Razor-wire not as good an option as food (Nov. 25)

On the subject of welcoming refugees

                                                            by Robert LaFrance

            I think we should bring in all the refugees we can, period.

            We all have to remember these two things first: (1) The people risking their lives crossing the Aegean or some other often unfriendly sea to try and make their way to somewhere safer are fleeing the type of ‘people’ who did all the killing in Paris, and (2) this is Canada, a land of refugees. Other than First Nations people, who unwisely welcomed people like us, we are all refugees from somewhere.

            Many people objecting to the idea that Canada will soon welcome thousands of people might do well to use some imagination. Rather than sitting in front of their computers and checking on the latest Facebook revelation, perhaps they (and we all) could picture themselves in a leaking dangerous boat being bounced around on the Aegean Sea.

            “We can’t see land and a storm is building up to the east. We’ve already had one 4-year-old boy drown when he fell off the inflatable raft and disappeared. We escaped from Syria with our last bit of jewelry that paid our passage on this boat and if we ever reach the island of Lesbos (Greece) we hope to get some food and get some country to take us in. We have no money left. Maybe Hungary will take us in, or Serbia.”

No, one of the young men on the boat has a smartphone and said that the Hungarians had put up a 175-kilometre razor-wire fence along its border with Serbia and the Serbian government is building one on its other border. This is to keep tens of thousands of refugees – some starving and many sick, lots of children – from crossing their countries to get to Germany, Austria, Sweden and other countries. Think of the number of refugees all that money spent on fences could have fed and clothed.

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            The slaughter of all those innocent people in Paris couldn’t have come at a worse time. Not that there’s a good time for terrorism.

            Within hours of these attacks in France, dozens of governors in U.S. states declared that they would not allow any of the Syrian refugees settle there, not in their state. Several European leaders with short memories declared the same, and the Premier of Saskatchewan, displaying Stephen Harper DNA, said Canada should step back from its promise of bringing in 25,000 refugees before 2016.

            I looked around in my head – often a barren cupboard – to try and find an analogy to this and finally came up with one, a poor effort, but you will get the point.

            Bank robbers go into the National Bank of Tilley, shoot a group of innocent bystanders, and escape. The police come along and arrest the bank employees. That’s what it must seem like to the Syrian and other refugees who are now crowded into camps in Jordan, Lebanon, and other countries.

            It’s true that one or more of them might be ISIS suicide bombers, but we here in Canada take a chance every day that some nut case is going to bring a rifle into a campground and kill a dozen people, or shoot a soldier stationed at the War Memorial in Ottawa. So what do we do? Put all Canadians in jail?

            It’s going to be hard work to arrange all the things the refugees will be needing – like the learning of English, unless New Brunswick’s Language Commissioner, Mme. d’Entremont, makes a complaint about that, but this is NB and it’s time we put aside our real fears that there might be a terrorist among the refugees we welcome, though it’s possible.

New Brunswick needs immigrants, but that’s not the real reason we should welcome refugees. They left everything behind in Syria and many thousands of others lost their lives in the Aegean, Mediterranean, and other seas. These people are fleeing ISIS and in some cases the Syrian government.

One argument I’ve heard from the anti-refugee folks is that they will take jobs away from Canadians and go on welfare. I’m not sure they can do both at the same time. Canada’s experience with refugees (Hungary 1956, the Vietnamese Boat People, etc.) shows that they not only are hard-working people, but they themselves often create businesses and therefore jobs.

Sure it’s possible that a terrorist could be among the refugees, but terrorists could be in that next car that comes across the U.S. border, and we’re not going to shut down that ‘undefended’ border are we? We listen to the national news and find that a Muslim woman, a Canadian citizen, in Toronto, going to pick up her kids at school, was beaten  – knocked to the ground and kicked  – by two men because she was wearing a niqab.

Come on, let’s be Canadians.

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"You guys are full of shirts" (Nov 18)

This might be a smart phone, but…

                                                            by Robert LaFrance

            I almost spit (or spat) out my lemonade last evening when I glanced at the TV to see a guy rock climbing. I mean REAL rock climbing, like on a vertical cliff 300 feet high.

            Although I did manage to get down that swallow, I wondered just how crazy a person has to be to do that, and even that wasn’t a point. He was taking a ‘selfie’ with his smartphone and sending it to (one presumes) his gal who was out kayaking.

            I’m no expert, but it seems to me that to break one’s concentration while above 300 feet of air is not the smartest thing he could have done. The smartest thing he could have done would have been to stay home and mow the lawn.

            However, anybody that dumb would have shoved his foot into the blades to see how it felt.

            The TV commercial was selling smartphones of course, but I don’t think they knew their audience. If they were trying to sell a smartphone to me, or to Flug, they would have done better to have those actors or models pushing their Lawn-Boys and pausing for a cold drink now and then.

                                    **************************

            On the subject of those curly fluorescent light bulbs that were going to change the world: It ain’t gonna happen.

            I know three cases of their nearly catching on fire, if the homeowner hadn’t been right there, and another thing is all that lying about how long they will last. The advertising insisted that they would last 20,000 hours or some such ridiculous figure when in fact if you can get 1000 hours out of one you’d be doing well. We have had three burn out on our main floor and one upstairs.

            Something else ‘they’ don’t tell us is that if the light bulb is turned on outside – such as on our porch – the cold will not only shorten its life, but it will get dimmer and dimmer as time goes by. After a while that so-called 100-watt curly bulb will be putting out enough light to illuminate a doghouse, if the dog has good night vision.

            I have heard many times that our former bulbs, the incandescent ones, are no longer being made, so we will soon have to use those curly fries. Therefore people have stocked up on the older kind. You know, the ones that actually work.

                                    ****************************

            Last evening at the club we were talking politics and of course there was the usual mix of right and left wingers, as if politics were a hockey team. “They should put that Mike Duffy right in jail,” said Flambers (left winger), who is famous for wanting right wing types like Stephen Harper to pay for their crimes, real or imaginary.

            “Did you see where Justin Trudeau wants all students to smoke that Mary-jawanna pot stuff or not be allowed to get their high school graduation diploma?” said Dugald Thrump, right winger. (The ironic thing is, Dugald played LEFT wing on our Currie Road Ramblers hockey team back in the 1960s. Ask Donald Rossignol; he wouldn’t lie.)

            “You guys are full of shirts,” uttered Dennis Utarde, who could only be called a middle of the road guy. The discussion went downhill (if there was a downhill) from there, with each of them agreeing to disagree with the others.

            “A good compromise means that everybody’s mad,” I said, quoting Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes fame. “Sometimes we have to do some damage to do some good.  Remember all those great paintings of John James Audubon? He had to kill the birds and stuff them before he could paint them.”

            Only at the club could a discussion of politics end up on the subject of John James Audubon and his birds. It was late. It made no sense.

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               The scandal of the Volkwagen diesel cars that had the cheating software in their emissions systems has disappeared off the front pages and from the airwaves – as the pundits call radio and TV while ignoring the Internet.

            Why would this be? The company deliberately fixed its cars to cheat, but it doesn’t seem to have caused everyone to hate them. It almost seems as if people admire their initiative and chutzpah (gall).

            In fact, there was an Unintended Consequence.

            Talking to a noted car dealer in the Grand Falls – Minto area, I was surprised to see him smiling a smile as wide as Manitoba. “Volkswagen, please do it again,” he smiled. Noting my quizzical expression, he explained. “Remember when VW diesel owners were so mad because of the scandal that they said they would ‘give away’ their reputation-stained cars and buy something else? I had the something else, so I went around and bought every VW I could find for mere nothing AND sold them replacements, some of them actually roadworthy. Sunny ways my friend!”

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Housecleaning starts with the key ring (Nov. 11)

It’s about time to clean house

                                                            by Robert LaFrance

            I have a request to make of all the faithful and long suffering readers of this column. Would you go to your purse, your coat, or behind the toaster and find the key ring you use most often?

            Ready? Let’s begin, as they say in those helpful computer ‘help’ videos.

            The object of this exercise is to check each of the keys or other things on that so-called key ring and see (1) what it is supposed to open, (2) if you can actually open something with it, or (3) if you have a vague idea what it even represents. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

            Since I’m here and you’re there, let’s start with my own key ring. First, I weighed it. Approximately two and a half kilograms.

            A brass coloured key was to open my henhouse door. True, we haven’t had hens since my son, now in college, was in kindergarten, and the door is lying in my orchard where it covers my tiller in winter, but at least I recognized the key. I took it off the ring; it ‘clanged’ when I threw it in the empty 48-ounce juice can. A good start.

            The next key had GM on its side, but I knew it wasn’t for our 2004 Buick Century. The last time we had another General Motors vehicle was in 1999 when I gave away our 1983 Chevy Cavalier on a trade-in for our Plymouth Voyager van. Into the can for that key. Clang.

            And so it went until I came across a safety deposit box key. I left that on the ring because I knew that the SDB contained several coins, especially from Expo ’67. Their face value, I knew, was in the $35 range, but after all this time they were worth MUCH more, probably about $37. I could have gained $2 in appreciation from depositing $100,000 in a bank for a year, unless service charges had cleaned it out completely. I resolved to go get the coins and close the SDB.

            Making a long story somewhat shorter, within an hour I had the juice can full of useless keys and my key ring now weighed 76 grams. It felt good to get rid of that useless stuff.

            “What are you doing?” asked my wife as she reached for her rolling pin. “Why are you putting that can of useless keys in the cupboard?”

            “Well…they could come in handy sometime." It was all a blur after that. As my life flashed before my eyes I was saying to her: “Your key ring is next!”

             Two days earlier she had passed me her key ring to start her Toyota and I had suffered a hernia.

                        *************************

            Segueing quickly to the subject of politics (the KEY to our well-being, get it?) I note that this week Justin Trudeau will unveil his cabinet so we can judge his carpentry skills, and the defeated Tories and NDP folks will meet to lick their wounds.

            I have noticed that, in each of the last two cases, they are meeting in bars. The ex-Cons and the NDPeers could both meet in the same bar, and that would save some trouble.

            Joking aside, everybody I have spoken to says that the NDP were demolished, as were the ex-Cons. I can’t agree. The NDPeers have 44 seats, which is very good for a third party, but they lost many seats in Quebec because of Harper’s racist campaigning. Well, guess what?

           The only reason the NDP had so many Quebec seats in 2011 was because the late Jack Layton had charmed them; it was a one-off one time phenomenon. (I almost said ‘phenomena’ because so many news readers and commentators use this plural word, like ‘criteria’ when they need a singular one).

            The ex-Cons have 99 seats which is a very large number, and I wonder if anyone else noticed that 99 + 44 = 196, more than Trudeau has. (I never was much good at adding.)

            Canadians are happy though, except Uncle Herbie who has a sore finger and gout, because they got rid of The Wicked Warlock of Calgary. Even if he has resigned as the ex-Cons’ leader he’s still an MP though. Maybe the party will go back to being the Progressive Conservatives.

            I heard a rumour yesterday that our former Tobique-Mactaquac MP, Mike Allen, is ‘considering’ a run to lead the provincial Progressive Conservative Party of New Brunswick. The provincial Liberals have made quite a few mistakes in the first part of their reign, so maybe that will put them into thinking mode. As a neutral, I’m looking forward to some good skirmishes.

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Whoever heard of toque protection? (Nov. 4 column)

DIARY

A few dozen questions and comments

                                                            by Robert LaFrance

            This column will be one of short questions, but few answers because (I have just  been informed) I don’t know much of anything at all.

            There have been quite a few recent television and news feature stories about the automatic car, or self-driving vehicle. It can be set loose in Pincher Creek, Alberta, and pointed at Four Falls, NB and it will arrive, they say. You know how accurate THEY are. My questions are, who’s been asking for it? Who wants it? What insurance company would cover it, except with a tarp? I myself personally (as a former VC Record reporter used to say) can’t picture a scenario in which a car needs to drive itself.

            After the recent road-resurfacing in Perth, someone – DOT, the contractor, or a vandal – put the stop lines at the intersection exactly 55 feet in front of the stop signs. So  you could in theory stop at the stop line, and then, in order to see what’s coming off the bridge, you would have to drive ahead to the stop sign and stop again. Clearly Albert Einstein wasn’t one of the workers there.

            It was only yesterday when I saw in one of those obscure publications that I often read – I think it was called the Toronto Star – that some local politician had attended a broccoli party. I am quite serious. Think of all the ideas this opens up for the ‘hoi polloi’, which is to say us. Eggplant parties, organic corn parties – the possibilities are, while not endless, certainly seeming that way to this country boy.

            I happened to be listening to a commercial radio station this morning (I usually listen to CBC and MPBN) and there was an ad about tooth protection; it was a product to help solidify the enamel on one’s teeth. Trouble is, at first I thought it was toque protection. Even though winter is coming on, I wondered what the heck was going on. One of those weird 1960s-like moments.

            Listening to some hillbilly music in the Toyota (as opposed to the Buick – it makes a difference), I heard about the breakup of a country music duo, but I can’t remember their names. It could have been Flatt and Scruggs, or possibly Stephen and Laureen. Asked the reason for the schism, one of the musicians said: “Bill don’t like to be around me when I’m drinking, and I don’t like to be around him when I’m not.”

            “This is where good intentions come to die,” commented a character in a Dan Brown novel. He was the one who wrote ‘The Da Vinci Code’ in 2003. I didn’t hear the context of this sentence, but I’m hoping it wasn’t Ottawa’s Parliament Buildings. Justin Trudeau is giving people a lot of hope, especially after ten years of what’s his name, and I hope he’s not continually obstructed for no good reason as happens every day in the U.S. of A.

            Looking at a newscast last evening, I was impressed with the influence France still has, in spite of the fact that they haven’t won a war or a battle since about 1814. Every time someone is arguing about anything, France is right in there with both feet. The odious character Charles de Gaulle, who was Premier far too long, seemed to do everything he could to screw up the Allies war effort in the 1940s and never in history did he say thanks to Britain or any of the other allies who saved his country and his life. I guess the secret of France is that its leaders keep telling themselves that they are important. In 1967, when he uttered his “vive le Quebec libre!” he was quickly thrown out of Canada by Lester B. Pearson. Other than bringing us our own flag, I can’t think of anything else Pearson ever did.

            As I was writing this column Flug, looking over my shoulder and sipping one of my jars of lemonade, said: “The only war they really won – no argument – was in 1793 or so.” He was referring to the French Revolution, which France had to win because it was on both sides.

            A final comment: We all think we have perfect judgment, especially when we’re behind the steering wheel. I made this observation as I tried to clean up a scratch on the fender of the Buick. I was sure there was enough room to squeeze between those two Volvos and then get by the BMW and Rolls that were parked at the lemonade store. My insurance broker just called to inform me that the final bill totalled $1,034,211.21. Since we don’t have the penny any more, surely he could have made that $1,034,211.20.
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