Rod McQueen's Blog, page 19

Shelter from the storm

Since mid-March, my partner and I have been sheltering at her farm 90 minutes north of Toronto. We make brief trips back into the city, but this is where we’ve spent most of our time. A stay of such duration allowed us to see spring arrive in all its splendour. For example, we could admire a wide variety of wildflowers that came and went during our daily walks in the woods, including trout lily, Dutchman’s breeches, and a carpet of trilliums.

Returning bird life included olive-sided flycatcher, Baltimore oriole, brown thrasher, red-eyed vireo, Eastern bluebird, and a pair of hooded mergansers that visited the pond. Alas, there was but one warbler. They were late this year so when you could hear them there were too many leaves on the trees to be able to see them. However, the one I did see was the common yellowthroat, my favourite, the one that says “wichety, wichety.”

We have also been treated to three types of mating rituals. The least enthusiastic were two Northern flickers that sat a metre apart on a fence taking turns looking at each other and hunching their shoulders, like Presbyterians trying to dance. The male ruby-throated hummingbird was the most spectacular. Imagine a skateboarder on a halfpipe going up one side, back down, and then up to the top of the other side, repeating numerous times. At the highest point the hummer was fifteen feet off the deck, trying to impress the female at the feeder with his prowess. Most recently, we sat quietly for some minutes watching out the window as fireflies in the darkness flashed their green lights. We were even able to stand among the bioluminescence without disturbing the process.

Of larger animals there have been plenty of comings and goings: the tracks in the snow of a moose and its calf as well as sightings of opossum, porcupine, raccoon, white-tailed deer and groundhog. In the early darkness, coyotes howl. But, most of all, there has been peace and quiet. Good health and happiness to all.

Lessons of history

In Italy, where coronavirus has hit the hardest among European nations, the country is all but shut down. Italy is used to such quarantines. In fact, the very word has its origin in Venice. During a plague in the 14th century the port city forced all ships to wait forty days – quaranta giorni – before passengers and crews could disembark.

Another Italian city followed with even broader precautions during the Middle Ages. The February 20 issue of the London Review of Books includes a review of a book by John Henderson called Florence Under Siege: Surviving the Plague in an Early Modern City. Published last July by Yale University Press, the book focuses on an epidemic that began in 1629 when Florence was burying the dead by the hundreds in pits outside the city walls. In response, meetings and team sports were forbidden, churches and schools were closed, taverns and inns shuttered.

The officials of the Sanita, the city’s health board, punished those who didn’t obey the shutdown, but they also took other action. They provided remedies – such as they were – and delivered firewood and food directly to the doors of households. There was bread and wine daily, meat three days a week, rice and cheese on three other days, and a salad on Friday. The city bore all costs.

When the plague finally ended in the summer of 1631, Florentines emerged en masse to participate in a Corpus Christi procession of thanks to God. About 12 percent of the population had died. But the death rate was far lower than in other Italian cities. In Venice it was 33 percent, Milan 46 percent, and Verona 61 percent. Asks the reviewer: “Was the disease less virulent in Florence or did the Sanita’s measures work?”

To my mind, the answer is obvious. The more sweeping the response, the better the outcome. These days, we seem to be leaving action mostly to the private sector as sports events and concerts are cancelled or curtailed and university classes ended in favour of online learning. As the pandemic worsens, governments of every level will have to intervene more powerfully in all activities, including care and feeding. The alternative, more deaths, is too severe to consider.

Nowhere man

Some men grow a beard on holiday, but think better of it when they get home, and shave it off. Not Justin Trudeau. He thinks a vacation beard can change him. In fact, the beard has rendered his life untenable. He no longer knows who he is.

Until now, Justin’s life has been ever-so-easy; he was Pierre Trudeau’s son. People praised him even when there was no reason. Being in the public eye so much, Justin became all about the performance arts. He was like Robert Redford playing the all-American boy in “The Way We Were” when Barbra Streisand asks, “Do you smile all the time?”

As a result of this privileged background, Justin never learned how to lead, how to attain goals by working with and through others. He can’t even seem to speak smoothly in public any more. At the mic, his sentences are punctuated with short, stuttering intakes of breath. Surely a former drama teacher should know that he has to breathe deep from his diaphragm. Even his wife, Sophie Grégoire, doesn’t seem to want to appear with him in public. When was the last time you saw her at his side?

What little gravitas he enjoyed left long ago with principal secretary Gerry Butts. Justin now has nothing to offer other than this quixotic mission to put Canada into a non-permanent seat on the UN security council. As for halted commerce across the land, hereditary chiefs who can talk forever because to them time is like a blanket with no end, it is becoming apparent that Justin will be a two-term prime minister. Come the next election, he will cede his job to Chrystia Freeland, and disappear from daily view.

The past is present

The problem with the blockades that have halted economic activity from Vancouver to Montreal is not the hereditary chiefs or the listless Ottawa crowd. No, the problem is that Canada is stuck in the nineteenth century. We have always been hewers of wood and drawers of water, shipping our birthright – usually to American buyers – rather than create as many jobs at home as we could. Instead of spending billions on pipelines to feed others, why not build a refinery in Alberta that uses Western oil and yields consumer products from synthetic fibres to plastics, tires to crayons?

To be sure, there have been a few shining lights along the way. BlackBerry looked like an international player for a while until it was toppled by the launch of the iPhone. But you can count on one hand the number of Canadian-based global manufacturing firms that have existed during the life of this country. With less than one-third of the population of Canada, Sweden has such powerhouse firms as Ericsson, Volvo, Electrolux and H&M, among others.

There have been too few cases of launching something new. The Medical and Related Sciences (MaRS) Discovery District in Toronto combusted after Dr. John Evans sold a company to a U.S. buyer that started shipping product back to Canada. In response, Evans and others invested seed money, won government funding and then bought the land and erected the building that now has numerous tenants seeking to be the next Big Thing.

MaRS has had financial issues, now solved, but we need more such forward-looking entrepreneurs who are willing to put their own money into an entity and stay the course. Otherwise, all we’ll ever do is ship our natural resources out of the country in their raw state. And foolishly waste time fighting amongst ourselves rather than building a better tomorrow.

Running on empty

Saturday’s Globe and Mail contained shocking details about an athletics coach who allegedly groomed Megan Brown for sex beginning when she was a 17-year-old high school student. The relationship continued after she enrolled at the University of Guelph and trained under his tutelage. In 2006, her father informed the university about what was going on; nothing happened. Once the details were published last weekend, the university suddenly found its voice and apologized on its website that same day for the “deeply troubling” article. The coach, Dave Scott-Thomas, has denied any wrongdoing.

On Monday, university president Franco Vaccarino emailed Brown with an apology. The school also issued one of those all-points-bulletins along the lines of “if anyone else suffered ….” Why not a personal visit to Brown ? Or a scholarship in her name? Anything to suggest that the University of Guelph will forever honour Brown and her travails.

I grew up in Guelph and I’m embarrassed about these circumstances even though I haven’t lived in the city since 1963 when I went off to the University of Western Ontario. Anybody with anything to do with the University of Guelph – students, faculty, alumni – all must feel ashamed on some level. And so it is that institutions lose their lustre, a sad situation that diminishes respect on a wide-ranging basis.

None of this marks the end of civilization as we know it, but it certainly represents the decline of civility in society today. Or have similar incidents been going on for centuries? The Roman orator Cicero repeatedly deplored what was happening in the world around when he said in speeches: “O tempora! O mores!” (Oh, the times! Oh, the customs!) But still, every once in a while a revelation comes along that troubles you on a deeper level. The blandishments of the misguided can all too often bring much misery to others.

 

 

 

 

Arrivederci

Since I waxed on at some length in a recent blog post about Eataly, it’s only fair to tell you what’s happened to the new Toronto hotspot. The patient lineups outside are long gone. Indeed, you can arrive at 6 p.m. and get a table for two in La Pizza e La Pasta. You can even make an online reservation, something that was not permitted in the early days. These are all advancements from the point of view of the customer.

Other changes, however, are not so welcome. During the opening, staff was buttressed by top people from other Eatalys who were on hand to help. One woman, who usually worked in the U.S., was a hostess, taking names and texting people an hour later when their table was available. Despite the pressure, she was cheerful and efficient. As another employee served diners it was apparent that he knew a lot about food and was happy to share his knowledge.

I’ve been back to Eataly with various people three or four times since and it’s all been downhill since that November opening. The professionals have gone back to their respective homes. The hostess at the desk doesn’t seem happy to see you; you’re just a couple of bodies to process. Wait staff is glum; no one comes to check whether or not you like your meal a few minutes after it’s been served.

On Sunday night, a new low was reached. We’d ordered a Buffalotta to share. The pizza arrived quickly, almost too quickly. The server was gone before I realized it was cold. I caught the server’s attention and asked for a reheat. She took it away and returned saying that’s how it’s served. They prepare the crust and then layer on the prosciutto, arugula and basil, cold and uncooked. Whatever heat there had been in the crust had dissipated. Foolishly, we ate it, and suffered the consequences the next morning. Some specialty items in the food hall are worth the trip, but we won’t be going back to eat a meal anytime soon.

The Peter Principle

Unless some business leader or rock star suddenly steps forward, the major candidates for leader of the Conservative Party have all announced. I hesitate to call them losers but they certainly don’t look like winners. All of the more promising possibilities took a pass for various personal and professional reasons: Lisa Raitt, Jean Charest, Rona Ambrose, Rod Phillips and the two Mulroney siblings, Caroline and Mark.

The party is left with Peter MacKay, Erin O’Toole, and a couple of even lesser-knowns. Andrew Scheer is beginning to look pretty good. He spoke decent French, which while denigrated at the time, is better than anyone whose hat is currently in the ring. Moreover, Scheer is a proven vote-getter, scoring more votes in the 2019 election than Brian Mulroney did in his 1984 sweep. If only Scheer’s kids didn’t attend private school maybe he’d still be leader today.

How important is French? Sometimes it doesn’t matter at all. John Diefenbaker’s French was non-existent but he still managed to win two-thirds of the seats in Quebec in 1958. Jack Layton spoke French, but was that really the reason he did so well in 2011, winning fifty-nine out of seventy-five seats in Quebec? The Parti Québécois just soared from ten seats to thirty-two in the most recent election because that’s how Quebecers vote; they flow en masse from hither to yon.

The real question is, why hasn’t Peter MacKay spent time learning French during his political life? MacKay’s recent declaration of his candidacy for leader demonstrated a total inability in French. He was a Member of Parliament for almost twenty years and held several cabinet posts. During that time, a tutor could have regularly come to his office at public expense. Or what about his last five years in the private sector. No time then either? For me, MacKay’s lack of French is just another sign that he’s a non-starter for prime minister. If he can’t make plans for himself, he can’t make plans for the country.

The tipping point

Tipping in restaurants used to be pretty predictable. You’d automatically add 15 percent to the bill, or if the service were excellent, you might bump it up to 20 percent. I do like the fact that these days a machine is presented so your credit card doesn’t leave your hand. In the paper-based system of the past, I always wondered when my card disappeared whether someone was making an extra copy for later use to buy a flight to Paris.

But along with this newfound safety comes a catch. The machine offers a selection of various percentage tip amounts and there has been a steady inflation in the choices. What used to be 15 percent grew to 18 percent and I’m now seeing 20 percent as the favoured option. Of course, “other” is also offered, but somehow we’ve all been shamed into not choosing that possibility. We’re just happy we got through the various steps required to complete the card reader transaction. And all of this higher mathematics includes another bit of foolishness because you’re basing your tip on not just the food and drink but a total that includes the HST.

And why do we just tip waiters? I tip my barber, but the sales clerk who helps you choose clothing gets no gratuity, neither does the garage mechanic who installs your snow tires. And, here’s the worst part. Too many waiters don’t even look at your tip amount – generous or otherwise – and say “thank you.” If only you knew in advance, you could base your tip on the waiter’s response as well as the quality of service.

I prefer what happens in Florence where some restaurants operate on a system known as percentuale. The staff meets every morning to share 12 percent of the previous day’s revenue, including tips on credit cards. The amount each receives is taxable but the arrangement means that everyone cares about how well their colleagues perform. Most other places in that Italian city don’t like you to add the tip to the credit card payment. The protocol is that you pay the bill and then separately give the waiter cash so there’s little likelihood of paying tax. And, in Italy, where being a waiter is an honoured profession, you always get a grazie and a smile.

 

Songs of the heart

We spent some time over New Year’s on a farm near Orillia amid snow and serenity. Our only visitors were birds hungry for seeds and suet. Among the more prominent: both nuthatches (red- and white-breasted), hairy and downy woodpeckers, Blue Jays, chickadees, juncoes and a pair of American goldfinches. Sometimes a pileated woodpecker joins with wild turkeys and numerous other friends, some of whom are currently enjoying southern climes.

I first became interested in birding while living in England in the 1980s. You grow up knowing the twenty birds that visit your backyard and, suddenly, you see birds around you that are unknown and unnamed. The tiny English Robin was the first on my life list that had grown to more than 100 species upon return to Canada. I got so keen that I would meet groups of local birders in the dark on Wimbledon Common at 3:30 a.m. so we could hear the dawn chorus as birds awoke and greeted the day with song starting well before sunrise.

There’s a study in the journal Science that says the number of birds in the United States and Canada has fallen by nearly three billion, or 30 percent, since 1970. Of course in the nineteenth century, it wouldn’t be unusual for a billion birds to fly over in one giant swarm on their way to or from nesting grounds so the numbers have been falling for a long while. It is also true that the number of Blue Jays and American crows in Toronto has never fully recovered from the West Nile virus that arrived in the 1990s.

Donald Trump blames wind turbines for everything from causing cancer to killing American eagles. His tirades hide the fact that some of his anti-conservation executive orders are killing many more birds than wind farms. Of course, feral cats kill millions of birds a year; humans in general contribute their atrocities as well. One day, we’ll awake, listen, and the dawn chorus will be no more. I’m not looking forward to that sound of silence.

CBC’s sad decline

So President Donald J. Trump has complained that CBC deleted his cameo appearance in the movie Home Alone 2: Lost in New York when it recently aired. He should be happy. Not appearing on CBC may actually be a good thing given the state of disrepair into which CBC has fallen. Despite receiving more than $1 billion a year in government funding (plus ad revenue) CBC cannot seem to mount much of anything on television that is both successful and good.

Take their latest offering that launched this month: Canadian Family Feud. Notice the careful use of the designation “Canadian” as if this show could be aired anywhere else. Tonight’s families, from Orillia, Ontario, and St. Bruno, Quebec, were unlikely to appear on the U.S version or in Australia, or any of the half dozen countries with Family Feud offerings. Interestingly, however, in none of those other countries does Family Feud appear on a public broadcasting network. If you never before heard of host Gerry Dee, apparently he finished third on the fifth season of Last Comic Standing.

Feud is not CBC’s only failing. News, once a CBC mainstay, is sinking from sight. Even with what must be a record-breaking four hosts on The National, CTV National News continues to draw a larger audience, just as it has for many years. At CBC they used to explain this away by saying, “Ah yes, but we always have a bigger audience on election night.” Perhaps in the past, but not for this most recent federal election, when CTV was the hands-down winner. Far fewer people were hanging onto every one of Rosemary Barton’s smart aleck remarks than she thought.

Maybe I’m just a grump, but I’ve never been able to understand the success of Schitt’s Creek. Stars Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara just seem world weary. Maybe that’s why the show’s sixth season, beginning next month, will be the last. Finally, CBC made the right call. I can only hope that some government, some day, ends funding for CBC-TV but continues supporting CBC Radio where the mandate – to inform, enlighten and entertain – is carried out with excellence and elan.