Let It Be

I have a suggestion to make.
Apparently when Benedict, the funky-hatted one arrives in Turkey to try mending fences, there will be some 3,000 police officers assigned to guard him. Snipers, armoured vehicles and riot police will all be stationed near every area he is scheduled to visit. The security measures put in place for him will be tighter than they were for George W. when he dropped by in 2004.
All of that leads to my suggestion. Send all the police home. Give the snipers the day off and take the armoured vehicles to the car-wash instead. After all, this is the Pope we're talking about, God's "vicar" on earth. Does he believe, or not? If he really does, then he should trust to the Almighty. If the Deity wants to collect Benny's soul, s/he's going to do it no matter how many armed personnel try to prevent it. Who is Benny to try second-guessing the creator?
Why not make a public announcement before you board the plane, Benny? Tell the whole world that you want no protection other than what the Lord sees fit to provide. Tell all the RC faithful that you want them to regard whatever happens to you as the will of their god, and that there is to be no retribution sought, no matter what might happen. What wonderful example in accepting the will of the almighty that would provide.
Then when you say you come as "a friend of the Turks", they might be more inclined to believe you. After all, friends do not arrive for a visit behind a wall of pointed firearms.

A Little Serious and a Little Fun

A little more on the topic of gift-giving.
If you live here in Toronto and the idea of giving a gift that makes a difference appeals to you, be sure to set aside a day this upcoming weekend, December 1-3 to get down to the Harbourfront Centre. There you'll find the Ten Thousand Villages Mennonite Christmas Festival. You can buy a gift from among the fairly-traded goods crafted by skilled artisans from developing countries, listen to the vocal craftings of the Pax Christi Chorale, and maybe best of all, get your hands on some Mennonite baking that really schmecks!

I have written previously about giving gifts from the catalogue of Canadian Food for the Hungry International, but I know that many people prefer to guide their actions along the lines of charity beginning at home. If you're nodding your head in agreement, then you might want to follow the next link to the Frontier College Foundation where you can give a gift that will end up impacting the very economy of Canada itself. Quite the statement,eh? The facts that support it start with the following stat: 42% of adults in Canada have difficulty using reading and writing to participate in daily life. The next generation isn't doing a whole lot better since 18% of grade 10 students failed last year's literacy tests. The abilities tested for include those that would give these people a chance to compete for the jobs that pay enough to keep a family out of the food banks.
"The Economist" August 2004 issue carried the statement made by a team of economists from the university of Ottawa that there is a "a clear and significant association between investments in human capital and a country's subsequent growth and labour productivity. Specifically, a rise of 1% in literacy scores relative to the international average is associated with an eventual 2.5% rise in labour productivity and a 1.5% rise in GDP per head."
I've been working with a young man who, through circumstances beyond his control, was forced to leave school before he had finished grade five. His is such a sad story, because it has resulted in a life that is basically going nowhere, and it's getting there fast. In his mid-twenties, he should be starting work by now at a decent job, and participating as an informed citizen in the country's democracy. Instead he is struggling to fill in the huge gaps in his knowledge that have left him woefully unaware of the world around him. If education is power, he has indeed been left powerless.
A little click on the Frontier College's link really could help you to change Canada. Do it in your own name, or do it in someone else's name and give that person a Christmas gift that could end up affecting the lives of more than 30 million Canadians.

Now, just because I can't resist, and also because Christmas to me is above all the look of wonder on a child's face, let me share these two with you. The first one is "The World's Biggest Piano Mat". The only possible drawback to this one is its need for 4 AA batteries, but if that doesn't bother you, then you'll be giving a 6-foot-wide plastic mat that covers almost two full octaves and will let your budding Chopin play "by ear and by foot". The maestro can record her/his opus de jour and play it back for Mom or Dad's listening pleasure. Of course, the plastic is going to facilitate easy clean-ups and the "keyboard" will clinch your rep for giving amazing gifts.


If you prefer to be the absolute hero of the family, (in the eyes of the little ones, anyway) this is a purchase you just have to make. "Monster Go Away! Spray" can rid an entire bedroom of monsters and other nasties who may be hiding under the bed or the dresser, or closeting themselves in with the clothes.
For those of you for whom product-testing ethics are important, you should know that the product's website asserts, "We don't test on animals, only family & friends!" Monster Go Away was developed by a mom and aromatherapy educator in 1999, and uses essential oils to work its magic. A 5 ounce bottle sells for $10.00 and can affect the demise of many a sleep-destroyer before its final spray, so if you're a parent who would like to get a better sleep, or a grandparent who would like to ensure the continued hero-worship of your grandchildren, what are you waiting for?

I Hereby Claim This Land

As a teacher, I had to teach my intermediate students every year about the European "discoverers" and how they claimed huge tracts of land for their nation and its sovereign by ramming a flagstaff into the ground. The native-born inhabitants may have been standing right there, but that never daunted those avaricious explorers.
This afternoon I shall be working again with a student in an intermediate grade, a young lady whom I tutor. She is currently being taught about the French settling of their colony, New France. Champlain et al are making their way into her awareness of history through the euro-centric pages of her history text, and even being portrayed as rather heroic as they began their plunder of the new land's resources, and forcibly "introduce" the natives to their god, to save their souls. What the text neglects to mention is that those heroic europeans stole from the natives - their land, their homes, their religion, their pride - all to establish themselves as overlords in a new country.
Today I think I shall deviate a little from the direction the teacher and text want her mind to be herded along, all in the hopes of her seeing the action of "claiming" land in a different light. I think I'll take her first to the Antarctic where massive stretches of terrain lie unclaimed, and ask her why she thinks that is. We'll talk about the inhospitable climate and the lack of attainable resources, and I'll ask her why she thinks no-one wants to bring their god to those wind-swept stretches, for the glory of his name. Then I shall introduce her to the principality of Sealand, and its royal family.
Prince Roy has ruled his domain for 30 years, and weathered the exchange of fire with Britain in 1968 and an attempted invasion by Dutch marauders led by a German in '78. All this over a previous WWII military base, Roughs Tower, which was built to house troops and artillery designed to shoot down German aircraft and ballistic missiles.
It was built slightly north of the Thames River, approximately 7 miles from the coast. Britain's claim of territorial waters extends only 3 miles from its coast, so the way was clear for Roy Bates to stake his claim. After the war, when the military pulled down the other bases along the east coast of England, for some reason, they left Roughs Tower standing. Damned decent of the Brits to provide housing for the future royal family, what?
Through the years, Prince Roy has proclaimed a constitution, developed an anthem and flag, and issued stamps as well as gold and silver coins for his country, the smallest recognized nation on the globe.
Bates made his claim for king and country all right, but he was the king and both his reign and his kingdom existed in his mind only, when he declared the land to be his. It sort of all says "silly buggers" to me when I read about Champlain and the others in my student's text, and remember Roy Bates.
Now that the Prince is old and ailing, he is willing to cede his claim to the country. Since England is the closest country to Sealand, it is easy to imagine it slipping back under their control again. That particular "royal family" will become history and be forgotten, as have so many others. The bloody disputes over territory claimed by opposing factions will continue as it has ever since humankind first walked upright. Natives will occupy various locations in Canada, as they have recently done in Caledonia, Ontario and declare the land to be theirs, unfairly taken from them by europeans. Israel and its Arab neighbours will continue to lob explosives back and forth as they have for far too long now. Human blood will continue to stain the soil everywhere that people fight over who has the right to ownership, and students will continue to be taught the history of those tracts as written by the latest winning side. It will all come to naught, until we all obliterate each other in a final dispute or we realize that the fighting needs to stop. Through it all the earth will continue to marshall itself through the endless cycle of seasons, heedless of the arrogant lifeforms who think they can own it. They may own the earth for a time, but earth simply sifts itself through your fingers and blows away unless you anchor it with love.
I wonder when I'll ever find myself reading a history text that teaches that to the students assigned to read it.

Making Christmas More Meaningful

I just found out about this book and I want to share it with you because it fits in so well with my own approach to the big day. If you've got kids, spending a little time to help them make some presents will go a long way toward helping them get more out of Christmas. Giving a gift that can make a life more worth the living is another way to put back some of the joy that rampant consumerism threatens.
I believe the consumerism and greed that is threatening to overwhelm the occasion can be successfully combated, but sometimes, solving the problem has to start with identifying the problem. "Gifts from the Heart: Simple Ways to Make Your Family's Christmas More Meaningful" could be an absolutely wonderful present for you to give to yourself, especially if you've been aware of this sort of vague feeling that something's not quite right in your celebration of Christmas. It addresses everything I've mentioned here, and more. Take a look at the table of contents summarized below to see if this seems like a book you should be ordering right now, for yourself or a friend, and keep in mind while you do that every copy sold helps to fund cancer research.

 Volunteering as a Family
 The Gift of Giving
 Making Time
 The Gift of Gratitude
 Fighting the Gimmies
 Giving the Gift of Imagination
 The Gift of Tradition
 Oh Christmas Tree
 Making Memories
 Christmas and Divorce
 When the Holidays Hurt
 Comfort Food
 An Animal Lover's Christmas
 The Gift of a Green Planet
 Celebrating with Books
 Remembering Seniors at Christmas
 With Love from Grandma and Grandpa
 Sharing the Joys of Cooking
 Gifts from the Kitchen
 The Gift of Good Company Â? Party and Potluck Favorites
 Kid-Tested Crafts
 Handmade with Love
 Wrapping It All Up

Holy Balls, Batman!

It really is all about size, and you've been outdone guys, every man jack of you, by one Steve Milton of Eugene, Oregon. He's got balls you wouldn't believe - or at least one you wouldn't believe. I know, that could leave the poor lad a mite asymmetrical, but let's assume he's working on it, shall we?
Steve's ball weighs 4,594 pounds, or approx. 2,084 kg. Imagine stuffing that one down your drawers. Luckily, little Stevie won't have to do that, since he made his round creation from more than 175,000 rubbers. No, not that kind. We're talking rubber bands, guys. This rolled-up collection boasts a 19 foot circumference, and a 5.5 foot height.
Steve's ball beats the previous record held by Jon Bain of Delaware. At least you Americans have your priorities straight. You've got big balls, you've got everything. Right?

Fall 2006 Guluwalking Update

This year's day was a big success, raising over $500,000.00 worldwide and sending a message to governments, too, about the need for involvement. All 15 members of the United Nations Security Council passed a statement that urges the parties involved to bring an end to the 20-year conflict that gave rise to the Guluwalk, and they launched the Juba Initiative Fund to aid peace in Uganda.
If you'd like to know more, or maybe even get involved yourself, follow this link. If you want to see some photos of the walks this year in various countries that took part, from Australia and the Netherlands, to Canada and France, visit the photo gallery.
If you live in Toronto or within commuting distance and you don't have any plans yet made for Thursday, February 22, 2007, read on.
"On February 22, 2007, please join us as Athletes for Africa presents the 'GuluWalk Gala', with special guest Allan Rock, former Canadian Ambassador to the United Nations. This inaugural event will take place at the spectacular Barbara Frum Atrium at the CBC Building in downtown Toronto and will include an evening of fine food, great music, an extensive silent and live auction and an impassioned keynote address from special guest Allan Rock. Click here for more information, including tickets."

I'll go now and leave you to your clicking!

Snowballs in Hell, Anyone?

The Ontario Minister Responsible for Women's Issues has just announced $1.4 million will be spent in a campaign against dating violence and sexual harassment to target firls from eight to 14 years of age. Sandra Pupatello's theory, I suppose, is to reach the girls while they are still young. In order to do so, an interactive website has been created. The site shows various scenarios in which females are being bullied by males and lets the kids explore possible responses to the situation ofr the girls directly involved and for onlookers.
What the government agency doesn't quite seem to realize is that it might already be too late, even by the age of eight. By that age, girls have already had too many years to internalize the message of secondary status that they are bombarded with daily. The media delivers the message non-stop, and even well-meaning parents can end up echoing it. Give it some serious thought. Exactly what is a parent telling their daughter about ther future when they fill her toy shelves with Barbie dolls?
I am reminded of the girls in my junior kindergarten class one year, and the talk we had about the play motorcycle a male classmate brought to show everyone. I asked the class in general who could drive such a conveyance. The boys were firm in their assertion that the driver had to be male. The girls were mostly quiet. I asked the girls, one at a time, to ensure they had a chance to express their opinion. One after another, they told me that boys had to be the drivers. One rather patiently explained to me that if the boy had a girlfriend, it would be OK for her to ride, if she sat behind the boy. I asked her why girls couldn't be the drivers, and she told me "they just can't". She was only four and this scene took place only a couple of years ago, definitely not long enough for there to have been a whole societal shift in attitudes.
Where was that little girl getting her hard-and-fast rules of gender conduct, if not from her home, above all? At that age, the power of friends to shape attitudes has not yet achieved the strength it reaches in the teen years. Mommy, and Daddy, Grandma and Grandpa - they have all been hard at work already (even if unintentionally) teaching this child that she and her sisters must always accept the back seat.
The $1.4 million earmarked by the government is like slapping a band-aid on a raw, gaping wound. It is acknowledgment of the problem, but it's only a drop in the bucket of overwhelming effort it will take to ameliorate this woeful state of affairs. Sweeping changes are needed and while I don't want to drape a wet blanket of pessimism all over Ms. Pupatello's good intentions, I just don't see them happening in any millennium too soon.
Let me ask, who's going to get the show "Ugly Betty" off the air? Who's going to turn around the societal acceptance of it being alright to call her by that label because she wears braces, is not impossibly thin and sports no designer label duds?
Who's going to get Britney Spears and her ilk off the stage and out of the consciousness of so many pre-teen and teen girls? Who's going to supply them with singing idols who don't make their breasts a major part of their shows?
Who's going to take Barbie off the shelf and replace her with dolls dressed in outfits every bit as lavish, but draped around a figure more realistic? Who's going to slow the non-stop sale of dolls for girls and hype the sales of toys that actually stimulate imagination?
Who's going to teach the boys that they are not inherently better simply because of body parts dangling between their legs? Who's going to tell them that no-one is any better or any worse than another person simply because they are?
Rap artists currently fill important positions as role models for so many kids. They can present listeners with a really interesting take on gender roles. Look at 50 CENT, for one, with his claim to fame of having been shot at nine times and survived. What are adolescent males learning from this paragon of leadership? The lyrics to his "Thug Love" for instance, include a repeating theme voiced by the women of Destiny's Child that say "a thug is what I want, a thug is what I need". Look for thug in the dictionary and you'll find it defined as "a cruel or vicious ruffian, robber or murderer". Great to know that's what this great artist is helping to teach both genders to accept in their understanding of gender roles.
Pupatello and her website may just be preaching to the converted. Any girl who is being raised with the ability to see herself and her gender as more than just a second-class decoration on some male's arm is already learning that life will present her with lots of challenges to prove she has more intellect than a doormat and more worth than a trophy. She already has adults behind her who are there to help her when she gets some dogshit from the lawn of life on her shoes. They wouldn't expect her to go it alone, so if she did end up cruising this site, you can bet they'd be right there to discuss it with her.
The ones who really need help, both the females and the males are likely to pay the site little attention. They've already bought into the current way of thinking that puts girls on the passenger seat of the motorbike and it's unlikely they'd find enough courage to challenge that from the cutesy little presentations offered on the Ontario government's website.
How is anyone going to get any of this crapcan state of affairs changed? Try publicly bemoaning the current state of societally-sanctioned gender roles and listen to the shit you'll get dumped on your head. I don't think Pupatello's agency has any more chance of success than a snowball in hell.

Itty-Bitties

One of the students I tutor is a young gentleman in grade eight. Recently he was given a creative writing assignment and the story line he was crafting needed the presence of an Intelligence Service. He immediately decided the CIA was what he needed but I suggested he look to CSIS instead, since they certainly filled the bill and, even better, were Canadian to boot.
When shown the rough draft of his work, his teacher challenged him on the agency. She said she had never heard of them and suggested he revert to use of the CIA, since "that way everyone will know what you're talking about."
You know, I can understand a kid being unaware of the existence of CSIS, but a Canadian adult? OK, so she's never heard of them before, live and learn, right? The big problem for me with her response was telling the lad to name the American counterpart in his story. What is the rationale behind that, if I might ask? She still doesn't believe him? She's too damn lazy to type the acronym into Google and learn something new? She's living in the wrong country and really should move south of the 49th so she can kiss American ass unhindered by geographical distance?
Somebody explain this moron to me, please.


While we're on the topic of willfully staying mired in ignorance, the Vatican has come out with another one of its summit pronouncements, declaring that the clergy has to be celibate in order to properly fulfill their duties.
Have they not noticed the great job done by countless married protestant clergy? Have they not noticed the case after endless case of charges of child abuse brought against so many of their "celibate" clergy?
Top prelates met with the Poop to discuss the issue and decided to reaffirm the "value of the choice of priestly celibacy". I know, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? It's just that someone's got to get word somehow to His Holiness, Benny the Brain-Dead, that the RC institution is indeed broke, big time.


One more entry on shoving your head in the sand and refusing to look up - this one from Mario Dumont, leader of l'Action Democratique du Quebec. He and his ilk want to take a giant step back in time, to the good ol' days of New France. In the colony's early days, there was great concern about populating la Nouvelle France with enough enfants to remove the threat of any other ethnic group (read the english, especially) coming out on top in the census.
Wow, the more things change, the more they remain just the same, no?
Dumont proposes a payment of $5,000. to be made to women when they give birth to more than three bebes. Granted, in the 1600's a family had to have ten or more living children before they received any monetary recognition of their fecundity, so I suppose Dumont feels all modern and up-to-date by setting his sights on three little francophone munchkins. Somebody needs to whisper a few facts about over-population in this moron's ear.
Come on, Mr. Mentalement-Defie Dumont, take a look around. It's 2006, not 1606.


In keeping with the theme above of how those in authority do not always seem to require funtioning brains in order to keep their position, check out the Executive Coloring Book. I think it makes a great wrap-up to my entry.

With Apologies to Mahatma

One of the greatest souls in the history of humankind, Mahatma Gandhi, declared "an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind". I kept a poster of him displayed on my classroom wall with those very words inscribed across the bottom and I tried each year to inculcate my students with an understanding of this noble sentiment.
Try as I might, however, to light my little candle against the darkness, there are so many out there who have no concept at all of what the great soul meant with his words. I just read about three of them today. I try hard, really I do, when I encounter such stories as this one, to maintain a hold on my belief in the words of Gandhi, but it is hard. It is damned hard.
A suspected Islamic militant assured judges in Jakarta on Wednesday that he and his two co-defendants, Lilik Purnomo and Irwanto Irano, were really just misunderstood pussycats, the type you'd want to take home to dinner with Mom. After all, said he, he and his buddies were just looking for a little good old-fashioned revenge when they beheaded three christian girls as they were making their way to school on Sulawesi, an Indonesian island torn apart by religious violence. The deed wasn't done to their satisfaction until they had carried the heads some distance from the bodies, leaving one of them outside a church.
The man talking to the judge had no problems with admitting to taking part in the beheadings. The defendant, Hasanuddin, goes by only the one name - delusions of being Bono, anyone? "I was indeed involved in the beheadings", he declared.
No, his problem lies in being understood, or rather, misunderstood. The good Hasanuddin was concerned that the court should understand his noble personality. "We are not cold-blooded killers", he affirmed. It's just that he felt authorities were failing to take appropriate action to avenge the deaths of Muslims.
With such blatant disregard for human life being flaunted, with such callous and uncaring cold being aimed at children, I damn well lose sight of the great one's words and begin getting all kinds of ideas for the sentence I would like to see handed down to these animals. Can I share the one I like best?
I imagine it would hold true of the victims' parents, that they are not cold-blooded killers either, so of course, I don't imagine they would want to impose the death penalty. I think a fitting alternative might be to let the bereaved families dictate which body parts should be lopped off of these warm and caring cutthroats. Maybe a couple of judicious swipes with a machete could result in three warmer, gentler hatchet men. A couple of well-placed amputations could help them view the world and their place in it in a whole new light. In order to assure them that none of this was being done without the very best of intentions, perhaps they could be given the say as to where their dismembered parts would be placed.

I am sorry, oh great soul.

Can We Talk?

Today's news brings the story of a major decision made by Ofcom, independent regulator and competition authority for the UK communications industries. They have decided to enforce a total ban on advetising for junk food in and around all programmes of appeal to those under the age of 16.
An original proposal had suggested the regulation might target only the under-9-years group. With the greater age range, the ban will now include youth-oriented and adult programmes deemed likely to appeal to children, as well as the obvious children's channels. The content of such ads will also be regulated to ban the use of celebrities and cartoon characters.
Of course, there has been a great hue and cry raised in response. It's easy enough to imagine the protests being spluttered about by the ISBA, the representative body of marketing communicators in the UK. They proclaim their mission to be to "defend advertisers' freedom to advertise". Their homepage declares that membership with them is open to all through an annual subscription "based on a small proportion of their advertising spend". Since current estimates place the impact on total broadcast revenues at £39m per year, it's not too much of a challenge to put all that together and see why they have come out in opposition to the ban, denouncing it as being "influenced by political opinion." The impact on their membership fees is, of course, the last thing on their noble, collective mind.
At the other end of things is the National Heart Foundation. Paul Lincoln, chief executive of the NHF says that, "The UK currently has the highest rates of child obesity in Europe." Present trends in England would see half of all children being obese by the yeay 2020. One in ten six-year-olds are already classed as obese. These facts make it easy to understand why the NHF and many other health organizations wanted the ban to cover all programming until nine o'clock in the evening.
It would seem to me that this is yet another issue of whether or not groups can see past the short-term gain. The junk-food industry sees their profits lying on the line. They don't seem to see any of the longer-term issues. Those children they're pushing their garbage at right now will grow up to be adults someday, and quite possibly adults with a whole range of health problems stemming from their obese childhood. Do these advertising types give any thought to the strain on health-care systems a whole age cohort of sickly adults could impose? The money to fund the system will have to come from "somewhere", and one of those somewheres will be their pockets. At least, they had better hope it will. If it doesn't, because the strain has proven to be too much and public health care has collapsed, they would be fools to think they could keep the wolves from their doors. Sooner or later, a society that can not provide for its own, will turn on its own.
I suppose you have to consider the possibility that junk food manufacturers are like some drug dealers. They may sell the stuff, but they eschew any and all use of it themselves. Do you suppose that the junk providers keep themselves and their children strictly away from all indulgence in their own products? Wouldn't that be quite the juicy news tidbit to publicize?
At the same time as all this brouhaha is swirling about across the pond, comes word of another excess in indulgence to do the junk food pundits proud. Apparently one Abel Gonzales, a computer analyst from Dallas, has come up with a new artery-murdering delicacy - fried coke. No, no, don't clean your glasses or rub your eyes, you read it right. Being the dedicated type he is, Mr. Gonzales made about 15 false starts before he finally hit on just the 'right' recipe. His batter mix is made with Coca-Cola syrup, strawberry syrup (the real thing, Mr. Gonzales, or a happy little chemical mixture that bears as much resemblance to strawberries as 10W40 does?) and some strawberries.
Ping-pong ball-sized glops of this concoction are deep-fried and dumped in a cup to be served with a topping of Coca-Cola syrup, whipped cream, cinnamon sugar and a cherry. Humanitarian Abel (next year he plans a version made with diet coke) debuted his deep-fried delight at the Texas State Fair this fall. It was a "huge" success, according to Sue Gooding, a Fair spokeswoman. I just wonder if her use of the word huge refers to the product sales or the size of the Texans waddling away with a cup of this waistline-widening offal.
Having read both of these stories this morning, I'm wondering if we couldn't get all of these good folks together somehow. As a firm believer in compromise, I have a suggestion to make that might clear up the whole UK advertising problem, (and by extension, that of every other country that boasts junk food media ads aimed at kids.) Sitting down together to share a little refreshment and a little talk can fix a lot of problems, so I think representatives from both sides of the conflict should come to a meeting held on neutral ground, like say the Texas Fair grounds. Abel could bring some of his fried coke to serve to the junk food people and the health concern types could bring along some tread mills. While the advertisers munch their snacks of health-busting balls, they could take up position on the tread mills. The machines should be started off at a speed that would necessitate an easy jog from the users. Every additional ball they ingest would meandoublingg the speed setting. As they begin to lose their footing and get fired backward off the machines, the health-concern reps could scrape them off the back wall and gently return them to the table.
The next simple step would be to explain to them the new research conducted at Indiana University that suggests immediate exercise can counter the effects of overindulgence, and suggest to them a whole new set of ads based on that research. The new promos would show obese juvenile indulgers in their junk products bouncing and jouncing their way around the circuit of machines at a gym. Close-ups of florid jowls wobbling back and forth should be complimented by a soundtrack of the corpulent kiddies wheezing for breath. Ads like that would not have to be restricted in any way. The ban could be lifted, making the ISBA members deliriously happy, and the shots of happy faces shining out at the viewers from the insides of the gym would mollify the health-conscious.
Hey presto! Smiles all around.

A Tiring Problem Solved

Here's an absolutely great idea out of California that should be phased into use in every city, everywhere.
Richard Caleriano, Public Works Inspector for the city of Santa Monica, gets the credit for coming up with the idea of rubber sidewalks. Made of 100% recycled tire rubber (11 lbs/square foot, an average passenger tire) have now been installed in more than 60 cities and are available for municipal and private use. There are apparently an approximate 30 more cities preparing to lay down some rubber in 2007.
"The resources of the earth are limited. Recycling is limited only by our imagination and effort.", proclaims the website of RUBBERSIDEWALKS.INC. They're right, so you have to wonder why there are only 30 cities lining up to take advantage of this terrific idea.
Initial cost of the rubber sidewalks is approximately one-third higher than concrete, so you know that will be enough to deter those incapable of seeing anything more than the short-term. For those willing to investigate past that stumbling block, they will find that the new sidewalks can last more than twice as long as concrete walkways laid near trees, where invasive root systems can lift up concrete, necessitating the whole sidewalk's demolition and replacement. Rubber sidewalks can be repaired.
The rubber version also offers more than one environmental advantage. Like concrete, rubber pavers warm up in sunlight, but they reach a lower temperature than concrete does, and they retain less heat. Might this help absolve them of any blame in regard to global warming?
Another advantage can best be seen from up close - really close - like when you've taken a fall on one. Though they are just as hard and durable as concrete walks, rubbers are more resilient, so they provide a fall that is just a little less likely to injure than their concrete counterparts do.
The makers of rubber sidewalks promote their product as a saviour of the urban forest. Because tree roots can lift concrete, "problem trees" are likely to be cut down, but rubber pavers can be lifted for tree root trimming and then replaced, allowing the tree to retain its place in the sun without damage to its health or to the municipal budget.
Each five square feet of Rubbersidewalks keeps five tires out of landfill. Ontario's tire stats are nothing to be proud of, since we throw out nearly 13 million car and truck tires each year and half or more end up in dumps. The ministry of the environment currently estimates there to be five million tires stockpiled in various locations throughout the province. One place you'll find approximately 340,000 of them is in a site near London, in southwest Middlesex.
Anyone who lives near one of these sites has to deal with the ongoing concern that there might be a repeat of the Hagersville fire. In that environmental disaster, fire broke out on February 12th, 1990, and burned for 17 days. It was fuelled by 12.6 million tires stockpiled there, and was responsible for 1,700 people living within a four kilometre (2.4 mile radius) of the dump being evacuated for the duration of the fire. 25 people had their water supply contaminated for a three month time-span. Liquid residue containing such pollutants as benzene, toluene, and styrene contaminated 4.5 hectares (10.8 acres) of land. Between 12,000 to 15,000 litres (2,250 to 3,375 gallons) of oil are estimated to have made their way into the water table.
What is there to prevent another Hagersville? Maybe contacting the good folks at Rubbersidewalks might be a good idea for Premier McGuinty to consider. If they opened a facility here, it would benefit so many in so many ways. The dump sites currently filled with tires would gradually be cleaned up, and a lot of local people could find employment in the doing. The ground water would be safer and so would our urban trees, as well as the good Premier himself. Wouldn't all those who voted him into office feel better just knowing that if he took a fall on the sidewalk outside his office, he'd be much less likely to hurt his little self on a rubber walk?
If you're still with me after all the above, I'm going to guess you might just be a reader who would care enough to take my next suggestion to heart. Why not take a few minutes to contact the minister of the environment and say, "hey! how about laying down a little rubber?" It might do some good. If you feel inspired, here's how:

To write to the Minister of the Environment:

The Honourable Laurel C. Broten
Minister of the Environment
12th Floor, 135 St. Clair Avenue West
Toronto, Ontario
M4V 1P5

E-mail the Minister of the Environment at : http://www.ene.gov.on.ca/forms/email-form.php

Telephone at : (416) 314-6790
Fax at : (416) 314-7337

Ottawa Treaty Day Is Coming!

So what, you say? Well, the Ottawa Treaty, formally known as the Convention of the Prohibition of the Use, Stockpiling, Production and Transfer of Anti-Personnel Mines, offers an absolutely wonderful way for teachers to maintain the momentum toward peace created in many a classroom by Remembrance Day. That momentum can be carried through to the upcoming Christmas season.
If taking action toward achieving the "peace to end all wars" is something a teacher feels is worthwhile for their students to get involved in, then Dec. 3rd will give them the perfect opportunity. If making their students aware of just how blessed they are to live in North America and encouraging them to share their good fortune seems like a good way to spend some time and effort, all any teacher needs to do to access a wealth of ideas is follow this link.
The above link will take you to the Canadian Landmine Foundation's webpage, that invites visitors to "clear a path to a safer world". That slogan can become the banner under which a class works to contribute to the peace everyone thinks so longingly of on Remembrance Day. Don't let that one day be an isolated event, please.
Estimates place the number of landmines in the soil of at least 70 countries at a staggering 45 to 50 million. Those mines maim or kill 10,000 civilians every year. Students can click here to learn more about landmines and the horror they represent. The students' youthful idealism can be a wonderful resource in the fight against the neverending danger. Once they realize, "The landmine is eternally prepared to take victims.", many students will be more than willing to roll up their sleeves and get involved.
The list of activities suggested by the Landmine Foundation includes some terrific ideas. The window display is perfect for art students; writing a drama on the topic will work great for language arts' students and those in performing arts programs. The ideas there might kick-start the imagination of your students and they'll be given honourable mention next year, just like the kids at a Newmarket, Ontario, High School have been for their "Put a Cap on Landmines" idea.
The power of activism is always a good concept to impart to young people. Challenge your class - extend the challenge to the whole school - to write letters to the President of the mighty U. S. of A. They are one of the 40 countries yet to sign the treaty. Your young activists could lend their voices to the chorus of the 154 countries who have signed the treaty.
Starting now would give you and your class more than enough time to do something of lasting value. We all need teachers to get on board with this idea so they can help their class to make the world a better place, indeed. Caring enough to reach out to others is one of the very best examples a teacher can ever set.

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

Last Saturday presented me with a very emotional morning. After attending what was for me a very emotional ceremony at the cenotaph at Toronto's Old City Hall, I stepped into a Tim Horton's to buy a cup of coffee. Standing at the door, holding it open for all who walked in or out, was a homeless gentleman.
The wind was blowing a fine rain steadily into his face, and trying its best to get the damp past the paper-thin coat secured at his throat with a poppy. His left hand held the door; his right held an old paper cup to catch any change that Timmy's customers might feel inspired to give. He shook visibly with the cold, but it didn't stop him from greeting every person that passed with "Have a good day!" Few responded, either with words or with coins. I thanked him for holding the door and entered the shop.
After two hours of standing at the cenotaph, I felt myself to be chilled right through. I looked at him and wondered how many hours he might have been standing at his post. While I wrapped my hands around the warm cup and inhaled the fragrance of the brew, I wondered what had brought him to such a state of affairs. I knew it might have been his own doing, but it could just as easily have been circumstances beyond his control, and my passing judgment was nothing that he needed.
The words of the hymns from the ceremony were still singing themselves in my mind, all of them cries for help from the Almighty. I began to think that this man was likely questioning whether the Almighty was aware of his need or not. I certainly was and I needed to do something about it.
Just before I rose from my seat, a woman entered the shop. As he held the door for her and extended the cup, she used a belligerent voice to demand of him why he didn't give her some money. Why should she give him anything, she bellowed. He shrank back against the wall behind him and hunched his shoulders almost as though to ward off a blow.
Then I approached the door and he hurried to open it. Stepping outside, I commented to him on just how cold the weather was and asked him if a hot meal would be helpful. Fot the first time, he raised his eyes to my face and said that it would be wonderful. I asked him please to step inside and come to the counter with me, to order a meal. As we waited in line, he stood silently beside me and I thought a little conversation might lighten the moment, so I told him where I had just been. He said he had been there too. His father had served in the infantry during the Second World War, he told me, and said that he went to the cenotaph every year, to remember his dad. I told him my dad had been in the Navy in the same conflict, and there was suddenly a feeling of camaraderie, of common ground for us.
When it was our turn, I invited him to place his order and he asked for a serving of chili. The man behind the counter suggested we take the combo, which meant that for a "better price" than items ordered singly, he could have coffee and a doughnut as well. That sounded just right, as I assured both men. The sale was rung up and I brought out my wallet. The total was $5.92 and I had a twenty in hand. I looked for two pennies but found I had none. The hungry man beside me reached into his paper cup, brought out two pennies and extended them to me, with a smile. I thanked him, took them and passed them on to the server. The change was a few cents, two toonies, and two fives. I took the fives and offered the toonies to the man at my side. He took them and gave me another smile in return.
I made to leave him then, at the counter, and wished him a good day before I went back to my seat. As I sat down again, I was overwhelmed with such deep sadness. I thought of the last smile I had seen on his face, and how for just a moment I had seen the young man he had been, looking out at the world with confidence, before it turned on him. I couldn't stay the tears from my eyes. I gave my momentary fiend what I felt to be the respect of not looking over at him as he ate. Why should he be watched, more than any other customer there might expect to be?
I stemmed my tears then and began to give thanks. I thanked my creator that I had been allowed to be there when one of my brothers needed help and I gave thanks that I was blessed with the wherewithal to offer the help that I did.
I know my action would have resulted in a warmly filled stomach for the man I met. More than that, I'm hoping it would have given him a warmly filled heart for a little while. I'm hoping the smiles I gave back to him would have stayed with him for a while and acted as his shield against the likes of the woman who was so heartless in the face of his need. May she never find herself shivering in a doorway, hoping for others to drop a few coins of charity into her outstretched hand.

We Will Remember Them

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

I've been working with my literacy student for over a year, and so it was last November when I discovered that something missing from his store of background knowledge was any awareness of the two World Wars. I set about to correct a little of that then and continued with the task again this year. After a great deal of work, we both agreed that a good way to end our study on the topic would be to attend the ceremony of remembrance held at Toronto's Old City Hall.
We met, as prearranged, at the King & Yonge Street streetcar stop, and headed off to City Hall through a fine rain that continued to mist down on us through most of the outing. The wind was just strong enough to blow the mist in our faces and add to the ever-increasing feeling of cold discomfort.
When we arrived at the cenotaph, there was still room enough for us to stand just three or four people back from the cordoned-off area. It didn't matter to him how close or not we might have been, but it did for me because I wanted to see everything going and describe it all to him. We stood for half an hour and waited while the colours parties marched in and all the other participants took up their positions. Then a lone bugler wafted the mournful notes of the Last Post out over the crowd, and things were underway.
Elegiac tolling sounded from the City Hall bell tower eleven times, and then a lone bugler wafted the mournful notes of the Last Post out over the crowd. The assemblage observed two minutes of silence; a silence all the more deep and profound because of the size of the crowd in attendance. All roads leading to the busy intersection had been blocked off to traffic and the space filled to overflowing with a press of respectful spectators.
The silence was lifted by a kiltie from the 48th Highlanders. Since he was standing just to our right as he played a lament, every note made its way to our ears with crystal clarity. As the piper played, I could see a veteran who bore a chest full of medals standing close to him . The vet stood at attention, with a hand raised in salute, likely to fallen comrades. This brave warrior made no attempt to brush away the tears that trickled down his cheeks. By this time I was in tears too. Humankind has endured so much heartbreak; lost so many good people to wars. When will it all end?
As the ceremony continued, hymns were sung; the mayor spoke; and a padre said words of prayer. Two students approached a mike and recited the poem "In Flanders Fields" before a long procession began, bearing a multitude of wreaths to be laid at the cenotaph. Although I had regained my composure before the wreath laying began, I lost it again when the white-haired Silver Cross Mother was helped by two young military personnel to add her wreath to the growing pile.
I did my best to describe everything to my young companion as the ceremony wound its way down to its conclusion. I hope he gained something of value from our outing. When it was all over, we joined the many people in the crowd who moved forward to add the poppies from their coat lapels to the wreaths laid on the rectangle of grass. As we approached them, the heady scent of fresh flowers rose to greet us.
So many blossoms; so many deaths.
In his address, Mayor Miller paraphrased the misnomer given to the first world war and told the crowd of his heartfelt wish for a peace to end all wars. As we walked away from the cenotaph, I couldn't help despairing that humankind will ever find themselves in such an Eden.

Swing Those Jingle Bells, Boys!

Here's one for you insecure males, I mean, big macho men who feel it necessary to make a sizable statement about your assets. "Wonderjock" underwear, for men who feel a little unsure about the perceived value of their equipment, has just been launched by AussieBum, down-under's purveyor of fine undies for men. "When size and comfort really matter" says their ad, the discerning jock will reach for a pair of wonderjock with their "ball/extension support technology".
No, I'm not making that up. Just follow the link, and you'll see it yourself. Paraphrasing the fast food industry, the company suggests their customers "upsize" to the wonderjock, so that the size-enhancing briefs can have them "seriously looking bigger".
Nothing new under the sun, right? Just think back to the codpiece of King Henry the Eighth's England. Early hose, similar to today's tights, were made open at the crotch and worn by men with a doublet, a jacke-type garment which hung down over the handy-dandy exit. However, when fashion dictated shorter doublets, men often found themselves swinging in the breeze, so codpieces were added. Originally they were simply a small bag meant to hold the family jewels. Fastened on with ties at the opening of the hose, they soon presented themselves to some wag as a wonderful opportunity to make grandiose claims. The bag was enlarged and enlarged again. To maintain the (self?)deception, it was padded with ever greater amounts of bombast. Even that word adds its own touch to this tale. The dictionary now defines the word as "pretentious (emphasis my own); speech too pompous for an occasion", but in Henry's day it meant fabric used as stuffing.
Underwear meant to "separate and lift"? We've all heard men making fun of the women's bras that made the same claim, and yet, now they're buying this cocky little contrivance in droves. Come on guys, why not be a little more brave? Try something really different. Take a page from the book of the Spanish-Hapsburg court that took the pieces to a vertical shaping. Make yourself some codpieces and tie them on the front of your jeans. You can stuff them to your heart's content, and outdo each other to beat the band. Go for it, guys.

Keep 'Em or Kill 'Em?

Results just released from a small study funded by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development strongly suggest that SIDS, also known as "crib death" may be caused by brain stem abnormalities. Marian Willinger, a SIDS researcher hails the study, saying it "should take the guilt away from any parent (who wonders) 'What did I do wrong?'" The hope from this study is that it will lead to diagnostic tests that could identify infants at risk, allowing their parents to take the necessary precautions.
At the same time as this news is breaking, comes word from across the pond that The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynecology is suggesting the use of euthanasia on newborns who have sever brain damage and/or major physical problems. The recommendation, including both active and passive (the withholding of lifesaving medical treatment) euthanasia, was one of a list made to the Nuffield Council on Bioethics, an independent body that examines ethical issues raised by new developments in biology and medicine.
The group feels their suggestion to be valuable for two reasons: they feel it would help to eliminate both late-term abortions, and the financial, social and emotional drain on the family that such a child would impose. Says the Royal College, "A very disabled child can mean a disabled family."
Of course, there has been immediate protest over the announcement. The protests just don't seem that well thought out. The passive killing, it would seem to me, is already a possibility in England where it is legal for a doctor to withhold treatment when it is supposedly in the best interest of the patient. Isn't that exactly what passive euthanasia is?
The other problem with the whole predictable firestorm of protest is the prevailing societal attitude toward abortion. Let me say first that I am not in favour of abortion on demand. I think that to take a life simply because you were too goddamn lazy to use birth control is inexcusable. I do think, on the other hand, that in cases of rape or danger posed to the mother's life, it should be available. I would not presume to judge a woman who made such a difficult choice. Having said that, however, I freely admit that as a teacher, I always taught my students that seeking out an abortion was the same as saying, "Doctor, I want to make an appointment for you to kill my baby." For me, there is not point of time, other than at conception, at which a "mass of foetal tissue" becomes a baby. It is a human from the moment the successful sperm makes the acquaintance of the ovum. Therefore, whether the baby has gestated to a certain umber of weeks r not; whether it has made its appearance fisrt rsin a delivery room or not makes no difference. It is still killing.
That is why I see little difference between the question of murdering a baby who has descended the birth canal and one who has not yet made the journey. I think the question of euthanasia is a slippery slope down to population controls that we might all regret should they ever gain free rein. Isn't it in part why the allies fought Hitler?
I think that our society needs to do a great deal more soul-searching about the value it places on human life. I can not see how you can successfully draw the line between those medicine will struggle mightily to save and those it will consign to the junk heap.
I think of some of the young riders I see at CARD, a riding for the disabled association active in our community. I think of some of the stories told by the mothers with whom I sat and chatted while their sons and/or daughters spent an hour on horseback. One big smile in particular comes to mind. It was worn every week by a four-year-old girl who was totally dependent, physically. She had only the size of a one-year-old and had difficulty communicating evidence of whether or not she possessed a brain that functioned at the appropriate level. Her mother told a heart-wrenching story of going into labour far too early and delivering a baby that arrived weighing just over one kilogram. With tears in her eyes, the mother told of the team of doctors who tried to advise her to let the baby die. "She'll never do anything normal", they told her. The mother insisted on treatment for her little one and then fled the hospital as soon as she and the baby were able to do so.
Yes, she was offered the easy way out and instead chose a life of hard times, but who could presume to say that she should not love her child? By what standards can we make such judgments? I just remember the sound of that child's happiness as she vocalized excitement when her turn to be placed on horseback was announced. I remember the big smiles that wreathed her face every time she came back in from the arena. It seems to me that smiling is doing something very normal.
It is a heartbreak that I can not fully comprehend, to give birth to such a needy child. Neither can I begin to imagine the never-ending demands such a child must make on their parents and family, but surely the decision to accept the child and love them should be the parents' right to make. I fear that the recommendation made by the Royal College and other like-minded individuals may someday lead to a scene where a parent is begging for their child's life, only to have their pleas fall on the deaf ears of a physician who feels justified in deciding that treatment would not be "in the best interests of the patient."

Honour Them Now

Canada has three veterans of World War I still alive - John Babcock and Lloyd Clemett, both 106 years old, and Dwight Wilson, the youngster at just 105 years old. Apparently, the Dominion Institute has begun a campaign to give Canada's last veteran a state funeral, usually reserved for PM's and governor-generals only.
I have to ask why? Why wait for them all to die? Think of the scene if they all took seriously ill at the same time - could you see a member of the Institute standing bedside clutching a stop-watch?
Come on, people, don't wait for these men to die before you pick one to honour. Do something for them while they are still alive to know about it, while they are still here to receive the honour in person. If you must have a state funeral, petition for all three of them to have one. Dear god, just do a little research into the trench warfare of the First World War and you'll get some small idea of what these men endured to keep the rest of us safe.
The Institute has the right idea when they push for "the opportunity to record their (war) memories for posterity" to be given to every living vet. For the same reason that parents who have lost a child to drugs, drunk drivers, or unsafe workplaces tour schools to tell their stories, these men should be telling theirs. The voice of first-hand experience speaks more loudly than any other. Their stories should be recorded and played at every school in the country, starting with students in grade eight. That is one of the last duties they could perform for their country, to help it learn the lessons of the past so it will not be condemned to repeat history. It is one of the present honours their country could be paying them, but it is not enough.
We owe them every honour the country can bestow. We owe it all now. Let's not wait until the final mournful notes of the last post fade away at their funeral.

Welcome to the House of Commons, Don!

Don Cherry took a seat today in the visitor's gallery in the House of Commons and stirred up a mini-brouhaha by doing so. His presence was recognized by Speaker Peter Milliken and the fuss started.
Many of the MP's cheered and clapped for the HNIC icon, but several Bloc Quebecois MP's booed loudly. Their noses have been out of joint, apparently, for the last two years since Cherry's comments on one airing of HNIC, when he supposedly impugned the honour of the French Canadian players by saying they are the only ones who wear visors. Actually, I was there when he made the comments. I usually am, since Coach's Corner is something I won't willingly miss. He didn't aim his barbs at the French only. He included the Europeans in his scorn.
I disagree with him on this one, since I think keeping your eyes safe is the most important thing for any player and if wearing a visor will guarantee that, I say give one to every player who laces up and make it required wear. Whether I disagree with him on this one or not,however, I still have great respect for the man. He didn't make it to a high level of formal education, so his turn-of-phrase isn't always the most polished and sophisticated, it's true, but the man is Canadian through and through. He loves his country above all and that depth of patriotism comes across in every thing he says and does. He's got a heart of gold and supports too many causes to detail here, but his involvement with Rose Cherry's Home for Kids, named after his late wife, speaks eloquent volumes about the man. He really is a "diamond in the rough".
When Liberal MP complained that Cherry should not have been introduced because of his "denigration" of French Canadians, he sounded like a little crybaby. Cherry denigrates no-one because of their race or ethnicity, but he will let his feelings be known about those who don't come up to his perceived standards of hockey heroes. That's what he's all about. Always has been, always will be. He has made it to icon status, and he is the age he is.
Why don't you peevish-pantywaist MP's spend your time on something a little more worth the time? Quit your whining about Don Cherry's comments.

Eye Protection for Dogs

I just found out about these "doggles" and I thought I'd share the news.
Doggles are UV-protection lenses designed and manufactured expressly for the canine in your life. The product is protected by three patents, so don't get any copycat ideas.
The manufacturers proudly proclaim their products to be "worn by working dogs all over the world" and name Border Patrol Dogs and Search and Rescue Dogs as fashion-leading examples.
The doggles come in 10 colours and a range of 5 sizes that will fit dogs from 2 to 200 lbs. The same wunderhunds make K9 Optix Sunglasses for Dogs and offer matching "human" sunglasses so you and the pooch can make a joint fashion statement. Both styles of canine eyewear offer 100% UV protection and both are shatterproof, but only the Doggles offer an anti-fog feature.
Their motto declares them to be "protecting the world - one dog at a time". If they sound like people you need to check out, here's their online emporium.

Menopause-ing in Peace

Someone was asking me lately if I had any helpful hints to offer her as she begins to experience some of the less pleasant manifestations of menopause. (I refuse to say "symptoms" because I think the word is indicative of at least a small part of many women's difficulties with menospause.) Modern medicine, in all its patriarchal wisdom, uses the term "symptoms" as though menopause were a disease. It is not. It is a natural part of a female's lifetime and the medical establishment should not be in such a hurry to tamper with it.
Having said that, I would add that some things have simply to be weathered, like a passing storm. Being in too much of a hurry to demand that pharmaceuticals find a "cure" for things like hot flashes can land us in trouble, years after far too many women have taken whatever miracle pill the big-bucks corporations come up with. Take a look at HRT. There are some natural aids that can give a little relief.
Now, before you start hollering at me that herbs are drugs, too, let me emphasize the "give a little relief" approach. I am not claiming miracles, but I am saying that a natural substance, used with care, can be a whole lot better than a lab-concoction that comes along with some truly nasty potential side-effects. Again, think of HRT.
So, if you're interested, here's what I told my friend.
First of all, have a cup of chamomile tea every evening because it is generally helpful for symptoms of PMS. It can also help soothe you to sleep, especially if you sip it just before you tuck yourself in for the night.
Beware dong quai. People may advise you to try it but it has been found to cause abdominal bloating in some people. You might not be thus affected, however, so experiment if you want.
Red clover and chaste berry, which you can get in tablet form, are phytoestrogenics. so they can help with menopausal pitfalls. Read labels carefully if you're going to buy any herbs. They should have no fillers and not be sprayed with pesicides. Watch out for brands that contain "ethylene glycol" (antifreeze). Make your purchases at a store where the staff are knowledgeable enough to be able to answer all the questions you should ask about contents.
Finally, look into magnesium. You want a magnesium from citrate and SISU is a good brand to get. Their Mag-Citrate is available in a 100 mg capsule, but this blog is not a product endorsement, so you go with whatever brand you prefer.
Pre- and especially post-menopausal women need more magnesium; are more likely to suffer from a deficiency thereof, so taking it daily is a good habit to get into.
To have an idea of how much you need to take, use your weight to start your calculations. If you know it in pounds, divide first by 2.2, but if you already know it in kilograms, you're off to the races! The average need is to have a daily dose of 6 mg magnesium per kg of body weight, so multiply your 2-point-2 figure by 6. Be aware that most diets provide approximately 120 mg per 1,000 calories ingested, and take it from there.
Do not take the pills with a meal 'cause the food interferes with their bioavailability. Taking them at bedtime is a good way to go. Start with one-100 mg a night for a week and then up it to two. If you want to be a little more cautious, head to Shoppers and get a bottle of Jamieson brand magnesium (simply because they make a 50 mg teeny-weeny tablet) and take 150 at bed. Just be aware that the Jamieson pills are not as readily bioavailable to your system.
Be ready to experiment a little before you find the combo that best helps you. Remember that prescription drugs work the same way. Sometimes you have to abandon a first prescription because of adverse side effects. A lot of people seem to think that "naturals" should work instantly and if they don't, they take that as proof that they don't work at all.
Give it a try. Then, you decide.

Well, here's proof that black cats are not bad luck.
The Toronto Humane Society says it has learned to put off adoptions of black cats during the week leading up to Hallowe'en because in previous years, there has been a spate of black cat adoptions during that time, followed by a glut of abandoned and returned black cats on Nov. 1st. Apparently some idiots "adopt" the animals just to use them as Hallowe'en decorations.
If the animals really were capable of all that has been ascribed to them, those who tried to use them as party decorations would find fresh dog do-do in their cereal the next morning.