Once again I was pleasantly surprised by the reunion to which I referred in last week’s report. I spoke with a lot of distant cousins and some of their grown up kids. My recovering alcoholic cousin seems to be on the wagon, and remarkably much the same as the charismatic character I remember from our ill-spent youth. My logger/farmer cousin from Oregon and his wife were there, and it was better than I could have imagined to finally meet her and to re-unite with him. We all have some miles on us, and I find that these reunions are strangely reassuring in that they remind us that we are not alone with our problems. In my recent myopic stupor, I needed a little dose of that reality. What was especially meaningful is that those relatives from Oregon were able to stop by and visit my ailing Mom.
At the dinner I attended - and there were three or four other dinners - I sat next to the granddaughter of the hostess, along with her fiancée. He’s a microbiologist from New Orleans who left the Big Easy after Katrina struck, and she is a horticulturalist. Together they raise rats - cute ones of course, not the plague-spreading, boot leather-gnawing kind - which they sell as pets in order to defray their living expenses. That’s right, rats. And people BUY them, so hogtie me and feed me beets. I asked the two of them the question everyone asks young lovers … “where did you meet?”, and when they told me it was online, I thought to myself, judgmental soul that I am, “Hmm…I suppose that’s marginally better than meeting at a bar.” Then came the zinger … “at a body piercing site,” after which she proudly pulled out her nose earring, which she had conveniently tucked up inside her nostrils, because “grandma wouldn’t approve.” I nodded admiringly, secretly relishing the thought that this person, who was probably twenty-five years younger than I, would presume that I am hip enough to approve. As is happening more and more these days, I am beginning to feel old, and I feel as if the part of me that used to be open-minded is starting to atrophy. The truth is, these young adults were interesting, intelligent, albeit quirky individuals, and, when I was able to discount my notions of what constitutes an acceptable pet and appropriate body jewellery, I genuinely enjoyed speaking with them. Who buys a rat for a pet?!
At the dinner I attended - and there were three or four other dinners - I sat next to the granddaughter of the hostess, along with her fiancée. He’s a microbiologist from New Orleans who left the Big Easy after Katrina struck, and she is a horticulturalist. Together they raise rats - cute ones of course, not the plague-spreading, boot leather-gnawing kind - which they sell as pets in order to defray their living expenses. That’s right, rats. And people BUY them, so hogtie me and feed me beets. I asked the two of them the question everyone asks young lovers … “where did you meet?”, and when they told me it was online, I thought to myself, judgmental soul that I am, “Hmm…I suppose that’s marginally better than meeting at a bar.” Then came the zinger … “at a body piercing site,” after which she proudly pulled out her nose earring, which she had conveniently tucked up inside her nostrils, because “grandma wouldn’t approve.” I nodded admiringly, secretly relishing the thought that this person, who was probably twenty-five years younger than I, would presume that I am hip enough to approve. As is happening more and more these days, I am beginning to feel old, and I feel as if the part of me that used to be open-minded is starting to atrophy. The truth is, these young adults were interesting, intelligent, albeit quirky individuals, and, when I was able to discount my notions of what constitutes an acceptable pet and appropriate body jewellery, I genuinely enjoyed speaking with them. Who buys a rat for a pet?!
What is going on with the weather? If I hear the term “upper level low” one more time as an excuse for all the wind, rain, and below-average temperatures, my eyes are going to pop out in an indignant rage. Up north we have had copious amounts of rainfall in short periods of time. I put an empty bucket out in the back yard one day, and within a few days it was at least a third filled with water. Storm drains are being taxed, driveways are washing away, and the heavy wind, cold temperatures and rainfall are no doubt the subjects of many conversations. Speaking with friends out west in Exshaw, Delbourne, and Edmonton, Alberta, I’m told that the weather in that part of the country has been atrocious as well. There seems to have been more severe weather all over the country, and last night I heard on the news that there had been a “travelling microburst” somewhere around Oshawa, Ontario which had much the same effect as does a tornado. Of course, all these accounts of abnormal weather bring out the Prius-driving, anti-carbon, Gore-loving, told-you-soers, who arrogantly proclaim that all of this is the meteorological Second Coming, substantially caused by our over production of greenhouse gases. Absolutely, we should try and reduce our carbon footprint, as we should in general try to recognize and reduce our negative impact on the environment. But as well, don’t rely on bad science. We are guilty of extreme hubris when we assume that we can control Nature. I remind you that Nature is a mother, and we should listen to her! Weather patterns like El Nino and La Nina likely have a far greater influence on the weather than Bubba with his supercharged, gas hog 1975 Dodge Challenger. Address the things you can more effectively influence, like population growth, food production, less solid, un-biodegradable waste, and more potable water.
On a related note, at this writing, Toronto is heading into day 24 of its garbage strike. Actually, it’s a city worker strike, and other services are affected as well, but garbage is the olfactory bell ringer for media attention. We’re infamous, and last week our mayor was even interviewed on CNN trying to put a positive spin on this public relations and tourist industry disaster. There is nothing so effective in reminding us how much crap we generate than to see it piled up, in and around our city of 2+ million people, in parking lots, in parks, and overflowing from street corner garbage receptacles. This has been an ugly, ugly strike, and tempers are flaring, especially among residents in close proximity to the temporary dump sites. All the rain hasn’t helped, but if the weather was hotter, it would probably be even worse. Perhaps something good will eventually emerge from this problem. I am becoming more and more aware of the excessive amount of non-bio-degradable packaging I personally generate. What is the solution? I’ve bought the re-useable bags for the supermarket, though I keep forgetting to bring them with me when I shop. I suppose the single most effective step for all of us to take would be for us to be more sensitive to what we throw away. I call charities up on the phone and tell them
I will not contribute if they mail me any more paper. Given the choice, I will buy fresh vegetables and skip the plastic bags. I’m told by some in the know that a little co-operation from everyone would likely go a long way to stem this red tide.
Final note. More than one of my readers asked why, several weeks ago, in a report dealing with Michael Jackson’s demise, I displayed a picture of rock legend Jimi Hendrix. Don’t you think they look alike? Seriously, the idea was that Hendrix was also a remarkably talented and in some ways tragic star. Though their circumstances were quite different, their ends were eerily similar.
And as for the Toronto union workers, I understand that yesterday, finally, the first olive branch was extended. Boys and girls, it’s time to “stink or swim!”
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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