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There are times when the conse-
quences of the end result, regardless of
how grave they may be, are viewed in
the form of relief by those who may
have agonized through the trials and
tribulations of getting to that conclu-
sion.
Even convicted killers have ex-
pressed relief at finally going to their
death after suffering through the pain
of appeals. stays -of -execution, etc.
Canadian' consumers can probably
empathize with that feeling as it
appears to be extremely pronounced in
the situation surrounding the energy
agreement reached last week by the
federal government and Alberta.
For months, the economy of the na-
tion suffered severely due to the im-
passe in negotiations. Everyone heaved
a sign of relief when the signing finally
took place and there was joy and jubila-
tion throughout the land.
However, unlike those who have
fallen through trap doors with a rope
around their neck, Canadians have now
had time to assess the final result and
can be excused if they wonder if the
cure has been all that advantageous.
The price of peace has come extremely
high.
Predictions are that in five years,
Canadians will be paying up to $4.00 per
gallon for gasoline and home oil heating
costs will also rocket out of sight.
Natural gas prices will more than dou-
ble.
Those who have heralded the
agreement as being beneficial in that
Canadians will now know how much
they are going to pay for energy over
the next five years are about as
reassuring as the hangman telling his
hooded visitor he'll meet his demise
through a broken neck.
Many Canadians will meet their
economic demise through the new
energy package, and with the exception
of Alberta, we'll all have to put energy
Conservation as number one priority.
The federal Department of Justice
has served warning that it's now seek-
ing jail sentences for those convicted of
income tax evasion.
We say good idea and it's about
time.
That may not be a popular stand.
Cheating on your income tax in some
circles is a game. Friends regale each
other with tales of how they un-
derestimated income and padded ex-
pense accounts. We've heard stories of
professional people who've bragged
about cheating the government out of
enough funds to put a down payment on
a cottage or buy a boat.
Cheating on your income tax is
seen by those who don't look too clearly
as a victimless crime. White collar
crime is seen as a little tricky but not
really harmful. We all hate to see that
big cut in the pay cheque going to the
government: we all resent paying out
hard earned cash in income tax.
But every dollar that some evader
takes out of government coffers must
be replaced by honest taxpayers. They
include the wage earners who get their
taxes deducted from each week's pay
and have little chance for write offs and
expense deductions and none at all for
fudging the figures a bit.
The rest of us pay when our fellow
citizens evade taxes. And letting the
offenders off lightly (fines ranging
from 25 to 200 per cent of the tax in-
volved have been common) breeds
resentment among those who pay their
share and promotes the idea that tax
evasion isn't really a serious crime.
We all have beefs with our govern-
ment from time to time. There's an ele-
ment of "getting back" or "keeping
money that'll only be spent wastefully
anyway" in the impulse to cheat the tax
department.
We can get involved in the political
process in an attempt to make changes
or stop waste. Cheating on income tax
hurts the rest of us. Besides, it is
against the law.
The Feds are right to back that law
with jail terms.
The Huron Expositor
Moving house no easier than moving furniture
It was one year ago that the writer
outlined the pitfalls of moving, just
having completed lugging furniture
into the 23rd address which I called
home over a short life span.
Moving, as it was pointed out, is fill-
ed with problems and headaches, to say
nothing of aching muscles and frayed
nerves as one's valuables are lugged up
and down flights of stairs and around
corners that are just half an inch too
narrow. t,r
This spring. 1 came up with a
brilliant idea to end the almost annual
haul. I bought a mobile home! Well, it
wasn't quite mobile at the time of
purchase. but it did hit the road, last
week and arrived at its destination un•
•
scathed. - r
The purchase was a log htse (shark; i �1
if you believe some frie s ties
tion ► that was located aldelhe.river
bank at Manore Marine in Grand Bend.
The availability of the structure came
to light in our weekly staff meeting
when Mary Alderson let it be known
she was going to do a story on Dick
Manore's efforts to get rid of his un-
wanted facility tomakeroom for more
boat parking. Q,
My ears gently pricked, having been '
a log house enthusiast for some time,
and I really sat up and took notice when
she advised that Dick was not actually
looking for a buyer, but only wanted to
give it to someone to take it away.
A visit to the site was arranged prior
to Mary's story hitting the street (there
are somebenefitsin this job at times)
and I decided to take advantage of the
steal and became the owner of a 120
year-old log house.
As it turned out, that was the easiest
part of the entire dream, and there
were many times in the ensuing months
that it appeared to be better described
as a nightmare.
With an intended site some 30 miles
away from the Grand Bend location,
the first problem to solve was how to
get it from point A to point B. There are
two methods of moving log houses. Due
to their dove -tailed construction, they
can be disassembled and moved log -by -
log. The second method is to tear off
the roof and move the balance intact.
1 chose the latter, primarily in an
attempt to save the two pine floors in
the structure, fearing they would be
totally destroyed if they had to be
ripped up. Incidental to that decision,
was the knowledge that logs are heavy
and my back is not accustomed to
-.timoving such weights from atop high
"plates.
,One house mover was contacted and
mid he could handle the job, but'unfor-
tunately the price tag was a little steep.
Shopping further afield, I came up with
the name of Les Steele, a trucker from
Newbury who specializes in moving
buildings and just about anything else
you want transported.
There is only one problem with Les
Steele., He's never home. And, when he
is home: he doesn't have time to return
calls. My telephone bill reached
astronomical proportions, but I finally
perservered and arrangements were
made to have the house moved at a
most reasonable price.
The next problem, is trying to get Les
Steele to tell you when he's going to
move something. Again, the spiralling
telephone bill, until he finally arrived
to view the intended location and set
August 27 as moving day.
Did the stone gates at the new site
bother Les? No! "We'll just take it
across the river," he said, looking at
the nearby Medway Creek. He
attempted to provide some
reassurance to his startled customer by
noting he had taken one such load
across a river that had three feet of
water and there was, after all, only a
mere trickle in the creek.
Oh well, I thought, it would make
good fire wood as it toppled off the
truck while crashing about through the
pasture field and up and down the em-
bankment to the creek.
Part ofthe dealwith house movers, is
that they insist the customer get the
necessary permits to facilitate such a
move. Easy enough eh? You're wrong
again!
Moving through two counties (We
didn't count Lambton), two OPP
detachment areas, two Ontario Hydro
areas. four railway tracks and one con-
cession road makes crossing Medway
Creek a cake -walk. If you don't know
what red tape is, I'll clue you in. It's
almost necessary to hire another house
mover just to carry all the paper -work
required for transporting a large object
on the roadway.
Oddly enough, all the requirements
for permits differ. If the object is over
12' high, Huron County requires that
you notify Ontario Hydro and the other
utility companies that may have
something strung up overhead. In
Middlesex, the requirement is that
Hydro is to be notified if the structure
is over 13'. The ministry of transporta-
tion say 13'6".
What does Ontario Hydro say? Ac-
cording to the chap I called, it wasn't
necessary to get them involved as long
as the height of the Toad was going to be
under 14'6".
Some people can tell horror stories
about dealing with civil servants, but
actually I ran into only a couple of
stumbling blocks. The chap in the
Stratford MTC office was most oblig-
ing. He offered to type out the permit to
save some time, but this wasn't deem-
ed necessary as the mail was moving
and the application had been received
well in advance of the planned moving
day.
uron County road engineer Bob
Dempster was equally obliging. A per-
mit from Huron is also one of the few
remaining freebies available in society
to get a signature on a permit from
some official.
The Middlesex County road people
were a little upset that I was a day or
two over their requirement for giving
them 10 days notice of the move. When
they were informed the police had
already been notified, they readily
signed the permit, even to the point of
making a call to my home to get some
information they had failed to garner.
However. the most disarming aspect
of all the permits was that each noted
the permit could be withdrawn at any
time.
Now. that really makes you feel com-
fortable. What do you do with a log
house enroute to a prepared foundation
if someone decides you have to abandon
the entire scheme? Even sleeping pills
don't help!
As the moving date quickly ap-
proached. the writer and number 2 son
Steven. proceeded to undertake the
task of removing the plastered ceiling
and roof of the log house. As the plaster
and lathe cascaded to the floor, the
choking dust soon sent us reeling to the
nearest window for a gasp of fresh air
and there was no more welcome sight:
Please turn to page 5
Odds are that you've never
heard of Carsonville. I never
had either until a few days
ago We were travelling to
Frankenrnuth. Michigan to
enjoy one of that place's
famous chicken dinners.
Just as we came into the
limits of ('arsonville. a little
village along the way, we
saw the bright red coats of a
marching hand lining up in
front of the local high school.
At the four corners people
were lining up in and around
a trailer which had been set
up as a reviewing stand.
Already on the road for
over an hour it didn't take
much persuasion to make
me stop for a breathing
space I'm a sucker for
parades anyway..
Standing there waiting we
tried to figure out the occa-
sion As far as we knew it
wasn't a national holiday nor
was it obviously a sidewalk
sale or a fair as there were
not special booths set up in
front of the few stores.
A police car came first
and then an honour guard
made up of Veterans of the
Foreign Wars. proudly bear-
ing their flags. On came the
marching hand. one hundred
strong. very impressive
even thought the big bass
drum had a long -patch
across it where somebody
had belted it too hard.
Then came a little old an-
tique Fordand sitting in its
hack seat a dignified little
old lady wearing a big cor-
sage. Fier chauffeur stopped
in front of the reviewing
stand and the hand stopped
directly in front of her.
"This tune's especially for
you. Pearl." the announcer
said as the crowd clapped
and the hand swung into a
lively jazzy tune.
On the car -behind Pearl
was a sign saying "Nappy
Birthday Pearl" and it
suddenly dawned on us what
the occasion was.
Variouspeoplecame out to
Pearl's car to shake her
hand and offer some
flowers. while the rest of the
parade. 3 more cars. 3 trac-
tors and four horses, waited
patiently.
Then the hand disappeared
down the street. Pearl's car
behind it and theannouncer
said. "They're just going
around the block, folks.
They'll he right hack." Sure
enough. the flags and the
band soon reappeared for a
second pass-through, Pearl
still waving graciously to all
and sundry.
Say. 1 just hope that when
I get to he a ripe old age that
I get a parade for my
birthday too.
Wife bears up under strain very well
Last week I was whining about what
a bum summer I'd been having. I
shouldn't have. My wrenched elbow
cleared up and I was able to play some
golf. With my putter. If I tried to swing
with any other club, it was just like
having a hot poker rammed through my
elbow. But my wife bore up under my
pain very well.
The summer ended with a burst of
something or other. If I were a farmer,
I might compare it to a plague of
locusts. But there were only two of
them and they didn't strip my crops.
They just ground me to the bone,
physically and emotionally. My two
grandboys, who are this generation's
answer to the perpetual motion
machine.
From 7 a.m. to about 9 a.m., they're
delightful. Whey play with their com-
plicated toys, scarcely fight at all, eat a
big breakfast and generally are . good
little boys. But from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m.
they want action, novelty, excitement
and constant motion. At the centre of
this rather resembling a whirling der-
vish, is Grandad, whom theyseem to
believe is about 18 years old.
However, we got through it with nc
more than the usual amount of
breakage, soilage and personal out-
rage.
But the old lady and I were so frazzl-
ed we didn't even have the strength to
embrace on our 35th anniversary,
which came along soon after the
locusts.
Holy old Moly, isn't that a long time
to be married to a strange woman?
I've never been able to figure out
what has kept us together for half a
life -time. We are completely opposite
in temperament, disagree yiolently and
continually. and our tastes in general
are almost completely dissimilar.
She does everything as though it were
the last day of her life and she had to
face the Lord or whoever, with
everything done. That is, at top speed.
By the time I have finished my mor-
ning's ablutions, for example, she has
made the bed, put on a laundry,
vacuumed the living -room, prepared
breakfast, and probably done some
ironing or cleaned a couple of windows.
And then she's sitting there, impatient
and even cranky, when I stroll down,
pick up the morning paper, drink my
tea and behave like a normal citizen.
She wants to talk about Life, or our
children, or her insomnia, or some
other damfool thing. All I want to do is
read the paper.
I rather enjoy shopping in a super-
market. By myself. I never have a list.
Just poke around watching the 'weird
people, admiring the skill and speed
and stamina of the cash register girls,
walking past the meat counter shaking
my head dolefully, buying some cottage
cheese which I invariably forget about
until it goes rotten, picking up half a
dozen bananas (and discovering we
have another half dozen when -I get
homes, enjoying a coffee at the coffee
counter, where the waitress Is like a
robot on speed. Generally, I shop in low
gear. 1 buy things we already have or
don't need (maybe a can of smoked
oysters) and I forget to buy things we
are out of, like toilet paper. But it
doesn't bother me.
I hate shopping with shy wife. She
goes at it as though it were the four
hundred meter women's Olympic race.
Sometimes she has left me three or
four aisles behind as I push the cart at a
civilized pace.
She always has a list as long as your
arm in one hand, pencil in the other for
crossing things out, glasses on to read
the small print, and pocket calculator
in her purse to translate the metric
system. The last item never proves
anything except that whether it's
ounces and pounds or litres and
milligrams, the cost of food is going up.
She plays golf the same way, hitting
the ball and rushing after it as though
she were going to kill it for not going
where it was supposed to, while I wad-
dle along. at about two miles an hour,
looking at the trees and the clouds and
the other idiots whacking their ball into
the woods.
She even eats fast. I have just got my
first cob of corn nicely buttered and
salted, and she's well through her
seconds cob.
She doesn't sleep well because she's
• always thinking about tomorrow's race
against time, or a wedding present to
buy. or her children, or the fact that
she might not sleep and will only be
able to gallop tomorrow, instead of run-
ning flat out. I sleep like a babe.
When we're going somewhere, she
wants to be ready an hour ahead, so
we'll get a good seat, or avoid bad traf-
fic, or whatever. Thanks to me, we
usually arrive just before the bride, or
just before the curtain goes up.
Well, that's temperament. She's
crazy. I'm normal, or a little below, if
you want to get picky.
We disagree. Any healthy couple
does. But they "talk things out" and
reach a consensus that everybody has a
right to his her peculiar ideas. We
don't. I say flatly, "That's a lot of
B.S.". She promptly retorts, "Well,
I've been listening to your B.S. for
blank years." And away we go,
whether it's politics, the economy,
religion, or who took the garbage out
last week.
And as to tastes, we're miles apart.
She likes classical music. 1 like blues
and ragtime. She doesn't like hunting
or fishing or boating. I'm not mad
about sewing, and I go a bit glassy -eyed
when she starts, and goes on and on
about nips and tucks and darts and
hems and how to make button holes.
I like reading, and have a book on
every toilet top, stair landing, counter-
top and under every bed, to prove it.
She does. too, but she reads stuff I
wouldn't touch with a six-foot Pole:
Henry James, George Eliot. She's
never read Catch-22, the funniest,
saddest book of the century.
I could go on and on. She likes poker,
but doesn't like it when I play poker
with the boys, even when I come home
limping because my right pocket is full
of quarters.
I could write a book. How can two
people, one nuts and the other eminent-
ly sane, reach a 35 anniversary?
Some kind of early Krazy Gine, I
suspect. Maybe it'll hold for another 28
years. I doubt it. There's five years
between us. She looks 38. I look 68. It's
a long time to live with a strange
women.