Foremost on my Mind: Global New Year Wishes

This is the time of year where everybody loves everybody—or at least that's the impression—and it's usually expressed through New Year's resolutions for themselves, and best wishes for their friends and otherwise. I'm no different, at least in that sense, so I want to plunge into this discussion with some teensy-weensy bit of advice for those in the “otherwise” category.

I am specifically targeting four (4) disparate (correct spelling, people) groups. Now that I think of it, I suppose they could be five desperate groups also.

First, to the latest version of the Supreme Ruler of North Korea, Kim Jong-un. I want to say something witty (or would that be cutting?) about haircut, dress code, and weight, but I refrain. It's one thing to look like that when one is going to a private school in Switzerland (and out of the public eye), but now his role—and therefore, our expectation—is much, much higher.

I wish for President-elect (not) Jong-un that he work hard in three key areas. First, take care of his own people in the area of personal freedoms, nutritious food, and international trade. Second, work out his differences with that other president from that other Korea. I don't know all the details about the Korean War (ie., who's to blame), but I do know that it has been sixty years of futility for North Korea. And three, get on with the international scene. Albania crawled out from under its rock and things have improved for them.

Second, to the countries that make up the European Community. I want to say something about sloppy immigration laws, about too much fat at the top, about cushy public employees—but you might get baffled and think I'm referring to Canada or the USA. So I won't confuse you.

But I will urge them to get off their collective you-know-whats and get more serious than ever about their collective financial stability. Some suggestions: Bring the tourists back. Renew the trades and manufacturing segment (which will mean, of course, a drop in wages and benefits as your workers compete with Vietnam and China). And start cutting back, from the top down, at 1% per year.

Third, to those candidates in the presidential race in our eleventh province / fourth territory—or is it the other way around? I want them to read this current column, and my previous two wishes, in particular: Dress appropriately in public and learn some money management skills.

I am speaking specifically to Republican candidates whose last names sound like Paul, Romney, Gingrich, Bachmann, and Perry. I wanted to add Cain, but he is no longer able. Over the next few months, as the field tightens up, I'll take a few shots at the various deficiencies of all those left standing—and whether any of them have the moral right to run.

The truth is, Obama needs to go before he drives our once-glorious neighbour further and deeper into the economic abyss. These guys (and gal) need to stop fighting among themselves, and come up with the best person to lead the country. Like a bad marriage, when parents fight, it's always the kids who suffer. And in case you haven't noticed, the “kids” are misbehaving big time.

And finally, to the professional hockey team that makes Calgary its home (I can't quite come out and say their full name on an empty stomach). I want to say something supportive like “trust you make the play-offs,” or “hope your rookies do well,” but I can't, so I won't.

If Jay Feaster is reading my column—and why wouldn't he?--let me suggest a blockbuster trade for him. The key Calgary players would indeed be, well, key Calgary players, namely, Iginla and Kiprusoff. The potential trading partners would be one of the following: the Columbus Blue Jackets, the New York Islanders, or the Tampa Bay Lightning. All three teams are in desperate need for what Calgary can offer—a first-string goalie and a take-charge, proven leader.

I suggest the Islanders, for the following three reasons: They are in the Eastern Conference, so there would be minimal damage to the Flames' success; the addition of these two quality players could be the missing pieces to make the team respectable again; and there are some marketable players to come back.

Those said marketable players would be Nabokov (to replace Kiprusoff in goal), plus either Matt Moulson or Michael Grabner to replace Iginla. In one fell swoop, the Flames get younger, faster, and cheaper..

I know you're all saying one of two things right now: My oh my, this Funston fella sure has some wonderful, creative ideas! Or, what's that Funston fella been drinking anyway?

Trust the above can benefit from my teensy-weensy bit of advice. And have a Happy New Year (and many years to come) while they're at it.

Foremost on my Mind: Dirty Oil and Rotten Bananas

I sincerely hope you had a good day on the big day, and that the strain of taking all those socks, ties, and sweaters back on the next big day wasn't too much for you—or for the poor beleaguered clerk on the other side of the counter.

So as I sit here in the brave solitude of my lonely office, looking in vain for some snow, more gifts, and the nerve to eat yet another dish of turkey-whatever, I am going bananas. (That's it! Maybe I should try bananas.) Okay, not going bananas, but I am thinking bananas, as in Chiquita bananas.

That would be those “we're-so-ethical-we're-not going-to touch-your-stinking-oil” Chiquita bananas.

My oh my, a corporation with conscience, I dare say? Where did that pompous attitude come from--the ghettos in Ghana, the slums in Sri Lanka? Was that after or before they paid their child slaves their token wage for harvesting their bananas?

At least Chiquita is consistent—consistently irrational, that is. On the one hand, they dredge up this moralistic principle of not dealing with so-called dirty oil from Alberta; but on the other hand, they have no problem dealing with dirty regimes from the Middle East, to use their oil.

I think I get the logic: Hard-working (yes, possibly slightly over-paid) Canadians, trying to earn an honest living are to be penalized for pulling otherwise useless liquid out of some barren soil. And the spin-off impact throughout Alberta, as well as the rest of Canada, is positively staggering. (And it's staggeringly positive, to boot.) Especially when you consider all the trades and manufacturing jobs that are directly and indirectly connected to said oil.

I'm not quite sure the oil industry in any one of those Middle East fiefdoms can say the same. But I do know that the tyrants at the top take off most of the profits, for starters.

To be sure, the tar sands oil is duty. My engine gets dirty because of oil. My pants and hands get dirty because of oil. And I'm sure there is too much air pollution because of the oil refineries, processed oil (aka gasoline), and other unfortunate but necessary emissions.

Wait: Is that the way they're using the term “dirty”? (No, Maurice, actually it isn't.) It's a clever ploy on the part of many of these global corporations to play on people's sense of saving the planet, one environmental issue at a time. At least the belligerent squatters will be happy with that position: I'm sure there will be no Wall Street Occupation in front of Chiquita's corporate offices.

There appears to be an apparent ethical element to this boycott, and believe it or not, I can buy into it. That is, the argument that there should be an ethical element to everything we do, buy, and say. What I don't buy is the total tripe that we're being handed from the Chiquitas, Walgreens, Timberlands—among others—of the corporate world. I like businesses with a sense of ethics, but I'm thinking that it should actually start with the business itself.

You might say that they should mind their own business first, before they start minding somebody else's.

Sweatshop factories in India, China, and other parts of Southeast Asia are rife with underaged and under-paid workers. Remember the big ballyhoo with Nike a few years ago? That worked, didn't it? Maybe we should do due diligence and make certain that those tops we buy from our local department store don't fall into the same category.

For that matter, not only should we be ethical in our business, but likewise in our buying.

Ethics in every angle of consumerism (that is, buyer, shopper, producer, and transporter) is a most welcomed exercise, something we should all engage in. Any company, whether dabbling in oil or bananas, should be scrutinized for any ethical, economical, or environmental violations.

I'll start by holding off on banana splits until further notice.

Foremost on my Mind: The Real Wisemen

Most internationally-acclaimed columnists cannot come up with witty columns every time they write, and I'm no different. Okay, I am different, but in a different sort of way--as you may have observed in these past five years. But somehow, through the medium of current events, family life, and simple raw convictions, I peck on. (That would be peck, as in “peck away at my keyboard.”)

I find that my biggest struggle is often around Christmas time, though I finally I get into some sort of yuletide groove by early December. And that's not because of the political correctness tripe out there: No siree; in fact, said tripe gives added protein to my literary meal. Where I struggle—as I'm sure every church and school concert director does—is in the area of originality, creativity, and well, hooks. (That would be hooks, as in “hooking one's readership in.”)

For instance, how many ways can one describe the wisemen's arrival? The manger scene? Or Mary's awe in hearing she will be the Christ-child's mother? How many ways can you teach the honourable response at Christmas—to a child, or even to a culture? Just how many different carols can you sing, without being too stale?

Speaking of carols, while there are dumpster-loads of goofy ditties, there are a lot of really quality contemporary ones. In addition to the standard classics, like “Silent Night,” I'm thinking of “Mary, Did You Know?” and “Mary's Boy Child.” I would even add: “I'll be Home with Bells On” and “O Beautiful Star.” It may take some work to find them, but they're out there.

Hollywood, not a fan favourite of this fan here, certainly struggles with the same dilemma. That's why they have produced one lame, watered-down movie after another. Whether the genre is war, law, race, or, in this case, Christmas, they take an obvious historical event, butcher it and twist the facts, toss in some unnecessary sex, then call it 'performing arts.'

Speaking of obvious, historical events—sans any religious overtones—I find I just need to sit back and muse on the various angles that Christmas presents. Then I find there is actually much one could write about at this time of year. And this material often comes in many shapes and sizes, including the shape of a question mark..

So some of the questions are as follows:

One, how many wisemen were there? All of you that said “three” please sit down. Yes, there were three gifts; no, better there were three types of gifts. When one thinks of how far they travelled, it's pretty obvious there were many wisemen, to say nothing of their supporting cast of cooks, guards, groomsmen, etc. I don't think Herod would have been frightened with just three wise guys, er, wisemen standing in front of him.

Two, who were the wisemen, anyway? Try astrologer-kings. They were men who read the stars as well as the Scripture. They were royalty from somewhere close to (or perhaps even part of) what we call Iraq today. That territory has gone through a number of name changes throughout the Bible, including the likes of Mesopotamia, Chaldea, and Babylon.

Three, were the wisemen and the shepherds gathered together in the manger? Well, according to Hallmark cards, yes. However, there is no actual record of that happening. That may have been what you were taught all your life. Please don't go to your Christmas tree and throw the nativity scene out, just because there may be another way to look at things. The shepherds were in the manger with the baby; the wisemen were at the house with the young child. At least that's what the historical account says.

And four, how could a poor carpenter and his young wife afford a trip to Egypt? Well, remember about a few hundred words ago we discussed the gifts from the wealthy wisemen? I wonder (and, I admit, I am speculating at this point) if they were able to fund their trip and their subsequent stay through the liquidation of those gifts from the astrologer-kings.

Personally, I find it easier to defend the notion of wisemen than the nonsense of Santa. One is history, the other is tradition. Basic facts will always trump wishful thinking every time. At this time of year, I'll celebrate a real birth of a real person, and try not to let sentiment take over. I suppose that would make me a very wise man, wouldn't it?

Foremost on my Mind: It's Almost Christmas

You may have your own reasons for knowing it's almost Christmas, and I certainly have mine. Perhaps one day we'll do coffee (you pay, natch), and you can tell me yours. In the meantime, here are ten reasons why I know it's almost Christmas:

One, it said so in Walmart. Well, at least in August, no less. I saw Christmas-type stuff for sale then, putting me in a Christmas-type mood.. Santa Claus and sandy claws don't really mix, do they? I headed for the nearest mistletoe, looking for a little, er, action. Thought someone nearby was puckering up, but they were just testing lipstick. Couldn't find even a branch, so I stood under an acorn tree. Said to myself, This is nuts.

Two, I got the first card of the season from you-know-who: Aunt Bob. She ranted as usual about no card, letter, or picture from us. So I fired off a response, just to satisfy her. Trust she likes my driver's license picture. If that doesn't work, I'll try my passport picture. And letter? I sent her a “C.” Should get me out of her will for sure.

Three, I'm still scrambling to figure out who should come for the Big Day. I've got one turkey, but I need a few more—if you get my drift. Maybe someone who's been naughty and nice, but mostly nice. I thought of Maurice and Mabel, but, as many of you know, they don't exist. Possibly Aunt Bob. Well, she's all fiction, too. I could save a lot of money feeding these invisible people.

Four, I just shovelled my first sidewalk. Mind you, that has less to do with the coming in of Christmas than the going out of Seth, my sidewalk-and-snow-sweeper son. Where are these teens when you need them? Maybe I should try his bedroom or the fridge next time; he's more than likely to be parked at either place.

Five, my wish list just went through an internal audit. You might say I had a gut feeling about more gifts. Funny, there is still nothing that I really need, and only a few things I really want. Gift cards, the greatest invention since I came along, do it right: I can buy what I want, when I want, and how I want. If you're in one of those rare generous moods, fans, please, no ties, hats, or socks. I have my own classy style (not), and I like it that way.

Six, I am starting to look at fir trees with an envious, economical eye. I always end up buying my eight-foot Scotch Pine from Home Depot. But I do recall back the BC days, where they have actual trees in the wild, when I would snag a tree from my neighbour's back forty. That made two wild things: My neighbour's tree and my neighbour's temper. (Sorry, I jest: I have never stolen anyone's tree, wild or otherwise.)

Seven, I am having panic attacks, but with a candy cane fragrance. Panic attacks are nothing new; panic attacks in red and green are.

Eight, I'm already hearing the firefights starting about lights, “Merry Christmas,” and nativity scenes. Give me grace, people. Deal with history, not political correctness. Didn't you know that multiculturalism is dying, maybe even dead? I'm not sure about our roots as a Christian country, but I am sure that celebrating Christmas is still a no-brainer.

Nine, I am writing this Christmas column, aren't I? This is near the end of my fifth year of “Foremost on my Mind.” Every year I do my best to be witty, innovative, and accurate. I sure trust I'm doing that now, so it must be nearly Christmas.

Ten, it says so on the calendar. Probably not the actual date, but it was an actual event. (See #7 for my brief historical rant.) Every time you write the date, or even use the letters “BC” or “AD” in your correspondence, you acknowledge the historical Jesus.

Ah, Christmas, it's the time of year when the kids perform melodiously at school; when the heartfelt strains of Christmas carols permeate malls, walls, and halls; and when there's more goodwill in December than the other eleven months combined.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's almost Christmas.

Foremost on my Mind: An Elephant in the House

Let me start off with a verbal cartoon, for you: An elephant is standing on a rug in someone's living room; it is also standing on the homeowner's toes--which are also on said rug. It hurts, it's inconvenient, and the elephant really shouldn't be in that house in the first place. But in all fairness, it hasn't broken anyone's foot (yet) and, well, elephants do need to stand somewhere, don't they? Oh yes, something about personal rights, too.

Now let me shift to another scene: With most of the Occupy Wall Street apes (Maurice, “apes” is a double entendre) “graciously” conceding to remove their tents, toilets, and trash—to say nothing of the rest of their delinquent debris from publicly-owned property throughout the land, we can finally get on with life. It seems that the anarchists in Los Angeles are now some of the few protest groups defying the law. But, hey, what else can you expect from California?

If you missed the analogy, it is as follows: The elephant represents the professional squatters, the homeowner represents the civic leaders; the house, of course, is a co-op, owned by the rest of the people. Pushing, pleading, and prodding will not get the elephant off toes. A tranquilizer here, an enticing bucket of slop over there, or something of that sort, should do the trick—if ever proffered.

In the meantime, one hopes the elephant wouldn't do anything as thoughtless as sitting down and making itself at home in someone else's house. No, only human protesters are that, well, animal-like.

A movement that possibly had a smidgen of integrity at its inception has blossomed into full-fledged acts of vandalism, perversion, and lawlessness. I know for a fact that if my family tried the same trick—ie., freeloading on public property, and creating a mess while at it—I would be thrown into jail sooner than I could sing “this land is my land.”

As alarmed as I have been at how easy it has been for these goons set up their mobile ghettoes throughout North America, it has been equally disturbing to see how inept and powerless the law has been in removing them—no matter how much they have pushed, pleaded, and prodded.

On the one hand, eviction notices, public opinion, and the spirit of the law have meant diddly-squat with these people. The other thing I wonder about is just exactly who are they? Do they not have jobs and lives of their own? Where do they live? Do they really believe in the cause, or are they just looking for a way to vent their petulance?

On the other hand, I am thinking that, in a civil society where law and order is to be maintained, nihilism should be dealt with swiftly and judiciously. There should be no room for negotiation or plea bargaining. I don't recall those options when I have been stopped for speeding. Maybe we should try that approach to shoplifting and vandalism, and see how far we get.

So why the double standard when it comes to civil disobedience?

The irony here, as I have stated in a previous column (as well as in today's column), is that there may be—and I repeat—a “smidgen of integrity at its inception.” In other words, a very small percentage of these squatters may have a faint reason for their actions. The rascals in big business and big banks and big government need to be far, far more accountable. There is no question there needs to be far more transparency and openness at every level, from the top down.

But we do need businesses, banks, and government (noticed I dropped the word “big”) to provide a sane infrastructure for a healthily, robust economy. And we do need the ability to choose, protest, and appeal when these big three are off-kilter. Such disagreements should take the form of letters to the editor, voting with all the facts, ads in newspapers, and peaceful, public demonstrations that can be timed with a watch (not a calendar)—for starters Disagreement with said institutions should never take the form of public indecency, defiance, and lawlessness.

If not handled correctly, next time—to carry through with my analogy—the elephant may just may choose to sit down on the wrong spot. And that could get the homeowner and his friends really mad.. And then that could produce quite a mess.

Foremost on my Mind: Whales in the Desert

This world is truly a divided place: There are those who agree with me and those who are wrong.

Okay, I jest, but at least I caught you reading...

And speaking of world groupings, there are many dichotomies out there (Maurice, that would be two sharply contrasting divisions, often used in science in the form of binary classification). There are factions about this issue, divisions over that one, and mass polarization regarding everything under the sun—or so it seems.

One of the most obvious sets of “camps” involves that of the origin of the world. Many Bible-believing people feel that the earth is only a few thousand years old, while others buy into an old earth theory. Countless secular people see evolution—that is, life developing naturally over millions of years—as the obvious answer to origins. Interestingly enough, a growing number of pure scientists with earned doctorates debunk that position, and have wisely and accurately embraced a young earth paradigm.

And somewhere on the fence, oops, in the middle, are those who subscribe to what has become known as Intelligent Design. (I should be gentler here: I too believe in Intelligent Design, but only because I believe in an intelligent Designer—a position that leads me to a “creationism” conclusion.

This rambling preamble is because of two recent news tidbits written by secular scientists, scientists who have no truck whatsoever with a young earth position. One announcement had to do with the mountain range under the ice cap in the Antarctica; the other was a discovery of a massive dump of whale fossils in a desert in Central China. (No, that is not a typo: I did say “desert.”)

Both have been explained away with a timeline of millions of years, something I disagree with; and both were seen as the result of some sort of cataclysmic event, something I do agree with. In terms of the whales in China, the authorities are at a loss as to how they got so far inland.

I think I have an answer for them, but I'll tell you first. Part of the young earth theory includes a worldwide catastrophe, also known as the Great Flood, linked with an old man called Noah.

Let me wait, while you pick yourself up off the floor.

Are back up on the couch? Great. Let me proceed. I say Noah, and you think of someone with a goofy-looking boat, surrounded by a few pairs of animals hanging out on the deck. Perhaps you learned that at your local Sunday School, or at grandma's knee. Well, the “old” part is accurate, but that is probably the only part that is. Strangely enough, most myths about Noah have come from the church. A careful examination of legends from well over two hundred cultures (all secular, non-Christian, no less) across the globe speak of a worldwide flood that devastated humanity about 4500 years ago.

Re-stated, that would be cultures without a Biblical framework of reference, with no theological axe to grind.

What is accurate is that there was a very large three-storey barge, and that there were likely just infantile animals (ie., no adults)--thus, sleeping most of the time, eating very little, and taking up very little space. These animals became the predecessors of every cat, cow, and canary in the world today.

Some animals made it onto the ark (two of each, and seven of those those that were to be sacrificed). The rest, you might say, were history.

They died on the spot, forming, for instance, huge mammoth graveyards scattered throughout the polar regions—or did they hide that from you in school, too? They perished, big time, as in thousands of dinosaurs (who did live alongside mankind, by the way). Can you say F-O-S-S-I-L F-U-E-L? And many ended up getting beached somewhere—surprise, surprise-- in a desert in Central China.

The Great Flood explains the fossils of mammals scattered in petrified forests under the ice cap —get this—in Greenland. It explains how verdant valleys that once existed—get this, again—in the South Pole. It fits in with all the seashells discovered by the few, yet hidden from the masses, on the tops of the Himalayas.

So when I read of a mountain range in the Antarctica, or of a whale graveyard in Central China, I feel re-assured. Ironically, even though they are from legends from pagan cultures, or field work from anthropologists of all stripes, I am continually amazed at how it all fits in to a Biblical worldview.

Believing in an old earth or evolution is too much of a leap in the dark for me. You see, I don't have enough faith to believe otherwise.