His knife see rustic Labour dight, An cut you up wi ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich!
I’ve been writing a wee bit in Scots, or Scots forms (Lowland Scots, to differentiate from Scots Gaelic), a lot in recent weeks. Firstly, for a short story that I’ve submitted for workshop tomorrow, and secondly for the Nerd Bait Liederbuch. Continue reading Burns Night→
Technology really has changed the emigrant’s experience. This week, I wanted to attend my daughter’s parent-teacher conferences in Brooklyn. There were five of them, and I did two on Facetime, two on Google Video Chat, and one on something called the telephone. As you might expect of a committed Whovian, I rather enjoyed communicating with people in another world by means of futuristic technology and a magic screen.
Today’s stories are linked by aphasia. I’ve mentioned quite recently that, while I received a bunch of speech therapy both as an in-patient and from the visiting nurse service, this wasn’t connected to speech issues as such:
“Speech” inc. reasoning, organization, speech, swallowing and memory, at least. No doubt all grouped together for good reason. Have to ask.