neil Stewart McLeod FSA (Scot.)

Happy in America

2010-06-01T06:06:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Africa, I’ve been to Zanzibar
I’ve seen the great Rift Valley, and it’s western rim so far,
I’ve stood on Table Mountain with Cape Town down below
A sight I’ll long remember and think about ..although...

I’m happy in America, America for me,
The land that flies the Stars and Stripes, home of the brave and free
And should my memory wander and hanker for old haunts
It’s the notion of how much I’d lack if I weren’t here that daunts.

I was born in Oxford City famed for mist and spire,
I know Scotland’s Western Isles, The land of Heart’s Desire
I traveled to Bologna to Napoli and Rome
But though I’ve loved them all at times, I do not call them home.

There’s no place quite like Rio with Christ’s statue so tall,
Few natural wonders impress like Iguacu Water Fall.
New Zealand is so beautiful, Australia’s got a reef
With the most amazing creatures in the waters underneath.

Oh! I spent time in London, that’s a city I have known,
I’ve crossed through France and taken luncheon at Chalon sur Saône
I call the world my oyster and round it I may whirl,
But when I’m done I’m headed back to claim the greatest pearl.

I’m happy in America, America for me,
The land that flies the Stars and Stripes, home of the brave and free
And should I chance to wander and take a final fling
Doubt not that I’ll be back again, America I sing.

Memorial Day 2010

On Memorial Day the Boy Scouts help us remember the fallen by planting flags on each grave in our National Cemeteries. Although this picture taken with my son is a few years old now, it captures the sentiment of what we value most and what needs to be treasured in this great country the USA.

Dentist | McLeod Neil Dentist, West Hollywood, CA

2010-05-19T22:28:00.000-07:00

Dentist | McLeod Neil Dentist, West Hollywood, CA

Cricket Song

2010-05-10T06:30:00.000-07:00

In Kenya the call of the crickets is a well loved bush sound, which for many was a sign of safety and peace. The crickets would chirp away all night unless something approached. Then all would be still and alert, ready for the intruder. Many settlers have them as their ‘watch dogs’, and they would awaken if the song stopped.

God’s Wee Watchman

Who is God’s wee watchman
Chirping through the night?
Who lets us know that all is safe
That everything’s alright?
Is company when we’re wakeful
Who softens night like dew,
Who lulls to sleep with singing
Oh little cricket, it’s you.

And should you stop your singing
And all the dark is still
We’ll wake and lie there listening
And hold our breath until
The comfort of your laughter
Dispels the fear of harm
Oh little cricket it is you
Who signals the alarm

Cat Gone

2010-05-09T00:22:00.001-07:00

Too late to the rescue
Too slow out of bed
I heard the Coyote howling
Jar my dreaming sleep with dread.
I heard the mournful mewing
I knew it was too late,
By letting her be out at night
She kept her date with fate.

This was not the first time,
And it won’t be the last,
The neighbor dog’s gave the alarm
The time was coming fast.
I didn’t rise to face him
Bare footed in the chill
To make him drop the sad remains
And drive him up the hill.

Too late to the rescue,
Too late out of bed
I heard the Coyote howling,
I knew the cat was dead.
It was just a little feral
Not a real pet
But when I heard the meow I knew,
It’s too late for the vet.

The Tower of Babel

2010-04-17T21:34:00.000-07:00

The iPad, Apple’s new toy, is truly amazing. And if you are into recording stuff there is an application called StudioMini XL (oxymoronic - extra large for the iPad as it was originally designed for the iPhone).

I just laid down three tracks for one of my mother’s poems.

Click here to play the song

There is an interesting story that goes with this poem. In the city of Nairobi, midst the filth of the central bus station, there was a row a stinking lavatories propping each other up. They were long overdue for demolition when this poem found a place in the East African Standard. Shortly afterwards they were pulled down. I particularly liked this poem and composed a tune to go with the words.

Slaying Haggis Again

2010-01-31T17:45:00.000-08:00

In 2010 the tradition has continued. The calendar was packed, four venues and fourteen haggis slain and two Immortal Memories of Robert Burns and all in eight days.

It started on Friday 15th, when the president of Rotary International, John Kenny, was being the key note speaker for the Rotarians at the Bonaventure Hotel in Downtown Los Angeles. Retired Chef Ivan from the Tam O’ Shanter Inn and I were there to “see to” the Haggis. A retinue of attendees were gathered up to follow the piper round the room as we paraded Scotland’s famous sausage. Amongst this throng was a Sikh, who previously admitted when challenged, that he was not a good Sikh and that he would drink his dram whisky. The general incongruity added to the fun of the moment when he sampled the first breath from the disemboweled sausage, “Warm, reekin’, rich!”

On the 20th and 21st at the Tam O’ Shanter, Lawry’s landmark restaurant, Burns’ Night was held in spite of the rain, and at two seating on each night we slew twelve of the haggi. It was there that my new friend Bernadette Hayes recorded the footage that forms the basis of the YouTube video. Burns’ “Address To A Haggis” is followed by “Horace” the Terry Jones’ Pythonesque irreverent explanation of the contents of a haggis.

Friday 23rd found my bonnie bride and I dining at the Athenaeum Club, the exquisite faculty club for California’s premier science academy, Cal Tech. The setting and the fare were wonderful. Chef Kevin’s haggis was opened to a gasping crowd. Nancy gave the toast to the Queen, and I proposed a toast to the Immortal Memory and preceded it with a discussion and recitation of “Death an Dr Hornbook”

The footage below was captured at the Tam O’ Shanter by “Lady Liberty” the twitter alias for Bernadette Hayes. We had fun and now so can you.

Thanksgiving Poem

2009-11-25T19:36:00.000-08:00

Here is my Thanksgiving poem with pictures:

Tusker Larger - from Chip Hammack

2009-10-08T07:19:00.000-07:00

Tusker Lager - a very fine beer
for William “Chip” Hammack 1954 -2009 who passed away too young

He was a member of the Executive LeTip of West Los Angeles, the networking club that I love.

William "Chip" Hammack

I was raised as a kiddy in Kenya,
An urchin in khaki and grime,
Where crawling under the floors of the club
Seemed to us quite a lark at the time.
There were cigarette boxes and matches
Razor wraps by Gillette that were blue,
Bottle caps of all flavors and spent bullet shells
Discolored by the damp and the dew.

Above was the bar of the Club House
A Kericho town watering hole
Where away from the heat with the weight off their feet
Folks would sew back their body and soul.
Permeating the cracks in the floor boards
From the bar where the Bwanas stood near,
Was the tinkle of glass and the roar of a laugh
And the wonderful smell of warm beer.

That smell of the brew got my notice
I wondered just how it would taste,
And though years in a row would come and would go,
The memory did not go to waste.
For many more later in Ojai
To see Kenyan friends in that vale
I stopped at a duka to buy me a tupa
And found Tusker Lager for sale.

What a fluke to find that very bevy,
I liked it well from the word go,
I flipped off the top, took a swig with the froth
And one whiff made the memories flow
From then on that beer was a favorite
Tusker became my new bent,
And if I had the chance at a party or dance,
I brought it wherever I went.

But I found the supply was not constant,
Sometimes the shippers went dry,
So I kept my lids peeled as I passed town and field
For some place that had a supply.
Well one day I met with Chip Hammack
A vintner who also sold beer,
He wasn’t averse to dampen my thirst,
And that is the reason I’m here.

Chip was an affable fellow,
He had oodles of charm and a smile,
When I asked if he had Tusker Larger
He just beamed and said “Might take a while!”
Then what do you know two hours later,
He called me, his voice like a reed,
Singing “Doc, your in luck I’ll get Tusker,
“Now how many cases you need?”

That was it, Chip and I became buddies,
He kept me in beer and in wine,
He’d pick out a mixed case of specials
So the grog with our grub was sublime.
But it grieves me to think of him gone now,
God calls the best folk away young,
So raise your glass high, wipe the tear from your eye,
To Chip Hammack whose song has been sung.

Dr Neil Stewart McLeod -10 .7.2009

Neil with brother Alan "Bundu Saints" 1957

Swahili words used in the poem

Bwana - master
duka - a small shop
tupa - a bottle
bundu - the African bush

Islam - Telling lies doesn’t change the truth

2009-09-21T11:41:00.000-07:00

My poem in tribute to the 911 disaster has hit the thousand mark on YouTube for the number of viewings, and the emails have poured in expressing thanks for the effort. One comment however, that was left on my Blogspot, deeply disturbed me, and I feel forced to make a public rebuke to its author.

Shahid, a proud to be Muslim Fundamentalist male of 24 years of age, in Lahore, Pakistan, left a note saying, and I quote,
“hey, 9/11 was fake daram, they plan by your secret angancies and moosad.”

Shahid, you are wrong, and if you adhere to your ignorant beliefs you will die wrong.

His link will take you to his site which is filled with vileness. His point is that he believes and spouts the myth that the towers were brought down by our own American agencies.

At a time when Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is making hateful and ignorant remarks denying the Holocaust, we should be warned that these extremists needs to be isolated and feared. The 1945 evidence supporting the facts of the holocaust are undeniable. It is deplorable that the elected leader of a nation can mouth such wicked lies repeatedly. We cannot let our guard down.

I therefore draw attention to what Winston Churchill observed in 1899 when a correspondent in South Africa and what is published in “The River War”.-Sir Winston Churchill (The River War, first edition, Vol. II, pages
248-50 (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1899).
1 November 2005 - Australia

“How dreadful are the curses which Mohammedanism lays on its votaries! Besides the fanatical frenzy, which is as dangerous in a man as hydrophobia in a dog, there is this fearful fatalistic apathy.

The effects are apparent in many countries. Improvident habits, slovenly systems of agriculture, sluggish methods of commerce, and insecurity of property exist wherever the followers of the Prophet rule or live.

A degraded sensualism deprives this life of its grace and refinement; the next of its dignity and sanctity. The fact that in Mohammedan law every woman must belong to some man as his absolute property, either as a child, a wife, or a concubine, must delay the final extinction of slavery until the faith of Islam has ceased to be a great power among men.

Individual Moslems may show splendid qualities, but the influence of the religion paralyses the social development of those who follow it.

No stronger retrograde force exists in the world. Far from being moribund, Mohammedanism is a militant and proselytizing faith. It has already spread throughout Central Africa, raising fearless warriors at every step; and were it not that Christianity is sheltered in the strong arms of science, the science against which it had vainly struggled, the civilization of modern Europe might fall, as fell the civilization of ancient Rome.”

Winston Churchill 1899 in South Africa

9-11 Tribute Poem on YouTube

2009-09-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

Yes I took a break, but I have been busy. 911 came and went, and we have been dealing with a post flood experience at my dental office. Burst pipes above brought ceilings down and required a complete upheaval to restore the workspace.

While this was going on I made a presentation to the Executive LeTip of West Los Angeles, our hundred member breakfast networking group to commemorate the September 11th atrocity. The presentations centers on a parody in the Dr. Seuss style of a poem called "Blank The Binch".

Justin Sloggart of “Six 14 Productions” and his brother Bill made a video of it, and posted it on You Tube.

Watch it to the end and post a comment ion You Tube if you like it.

Full Service Dentistry - Visit My New Web Site

2009-06-07T01:00:00.000-07:00

I have just launched my new professional website, and would welcome your critique. Take a look at http://drneilmcleod.com and see the way we provide Dentistry That Lasts - and Quality That Counts for our patients seeking fine dental care. For dental implants, crowns, bridges, or just a simple dental cleaning and a check up, or to take advantage of our new digital x-rays which give large clear diagnostic images with a 90% reduction in x-ray exposure, consider us for your dental care.

Keep Flossing for a biting chance at life!

Wallace The Smiling Lion

2009-02-21T07:32:00.000-08:00

For Dermot McQuarrie, of FOX Sports, who knows a good dram and the value of a good smile.

There's this lion at t'zoo up in Blackpool
Who is famous or so the tale goes,
He is large and ferocious and savage
With great scars all over his nose.

One day with the least provocation
From Albert, a dear little chap,
He snatched him through ’bars and he ate him
Leaving nought on the ground but his cap.

When the bill for the lad had been settled
There were one thing remaining quite plain,
They 'ad to do som'it quite special
To stop this from 'appenin' again.

So Zoo Keeper and t'Insurance feller
They 'ad this big meeting you see,
To decide how Wallace the Lion
Could be harnessed and kept trouble free.

They said when meeting were over
That the answer was some how to block
The size of the throat of the lion
With a grate or some big plastic chock.

They'll ave to fit Wallace with Choppers
There's no average dentist will do.
The impressions will be quite a challenge
For that lion mustn't choke or turn blue.

And then there's the matter of timing
He'll have to be quick as a flash,
To get in and out in a hurry
Before Wallace chomps down with a gnash.

So they called up this world famous dentist
In Hollywood, land of the stars,
And explained they were having some trouble
With this pussy cat kept behind bars.

When he came he flew in on a Jumbo
And while driving him up from Heathrow
They explained there idea about dentures
But the Hollywood dentist said “No!”

I think you’d do better to crown him
Aye crowns for the king of the beasts
I’ll lengthen each nasher so a thin bacon rasher
Is all that’ll fit when he feasts.

He got right to work without flinching
Though he said that the job might be tough,
He said, “That lion’ll like thin strips of bacon,
I’ll make his teeth gap just enough.”

To start with he gave anaesthetic
So that Wallace lay still and relaxed
But while bending over to reach a back molar
'Lion gagged and then swallowed by reflex.

It would have been bad but for Sandy
His able assistant who came
To the rescue by giving emetics
So he brought up the dentist again.

He continued, ’e took the impressions,
And he made 'im some nashers so tall
That when Wallace The Lion opened widest
The gap ’tween `is teeth were quite small.

Oh! it did your heart good to see Wallace,
In his cage sitting grandly arrayed,
With a smile on his face like a rabbit,
From the teeth the dentist had made.

Neil Stewart McLeod

The illustrations were drawn by my friend and long time patient Colin Bailey, who has since past away, but whose imagination and humor live on in his drawings.

Santa's Holiday

2009-02-16T21:34:00.000-08:00

When Santa takes a holiday he dumps the sleigh, gets in his car and heads south.

Well Christmas is over, and Neil McLeod, the famed photographer, of Merritt, British Columbia, is taking a jaunt with June, away from the cold to recover from his hard seasonal work. You may not have heard of the MacClause Clan, but Neil is a member. No kidding! he takes his work seriously. He joshed me saying he didn't think he'd shaved since some time back in the nineties.

He popped in to see us for a good Clan MacLeod welcome yesterday, and left a picture of himself at work for the record. This is the real Santa folks!

Run on Down
There are clansmen coming in,
Run to meet them, run to meet them.
There are clansmen coming in,
Run on down.
There'll be news from overseas
Of our family and their country,
There are clansmen coming in,
Run on down.

Will the piper be there playing?
Heart a beating, heart a beating.
Will the piper be there playing?
Hear the call.
Our chests will proudly swell
As we bow and bid a welcome.
Should the piper be there playing
Here the call.

And will banners then unfurl
Where we greet them, where we greet them?
And will banners then unfurl
Flying free?
Then we'll raise a dram together
To the chief and seed we share.
And the banners will unfurl
Flying free.

Then together we will dine,
Thanks be given, thanks be given.
Then together we will dine,
As of old.
Telling tales by the firelight
Singing songs and dancing.
Then together we shall dine
As of old.

We will all be there to meet them,
Piper playing, singing, dancing.
We will all be there to meet them
Run on down.
And we'll toast the time together
Say the grace and stay till morning,
There are clansmen coming in
Run on down. N.S.M. 11.8.1986.

United States Marine Corps perform free

2009-01-17T08:20:00.000-08:00

What’s Free
"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." wrote Thomas Jefferson

The Battle Color Detachment of the United States Marine Corps are to perform at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena on February 28th 2009. The performance is free and open to the public. I was asked in disbelief by Maddy Horn, a Scouting Mum, when I suggested we take the Scout to see this event, "Is anything still free?"

Can you believe that something’s still free?
Not Freedom and certainly not Liberty.
For they need recharging with blood from the vein
Of tyrants and patriots again and again.

The soldiers and airmen who keep us secure,
The life guards and sailors watching our shore,
The policemen and firemen who watch our front door
Their work is not free, that's for sure, that's for sure!

But the air that we breath and the sun in he sky,
And the pain in our hearts when a friend says goodbye
And the droplets of rain and the wind passing by,
Only they still are free, say I, say I!

FORREST

2009-01-05T23:23:00.000-08:00

Helen Anderson MacDonald passed away June 5, 2008, at the age of 92, after complications of hip surgery. Helen is survived by her husband, Forrest, and daughters Karen M. Rosenthal and Lauren M. Cassatt and their families.

I sit and think about your news and don’t know what to say,
That won’t seem trite or empty were it said another way.
I think about the times we shared a laugh and then a drink,
But then the words you’ve written make my heart begin to sink.

I want to say a lot of things to show you that I care
To say how sorry I am now that I could not be there,
When friends and loved ones gathered round to help you share the grief
Instead of being limited to comments stiff and brief.

But Forrest I can never know the pain you feel inside,
When you reflect upon the loss of Helen, your fair bride.
I saw you two as constants by whom marriage should be scanned,
And shudder when I contemplate that life won’t go as planned.

I forward look and fear to see how fate might rule my life
And rob me at a crucial hour of Nancy, my dear wife.
Yet even now though time is brief when we have had our stay
I can but only thank God for the blessing of each day.

I have no comfort in my words to offer that are sage,
I only know that backward glances show upon the page,
That you were always good to me and brightened up my day
The same is true of Helen who now has flown away.

My Mother's Hands

2008-12-27T19:04:00.000-08:00

The photographs were taken by Paul Lynch and Susie Wright.

At ninety three, a photograph of my mothers hands was used to decorate the "2009 The Blue Mountain Food Services calendar" a seniors calendar in Australia.

These are the hands I know and love
I’ve seen them all my life,
They’ve changed of course as time has passed
Through happiness and strife,
And even though its been a while
Since last I held them tight,
I’d recognize them at a glance
Yes, I’d know them on sight.

These are the hands my father knew
Before I was conceived,
That drew him close and clasped him
When his love was received.
They wore the ring he gave her
In the small church in Torquay,
To have and hold from that day forth
No matter what may be.

These are the hands that changed me
When I was but a babe,
The hands that cleaned and bathed me
And held me when we prayed,
And comforted when I was sad
Or bruised or cut or hurt
Or when my knees were bleeding
And covered up with dirt.

They kneaded up the baking dough,
Rolled and cut the pastry
They crimped the meat and veggies in
To make a Cornish pasty.
They stirred and beat the cream
Until the butter left the whey,
These hands did the cooking
That fed us every day.

When the night was falling
These hands tucked us into bed,
They held the prayer or story book
From which my mother read.
And should our sleep be restless
From the living room we’d hear
The plucking of guitar strings
And singing sweet and clear.

These hands dabbed the tears
When our father went away,
They scrubbed and scraped, and typed
And nursed, to keep the wolf at bay.
They washed and ironed our clothing
And should time allow they might
Tinkle out some Chopin
From the ivories at night.

These are the hands I know and love
I’ve seen them all my life,
They’ve changed of course as time has passed
Through happiness and strife,
And though I can not see them
I know that at the end
They will be there in Heaven
When I take the final bend.

Frances McLeod 93 years b. Circular Quay, New South Wales

Serendipity and the Plumbers Wrench

2008-11-16T13:23:00.000-08:00

My wife asked me if I could finally fix the shower handle this morning. It is a blue job. The handle drops under its own weight and as it does so the water gets hotter and hotter and faster and faster. There is a pressure ring in the stem unit that can only be tightened with a hollow wrench stuck through the wall.

“What I need is a three quarter inch plumbers wrench.” I said to Gilbert who was standing behind the service desk at PepBoys on Hollywood Boulevard. He had a bar code tattooed on his left forearm. “It has to be open at the end so that ths stem of the shower handle can come through.” I had already been to Ferguson’s the plumbers supply that morning, and they said they don’t make that size any more. “How much are they selling you for Gilberto is it?” I asked indicating his tattoo.

“ The ones over there are what we’ve got.” Gilbert replied showing me the rack of what looked like different sized spark plug wrenches. So I picked one that was three quarters of an inch and having tried to check that the stem could go through the end by asking if I could take the plastic tag holder out of it, was told “No! You have to buy it first.” I settled and realized I would have to try to turn the wrench with channel locks hoping it wouldn’t slip on the shiny smooth side. The sprocket wrench would not fit into place when the spindle from the shower handle was sticking through it.

Are you still with me? Here comes the magic! So, I am at the checkout stand and Angie, she’s really an angel, takes my money. I ask her, “Can you get this piece of plastic out for me?”

Well she struggles for a bit and tries to push it out with her pen. I suggest a Phillips and she opens a drawer at her feet which looked like the ‘odds and sods’ drawer in our kitchen, only bigger. We are looking for a hammer and a strong rod to push the tag holder out, and there on the top of all this junk, is a plumbers wrench. It’s not wrapped or anything it’s just there with all the other tools and stuff. I reached in, picked it out and measured it. Three quarters of and inch. Isn’t that amazing?

“This is what I want.” I said. “Can I have this? Can you sell me this, you can keep the shiny sprocket wrench, this is what I need.” At that moment Gilbert came up to the checkout stand, and hearing my request said he would have to speak to the manager. So back we go to Melvin at the service desk. I explain that this tool is what I came here for, and that I have been looking for it for a while, and this is the second place I had been this morning and... “ You can have that." he said.

I am just a little thrown for a moment. These things do happen to me once in a while. You know, like when I was hoping that when I got off the plane in San Jose there would be someone, an angel, right outside the airport ready to take me over the hill to Santa Cruz instead of having to take a cab to the station and then catch the bus. Well that happened to me. The second person I asked “Are you going to Santa Cruz?” said yes. When I asked if I could share the gas money and catch a ride, they said, “Well let me just ask her. She's driving up right now.” I got that ride in a white Mercedez, and here this, morning I was being offered the very tool I need for nothing.

The Angel took my return and gave me back my money. I thanked Melvin, and he just said, “What you give freely in this life comes back to you a thousandfold.” I was struck by the prophetic message coming from this thick necked macho Hispanic who was running the Hollywood shop and had such an unlikely name. My wife is happy with the shower!

My completed set of wrenches

Memory Lapse

2008-09-18T15:20:00.000-07:00

You can’t be tying a string around your finger
Every time you have to remember
Why it is you went into the kitchen,
Or what is was you came into the garage for anyway.

You stand in front of the fridge,
In a room cluttered with thousands of memory joggers-
A block of carving knives, that lasting gift from your wedding,
The painted rose on a plate from a grateful patient,
A colonial tea canister from Williamsburg
With a key to stop its contents being purloined,
And the gallery of photographs held by magnets on the door,

And it is as if you were gazing at some rebuilt city,
Which has been completely redesigned
After an atomic bomb has wiped
All the definitive land marks off the map,
Wondering why you are there,
And what pressing task,
Which was screaming for attention,
Caused you to sleepwalk,
And if the tell tale signs of senility
Are already devastating your mind.

Then picking your way back to the bathroom
You peer into the mirror
Straining for the clue,
And with an Archimedean exaltation,
Discover the switch of memory
And reluctantly admitting your humanity,
Put your day back on track once more.

Santa Cruz and Sand Castles

2008-09-03T23:55:00.000-07:00

Just to the south of our port listing university town you come to San Jose’s seaside escape, Capitola. Not the brash broad walk on the surfers’ bay of Santa Cruz where foam clad Adonis’
sit splay-legged waiting to catch the next wave. Not the high-cliffed esplanade where dread-locked bongo-popping sixties throwbacks change their babies in the back of tired Volvos.
Not the city whose streets are strewn with gleaming handlebarred sturdy bikes ridden by stout broad armed women whose preferences and strength I would not question. No, but to the south, there is a charming almost Devonshiresque retreat, with Gayles’ Bakery to greet you as slip of the freeway, and where if you are lucky you may find a parking spot as you slip down the hill beside the creek which is overlooked by brightly colored resort homes.

The Capitola Creek is broad near the estuary and is crossed by a railroad trestle and a triple arched road bridge which join this beach town together. And each year on the Labor Day weekend a begonia festival is held, and decorated floats sail down the creek and around the lagoon for delightful entertainment and judging. Also being awarded prizes are the sand sculptures on the beach which by the next high tide will be all washed away.

The Family with Zoe Merrill on the bridge at Capitola

A Mayan Pyramid

A mermaid

A prize winning Octopus

Two Bikers

Nessie all the way from Scotland

Buddy beating Phelps by a nose

Ancient City

A Sea lion

Phelps again

Writer's Block - What's Stopping You From Writing

2008-09-03T22:24:00.000-07:00

Away From The Page
For Christopher Covell who hintingly suggested I might be getting further along with my writing.
Three of my four primary distractions are seated above - my children

You might think that there is plenty of time
To trot out another chapter, and get that great work,
That opus magnum completed
And be off to the next inspirational flowering
That will dazzle your fans and bring elusive fame to your door.

Not so!
For the washing up
And children’s homework are beckoning.
That broken toy, or the roses that need feeding,
The solution to a geometrical conundrum,

Or the value of X
Are all thrusting themselves forward
Demanding the last squirts of wakeful oxygenated blood
To be responsibly applied
To more pressing tasks.

Not more important,
But ahead in the line,
The litany of honey do’s
And unending parental duties
That keep me away from the page.

Neil Stewart McLeod 9/3/2008

An Olympic Memory

2008-08-10T23:16:00.000-07:00

At Sunday School at the First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood, Lou Zamperini, the 1936 Olympic miler, came into the Two Year Olds' carrying the Olympic Torch he had carried as he ran with it for the 1984 Olympics here in Los Angeles.

Lou Zamperini running with the torch and a police escort at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. He also ran the torch at the Atlanta and Nagano games in 1996 and 1998

Lou is ninety two years old now, and a more vigorous ninety-year-old you will find it hard to meet. Although, ... if you read further back in my blog for September 2007 I have mentioned another. There is something truly remarkable about healthy seniors who still have a zest for life which all of us must envy. It says a lot for the human spirit that in our ranks we have individuals, like Lou, who in spite of great odds keep managing to fall on their feet no matter how adverse the circumstances they face.

You have to read Mr. Zamperini’s book “Devil at My Heels” , with its foreword by Senator John McCane, to discover how the miracle of faith over adversity worked for him. In the book he tells the tale of surviving a plane crash into the Pacific Ocean, and drifting with his crew mates until they were captured by the Japanese, only to be interned in their prison camps. There Zamperini resisted psychological pressures to participate in propaganda broadcasts at great personal cost.

Picture courtesy of John Hoffman

Today I shook his had and held that Olympic Torch. At a time when many are watching the news from Beging it was delightful to have our own special connection with an athletic phenomenon.

ANZAC DAY

2008-04-27T12:18:00.000-07:00

Australia New Zealand Army Corps Day commemorates the great losses at the Battle of Gallipoli in 1915. Nearly a century later this date is still remembered as the defining moment in the founding of national identity for the new antipodean colonies. On Sunday April 27th 2008 ANZAC DAY was commemorated at the National Cemetery in Westwood, California, and the Australian, New Zealand, Turkish Consuls General and the British Deputy Consul were present at the flagpole.

This field set with plinths and crosses
Fanning out in rows as far as you may scan,
Last depository for that supreme premium
The ultimate sacrifice for freedom and the chosen cause,
This flag surmounted garden of sorrow
Where the debt that never can be paid is sown,
This pyrrhic commemoration emblematic of Passchendaele,
This is a good place to remember the price paid at Gallipoli.

This Nation’s monument to those who fell
Offering up their blood to serve the ‘greater good’
Whose dust now moulders where they lie
Gives small comfort to us who here remaining stand,
To learn the news that Marathon was won
That tattered remnants of the Light Brigade returned,
This retreat of careworn grim faced veterans
This is a good place to remember the price paid at Gallipoli.

When the bugle’s piercing clamor fades away,
As flowers we brought and laid grow limp and wilt
And we retreating thoughtful of the loss
Retrace our steps and wonder at the cost
Our nations meet to hold their place in time
Until we all are called upon that fateful day
When faith and duty meet the final cause,
Until then we will remember the price paid at Gallipoli.

The family with Patricia Schwarzmann FSA

Doctor Ginny's Escape

2008-04-13T16:08:00.000-07:00

For twenty five years my friend Doctor Virginia Van Osdel has been taking a camping trip with horses to Wutchumna. She recently wrote to me about this years trip, and I could not resist scribbling the following lines. She wrote: “I wish I was still up in the mountains! This was the best Wutchumna ever...cool and clear with no rain and an abundance of wildflowers! To say nothing of the wine, the music and the food! Our new tent functioned beautifully, it feels like the Taj Mahal after our old dome tent. The hot tub and showers (yes, this really is upscale camping) were nice and warm, quite a party in the hot tub, as always...very relaxing! And the best part was being with dear friends!”

In my heart I'm still up in the mountains
In the cool clear Wutchumna air
With no trace of rain
Just sweet thoughts remain
Of flowers blooming abundantly there.

Oh I wish I was back in the mountains
To say nothing of food and of wine
How our hearts were aglowing
How the music was flowing
Oh Lord! we had such a good time.

Our tent it was just like a palace
All cozy with plenty of room,
We relaxed in warm showers
Or hot tubbed for hours
And were longing to be back there soon.

It's the fresh air the horses and mountains
It's the turn back to camp at the bends
It's the relish we feel
With each ride and each meal
It's relaxing at peace with your friends.

To Toast the Scots

2008-04-12T11:42:00.000-07:00

Beneath the glass table, under the glass of Talisker, you can see a Cauri shell from Mombasa, a Kenyan elephant hair bracelet that was momentarily owned by Swami Muktanada, my father's cap badge from his days in the Black Watch, the Royal Highland Regiment, and also Dad's officers skien dhub, his sock dagger.

The dedication to the book I am writing called "The Thistle and The Silver Fern" is this poem. The book is about our family heritage, and tells the tale of the hardship of life in the Clan Lands of Coigach and the emigration by sea to New Zealand in the 1870's. It is the sort of story that legends are made from, the type of story you shell out when sitting with friends with a drink in hand when the memory of myth is toasted, and you feel the spine of worthiness, something worth living for and worth remembering.

So as a sat gabbing with Mike Mills and Al Ramseyer, Mike, who is never short of a tale himself, mentions Randall Wallace who of course he knows. I wanted to put my two bits in and recalled when the post "Braveheart" celebrations were being held at the Bel Air Hotel, and the Clan MacLeod Dancers were asked to provide entertainment at a very swank reception. It was there that I first recited this poem for Randall and the gathering. I offer it now for those with whom I share a dram, and all my Scottish friends.

Dedication
for Roddy, Maran and Oliver

To all my Scottish friends I lift a glass,
To you, who've kept alive in song and rhyme
The memory of our ancient heroes past,
Across the dark and misty moors of time.

To you who know this simple truth so well
And show it where you live both near and far,
It is the tales we tell about ourselves
That carves the myth and makes us who we are.

So let us drink a toast to Scotland fair
Let us recall its sorrow and its solace,
And let us lift our glasses in the air
To all our kin, to you, to Bruce and Wallace.

And to the clan I love whose name I bear,
My parents, and my sisters and my brothers,
I'd rather be a man in your eyes there
Than be a king in any of the others.

A parody on Randall Wallace's poem 1994

Carved Ebony Buffalo

2008-04-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Buffalo Heart

We gather possessions in life which remind us of special times and places. Sometimes directly from the source, and others quite inadvertently by stumbling upon them or as gifts. This poem is for Nace Benun, a financial wizard, who loved Kenya and has fond memories of his safari there years ago. He has a big heart, and he gave me a beautifully carved Buffalo.

I sat ’cross his desk in the tower
With its window view over the city
And there on the sill I saw with a thrill
A carving I thought very pretty.

I remarked “That’s a beautiful figure,
You don’t often find them like that,
The work is so fine you can see with each line
That the artist knew what he was at.”

“It’s a buffalo, Lord of Jungle
Nyati’s his Swahili name,
And he’s carved in Mpingo, which in African lingo
Is an Ebony wood from the plain.”

I told him my tale about hunting,
From the back of a truck as a lad,
How long shadows were getting, when the sun was a’setting
When I was just four with my Dad.

Then his generous heart leapt in that moment
Like a buffalo’s by the thorn tree,
And with watery eyes he picked up the prize
And he handed that carving to me.

Petticoat Lane - London

2008-04-05T13:40:00.000-07:00

Years ago, when I was training at Guy's Hospital in London, I managed to get the keys to a small flat in Wentworth Dwellings overlooking Petticoat Lane. Getting the keys was the operative point, for without paying the key money, which was £200, a small fortune back then, we would never have been able to move in. I shared the flat with Stephen Milner, a very bright lad who was also studying at Guy's, who eventually became advisor in surgery to the British Army. Anyway all that aside, we had a lot of fun living over the Lane, and this poem will give you a flavoring.

PETTICOAT LANE
If you go to the Lane ov a Sundy,
You never know wot you'll find
'Cos there's row after row of barrers
An' stalls wiv people be'ind.
They'll sell you most fings for a penny
'arf a quid or a dollar or two,
It really don't make any difference
So long as you keep passin' fru.

'Tween ve barrers all mixed up wiv people,
To a tune or a well know rhyme,
There's a band of colourful beggars
Beatin' out double quick time.
Those barrers are loaded wiv bargins
Fings you won't see again
"So hurry up love if ya wannit
Come on now it's startin' to rain".

Who'll buy this fine set of china
It's goin' fer two poun've lot
At only a fird of the shop price
'Cos it's not in a fanciful box.
Now Lady jus' try a tomato
'Ave you seen 'em like this one before
You really can't go wive out buyin'
They won't grow 'em like vis any more.

Any shirt ’ere for a smacker
For one fifty I'll let you ave two,
They'll fit any neck that you, Sir
So you really can't grumble can you.
These coats are of genuin' leaver
You don't ave to check em ya know
If you ave any doubts jus smell vis one
Oh! I'm sorry that's only fer show.

The Lane is just bulgin' wiv people,
Of every persuation an hue,
But I'll tell you who gets a good look in
It's either a Paki or Jew.
The Lane is terrible 'igh brow,
Wiv it's delicate nosh from Marks,
You can when it's closed on Shabbes
By the place where the Daimler parks.

Above the Lane live the locals
They know it all this cocky crew
And no matter whatever your business
They'll tell you a thing or two.
They know the chap sellin' razers
At only three bob a shot
And the drunk from the Salvation Army
Who'll pick up old apples and grot.

I live in a dwelling in London
My window looks over the lane
And the noise wakes me up in the morning
But really I never complain.
I can sit in my bed and just listen
All cozy and never alone
With thousands of people parading
All mad, an' right outside my home.

It's a real old edjamacation
To come and live local 'ere
Wive the Cockneys all cheeky as sparrows
And 'apply the whole bleedin' year.
So when you come to the Lane of a Sundy
Be grateful and never forget
There's a lot goin' on all around you
That you 'aven't fort ov yet.

Dominion Over The Earth - The Cypress Tree

2008-03-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

We are not all Jack Bauer of "24" fame able to save the society from a fatal attack from terrorists. Yet each of us has the opportunity that was given us since the time of Adam to have dominion over the earth and be responsible for its care. Jack has some serious choices to make when he decides who must die for the greater good of his cause. On a much smaller scale we each have the opportunity to make the world a better place by interceding when we can to keep the world around us beautiful. My friends Al and Francine Ramseyer have a wonderful view over the "Jewel City" Glendale, and just beyond their home in a neighbors garden, the vista includes an elegant Cypress tree which is host to a profuse Morning Glory.

The Cypress tree,
Lone sentinel at the end of the mountain ridge
In the neighbor's garden,
Stands over the Jewel City at sunrise.

The house shadow
Shades the Morning Glory soon to open
With the striking light
As the choking weed takes the guard unawares.

The Gardiner
Whose gift it was to name all things in his dominion,
May choose either
To cull the rampant profusion or wait and watch the marker die.

NSM 3.15.2008.

R. V. Tucker DDS - GOLD ONLAYS A Limerick

2008-03-07T21:31:00.000-08:00

Dr. R.V. Tucker

One of the greatest dentists of our time

A Washington dentist named Tucker
Who made inlays on which folks ate supper
Said, “Fear not if your row
Of teeth show the gold’s glow,
When you’re smiling just make your lips pucker.”

Dr. Richard V. Tucker is arguably one of the finest dentists of our time, and has spent a lifetime advocating the use of fine gold inlays and onlays to restore the teeth. Nothing, even today, has come close the longevity of gold as a dental restoration. No composite resin or cast or carved porcelain can claim to come close to the long term success enjoyed by this style of treatment. Some might complain that upon opening their mouths the gold work could be seen, or that a flash or gleam of yellow metal might mar their smiles. But with careful case selection and even more skill in the designing of the shape of the cast filling, it is quite possible to conceal the show of gold. My poem is just an attempt to glorify this art form and immortalize Doctor Tucker.

courtesy of Dr. Scott Parker DDS

Here are some examples of what the best looking gold inlays are like from the hand of one of my peers Doctor Scott Parker DDS of Redmond Washington. At the time of writing he is President of his local R.V. Tucker Study Club.

courtesy of Dr. Scott Parker DDS

Highland Games in Fresno

2008-01-28T22:31:00.001-08:00

A Lament for The Games At Coombs Ranch

For William S. McLeod Jr.

For years, I well remember, in the middle of September
When the Californian summer lingers like an endless song,
Near that central valley city, where the grape vines look so pretty
And the broad San Joaquin River ambles silently along.

Where fields rise above the banks and great oaks grow in ranks,
And the grass is green and flat beneath their shade,
At a ranch called “River Bend” owned by Dennes Coombs, a friend,
Great schemes to hold a Highland Games were laid.

Well, Dennes Coombs and Truman Campbell, round that ranch they took a ramble
With Ms. Dunklee and Bill McLeod in tow,
And it was agreed together that right there in clement weather
They’d host a Games to which the folk might go.

Looking back they got it right, for this very bonnie site
With its lawns all sheltered by the tall tree groves,
Proved to be a prime location, where without hesitation
Stout hearted Scots folk came with friends in droves.

Vendors came one day early to avoid the hurley-burley,
And set up their pavilions and their stands.
With all kinds of things for sale, ghillie brogues and coats of mail,
China crocks and books and Celtic wedding bands.

First thing the trucks appear with the athletes and their gear
And weights and cabers lashed up to their hitches
Through the day they’d show their form of Scottish stealth and brawn
Sending awesome weights a hurtling down the pitches.

You could buy your tartan kilt, or a sword with basket hilt,
Or a Kitchener pith helmet like a Sahib,
Or a jacket and a bonnet, with you family crest upon it
To make your first foray in Highland garb.

Then came the pipes and drums, and they filled the air with thrums,
Their music stirred the blood within the vein.
Marches, jigs, Strathspeys and reels, had us kicking up our heels
As they paraded down the field and back again.

The clans folk also came, of the blood and of the name
Who raised their tents beside the glen in rows,
Men sported badge and kilt, and wore bonnets at a tilt
And the lassies had their hair in tartan bows.

The children they would play in the river through the day,
Where the shallow water rippled by the weirs,
Catching tiddlers and frogs or making dams with rock and logs
While the lilting skirl of bagpipes filled their ears.

At noon when colors advance and we all would get the chance
To cross our hearts and pledge our promise true,
Star Spangled Banner we’d chorus and the Flowers Of The Forest,
And we’d tear up with emotion at the view.

For the ranks of Highland Men were parading through the glen
In their tartans with their banners flying high.
And the pipes and drums played loudly and the gazing crowd stood proudly,
With the sparkling glint of tears in every eye.

But one day Dennes lost his ranch and it was said we’d lost the chance
To hold our Highland Games some made remark,
But hats off to Fresno City who rose up for us in pity
And let us have the games in Roeder Park

They still tell this tale today, with longing hearts they say,
That the story teller keeps it in his quiver,
And the legend lingers on in our hearts and minds and song,
When the Games were held at Coombs Ranch by the river.

Neil Stewart McLeod

Stabbing Haggis

2008-01-20T23:16:00.000-08:00

The art of redefining the contour of fine silver trays is one that is more particularly Scottish than, perhaps, any other nationalities. A reputation that the great halls of silversmiths in London and Sheffield are prone to envy. Whether this skill blossomed from an innate sense of impecunity, or from the natural latent genius for which we are so proud, is left to conjecture. But the fact clearly remains that more pierced silver is to be found in Scotland, and in Scottish enclaves than any where else in the world. Why you might ask has this unusual specialization developed? Well the answer lies in the frequency with which the haggis is slain in late January each year.

Scotland is famous of course for her two principal exports, its brains, and the antidote, whisky. It is the fortification with the latter in preparation for the "Address To A Haggis", that is, in all likelihood, responsible for the abundance of perforated chargers. Armed with dirks, it is not uncommon for exuberance to foreshadow good judgment in the lavish swing that plunges the blade into the warm and reeking bladder, which yields sweetly allowing the tip to score and skewer the entire table display through to the richly varnished table boards beneath. If the knife can be retrieved, the tray will need treatment with planishing hammers and silver solder before the buffing wheels on the lathes can retrieve its former luster.

Nor should you doubt any part of this report, for every word of it is as true as the light of day. Examination of old copies of the 'Daily Breeze' from 1988 will reveal an account of a similar occurrence, when, before the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society, Tom Girvin, that well known radio personality, had difficulty removing his dirk from the haggis for exactly the same reason. Years later Tom's offer to have the tray repaired was declined in favor of its value as a memento of that valiant stab.

No you might say, this cannot be the case, such a fabrication, such whimsy is more than is creditable. Yet I can tell you with no exaggeration, that in 1997 I stood right beside Joseph McClure Swindle, who, suitably reinforced with fifteen year old Talisker, slew the haggis at the Castaways one Burns Night. Joseph spouted forth,

"His knife see rustic labour dight,
An' cut ye up we ready slight,"...

and as he did so, he rammed his huge dirk down through the haggis tray and all. Paul Dimond, the British Consul General, and his lady Carolyn, were there to witness the thrust, as were the gathered members and friends of the Los Angeles Burns Club. The stage was set, and what a night it was. Later, after the loyal toasts, the "Immortal Memory of Robert Burns" was given by Ann Dwyer who, to our amazement transformed herself into Ann, the serving maid at 'The Globe Inn'. Her performance transfixed us, as she related "from personal experience" her encounter with the poet who used to frequent the inn. Richard Nathan, the editor of “Mad Dogs” where this story was previously reported, gave the toast to the lassies, in a highly controversial parallel between Shakespeare and Burns' view of the fairer sex. Ah! but the answer probably lies right there, that it is in an attempt to impress the "lassies O", that we get into these predicaments of masculine excessiveness in the first place.

If you live in the Los Angeles area you can see the Haggis slain in true style at Lawry’s Tam O’ Shanter Restaurant, on Los Feliz Boulevard, on January 22nd, 23rd and 24th when I shall be performing the ceremony six times each night, and cutting up Chef Ivan’s excellent Haggis. There will be piping from Harry Farrar, Highland Dancing and saucy ladies singing Burns’ songs.

Slaying the Haggis

2008-01-19T12:46:00.000-08:00

“Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain of the puddin’ race”

Here we go it is Burns Season.
Every year, one month exactly after Jesus’ birthday, on January 25th Scots and Scotiaphiles around the world celebrate the birth of Scotland’s most famous poet, Robert Burns. They do so with a fervency that will rival even the Russian’s love for their poets, and with good reason. Robert Burns leaves us with a legacy of over six hundred songs and poems that epitomize the most sensitive heartfelt wrenchings of the common man, and contain what is arguably the greatest satire and story telling ever penned in the English or the Ayrshire language.

We are slaying the haggis again. The Haggis Slayer, the dirk I have used for over twenty five years to cut open the haggis will be put into action twenty times this season alone. I believe it will have been used to “slay” one hundred and eighty five haggi or what ever the word may be to pluralize haggis. This must be some sort of record.

Last night at the Athenaeum Club, that august edifice at the California Institute of Technology, the Haggis was slain and “Tam O’ Shanter”, the Burns story of the wild ride on a stormy night, was recited in its totality. The venue was elegant the wine excellent and the haggis remarkable. Kevin their chef has developed his art to the point where I can confidently say he is giving the renowned Chef Ivan of Lawry’s “Tam O’ Shanter Restaurant” a run for his money. It was good, very good, and served with bashed neeps and tatties. Hats off to Kevin.

Chevron Needs Help

2007-11-26T23:06:00.000-08:00

The lingua franca is disappearing. Trying to make allowances for immigrants by accepting a lower standard of English usage is destroying the language on both sides of the equation. It is dummying down the whole country to accept a new substandard of abbreviated jargon which leaves everyone hampered, handicapped even. Our children (not mine) are feverishly thumbing their way through digital cyberspace on their text messaging devices, using the latest hip short cuts to express their notions that only the esoterically advanced have even a hope of comprehending.

On the one hand we have Andrei Codrescu the Romanian essayist and poet who has come here and mastered the language to the point where he teaches English and uses it with remarkable eloquence. On the other we have corporate representatives who do not check and never even conceived of the idea of reviewing something or having someone else check it before hanging it out for all to see, and for the most part never even notice its ignorant comedic offensiveness.

It is enough to make one “real angry”. Leaving the L Y off the end of the adverb is so commonplace now that I hear school teachers at the private school, from which our two youngest have now been removed in favor of home schooling, trotting out this qualifier routinely. For example, while driving back to Los Angeles after our Thanksgiving in Redding, we saw this sign at the Chevron Station in Pixley. Ironically there was a help wanted sign at the entrance. Look again and see how many errors have been made in this simple attempt to be helpful. This is the side of Chevron Corporation we see directly dirty lavatories and runaway inflationary priced fuel, all run by semi illiterates. You would think that there would be an established protocol for all signage at a corporately sponsored facility.

The price of the gasoline is sky high, but the standards are rock bottom. All that matters is the dollar $ign.

“Door Locked When Occupied” would have been cheaper. The final tragedy is that some one engineered the sign. Our standards are surely under attack.

Saying Good Bye to Los Angeles

2007-10-11T06:32:00.000-07:00

How often do we who live here in the City of the Angels have to feel that ache when some one we have grown to love comes to the point where their life is taking them in a new direction. They are leaving our city. We know they will remember their days here. This is my farewell to them all. Here is a sunset shot for them looking west from my dental office on Sunset Boulevard.

TO TOAST FAREWELL
In the evening,
In London or in Budapest
Where warm nights rarely hang so still,
And when at dusk
The slipping sun reaches out,
Blood-red behind the wisps of clouds,
The gathering gown,
Deep night settles on
The remnants on another distant day,
You will remember
How the thick orange sky
Sank beneath the silhouette of tall palms,
Where warm sands
Edge out the Pacific's rim
And The City of Angels becomes a memory.

And when gathered
In high-draped halls
At table or beside the fire,
Contented then,
As talking bubbles
With thoughts you love to share,
When practiced tales,
The patch work of experience,
Delights the company with your wisdom,
Will you then
Fill up your glasses
With wine as red as any sky we've known,
And raise a toast
To friends so far away
In places where perhaps you’d rather be?

Waiting For Geppetto

2007-10-09T21:35:00.000-07:00

Geppetto the carpenter, Pinocchio’s famed father- For Francoise whose daughter Maelise dances ballet with our daughter Maran, and whose sad chair went to Doctor McLeod's hospital

My arm is split, my legs are weak,
In fact they come apart,
You really shouldn’t sit on me
Unless you’re strong of heart,
And you should really understand
My useful days are done.
I’m waiting for Geppetto,
I’m praying he will come.

There was a time when I was new
A long, long time ago,
We left the wood shop in a cart
Six chairs in a row.
We even had a table
That came with us in the set.
The wanting of Geppetto
Had not dawned upon us yet.

Now I am old and broken too,
I’ve been fixed at many points,
And hard and crusty lumps of glue
Are bunging up my joints.
And should you sit upon me
I fear I’ll fall apart,
I’m waiting for Geppetto
To bring to me his art.

Geppetto, he could mend me
He’d bring out clamps and glue
He’d clean the crust from out my joints
And make me good as new.
So as you go about your day
Where ever you may roam
If you see Geppetto
Have him come and take me home.

Ninety And Still Driving

2007-09-29T13:08:00.001-07:00

For the ninetieth birthday of Beverly Morsey, my patient and friend for thirty years, who at eighty eight, queried when submitting to significant dental care, “Am I going to be able to have my golfing lesson afterwards?” She remains an inspiration to us all!

If I were turning ninety, and my friends were gathering near
It would be a grand occasion that would be very clear
And I’d say, when the cake is cut, with my glass raised to toast
That of all my life’s occasions this one I’d remember most.
I’d tell them I’d recall this day for my whole life, I guess,
Which, if I were young, might be a phrase that would impress.
Then I’d thank them all for coming and for making such a fuss,
And in a quiet moment, I’d thank God for all of us.

I have been to lots of birthdays ever since I was a child,
And some of them were swell affairs and others were quite mild.
There were many for the six year olds, and for the sweet sixteens,
I still wish I were twenty one, but only in my dreams.
There were parties for the thirties and the forties don’t you know,
And lots of folks they’ll make a splash on reaching the ‘Five O’.
After that they’re not so many, though of course they still come by
And I recall I thanked The Lord when I reached seventy five.

I’m ninety and still driving, in fact I’m going strong
If you want to shop or go to lunch, why yes, you come along.
I don’t take any chances I just try to do it right,
Although I’m getting nervous when I have to drive at night.
I have some pals who ’tween themselves they privately have joked,
About the folks they know who had their licences revoked.
And should they pine to be behind the wheel again, I’d say,
“If you want to keep on driving I’m not standing in your way.”

I’m ninety and still driving, next time we’re on the links
Take care who you bet on, or you might be buying drinks
I may not make a birdie every time I take a swing,
But if I make a hole in one, I’ll dance the Highland Fling.
There may not be too much time left, and not a lot to waste
I’m picky what I choose to do, it must have style and taste.
With golf lessons and painting and shopping I feel grand,
I think I may have just enough for what The Lord had planned.

Neil McLeod - 9.1.2007.

The Good Doctor Isidore K.B. Kwaw M.D.

2007-09-07T19:05:00.000-07:00

This extraordinarily well qualified compassionate physician provides emergency care at his "Urgent Care" facility at 9201 Sunset Boulevard. I meet a lot of doctors one way any another, and I share my respect for this colleague so that we all may benefit.

Isidore K.B. Kwaw M.D.

Doctor Kwaw’s a physician of note,
An amiable, affable bloke
Who labors away
Be it night time or day
For the patient whose arm might be broke.

If a fellar falls flat on his face
And needs his neck put in a brace,
If he’s cut and he’s bleeding
What ever he’s needing
It’s to Doctor Kwaw he should race.

For the Doc will ride in on his bike
If you’re names Thomas or Dickie or Mike,
And he’ll do what it takes
To patch up the brakes,
Or a wound from a sword or a pike.

There’ll not be a word of dismay
No matter how sad your array,
But with kindness and skill
He will fix you until
You’re fit to get back in the fray.

So you don’t have to have it said twice
Should life deal a blow that ain’t nice,
If your bladder is burning
Or tummy is squirming,
See Kwaw for a fix in a trice.

Write Me Some Lines

2007-09-07T12:56:00.000-07:00

for Terry Becker a visiting emergency patient 9.7.2007

A patient who said just to tease
While I fixed his teeth up, Sir, please,
Write me a few lines
Mid the groans and the whines
For you, Sir, it should be a breeze.

THE SONG OF THE CAURIE SHELLS

2007-09-05T23:37:00.000-07:00

There is a legend that if you should gather twelve caurie shells on the coral beach, the fairy folk will weave a spell that will bring you back to Skye.

There's an island I know made of heather and peat
Where the mountains rise sheer from the sands,
And out in the loch there are seals at play
While the mist hides the craggy headlands.

My love for the island is calling me back
To the land of my tartan my home,
To the Waternish beach above Suardal,
It's there in my heart that I roam.

There to the west a trophy you'll find
Blessed with its own special spell.
The great old Dame at the Castle
Knew of this magic well.....

They say if you go to the Coral Beach
With the wish in your heart to remain
On the isle with the mist and the magic
You shall come to this island again.

You must go to the beach with your wishes,
When the tide is low look and find
Twelve wee shells of the Caurie
On the beach there all at one time.

So take the road north from the Castle,
Go to Claigen below Beinn Bhreac,
Then follow the path by the cliff tops
To the beach there away to the left.

There look with you love for an hour
While the tide is out lying low,
For the wee crinkled shells of the Caurie
Till you have all twelve in a row.

Then look to the loch and the shoreline,
And south where the great Tables lie,
And imagine the lofty pinnacles
Of the Cuillins against the wild sky.

In your heart you've cemented the blessing
Of the peat and the heather and moor,
And by keeping those twelve little Cauries
You will find your way back to the shore.

So remember the Old Chief who called you,
To come back to the Isle, with a sigh,
And your treasure will guide your steps swiftly
Back home to the Isle of Skye.

3.1.1983.

Called to Torah - Bar Mitzvah

2007-09-01T11:58:00.001-07:00

For a son who is being called to the Torah this year October 6th 2007

Show me a dark-eyed handsome lad
Whose face is like the full moon,
Whose long eye lashes when his eye flashes
Might cause a maiden to swoon.
I’ll show you a mother like many another
Whose anxious heartfelt pride,
Is reaching out with love not doubt
To the son who is leaving her side.

Show me the diligent Torah scholar
Who is ready to hear his aliyah
And rabbi-willed his heart is filled
With atavistic fire.
I’ll show you a father standing tall
Part of a line of tradition
Ready to make that minyan call
To a son that has come to fruition.

Show me the throng filled synagogue
Ranked on both sides of the aisle,
When gabbai or rabbi stand by his side
To prompt with a word or a smile.
And I will show you a family
Who are moved by the moment to sigh,
As he takes his place in that long long line
And never an eye will be dry.

I am the mother who like any other
Has a heart that is filled with pride
Who bore the dark-eyed handsome lad
That stood by the altar side,
Who answered the call to Torah
To consider the question “Why”,
We follow in this long tradition
And it’s hard to keep my eye dry.

Like the Roman Catholic Confirmation service which takes place when a boy reaches the age of fourteen or so, the Jewish Bar Mitzvah is a sort of coming of age and is a celebration for the family and the community of a young man’s right of passage. The candidates answer the call (aliyah) to read a passage from the Bible (Torah-the first five books or Pentateuch) and explain its meaning. In so doing they publicly display that they are mature enough to understand the laws and traditions of society and why they should adhere to them.

This is and age old process, and in Jewish culture qualifies them to participate in the minyan, the communal prayer in which at least ten men are to be present, and at which matters of significance may be discussed. Any parent will naturally feel a deep sense of emotion when witnessing this religious service, and in western culture a great deal is made of the occasion to include family and friends in what can be extravagant festivals.

A mother asked me the other day if I would write a poem for her son who was about to answer his call to the Torah. She is confident that he is
going to do a good job, and she wants to express her love and admiration and pride for him as he comes of age, already committed to following his father’s career as a cardiologist. This then is my offering.

Neil McLeod 8.26.2007.

Gabbai - The Gabbai the rabbi's assistant stands next to the Torah reader holding a version of the text with vowels and trop markings

A Grandson's Wish

2007-08-15T13:00:00.000-07:00

for Alfred Weinstock my dear colleague and brilliant periodontist, who pined for his grandfather’s stories, but was always disappointed not to hear more. He remembers that the Cossacks rode through his village and trampled him down when he was a boy in Poland.

Grandpa tell me again

Tell me about your childhood Grandpa
It’s something I long to have told.
Tell me about your shtetel Grandpa
Tell me now before you’re too old.
Sit down and draw upon your pipe,
Send smoke rings above Shabbes board
Tell me of when the Cossacks came
Trampling through in a hoard.

Grandpa, I love your old stories,
No one could tell them like you,
Not even our Yeshiva Rebbe
Tells stories as real as you do.
Yet every time that I ask you,
You say with a nod and a sigh,
“There’s really not much I can tell you!”
Though I see the tear’s glint in your eye.

Grandpa, I stood by a grave side
A son wore a black coat all torn,
And a widow was decked in a black lace shawl
To hide her face so forlorn.
Then I thought that they’d never hear them
The stories that their grand papa knew,
So Grandpa please tell me your stories
Before this evening is through.

All Those Books

2007-08-06T23:45:00.000-07:00

Down From The Shelves
A self criticism

My friend Andrew Ettinger can’t remodel his house with all the books in the way so they have to moved out by the box load to a neighbors garage temporarily. The impression created by viewing the piles reminded me of my own unsorted collection which prompted me to consider just when I might get around to tidying it if ever.

The books, jammed and squeezed
Seem to have tumbled from the shelves
Into waiting piles,
Ready for the packing boxes.
Pictures and statuettes
Hover with clocks and cannon.
Binoculars and speakers,
Not a nook left, a complete wall
Cluttered behind the settee.

Endless broken intentions
Wait to be reposited in a neighbors garage;
Time waited not.
A cascade of unmanaged treasures,
Each with a mortgage,
An unredeemable debt of time,
Life’s lease is too short.
So to the boxes of consignment they go.
This year, next year, sometime,
Never to be opened again
Until one day, inherited or sold,
Each one’s brilliance will shine again
When fingered by curious grandchildren
Or a shop customer
Who will thrill as you once did
When first you deemed the text
Worthy of a place on your shelves.

A Traditional Toast to the Bride and Groom

2007-08-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

Last New Year's Eve, in Redding - California, Cory proposed to Brittney. This was the second time I have seen proposal on the stroke of midnight. Previously it was when Beth and Seth Carlson got engaged as the new milenium broke. So twice makes it a tradition.

For Cory and Brittney Fator

Twice is always I’ve been told,
Twice makes it a tradition,
Twice upon the midnight stroke
A suitor made petition.

Twice upon the midnight hour
As New Year’s bells were peeling
I have seen a young gallant
Set his love a reeling.

Twice with pounding heart and bold
In fates uncaring face
I’ve seen the question “Will you?” asked
When all might see disgrace.

And yet the moment was not lost
The bold hearts found their favor
And with the nod and answer, “Yes”
Their path was bound forever.

Twice I’ve seen the light of love
Sparkle in their eyes
Those pretty maids whose open hearts’
And trembling lips reply.

I have seen the goblet raised
And proffered to its prize
The ring linked to the chalice stem
Before her very eyes.

And all of us will tell the tale
With pride and admonition
How our young lads should never fail
To follow this tradition.

From thence to church to stand before
Our pastor, who’s commission
Is to anoint their heads and bless
This marriage - that’s tradition.

Let us toast the damsel
Who said yes to this young man,
And the mothers and the fathers
By whom it all began.

So stand with me and raise a glass
With each one by your side
And toast the health and happiness
Of our new groom and bride.

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls
To Brittney and of Cory

Dr. Neil S. McLeod 7. 29.2007

The Cutty Sark Burns

2007-05-26T21:25:00.000-07:00

I am mourning the near demise by fire of the Cutty Sark the fastest tea clipper ever to ply the seas between Britain and the Far East. She brought tea from China, and later wool from Australia, home to the waiting buyers at astonishing speeds. The life aboard ship must have been grim for those whose backs were being broken to win the race.

My great grandfather sailed to New Zealand in 1872 aboard the first composite built tea clipper, the Wild Deer. She was Scotland's answer to the American fast clipper designs. This ship was so successful that she was the basis for the design of the Cutty Sark.

Cutty Sark

Of Ships and the Sea

Sing me a song of fine old ships
Of fine old ships and the sea,
With hulls that ply the rolling waves
Like a claymore flying free;
With hulls that ply the rolling waves
And built of wood and steel,
That rise up like a cathedral
From a massive bolted keel.

Sing me a song of hardy men,
Who toil in the shipwright’s trade,
Who bend their backs from dawn ’till dusk
By whom these ships were made.
Who bend their backs with saws and nails,
With red hot bolts and steel,
And build the ships from bilge to deck
On a massive bolted keel.

Sing me a song of men that sail
In ships on the seven seas,
Who ride the waves in storm and gale
And laugh at the ocean’s breeze;
Who ride the waves in rain or shine
In ships of wood and steel,
With hulls that rise like a great church roof
From a massive bolted keel.

From massive bolted keels they rise
These ships of wood and steel,
Built by men who toil all day,
With muscle and sweat and zeal.
Built with the shipwright’s craft and skill
For the lads who sail the seas,
Who ply the foam in a hull for home,
And laugh at the ocean’s breeze.

Wild Deer

This image from the Turnbull Collection in the National Maritime Museum in San Francisco was taken on the day my great grandfather made landfall at Port Chalmers in New Zealand in 1873.

Religious Harmony

2007-03-21T22:26:00.000-07:00

When my niece Bailey was just going up to university at Thomas Aquinas College in Santa Paula, that’s in California, I went rootling around the book stores that punctuate the heart of the Ventura area for a copy of Khalil Gibran’s “The Prophet”. It has long been one of my favorite texts, crammed full of clever whimsical and profound truths that are fun to quote like:

“... thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.”

My thinking was that it would be a resource for those mellow moments that I remember occurred for me when I was at Guy’s in London, and that she might find some inspiration in it. Of course the book did not just fly off the shelves at me which might have been disappointing had the habit of nosing around dusty volumes not become a passion, pheremonically impulsed as a pig might rut out a truffle. In one of the numerous forays I glanced upon “Rhymes of the Old Cape” by Joseph Crosby Lincoln, and, thinking it might have been about South Africa, I browsed through a couple of well constructed poems and thought that at $1.50 I could risk the chance of finding at least one poem I liked.

It is now three years later and Bailey is about to graduate and launch on a new career as an operatic soprano. Opening the book the other day I found that it related to that other cape, south of Boston where Province Town dominates the north returning peninsular, Cape Cod. The book is quaint and filled with treasures, and one in particular has made all the effort worthwhile and not the least wasteful of my energy. Here is Mr. Lincoln’s delightful and hard hitting testament on getting along. I can not help feeling that if we as a nation could have found more common ground between us and been united in our efforts for Christian outreach, there would be a lot less problems in the world. In the back of my mind somewhere there is the conviction that al-Qaeda would not have become so entrenched in Afghanistan had we sent in missionaries to fill the vacuum left by the retreating Russian Army.

WASTED ENERGY

South Pokus is religious,--that's the honest, livin' truth;
South Pokus folks are pious,--man and woman, maid and youth;
And they listen every Sunday, though it rains or snows or shines,
In their seven shabby churches, to their seven poor divines,
Who dispense the balm and comfort that the thirstin' spirit needs,
By a-fittin' of the gospel ter their seven different creeds,
Each one sure his road ter Heaven is the only sartin way,--
Fer South Pokus is religious, as I started off ter say.

Now the Pokus population is nine hundred, more or less,
Which, in one big congregation, would be quite a church, I guess,
And do lots of good, I reckon; but yer see it couldn't be,--
Long's one's tweedledum was diff'rent from the other's tweedledee.
So the Baptists they are Baptists, though the church is swamped in debt,
And the Orthodox is rigid, though expenses can't be met,
And the twenty Presbyterians 'll be Calvinists or bust,--
Fer South Pokus is religious, as I said along at fust.

And the Methodist is buried, when his time comes 'round ter die,
In the little weedy graveyard where no other sect can lie,
And at Second Advent socials, every other Wednesday night,
No one's ever really welcome but a Second Adventite;
While the Unitarian brother, as he walks the village streets,
Seldom bows unless another Unitarian he meets;
And there's only Univers'lists in a Univers'list's store,--
Fer South Pokus is religious, as I think I said before.

I thought I'd read that Jesus come ter do the whole world good,--
Come ter bind the Jew and Gentile in a lovin' brotherhood;
But it seems that I'm mistaken, and I haven't read it right,
And the text of "_Love_ your neighbor" must be somewhere written "Fight";
But I want ter tell yer, church folks, and ter put it to yer strong,
While _you're fighting_ Old Nick's fellers _pull tergether_ right along:
So yer'd better stop your squabblin', be united if yer can,
Fer the Pokus way of doin' ain't no use ter God or man.

Joseph Crosby Lincoln

A First Christmas in Koru, Kenya - A Memory

2006-12-06T20:04:00.000-08:00

A First Christmas in Koru

The picture shows a family group with friends in1951. My father is holding me in the back row and Alan is wearing the bib trousers center front. Yvette is sitting in the chair with Roida and my eldest sister Flora is to their right in the center.

When my mother became very ill with malaria in our first year in the Kenya colony, and my father was away, my brother Alan and I celebrated Christmas with the Langs, two older sisters who lived across the road. They kept a traditional holiday.

It was Christmas Eve and for two little boys
All was not well, for they’d left their toys
And their baby sister and mother at home
And with local neighbors were lodged alone,
To share with them the holiday season
And though they did not know it this was the reason.
Their mother who was the best house keeper
Who washed and cleaned, there was none neater,
Who sprayed pyrethrum every night
And made sure the screens were all shut tight,
And who knelt by the beds, head under their nets,
And said prayers and kissed her darling pets,
Had herself by the Anaphalis been bitten
And with waves of fever her body would sicken.
And so it was they were lodging away
From home and family that holiday.

Now the neighbors, the Langs, lived just over the street
Where the old tree branches in the center would meet
And doves could be heard in the afternoon
Cooing their soft almost sorrowful tune.
These two older dames now lived there alone
Their family and husbands had long since gone.
Their house was filled with things small boys admired
Nicknacks and treasures in a life time acquired.
On a carved wooden side table set by the wall
By the front door as you enter the hall
Was a little brass ash tray from the Arab bazaar
And horse brasses, mementoes from England afar
Enamel pill boxes perhaps from Limoges
A framed photo of a soldier with ribbon in rows.

Now when those boys arrived they were welcomed and fed
Briefly shown round the home, washed, and then put to bed.
How they missed their mama to kiss them good night,
To kneel and say prayers and to tuck them in tight.
And when at last good night had been said,
And they were both snuggled safe in a bed,
They each mumbled softly their own quiet prayer
And asked God to guard them and protect them there
While they were sleeping until the dawn
And bless them with presents on Christmas morn.
And in the room with door shut tight
And the crack at the bottom was the only light
And by it they could see in the gloom
The dressing gowns on the hooks in the room,
To the sound of the crickets comforting song
They drifted to sleep before very long.

When first light came on Christmas morning,
Before the sun was up with the dawning,
There never was a boy more frightened,
Who round his head his blanket tightened,
For he saw he thought at the foot of his bed
By the door with a bulging head,
Some creature unbeknownst to him
Hard to discern in the light so thin,
Standing silently lurking there
With a glint in its eye with the soundless stare.

Then he called to his sleepy brother and said,
“What is that there at the end of the bed?”
But he could not get his brother to rise
He could not get him to open his eyes,
But he peered again just a little bit longer
And it seemed as the light was just getting stronger
That what ever it was that was there by the door
Looked just a bit different than it did before,
Now he wasn’t quite sure and he’d had such a shock
But could that thing hanging there just be a sock?
A few minutes more and the sky was brighter
A rooster was crowing and the room was lighter,
And he saw with relief and surprise on the door
Two stuffed stockings that were not there before.

At once he saw the mistake he had made,
That the socks were the gifts for which they had prayed.
And soon both were up and were trying to choose
From each of the stockings just who’s was who’s.
They each had a trumpet with a shiny horn
That had glinted like eyes in the early morn,
There were oranges, sweeties, pencils and nuts
And a pen knife that looked like it actually cuts.
Leaving their bedroom and shouting with glee
They ran to the parlor and there saw the tree.
So this was the first Christmas they would recall
And the stockings are what they’d recall most of all.

2006-11-21T11:29:00.000-08:00

The First Thanksgiving
An answer to Dr. Clement Moore - for my American family

The first year was over, they'd settled the land.
Now Plymouth was home to a small Pilgrim band
The good ship "Mayflower" had long since sailed away,
As each one prepared for the Thanksgiving Day.
Governor Bradford had made his decree.
"All must make ready a festivity.
The Lord, in his mercy has smiled on our plight
Our harvest is good, and our cause it is right.
Through winter and sickness, for all these months past,
We've toiled and we've labored, 'til now at long last
There are crops in the pantry, and beer in the keg,
So each as we're able, make ready I beg."

Some men to the woods with musket and snare
For duck, goose and turkey, wild deer and hare.
Some to the long boats with hook, line and reel
For sea bass and cod or even an eel.
Some to the thickets, to bring extra wood
For each stove and fireplace in their neighborhood.
And some to fetch trimmings like corn cob and leaf
So each table is set with a cheery motif.
The womenfolk pounding make ready the grain
From the indian corn which they found when they came.
No butter was churning, no milk in the pail,

For they brought no cattle when first under sail,
But there was soup in the kettle and flagons of ale.
There was peeling and slicing and kneading and baking,
There was mincing and roasting with chopping and grating.
And sifting and searing, and spreading and smearing,
And wonderful dishes to eat kept appearing.
Then barrels upturned with planks on the tops
Made tables they covered with fine linen cloths.
All is made ready, the guests then appear,
Chief Massasoit with braves to the rear.
These were the natives whose help they derived.
And without their assistance none may have survived.
They gave them the corn which grew better than wheat.
And taught them that fish made crops tall and sweet.
After their chief, came a proud delegation
It seemed there advanced, the whole Wampanoag nation.
The Pilgrims, astonished, just welcomed them stay
And join in the feast they were sharing that day.

When all were seated at table and board,
Governor Bradford said, "Let's praise the Lord."
Doffing his hat and with eyes raised to heaven
He gave thanks to God for the blessings He'd given.
And barely had echoed the solemn "Amen",
When the village of Plymouth resounded again.
There was sniffing and smiling and clanging and clinking
And shouting and passing and eating and drinking
'Til everyone feasting was filled till replete,
And gave groans of approval for good things to eat.
Then after their meal there was smoking and toasting.
And singing and chanting and laughing and boasting.
And piping and drumming and dancing and reeling
And jigging and clapping, a wealth of good feeling.
In soothe, for three days there was nothing but cheer
As Christian and heathen* gave thanks for the year. *Indian

They crossed the Atlantic, they braved the wild seas,
Faced winter so harsh it brought them to their knees.
During this time half their number had perished,
But they never lost sight of the quest they all cherished.
Their harvest was taken, their laboring done,
In sixteen hundred and twenty one.

Since then every year, though the decades roll by,
As November days shorten with cloudy grey sky,
When Warblers and Martins have flown t’ward the ring,
And the fields lying fallow are waiting for spring.
It is then that we gather on Thanksgiving Day,
Surrounded by loved ones we bow heads and pray.
Remembering the Pilgrims whose struggle and toil
Won them Freedom and Justice on this foreign soil.
Our tables are laden with turkey and hams
Sweet corn and turnips, potatoes and yams.
Cranberry jelly and stuffing nearby
Freshly baked bread and of course pumpkin pie.
From ocean to ocean across this great land
From the shores of New England to the tall Redwood stand,
We pause to forgather with family and friend
And thank God for the goodness, may it never end?

Dr Neil S. McLeod - November 21, 1991

* Indian may be sustituted for the word “heathen”, which is not supposed to imply barbarian just a non-Christian

Veteran's Day

2006-11-11T00:11:00.000-08:00

A Man Who Will Listen
A story from Ian MacLeod of Western Australia - He was approached while wearing his father’s battle medals by an old soldier at a parade for Veterans.

You look like a man who will listen
The old veteran stammered to me,
There’s something I really must tell you
For it has been bothering me.

It has been bothering me, mister,
Since that day on the Kokoda Trail
When we stumbled into this encampment
Where this Jappo was dying and pale.

I minded the booby traps round him,
With deft fear a crept in to find
The slice from the calf of his oppo,
He’d eaten, goin’ out of his mind.

It was tragic, that bastard was dying,
Yet I could not leave him alone,
For he’d tell that my troupe had been through there,
Then the whole Jappo Army’d have known.

So I put my gun up to his temple
I paused ’fore I let the shot go,
And that Jappo he smiled as if grateful,
And that’s what’s been botherin’ me so.

I see by the salad you’re wearing
Your heritage leads you to know
There are things that a man can not answer
That just go on botherin’ him so.

So I told him, “You did him a favour.”
“You spared him a death of regret.”
“For instead of dying a coward
You made him an honorable vet.”

Then the old soldier’s brow seemed less furrowed
His distant eye fixed firm on mine,
And he thanked me for lifting the worry
That had bothered him, such a long time.

The Cobbler's Son

2006-11-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

Ohannes (John) Makhdomian has been repairing my shoes for thirty years. He has a shop in the Farmers Market on Fairfax. He is famous now for doing a wonderful job at a fair price.

When my shoes need mending
I take them round to John
The cobbler in the market
For he can mend what’s wrong.
The shelves around his little stall
Are lined with paper bags
All waiting for their owners
And marked with paper tags.

I shake his hard-worn leathern grip
As he hands my shoes to me,
I know they are perfect - I don’t doubt,
As I ask him for his fee.
Then taking out each shoe,
I admire all that I inspect,
It’s not for need I pass the time
It’s done out of respect.

His eyes seem grey and sorrowful
They thinly veil his woe,
And when I ask he tells me
It all happened long ago.
It’s been eleven already
He’s getting out next year
My son, he got into a fight
And I’m left working here.

It was at a birthday party
When he was seventeen
But a boy lay bleeding, dying,
Before he quit the scene.
They had an altercation
My son put in his boot,
Then his friend drew a knife out
And stuck it in, the brute.

He wrote me saying the other day,
The chance to change he’d take
He said that he was sorry
That he’d made a big mistake.
So perhaps he’s learned his lesson
Perhaps it’s for the good,
I saw the tear so close to flood
And then I understood.

I understood the roughness
Of the stubble on his face,
And the disappointed sadness
When a father feels disgrace.
His teeth they all need mending
Like shoes all worn and torn.
His self esteem all cut away
His heart’s wrent and forlorn.

So when my shoes need mending
I take them round to John
The cobbler in the market
For he can mend what’s wrong.
I won’t take them elsewhere
His work is neat and good
For a bond has grown between us
And that is understood.

2006-11-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

Old Glory Faded
For City National Bank, and any one else who flies our nation’s flag and forgets to take care of it.

Sing this to the old tune and see how you feel:
It’s a sad old flag, a tattered old rag,
Forgotten neglected and torn,
A symbol of the land we loved
Once pride of the place I was born.

I really hate to see Old Glory faded
Greyed and tattered fluttering at the mast
Denied the respect and stature of the past
In our country where the values are all jaded.

That it would now seem fit to pass a law
Forbidding us from burning that prized symbol
Speaks volumes to the force that makes me tremble,
Detracting from the praise it had before.

Where are the boys and girls who gave their lives,
The men and women who stood proudly to salute,
With patriotism undaunted, hearts resolute.
Tell me in this land the pulse still thrives.

Along the boulevards that crease our city
Hanging there neglected and torn
Forgotten, ignored and forlorn
You’ll see our nation’s flag and it is a pity.

At dawn no veteran’s chest to swell with pride
At sunset, no guard to draw it down,
Just lip-service lighting from the ground,
Something in our spirit seems to have died.

Sing it to the old tune and see how you feel:
It’s a sad old flag, a tattered old rag,
Forgotten neglected and torn,
A symbol of the land we loved
Once pride of the place I was born.

A Kirkin' O' The Tartan

2006-11-04T17:55:00.000-08:00

The Kirkin’ O’ the Tartan
Saturday November 4th 2006
Photo courtesy of Karen Johnson

Why do we do this?
Why did a small group of Saint Andrew Society of Southern California members get together in the sanctuary of St. Barnabas the Apostle Anglican Church to have Fr. Scott Kingsbury officiate over and bless our tartans. Well let me give you a few reasons as I explained to the congregation when I was acting as Tartan Master.

Tradition
For sixty five years American Scots have been taking their tartans to church to be blessed. It is an American tradition to hold this ceremony, and it has now spread around the world. It was established in 1941 by the then President of the Saint Andrew Society of Washington D.C., the Reverend Peter Marshall, Pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, and later Chaplain of the Senate; The Kirkin’ O’ The Tartan was held at several different churches until 1952, then was settled at the National Cathedral. By now it is a tradition. Certainly since I started going to these services in 1976 I cannot remember a year when there was not a Kirkin’ somewhere in the southland. This is the first reason why we kirk the tartan, it is a tradition.

Hereditary Pride
Scottish folk have looked back longingly at the gems that fill out the sweet memories of the ancestral homeland. The little treasures like the piece of tartan hidden away in a family bible, or wrapped around a bairn to keep it warm against the ‘cauld blast’, or setting of the wedding dress. With it come the stories, the tales of home and the well remembered songs. Our fondness for and our pride in our heritage is another reason to celebrate the tartan.

Contrariness
Deep down in the heart of every Scot there is a resentment at being told that you must do or must not do something. It gets up our noses. Particularly if the command comes from someone we don’t respect. We have been told that we were forbidden to play the pipes, forbidden to ware the tartan, and forbidden speak our native tongue. We were even forbidden to bear arms. It therefore gives us particular delight to be able to parade our tartans in true style, especially when accompanied by the pipes and drums. It appeals to the contrary nature which I believe lies just beneath the surface within us all. If only for our Contrariness we Kirk the Tartan.

Patriotism
Celebrating our Scottish heritage is really a form of American Patriotism. Consider the contributions made by our countrymen to this American nation. Half the signers of the Declaration of Independence, more than half the Treasurers, and at least half of our presidents have been Scots or of Scottish decent; and that is just scratching the surface. We already know the Englishman’s nightmare is the constant confrontation with Scotland’s contribution to practically everything that is familiar that he uses in his day to day life. Much the same could be said of the multiplicity of the influence we as a group have had in America.

Since the early Colonial times, Scots, hard working and hard suffering, migrated to the Appalachians, invested in New Jersey, fought in the seven year French-Indian War, opened up the heartland, and felled the trees. They were doctors and teachers, trusted managers and accountants. They were governors, and cabinet members, lawyers and judges, prominent military leaders like Crockett and Grant, and inventors and scientists like Robert Fulton and John Muir and Alexander Graham Bell. They are the writers like Washinton Irving and Edgar Allen Poe and Herman Melville, they are the newspaper magnets who started The Boston News letter and the Chicago Tribune. They are the businessmen who invented meat packing, and the industrialists like the steel manufacturer Andrew Carnegie. They are the singers and the artists, designers of the cable cars. There are the Scottish Societies like the Burns Clubs and Clan Associations, and there are the ministers like Witherspoon who provided the framework for our constitution, and John Lloyd Ogilvey, Chaplain to the Senate who guided our nation’s leaders in prayer. It is out of patriotism that we gather today to sport our family colors.

Fun
Oh! and one more reason. It is fun to gather together, and bring these symbols of our heritage and present them to the maker of the Universe, and ask Him to bless us who wear these colors, and to keep His hand on our shoulders and guide us, and to provide for us as He sees fit
Jabez - 1 Chronicles 4:9-10.

A Toast to the Tartan

Here’s to the Tartan
The blue the green of it
The fighting sheen of it;
The yellow and red of it,
And every thread of it.
The fair have sighed for it,
The brave have died for it,
Foemen sought for it,
Heroes fought for it,
Honor the name of it,
Drink the fame of it.
The Tartan.

After Murdoch MacLean

The Last Smile

2006-10-19T19:35:00.000-07:00

Dr. William Wanamaker M.D. my patient and friend who sponsored me into the Royal Society of Medicine.
1.21.1917. - 29. 8.2006.

I’d would really like to say something about our old friend, Bill,
Who latterly had answered to the sobriquet of “Will”.1
I’ve known him nearly half my life, twenty years at least,
Since the days when he was spry and wore his suite well creased.
I would pass him smiling, grey haired and eminent, in the hall
A man loved by his students and his patients and by all.
And he would crack a beam at me and with a wave say fawning,
“Why don’t you take an aspirin and then call me in the morning.”

One lunch time he regaled me, his face a brace of smiles,
Of the morn when newly qualified and attached to the Argyles,2
His batman drawing a smart one, whose boots shone like molten tar,
Said “Sir! The C.O.’s compliments, he wants to see you in the bar.”
“The Bar?” said Bill, astonished “the clock has not turned ten”,
“Do you mean to say he’s there already drinking with his men.”
“Aye Sir!” he said quickly, “That’s the message that was sent.
You’ll find him ’cross the p’rade ground, inside that greet big tent.”

Bill pulled himself together and straightening up his tie,
Said “Thank you Corporal. That will be all. I’ll see you by and by.”
Then our Navy Lieutenant3 stepped out to choose his course,
The parade ground was enormous it took five minutes to cross.
By the time he got to t’uther side he was puffed and red of face
But he braced himself for action as he approached the place.
And then between the guy ropes he saw as he raised the flap
The bar ...with every drink you’d want, even beer on tap.

“Ah Doctor! Good to see you. You will have a drink?”
Said his new commanding officer, at which Bill paused to think.
He glanced, and all about him, this salad chested throng
Were clinking slantés4, before noon, at a bar ‘a mile long’.
The entire mess was getting legless in that vast tented hall,
“It’s hard to fathom how the Army got things done at all.”
His comprehension floundered as this scene he surveyed
“I don’t know how they do it,” he said, “with two drinks I’d be flayed.”

Now many years have come and gone since that time we recall,
Bill was married, had a family, ran a practice, did it all.
And in his setting years he did not let it fade away,
He kept himself together, fit and active every day.
’Till one day on the tennis court his ticker gave a jolt,
It couldn’t take the strain, it wasn’t anybody’s fault.
They put him on some pills and then he fell and broke his leg
The trouble was he had to spend a lot of time in bed.

The last time that I saw Bill, I’d come round to clean his teeth
As he lay thinned and failing on the med-bed neath the sheet.
His front room had been converted to be his private ward,
And a nurse was there attending the man we all adored.
And when the brushing and rinsing was over, which he hated
To find respite for him now that this torment had abated,
I recounted my memory of this story for a while
And was rewarded for my effort by the breaking of a smile.

In that moment all the trauma and the hardship seemed to fade
For an instant he was there once more standing on parade.
For a moment it felt as if a burden had been lifted
With that smile the feeling in the room for all of us had shifted
It was his last, for I am sure that he didn’t smile again
Never cracked those well worn teeth the way we knew back-when
It was his last! But I shall keep it in my treasure box at home,
A memory of one of the finest men I’ve ever known.

1. Will as in “Will” Shakespeare whose Globe Theater was rebuild by Sam Wanamaker, Bill’s brother
2. The Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders - A Scottish Regiment
3. Recently qualified and newly commissioned in the Navy
4. slantés, - plural, slanté vah good health - Gaelic

Strengthening Your Spiritual Walk

2006-10-15T22:37:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, the fervor of the ‘born again’ gets up my nose. I believe I am actually jealous of the acuity with which they can trot out the exact time and date when they were saved, the moment they met Jesus. They have had a spiritually transforming experience which has changed the course and the meaning of their lives. I can not say that!

It is not that I am non-believer, I have always been a believer, some times not a very good one. I just do not know when exactly, in the years between three and six, the effect of a Catholic upbringing took seed. Whether it was it the teaching of the Lutheran missionaries in Koru or the nuns in Nairobi I can not recall. It just all made sense by the time I made my first confession and received my first Holy Communion at the age of seven.

In 2004 we participated in the Billy Graham Crusade here in California. It was held at the Rose Bowl, that huge stadium in Pasadena. When the time came to make the altar call, thousands, I mean thousands, went down to receive the Lord and accept Christ. The whole field was covered with new Christians and those greeting them. Each one of the recipients will remember the time and date. I had already received Christ years ago, I was confirmed at fourteen, I stayed in the bleachers with my Christian buddies and watched enviously as hoards of others made that new commitment.

Yet upon reflection my walk was strengthened that day, just as it was this weekend in Forest Home when with my family I returned to the San Bernardino mountain retreat where Billy Graham preached so many years ago. This time we heard the Reverend Mark D. Roberts who led us in an intensive on the Psalms.

So what is the point now that you have got this far? Wherever you are in your spiritual walk, I feel confident that like me you will be strengthened by reading and trying to get the feel for the Psalms. Even the longest ones can be read in a few minutes and there is such a lot of inspirational truth in them. Mark D. Roberts has a new web presence called The Daily Psalm and I recommend it. You’re already sitting in front of the computer; this a great way to start each day with time-tested spiritual inspiration. It can really stop the “born again” from getting up your nose!

Thank You Soldiers

2006-08-29T22:19:00.000-07:00

This slide show has been going the rounds, and I like it a lot. It reminded me of a Culmination Ceremony I attended when my daughter was singled out as the recipient of a special award. It was at Village Christian School, and the children had been asked to participate in a letter-of-encouragement writing campaign to the soldiers fighting to defend freedom in Iraq. We did not know at the time that our little girl had participated in the program, and when the announcement was made that a letter from a child at our school had been chosen as the most empathetic and grateful and well expressed, and that by acclaim from the soldiers overseas it had been selected, they had our attention. Then we were told that the author was now to come forward and read their letter.

Well when my daughter’s name was called out, I was overcome with emotion. I could hardly see my way to the stage to try to take a photograph, everything was a blur. When I finally got back to my seat the fellows in the row were holding out tissues to me so that I could dry my eyes.

Maran was presented with the Operation Iraqi Freedom Medal and an embroidered flag flown over Camp Spearhead in Kuwait. Here then is what she wrote:

THANK YOU SOLDIERS

Psalm 27:1-3 reads: "The Lord is my light and salvation-whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life-of whom shall I be afraid? When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall. Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear, though war break out against me, even then I will be confident."

Kind soldiers, whoever you are, I thank you for your loyalty and bravery. I know I am just a kid, but I care and I thank you for your sacrifices and hurts, your respect for the freedom of our country, and I would like you to know that through all your toils and pains I will be praying for you.

Soldiers like you go through so many sadnesses and griefs. I know you don't have to do it, you don't have to see your friends die next to you, or drill in dangerously hot or cold weather from dawn till dusk. You soldiers are the ones who hold this country up, keep it strong, and make it brave. That position doesn't just deserve an "Oh thanks for being a soldier." No matter what rank you are, you deserve the utmost respect and encouragement. Dear soldiers, if you weren't where you are now, serving America, there might not be an America. Because of all the dangers you go through for this country without complaint and the respect you show towards all Americans, I give you my respect for every day you live and love America.

You give up holidays, joyous family reunions, tucking your children in at night, spending time with your spouse, and greatest of all, sometimes you give up your lives. Though you may go through troubled times, God will always be watching out for you, so no matter what the situation is, you don't need to worry. Dear soldiers in Kuwait, I want to give my personal thanks to you for your loyalty to our wonderful United States of America.

Real Chai - Indian Tea

2006-08-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

Ever since I had that first cup of chai in the guards van on the East African Railways and Harbors train going down to Mombasa, I have tried to combine spices to concoct a flavor that emulated it. I often visited the Jani family, when as a student I befriended Jenarden and Rajendra (Babu and Raji) and had tea with them. Their chai was very good but never quite as I remembered. I have found that black tea with a good lacing of ginger, and a little cinnamon with three or four cloves, some nutmeg, cardamon and fennel with cumin and pepper are what it takes.

I have had chai in Oxford
In London and L.A.
And now I make for myself
I like it most that way.

“Kitu gani wewe na funya,1
Bwana kidogo?” he said to me,
When I slide back the guards van door
With curiosity.

“Na taka ungalia tu!”2
Was my hasty reply,
And jiggling his turbaned head
He asked “Na taka chai?”3

“Indio.” was my answer4
The this is what I saw,
He primed and lit the primus stove
Right on the guards van floor.

When the milk and water
Boiled in his tin,
He took a hand of fragrant tea
And deftly threw it in.

The bubbles died then rose again
Then this is what he did,
He whisked it off and stirred the pot
And poured it through a sieve.

We each had an enamel cup
He filled them from his tin,
Then taking up a little spoon,
He put the sugar in.

Then handing me a cup of chai
He said don’t gulp the lot,
“Poli poli, moto sana.”5
Be careful -very hot!.

The train went cuffing onwards
Down Mombasa way
And still I try to find the taste
Of chai like that today

I have had chai in Oxford
In London and L.A.
And now I make for myself
As good as in Bombay!

1. What are you doing Little Sir?
2. I want to have a look that's all!
3. Do you want some tea?
4. Yes was my answer
5. Slowly Slowly, very hot.

Some of the spices fennel, tea, cardamon, nutmeg, pepper and ginger. also cloves are added

Washington's Teeth Were Not Of Wood

2006-08-03T00:19:00.000-07:00

Misconceptions
For years I have been correcting people who say that George Washington’s teeth were made of wood. They were not. They were carved in bone by John Greenwood his Philadelphia dentist. Cleaning them during the campaign was difficult so he soaked them in port wine which stopped them from smelling and made them taste better. The port wine stained the natural grain of the elephant dentine making them look wooden. Michelangelo Buonarroti, the extraordinary Italian sculptor and painter, contrary to the widely pervasive myth, did not fresco the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel lying on his back. It is a mistranslation of Paolo Giovio, the Bishop of Nocera’s “Michaelis Angeli Vita” where he used “resupinus” which means “bent backwards”and not as it has been erroneously translated “on his back”. Then of course there is Newton’s Apple. The Universal Laws of Gravitation did not occur to Newton after an apple had fallen on his head as he was gazing up at the moon. But there may be a grain of truth in the notion that seeing an apple fall started him asking why. In “Pricipia”he discusses the effect of objects falling under gravity.

Misconceptions so often prevail,
They rob us of honest detail,
They clutter the mind,
With notions that bind,
Of the cleverest female or male.

We really should root them all out,
Removing the reason to doubt,
That the tales we are told
By the young and the old
Are really worth bandying about.

To tell you the truth I despair
At the apple that fell through the air,
And struck Isaac’s head
Releasing the thread
Of the theory of gravity there.

When Washington’s dentures you view
It’s simply not right to construe
That they’re made out of wood
For wood is no good
That popular myth is not true.

Michelangelo, its widely known,
Lay on his back’neath the dome
Of the Sistine to paint
Well that’s something that ain’t,
So the next time you hear it please moan!

The Koran its secrets and the Moslem Culture Clash

2006-07-31T21:53:00.000-07:00

Don Richardson’s little book “The Secrets of the Koran” is a quick read, but once finished it has left me mulling over the implications of what he revealed. He shows that the Koran is no great literary work, that it is in fact boring and repetitive and filled with errors. More frightening is the clear instruction that this text commands of its readers to kill and maim any who decry its content or fail to adopt it as their guide to spiritual life.

Since consuming its content I have watched horrified as the daily reports come in of what is happening in the Middle East and around the world in the name of Allah and his Messenger. Don shows how the selected verses from the Koran are used to infuse hatred into the minds of young men, boys, in the Madrassas, the Moslem schools. At the peak of their sexual drive they are taught that while they are abstaineous now they will be rewarded with excesses of pleasure if they fight and die for the cause. And what is the cause? To attack and repress all infidels, to eradicate them from the face of the earth. Hence, in countries where they have sway churches and temples are burned, bombs are exploded and innocent people are slaughtered.

The biggest secret is the fact that hardly any Moslem has ever read the Koran. In fact just ask any devout Moslem if he knows or has read the Koran. The answer is likely to be “No, but I know what is in it". Ask for an explanation of why the story of Exodus is told twenty seven times, each time differently, and all of them wrong. They do not mention the most important aspect of the miraculous history, the Passover. Even though Mohamed was a Jew, he was illiterate to his dying day, and his ravings were written down by scribes. The retelling of Jewish history wrong takes up much of the Koran, and in what is left one in fifty two verses is a war verse inciting believers to attack and harm and abuse Infidels. By infidels I mean thinking people who dare to question the concoction of confused lines, and have not blindly accepted them as their “bible”.

There have been no Luthers, no Calvins, no Knoxes to reform Mohammedan thinking. The major thrust of all Moslem societies has been to enforce Sharia Law and marginalize any who offer alternative beliefs. The aggressive application of this principle has cowed all development and evolution of thought, and results in a repressive primitive philosophy which keeps its adherents in the a mind set fit for the Middle Ages.

In looking for explanations for what we are witnessing, I have seen nothing which crystalized the problem better, than an interview with Wafa Sultan on Al-Jazeerah Television on Februaray,12, 2006. Here is a link to the stream, which I request you visit soon. I have loaded it up on youtube.com . This Syrian psychiatrist has managed to explain the problem in the Middle East conflict, and we all must re-think why we have to support our President and Israel. If we don’t our very culture is at stake.

The Times They Are A'Changing

2006-07-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

This morning on my way to drop my boys off at school, I stopped to buy gas for my Honda Odyssey minivan. It was an Arco station, nothing unusual except that they charge too much like everywhere else, except perhaps Costco. I spied something that struck home to me as a significant mark of change in our way of life, and we have only just begun to realize the half of it.

What did I see? Well take a look! It is a disused gas price sign, tucked away behind the fence with the barrels of oil to be dumped, and never to be seen again. Why I ask is it there? Examine it carefully and see if you can spot why this change had to be made. If you want help look at the new sign which replaced it.

Now after you finish gulping at this astronomical increase in the price of our daily essential, reflect on how the sign-makers never expected the price of gas to exceed a dollar something. There isn’t enough room for more that a one.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Bob Dylan 1963

The Bird House

2006-06-17T20:15:00.000-07:00

The bird house, in the shape of a western-town dental office
Has hung vacant for the last two seasons,
Just as countless others,
Which were chosen and positioned with care and hope.
Its shutters and signs are now off kilter
For the rains and intense summer sun
Have bleached and warped the thin wood,
So now looking derelict and abandoned
This year for the first time
It is fit for occupation.

It was the gentle swaying motion on a still Spring-morning
That alerted me to this premier.
From the verandah the unending forays for food
Could be watched as each parent
Peered out, flew to the trellis, where the white rose bramble
Has started to clutter the canopy,
And then on and up to the fragrant pittesporum
Before rocketing away to the hillside trees.
Each return is accompanied by announcing chirps
Which are especially forced if the cat is in sight.
From full beaks the tireless mouths gobble,
Somewhere in the concealment,
And dross laden, each adult departs for another round.

Never before had my offered home been chosen,
Never had I witnessed the laden beaks day after day
Feeding God’s unseen miracle.
Then, on a June afternoon my backstroke was interrupted
By relentless squawked chattering.
One of the adult birds was darting here and there
From the strings of the hanging geranium pots,
Chirping compulsively.

And from the pool-side I watched as four coerced fledglings
Tottered and fluttered, first to the Badminton net and
Then across to the orange tree before jerking upward
Away to the shaded branches on a maiden flight.
Just one hovered down to the ground
In disoriented surprise.
To its place with watchful eyes I ran,
Scouting the lawn for our tom.
Nervous and confused it too soared off to safety
And the twittering chorus in the dark broad leaves.

Saluting Their Memory

2006-05-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

This week-end we all pause to take a breath and peer backwards in astonishment at how fast this year is evaporating. We are also particularly holding in our minds the memory of those who gave so much that we might enjoy the liberty and freedom this nation offers in such unparalleled portion.

On Saturday at 7.30 a.m. the Memorial Day Flag Placement occured at the Los Angeles National Cemetery in Westwood. Hundreds of POW MIA’s, Scouts, Brownies Girl Scouts and Young Marines decorated the graves of the fallen with our national flag. The whole affair would bring a tear to your eye, especially when a breeze ripples through and sets the sea of red white and blue fluttering as if by one spirit.

Let us thank God and them for the benefits we enjoy.

The picture is of my son Oliver saluting at the grave of one of the fallen.

A Biting Chance Drneilmcleod.com dentistry that lasts- quality that counts

The First Voice for Our Lady of Seven Sorrows

A Visit To Anselmo Vineyards

And Jolly Good Company

Seed Thieves- The Garden Birds

When I’m Sixty Four - cake and a bottle of wine.

Chris Covell at the Cafe Audrey

John MacArthur's New Bible - Original King James Version

Scout First Class- Another Pin For Mum

Farewell to Othello

Uncle Bill Turns Sixty Five

With Roger - My daughter's teddy bear

Launching the Contact Marker CM1

John MacArthur - Unprecedented Preaching Achievement

MacLeod Rant - Remembering Ann Skipper

The budget should be balanced

The Bride's First Footing - Missing Alan's Wedding

Alan MacLeod - Heart Operation

It Is A Great Day To Be Irish

Ballad of Nessie Wrap Party at the Tam

Front Crowns a Joyful Result

Missing the Cock ‘n Bull on Sunset

Honored for Slaying the Haggis

Celebrate Robert Burns- Eat Haggis

Busted

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Dr Bernard Levin - Confirming My Conviction

Getting Back on Track - Memory Lapse

Frances Cecelia McLeod turns 95

Hilda Lane - Frozen in Time

Highland Games in Fresno

Bill Gates on Israel

Tribute to John Lennon at LeTip

With thanks to Julie Hopkins, the Portrait Photographer, who shot this footage with her phone, here is the tribute to John Lennon, sung by Michael Tan, the Home Theater specialist. Michael Greenfield of Ace of Hearts Entertainment played guitar, and I am on the harmonica. It was a good effort.Neil

Blue September Hollywood in Blue

Remembering Alaska - The Last Frontier

Blue September

Keeping Up To Date Professionally

Casa Hogar – Helping the children

Let Us Take Care Of Your Dental Emergency

A tribute to Ann FitzGerald Skipper

Happy in America

Dentist | McLeod Neil Dentist, West Hollywood, CA

Cricket Song

Cat Gone

The Tower of Babel

Slaying Haggis Again

Thanksgiving Poem

Tusker Larger - from Chip Hammack

Islam - Telling lies doesn’t change the truth

9-11 Tribute Poem on YouTube

Full Service Dentistry - Visit My New Web Site

Wallace The Smiling Lion

Santa's Holiday

United States Marine Corps perform free

FORREST

My Mother's Hands

Serendipity and the Plumbers Wrench

Memory Lapse

Santa Cruz and Sand Castles

Writer's Block - What's Stopping You From Writing

An Olympic Memory

ANZAC DAY

Doctor Ginny's Escape

To Toast the Scots

Carved Ebony Buffalo

Petticoat Lane - London

Dominion Over The Earth - The Cypress Tree

R. V. Tucker DDS - GOLD ONLAYS A Limerick

Highland Games in Fresno

Stabbing Haggis

Slaying the Haggis

Chevron Needs Help

Saying Good Bye to Los Angeles

Waiting For Geppetto

Ninety And Still Driving

The Good Doctor Isidore K.B. Kwaw M.D.

Write Me Some Lines

THE SONG OF THE CAURIE SHELLS

Called to Torah - Bar Mitzvah

With thanks to Julie Hopkins, the Portrait Photographer, who shot this footage with her phone, here is the tribute to John Lennon, sung by Michael Tan, the Home Theater specialist. Michael Greenfield of Ace of Hearts Entertainment played guitar, and I am on the harmonica. It was a good effort.
Neil