What goes on in some heads?

It seems that every person I know has a degree of stupidity associated with them, its part of the baggage we carry with us because of the fact we have a functioning brain that allows us the option of choice, instead of being prisoners of instinct. Its a human trait, while stupidity is easy to recognize in others, it is often difficult to see in ourselves. Maybe we have some kind of a built in filter that diminishes our ability to reason logically when we proceed to do something that advances our self interest or satisfies our wants. Some develop the ability to understand this as we grow older and put decisions to the test, but a surprisingly number never progress past the impulses of an 8 year old to stuff our mouths full of candy at every opportunity.

But there is a solution available and it is centered in looking beyond the immediate desire for instant gratification in our lives and taking just a moment to peer down the road a piece. I have been thinking about this I heard the story of Esau and Jacob extended beyond the trading of a birthright for some stew. If you think about like this, for the instant gratification of a meal Esau gave away his future. The decisions we make that center on self gratification while individually are not as serious as this one single event, collectively are just as damning. Let me present some evidence. Morgan Spurlock dined at McDonald's restaurants three times per day, eating every item on the chain's menu. He also always "super-sized" his meal if given the option—but only if it was offered. Spurlock consumed an average of 5,000 calories per day during the experiment. As a result, the then-32-year-old Spurlock gained 24½ lbs. (11.1 kg), a 13% body mass increase, a cholesterol level of 230, and experienced mood swings and fat accumulation to his liver.

Now is there anyone who doesn't understand that if you treat yourself in a way that leads to high blood pressure, a likely onset of diabetes, clogged arteries and obesity that you are likely condeming yourself to an earlier death, a sedentary lifestyle and debillitating health issues that are going to effect your happiness. If you become addicted to drugs the result will be a lack of success in life, dysfunctional relationships and the scorn of society of a whole.

But the biggest danger comes from simply not acknowledging that success and happiness in life comes from living right and listening to that little voice within us that is constantly trying to steer us towards the decisions that we already know in our heart are right, all we need to do is take the time to listen.

I have collected a few stories, some from my own life as well as a few others that were nothing short of stupidity, some had minor impacts, others severe, but all demonstrating stupidity or folly.

Years ago when I was playing ball around Battleford I needed a new glove. I ran into a guy I slightly knew (his last name was Lundrigan) and he had one I wanted for sale. So we agreed on a price of $10.00. I gave him a check and went on my way, the glove worked great and we were both happy, but apparently he wanted more happiness, so he came up with a sure fire plan to increase his personal net worth.

At months end when I got my bank statement sure enough there was the cancelled check for the $10, but wait whats this, there are two more cheques, one for $15.00 and another for $25.00 that I hadn't written. So I call the Bank, and bring in the two bogus cheques, it wasn't hard to verify it was not my signature seeing as how my name was spelled wrong and wasn't even close to my hand writing. But now, how do we figure out who perpetrated the crime, well he left a clue, the plan involved making the two additional cheques payable to himself. In those days you got imprinted cheques for your account, but you could also go into the bank and get blank counter cheques onto which you could write the account number and thats what he did. I guess that he reasoned that if asked for identification when he tried to cash the cheques he could show that indeed he was the bona fide and authorized recipient of the cash. And just like how a criminal develops a modus operandi this guy had one to, he cashed all three cheques at the same place a few days apart

So armed with this information it wasn't to difficult in a small place to locate the guilty party, especially when the clerk had indeed written down the # of the drivers license of the person cashing the cheque, one ******* Lundrigan.

As I pondered all of this as it unfolded I couldn't help but think, did he actually think he was going to get away with it, probably he did, and the world is full of things gone wrong

Last week there was a news item. Man mauled by tiger may lose arm. Now if this was in India or the jungles of Sumatra or any other place where these man eaters roamed you could understand how this could come about. Guy working in his field, hungry tiger creeping through the tall grass until he gets close enough to pounce on the guy, happens all the time in the jungle. But this chewing of a mans arm takes place in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, a long way from the steamy natural habitat of ferocious orange felines. So here is what happens. Two guys break into the Calgary zoo in the middle of the night and scale a couple of fences around the tiger compound until they can get face to face with the beast. One guy shoves his hand through the wire mesh and tries to scratch the tiger. Surprise, Tony looks at the arm as if it was sugar frosted flakes and turns tiger on the guy. Now this is a foolish act by these guys but what amazes me even more is the official police statement issued later that day.

"The Calgary police are now investigating to determine if any alcohol was involved" duh, even an idiot like me can figure the answer to that one out in about one half a second. But stupidity with tigers is not confined to places like Calgary.

A guy in India was mauled to death by two tigers who also ripped off his left arm as his wife and sons watched.

Digital camera in hand, he sneaked past the first barrier where his wife and their two school-going sons stood with a relative and other visitors crowding Assam State Zoo. He wanted a close shot of a tigress sunning herself.

He reached the tigers’ enclosure a metre away and then made the second, fatal, mistake of stretching his hands holding the camera through the iron railings. A second tiger that he hadn’t seen lurking near the enclosure wall directly below him, grabbed his left arm. In no time, the other tiger joined the attack, sinking its teeth into his arm and clawing his face.Visitors raised an alarm and a zoo-keeper rushed to try and beat back the tigers with a stick. But they let go only when the guys arm was ripped off from the shoulder. “Although one tiger slackened the grip when the zoo keeper intervened, The other did not budge and got away with the hand,” The poor guy was rushed to a Hospital where he was declared dead on arrival. His wife was hysterical. “Oh, God… this is unbelievable,” she screamed, I would have thought she would have cried out "This was predictable, what did she think was going to happen . Back at the zoo, visitors were treated to the sight of a tiger pacing around the enclosure with the severed arm in its mouth, which it later ate. In a wisdom of the ages statement a zoo veterinarian observed tigers can be “very aggressive” . Another visitor to the zoo said that he had learnt a lesson today: “Never try to fool around with a tiger.”

Here is another accident waiting to happen. can anyone believe that a rational thinking human being is going to let a 7 year old boy play with a 20 foot pet python.

Owners of dogs that kill people always say the same thing. " Gee he never killed anyone before" who would have ever thought that an animal like a Pit bull, Rottweiller, Presario or Mastiff, dogs bred for aggression would do a thing like that.

There is an old limerick that goes like this,

There once was a lady from Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger.
At the end of the ride
With the lady inside
The smiles on the face of the tiger.

May I offer the following:
A young boy once played with a snake.
His mother was known as a flake
The python did squeeze
The boy cried "By jeez"
I think someones made a mistake.

I have done some very stupid things in my life that seemed pretty rational when I did them but now that I have a few years under my belt I have to wonder what I was thinking. Fortunately none of them turned out to be fatal.

When I was 5 and 6 and living on the Suffield Airforce base at Ralston in Southern Alberta one of the great pastimes for me and my friends was hunting for rattlesnakes. We scoured the prairie around the base with sticks as our weapon of choice, we had two prime hunting spots. Walking through the thick grass that grew in the ditches because we knew the snakes liked to crawl out onto the pavement to warm up early in the morning and the best spot of all, the local dump. What could go wrong here! Funny thing no ones mother seemed to be worried as we set off armed with words of warning " be careful, if you see one, don't get to close. Hmmm.

We were never to worried about them until one day when we had a substitute teacher who decided to take our Grade 1 class on a field trip across the prairie. All went well until my group of experienced snake hunters found a rattler moving through the grass, our excited shouts brought the pack of about 25 kids running to get a look. The snake did a very snakelike thing, curling up and shaking its tail at the crew surrounding it, at which time things kind of went berserk. Its amazing the effect that a womans high pitched scream of absolute terror has on a crowd of 6 year olds. Suddenly in 25 minds sights of coiled snakes striking out from every bush and clump of grass became a reality and we became a mass of hysterical humanity each trying to work their way to the center of the mob for protection. What a sight we must have been, moving as one all within a 5 foot circle wailing away and making our way across the prairie back to the safety of the schoolyard. True this was a young substitute teacher but surely she must have known this was rattlesnake country and out on the praitie was their favourits place..

My friends and I at about the age of 9 or 10 took up catching and raising pigeons. I had a big box, I put it up on stilts to raise it about 3 feet of the ground as a place for them to nest. Now all I needed was some pigeons so We set off down to Glenmore Dam where pigeons nested in crevices of rocks on the side of a cliff below the dam. Below is a picture, if you went further down the river the cliffs get severe and the rocks extend down to the water. We could see where there was a pigeons nest about 40 feet up the side of the cliff so I decided the only thing to do was to become a rock climber and scale the wall. It was quite a challenge but by taking my time with my face pressed to the wall I found toe and finger holds to inch my way up to the nest. And wow I hit the jackpot so I collected a couple of the baby pigeons and solved the problem of getting thm down by stuffing them inside my shirt which was tucked into my pants. It was about then I realized I had a worse problem, going up wasn't bad because I could look upwards and find cracks to fit my fingers in to keep myself attached to the wall, but descending, no such luck. When you are on a vertical wall you can't get far enough away from the rock to look down, so what to do. Fortunately I had my buddies with me who called up telling me where to move my feet and fingers to reach a hold and slowly I inched my way down. Maybe thats why I am still afraid of heights when I am in a building.

You can't see very well but the railing on the top of the dam is actually a concrete wall about a foot wide. We used to prove our manhood to one another by walking along the rail. I figured that if I fell I would just go into the water and I was a good swimmer. I only came close to drowning a couple of times at the dam and the worst was almost drowning in of all things "shit", pigeon shit that is. If you look at the picture you can see that above the arches there are spaces. Where the arch meets the cement column the center of the column is actually hollow and there is a room with a small doorway leading into each one. We could see there were always pigeons flying in and out of these columns so an idea and a plan hatched. If an group of enterprising boys made a raft so they could float to the base of the arches on the upstream side of the dam and if they cut some long poles that could be used like a ladder it might be possible to get up into those rooms and catch some pigeons. Well it worked and guess who scaled the pole off the raft and was the first to arrive at the mother lode of pigeonville, me, and I couldn't believe what I saw, all kinds of nests. The only problem was they were about 5 feet below the bottom of the entranceway so without thinking the whole thing through I jumped down. The second my feet reached the level of the nests I knew I had a problem because they didn't stop, they kept right on going until I found myself up to my armpits in pigeon shit. Who would have ever thought that could happen. Remember in the old westerns movies when that happened how the hero would push out a stick or a rope and make the rescue. Well I can tell you there was some pretty serious praying going on for Roy Rogers or Hopalong Cassidy to show up, but the best I could hope for were my partners in crime Bryce Saucier and Richard Creelman. It took quite a bit of shouting to explain my predicament and a whole lot more before one of them could bring themselves to leave the safety of the raft and scale the pole to the top of the arch. What a performance, they had to pull the pole up behind them and stick it through the doorway to try and reach me. The pole was so long and the roof of the arch was so short it couldn't be placed straight enough down so Icould reach it, it was way over in a corner But at least now there was hope. I had been struggling in the shit and finally worked myself so I was laying on top of it and with my body weight spread out I didn't sink anymore. But another problem arose. If you lie down try and roll over when you don't have anything solid to press down on with your hands and feet its hard to move. But I found that if I worked my hands and arms into the crap I could get enough resistance to roll over, all I can say is that the experience of being facedown in a room full of shit is exactly what it sounds like. But a happy conclusion was the result as I got to the pole, wrapped myself around it and hanging like some kind of nightmarish looking and evil smelling sloth pulled myself up to the doorway. The worst part in my mind was that I didn't get any pigeons, it was just another day at the office for a 10 year old boy growing up along the edge of Glenmore dam.

About a mile down stream from the dam is the Calgary Golf and Country club, one of my favorite haunts, tobogganing in winter and fishing and caddying in the summer. But it was quite a hike for legs that are only a couple of feet long. One bright winters day my buddies and I decided it was time for a tobogganing adventure so we hiked across the dam and along the far side to the huge hill at the golf course. Losing track of time we tobogganed away until someone noticed it was pretty late in the day so we struck off home. Realizing it was quite a hike home we looked around for a shortcut. Well there it was right in front of us, we would simply cross the river so we set out, problem was although the water was only about three feet deep the current was pretty strong especially when you are tied to a toboggan and a couple of us fell over and submerged, me being one of them. Its funny we never thought much past getting to the other side and never pondered the deeper issues like, how you would feel being soaking wet head to toe in the middle of winter. Fortunately we were a resourceful crew and someone had matches. Being a group who all belonged to the boy scouts we soon had a roaring blaze going. It would have been quite a sight to an observer, a bunch of 10 year olds stark naked hundled around a bonfire with their clothes hanging from improvised drying racks consisting of tree branches and dead trees. It probably would have worked better had we not been in such a hurry but the constant checking by fishing a piece of clothing off a rack with a stick to see if it was dry yet led to far to many instances of someones pants or coat ending up in the blaze which caused a panic to get it out before it was completely consumed. Eventually we were able to get dressed and aside from the crematorium like smell coming from us my only casualty was my parka which now only had one arm connected and a distinct burn pattern on the back. can't remember the result when I got home but I think it was something like, "Did you have a nice day tobogganing", my mother knew that she had raised a survivor. If any of my grandchildren ever read this, here is my message, "You're not allowed to try this".

But not thinking straight is not restricted to just tiger lovers and 10 year old boys, occaisionally even adults of the feminine gender have adventures that don't fit into the category known as "good judgement". Sometimes things that seemed like an Ok idea just don't work out.

A lady thought it would be a good idea to fake her death to find out what the reaction would be by her family. As they gathered around her coffin she suddenly sat upright and said "what the hell is going on" her daughter immediately had a heart attack and dropped dead.

A lady called the poison control center and was quite upset, she had caught her daughter eating ants. The person at the center explained she had nothing to worry about, that ants were not harmful and there was no need to be worried or take her daughter to a hospital. She calmed right down and as the conversation continued she mentioned she had given her daughter some ant poison to kill the ants. I think you had better get her into the emergency room immediately she was told.

Funny but it makes you think that these things were done by ordinary people and sometimes people don't think about what they say.

Mariah Carey said: Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff.

Brooke Shields observed: Smoking kills - and if you're killed you've lost a very important part of your life.

Sometimes profound and enlightening thought comes from unexpected sources as highlighted when President Bill Clinton said: If we don't succeed we run the risk of failure. And Philadelphia Phillie Manager Danny Ozark pointed out "Half this game is 90% mental". But do either of those match the astuteness of Washington Mayor Marion Barry who observed: Outside of the killings, Washington has one of the lowest crime rates in the country. Kind of makes you want to pick up stakes and move to that paradise Washington DC.
As I was crying and my mother was applying antiseptic ointment to my face I was thinking " I'll bet if I hadn't poked that stick in the hornets nest this wouldn't have happened.

I'm no slouch in the reasoning department. But I have to admit the time I stuck my hand into the fan of a tractor to tighten a bolt I should have known it would have been a good idea to shut the engine off first. And to anyone who doesn't know this, if you stand on a red hot piece of steel with your rubber boots on, it will start on fire and is real hard to put out. Something else, you won't need shoes on that foot for a while because with the size of the blisters that develop, you can't get them on.

I hope someone is paying attention, if you come across a first aid kit with smelling salts in it, don't be tempted to try them out. In case you don't know what smelling salts are they something that is used to bring a person out of an unconscious state. They are made up of a compond called "ammonium carbonate" which kind of short circuits the brain. Another feeling that came close to describing the effect smelling salts have on you was the time I was in the laundry room sitting on a wet floor and I wondered what would happen if I poked a bobby pin into an electrical socket. Anyway I had the unfortunate experience of finding a vial of smelling salts in a First Aid kit my father had brought home when he was in the Air Force. I held it to my nose and took a sniff, nothing. It had been wrapped in a piece of paper, and sure enough there were the instructions. Break the vial in half they said, and place under the nose of the unconscious person. So I thought maybe I'll give this a try, but I was cautious, I broke it and held it quite a ways from my nose and sniffed, nothing, closer, this is nothing I thought so I pushed it under my nostrils and took a deep breath, bad idea, no, worse than bad, in fact probably the worst idea of my life. Bottom line is this don't ever try it the other thing that came close was peeing on an electric fence.

When I got a job playing hockey in Watrous I was around the rink a lot and got to be friends with some of the trades people who were working there. One day the electrician came in with a big tall stepladder to replace the light sockets in the 12 foot high ceiling with flourescent lighting. I noticed he never bothered to shut off the power. I asked about this and he went to great lengths to explain to me how electricity worked and it was perfectly safe so long as you didn't touch the hot wires with something that was a conductor. As he was taking down one of the sockets and the wires were hanging down he came down from the ladder to get a new flourescent light, when he climbed back up the ladder he went to high and the two dangling wires made contact with the top of his head. As he lay on the floor with smoke coming from his hair I couldn't help but think "should have turned off the power".

Around the same time a guy was cutting some two by fours when suddenly the power went out. He couldn't figure out what happened because the breaker was still on. One of the other guys on the crew came over and picked up the cord leading to the saw. "You stupid dummy" he said look what you did, you cut right through the power cord. He picked up the cord that was still plugged in the wall and we all had a good laugh at the dummies expense. the guy holding the cord then proceeded to absently mindedly touch the end of his thumb to the two wires at the end of the cord. It was hilarious as the contact was made and blackened the end of his thumb, everyone thought it was funny how the flesh burned, except him that is.

One of my first jobs was working in a plant that manufactured travel trailers and as part of my introduction to the job I had to go through a training session. One of the girls who worked in the plant was assigned to show me the proper use of an air powered nail gun. She was demonstrating how to use it on an angle to toe nail in two pieces of wood together. Problem was, one of the pieces of wood she chose had a knot where she wanted to nail. When the gun went off the nail deflected off the knot and drove a 2 1/2 inch coated nail into her finger entering right at the end and going straight up into her knuckle. It sounds kind of funny after the fact but at the time it was pretty shocking to see her running around in circles and screaming and crying at the top of her lungs. You would have thought after all the years at the plant she would have known better. But sometimes just like the electrician on the ladder you have lapses of judgement.

Later at the same plant after I had been there for about 4 months I was using a big table saw. I had to change the measurement between the blade and the guide so I shut the saw off. It was big blade so it took a few minutes to stop and I was in a hurry, so I got a bright idea, I would push my thumb against the side of the saw blade and the pressure would slow it down. Lo and behold it was working, but not fast enough, so I increased the pressure, bingo one second there I was with my plan working and the next I was holding my hand with the end of my middle finger on my left hand cut off. What was I thinking?

My brother Malcolm was working as a carpenter and standing on a ladder was nailing facia board around the preimeter of a house, a helper was carrying boards up the ladder and handing them to him. Malcolm had the nail gun hanging at his side when the guy got to close and tripped the trigger with his shoulder. the gun went off and drove a 3" spike deep into his shoulder bone. The guy was in terrible pain so Malcolm rushed him to the nearest hospital. The doctors took him into the operating room to try and remove the nail and patch him up. After about 20 minutes or so he was summoned up to a nursing station where one of the operating room doctors was waiting. Tell me, he asked, "would you happen to have a nail puller in your truck we can't get a firm enough grip on the nail to get it out". So Malcolm headed out to the truck and brought back one of those goose neck nail pullers which did the trick just fine.

Some stupid things can be expected from the young, its not really stupidity just inexperience but as we get older you would think that rational, logical thought would take over. You might think that, but life doesn't work that way and I am a prime example of an adult idiot. For some reason I can hardly bring myself to read instructions, instead relying upon an inborn ability to just know how to do things or ask someone.

When we first moved to PEI something went wrong with our Admiral automatic washing machine, nothing would happen when you tried to turn it on. How complicated can a washing machine be I thought, I can fix this. Now some people with less talent at mechanical things might have started by looking the machine over for obvious and SIMPLE things that could have caused the washer to cease functioning, but not Jim Kinnee. A few hours later as it lay in pieces scattered across the garage floor I noticed a loose wire at the back of the timer which was real easy to fix. But to re assemble the mess on the floor was out of the question as, first, I didn't have a diagram of where the pieces went, second, I had lost some of the pieces, third, I hadn't laid them out in a logical manner that would give me a guide to re assembly and fourth and the clincher, I had applied the Kinnee principle of "don't use force get a bigger hammer" with predictable results.

So what could I do but fall back on what countless millions of my male cronies aroud the world have done for thousands of years. It goes like this and some of you will understand immediately. "Honey" I said "it was broke worse than I thought" no one could have fixed it, I'm afraid we'll have to get another one". Stubbornness is not always a good attribute to have.

Enter the 1978 White Gremlin car with the problem with the clutch. "Take it to the garage" Sharon said " "you don't know anything about cars" and off to the garage it might have gone if it hadn't been the end of the statement " you don't know anything about cars". "Can't be that
difficult I thought, I'll show her". Did you know that its impossible to put a clutch in a Gremlin unless you cut a big hole in the floor of the car. And if you cover the hole with the carpet no one would even know it was there. The job went fairly smoothly and only took about 2 days. But alas, after tightening the last bolt and cleaning up, what would I discover but a couple of substantial looking parts that I had put on my workbench to ensure they weren't lost. Well my objective was met, there they were, but the question remained, "where should they have been after the job was done." and the right answer I'm afraid was , not on the bench. So I pondered the problem and decided that maybe the parts weren't essential after all and started the car up. It moved but there was a problem with the shifter they obviously had something to do with allowing the gears to merge easily, but if you pushed hard it would work. My logic on the Gremiln matter was this, if I put it back together and didn't see where the missing pieces go, who is to to say if I spent another day taking it apart that when I put it back together it would be any different. So here is the solution, "Sharon, it works fine again, but it will be a litle bit stiff to shift for a for a while because of the new pieces" and as with most things in life once you get used to something thats how it should be.

On Jan 1, 1964 at about 12:25 am I made a stupid decision that almost cost me my life. Lets head up to Paynton some one said, they are on slow time so we can make it and bring in New Years again. "Great idea" some of us said, lets go. The problem was that Paynton was 30 miles away and we had to get our coats on and drive across town before we got to the hiway which was only going to leave about 20 minutes to go 30 miles, get out of the car and into the dance hall. What could go wrong, well, a head on collision at 110 mph, a 20 year old boy in a coma from which he woke up from only to finally die from his injuries, a girl whose life was destroyed as her face was ripped off as she went through a window and myself so traumatized that it was 15 years before I could bring myself to get into a vehicle if someone else was driving. Don't you think some one would have said, wait a minute, the roads are icy, its to far, lets forget about gratifying ourselves by trying to do what is foolish and impossible and stay put. The right decision would have been so easy to make.

One of the problems with making poor decisions is that they tend to become habit forming. Some decisions can have instant consequences but for the most part they linger around and it takes years before the true impact of stupidity becomes evident. The most relevant example and the most widespread in early life is not developing good study and work habits in school. Even at an early age most kids have some kind of an understanding that success in life has some connection to how well we do in school. But just like Esau most trade the possibility of a bright and prosperous future away for the immediate gratification of having a good time now.

For older teens and young adults irresponsible behaviour associated with dating and forming the right relationships jeopardize the future of settling down to a stable and fruitful marriage. And for the middle aged the inability to accommodate the needs and desires of their partners leads to the astounding amount of marriage breakdown we see in todays society. And the common thread no matter what the age is that deep inside everyone recognizes the difference between when they are doing right and when they are doing wrong but can't help ourselves. Its the age old struggle between the here and now and the satisfying of the desires of our inner man in the present, or taking the longer road and building towards the future which always seems so far away.

If you want to argue against that, go ahead, but hear what King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived had to say. "Remember now thy creator in the days of thy youth"

"Fear God and keep his commandments for this is the whole duty of man . For God shall bring every work into judgement with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil."

Its hard to believe life can be that easy.

There is more than one way to like a horse?

I grew up in the West, first in Alberta and later in Saskatchewan, so it is only to be expected that horses would somehow have been a part of my life. At a tender age my friends and I used to catch horses off the Sarcee Indian reserve at the West end of Glenmore Dam and ride them with only a chunk of rope for a bridle. We spent days pursuing and cornering horses on the reserve and in a pasture where a nearby farmer boarded horses for wealthy Calgarians. The Indian horses were of undetermined lineage but some of the boarded horses definitely had some thoroughbred in them. It was a passtime enjoyed by a group of friends that all came to a halt when Jimmy Curley took a tumble from one of the thoroughbreds and shattered his arm. Soon the story spread and we were confronted by parents, owners and the farmer and the jig was definitely up, no more riding, we all secretely held Jimmy responsible for being such a wuss and piss poor rider, but what can you do.

I don't know what the cause was, I know it was worthy, but what I know for sure was that for 25 cents I could buy three tickets for draw on a horse. So thats what I did. It was the opportunity of a lifetime for a 10 year old boy, owning your own horse. I could see myself, just like one of the cowboys in the Calgary Stampede parade, it would drive so much envy into the hearts of my friends on the Air Force base where we lived. And sure enough it came true. We received a phone call from one of my dads friends who heard my name called as the grand prize winner on the radio. But all stories don't have the happiest of endings, you see my parents had an issue with me keeping a horse on the base on our 50 by 100 lot, and it was with great saddness I accepted a $25.00 check instead. But it turned out OK as I bought a new 3 speed Schwin bike and my first set of golf clubs with the money.

I had been raised on stories about horses by my mother who in my mind was the Annie Oakley of her time, only better. I knew all about "Biddy" the standardbred that she roamed the prairie on when she was a young girl, with her trusty Remington pump .22 calibre rifle held high with one hand as "Biddy" again raced down the dirt roads out of control. Even her brothers recognized that she had the boss horse and whatever nag they were on just didn't measure up in a race. Life was good until one day when Biddy shied at something and she was thrown into a ditch where the Remington pump came out second best in a collision with a large boulder and she banged herself up pretty good. My grandfather brought some sense to the farm when he decided the horse was to unpredictable and nasty for a kid to be riding. I used to take the old Remington out of the case when we were visiting the farm in Lockwood and try to make it work but the slide on the pump action was just to bent, man it was a beauty to play with. I had a great time down on the farm and had my first experience riding a horse there.

As I look back I realize that my two uncles didn't always exercise the greatest judgement with me. When I was 8 years old and visiting in the summer during haying season I got my big chance and it was something I will never forget. They still used horses for some of the farm work and one day my uncle Don who would have been in his early twenties hitched up two of the draft horses to a hay rake to coil some hay. I of course wanted to go on this big adventure so he agreed and we set out down the road me half sitting and standing on the rake as we headed out to the field. It didn't work out to well when we got there because the rake had a trip that was activated when you pressed on a peddle and there simply wasn't enough room on the rake for us both, so he had an idea. Do you want to ride on the horse he said, Wow, I guess I did, so he hoisted me up onto the horses back which was in full working harness and told me to hang on. What a great time for the first 20 minutes as we plodded around the field putting the hay into windrows but the next few hours were terribly boring and hot. Finally it was time to head home, so down the road we went. Exercising terrible judgement he decided he would let the horses have a run. Everyone has seen old movies of the runaway stagecoach, well thats about what we looked like except that the guy who jumps on the lead horse wasn't a stunt man, it was an 8 year old, frightened out of his wits boy who realized that if he lost his grip of the harness he was toast under the steel wheels of the rake, thats if the hooves didn't get me first.

I had two uncles, Don, the oldest and Neil, and where horses were concerned my uncle Don knew more and had the best judgement and this is after acknowledging that he put an 8 year old in that situation. They used to just roar with laughter when they would tell the story of their father sending them off to Lockwood on a wagon carrying 75 bushels of wheat pulled by a team of horses. The Lockwood grain elevator was about 7 miles away from the farm which made for a long boring trip for a couple of 12 and 14 year old boys. My grandfather had a saying about boys working "one boy, good boy", "two boys, half a boy", three boys, no boy at all" think about it for a minute and you will understand it. The trip into Lockwood would have gone without incident if either one of them had been alone but with two, something was bound to happen. Along the sides of the road in the ditches water collected in low spots and bullrushes grew. If you have never seen a bullrush, they grow about 6 or 7 feet tall with a strong stem and a large brown growth at the top about an inch around and seven or eight inches long. They make great spears and many a boy has spent countless hours tossing them around, so of course it was easy to jump off the slow moving wagon and collect a bunch. After a while the new possibilities of what to do with a bunch of bullrushes gets pretty slim and when boys are bored, strange thoughts enter their heads. If you have been around horses you will have noticed something, when a horse takes a dump it expells a bunch of turds that resemble golf balls, except brown in colour and when the last few are being expelled a horse has the ability to kind of turn its arse inside out to get rid of the last few. And when its last offering drops, the arse kind of retracts and shuts itself up and if you have been around horses much you know they eat about a half bale of hay a day which means many piles every day. So what is a boy to do, there you are sitting on the seat at the front of a wagon, with a 7 foot bullrush in your hand and every 20 minutes a tempting target presents itself, the die was cast, the arse turned inside out and from the seat eager hands inserted the bullrush. What happened next had not been thought through. The arse immediately clamped shut and retracted pulling the bullrush from my uncle Neils hands and sucking it about a foot into the horse. If you watch the chuckwagon races at the Calgary Stampede you can imagine what happened next, except a grain wagon is not built for speed and particularly when pulled by a crazy horse who has no idea of what is happening to him except that its not good and its scary. The wagon hit the ditch, and overturned, the pole hooked to the wagon broke and a wild eyed horse galloped and kicked its way down the road. I can only imagine the stories of how to explain what happened and leave the boys in a good light that were tried, but the long and short of it was when the horse was eventually located by my grandfather and discovered with a seven foot bullrush protruding from its arse nothing would get them off the hook.

Behind the barn at Lockwood there was a corral with a fenced off pathway that led to the door. My grandfather used to buy wild horses that had been caught in the foothills of Alberta and have a full boxcar shipped to the farm at a time. My uncle would break the horses to saddle and they would then sell them off. He got very good at riding and it was his plan to compete in the bucking bronc event at the Calgary Stampede. He was on a horse one day in the corral breaking it and the horse suddenly took off and ended up running into the barn where it continued bucking. My uncle was hurt badly by the horse in the barn when he crushed the ankle on his left foot, he was never able to ride quite the same again and didn't make it to the Stampede.

When I went into Grade 11 I had to attend school in Battleford which meant a long walk every morning or riding a horse up to the Drummond Creek school and leaving it in the barn for the day. Trouble was my sister had a horse and I didn't and since I wouldn't ride on the back of the horse usually I walked. Sometimes one of the neighbours kids would pick me up if they were riding alone. One of the only times I rode behind my sister we were almost seriously injured. We were late to get to the bus that morning so I rode behind her. It was late in the fall and the ground was frozen and there was a skiff of snow on the ground. Because it was cold I was wearing 2 pairs of pants and the ones on the outside were a kind of canvaslike material. As soon as I got on the horse I felt uneasy because the pants were so slippery and we never even owned a saddle so everything was bareback. The horse was galloping full out when we came around a corner at the top of the second ravine and I lost my balance with those pants on because I couldn't get a grip, so off I went onto the frozen ground at about 35 miles an hour. It made for a very unhappy time with all the skin lost and the bruises I received, never rode behind her again.

Whenever she would stay home or stay overnight in town then I had the horse to myself and he was a good one. There were 4 boys around my age that lived nearby and there was nothing we liked better than a good horserace. A couple of events stand out. One spring day when the ground was thawing out and we were heading home we headed into a field of Stan Carletons that had been summerfallowed the year before and there was about 4 inches of mud on it. We started racing, Gerry McNabb and I had horses that were pretty evenly matched, so we were neck and neck in the lead. We could hear Gerry Mants screaming at us to stop so we checked up a bit to see what was happening. Poor Gerry he rode an old ploughhorse named "Dynamite" who couldn't keep up but would try, the mud flying off the hooves of the lead horses completely covered him.

You have to understand that horses are a herding animal and their natural instinct is to travel together, thats what "Dynamite was trying to do, keep up with the other horses and Gerry couldn't hold him back. being the good buddies we were we slowed down just enough that Dynamite could stay about 20 feet behind us, right where the mud was the thickest being thrown off the hooves of our horses. We circled the field several times with Dynamite and Gerry in tow until they both looked like the kid from "Slumdog Millionaire" when he fell into the pit of shit.

I did get hurt a few times with horses though so it wasn't always a good time. Gerry Mcnabb and I were racing once and he was on his sisters horse "Tango", a big buckskin that was a bit faster than mine. We headed off the road at full clip down a ravine where the horses were almost out of control, ahead was a narrow opening into some trees that as just big enough for one horse to get through. Just as my horse going full tilt was about to jump the small creek at the bottom a sheet of old newspaper caught in some brush moved with the wind and my shied sideways. I left the horse headfirst and ploughed in a bunch of willows. Thank goodness I didn't hit a large tree head on but the willows were about two inches thick and were in a cluster. When I hit them a branch went through my pants just below my belt and I got hung up upside down about 4 feet off the ground barely conscious. I was hurt so bad I couldn't get myself out of the trees where I was hanging upside down. Finally as my head cleared I realized how bad a position I was in, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get my belt undone but after a while I was able to slip out of my pants and fall to the ground. Gerry didn't realize what had happened so he just headed on home. Again, no broken bones but it took a long time before I could walk without pain. Makes me wonder somtimes if some of the injuries I received when I was younger that I am paying for them now.

My uncle Donald, of hay rake fame loved horses and had one of the best trained horses I ever saw. It was a quarter horse named Laddie that eventually became my sisters horse. If you told him to stand at attention he would stretch out which lowered his back by about a foot making it very easy to get on him. he was a wonderful horse around cattle and could cut them out of a group and keep them separated pretty much by himself. I was riding him one day when we were moving some cattle across a summerfallow field. A big tall steer decided to take off in the wrong direction and I set off at full speed to bring him back. When we caught up to him I brought the horse alongside and had the horse lean on him to turn him back to the herd, and it worked for a while until the damn steer cut in front of the horse and stumbled. The horse got tripped up and did a cartwheel over the steer with its 4 legs pointing to the sky, Iwas thrown off of course landing on my back just in time to see a thousand pounds of horse coming down on me. Its back landed so close it brushed the side of my head, there is an old Saskatchewan expression of buying the farm, well I came a couple of inches away from buying it that day.

I finally bought a horse of my own when I was in Grade 12. It was a tall rangy black gelding with a pronounced backbone which made riding him something like sitting on a 2 x 4 on its edge. But at least it was dependable transportation. I paid $15.00 for him from an Indian on Sweetgrass reserve and kept him for a couple of years. Once the government put a road by our place I was able to graduate to something with rubber wheels and didn't ride much anymore except to work cattle. So I sold "Chief" back. I ran into the Indian one day in town and he asked about the horse and by the end of the conversation he agreed to buy him back. The buy consisted of a trade, a load of treated fenceposts for the horse. So I delivered the horse and in the spring he was going to get the posts. I kept in touch and one day I arrived with the truck for my posts. They are out in the woods he said, so we set off.

A source of income for a lot of the Indians on the reserve was cutting and treating posts with bluestone in pits. They would cut the posts and set them up in a big hole they would dig in the ground. Into the hole they would pour a few barrels of water mixed with a copper sulfate. The posts would absorb the mixture and when the tops turned blue they were done. We drove along a trail in the bush for a few miles until we came to a pit full of posts so we loaded them up. I found out later that they weren't his, we had driven until he found a pit with no one around.

After we got married Sharon wanted a horse so I traded a steer to a neighbour for a 2 year old palomino which we kept until we moved to BC. Sharon gave the horse to her sister Peggy who rode him for about 20 years.

We had some dutch neighbours, Martin and Johanna Rumpf that we spent quite a bit of time with. A visit usually consisted of lots of coffee and conversation, helping with chores and of course a big meal. The centerpiece was quite often a huge Moose roast. If you haven't eaten moose before it is quite lean, dark and more taste than beef, cooked like a pot roast with onions and carrots its great.

After several years of these feasts Johanna told Sharon one day, it isn't really moose, we just say that, its horse. Quite a look on her face as Sharon stopped chewing and removed a big hunk of roast from her mouth and stared at the remains of "Old Dobbin".

Yes, Johanna said, we buy an old horse from the stockyards every year and do it up ourselves.

I have to admit of all the horses I was around, I liked Rumpf's the best.

When news becomes entertainment

I am tired of listening to non-news items and think its time for most news shows and channels to cut back. Its a phenomenon that has been building for years, the need for news items to fill up 24 hours a day. What was once taken for granted as life is now sensationalized to become entertainment. When I turn to the news, I want real news, "China Declares war on Japan", now thats news, Man bites Dog is not. I guess everything that happens is news to someone but please come up with a definition that separates the wheat from the chaff.

There are so many sources now and they have an appetite to fill up air time and there is only so much news to report that is real news. I just read an item that made me realize how desperate the networks are to avoid dead air.

Somewhere in BC a wheel fell off a bus and the sidebar was that it happened as students were heading home to start their spring break. This made the headlines!!. All I can think is that I could have been a media star, a real contender for news maker of the day had I only been born in a different time.

When I was going to high school I had about a thirty mile drive from where the bus picked us up at the old Drummond Creek school to take us into Battleford. We were a mixed lot of high school students and as we got closer to town we picked up some younger kids because they didn't have a one room school anymore.

Our bus driver was a fireman from North battleford who was working a second job to make ends meet. He worked shifts and you could tell when he were coming off an all nighter by the way he hunched over the steering wheel trying to stay awake. We had some interesting incidents that I am sure would make headlines today. How would this be for a catchy headline "Bus Driver falls Asleep on Job, 15 students narrowly escape death, or its follow up story "Bus Driver Falls Asleep for Second Time in Year". Wow we could have made the national, and been interviewed on everything from Larry King to Mike Duffy because this happened.

He really new how to burn the candle at both ends. We called him Billy Buffalo because in the winter he had one of those big furry buffalo coats the Mounties used to be famous for. He made for quite a sight when he was at the wheel of the 1948 GMC bus we called home for about an hour and a half each day. He had a habit of putting his hands together and hunching over the wheel so that the steering was done more with his forearms than his hands. It was also a good position to rest in, if you were suffering from the two maladies he was afflicted with, first lack of sleep from working all night, second lack of sleep from partying all night. We liked him because once the Hanterman kids were dropped off (Grades 1, 2 and 4) there was only high school students left on the bus and chaos was free to enter the world. We knew that we couldn't swear or enter into objectionable behaviour while the little kids were aboard, it was a kind of a code we followed.

Enter the sins of Billy Buffalo that made our little ship newsworthy in todays headline hungry world, and what newsworthy sins they were, driving while under the influence, driving while asleep and thirdly driving a bus that at times only had three wheels. But Billy also had talent, particularly on mornings when the smell of stale Seagrams Rye Whiskey enhanced by a raw throaty smokers cough greeted us as we boarded our yellow chariot to higher learning. His talent was that he could drive at all times with his foot to the floor and keep the bus with its half steering wheel of play between the ditches, while reaching maximum velocity in each gear all the way into town. And to make it even more awe inspiring, he did it on a gravel highway and when drunk or hung over could reduce the travel time by about ten minutes as he desperately headed for his lair and some much needed sleep.

We never had an incident when he was in that condition and the best headline that could be expected might be "Drunk Schoolbus Driver Sets new Speed Record Between Drummond Creek and Battleford", wonder which part the news group would hone in on, the drunkedness or the speed?

It was a different story though when he fell asleep, even a talent as large as Billys couldn't keep the bus out of the ditch. But he did have the uncanny knack to keep the wheel straight on the two times he tried taking a different and unsanctioned route to get his charges to safely to good old Battleford. The first time could have happened to anyone, how could anyone asleep at the wheel have known about the 90 degree turn about 400 yards from where the bus on the road from Drummond Creek would meet the highway. It was a magnificent effort as slumped over the wheel, sound asleep, forearms locked, he kept the bus going straight ahead into Nyholts field where after regaining consciousness he made a circle through the wheat back onto the road and on our way without missing a shift change. The second time we were once again saved by the iron grip of Billys forearms as he sped through the dead end where Hantermans road met the highway and we were able to experience the thrill of ploughing across a foot of snow before coming to rest about 100 yards into Stan Carletons field. What a talent the man had for safe driving while sleeping.

But back to our headline story about the missing wheel in BC.

As you left the sand hills on 29 highway heading towards Wilkie the road was straight as an arrow and entered a slight decline that lasted for several miles, a natural spot to make up time. The old bus could really get rolling on this stretch. And on two ocaissions on this same stretch the old 48 GMC decided to part company with the left front wheel. Now the funny thing was that you would think the left side of the bus would drop onto the ground and dig in, but that never happened. It dropped a bit and touched ground, but rather gently. I can still remember watching the wheel speeding down the highway all by itself at 65 miles an hour until as it was almost out of sight when it made the ditch on the left hand side and headed out across Tommy Yeonans summerfallow field. A pack of us headed out to retrieve the wheel and after locating it about 300 yards off the road and a half mile down the highway we rolled it back to the bus. Being a resourceful type Billy had the bus jacked up and had removed lug nuts from other wheels to come up with enough to firmly secure the front wheel back in place. After a cautious drive for a few miles to test things out we were once again back up to speed. Second time was similar except the wheel coming to rest was more spectacular as it headed out at an angle from the bus into the ditch and when it came to the bank at the other side became airborn after taking out a fence and crashing through some trees, it was very exciting.

I think at least one of those items would make the headlines today, but we seemed to take it all in as "business as usual".

Bring back the Lash.

I have a very unpopular opinion on how to prevent crime and vandalism in our youth and those engaging in drug offences.

I think we should have public adminstration of justice once a week. In the wintertime it could be held on the main stage at the Confederation Centre of the Arts to allow people to come in from the cold. In fact I think we could even turn it into a tourist attraction and make a few bucks. I even have some candidates for the first show. Over the past weekend some delinquents drove around town smashing windows in cars and houses, there were quite a few that were reported and details are in the paper, and Miles and Renae's car was one that had a smashed window.

So these guys are caught, now here is how our present system works. Apprehension, where they are brought in and interviewed, followed by possibly a day in court or more likely a settlement where they have to apologize. If they go to court they might get a fine with no follow up as far as collection goes, maybe visit a probation officer a few times. The bottom line is that there is no real punishment and and no real consequences for what they did, the only consequences are to the victims.

Now here is my solution. Shackle these little pricks for their appearance before the court of public opinion, do a little advertising because I am sure these same guys have built up a reputation with a lot of people. Lead them out onto the main stage in front of the townsfolk and read the charges, give them an opportunity to explain why they decided it would be a good idea to go out and smash a bunch of property belonging to people who they never even met. Maybe they will have a good explantion (laughter). Read what the results of this mayhem was, how it affected people etc.

Now the good part. Bend them over a nice strurdy bench and drop their pants enough to expose their buttocks. Bring a husky policeman with about a 5 foot cane. ( It would be therapeutic for the cops to, because finally they would see some justice dealt out) I think about 6 solid strokes for an offence like that would be fine, enough to make sure the humiliation was matched with the appropriate amount of tears and crying. I say 6 strokes because thats what the Singapore court, who have experience in these things dealt out to the American kid who went on a car scratching spree while visiting that country got.

Remember the incident in Singapore that got all the Americans worked up when an American kid was caught scratching cars with a key. The Singapore court sentenced him to 6 strokes with a cane. Even President Clinton tried to intervene. The Liberal press went wild, the talk shows had fodder for a week or so and the editorial pages were filled with protests. Funny thing is, Singapore has virtually no crime and no vandalism, streets are clean, citizens are safe, its a nice place to live. Children excel in school in a environment where they can learn because there are no spoiled brats that are allowed to get away with mayhem. Compare that to here, lenient courts, schools can't discipline and when a little prince or princess cracks someone with a stick a vicious timeout is administered followed by a counselling session to get hostile feelings out and a dish of ice cream. No wonder we have so many youth that are an embarrassment to themselves and their families.

Like I said it could become a tourist attraction and would bring a sense to the thousands of victims of senseless crimes that maybe there is a bit of justice left in the world. As far as a deterrence method, do you think it might make them think about whether the pleasure they got from smashing something was worth the pain of having a blistered ass.

In the summertime we could move it to Saturday nights at the Charlottetown Driving Park. Might help build up the crowds and maybe we could get it simulcast as I am sure there would be lots of frustrated people who got completely screwed by the court system when they were victimized that would tune in.

So there you have it, I rest my case.

Me and the Duffster

There has been a story on Prince Edward Island recently that has been getting a lot of play. During his maiden speech in the Senate Mike Duffy made a comment about the Premier of PEI agreeing with the Premier of Newfoundland and he used what he thought was a witticism to make his point.

It went something like this, he suggested P. E. I. Premier Robert Ghiz may get the "shaft" by getting in bed with the Premier of Newfoundland, Danny Williams, and that the sight of two politicians in bed is "a grotesque scene." On the Guardian and the CBC websites the postings are about equal and generally fall into two categories.

1. Some think its funny and tell the others to lighten up, it was an obvious attempt at humour to illustrate a point.

2. Others think it was unforgivably offensive and think Mike Duffy should resign or be kicked out of the Senate.

I tend to agree with the first and mildly think that at the very worst it was an error in judgement, but only because of the climate of political and every other kind of correctness prevalent in society today. I have to ask the question, why have we progressed to the point where the expression of a simple point of view brings such a personal and righteous attack. Surely to God anyone reading the full text can understand that it was simply a metaphor used to describe Danny Wiliams sometimes outrageous and confrontational behaviour and that anyone who gets to close to him will surely be tarred with the same brush. Here is a sample from the Guardian blogs on the issue.

Donna from Alberta writes: Good for Duffy for telling the scandal mongering media to get lost. It is about time someone did it and Duffy is just the person to do it.

Ron Blacquierre from Stratford, PEI writes: Mr. Duffy is turning out to be nothing but an unelected blow hard who was appointed by the PM to act as one of those little yappy dogs that nip at your ankles.

Mervin Hollingsworth from Saskatoon, Sask. writes: This is typical of the media in Canada. They are like a pack of mad dogs with a bone.

Taxpayer from Charlottetown, PEI writes: How do you spell disappointing. D U F F Y

I am afraid that I am like the Duffster, totally understand him, and am going to wander through life with a puzzled look on my face wondering "what the hell was that all about". If everyone fits into one of the two camps I wonder as I draw my last breaths if I will think "I wish I thought the opposite", I don't think I will, and I don't believe I was bad person because if it. It depresses me though that this is where we find ourselves.

Lets Blow Some More Money

Its always the same thing when it comes to education, just like in Montague. Put up a new building and it will mean a better education for the students, problem is the two don't equate.

The issue is the methods we use to educate our children, not the facility they attend. Until we are able to grasp with the issue, that in our education system, the quality of a childs education is largely dependant upon the quality of the person at the front of the room. Until we deal with that no progress towards excellence in education will be made and all we will have, is another $20 million of taxpayers money spent on another building.

There is not one single person on PEI, who when examing the years they spent in school cannot divide the teachers they had into about three categories.

1. Those teachers that were able to excel in bringing the best out of their students and ensuring they learned something from their time spent. (Good teachers)

2. Those teachers who drew a paycheck, had a job teaching, did not inspire anyone and never pushed anyone towards anything but mediocrity. (Mediocre teachers)

3. Those teachers who were unable to really get to grips with creating a classroom in which kids could learn anything. (Bad teachers)

And if people are honest, anyone can look back and put names to the teachers that fall into each category.

My Grade 12 teachers:

The first was Mr. Buglas who excelled at seeing that everyone in his class learned and enjoyed the experience. He taught history and English, he was pretty strict but everyone respected him and enjoyed his classes. (Good teacher)

Another teacher Mr. Huculak was well liked because you never had to do much, and he inflated grades. He taught Chemistry and Physics, he told interesting stories to pass the day, but nobody learned much, and no one did well on departmental exams. (Mediocre teacher)

Then there was Mr Frizzel, what a piece of work, mad all the time and frustrated with the students, had a mean streak and just couldn't get the concepts of algebra and triginometry across. (Bad teacher)

We all have had a string of teachers that fell into one of these categories, and your school career pretty well parallelled the hand you were dealt. If you had the misfortune to get a bad teacher in a subject like math or english, then you didn't have a good foundation to build on when you were shuffled along in the system. I was lucky enough to be able to get through school whether I had a teacher or not as I was a pretty good student, but what a tragedy for those who had learning difficulties and ended up leaving school after Grade 9.

Here is my teacher scorecard:

Grade 1 - Mrs Whitney - I lucked out, she was a grandmotherly woman who loved children and had the patience of Job (Good teacher)

Grade 2 & 3 - Mrs Lemon - I think she had some family problems, because its the only thing I can come up with that would explain her little breakdowns, she left about 3/4 of the way through the second year for reasons that weren't discussed around children, but she was still OK (Mediocre teacher)

Grade 4 - Miss Meintz, all the boys were in love with her and tried really hard to please, because she was cute and nice, and worked real hard at helping us along. (Good teacher)

Grade 5 - Miss Johnston, I believe she was really Adolph Eichmann in drag, spiteful, unbalanced and scary, with a bony chest from which two long cucumber shaped breasts drooped that gathered in a pouch just above her middle. I know from personal experience because she always picked me out and hugged me hard, pressing my nose into the depression between the vegetables aaaargh!!! If only it had been in a residential school, I could have been set for life. (Bad, No, Really bad teacher)

Grade 6 - Miss Dean, was not really a teacher, she was more of a bundle of nerves wrapped in a 200 pound body, who lived life as a character in a soap opera, there was a lot of drama here, and the class spent a lot of time blinking, with a stunned look on our faces wondering, what the hell is she talking about. But I have to sympathy with her, she didn't do well in the lottery. She ended up with flaming red hair and buck teeth, kind of reminded me of a beaver wearing a Ronald MacDonad wig. (Bad teacher)

Grade 7 - Miss Thomas - A Sergeant major of a woman who reminded you of Miss Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies, there was no time for fooling around in this class, but you were going to learn, and learn well, whatever it was she was trying to get across, and as a side benefit, you learned how to jump to attention and click your heels together when she entered the room. (Good . No, an excellent teacher)

Grade 8 - Mr Brock, bless his soul, was a dear man who was in his retirement year, was completely worn out and was not in good health. A short rotund man, he would actually settle back in his chair and fall asleep, we liked him so much the class would be quiet so we didn't wake him. I don't recall him actually teaching us anything for an entire year. The Principal understood this so he would rotate himself and Mr Van Der Geer in and out of our classroom to help out and at least conduct a few classes. (No teacher - he didn't fit any other category because he just didn't teach.)

Grade 9 - I moved schools three times that year so can't remember anything.

Grade 10 - Mr. Cairns, once again I really lucked out, he was a no nonsense, but funny intelligent man who could teach anybody anything and made every kid in his class feel special, if ever a person was born to be a teacher, this was your man (Good, No an - excellent teacher)

Grade 11 - same people as Grade 12

So thats it
Good teachers 5
Mediocre teachers 2
Bad teachers 3
No teacher 1

This probably approximates what the experience was for most of us.

Now here is the kicker, I can say that the type of building that housed the schools had zero effect on my education. Grade 1,2 and 3 were spent in renovated barracks on an Air Force base, no gymnasium, but we had a big schoolyard. But what a wonderful place, there was a big depression in the playground that filled with water every spring and formed a big pond, we all dragged hunks of wood to school and constructed primitive raft things where that we could play pirate on. The school was nice and warm though and we had time to dry out between launchings.

Grades 4 through 8 was in a school that reminded me of Belfast, except the gym was in the basement and was about 1/3 the size of the one in Belfast, but only had an 8 foot ceiling.
Grade 9 started in Richmond Hill in a huge three story old brick building, continued in a sprawling Junior High with lots of facilities and ended in a large Grade 9-13 school that had 14 grade 9 classes. Grade 10 same place.
Grade 11 and 12 was in Battleford, an old three story building with Grade 4 and 5 on the first two floors and 10 - 12 on the third. I never questioned why the odd configuration of age levels but I don't ever remember it causing any trouble.

Sure new buildings are nice but all they really are, is monuments to those who pushed, worked, and argued enough to carry the day. We see this in the exercise that took place in Montague and is underway in Souris, but its folly, because the momentum is kept up by the notion that a big new school = better education, repeated with the same conviction as the ancients who insisted the sun revolves around the earth.

It has been proven time and time again that charter schools that have the flexibility to introduce learning methods which transform the role of teacher, to facilitator of learning, turn out children with measurable higher levels of educational achievement. But unfortunately this challenges the status quo and promotes fear mongering by the educators whose ox is being gored.

As for a K-12 school, excellent idea you can even go and see it in action at PEI's #1 education facility for turning out achievers, Grace Christian in Charlottetown and it works very well.

As for older buildings being renovated or added to, absolutely the way to go. Seems to work fine for Oxford, Harvard and The Sorbonne where if you tried to tear down old buildings you would be drawn and quartered, and they seem to turn out some pretty fine minds from buildings hundreds of years old.

A successful school isn't the building, its the people in it.

Unsolvable Problems

I am realizing more and more as time moves along that there are many problems associated with every part of the human experience that are simply unsolvable. There is an old saying that contains a lot of wisdom about the circumstances of life that says " what cannot be changed must be endured".

Every day we are forced to endure many things, and for the most part they are not endured with the understanding, they cannot be changed. So I have to ask the question, is it better to face each day with blissful optimism, only to be disapointed with reality as it unfolds in our our lives, than to begin and end each day, knowing that we have no control over improving many of the situations we are confronted with. Most of us seem to choose a path somewhere in between and accept what happens on a daily, weekly, yearly and in most instances for a lifetime without any kind of self determined strategy to bring measured joy to ourselves and others. .

Dr. Phil identifies on a regular basis, a habitual failing with most people that describes how we take action to solve the adversity in our lives, its a simple saying, "hows that workin for ya" is one of his favorite and earthiest bits of wisdom . He is of course reffering to what action we take to solve the personal or interpersonal issues that bring us unhappiness or frustration. What he is saying, is that lemming like, we take a plunge over a cliff each day with a smile on our face, that is until the last moment, when the ground gives way beneath our feet and whoa !! its happening again, we're stuck in Groundhog day.

What he is reffering to is the fixable things in our lives and how we don't utilize learnable strategies to turn the situations around. But I find it somewhat depressing is that there is a heck of a lot of things going on that can't be fixed, and when you realize that in spite of all the good intentions in the actions we undertake and in the actions of others, some things are doomed to eternal failure.

One of the big things going on that can get me down when I dwell on it, and I think of all the suffering that takes place there is the situation in gaza. I don't know why that should be on my mind anymore than the even worse situations in place like, Somalia, The Congo or Zimbabwe, I guess its just that it is the news more.

Self interest is in the midst of every situation and when it is combined with shortsightedness and a propensity to ignore the effects upon others we find a world filled with human misery . Self interest is present in everyone even Mother Theresa, but thank God not to the same degree in us all, which does leave the tiniest sliver of optimism that although we can't solve every problem, at least in some situations a degree of civility will somehow make its way to the surface and we can create at least a hairline of separation between ourselves and the beasts of the jungle, but too many can't or won't control the urge to place self first. Its a spin off from original sin and the root of most of the despair in the world, but sometimes there are even a bigger force at work.

During the recent strife in Gaza I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out what the moves would be to bring some kind of resolution to that conflict and to clearly form some opinions that might give me a clue as to what the best possibilities could be. Its a complex issue and when you try and identify the factors driving the passion of the combatants on each side be prepared for a long list. The problem is that when you start heaping the grievences on the two sides of the scale it eventually collapses over the sheer size of the wrongs that each side can compile. The standard line of thinking in the West and in the more moderate Arab states is that this has been precipitated by Hamas by its continual firing of rockets into Israel since 2005 when they took control of the Gaza strip, and Israel has every right to respond militarily to protect their citizens against this act of aggression. But the Palestinians and their allies put the case forward that the nation of Israel as created by the United Nations after the Second World War is on Palestinian land and they have no right to be there. You would think that after 60 years they would have been able to come to some kind of reasonable agreement to preserve peace and allow peoples on both sides to live in some kind of harmony together. Finally I have come to the conclusion that the situation in the Middle east is an "unsolvable problem".

There is no definitive starting point that can be agreed upon from which negotiations can begin, and without it, both sides are doomed to positions of self proclaimed and deeply felt righteousness. A lot of effort is being put into it but in the end nothing is going to work and self interest and something even more powerful will continue to drive the conflict.

The root cause seems to come from the question,Who owns the land? But you can't solve this without determining, when was ownership established and what is the authority that makes the ownership legitimate? If you have a desire to give yourself a massive headache and waste a large portion of your life then proceed to try and figure that one out. I gave it a bit of a try and found myself wound up with the Amelikites, Hittites, Assyrians, Philistines, Turks, Romans, Crusaders, Refraims, Amorites, Zumins, Emims, Shinarites, Elasarites, Israelites, Samaritans, Mamraites, Greeks and a hundred others who possessed and claimed all or part of the land at one time or another. My best guess would be that there are about 500 clans, tribes, warlords and nations that are involved in the Arab - Israelite dispute.

But if we think about it, whats the difference between the situation in the Middle East and that of every other land mass that people occupy throughout the world. The difference is that most nations somehow figured it out, and in many cases from a history that is even more complex than what we find in the Holy Land. The Middle east should be a piece of cake compared to what the situation in China was, with hundreds of dialects, kingdoms and religions to pull together but somehow they did it. Europe wasn't much different and although they didn't consolidate into one nation they somehow have come together as a community of nations after exhausting the options of having one dominant force. I have come to a conclusion, Societies, individuals, groups, clans etc that live in close proximity to each other, can find success, and peace, and harmony, by putting their individual self interests aside and reaching compromises. Those living in close proximity to each other that remain entrenched behind their self interest positions are condeming themselves and others to lives of chaos.

I resolved the problem for myself by taking a look in the bible and discovering the answer is as old as time. and is found in the book of Genesis. It seems that the situation is continuing to unfold exactly as it is always been. When God determined that Ishmael was to be borne by Hagar and become the father of the Arab nation he came into the world with a pronouncement from God.

The angel of the LORD said to Hagar, "Behold, you are with child, And you will bear a son; And you shall call his name Ishmael, Because the LORD has given heed to your affliction.

He will be a wild donkey of a man, His hand will be against everyone, And everyone's hand will be against him;

And so it has been for thousands of years and will continue to be until the end of time, an"unsolvable problem" as defined by human standards.