Evil Women

Recently on the Passionate Eye, a CBC news show, I watched a BBC documentary about this fifty-something English woman, Jane Felix-Browne, who had married one of Osama bin Laden’s sons, Omar Ossama bin Laden, a man in his twenties. Osama has a lot of sons, some of whom are wanted for terrorism and in hiding with him, and some, such as Omar, who are not. All of bin Laden’s sons, including Omar, had undergone training with him at his CIA funded camps to learn to fight against the Russians.
Omar does not seem to want to live the life of a terrorist; in fact, he seems rather lost, unsure of just what sort of life he does want to lead. because of his father, he has been rejected by the members of his family who are not hunted criminals. He has been rejected by much of society for that same reason. And, he has been rejected by his father for not being a terrorist.
When Omar speaks of his father, he speaks with longing. He does not condemn Osama, because he loves him. One gets the felling if Omar only knew where to find his father, he would happily join him, just to be by the man’s side. Omar may have once decided that terrorism is not for him, but his moral compass appears ungrounded, and this lost boy could perhaps be persuaded into a life of terrorism to regain his father’s love.
Even more eerie is the woman who married him. I found her behavior puzzling. She licked her lips constantly, an action I found disturbing. Like a poker bluffer’s “tell”, her tongue darted in and out as thought defying the viewer to catch the lies it presaged. Jane is always heavily made up. In the airport at Heathrow, she wears a niqua. Yet in a Saudi nightclub, she goes bareheaded. She seems to choose her outfits based on their ability to taunt her audience. She proclaims her love for her husband, but yet her eyes do not speak it. Her body language, words and gestures are all highly protective of him, more like an overbearing mother than a new wife. As though she seeks to keep him to herself, to gain control over him and guide his actions.
Her sideways stare at the camera reminded me of that infamous photo of Karla Homolka. As I listened to Jane launch into a tirade about how Osama is not evil and the western world judges him wrongly, her mask fell, and I saw her for what she is. The same type of woman as Karla. A woman who feeds on dangerous men. In my opinion, Jane sought out Osama’s son, all the way from her lower middle class home in England, because she wants to be near his terrorist father. I think She wants to lead his son back to Osama so she can join in.
I hope someone’s keeping an eye on her.

Rhinoceros

For regular readers of my blog, if there are any, you will have noticed I have been silent for over a month now. That is because I have been having a crisis of spirit. I have received so many rejection letters for my writing, my prime passion in life, that I have considered giving up. I know one needs a thick skin in this business, but mine has been scraped away. Rejection has taken all the joy out of my writing, bleached it dull. Perhaps, after nearly eight years of effort, it is time to call it quits, say the dream was good, I gave it a good try, but clearly it was not meant to be, and move on.
So I took a sabbatical. Stopped writing, said so there, you win, to all those stupid publishers with their little encouraging hand-written notes, telling me I have a strong voice and they loved my story, but they just can’t print it. Bleah on you.
I found there is nothing else I want to do. I like to write. But if nobody but me reads it, why bother? Does writing then become a silly hobby?
My sabbatical continued.
Now I’m back, but on my own terms. I’m going to write for the sheer pleasure of writing, and not worry about commercial potential. I may or may not send my work to market, but that will not be the point. I may never be famous, but ditto. I am still writing. Bleah.

Should a Sikh Wear a Motorcycle Helmet?

This is a letter I wrote to the editor of the Toronto Star in response to an article about a Sikh protesting a traffic ticket for not wearing a motorcycle helmet. The Ontario Human Rights Commission was supporting his claim that a helmet constituted religious discrimination.

The Human Rights Commission has gone too far this time. If Canada is going to work as a country, we have to have some agreement as to what rights, freedoms, laws, and regulations we will all share and uphold. Motorcycle helmets, like seat belts, are an inconvenience for everyone of every religion or cultural background. In that sense they are not discriminatory. A Sikh may keep his hair covered while wearing a helmet--the turban is not the only form of acceptable headgear for this purpose. Furthermore, riding a motorcycle is not a right, it’s a privilege. A rider must pass a difficult test in order to obtain a license. Not everyone in this country owns or rides a motorcycle. Not having a motorcycle does not hamper someone from freely enjoying all that Canada has to offer or from participating fully in all aspects of life in Ontario. In that sense, attorney for the human rights commission Scott Hutchison’s statement that, "Telling Mr. Badesha to choose between his religion or participating in the normal life of Ontario is discrimination," is ludicrous. Motorcycle driving is not part of the normal life of Ontario. I don’t know anyone outside of the Hell’s Angles who would consider it so. Mr. Badesha is simply being asked to follow an important safety regulation. His assertion that everyone dies in accidents every day is also ridiculous. Does the fact that sometimes accidents occur justify flouting any and all safety rules? Shall we all just start choosing which rule to follow and which one not to? With freedom comes responsibility. If Mr. Badesha truly wants to participate in the normal life of Ontario, he should quit wasting the taxpayer’s money on trivia.

Pit Bull Ban

Pit bulls are bred to be fierce fighters. They are designed t face off to bears, and win. They have broad, powerful chests, short hair, tiny ears, and narrow eyes, so that it is difficult to find a handhold to restrain them. Their necks are their strong point, since strangling them is out of the question. Fierce jaws that can bite down with the strength of a crocodile are another of their fearsome features. Standard police-issue 38 caliber guns cannot kill them with a single shot, or often even with an emptied gun. Like a bear, it takes a 45 to kill a pit bull. To my mind, this makes a pit bull more like a bear as a pet than a dog, and pet bears are not legal in most neighbourhoods.
Yes, it’s the owner not the dog, but what kind of owner chooses a pit bull? In my experience, the owner is scarier than the dog. My neighbour, whose dogs attacked an elderly woman last year, causing her to lose half her face, is one scary man. I’m sure he trained that dog to be vicious. That’s my point. Any dog can be vicious. But the kind of person who trains a dog to be vicious, chooses a pit bull for a pet, because a vicious Yorkie isn’t deadly. Which is why this deadly animal should be banned as a household pet. Pit bulls belong in a zoo with the bears.

Wal-Mart

What is it about Wal-Mart that both upsets and attracts people so? In my city of Burlington Ontario, Wal-Mart spent ten years fighting a battle through various levels of government to be allowed to open a store on the fringes of town. People angrily protested, saying it would destroy local business, ruin the view, and cause wild dogs to roam the streets. :P Yet as soon as Wal-Mart opened, it prospered, and continues to prosper to such an extent that now they are gearing up for a battle to open another store, this one close to our downtown core. Dreadful heavens! The end of the world as we know it is near, to hear the protesters talk. We all know, however, that as soon as this store opens, it too will be filled with shoppers, and will rake in obscene profits. Surely not all those shoppers were never involved in the protests.
So my question for these protesters is: if you hate Wal-Mart so much, why do you shop there? If you really want to keep Wal-Mart from doing business in your town, put your money where your mouth is, as the saying goes, and stay away. It’s that simple.

Telemarketers

Everyday it seems I get a call from someone trying to sell me windows and doors. Either the market for windows and doors is very competitive, or it’s just one aggressive guy. I don’t listen long enough to register the company name.
I’m actually thinking of replacing a set of patio doors and a couple of windows this year or next. I mentioned to my family that I’m going to start recording the names of these companies that call, make sure I get the spelling right, and then inform them that I’m planning to buy new windows soon, but not from their company, because I don’t appreciate telemarketers. And I will make sure not to buy from any of those companies.
My kids thought that might be unfair. After all, they said, telemarketing is a legitimate form of advertising. Was I also going to make a list of everyone who tries to sell windows on TV?
I thought about this for a moment, and that’s when I realized why I find telemarketing so offensive, besides the fact they always call during dinner hour, or when I’ve just settled down with a good bock and a nice cup of tea. It’s not even because I can choose whether or not to turn on my radio, or TV, or to buy a magazine or not, or to look a bill board or not, yet I can’t stop my phone from ringing, although these are all strong arguments.
It’s because telemarketing is not a legitimate form of advertising, similar to a TV commercial. I receive free TV shows in exchange for putting up with advertising. Ditto free radio programming. And my magazine subscription prices are greatly reduced due to the sponsors. Even this website is available to me for free because advertisers support it. For all I know, the volume of flyers that passes though my mailbox lowers the cost of stamps for snail mail.
My point is, I benefit from all of the above forms of advertising by receiving free or cost-reduced services. Does my telephone bill go down because telemarketers call me? No. If I start receiving telephone service for free because it’s subsidized by telemarketing, then I’ll quit whining and listen to them. Maybe even buy their products.
How about it, door and window guys, ready to pony up?

New Year's Resolutions

New Year’s, and time for resolutions. The number one resolution made each year, or so I'm told, is to lose weight. No surprise there. I've never been one for resolutions¾I know how hard they are to keep. I can manage to give something up for lent, but that’s as long as I go. You’d think a broken bad habit would stay broken, but bad habits creep into your life with as much ease as ants into your house.
Instead I decided to make realistic resolutions. Like going skinny-dipping, or taking my picture in a photo booth in the mall. These were things I never did as a youth, and resolved to do the past two years. They were fun and easy and I enjoyed them.
This year I'm aiming a little higher. I'm to going to try to quit doing things solely to gain other people’s approval. I think I spend too much time working to please others, which a is a loser’s game for sure. Even more of a waste of time than trying to lose weight, and even less satisfactory. It’s going to be hard work, since there are no clear road maps, but I will definitely benefit.
I’ll let you know how it goes.

Barry McCarthy: Paint and Poetry

Periodically, the Burlington Art Council invites local poets to write about the works of a featured artist. Then, at a reception for the artist, the poets read their work aloud. Generally, much to the delight of the artist. The three entries below are poems I wrote on the artwork of Barry McCarthy. I have referenced a website selling his work under my fave links.
About his work, The Cot. I related strongly to this piece, because my grandfather slept on such a cot in his basement, and I imagined as the occupant in the study.

Pink House

Call the children home.
Come here, come here!
Set the tables, ride the rocking chairs!
We’ll drink lemonade,
Eat sugar cookies,
Play ring-around-the-rosy
Until we fall down.
Dizzy dandelions
Butter our chins.
Watch the painted ponies win.
Could we begin again?
Aged roof sags with a sigh.

The Cot

Grandpa’s view
Made his poor cot a paradise,
His mouldy room a palace.
Fresh salt of the sea,
Wave murmurs of the womb.
One day he returned.

Museum Monument

Yearning
for release.
Open sky beckons,
Hot sun surrounds.
One tug, one thrust,
Then, discharge,
Burst into flight.
Liberation.

More on Christmas Wrap

This is my last word on this subject. Promise.
Did you know Friends of the Earth says six per cent of all annual paper waste is wrapping paper from Christmas?
I took a picture of my living tree bark paper from Ten Thousand Villages. UNICEF also sells it.
Environmentally friendly, socially conscious, and quite pretty, I think.

I Hate Turkey

What is it with holidays and turkey? Does anyone really like turkey meat? C’mon, the rest of the year when you go out for a fancy dinner, what do you order? Turkey? I think not. You order prime rib, or steak, or some other beef dish. Maybe you order lobster or even pork tenderloin. But you do not order turkey. Restaurants don't even stock turkey except at Christmas and Thanksgiving. There's a reason for that: nobody likes it.
I'm not being a grinch here. I love Christmas. I love the parties, being with family and friends, going to church at midnight, exchanging gifts . . . I even enjoy turkey dinners. The gravy, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes--real, not from a box--the cranberry sauce, and all the rest are wonderful. But I can only swallow the meat if it’s drowned in gravy. Lots and lots and lots of gravy. I generally take a very smalls slice of meat, place it prominently in my plate, and exclaim over how wonderful it is so no one’s offended by my lack of desire to actually eat any of this foul bird. Pun intended. Then I carve into the good stuff--the mincemeat pie with hard sauce. Especially hard sauce. Mmm . . . hard sauce. I can hear Homer drooling in the background even as I write.
Nobody wants the leftovers. My mother now trashes the rest of the bird because it’s a waste of effort--a lot of effort--to try and save it. And who likes turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole, and leftover dishes that drag on for days? Anyone? I mean it; if you do, tell me.
Not to mention turkey products valiantly sold in grocery stores the rest of the year. Turkey lunchmeat, hot dogs, etc.--meat substitutes that are supposedly more heart healthy than beef. Give me a break. Beef is leaner these day. Enjoy it.
So why do we celebrate our most special occasions with this horrid bird? Is it because we all need the excuse to serve gravy and stuffing?
So lets serve gravy and stuffing and mash and forgot the roast beast.
While we’re at it, lets forgo mince pie underneath the hard sauce. And dip without the ships. Less calories that way.
Have a merry Christmas. I’ll toast you with my rosé wine.

The Season

December dark,
Broken by
Electric Candlelight.
Snow and ice,
Melted by
Warmth of gas fires.
Fear and longing,
Displaced by
Gifts, food, & presents.
Stress and busyness
Halted in their tracks
By family and song.
Barren trees outside,
Draped trees inside.
The gloom dispelled by
Ultimate love,
Forever love,
God’s love.

Alternatives to Christmas wrap:

Seems my earlier blog on the evils of wrapping paper has led people to ask me a well-deserved question: how do I wrap my Christmas presents?
I choose reusable bags. Yes, these are made with the evil dyed paper, but I reuse a bag an average of twenty times before it falls apart, which is much more often than a piece of wrapping paper can be reused. I also reuse the tissue paper, which lasts an average of five bags.
Cloth bags are an even better choice. Hemp is preferable to cotton, since most cotton fields are heavy pesticide users, and cotton is generally bleached. However, organic cotton bags with natural dyes are a good alternative. Silk makes for an especially lovely bag. Cloth bags can be decorated with bows and arranged in such a way that there is still the anticipation of opening them, and can be quite pretty. Also, given their shape and flexibility, they can be used to mislead the recipient as to their contents.
Then there are the more environmentally friendly forms of wrapping paper. There is a type of paper made from the living bark of a tropical tree that is sold by Ten Thousand Villages that is a beautiful, colorful, thick paper. This tree readily regrows its bark, so the paper is a renewable resource. Also, by shopping at Ten Thousand Villages, the money spent goes directly into the hands of third world artisans, and not to evil corporations. (I like that word, evil.) Another paper choice is of course recycled paper, made with peroxide instead of chlorine bleach, and organic dyes.
Another choice is homemade paper. Twenty years ago, we bought a $7 roll of unbleached newsprint paper, the kind that goes into the presses. We use it for kid’s art projects. We still have over half the roll left. A very good buy. Sometimes for Christmas, we paint the paper in Christmas images and patterns, and use that for wrap. Then we are not only giving a gift, but also a work of art (depending on your definition of art).
I hope that supplies enough ideas on how to make your Christmas presents pretty and fun to open without polluting and deforesting our planet.

On Mars The Cats Are Crazy

Chapter One:
On Mars, the cats are crazy.
Maybe it’s because of the smell.
I had never experienced anything like it before. Being from the Moon, where the oxygen rechargers remove odors, I admit I have a limited aroma vocabulary, but I had been to Earth, and Earth sure hadn't smelled like this.
A penetrating sort of tangy, sort of urine-like, sort of spicy cinnamon-and-lemon kind of scent that got into your nostrils and stayed there, so deep you could taste it.
I worried that it might drive me crazy, and wondered how were we going to live here.
“Henry, what is that?” Mom had her hankie out again, covering her nose and mouth. She looked at my father as if he had just handed her a dead skunk.
“Sorry, dear, must be something I ate.” Dad tried to smile, but it came out more like he was eating dog turds.
Mom shot him a look.
“How should I know? Have I ever been here before?” He grabbed her elbow and started guiding her towards the spaceport lounge, a low flat building that looked like any strip mall on Earth. Mars so far was a huge disappointment. “Let’s get inside and see if we can find out.”
I tagged along behind, my fingers pinched firmly over my nostrils, not sure if that helped or not. The smell was so thick it crawled down my throat and threatened to make me puke.
Davis nudged me. “Maybe you need to take a bath.”
I ignored him.

Wrapping Paper is Evil

Every year my church does Christmas wrapping at the mall as a fundraiser. All local charities are invited to participate. The mall provides the paper and supplies, and the shoppers can donate money to the charity for the wrap if they want. Every year I am asked if I will participate in this project, and every year I decline. I explain that I won’t participate because I consider wrapping paper to be evil, and to do it in Jesus’ name a sacrilege. People are usually taken aback by this declaration.
I think of wrapping paper as evil because first, trees are cut down to produce it. Trees, among their other fine qualities, are our biggest protection against global warming. Most forestry industries do not replace trees at anything close to a rate comparable to their taking.
Once the trees are cut and milled, chlorine is used to bleach the paper, adding a multitude of toxic chemicals, the organochlorines, to our waterways. Then, colored dyes are added, creating more toxins such as mercury and arsenics.
After all this wanton environmental destruction and waste of natural resources, what do we do with this precious product? We tear it up and toss it away. Most people don’t even bother to recycle. And, to further add to the disrespect for this wonderful world we’ve been given, we do all this in God’s name. God must spend her son’s birthday crying.
The worst part is, whenever I explain this to someone, they laugh and call me a scrooge.
Bah humbug.

Cats and the Power of Positive Thinking

My cat Sassafras, who was neutered at five months old but still thinks he's a tom, got into a fight the other day and came home with a torn ear. I decided to keep him in the house for a few days until he healed.
Being a cat, and therefore stubborn, he now spends a lot of time standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open. It’s as though he’s chanting an affirmation in hopes that the door will open if he focuses enough.
My family spent the dinner hour last night laughing at him, and indirectly at the concept that being positive about a goal can make it happen. No amount of “sending it out to the universe” is going to make a door open, we thought.
But then, right after dinner, I wandered into the kitchen, saw the cat by the door, and quite by habit, opened it and let him out. Then I swore as I remembered I wasn’t supposed to do that. Of course, the cat was gone, and I felt the idiot.
Cats catch mice by waiting beside the mouse hole for so long the mouse forgets about their presence and ventures out. Bam! End of mouse. I’d fallen for the same trick.
The episode made me wonder about the concept of positive thinking. Perhaps that’s how it works. However ludicrous the concept may seem, wait by a door long enough, and someone will open it.

UCW Limerick - a group effort

Some light refreshment for a grey November day:

There once was a place named Five Oaks
That was filled with laughter and jokes.
Elizabeth was there,
With her clashing red hair,
While Cathy Eves danced for the folks.
The bats came to view
The hats on review;
Pink, red, and black
To mention a few.
Several stories were told
Of the brave and the bold
As we partied to ward off the cold.