The Citizen, 1995-05-17, Page 5GOT A BEEF?
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THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, MAY 17, 1995. PAGE 5.
You never know when
mass mania will
come to gobble us up
Back in the 17th century, the Dutch went
nuts over tulip bulbs. Merchants, soldiers,
peasants, nobility — virtually everyone in
Holland unaccountably decided that they
must get in on the tulip bulb trade.
One burgher in Amsterdam offered two
wagons of wheat, four wagonloads of rye,
four fat oxen, eight pigs, a dozen sheep, two
barrels of wine, four barrels of beer, two
barrels of butter, 1,000 pounds of cheese, a
bed, a new suit of clothes and a silver
breaker.
And for what?
For a single tulip bulb.
Many Dutch traded away their farms, their
houses, everything they owned for the
chance to possess some 'rare' tulip bulb or
other. The madness spread like wildfire until
1637, when panic swept the bulb collectors.
Suddenly everybody wanted to sell and
nobody wanted to buy. The world's one and
only outbreak of Tulipomania was over.
But you never know when a mass mania
will come along and gobble us up. In our
grandparents' time, the arrival of Halley's
On Mother's Day, when we
honoured the mothers of our own
species, spare a warm thought for
the mothers of other species as well.
For any species, the myriad details of
survival are part of a strategy to fulfill a
single, over-whelming imperative:
successful reproduction.
Everything is focused on main-taining the
number of individuals sustainable within a
given habitat. It's simple mathematics: if
species members are born at a faster rate
than the rate at which they die, the
population increases. If, over a given time,
more individuals die than are born, numbers
decline.
Once born, offspring must also survive
long enough to become capable of
reproducing once again. Biologists call this
"recruitment." Only then has a population or
a species ensured its survival for another
An open letter to all representatives of
the Union Cemetery Board - including
representatives of East Wawanosh,
Morris and Hullett and all who have an
interest in Blyth Union Cemetery.
I am no longer able to get about as I used
to years ago, I am registered as blind, but I'm
still interested in Blyth and community and
its people, past and present.
I have been hearing lately about the
condition of the cemetery. It is apparently
unkempt and unsightly. I am also told that
there is no money to pay a caretaker. If that
is so why have the people not been
informed?
Seventy-five years or so ago there was a
perpetual care fund in place. The interest
from that fund was to be used to pay for care
Comet was enough to convince thousands
that the world was coming to an end. They
left their homes and jobs and went up the
nearest mountain to await Armageddon.
In the 1930s, Orson Welles convinced tens
of thousands of gullible American radio
listeners that Martians had landed and were
taking over the U.S.
Back in the 60s, hundreds of thousands of
teeny boppers flocked like mayflies to the
rhythm of four shaggy lads from Liverpool.
I think I've spotted the next fad on the
Mania Turnpike. I believe we are trembling
on the threshold of a historical period that
will become known to future anthropologists
as The Age of PeeCeemania.
PC. Political Correctness. It's a movement
that's been with us for a few years. A
movement that should by now have perished
from its own absurdity, but it hasn't. It's
getting stronger. Witness these tales culled
from the news wires this past little while:
ITEM: Hostess Frito-Lay Canada Ltd. has
jettisoned a $4 million ad campaign to
introduce a new potato chip bag. Reason?
The headline on the ad read "Kiss The Old
Bag Goodbye". Some professional whiner in
Toronto decried the ad as "appalling and
profoundly anti-woman." Hostess Frito-Lay
caved in and yanked the ad.
All I can say is: what a crock of chips.
ITEM: The University of Toronto has
Nature's Miracles
generation. Mothers are responsible for
nurturing the newborn and often teach skills
necessary to reach maturity, especially in
mammals.
So think about the mother Grizzly Bear
emerging from her den after a long winter.
She is thin and a little tattered. Shortly after
moving into the den about three months
earlier she gave birth to two cubs. All three
have lived off her stored body fat since then.
She has lost a quarter of her body weight
while nursing, but the cubs are fat and happy
as they tumble from the den to begin their
explorations.
Think of mother Blue Whale, who gives
birth to an infant the size of an elephant after
a gestation of nearly a year, and the provides
the calf with 250 litres of milk a day for
eight more months.
Think of the Loggerhead Turtle who
comes ashore at night with other female
turtles to lay eggs.
of the cemetery and graves.
Now, I realize full well that fund, built up
on what (hen was considered an adequate
donation, is very small considering today's
prices and today's interest.
We need the work to be done and paid for
today and other projects when they need
money have an organizer or organizers, who
call upon people concerned for much needed
support. In the case of the cemetery there are
many people buried there who cannot be
remembered. There are those who have no
heirs or family left. In short their names are
on records and tombstones, but we cannot
locate friends or family. Still they have their
place among us.
It is to those who are with us today and
those who represent former friends and
pulled an edition of the campus newspaper
off the newsstands, in response to
complaints from students, women and the
Masonic Lodge. The student newspaper was
a spoof of The Toronto Sun (how the hell do
you spoof The Toronto Sun?) which
included an article about how the Masonic
Lodge was plotting to take over the
university by spiking cafeteria food with
emetics.
An official claimed the spoof "had gone
beyond the boundaries of normally accepted
humour of the college community."
ITEM: In Davis, California — a town so
politically correct that it is verboten to
smoke cigarettes outdoors — town fathers
have recently saved a bundle of taxpayers'
money. They won't be filling the potholes in
the streets of Davis, because the potholes
have been declared "historical resources" —
part of the Davis archaeological heritage.
Will the lunacy never end? Who knows?
But at least it's begun to turn back on itself.
At the University of Pennsylvania recently
a woman was kicked out of a meeting of a
group called "White Women Against
Racism". Reason? Well, the woman was
black, you see, and the members of the
WWAR Committee felt her presence would
make white women uncomfortable.
Gee. Isn't that the same argument
Governor George Wallace used?
The big Loggerheads have always done
this along coastlines of the northern
hemisphere. But in recent times human
encroachment upon the turtles' favourite
laying grounds has drastically lowed the
animals' reproduction rates.
Fewer and fewer females arrive each
season to brave the beaches, but they still
come. It is in the nature of all species to try.
Around the world, wild animal mothers
fight for the survival of their offspring and
thus for the survival of their species. Sadly,
it is often human indiffer-ence that
keeps them from succeeding
when human compassion would
help ensure their success.
Nature's Miracles is brought to you by this
publication and World Wildlife Fund
Canada (WWF). To find out how you can
help save wildlife and wild places, call WWF
at 1-800-26-PANDA.
neighbours that we can appeal. Can we not
make an effort to see that our dead, rest in
dignity, and peace in well-kept
surroundings?
I am sure that if the people concerned
were appealed to, that they would respond.
Sincerely,
Jean S. Griffiths.
The
short
of ►t
By Bonnie Gropp
Mom's not perfect
The clock struck six and, having swept up
the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down
to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes
had a good effect upon the girls for Mother
was coming, and everyone brightened to
welcome her.
-Louisa May Alcott
'Little Women'
There is in all this world no fount of deep,
strong, deathless love, save that within a
mother's heart.
- Felicia Hemans
from 'A Special Collection in Praise of
Mothers'
For as long as there have been mothers,
the special place they have, the special love
they give, has gotten a lot of attention.
Though there are indubitably exceptions;
alleged baby killers Susan Smith and Evelyn
Dick spring to mind as the most extreme of
these; the bond between mother and child is
a tangible, albeit sometimes trying, one.
Moms love us unconditionally, sometimes
more than we think we'd like.
I know that moms are almost perfect
people, but it was only after becoming one
myself that I realized it. Being a lifegiver
does tend to put things in a different
perspective. Most would agree, I guess,
because we've even given them their own
day. (I'll give you equal time in June, Dads)
Mother's Day at our home has, for two
decades, begun with breakfast in bed, a
luxury that seemed to bring great joy to both
sides when the kids were little. I would lay
quietly, pretending to sleep, while my little
ones trundled not so quietly downstairs to
cook up my surprise, amidst the sounds of
banging cupboards and rattling pots and
pans.
They have always been the most delicious
meals of my life. This past Sunday,
however, I noticed that as the kids have
gotten older and are smart enough to want to
sleep in, this Mother's Day breakfast in bed
ritual has undergone some change.
As I waited impatiently for them, thinking
of all the things I could be doing, then as
they dragged out of bed to do the routine, I
realized I couldn't love them more for
keeping a tradition that has, with their
advancing years, and the jaded outlook
towards drippy sentimentality that
accompanies them, become perhaps a bit
less fun. No less pleasant, however, at least
for me which is why they do it.
While I dined my kids kept me company,
and I couldn't help but think back to the
relationship I had with my own mom when I
was younger. While I sat, watched and
listened to my children, I was reminded this
Mother's Day not of what I have given them,
but what they give back to me.
Unfortunately, I'm not sure this was a
thought that ever crossed my mom's mind.
You see, I wasn't always as smart as I am
now. Moms are the anchor, moms are
irreplaceable, but not until I was one of them
did I accept that . they are also only all too
human. When our children are quite small
it's difficult for us to stumble when all they
want is our love and attention. Most of us
are less sure footed around teenagers
however, and we do occasionally fall flat on
our face.
My mom, like all the rest, made her share
of mistakes, but I made more than mine by
taking so long to catch on. Fortunately,
Mother's Day gives us the chance to tell her
that not only do we appreciate her, but even
though she's not perfect, close, but not
perfect, we love her.
Monte Hummel - President of World Wildlife Fund Canada
Arthur Black
A wild Mother's Day
WWF
Letters
Writer makes appeal for cemetery