A Samhain Tribute

   Today, of course, is Hallowe'en, a day whose significance dates back to the ancient Celts and their feast day of Samhain.It is a day that was co-opted by christianity when it set out to win the hearts of the people of the Isles away from their former religion. I am not here, though, to say anything about the customs now associated with the day. Instead, let me pay tribute to a proud woman of the Celts, a woman who surely danced about the Samhain fires.
   Boudicca was a daughter of the Iceni tribe, who lived in what is today the areas of Norfolk and Suffolk. Her name meant "victorious" in her language, and, for a time, victorious she was, against the mighty Roman army, the conquering military machine of its time. Today she is regarded as a patriotic Briton and heroine, a woman who stood strong against foreign invasion.
"This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror."
Though the words were written by Shakespeare in the fifth act of his "King John", they could just as well have been emblazoned on Boudicca's shield. She refused to offer her neck for the Roman yoke, and fought ferociously to take her land back from the arrogant Romans, but, in the long run, she and her warriors were no match for the better trained invaders. There were few who could hold the Romans at bay once they cast covetous eyes upon a territory. Suetonius and his legionaires finally broke the spine of Boudicca's resistance and the final battle was a carnage. If the battle had ended with the capture of the queen and her daughters, they would have been taken to Rome to be paraded in chains at the Colosseum. Rather than submit to this final indignity, the three women committed suicide. Some accounts have Boudicca killing her two daughters first, before turning her hand against herself. No matter. They lived with a fierce pride, and died with it.
A life-sized bronze statue of Boudicca and her daughters, erected at Westminster bridge, across from the British House of Parliament during the reign of Queen Victoria, stands there still today. When the fires of Samhain are lit tonight, as they still are in parts of the Isles, Boudicca's spirit will dance about the roaring flames.

Explain This To Me

   On Monday October 25th, Canadian veterans of World War II returned to Italy for an 11-day tour that marks the 60th anniversary of the Italian campaign. The vets will attend commemorative ceremonies being held at various war cemeteries and other battle sites. One of the men going is Canada's last surviving recipient of the Victoria Cross, Ernest Smith. Smith is 90 years old, and confined to a wheelchair by an ankle he broke last year. Although he says his winning of the Victoria Cross is "a little dim" in his memory because it happened 60 years ago, he can still give exact details of what took place when other men are the central figures of the story. This self-effacing hero found depths of courage within himself in October 1944, that read like the screenplay for an action flick. Every one of the 5,900 Canadians who died in the Italian campaign should be honoured, but for those men, these ceremonies come too late. For men like Smith, the days are numbered before they are finally reunited with their fallen comrades. Why then, I have to ask, is the Canadian government only paying for part of the cost of this trip? The governor-general of Canada, Adrienne Clarkson, will be there to greet the men, and you can just bet little miss isn't opening her own wallet for the trip. She does (and has done) very little for the country other than spending its money. How does she deserve better treatment than the veterans are given? Why isn't every single penny of expenditure being given to these heroes? No-one can ever affix a price tag to what they gave their country. While they are still here to receive the thanks, say them loud and clear. They, and all the others gave so generously of themselves. Parsimony should have absolutely no place in our response.

Swimming Against the Fast Food Tide

   Harvey's has come up with a new addition to their burgers, and it's one that gets the nod from the Centre for Science in the Public Interest. The new burger on the block is their Grilled Salmon burger. It has about 320 calories, if you have it WITHOUT mayo. The CSPI says the burger has only 2 grams of "bad fat" , including 0.2 grams of trans fat. Compare that with 13 grams in a McDonald's Big Mac.The sodium count is 810 mg which is not so good, but again, compare it to the Big Mac which brings you 1,250 mg of sodium. The human adult actually needs 500 to 1000 milligrams of sodium per day for regulation of fluid balance, contraction of muscles and conduction of nerve impulses. A daily sodium intake between 1,100 and 3,300 milligrams, or approximately ½ to 1½ teaspoons of table salt, is considered safe. The average American, however, consumes 2,500 to 5,000 milligrams per day. This at the same time as many are being advised by their doctors to reduce sodium in their diet in order to help lower high blood pressure and lessen the likelihood of a stroke. What's incredible to learn is that the incidence of strokes among children is on the rise. Put that together with the increasing numbers who make more and more of their meals from fast foods. Doctors say that one of your best defences is to read the labels on foods, but there is no labelling offered on the food at a chain like McDonald's or Harvey's. Shouldn't the writing be on the wall? Fast food chains should be required to show this kind of info for their offerings, right up there beside the menu and the prices. If you really want a fast food meal, skip the regular burger and fries. The CSPI suggests in their November 2004 issue that you head to Harvey's and order a salmon burger and salad.
   One thing more, though. Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the drive-thru lane ... have you thought about asking where that salmon comes from? Don't forget that farmed salmon is heavy with contaminants. Toxin levels are highest in farmed salmon from North Europe, but you don't want the farmed salmon from North America, either. If they tell you it's "Atlantic salmon", run screaming for the nearest exit, because that's just another way to say "farmed salmon". The best is wild salmon, but since that is more expensive than its farmed cousin, I wonder if Harvey's would consider its use as sufficiently kind to their profit margin? I think you can probably see that making the decision to 'eat smarter' by ordering that salmon burger is not such a simple decision, after all.

The Cosmic Mystery of the Century

   I have just finished reading the uncorrected proof of the 512 page novel "Singularity", (spoiler alert) due to hit the shelves in November 2004. After reading the proof, I went exploring on the net and found some most interesting reading. In fact, the site that includes the "Table of Terrors" was definitely a better read than the novel.
   The jacket blurb informs the reader that "Singularity" is Bill DeSmedt's debut thriller, and the quoted 'advance praise' gushes so effusively, you can almost hear the intake of breath as you read the book described as "the sort you can't decide whether to zip through, for the excitement, or to read slowly, to savor." Allow me to introduce a line or two of 'advance criticism' here, just to keep DeSmedt's time-travel train from getting off-balance and crashing onto its side.
   What DeSmedt has really written is the script for a movie. He should just have saved time and trees by going straight to the nearest movie producer, instead of going to a publisher. Weren't enough trees already felled in the actual Tunguska event? Why do more have to be sacrificed in order to get DeSmedt's shallow characters onto the printed page? The author opens his little literary soul to us and reveals that his book results from "couch-potatohood". While watching a rerun of "Cosmos, Episode IV" dealing with meteor and cometary impacts, he first heard the theory that the Tunguska event might actually have been a collision between the earth and an atom-sized black hole. He quotes himself as talking to the TV and saying "What if the damn thing never came out? Finally, he sits down at a word processor and his novel begins to ' write itself ' .   
   One annoyance that DeSmedt and his word processor foists on his readers repeatedly is his need to make sure you know the Russians in the story are speaking accented English. He does this by replacing the letter "J" with this supposed phonetic replacement of "DZH' every time a Russian says a name that begins with "J". That means that you have to put up with the character Jack being Dzheck half the time, and John being Dzhon as often as not. We get it already, DeSmedt! You have Russian characters in your book. The question has to be asked, though. If you are not going to do the phonetic thing with every word they utter, why bother with just the one sound? Annoying!
   Speaking of annoying, meet Marianna, the heroine of the piece, and see if you can't picture Keira Knightley bringing her to the screen. She is a woman who works throughout most of the novel to keep herself away form any emotional entanglement, repeating endlessly to herself her mantra "love dies", while she "throws her weight around in ways that would have had a mere civilian up on charges". Employed by the government agency CROM, Marianna is involved in the attempt to keep various weapons scientists and engineers formerly in the employ of the USSR from turning their expertise over to terrorist organizations. She is sufficiently trained in martial arts to stop Yuri, the novel's killing machine, by breaking his elbow. In one scene, she is shown a Star Trek-esque machine that replicates objects. It will, for instance, make a coffee machine -but not the coffee. Marianna excitedly begins to look through the machine's catalogue. The male lead thinks to himself how like a woman that is, to go "shopping", but doesn't realize that our heroine is actually checking the list of weapons the machine is capable of producing! Don't mess with this one! Yet this woman, obsessed with the latest in weaponry though she is, is still so beautiful that you can just hear the violins playing softly in the background when she meets John Knox, the reluctant hero of the piece. Though she is speaking to Knox about how he is about to become involved with a dangerous secret mission, "her feline movements held far more fascination than her lecture material".
   Now before you go demanding to see Angelina Jolie cast in the role, you should know something. Just to show that he can create characters with depth and real humanity, DeSmedt takes great care to let us know, more than once, that Marianna is quite small-chested. She is also sufficiently the little woman playing at fitting into a man's world that this is a major concern for her. Although, in the course of events, she finds herself at a private pool and surrounded by other women going topless, she passes up on the pleasure since she is so aware of her small breast size. Never mind whether or not she is engaged in an operation to save the world from madmen, she is, after all, only a woman and should never lose sight of that fact. The scene that nearly had me upchucking came when she and Knox were " nestled together like spoons in a drawer". (You just knew that was going to happen, didn't you?) Enchanted by her lover, she lies there dreamily thinking to herself how wonderful he is because he "didn't mind how small she is on top". Come on, DeSmedt! Stop trying to pretend you can write believable lines for a woman, especially when you write such twaddle.
   The science of the story is interesting, and more than enough to make you curious. DeSmedt concludes his book with a list of Further Reading suggestions, and I am sure many will want to look up some of those titles. The author takes no license with the facts that have been collected about the Tunguska event. He makes it clear, too, that more is unknown than is actually known, but the servicability of the tale ends there. Yuri is clearly to be best portrayed by Vin Diesel, or some other muscle-bound individual who needs to do little more than grunt during the movie. Knox could be played by someone like Nicolas Cage, who specializes in soulful stares at the camera. Mycroft, the story's resident nerd could actually be Bill Gates' chance to break into films. Not his real name, Mycroft is a rich, eccentric computer geek who helps to save the day. Who else but Gates is so internationally recognized as geekdom personified?
   The story leaves room for a sequel, since the question of the black hole - "What if it ever comes out?" -is left unanswered. At least this blockbuster ends on a happy note. Our heroine finally frees from her old, tiresome mantra, and finds a new one. "Love is real" she says as the movie credits begin to roll ... I mean as the tiresome novel finally grinds to a halt. If only the characters were real, too.

Gnashing of Teeth!

   This one bugs the living jesus out of me! I have made the acquaintance now of so many immigrants to Toronto who give an "English name" when you ask them what their name is. An english name? I have asked the question of Cambodians, Koreans, Colombians, and Venezuelans, among others, and received that kind of answer. It made me wonder why, right from the very first time I heard it, and right from the very first time I got the answer, it has annoyed me no end. Almost immediately, in their new life here in Canada, these people encounter native-born Canadians who tell them that their names are "too hard to say", and then proceed to alter them, usually without even asking for the permission of the person they are treating with such peremptory lack of respect. I have witnessed the whole disgusting display of North American arrogance being played out in school many times through my years in the system.
   In one instance, a former colleague found herself teaching a boy called Jorge. (Pronounce the both the J and the G as an H, and split it into syllables between the R and the G. There you have it.) It simply is NOT too difficult a name to pronounce, but she declared that she could not imagine him wanting "to be stuck with a moniker like that" and began to call him George. It was wrong of her to do that. I know of schools where some of the paperwork sent home with a newly registered student includes the question "What english name would you like your son/daughter to be called?" It is wrong of the schools to do that. What makes these people think it is OK for them to strike at the sense of self-worth of these new-comers at so very basic a level as their given names? A person's name is their identity. A child grows up knowing themselves to be Jui Yung, or Sonnari. The name becomes inextricably tied into their self-consciousness. Then, they come to Canada and one of the first things they learn is that their name is no longer good enough to be used. It is no longer who they are allowed to be here in this country, where everything is already so overwhelmingly new. What a way to begin your new life, finding yourself in a country where your new neighbours let you know you are somehow inherently inferior. This habit disgusts me. This imperious imposition of a pecking order puts them in their place in short order. It gives the message that they are here on tolerance only, and that they had better become "english" right away, and it is wrong, wrong, wrong. A name is so very important a part of any person. It is NOT something that you should "translate", or "anglicize". Jorge is NOT George. It is Jorge. Jui Yung is NOT Drew. It is Jui Yung. A name is what it is and it should never be changed. Whenever I have a chance to advice a new arrival to our country, I always tell them to refuse to allow others to change their name. I tell parents to contact their children's schools and tell them exactly what their son or daughter's name is, and refuse to allow any of the teachers to arbitrarily change it.
   My name is Linda. I do not care what country I may visit, or what language may be spoken by the people I meet. My name is Linda. It always will be. Call me by my name. I expect that for myself, and I know so many of those who treat others' names with disdain expect the same for themselves as I do. If their names were suddenly declared to be somehow unacceptable, there would be a great outcry and much gnashing of teeth! To them I say, "Stop it. Stop this arrogance and treat the newcomers to our country with the dignity they deserve. Learn their proper names, and say them with a welcoming smile."

   Ernst Zundel, the infamous Holocaust denier, has been held in solitary confinement in Toronto for the past 18 months, awaiting a decision from the Federal Court regarding his possible deportation to Germany, as a threat to national security. There, he would be imprisoned. It is illegal in Germany to proselytize denial of the Holocaust, and to sell Nazi and neo-Nazi materials. His defence lawyers are arguing that his trail is proceeding in a manner that "cheapens and degrades" the entire justice system, adding that the trial is "not only about Ernst Zundel."
    I quite agree with them. This trial is about more than just the twisted, and warped individual currently on trial. It is about the very survival of our species, and a hate monger like Zundel will only serve to hasten its end. His Samisdat Publications carries a catalogue of Nazi materials that includes posters, recordings of Hitler spewing his vituperative vitriol, and "Music of the Third Reich:Inspiring and Nourishing Food for the Aryan Soul". Of course, much of Zundel's writing is available as well, writing littered with lust for white supremacy and the "purifying of the race". Read the following lines, written by Zundel, and then please take some time to read my entry "The Myth of Race" from October 20th.
   "Wherever we look, we White people find ourselves besieged by peoples of other races who compete aggressively against us for jobs, food, housing, education and above all -- power! The Jews are particularly adept at seizing or insinuating themselves into strategic positions in our society where they wield power far beyond the extent of their numbers..."
   When we find a once beautiful stream sullied by pollutants, we work to clean it. When a site such as the Love Canal is exposed as a danger to the health of any who come into contact with it, we work to clean it. We seek to make reparation to those harmed by our sins of neglect. We should do no less in this situation. Zundel is a pollutant, a scabrous sore on society. His hate-mongering is part of the reason he is on trail. It is seen as an incitement to violence in the minds of those easily led to such deeds. He should be cleaned away from every place where he could harm those with whom he comes in contact. That means taking him out of society, removing him from the streets and jailing him until his allotted years are over. Be sure though, that I have a very definite from of confinement in mind. Let it be one of some usefulness; one that will offer some small reparation. A pampered life in a cell with a colour TV is not what I envision. Hard labour is. Yes, I know he is 65. So what? Give him a sledgehammer and let him break rocks until the work breaks him.

Feel Good News

   An international contest sponsored by the United Nations Environment Program has just announced its winner of the title of "most livable" town. The first place prize was awarded to Annanpolis Royal, Nova Scotia, in the category of communities with a population of less than 10,000. Winners are chosen from a list of towns and cities based on the beauty of their landscape, preservation of local heritage and environmental stewardship. The town of Annapolis Royal, home to 525 people, nestles on the southwestern shore of Nova Scotia. It is the oldest permanent European settlement in Canada, and was the first such settlement north of St. Augustine, Florida.

The Myth of Race

   A group of social scientists and geneticists got together at a recent two-day meeting sponsored by the American Anthropological Association to attempt a clarification of the concept of race. The only consensus reached was that race is a cultural construct, and that it does not exist biologically. In their draft official statement, the Association says, "Race" is a set of culturally created attitudes toward, and beliefs about, human differences developed following widespread exploration and colonization by Western European powers since the 16th century." The view that race is a biological myth asserts that the supposed differences of race became a necessity for the slave owners of the late 18th century when an anti-slavery movement was beginning to gain ground, especially in Europe. If inferiority was assigned to certain groups, it would justify their treatment as sub-humans. The concept has certainly served the privileged of society well, as it has evolved into a worldwide body of prejudgments expanded to rank people everywhere, and assign them their places in rigidly hierarchical systems. It has been used by colonial powers everywhere. It has been used among the peoples of Europe to allow those of northern Europe to view themselves as superior to those of the southern regions.
   It is all such a farce. All human groups are capable of interbreeding with each other to produce viable offspring, and throughout history, that is exactly what they have done. Our similarities, worldwide, are much greater than our differences. When 'humanity' is examined under a microscope, race is meaningful only in its absence. Investigation into the human genome confirms that humans are a rather homogeneous group. Evolutionary geneticist Joseph Graves, author of "The Race Myth: Why We Pretend Race Exists in America" says "there are no races in anatomically modern humans". He has, of course, a great deal to say on the topic, and it often makes for a disturbing read. Graves links the social construct of race to the development of the "survival of the fittest" theory, and the concept of "social darwinism" whereby an individual's worth was judged by how well they did in the American economy. Naturally, this meant that the Rockefellers and their ilk were the cream-of-the-crop in every way, and that the poor and the working classes were the pollutants of the societal environment. Just as we are conscious today of the need to reduce pollution, so were the elite of the early 1900's eager to tackle the same problem. It must be remembered, however, that they had assigned the ranking of contaminant to humans, and that the question of "purifying" the race could only lead to horrendous conclusions. The supposed science of eugenics was born. It rode a crest of popularity that took it into the Nazi extermination camps, before it was finally denounced, and brought to an end.
   Carrie Buck, a First Nations woman of Virginia, was the first person to be sterilized in order to begin the official eugenic undertaking of purifying the race. This aim was to be accomplished by means of sterilization of those judged to be "probable potential parents of socially inadequate offspring." These judgements were based on race and the considered characteristics of racial groups. The trial produced this famous statement, "We have seen more than once that the public welfare may call upon the best citizens for their lives. It would be strange if it could not call upon those who already sap the strength of the state for these lesser sacrifices. . . . It is better for all the world, if instead of waiting to execute degenerate offspring for crime, or to let them starve for their imbecility, society can prevent those who are manifestly unfit from continuing their kind." Surely, reading that statement should be enough to send chills of terror down the spine of any reader with a brain.
    Harvard graduate Harry Laughlin was one of those who worked at the American Eugenics Record Office in a project undertaken to determine the national origins of "hereditary defectives". Laughlin came to the conclusion that the American gene pool was being polluted primarily by the "intellectually and morally defective" immigrants from the south and east of Europe. Laughlin's model law to deal with this situation was borrowed from heavily by the German Nazi government in 1933 when they drew up their own law to deal with the preservation of Aryan purity. Laughlin translated the German law and happily published it in "The Eugenical News". In 1936 the University of Heidelberg awarded Laughlin an honorary degree in tribute of his work in "the science of racial cleansing". When the Nazis were brought to trial after the Holocaust, one of their defense arguments was that they were simply following in American eugenical footsteps. Knowing some of this history to the social construct of race should be more than enough cause for consternation, and a rethinking of the whole construct. If anyone out there really believes in the assignation of superiority/inferiority to groups solely because of skin colour, or the shape of their nose, or eyelids, they should pause a moment. Someone who truly accepts such a notion will be working with intellectual constraints, I know; limitations that might make it nearly impossible for them to think of their world in any terms other than what they are experiencing right now, but if they will only think back to 9/11, they can see a mind-boggling example of just how quickly their world could be turned upside-down. It is time to leave behind the concept of race. It is one of the "must-do's" if our species is to survive.

Housing Crunch Solution?

   The Dutch structuralist, Piet Blom, designed cubic houses in response to a request from the city of Rotterdam, completing the project in 1984. Ben Kutner, an Ottawa architect, bought the rights to Blom's design and then fought for ten years to get the right to build cubes on a site in Toronto, at 1 Sumach Street. The site is a small lot, part of a flood plain, flanked on two side by highways, and judged unsuitable for any other use. The "cube condos" were built to demonstrate that an affordable form of housing could be built in hard-to-develop spaces in the city core. They each offer 1200 square feet floor space that is NOT on an angle, with 9 ft. ceilings, and a thermal chimney concept that means no AC is required. The cubes can be sold in kits with features that would allow their construction to result in totally energy-self-sufficient neighbourhoods. Not everyone would able to make the adjustment to such a non-traditional space, obviously, and Kutner says that the believers in Feng Shui are the ones who have the most problem with his creations. Apparently, they are often totally disoriented by the modular cubes, much to Kutner's amusement. Feng Shui practitioners aside, these cubic houses could offer a very real and affordable alternative in the housing market. Why aren't we seeing more of these around?

The Greatest Canadian

   The first results from the CBC contest are in. The nation has voted for their top 50 choices, and the CBC released them last night. Now the blustering and rhetoric begins in response to those chosen. Garth Woolsey, columnist for the Toronto Daily Star nearly busted a gut this morning. Why? It seems Woolsey thinks that the people who chose Don Cherry should have gotten permission from him, first. "The stereotypes are true: We really are a nation of shallow, narrow-minded, beer-swilling, puck-chasing hosers," he pouts, because of finding Cherry's name in the top ten, alongside the likes of Frederick Banting, David Suzuki, and Alexander Graham Bell. Find another bandwagon to hop on, Garth! Try being more of an individualist, and stop following the herd who dump on Cherry because it's safe and convenient to do so, and because it makes them feel ever so educated and right-up-there with the intelligentsia.    Woolsey dredges up last year's brouhaha again and suggests that Cherry has flirted about with racism when he made his comments about the European players wearing face guards more than the North American players. Get over it, Woolsey. Cherry was proven right by the stats. Case closed. There was nothing racist about that statement of fact, and anyone who says there was is just looking way too hard for it. People who voted for him know a good, decent, patriotic son when they see one.
   That brings us to Seven Oaks magazine and the article written by Gina Whitfield in response to the CBC's list. She is upset because there are no women in the top ten, and the others who made it onto the list just don't make it for Whitfield. She really gets her garters in an uproar over finding Shania Twain to be the top ranked female, and suggests it's for no other reason than her small waistline. Where are the Canadian women of history who worked to make our country a better place, she asks. Why didn't Emily Murphy, Canada's first female magistrate and one of the "famous five" garner a place on the list? Valid question, Gina! The only problem is, you got carried away in your attempt to express righteous indignation.
   Whitfield ruins her own chance to ring true when she tries to make a case for including Harriet Tubman on the list. Tubman was , indeed, a truly remarkable person, but she was NOT Canadian! She was born in Maryland, and after an adventurous life, lived out her years in New York. Whitfield seems to think that because Tubman brought escaped blacks to St. Catherines, Ontario, that means she should be on the list. Whitfield needs to think a little before she gathers any more spittle on her chin from her rant. The list is for CANADIANS, Whitfield. Women or not, it is meant only for Canadians.

New Photos

   Six new photo galleries, #'s 14 to 19, have been added for your viewing pleasure! I know you'll find a lot to enjoy. The pictures cover everything from bullrushes (some call them cat tails) to the University of Toronto campus and its meridian line marker in fornt of the Sir Sandford Fleming building.
   The largest gallery is of shots taken at the Forks of the Credit River. I begin with scenes framed in the Belfountain Conservation area before making my way out along the Forks of the Credit Road. This is a pilgrimage I have made every Thanksgiving weekend for decades now. The rugged beauty that surrounds you here can help restore peace to your soul.
   Reflections in water figure prominently, because they are a particular love of mine, as are lakes and rivers. Look for the kettle lake called Lake Wilcox, which is the reason I often eschew the speed offered by a nearby highway when I go north to visit friends and family. The lake nestles in a curve of the road, and you come upon it suddenly, to find yourself presented with the kind of visual treat the highway totally lacks. At Jackson's Point, I found myself in the churchyard of St. Paul's Anglican parish, and discovered that it is the resting place of Stephen Leacock, an author whose writing was on the list of works to be studied when I was in high school, but, truth be told, an author whom I never appreciated. It's all moot now. He lies in a place that is beautiful and offers solace, I am sure, to the families who come here to remember loved ones. Please go, and take a look around!

BarkWoof!

   Farewell to a four-footed institution. The Congregation of Canons of the Great Saint Bernard, the religious order that has raised and trained St. Bernard dogs for centuries in the Alps is looking for buyers for the 18 adults and 16 pups currently residing with them. The breed is credited with saving some 2,000 lost travellers over the past 200 years, but the death knell for their usefulness sounded in 1955 with the appearance of the helicopter. These aerial 'search engines' lacked the room to carry dogs that can weigh up to 100 kg and so, smaller breeds such as golden retrievers and german shepherds began to see duty in their place. The last time a St. Bernard went out on a mission was in 1975. Since the early 1800's, there has always been a dog named Barry at the hospice, in honour of the great dog who lived there from 1800 to 1812 and saved more than 40 people. Now, because they can eat two kg of meat a day, but are not doing anything to earn their keep, other than being there for the tourists and their cameras, the dogs must be sold. The monks are looking for buyers who will agree to bring the animals back to the pass each summer for those aforementioned photo-ops. An era is over


Turn your sights from the Alps now to Ontario where Attorney General Michael Bryant announced a decision regarding the fate of another breed - the pit bull. "Pit bulls, banned!", he said, and then repeated,"Banned" He followed with the statement,"We are banning pit bulls in the province of Ontario." I think even the slowest-witted pit bull owner should be able to figure that out, don't you?Bryant quoted a few stats in expanation of the decision. Pit bulls, apparently, only account for a little more than one per cent of the pet-dog population. That one per cent, however, accounts for fifty per cent of the serious attacks on people by dogs. These animals are not pets. They are killers. Enough said.

Withdrawal Pains?

   The two sides in the NHL lockout have not met since Sept. 9th, and no-one really thinks there is a chance of any game hitting the ice before January, if then. It does not feel right, to have the crisp, cool weather arrive, the kind of days that are made for wearing a hockey jersey, and yet be making you way through weekends that are bereft of Hockey NIght in Canada. My youngest daughter attends Ryerson University, which is in downtown Toronto, and she reports the sighting of many of the faithful walking about in their Toronto Maple Leafs shirts. Although we keep the faith, for many of us the TV has become nothing more than a non-functional box on Saturday night at game time. Withdrawal, big time!
   That's why it helps to know about the Belfast Giants. Home ice is at the 7,100 seat arena in the Odyssey entertainment complex, and when the team steps onto the ice, six Canadian-born players are wearing home jerseys. The hockey has served as much more than entertainment, though. The game has brought catholic and protestant to sit side-by-side, under one roof, without trying to kill each other. The team's slogan is "In the land of the Giants, everyone is equal."
   Some people might find it a bit of a stretch, I suppose, to think of hockey, with all its penalties for fighting, as a peace-maker, but that is exactly what the game has been. When it arrived in Northern Ireland, it came unencumbered by the political associations that plagued other sports. Hurling and Gaelic football are traditionally Irish-Catholic games, while rugby and soccer are traditionally for the Protestant sports fans. Hockey came to town free and clear, and the Giants' management worked to keep it that way. When the team jerseys were designed, red and teal were chosen over the more provocative orange and green. The singing of nationalist songs (a ritual at rugby and football matches) was prohibited, and this went a long way toward easing tensions, as well as allowing creativity to get to work on team songs. There was also a little public education undertaken at early games, such as announcing to the crowds that hockey fans do NOT boo goals scored by the other team. Finn MacCool, a legendary Irish hero from the time when Ireland was untroubled by today's divisions, graces the teams' logo, brandishing a hockey stick. The fans are incredibly enthusiastic, and will stand patiently for hours after a big game, waiting to get the autograph of favourite players. In the first season, a Canadian born player told a reporter that players in Canada traditionally forego shaving during the play-offs, and the scramble was on! Team management somehow came up with plastic beards for sale, and every one of them was scooped up, making for a humourous view of the arena, since most of the beards were being sported by kids! Because there is no fighting in the stands, the game is promoted as a family night out, and you do indeed find the moms and daughters there, as well as the dads and sons that would be the only ones likely to sit in the football stands. In fact, the police, who are always in plain view at the soccer and rugby matches, are conspicuous here by their absence. They do sponsor "The Shame Boys" penalty box, but otherwise, the only 'enforcer' at these games is the occasional security guard and the enforcers on the ice!
   Go, hockey, go!

Meaty Morsels!

   America the Great! Yeah, great that is as long as you don't try to eat fish caught recreationally, or like swimming in rivers and lakes. More than one-third of U.S. lakes and nearly one-quarter of its rivers are covered by advisories for mercury, dioxins, PCBs and various other pollutants. Environmental Protection Agency officials are warning people to look elsewhere for fish to eat that will not leave you glowing in the dark as you push away from the dinner table!

   Here's a good one! Can you bring to mind the common pciture of a medieval monk? You know, the tonsured look, with the self-effacing attitude and the hint of holiness as he kneels in supplication before some altar? Well, scratch that one, boys and girls. It seems that the hallowed halls of the monasteries rang with the call of the dinner gong more than they ever did with the call to prayer! University College London archaeologist Philippa Patrick was curious about why so many period paintings showed the medieval monks as obese. She examined 100 period skeletons from three abbeys in the vicinity of London, and guess what she found? Not only did they have higher rates of thickened bones and patterns of ossification that are hallmarks of severe obesity, but they also exhibited higher rates of arthritis and other weight-related joint problems. Upon poring over historical records, Patrick found that the average monk's diet was based on a whopping 6,000 calories a day, except for fasting days, of course, when they cut themselves back to a mere 4,000 daily claories. All of this was going on at the same time as they were admonishing the peasantry to tighten their belts and not bemoan their lack of wordly sustenance. They would exhort the good people to focus instead on the rewards that would be theirs in the afterlife; the celestial abundance that would make up for the paucity of this life. Then they would waddle home to gorge themselves again. What hypocrisy! What a glorious tidbit to add to the history of leadership and guidance proffered by Mother Church! Inspiration, indeed, to keep you heading off for the next banquet of spiritual sustenance to be offered by the clergy.

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is?

   I feel a harangue coming on, all becasue of one of the newest crazes. There is never a shortage of idiocy out there, and this is just one more proof. I'm referring to the 'grills' that the feeble-minded are flashing when they smile. The grills are tooth plates, karat gold, sometimes encrusted with diamonds. The grills can be done by a dentist, or ordered online. When you order online, you are sent a mould to make an impression of your teeth. Send the cast back and you should have your grill in hand in about a week. If you are ready to pay as much as $75. to $100. a tooth, you can dazzle your family and friends the next time you smile, and bring new meaning to the old saw about putting your money where your mouth is. The fad follows the lead of rappers like Young Buck and Silk the Shocker.
   Now we get to my big question. WHY? WHYWHYWHY? Don't any of these mouthy morons have a social conscience? Do none of them stop to think about what that money could be used for, at the nearest shelter for instance, or the local children's hospital? If these attention seekers need a fix of fame, they could call the neighbourhood newspaper and arrange to have a photographer meet them at the office of whatever charity or good cause they prefer when they go to donate their cheque. $100,00.00, the cost for a whole mouth quoted by the "Rapper Dentist" (so named by Silk), could buy the donor a lot of fame, and be used to achieve something positive. The erstwhile philanthropist could arrange to have the camera crew from a TV station there, too. Surely, their picture in the news and on the small screen should satisfy their need for attention. Satisfying that sad little need to be noticed by giving the money for a worthwhile cause instead of blowing it on their bicuspids would at least create some good. It might even benefit the giver more directly than they imagined. If their gift of 'mouth-money' went to a program that took kids-at-risk off the street and gave them some place good to go and something good to do, it might help to cut down on the crime in the neighbourhood. That way, the donor could wend their way home safely instead of being shot for the grill by some up-and-coming hood that had nothing else to do.

New Photo Gallery!

Go check it out! If you like close-ups of squirrels, gallery 13 is something you want to see. My balcony is often used as a stop-over where it is not uncommon to see one of them grooming, or taking a nap in the afternoon sun. They are Eastern Grey Squirrels. Although the name makes it sound like they should all have grey fur, many have black fur, and every combination of grading between the two that you could imagine. Their name in Latin means an animal that "sits in the shade of its own tail". Lots of the visitors here are the proud possessors of bushy tails that could create a great patch of shade. Some of them, however, appear to have been shortchanged in that department!
    The "greys" that come to visit me are often here to see if the 'snackshop' is open. When I have some on hand, (and I usually do) I will give them a handful of unsalted peanuts to snack on. Some of them eat the whole handful before they leave, but some stuff three or four pieces into their mouths before heading down to the ground two floors below, to bury their find for use later in the winter. The one that was photographed bravely taking the peanuts right from my hand is my special little friend. She is the one who comes to my call, and will even have a conversation with me. I make an imitation of one of their chattering calls, and she listens carefully. She acts like a citizen of some country who meets a tourist that attempts the local language. She is tolerant of what I am sure must be gross mispronunciation of her language, and even graces my attempts with soft replies. When she is sitting near me, with a peanut clasped firmly in her front paws, she holds it for a moment before she brings it to her mouth, and blows her sides out with an exhalation that sounds a breathy syllable or two, and then she begins to eat. She is not the most beautifully clad, for her fur is a little worn-looking in a couple of spots, but she has such spirit! She is a life, a small part of the great whole that I hold in respect. She is a neighbour to me, a fellow wanderer down the pathways of our allotted years, and her path is so much more perilous and hard than mine. I feel a need to help her with my small gifts of food, and a great pleasure in being able to do so.

Did You Know?

   Happy Thanksgiving to everyone from North America who might be reading this! If you were born and raised here, then you would have learned about the Thanksgiving tradition in school as well as at home. You probably were taught that the first feast of thanksgiving celebrated by European settlers in the 'New World' was one held in 1621 by the Pilgrims who had settled in the area of Plymouth. You were taught an inaccuracy. While it may be just right for Americans to take that date for their history, it is ALL WRONG for Canadians to accept that date as part of their history, or to teach about the Pilgrims as the Europeans who first celebrated a harvest feast in North America. In fact, the first such feast was held in 1578 by the explorer Martin Frobisher in what is now Newfoundland. The governmenr of Abraham Lincoln set the American date for their feast. Our date moved around several times before finally being fixed on the second Monday in October. The cornucopia is presented in our schools to the students as something that dates from the American tradition, as well. That is not the case, either. (Actually, I really question why our Canadian schools teach ANYTHING about the American tradition.) The horn of plenty dates back to the ancient Greeks, and the magical curved goat's horn possessed by Zeus' nurse. This horn would fill up with an abundance of whatever the owner desired. The point I'm getting at with all of this is that the traditions of the feast are rich and varied. They are not all American, as many North American school children are taught. Canada needs to assert more independence from our neighbour to the south. Give thanks for being Canadian.

A Teacher's Tales

  Recent research and studies conducted among teachers across Canada indicates that an increasing number of them fear for their safety. Let me tell you an interesting story to do with that issue.
   On April 20, 1999, you will recall, the news came out of Columbine about the murderous rampage at the high school there. A year later,that incident still loomed large in the minds of many parents and teachers. On May 26, 2000,I intercepted a letter being passed by a grade seven student in my room. In it, he detailed plans to, among other things, "cut off the head of ( a named classmate) and use it for a bloody hockey puck." I made a big mistake at that point in believing that my immediate superior, the school principal, would handle the situation properly. I took the student and the note to him, and was told to leave the matter in his hands. Imagine my surprise on the Monday morning when I was standing at my desk, before the bell, and I heard that student's voice from behind me. I had expected he would at least be suspended for a couple of days. I found out that he had been told he would have to work in the hall in front of the office for one day as his punishment for the note writing. That was all that had been done. I phoned the police to inquire about any legal responsibilities I might have in the situation, and all of a sudden, things became really interesting. The officer who spoke to me said that there were indeed responsibilities. He told me that THERE WAS NO REPORT OF THE INCIDENT, and said one should have been made the day it occurred. An officer was sent to the school to take a report from me. The principal was out at lunch when the officer arrived, and came back to find her standing talking to me, taking my statement. In front of the students and the officer and anyone else who was within hearing, the principal loudly berated me for having called the police. He angrily told me later that he had NOT WANTED TO TELL THE PARENTS OF THE THREE STUDENTS named in the note. Each one of those boys had been named as part of some murderous design, just like the first.
   Only one year after that horrendous incident in the States, this principal took it upon himself to decide that this threatening letter "was all a joke". To keep everything easy for himself and to avoid having any report of less-than-perfection at his school, he tried to cover up the whole thing. How can anyone say what might have happened if the police had not been called? How can that principal, or anyone else, presume to know how things would have gone? How could he dare to deny the parents involved the knowledge of what was happening around their sons in their classroom? Who was he to decide for those parents what they should or should not know? I left that school at the end of June, taking an administrative transfer to be away from that principal, and his laissez-faire attitude to the safety of the students and the staff. The only problem is, he is not the only one of his ilk. After teaching as many years as I have, and after more than one conversation with police officers about other classroom situations, I suspect that, sadly, he is the norm. The path of least resistance, the easy way out, is the one chosen by most school administrators, and if there is a price to be paid for it, guess who gets to pay?

I've Done It!

   Well, there's two ways to look at everything, right? So I am either a fool, or a brave person for what I am doing now. I walked into my first classroom in 1975, and I walked out of my last one in April 2004. I quit.
   I took seven years off in the middle of all that to give to my two daughters when they were preschool age. Then I went back, to a career where I had to be so much more than 'just' a teacher. I had to be a social worker, a suicide crisis interventionist, an instructor in manners and simple social graces, a therapist, a fighter against bullying and racism, and all of these before I could get around to 2+2=4. I have given so much of myself emotionally to the job, that I find now I am overdrawn on my own energy account. I have toyed with the idea of stepping out of the career before, but not done anything about it until the last two principals for whom I worked, and the education board that supported them, drove me out. They both supplied intersting stories that could be told about how they (mis)handled situations involving student safety. They both proved that what the education system is about, above all else, is looking good.That facade is something they will do damn near anything to maintain, and it will be done even at the cost of individual students. The attitude disgusts me. I have grown weary of banging my head on the brick wall of their wilful ignorance and callous unfeeling. So, goodbye to life as a teacher! Here I go, stepping off onto a road that will take me I know not where. I feel a little tremulous about it all, but I also feel adventurous enough to trust that the decision I have made is a good one. Wish me luck!

KFC Backtrack

   I'm glad to see that KFC has changed its latest ad. They had been running an ad that showed a family sitting down to one of their artery-clogging fast-food meals. They're each shown in close-up, eyeing the parts of the meal and thinking to themselves that they hope no-one else wants certain parts of it, such as the wings or the potato puffs. Then the "grandma" is shown, with the chicken take-out bucket perched on her head, hoping no-one else wants the "nice hat". HELLO, folks, what were you doing here? Were you using dementia as humour, to sell your product? How demeaning. The ad agency 'Silver Hammer' was responsible for this travesty. According to KFC spokesperson Corey Goodman, the company received complaints and decided that the ad "could be construed as being offensive". You think so? You stupid bunch of insensitive dummies!
The ad has been changed.

Give Me a Break!

   This one just strikes my funny bone. I was out doing the grocery shopping today, and I saw something new - a dish detergent from Palmolive which declares itself to be an Aromatherapy product. It is made with the scents of lavender and ylang ylang, and is supposed to provide stress relief. I suppose you could look at this as a form of drudgery which needs all the help it can get to be palatable, but ... ylang ylang? Of course, a more serious side to all this is the fact that this detergent does not boast of being bio-degradable. Maybe we should skip all the perfumes and just go instead for a cleaning product that will add a little less pollution to our ground water.

Don't Cut It Down!

   Two leafy little tidbits for you today.
   First, let me share the one that arises in the "endless hills of pine" described by European settlers who first came to the Ottawa river valley. Because the bulk of the settlers were from the Isles, and Britain was busy amassing her empire on which "the sun never set", it didn't take long for entrepreneurs to view the trees as money. The white pine which flourished in the valley was perfect for the masts on the British warships, and so they brought a good price. In fact, Britain passed acts forbidding the cutting of pines more than 12 inches in diameter for anything other than use by the crown. All that was needed to get these trees to his majesty was for some lumber barons to appear. John Gillies was one that came here from Ireland, to pillage the forests and line his pockets.The family fortunes continued to climb up the branches and boughs of the pine groves, until the 1980's, when the trees gave out. The irony here is that "Gillies Grove', named an historic site because it is one of the few old growth areas left in the province, used to be the estate of that forest-killing family. They wanted the beauty of the trees surrounding their mansion to be left untouched, and so that area survived. Irony indeed!
   The second morsel of information comes from Toronto, not so far away from Gillies Grove. With over 8,000 hectares (19,760 acres) of green space Toronto is worthy of its nickname as a green city. There are more than 3,000,000 publicly owned trees gracing our metropolis, and millions more on private properties. The trees sitting on private land are the subject matter of a new bylaw that would require the owners to obtain a permit if they wish to remove any tree that is more than 20 cm (50 inches) in diameter. I'm sure there will be cries of protest from those who wish to hack and chop, especially for such perfectly sound reasons as the tree interfering with their view, but I am glad to hear that there are enough of us who realize a tree is a gift to us all. They are beautiful to look at, they provide shade and animal habitats, but perhaps above all else, their photosynthesis is lifegiving to us as well as to them. In this era of increasing greenhouse gases and smog alerts, why cut down any tree without justifiable reason? Trees take in carbon dioxide to fuel their photosynthesis, thereby acting as air filters. In the process, they release oxygen, the oxygen you and I need to inhale. Two mature trees can provide enough oxygen for a family of four! Don't just let the existing trees grow. Get out there and plant some more!