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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1980-08-27, Page 24..44 -*Gs • apaa .1 a ••aia41624Wd9b laa'allitIva fa, Oa aa$ , • • ►eland/lite scenes by Keith Roulston a. sse. Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $10.00 a Year. Others $20.00 a Year. Single Copies 25 cents each. A waste of energy It was Tuesday, July 15. It had to be the hottest, or at least the muggiest day of the summer to that date. Just before noon we got a' telephone call from a conservation-minded citizen. Had we been into a local institution that morning, she wondered. No we hadn't been. She said we ought to make a point to go. The caller had just returned from the place ,in question and was ' boiling—and it had nothing to do with the Muggy weather, nothing much anyway. Inside, she noted,• was like an iceberg compared to the weather outside. It couldn't be more than 60 or 65 degrees on the temperature scale most of us are still most comfortable with. She was shivering and so were the workers. Another public building, she said, was the same. She was absolutely right. We hit both buildings during the lunch hour that day to check out her findings. Shivering was the word for it and more than one woman employed in ,the two places had put a sweater on over her summer dress. Now it takes every bit as much electricity to run air conditioners in the summer heat as it does to run furnaces in the winter. And keeping a building at 60 to 65 degrees F. on a day when the temperature outside is in the 90s, is probably equivalent to keeping a building Jr) the high 70s to '80 during the winter. This kind of business has got to stop. Not only can We hot afford to have buildings like the inside of a refrigerator during the hot summer weather, the practice is downright unhealthy. It's a wonder the people coming out of such frigid buildings that day weren't dropping like flies hunted down by Raid. Somewhere along the line the messige" is not getting through. It's sweaters, in the winter, not the summer. SumMer is for our bare skin and tans. Let our own air-conditioning units—our sweat glands, etc. take care of the heat. Since we no longer have windows in our offices and places of business that can be opened to let in the fresh air, we can't do away with air conditioning entirely—got to move that stale air around somehow—but we can sure cut back on our use of it. We need more people like Olive Moore. (The Listowel Banner) The Bible, says' that man was made, in ,God'simage. One of the, things man copies,* most from the'God who made him seems to be' the desire to play god. , One has only to look at this country we five' in to kdow how much Man' likes to change the world, to suit himself. Man first Came to this vast continent thousands of years ago when the first primitive peOples migrated from Asia. These people who became known as the Indians changed the 'country a 1ittle to meet their , needs but •generally the land remained untouched. But when the European peoples migrated to North America in search of new land they brodght with them the determination and technologies to change the face of the whole continent. Our ancestors canie used to'living one kind of lifestYle and set .ouf to shape the new'continent to fit their needs. And they did. They, attacked the forests that stretched as beyond every horizon and with only axes and oxen and Wad and guts they cleared the land to the point that only small pockets of bushland remain in the farming areas. But farmland wasn't enough for the new pioneers. They, wanted villages and' towns and cities and the cities had to get bigger: Where the trees had given' way to farmland, the farmland now gave way to houses and stores. ,The wheel of time turned again and the store and houses gave way to sky-scraping office-buildings and apartment buildings. Man was now making the world in his own' image Of how things should be. CAN'T SEE NATURE Whereas early pioneers even as they attacked the forests stood , in awe of the majesty of nature, men of today living in cities can't even see nature. The closest the city dweller can get to things natural is the city run parks system, with grass carefully nurtured, and trees carefully pruned by a busy staff to look like what man wants nature to look: well ordered. But all this panning and changing was set up for one purpose: to make the world work better for the human beings in it. Somewhere along the way we seemed to have lost the goal of where we are going. I was reading an article the other, day of a kind that has become quite familiar. Half the people who live in cities today; 'it said, live in highris,e apartments.''By 1985, 85 per cent of city dwellers will live 'up' in the sky.. People, the planners tell you; must get over this idiotic idea that everyone has the right to own his own home. People must get over this stupid notion, that they must have even a little bit of :green. grass in a hackyard. People;have to get used to living in apartment buildings in the sky. SLIDING DOWN There comes a point in every "civilixation when it goes over the top on its rise and starts to slide down the other side. It seems to me maybe we've, reached that point. We have built magnificent systems to serve the people but we have come to the point now • where the, systems aren't flexible enough any more 'to serve people's real needs. Instead we are asking the people to serve the needs of the systems.; When we get to that point, when we start changing the 'lives of, the people to make things more manageable for the system: then we are bound for unhappiness. Take a look at one example of this evident in our own country. In a good-hearted attempt to . improve the lives of NewfoUndland outport families the' government of the province a couple of decades back decided to bring the people together in, larger towns and villages 'rather than the little outport villages scattered along the , rocky shores of the island' The little villages simply couldn't be provided with the , government services to make the lives of the people ' easier. MOVING. BACK So the program was started. New homes were built. Old, homes were floated down the coast to niore central locations. But it wasn't as easy as it seemed. Many people just weren't happy'in this conven- ient new way of life. The program, I understand has been abandoned. Some of the people I think have even moved back to tne outports they left behind. We are being asked' in so many ways to try to fit into the monolithic systems that have been built for us today. If people really like living in cities then they should by all means do it,, But society is 'so out of whack today that a large percentage, of people who would rather live in the country or a small village,mdit live in cities to make money, money that will not buy them chia4:pine.ss because they must Hire -in the Simply* telling someone that they will have to get used to. the idea 'of living` in a 30-storey apartment building beeadsc not - everyone can have a piece _of land of his own is not going to make him happy or even satisfied. Forcing; people into' the pre-designed holes 'of ;bur Mechanized society is only inviting problems. , WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1980 , trying Brussels and the surrounding community. Publi hed each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario By McLeaniBros. Publishers Limited Evelyn Kennedy - Editor Pat Langlois - Advertising Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and Ontario Weekly Newspaper Atsociation Even a long summer goes too darn fast Sugar and spice By Bill Smiley Summer begins, and the school teacher, along with his students is reason- ably ecstatic. Two whole months free to loaf, swim, golf, fish, play tennis, scuba dive, or whatever turns you on. And suddenly, before you've had a chance to hit a ball or catch a bass, it's the middle of August. You haven't been anywhere special, you haven't done any- thing special, it's rained four days out of seven or been so blasted hot all you could do was lie around and gasp, and there you are, a couple of weeks away from facing about 160 kids, fit as fiddles and ready to make you skip academic rope. Lucky is the teacher who has no friends' or relatives. He or she can go to Europe, I take a course in anything from primitive sculpture to basic Russian ), or just lie around in the backyard watching the bumble bees trying to have sex with the hummingbirds. But most of us have relatives, and some of us even have two or, three friends, and therein lies the sudden disappearance of the summer holidays.' A couple of days here, a little jaunt to see some relatives there, and suddenly it's last summer. My wife is at the moment packing bags for the eighth time in five weeks, and she swears that after this brief expedition up north to the cottage of friends, she's going to pile the suitcases in the backyard, sprinkle a can of gis over them, and have the first big barbecue we've had time for since the end of June. I spent one week loafing. But I have such a gift for loafing that it seemed like only three days. Then it was a punishing trip up north to' pick up the grandboys. Their mother insisted that I not • spoil them, or try to entertain them. I did both and we all loved it, but it took its toll. On me. Next thing I know, my brother wants a reunion, because he's leaving the country.' Thomas Wolfe wrote a great novel: "You Can't Go Home Again." Well, you can, but I wouldn't advise it. If you haven't been back to your old home town for many years, don't go. Progress puts its ugly finger on the most cherished memories of childhood, and you'll find that the treelaned, sleepy little town in which you grew up not only makes you sad, but a little angry, with all its new motels, sleazy eating places, and fine old homes turned into apartments or nursing homes. I went looking for a corner where I had kissed a girl every night for two years. As I slowed down, trying to identify it with the, big, maple gone, replaced by a pizza joint, a; dry-cleaners, and a fish-and-chips boutique, a kid came up - 'from behind, slammed me in the rear, and ran off in his souped-up Zilch, hurling obscenities. I was wishing I had a .44 and I'dve put two slugs through his gas tank. I drove down the main street, and it could have been Main Street, Anywhere. Like North Dakota. That was the street where I hustled deliveries for my Dad, when he had a shoe store, and he'd give me a dime, and I'd go to the matinee, watch Tarzan beat the crocodiles (almost) across the river, and go back next Saturday afternoon, wondering if he'd made it. He always did, thank goodnesS. My brother arid I played golf, badly, at the local course. I felt completely out of my element, with all those old, white-haired, wizened people until. I got to the bridge, spanning the river. The bridge was new; but at least, I remembered sitting on it, watching the ladies-pound their golf balls into the river. We dived for them, arid sold them back for a dime. If I'd had time, I'd have driven around the three-mile circuit Jack Pope and I worked every Saturday morning, looking for empty beer bottles in the ditches. We made a fair buck in those days, probably splitting thirty-five cents when we turned in our goods to M.K. an elderly Jewish gentleman, much more scrtipulous Of his business dealings with us' cids than most trust company executives would be. I saw my sister, who, as was always her wont, tried to stuff morelood into me than a healthy alligator could handles I drove out to an incredibly romantic place my Uncle John had bought as a farm. He couldn't make a nickel from it, but it had a huge stone houSe with a butler's pantry, and about 14 outbuildings: stables, sheds, barns, the lot. After explaining my safari to a surly chap from eastern Europe., he said, "Sorright, sorright." So much for memories. • It wasn't all gone, of course, to be fair. Some of the old stone houses and hotels are still there, turned into artsy-crafties or modern eating places. The old, smelly river-cumcanal is still there, weed infested, tranquil, full of stickers and pike, a relic of the war of 1812-16. But don't go home again. Crowning blow was when my wallet was either lost or lifted, and I've been cancelling credit cards, getting new licenses, and weeping over my cash and my OHIP number ever since. : Stay home and be happy with your own rotten place and all its problems.