POSTING # 7:

Three Major Issues Facing Niagara-on-the-Lake, Including Virgil; Some Highlights from Hilton Head; Starting a Nuclear Reactor in the United Kingdom; Will They Miss the Boat?; Word Problems; Wish I Had Had a Camera; Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)


Three Major Issues Facing Niagara-on-the-Lake, Including Virgil


You move to a new area---as we have done---and want to be a good citizen with considered opinions on the key issues concerning the residents of your new community.

That’s the ideal, but it is not always easy to live up to it.

There are three issues dividing the community at the moment and the two weekly newspapers are full of editorials, articles and letters about them. We are having a tough time figuring out which arguments are valid and which are just special pleading.

Here are the issues (they may well remind you of issues you have faced or are facing in your own communities):

1. Whether the Niagara District Secondary School, located in Niagara-on-the-Lake, should be closed and the students bused to St. Catharines. (The School Board favours this but many parents are objecting while other parents are quietly transferring their children to St. Catharines’ high schools where, it is claimed, the standards may be higher.)
2. Whether the new, state-of-the-art, centre-of-excellence Niagara hospital should be built in the western end of St. Catharines or in a more southerly municipality, closer to patients from places such as Fort Erie and Port Colborne.
3. Whether Project Niagara should be allowed to go ahead. The National Arts Centre and the Toronto Symphony Orchestras are proposing to launch in 2012 (the bicentenary of the start of the war of 1812) a 17 week international musical festival outdoors in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Promoters say that this Tanglewood North, on the shore of Lake Ontario with the Toronto skyline as a backdrop will bring in millions of dollars and many new jobs but some people wonder what the increased number of people and cars would do to the character of the town. (I wonder if the first program will include the 1812 Overture---just asking.)


Some Highlights from Hilton Head

The economic crisis has begun to have an impact on even the affluent residents of Hilton Head (HH).

A retired professional who moved to HH from the north 14 years ago and has been going annually to Africa as a volunteer at his own expense told us that he will have to stop doing that. His savings are dwindling away as the stock market tanks.

An article in the local paper told retired couples how to adjust to reduced income by, for example, having pot luck dinners with friends instead of going out to eat, by shopping at thrift stores and by using coupons.

The restaurants are fighting back with more early bird specials and the clothing stores are offering some amazing buys (we went down with 3 suitcases and had to buy a 4th for the trip home. (While we were buying our suitcase---at a thrift store---a man was getting help carrying a huge carpet out to his car. The store clerk asked whether his car would hold the carpet and the man replied that he was sure it would, it was a Cadillac Escalade.)

The County Sheriff had a press briefing on increasing crime, even in ‘gated’ communities. “Criminals are criminals, thugs are thugs but in hard times good people sometimes do bad things.” He encouraged people to lock their cars and homes. (Not far from our condo, a thief entered an unlocked 2008 Range Rover, and took a handbag worth $2000, which contained $400 in cash and a cell phone.)


Starting a Nuclear Reactor in the United Kingdom

Listening to pundits challenging the Obama economists to tell them exactly how and when the stimulus package and bank bail out will work reminds me of a story a friend tells.

As a nuclear physicist working on one of Britain’s first nuclear power stations, he helped load the reactor with uranium rods and whatever else is needed to make a reactor work (I am really out of my depth here). Outsiders kept asking him and the other physicists when the reactor would start to work. The answer was that they couldn’t release that information, implying that the experts knew exactly when the reactor would start but couldn’t tell because of security concerns.

In fact, the experts had no idea when the reactor would begin. It would start when it was ready.

To while away the time, the physicists set up a secret office pool in which they guessed not just the hour and minute, but the day, the reactor would come alive! The reactor eventually did come alive and as far as I know is still functioning.

I feel sorry for Obama’s economists. Even though the laws of physics may not allow one to predict exactly when a reactor will start, they explain much more than the ‘laws’ of economics. How does one predict the impact that human emotions such as greed, fear, distrust, envy, anger or confidence will have on an economy?

Perhaps we should just let the economists get on with their tough and absolutely critical task.

Will They Miss the Boat?

Talking about Britain, Pat and I finished our London posting in 1966 and prepared to return to Canada by sea with our two sons, one three years old and the other 9 months. Friends, another couple from the Canadian High Commission, were travelling on the same ship with two girls about the same age as our boys. (In those days, it was cheaper to travel by sea than air and the government allowed only deputy ministers to fly.)

The four of us and the children were sitting in a waiting room at dockside in Liverpool, having already checked in the baggage that wouldn’t be required during the voyage. We were waiting for officials from British Immigration and the shipping company to arrive to check our passports and tickets. I reached into my briefcase to check, for the umpteenth time, that I had the passports and tickets.

My colleague watched me and then blurted out, “Oh my god!”

He said he had put his family’s passports and tickets in a suitcase that he had checked as not required during the voyage, and which by now was almost certainly in the hold of the ship.

His wife’s face turned white and the four children, sensing a huge problem, started to cry.

In my work at the High Commission, I had developed friendships with people in both British Immigration and the shipping company and I was frantically trying to think whom I could contact to get permission for our friends to board without their documents. In an era before cell phones, I was having trouble figuring out how to reach the right people before boarding started.

Suddenly, my friend said, “I’ve got an idea.”, and took off.

The officials opened the boarding gates but we, of course, waited with our friend’s wife and her children.

Thirty minutes passed and still no sign of my colleague. Most of the passengers had boarded and tension was mounting.

Then, my friend arrived, waving the documents and we went through the various checks.

Later, in a bar on the ship, our friend told us how he had got the documents.

He had gone down to the dock with the idea of somehow getting into the hold. As he studied the situation he saw that workers carrying bags into the hold wore cloth caps with a large metal badge with a number. As they went up the gangway, a Customs inspector wrote down the number of their badge and admitted them to the ship.

Our friend found a worker waiting to carry some bags onto the ship, took him aside and offered him ten pounds (a very good amount at that time) to borrow his hat. The fellow agreed and our friend left his suit coat and tie with the worker, put on the cap, picked up the bags and went up the gangway. The inspector checked his badge and waved him on.

Once in the hold, he discovered that the luggage was being stored in different sections by alphabet. He located his section, found his bag and took out his documents.

We raised our glasses in praise of his quick thinking!

Word Problems

When I was young, Dad once asked me to go into the house and get the kodak. I had no idea what he was talking about but Mom prompted, “The camera”.

As I went to get the camera, I thought it was a shame that older people couldn’t keep up with the language. No one I knew called a camera a kodak (when Dad was young all the cameras were made by Kodak).

Of course, now the shoe is on the other foot, as we say.

I’m the one who is not keeping up with the changing meaning of words.

For example, I was at the car service centre recently and wanted the technician (I know they are no longer called mechanics) to adjust the head lights because people were flipping their high beams at me. I told the service adviser that people were ‘flashing me’, and I thought I saw a hint of a grin on her face.

When I came back for the car, she said, “We’ve fixed the lights, Mr. Hunter. No one is going to flash you now.”

This time, there was a definite grin, and I finally twigged.

Another example, this week Pat and I were eating at Bob Evans in Niagara Falls NY. I decided that I would have just one bun instead of the usual two they provide and would have a piece of their excellent banana bread instead. As soon as I said the word ‘bun’ to the server I knew I was in trouble. As quickly as I could, I uttered ‘roll’ but it wasn’t quick enough to stop her face going rapidly from puzzlement to amusement.

Travelling to different countries can also, of course, create word problems.

When we lived in England, I wanted to get some sour cream for the baked potatoes we were having with dinner. I went to the dairy counter at the largest department store in Leeds.

“Do you have sour cream?”

“What do you want?”, the clerk said and, with some belligerence, added, “All our cream is fresh.”

I explained about baked potatoes, and after a pause, she said, “Oh, you mean SOURED cream.”

A young friend visiting Canada from the U.S. also had a problem with words. She was studying at one of the libraries at the University of Toronto and asked a woman at the Information Desk for a ‘rest room’.

The woman looked very concerned and said. “Oh dear, it’s not ideal but we have a small room with a cot that we use when we feel ill. You are welcome to use it.”

After some discussion, our friend was directed to a ‘washroom’.

Wish I Had Had a Camera

In a mall this week, I saw a couple of men who were preparing to demonstrate one of those ShamWow-type absorbent cloths that you see on TV. They had spilled some water on the floor and one of the men was cleaning it up with PAPER TOWELS. Wouldn’t that have been great on YouTube?

Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)

Our one and only burglary (touch wood) happened at our home in the Glebe in Ottawa. Pat had been away for an hour in mid-morning picking up a friend. As she came up the porch steps, she saw that the front door was ajar. Alarmed, she pushed open the door and saw coats strewn on the floor.

Without thinking that the burglars might still be in the house, Pat screamed, “Cassidy, what has happened to Cassidy?” and raced for the kitchen.

And there was Cass, crouched on the floor, gnawing on a turkey drumstick thoughtfully provided by the thugs from our fridge.

Pat leaned over to cuddle him and simultaneously tried to pull away the drumstick because, of course, poultry bones can get stuck in a dog’s throat.

Cass growled at her.

Later on, when he had got over the loss of the drumstick, Cass came up to Pat, wagged his tail and sat down, as though he wanted to tell her about the nice people who had come to visit while she was away.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

See you next Sunday for more stories from our family’s universe!

Posting #1

LETTER FROM VIRGIL

INTRODUCTION

“The universe is made of stories, not atoms” (Muriel Rukeyser)

Every family has its universe of stories and this weekly blog, LETTER FROM VIRGIL, will recount some of our family’s stories.

The blog is intended primarily for our grandchildren who must wonder sometimes what kind of weird galaxy the fates have dropped them into. Perhaps the stories will help them find their place in it.

Although the blog is aimed at our family, we would be happy if others in the blogosphere enjoy the stories. We would love to hear from you.

Each posting will start with a few lines about things my wife, Pat, and I have done in the previous week in our new home in the Village of Virgil---a few kilometers from Niagara-on-the-Lake.

But the bulk of each posting will be stories from the past.

The stories won’t be organized in any particular way. We will let them flow the way stories flow after a hearty family dinner as someone says, “Do you remember the time…” And after that story someone else says, “That reminds me of the time…”

Now, here are a few stories.

Where was I?

One of our sons likes to tell bedtime stories about our family dog, Cassidy, a Golden Cocker Spaniel with an attitude. (When we went to choose a dog at the breeders, 3 black pups came running to the door. Then, a little ball of yellow fluff came bounding into the hall, chased by a little girl screaming, “Mom, Cassidy peed on my piano music.” Of course, we had to have Cassidy.)

After our son had finished his story about one of Cassidy’s misadventures, our granddaughter, who was just two and a half, asked her Dad, “Where was I then?”

“You were nowhere.”

“Oh”, she said.

The next night, she asked her father to tell the same story. Afterwards, she said, “And where was I?”

“You were nowhere.”

The daughter spat out, “I somewhere now”.

(Later on, she sorted out to her own satisfaction where she had been when Cassidy was doing his thing. She was on a shelf in a ‘baby store’, waiting for Mommy and Daddy to take her home.)

Father and the Yankees

In the early 1950s, my father who was an officer with the Ontario Provincial Police, received a two-way radio for his police car.

There were many obvious advantages to having an easy means to contact his district office. He no longer had to search out a public phone box or a friendly resident to call for help when there was an accident.

But there were downside issues as well.

Dad had to learn the now-familiar “10” series of commands, “10-4” etc.

Once during a thunderstorm, his car was hit by lightning. He and the car were fine but the radio was literally fried.

Another problem was that reception was sometimes poor because of the way radio signals bounced off the atmosphere in certain types of weather. One time, Dad was trying to call his District Office in Mount Forest from his base in Arthur, a distance of perhaps 15 miles.

The messages from Mount Forest were repeatedly interrupted by chatter from another police force somewhere in the U.S. Finally, Dad shouted, “You will have to repeat your message. The Yankees are interfering.”

There was a pause and then a clear voice with a southern drawl came through. “This is the Kentucky State Police. We are sorry for your problems but we want y’all to know that we are NOT Yankees.”

(A couple of years ago I was guilty of showing a similar lack of sensitivity to southerners. Browsing in a South Carolina bookstore, I noticed that the section that in Canada would be labeled ‘Civil War’ was called ‘The War of Northern Aggression’. On the way out I complimented the owner on his sense of humour. He glared at what I assumed he saw as another stupid Yankee.)

TEA WITHOUT MILK

In 1996, my interpreter and I were waiting at a Moscow airport for an Aeroflot flight to Ulan-Ude, the capital of the Russian Republic of Buryatia located on the eastern shore of Lake Baikal.

The Russian officials with whom I was working to improve the nation’s employment services had recommended that the existing employment office in Ulan-Ude be converted into a model office, using best Canadian practices. My job was to check out the existing office and decide whether the office and staff had the potential to become a model office. If the answer was ‘yes’ I would arrange for a team of Canadian experts to visit the office.

The flight was delayed and the interpreter and I went to a food bar for a snack. I had been in Russia for about a year and although my Russian was still pretty basic it was good enough to order food. I asked for a sweet bun and a cup of tea and the waitress banged them down in front of me. As I was reaching for my money, I saw a container of milk by the cash register.

Now, I should interject that while I can drink tea straight and I did each day at my Moscow office---the tea-trolley babushka had a samovar but no milk--- I much prefer it with milk and sugar.

Seeing the milk carton, I asked if I could have some milk in my tea. The waitress exploded with some machine-gun Russian, the only word of which I could catch was ‘Nyet’. .There was a great deal of laughter from nearby tables and from my interpreter. In fact, he was laughing so hard I thought his tea and bun were going to end up on the floor.

Back at the table, the interpreter asked, “Did you understand what the waitress said?”

“No, it was too fast. What did she say? What’s so funny?”

“She said, ‘You don’t put milk in tea, idiot’”.

The irony was that when we arrived at Ulan-Ude we were met by a few Russian officials and a group of Buryats, descendants of the Mongolian people, in national costume. A Russian leaned over to say that the Buryats would be offering me their national drink and it would be politic to appear to enjoy it.

“Just have a sip or two. It’s tea with milk!”, he whispered, with distain,”

People watched as I tasted the tea---there was milk but also some salt. I enjoyed it and had a second cup.

The story is that tea made with milk and salt was the secret to the success of Genghis Khan and his warriors.

.

HONEYMOON EXCITEMENT

Pat and I were married in Aurora, Ontario and our honeymoon was spent at a summer cottage on Ice Lake on Manitoulin Island.

Pat had worked as a chauffeur for the family during her university vacations and they invited us to use the cottage for our honeymoon. The family arranged for the local person who looked after the cottage during the winter to open it for us, put on the screens, clean out the cobwebs and do all the other things necessary after a long winter.

There was the large main cottage, built in the 1800s, and several cabins. We decided to sleep in the cabin that Pat had used during her summers with the family. We gathered sheets and pillows from the cottage and made the bed.

After a dinner in the screened porch overlooking the lake, and a quiet paddle in the canoe we went to bed.

In the middle of the night, Pat suddenly screamed.

“A mouse just ran up my face and went up there”, pointing to the unfinished wall of the cabin.

I sat up ready to do battle with the varmint that had harassed my new wife.

And the bed collapsed.

We and the mattress ended up on the floor, looking up at the side rails of the bed.

We got up, anchored the slats in the bed, hoisted the mattress up, re-made the bed, and checked to make sure the mouse had left us.

It took a good bit of time to get back to sleep what with the shock of the mouse and the collapse of the bed but when you are newly married time can be your friend.

NEXT SUNDAY

Watch for more stores from our universe in next Sunday’s Letter from Virgil.