Another Pat on the Back

HEATHER'S NOTE: Below is an email exchange between Evelyn and a young Aurora citizen. I thought this was definitely worth posting. I've removed the young man's name.
~HEATHER SISMAN

----- Original Message -----
From: "Name Removedl" <_________@aci.on.ca
To:evelynb@aci.on.ca
Sent: Saturday, May 26, 2007 12:00 AM
Subject: Regarding your Blog


Dear Ms. Buck:

My name is ______________, a local Aurora resident (recently 18 years of age), and an avid reader of your blog online. I just wanted to take the time to comment on a recent town council meeting I had the opportunity to watch in which you suggested the potential for publishing town
council meetings onto the Town of Aurora's website. I think this is an excellent idea. It's not always convienient to sit down and watch ACI's channel 10 at the prescribed times that town council meetings air, and I think this would be an excellent way to make local politics more
accessible to people of younger ages.

On that note, I just wanted to comment / commend you on your adopted use of technology to get your ideas across. I take great pleasure in reading your blog, and I have quoted your writing in several occasions in politics papers I have written for various assignments.

Thank you for making your viewpoints, idealisms, and thoughts accessible for everyone. Your transparency in those matters has not only increased my interest in municipal politics, but it has driven me to pursue involvement in it.

Sincerely yours,
_______________

One Potato....Two Potato...

I have had comments.. to my blog. Heather says I should not presume to know from whence they came. But I do. They always have the same tone. The last comment was that I obviously have no idea how much I am revealing of myself when I write.

I have lived for more than three-quarters of a century. If you can't imagine that length of time, don't worry. I have trouble myself realizing it and it is my time. I have been writing blurbs of one kind or another for almost half a century. Reading other people's offerings for longer than that. Nothing reveals more about a person than their writing. It is the reason most active politicians are reluctant scribes...ergo anonymous.

Writing what I thought about a particular situation was my first political act, although I did not know it at the time. Not until a neighbour suggested I should make a bid for a council seat. When I was elected and others were not, an oft heard comment was ”I guess we should be writing letters to the editor.”

Had they asked, I would have told them - what you write reveals everything . You can't fake it when you write it.

If you are full of bluff and bluster, it shows. If you are full of bile and other digestive byproducts, it shows. If your logic is adrift and shifts in the breeze, oh dearrie me yes, it will show.

Of course I know how much I reveal . I do it consciously because I know I can strike a chord. I believe we are all the same under the skin. We are as good as the best and better than the rest.

I want people to trust their own judgment, make up their own minds, let no-one tell them what to think or how to vote. Look for someone to trust because they showed their respect by being forthright about themselves.

I do not believe a person should have to pretend they are something they are not to be able to win public office. I passionately disbelieve the right to govern belongs to the elite of society.

Furthermore, if Winston Churchill had not been raised as an elite, he could undoubtedly have made great strides to improve the system for which he had nothing but contempt.

Maybe just maybe, in this speck of the world, I might be able to use my opportunity to sow a small seed in an effort to increase participation in our political process. Is that too large an ambition? Or is that just what every person with the privilege of living in a society such as ours should be doing?

Newsflash!

HEATHER'S NOTE: Spring is a time for change, rebirth, and rejuvenation. To that end, Evelyn and I are revamping both her website, and the blog. I know that some readers have this blog tagged as an RSS feed - so I thought a new post would alert you to all that's transpiring.

Please visit Evelyn's Website Itself to see what we're up to. I'm still learning something new every day and so the site will continue its metamorphosis. For those of you using an RSS feed - you might want to set one up from the new site as well. ~HEATHER SISMAN

Noah's Modern-Day Plight

In the year 2007, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in Canada, and said, "Once again, the earth has become wicked and over-populated, and see the end of all flesh before me.

Build another Ark and save 2 of every living thing along with a few good humans."

He gave Noah the blueprints, saying, "You have 6 months to build the Ark before I will start the unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights."

Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard - but no Ark.

"Noah!" He roared , "I'm about to start the rain! Where is the Ark?"

"Forgive me, Lord," begged Noah, "but things have changed. I needed a building permit. I've been arguing with the inspector about the need for a sprinkler system. My neighbors claim that I've violated the neighborhood zoning laws by building the Ark in my yard and exceeding the height limitations. We had to go to the Development Appeal Board for a decision.

Then the Hydro One demanded a bond be posted for the future costs of moving power lines and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark's move to the sea. I told them that the sea would be coming to us, but they would hear nothing of it.

Getting the wood was another problem. There's a ban on cutting local trees in order to save the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists that I needed the wood to save the owls - but no go!

When I started gathering the animals, an animal rights group sued me. They insisted that I was confining wild animals against their will. They argued the accommodation was too restrictive , and it was cruel and inhumane to put so many animals in a confined space.

Then the Ministry of the Environment ruled that I couldn't build the Ark until they'd conducted an environmental impact study on your proposed flood.

I'm still trying to resolve a complaint with the Human Rights Commission on how many minorities I'm supposed to hire for my building crew. Immigration and Naturalization are checking the Visa status of most of the people who want to work. The trades unions say I can't use my sons. They insist I have to hire only Union workers with Ark-building experience.

To make matters worse, the Revenue Canada seized all my assets, claiming I'm trying to leave the country illegally with endangered species.

So, forgive me, Lord, but it would take at least 10 years for me to finish this Ark."

Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched across the sky. Noah looked up in wonder and asked, "You mean you're not going to destroy the world?"

"No," said the Lord. "The government beat me to it."

Prejudice and Its Absence

I have learned some of my readers have no interest in blogs on town matters but they do enjoy the personal ones. It occurs to me the web site would be the best place for town matters and the blog for the personal. My website is being updated, for the first time, by my friend Heather. It is taking time. In that time, the winter has ended. My garden is tugging at me for attention and the warm sunshine is an enticement to be outdoors.

I have also discovered Facebook. Most of my grandchildren and some of their friends have claimed me as a friend. It is another reason to look forward to each day.

I had an anonymous comment on my Scarlet Fever Blog this morning. “Anonymous” thought my reference to a penny bank which was in the shape of “the bust of a black man” was “an offensive and derogatory term”.

The penny banks were made of iron. The colour was applied so that it never chipped or faded. I have seen them for sale in antique stores. They look smaller than I remember them. Canada was not an industrialized society until after the second world war. Manufactured items were, in the main, imported from other places. That must be why so many items familiar to my childhood, are almost as common here as they are there.

There were very few black people in the place where I grew up. I recall nothing offensive or derogatory about being black. Nor was there anything offensive or derogatory about being Jewish. It seems we were not touched by these lethal prejudices.

The only class deemed to be offensive or derogatory in my particular part of Scotland were Catholics. I was one of those. I can't say I ever felt my religion to be a blight on my life. Of course, that may have had something to do with the teaching that we were the only ones who ever had a chance of entering Heaven and seeing God. It wasn't much of a chance mind you, considering we were all such sinners and all.

Yet even the institutionalized bias against us never did impress itself upon me. Nor does it seem any of the previous generations of my family on hand were ever particularly unhappy about their state in life.

I think, it may be, that those who find it easy to criticize others and use terms like “offensive or derogatory” with regards to people or penny banks, may very well be the ones most negatively affected by their own thinking.

I bid them peace.

One for the Wake

It was a great day. Winter was over. There may be a few frosty mornings yet but it's a time when things happen in the garden in a matter of hours - if you don't stop to watch you miss it. It won't happen again for a year . . who knows where you will be then. I had two choices I could sit on the deck at the back or I could start the tidy-up at the front.

The clematis at the front door has needed attention since fall. Last year it climbed to the eaves; a bit lost among the Swedish Ivy. Then it pulled the ivy off the wall and tumbled in a heap into the garden below. It is a tangled mess and if I don't get at it, it will start putting out leaves on what appear to be dead stems and I will have a hard time cutting it back. The clematis won out over the deck.

I went in with the calipers. I figured I could stand long enough if I leaned against the wall, but I couldn't. Then I considered my options. I'd just flooded the bed with rain and melted snow from the pool cover. The metal tube legs of the stool would simply penetrate the soil. The pink plastic chair had wider legs. They might stay on the surface.

I can't ask my son to do this kind of garden chore. He does a great job of cutting grass, edging beds and digging out weeds. I used to do that happily for hours. I can't tell him that. Sons don't like to be told they have inherited any of mother's eccentricities. Not my sons. If I ask him to do any of the finicky chores, I will, in effect, be inviting him to tell me it's time to reduce the garden. Under no circumstances will I open that door.

I put the pink plastic chair in the garden in front of the clematis and sat in it and started chopping. . . not exactly chopping. . . . more like gnawing. Clematis vine is a skinny scrawny dry thing but it's tougher than rope. As I wrestled I didn't notice the chair sinking. That's when I realized I had made no provision for getting out of that chair.

I examined my options. My cane was out of reach and it would not have been any help anyway. The snow shovel was near to hand. I was sitting in the sun. I was comfortable. My back was to the street. I had been contemplating a snooze on the back deck. Maybe I would just snooze for a bit. In time, my son may drive by and notice me sitting in an odd spot.

My neighbour might come out to put something in the garbage box. It has a heavy lid, no doubt to foil the raccoons. It seems every time it is opened, it is opened high and allowed to drop shut. At times it seems they are visiting the garbage box every five minutes. They wont see my predicament because of the cedar hedge. I could call and ask if they would phone my son and ask him to come round for a minute.

The afternoon was early - not yet time for people to come home from work. But I am still comfortable. The sun is still warm. I consider other options. The clematis vine is strong. It is tangled in the ivy. I could pull myself up out of that chair. It was risky. If the clematis could pull the ivy off the wall, the chances it would stay put against my weight were slim to nothing. If I took the chance, I might end up sprawled on my back with my legs in the air. Not an option.I notice that I am seated close to a thorny rose. I have been close to that rose before and suffered the consequences. I also notice I have sunk further - my shoes are stuck in the muck. If I move my feet, my shoes will not come with them.

For no reason that I can think of, I recalled a story oft told by my mother. She had to send off a government form in the window envelope provided. It came back to her by return post. Puzzled, she examined it - found nothing she could change and sent it off again. Back it came. Now she was really angry. More typical government stupidity, she thought. Sent it off again. Like clockwork it returned. Finally. the light dawned, every time she folded the form her own name and address were in the window.

The recollection comforted me. If I ever get out of it, this story will be a good one for the wake.

I positioned the snow shovel like the mast in a boat. The shovel part was between me and the thorny rose. The chair had tilted. The rear left leg sunk further than the other three. I put my hand over the side and it rested firmly on the dirt. It was an easy roll out of the chair onto my knees. I wrestled the chair from it's sunken position and manouvered it forward - inches at a time. I crawled behind it until it reached solid brick and finally I hoisted myself upward.

Hands, arms, knees and bare feet were mucky but undamaged . I rescued myself from ignominious circumstance and the story is mine and mine alone to tell. . . or not.

I haven't heard my cousin Eileen, in Scotland, laugh like that since the last time I was there. She was telling me how she was starting to forget things. . . I said. . . “That's nothing - wait till I tell you this!”

A Promise Not Kept.

Three years ago The Aurora Historical Society at their request, negotiated a legal agreement with the Town of Aurora to take responsibility for the interior renovations of the venerable Church Street School and for the eventual operation of the completed project as a Heritage Centre.

Last week, the Society decided by a vote, the over-all responsibility was too great for a volunteer organization to handle. Council was informed through a staff report received on Monday April 23rd and discussed during a joint meeting between council and The Society.

During the three years of the agreement, considerable work was undertaken. False ceilings, constructed decades ago to conserve energy were removed to reveal original tin tiles. Windows were re-glazed with authentic single-paned glass. Some of the the work was done by volunteers some of it was paid for by the Society and they continued to raise funds to complete the renovations. Council had no input in these matters. The last thing the town paid for was $117 thousand for a sprinkler system.

Late in the last term of council, a motion was presented, recommending sufficient funds be provided to allow the project to be completed. At that time, The Historical Society had been successful in raising $800,000. The estimated cost of the project was $1.2 million. Subsequent meetings between staff and the Society indicated the funds needed would be substantially more than first expected. Figures floated at that time were $1.5 million.

In the current term, for budget discussion, a motion was again presented to make the financial commitment to realize completion of the project. Further discussions were held to ascertain anticipated costs . A new motion was made that Council meet in camera to become educated in the history of Church Street School, Library Square and the disposition of the remaining Hydro asset, namely the building on Industrial Parkway. The motion failed on a five/four vote.

On March 20th , Council was informed architects had been retained and plans completed to terms of reference of The Historical Society . $100 thousand of their resources had been expended on those services. Council received a presentation and an outline of the plans and finally the estimated costs of the project. The figure had increased to $2.2 million plus a number of other items to bring the costs to almost $3 million.

It is currently recommended, resources be withdrawn from the Hydro Reserve Fund sufficient to cover the entire cost of the project. A bylaw passed by the previous council requires that notice of thirty days be given for funds to be withdrawn from the Hydro Reserve. The whole council must be present for the vote.

There will be an open house in the Church Street School at the end of May.The public will be able to view the plans. Council will have an opportunity to examine the plans and determine that they will meet the different needs of a town operated facility.

I have serious misgivings.

Until last Fall, the understanding has always been The Historical Society would, by their own commitment and with their funds, turn the Church Street School into a functioning Heritage Centre. Since 1969, millions of dollars had already been expended. Until last Monday, The Society was committed to the responsibility of operating the facility after its completion.

They have undertaken certain works - the main one being the retention of architects and completion of plans to fulfill their design.

Without prior consultation, and despite a legal agreement they sought themselves, the Society has withdrawn from their commitment.

As a consequence, the town is being backed into a decision with long range implications. Namely, the operation and staffing of a facility, including a museum, having had no input in the design process - with operating costs and staff funded from a tax levy. Millions more than anticipated are to be withdrawn from an asset belonging to the community-at-large.

I am not confident the public interest is being duly served. There has been no time for transparency - no opportunity for reflection or for participation.

The public have no idea of what is proposed.There has been no opportunity for a consensus to be taken.

I take no comfort from these circumstances.

Sheppard's Fields

I only had one concern about the decision to use artificial turf on the Sheppard's bush soccer fields.

The town does not own the property and $600,000.00 is a sizable chunk of change to spend on property we don't own.

We have an understanding with South Lake Simcoe Conservation Authority. But they do not own it either. I think it's time we proposed to Ontario Heritage the property should be turned over to the town for a dollar. It's not that crazy. but it is another story.

Right now, there are many people in town upset because of the understanding we are adding six hundred thousand dollars to the tax bill to do this project .. In fact taxes are not being used for this purpose. The money has been obtained from development. It was taken as cash in lieu of parks and can only be used for recreational purposes. According to provincial regulations, 90% of a recreation project can be paid for with development charges, 10% must be paid for by the community.

Leisure Services Director Al Downey suggested to the soccer association, they should pay the 10%, and they agreed. Installation is being done by our parks department. No money is being spent that doesn't need to be spent.

People have written about the beauty of natural grass. It is beautiful but it's not natural. Herbicides must be used on the fields to keep them in that condition. They can only be played on twice a day. They cannot be used at all in wet weather. Maintenance is heavy for such limited use.

The advantages of artificial turf are several. There is no need for herbicides. Maintenance is minimal. Snow can be cleared from it, , allowing it to be used for extra months. The location already has lights, so it can be used in the dark. Unlimited games can be played on this material.

We are currently dependent on a number of private fields to accommodate the sport. Even so, we are under continual pressure to provide additional facilities. The numbers keep growing. That is something I wonder about.

The sum and substance of artificial turf is that the stuff is practical. It has been used elsewhere and is proven. It is not cheap, but the money used to pay for it must be used for this or a similar purpose . It substantially increases the use of the Sheppard's fields. It saves on maintenance. It takes off the pressure to provide more fields.

I am not inclined to extravagance with my own or the town's resources. I believe the decision is sound.

Scarlet Fever and other Memories.

Logan has spots. They can't be chicken pox. He's had that. Neither can they be measles. He's been vaccinated. I suggested the only other thing was Scarlet Fever. The doctor said it's likely a strain of the streptococcus bacteria. His mother looked it up and discovered when strep erupts through your skin, that’s Scarlet Fever.

Years ago, Scarlet Fever was classified as a Childhood Infectious Disease. The patient was carried off in a red blanket to Isolation Hospital. Brothers and sisters had to stay off school and the house had to be fumigated. A bucket would be placed in the centre of a room. Something was activated and the doors sealed with sticky tape. We had to stay out for a matter of hours.

Whether or not it was effective, I have no idea.

Houses were two rooms usually but some were one. Entire families would sleep in a couple of beds. My father and brother slept in one. My mother, two sisters and myself in the other. The beds were called set-in beds. They were like cupboards in the wall with curtains that could be closed across the front. The platform would be high enough to store stuff underneath. Like the wicker basket full of laundry and a wooden rocking horse with hair that came from my paternal grandmother's house. We never got to play with it.


Most of the living was done in the kitchen. The coal range was there. Also the sink, with a cold water spigot. Light was a gas mantle above the fire. There was a communal wash-house in a corner of the yard, with a row of four coal cellars on either side. Backing on to the wash-house and therefore behind the wall formed by the coal cellars was the communal lavatory. It was so old, the stone slab where feet rest ed was worn to a hollow. I never remember it being anything but clean. There were eight families with numerous children using that lavatory. The door was held shut by a big rock. The top and bottom edges of the door looked like they had been gnawed at. What had originally been a knothole in the centre had grown to nine inches long and four wide. You might say it was weather-beaten.

Families took turns scrubbing and cleaning. There were never any arguments about it.

There was a drying green at the end of the yard. Between it, and the wall formed by the coal cellars, each tenant had a patch of garden. They grew their own vegetables and most had a rhubarb patch.

Wee Donald McNab had a "midden" - a compost pile. Donald grew sweet peas in his garden as well as vegetables. He worked at the shipyard. He had a trade. He and wife Maggie had four children - Allan, Margaret, Willie and wee Donald. They had Sunday clothes, books to read, and they got comics every week.

Mrs. McNab, always had sweeties. Her children would get one most evenings.Sometimes she would share. She also had a penny bank. It was a bust of a black man and sat on the mantlepiece. The jacket was red and the tongue came out to receive the penny.

The gas meter took pennies. If you ran out of gas and pennies, you had no light . We went to bed and told stories when that happened. There were often disputes about the pennies and why they needed to be there.

My father smoked Will's Woodbine cigarettes. They came in little paper packets of five. They were cheap. He also rolled his own "fags". The old men smoked pipes. Some old women smoked little white clay pipes. That was considered pretty low class.

Wee Donald's mother lived close by. Everyone knew her as Auld Granny McNab. She wore skirts to the ground, a black shawl over her shoulders and her hair in a bun. She wandered about talking to herself and searching for her "Babby". She picked up little bits of stick wherever she found them and frequently came banging on Wee Donald's door in the middle of the night, crying for her lost "Babby”. It seems a baby had died and she had lost her mind. Whether at the same time I do not know. Granny was a sad, forlorn and familiar creature in the world of my childhood.

Like the rest of the men, Wee Donald got drunk on Saturday night. Maggie had to wait up for him. His habit was to lie on the floor and kick everything within reach. So, Maggie stayed up to remove his boots. Then the only thing he could hurt were his feet and that helped to stop the kicking.

The door into their house was less than three feet directly across from ours. In the evening, quite often, Mrs McNab and my mother would stand in their respective doorways, arms folded, leaning on the door jamb. Mrs McNab would talk and my mother would regularly interject "Uhuh."

My father, sitting by the fire, behind the door, surrounded by his children, would repeat it softly every time my mother said it. There was no wireless and no television. Sometimes there was no light and never were there any pennies to spare.

But there was laughter as well as tears and an awareness of other people's lives.

Intuition versus Cold Clammy Calculation

Bill Cosby was a guest on David Letterman’s program. Letterman was celebrating his sixtieth birthday.

Cosby's current humour is about aging. He said he has not taken to the computer. He is a Number 2 Yellow. All he needs is a piece of paper and a pencil.

Cosby is an old-fashioned comic. His humour comes from things that happen in everybody's life. He is not lewd. He has no use for unacceptable language. He is as astute now as he ever was. Still, if he has never used the computer, he knows not what he misses. There lies a field with an ever-ready harvest.

I am not proficient in the use of this technology but I continue to marvel at the material available at the tips of my fingers.

I have mentioned my dislike of Stephen Harper as the Prime Minister of Canada. These days the media are full of verbiage about how he has taken hold of the office. The Liberals lost the last election. He slipped into the void.

They fill the pages with irrelevant chatter about Belinda Stronach's personal associations but tell little about Stephen Harper's significant apprenticeship.

The morning after election, they showed him taking his children to school in his great coat and leather gloves. He shook hands with his very young son at the school gate.

Yesterday, when I was writing the Vimy Ridge Blog, I thought I had better verify my understanding of this man's background. Why is it, I wonder, so easy for me to find what everyone should know yet journalists, who make their living from communication are content to skim the surface of this particular pool?

I met someone in Aurora during an election in the seventies who claimed to be a Libertarian. He was eager to explain the philosophy. I thought then that must be what fascism is about.

People should take care of their own needs. They dont need government to do it for them. People who can't take care of their own needs should just be allowed to fall by the wayside. It's the law of the jungle. The survival of the fittest. It is the mantra of people without a social conscience.

I remembered the full page ads of the National Citizens Coalition which was the Libertarian group. I went into Wikipedia to confirm what I knew.

They claim membership of thousands but don’t release names. They collect dues but hold no membership meetings. They have legally challenged electoral financing laws limiting third-party advertising spending during election campaigns.

The organization was founded in 1967 by a wealthy insurance executive named Colin M. Brown, to fight against the creation of Public Health Care. The American Medical Industry involved themselves heavily in that fight.

In 1993, they supported Stephen Harper's successful bid to be elected as a Reform Party M.P. In 1997, he resigned his seat to become a Vice President of the organization. In 1998, he became President. In 2002, he resigned as President to seek the leadership of the Canadian Alliance Party.

We all know about the deal the Canadian Alliance made with potato-head Peter McKay to take over the Progressive Conservative Party of Canada. That which was made moribund by that other Champion of Self-Sufficiency, Brian Mulroney. It was a deal McKay promised he would not make.

The trail is still fresh. Nothing is secret about Harper's path to power. Still the media makes only purring noises about his success as a Prime Minister. Even as he shows them nothing but the back of his hand.

Rationale for War - or the Lack Thereof

The anniversary of Vimy Ridge has kept my thoughts churning this week. All those young men who died for a piece of real estate. More than three thousand and that was only the Canadian half. There were probably at least that many from the other side. I'm not even sure who the axis were in that war.

Canada had a sparse population. Those who died were the country's future. Young women were left without husbands. Families were never born. Men who came home were haunted by the horror for the rest of their lives. Mothers and fathers carried their grief to the grave.

It was called The Great War, an odd name for something that caused so much death and destruction.

Then, twenty years after the slaughter ended,it started again and thousands more died. They called it World War Two.

After that, the Europeans decided it must never happen again. They formed a Union to make sure .

But now, for us, it is happening again. Only not in the same place and not for any reason we can discern. We are not defending ourselves from an enemy.

On the ceremonial platform at Vimy Ridge, we had a Prime Minister who was once President of the National Citizens Coalition, an organization that supports privatization, tax cuts, and cuts in government spending - A right-wing group formed to fight, among other things, the National Health Plan, the admittance of the Vietnamese refugees and real and perceived government waste in general.

He apparently doesn't believe people should be compelled to contribute taxes to ensure a just society but it's alright for young Canadians to be blown to pieces by land mines and killed in ambush by people who are supposed to be benefiting from their presence.

He is willing though to spend millions for air-conditioned tanks so they can be comfortable while they wait in fear in that isolated God-forsaken, medieval place, thousands of miles from home and families and light years from everything they know and understand.

Geronimo!

Five year olds are among my favorite people. I was five once - as were all my seven children and seventeen grandchildren. The dearest friend of my life, I met when we were five. For all the years and thousands of miles that separate us, she loves me still, as I do her.

Hayley and Ryan are cousins and my youngest grandchildren. She is tall, fair-skinned and typical Anglo-Saxon. He is a beautiful round brown-skinned boy.

When the clan gathers, much of the entertainment is about the amazing perceptions and observations of the very young.

When she was three, Hayley informed her mother after a pre-view of pre-school she would only play with “the chocolate girl”. They became close friends for all the time they were together.

That summer, there was a swim after dark. We had a spotlight on the diving board. She took tiny steps towards it, elbows tight to her side, hands clutching open and shut, half whimpering, half giggling. She climbed up on the board and we told her “You don't have to do this, Hayley girl”

But she had already blanked us out. She was going to do it. She inched her way to the end with her toes curled and stood... for all of three seconds. Ahead of her... everything was black...no moon ... not a star to be seen. Then she jumped ...as high and as far as she could go.

Floating behind her, a small thin high voice cried out ...”GERONIMO” Ryan stood on my bones one day. Resting his arms on my shoulders, he scrutinized my face, and then he poked his finger into my cheek. “Oooh” he said, “It's crinkly”. His mother gasped. But I told Ryan, if he is lucky, he will live long and have beautiful grandchildren, who will stand on his bones, poke a finger into his cheek and say, “Oooh...It's crinkly.” Hayley and Ryan enjoy each other. There is an affinity between them. When they tire of leaping in, racing to the steps and climbing out of the pool, they sit on the deck facing each other, knees bent, toes touching ...and chat. They never run out of conversation. They need no-one else.

Small children continue to amaze and delight me. How much they learn in such a very short time... How well they converse and articulate their thoughts.

Later, when they need to be serious, I will offer some advice. I will tell them:

Take nothing for granted...Listen well to what you hear... Read everything... more than once if need be...When the time comes to make a decision - let it be yours. If there are to be mistakes...and there will be...let them be yours. Because the consequences will be yours to bear ... the lessons will be yours to learn ... and life will never fail to engage you.

A Cautionary Tale

I have written two blogs about the Planning Act. They were too dry. Didn't make the point I wanted either. So, they didn't get posted.

This is my third effort . A bit of history has to be included.

Before The Act was passed hardly a day went past without a scandal or a hint of same relating to the development industry.in the headlines. Being suspected of corruption was an occupational hazard for municipal councillors. Even Government Ministers were not immune. Investment in land was a good bet. Nobody was better placed than people in the know.

My neighborhood had 750 homes. The first phase was almost completed when we bought our house. It was said that a particular council member had received a house and a trip to foreign parts in return for favours. I never saw any evidence to suggest it was true. But “When mud is thrown some of it always sticks.”

A Minister of Municipal Affairs resigned his post once because he had inadvertently signed documents for a development in which a family firm was involved. He came back because he had done the honourable thing in resigning. Another Minister whose name was besmirched walked in front of a moving vehicle on Yonge Street one dark and rainy night.

I can't say the loss of public confidence was the sole rationale for The Planning Act. It is certainly true headlines changed after it was passed. Municipal politicians still lost their seats if they were perceived to be too friendly to developers but rumours of corruption definitely declined.

The Act is precise. Steps are clear. Applications are made to Planning Departments. Proponents are wise to seek advice from planners on the Town's Official Plan, Zoning Bylaw and Town Policies and Standards. The process takes months to complete before a plan appears on a Public Planning Meeting Agenda. (The Whitwell development took ten years from start to finish).

At the start of the Hearing, the Clerk must declare it has been properly advertised. The Chairperson instructs the Planners to Report. The proponent is invited to present his case. The public are invited to express their comments. They may do so as often as they have something to say. The chair must announce three times before closing that part of the meeting and opening it to deliberation by council.

The objective is to make it clear to all and sundry, no part of the proposal has been considered before the public meeting .All parties concerned have equal opportunity to be heard before a decision is made.

It is similar to a court proceeding. Evidence is presented, witnesses are heard. A precise record of the proceedings is created.The only hard evidence to be considered is that presented at the Hearing. If error is perceived ,the decision is subject to appeal by the Ontario Municipal Board.

It is also a fact, that owners of land have the right to use their land for any purpose that does NOT contravene the Official Plan, the Zoning Bylaw or endorsed policies and standards of the municipality and provincial legislation.

It is no more appropriate for a councillor to be conducting research prior to a hearing than it is for a judge to conduct an investigation into the innocence or guilt of a person accused of a crime.

And yet - in the last term of council no matter how many times it was explained, Councillors and Citizen Members of the Environmental Advisory Committee persisted that planning applications should be reviewed by their committee first.

This term, it has already been argued, the Economic Development Advisory Committee members should have first dibs at planning applications.

Last week, at the hearing into the application of the York Region Separate School Board to build a High School on land they had purchased for the purpose, one councillor made a statement that he had done a great deal of work and research prior to the meeting. He made an immediate motion to deny the application. It failed.

At the beginning of the last term of council, at the off-site orientation, a presentation was made by an expert in municipal law cautioning councillors about legal pitfalls. Three councillors had boycotted the conference.

So far this term, no such opportunity has been provided to the new council.

In the past, this town has incurred hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal costs because some people elected to office simply refuse to accept there are limits to their power.

Don't Call Me Job

What am I supposed to do when patience is stretched to the limit?

There were six or seven officials from York Separate School board and The Chairman of the Board there to support the application. It was a proud moment. Elizabeth Crowe is the Aurora Trustee for the board as well as the Chairman. She described what the school would provide; shop courses, opportunities for technical training, track and field facilities, a dance studio. Programs the board has never before been able to offer in our neck of the woods.

It is not a long history. My daughter attended the first separate high school, St. Roberts in Markham. It was classrooms out in a field and nothing more. It had taken years to convince the provincial government the British North America Act intended separate schools to have education up to Grades Nine and Ten. I paid fees for the senior grades.

The change came with population numbers. Accommodating Catholic students in their own High schools was not more expensive than building more public schools and public schools were becoming impersonably huge. Our population continued to explode. Two years ago, Sacred Heart, in Newmarket was using the stage in the auditorium for classes. Even with the end of Grade Thirteen the pressure is tremendous. There are twelve portables filling the yard of Sacred Heart High School in Newmarket.

Now, in Aurora, we are to have a school that will provide almost everything. The Board has an excellent working relationship with the town in the shared use of facilities. We use their sports facilities in return for our maintenance. The students will use our swimming and skating facilities at the Leisure Complex. It will be a walk through the Arboretum which will also be an educational facility. They will have a Child Care Service and evening programs in the school, with lights on, and people coming and going. Neighbors to the Senior's Centre. Vibrant life and a beautiful building on Wellington Street with access from Industrial Parkway North.

These classrooms were needed two years ago.

Last night, at the Public Planning Meeting councillors queried numbers in our grade schools, questioned why there should be students from other places, expounded on the need to save idle land for industrial and commercial use and even floated the possibility of an adult entertainment centre in the vicinity of the school as reasons to oppose the application. They said the Board should have acquired land in a residential neighborhood. Teaching positions were denigrated as 'non jobs' and a motion was made to deny the application.

Had it succeeded, the Board would have been obliged to appeal the decision to the O.M.B. They would have incurred legal costs. The town would have incurred legal costs. Our staff recommendations would have been used in evidence against us. The decision would be made for us after thousands of dollars had been paid to lawyers, all out of the same pockets. Yours.

When it became apparent the debate was over and the motion to approve in principle would succeed, the Mayor proceeded to extend the argument. She asked the planner for the umpteenth time to explain the definition of employment lands and how an institution providing almost 200 jobs could fit into that context. It was as if they were hoping, if they kept repeating the same question, the planner might cave in and give them a different answer. That must be what the third degree is about. It happens all the time in Aurora Council.

The time was eleven-thirty p.m. We had been deliberating for four and one half hours.

I wanted to take wing and fly right out of there. My patience was exhausted. I could not leave and forfeit my vote. I could not explode in a shower of vituperation. So, discretion being the better part of valour, I covered my head with my jacket and clamped my hands over my ears.

I have never claimed to have the Patience of Job

"There's a bigger audience in The Auroran, Buck Says"

Nigel Keane deserves to be promptly pricked by a two-pronged prod in a prominent part of his anatomy. Let all here present note that I am resisting the temptation. It is against my ethics to kick a man when he is down. Even when he is begging for it.

LeeAnn Keller takes the time to count the number of times I used the personal pronoun in my letter to suggest I might have an ego.

Let there be no doubt, LeeAnn.

If you show me a practising politician without an ego, I will show you a consummate actor.

George Hervey, Hugo Kroon and Martin Mol offer convoluted dissertations, the meanings of which entirely escape me. Of them all, not one offers a challenge to my contention that ethics are a personal matter.

If a person seeking public office needs to have a document spellling out desirable conduct in a position of trust, then they are clearly lacking in a singularly important attribute needed for the job and should not be elected.

I did say I would confine my communications to my blogging boudoir.

That was then. This is now.

I post a blog several times a week. I thoroughly enjoy doing it. But I miss the broader stage and the footlights the Auroran provides.

Therefore, I have changed my mind.

I will write to my friend the editor whenever I please.
_________________________________________

HEATHER'S NOTE: This was published as a Letter to the Editor in the week of March 27/07 issue of The Auroran, in response to a multitude of letters published pursuant to the appearance of this post as, you guessed it, a Letter to the Editor.

Bamboozled

I had a conversation with a highly educated nephew (40) during the last municipal election. He told me people are completely turned off from politics. “Politicians lie to get elected,” he said and pointed to Jean Chretien's 1990's promise to cancel the GST.

He is a geologist. Must have taken him more than fifteen years to complete his education. He is now at the point of making a very comfortable living. Travels a lot. Converses regularly with educated professionals. He is married to an intelligent woman.

In my gut I knew it already, still, his glib remarks and shallow understanding of the mix that is politics astounded me. How can a person reach that level of maturity, be exposed to academia all of those years and be so abysmally bloody ignorant?

Jean Chretien 's minions no doubt did what political parties always do. They studied the field. Paid pollsters to discover the public's greatest aggravation and how it could be most effectively used against the opposing
party. At that time, it was the GST.

With complete predictability, they promised to get rid of it. Then they didn't. And that too was predictable.

How then can presumably intelligent and well educated people profess to be disillusioned? What excuse can they have for being so easily bamboozled?

What could they have been talking about at their cocktail parties and during lunch at their conferences? How could they imagine programmes paid for with revenue from a tax that raised 8 cents in every dollar spent on goods and services could so easily be wiped out? Maybe even some of their high priced jobs could be gone. How could they then turn around and heap scorn on politicians for deceiving them when everything indicates they were more than willing to be deceived?

How can politicians be blamed for following the path that is tried and true and thus far fool proof? If the so-called intelligentsia are too lazy to think things through, why do they expect politicians to be more energetic and principled than they are themselves?

Again, we arrive at the point where we ask ourselves, “What, in the name of Heaven, is going on in our universities? Are 53% of students who cheat the only ones not doing what is expected of them?

Visitors from Faraway Places

Nobody from China has visited me today. Already the afternoon is half over. I have regular visitors to my blog from Beijing. They never make any comments but I would love to hear from them.

There are visitors from other places as well but I think they may just be pop-ins. The people from Beijing keep coming back.

A couple of years ago, we hosted a delegation from China. It was a two day event. The mayor and other councillors had lunch and dinner with them and they had a tour of various facilities. My only involvement was in fielding a question and answer session for a couple of hours in the Council Chamber.

They were government officials in the main. In China, until then, the central government controlled all finances. Everyone who provided government services at every level was on the payroll of the central government.

At the time they visited us, the government was contemplating changing their system. They were planning to give people in the communities authority to manage their own affairs. In effect, they were planning to de-centralize government services.

What an enormous project that would be...considering the size of China... the population...the culture. It was very interesting to be the one listening to the questions and providing answers from my own experience. They wanted to know how we did things.

I could tell them about the changes we had experienced. The creation of regional governments - which was the first change in municipal government in over one hundred years. The patriation of our Constitution and the Charter of Rights. Not that I know many details about that. But that certainly was the most significant event in our National History since the country was created.

They wanted to know the most basic things. How we raised the money to pay for services. Different responsibilities at different levels of government. Elections. Who were the bad guys in the scheme of things. Actually, they probably didn't ask that question - I probably volunteered the information without being asked. They had an interpreter. Scott Somerville kept having to slow me down to allow time for interpretation. I was on a roll.

It was a very interesting afternoon and obvious at the end of the allotted time the delegation still had tons of questions they wanted to ask. I told them in these days they would have the opportunity to continue the dialogue from home on the internet. I'm sure they didn't need any help from me on that score.

I am not aware they ever did. But we do have our town web site. My web address is posted. It would be very satisfying to know if any member of the Chinese delegation who visited Aurora that afternoon was still popping in out of interest to find out what they might about bits and pieces going on in Aurora.

When I was in school, students were encouraged to have pen pals in other places. The object I guess would be to acquire some insight in how people lived elsewhere. I would have liked to participate, but I never did have money for stamps or anything else for that matter.

Now, in these amazing times we live in, there are people I do not know visiting my blog on a regular basis. They know me, but I don't know them. Only that they are there and they are reading what I have to say from this little place in Ontario on the other side of the world.

All About Crap

Sometimes I wonder about me. I worry about things that don't seem to disturb anyone else. Soon it will be time for concerned residents with plastic bags and rubber gloves and children to collect the litter that appears in all its ugliness after the winter snow melts.

Everyone will go about the task with great energy and enthusiasm. When the task is finished, they will join the Mayor in the park for a barbecue and celebrate a job well done.

Last year, I tentatively suggested that having children participate in this event might not be such a great idea. The Mayor said, “Their parents bring them.”

I'm pretty sure at that point, he thought I was a total dingbat.

I had phoned the Public Health Department. Nobody up there was much concerned either.

Last year, I read headlines about a swan in the U.K. dead from bird flu. I thought about the geese that appear in spring on the salamander pond on Henderson Drive and the mosquitos said to be carriers of the Asian Flu virus. Much litter gathering happens in that vicinity.

This year, there are headlines about C. Difficile appearing in the local hospital. Soap and water is the antidote. Last year, Councillors Morris and Gaertner referred council to the disgusting stuff they encountered at the back of the War Memorial Garden when they were picking up litter.

In the Town of Aurora's 2006/2007 Recycling and Waste Calendar and Information Guide - on the April Page, it notes that litter is not just unsightly and expensive to clean up, it is UNHEALTHY. Why are we encouraging children to pick it up?

Cigarette butts are toxic. Wrappers from fast food and coffee cups tossed out of car windows and probably turned over by wild-life, Can that be harmless?

We hear a lot these days about the dangers of herbicides and pesticides. Yet listed in our calendar as household hazardous wastes requiring separate disposal are aerosols, bathroom cleaners, drain cleaners, spot removers, toilet cleaners, oven cleaners, household bleach and FLEA COLLARS, for goodness’ sake! How many children are cuddling pets wearing flea collars? Is there a toxic warning on flea collar packaging? Or do young parents just assume that because they are for sale, they must be safe?

I was young once myself and mindless. Maybe I am paranoid now but I don't think so. I think we are all perfectly capable of being completely stupid and doing it collectively. As long as nobody raises the alarm does that mean there is no crisis?

Adults can do what they think is alright. But I don't think we should be encouraging children to pick up litter.

Years ago, when dog droppings in parks and playgrounds was a serious problem and we couldn't get owners to understand how disgusting it was to the rest of us, I hit on the solution. I nagged.

Every time I saw something in the paper about a disease being traced to the presence of an animal in the house, I read the Riot Act. Once I saw a news report connecting blindness to dog feces. I ranted and raved in Council meetings about irresponsible owners who thought it was acceptable for their animals to relieve themselves anywhere and everywhere and to walk away and leave the disgusting mess behind.

We passed the ‘Stoop and Scoop Bylaw’. John West used to call it Poop and Scoop - I had to point out to him regularly that was not the purpose of the bylaw.

Eventually the nagging campaign was effective. Nowadays people walking their pets carry plastic bags conspicuously so that everyone will know they are responsible pet owners. But first somebody had to yell at them repeatedly, in no uncertain terms, that their dogs' toilet habits were just not acceptable.

Maybe it is time for similar extraordinary measures to deal with the problem of litter. And maybe it's time for women to give a thought to how much toxic stuff they are handling in their homes. Maybe they shouldn't worry so much about how clean things are and think about healthy habits instead.

A Tale of Infamy

Until you do it, you can have no idea how intricate it is. You run for office, committing yourself to protecting the taxpayer's interest. But if you apply yourself scrupulously to the task, you may find yourself cast in the role of villain.

Stories abound about the extent of my infamy. "Beer In The Fire Hall" comes to mind:

When I was first elected, we had a Volunteer Fire Brigade. The Volunteers are part of Ontario history. In some small places, they are still the only community organization. As well as fighting fires they organize minor sports, come to the aid of widows and orphans and whatever other needs might emerge.

It's always tricky when the change comes from Volunteer to full-time departments. The jobs are highly-coveted. I was out of office, when it happened in Aurora.

Around 1980, the town built a new fire hall. Gone was the club house attached to the old Fire Hall where the guys hung out played billiards and had a beer when they felt like it.

At that time, the town provided accommodation, equipment and a full-time Chief. The volunteers ran their own show. They took pride in being one of the best departments around. They were our local heroes.

Politicians didn't mess with the Volunteers. In fact, being a Volunteer was a natural step to being elected.
When the first full-time officers were hired, the Volunteers abandoned their traditional title and called themselves “part-time firefighters”. The club-house status of the fire hall had to change. But it didn't.

I brought the matter to the attention of the Clerk-Administrator andHuman Resources Officer. Nothing happened.

Firefighters who won the coveted jobs were former volunteers. Some were employees in other town departments. They went from a job in one department into another with three times the wages and the enjoyment of club house facilities during their work day. They worked office hours. Some of them went from very humble status in the heirarchy.

The works superintendent brought a request : “Could the works people keep a beer in the fridge and have it with lunch?” No. They couldn't.

Again I spoke to the Clerk-Administrator and the Human Resource Officer. Still no action. At that time, I had no idea the fire hall was a hang-out for more than the fire-fighters.

Finally, the issue came to a head. The department was receiving donations for the food bank on a Saturday. I received two phone calls complaining that two firefighters accepting the donations, in uniform, were the worse for wear and cheerfully chug-a-lugging in full view of the public.

My caller would not give his name. I figured it was a disgruntled employee of the works department.

At the next council meeting, in new business, I quietly mentioned the call and asked the fire chief for a report on the matter.

That's when the proverbial matter hit the fan.

At the very next meeting, the audience seats were filled with wives of part-time firefighters to watch me get my come-uppance. Husbands came along too, but I got the feeling they were not quite so gleeful.

One by one, council colleagues, figuratively speaking, pushed my face into the dirt and jumped on my head. How could I cast such aspersions on the noble firefighters? What a dastardly deed indeed!

Three councillors held out from the fray - one was a Captain in the North York Fire Department. He said if a member of his crew came to work with the slightest smell of beer, he would be sent home and lose his shift. He did not however contribute that information to “the debate”. The second councillor who refrained was a former volunteer. The third had lived behind the old fire hall for years.

It was only after the outrage had exhausted itself, I learned the beer had been dispensed from a Coke machine in the fire hall. The place was a hangout for all kinds of public officials, appointed and elected, including a postman who wrote a letter to the Auroran years later with fond memories of enjoying a cold one with the boys after the mail was delivered.

The Coke machine eventually appeared in the front porch of the deputy-chief's home. There were no more requests from the works department to keep beer in their fridge. I weathered the storm. The change that needed to happen – happened.

I still bear the scars and firefighters are still the local heroes.

HEATHER'S NOTE: A similar issue is currently brewing in Point Leamington, Newfoundland. Here is the link.