Kissing the Blarney Stone for Eloquence

According to wikipedia, eloquence (from Latin eloquentia) is fluent, forcible, elegant or persuasive speaking. It is the ability to express strong emotions appropriately and it is being able to write fluently as well. This is the magic that politicians seek after, debaters battle over and orators die for.

We have seen impeccably groomed people who when they open their mouths, sound very common. In contrast, there are those who will sweep you off the feet the moment they say something. The trick it seems is to talk slowly and deliberately. When a speech is rushed, there is poor control of what is said, resulting in what some call ‘verbal diarrhoea’. For speakers of English as a second language, added problems are first language interference, incorrect pronunciation of words, inaccurate intonation and wrong placement of stresses. Most times students are not taught phonetics nor are they exposed to native speakers.

Having been to a number of one-act plays, I marvel at the eloquence the actors possess on stage. It is amazing how there can only be one person on stage delivering a monologue and yet the audience is not bored. It is the strength and clarity of the voice that say it all.

Some say eloquence is one-third content and two-thirds presentation. Others say it is a craft that can be developed through practice, apprenticeship and coaching.

One fine example was J.F. Kennedy in his series of televised debates with Nixon. His style was eclectic: it was skeptical, laconic, careless and purposeful. Peppered with wit and aptly chosen words, he became the youngest man in American history to win the presidency.

Yet, there are always short cuts for those who do not have the time to practise, Irish folklore says ‘there is a stone that whoever kisses never misses to grow eloquent, he may clamber to a lady’s chamber or become a Member of Parliament.’

That is none other than the infamous Blarney Stone.

The Blarney Stone is a block of bluestone built into the battlements of Blarney Castle, Blarney, about 8 kilometres from Cork, Ireland.
One of the stories associated with this stone is associated with the Lord of Blarney, Cormac McCarthy who saved an old woman from drowning sometime in the 14th century. In gratitude the old woman cast a spell on the stone so that the Lord would never again be at a loss for words.
It is not surprising therefore that visitors from near and far make a pilgrimage to lock lips with the stone. This includes statesmen like Winston Churchill, hollywood actors, famous novelists and playwrights. In the episode entitled ‘In the Name of the Grandfather, Homer and grandpa Abe Simpson visited the Blarney Castle. Even singers kiss the stone, Mick Jagger included.
So deciding to follow the footsteps of the famous who must have benefited from this swift puckering of lips, I made a beeline to seek out this enchanted stone once and for all. Besides promising myself that it would be great fun, my line of reasoning was if these people are still the icons of the day, then the Blarney Stone could have contributed to it.
Now, kissing the Blarney Stone is no mean feat and the trick is to kiss the stone in a certain way in order to tap its full power.
First you have to pay a fee to enter the Blarney Castle and then ascend to the top. The stone dramatically is set on the top storey. Then you will need to lie down away from the stone and grasp the railing firmly with your hands above your head. There will be people who will help you lean backward so that your head is even with the stone in order for you to kiss it. Once the kiss is rendered, viola, your photo is professionally taken. For those who suffer from acrophobia, there is a virtual Blarney Stone. (http://www.irelandseye.com/blarney/blarn....) but I cannot promise that the effect will be the same.
Was it worth the effort climbing to the top of the castle in the Irish drizzle so I can be part of the 200,000 hopefuls who perform the sacred act annually? Could the cold arrest the multiplication of germs on that particular part of the stone that has been kissed? Have I received the ‘gift of the gab’ to welcome 2012?
Shortly after my return from the castle, I complimented someone with some well-meaning remarks of admiration.
He said, ‘I don’t think you have kissed the Blarney Stone. You must have swallowed the whole stone even.’
Talk about an instant eloquence enhancer.

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

Read more: www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/kissing-the-blarney-stone-for-eloquence-1.26159

THE WAITING GAME BUILDS OUR CHARACTER

JOANNA Lumley spent her childhood in hot and humid Malaysia and read a book called Ponny the Penguin. The northern lights was the most beautiful scene Ponny had ever seen in her life. After reading that, former Bond girl Joanna knew she had to experience what Ponny saw: the northern lights, or aurora borealis, which are natural light displays in the sky, usually observed at night, particularly in the polar regions.

Joanna, who never played with snow in her childhood, finally travelled to the North Pole with a camera crew and survived the harsh terrain and icy snow. She was padded up like the Michelin Man, slept in three sleeping bags on a block of ice in Igloo Hotel and rode on snowmobiles. But the greatest challenge was in the waiting. Waiting for the northern lights that would only appear when there is a right recipe of natural ingredients: cloudless skies, soft moonlight and intense solar activity.
The waiting game is a tedious process and the worst thing is we can never know what the outcome may be. There are things that we can plan and work towards. But there are countless others that we cannot do anything about in our own strength. The only thing we can do is to wait it out. In fact, there is even a 1998 television movie called the Waiting Game and a song by The Cooper Temple Clause bearing the same title.
We have waited sometime or another in our lives.

With Christmas round the corner, children over here wait for Santa to arrive on his sleigh laden with gifts. Apparently, Canada Post offers a service where children can send their letters to: Santa Claus, North Pole, HOH OHO, OHO, Canada. Each letter gets a reply from Santa himself. All for a bit of fun really. Tell a child that Santa does not exist and he will burst into tears. It is a pity though that the true meaning of Christmas is masked by consumerism.
The waiting game can be both exhilarating and frustrating.
Exhilarating when the next day brings forth the results that we wish to see. Frustrating when what we hope for crumbles before our eyes.
After an exam, we wait for the results to be released. Then, we wait to attend scholarship interviews. Next, we wait for the results of scholarship interviews. Then we apply for jobs and wait for the outcome of job interviews. When we have made a small bundle, we wait for the soul mate to appear. We wait to tie the knot and have children. When the children have become independent, we wait for that round-the-world trip. We wait to enjoy our retirement years. The long and the short of it, we spend our childhood waiting to grow up, and then we spend our senior years waiting for others to grow up.

I was at the passing-out ceremony of the Gardai (police) once. I could see the pride in the eyes of the graduating officers as they performed the march past and pattern formations.
The bugles blared and the drum roll was electrifying. Families, dressed in their best, came in droves and stood in the bitter cold in the open square to witness their loved ones receive commendation from the chief commissioner of police. No one complained. The waiting was worth it.
Yet, sometimes waiting does not seem to pay off. Take the apple tree in our backyard for example. We waited for the tree to bear fruit. It was terribly exciting when the green apples showed up. Then we had to wait some time longer to see the apples turn red. That was exciting, too. The day came and we took out the basket to harvest the red apples only to discover that the birds had got to them first. That was definitely not exciting.
My better half once told me, whenever we are anxious over a certain matter, just remind ourselves that if nobody died as a result of it, then the situation could not be all that bad. I also find that in most cases, a problem does not look so bad after we have had a good night's sleep. Somehow, a clear head in the morning helps dispel the misery of the night before.
If anything, waiting builds character. Sounds cliché but it is true. The journey of waiting yields many corresponding lessons that help us navigate life's journey better. We become more mellow and less quick tempered. We learn to be more accommodating of other people's shortcomings as we are reminded that there are things beyond our control.
We learn to know our place in the cosmic universe.
Joanna waited and waited. When she finally lay on her back on the icy bed of snow and watched the spectacular curtain of the northern lights dance before her, she said: "For an hour-and-a-half, everything you can imagine began to happen. There were long, thin strings which went like snakes across the sky. Over our heads, there was this light that burst out in a great flower of strings, like an anemone. I felt like Ponny the Penguin. I was moved to tears... It has all come from the sun and our little tiny planet that we're trying to save... You see how majestic it is, and that it's part of the massive universe, and you begin to feel very humble."
Wishing all Christians a very Blessed Christmas.

Read more: The waiting game builds our character - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-waiting-game-builds-our-character-1.20868#ixzz1gtzx8BEA

THE BEST OF THE BOG

IN winter when the days are short and the nights are long, the best thing to do would be to curl up in front of the fireplace, sip cocoa, indulge in chocolates and watch television programmes.
Every time I want to go out, there will be a mental debate whether it is worth all the trouble to leave the blazing hearth and to put on the scarf, the gloves, the hat, the coat to face the chilly winds and to make sure that the windscreen has defrosted or the roads are not too slippery for my trusty Peugeot to meander through.

Most of the green surroundings that Ireland is synonymous with are in dormant state during this season. So, some time back, I thought it might be interesting to see the hard and soggy side of nature, the bog to be precise and I had never seen a bog.

For most people, contact with bogs comes via large sacks packed with turf sods for the fire or plastic bags filled with gardening peat. I had read that the bogs were the last wilderness to form in the Irish landscape in the wake of the Ice Age.
Stories abound that in the past, men used to bury butter, to take short cuts or to hide murdered bodies in the bog. In medieval times, those who inhabited monasteries, manor-estates as well as cottages burned turf to keep warm. The tenants of the land had to cut, store and transport turf. This was part of the customary duties levied by the owners of the land upon their tenants. It was not surprising then that an extensive and specialised Irish vocabulary evolved around the cutting of turf, and different parts of Ireland had their own variants or “turf dialects”.

The opportunity very soon presented itself. As I picked myself gingerly into a pick-up truck and headed for the bog, my heart palpitated. I had never sat on a pick-up truck before, much less one that saw three people on the front seat because the back part of the truck was filled with indescribable things which exuded unfamiliar smells. It was a roller coaster ride as we rocked upwards and sideways in unison, like trapped sardines in a can. Through it all, I was sandwiched between two burly men: John and my better half, Michael.
The journey seemed perilous and the road allowed only one vehicle to pass at any one time. I feared the worst should there be an oncoming vehicle but Michael pointed out to me that there were sporadic enclaves where the oncoming vehicle could wait, should the situation arise.
Actually, I had nothing to fear because John negotiated the road bends with great agility. Indeed, I would not have been surprised if he would do the very same, had he been blindfolded. I later learnt that the bog had been his childhood playground.
John asked me whether I would like to see bog one or bog two. My pragmatic brain settled for bog one which was nearer although John argued that the second bog would be more spectacular “bog-wise”.
Finally, we reached our destination. The ground was soggy and I was grateful to the creator of wellingtons. The biting cold made my hands freeze. It was 5pm and the air was laden with dank heaviness.

I took great care to tread the ground gently, lest I stepped on murdered victims of centuries past. We even had to cross a makeshift bridge in single file which reminded me of Captain Hook asking Peter Pan and the lost boys to walk the plank.
As my eyes spanned the bog, I saw the most beautiful sight ever. Neatly stacked in mounds, all covered with plastic sheets were stacks and stacks of turf.
All around the mounds stood heavy duty rubble sacks filled with turf and more turf, not unlike the rocks of Stonehenge, dark and ominous in the quiet of the evening. It was no aurora borealis but it was the beauty of a man’s hard work.
Signalling to Michael that there was work to be done, the two men started to fill more rubble sacks with turf. This, they did, not once but several times as I cheered them on. Watching the whole process, I had nothing but admiration for the brave attempt to harness the harshness of the land. There was no complaining but only sweat and dedication. All this for turf that would sell for E3.5 (RM14.80) per bag.

Sophocles said, “Without labour, nothing prospers”. How true. It is that manual competence that gives us a sense of autonomy and a feeling of responsibility. At the end of the day, we begin to appreciate something of the pleasing exhaustion that is characteristic of the work done.


SOURCE: The best of the bog - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-best-of-the-bog-1.14699#ixzz1fYO4x0QJ