Mavi the Hero
It was an extraordinary meeting of all members in the cavernous meeting hall. Every mouse in the community had been ordered to attend and a variety of cheeses were offered as an inducement. But the hall was practically empty. It was not because the mice had other more pressing demands on their time, nor that they had developed a dislike for the varieties of cheese on offer, but that the community had been decimated by the arrival of a brown monster with big claws, huge and accurate pounce and an insatiable appetite for the mice. Chief Molder had called the meeting to discuss the catastrophe and how to counter it.
The Chief, flanked by the two surviving members of her council of twelve, called the meeting to order by beating her mighty tail on the ground. A deadly hush settled on the meeting. After a pause of suitable duration the chief stretched to her full length and started speaking.
“Fellow citizens of Haipo, we are meeting today to deal with an extremely grievous situation. The survival of our race is at stake. I do not need to remind you that in our previous meeting there was not enough room in this hall for all of us and the vast majority voted to expand the hall. The contract was duly awarded after a ferociously contested bidding process. But then the calamity struck. A monster arrived and our contractor was the first to fall victim to his claws followed by most of our citizens over next few days. Now it is a do-or-die situation. We have to face the monster and somehow make him return to his homeland. I have spent sleepless days and sleepless nights. I do not know what to suggest. I do hope there is someone here who has a credible notion of what options we have before our race disappears from the holes of Haipo.”
Silence returned to the hall. Then Mandrew, the reigning Mr. Haipo, raised his tail. The Chief invited him to come to the podium and speak his mind. Mandrew was too shy to face the public; He shrank to his minimum length and whispered just loud enough for all to hear, “I do not have any suggestions, honorable madam. But I have an offer. I will marry, if she will accept me, any of the young mice present here who will cause the demise, at least the departure, of the monster causing havoc among our population.” With that he slunk back but the cheers from all and sundry were loud and sustained enough to risk the collapse of the roof.
The Chief responded graciously as behooved her position, “Thank you Mandrew for your so very generous offer. I am certain this has caused much tumult in the hearts of young mice present here. May I ask our brave next generation if any of them has any ideas?”
The beating of the tail was heard from the far corner where Mavi was sitting all alone. The Chief invited her to come to the podium and explain her ideas and how they can be implemented. Mavi did not move but said in a loud, but not too loud, voice and a clear tone, “My language skills are not developed enough to explain my ideas to this august company. I do not ask for any help either. All I wish for you to do is to follow me from a safe distance and observe what happens. If I succeed we will be saved but if I fail please do not treat me like a martyr but like a fool who was too small for her boots.”
Mavi turned around and headed for the door. Mice, young and old, watched her leave and then came out after a suitable interval of time, the chief leading them from behind. Mavi crawled to an open area and stood on her hind legs to attract attention. The events unfolded just as she expected. She felt the draught from the pounce of the monster. The monster landed where Mavi was showing her grey tummy to the world. But not on Mavi; she had moved away smartly and was running helter skelter towards the road which was in normal times out of bounds to mice her age. The monster followed like a streak. Mavi crossed the road, so did the monster. Mavi ran along the road and then crossed it again. Monster continued the chase. Mavi did this, as did the monster, who knows how many times. Mice watching from the ditches far away were in too much of suspense to count. Neither of the contestants was ready to give up, although others were starting to tire just watching them. Then, without a warning, Mavi stopped dead on her tracks in the middle of the road. The monster pounced one last time. Mice closed their eyes. Screeching sound and a tragic prolonged meeeeoooow pierced the air. Mavi was seen cartwheeling on the other side of the road. He spied other mice in the distance and ran up to join the cheering group. The chief rushed to hug Mavi. But Mavi had something more urgent on her mind. She was looking for Mandrew and found him hiding behind a bush, “Is your offer of marriage still open?” Mandrew did not speak but his demeanour satisfied Mavi. He joined the chief and they, their tails intertwined, led the group to the community hall. You don’t need me to tell you that the celebrations lasted well into the night.
Twelve members of the council met after the anniversary celebration of the Great Victory and unanimously approved the much needed expansion of the community hall.
Thank you for visiting the blog and recommending it to your friends. Our readership is up for the second week running.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Gift
1.
The wonderful string serenade came to a peaceful end and I heard the sound of light steps approaching my bedroom. A moment later there was the signature knock on my bedroom door. I thanked God it was Richard and I did not need to hold back my tears.
2.
I was born out of wedlock to Countess Marie d’Agoult who achieved considerable fame as a novelist under the pen name Daniel Stern. Marie was a revolutionary who believed in living for love. She loved a young pianist and that is what mattered. Franz played piano like no one else, “God of the piano” they called him. Women of all ages and all nationalities were prepared to give him all they had, even their honour. But he gave his heart to Marie and she gave him two daughters and a son. Sister Blandine was two years older than me, brother Daniel two years younger. Father was always on tour and we only saw him in the summer when we were together for two or three month in our cottage in Nonnenworth am Rhein in Switzerland. When I was seven, the artistic temperaments of our parents collided and Papa took us away to his apartment in Paris where his Mama looked after three of us. Although we lived in material comfort, my childhood was not a happy one. I was a serious teenager, much involved with books and music, although I did not inherit a shred of talent in either field from my distinguished parents.
When I was in my teens all eligible students of Papa courted me but I was too shy to return their advances. But I was won over by Hans, less by his charm more by Papa’s admiration for him. Hans was not a particularly handsome young man, nor was he from a wealthy family. But he had talent and practiced long hours. Papa was certain he would have a great career as a pianist and was pleased when Hans proposed and I accepted. But our marriage was not happy. I needed more attention than a pianist determined to live up to Papa’s expectations could provide. In one lonesome melancholy moment it occurred to me that I could only love a proven genius like Papa; not some one trying to show he was one. Therefore, when Papa’s dear friend Richard Wagner, “the greatest composer of the day” Papa said, paid attention to me I fell for him. We had two daughters before I left Hans and moved in with Richard to live on the banks of a beautiful lake in Switzerland. Papa was very angry when I wrote to him about it and he did not write to either of us for a long time.
Three years after the move I gave birth to our third child, our only son Siegfried. The morning of next Christmas, which was also my birthday, I had that most remarkable experience.
3.
I was terrified. The forest was dense and the path narrow. A girl was running as fast as she could. Two men were chasing her. The girl was young, may be in her late teens, pale and skinny with straggly hairs and of very plain appearance. The older man looked distinguished with broad shoulders, dark hair to his shoulders, handsome features, and a naked sword in his muscular hands. The young man was well built, handsome but with mean looks. The gap was closing between them. I gasped when the girl stumbled and she was about to fall when a man jumped out of the bushes and supported her with his left arm. In his right arm was a spear. The other men saw the man with the spear and stopped dead in their tracks. They bowed deeply, turned around and left.
I was happy for the girl, yet relieved to wake up and realize that the chase was a nasty dream. What had brought me into the world again was the magical music being played on strings, the variations on a touching melody Richard played on the piano only the other day. I remembered Richard telling me the scene from the opera he was working on, “Brunnhilde is asleep on the rock surrounded by the ring of fire, she has been dreaming of the hero who will save her. At long last the hero has conquered the mighty flames and is looking at her. He is confused because he had never seen a woman before. The orchestra plays this melody as she opens her eyes to greet Siegfried, her hero.” It had struck me with a tremendous force then that inventing great melodies for great moments was an important aspect of Richard’s genius that was raising German Opera to new heights, the genius that needs me by his side and made worthwhile all my struggles to get away from a father the world adored as the greatest pianist of all times and a husband who was called his successor.
The tears in my eyes became a flood when the music ended. I looked for a handkerchief as I heard the familiar knock on the door. Richard looked angelic as he entered the room, a sheaf of papers in his right hand. He looked at me and smiled, “Cosi dearest, your appearance tells me that you liked what I composed for you and you alone. This score is my birthday gift to you; for you to do with it whatever pleases you.”
I was dumbstruck but only for a moment, “Oh Richard, it is the greatest gift any woman has ever received. I will treasure it to my dying day. It will stay in my private box with your letters. But we can not deprive the world of this great music. I will make a copy for your publisher. We will call it “Siegfried Idyll” because you are my Siegfried. This score will be the most prized love letter in history and this music will enthrall lovers of all ages for ever.”
If you enjoyed the story, please introduce this post to your friends.
1.
The wonderful string serenade came to a peaceful end and I heard the sound of light steps approaching my bedroom. A moment later there was the signature knock on my bedroom door. I thanked God it was Richard and I did not need to hold back my tears.
2.
I was born out of wedlock to Countess Marie d’Agoult who achieved considerable fame as a novelist under the pen name Daniel Stern. Marie was a revolutionary who believed in living for love. She loved a young pianist and that is what mattered. Franz played piano like no one else, “God of the piano” they called him. Women of all ages and all nationalities were prepared to give him all they had, even their honour. But he gave his heart to Marie and she gave him two daughters and a son. Sister Blandine was two years older than me, brother Daniel two years younger. Father was always on tour and we only saw him in the summer when we were together for two or three month in our cottage in Nonnenworth am Rhein in Switzerland. When I was seven, the artistic temperaments of our parents collided and Papa took us away to his apartment in Paris where his Mama looked after three of us. Although we lived in material comfort, my childhood was not a happy one. I was a serious teenager, much involved with books and music, although I did not inherit a shred of talent in either field from my distinguished parents.
When I was in my teens all eligible students of Papa courted me but I was too shy to return their advances. But I was won over by Hans, less by his charm more by Papa’s admiration for him. Hans was not a particularly handsome young man, nor was he from a wealthy family. But he had talent and practiced long hours. Papa was certain he would have a great career as a pianist and was pleased when Hans proposed and I accepted. But our marriage was not happy. I needed more attention than a pianist determined to live up to Papa’s expectations could provide. In one lonesome melancholy moment it occurred to me that I could only love a proven genius like Papa; not some one trying to show he was one. Therefore, when Papa’s dear friend Richard Wagner, “the greatest composer of the day” Papa said, paid attention to me I fell for him. We had two daughters before I left Hans and moved in with Richard to live on the banks of a beautiful lake in Switzerland. Papa was very angry when I wrote to him about it and he did not write to either of us for a long time.
Three years after the move I gave birth to our third child, our only son Siegfried. The morning of next Christmas, which was also my birthday, I had that most remarkable experience.
3.
I was terrified. The forest was dense and the path narrow. A girl was running as fast as she could. Two men were chasing her. The girl was young, may be in her late teens, pale and skinny with straggly hairs and of very plain appearance. The older man looked distinguished with broad shoulders, dark hair to his shoulders, handsome features, and a naked sword in his muscular hands. The young man was well built, handsome but with mean looks. The gap was closing between them. I gasped when the girl stumbled and she was about to fall when a man jumped out of the bushes and supported her with his left arm. In his right arm was a spear. The other men saw the man with the spear and stopped dead in their tracks. They bowed deeply, turned around and left.
I was happy for the girl, yet relieved to wake up and realize that the chase was a nasty dream. What had brought me into the world again was the magical music being played on strings, the variations on a touching melody Richard played on the piano only the other day. I remembered Richard telling me the scene from the opera he was working on, “Brunnhilde is asleep on the rock surrounded by the ring of fire, she has been dreaming of the hero who will save her. At long last the hero has conquered the mighty flames and is looking at her. He is confused because he had never seen a woman before. The orchestra plays this melody as she opens her eyes to greet Siegfried, her hero.” It had struck me with a tremendous force then that inventing great melodies for great moments was an important aspect of Richard’s genius that was raising German Opera to new heights, the genius that needs me by his side and made worthwhile all my struggles to get away from a father the world adored as the greatest pianist of all times and a husband who was called his successor.
The tears in my eyes became a flood when the music ended. I looked for a handkerchief as I heard the familiar knock on the door. Richard looked angelic as he entered the room, a sheaf of papers in his right hand. He looked at me and smiled, “Cosi dearest, your appearance tells me that you liked what I composed for you and you alone. This score is my birthday gift to you; for you to do with it whatever pleases you.”
I was dumbstruck but only for a moment, “Oh Richard, it is the greatest gift any woman has ever received. I will treasure it to my dying day. It will stay in my private box with your letters. But we can not deprive the world of this great music. I will make a copy for your publisher. We will call it “Siegfried Idyll” because you are my Siegfried. This score will be the most prized love letter in history and this music will enthrall lovers of all ages for ever.”
If you enjoyed the story, please introduce this post to your friends.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Scaling a Peak
The summer was especially beautiful that year; hot but not too much, sky deep blue, sometimes dotted with sparkling white clouds. It was an ideal time to spend a week in the mountains. The hike to the SuperFine Hikers camp ground was long and tiring. But the limbs were raring to go again after a hearty meal of beef stew and freshly baked buns with loads of butter followed by a huge piece of apple pie with whipped cream. How did the cook manage to prepare such delicious dinners for six days of our stay in the remote camp remains a mystery to this day.
Every morning, sixty campers were offered four hikes of varying difficulty to chose from. Being short and fat and prone to run out of breath on even a hint of ascent, I chose the easiest of these. Most members of the group were keen long timers and there were no more than four or five modest enough to go on easy hikes. Experts set out to break records for quickest ascent to the toughest peaks, glance momentarily at the view of the valleys and rush down. We took our time as we strolled along the streams, stopping every few minutes to take a sip of clear liquid from the bottle while admiring the glorious views of the mountains above. The only record we established was done unwittingly on the first day; for taking longer on a five kilometer both way excursion than any previous group had taken in fifty years of the SuperFine Hikers. We beat the previous record of six hours twelve minutes comfortably by forty two minutes.
Not much happened during the camp that was remarkable. If it snowed or rained buckets flooding the tents, every detail would have stuck to the grey cells. There is nothing interesting in the cloudless, warm, sunny, mildly breezy, mosquito free days. I would have forgotten that I even went to Sun Rise Camp if it were not for what I remember as an amusing incident now but may not have been if the gods were in a foul mood that day. It was our fourth day. Robbie, the leader warned us in advance that although the easiest hike was long and had beautiful views, it had one rather steep descent on a scree slope. When I expressed alarm he assured me that I would be able to manage now that my fitness level had improved after thirty kilometers of walking. I was not happy at the prospect but I was won over when Robbie promised to help me if it became necessary.
We set off, my backpack loaded with peanut butter whole wheat sandwich, four cookies, one apple, one flask of weak tea and a big bottle of impure water, the impurity shall remain my little secret. With our sun hats, tough boots, brown shirts, blue jeans and walking sticks we would have made quite an impression on viewers if there were any. But their absence did not bother us because we had not gone into the wilderness to impress the strangers.
Five hours of the hike were uneventful except for the short nap during a long lunch break. The break was interesting because I dreamed that I was sleeping in my comfy bed at home, not lying on the bare rock with my head on the backpack. Perhaps due to the wishful dream I felt more refreshed than I ever feel in the morning at home.
We must have walked an hour in a single file on a narrow trail in the thick forest, long enough to forget the dream and comforts of home. On Robbie’s orders we sang the marching song of SuperFine Hikers - Yippie I O, here come the foolish but brave o - to keep the bears at an arm’s length. Then, without warning, we were out of the trees. We turned to our left, walked a few more minutes and stopped, I presumed, to look at the view. My admiration for the bright snowy peaks in the distance, their majesty enhanced by the glorious blue of the sky, turned into dread as my eyes slowly moved down and focused on the cliff a few feet from my feet. “Is this the scree slope we are supposed to go down?” I asked no one in particular.
Robbie turned around, looked at me with great sympathy and said in a consoling tone, “Yes that is it. It is not as hard as you think. You walk down leaning forward a little and the scree does all the hard work for you.”
“No way am I going down this cliff. I promised my wife I won’t do anything dangerous. And there is nothing dangerous if this is not.” I said with some firmness.
“Only option is to go back; not much of an option if you ask me. Look, Jennie is already halfway down,” Robbie said pointing to a dainty young lady sliding down as if she were a swan gliding on water.
“Jennie is fit, not fat like me. I have never been on a scree slope; leave alone a cliff like this one. You go ahead. I will retrace my steps and get back to the camp, late but in one piece.”
“I can’t let you go alone. Rest of the group is already most of the way down. Come on, hold my hand. We will do it together.” Robbie shook his body to balance his backpack, heavy with all the medical and other stuff a leader has to carry, and extended his hand towards me.
I did not fancy walking back for another five hours, longer if I got lost. So I grabbed his hand and gingerly walked towards the dreaded cliff.
“Hold my hand tight, take small steps, lean forward, do not pull,” Robbie offered final bit of advice.
We took our first tiny steps on the slope. I must have leaned too far forward, then leaned back to correct it. It is getting late; I should skip the details, they are really of no interest, and relate what happened next without ornamentation. I slipped and fell on my back taking Robbie with me. As we fell our hands became free and my eyes were shut tight. When my eyes opened, I was not on a hospital bed, as you would rightly assume, but on the soft ground at the bottom of the cliff. The feared descent could not have lasted more than a few seconds. Robbie was lying there too, a few feet away. Jennie offered me her hand and pulled me up on my feet. Robbie did not need help and got up on his own. We dusted our clothes and checked our limbs. Everything was in order.
On our way back, Robbie and I fell behind musing on our good fortune. At the camp entrance, a large crowd had gathered to greet us with cheers as if we had scaled a major peak.
If you enjoyed the story, please introduce your friends to this blog.
The summer was especially beautiful that year; hot but not too much, sky deep blue, sometimes dotted with sparkling white clouds. It was an ideal time to spend a week in the mountains. The hike to the SuperFine Hikers camp ground was long and tiring. But the limbs were raring to go again after a hearty meal of beef stew and freshly baked buns with loads of butter followed by a huge piece of apple pie with whipped cream. How did the cook manage to prepare such delicious dinners for six days of our stay in the remote camp remains a mystery to this day.
Every morning, sixty campers were offered four hikes of varying difficulty to chose from. Being short and fat and prone to run out of breath on even a hint of ascent, I chose the easiest of these. Most members of the group were keen long timers and there were no more than four or five modest enough to go on easy hikes. Experts set out to break records for quickest ascent to the toughest peaks, glance momentarily at the view of the valleys and rush down. We took our time as we strolled along the streams, stopping every few minutes to take a sip of clear liquid from the bottle while admiring the glorious views of the mountains above. The only record we established was done unwittingly on the first day; for taking longer on a five kilometer both way excursion than any previous group had taken in fifty years of the SuperFine Hikers. We beat the previous record of six hours twelve minutes comfortably by forty two minutes.
Not much happened during the camp that was remarkable. If it snowed or rained buckets flooding the tents, every detail would have stuck to the grey cells. There is nothing interesting in the cloudless, warm, sunny, mildly breezy, mosquito free days. I would have forgotten that I even went to Sun Rise Camp if it were not for what I remember as an amusing incident now but may not have been if the gods were in a foul mood that day. It was our fourth day. Robbie, the leader warned us in advance that although the easiest hike was long and had beautiful views, it had one rather steep descent on a scree slope. When I expressed alarm he assured me that I would be able to manage now that my fitness level had improved after thirty kilometers of walking. I was not happy at the prospect but I was won over when Robbie promised to help me if it became necessary.
We set off, my backpack loaded with peanut butter whole wheat sandwich, four cookies, one apple, one flask of weak tea and a big bottle of impure water, the impurity shall remain my little secret. With our sun hats, tough boots, brown shirts, blue jeans and walking sticks we would have made quite an impression on viewers if there were any. But their absence did not bother us because we had not gone into the wilderness to impress the strangers.
Five hours of the hike were uneventful except for the short nap during a long lunch break. The break was interesting because I dreamed that I was sleeping in my comfy bed at home, not lying on the bare rock with my head on the backpack. Perhaps due to the wishful dream I felt more refreshed than I ever feel in the morning at home.
We must have walked an hour in a single file on a narrow trail in the thick forest, long enough to forget the dream and comforts of home. On Robbie’s orders we sang the marching song of SuperFine Hikers - Yippie I O, here come the foolish but brave o - to keep the bears at an arm’s length. Then, without warning, we were out of the trees. We turned to our left, walked a few more minutes and stopped, I presumed, to look at the view. My admiration for the bright snowy peaks in the distance, their majesty enhanced by the glorious blue of the sky, turned into dread as my eyes slowly moved down and focused on the cliff a few feet from my feet. “Is this the scree slope we are supposed to go down?” I asked no one in particular.
Robbie turned around, looked at me with great sympathy and said in a consoling tone, “Yes that is it. It is not as hard as you think. You walk down leaning forward a little and the scree does all the hard work for you.”
“No way am I going down this cliff. I promised my wife I won’t do anything dangerous. And there is nothing dangerous if this is not.” I said with some firmness.
“Only option is to go back; not much of an option if you ask me. Look, Jennie is already halfway down,” Robbie said pointing to a dainty young lady sliding down as if she were a swan gliding on water.
“Jennie is fit, not fat like me. I have never been on a scree slope; leave alone a cliff like this one. You go ahead. I will retrace my steps and get back to the camp, late but in one piece.”
“I can’t let you go alone. Rest of the group is already most of the way down. Come on, hold my hand. We will do it together.” Robbie shook his body to balance his backpack, heavy with all the medical and other stuff a leader has to carry, and extended his hand towards me.
I did not fancy walking back for another five hours, longer if I got lost. So I grabbed his hand and gingerly walked towards the dreaded cliff.
“Hold my hand tight, take small steps, lean forward, do not pull,” Robbie offered final bit of advice.
We took our first tiny steps on the slope. I must have leaned too far forward, then leaned back to correct it. It is getting late; I should skip the details, they are really of no interest, and relate what happened next without ornamentation. I slipped and fell on my back taking Robbie with me. As we fell our hands became free and my eyes were shut tight. When my eyes opened, I was not on a hospital bed, as you would rightly assume, but on the soft ground at the bottom of the cliff. The feared descent could not have lasted more than a few seconds. Robbie was lying there too, a few feet away. Jennie offered me her hand and pulled me up on my feet. Robbie did not need help and got up on his own. We dusted our clothes and checked our limbs. Everything was in order.
On our way back, Robbie and I fell behind musing on our good fortune. At the camp entrance, a large crowd had gathered to greet us with cheers as if we had scaled a major peak.
If you enjoyed the story, please introduce your friends to this blog.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Five Last Letters
Society's Problem
Re:"Boy, 14,charged with murder; Second teen accused of being accessory," The Journal, June 3.
It is indeed shocking that two boys as young as 14 could be involved in a gruesome murder. No doubt, there will be calls for a trial in adult court.
What it is in our society that drives young children to gruesome acts?
Whether it is TV and video game violence, poor parenting, bad schooling, addictions or neurological disorders, a concerted research effort is needed to find the cause to minimize such incidents.
Tough punishment is like crying over spilled milk, when what we need is a better container.
(Edmonton Journal, 04/06/09)
NOISE, NOISE EVERYWHERE
I'd like to extend the message of Randy Rucker (Letters, May 28) about noisy motorcycles downtown to other sources of noise in suburbia. We have noisy lawn mowers, chainsaws, concrete breakers, loudspeakers in the not-so-nearby park disturbing us from morning to dusk. Warm days are already so few and it is heartbreaking not to be able to enjoy them.
(Calgary Sun, 29/05/09)
50,000,000,000 and counting
I would have no problem with a "more than $50-billion" deficit if the money were being spent on preparing the country for a new conservation-based economy rather than supporting industries symptomatic of excessive consumption in a now, it is to be hoped, bygone era. The government is spending money on lost causes, a little like a drunk who buys more booze because he cannot contemplate being sober.
(Globe and Mail, 28/05/09)
Job well done
Re: Police defend fatal shooting of gunman, May 25.
I am surprised that Police Chief Rick Hanson needs to defend his officers in shooting a man who was brandishing a sawed-off shotgun in a hostage case. Enough police officers have sacrificed their lives to protect citizens. Anything that can be done to protect Police is fine with me. If it means shooting a probable killer who refuses to drop his weapon, what other option do they have? Self-defence is a legitimate argument in court, even if you are a police officer. Hanson shouldn’t have to point that out.
(Calgary Herald, 27/05/09)
RCMP officers must face charges
Re: RCMP Officers May Be Charged In Dziekanski Death
There is no reason for “may be” in this case any more, as there seems to be enough evidence to charge the officers in this case for a wide spectrum of offences.
It is imperative for the reputation of the RCMP and the justice system that the officers are charged without delay, before the public loses any more of the confidence in the integrity of those who are supposed to protect us.
(National Post, 15/04/09)
If you enjoy this blog, please introduce your friends to it. They may enjoy it too.
Society's Problem
Re:"Boy, 14,charged with murder; Second teen accused of being accessory," The Journal, June 3.
It is indeed shocking that two boys as young as 14 could be involved in a gruesome murder. No doubt, there will be calls for a trial in adult court.
What it is in our society that drives young children to gruesome acts?
Whether it is TV and video game violence, poor parenting, bad schooling, addictions or neurological disorders, a concerted research effort is needed to find the cause to minimize such incidents.
Tough punishment is like crying over spilled milk, when what we need is a better container.
(Edmonton Journal, 04/06/09)
NOISE, NOISE EVERYWHERE
I'd like to extend the message of Randy Rucker (Letters, May 28) about noisy motorcycles downtown to other sources of noise in suburbia. We have noisy lawn mowers, chainsaws, concrete breakers, loudspeakers in the not-so-nearby park disturbing us from morning to dusk. Warm days are already so few and it is heartbreaking not to be able to enjoy them.
(Calgary Sun, 29/05/09)
50,000,000,000 and counting
I would have no problem with a "more than $50-billion" deficit if the money were being spent on preparing the country for a new conservation-based economy rather than supporting industries symptomatic of excessive consumption in a now, it is to be hoped, bygone era. The government is spending money on lost causes, a little like a drunk who buys more booze because he cannot contemplate being sober.
(Globe and Mail, 28/05/09)
Job well done
Re: Police defend fatal shooting of gunman, May 25.
I am surprised that Police Chief Rick Hanson needs to defend his officers in shooting a man who was brandishing a sawed-off shotgun in a hostage case. Enough police officers have sacrificed their lives to protect citizens. Anything that can be done to protect Police is fine with me. If it means shooting a probable killer who refuses to drop his weapon, what other option do they have? Self-defence is a legitimate argument in court, even if you are a police officer. Hanson shouldn’t have to point that out.
(Calgary Herald, 27/05/09)
RCMP officers must face charges
Re: RCMP Officers May Be Charged In Dziekanski Death
There is no reason for “may be” in this case any more, as there seems to be enough evidence to charge the officers in this case for a wide spectrum of offences.
It is imperative for the reputation of the RCMP and the justice system that the officers are charged without delay, before the public loses any more of the confidence in the integrity of those who are supposed to protect us.
(National Post, 15/04/09)
If you enjoy this blog, please introduce your friends to it. They may enjoy it too.
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