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The Citizen, 1994-07-13, Page 5•gg|gBgfe. n ... .S Arthur Black _ EijBr^T____________ THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 13, 1994. PAGE 5. Don’t whine. Plant a tree, instead! Yesterday I went down to the garden to sit under my favourite apple tree. Phoebe was already there. She was sitting under my tree on a beautiful summer day. And she was crying. Phoebe cries a fair bit. She tends to take the problems of the world on her own frail shoulders. Then she buckles under the load. I put my arm around her shoulders. "S'amatter, Phoebe?" I asked. "Oh" she wailed dramatically, "It's just the overwhelmingness of it all!" I had to admit, Phoebe had a point. Take our environment. Take the cutting down of the rainforests, the annihilation of the whales, the depletion of the ozone layer and carcinogens in the back bacon. Pretty overwhelming, alright. And that's without even mentioning Bosnia, Rwanda, the rise of the Fascist Right in Russia, never mind Ottawa, the GST, Lucien Bouchard and ring around the collar. Thoughts on Iraq Every once in a while I think back to the time I spent in Baghdad and I wonder how the people in that city, as well as those in other parts of the country, are making out in a world that is remarkably different from the one I experienced. The country is still not allowed to sell its oil and use the money to buy the things that any modern economy needs; there is, instead, an uneasy truce between Saddam Hussein and the western world; he refuses to knuckle under to all the terms imposed after the Gulf War and the west refuses to let him carry on business as normal. The result is a standoff and misery for the Iraqi people. What makes me think about Iraq is mainly the fact that I was treated better there than any other place in the Middle East. Topping the list of pleasant memories is the treatment I received at the hotel in which I stayed. It was friendly from day one with the climax coming on the day on which I was going to fly out to Kuwait. The morning of my departure the manager came to me and stated that he understood that my plane did not leave until the evening. However, it was a very hot day and he did not feel that I would like to spend the afternoon sitting in the waiting room of the city's airport. He suggested that, although check-out lime in the hotel was normally noon, he would like to offer me the use of my room until it was lime to go to the airport. To say that I was astounded would be pulling it mildly. Outside of Switzerland I cannot remember that ever happening anywhere else. 1 did not ask him to do this; he came to me and I presume he had been informed of my late departure by one of the clerks. To say that I expressed my appreciation was putting it mildly. The fact that the treatment that 1 received from the hotel in Kuwait was anything but No wonder Phoebe was feeling bummed out. What are you going to tell somebody suffering a from a case of the Cosmic Blues like that? Well, I don't know what a professional psychiatrist or a practicing social worker would advise, but I suggested to Phoebe that maybe she should try to narrow her focus a bit. Stop fretting about the state of the universe - worry about her own backyard. Don't think big, I told her, think small. Think John Chapman. Back in the early 1800s, residents of western Pennsylvania were nonplussed to behold Mister Chapman at the helm of a boatload of appleseeds plying the waters of the Ohio river. He wore a burlap coffee sack as poncho, a tin pie plate for a hat, and he told anyone who would listen that he was on a mission. John Chapman was a slightly bent Yankee nurseryman whose self-appointed mission in life was to propagate apple orchards everywhere. He dedicated the rest of his life to it, roaming across the hills and valleys of the American midwest, scattering seeds along the roadways, upon the riverbanks and in forest clearings and meadows. John Chapman got planted himself about 150 years ago in, appropriately enough, an nternational Scene By Raymond Canon accommodating only serves to make the kind act of the Iraqi manager- stand out that much more. Each day that I was there I had a taxi come to the hotel to take me where I had to go. I arranged for the same driver and he was also the height of friendliness. No request was too much for him to carry out; when my slay in the city was about to end, he asked me if there was any place I would like to go. I replied that I would like to go to the old part of the city where the market was situated. Off we went; he did all the translating and treated me to a drink. When it was all finished, he informed me that the afternoon was on the house, as it were. He said he had enjoyed being with me and that I had always been fair with him. We parted with a big hug at the airport; I later sent him copies of the pictures we had taken during my stay. Of course there were the secret police to contend with and I had to watch what I said. On the banned list was anything laudatory about Israel; the Iraqi newspapers could not even use the word; instead they referred to the stale as "that Zionist Entity." Another thing that required care was references to the Kurds. There were many of them in the northern part of the country and I was forbidden to go in that part of Iraq while I was there. Later on Saddam Hussein used poison gas to wipe out a couple of Kurdish towns to serve as a lesson to the Kurds. Nowadays the same people are congregated in the north of the country where the Iraqi army is kept al bay by constant air patrols by NATO aircraft. For a while there was a spate of articles about the deplorable conditions in which these Kurds were living, but journalists arc frequently a restless breed and soon passed on to other examples of wretchedness. This past year I had a Kurdish student in one of my classes and we talked several limes of the plight of the Kurds. I asked him if they dreamed of having their own country, Kurdistan, and he replied, of course, but he did not think that it would ever come. After orchard overlooking Fort Wayne, Indiana. He's dead but the legacy of his mania lives on just about everywhere you look in rural North America. If you've got an apple tree in your back yard - or an apple orchard in your community, legend has it that you can thank John Chapman for it. Or, to call him by his more popular monicker, Johnny Appleseed. You don't have to go that far back to find a tree-planting role model. How about King Bhumibol? He's making plans right now to celebrate his 50th anniversary on the throne of Thailand. Most royal types would be planning parades and fancy dress balls with lots of pomp and pageantry. Not King Bhumibol. He's going to celebrate by planting trees. Five hundred million of them. Just imagine if every Canadian resolved for just one day, not to whine about the National Debt or the price of car insurance, or turbans in legions. Just imagine if every Canadian decided to plant a single tree instead. That'd give us about 30 million new trees. Not as many as Thailand, but it would be a start. all, when you have a people who are located in no less than four countries (Iran, Iraq, Syria and Turkey) the chances of the four getting together to permit the formation of yet another country are about on a par of me becoming pope. However, not only the Kurds are learning how to cope. The entire Iraqi people, with the exception of those enjoying the favour of Saddam Hussein, are experiencing a daily round of shortages. Income is low; prices are high and the black market is very much reality. What do they remember? Mainly a war with Iran which went on for almost eight years followed by the invasion of Kuwait and shortly after that the retaliation of the western coalition. How many families suffered the loss of sons or husbands and with nothing except hardship to show for it? At no lime were these people consulted on the war; most of them probably did not even understand what it was all about yet all suffer. I feel for the innkeeper and the taxi driver. They were true friends to me and their kindness will never be forgotten. A little of my heart remains in Baghdad. 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 infor­ mation. TheThe Short of it By Bonnie Gropp. Investing in commitment This past weekend it was my good fortune to attend a wedding reception. I obviously lead a pretty dull life, right? I can't have too many things to look forward to, if I can get excited about a wedding, you say. But what made this event so special was its simplicity and the fact that, contrary to most I have attended, I believe 100 per cent in its success. It wasn't all that long ago that I was the epitome of the drippy sentimentalist, snuffling and wiping away tears while watching a starry-eyed couple exchange vows. More recently, however, this romantic idealism has been tinged by a touch of cynicism as I witness more and more money spent on marriages that just don't last. The cost unfortunately isn't exclusive to the bride and groom either as their attendants and guests fork over money for gifts and gowns, and at buck and does and the wedding reception. This past weekend's celebration was nothing like this. The bride wore black, the guests wore shorts. The kids went swimming and the wedding feast was barbecued sausages and hamburgers. The refreshments were entirely on the host couple, who had never been feted in any of the typical pre­ nuptial manners. What they asked of the less than 50 people who shared their day, was quite simply their presence. A final touch to exemplify how important family and friends were to this occasion was a complimentary bottle of wine, to be opened only on July 8, 1995, the label said, in celebration of their first anniversary. Granted, both the bride and groom have done the big wedding thing; the groom, my nephew, was married before with all the traditional pomp and ceremony. He is, unfortunately, only too well aware that all the money and pretension did not in the end make him any more married. His bride too has walked down the aisle before. Though her marriage failed she has brought to this relationship a young child who was an integral part of this wedding; his name was included on the invitation. The day, his mother told someone, was his. Certainly embarking on a new life, even for the second time, is an event warranting some type of show, but I am becoming a little disenchanted with setting the couple up in grand style at a buck and doe, then spending more money at the reception. If you can't afford to host a party for 350, with no cost to your guests beyond their gift, after receiving thousands of dollars from your buck and doe, then quite frankly, I just don't think the party should be that big. The people at this past weekend's reception were cither closely related to the bride and groom or had been life-long family friends. Rather than inviting everyone they had ever met (which if we're honest is what most do, so that a lol of the guests don't know why they're invited) they hosted a gathering of people who very much cared for this couple and for their happiness. It went beyond simple best wishes, to really wanting the best for them. There will always be people who want bigger and better weddings and if they can honestly afford to do it, and do it right, all the best. But to those who prefer instead to make their investment in commitment I lake my hat off.