The Bean Belt
I was cutting the ends of green string beans today getting ready for a dinner party of eight. They reminded me of the great venture of my parents who moved to BC from the small prairie town they lived in where my dad was the station agent. The rules of the railroad were that transfer to a new province meant a complete loss of seniority for three months so he had to take the bottom of the barrel. They had a family of three boys with them and little money or income so they lived in a comfortable barn in Chilliwack on friends property and he bicycled to work at Port Mann at 5 am. My mother and my brother Ken worked on the bean belt sorting beans all day. The month that he arrived he was short before payday and he phoned me where I was working in Rupert on my summer job to see if I could send him fifteen dollars. I didn't have any idea how to do it. That day he rode his bicycle back to Chilliwack to wait for mother and Ken to finish on the bean belt. He sat by the door where they worked on a large empty oil can he found, to wait. The boss of the bean belts found him there sitting relaxing in the sun and said to him, "Fellow, you are fired. Go and pick up your time and don't come back." My dad said to him, "I'm not working here." He said, "Fellow I already told you that." It wasn't that easy coming to British Columbia.
.drain the real swamp
Someone should stick a firecracker up Robert Mueller's ass to hurry him up because his country is going down the drain fast and circling around it with ever increasing speed. The hinge of fate is becoming thinner and thinner as Mr. Mueller deliberates and the country is dangling on that thin hinge.They have too many bloody lawyers in that country who mistake casuistry for truth and equivocate endlessly, each spinning on a dime. They seem to have conflated legality now with moral and ethical so the latter two have been subsumed. Mueller's opposition is a little like the Office of Circumlocution and an army of Mr. Tite Barnacles. At least this is the view from my eighty three year old brain.
September 13th, 2017
Being rich doesn't mean you are not a jackass. ( Measure for Measure Act 111 Scene 1 Vincentio the Duke to Claudio ---for like an ass whose back with heavy ingots bows--- etcetera) . Bill Shakespeare seems to get it right, most of the time.
The year prior to our arrival at Lotus Island the preserve and protect activists blew up the barge containing the sewer pipes destined for the outfall in Ganges harbour. This is an implementation of the principle that violence is acceptable if the cause is good. We were promised that Price Road Beach would not have big turds floating over to us if the sewering of Ganges was stopped, and the clams, oysters and crabs that were in abundance would not get Hepatitis A and neither would we. However despite that encounter new pipes were laid and the outfall activated in the harbour at the 7 fathom point. Thirty five years later we never enountered a big turd on the beach, the butter and little neck clams, Japanese oysters and crabs never got Hepatitis A and our family was preserved and protected from the outfall, the bombers not withstanding.