It’s not the toys, kids, it’s the traditions

            When I was young we didn’t have such rich Christmases.  Today children receive iPods, iPads and Nintendo DS’s in their stockings.  When I was young, if we were so fortunate to receive an electronic gift, we had to share it with the whole family. 

            Yes, that first computer my parents bought – it had to be shared by everyone.  That Nintendo Game Boy my grandparents gave to us – had to be shared by my brother and me!  Can you imagine having to share a Game Boy in today’s world?  Every child would be crying foul!

            Okay, so maybe Christmases haven’t changed that much since I was a kid.  I can’t claim to have had to ride in a sleigh to a Christmas service, like my dad did.  I can’t talk about receiving all but a handful of candy and maybe a home-made gift, like my 89-year-old grandmother can.  Even my wife has better Christmas stories.  When she was young, she didn’t have much either, but she remembers the traditions, and these are the most important things for kids, whether they admit to it or not.

            The best parts of Christmas for me were the extended family gatherings on both sides of the family.  The first family gathering was on Christmas Day, the other on Boxing Day.  It rarely changed. 

            There were many cousins on both sides of the family.  During our gatherings, the kids would run wild while the parents did other things (as a kid, what adults did was quite irrelevant).

            One thing I do remember, our games tended to be loud.  I remember one loud game in particular – I’ll call it couch monster.  This was a unique game where we would bury our eldest cousin under the pillows of my grandparents’ couch, then venture as close to him as we possibly dared before he would burst from beneath and try to catch us all.  We would repeat this over and over again throughout the afternoon.  It must have been music to our grandparents’ ears.

            The games would continue on the Froese side, where we would find different ways to torment our eldest cousin.  In this case, we were the monsters.  There seemed to be a pattern there. 

            As a child, it doesn’t take much to be entertained.  We had a lot, as far as gifts went, but what we enjoyed the most was the time together. 

            You can give kids all the toys in the world, but they will enjoy the family traditions the most.  When they look back, this is what they will cherish.

            That precludes of course the Christmas we got a snowmobile – hands down, thee best Christmas ever.

Kids say the darndest things, oh yes they do

        As a parent, I can attest to the fact that kids say some awfully funny things.  Here’s a collection I’ve kept of humorous conversations/quotes from my daughter throughout her preschool days:

Dad (aka Scoop): I’m gonna squeeze you.

Sonya: But people don’t squeeze Sonyas.  Adults don’t squeeze children.

Dad: Do you know I was a kid once, too?

Sonya: Were you a girl?

Dad: No, I was a boy.

Sonya: I was a girl.

Sonya: Let’s play a game.  I’ll throw you into the lion’s den.  But don’t worry – they won’t eat you, because God will take care of you.

Mom: Do you want to go into the den too?

Sonya:  Oh, no.  We’ll just put you in there.

Mom: But God will take care of you, too.

Sonya: No, Mommy.  You go.

Sonya:  I wish we could visit your parents again.

Dad:  Grandpa and Grandma?  We’ll see them at Christmas.

Sonya: I wonder what Santa will bring them... Maybe he’ll bring them some kids.

Dad:  They already have kids.  I’m their kid.

Sonya: But you’re a bit older.  I wonder why you don’t have kids.

Dad:  I do – you’re my kid!

Sonya:  Oh.

Sonya (while playing with stuffed toys): I’m the mommy cat and the kittens are all one year old.  You can be the kittens.

Dad:  OK – I’m a really small cat (I hold up the smallest stuffed animal).  Why am I so much smaller than the other ones when we're all one year old?  Did you not feed me as much as the other cats?

Sonya (in a very serious tone): Actually, I fed you lots.  I gave you alcohol.

And now for my favourite – a few months ago I wrote word for word what my peace-loving daughter said during our regularly scheduled playtime:

The hunter and the hunted

We’re poor because we wasted all our money accidentally.  We just got poorer over the years.  People tried to give us more, but they didn’t want to waste their money.  So now we have to go hunting.

This dog is learning how to kill sheep and bunnies.  The sheep will say one more prayer before she’s dead.

(She proceeds to hunt a goose.)  Now we’ll kill its baby – I have to break its wings so it can’t fly.  Now let the dog kill it.

Now we’ll be First Nations – real First Nations who lived long ago.  Were they the ones that wore feathers on their heads? (She proceeds to adorn my head with some kind of First Nations headdress.)

That First Nations song that I love is going through my head.

Now we’ll drink some fish juice.  (Whispering) It’s really fish blood, but I put some honey and sugar in it!

I suffered an Orwellian fate

Thus begins my confession….

            Things are still a little hazy as to when it all began.  I guess you could say it all started in 1984.  Back when Apple launched its first Macintosh computer.  You might remember the Orwellian ad that highlighted its release, but I don’t.  I was seven.  I didn’t care much about personal computing until I was eight.

            At about that time, my parents bought a Tandy 1000 that revolutionized my life.  I could now play video games at home.  I was the envy of my friends.

            We used a 3.5 inch floppy disk to resuscitate the computer each time we wanted to turn it on.  After a couple minutes of hard labour, the computer would open with its black screen and c: prompt, after which  we would be required to insert another disk.

            The process was no longer required with the arrival of the hard drive and the innovative dual disk drive.  The changes came so fast and furious that our computer was soon obsolete.  I don’t recall getting a newer computer until I was a teenager, although that could just be my memory playing tricks on me (but I don’t think so).

            I bought my first personal computer in my first year of university.  It was my first experience with Microsoft software.  I learned quickly.  The ways of Windows were burned in my mind.  I would spend hours clicking and double clicking, arranging files in new and innovative ways, even creating short-cuts.  The Internet had yet to be invented (or maybe I just didn’t have a modem).  But there were also weird computer crashes – things didn’t always work the way they should.  I wondered quietly in the back of my mind what Bill Gates was thinking when he invented such a glitch-filled operating system.

            Then came 2004.  I was happily married when my wife and I were given our first cell phone.  A Motorola flip phone that weighed just under two pounds.  We kept it in the car in case of emergency.  Even though I swore I would never own a cell phone, I could justify owning one for emergency purposes. 

            As the years passed, and my understanding of phoning over cellular networks increased, I felt I could accept a new job that would require the use of a Blackberry, then known as a Crackberry.  Back then they were so popular, today their future so uncertain.

            The Blackberry was a means to communicate like I never knew before.  I could send e-mails every moment of the day, even in the bathroom.  It was an addiction that lasted until my job’s sudden end.  Like the Blackberry, my future looked bleak.  I bought an ordinary flip phone to console myself.

            I told others that I was happy with it.  I wrote blogs of how much I hated smart phones.  But I was lying – most regrettably, I was lying to myself.

            But I used it, pretending to text elaborate messages that were really only three words long.  While my co-workers, and worse yet, my dad (now officially a senior citizen) were sending texts at lightening speed, I was left behind, trying to keep up with messages that wouldn’t fit onto my phone’s screen.

            Then I did something I thought I’d never do.  I went to a store and said I wanted one.  Still to this day I don’t know what made me go in.  Maybe it was the belief that the technological holes in my life could somehow be filled.

They said they were all out and I would have to wait.  Something was holding up shipments.  Some labour unrest in China maybe, but who could know?  It was all so complicated.

            Then I got a phone call.  I was to meet them at the store within the next three hours.  If not, I would lose my only chance (maybe I would have another shot in a week, but could I really have waited any longer?)

            At the store, the saleswoman gently opened the box and I caught my first glimpse of a four-inch screen.  She turned it on and it glowed.  Two gin-scented tears tricked down the sides of my nose.  But it was all right, everything was all right.  I had won the victory over myself.  I loved my iPhone. 

http://www.george-orwell.org/1984/22.html

Peak oil prophets a little peeved

            Peak oil enthusiasts and other doomsday prophets (who me?) may have to take a 20-year hiatus from their ‘End is Near’ rants.

            North America is apparently poised to become a net exporter of oil by 2030.  And the United States is poised to overtake Saudi Arabia in oil production by 2020.  Say what??  What seemed unfathomable only five years ago will come to fruition in a few years, according to the International Energy Agency.   Fast flowing light crude oil is being pumped out of previously unreachable reserves throughout the American Midwest.

            All this goes to show that technology can dramatically change economies and world trends in a very short time period.  China will continue to drive growth in oil demand, but greater fuel efficiency standards in North America and Europe will help to offset it.  Add in the extra supply, and we’re laughing for the next 20 years!

            The United States, at least, will certainly be better off.  But Canada has put all its eggs in one energy-rich basket.  We’ve weathered the recession better than others in large part because we had big oil to fall back on.  While Ontario struggled, western Canada flourished thanks to the oil sands and new oil finds in Saskatchewan.  Both sides could be struggling soon.

If oil drops below $50 a barrel, oil sands lose their profitability, and everyone will go back home to Newfoundland.

It will also temper growth in Saskatchewan.  The province has become more and more dependent upon its resources for revenue, with its budgets and spending growing by leaps and bounds since the resource boom began in 2005.  A return to the days of $30 a barrel oil would be disastrous for the government and the economy.

            Good times may not be here to stay.

            Only a couple years ago analysts were suggesting the commodity boom would last forevermore until the last drop of oil was sucked out of the earth.  Energy-producing countries therefore had nothing to worry about.  While commodities may never be as cheap as they once were, the next decade could prove to be a tough one for Canada if our southern neighbour becomes the next Saudi Arabia.

            It may be tough for resource-rich regions, but great for the rest of the world.  Not only may energy become cheaper, but so will food.  Cheap energy benefits the poor, and can move many millions out of poverty.  Cheaper energy will also (hopefully) limit the conflicts in oil-rich regions of the world. 

            Let us hope we don’t squander this opportunity.  If it indeed comes to pass that we can fill up a tank at 53 cents a litre again (might be a bit too optimistic here), let’s continue down the path of energy efficiency and conservation, as if peak oil is around the corner. This is a golden opportunity to reduce our dependency on fossil fuels that could have been realized decades ago.

            But who am I kidding?  Human nature being as it is, we’re likely to guzzle the cheap energy like there’s no tomorrow.

            That is, if there’s a tomorrow.... (cue doomsday music)

The real meaning of Halloween

            This post is a little after the fact, but I felt inspired…

We tend to forget the true meaning of Halloween as we grow older.  My five-year-old reminded me again this year what it’s really all about.

It’s not about the costumes.  At her age, there’s no competition among peers to see who has the best costume.  Just slap on a mask and go! 

            It’s not about the thrill of being scared.  After visiting a Halloween costume store last year with our daughter, we quickly learned after a few sleepless nights that this will never happen again.

            It’s not about the Halloween school events – the bobbing for apples (do people still do that?!), the best-costume competitions, and the much underappreciated haunted classroom tour.

            No, Halloween isn’t about the thrill of being scared, dressing up in a costume, or even having a half-day off at school.  What is it all about?  It’s about the loot.  Everything else is all fun and good, but it all comes down to the night’s candy haul.  There is only one day of the year when complete strangers will open up their homes to kids and load heaps of candy into their greedy little hands.  All they have to say is “trick-or-treat.”  That’s Halloween.

My child and her loot... soon to be locked away!

            I got to re-live that again this year, as I took my daughter around our neighbourhood.  West Regina at 8:00 pm on October 31 – for me, a farm boy, this is the big leagues.  It’s at this point in the night when homeowners start to literally shovel the candy out onto their doorsteps.  In a neighbourhood that typically doesn’t have a lot of trick-or-treaters, it’s a bonanza.  We’re talking wads of candy.  And my daughter knew it.  She couldn’t get enough of it.  Even though, in her little subconscious, she knew her stringent parents would lock most of that candy away soon after, she wanted more.  We had only to hit ten houses before her candy pail was ready for a dump and re-load.  Five more houses and she would have enough candy for herself (and her parents) for the rest of the year.

This is much different than when I grew up.  When I was a kid, we had to work hard for our loot. There were no handfuls of candy plopped into our bags.  You had to build your cache one Tootsie Roll at a time.  If you happened to get a bag of chips, you had hit the jackpot.  There were no bags of candy and toys.  This was Halloween, for goodness sake, not Christmas!  We walked through blizzards, through five-foot snow banks, through -30 degree wind chills.  The fake blood painted on our faces would turn into real blood, painfully pealing the skin off our tender cheeks.  But we would move onward, visiting every single house in Laird, in hopes of an even greater haul than last year.

            We live in different times, but the quest is still the same – to fill that pillow case full of tooth-decaying sugary goods faster than ever before.

            That’s what Halloween is all about.