Foremost on my Mind: Here Comes the Bride

 

The last three weddings that I have attended in recent weeks have had some significant features about them. In each of the three, for instance, a bridesmaid was visibly pregnant! I think there were too many jokes in the one of them, as Mrs. C. (a married daughter of friends of mine) gave birth just hours after the last punchline was delivered.

But you might say that she wasn't kidding when hers was the final delivery of the night. (Then again, you may not.)

The other significant feature was the level of commitment these couples understood leading up to this huge event. They planned for two things: the wedding day, as well as the marriage years. They were so serious about how they approached things, that, in fact, two of the couples actually kissed for the first time before us all. This attitude certainly flies in the face of most approaches to marriage today.

Talk about self-control-- and I'm speaking about the audience! They were so pumped and loud to see the first smooch, they almost woke me up.

I don't know about you, but I find weddings like that refreshing. I frequently joke about the marks of an acceptable wedding: good food, lively music, and clean humour. But if I could take my quip mask off, I would say that the promise "to love and obey, in sickness and in health, so long as we both shall live" really gets me right here (Maurice, I'm pointing at, uh, my heart).

We all know that the ultimate bedrock of any stable civilization (that is, marriage between a man and a woman for life) is tottering big time. We are aware that it is being re-defined, re-worked, and in many quarters, rejected. It's often portrayed as a life sentence, with the apartment being the prison cell.

We also know—and I would be happy to supply the facts in a subsequent column to any sincere fan in newspaperland—that the issues of crime, promiscuity, self-image, and even education are impacted in direct proportion to the type of family any child was raised in. Exceptions? Of course. But one doesn't build arguments or lay evidence on occasional, peripheral information.

Institutions--such as the church, education, and big business--are changing drastically, annually, and quickly. And the institution of marriage is no exception. As I focus my comments on marriage today, I am very well aware of the following facts: One, no marriage is perfect; two, marriage takes work; three, marriages based on mutual respect are never marred by abuses of any sort; and four, good marriages (or bad) have a profound effect on the future good (or bad) of any nation.

Marriage is the union of two varying temperaments, two sets of experiences, two value systems, and two opposite genders. Naturally there will be problems. After all, anything that involves a mother-in-law will...aw, just kidding. But if the two lovers publicly and privately commit to working things out, they are better for it. And, for that matter, so are we all.

Working at marriage makes one a better employee: Each is prepared to hang in there, solve the problem(s), and move ahead. Working at marriage makes one a better citizen: Each has a vested interest in the good of the neighbourhood, the community-at-large.

They (whoever "they" are) speak of good intimacy, or good communications, or good finances as keys to a healthy marriage. These are all true. I suggest that good compromise is yet another key to a robust marriage. More on that sometime.

My point is that once we go from the bells to the bills, from the wedding feast to the leftovers, from guests who bring their presents to guests who only bring their presence, we all (even we thirty-year veterans) recognize that the work is worth it. It can't all be flowers on the table and walks by the shore. Someone has to take the garbage out, shovel the walk, and, of course, put the toilet seat down.

So, to Aaron and Candice, Aaron and Stephanie, and Wes and Cheri: Good on you. Keep it up and hang in there. And by the way, the food was terrific.

Foremost on my Mind: Hello Delly

 

We have a particular way we get our cows bred, and it's likely no different from how others get their cows bred: One bull with a good nose, plus one cow in heat, equals one calf many months later. That's at least how it should happen: It may not be quite that simple every time, owing to the fact that the cow in question may not "catch" on the first try.

However, if the bull stays with the cow long enough, the cow will get big enough.

Millie has been both our supplier of fresh milk and freezer meat (via her calves) for the past many years. She just gave birth to this year's calf the other day, another bull. We've named him Chuck, for reasons which I will develop in a couple of paragraphs. Millie has produced nothing but bulls for us ever since we had her, with one exception—a heifer named Delly.

(Okay, they're bulls for a day or so, until we "steer" them in a different direction.)

Delly, that solo heifer among bulls, is short for "delicatessen," one of many witty names we have given our calves over the past nine years. We name them after meat cuts of some sort—rather than the usual Blackie, Poopsie, and Flora—because of their ultimate destiny. So, over the years we have had, among others, Sir Loin, Baron, Meatball, and Hammie. (Maurice, that would be short for 'hamburger'.) Chuck, then, is short for chuck roast..

Our plan works well every year and we have enjoyed the end result of some bull's labour, as well as Millie's labour, though in both cases, the effort is a little different. She catches quickly and calves easily, and all has worked out well—that is, until last year. Delly was a late spring calf, so by the time bull showed up to, er, service the cows, unbeknownst to us, Delly was a fully functioning cow. And when I speak of functioning, I am referring to more than eating and sleeping, bellowing and belching.

Can you spell R-E-P-R-O-D-U-C-T-I-O-N system?

So here's our dilemma: The heifer that was heading to the freezer this fall is now heading to the maternity ward of our operation. Instead of being meat, she's going to be a mother. What I thought was healthy fat is actually a healthy calf. (Go ahead, people, add a few more quips yourself, but remember who's cooking supper.)

Perhaps I've overstated it by calling it a 'dilemma'; it's more of a what-do-we-do-now scenario. Obviously, there is no thought of butchering her now or in the near future. By producing beef, she has, you might say, saved her bacon. One of the kids will get her as a pet project, and another one of the kids might end up getting the calf. And all I get is a little decision to make.

The challenge is that we were counting on eating our own beef, with the satisfaction that we knew its health and history. We could butcher our other calves, of course, but they are only a few months old. I suppose that would add a new definition to the term "lean" beef.

As a writer-teacher-preacher-director guy, I am not quite at ease with this calving business as many of my friends are. I have learned from friends that a cow doesn't get pregnant, she "catches"; but if she's not pregnant, she's "open"; and calves aren't born, they "hit the ground". I have also discovered what a "prairie oyster" is, but only as a definition, friends, not as a delicacy.

It won't be long before we bring back the bull to do more than eat and sleep, bellow and belch. And for this "service call" I think I will keep all the young heifers in another pasture. After all, a man has to eat, you know.

Foremost on my Mind: Guilty of Smokerphobia

Years ago, there was a curious young kid who had a curious young friend; and together they did what curious young people do: stupid things. In their case, they would pick up half-smoked cigarettes on the side of the road and smoke them. That developed into buying a pack of cigarettes (less than a dollar per pack back in the Dark Ages), and huffing and puffing a whole pack together. It was quick work because they refused to inhale.

Then, because it was against the law—the Law of the Parents, no less—they applied the toothpaste-mouthwash solution, with limited success. Fortunately, courage, wisdom, and common sense prevailed, and they stopped that stupid habit long before they became suckers in the truest sense of the word.

Not everyone is so courageous and wise, or marked by common sense, and our cemeteries can attest to that.

I suppose in a moment of ignorance, someone could accuse me of being guilty of "smokerphoia." The ignorance, of course, would be on their part, not mine. This is because that is not an accurate charge: I am not "afraid of smokers"--I just love fresh, clean air, and a healthy, robust body.

Would that then make me an "atmosphericophile"?

Smokers feel they have rights, and I suppose they do. But when their right to puff like a magic dragon intersects with my right to keep poison out of my lungs, through second-hand smoke, we have trouble.

I don't think I have any right to stop people from smoking in the privacy of their own home, or some other appropriate space; but there's a place and a time where they have no right to mess with my health or peace of mind.

Does that make me intolerant because I see the harm it does to me, mine, and others? Am I a health bigot because I am aware of the incalculable cost smoking has on our health system, and by extension, our economy? Or because I see the damage it has done worldwide to individuals? No, I didn't think so either.

Some smokers may argue that I should accept their lifestyle because they were born that way. That is rubbish of the highest (or would that be "lowest"?) degree. There may be reasons beyond their control why they started smoking—an abusive relative, peer pressure, or deep feelings of inferiority—but it is sad that they have to hide behind such tragic experiences. It would take effort, but they could stop it if they really wanted to.

The experience is no doubt true, but the reasoning is false.

You may or may not recall the Marlboro Man from years ago. (Just for the record, they didn't use me for the model.) He is the antithesis of everything I am: cool, macho, handsome, and suave. The subtle message is simple: Smoke Marlboro cigarettes and you too will be cool, macho, handsome, and suave.

Too bad there wasn't more integrity in television's advertising department. Too bad they never showed all the cancer wards of the world, the place where all the wannabe Marlboro Men (and women) end up—emaciated, frightened, lonely, and...dead.

No, the false image of the wonderful lifestyle of cigarette smokers is more than a bad choice. It's an evil option that has spelled doom and gloom for thousands of people, both the smokers and the victims of second-hand smoke. The thought that it can't do any harm, that everyone has the right to do as they please, that there are no consequences with certain lifestyle choices, is the depth of ignorance and stupidity.

Strange, isn't it, that I choose to abstain from that sort of lifestyle and I am branded as having a phobia. A phobia of what, a healthy body? Peace of mind? Clear conscience? Here's the deal: Don't make me smoke and I won't make you eat raw carrots. Let me choose to do what I think is best for me, so long as you choose what is best (not fun, convenient, or gratifying) for you.

That's something that young kid did forty-five years ago. It was one of the most courageous, wisest choice I ever made.

Foremost on my Mind: Guilty of Smokerphobia

 

 

Years ago, there was a curious young kid who had a curious young friend; and together they did what curious young people do: stupid things. In their case, they would pick up half-smoked cigarettes on the side of the road and smoke them. That developed into buying a pack of cigarettes (less than a dollar per pack back in the Dark Ages), and huffing and puffing a whole pack together. It was quick work because they refused to inhale.

Then, because it was against the law—the Law of the Parents, no less—they applied the toothpaste-mouthwash solution, with limited success. Fortunately, courage, wisdom, and common sense prevailed, and they stopped that stupid habit long before they became suckers in the truest sense of the word.

Not everyone is so courageous and wise, or marked by common sense, and our cemeteries can attest to that.

I suppose in a moment of ignorance, someone could accuse me of being guilty of "smokerphoia." The ignorance, of course, would be on their part, not mine. This is because that is not an accurate charge: I am not "afraid of smokers"--I just love fresh, clean air, and a healthy, robust body.

Would that then make me an "atmosphericophile"?

Smokers feel they have rights, and I suppose they do. But when their right to puff like a magic dragon intersects with my right to keep poison out of my lungs, through second-hand smoke, we have trouble.

I don't think I have any right to stop people from smoking in the privacy of their own home, or some other appropriate space; but there's a place and a time where they have no right to mess with my health or peace of mind.

Does that make me intolerant because I see the harm it does to me, mine, and others? Am I a health bigot because I am aware of the incalculable cost smoking has on our health system, and by extension, our economy? Or because I see the damage it has done worldwide to individuals? No, I didn't think so either.

Some smokers may argue that I should accept their lifestyle because they were born that way. That is rubbish of the highest (or would that be "lowest"?) degree. There may be reasons beyond their control why they started smoking—an abusive relative, peer pressure, or deep feelings of inferiority—but it is sad that they have to hide behind such tragic experiences. It would take effort, but they could stop it if they really wanted to.

The experience is no doubt true, but the reasoning is false.

You may or may not recall the Marlboro Man from years ago. (Just for the record, they didn't use me for the model.) He is the antithesis of everything I am: cool, macho, handsome, and suave. The subtle message is simple: Smoke Marlboro cigarettes and you too will be cool, macho, handsome, and suave.

Too bad there wasn't more integrity in television's advertising department. Too bad they never showed all the cancer wards of the world, the place where all the wannabe Marlboro Men (and women) end up—emaciated, frightened, lonely, and...dead.

No, the false image of the wonderful lifestyle of cigarette smokers is more than a bad choice. It's an evil option that has spelled doom and gloom for thousands of people, both the smokers and the victims of second-hand smoke. The thought that it can't do any harm, that everyone has the right to do as they please, that there are no consequences with certain lifestyle choices, is the depth of ignorance and stupidity.

Strange, isn't it, that I choose to abstain from that sort of lifestyle and I am branded as having a phobia. A phobia of what, a healthy body? Peace of mind? Clear conscience? Here's the deal: Don't make me smoke and I won't make you eat raw carrots. Let me choose to do what I think is best for me, so long as you choose what is best (not fun, convenient, or gratifying) for you.

That's something that young kid did forty-five years ago. It was one of the most courageous, wisest choice I ever made.

Fw: Foremost on my Mind: Guilty of Smokerphobia

 

----- Original Message -----

From: Craig Funston

To: Jason and Robin Hofer ; David and Linda Gross ; Victor and Kathleen Pedro ; Dale and Lisa Jost ; Jared and Breanne Mosher ; Jesse and Heidi Jost ; Andrew and Rebecca Fehr ; Andy and Rachel Jamieson ; Roger and Debie Wiebe ; Bernie and Karen Fehr ; Russ and Loraine Wahl ; Layne Funston ; Crawford and Joyce Funston ; Stephen and Caleigh Casson ; Kirk and Susannah Stanley ; Joshua & Ariana Kopp

Cc: Yak-Yak Cafe

Sent: Tuesday, September 13, 2011 7:11 AM

Subject: Foremost on my Mind: Guilty of Smokerphobia

 

Years ago, there was a curious young kid who had a curious young friend; and together they did what curious young people do: stupid things. In their case, they would pick up half-smoked cigarettes on the side of the road and smoke them. That developed into buying a pack of cigarettes (less than a dollar per pack back in the Dark Ages), and huffing and puffing a whole pack together. It was quick work because they refused to inhale.

Then, because it was against the law—the Law of the Parents, no less—they applied the toothpaste-mouthwash solution, with limited success. Fortunately, courage, wisdom, and common sense prevailed, and they stopped that stupid habit long before they became suckers in the truest sense of the word.

Not everyone is so courageous and wise, or marked by common sense, and our cemeteries can attest to that.

I suppose in a moment of ignorance, someone could accuse me of being guilty of "smokerphoia." The ignorance, of course, would be on their part, not mine. This is because that is not an accurate charge: I am not "afraid of smokers"--I just love fresh, clean air, and a healthy, robust body.

Would that then make me an "atmosphericophile"?

Smokers feel they have rights, and I suppose they do. But when their right to puff like a magic dragon intersects with my right to keep poison out of my lungs, through second-hand smoke, we have trouble.

I don't think I have any right to stop people from smoking in the privacy of their own home, or some other appropriate space; but there's a place and a time where they have no right to mess with my health or peace of mind.

Does that make me intolerant because I see the harm it does to me, mine, and others? Am I a health bigot because I am aware of the incalculable cost smoking has on our health system, and by extension, our economy? Or because I see the damage it has done worldwide to individuals? No, I didn't think so either.

Some smokers may argue that I should accept their lifestyle because they were born that way. That is rubbish of the highest (or would that be "lowest"?) degree. There may be reasons beyond their control why they started smoking—an abusive relative, peer pressure, or deep feelings of inferiority—but it is sad that they have to hide behind such tragic experiences. It would take effort, but they could stop it if they really wanted to.

The experience is no doubt true, but the reasoning is false.

You may or may not recall the Marlboro Man from years ago. (Just for the record, they didn't use me for the model.) He is the antithesis of everything I am: cool, macho, handsome, and suave. The subtle message is simple: Smoke Marlboro cigarettes and you too will be cool, macho, handsome, and suave.

Too bad there wasn't more integrity in television's advertising department. Too bad they never showed all the cancer wards of the world, the place where all the wannabe Marlboro Men (and women) end up—emaciated, frightened, lonely, and...dead.

No, the false image of the wonderful lifestyle of cigarette smokers is more than a bad choice. It's an evil option that has spelled doom and gloom for thousands of people, both the smokers and the victims of second-hand smoke. The thought that it can't do any harm, that everyone has the right to do as they please, that there are no consequences with certain lifestyle choices, is the depth of ignorance and stupidity.

Strange, isn't it, that I choose to abstain from that sort of lifestyle and I am branded as having a phobia. A phobia of what, a healthy body? Peace of mind? Clear conscience? Here's the deal: Don't make me smoke and I won't make you eat raw carrots. Let me choose to do what I think is best for me, so long as you choose what is best (not fun, convenient, or gratifying) for you.

That's something that young kid did forty-five years ago. It was one of the most courageous, wisest choice I ever made.

Foremost on my Mind: Guilty of Smokerphobia

 

Years ago, there was a curious young kid who had a curious young friend; and together they did what curious young people do: stupid things. In their case, they would pick up half-smoked cigarettes on the side of the road and smoke them. That developed into buying a pack of cigarettes (less than a dollar per pack back in the Dark Ages), and huffing and puffing a whole pack together. It was quick work because they refused to inhale.

Then, because it was against the law—the Law of the Parents, no less—they applied the toothpaste-mouthwash solution, with limited success. Fortunately, courage, wisdom, and common sense prevailed, and they stopped that stupid habit long before they became suckers in the truest sense of the word.

Not everyone is so courageous and wise, or marked by common sense, and our cemeteries can attest to that.

I suppose in a moment of ignorance, someone could accuse me of being guilty of "smokerphoia." The ignorance, of course, would be on their part, not mine. This is because that is not an accurate charge: I am not "afraid of smokers"--I just love fresh, clean air, and a healthy, robust body.

Would that then make me an "atmosphericophile"?

Smokers feel they have rights, and I suppose they do. But when their right to puff like a magic dragon intersects with my right to keep poison out of my lungs, through second-hand smoke, we have trouble.

I don't think I have any right to stop people from smoking in the privacy of their own home, or some other appropriate space; but there's a place and a time where they have no right to mess with my health or peace of mind.

Does that make me intolerant because I see the harm it does to me, mine, and others? Am I a health bigot because I am aware of the incalculable cost smoking has on our health system, and by extension, our economy? Or because I see the damage it has done worldwide to individuals? No, I didn't think so either.

Some smokers may argue that I should accept their lifestyle because they were born that way. That is rubbish of the highest (or would that be "lowest"?) degree. There may be reasons beyond their control why they started smoking—an abusive relative, peer pressure, or deep feelings of inferiority—but it is sad that they have to hide behind such tragic experiences. It would take effort, but they could stop it if they really wanted to.

The experience is no doubt true, but the reasoning is false.

You may or may not recall the Marlboro Man from years ago. (Just for the record, they didn't use me for the model.) He is the antithesis of everything I am: cool, macho, handsome, and suave. The subtle message is simple: Smoke Marlboro cigarettes and you too will be cool, macho, handsome, and suave.

Too bad there wasn't more integrity in television's advertising department. Too bad they never showed all the cancer wards of the world, the place where all the wannabe Marlboro Men (and women) end up—emaciated, frightened, lonely, and...dead.

No, the false image of the wonderful lifestyle of cigarette smokers is more than a bad choice. It's an evil option that has spelled doom and gloom for thousands of people, both the smokers and the victims of second-hand smoke. The thought that it can't do any harm, that everyone has the right to do as they please, that there are no consequences with certain lifestyle choices, is the depth of ignorance and stupidity.

Strange, isn't it, that I choose to abstain from that sort of lifestyle and I am branded as having a phobia. A phobia of what, a healthy body? Peace of mind? Clear conscience? Here's the deal: Don't make me smoke and I won't make you eat raw carrots. Let me choose to do what I think is best for me, so long as you choose what is best (not fun, convenient, or gratifying) for you.

That's something that young kid did forty-five years ago. It was one of the most courageous, wisest choice I ever made.

Foremost on my Mind: The Ministry of Common Sense

 

If I were ever elected premier of this province, the first thing I would do is create a brand-new portfolio. It would almost be like a super board of all other portfolios. Don't get too confused with this right-of-centre wannabe politician, with a strong populist bent, creating more (and not less) government bureaucracy. Let me clarify my idea.

This new creation would be the watchdog of every other portfolio, making sure that budgets were kept, ministers towed the line, and most of all, that common sense prevailed.

You're thinking "big brother," but I'm thinking "big mother."

You see, I would call it the Ministry of Common Sense, and it would be run by a woman—and not just any woman, mind you. The woman would have to be a mother—but not any mother, just so you know. Not a new mother, and not a young mother, either. No sirree, she would be a veteran mother, one that has weathered the storms of life, and survived to tell about them.

She would likely be a woman like my mother (or maybe even my wife); maybe even your mother, depending on your age.

You must remember that there was once a generation of mothers who ruled the roost with a load of love, a pantry of patience, and (pertinent to this column) a closet full of common sense. They were part of the post-WW II set of women who knew the value of proper diets, spending money they actually had, making sure the kids had plenty of sleep and fresh air, and administering the appropriate discipline.

I suggest to you that if our governments were run like this, unemployment, debt crises, out-of-control crime rates, and health issues would be next to non-existent. I'm convinced that educational, moral, and psychological challenges would be minimalized.

Mothers who made their kids clean up after them would make great Ministers of the Environment. Mothers who were in charge of the family budget would make great Ministers of Finance. Mothers who made sure their kids did their homework before they played on the computer would make great Ministers of Education. Restraint and control, coupled with reward and privilege, would be the order of the day.

The Ministry of the Attorney General would do well with a woman who knew how to dispense balanced justice. The Ministry of Health and Welfare would cut costs, recovery time, wait lines, and patient deaths considerably, if an experienced mother was in charge.

What I appreciate about veteran mothers (as opposed to inexperienced politicians) is the high level of common sense that they live by. Not sure? I am and I'm thinking they would be asking the following question of any cabinet minister under them:

Can we afford it? Does it have a good track record? Is there another way we can try this? Will it be good for the people? What are the long-term consequences? Are the strong pulling their weight, and the weak following suit? Is this age-appropriate? Is this leading to healthy autonomy or selfish independence?

There are many more questions, and as you can see, they could go either way—that is, in the running of a home or the running of a province. Likewise, it's not lost on me that our province is only as strong as the homes that comprise it, whether it is the role of the parent(s) or that of the children.

The trouble is, most of those mothers who would be qualified to run the Ministry of Common Sense would, of course, be too busy doing something far more important: They would be running their own homes and raising their own families. Granted, after they have raised their kids, they might have more time, and many qualified women have done precisely that.

I'm not sure if Morton or Horner or Redford would be interested in my suggestions here (or even Danielle Smith, for that matter), but they are welcome to them. And if they like the concept of the Ministry of Common Sense, but not the name, I'm sure someone could come up with something different.

Either way, I would still consider it, uh, the "mother" of all cabinet posts.