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The Citizen, 1994-07-20, Page 5Ct ArthuH?lack THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 20, 1994. PAGE 5. Dandelion, of course Genghis Khan. Adolf Hitler. Pol Pot. Lucretia Borgia. All names that will live forever in the annals of infamy and villainy. But far from the only names that belong on the list. How about ... Cypress Spurge and his evil cousin Leafy? Dodder? Black Seeded Proso Millet? And the repulsively monickered Tuberous Vetchling? Mass murderers? Serial killers? Psychopathic terrorists? Naw. All of the above are as common as crabgrass and as near as your backyard. My backyard, anyway. All of the aforementioned are garden-variety noxious weeds, capable of showing up in the cracks between your patio stones faster than you can say "Quick, Martha - hand me the Killer Kane!" And these aren't the only verdant varmints that cry out for vigilance. Alert lawn owners must also be on the lookout for perennial pests like the Poisons Ivy, Oak and Hemlock, not to mention the ubiquitous Thistle - Sow, Bull, Canada, Nodding, Russian and Scotch. I don't know what it's like where you live, International Scene By Raymond Canon What is a miracle? I was recently reading a book by the American-Indian Doctor Deepak Chopra, whose more recent writing is currently on the best seller list. At any rate, Dr. Chopra was telling about the noted British cellist, Jacqueline du Pre, who became a victim of multiple sclerosis and died when she was only in her 40s. She was not yet 30 when the disease struck and her musical career ended soon afterwards. For a year she had no contact whatsoever with the cello but one morning she woke up to find that she was completely without symptoms. Not only her muscular co­ ordination but also her musical abilities returned intact. Not surprisingly she rushed off to a studio and recorded beautiful performances of cello music by both Frederic Chopin and Cesar Franck. This remarkable remission lasted four days but on the fifth she found that all the symptoms of MS had relumed and she was never to experience such a stale of remission again. However, the question is how someone, who was already in such an advanced stale of the disease that the nervous system could not even move an arm, could suddenly one day regain such control over the same system that she could make such a beautiful recording on what is not an easy instrument to play. II was while reading this that, not surprisingly the word "miracle" popped into my head. This was followed immediately by the word "Lourdes" since that is the site normally associated with the word "miracle." This is the most famous of all Roman Catholic shrines for it is believed that in 1858 the Virgin Mary appeared to a peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous, and a beautiful church as well as a statue of the virgin stand al the grotto where the vision occurred. Many thousands of people visit the grotto each year, many of them in search of a cure for what ails them. Some leave their but we've got Weed Police in my neck of the woods. Undercover agents for the Public Works Department whose job it is to snoop down laneways and peer over garden fences to see if anybody's harboring a clandestine crop of Burdock, Milkweed or Wild Carrot. Oh well, keeps them out of the pool hall, I guess. The thing that most ticks me off about weeds is that they're so damned easy to grow. I'm going to spend the next couple of months nursing my vegetable garden along like a flock of premature babies. And for what? After hours of mulching and composting and fertilizing and coddling I will be rewarded with a crop of: Pencil-sized carrots. Tomatoes that resemble jade golf balls. Potatoes so wizened they look like they came straight out of Tutankhamen’s tomb. Com cobs the raccoons won't even eat. Green peas the size (and hardness) of BB shot and ... WEEDS! Giant weeds! Rain forest weeds! Weeds with trunks the size of redwoods and leaves like elephant ears! Why is it the crops I want to grow practically cry out for an oxygen tent and intravenous feedings, while all around these anorexic little failures, quack grass, plantain, knapweed come up like telephone poles? crutches as evidence of a cure. Others bathe in the sacred waters of the grotto spring, hoping that a miracle will restore them to health. Once a year, on Aug. 20, there is a national pilgrimage at which time more miracles are expected. Since I had experienced one of my own, which I shall explain shortly, I stopped off at Lourdes on my way from Switzerland to Spain. However, while I can vouch for the' signs of the miracles, crutches and all, there was on the whole no indication why these miracles took place. Since they are religious in nature, did it take an act of faith? If so, was this faith more profound than the many people who went to Lourdes, suffering in some way, yet were unable to find even the resemblance of a miracle? If it has nothing to do with faith, what is it that causes some people to experience such a wonderful event and others, obviously just as deserving, experience nothing at all. I had to admit that I left Lourdes just as puzzled as when I arrived there. I have said that I experienced a miracle. I most certainly did but this took place when I was in the fullest of health. About a year before my arrival in and departure from Lourdes, I was on my way from school to play hockey in Zurich. I took a short cut through a temporary fair building, one which many others did every day and yet the building chose to collapse when I, and I alone, was in it. I heard and then saw the building cave in on me and the next thing I remember was several hours later when I came to in an examination room of the St. Gallen hospital. It had taken them two hours to dig me out of the collapsed building and there was general astonishment when it was discovered that I was still alive. The astonishment turned to wonder at the hospital when the x-rays showed I had a concussion, a few bruises and a couple of vertebrae that were partially crushed on one side. The doctors told me that the chances of Weeds really do grow as if they have their own personal supply of anabolic steroids. Away back in 1879, scientists at Michigan State University put several lots of 20 common weed seeds into glass bottles and set them on a shelf. Twenty-five years later they dug some of them out and planted them. Over half of them bloomed like new and pumped out a whole new generation of seeds. Then the scientists put the experiment on the back bunsen burner as it were, and forgot about it. In 1959, somebody dug up and planted 20 of the original seeds again. Three of them produced viable seedlings - 80 years after they'd been taken out of circulation. That doesn't surprise me. I've seen weeds punch right through the pavement in my driveway. All I want to know is: what's their secret? If I could grow eggplant that way I grow Ragweed, I could change my name to the Jolly Green Giant and never darken the produce section of my supermarket again. But I can't. I know that come harvest time, the vegetable rows in my garden will look like the before picture in a Charles Atlas ad. While the paths between the rows will look like a closeup of the Belgian Congo. It's depressing. I need a pick-me-up. Perhaps a glass of wine. Dandelion, of course. coming out alive, let alone without any major injuries was one in 100,000. When I saw a picture of what was left of the building, I believed them. This leads me to the next question. Why was I spared and in such relatively good shape? Why have others not in good shape been spared while yet others died? Taking this still further, was it not a miracle that Beethoven turned out such beautiful music after he was deaf and Schubert such wonderful songs when he was impoverished and depressed? In short, miracles seem to take several forms, each of which is about as hard to understand as the next one. The next time you use the word "miracle," ask yourself what you mean by it. Does it mean something you have experienced or seen happen and yet cannot understand? Someday some of the things we categorize as miracles may no longer be considered as such because we can understand them, but they will be replaced by yet other events which are totally incomprehensible. This has to be one of the most fascinating things of our life; we experience things, many of them beneficial or positive, but which we are in no position to understand. In talking to people about miracles, I have heard such explanations as luck, the laws of chance, an act of God, the God like in you and a number of others. I'm sure some of my readers could add a few more. One thing I can say; it is certainly nice to be on the receiving end of one. Letter to the editor Continued on page 5 I would like to emphasize that the proposed Act docs not discriminate against smokers nor docs it challenge their right to smoke. Rather, it is based on the premise that our children should not be sold a life- threatening product and that everyone has the right to breathe clean air. Dr. Maarten Bokhout Medical Officer of Health Huron County Health Unit. The Short of it By Bonnie Gropp A dose of reality You know you're showing your age if you can actually remember when a hard-earned dollar went somewhere — other than the government, that is. Do you recall when a quarter could buy you a pop AND a chocolate bar, with change to spare for a gumball or two? It doesn't seem all that long ago that the $5 I earned for cleaning the house paid my way into the movie theatre on Friday night and a dance on Saturday night. And I still had enough to see me through the week. The ability to have money in hand or in pocket wasn't exclusive to children then either. My parents weren't wealthy by any stretch, but I seldom recall a time when either of their wallets wasn't stacked with a relatively substantial assortment of bills. Knowing that they weren't paid that well, yet seemed to have more ready cash than I, makes me wonder what's going on. Granted the cost of living rate has surpassed income increases by a significant amount. For example, just two decades ago my $30 take home pay for two day's work bought groceries for a young family of three. Now, though the family has doubled, that weekly grocery bill has multiplied six times. I certainly wish I could say that for the pay cheque! Given these realities it seems to be increasingly difficult to plan for our future, to sock some cash away for a rainy day. Yet, while it's easy to lay blame on recession, inflation, taxes and the government, it dawned on me recently that maybe I should take a share of that blame. I was bom into a generation which grew up believing that though there wasn't much money, it would cover what we did need. Despite growing up amidst the anti­ materialism of the 60s, neither I, nor any of my friends, often wanted for anything. We didn't have the toys that kids today have; not everyone took lessons in everything, or played in every sport either; but any request for money to buy inconsequential was seldom ignored. Unfortunately, as exemplified by the changing trends in the late 70s and early 80s we did become used to having things we wanted. Though I knew, having been told often enough, that money didn't grow on trees, where it concerned me, its fruit seemed plentiful enough. As I got older, my strategies for spending were simple; I usually had enough so if I wanted it I bought it. It is a legacy we have passed on to our young people, particularly the ones born during the boom years. I have always found it more than mildly ironic that the children bom of the hippies, of the anti-establishment have been given the most materialistic ideals of any generation ever. I guess after romanticizing about the simple life, we decided it wasn't good enough for our children. Unfortunately, there are some young adults out there, experiencing some unique dilemmas as, after years of the good life they taste the bitterness of unemployment and an uncertain future. For the first time in their lives they are looking at empty pockets and harsh reality. However, with my last vestige of idealism remaining I must believe this will change and it will ultimately have been for the best. For a group of people who have received every advantage, many of whom have experienced little hardship, it may provide them with the one trait we, with our indulgence, neglected to give them — a dose of reality.