Zurich Citizens News, 1973-07-26, Page 4PAGE 4
ZURICH CITIZENS NEWS
THURSDAY, JULY 26, 1973
Gone with the five cent cigar!
At a political gathering a confused young
father asked his member of parliament what he
was prepared to do about the increased cost of
ice cream bars. It seems that the father now
had to pay fifteen cents for a daily ice cream
bar for his child, after only paying ten cents,
and thought the government should act. He
apparently saw nothing remarkable about allow-
ing his child to accustom herself to this kindof
indulgence!
The member, an excellent economist, dipl-
omatically pointed out that we live in a soc-
iety that no longer suggests any limits to our
wants, and perhaps this could have something
to do with the case. Inflation alone hasn't
deprived us of the five cent cigar or cup of
coffee. In an era of rising expectations we
have grown accustomed to more and more and
damn the expense.
But there's a change in the wind. People
all over the world are plugging into this west-
ern philosophy - and why not? Many of them
live on incomes ranging from $35. to $200.
annually. THEY have a long way to go.
So if some of us in the western' world cont-
inue to set this dizzy pace - "getting and
spending" - the day will soon come when we
are confronted with the immutable law of
society which insists that those who get must
also give.
$20,000 housewife!
Montreal economist Dian Cohen figures
Canadian housewives work an average 99.6 -hour
week putting them into the $20, 000 -a -year
bracket.
In these days of rampant women's lib it's
comforting for women to know their own worth --
even if they aren't paid!
Using a U.S. study, but current Canadian
wage rates, Mrs. Cohen calculates the basic
weekly housewife's income at $204,25 for such
diverse services as nursemaid, dietitian, food
buyer, cook, dishwasher, housekeeper, etc.
Add to this such intangibles as sexual activ-
ities, executive talent juggling a dozen jobs
simultaneously, community involvment, entert-
aining her husband's business pals --and her
salary soars into the $20, 000 sphere.
Housewives' labours have not yet been digni-
fied by Statistics Canada. Nobody bother to
measure it or add it into our gross national
product.
But stay-at-home women, waging the unceas-
ing battle on the family front, are getting
definitely defensive when asked --"do you work?"
Darn right she works!
Next beleaguered housewife asked this fatuous
question should take a deep breath and hit back
with this:
"I'm a short order cook, same day laundry,
purchasing agent, child care worker, continuous
cleaning service, maintenance and home manage-
ment centre, 24-hour counselling centre, child
bearer, gardener, chauffer, gourmet cook ---
and cost accountant!"
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INTIMATIONS
OF MORTALITY
When I was young and ignor-
ant and life was forever, noth-
ing bored me more than "old
people" talking so much about
death.
As soon as my Dad received
his hometown weekly paper,
he would flip to the obituaries
and read them to my mother,
interspersing the printed word
with comments about the dec-
eased.
Often the latter was a distant
cousin, or someones father had
gone to school with or someone
he'd worked for as a boy. He'd
recall where the dead person had
lived, what he'd done and some
, of his peculiarities.
I couldn't imagine why my
mother could be bothered list-
ening. She didn't, of course.
She was much to busy bustling
around, cooking or sewing or
doing a wash. But she pretended
to, and would drop in the occas-
ional comment or correct him
on a date.
Now that I am old and not
quite so ingnorant and realize
the brevity of our stay, I can
understand. It wasn't a morbid-
ity on my father's part. It was
an interest in, and awareness of,
the fact that death comes for
us all, even for the archbishop.
He knew it was closing in on
his generation, quietly but rel-
entlessly.
I am not about to start read-
ing obituaries as a regular per -
dinner treat, but I did read
three lately, with a sense of
almost personal loss, though I
didn't know any of the three
"involved." if that's the word.
Joe E. Brown. The name
means nothing to young people
today. But it recalled for me
Saturday afternoon at the matin-
ee, almost falling out of my seat
from laughing at the antics of
this great clown.
Betty Grable. She was never
much of an actress, but she
was a great Hollywood personal-
ity, in the days when there were
such creatures. Pin-up girl of
the western world before the
centre -page, all -nude fold -out
was dreamed of.
Veronica Lake. Fell half in
love with her when I saw her
first move. She contrived to
look sexy and sinful in the days
before bikinis and bra -less
bosoms,
Brown was an old man. But
Grable and Lake were in their
fifties, forgotten by the world
but not exactly doddering.
Each had a distinguishing spec-
iality. Joe E. Brown had a
mouth about the size of half a
.water melon. Gable had legs
that inspired an innocent sort of
lust at a time when an ugly,
exposed navel would have been
just that. Lake wore long,
blonde hair over one eye. Half
the girls in town went around
half -blind trying to emulate
her hair -do.
My feelings of nostalgia were
brought to a focus yesterday.
My wife and I were at the beach
She was flat out, turning black
under the sun, as is her wont. I
was sitting up like a gentleman,
in a chair, carefully covered,
but still turning red in exposed
areas, as is my wont.
Near us on the sand was a
young couple, very handsome,
with a little boy, very bad. He
'was bugging the life out of them;
kicking sand in their faces;
throwing cold water on their hot,
dry bodies; running off and hav-
ing to be fetched; demanding
that his father do six things at
once. But he was cute.
My wife watched, then asked
nostalgically and tenderly,
"Would you like to be young
again like that, with the little
ones?"
I thought carefully for 12 or
13 seconds and replied, "No."
I meant it. When I look at
my flab, I'd like to be twenty,
even ten years younger. When
my seed wart is throbbing and
my bursitis in the shoulder is
burning like acid, I'd like to
be thirty years younger.
But when I think of the agony
and the ecstasy of starting all
over again, raising those kids,
sanity speaks.
Days at the beach, sure.
But, even though watching them
like hawks, the sudden disap-
pearance of one, and the frenz-
ied running up and down, search,
ing, until the child was found
playing with a dog, forty feet
from the water.
Summer nights in a small town
yes. Until a four-year-old van-
ished at bedtime, and the frant-
ic running around the block,
calling wildly, knowing there
was a deep ditch full of water,
and the rage when little miss
was discovered watching TV
next door. Nope.
Sweating out music festival
adjudicators' remarks I can do
without.
Trying to steer out of drugs
and into education I can man-
age to give up.
I think I can even sacrifice
Santa Claus parades and riding
with tots on the ferris wheel at
the midway.
No, I don't want to be young
again. It's too hard on a chap.
I'm saving what's left for my
grandchildren.
We'll walk on the beach,
and in the woods. And I'll ans-
wer, from my pinnacle of ignor-
ance, all those impossible quest-
ions kids ask. And when I'm
stuck. I'll say, "Go ask your
grannie."
Death, where is thy sting?
Grave, where is thy victory?
It's great to be getting old.
Well, anyway, older.
0
Ontario's forest industries pro-
vide direct employment for
approximately 78, 000 --an
estimated 14, 000 in timber
harvesting and another 64, 000
in processing and manufacturing
operations exclusive of furniture
making.
SALES
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