I had a different post scheduled for today, but I’ve postponed it to tomorrow to write a commentary on red versus white poppies for Remembrance Day. Yes, Remembrance Day was yesterday, and my brief post with the photo of the National War Memorial I took in 2005 and the stanza from Laurence Binyon’s poem was my short, solemn contribution.

Today is going to be more of a political rant, and aptly this blog is for “Things I think about or just find and want to share.” I had a short, inconclusive exchange on Facebook with a friend who’s in Montréal who chose to wear a white poppy as “a remembrance of everyone who has been affected by past wars (all sides involved, civilians, women, etc)”, which she believes is not the case for the red poppy, “indicative of the glorification of war”.

I certainly don’t believe that the red poppy glorifies war nor does it discount civilian casualties. And I don’t believe that anyone wearing a red poppy does so in support of war. The act of remembrance signified by the red poppy implicitly remembers everyone affected by past wars; certainly more so Canadians, in Canada. Explicitly, as seen on war memorials, are remembered soldiers who died, but that doesn’t neglect soldiers and civilians whose lives were irreparably altered by their experiences.

The white poppy, apparently, is a remembrance of everyone, all sides involved, including civilians, who has been affected by past wars and is also a bid for peace. I don’t see any new meaning there. I see a diluted message and confusion. With one symbol of remembrance everyone can believe what they want and be supported by everyone else. With two, there is now the idea that one is right and one is wrong. With both seemingly arguing the same point.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

— Laurence Binyon (1914)

Photo of a melting snow angel that I managed to snap last night on my way home. I don’t think she’ll survive the day.

Absolutely phenomenal. I first heard this the other day on CBC Radio Two Morning’s feature Under the Covers.

It was like something out of a nightmare. It was late, well past dark, when Carter rode the grulla stallion into the barn. The horse became skittish and Carter tried to soothe him with some gentle words. He dismounted and walked the still-bucking horse into his stall. That’s when he noticed that the other horses also seemed restless. Carter walked around the barn, looking for anything amiss, a fox, badger, skunk, anything that might spook the animals.

Something from Pa’s stories of the war started creeping into the back of Carter’s mind. What was it? Something— Oh. Of course.

Blood. Lots of blood. Pa was lying on his back in the only open stall. Blood was spattered around his mouth and flowing noticeably from a knife wound in his belly. He tried to speak, but only spit more blood down his chin.

Carter pulled the knife out of the wound and blood spewed and flowed over his hands, shirt, and pants. He grabbed for a saddle blanket that was draped over the stall wall and tried to put it around his Pa and staunch the blood at the same time. His Pa let out a long groan and was still. Carter dropped the blood-covered knife into the straw on the stall floor.

Clive arrived in Winslow, Arizona to begin work with Kent Gray, the head of security for the Santa Fe to Barstow line of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. Mr. Gray and Clive had first met in Magdalena, when Clive was a deputy sheriff and had ended the O’Handley Gang’s stagecoach robbing.

Mr. Gray had been impressed with the way Clive had worked out where the gang was holed up, and where they’d likely ambush the next stage. Clive was right and they’d carted the whole gang to the penitentiary in Yuma.

It hadn’t been a long trip from Magdalena to Winslow, but he’d had to change trains in Albuquerque. Clive had taken the opportunity to see the big city, he’d been told La Placita, the central plaza of Old Town Albuquerque, was something to see. The city was big and loud and busy, and Clive couldn’t see why anyone would bother with it, when you could be riding a horse across the desert and sleeping under the stars.

The first snowfall in Saskatoon. Really blowing around, wet, and heavy.

I posted a little while ago that university is maybe not for everyone. I didn’t use those words exactly, but that was the message. Recently on the bus to work, which is also the bus to the university, I overheard a student talking overly loudly (I almost suggested he could consider using his “inside voice”) about how he had failed many of his midterms and was generally failing most of his classes. He seemed frustrated that he was taking a geography class and was required to use math. He went on to explain that he had a brighter outlook for his third and fourth years, because he had heard that upper-year students get first pick of classes and then he could take classes that he wanted and would enjoy.

I’ll be the first to admit that perhaps my choice for a university education was ill-considered, but I worked and I tried and I didn’t complain that I was taking classes that I didn’t want. I wanted the degree, and I got it, and there were five years of suffering and frustration, hard work and disappointment.

If this student wants a certain degree, then he’ll have to suffer through the boring classes, the science or humanities classes, the lectures, tutorials, and labs that make up a university education. But I got the impression that he didn’t know what he wanted, or certainly wasn’t interested in taking classes or doing work that he didn’t want to do.

My words are probably falling on deaf ears, or I’m preaching to the choir, to employ some overused phrases, but I think this is whats wrong with higher education specifically and western society generally. This poor student has it in his mind that he should have a university degree or education, but isn’t willing to put in the effort to get it, and to do it right. This may have something to do with so-called millenial entitlement, but it has as much to do with managing expectations and providing appropriate advice.

I just hope that an academic advisor or even just a peer will ask this student why he’s at university and what he hopes to gain. If he doesn’t have an answer, then he may be able to save himself some anguish and several thousands of dollars.

(There was no Day 2, sorry.)

When he arrived at the livery, the stable boy took his horse and asked for his name. Being on the run, Carter knew he couldn’t use his own name, but what could he use? He needed something he could remember, and something he could use for a while, wherever he went. He didn’t want to use the name of anyone he knew, he wasn’t far enough from Sierra Blanca that someone might not know the person’s name he chose.

Why hadn’t he thought of something? People on the lam probably came up with a bunch of false names so they always had one ready. What was he going to say?

“Sir,” the boy asked again, “your name, sir?”

“Sorry, of course,” Carter stalled another moment.

Something his pa told him? Maybe something from his own initials? “Montgomery. Uhh, Clive. Clive Montgomery, boy,” Carter finally blurted. “Is there a register I have to sign?”

“No sir, Mister Montgomery. I’ll let the boss know the grulla’s yourn. It’s twenty cents a day for hay, thirty for oats. Will you be in town long?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Clive Montgomery answered before he walked out, back onto the main street.

Not a great post title, but it may have caught your attention. This is my last post spurred by Terry Fallis’ The Best Laid Plans. In the book, our protagonist, a rookie politician, tries to convince his constituents that the government’s mini-budget is a bad idea. This is doubly hard after he already broke from his own party to support the government’s Throne Speech. His point is quite simple: In a slowing economy, tax cuts to businesses do not create jobs, and tax cuts to individuals do not spur spending, but saving.

The problem is really that people are idiots and can’t see past their own short-term gain. Just before Christmas, the promise of more money in their pockets sounds fantastic. Except, regardless of when tax cuts come into effect, people won’t see that benefit for several months.

And in a slowing economy, governments need to spend money on paying unemployment insurance benefits, welfare, and Keynesian, public sector, capital projects. Reducing the tax revenue only puts a higher burden on government spending that will either result later in higher taxes or even further reduced government spending. These tax cut may appear to be good in the short-term, but they’re terrible in the long-term.

It drives me absolutely crazy when I hear people support short-term gains without considering the long-term damage.