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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1994-05-04, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, MAY 4, 1994. PAGE 5. Arthur Black Death ’N Stuff Inc. or Stiffs R Us? I just got back from Florida...and I'm not bragging. It wasn't that great. The weather was bleh, the beach was mined with nasty little jellyfish, the shopping was no great shakes (unless you were looking for a deal in sequinned T-shirts) and the traffic was worthy of downtown Toronto after a Blue Jays doubleheader. Ah, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Because one day when I was sitting in the coffee shop I picked up a copy of the Boca Raton Bugle. And read about the funeral service for a Cadillac convertible. Yessir! Those Americans, God bless 'em, buried a Cadillac Coup de Ville last month - presiding minister, assembly of graveside mourners - the whole enchilada. And just to give the ceremony that extra dash of authenticity, they made sure the owner was in the front seat. Relax, she was dead. As a matter of fact, the woman who owned the Caddy was the real subject of the funeral. Her dying wish was to be buried in her beloved Cadillac. America, Land of Opportunity, obliged. ^International Scene No safe place in this world There was a time, as I am sure many of my older readers can remember, when being in Canada meant that you were isolated by and large from the rest of the world. What happened in Africa was so far away that it was of no consequence; even the Second World War hardly touched these shores, short of some German submarines finding their way up the St. Lawrence, a situation that we did not hear much of until long after the war was finished. Now it doesn't seem to matter how big you are or where you are; what happens in other parts of the world affects Canadians in many ways. Take, for example, the killing, accidental or otherwise, of the president of Rwanda as his plane was coming in to land at the capital of the country; this touched off a bloodbath that would have been totally ignored a few decades ago. However, it seems that there were a few hundred Canadians affected by the slaughter and our government took it seriously enough to send an Air Force transport plane to fly the Canadians out to a safer place, like Canada. Because of the Canadian presence in Rwanda, what goes on there is front and centre in the evening's newscasts. But the outside influence does not have to be war or rebellion. Many Canadians were shocked to see borrowing and mortgage rates suddenly start to take a noticeable jump upwards, stock markets take just as noticeable a drop and the most likely question was what we had done wrong. You may be surprised to learn that the initial shock started in Washington when the American central bank, the Federal Reserve, decided that there were enough inflationary pressures on the horizon to do something about it - i.e. raise the bank rate, the rate on Not that the Yanks have got a lock on bizarre burials. The Russians, after all, packed the carcass of Vladimir Lenin with rock salt and kept it on public display for 70 years after his death. Then there's Jeremy Bentham. The English philosopher, who died in 1832, willed his entire estate to London Hospital....with one provision. Bentham's will insisted that his preserved remains be permitted to preside over all hospital board meetings. The hospital agreed, Bentham's skeleton was assembled with wires to hold the bones together. The skull was fitted out with a wax mask of the philosopher's face. The "body" was decked out in Jeremy Bentham's favourite clothes, plopped in an armchair and set in a glass-fronted mahogany case. And for the next 92 years, Jeremy Bentham "presided" over meetings of the London Hospital Board of Directors. To make sure no one was confused, a placard that read "not voting" was placed in front of him. I think old Jeremy did very well, considering that cremation was not the popular option it is today. Rendering an unwieldy cadaver down to a shot glass full of ashes greatly increases the choices for creative disposal. Nowadays folks can direct that their ashes be scattered at sea, sprinkled over a golf course or dug into the vegetable garden. By Raymond Canon which all other interest rates are based. Since we have to keep our rates more or less in line with those in the United States, our rates had to go up too, in order to prevent the Canadian dollar from falling through the floor, the details of which I outlined in a recent article. Before we could say Holy Chretien or Maudit Bouchard, we were looking at considerably higher mortgage and borrowing rates all around. Now if the Federal Reserve would only check with us before it does anything, the situation might not be so bad but in all likelihood Washington never even thought of Canada or cared what we thought. Have you noticed that every cabinet minister worth his potential pension is now jetting off to the Orient? It is not that the cabinet has become fascinated with the teachings of Confucius; it is just that the word has gone out that this is the fastest growing area in the world right now and, if you are going to play the game of international trade, you have to get into it with both feet. You can certainly no longer sit at home and wait for the Chinese, the Taiwanese, the Malaysians and the Indonesians to come to us. Everybody else will be there; we might as well be if we are ever going to shift, even a little bit, the dominant position that the United States holds right now in Canadian trade and commerce. We are discovering that, while we may have a free trade agreement with Mexico, we actually know very little about the country. The population will soon pass a hundred million and is growing fast, but do its consumers and businessmen like what we have to offer? Nobody seems to know very much, but just ask yourself how much you know about the place. Spanish is taught only rarely in our high schools, yet Spanish is the one language that you need to get you all the way from Tijuana to the southern tip of Chile. There was a chap in England who willed his ashes to be placed on his favourite bar stool. And for avid hunters who bite the bullet, there's an entrepreneur in the States who will tamp your ashes into shotgun shells and deliver them to your hunting buddies, who can then blast them reverentially over your favourite hunting area. There may be a whole new growth industry here. Death N Sluff Inc. Or perhaps Stiffs R Us. I know there's already a free enterprise spin to the morgue in Houston, Texas. It's a gift shop. Right in the morgue. Folks can buy such grisly gizmos as personalized toe tags, or T-shirts and beach towels that feature chalk body outlines. Sort of a coroner store, as it were. Sound absurd? Well, it's no sillier than most of our bizarre burial practices when you think about it. Reminds me of the story about a Canadian visiting a cemetery to put flowers on his parents' grave. While he's there he can't help noticing an old Chinese man placing a bowl of soup on the grave of one of his dearly departed. Unable to conceal his derision, the Canadian sneers, "When do you think your friends will be up to eat the soup?" The Chinese murmurs softly "About the same time your friends show up to smell the flowers." That country already wants to be the next member of our NAFTA relationship; how long will it be before that happens and will we be ready? In short, the nice cosy order of things that you and I knew in the last few decades in Canada is crumbling fast; so fast that you have to run hard, to use an old expression, just to be able to keep in the same place. Money flows across borders as if they were not there; people are increasingly doing the same and many of these who were born elsewhere have noticed that Canada is one of the few great open spaces. My classes look like the United Nations and a roll call bears this out. My two best students last semester were from Poland and Russia; this semester they are a native born Canadian whose parents are from Holland and another Pole. This, more than anything else, brings reality to my door. There is no safe place to hide, nor should we. If we put our minds to it, we have the chance of becoming the most cosmopolitan of nations and, in so doing, of setting the tone for the entire world. What a delightful challenge! Got a beef? The Citizen welcomes letters to the editor. They must be signed and should be accompanied by a telephone number should we need to clarify any information. The Short of it ____By Bonnie Gropp I Only a miserable mutt It has been a different sort of time at the Gropp household recently, and due to one incident, not one that has been altogether pleasant. Last week a chapter of our family history ended with the loss of a dear friend. After almost 14 years, the self-proclaimed neighbourhood watch, our dog Buffy, was walking down the street to visit with a friend, when she passed away. Now some may think the loss of one mutt is pretty small potatoes, but anyone who has grown up with a pct knows how much a part of the family they become. There are going to be many people who miss Buffy, actually; she had really carved out 4 niche for herself in the hearts of a select few. However, those who loved her are also only too well aware that just as many people will be relieved she is no longer on patrol. Buffy, you see had inherited from her border collie mother a strong sense of guardianship. Unfortunately her cocker spaniel father had given her a tendency to snippiness rather than diplomacy. Many of our closest neighbours took a shine to Buff. They look her for rides in their truck, fed her such extravagant fare as pork chops, and even at limes let her jump into their beds. Eventually, Buff became fairly certain she pretty much owned the street and the people who lived on it. She was protective of them against those she saw as interlopers, a notion which is confirmed by the newest family on the block, who say they encountered a bit of resistance from Buff, when they moved in across the street. Though one elderly neighbour told us she felt more secure knowing Buff was ever on the alert, this overzealous approach to defending her territory didn't sit well with everyone. Buff did make her fair share of enemies over the course of her life, but as one of her friends noted she was just like the rest of us — you either liked her or you didn't, I didn't always get along with Buffy, either. Besides my disagreeing with her foot­ loose existence, she had an annoying habit of laying in my flowerbeds and in my way when I was in a hurry. But while Buff never forgot the face of a foe and was suspicious of strangers, she was, like most dogs, a trusting and loyal friend, something that can't always be said about human beings. She accepted in kindness the friend's hand that just struck her and responded warmly to the voice that chastised her. For almost a decade and a half Buffy was a part of our family. Our children do not remember a time without her. She has been a playmate for them, a companion for me and, true to the axiom, my husband's best friend. Like the rest of the members of our household, Buffy had a distinctive personality. It most certainly was not one that earned allegiance from the few who were on her wrong side, but those of us who were her friends knew the playful, trusting protective pooch she really was. She might have been only a miserable mutt to some but believe me our hearts are a little emp'ier now that she's gone.