Illness in the family

Many of my friends will not be aware that  a few month ago the  love of my life Winnie and my daughter Jessica we’re diagnosed  with a potentially life threatening illness.

The entire family had to be tested for a bacterial virus that has been with humans for thousands of years.

The results in the case of the members was negative largely I understand from an extra chromosome that is a generic mutation that is  hereditary this particular mutation assists us with faster healing now the curious fact is I understand that Winnie does not have the chromosome but why Jessica does not have it is puzzling, but never the less the results had a major impact on our family life the grandchildren had to be put on preventative medication for 6 months.  Jessica has to travel to the clinic in town on a daily basis and everyone else needs to go every two weeks.

The major financial effect is now that is that we have depleted our savings and are spending money that we don’t have.

It is essential that Jessica and Winnie and the grandchildren need to eat a well balanced diet (we don’t have the means to do this the illness is a wasting disease that slowly kills the person infected.

I would therefore like to make an appeal to anyone who is willing to or able to assist us to please message me so we van discuss options.

I would not do this under any other circumstance but this is for the survival of my family.

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Scottish Gaelic a language forgotten

There is something in ones DNA that calls us to the land of our ancestors, deeply embedded in our genetic make-up that tells us that our ancestors came from a far away land. A land if myths, legendary hero’s a land that calls to our spirit that there is a place besides the fireplace a warm place at the hearth kept for us.
A home far from where we live, a place that we forget a people dispersed across the planetary globe, once a small northern nation speaking a tongue that was not English, but a purer tongue not mixed with others until very late
Now our clans dispersed, our tongue forgotten even forbidden
Why should we blush like a new bride when exposed to her grooms warhead.
When we dare to speak out against those who prefer England and find to our surprise that the butcher of Caulldon  has done his work when the people of Scotland use the word minority to describe their ancient tongue.
No what is to distinguish a Mac from a Smith or Jones when the Scottish try and be more English then the English.
Scottish wees and kens are nae Gaelic, and when a child of Scotland says I have no Gaelic.
That’s like a Frenchman saying I was born in France but I don’t know how to speak French.

Tha rudeigin ann an fheadhainn DNA gun gairm dhuinn gu tìr ar sinnsearan, freumhan domhainn ann an ar dèanamh ginteil a tha ag innse dhuinn gun robh ar sinnsearan a thàinig bho cho fada air falbh fearainn. Tha am fearann ​​mura h-uirsgeulan, sgeulach ghaisgich fearann ​​a ‘gairm gu ar spiorad gu bheil àite a thuilleadh air an teallach chridheil àite aig na cagailte air an cumail airson thugainn.
A dachaigh fada bho far a bheil sinn a ‘fuireach, an àite gu bheil sinn a’ dìochuimhneachadh sluagh sgapte air feadh an t-saoghail planaidean, aon uair ‘s beag an ceann a tuath dùthcha a’ bruidhinn teanga nach robh Beurla, ach purer teanga nach measgta le feadhainn eile gus glè anmoch
A-nis sgapte againn cinnidhean, ar teanga Forgotten fiù ‘s a thoirmeasg
Carson a bu chòir dhuinn athaidh mar nuadh-phòsta nuair a tha fosgailte don a h-eich warhead.
Nuair a tha sinn a ‘Siuthad a’ bruidhinn a-mach an aghaidh an fheadhainn a b ‘fheàrr leat an Sasainn agus a lorg gus ar n-iongnadh gu bheil am bùidsear de Caulldon air a dhèanamh air an obair aige nuair a fhuair muinntir na h-Alba a’ cleachdadh an fhacail airson mion-innse aca seann teanga.
No dè tha eadar-dhealachadh Mac a ‘Ghobhainn bho no Jones nuair na h-Alba a’ feuchainn agus a bhith nas Beurla an uair sin a ‘Bheurla.
Wees na h-Alba agus tha kens nae Gàidhlig, agus nuair a leanabh na h-Alba ag ràdh Chan eil Gàidhlig agam.
Sin mar Fhrangaich Abairt Rugadh mi ann an Fhraing ach chan eil fhios agam ciamar a bruidhinn Fraingis.

Blazing a trail across History (poem mine)

Blaze a trail across the pages of history, do not embrace the herd mentality.
March to a different drumbeat, dance to your own music.
Do not conform to the accepted norm.

Dance in the rain, walk naked on the beach if you want, step into the gap, make a difference. Do not be a sheep, do not bleat in fear, rather shout your battle cry.
Let the pages of the ages tell of your great deeds.

Make them remember you. Fly like a shooting star across the pages of history, across the ages let your name ring true, bringing honour to all your house.

Don’t be a mouse, be brave, talk not of a noble death; for death is not noble, nor glorious just a messy and sad end to the spark of life which can burn so bright. Run like a a stallion

When in your last days as you lay gasping for one more breath and it is asked “Do you have regrets quietly say. No U have not, I have tried everything that I wanted to do, I have no regrets in some I was not successful and in others I was,
I rage not at the coming of my night.
My Star has burned brighter the universe is lighter for my having been here.

When death come do not hide in the grave yard where he will not look for you.
Rather stand in the gap one last time and when death approach be sure to check and you will see in his shadow he brings reinforcements for a life well lived and reinforced even death trembles and fears in the presence of such a life.

Now for the Gaelic Interpretation
Blaze slighe air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, chan eil gabhail an treud inntinn.
Màrt gu eadar-dhealaichte drumbeat, dannsa ri ceòl agad fhèin.
Chan eil rèir slatan-tomhais a ‘gabhail ris àbhaisteach.

Dannsa ann an uisge, coiseachd rùisgte air an tràigh ma tha thu ag iarraidh, ceum a-steach a ‘bheàrn, a’ dèanamh eadar-dhealachadh. Cha bhi caora, chan eil bleat ann an eagal, an àite a bhith ag èigheachd ur blàr glaodh.
Leig an duilleagan a ‘aois innse do gnìomhan mìorbhaileach.

Cuimhnich iad air a dhèanamh dhuibh. Fly mar seilg rionnag air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, air feadh na h-aoisean leig ur n-ainm fìor fàinne, a ‘toirt urram do na h-uile taigh agaibh.

Cha bhi luchag, fearail, a ‘bruidhinn cha uasal bàs; airson bàs chan eil uasal, ni mò glòrmhor dìreach bùrachail agus deireadh duilich ris an sradag de bheatha a dh’fhaodas a losgadh cho soilleir. Ruith mar a Stallion

Nuair ann do làithean mu dheireadh mar a tha thu Lay gasping airson aon tuilleadh anail agus thathar ag iarraidh air “A bheil aithreachas gu sàmhach ràdh. No U chan eil, tha mi air feuchainn-uile rud a bha mi ag iarraidh a dhèanamh, feumaidh mi eil aithreachas ann an cuid cha robh mi soirbheachail agus ann an daoine eile a bha mi,
Sèididh mi nach eil a ‘tighinn mo oidhche.
My Star air a losgadh gealltanaiche na cruinne-cè a tha nas aotroime do m ‘an dèidh a bhith an seo.

Nuair a thig am bàs cha bhi falach anns an uaigh gàrradh far am bi e a ‘coimhead airson nach eil thu.
An àite seasamh anns a ‘bheàrn aon turas mu dheireadh agus an uair a’ bhàis a bhith cinnteach gu bheil dòigh-obrach gus dèanamh cinnteach agus chì thu ann am faileas aige fhèin e a ‘toirt shaighdearan airson beatha gu math beò agus a’ daingneachadh fiù ‘s bàs crith agus eagalan an làthair leithid de bheatha.
Copy write and protected by the individual intellect property acts and laws of South Africa 2016 all writes property of TB Wood / Sarejess/ Sarejessian .
The owner gives consent for reproduction of the above unreservedly under 1 proviso That due recognition be given with each reproduction.

In my heart I am thy Suitor (poetry mine)

In my heart I am thy suitor.
In my mind I know there is no chance or kind.
Oh, oh, they cry love is blind.
Bind up my wounded heart with thy kindness.
Take away my breath, lead me not to an untimed death.

Thou art the love of mine old age.
Like pink coloured ink on brown parchment.
Thou art the rising sun to my setting sun.
The light that rise before the dawn, when birds begin to sing.

NOW IN SCOTS GAELIC
Ann mo chridhe mise do tòir (bàrdachd mhèinn)

Ann mo chridhe mise do tòir.
Ann m ‘inntinn Tha fios agam nach eil cothrom no seòrsa.
Och, och, tha iad a ‘caoineadh gaoil a tha dall.
A cheangal suas mo chridhe leòn le do chairdeas.
A thoirt air falbh m ‘anail, a’ leantainn orm nach do untimed bàs.

Tusa gràdh mo shean aois.
Like dath pinc air inc dhonn parchment.
Tusa a ‘ghrian ag èirigh gu mo ghrian.
Tha an solas a tha ag èirigh an làthair an camhanaich, nuair a chaidh eòin a ‘tòiseachadh a’ seinn.