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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2000-08-16, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16, 2000. PAGE 5. Other Views I call this utter nonscents! So I'm on this airplane flying out of Vancouver and I spot the in flight service cart coming at me down the aisle and I'm happy about that because I'm feeling kind of peckish. The attendant stops beside me. hands me a serviette and a dinky cellophane package of desiccated pretzel sticks. “Actually. I'd prefer some of those mixed nuts." I tell the attendant. "We don't serve nuts any longer, sir." she says. And why is that ? “Because some people are allergic to them,” she explains. I fight back the urge to point out that some people are allergic to daylight, but we don't paint the windows black. I personally am allergic to cheesy, clumsily-edited in-flight movies, but they still keep showing up on the flights I take. But about the nut thing: isn't it likely that most people who are allergic to nuts ... already know if? Couldn't they be trusted to order the pretzel sticks while the rest of us pig out on peanuts, cashews and pecans? Who appointed the airlines as our public nursemaid, anyway? Mind you, it’s not just the airlines. I went into a doctor’s office the other day and saw a sign on the wall that read: “Please do not wear any fragrances while in this office.” Looking back at our childhood For those people who are middle aged or older, looking back at their childhood can be a fascinating or painful experience or a mixture of both. While the painful aspects of this time of my life remain very vivid, I have to admit that there were, indeed, times which brought me a considerable amount of joy. Trying to find the right balance in evaluating one’s childhood experiences can be a bit of a chore. I was reminded of how difficult it could be when I came across a study done by a psychiatry professor at the Northwestern Medical School in Chicago. He decided to track down the 14-year-olds he had interviewed in 1962 when he was studying “typical” American teens. He was successful in finding 67 of them and asked them precisely the same questions as he did 38 years ago. The results were astonishing! The answers the middle-aged men gave to these same questions were so different that, if any random guessing at the answers had taken place, the results would have been pretty much the same. Not surprisingly the doctor concluded that, as people get older, their view of the past changes. One question asked the boys whether they were their mother’s favourite; 14 per cent answered in the affirmative. Thirty-eight years later, more than double the number (30 per cent to be exact) thought they had been. Mothers had obviously improved over the 38 years. Asked what the worst thing was about home life, 40 per cent of the boys thought their home was physically uncomfortable while only 11 per cent singled out the emotional discomfort. As middle-aged men, the 40 per cent was reduced to 15 per cent while a full half of the men complained that emotional discomfort had played the dominant role. "Spare the rod and spoil the child." was applied to them, said 82 per cent of the boys. “What's that about?” I ask-and get the same answer: some people are allergic to certain perfumes and aromas. Swell. Does this apply to Mennen Skin Bracer? What about my underarm roll-on? Can I still wear a rose in my lapel? Does this mean I have to run naked through the car wash before I can get a medical checkup ? Sounds far-fetched - unless you believe what you read in the papers. My local paper tells me that the Workers’ Compensation Board is seriously - seriously - considering “scent- related protection in the workplace" laws. Translation: the government is looking into banning smells. Ridiculous? You betcha. But that didn’t stop some Halifax Mounties last month from threatening to lay charges against a 17-year-old high school student whose Aqua Velva aftershave ’offended' one of his teachers. I realize that some people are actually discomforted by some aromas, but can I say Raymond Canon The International Scene However, when the same middle-aged men got around to assessing that question, the percentage took a whopping drop of almost 50 per cent to 33 per cent. You will probably be as surprised as I was since I have very vivid and accurate memories of my childhood. At least I thought I did until I read the findings of the Chicago doctor. Nevertheless, the study seems to fit in with how social scientists have found memory to work. Remembering is an active process, with memory being actively constructed. Beliefs, prejudice and subsequent experiences all affect Letter to the Editor Continued from page 4 for the election. Secondly, at this time of transition the board has many, many key issues to be considered and resolved before the year 2001. To proceed with mail-in ballots, an untried system of voting, (by any of the municipalities) at this time is simply adding to the complexity of the whole situation. The cost of the vote-by- mail election is estimated to be at least $18,000, whereas the total cost for the last election by the individual townships was approximately $11,500. That amount would no doubt have been somewhat less with a conventional election conducted for the combined municipalities. Finally, all parties consistently stated that mail-in voting has merit, but is not appropriate for an election in a transition year. The Minister of Municipal Affairs and something simple about that? Sorry. Too bad. Life isn't fair. Get over it. The fact is, other people (I suspect the vast majority) actually enjoy the cornucopia of essences and aromas with which life regularly assails us. I love the smell of wisteria, new- mown hay. frying bacon, single-malt scotch and yes, even horse dung. Smells trigger memories in my brain - sometimes memories that I didn’t even know I had. Rudyard Kipling said it best: Smells are surer than sound or sights To make your heartstrings crack. They start those awful voices o’ nights That whisper ‘Old man, come back!" Kipling was right. I still can smell those pomegranates in Algeciras, fresh fish in Covent Garden, that jar of talcum powder on mom’s dresser and the curl of smoke from my Old Man’s smoldering Sportsman plain-end. I treasure those and every other smell the earth serves up — including stale cigars, road kill and skunk. My advice to government policy makers: don't mess with smell - you’re not smart enough. The very idea of 'scent-related protection legislation makes... Absolutely no scents at all. what is remembered. Many mental health professionals are, therefore, suspicious of things such as “recovered” memory in which people claim to unearth memories of sexual and physical abuse (or even abduction by aliens). It is important to point out that the study was earned out with normal subjects; that is to say. they were not chosen because of some aberration in their life. Some of the 67 men did have psychological difficulties between the two tests but these did not score statistically better or worse than the others. Among other things, this will shed new light on the handling of those who claim to have experienced physical or sexual abuse in the past. The doctor who did the study emphasizes that, while abuse certainly cannot- be ruled out. anything a subject says in such cases, might well be taken not as ultimate truth but with “a small rock of salt.” Housing was requested to consider amending the section of the restructuring order appointing Ashfield township to conduct the 2000 election, but the board was informed that the order is now in force, and cannot be altered. The board had passed a resolution to support the townships of Colborne and West Wawanosh to have the issue of the 2000 election decided by an arbitrator, but due to prohibitive costs for solicitor and commissioner to act in the matter, the townships have decided they cannot place the added expense on the municipalities, and therefore rescinded their motions. The transition board, likewise, must withdraw its resolution to support the municipalities. Joan Armstrong Secretary on behalf of Ashfield-Colbornc- Wawanosh Transition Board. Bonnie Gropp The short of it A rebellious thought Waking to a cheery summer morning, it took some time, biit eventually I became aware of a minute level of discomfort. That niggling sensation in the belly that teases at the edge of wakefulness until your sleep-clouded consciousness clears and you remember. My holidays are ending. No sun-drenched sky could restore the feeling of relaxation that had first laid claims on my rested body and soul, now that reality had returned. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy what I do. But I think perhaps I am getting to an age where 1 admit I am inclined to want to indulge a certain laziness. Or maybe it would be better likened to rebelliousness, because in all honesty, I resent that time cannot be my own. This only intensifies after a satisfying holiday. And I know I’m not alone in my hedonistic view. It is definitely a testament to our indulged society that, as one friend put it, we’d almost rather do without the vacation because it just makes going back to work that much harder. It wasn’t even that my summer break was particularly restful. Actually, it was more an eclectic blend of a working holiday with large doses of family obligations mixed in, and peppered with moments of enjoyment. There were many days at home where I attempted to catch up on tasks long left undone, and failed miserably. Then on the Friday of the long weekend, it was packing everything and loading everyone into the car to get to a wedding in Toronto by late that afternoon. Traffic was horrendous, the temperature was hot, but a good and hectic time was had by all. Sunday and Monday we squeezed in a quick visit with family at the lake, then Tuesday was my daughter’s and my annual pilgrimage with friends for a day of shopping and eating. The next day I said goodbye to a long-time family friend at a memorial service then attended the theatre that evening. Thursday, an attempt to get some work do.ie was thwarted, gratefully, by a visit trom my eldest son before I rushed out the door to a bridal shower. Friday I babysat my gorgeous grandson, then relaxed Saturday with my family. And now as I write this it is Sunday, the day of my dawning reality that as unorthodox as it was, the break has ended. And though it wasn't quiet and solitude by the iakeshore, or sipping dnnks poolside, or touring cross country, there was still the wonderfully, spirit-buoying belief that time had been at least partially in my control. There was no stress at tasks not completed, because seemingly endless days had loomed ahead. There was no rush to get home any evening because the alarm clock’s alarming buzz hadn’t sounded off at daybreak. Inertia had settled on me, blanketing this stressed out control freak under a cover of calm. Why wouldn’t I feel a mild resentment over my return to the work-a-day world? All this said, however, that world does offer a structure which in its familiarity provides a different sort of comfort. And with impending empty nest syndrome, I am relieved to know that for some time anyway. I have a place to go each day. But, to my husband's alarm. I have decided to place a time limit on it. My holiday proved there is always work to be done, always places to go and people to see. Retirement will keep me busy enough. And besides. I'm getting way too old to feel rebellious.