Foremost on my Mind: These are Some of my Favourite Things

 

I can hardly think of a better way to spend an evening than with the following items: ham and pineapple pizza, Rolling Pin doughnuts, and some Cupper's coffee. Add a warm and cozy couch to the mix, and, say, a blizzard outside, with the option of sleeping in the next day, and, voila, you have the right formula for happiness.

Well, at least for a few hours anyways.

The icing on the proverbial cake, of course, would be a good DVD or two. Now understand that there are DVD's and then there are DVD's. If you want comedy, I suggest anything with Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, or Martin Short (also known as "The Three Amigos"). I suppose you could watch a taped Flames-Blue Jackets game for added humour, but you get my point. Westerns have their place, as do any mysteries for that matter, so long as the latter isn't blood, gore and so much more.

But the real capper to any evening with pizza and doughnuts, with it warm inside and cold outside, of course, is a good old-fashioned (drum roll, please) musical. That's musical, as in M-U-S-I-C-A-L.

When I speak of musicals, the list would include my all-time favourites, such as "The Music Man," "Singing in the Rain," "Fiddler on the Roof," "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," and "The Sound of Music." I know there are others, but these are the ones that come to mind, some that I have seen over and over again for years. No warm and cozy couch—or DVD player, for that matter-- should be without them.

Or as the old saying could have gone: Don't stay home without it.

I need to draw a clear distinction between musicals and, say, operas. Musicals, on the one hand, are melodious and upbeat; operas, on the other hand, always seem to be about death, pain, and broken relationships. While both deal with life's realities, at least with musicals we generally understand both the words and the concepts. Operas are often in another language, from another worldview, and deal with issues that only opera singers face. With mouth wide, wide open, no less.

I'm sure there are trim opera singers, but there certainly seems to be a disproportionate number of overweight divas in that business. You might say they are true heavyweights in their world, if get my double entendre. Even the expression, "It ain't over till the fat lady sings," didn't come from the problem called Maria in "The Sound of Music."

I also need to draw a distinction between an honest musical and a true choreography. One is primarily singing, and the other, dancing. Sometimes there is even a blend of the two styles. Dancing has its place, I suppose, but most dancing has a strong sensuous side to it, and that is not helpful to any person of virtue. To be honest, I really like some choreography, but I find it can be a serious distraction for me, so I need to restrain myself.

Meanwhile, back at the musicals...

In true "musical" tradition, what really sets this specific genre apart from other styles is the after- effects. That is, how do I (the viewer) feel when it is all over? After a good time with the von Trapp family or Tevye, I want to, well, sing or shout or climb onto a roof and play a violin. The melodious and upbeat mood during the movie stays with me for some time (as does the indigestion from pizza and doughnuts, but that's another discussion). After operas, however, I want to climb up on said roof and jump off.

Well, okay, I exaggerate, but most operas put me into a mood alright, but not a very good one.

Musicals are also good for school presentations, so long as the kids can sing acceptably. There's nothing worse than singing "If I were a Rich Man" with a straight face and a strep throat. Better eat a four-course meal and call it an opera.

One doesn't have to wait till there's a blizzard outside or the Rolling Pin is open to enjoy life as it was meant to be. Any time is musical time. It's a great "T-R-A-D-I-T-I-O-N" to get into.

Foremost on my Mind: Spiritual Predator

There are two things, they say, that don't mix: oil and water. Any oil slick will bear testimony to that truth. Now I want to add two more unmixables for you: pure religion and sexual immorality Put them together and you have either a hypocritical Christian or a religious pervert.

Hello, Warren Jeffs.

I have been sickened by reading some of Jeffs's sexual encounters in the name of God—a sexual

predator, if there ever was one. You can read (or hear) many of the sordid details about his "spiritual marriages" to twelve- and thirteen-year-olds for yourself, through any number of media formats. I'm sure if you wait long enough, you can read it in the tabloids that taunt you at your local supermarket.

While you're at it, do the math in terms how many "wives" he has; at last count, it is alleged to be in the 50-plus range.

I use those squirrelly things (Maurice, they're called 'apostrophes') to set apart the word "wives," as I need to underscore or emphasize the use (or in this case, misuse) of a certain word. Speaking of wives (note: no squirrelly things here, as I am using the term correctly), I wonder what woman in a healthy marriage would stoop to sharing him with even one other woman (let alone 48-plus) for even one night.

He consistently preyed on young girls; I'm sure mature women wouldn't allow such debauchery. On top of that, while he is obviously the main character in this wicked scenario, I seriously wonder about the parents of these child brides. How could they have been so duped by the slick-talking so-called man of God? Maybe I'll look at that topic someday.

Let's change continents for a moment. Here is an enticing promise for you. Strap a bomb to your body, die a hero, enrich your survivors after your "martyrdom"--all the while leaving this world with a, uh, blast. Here's the real catch: Once you have blown your body parts (as well as everyone else's) all over the mosque, plane, market-place, or car, you will be ushered into an after-life and presented with (drum roll, please) seventy virgins at your beck and call.

Two questions: One, just wondering how many virgins can there be the great beyond (not to be confused with a real place called 'heaven')? With the hundreds of delusional male suicide bombers that have fallen for this lie, how can they supply so many virgins for their sexual pleasure and perversion. And two, what do they promise the (increasing number of) female suicide bombers – seventy Brad Pitts in tights?

Sexual perversion and reckless immorality are never condoned in the Good Book. Self-control, personal discipline, and practical holiness are the hallmark of every follower of God. Anything less is a twisted presentation of how we should live. Obviously, people fail, and failure must be both confessed and confronted (also dealt with in the Good Book), then the guilty party moves on to a more consistent godly life. Even moral lapses on the part any patriarch in Scripture was always confronted, condemned, then corrected.

There is never, ever any reason for glorying, gloating, or glee for an uncontrolled sexual appetite.

As a practicing evangelical Christian (in case you've never got my drift before), it pains me—indeed, it galls me-- that there are religious segments that somehow rationalize the unholy mix of sexual immorality and religious dogma. So you end up with this toxic combination of mankind's base nature, Hollywood's philosophy, and a token Jesus.

I must admit that even from within general evangelical circles, I've known of some leaders who have caved in to their own temptations from within their flock. But neither they nor their parishioners have made it part of their religious practice. It's a tumble on the trek, you might say, not the total trek itself.

It happens, indeed, and must be dealt with. But it must never be part and parcel of any religious order, or promoted as right or good..

So Jeffs gets life without parole, but the women (indeed, young girls) he defrauded have neither a life nor a parole from what he did to them. This is probably one of the few times one can ask the following: What would Jesus do?

Foremost on my Mind: CBC and Me

CBC Radio One shocked me the other day. I would have sworn they had been reading the world-famous Foremost on my Mind over the past year. They touched on two key economic issues that yours truly (Maurice, that's a cool way to speak about myself, without naming me-me-me) had pontificated about.

Their concern, of course, was the very severe labour shortage that is already besetting many of the western economies, with Canada obviously as their focus. I've dealt with this in this space before, and I'm sure you're still awe of my insight...not. It was CBC's solutions—or better stated, suggested solutions—that thrilled and chilled me.

Let me say them very slowly for you: More immigrants and more children. (I'll just wait for a moment or two before moving on.)

I'm sure you know what more immigration means. It means tapping into the human resources in, say, Sri Lanka, Portugal, and Zimbabwe, and bringing qualified people over here to work in absolutely every sector of society. What with the baby boomers retiring at an alarming rate-- unless they have mismanaged their money (or had other financial setbacks) and can't afford to quit working—but fewer and fewer workers to take their place, the powers-that-be are rightly alarmed.

And I'm sure you know what more children means. It means larger families. It means more stay-at-home moms. It means more jobs for teachers, clerks, and tradesmen. Or, if you choose some of the wise alternatives, then there are more resources for homeschoolers, more creative independent business choices, and a whole host of trade options.

I am not saying that CBC Radio One even agreed with the reporter's suggestions. But at least they had the moral fortitude to air them.

Greater immigration is no-brainer; it's the increase in family size that has arrested my attention. I say that because it simply flies in the face of the common myths of a decrepit society. Myths? Glad you asked! Myths like no one can afford a large family. Myths like killing babies is a woman's right. Myths like there are too many people in the world already. And myths like there isn't enough food for those who are here.

To be sure, parents will have their own reasons for family size, whether large or small; I just humbly suggest that hiding behind the above myths shouldn't be one of them.

I am convinced that gross mismanagement of resources at every level have caused the above myths to flourish. There are many creatively sane ways to deal with every one of the issues in the above paragraph. Kids starving and dying in Somalia's present drought, for example, has nothing whatsoever to do with over-population. It has everything to do with the ruling despots gone mad.

So I may rant and rave betimes and not be quite in line with the common thinking of the everyday ploughman. (But, then again, maybe I am.) All I know is that when a publicly-funded, left-leaning media conglomerate like CBC gives some credence to the two possible solutions, I think we should all stand up and listen.

Well, unless you're driving your car. Then just honk your horn. Or text your local MLA. But only do that latter when you have come to a complete stop.

And by the way, CBC Radio One, thanks for reading the column. If you want any more information, please feel free to text me anytime. Just not when you're on the air.

Foremost on my Mind: School's Back!

There are certain expressions that should (or at least could) send chills down your spine. One is: "Hi, we're from the government and we're here to help." Another is (coming from the dentist, upon peering into your transfixed mouth): "Uh-oh."

I would add these words to the list: "School's just around the corner."

Now I don't want to confuse you with the different responses: The person doing cartwheels around the kitchen, upon hearing these words, is likely a mother of high schoolers; the person wringing her hands in the corner is likely the high schooler herself. Now when you have a mother who teaches school (outside the home), they are likely doing cartwheels while wringing their hands.

Then you have the mother who teaches her kids at home doing cartwheels, and clapping her hands at the same time—oh boy, this is getting complicated...

Personally, all my foundational years were spent in public school (and I'd have to say that grade 9 was the best three years of my life). This included the full twelve years of grade school, as well as four years of university. On top of that, there has been another fifteen years as a classroom teacher, all in private schools, in Kamloops, Langley, Bow Island, and Medicine Hat (plus a year-long stint in El Salvador, in a missions school). Thus, I suggest humbly to you that my experience in education has been a fine balance between the public and private forms.

To add further to that balance, my kids, on the other hand, have never spent a day in a classroom, per se-- having received all their formal (and informal education) through the oldest method of education known to man, namely, home education. (By the way, my wife is also a certified teacher, but together we have chosen this educational path for our own kids.) For the record, my sixth "child" is going into grade twelve this year, so we're not exactly novices at this.

And I am very pleased to say that, between holding down jobs effectively, attending post-secondary institutions, both in person and online, and ultimately (so far) becoming positive contributors to our culture, home education has worked very well for my family. Re-stated: They know how to read, write, and do 'rithmetic, and have a good work ethic.

I should add quickly that home education has worked and is working very well for thousands of others in this province, as I write this.

Alberta is a great province for educational options, and may it long continue. I have many wonderful friends who are teachers in both the public and private systems, and I say, "more power to them." Others have made the incredibly brave choice of teaching their kids at home. Space and time forbids the long list of success stories, especially among my Mennonite friends.

I believe in all sincerity that the day school system should be tweaked, and the home school system acknowledged. I say this critically, but I believe I am being constructively critical. The following pattern is a concrete suggestion (for the good of all concerned):

One, drill, drive, and develop the basics of Language Arts and Mathematics in the first six grades. It is safe to say that the writing, grammar, and spelling skills—to say nothing of basic math computation--of many our day school students are appalling. Other subjects are very important, of course, but these are a priority. (If you disagree, fine; but that's the emphasis of the

Canadian Achievement Tests.)

Two, for the next few grades other core subjects and electives could then be added, applied and expanded to areas outside the classroom. When theory has a real world context, it makes more sense, takes on more meaning, and is retained longer.

By the time kids are in their early-to-mid teens, they should be doing useful things, like job shadowing, apprenticeships, part-time trades, or any other vocational options. Kids should be exposed to a variety of career choices, so they don't waste years sitting around in school and post-secondary institutions, paying for and training for something they know little about, then taking on jobs they have little interest in. There is far too much theory and meaningless studies going on, with too little real world application.

Education is more than a textbook or a mouse click. Those are merely tools. We need to train our kids in the basics of communication and mathematical skills, then take those acquired abilities into a real world context. Once they have the foundation established (concrete thinking), they need to think "outside the box" (abstract thinking). At that point, they are ready to choose career tracks that will work well for them, their families, and the world around them.

Just a reminder: School's just around the corner. Why are you doing cartwheels?

Foremost on my Mind: Chicken Soup for the Chicken-Hearted

Hello? 'ello? Is that you, Maurice. Yes, it's me—your long-long cousin, twice-removed—Craig. No, not Giarc; it's Craig. That's really backwards of you, man.

Too busy to call you, my dearest relative (not)? You bet I've been busy. Why, just yesterday our family butchered about 150 chickens. No, I didn't do the actual killing; I left that to someone with more moxie. You might say that in terms of butchering the birds, I simply don't have the guts, and after the slaughtering, neither do the chickens.

No, just a little poultry humour for you, Maurice, just a little humour.

You know, it's quite a process from start to finish. They've got to be penned up well for around ten weeks as we raise them, and all along, they need to be well-watered and well-fed. And you can't feed them what you don't want to eat, because in the end, you're going to get it, too—if you get my drift.

Kind of adds credence to the phrase, "garbage in, garbage out."

Anyways, once el head is separated from yon carcass, the next station (we use the word "station'; it sounds more sophisticated) is the scalding. Scalding is the dipping-in-hot-water procedure, and that's my specialty. In other words, I dip the beakless, bloody body into the boiling bin. This is one time, you might say, that I enjoy being in hot water.

There's a real science here, Maurice, and it's all a matter of timing: Not long enough, and the feathers are pain to pull out; too long, and it's fried chicken without the fryer.

This step (or stage) is followed by the plucker. We bought a marvelous plucker recently and it does wonders. Two birds are dropped into this spin-cycle machine, with the rubber fingers and all, and it makes quite a scene. It takes about a minute for them to come out; they're so stark naked, it's almost immoral. This new plucker does such a wonderful job that there are very few pinfeathers to pull out. Most feathers that don't get plucked are usually stuck in the armpit—or would that be wingpit?

Then the really gross job—gutting. There is quite an art there: The gutting team needs to stick their respective hands in an unmentionable to hole pull out everything that isn't fastened down. Sometime the hearts and livers are set aside for food, as there are people in our culture who actually eat them. (Maurice, between you and me, I'm thinking they are the same people who eat lentils and asparagus.)

Finally, the Quality Control Manager (also known as my eldest daughter—that would be your fourth cousin, twice-removed) takes over. Her duties include the following: Make sure the bird is dead, scalded, plucked, and gutted; after fixing up other workers' possible mistakes (not mine, of course), she then weighs the birds, bags them, and plops them into the freezer.

We sure like eating our own chicken. We also raise them as an opportunity for one of our boys to earn a little money on the side. He needs to know that good things happen to those who work hard, that something doesn't simply show up on the dinner plate. It takes prepping and planning, sweating and slaughtering, guarding and gutting. He, along with the rest of us, is learning some valuable life lessons in this.

In this day of pre-packaged, processed, and preserved food stuff, it is very gratifying to know what you're eating. Only my hairdresser (just an expression, Maurice, just an expression) knows for sure where that milk came from, or how that beef was raised. And somehow, the term "long shelf life" has become a very positive thing. One wonders what keeps food "fresh" for months at a time.

That's okay for hiking munchies or survival kits, but for everyday food fare, fresher is always better, whenever possible. Raising one's own food is the ideal, but it's not realistic, of course. That's why we need to support local market gardens, namely, weekend farmers' markets and roadside gardens.

Oh, by the way, if you're interested, I have some Kentucky Fried Hearts and Livers for sale. They're packaged right alongside the lentils and asparagus.

Foremost on my Mind: Norway and Somalia

Two countries are in the news these days, for reasons that are quite terrifying. And funny enough, neither one ends with the letters "...-AN" or "...-STAN." There's enough bad news coming out of Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, but I'll Beck, Cooper, and Grace deal with it.

Can you spell N-O-R-W-A-Y and S-O-M-A-L-I-A?

One may be hard-pressed to find two more diverse nations on this poor planet. Let me count the ways: white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, versus black everything; cold, with a mountainous terrain, versus hot and a desert topography. I suppose I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

They were both catapulted into the news last week when a madman let loose his venom against immigrants—Muslim immigrants, to be be precise—who were invading Western Europe, and destroying its collective, centuries-old culture. Muslim immigrants from places like, rather ironically, Somalia.

And then there is Somalia: The land of the lawless fighter, the land of the reckless pirate—pirates who have dozens of ships under their control, as they await countries all over the world to pay a king's ransom (or would that be a sheik's?) for the people and the things they have stolen.

And now it is the land of one of the world's worst droughts in recent history. They say that thousands are dying every day because of a lack, well, of everything. Foreign aid is available, but those conducting the goods to the famine-stricken masses are being held up (literally) by the brigands of the sand.

On the one hand, a white-skinned, blond-haired, and blue-eyed national goes berserk and murders scores (the count is still up in the air at the time of this column) of innocent, vulnerable youth. Youth that had come to a new land--and on that day, an island camp-- with their parents, from every war-torn country in the world, trying to get away from the chaos and craziness that marked countries like Somalia (before its current catastrophe)--only to get butchered by a misguided zealot for a lost cause.

On the other hand, if Somalia's past lunacy wasn't enough, the anarchists who helped perpetuate

Somalia's status as one of the world's poorest nation, are now forbidding Western countries from providing food and water for their people. The 2.2 million starving refugees are behind a human wall of fanatical Islamists.

The Nut of Norway decried the Muslims that have infiltrated Western Europe, so he murders their children as they played and chilled. He should be persecuted to the full extent of the law, no doubt about that. Yet in the same news briefs, we read about the fruit of Islam that he railed against, as it turns against its own people—innocent, vulnerable people (not unlike the kids at the island camp)—by forbidding the West from helping them.

I wonder if anyone can answer a couple of questions for me. One, why is it that so-called Christian countries, such as Britain, the USA, and Canada, come to the aid of Muslim countries, crises after crises? With all their wealth and power and goods, where are the fellow-Islamic countries, such as Saudi Arabia and Iran, in this time of need? If the West is so full of godless infidels, why are they the first to show up in a time of national and international need?

The second question has to do with terminology, namely, Why was the word "Christian" linked with the Norway situation, yet not linked with the Somalia one? At one point, the young man was deemed a "Christian fundamentalist," though that has since been dropped. By his own admission, he claims to be a Darwinist, whatever that is.

So, where are the media reports about linking the Christian response (or, better, the non-Christian unresponse) to Somalia? As horrific as the Norway massacre was, there should be equal place for what is happening in Somalia. There's a greater link between these two nations than meets the eye. Among them, innocent, vulnerable people do not deserve to die, either by the hand of a mentally-deranged fanatic or by the hand of a, well, mentally-deranged fanatic.

If there is supposed to be a Christian connection, however, please place it in the right country.