You Are What You Drink?

With all the hype lately about obesity reaching epidemic proportions, the warnings to beware what you drink are just as important as those cautioning you to watch out for what you eat. It's just that when you don't chew it, whatever it is, it's so easy to forget it has significance to your waistline, too.
With that in mind, here's a few numbers for you that you might be glad you read, especially if you've been thinking in terms of chai teas as being "healthy". Make one for yourself at home, and it's likely to be a very different story, but imbibe one at Second Cup, for instance, and feel your arteries and your waistband groaning even as you swallow the last mouthful.
A medium Green Tea Latte will send 470 calories swirling down your gullet and 12 grams of saturated and trans fat combined to besiege your circulatory system. Both counts are almost the same as what you'd encounter in a McDonald's quarter pounder with cheese. If you've sworn off the latter in an effort to be kind to your own state of health, you might want to add the former to your no-no list.
Obviously, ordering your latte made with skim milk will do something for the calorie count, but you'll still be taking in some trans fat from the hydrogenated oil used in the green tea mix.
For an alternative, order a caffe latte - NOT a flavoured one with their 300 to 400 calories hiding in a medium - but a plain medium latte made with skim or at least 1% milk, and you'll be downing approximately 400 mg of calcium. Calcium is always good, so you can feel totally righteous drinking one of these.
If something cold might hit the spot a little better, ask for an Icy Fruit Smoothie, 'cause they're only going to give you about 160 calories to add to your day's total.
Something to keep in mind, eh?

Praying for a Piece

After telling you about Ingrid Mattson and her very serious position as head of the Islamic Society of North America, let me tell you about Tissa Hami, another Muslim woman who is just as serious about what she does. Tissa , is perhaps the only stand-up comedian wearing a traditional Islamic hijab as she performs onstage.
Hami was born in the province of Mazandaran in northern Iran, and came to the U.S. in '78 when she was five years old. She grew up in a predominantly white suburb of Boston and makes use of her childhood experiences in her act, by telling her audience that, "It was scary growing up Iranian here but when other kids teased me, I just threatened to take them hostage."
She's got the right idea. When you can share a smile, you can eventually go on to share a great deal more, like friendship. She's out there, sharing a smile with her audiences and helping them to understand a little more about Iranians, about Muslims - helping them to move beyond some of the stereotypes and bridge some of the gaps.
She isn't afraid to be seen or to be heard, and what she has to say is worth a laugh. Talking about how Muslim women always take up position behind the men to pray in the mosque, for instance, she tells her listeners it's not really a sign of how oppressed the women are. "We just like the view," she says. "We're praying for a piece of that."

Surprise!

The Islamic Society of North America has just chosen a woman to lead it. Ontarian Ingrid Mattson, a convert to Islam, has already served as vice-president of the organization. She was one of the first to call Muslims to denounce the attacks of 9/11, and says her election shows "what Muslims can do, and would like to do." Let's hope it shows there is an increasing number of them wanting to move forward, instead of looking back.

Here's something you wouldn't expect - the poor of the country are getting poorer.
A new study released by Canada's National Council of Welfare says that last year was a time of particular want for the have-nots because provincial governments are busily scaling back their assistance programs.
According to the council, 1.7 million Canadians needed assistance last year, among them 500,000 children. Alberta welfare recipients faced the worst difficulties, while those in New Brunswick did little better. Those two provinces are rated as the "stingiest" by the Council, which is calling on the national government to rethink its national poverty strategies.
It would seem that some few in Ottawa have been taking too seriously the words of
W. H. Harrison, the ninth president of the U.S., when he declared, "I believe and I say it is true Democratic feeling, that all the measures of the government are directed to the purpose of making the rich richer and the poor poorer."

The Idiot Files Continued

21-year-old Shaun Morris has just been sentenced to 60 days in jail, in addition to the month he has already spent behind bars. Mr. Morris has been incarcerated for his choice of an impromptu urinal. The site he chose was a war memorial in downtown Sudbury. Judge Guy Mahaffy didn't buy Morris' claim that he was too drunk at the time to know what he was doing, and that if he had known, he would never have relieved himself there.
When he was seen by police, Morris fled on foot and was able to lead them on a chase before they caught him, with the help of a passerby. That really doesn't sound like the limited capability of someone so inebriated he can't tell what he's using for a privy.
The only thing is that I would like to nominate the defending lawyer to join Mr. Morris in the Idiot Files. He drew the attention of the court to the defendant's "young age" and the fact that he recently became a father as supposed reasons why he should be released. If anything, those might be reasons to jot off a quick sympathy note to the idiot's offspring, but not to spare him the responsibility of paying for his actions. He showed incredible disregard for those who have risked their lives, and/or lost them to give Morris and all the rest of us a country where we are considered to have rights, where we can enjoy the freedom bought for us with the blood spilled on far too many battlefields.
If anything, I think the 60 days was far too lenient a judgment.

Tiny Dancer

The book is titled "Tiny Dancer: The Incredible True Story of a Young Burn Victim's Journey from Afghanistan". It was written by Anthony Flacco, and it is the perfect follow-up to the August 22nd entry about the Ju/hoansi's atypical attitude toward the distaff side of the tribe.
It details the experience of Zubaida Hasan, a nine-year-old living in the village of Farah, Afghanistan, when the story begins in 2001. It follows her from the day that nearly ended her life when she fell into a kerosene fire, to the day when she and her family moved from their village home to one in Herat, where she and her siblings would all actually attend school.
Zubaida was alone in her house when she lit the kerosene fire to warm water for a bath, so her screams for help went unanswered until her mother, Bador, and her second-oldest sister could run back from the house next door. What they saw was a human torch. They upended the tub of bathwater over the girl, and the unbelievable saga had begun.
One of the first "unbelievables" is the reason why Zubaida's trip to the first clinic couldn't begin until the father had been found and brought home. It's a long quote coming up, I know, but you have to see this passage to get a feel for how incredible everything that follows really is.
"Bador couldn't take Zubaida to seek the help she needed - under Taliban law, a married woman was only allowed to offer help inside of the home and behind private walls, but without a father or brother to chaperone her, she couldn't even take her own injured child to a hospital. ... a woman caught trying such a thing by herself might be judged an "adventuress". And since an adventuress is a temptress and a temptress is a whore, a woman so judged could easily receive a sentence of death by public stoning - or perhaps a simple beheading as a quicker alternative..."
The idea that any one person, let alone a whole society, would believe a woman seeking help for her badly burned child might abandon that search for a chance to bespoil some poor,innocent, put-upon young man is quite beyond belief. Nonetheless, it is the idea that still prevails in far too many places.
When Hasan made the seven-hour journey to bring his daughter to the first clinic, there was little they could do for her. They washed her burnt skin without the use of any anesthesia and rubbed her down with a salve, then sent them home with the advice to the father that his best option was "to pray for her end to come quickly".
Bador's making of that first trip and his subsequent refusal to accept the doctors' fatalism was an astounding breakaway from the strictures of the society that usually reserved such efforts to save a life for the males only. As the author explains, "many parents would simply abandon their dying daughter in the wilderness, or, if the family patriarch was of a more kindly nature, dispose of her in some quick and painless method like a stealthy bullet to the head and then bury the body with little respect."
Instead, Hasan admonished every member of the family to pray for a miracle for the little girl as he continued his quest for the people who could finally offer the medical assistance that would save his daughter. His search took them on to Herat and then to Moshad, where all the doctors did was to renew the salve. It ended in Tehran where the doctors worked on her with what little resources they had. After 20 days, however, it was agreed that she was showing no improvement and was taking up much-needed space, so she was sent home and her father was once again advised to "pray for death to ease her suffering".
The girl continued to live despite all expectations to the contrary, but her open wounds were gradually closing themselves over with stiff scar tissue. This scar tissue contracted to the point where she could no longer close her eyes or her mouth. Life had become a living hell for the little burn victim but still her father continued to hope. Because he had been a soldier during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, Hasan had seen some of the resources available to the Americans stationed in the region and he became convinced that taking his daughter to them would be the act that would save her.
He knew little about the Americans other than their perceived status as a wealthy people and the fact that they treated their females differently than Hasan's people were wont to do, so he scraped together the financial resources that allowed him to take her to the city of Kandahar.
After first having been refused the chance to speak to any medical personnel on the base, Hasan was in the marketplace with Zubaida when they were spotted by a Green Beret. The man chooses to remain anonymous in every retelling of the story, but you don't need to know his name to know that his heart had not been hardened by the life he lead as a soldier. He was moved to break the rule about not getting involved in the medical problems of the local people, and when he did, Hasan's prayed-for miracle began to take shape.
The miracle takes Zubaida from Afghanistan to Los Angeles on a two-year trek through multiple surgeries and a gradual healing of her spirit, that involved so many who really "shouldn't have" gotten involved at all. Her burn surgeon, Dr. Peter Grossman and his wife, for instance, take the girl into their homes and their hearts before long, in a relationship that has survived her final return to her family in Afghanistan.
The explanation for the involvement is difficult to precisely articulate, but maybe it is because, as the author suggests, there are still those of us who have a level of humanity and decency that is beyond the reach of religious rhetoric and politics. Perhaps the plight of one little burn victim was enough to transcend the fear and the hate long enough for her to be made whole again. Maybe the story of Zubaida Hasan is one that bears repeated telling, as a promise that the breaking of rigid societal norms can be good. It can shine as a beacon of hope through this time of darkness in the souls of so many.
Take a look for it. The time you take to read it will not be wasted.

Gender Equality: Dangerous Radicalism or Healthy Good Sense?

The idea that gender equality could help lower the rate of HIV infection may be one of the hardest of all to sell in the fight against the disease, especially in developing countries, but it finds startling vindication among the Ju/hoansi people, whose territory straddles the northern border between Botswana and Namibia.
The general rate of HIV infection in the population of Namibia is 20%, while it's a low 4% among this tribe's members. Before this statistic is dismissed as nothing more than simply a lucky result of the tribe's relative isolation, it should be pointed out that other isolated groups have shown high rates of infection, so the isolation is not a magic preventative.
University of Toronto anthropologist Richard Lee has been studying the tribe since 1963 and has come to the conclusion that one habit of theirs, in particular, has allowed them to largely escape the scourge this disease has visited on so many of their fellow Africans. It is generally accepted that the subservience of women in so much of Africa has facilitated the spread of the disease. The women of the Ju/hoansi, in contrast, have high status in their community, giving them power to negotiation as they please rather than simply the onerous duty of doing whatever some randy male demands.
These people have accepted the radical concept that men and women are equal, and act on it by giving women respect and a dangerous degree of autonomy. Unlike so many of their sisters worldwide who are given no say about their sexual or marriage partners, the women of the Ju/hoansi have to right to say yes or no for themselves. Unlike so many of their sisters, they have the right to demand a man wears a condom.
How such a free-thinking bunch of extremists could be allowed to continue on their way is an interesting question. Is there no-one who will keep the developing world safe from anarchists like that? If word gets out about this bunch of obviously nihilistic intransigents and their health, who knows what could follow? There might be some people (read, women) actually beginning to believe they could think for themselves, instead of blindly following rigid, patriarchal norms.
Where's a good, suicide-bombing, homegrown boy when you really need one?

   I've blogged before about the difference between the developed and the developing countries as far as the incidence of allergy woes. 1 in 3 people in the States presently suffers from allergy problems, or asthma, and the fear is the problem is growing. There is more than one theory about why the problem is so much worse in the developed part of the world, one being the hygiene theory. Another one thrust itself at me last night while I was knitting a few rows in front of the History Channel. It's one of the few I will watch, but unfortunately, it shows its share of commercials too. I was struck last night by the number of ads for "Febreze", a room spray that is supposed to leave your whole house smelling more wonderful than the garden of Eden. The manufacturers of said spray suggest the consumer coat pretty much everything in the house that stands still long enough for them to aim the nozzle at it.
   Doesn't anyone who buys this stuff wonder what exactly it is that they're filling their lungs with? Do they realize that it works not by actually eliminating odours, but by coating nasal passages, thereby dulling the ability to detect any odour? Why doesn't anyone who buys this stuff try the other less potentially harmful ways to keep the house smelling pleasant, like filling a vase with some fresh-cut flowers, or mixing a few drops of an essential oil into some hot water and letting air currents waft the fragrance through the room.? Come on people, how many chemicals do you need in your life? Give your heads a shake and then throw that stuff out!
   If you're interested in trying the chemical-free approach, make a visit to this website, to read some good suggestions about non-toxic house cleaning. Sign up for the "earth-easy" newsletter while you're there. You don't have to throw away all your current commercial favourites, but you might make one or two adjustments to your style. You might find it's easier than you thought to be kind to the earth and to yourself, all at the same time.

The White Rose

As a teacher, I was asked difficult questions more than once. Confused students learning about the horrors of the second world war and the evil maniac that was Adolf Hitler would ask me if the German people tried to organize a resistance movement. "If we launch a search," they would tell me, "we find a list that includes 33,800,000 sites." The first sites in that list gave them facts on the Greek resistance, the Dutch, the French, the Jewish, the Czech ... the list wenton and on, but they began to notice in short order that there was a paucity of reference to organized resistance in der vaterland. One site will give you a list of names of those who tried to resist the tide of Nazism, but the fact that the total number falls short of sixty has always been a cause for puzzlement to me. How could so many of the people quietly, complacently accept the monster claiming leadership of their nation?
Maybe because my family numbered a resistance fighter among its own members, a man who fought the evil threatening to overwhelm his beloved Italy and died doing so, I have difficulty understanding the widespread complacency the German people indulged in.
Recently I encountered a slim little volume titled, "The White Rose", that addresses the question of those that took up the cause in Germany. I devoured it in a couple of hours, eager to read about Sophie Scholl, her brother Hans, and their valiant fight against the spreading savagery of Hitler's insanity.
The original German edition of the book was titled "Die Weisse Rose" and was published in 1952. Written by Sophie's sister Inge, it details the brief existence of the movement started by the students and some friends, including one Professor Huber.
At only 160 pages, the book is not long enough to satisfy. The story is too short. The personal resistance campaign launched by the brother and sister was joined by some others but not in great numbers. Their moment on the stage of history was all too brief, and reading of it left a vague dissatisfaction. The question remains, why weren't there more standing up to be counted?
Taking action when it could cost you personally is never easy to do. In fact, it is incredibly easy not to do, and there are always overwhelming numbers of people who count themselves more important than anything and anyone else. I think the populace of Germany was top-heavy with such individuals. That has to be part of why Hitler succeeded as much as he did in making his twisted dreams into reality.
The young university student, Sophie Scholl, was able to see that his dreams were really nightmares. She knew that there was wrong being perpetrated and she could not stand idly by. She understood the fundamental truth that if you are not part of the solution, then you are indeed part of the problem. She wanted her name written in the lists of those who cared, and she gave her life to make sure it happened.
She and her brother distributed four leaflets at the University of Munich, in 1942 and 1943, calling for people to speak out against the Fuhrer, to offer resistance to the Nazi war machine. They cautioned their readers against the folly of everyone waiting "until the other man makes a start", and declared their conviction that "today every honest German (must be) ashamed of his government." They questioned if the German people were already "so corrupted and so spiritually crushed that they do not raise a hand (against the) irresponsible clique that had yielded to base instinct".
These incredibly brave people risked their lives to defend the rights of all Germans "to choose his manner of life and to live in freedom". Knowing they would pay a horrendous price, they still made their declaration that Nazism was a cancerous growth upon the nation. While they were tossing copies of one of their leaflets from a balcony in the university, down into the great hall, they were seen and retribution descended on them quickly. Within days they were brought to trial, declared traitors and sentenced to death. The sentence was carried out short hours later on the same day and they were guillotined.
It is said that the best reason to study history is so that we will not be doomed to repeat it. Perhaps this little known book is one that should be made part of every high school's curriculum, required study for every student who wants to graduate. It might help to answer some of the questions about why people let horrendous situations arise and do little to end them. Such an action might be one of our few hopes left against the irresponsible cliques of today dragging all of us down into an inferno formed by their base instincts.
Transcripts of the four leaflets are included in the book, and they each bear repeated reading. Some of the words thunder off the pages. Some of them can be and should be applied to more than one of today's leaders. Hitler himself is quoted as having said, "It is unbelievable, to what extent one must betray a people in order to rule it." Shadowy outlines of some of those involved in the war in Iraq lurk behind those lines.
The foreword to this book was written by Dorothee Solle, the German theologian who penned "Creative Disobedience". She details her post-war despair as a young person who grew up in Nazi Germany, her fear that the German blood flowing in her veins made her somehow a monster, one not worthy of life. She asks plaintively, how could the German experience of World War II have been allowed to happen; why weren't there more "white roses"? There are those who would answer by mouthing the excuse that the general populace did not know. This is an answer that should be turned aside by all who hear it, an answer that should be feared as the monster-maker that it is. It allows for complacency to pave the way for horror. Solle speaks of this easy way-out at the end of her foreword, bringing the reader to see the relevance of Sophie and her colleagues-in-resistance to today's world and the unquestioning acceptance of government decisions. "No matter what, I would not be able to say that I (do) not know. All of us know. We do know, and we have to act in one way or another." Strong words. Words that need to be said, but who is listening?
Let me end my sojourn into this look at resistance with a quote from Inge Scholl. In it she speaks to the urgency of all of us taking a stand on matters more important than who got kicked off the island, even if it does demand more of our time and commitment than a one-hour TV show does. Referring to Sophie and her brother, she says, "They wanted to make it possible for people like you and me to live in a humane society. Perhaps their greatness lies in the fact that they committed themselves for the sake of such a simple matter, that they were strong enough to give their lives in defense of the elementary right. It is perhaps more difficult to stand up for a worthy cause when there is no general enthusiasm, no great idealistic upsurge, no high goal, no supporting organization ... on one's own and in lonely isolation. Perhaps genuine heroism lies in deciding stubbornly to defend the everyday things, the trivial and the immediate, after having been bombarded with so much oratory about great deeds."

I bet you wonder once in a while, just how much is a serving? When someone advises you to try for so many servings from this or that food group a day, how do you know if your plate holds one serving or even more? Well, according to the Canadian Diabetes Association, you can let your hands be your guide. For grains and starches, you want an amount the size of your two fists. For fruits, you have chosen one serving if you have an amount the size of one fist. For meats and alternatives, you want an amount the size of the palm of your hand, but only the thickness of your baby finger. For vegetables, it's almost like a free rein, because you can choose as much as you can hold in both hands. Kinda' makes you think of Miss Piggy's sagacious admonition to never eat more than you can lift!

Where Are You, Ignacz?

I came across an article that suggested there are definitely things to know to up your chances of surviving a hospital stay. The part about hand washing really caught my eye.
Apparently, when the first obstetrical hospital opened in Vienna, one in every eight pregnant women admitted died from puerperal fever. It took Professor Ignacz Semmelweiss to insist, toward the end of the nineteenth century, that doctors who had just come from performing autopsies must wash their hands before they handled a woman who was giving birth. Funny thing, the incidence of puerperal fever plummeted.
The author of the article says it "requires a brave patient to ask his doctor to wash his hands" but it is certainly one way to safeguard yourself, or a loved one the doctor is about to handle. It's true, most of us wouldn't think in terms of needing to safeguard ourselves from a health professional. We might indulge in the head-in-the-sand assumption that the unwashed hands of the autopsy to delivery-room days are long gone. The only problem is, it might be one of your last instances of blind trust before you join the statistics. A study released in 2004 stated that hospital errors have killed hundreds of thousands annually in the States.
I might want to dismiss all this, too, if I hadn't witnessed what I did in January of this year. We had to take our Mother to the emergency department of a large Toronto hospital, and then spend the requisite multiple-hour wait before it was finally her turn. During that time, I watched a nurse at the desk. Among other things that I saw her do, at one point she took some gauze pads from one patient to throw out. She was wearing gloves to protect herself, which was good because the pads were coming away from his nose all bloody. The only problem was that she went next to another patient, and without changing the gloves, she handled that patient's face.
I positively hovered about my mother when she was called in. Good thing I did, because Ignacz isn't there to help anymore. I mean, my mother might not have needed the help, but who wants to take such a chance?

Time for School Kits

I've blogged about these folks before, and here I go again!
The Ten Thousand Villages are asking people to get involved with their annual "School Kits" project again, and help to send much needed supplies to teachers and students primarily in areas hit by war and natural disasters. That means that this year your kit could end up in Iraq, Afghanistan, Bosnia, Nicaragua or Haiti, or a poorly funded school right here in North America. Your kit would become one of the thousands delivered each year by the Mennonite Central Committee, the stores' parent organization.
You can toddle off to your nearest Ten Thousand Villages store and collect a fabric bag to fill or you can make your own, following instructions to specified dimensions. To find one of the 43 stores in Canada, click here. To locate one of the 117 retail stores in the Stated, follow this link.
The good people organizing this project ask that you limit your generosity to the following items:

4 spiral or perforated notebooks (about 21.5cm x 27cm/8.5" x 10.5" and 70-80 sheets U.S./140-160 pages in Canada)
4 unsharpened #2 pencils
1 ruler (flat, flexible plastic; indicating both 30cm and 12")
12 coloured pencils (in packaging)
1 large pencil eraser

Include only brand new items.

If you think you'd like to make your own bag, or if you'd like to investigate their other kit ideas - relief kits, sewing kits, health kits and newborn kits - take a look here.

This could be a great project for families to do together, providing an opportunity for the kids to share their good fortune. It could be a great term-opener for an ambitious teacher who wants to kick their classroom year off in a spirit of global citizenship. Throw in a geography lesson or two about some of the countries on the receiving end, a history lesson, or even an economics lesson and you've got the stuff of which great learning experiences are made.
Use the project for a Sunday school class, or a woman's group - it won't matter what angle you approach this one from, you're going to come away feeling good. Just make sure your kits are ready and dropped off before the end of September.

A Worm in My Salad

   The weather here is wonderful right now. The sun is smiling down benevolently on everyone, and the absence of noticeable humidity makes it an easy sunshine to enjoy. No matter how nice the day, however, chores need doing, so yesterday afternoon found me in the local grocery store buying the items needed to prepare dinner. I was coming to the end of an aisle when a man and his wife appeared, coming into the same aisle.
   He was pushing the cart, she was walking an appropriate two paces behind him. Clad in black from head to toe, the only part visible of her was a small area of face that included her eyes. I was wearing mid-thigh-length shorts and a short-sleeve tee, summer apparel I have worn all my life here in my home city. He stopped his cart and stared openly at me. Starting at my eyes, he swept his gaze down to my legs and then sneered, an openly unpleasant, confrontational look.
   I continued to walk past him, saying nothing, but the feeling inside was the same as when you start eating and then find a worm in your salad. It has been my experience that an individual such as that ignoramus is not someone to exchange words with, since they are often several cards short of a full deck. They are unpredictably likely to present more problem than is worth attempting to handle. I walked away, but I was seething. Toronto is my home, and I have lived here since my birth. I have dressed as my culture declares it is acceptable to dress for decades now. What business has he to come here to my city and bring with him his intolerance and misogyny? What right is it of his to use his backward standards to judge me? He is coming to a land where another culture other than his dark ages one is dominant. If he is unable to acculturate, he should get the hell out of here and crawl back under the rock whence he came.
   To him and all the misogynists like him, wanting to bring intolerance to my country ... fuck you.

   I have previously chronicled the arrival of various pea-brains joining the Idiot Alert Files. Now we can add Jaspal Singh Atwal to the list of the brain-dead filling out membership applications. The inestimable Jaspal ensured himself a position when he filed suit against the Vancouver Sun for "discrediting his reputation". I think he probably feels he can do that all by himself, without their help. Mr. Moron has been convicted of trying to assassinate a visiting Punjabi cabinet minister, and is presently on parole, but he takes exception to the newspaper's printing of the facts. I am sure he would rather they ran a story about what a great guy he really is, you know, something that included a picture of him kissing a baby.
   Stupid idiot.


   While we're talking about joke-of-the-day types, let's give a minute to Janet Jackson. Now there's a woman who's got her priorities straight. With all the worthy causes in the world at the moment, all the situations about which it would be really great for her to throw some celebrity weight around, she recently chose something really meaningful. It seems the little walking ego was in London recently to be interviewed on a morning show. Knowing how important it is for the exactly right water to grace her gullet, she sent some of her favourite Fiji spring water ahead with instructions for it to be refrigerated. Upon arriving, the first thing Little Miss did was insist on having one of her lackeys test the water's temperature with a thermometer. If it wasn't just right, there was no way she was going to go glug-glug. Thank God, it had been chilled to the right temperature.
   Way to go Janet. You definitely know what's important in life.


   One more addition to the files has to go in without her name, since I don't know it, although if I did I would include it in bold, gigantic letters. I encountered her yesterday, while I was walking along Bayview Avenue, heading south on the west side of the street. I was giving sighted guide to a client of the CNIB, who was holding my right arm with their left, and using a white cane with their right hand. The cane is pretty easy to see, but more than that, we had been standing at an intersection waiting for the light to turn green, which it had just done. As we took our first step out, a car approached from my right, wanting to turn right. We had the right-of-way but I never trust solely in that. I always want to see that a car is indeed slowing down and coming to a stop before I step in front of it. Good thing that's my habit, because the idiot behind the wheel just kept coming. She wasn't taking the corner on two wheels, but neither was she stopping. When I made a gesture of surprise and looked at her as thought to question her intent, she literally gave me a big smile and a wave and drove on through.
   Toronto's very own village idiot.
    I have to wonder what she would have done if my friend had been there alone. All that he can do to keep himself safe on crossing an intersection is listen for the sound of the traffic to be going the same as he is, and then step out. Would that moron have hit him? Maybe she would have, but I'm sure she would at least have smiled and waved before she drove away.
   Now you know why I really wish I knew her name. I think everyone should get a chance to know this idiot. After all, she's out there driving the streets that you and yours walk.

Who You Calling a Terrorist?

Efforts to peacefully solve the problem at the proposed "Douglas Creek Estates" land development site may just have been dealt a severe blow by Ontario Superior Court Justice David Marshall yesterday. It seems the good judge has decried the "lawlessness" taking place and ruled that the federal and provincial governments have to cease their negotiations with Six Nation representatives until the native protesters leave a housing development they took over on February 28.
The natives claimed the land is theirs, granted to them in 1783 by treaty. The developer, Henco Industries sought an order from Marshall in March to remove the protesters. Both sides dug in and the move to violence happened after an April 20 police raid. Ugly scenes have taken place repeatedly between local residents and the people of the Six Nations. In June, Queen's Park bought the disputed land from the developer to forestall the perceived threat of development and facilitate talks. Roadblocks were taken down and a detente of sorts held sway.
Then Marshall felt obliged to mount his high horse and make his holier-than-thou proclamation, in spite of the fact that neither the province not the original developer had asked for his involvement.
"The court has been patient, but the court can not turn a blind eye to blatant contempt of the court's lawful order." says Marshall. (Didn't Marshall listen, by the way, when his teacher told the class about repetitive use of a word - court, court, court? I think he just gets off on the sound of that word coming from his own little pouty lips, don't you?)
Frustration on both sides is understandable, but open provocation is not. What does Marshall think he will accomplish with his order, other than exacerbating a situation that might well lead to the destruction of any possible feelings of community, and maybe even the loss of life?
An August 9 article in the Toronto Star states that the ruling "reflects widespread concern that ... there are different laws for natives and non-natives." There are indeed different laws on the books for Canada's first citizens than there are for any others. For instance, the law books of Nova Scotia still declare a bounty on Indians - per scalp. What other group in Canada's populace is expected to live with the ongoing indignity of such a law? Why isn't it immediately expunged from the books? Why, in the name of everything fair that Canada is supposed to stand for, hasn't it already been done? What possible explanation can be given for the fact that requests made by Mikmaq Daniel N. Paul for the bounty to be removed have been met with the admonition to "let bygones be bygones"?
Indeed there are different laws for the peoples of the First Nations. In Saskatchewan, for instance, the current aboriginal demographics of four children per family mean that in five years the majority of the population will be First Nations, and yet they will be among the only members of Canada's citizenry whose lives are ruled by the western world's sole piece of race-based legislation. The Indian Act, penned in 1876, makes all aboriginals wards of the state. Until one revision in 1985 it denied various expressions of culture, like the potlatch. Do we tell the Italians or the Iranians or any other group that multi-culturalism is verboten in Canada? There have been other revisions made to the act, but it still exists and it is still based on race. That fact is a sad reality, an ugly stain on the pride of the "strong and free".
Section 91 and Section 92 of the constitution of Canada list items controlled by the government. "Indians" are number 24 on the list. On their reserves, where some say they "get everything for free", they can not construct a clean water well without government permission. A first reaction might be, that doesn't sound too bad, after all, they just fill in the forms and dig away. Before you react, however, keep this in mind. 30% of the 633 reserves in Canada have unsafe drinking water. Maybe it isn't all quite as simple as it would seem. Maybe there is indeed systemic prejudice holding these people back at damn near every turn. After all, the United Nations Human Development Index ranks the First Nations of Canada in 63rd place, a ranking which places them at Third World level. The rest of the country ranks at 5th in the world. The latter ranking, by the way, is the only one presented in grade eight textbooks. Certainly gives the students a realistic idea of their country, a totally fair and unbiased accounting of what their brothers under the red and white flag deal with, wouldn't you say?
Until the inequities of the whole situation are acknowledged and addressed, there will be little progress made. There will be little opportunity for the peaceful and positive settlement of problems as long as Marshall and his ilk misuse their power.
When the blockade was still up on Highway 6 near the currently disputed land, more than one driver passing by would yell out their window, "We don't deal with terrorists." I guess it really all depends on how you view this whole issue as to who you might call the terrorists.

   Pedophile Peter Whitmore? Repeat offender who consistently refused any treatment for his perversion. Arrested more or less in front of the entire country this past Wednesday. The police have him dead to rights, and the "dead" in that phrase is what we need to pay attention to. For those who might cry 'foul' otherwise, we could slap together a quick trial. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes out of this holiday weekend for the judge and jurors. Read the charges, have one of the arresting officers confirm that the man in the prisoner's seat is indeed the slime they arrested on site, and have the jury jump up en masse and yell "guilty". Then hustle him out back, put a dozen bullets in his brain and have the carcass hauled away to be used as landfill. Case closed.

WTF?

   I've got big problems with this one. I just saw a Toronto newspaper blurb that informs me the average police officer in T.O earns between $50k to $70k a year. That's what they're paid to lay their lives on the line for law and order, for the safety of the community. A city councillor, on the other hand, can expect to earn $95k per annum. That's just plain wrong. I don't care how many babies they kiss in photo ops, they're just not entitled to such a salary. It doesn't matter how many stop lights they lobby for on a constituent's street, they're just not worth such a salary.
   What is wrong with this picture, folks? Society had got its values all screwed around ass-end-backward.

A Blizzard in August?

   Even if you normally watch your calories, you could toss caution to the winds on August 10th and still feel good about it. That's the date set for this year's "Treat Day" for the Children's Miracle Network. Last year's Treat Day raised more than $1.6 million here in Canada, all of which stayed in the communities to help Children's Miracle Network hospitals there. This year, the more than 570 Canadian Dairy Queen franchise owners will be joined for the first time by more than 3,500 participating DQ locations in the States to serve up the ice cream treats known as "blizzards" on Thursday next week.
   In Canada, the cold cash raised by the sales will benefit a list of hospitals, including the BC Children's Hospital Foundation; the Alberta Children's Hospital Foundation; the Children's Health and Hospital Foundation of Saskatchewan; Ontario's Sick Kids' Foundation; and the Montreal Children's Hospital. There just couldn't be a better reason to down some ice cream.
   Anyway, I'm quite sure that against all odds, any blizzard eaten on that one day will actually be aware of the honourable heights to which the day elevates them, and so they will conscientiously seek out and destroy any and all calories that might try to lurk in the swirls of creamy coldness. The very next day will see their return to unaware milk products, so grab one while the grabbing is good!

   From the August 2006 issue of "Wired" magazine comes this little tidbit that I found in their "How To:" pullout. Short and sweet it details how to use a wristwatch as a compass.
   "Hold a watch with 12 o'clock at left. Move your arm so the hour hand points at the sun. The spot halfway between the hour hand and the 12 is south."
   Cool.

   This morning I set out early to walk to the gym. The horrendous heat wave that had been besieging Toronto has broken, so the walk promised to be a pleasure. My path took me past the edges of back yards and green verges that seemed eager to spread themselves out over the sidewalk and reclaim it. As I walked, I looked ahead as is prudent, and looked down too, as is my wont in order to forestall my stepping on anything alive that might be wanting to share the sidewalk with me. That habit has had me executing some pretty fancy footwork more than once to avoid ending the lives of ants and such, seen at the last second. Go ahead and laugh at me. It's just that I can not stand to take any life needlessly.
   Having told you that, I can tell you now how my trip to the gym was interrupted seven times. Seven separate times, I saw a snail on the sidewalk, leaving a wet trail behind as it carried its yellow and olive-green home with it across the hot surface. Seven separate times I paused and bent down to move the wee creature from its position of peril on the pavement to a safer spot on the grassy border. I moved each one to the edge they were already moving toward and placed them down on a flat spot, a leaf perhaps, or the earth beneath a leaf. I hope my actions saved seven lives today. The sidewalk that stretched along those blocks I walked was already dotted at regular intervals with the crushed shells of snails that had met their deaths before journey's end. I hate to see that.
    Surely every innocent life is worth saving.