Charles Burton's Other Blog

Fragmentary Memory of the COVID Years

2025-06-23T09:22:00.000-04:00

I looked up on the internet that Brock University suspended face to face classes on March 13, 2020 and they did not resume until January 31, 2022.

I had taught my last class in June 2019. So I did not have to adjust to the distance education procedures, thank goodness.

My memory is that for some 18 months, until we moved to Ottawa in October 2021, pretty much daily, I used to walk up the Niagara Escarpment to roam about the silent and empty campus of Brock University. It was strangely beautiful. All the buildings were locked.

The vast parking lots were mostly abandoned.

Deer came out of the forest to drink at the sheltered exquisite Raymond Moriyama designed "Pond Inlet" Japanese style lily pad covered pond.

Sometimes I would see a lone tractor cutting the lawns in the distance.

My Experience with ChatGPT

2023-01-01T18:43:00.000-05:00

My Experience with ChatGPT

I tried the Chat GPT with the question "Who is Charles Burton, sinologist?" which is the way I am listed in Wikipedia if my memory serves. It tried it 3 times. Each time ChatGPT was really good, except each time it got a fact about me incorrect. For example:
"Charles Burton is a Canadian sinologist and academic who is an expert on China and has published extensively on Chinese politics, history, and culture. He has a Ph.D. in Chinese studies from the University of Toronto and has taught at several universities, including Brock University and Simon Fraser University. In addition to his academic work, Burton has also served as a consultant to various governments and organizations on issues related to China and has written articles and op-eds for a number of media outlets."
But I have never taught at Simon Fraser University or had anything to do with that university.

The next time it said I am a Professor at Brock University (which is not true anymore) and the third time it said that I had been a visiting scholar at Renmin University and at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. But I have never been a visiting scholar at either of those places.

It is a little scary as the answers are well composed and appear highly authoritative

Message to Reception Honouring Vic Falkenheim's 50 Years of Teaching

2022-05-19T10:32:00.003-04:00

In 1983, Vic took over supervision of my doctoral dissertation when Bill Saywell left the U of T to become President of Simon Fraser.

It was a wonderful apprenticeship, both in the Sidney Smith Building and with the Joint Centre for Modern East Asia. The Joint Centre was a very active Centre under Vic's direction. As I recall, most of the Joint Centre seminars, usually held at Glendon, commenced or terminated with a celebratory duck dinner at the Fang Shan Restaurant. That restaurant was strategically located on Eglinton and Avenue Road between York and U of T and not far east of where Vic lived in those years. Excellent free Chinese meals washed down with Tsingtao beer was one of the many benefits of being an apprentice of Professor Falkenheim.

Insofar as his mentoring went, Vic explained to me that key to his own success in completion of his thesis at Columbia was "valium and scotch." Now that I am older I all the more appreciate the wisdom of that advice.

In return, when he and family went away in the summer, I happily moved into his house, slept in his bed, fed the cat and cut his lawn; as was the expectation for grad students in those years.

So 50 years on, thank you for everything, Vic! I am so grateful to be one of your trainee successors in China studies.

The Faculty Association as Union

2016-06-18T09:27:00.001-04:00

The current controversy at Brock University over the Faculty Association's role in the matter of a professor who is alleged to have had improper contact with students late at night in his office while drunk calls into question the relationship between professors and librarians and their union.

The issue comes down to is it the function of a faculty association to represent the will of the membership, or should a faculty association be driven by labour movement ideology?

What we want is openness, transparency and honesty. What we don't want are hidden agendas driving manipulation of the "union membership" to fulfil union movement sociological goals beyond the terms and conditions of our employment.

What we want is a university that is led and directed by scholars. We do not want to be the subjects of “profit and efficiency” corporate agenda scheming by the people we entrust to serve us as our university administrators.

Nor do we want to be the subjects of labour activism.

Brock University tells student to keep quiet about sexual harassment finding - Canada - CBC News

2016-03-11T10:21:00.001-05:00

Brock University tells student to keep quiet about sexual harassment finding - Canada - CBC News

Brock University has issued a response to the CBC report:
http://www.brocku.ca/brock-news/2016/03/brock-officials-moved-promptly-after-being-told-of-sexual-harassment-claim/

My comment: Respecting students and maintaining proper trustful student-teacher relations is the central responsibility of university professors. After all, it is an asymmetrical power relationship. So it is incumbent on the professors not to abuse this power.

And the burgeoning growth of Brock's bureaucracy of non-scholar administrators, aside from leeching scarce resources away from the teaching and research function of the University, does not seem to have served the student victim well in this case.

The whole thing just fills me with a deep sense of despair.

Later: Story gets worse and worse: "Sexual harassment at Brock University brought into the spotlight" - The Brock Press - http://go.shr.lc/1QKZQqa

My Son Punched a Boy Making Racist Taunts

2015-01-09T11:10:00.001-05:00

On a couple of occasions since Geoffrey moved to a French immersion school, he has ruefully commented to me “You are so lucky Dad that you don’t look Chinese.” And then he recounts yet another incident of racist teasing by his classmates in the playground at recess. But he flat refuses to provide the names of those responsible. “I still have to play with these guys, Dad.” Then in the 150 year tradition of parents of Chinese-Canadian children, I urge him to pay it no mind. “These boys are ignorant idiots. Be proud of your heritage.”

Yesterday Geoffrey told me a different story. A much larger boy gives him the slitty eyed routine, mimicking his silly notion of the sounds of the Chinese language, and throwing in a couple of racial slurs. Geoffrey as instructed by me does not respond to this taunting. Instead he simply walks over to this latest “ignorant idiot” and silently slugs the boy in the stomach. To Geoffrey’s evident satisfaction, the boy crumples to the ground writhing in pain. Seems that all his hockey games and drills on the ice with the St. Catharines Peewee Hurricanes has made Geoffrey a lot stronger than he looks. Turns out my son packs a mean punch.

(I recall that my Geoffrey’s 5’4” great-grandfather was something of a boxing champion in his division back in our ancestral home of Burton-upon-Trent, Staffordshire. Subsequently Granddad coached amateur boxing part-time. Too bad he did not live to see this day as his athletic prowess definitely skipped two generations.)

Anyway tacit message delivered, Geoffrey just walks away from his tormentor. Me: “Well, anyway I still don’t think it is a good idea to hit people regardless.” Geoffrey: “But Mummy thinks I did the right thing!”

There is more. Subsequently the boy recovered from Geoffrey’s wallop and enraged by the unexpected turn of events sought Geoffrey out to seek revenge. But just as he was fixing to pummel my son into a pulp, their teacher comes along. Witnessing what appears to be an unprovoked attack on much smaller boy, she sends the bully off to the principal’s office. Geoffrey gets off scot-free.

According to Geoffrey the bully spent a considerable time with the principal (“two units”, whatever that means in minutes). On return the “ignorant idiot” was made to sit by himself at a desk well away from the rest of the class.

Consequently, Geoffrey is highly satisfied that justice has truly been served.

But as his father I am not sure how I should respond to all this.

One Explanation for Why I Am Not Rich

2014-11-18T16:33:00.000-05:00

When I was a first year undergrad I took a course in a new discipline called "Computing Science." Due to some bonus marks I ended up with a final grade of 104%. I was subsequently approached and lobbied pretty hard to major in this "Computing Science."

I thought it over and decided that these computers were really just glorified adding machines albeit useful for tricky statistical analysis. But that that was about it. I concluded that, attractive as the offer was, there would be little future for me in computers.

So I went to Cambridge to study the history of ancient Chinese thought instead.

Observation: I am the same age as Bill Gates and am still making mortgage payments.

Designation of Former Family Residences on Lisgar Street in Ottawa as Heritage Buildings

2014-10-20T08:25:00.005-04:00

In Ottawa last week, I decided to walk back to my hotel from a meeting downtown via Lisgar Street. I was a bit thrown to see a "Sold" sign on 66 Lisgar where I had lived with my parents, great-grandfather and grandmother as an infant. I assumed that this meant that the old house would be torn down and the land used to build a high rise condo to join the others surrounding it.

Then to my happy surprise I found that 66 Lisgar and my namesake great-great-grandfather, Charles Magee's house next door both have been designated as heritage buildings by the City of Ottawa earlier this month. So those family residences should be preserved for a good long time, I hope.

Here is some relevant documentation:

Report on designation of 66 and 78 Lisgar Street as Ottawa heritage properties
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B2D2uy6GvLKWajdXalBpLWRnMUE/view?usp=sharing

My letter of thanks to Nancy Schepers, Deputy City Manager (Planning and Infrastructure) and Michael Mizzi, Chief (Development and Review Services Planning and Growth Management), City of Ottawa
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B2D2uy6GvLKWOWtyNmQ1NHZ6aWM/view?usp=sharing

Photos of 66 Lisgar Street as it is presently in 2014
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B2D2uy6GvLKWZVR0ckFPdG9XWU0/view?usp=sharing

Reflections on Harry Belafonte Song Lyrics

2013-12-27T08:42:00.004-05:00

I was disappointed to learn recently from my Uncle (erstwhile Parish doctor of St Philip, Barbados) that the claim in the Belafonte song "Coconut Woman" that "Coco got a lot of iron, make you strong like a lion" is actually not true at all. There is only a trace amount of iron in coconut. Coconut is evidently a very good source of potassium though.

On the other hand when I select fruit at the St. Catharines Sobeys, I do continue to abide by his important warning in "The Banana Boat Song" that "A beautiful bunch a' ripe banana hide the deadly black tarantula."

Belafonte's confusion over the nutritional benefits of coconut water may have its origins in that fact that Belafonte was a native of Harlem in New York City, although his Mum was an immigrant from Jamaica and his father from Martinique.

Chinese Cultural Association of Regional Niagara Spring Festival Gala 02FEB14

2013-12-17T10:12:00.000-05:00

Ephesians 6. 10-18

2013-05-20T14:05:00.001-04:00

Finally, my brothers, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.
Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints.

Reflections After Entering Marks for POLI2P47

2013-04-20T11:24:00.000-04:00

I have just finished manually transcribing some 180 POLI2P47 "Rights Across Borders" marks from the Google spreadsheets I prepare for myself and my TAs to the clunky database that the Brock University Registrar's Office uses. When I first came to Brock I could ask the Department secretary to do my photocopying, type my letters, and take my telephone messages. But now we have two administrative assistants and an administrative staff as undergraduate officer instead and we do those things ourselves. I don't mind. Time change. We don't have chalk to write with anymore either (asthma hazard, evidently). And we don't fill out marks sheets in pen and send to the Registrar to be input into a mainframe by their staff any longer. I do find the data entry part of my duties rather tedious, but I do it slowly and carefully, double checking and cross checking, to avoid giving a student the wrong grade. So it takes me a while to complete but this mindless task, but it does give me a chance to think.

Looking over the spreadsheets one can see that some students only rarely attend seminars and still manage to pass the Course. Similarly, when I deliver the POLI2P47 lectures, I can also see from the banks of empty seats in the lecture hall, that should be filled to capacity if they were all there, that some students rarely, if ever, attend the 2 hour starting at 8 a.m. lectures. The timing is not by my choice, we have a "Scheduling Office" for that, but as students have choice over what classes they enroll in, it does call the question why chose an 8 a.m. lecture if you are not a "morning person"? Many of those non-lecture attending students passed too. I suppose they have a Facebook group or Google the topics of my lectures given on the Course outline (available on-line, of course) to get by (??) Despite the use of plagiarism testing software, I can't help but suspect that some of the term papers submitted to me (electronically now, of course) were not written by the student who submitted them. As the term paper assignment accounts for 35% of the final grade, a strong paper would go a long way to a pass.

I suppose that it is the province of grizzled older professors to complain that "things aren't what they used to be." But 20 odd years ago when I started teaching at Brock, I would have a single class of about 15 with all of them in the same seminar discussion group led by me. They spent long hours researching in the University Library. They wrote their term papers themselves by hand. They would send me a note of explanation if they had to miss a class. They came to my office hours regularly for a cup of tea and a chat, often about personal matters or other topics unconnected to the course. After the exam I would buy them pitchers of beer in the student pub to celebrate. When it came time to write letters of reference for grad study or to help them land a job, I had lots of things to say about them. None of this is the case today.

I can't help but lament that the quality of education I can offer students now is much debased compared to what it was when I was a young professor just starting out.

Memories of Ottawa Family Christmases Long Past

2011-12-29T17:51:00.002-05:00

I am in Caya Coco, Cuba as I write this on December 24, 2011 while self-exiled in my air conditioned hotel room by the heat and humidity of the Cuban mid-afternoon. But the strangeness of being in such a sunny and warm place on this Christmas Eve makes me recall the Christmases past of my childhood.

When I was a child in Ottawa in the 60s we had a large family based on the descendants of my great-grandfather, the Ven. Archdeacon, J.M. Snowdon: my grandmother, Mary Greaves (1899-1962), my great-aunt Kay to whom I was very close (Kathleen Baker; 1892-1981) and her very amiable husband, Massy Baker, and my great-uncle Allen (1894-1956) and his wife Edwina Higginson (1894-1984 ) to whom I also felt very close.

The party was hosted by my grandmother's cousin, John Magee (1920-2011), grandson of my great-great grandfather, Charles Magee (1840-1917) and his wife, Aunt Margie (Margaret Medland) at their house in Rockcliffe at the bottom of Maple Lane.

Uncle John lived in Ottawa as he was the head of the Canadian Transport Commission. He had a remarkable model railway in the basement and a lot of interest in trucks too.

Among the children, aside from my brother and myself, present at this annual event were Uncle John's two daughters: Cynnie and Diana, grandchildren of Uncle Allen: Harry, Rozzie and Jenny Jones and their parents, my mother's cousin Aunt Andrea and her husband Ralph Jones (who suffered from cerebral palsy so in latter years attended in a wheel chair). And there were the children of Uncle Massy's nephew, Dennis Evans and his wife Joan: Massy, Pamela and Michael Evans.

Uncle Dennis's soft-spoken and kindly mother, Aunt Irene also came. She had moved to Canada after the war, having been widowed when her husband Horace was killed horseback riding in the family estate in Ireland. Other regulars were Lucy Grout, my brother’s Godmother, a niece of Plunket Bourchier Taylor (1863-1944) who was husband of my great-great Aunt Flo (1873-1956), my great-grandmother's sister. Marion Holden (b. 1897), my grandmother's companion in Barbados and who lived with her in Ottawa at 66 Lisgar Street and later at 8 Elmvale in Lindenlea always came too. She was my godmother and my father's secretary. Her family were all in Spain. She died a miserable death of lung cancer in the fall of 1966 another great loss to me, second only to my grandmother's premature death in late-1962.

One year Uncle Fred Taylor (1906-1987), an artist, another grandson of Charles Magee and son of Auntie Flo, came to the party while visiting Canada from his home in San Miguel Allende, Mexico. He met his ex-wife and cousin, Uncle John's sister, Miriam, at the party for the first time in many years. One can read all about Uncle Fred and his brother, the notably successful industrialist, Uncle Eddy, in the book Fred Taylor: brother in the shadows by John Virtue (McGill-Queen's Press, 2008).
In 1973, Florence Magee (b. 1886; this is not my great-grandmother's sister of the same name) was introduced to me at the party as "Cousin Florence." She was a niece of my great-great grandfather, Charles Magee. She and her sister had evidently continued to occupy the original Magee farm house on the Richmond Road for many years after the land was divided up in a suburban subdivision. Aunt Kay used to mock the “Ottawa Valley twang” of our poorer rural cousins in South March (where Aunt Margie tells me there are family graves) but I had never met Cousin Florence even though by that time she lived on Metcalfe Street just a few blocks down from my father's office in the Medical Arts Building at 180 Metcalfe Street. Evidently there was some family rift evidently based on resentment of Charles Magee's success after leaving Nepean and going into successful businesses in real estate (developing the Sparks estate in Sandy Hill) and beer (Brading Breweries) and banking (he was President of the Bank of Ottawa on Sparks Street). About a week after the party there was an item in the Ottawa Journal to the effect that Florence Magee had been found dead in her apartment by police after the neighbours reported a bad smell coming from under her door. I did feel very badly having just met this "cousin."

The children played in the basement while the adults smoked cigarettes and drank mixed drinks upstairs (I don't think anyone had beer or wine, rye and water or rye and ginger were favourites). Then what was to me the highlight of the event, Uncle John Magee playing the piano with enormous talent and flair while we all sang Christmas Carols. This went on a good long time. The feast was always turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and roast ham. The men took turns to carve it. Afterward there Christmas pudding with hard sauce, Aunt Edwina's lemon snow, Christmas fruitcake, mince tarts, etc., traditional family fare.

One of the vivid memories of my childhood was coming out the Magee's house following prolonged goodbyes and heading to my father's large Chevrolet car (he had Impalas and then Caprices). It was a bitterly cold night and there was a lot of well packed snow banked up high. The night was very clear with a high round moon and the stars bright in the sky.

I felt ineffably happy.

2010 CCARN Chinese New Year Party

2011-12-18T21:12:00.000-05:00

2012 CCARN Chinese New Year Celebration

My 9/11

2011-09-10T19:10:00.002-04:00

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was driven plenty early to the Logan Airport in Boston to catch a U.S. Airways flight back to Toronto. My first lecture of the new Brock University term, my first year course, "Canada and the Global Community," was scheduled for that evening from 7 - 9.

I never made that class or any of the others that week.

The Logan Airport was teeming with bustling people that September morning. The secure area was crowded with well-wishers and I had to push my way to boarding gate. September 11, 2001 was the last day that anyone could simply walk through to the boarding gate at a U.S. airport with no boarding pass or ID check. Family and friends were waving good bye to passengers as they walked down the ramp onto the airplane. It was all very cheerful.

My airplane taxied out onto the runway and we were all set to go, but then we stopped dead and the plane sat on the tarmac for a good long time and then we eventually circled back to the gate. After sitting on in the 'plane by the gate for a while, we were told that the flight was cancelled due to "flight control issues" so we should return to the ticket counter and process another boarding card for a flight that would be going at 2:20pm.

While standing in line at the ticket counter I could see the televisions in the bar to the left of the departure lounge. I saw video of the first 'plane crashing into the World Trade Center in a ball of fire just as I reached the ticket agent. I said "My God! Did you see that? Thousands and thousands of people must work in that enormous building!" The agent simply said "I wouldn't know. I am just working here, Sir." At the time I thought that it must have been some sort of horrendous accident, perhaps connected to the "flight control issues." I imagined the loss of life would be at least 10,000 people. It appeared to be a terrible, shocking accident. 'Plane flying too low hits a very tall building with massively tragic consequences.

Not long after I settled in with my book to wait for 4 hours 'til I would be boarding the second time, an announcement was made that my flight was further delayed until 6:10pm and that we should line up for new boarding passes yet again. I realized that I would not be making the 7pm class. I tried to 'phone St. Catharines to ask my Department Admin Assistant to have a class cancelled note put on the door of the lecture hall, but the mobile 'phone network was overloaded and I could not call out.

While lining up again for a third boarding pass, before I reached the counter, an announcement went out to say that the Airport was being evacuated immediately and listing the luggage carousels where we could recover our checked-in bags. I had quite a lot of luggage. There was no possibility of a taxi. Cell 'phones were still not working. I humped my bags to the subway and returned to Cambridge.

By this time I realized that something momentous had happened. I heaved my bags across Harvard Yard. The day was sunny and cool, the students full of anticipation for the new term were clearly unaware that anything was amiss as they played frisbee and chattered happily to one another as they walked past me. I was thinking that probably at that very moment there were famous sites all over the USA being destroyed by hi-jacked airplanes and maybe bombs being set off too.

I returned to the large house on Francis Avenue where I had been lodging. Nobody was home but the front door was unlocked. I sat down on the sofa to catch my breath and turned on the TV and saw footage of the first tower collapsing and then the second tower collapsing and then news of the other two 'planes. I called Brock from the land line in the house to cancel the class. Not long after Don Newman of CBC Newsworld interviewed me live by telephone. After learning that two of the 'planes had originated at Logan Airport, I began to have intense vivid flashbacks of my morning there. Which of the people that I had seen rushing to their flights had died in the 'planes that had been crashed? Had the hi-jackers themselves brushed by me as I drank my Starbucks after checking in? The Airport had seemed so bustling and normal --- I had felt so happy and relaxed and blissfully unaware of anything amiss. My mind kept playing the memory of walking through Airport and the faces of the people I had been with there over and over like a video on continuous loop.

I tried calling the Red Cross to find out about donating blood but could not get through. I walked out to a blood donor clinic. On the way I saw lines at gas stations and people in shops buying up water and food to hoard, but it was not really a situation of general panic. The Red Cross had more blood than they could manage so I was turned away and walked home.

The next day it seemed that anybody who owned an American flag had it displayed. Red white and blue everywhere. I called U.S. Airways to try and re-book my flight home. But the border with Canada was closed and no flights were going out anywhere from Boston anyway. It was a beautiful bright cool fall day in Cambridge. I settled into a chair in the back garden and read a manuscript on Chinese student movements that I had been asked to review for publication.

The following few days were strangely contented ones for me. I unexpectedly had no program and spent most of my days sitting outside reading in the sunny coolness of the Massachusetts fall. I determined to my regret that I would have to recommend that the manuscript be rejected by the publisher. Eventually I realized that the Logan Airport might be closed for some time. I asked my host to drive me to the bus station the next day.

I arrived at the Greyhound Terminal a couple of hours before the bus to Buffalo was to depart and I joined a long and unruly line up. The place was a state of relative bedlam. By the time the bus arrived only about half of us were able to board. People were angry and upset and there were even minor scuffles over people cutting into line. The bus schedule was evidently in disarray. We lurched off before I was still making my way to an empty seat. The bus barrelled through with as little delay at the intervening stations as possible. Passengers were not allowed to get out for a smoke or a snack. We were told sternly that anyone who disembarked would not be let on again.

As a veteran of long distance bus travel, I had an ample supply of sandwiches and a thermos of sweet milky coffee in my rucksack. But most of my fellow passengers long accustomed to air travel were evidently first time Greyhound passengers. I got the impression a number of them were expecting a steward with wheeled cart to appear out of nowhere to come down the aisle handing out bags of nuts and taking drink orders preparatory to serving luncheon. As the trip went on the passengers got more and more grumpy at the inconvenience and relatively crampt conditions. After some 7 hours of continuous travel with no food a minor insurrection occurred and the bus driver, protesting vociferously and resentfully over the unscheduled stop, was made to turn into a MacDonald's outside Rochester, New York much against his better judgement. The sweaty and chubby pasengers piled out to buy a hamburger. I stayed on the bus afraid that the non-plussed driver might suddenly take off for Buffalo without them. But he didn't.

That night I managed to buy a ticket for a bus to Toronto that made a stop in St. Catharines. It left 90 minutes ahead of schedule which suited me fine. U.S. Customs in bullet proof vests and carrying automatic rifles came on to the bus before we crossed the Peace Bridge and started to interrogate a Middle Eastern women sitting in the back row behind me very roughly. I considered asking them to let her be, but was too spooked to speak up and just sat still, eyes forward.

At the border, the Canadian immigration people looked panicked and exhausted. The confused and fragmentary questioning of me went on for about 10 long minutes. I was asked if I had anything to declare 3 times over the course of it (three times I told them that I had some children's toys and that was about it).

The subsequent final Canadian leg of the trip up the QEW in the dark late in the night was peaceful and quiet.

I felt I had been away for a long time. I felt happy to be finally home again.

All-Inclusive Beach Holiday and Mid-Life Happiness

2011-03-18T20:17:00.005-04:00

Unexpected for some one of centuries-long Barbados heritage, my physical constitution suffers badly in the heat of the Canadian summer. In the Chinese coastal cities I have lived and worked in over the years I have been trapped by air conditioning from May to September moving from air conditioned staff quarters to air conditioned offices and meeting rooms able to get out into the relief of fresh air only early in the morning or late in the evening. People like me should summer in Beidaihe or preferably an Indian hill station. But my conclusion in general is that it was evidently not in God's plan that red faced sweaty white people like me should have colonized the East, Africa or South America. We should have just stayed in the damp grey cool of Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales that suits our physical makeup.
So my idea of the ideal holiday would be a walking holiday in the Hebrides or traipsing through the Devonshire moors for a week or two. Baking on a hot beach by a southern sea is just not the thing for the constitutionally heat-averse.
But as I am on leave this term and my daughter will be heading to university in just 16 months. It seemed like a good idea to make a family holiday in the school March break and build some happy memories while we can.
So I spent about 20 minutes on cheaptickets.com laid out $4,500 on my credit card and here we all are at an all-inclusive resort in Bayahibe, Dominican Republic. It was one of the cheaper March break tours on offer. Our flights all leave in the middle of the night. We are coming back leaving from Santo Domingo at 2:08am.
Just two days ago it was high winds, freezing rain and sleet at the Fast-Track long term parking lot across from the Buffalo Airport. And now it feels like June in March here by the tropical ocean.
This is our first ever winter holiday. I have been to Barbados but in the summer school vacation staying with an uncle and elderly aunts who sent me the British West Indian Airways air ticket (their kindness and generosity never to be forgotten but that is another story). I realize that going south in the winter is very common for middle-class Canadians but the whole thing has been a revelation for me.
For one thing it really is all-inclusive --- meals at any of about 10 restaurants on-site including 3 buffets which resemble my notion of the groaning boards of feasts in the great halls of medieval castles --- sumptuous spreads of entire roast pigs, whole fowl of all descriptions, seafood and for afters dozens of pies, cakes and puddings all this accompanied by unlimited glasses of wine, very good beer and excellent local coffee. Help yourself or a smiling steward appears with a fresh glass even before you have drained the last one.
There are more than a dozen bars serving hors d'oeuvres and all the watered cocktails one could want all the day and late into the night. In evenings each has excellent live music --- Brazilian bossa nova dominates for some reason --- guitars, flutes, gentle melodies.
Surprisingly I have yet to encounter a staggering, slurring drunk or morbidly obese person here although one would have thought this would be just the venue for them --- unlimited quantities of everything to eat or drink free to be consumed to excess if desired.
So far I have yet to spend a single one of the $100 of pesos I exchanged with a elderly Taiwanese gentleman who farms here that I made friends with on the airplane flying from New York City. Mr. Lin gave a much more favourable rate than the Arrival Hall exchange counter.
The room is tastefully appointed, and kept very clean. The whole property is amidst beautiful tropical gardens. The beach is fine white sand and the ocean, still, clear and blue and so salty that one floats in it without effort.
So I lounge here on the beach in the shade after an hour of late afternoon sea bathing. Amidst the cooling evening breeze I am waiting for the sunset with my glass of vino tinto while watching my 7 year-old engrossed in his elaborate sand castle.
I just cherish the moment and wonder at how is it that we are so blessed that our life has become so good?

(Photos at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/cburton001/sets/72157626303655362/)

J.M. Snowdon and the Span of Generations

2011-02-07T10:32:00.004-05:00

I was reviewing the manuscript of a biography of A.R. Menzies yesterday and found that my great-grandfather, the Venerable Archdeacon J.M. Snowdon (1860-1956), had officiated at his marriage to Sheila Skelton in 1943. My great-grandfather had been rector of St. George's Church on Metcalfe Street in Ottawa, but went to Montreal to do the wedding at Christ Church Cathedral there as he had been close to the Skelton family.

My immigrant parents and I had lived briefly with my great-grandfather at 66 Lisgar Street when I was still an infant. He baptised me and many of my cousins including Judy Blasutti and Diana Stinson when he was very old. He had baptised thousands of infants of 3 generations by then. At its peak the Sunday School at that Church had over 400 children in regular attendance.

In 1891 Rev. J.M. Snowdon had been one of the many officiants at the funeral of John A. MacDonald. This had not been long after he had traveled from Trinity College in Toronto along a rutted muddy road into Ottawa paying the toll to cross at Billings Bridge.

It seems like very ancient history now, but actually just follows the span of only one lifetime.

University no longer a fun time

2011-01-25T07:05:00.002-05:00

National Post · Tuesday, Jan. 25, 2011

Re: One In Four Students Are Depressed: Study, Jan. 24.

University days are not a happy and carefree time for a lot of my students. Many of them are working off campus to pay for the over-priced textbooks, fees raised high due to funding cutbacks and living expenses. They struggle to juggle their schedules to accommodate lectures and seminars in addition to the long hours of studying necessary to do well in my courses.

Very few have time for much social life. Being a university student is not as easy today as it was for me in the 1970s. And it is much harder to get a good job with a BA than it used to be.

Another factor that may contribute to mental stress among students is that a higher portion of young people attend university than ever before. Many are clearly unsuited to university life. For them, sitting through my 100-minute lectures on the intricacies of China's political system or international human rights institutions must be a subtle form of torture. Their too-often-befuddled exam answers and ungrammatical and confused term papers suggest to me that many would be happier working with their hands and learning a trade with good job prospects and good income.

Charles Burton, associate professor, Brock University, St. Catharines, Ont.

Chinese New Year Celebration in Niagara Falls

2011-01-05T09:13:00.001-05:00

From Drop Box

End of Term Blues

2010-04-06T09:08:00.000-04:00

I am in St. Catharines mired in marking term papers today. Most of them are not very good. Some of them are so bad as to make me despair for the human condition. And I have to explain in detail in the margins exactly why I have to assign a failing grade. Marking lousy papers is the worst part of this professor gig. Anyway fortunately it is only a very small part of the job.

Wu Shilin Reflects on Our Friendship

2010-01-22T15:11:00.000-05:00

友情_吴时霖_新浪博客

    Charles Burton是我30多年的老朋友，他比我年轻20岁，1978年他从英国剑桥大学东方研究学院来复旦大学哲学系学习，师从严北溟教授，1981年离开复旦大学，在学期间发表论文“道家辯证哲学思想”（"Daoist Philosophic Thought and Materialism", supervised by Yan Beiming），那时十年动乱已结朿，开放改革正在开始，在这样的时代背景下，我们认识并成为朋友。1980年他回国度假，他知道我家庭30多年分离的情况，还特地绕道去台湾，在台北的电话簿上查到我表兄胡至法（三军参谋大学教授，上校）名字与地址，并由他带领去看望我的父亲，使我家断掉30多年联系，间接联系上，彼此都很高兴。1984年我父亲在台北因心脏病故世，当时我在渥太华，形势不允许我去台北赴丧，他说你怎么不早说，按照我国风俗习惯于 1986年清明节前将我父的骨灰盒由台北经香港带回上海，一路关卡重重，手捧骨灰盒多次申报，平安抵沪，到了虹桥机场才给我挂电话。这样无私的帮助，我们全家都很感激，子孙后代永不忘记。后他回加拿大于1987年获多伦多大学获博士学位。1983年至1985年我在渥太华大学计算机科学系做访问学者期间，经常到他在多伦多住处去玩，也曾去过在渥太华他父亲慈祥老Burton家，他是一位医学博士，曾任加拿大总督私人医生，在渥太华有很高的威望。我在加拿大期间，他父亲曾到我在渥太华住处问寒问暖，提供帮助，至今铭记在心。不幸的老人家于今年5月在渥太华去逝，享年九十有三。Charles Burton 1991-1993 与1998-2000 分别先任加拿大驻中国使馆一等秘书后任文化参赞（Served as Counsellor at the Canadian Embassy to China 1991-1993 and 1998-2000）。在任职其间，经他相邀我曾去他在北京官邸，共述旧谊。并参观大使官邸，还驱车到使馆附近一家咖啡馆，一边晒太阳，一边与大使全家坐在路边共进以汉堡包为主的午餐，中、西方请吃饭文化差别，至今记忆犹新。Charles Burton现任职于加拿大多伦多Brock University 政治学教授。现研究国际关系问题，每年均来北京中央党校讲课一个月。
   二年前（2007年8月）曾与夫人及儿子来过复旦逗留四天（当时我安排他们住复旦燕园宾馆），Charles、我与陶黎铭夫妇蒙大山（曾是Charles 下属）的赠票邀请观看他与郭冬临在上海话剧中心表演的喜剧。我们戯说大山很会赚钱，你只知道做学问教书不会赚钱，连主持多伦多华人春节联欢会还要自己赔钱掏腰包。今年6月份Charles Burton偕夫人与儿女去昆明度假，他单独一人定于8月8日--11日来上海寻旧，并逗留看看复旦大学的变化。我安排他住校内的卿云宾馆，他细端详，故址换新装。寻寻觅觅，这里当时原他住过的留学生楼，特别是卿云宾館中心楼底层，每间房间都去看看，正是个中事，意难忘。硕师、俊彦今何在？

                     Charles（左）与博主（右）在客房的合影

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_50a124b40100f4qi.html

Wang Zhaojun Reflects on Our Friendship

2010-01-22T14:50:00.000-05:00

周志雄：你在小说中多次写到人之间的友谊，如《拂晓前的葬礼》中的吕锋和田家祥，《绿帽子》中的胡大威和姜一品，《青桐树》中的刘树和文风，他们年龄都差不多，都是同学。就我所知，你有两个好朋友，一个是与你同过事合著过书的吴国光，一个是你的同学Charles Burton。一个人在成长的历史中，朋友的影响可能大于父母，可以谈谈朋友对你的影响吗？

王兆军：我的朋友不是很多，私交范围比较窄。我不是那种会来事的人，经常叫人觉得无趣。可以设想，谁会跟一个无趣的人交往呢！我最头痛的就是走亲访友。我的几个朋友，的确都比较知心，所以很珍惜。父母和朋友是很不同的。父母是长辈，是两代人，他们天然地拥有批评你的权力，交流起来很困难，有时得被迫接受他们的观念。吴国光虽然是我的学生，但他在我的写作道路上给我很多帮助，其中有些是批评的形式。他很敏锐，也渊博，写过一些评论，我从他那儿受益不少。他现在是香港中文大学教授。

Charles Burton现在是柏罗克大学教授，做过加拿大驻华使馆的文化参事和政治处主任。在Charles Burton身上，我学到了西方人的很多好品质，尤其是英国人那种绅士风度。他们能在任何时候都不失态，那种顽强维护人格和尊严的气概，对我来说很值得借鉴。中国人经受的苦难太多，有时会因为一些屑琐小事或小东西而失态。我和他的交往，后来也有过一些分歧，主要是我的心理问题，有文化冲突的成分，不好多说。

总起来说，我珍惜友情，主张朋友之间平等相待。不同文化之间，虽然有先进落后之分，但没有尊卑之分，不能笼统地说一种文化比另一种文化好，朋友之间更应当彼此尊重。有时候，我渴望有很多朋友，经常一起喝茶聊天随便说笑自由自在，但更多的时候是怕麻烦。我不喜欢人多的地方，但不能没有朋友。

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_60e98fa80100g0xn.html

August 13, 2009: A very good day for 5 year-old Geoffrey Burton

2009-08-13T22:48:00.001-04:00

Having just flown in from Shanghai the day before, I returned to the Toronto Airport on August 12 to pick up Mary, Lucy and Geoffrey who travelled back to Canada from Kunming via Beijing.

Geoffrey had been there since the end of May. He was obviously very happy to be home this morning. He played quietly by himself with his toys that he had been away from for 2 and a half months. For lunch he had his favourite food, shepherd's pie into which he mixes some ketchup. After lunch we went for a swim in the condo pool (just the two of us in there the whole time). Geoffrey spent a long time in the bath afterwards playing with his boats and plastic figures of pirates, etc. For supper I made him a hamburger. He watched a video and spoke to me in English only all day.

Nothing much happened. But I feel that perhaps we could not have had a better day together. It has been a day to keep in memory for all its simple joy.

Peter Michael Burton - 05/31/2009

2009-05-31T23:42:00.002-04:00

Peter Michael Burton, MB, BS, MRCS, LRCP, MD. Physician. Died peacefully on May 30, 2009, Peter was for 55 years the loving and much loved husband of Rachel (nee Greaves). Born in London on March 7, 1916, Peter was educated at St. Martin’s Preparatory School, Epsom College, and at the Medical College of St. Mary’s Hospital, London, where he studied under Sir Alexander Fleming while Fleming was undertaking the first trials of penicillin. Peter enlisted as a medical officer in the RAF in 1940. After the war, he returned to St. Mary’s for postgraduate work. In 1954, he and Rachel were married at St. Michael’s, Chester Square, and decided to come to Canada. While Peter was on the staff of the Civic Hospital in Ottawa for 35 years, he was primarily a family physician and, in the custom of the day, made house calls every morning and evening. An immensely elegant, kindly, and reassuring figure, he was completely free of pretence, had a wonderful sense of humour, and a talent for putting children at ease. Uninterested in politics, he was a favourite of politicians of all parties who enjoyed his easy good nature and sympathetic ear. (He was, for example, a confidant of successive Prime Ministers, and Household Physician to the Governors General of Canada from the 1950s to the 1970s). But his heart lay with poor elderly people living alone, to whom he was especially attentive. He was respected and loved by his patients, family and friends. He is survived by his wife Rachel; sons Prof. Charles (Brock University) and the Rt. Rev. Anthony (Diocese of Dallas); daughters-in-law Mary and Anna; grandchildren Lucy, Caroline, Peter and Geoffrey. A Requiem Eucharist will be held at St. Bartholomew’s Anglican Church, 125 MacKay St., Ottawa on Wednesday, June 3, 2009 at 11 a.m.

Keith Tinkler Child Porn Charges

2009-04-27T23:00:00.018-04:00

Wed, 2009-04-22 15:35.
A 67 year old man is facing child porn charges after a raid in St. Catharines Wednesday.
Police say they started investigating earlier this month.
Today, they searched a home on Bellevue Terrace, seizing computer components and other evidence.
Keith Tinkler is facing charges of possessing , distributing and making child pornography.
(http://www.610cktb.com/news/565/916084)

Comment: I just became aware of this today. Keith Tinkler is a colleague at Brock University. He is set to retire from the Department of Earth Sciences this June. He has been teaching at Brock since 1975. I did not know him well, but I often nodded to him as we passed in the halls on the way to lectures.
The part of this extremely disturbing news that preys on my mind is the allegation that he was "making child pornography." I shudder to imagine what that implies. How is it that he could have acted on such utterly evil impulses? Did we all miss some critical signs that behind Keith's mild gnome-like gently smiling exterior lurked Satan himself?
I pray for the healing of all the children that he is alleged to have damaged.
If the charges are proved, I ardently hope that Keith Tinkler will spend the rest of his life in prison in remorse and repentance.

Update June 3, 2009: Keith Tinkler was sentenced to 20 months imprisonment: http://www.stcatharinesstandard.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?e=2607237