The Brussels Post, 1972-02-09, Page 2Snow Shadows
Sugar and Spice
by Bill Smiley
Serving BrUsselS and ,the surrounding community
published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Qntario
by McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited.
Evelyn. Kennedy - Editor Tom Haley - Advertisin
Member Canadian 'Community Newspaper Association and
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association,
Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $4.00 a Year, Others
$5.00 a year, Single Copies 1,0 cents each.
Second class mail Registration No. 0562.
Telephone 887-6641.
Here Is Where
The Reader -Con Help
For news about you and me, read
us..
The staff members of a-community
newspaper are not unique in their
physical components. Each one is
equipped with one pair of eyes and
one pair of ears and like everyone
else has no special powers to see
and hear all.
In the process of gathering news
items, every effort is given to
covering the activities of the town
as thoroughly as possible, through
the co-operation of various organi-
zations, etc.
But it is impossible to be on top
of everything and this where you,the
reading public, come in. Many times
we hear readers say: "I didn't see
anything about such and such an
event in the paper."
Here is where you can help to
make your paper the best source of
local news. If an interesting item
comes to your attention, telephone
it in to your community paper. If
you know of an event about to take
place, let us know about it. In a
town the size of this, there is
much of local interest to be re-
ported to your newspaper.
For example, if you know of some-
one who has just returned from an
interesting vacation, let us know,
it might be of interest to others
as well.
`tour community newspaper provides
a service to the town not to be
found elsewhere. This is your news-
paper. Help us to make it the best
possible by keeping us informed.
,(The St. Marys Journal Argus)
To the Editor
Appreciate The Post
Sir;
Please find enclosed my cheque for
subscription to the Brussels Post for
1972. Sorry to be a little late sending it.
I am already on your mailing list.
This should be an interesting year '
with the centennial of Brussels. 4
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Pearl Baeker
19 Aldus. Ave.
Toronto 176, Ontario
Sir!
Enclosed please find my cheque for
$8.20 to extend the good old ((Brussels
Post" for another couple of years.
Congratulations to the new publishers.
Fred J. Williamson
382 Dovercourt Rd.
At. 34
Toronto 145, Ontario.
All winter I've been laughing. Not
wildly or out loud, so that some people
could do what they've wanted to for years -
have me quietly put away.
No, it's just been a steady stream of
assorted chuckles, snickers and titters,
with an occasional giggle erupting when it
poured rain around here in January.
I was laughing, for the first time in
about four winters, at the snowmobilers
and skiers.
Winter after winter I have sat,
glowering inwardly, as the snowmobilers
tried to outshout each other in their
boisterous, boyish manner, each trying
to tell a taller tale than the other about
how he jumped the creek or went up a
90-degree slope with no hands, or some
such rot.
Winter after winter, I've tried to keep
the sour look off my face as the ski
hounds burble their igin" talk about how
many runs they made, chortle with glee
every time there was a fresh fall of snow,
and brag about their brand new Scheis-
smaken eighty dollar ski boots.
For about two months, the winter of
1971-72 was known as "Smiley's Re-
venge". There was a little snow in
December, but it was almost a green
Christmas. There wasn't a snowbank
worthy of skidding into on New Year's
Eve. And the fine weather continued
for weeks; lots of rain, high temper-
atures and virtually no snow.
'(Let their snowmobiles sit there
and rust", I whispered, barely able
to restrain a guffaw. "Let their skis
warp and their fancy boots remain un-
scuffed", I muttered, scarce able to
hold back a peal of laughter.
It's not that I have anything personal
against, these mid-winter bores. Some
of my best friends are snowmobilers,
though I wouldn't want my daughter to
marry one.
And I know some perfectly sensible
people who think there is something in-
effably enjoyable in sliding down a hill
on a couple of inflated barrel staves.
The genuine skier thinks nothing of
spending ten or fifteen dollars on a
Sunday's skiing, even, if he has to cut his
church givings to the bone.
And it's not jealousy or spite. Just
because I have a ropy knee that would put
me on crutches for two months if I had
a fall is no reason to envy those who
swoop down the hill like a bird.
Same with snowmobiling. I have a
slight handicap there, too. I can fly a
plane and drive a ,car, if there are good
mechanics around. But when it comes to
small motors which stop running, all I
can do is stand there and stare, shifting
from one foot to the other.
It's embarrassing, but I'm being frank.
It's all very well to talk about carburetors
and pistons and fuel lines if you know
what they are, where they are, and what
to do if they aren't working.
I figure I'm lucky if I get the lawn-
mower started once out of three times,
without' summoning help. Thus, the only
picture I can conjure with .me and ,a*
snowmobile in it is a nightmare: the pair
of us out in the woods, ten miles from
nowhere, with the carburetors seized up
or turned out or whatever it is they do.
No, I don't hate the people or the
sports. I just hate snow with a deep
and bitter loathing which must have some
psychological explanation.
Did I wet my pants, as a small child,
while playing in the snow? Did my parents,
sick of my eternal wailing, throw me into
a snowbank and hastily retrieve me?
I don't know the answer. But I do
know that Smiley's Revenge has turned
into Smiley's Folly.
As I write, I can't see the house'
across the street. It's snowing sea-
gulls, horizontally, with a forty-mile
wind gusting to sixty or seventy.
The skiers are smirking; the snow-
mobilers are laughing out loud. And I'm
crying, deep inside. I knew it was a
dream. But dream we must, or we are
nothing. Some winter . . . Well, never
mind.
Hand me that shovel, woman, and stand
back. out of earshot.
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