NorthWord Bound

My first lesson in linguistics occurred before I’d even left Pearson International Airport. As the departure time for my flight approached, I decided to pay a final visit to the airport washroom. When I stepped up to the urinal, I could hear two German-speaking occupants of adjacent cubicles, carrying on an animated conversation. Due to years of rust on my study of the German language, the subject of their washroom remarks, was a complete mystery to me. Following a lengthy diatribe, one speaker ended by letting rip an explosive fart which reverberated off the tile walls of the washroom. I interpreted the explosive ending of his soliloquy, to be an exclamation mark. His cohort in the other cubicle was much less strident, but as he continued to go about his business, he too punctuated his comments with a pair of more subdued poofs of breaking wind, followed by a louder burst at the end. I assumed that this trio of outbursts constituted two commas followed by a period.
Having completed the reason for my visit, I departed amid gales of laughter on the part of the cubicles’ occupants, and mused on the fact that when I had studied Conversational German at university, at no time in the curriculum did we cover the use of such creative punctuation. Imagine one of Germany’s great philosophers expostulating his theories in such a bombastic manner!
When I arrived in France, my most well used phrase consisted of, “Parlez-vous Anglais, je ne parle pas beaucoup de Francais?” (Do you speak English, I don’t speak much French?) In some cases, this remark was greeted with a blank look of incomprehension. More often than not, however, the person to whom I was speaking would appreciate my effort to communicate, and would either break out in understandable English, or in a much more stilted version. When I asked, “Parlez-vous Anglais?” the response was often “Un peu.” (A bit). It often turned out that my sparse knowledge of French exceeded my listener’s limited English. When I once asked a bus driver, “Parlez-vous Anglais?” he replied “Nope!” I guess that exhausted his knowledge of the English language. As I plugged away with my “Parlez-vous Anglais?” I awaited the day when the reply that I received would be, “As a matter of fact, I do my good man. Is there something I can do for you?” (all in very precise clipped English.) This sadly never happened, but a Tourist Bureau clerk in Calais came closest to this response. In many cases, as soon as I attempted to speak a little French, the listener in an effort to be helpful would forget about my language limitations, and would burst forth with a barrage of French that would leave my head spinning, and me not that much the wiser. I marvelled at the facility of the human brain, allowing me to dredge up enough high school French from half a century ago, permitting me to make myself even vaguely intelligible. I know that I absorbed a good deal of the language during my six weeks in France, and that following further immersion at this rate, by osmosis, I’d absorb a good deal more.

The Santiago de Compostela Pilgrimage would have required me to backpack from the village of St Jean Pied-de-Port in Southern France through the Pyrenees Mountains, into Northern Spain  to the town of Santiago, a distance of approximately 800 kilometres, or slightly less than 500 miles.  This might have been an overly ambitious undertaking for me, at the hoary age of seventy-one.

Many of my friends applauded my plans to complete this trek, but I’m sure that there were just as many who thought that dementia had  set in, and that I’d finally lost all of my faculties.  Just before setting out from home to fulfill my scheduled walk, I learned that Spain was experiencing a heat wave, and that for the first two weeks of August, in Madrid, the predicted temperature was to be hovering steadily in excess of one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.  I did not relish the thought of spending six weeks enduring temperatures hot enough to fry an egg on my Tilley hat.

I arrived in France at Terminal Three of Charles De Gaulle Airport at 8:30 am local time.  Since I had to advance my watch six hours upon arrival, I had reserved two nights at The Comfort Inn Hotel near the airport, where my objective was to rest for two days, and allow my internal biological clock to begin to adjust to the time difference.  During that two days of rest, I began to reassess my plans.  I knew that spending six weeks on the El Camino walk would be a taxing ordeal, and being engaged for that period of time, there would be many features of France that I would have insufficient time to enjoy.  Following my arrival by Air Transat Airbus 330 aircraft, I discovered that keeping in touch with the outside world via telephone or internet was not always easily accomplished.  Not wishing to punish myself by following my original plans and physically challenging the heat of Northern Spain, I made what I thought was a wise decision for once in my life, and decided to spend my six weeks in a more civilized manner, sipping beverages and enjoying snacks at cafes of France.  Poet Robbie Burns once said, “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley.”  In my case, the change of  plans  was entirely of my own choosing.  My wife Dorothy, never doubted that I would be able to complete the El Camino Pilgrimage solo, but  I’m sure that her mind would rest easier knowing that I’d be in less hazardous surroundings considering the change I’d decided to make in my plans.

I was traveling entirely alone and had no reservations to which I had to adhere, except to be back at Terminal Three in time for  my return flight to Canada at the end of six weeks.  For a half dozen weeks, I decided to  let serendipity be my guide, and follow my nose letting it lead me on what my itinerary would be.  Another mitigating reason for making my decision was the fact that I could dust off my half-century old fractured high school French which would likely be more functional than the rudimentary Spanish  that  I’d  studied.  I know that the El Camino Pilgrimage would have been a unique experience, but as it turned out, I’m sure that I walked at least the equivalent of 800 kilometres in my meandering through the cities and towns of France.  Spain did experience forest fires and insufferable heat, while I managed to return to Orangeville with twenty-five vignettes and approximately, one thousand  photographs  of my journey.  The accumulation of these stories,  and images, convinced me, that I made the correct decision to alter my itinerary.  I consider my experience to be, what author Julia Cameron would have  called,  an extended artist’s date.

Had I gone to Spain for my scheduled pilgrimage walk, my plan was to view a bull fight in Madrid.  While in France, I learned from a  BBC news report on TV, that at the end of one such match, a bull leapt from the ring, over the barricade, and into the stands.  Perhaps if I’d been at that corrida, sitting in the third row from the front, I would have had the opportunity to write about my reaction to having a ton of irate hamburger on the hoof, leaping out of the arena, and into my lap.  Oh, the experience that I  may have missed!  (On the other hand, perhaps the gods were smiling on me).

I find no pastime more entertaining than  ‘people watching.’  In an environment with as many diverse travelers as Toronto International Airport, it is a great way to spend time.  While I awaited the departure of my Air Transat flight to France, I couldn’t help but notice a young couple who would obviously be departing from one another soon.  The young lady’s eyes were tear-stained, and as their moment of separation approached, the couple became more tightly locked in a passionate embrace.  Finally, the moment arrived, and with one final passionate kiss, the young lady drifted off with the flow of humanity departing for destinations unknown.

I compare this parting with my own less passionate one.  My wife Dorothy and I have been married for almost a half century.  Dorothy obligingly provided me with a parting ride to my brother Eldon’s apartment building.  Eldon was to then  transport me to the airport to catch my flight.  As Eldon and I set off, Dorothy waved me off with a hearty “Bon voyage,”  and “have a good trip,” before fading into the distance in our van, to begin whatever parting plans she’d made.  I remarked to Eldon, “Did you notice that Dorothy could hardly contain her enthusiasm at the thought of my being out of her hair for the next six weeks?”  No longer would she have to listen to me grumble and stew about things that I may have forgotten to take with me, and whether everything would work out as I’d planned.  To quote William Shakespeare, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”  For the young couple separating at Pearson Airport, it was obviously a parting of great sorrow.  In my case, I couldn’t help but reflect that my long-suffering wife   was taking our parting with more great  sweetness,  than sorrow.

This morning at a family gathering  over breakfast, my daughter in law, Terri, suddenly looked up from reading her newspaper to exclaim: ” Hey uncle Len, look here- the editorial headline  says that Canada is ‘Going off the  gold standard’, meaning Prime Minister Harper is abandoning the mandatory long-form census, the “gold standard” in government information collection.” “Okay TerrI,” I responded, “we need two independent, credible sources to make sure this information has ‘teeth’; name his sources.” ” Well uncle, the editor refers to two British scientists writing this week, August, 26, 2010 in the influential Journal, NATURE, indicating that Canada is replacing the original mandatory part of the census with with a shorter, inferior  standard.” Mary, my wife interjected, ” Good for those scientists, that’s valid criticism; we Canadians aimed high to host the 2010 Winter Olympics, courageously setting out to ‘Own the Podium’ and succeeding in winning the most gold medals.” Cousin Eddy added a note of discontent targeted at our present government decision makers: “Now  take that nincompoop Harper and his cronies, all they want is   to protect the status quo, backtracking to some inferior data collection policy  on the national census. We’ve had some of the most dedicated competent people in our government infrastructure, some of the best brains in the country working over the years for Statistics Canada.”

Cousin Harry unhappily blurted out, “But the shorter,voluntary survey form could still be useful, carrying comparable census data; so what’s the problem?” Terri drew herself up in exasperation holding herself in. ” Listen to the facts Harry,” she said, ” the Conservative government has already announced that the mandatory long form sent to 20% of Canadians and with detailed questions about work, home-life, religion and ethnicity is being replaced for the 2011 census with a voluntary questionaire sent to 30 per cent. It’s as if  we Canadians have run out of steam, losing our ambition to excel.

Recently our beautiful, but homesick daughter, Diana, returned permanently to her own hometown of Orillia, Ontario in Canada after a very long stint of work life on the West Coast of British Columbia. Almost immediately upon her arrival, she happily joined in our family reunion, joyously celebrating her long time of being ‘away,’ whilst tearfully embracing  beloved-ones, especially her mother, Marie. For almost one hour  everyone, became earnestly preoccupied, yakking confidentially to nearest kin with updates on important family matters. After Grace, the festive mood continued throughout dinner, spreading afterward out onto the patio for entertainment and story telling. I remember that finally Marie, Diana and I (Len) sat together for a private chat, each reclining leisurely in our Muskoka chair with a glass of white wine at hand, whilst contentedly enjoying soft evening  refreshing breeze from Lake Muskoka. We intimately shared our hour of happy reunion, feeling deeply grateful for Diana’s safe return home after some four years of separation. Unfortunately, Herbert, the family ‘agitator’, soon wandered over to our comfortably engaged group a the far end of the patio,  obsessively itching for stimulating debate: ” So my   dear cousins, I have a question for your opinion” he said, ” Prime Minister Harper’s New Canadian Census Forum – Short Forum or Long Forum?”

Recently at Sunday Services in  our local church in downtown Orillia, our pastor, Rev. Betton surprisingly introduced the initial prayers, not with his usual upbeat, welcoming words, but rather began in a serious tone grimly announcing: ” I’ve got to tell you what horror story I got from the Late Night News channel;  violent clashes the previous  night before between police and protesters at the G20 Summit in Toronto: “  I’m ashamed and saddened when I turned on the TV News last evening-  a wild weekend of vandalism at the G20 Summit in Toronto’s up-scale hub at Dundas and Yonge Street: hooligans smashing shop windows, looting of stores and several police cars set ablaze. Also, students wearing backpacks, apparently from the U of T. Residences,  clashing with police at Queen’s Park on Saturday.” At that point, I leaned across the pew shared with my wife, Mary, whispering: ” Next thing the Reverend will tell us is that these protesters should be locked up in cages; a bit extreme don’t you think?” “Listen Len,” Mary rejoined, ” Reverend Betton usually gets personal when he gets emotional like this about about a topic.”

Mary was right. Betton continued his discourse, personally reacting: “What went on downtown at the Royal York Hotel last night is scary; you know that whole section  around Front and Bay streets, well that part of the city is still under virtual lock down. My relatives who  happened to be at the Royal York Hotel for a banquet are literally under a complete lockdown;  no one is allowed in or out. Police justifiably needed those  extended police powers granted by Ontario Regulation 233/10 to smother dissent of these hooligans. It’s not the way we want to live in our vital  and free land of Canada. In front of TV cameras, the Anarchists disguised in black wreaked havoc, attempting to create the impression of a city under siege  For a reasonable time  the massive police presence remained calm in the face of many taunts from the unruly crowd, remembering their main objective, insuring peaceful crowd control, whilst protecting world leaders at the G20 Summit. Police eventually had to move swiftly, swooping up many hundreds of people.”

After the service, a bunch of our “church friends” gathered at Rombos Restaurant for lunch. Orval Whitney indicated that he disapproved, saying, “Its not right tarring the whole crowd with the definition as Terrorists or Anarchists because many were mainly peaceful protesters, young and elderly; in fact, some of them were singing Canada’s National Anthem, O CANADA-when arrested and taken to cages set up as makeshift detention centers.” W. C .angrily rejoined, “Len and Mary, here’s my two cents for what it’s worth-Sunday evening some people who were not even protesting, whose only possible connection with the so-called crime was waiting for a bus at Spadina and Queen Streets-they  were detained on the street for four hours in the pouring rain. I’m angry at that type of search, unnecessarily intruding into my private life, a bold infringing  of our Canadian Charter of Rights.” “The Toronto Star has also reported a possibly illegal police int3rvention ,” answered Mary, “a veterinarian’s  experience of being awoken at 4 a.m. by police pointing a gun at  him while sleeping on his own bed in the High Park district of Toronto. Apparently they were searching for one of the protest organizers.”

I remember asking: ” So, Orval and Mary, can you suggest or imagine two specific issues here? Would you agree that one of the key issues would be to consider any challenge to the Ontario Regulation 233/10 under the Charter of Rights search provisions as to whether or not the public could reasonably be expected  to understand how close a citizen might lawfully walk within the perimeters of the restraining fence- that is without being stopped by police and asked for identification or to submit to a personal search?” Orval and Mary agreed ( a lay opinion) with this framing of the major issue in respect to search provisions under the Charter of Rights.

However, Mary in her last words of wisdom,  immediately pointed out a serious legal issue to be resolved: “Traditionally in our system of British Common Law, it is necessary to openly promulgate a law for it to have the full force of law.” Here, Mary quietly paused for a sip of coffee; then, forcefully concluding: “Now everyone of the protesters felt surprised on being informed after a citizen’s arrest that  ‘The Ontario Regulation 233/10′ to expand police powers was simply posted on a government web-page known as  ‘e laws’  without any public debate. The point is also to be made that official publication of the Ontario Regulation 233/10 was, in fact, scheduled for six days after the end of the summit. No wonder nobody knew about the regulation! Our civil liberties are so important to defend; so let us addend to any future public announcement an insistence upon a public debate to make sure government itself follows the rules in an adequately balanced and  reasonable way. “

Just this week, my clergy friend, Bert Hardie,  from the Bracebridge Men’s Discussion Group of that fair city invited me via Email to prepare a presentation for mid-summer on the topic:  ‘Canadian Sovereignty In the Arctic-Why it Matters’. Bert also later phoned me asking: ” Len, could you please make any relevant comments you think appropriate about Prime Minister Harper’s views about whether or not  he is serious about Arctic governance, considering Canada has bypassed key players in the recent Chelsea, Quebec Arctic Meeting?” “That’s a big order Bert, especially  on such short notice,” I responded, “so would it suit the audience if I narrowed the topic down to one vital focus, central to all Canadians, describing  how Canadian Sovereignty in the Arctic Matters. We shall also be talking about ‘BIG OIL’ the role of competing political and economic clout of  giant  corporate oil and natural gas interests?”

“Sounds great Len! Here is a quick rundown of players  currently dominating  polar negotiations as the  ‘Arctic Five’:'  Very recently in late March 2010 in Chelsea, Quebec,  Canada as host held a conference of foreign ministers of the United States, Russia, Norway and Denmark; all these nations bordering the Arctic Ocean with significant Political  and economic interests in the Polar Region on the table for negotiation. Please note that the Chelsea meeting followed a previous ‘Arctic Five’ meeting in May in Greenland. This group issued a declaration stating that the coastal states (that’s them, of course) were committed to existing Law of the Sea adjudication of competing sovereignty and resource claims. According to Thomas S. Axworthy, president of the Walter and Duncan Gordon Foundation, ‘The Five inner coastal powers saw no need to develop a new, international, legal regime to govern the Arctic Ocean, thereby slamming the door on the idea favoured by many states that the Arctic needs a legal framework similar to the Antarctica Treaty.”

One week later, Bert and Derek, a retired professional engineer also from Bracebridge, met with my wife Mary and me for Brunch at the famous Mariposa Cafe on the main street of  Sunshine City. Derek’s  first question was, “Okay Mary, your family’s been six generations here in Orillia; so where did it get that name, “Sunshine city? “Well sir,” Mary answered kindly, “our  family, we knew every character by real name and every house , funeral home, bar, church, gambling hall and river boat as featured in Sunshine City; it is happily and famously so-named in Leacock’s  humorous novel, ‘Sunshine Sketches Of A Small Town’. Mostly nostalgia, of course, part fantasy and at times darn critical, but Stephan Leacock aimed true,  deftly describing faults and foibles of actual people-type characters from those times; some, almost larger than life, became legendary, whilst ordinary, everyday simple folk simply shone as good people going about their ordinary daily life with extraordinary kindness. Those were kinds and types to be found in perhaps any rural small town of Southern Ontario in those early days, now long gone.” The men thanked Mary for her abridged version of Leacock’s tale of her Sunshine City of Orillia, Ontario in Canada. However, Mary shocked us with her parting words: “You boys should know by now that the ‘Gulf Spill’ has changed something that won’t ever come back.”

With Mary departed from our midst, continuing on her household shopping round, Bert again took up the issue of Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic Ocean:  “Sovereignty matters because of the abundance of undiscovered oil and natural gas  north of the Arctic Circle.” “You’re certainly right there Bert,” Derek interjected, “natural resources is the name of the game and the winner is gonna hit the jackpot, acquiring tremendous wealth and political power over the whole world’s energy resources.” Here I interrupted, sharing  a recent data from a U. S. Geological Survey released in May of 2009:  “Projections show an amazing potential supply of undiscovered oil and natural gas north of the Arctic Circle: 83 billion barrels of oil which, experts say, will fill current global demands for three years; and 43 trillion cubic metres of natural gas, immediately assuring something like fourteen years of world need. On top of that bonanza, at projected reserves located in waters less than 500 metres deep, the richest resources will likely fall within  already agreed-upon seabed boundaries and hence uncontested  jurisdictions of one or other Arctic Ocean coastal state.” Here, heeding a ‘call of nature,’ Derek suddenly excused himself to  head for the washroom.

Upon returning to our table with a wide grin on his face, Derek wryly asked, “So what’s ‘the wild rush to the Arctic all about?” We had a good laugh together about that until Derek decided to bring us back on track, giving a brief, but straight answer: “Until recently,” he explained, “vast distances, winter darkness and inclement weather conditions north of the Arctic Circle, complicated further by vast expanses of impassible thick and moving sea-ice made it prohibitively expensive to access Arctic oil and gas resources. So then the question is, ‘Why the rush?’ That’s easy enough to answer, realizing increased market prices and climate change along with rapid global warming have completely changed the situation. Russians are already  spending some 20 $billions” developing Russian natural gas fields in their portion of the Barents Sea. Similarly, Norwegians in their coastal side are already producing on a regular basis albeit at a lesser rate.” Here I interrupted  the flow of Derek’s argument to indicate a matter of major concern, arising from my research about oil and natural gas explorations north of the Arctic Circle:  “Currently, the whole world is deeply anxious about the out-of-control pollution, spewing from the disastrous Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill. Just as worrisome to me is that corporate oil giants, Exxon and BP have recently spent some $585 million and 1.2 $billion respectively to acquire exploration licences on the Canadian side of the Beaufort Sea.

“So Len,” Bert responded, “I hear you, you’re worried and you’re not alone in this; many like-minded citizens in North America and around the world are also deeply concerned now, worrying that limits must be imposed on run-away greed before it’s too late. You’re worried and so is President Obama about Big Oil’s  increasingly ravenous  consumption of the earth’s natural resources, regardless of dire consequences for natural life and the future possibilities of mankind. Obama addressed the latest developments of the Oil Spill crisis this very week in remarks at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, telling the audience: “The time has come, once and for all, for this nation to embrace a clean energy future that includes more energy-efficient cars and homes, more nuclear power plants.” He also called for a rollback of tax breaks for oil companies worth billions of dollars, indicating at the same time we all must “take into account the full cost (economic, environmental and economic) of our fossil fuel addiction.”

My wife, Mary, at this point walked through the front door of the restaurant, sidling through to 0ur table,  Eco-bagged  groceries for supper in hand. She spoke her womanly words of wisdom: “So boys, we have burned so much oil and gas already and, by doing so, begun to change the environment. It’s not rocket science. Stop it!”

Recently, I found myself engaged in a an fascinating conversation with several elders from our church congregation in Orillia , Ontario, joining in table fellowship for our bi-monthly ‘Men’s Breakfast.’ The most vocal of our section of six men, Judge Blackthorn, introduced a topic for discussion, arguing out loud as though to pronounce a verdict from the court bench for all to hear : ” Canada and the Gulf Oil Spill-       It’s A Wake-up Call to the Whole World! That President Obama has set up a bipartisan panel to investigate the Gulf spill disaster with a six month deadline to report back to him. Hell, yes, he’s ordered an immediate moratorium on drilling until that point, but he’s confronted the catastrophe a little late wouldn’t you say so Kevin?” I nudged Kevin Drinkman who sat, seemingly complacent, to my right, urging him to say something in response to bully judge Blackthorn. Surprisingly, Kevin retorted rather quietly, but firmly: Yes Len, my family has been settled here in our little town of Orillia since the early 1800s, exactly since 1827, I believe. Now, our family originally came from Ohio way in the States and I’m  telling you I’ve studied American history; the real true and eventually history of the American Encroachment on Indian Lands and all their political dominance over indigenous peoples is not written up in the text books. Americans tend to think they’re number one over other peoples and that they have a manifest destiny to rule the whole show, including greedily digging for oil in ocean waters.”  “Well Kevin, I interrupted, “All Americans don’t act like that; for example, President Obama to give him credit, has clearly stated  his goal, namely, ‘to insure that such a catastrophe like this never happen again.”  Here, sharp words  ceased as fellow parishioner, Jason Cooper, whose daytime job was as an airline flight attendant, came by our table, professionally serving refills of coffee or tea.

Huge George Hill, a gentle giant of a man  and known for his mystical wisdom, then brought our full attention back home to right here in Canada: “You fellows realize,” he said. “that in Canada our political reaction to the Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill has been very subdued to say the least. As a matter of fact,  we in Canada have not declared any moratorium on offshore drilling. So, who are we to criticize the American president for lack of intervention when a corporate oil-giant, like BP has obviously not taken appropriate safety precautions in the first place? Furthermore, I seem to hear a certain tone of righteousness, creeping into our conversation, as if  smugly to agree with  certain of our Canadian politician’s suggestion that the Gulf Spill couldn’t happen here in Canada.” Thanks George,” responded Judge Blackthorn, “I happen to own   some investments in a Canadian Oil Industry and I can assure you that The National Energy Board has  announced that it is presently conducting an internal review of its offshore rules and regulations. Further, Resources Minister, Christian Paradis,  has publicly indicated that no drilling will occur unless the government is certain that the environment has been duly protected. I think it’s correct to say that we have the highest standards in the world.” At this point I noticed that Kevin had raised his hand waiting to say something.

Just as I though he might do, Kevin spoke briefly in a quiet, kindly but firm manner rebutting Judge Blackthorn’s viewpoint on Canadian  environmental standards saying “Not so, judge Blackthorn. Canadian environmentalists say, and I quote, ‘Canada’s present offshore drilling requirements only deal with how an operator drills not whether or where an operator may drill.’ Also, WWF-Canada has informed the Canadian  Commons Committee on Natural Resources recently that unlike U. S. A., Greenland and Norway, that Canada does not regulate the leasing process, nor issue drilling areas permits  directly vis-a-vis environmentally sensitive areas. However, according to Canadian author Michael Byer’s new book, ‘WHO OWNS THE ARCTIC ?’, the corporate oil giants Exxon and BP recently spent $ 585 million and $ 1.2 billion respectively to acquire exploration licenses on the Canadian side of the Beaufort sea.”  Here, Jason Cooper, our erstwhile ‘waiter’  interrupted: “Its the Arctic Ocean I’m worried about. So the ultimate question has become for me-How are we to protect this pristine ocean, a source of of wealth, rightfully and truly belonging to the human earth family?”

“Well Jason,” I ventured, “that where a comprehensive environmental assessment reports must be a mandatory requirement, and by the way I did some research recently to find out if  any of the nations bordering the shores of the Arctic Ocean have laws regarding prior environmental impact studies? The answer  is that ‘yes’, before portions of the American Arctic were opened to drilling, the U.S. Marine Management Service produced a six-volume environmental impact statement. However, at present as far as I know, we have no such comparable Canadian guidelines before before exploratory drilling could be allowed. According to a recent statement in the House of Commons by our Federal National Resources Minister, Christian Paradis, ‘No drilling is now underway in the Canadian Arctic.’ Elderly John Stokes, a retired farmer, who had been very silently listening to the whole conversation finally asked, “So what has all this to do with the price of wheat in Chicago?”

Gentle George Hill replied thus: “Yes John, the world has changed and I don’t know that we can stop or change course that easily; yet, we citizens, I believe, must be ever on our guard, realizing that an exploratory well, twice as deep as the BP well in the Gulf of Mexico, is currently being drilled off the coast of Newfoundland. We citizens must be diligent stewards of our earthy environment, knowing that offshore drilling for oil on the Ocean bottom can be disastrous to the health and welfare of all human beings.  The Gulf Oil  Spill is a Wake-up Call to the Whole World.”

Recently I had occasion to meet at the Mariposa Bakery and Cafe here in Orillia with my writer friend, Cormac McCarthy and retired  Florida businessman, Britt Banker. After ordering bagels and coffee, we sat together at a table  on the upper balcony for awhile exchanging (as Canadians are wont to do)  pleasantries about our so-called ‘early spring’ weather.  Suddenly,  Cormac broke up the homey atmosphere, seriously inquiring, “Have either  of you, Britt or Len, seen Walt Disney’s movie Fantasia?”  “Sure thing Cormac,” I answered, “I certainly liked best the 1940 Disney animated version of this 2000 year old legend. In particular, I intensely remember the scary and wild  Sorcerer’s Apprentice sequence in the movie where, the Sorcerer leaves his cave in the hands of his Apprentice (actually Mickey Mouse as the Apprentice), instructing him to do the cleaning chores until he returns.” Here Britt chimed in, commenting: ” Actually the legendary story of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice carries an ancient theme of  ‘HUBRIS, touching on the  disastrous  consequences to man and environment when humans  in overweening pride and dense ignorance attempt to rape the natural environment. I think there is  a close connection to be found here: Walt Disney’s movie, ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” can be compared with the Gulf Oil Spill Environmental Disaster a Legacy of Dire Consequences, ironically increasing U.S. needs for our Canadian Oil Sands.” Here Cormac’s cellphone signaled an incoming expected call from his wife Miranda.

A few minutes later Cormac finished up his familial conversation, deliberately resuming his initial questioning of the American deepwater drilling for oil in  the Gulf of Mexico: “I’m angry,” Cormac  asserted, “that our Canadian Oil Sands now hold complete, safe and stable  advantage over offshore drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. The Amercans will now become more dependent on our Oil Sand production to keep up their ‘high-of-the-hog “standard of living You don’t have to be a particularly wise wizard to have predicted BP’s arrogance in drilling a ‘first-ever’ 1500 metre deep offshore well in the gulf of Mexico  could lead to uncontrollable difficulties;  so now that BP is dealing with a disaster of of epic and possibly historic proportions, President Obama might have to revise his plans, humbly admitting  the offshore drilling for the illusive ‘Black Gold’ must cease however long it may take for complete cleanup of the  mess.”

“So Cormac my good man,” I interrupted, “I understand you’re very angry that the Americans seem to think our Oil Sands are just lying there waiting to be exploited for their use, imagining that all that is needed is a giant washing machine to clean the bitumen, a little money for royalties, a friendly Canadian government and a magical promise to clean the mess before they leave the premises. However, would you briefly review the story line of Disney’s, ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ from the point where he warns his Apprentice specifically not to attempt control of Nature with Magical arts in which he has not achieved sufficient mastery?”

“Okay Len and Britt, imagine the scene in which Disney’s Sorcerer solemnly warns his apprentice: “When I am gone, do not try any spells from my  Sorcerer’s Book of Magic because once conjured, you must have the knowledge to call it back.” Of course, Mickey Mouse, as the curious and lazy apprentice does not heed hiis master’s wise instructions for restraint, but instead the Apprentice steals the Sorcerer’s magic formulas, arrogantly causing a broom to come to life to arrogantly follow his wishes by performing the chores of fetching water and poring it into a stone basin. Then Mickey goes to sleep, leaving the magical, machine-like creation to do all the work. The Apprentice awakens to a catastrophe, finding the basin beginning to overflow, he tries to stop the robotic broom from poring anymore. However, he cannot stop the flow. Near drowning in a vortex sucking him down, but he panics grabbing an axe to chop the broom in pieces. Yet, the magic spell survives Mickey’s desperate incantations as the splinters grow back to  life, forming a phalanx of workers which march relentlessly with buckets full of water from the well to pour into the Sorcerer’s stone basin until it overflows. Fortunately,  the Master comes to the Apprentice’s s rescue powerfully dispelling the curse.”

Britt interrupted here: “Thanks Cormac, as a retired businessman from Texas and with some investments in certain oil companies within North America, I can see a  close connection can be made between the Oil Spill disaster consequences in parallel with the animated Disney production of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. I believe the unfolding environmental disaster sequences from the ruptured Horizon deepwater drilling rig in the Gulf of Mexico. could have been predicted. Professionals will judge the lack  of sufficiently  stringent government regulations and disdain for accurate and detailed default planning to confront any unknown hazardous conditions likely to be  encountered at any time in the dark depths.”

Recently my writer friend, Cormac McCarthy, and I met over coffee at Orillia’s Mariposa Market, discussing at length his early draft manuscript for  a new book which would deal with pensioners objections to a world -wide trend toward near total digital commerce. Almost immediately upon sitting down, Cormac challenged: ” So Len, what the hell do you think of all these new fangled cell phones, twittering messages and electronic wiring? It just  bugs me! I can’t go anywhere , but somebody’s intruding on my space, yacking on a cellphone. Pretty soon it could be that even funeral parlors will open caskets, showing cell phones attached to the ear of the corpse.” “Here’s a comment Cormac,” I explained. “In the plastic revolution people don’t carry cash anymore- credit and debit cards are in, rewiring our brains how we understand and use money.”

Cormac hesitated,   mulling over my comment, then asked, ” Okay Len, McLuhan died in 1980, long before the ‘Plastic Revolution;’ would he have predicted anything of the sort?” Not directly, of course,” I responded, “however, in the very least, I think that’s what Marshall McLuhan hinted at back in the 1960s, teaching  me in modern literature classes and in several Communications Seminar situations at St. Michael’s College within the University of Toronto. Even then, I remember Marshall was keenly interested in psychic and physical changes in brain functioning. He also taught that in our modern culture the medium itself is the message and not the content ‘per se’ which changes our perceptions.” Here Cormac backed out of his chair to find his knapsack, offering me the very latest biography of Marshall McLuhan endorsed as the official version by his family. “So Len,” Cormac quipped: “What did McLuhan have to say about money?”

“Well Cormac,” I answered, “perhaps Marshall McLuhan would have envisioned something like a scenario for us, including a ‘sound-scape’ with one of his classic ‘probes,’ suggesting: ” Money is becoming so absolutely virtual that we today speak instantly of  ‘interactions’ activated by  efficient Interac machines, bearing the corporate sponsor’s moniker (one of ATM or ABM) to advertise the machines  as if  everything and everybody should be efficiently  treated as commodities, mere pawns of trade, thus  unfortunately missing out on the more human experiences of barter as much more important currency of ‘interrelational’  value.”

“One last question Len, maybe two: “Did McLuhan like what he foresaw in the future and was he right?” “So Cormac, my good man, I think Marshall McLuhan would probably not very much like our Plastic revolution, but I am fairly certain he might well have expostulated: “Oh Boy! Oh Boy! I told you so!”