Long in the Tooth

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 19:47:00 +0000

I am taking a drug called Bicaltulamide because it is the same that Nelson Mandela took in order to live to a hundred. This doesn't make much sense, does it? I know that I'm missing something here, so you'll have to forgive my illogic. That's not the point however. This drug suppresses testosterone and, as a byproduct it causes hair to grow on a balding man. It also causes a loss of sexual desire, of course, and many men, I am sorry to say, accept this so they can feed their vanity with hopes of a head of hair. Fools! Women are not stupid. They know that balding men are virile and they are not averse to a roll in the hay with a virile man. Men are dreamers, women are realistic and practical. My doctor has prescibed this drug for me and I must ask him again the reason. Some hair has been growing on my otherwise bald pate, but not much and I often shave it off. It's neater. By the way, for the first time since IQ testing has been used, women now score higher than men. How about that? God bless them.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 14:56:00 +0000

Cancer Island

2011 has not been kind to folks in our little city. Our neighbor to our left, age 56, has bone cancer and is in hospital on morphine to counteract the pain. We visited her yesterday and she was in top spirits. thanks to the morphine. She is still her old lively self.

Our other neighbor has prostate cancer, the bleeding kind. He's a gentle soul and is always ready to help with any difficulty. He carries on. Almost anyone we talk to has someone close to them with cancer. It's an epidemic.

Prince Edward Island is famous for it's potatoes. A great amount of herbicides and other chemicals are used. While we cannot lawfully spray our lawns, the farmers can go full tilt. The effect on humans has "not been proven". Oh well.

Where does that leave me? I've just been diagnosed with prostate cancer, It is the "slow kind" and with treatment, including pills and an injection every three months I should live another 20 years. That gives me lots of time to die of other causes. I'm told that Nelson Mandela has the same cancer as I, getting the same treatment as I and is pushing 100 years old. I will die with cancer not of it. Ok, I'm agreeable.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 14:55:00 +0000

The Children of Privilege

Kate and Will have been thrilling people in one city after another, according to my on-line news source. Each day sees another city being thrilled. Ottawa. Edmonton. Vancouver. All these thrills block out any other news.

These two celebrities spent part of a day in Summerside. What a spectacle! It so happens I had to drive to Lower Freetown, a journey of 20 minutes at the most. It took me the best part of 90 minutes because I encountered a crowd of pedestrians coming from the waterfront where Will had demonstrated his "bravery" and skill by lifting aloft in one of our latest choppers and landing it on a cruiser. (Show-off time.)This line of pedestrians coming from the Royal Presence was at least a mile long, to say nothing of the vehicle traffic. Man, did I pick the wrong time to go to Lower Freetown.

Thank God, they're finally gone and I celebrate the return of sanity. As a proud Canadian and an avowed anti-monarchist, I resent these Royals coming here and acting like Lords of the Realm. Had I any say in the matter, I would politely ask them to leave and delare a Republic of Canada with an elected President.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Mon, 09 May 2011 12:52:00 +0000

The Great Dictator

Man, was I ever wrong about the Canadian election. First, I didn't think Prime Minister Harper would win a majority of seats, but he did. He did it by character assasination, inuendo, blatant lies and all the dirty tricks you can imagine. Secondly, I was greatly impressed by the youth movement to get out the vote, thinking that young voters could hardly stomach Harper. Wrong again! They voted for him overwhelmingly. A number of survays revealed that uppermost in young minds was first, the economy, second, health care. If the economy tanked, they might have to move back in with their parents, and they were concerned about health care being available when they would need it later in life. And, after all, was Stephen Harper not the guarantor of the economy? Not so fast.

The Canadian economy is healthy because of Paul Martin who, with the Chrétien government following the huge deficit left by Mulroney's Progressive Conservatives, nursed the nation back to fiscal health and passed legislation to make sure our banks would not follow the example of the U.S. financial institutions. As a result, our banks enjoy a reputation second to none on the world stage.

But no, our blind and naive electorate just didn't get it. They saw Harper in his Captain Canada suit with CANADA enblazened across his chest - how juvenile can you get? They flocked to him. Canada and Harper are synonyms! On TV, we saw his supporters holding Harper and Canada placards. Presumably, other candidates are not credible Canadians, especially Harvard professors who are only here on a lark, which our learned fool Iggy did little to dispel.

One credible Canadian, however, is Jack Layton. His victory, if you can call it that, was displacing the Liberals as official opposition. As if it matters! It was not an NDP victory as such, it was a Layton victory. There is a difference. Jack could have led the Rhinocerous Party to a similar "victory". That man really resonated with the people. Especially in Quebec, where a number of his candidates, whose names could have been chosen from a phone book, won handily. Actually, they were students. One especially, hardly speaks French, spent the prior week in Las Vegas, doesn't know where her riding is, but now is one of our legislators. Who knows, she may do well. I feel really sorry for Gilles Duceppe of the Bloc Québecois who, despite his avowed purpose of Quebec separation, gained the respect of all parties as a skilled parliamentarian. He had said that as long as Québec remained in Canada, he would be a loyal Canadian and act accordingly. He did so. Along with Ignatieff, he lost his seat and the Bloc is decimated. Sad, but when the wave comes, look out!

I am willing to bet that after four years of a Harper dictatorship, and that is what it will be, we might have trouble finding an elector who will admit to having voted for him. You can hold me to that.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 08:01:00 +0000

This blog has lain dormant for some time and I'm thinking of deleting it, but first I may make a hard copy of some of the articles. It seems to me that publishing my thoughts is really a foolish exercise in egotism. So this is the end of the line.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 17:38:00 +0000

My lost slippers

I was looking for my slippers. They are usually by my Laz-y-boy in front of the TV in the rec room, but they weren't there. I must have left them by the daybed in my den. No, not there either. Perhaps the bathroom. Nope. I climbed to the main level and looked around, no luck. I must have left them in the bedroom, so up another level. You see, our house is a split level - four levels; there is a cellar (my wine cellar), then the rec (family) room, then the main level, finally the top level, the bedrooms. So I came down all the way to the cellar but no better luck. Up again to the main level and out to the garage, but no slippers there. For the next quarter hour or so, I travelled up and down several times and finally, exhausted, frustrated and angry, I slumped into my Laz-y-boy, reached for the lever to raise the footrest, put my feet up and took a few deep breaths, looked around the room. It was then that I found my slippers. They were on my feet!

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 05:27:00 +0000

Update

I finally had my lumbar puncture, Oct. 7, and immediarely afterward was able to walk normally. This lasted until the return to Summerside but not the next couple of days when I was back to my ataxic gait. The fluid was analysed and nothing untoward was found.

Now, two weeks later, for some reason, I seem to be walking normally. Not 100% but maybe 95%. Who knows why? I return to see my neurologist Nov. 2 and I'll have many questions for him. He anticipated my seeing a neurosurgeon in Moncton - the solution is to put a shunt from my brain to my stomach, a risky operation at best, to drain off excess fluid. I want no part of it. I can live with my present condition even if the ataxic gait returns. If it gets worse I'll deal with it then. So, once again, stay tuned.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 12:57:00 +0000

My Health

I've been wondering what to do with this blog. I could pontificate on current events, the world situation, politics, etc., but to what purpose? It's all been said by any number of pundits, commentators and "experts". So who am I to go there? I've considered deleting the blog. The world has not beaten a path to my door, after all.

So instead I'll get personal and hold forth on my well-being.

I'm 77 and not the man I used to be. For the past two years I've not been able to play tennis or curl, two sports that I love and have a talent for, because of my ataxic gait. To save me a long explanation, you can Google it. To be short, it's a balance problem which causes me to walk funny and is very exhausting. I used to enjoy my walks of several kilometers but now I can't do a thousand feet.

This week, my neurologist attempted a lumbar puncture, otherwise known as a spinal tap, for the purpose of withdrawing 40 ml. of spinal fluid. This, he assured me, would restore my balance but only for an hour or two, until the fluid built up again. It builds up in the brain ventricles that are continuous with the central canal of the spinal cord. It is a trouble-shooting procedure to confirm the condition and the fluid can be analyzed in the lab. But the good doctor was unable to reach the target in three tries. There was no radiologist present, so he was going blind. Next time a radiologist will do it, hopefully. He will also make an appointment with a neurosurgeon in Moncton or Halifax, so stay tuned.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 00:12:00 +0000

The Passing Scene

There are a number of things to amuse us this week. First, there is Queen Elizabeth on an official visit to Canada. She is here to celebrate the 100th aniversity of the Canadian Navy and to visit several other centers. Ok, so what do I think? She is very much a lady whom I admire. She carries out her duties with aplomb. She has little choice, and if I were she, I would dread the chore, but that is what is expected of her; that is why she gets paid. Duty above all. She has enough money that she could abdicate and relax and after all, she's 84. But no, carry on, stiff upper lip. But as a Canadian, I am insulted that she carries the title Queen of Canada. She is no more Canadian than Margaret Thatcher or Yoko Ono. It is time to discard this remnant of colonialism. Now, for the navy. Who cares how old it is? The glory years of WW2, when it played an outstanding role in winning the war, are behind it, as are thousands of our sailors who are beneath the briny. We remember and we honour the sacrifice, but does the age matter?

Next, the G20. These nations met ostensibly to put the economy back on the right track. I have listened to, and read about, the comments of various reporters, economists, pundits and "experts" of one stripe or another, but as yet see no indication that anything at all has been done. To be sure, there are plans to do something, we know not what, perhaps within a few years. We live in hopes. So much bullshit.

Then we have Wimbledon. These 19th century gentlefolk of the All-England Tennis Club make me chuckle. The dress code is all white. Watching a match on TV, it is hard to distinguish a player from his rival without some distinguishing feature such as one player wearing a cap and the other not. One match had one player wearing his ball cap with the bill in front, the other in back. Being there in person is perhaps best as the rules were cast in concrete prior to the invention of TV. Be that as it may, there was some exciting play. Unseeded Yen-Hsun Lu from Taiwan defeated Andy Roddick in five rousing sets, leaving no Americans in the tounament, to my great joy. I love to see Americans lose and Roddick is so quintessentialy American. He's probably a nice enough fellow, but there's my prejudice, take it or leave it. It's just that I detest all brutal empires, be it American, British or Roman. As for the ladies, there is no mistaking the #1 ranked Verena Williams, the Incredible Hulk of ladies tennis. I know I'm being cruel because she seems to be nice enough in interviews, speaking in a little girl voice, and she has a nice smile. But my-oh-my, she's big and muscular. Her sister Venus, ranked #2 in the world, who is more graceful and lithe, but taller, lost to the Bulgarian Pironkova. I don't hold their Americanism against the sisters, perhaps because they're black and atypical. Maria Sharapova is a 6-foot attractive blond, but she very annoyingly lets out a shrill scream every time she hits the ball.

My favourite player is Rafael Nadal, ranked #2. He lets out a yell when hitting the ball, as do a number of players, but not ear-splitting. My next favourite is Swiss #1 Roger Federrer who hits the ball silently. The final match of the 2008 Wimbledon has been considered the greatest match of all time. Rafa defeated Roger in five sets. I'll probably never see another like it.

So on to the FIFA World cup. I had never watched what we North Americans call soccer. This, however, is the real football. It is played with the feet. And the head, in more ways than one. If a hand or arm touches the ball, a penalty is called. The players wear shorts and a jersey and a type of running shoe. No pads of any sort. No helmets. But in case you think it's a sissy game, which no doubt would be the opinion of many Americans, think again. It's pretty rough and I witnessed several players carried off on stretchers. The first thing that impressed me was the accuracy of the passing. A player can kick the ball through a maze of players of both teams and hit his team mate as much as 50 or 75 feet away, and they have lighning reflexes if the ball takes an unexpected bounce. I thought that as the scoring is so low (1-0 and 0-0 is quite common and 3-0 is considered insurmountable) it would be dull. Not so. They play two 45 minute periods with few stoppages, they are always on the run and replacements are few. The referees have to be in as good shape as the players - there are no beer-bellies as in baseball. Following the game, opposing players will often exchange jerseys, and I witnessed on two occasions a fallen player being helped to his feet by an opponent. But once play resumes, there's no more lovey-dovey. Not having an allegiance to any country, one can be detached and merely admire the play. But I was delighted when Ghana defeated the U.S. 2-1, knocking them out of the tournament.

And so has gone my week, so far.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 23:54:00 +0000

Ruth

One of the most beautiful passages in the Bible has to be Ruth's entreaty to Naomi, her mother-in-law. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest I will go; and wither thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."

Naomi was from Bethlehem in Judah. At a time of famine in the land, she left with her husband and two sons to reside on the plateau of Moab, on the eat side of the Dead Sea, which is now a part of Jordan. Her two sons married Moabites, one of whom was Ruth. Over the next ten years, Naomi's husband and both her sons died.

Some time later, word reached her that the Lord had visited his people and given them food. She resolved to return to her people and left with her daughters-in-law. On the way , however, she entreated them to return to Moab where they could find new husbands. They protested, but finally Orpah relented and returned, but Ruth would have none of it and thus uttered the quotation above. Upon their arrival, the whole city was astir over them. "Can this be Naomi?" asked a woman. "Do not call me Naomi. Call me Mara, for the Almighty has made it very bitter for me. I went away with an abundance, but the Lord has brought me back destitute. Why should you call me Naomi, since the Lord has pronounced against me and the Almighty has brought evil upon me?" Many people today blame God for their troubles, but I think Naomi had a solid case.

They arrived in Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest and Ruth went out gleaning. To glean is to gather what's left after the regular reaping. To make a long story short, she ended up marrying Boaz, master of the harvest and a big man in town.

In pursuing the Book of Ruth, however, I did not come across the famous "the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn." Such a phrase can leave one with a lump in the throat, but it is not in the Bible. Google led me to John Keats' Ode to a Nightingale.

There it is, smack in the middle of the poem, out of the blue, seemingly unrelated to anything else in the ode. Not being a poetry addict, I'll leave it at that, except to say that corn was not known until the Spanish conquest of America. Some one should have informed Keats. But then, would "the alien barley" have sounded as good? I don't think so. Poets have a licence, you know.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 00:38:00 +0000

Daylight Saving Time

We've just turned our clocks ahead by one hour. What a bloody nuisance.

This all started during the First World War as a measure to save power. To save coal, to save on incandescent lighting, lamp oil and even candle wax, to benefit retailing, sports and other activities, it was thought wise to add an extra hour of evening light. (As far back as 1784, Benjamin Franklin satirically proposed taxing shutters, rationing candles and waking the public at dawn by ringing church bells and firing cannons, thus utilizing more daylight malgré nous. I'd give that idea serious consideration today!) I remember the argument that DST would give farmers more daylight to tend the crops, which is ridiculous because farmers, like the birds, adjust their work schedule to the sun regardless of clock time. The province with the most farmers, Saskatchewn, never changes its clocks.

In our house, we have eight analog and eight digital clocks. Three of the analog clocks are mounted close to the ceiling, which requires fetching a step-ladder. To remount them after adjustment requires dexterity and patience. There is a slot on the back allowing it to hook on a nail, but it is impossible to see either the nail or the slot as the clock is moved into place, so it's a matter of trying to judge the proper location. It has taken me, at times, the better part of five minutes to find the slot. Try it some time! By comparison, the digitals are easy - one click of the hour button does it. (Eleven clicks in the fall.) Our three analog watches are adjusted the old-fashioned way, but I don't wear mine any longer: I don't need it in the house of so many clocks and I never leave home without my cell phone which always has the right time. The telephone company automatically changes a land-line phone and my cellphone and my computer are automatic, of course. The clock in the car requires me to get out the manual every time; just when I had it down pat in my last car, I had to go and trade, stupid me; they're all different.

So as you can see, it's not a matter of a few minutes. And the result generally is less than perfect in that no two clocks agree; some are one or two minutes fast, others slow. It perhaps doesn't matter, except that television programs start and end on the exact hour or half-hour and they always have the right time. So if the clock is fast, you miss the first news headline, or if slow you must endure a minute or two of commercial. Other than TV watching or getting to the doctor on time, I'm not really a stickler for the exact time. That was not always the case.

Prior to my retirement, I kept my watch to the exact second. At work one day, a colleage and I compared watches and he was seven seconds off; I asked him how he could live that way. He gave me a sideways glance. Every once in a while, the folks at Greenwich determined that a second had to be added or subtracted to correct for an anomaly in the earth's rotation or whatever. I would complain that I wasn't advised.

I would get strange looks. I tried to keep a straight face.

I will vote for the first polititian who promises to eliminate time changes. If DST is so great, let's have it all year!

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 15:03:00 +0000

In my previous post, I described how my brother would stay with us from time to time, for several days or weeks. On one such occasion he went out and was not home early, so we went to bed. He had a key. Some time around midnight I was awakened by a shriek. I turned over and saw two things: my wife standing on her pillow and the rear end of a dog nosing his way under the blankets. In a conditioned reflex, I picked up the dog, put it on the floor, gave it a slap and said git outta here! Crisis over, but as I started to lower my head to the pillow, I came fully awake and sat up. Whaddaya mean, dog! We don't have a dog.

There are some people to whom small children and animals are attracted. David was one of them. The dog followed him home. Feeling sorry for the little fellow out so late, Dave took him in, gave him a drink and something to eat. Then, before he could stop him, the dog ran into our room and jumped on the bed.

Dave was worried that we'd be angry, but how could anyone be angry with good ole' soft-hearted Dave for very long?

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 12:52:00 +0000

In Memory of my brother

David liked to laugh. He laughed his whole life through, although in later years it was more of an attempt to hold back the pain, to not cry.

When we were boys, we would gather at Christmas at my paternal grandmother's house after midnight mass. She would have a rabbit stew. It was the only time I remember eating rabbit. We'd gather afterward in the parlour where my uncles and aunts indulged in a libation or two. Or three. It was a merry time. There was laughter.

Old Pius, my step-grandfather, had his little nip with the rest of them. It "made the glad come", as my father used to say. (He got that from some old rustic with limited English.) Jokes were told and after an especially funny one, Pius would laugh until he was out of breath, when he would pause with a loud extended intake of breath, Eeeeeeey, then start in again. That was too much for David, who would break up. Now David had a very infectious laugh; people would laugh just to hear him. That included Pius. The two of them pumped each other up, which got every one laughing. What sent the whole thing out of control was when my uncle Clifford joined in; his laugh was as hilarious as David's, a HEE HEE HEE, not a little hee hee hee, but a loud one which morphed into a gut wrenching HAAAR HAAAR HAAAR. We were all bent over holding our sides. Those who fell off their chairs were rolling on the floor, literally. My aunts were begging for mercy. We couldn't look at each other, so we looked at the ceiling or examined pictures on the wall, trying to think of other things. But all for naught, for just as things were starting to quiet down, someone could not suppress a guffaw and we were back at it worse than before. It was pandemonium; people were actually in pain.

David was also a bit of a jokester. One night, as I was preparing for bed, I left the bathroom and turned to enter my room when this ungodly blare sounded behind me. It was like the air horn of an eighteen-wheeler. I came about a foot off the floor, my feet were pumping like Sylvester Pussycat. I hit the floor running and just managed to avoid crashing into the dresser at the far end of the room. I turned and saw David looking for an escape route. He had one of those balloons with a horn which sounded when the air was allowed to escape. To my credit I was able to see the humour.

He would play tricks to embarrass our mother. She was socially conscious and liked to associate with the better class. There were such peope in her bridge club.

When she would invite new people, she would show them the house, which had been made spotless and orderly. David would do things like stick a dagger in the wall of his room and hang his ties on it just before the guests arrived. Then there was the closet where the pots and pans were kept. He managed to sneak in and pile them all so that when the door was opened, they would all come crashing down with a clatter that could be heard across the street. How he managed to close the door on them is a mystery. Mother was not amused, to put it mildly. He remained at a safe distance, busting a gut.

He was a colicky baby. Looking back, I think he had a milk intolerance. Breast feeding was beyond the pale in those days; the modern woman thought it was for peasants, and there was no baby formula that I can remember. He developed a bad case of exzema, which required much care. When Dad went off to war, my aunt, a nurse, came to live with us. Her help was badly needed. She was very religious and one day an idea struck her - she would get holy water fron a nearby shrine to the Virgin. She got the water and bathed David in it. Lo and behold, David's exzema left him! Don't ask me why - we had been bathing him all along in good clean water along with ointments and what-not. Mother and I were incredulous, but my aunt saw nothing strange about it. She was so devoted to the Virgin that she wore blue and white, Mary's colours, until the day she died. I've heard it said, however, that if God relieves you of one misery, He visits another upon you. He develpod asthma immediately after and we often wished for the exzema instead. During the ensuing years, his face would puff out from his breathing exertions and he had to go to the hospital a number of times. It was the bane of his existence, well into adulthood. And he was ashamed of it!! He always wanted to show a macho image and he bristled when mother said he moved west to cure his asthma. I often wonder if all this contributed to his sometimes violent temper. Once when he was maybe eight or nine I angered him and he threw a hammer at me. I ducked and it hit the wall over my head. Years later while living in Winnipeg, a driver cut him off or did some stupid thing causing David to blow his horn. The driver gave him the finger. Oh, boy!! David got out of his car and headed for the offender. Seeing this bulky man approaching in a rage, he quickly locked his door and tried to drive away. David would have picked up the car and turned it over if he could - there are times when a person has super-human strength. The guy got away, lucky for them both.

His dream was to join the Mounties and following high school, he did just that. But it turned out badly. He partied hard and was often in no shape to train in the morning. He told me he fell off his horse a few times. He may have been exagerating, but the horse did walk on his ankle causing him to be laid up for a while. In the end he was discharged as being unsuitable. He came home depressed, a condition to which he would be subjected, on and off, in the years to come. Trying to get him out of his funk, he was asked what he would like to do. Fly, he said, he would like to fly, so my parents paid for flying lessons. He earned his private licence. Once on a return flight from PEI to Moncton, he encountered strong headwinds and he swore to me that the passenger ferry was passing him and he just made it back on fumes because he neglected to gas up before leaving. Some exageration there, of course, but all these sort of things were a joke to him, like falling off his horse. On a flight to Fredericton he ended up over Saint John. His flying instructor spoke to our parents, telling them that he would kill himself or someone else if he continued, advising them to not finance any more flying. I also think he was drinking quite a bit. Party, party! I don't recall the sequence of his adventures (or misadventures) after that, but he was all over Canada. He was in the navy for awhile, he was a hard rock miner, he washed skyscraper windows, he was a hospital orderly. At this job he was given the task of training a new intern. He was supposed to take the pulse of a certain patient. Arriving in the ward with the trainee in tow, he noted that the curtains were drawn around the bed so he assumed the doctor was with him. After some time and no apparent motion around the patient, David peeked and saw no one there, so he and the trainee went in and David proceeded to check the pulse, but he couldn't detect any in either wrist. The patient was dead, which is why the curtains had been drawn. The intern quit on the spot. At least, that's the way it was told to me, but knowing Dave, I have little doubt about it. He worked at a variety of jobs across the country, too numerous to mention.

During those years he often visited us and it was great to see him, but was he ever sloppy! When he showered he'd leave the curtain outside the tub so that the floor was covered with water. When he helped with the dishes he would drip water all over the kitchen. Once, after his departure we found a pile of chicken bones under his bed. All of this sort of thing he considered a joke.

His drinking got to be a problem and he ended up in rehab. I spoke to him by phone at that time. He joked that one of his brothers was a radio executive and the other was branch manager for a large international company and "here I am, building bird houses". He wasn't really joking. He joined Alcoholics Anonymous.

He always loved children and had none of his own. He married a woman with a daughter and son, whom he adopted and gave them his name. It didn't work out and she left him.

He was fighting his demons and I don't wish to get into that. There was a period when he was so depressed that he wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't answer the phone, wouldn't eat. My brother drove a long distance to see what was going on.

To make a long story short, a reluctant doctor was convinced to do something and he was prescibed lithium which brought him out of it. He had to take it for the rest of his life. His condition was described as bi-polar.

He got a job at Winnipeg airport where he obtained his papers in HVAC. (Heating, ventilation, air conditioning.) He made many friends and was well liked. His demons, however, were still with him. My phone rang one night to tell me David was dead, apparently fron an overdose of his medication. (He never touched "recreational" drugs after a bad experience with pot years earlier.) He had had a heart condition for some time and believed that he needed exercise, so he would drive to the gym, but often he didn't have the energy to get out of the car, or so I've been told; he would drive home discouraged. For years he had swum and run. His stepchildren abandoned him. The girl who inherited the bulk of his estate didn't bother coming to his memorial although she lived a short distance away. He left some money to the Salvation Army. He died broken-hearted.

David was kind. He was generous. He was loving. There was no meanness in him. He had a heart as big as all outdoors. Although he's been gone for ten years, I don't think it would be inappropriate at this time to quote Horatio's farewell to Hamlet: "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night , sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 02:35:00 +0000

Olympic Foolishness

Everyday on TV and in the newspapers, we see the glowing faces of those who have carried the Olympic torch for even a few yards, or even touched it. It is a "defining moment" in their lives, never to be forgotten, something to tell their grandchildren about in their dotage. We see crowds of thousands cheering wildly as the torch bearers run past. I don't know if there was this much joy when the war ended in 1945. I gape in wonder. Am I the only party pooper?

There was a time when the Olympics were for amateurs. Jim Thorpe was stripped of his 1912 gold medals when it was learned that he had played two years of semi-pro baseball. How times change! Big money has taken over; medal winners can expect big bucks for endorsing commercial products. We have witnessed the obscenity of the USA basketball "Dream Team" winning gold at Barcelona in 1992. These millionaires didn't join the other athletes in the Olympic Village, opting instead for a luxury hotel. Showing no shame, subsequent dream teams won again in 1996, 2000 & 2008. The Olympic spirit indeed.

For my part, I find the games boring and irrelevant. Sorry, sport fans.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 11:21:00 +0000

Where is Iggy?

The leader of the Liberal Party of Canada has been nowhere to be seen lately. He seemed to be leaving the opposition role to Jack Layton who is at the Copenhagen conference being interviewed left and right and getting lots of TV time. Iggy has been licking his wounds, according to an interview he gave yesterday, from the dreadful performance he put on this fall, calling for an election at all costs without telling us why, or what policies he favoured. He has learned from his mistakes and promises to do better.

Meanwhile, the Conservatives are being harassed over the Afghan detainee torture allegations and are not coming off too well. They prorogued Parliament hoping the issue would cool off. Also, Harper's foot dragging on the climate change issue is hurting him, along with Canada's reputation abroad. Defeating him would be a slam dunk for a strong opposition leader. (Where is Chretien when we need him?) Ignatieff better start running fast if he wants to overtake Layton, let alone the Prime Minister.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 15:22:00 +0000

Permanent War

President Obama is sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan, with the intention of withdrawing them, or some of them, in eighteen months. That should give time to train the Afghans to look after themselves, right? Oh, sure. Haven't we heard this one before, both for that country and Iraq? In all the annals of wishful thinking, this one takes the cake. Time and again we've heard of these efforts coming to naught, either because of desertion or the "trained" troops going over to the enemy.

The Taliban are laughing at all this; they don't go by the same time line. Eighteen months is nothing to them; they think in much longer terms. Eighteen months or ten years, they'll still be there. Meanwhile they claim to have a larger target at which to shoot.

All this is a prescription for permanent war. For those of you with a cynical inclination, this is just what both sides want. It sits well with the Taliban and al-Qaeda fanatics, and it's just what is needed for the American economy, which is predicated on the arms industry, without which there could be an economic collapse. Many a congressman is in thrall to the arms industry, and many a community would face high unemployment if these industries were in decline. Their congressmen would be hard put to hang on to their votes.

The U.S. has maintained a war economy since WW2. The Commie menace kept it going until 1990, at which time Saddam and all the bad guys in that part of the world took over.

Will this be Obama's undoing, as Viet Nam was for Lyndon Johnson? It could very well be. We hope not, but we're pessimistic.

Poor planet.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 19:26:00 +0000

The Yankees have won the World Series. Again. Yawn.

I'm not as much a baseball fan as I used to be. This team wins because they are loaded with money and are able to buy the best players. They pay Alex Rodriguez $27.5 million/yr. for the next ten years. Meanwhile the total payroll of the Florida Marlins for 2009 is $36.8 mil. This is called sport?

In reality, it doesn't matter, because I and everyone else are not affected financially or otherwise, as long as we're not betting people. But it's a fascinating game. There is the mental game between pitcher and batter as to whether the next pitch will be a fast ball, curve, slider or whatever.
There is insight into the characters of the rivals. Some players have a better batting average in critical situations; others tend to freeze with runners on base. Some outfielders know immediately where a ball is headed even as the batter swings. Infielders pull off unbelievable plays.
There is also a mental game between the pitcher and a threatening base stealer taking a lead off first base. The catcher and the batter are also in on this action. As I say, fascinating; I study the game and the players.

However, I didn't see much of the playoffs; an inning or two here and there. I was satisfied to see the results in the morning. Somehow the sheer commercialism of it all dims my enthusiasm. Then there is the singing of God Bless America during the 7th inning stretch, hands over heart, heads bowed. Give me a break!

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 19:58:00 +0000

Further on the swine flu madness, here is an
article well worth reading. Check it out.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 19:27:00 +0000

In my blurb of August 1, I spoke of Obama's delusional belief in bipartisanship with the Republicans, who mostly want no part of it. They, along with a number of Congressional Democrats, are doing all they can to rebuff the President on health care and other issues.

This week saw Republican victories for governor in Virginia and New Jersey, and the jackals are circling, encouraged by the likes of Sarah Palin, the idiot du jour.

The President is slipping, although it is not thought too serious as yet. In my humble opinion, he should attack, announce "no more nice guy", and give it to them with both barrels. He is losing the independent voter and the young are dropping out. After all, troops would sooner follow a fighting leader than a compromising one.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:09:00 +0000

Hysteria

We've seen in the past day a veritable stampede of people to clinics to be vaccinated against the swine flu. They're lining up at five a.m., waiting hours for the shot. They're swallowing holus-bolus the scary scenario presented by medical authorities that in my opinion is unjustified.

The Australian winter and flu season has just ended. They didn't have the vaccine and H1N1 related deaths totalled 186 out of 36,991 confirmed cases. This compares with an annual toll of 2500 to 3000 fatalities for the regular flu despite large-scale vaccination programs. So go figure.

Why is flu more prevalent in the cold season when the virus is around all year? Perhaps because we have little sun exposure. I have never been vaccinated and have not had a flu in 40 years. In that period of time I have been a heavy user of vitamins and minerals and, more recently, vitamin D3, the sunshine vitamin. A good immune system must be maintained.

One result of this panic is that it takes resourses away from more important isues. Emergency rooms are crowded with people with sniffles. Evidence that swine flu is so dreadful is sketchy at best and the vaccine has not been proven. The rush to produce it begs the question of adequate testing and research. Most people in North America have mild symptoms and a quick recovery. Most of those who develop serious problems have chronic illnesses or other health problems. So why should we all be stampeded?

For my part, I'm not getting the shot. Instead, I might buy shares in the big pharmeceutical companies that are raking in the dough.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:52:00 +0000

The French term idiot savant refers to a person with an IQ of less than 25, but is a genius in certain matters such as music, mathmatics, art, etc. Such a person was portrayed by Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rain Man. He could give you the square root of 140,625 in an instant, but couldn't tie his shoes. Other such idiots can play every note of a Chopin etude after hearing it once, but can't tell the time on a clock. Others have shown artistic genius.

The term is often used derisively, if incorrectly, to those who may have a high degree of education, but who are not adept with the talents of a normal life. We know them as Learned Fools, and I have met and worked with a number of them, often university professors, over the years. Lots of book learning but no common sense. Having said that, I come to the subject of this posting.

The Nobel Peace Prize has been awarded to President Obama. The decision was arrived at by ten Learned Fools in Oslo. The Prize may be an albatross around Obama's neck. The criticism has come hot and heavy from the Republicans and others who wish to know what Obama has actually accomplished, other than nice speeches about hope for the future. The Peace Prize has had damaging effects. In 1991, after Aung San Suu Kyi won the prize for her struggle against the Burmese military dictators, she was imprisoned and is still under house arrest. Students were rounded up, universities closed and opposition leaders harassed. Two years earlier, The Dalai Lama was awarded the Prize and it was followed by a vicious crackdown in Tibet by the Chinese. So who benefits? And who gives these Norwegian Fools the right to interfere in the affairs of various countries? Their stated purpose is to promote all good things, but they might better mind their own business.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch here in Canada, our own Learned Fool is making a mess of the Liberal Party. (See previous postings.) There is now the distinct possibility of a Harper majority if an election is called. That would be a disaster, but given the mind set of the average voter, I'm not optimistic. Forgive them, Lord, they know not what they do.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 11:14:00 +0000

No sooner did I post the entry below than Gilles Duceppe announced that the Bloc would support the government on the upcoming vote, saying that the changes to the proposed legislation are what they've been demanding all along. Good posture, given that there is nothing for them to gain in an election. So this leaves Ignatieff high and dry with his huff'n and puff'n to defeat the government, his "report card" on Harper's performance, and so forth. You don't learn parliamentary politics in the Halls of Academe. He is about as adept as his predecessor Dion. Poor Canada.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 17:50:00 +0000

There has traditionally been, at the core of the Liberal Party of Canada, a cadre of quiet centrist insiders possessing considerable political savvy.These folk have kept the Liberal ship afloat and in government for much of the 20th century, people such as the former Senator Keith Davey and cohorts. If this group still exists, Michael Ignatieff is paying it no mind.

Iggy must be out of his depth, for he has painted himself into a corner with his threat to defeat the Conservative government at the first opportunity, come hell or high water and damn the torpedoes. He is flying in the face of public opinion which overwhelming does not want an election. Perhaps as a result he is slipping in the polls and it is thought that another election would leave us where we are with another Harper minority.

Enter Jack Layton, the only person Harper needs to save his reign. Given concessions on employment insurance, Layton will likely dash Iggy's threat, more to save himself than Harper, as the NDP would be squeezed out in a Liberal-Conservative slug fest. Duceppe and the Bloc are probably looking on with quiet amusement.

One thing which will turn off many voters are the tasteless attack ads beloved of the neo-con crowd. "Only visiting" and "He's only in it for himself". No kidding! Who is Harper in it for? one might ask. These ads are aimed at the mindless Conservative "base". Yahoos of the country, UNITE!! You have nothing to lose but your shirt.

The voting public is moving toward a preference for majority government. Too bad. A Harper majority is scary and an Iggy majority doesn't inspire any confidence on my part. Minority is best, it keeps them accountable, so leave it alone. Besides, it's more fun.

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 20:32:00 +0000

There he goes again. As I noted on my last posting, the majority of Canadians wish Brian Mulroney would just button his lip and go away, but he won't. Now he's telling us that his little romance with the devious Karlheinz Schreiber will not tarnish his legacy. He only made errors in judgment. It was merely an error in judgment to accept hundreds of thousands of dollars in brown envelopes in hotel rooms. It was merely an error in judgment to only declare the income six years later, after he had been found out. He broke "no laws or ethical guidelines". Apparently it was all ethical and above-board. He also tells us that we all make mistakes which we regret in later life, which is true of course, but I never had the chance to accept huge amounts of cash from an international fixer, so what do I know? Here is the article. You will note that he takes a swipe at Stephen Harper toward the end of the article, for lowering the rate on the GST which, along with NAFTA is part of his glowing legacy. He was surprised that Harper did not see the recession coming. Really? Did Brian see it coming?

noreply@blogger.com (puzzled) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 13:36:00 +0000

Will Brian Mulroney ever learn to keep his trap shut? The more his reputation falls in tatters, the more he wants to talk. You'd think he'd want to go hide. Judging from the comment threads following this story , it appears that Canadians of all political persuations are heartily sick of his blatherings.