Radiant Tales: What? I'm not cold, I don't know what you're talking about . . .

23 January 2013

What? I'm not cold, I don't know what you're talking about . . .

The Montréal Arctic Blast.

Believe it or not, Utah’s freezing temperatures have been topped. Yes, my friends, Montréal just experienced a whopping daytime high of -22.

Once again, that’s a daytime high.

But that’s pretty good, considering it’s their coldest day of the year so far. Unfortunately, with wind chill, temperatures drop to -40 degrees. The news reporter indicated that they're only 50 degrees below what they normally would be. No big deal or anything, but if you were to be stranded, you should have a warm coat and a blanket in your car trunk, or "it could mean death."

There were problems on multiple train lines this morning. In this photo taken by Philip Risacher, people line up in vain at the Bois Franc station in an attempt to get on board. He said one train never showed up. Check out the coats.

Forward Ho.

1 comment:

EstherJanuary 27, 2013 at 3:13 PM
hahahaha:) marshmallows.
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Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities to equal your tasks.
Thomas S. Monson

Let the Scriptures be your guide and you will never find yourself traveling the road to nowhere.

Thomas S. Monson

The Touch of the Master's Hand

It was battered and scarred, And the auctioneer thought it hardly worth his while To waste his time on the old violin, but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried, "Who starts the bidding for me?" "One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?" "Two dollars, who makes it three?" "Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No, From the room far back a gray bearded man Came forward and picked up the bow, Then wiping the dust from the old violin And tightening up the strings, He played a melody, pure and sweet As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer With a voice that was quiet and low, Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?" As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?" "Two thousand, Who makes it three?" "Three thousand once, three thousand twice, Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered, But some of them cried, "We just don't understand." "What changed its' worth?" Swift came the reply. "The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune All battered with bourbon and gin Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine, A game and he travels on. He is going once, he is going twice, He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes, And the foolish crowd never can quite understand, The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.

Myra Brooks Welch

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23 January 2013

What? I'm not cold, I don't know what you're talking about . . .

1 comment:

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