Smoke Gets in my Skies

 

It looks like we can fly the friendly skies once again: The rain in Spain, no, that would be the ash in Iceland, has finally blown away. The hundreds of travellers stranded in airports across the globe can now safely head home once again.

They have likely never looked forward to throwing up at 35,000 feet as much as they can now.

The talk on the street (just an expression, of course) is that the airlines collectively were losing millions of dollars per day because of this natural disaster. Goodness gracious, Madelyn, I didn't know they even made that much in a day! I guess they need to come up with a dollar figure if they ever want to sue someone.

And speaking of suing: There is talk on the street (once again) that there are plans afoot to sue someone out there for all the lost revenue. So, who do they sue – the country of Iceland? Sorry, they're already broke. Some aerospace body out of England? How can you take someone to court when they are simply being cautious?

I think there are bigger fish to fry (read: other theories): One, it could be another possible terrorist tactic. You don't think I'm I serious, do you? Well, actually, you're probably right, but it is late as I write this and I am getting desperate for original ideas. But shift the silliness of that notion aside for a moment and think about it. You might see that it could be a ploy to mess up airline traffic for some time, and do some serious economic and emotional damage. After all, there have already been wackos who have planted bombs in various parts of their bodies.

And two, who's to say that it wasn't a plot of another sort, namely, that Iceland was in cahoots with the Chambers of Commerce in all these major centres of the world? After all, when tourists are stranded in places beyond their control, they need to eat, sleep, and keep busy until the next available flight. So, a little ash here, a little cash there. I wouldn't put it past Iceland to find some way to generate some revenue for their economically-starved country.

I even have a motto for them: "Smoke Gets in my Skies."

What I find so disturbing is that is happened so quickly and that no one was really prepared for it. There was no plan to combat it. While I am no expert on airlines, I do have a few ideas how this can be dealt with next time. I am not expecting a Nobel prize for this, at least an honourable mention might be in order for the following suggestions:

1. Send turboprop planes through the airspace; keep the rest of the fleet grounded until further notice. The motion of the blades will blow away the haze, not unlike a fan would blow away cigarette smoke in a room.

2. Send all parliamentarians on their own special flight to the most congested part of the sky. The hot air from each plane would likely wipe out every vestige of ash within a fifty-kilometre radius. (Note: last week it would take care of the snow on the ground; this week, the ash in the sky.)

3. Deploy a wide variety of alternate modes of transportation. Get more plane, trains, and automobiles (no, scrap the planes) the public arena. I read of all sorts of creative attempts - by the very rich, of course - that allowed travellers to get to their destination sooner, rather than later. Obviously, if a tourist was on this side of the pond, I suppose renting a sub would be the best option – unless you could find a donkey that could swim.

Either way, you might say that all fliers passing through England's airspace can now breath easier these days.

Walking in a winter wonderland - in April?

 

It is axiomatic that if you want the phone to ring, take a shower. And if you want a little snow still, take off your winter tires. Or, as in my case last week, put away your boots, toque and gloves. In fact, hide your snow brush and scraper, spring has sprung.

Last week was one of the most bizarre stretch of varied weather that I have seen in a long time, maybe in all my years in Alberta. From happy and hot one day to blustery and brutal the next, it had everything, and then some. In fact, the change in weather could have been measured in hours, not days. Even though I should, I don't always believe the weather report, especially while sitting in a lawn chair in my shorts and muscle shirt, looking cool.

Okay, okay, I lie: no muscle shirt, no cool look. I suppose that would be a paisley-patterned turtleneck and a glass of water.

Usually the weather network is pretty close to reality. When I saw a clear blue sky on the way to work the other day, I found it hard to believe that there would be ten-to-fifteen centimetres of that white stuff (aka snow) on the way home, with an ugly blast, to boot. Well, they were right and I was wrong - very, cold cold and wet wrong by the time I pulled in for supper.

Oftentimes the hardest part of my trip to and from work is the driveway – my driveway, to be precise – and there is nothing I can do about it. I don't know if I could bribe the area contractor to spring into action every time we got a smattering of snow. Fresh coffee and homemade bread, perhaps?

In BC, I enjoyed both seasons, wet and wetter. Well at least we did on the coast. During my Kamloops days, of course, we faced the issue of (the not-so-modern phenomena) climate change on a regular basis – seasons we used to call them. They just weren't so fickle, so capricious, like they are here in southern Alberta; they were so much more predictable.

It's like the weatherman is in a bad mood and wants to get everyone mad at him. You and I know that he has nothing to do with it, but we still hold him responsible for icy road conditions, bitterly cold gales, and inhumane conditions. But he is as good as anyone to get mad at.

Even though he's still only the messenger, we still want to shoot him.

Next to the latest price of one of the grains, or the fate of the leadership of the Calgary Flames, weather tends to be probably the most talked-about subject, anywhere - be it by the water cooler, in the coffee shop, or at the family table. And like the topic of grains or Flames, there is not much else to do about it but talk.

Although I suppose if we all talked about it, we might create some hot air and that could change the atmospheric pressure, which would make it warmer, which would make life easier for all. If that was the case, however, why do they still get snow on Parliament Hill? There's got to be enough hot air over there to melt a glacier.

So, put those snow tires back on, go find those boots, toques, and gloves. It's not even the end of May yet, so don't be so presumptuous. The only safe thing to do is probably stay home and wait out each blizzard. In fact, there's nothing better than hanging out at home, drinking a fresh pot of coffee, and reading a good book. Maybe even take in a quick shower.

Just make sure your phone is nearby.

Are the children safe?

 

Has it ever been a good time to be a kid? Television ads and fairy tales aside, I don't think so. In some cultures, children have been used as human sacrifices, play things, and cheap, cheap labour. Children have also come to be seen as a burden, not a blessing, unless they have developed the art of begging and robbing, in order to supplement the meagre income of their parents.

We see children who are an endless supply of soldiers – against their will and their hopes, I may add. I don't think I would be speculating when I speak of about the sexual exploitation of girls in Thailand and the military exploitation of children in Iraq, just for starters. And a dash into history, say, to Victoria-era England would present us with shocking child labour injustices; if you are in doubt, read some pertinent novels by Charles Dickens on the matter.

And it's not like this is new information. The only thing new is a fresh supply of bodies, as children have a habit of getting old and useless very quickly.

In a brief moment of ignorance, I like to think that perhaps children in North America (excluding Mexico, for this argument) have it good. I say that when I see the schools for learning, the stores for shopping – to say nothing of playgrounds, restaurants, and weekends. I am also thinking happy thoughts when I read the instruction on many items that bear that glorious message: "Keep out of the reach of children."

Ah, I have said to myself many times, isn't it great that we protect our children from things that will harm them! Someone's looking out for them, I remind myself.

That naive notion was once again shot down, however, when I sat in front of a television the other day, taking in for a passing moment all the vile information that any child at any age and any time has access to. It was enough to offend me, but I had enough self-control to keep on flicking. For the most part, most normal children or teenagers wouldn't and don't possess that sort of discipline – much to their emotional harm.

Where, I wondered to myself, was that wonderful warning, "Keep out of the reach of children"? Sometimes you may see it as a caveat at the start of some raunchy show, possibly as a conscience check for the producer. That's my clue for keep moving on.

Whether it is enticing ads, mindless sit-coms, or some of the more popular sleazy excuses for entertainment, an uncensored television is as dangerous to the soul as a vial of poison is to the body. With parents not around or watching their own television set somewhere else in the house, it's no wonder that far too much of a child's worldview comes from what has been known as an "idiot box."

Like Internet, radio, and books, there is much good that a television can be used for. It is the uncontrolled Internet, radio, library - and I may add computer, along with television - that I have issues with.

No parent in their right mind would feed arsenic to their baby. No parent with a flicker of basic responsibility would allow things in their home to harm their child. However, for some reason, it is not long after the baby becomes a toddler and the toddler becomes a child that the rules get re-worked. Suddenly, wise and cautious restraint gives way to (so-called) freedom of choice.

And we North Americans are blatant hypocrites when we are appalled, on the one hand, at the lax child labour laws in China and Pakistan and the cruel sexist laws in Saudi Arabia and Thailand, yet guilty of shortcomings over here, on the other hand. And notice that I haven't even discussed abortion as part of the overall mistreatment of our kids.

But whether it is the womb, the home, the school, or even the church, we need to be creating safe and healthy environments for our children – whether they are things we add or things we take away. That is the parents' responsibility, not the state - or any other institution, for that matter.

We should be disgusted with the varied injustices foisted upon children of the world. Maybe, as point of sincere consistency and foresight, we should tackle our homes first. Personally, I believe that if we have stronger homes here, it will impact families over there.

Good Friday, Best Sunday

 

Spring Break is one of the happiest times of the year for any number of people. Students and teachers, of course, get a break from the daily grind - and from each other, for that matter. And any industry that has a vacation spin to it likewise enjoys increased revenues - for all the extra travelling and shopping that takes place between Good Friday and No-so-good Monday.

Some parents may struggle with this break, but not necessarily for negative reasons. If they feel they are forced to work, for example, and thus can't take the week off, they are scrambling for babysitters. If they have older kids, kids who are capable of babysitting, that problem is solved – so long as those elder ones want to spend their break looking after the younger ones. Given the option, they would likely decline.

I cannot say where this whole Spring Break (also known as Easter Holidays) ever started. Obviously, there must have been some link to the Easter weekend, especially with the term "Good Friday" to start the whole thing off. Strangely enough, there seems to be more emphasis on the Friday (death) than the Sunday (life) in our culture.

Some wag may suggest that any Friday that is not a school day is a good Friday, but that's weak. And any payday that lands on a Friday would likewise be considered a good Friday, but that's also lame. Also, we're talking about Good Friday, not a good Friday – and there is an eternity of difference.

In the biblical-historical world, Good Friday represents the day Jesus of Nazareth was brutally put to death, by way of crucifixion. Why anyone could call a day of death, especially the death of the God-man, a "good" day is beyond me.

Okay, not totally beyond me, so let me pursue this one a little more. I would think the day of the death of Jesus could be considered a "good" day, if it wasn't a mistake, if in fact it was planned - planned, as in from centuries and eternity past. Hard to swallow that thought in one rationale bite, but I believe that is the gist of what the Good Book teaches about divine timing.

I think also that Good Friday could be considered a good Friday if some good came out of it – something good like hope, heaven, and the resurrection. The resurrection, as you may know, the day Jesus rose from the grave, is one of the chief foundations of the Christian faith. Well, well, what do you know: That is exactly what happen because of Good Friday. If I were a theological wordsmith, I would say those three days of that particular week could be known, respectively, as Good Friday, Better Saturday, and Best Sunday (my words).

And for those who live in that reality, I know they would heartily agree.

I won't launch into my usual rant about chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs (as much as I enjoy them), but I remain adamant that we are doing our culture a serious disservice when we discard meaningful religious events. While I am not suggesting co-existence (i.e.., religious and pagan), that would at least be a reasonable compromise to what is unfolding today.

It's not lost on any observer that springtime is resurrection time – new life in the fields, everything green raising its sleepy head from its dormant bed, with the winter of death now replaced by the spring zest for newness of life. It's the journey, if you will, from Good Friday to Best Sunday.

Trust you all had a great weekend, and a great break for the week, if that's in the plans. Even if you can't get a babysitter.