“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Quote from sonnet written in 1883 by Emma Lazarus, a New Yorker,
which is inscribed on the Statue of Liberty in the New York Harbour.
The Times They Are A-Changing…
Song by Bob Dylan released in 1964.
Today, there are over 89 million refugees in the world. The most since World War II.
Look down the barrel of a gun
What stares back at you
Way down lies death, steely, insinuated
In between life’s nothingness
Quickly diminished.
Look into your future
Threatening deep depression
Your own death at its end
The dreaded nothing in-between
Grossly accentuated.
written by a very young Hans Muller
Hans was a teenaged, non-practicing very assimilated Jew living in Austria when he penned this poem. It was written in German and he said it rhymes better that way.
A Nazi officer had pointed a gun in Hans’ face and ordered him to go to a nearby headquarters to scrub and clean an office. Did Hans have a choice? Being precise, the officer gave him a paper stating he HAD given that ‘service’. Hans showed it to me. Obviously, we haven’t learned much since WWII. Hatred continues in many ways.
Hans did survive and escaped to the USA, where he served in army Intelligence. His language skills, German — French — Italian — Spanish — English and goodness knows what else, served his adopted country well. He witnessed starving prisoners being released from German Death Camps, but managed to put it behind him.
Recently patrons at the only gay bar in beautiful (and very conservative) Colorado Springs found a gun pointed at themselves. Five were killed, seventeen wounded. Their crime? Either being born as part of the LGBTQ community or straight friends and relatives of same.
A new year begins. An opportunity to all of us to be better. How about loving each other just because. We need not be so insecure that we pretend others aren’t as good as we are because of whatever colour, religion, or being born just who they are.
Let our New Year’s resolution be to celebrate the wonderful differences that make life so much more interesting.
And while we’re at it, pray for an end to all those many guns getting into the wrong hands.
While being spoiled rotten by my kids and loving it, a neighbour from home emailed about a new form called ‘ArriveCAN’ I needed to complete.
Son Rafi photographed all my papers, completed it and printed an important-looking page for me to turn in at the border.
Simple right? Wrong! Officials didn’t care about it. I think they hadn’t a clue what it was. I was glad I had carried all my documents.
The stupidest part? Flying from anywhere in the US to the U.S., no tests are required. (Daughter Susan did just that to join us.) I, however, crossing the Canadian border, needed another COVID test. Cost: $301. U.S. Why the $1.?? It SEEMS ridiculous!
My direct flight home being cancelled, I had to fly from San Francisco to Seattle. The plane was full. Those debarking in Seattle had NOT been tested. They wore masks, removed while snacking and drinking, etc. How safe was that??? My second plane from Seattle to Canada had few passengers. (How many nuts like me are there?)
Arriving at my own airport, I made my way past one guy after another (All male. In uniform. More intimidating???) showing each ALL my documents.
Finally one said: “You’re good to go,’ Yeah! I was tired.
The next guy, however, decided I must take another COVID test ‘tomorrow’. Exhausted, I accepted the box, dragged myself home and crashed.
Next morning: I read the instructions and panicked. I was to make a video of myself taking the test??? Are they kidding? I don’t know how to do that! Plus, I’m to take another test in 6 days.
I immediately called the number given and while a machine kept telling me how important I was, held for about 2 hours, thinking about that $5,000 fine someone got for not following instructions upon return. Finally, someone answered and asked me to hold.
‘Please, don’t disconnect me…’
He came back. He’d be putting me on hold again for awhile. He needed to find out what I was to do. I waited nervously. Finally, he said to take the test and dial 1-888-744-7123 for Purolator to pick it up. This I did. Purolator came and — refused to take it.
‘But that’s what I was just told to do! Please, please call your supervisor,’ I begged. He reluctantly did. No dice. Why? Why?
’We didn’t get the contract. FedEx did. You have to call them.’
Time was passing. I was getting terrified. $5,000??? I called FedEx.
They WOULD pick it up — that day!!! And did! Whew!
I ate some cold beans right out of the can, (fridge was empty) took the phone off the hook so I wouldn’t be disturbed, and slept.
Next post: With my kids…
I find interesting stuff when I look through my files. I just came on a column I wrote in 1992 which my then-editor called: ‘Prejudice and bigotry return’. Why did I write it?? Maybe it was because Kim Campbell, as Minister of Justice, declared we don’t have prejudice in Canada and I wondered what planet she lived on. It was also probably a time when the economy was hurting and when things are bad, bad stuff happens.
Growing up in Montreal when I did, we were the wrong faith and suffered for it, however I wasn’t even aware of the racism suffered by our small black community. It was only en-route to Los Angeles by bus in my late teens that I learned about the extent of discrimination against blacks in the U.S. and was appalled.
I want to share this column with you because of the present pandemic, the depressed economy, and ‘Black Lives Matter’ demonstrators trying so hard to fight racism which, unfortunately, still thrives.
Here’s what I wrote in March, 1992:
‘Unfortunately prejudice and bigotry don’t go away. They continue to fester just under the skin and as soon as trouble hits, like right now, the disease surfaces and again, we’ve lost our dignity. Neo-nazism proliferates in newly united Germany and foreigners everywhere are attacked by hoodlums.
The Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith reports a record number of anti-Semitic incidents in the U.S. during 1991. Meanwhile in Canada, 12-year old native hockey players are not welcomed in Quebec families’ homes. Two Rotarians stalk out when their club, God help us, accepts a female member.
Women and children suffer the consequences of male frustration caused by unemployment. Crisis centres are overloaded with calls from the bruised and battered.’
The article is too long to ask you to read it all so I’ll end it here. It could have been written right now. Don’t you agree?
SATIRE: (noun) The use of humour, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people’s stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary topical or political issues.
Daughter Susan
Daughter Susan is puzzled by the attitudes of some U.S. citizens in the midst of the horrifying number of COVID:19 cases in their country. She wrote and shared this satire with me and I’m sharing it with you.
Hi Maughm: A little satire for you, inspired by thinking about people who refuse to wear masks in public…
‘I love America and I love Freedom. I don’t believe that the government has a right to tell me what to do and what not to do. I am completely capable of making my own decisions regarding what is good for me and for those around me. If you don’t like it, well, you don’t love this country and you’re a damn Socialist so you should go live in China.
I enjoy shooting guns in the air
Some people try to tell me not to do the things it is my god-given right to do. For example, I really enjoy shooting guns into the air. Sure, the bullets might hurt some people now and again as they come down, but they’re unlikely to die. Besides, more people die each year from the flu than from people firing bullets into the air, so why worry? If some stupid sheeple who love Big Government breathing down their necks are scared of my shooting, they can just choose to stay home.
People also often object to my choice to drink
Seat belts — never wear one
before and while driving. That is just ridiculous! Yeah, some drunk drivers might hit and kill people, but more people die each year from the flu than from drunk drivers, so why should I be denied this enjoyable activity? And don’t get me started on seat belts — never wear one, never would, even when I’m sober.
I also don’t want my kids wearing seatbelts. I’m raising them to be strong, independent Americans, and they need to understand how valuable our freedoms are. You force someone to wear a seat belt, the next thing you know they’re calling you comrade and forcing you into a health care program that allows everyone to get treatment when they need it without losing their home from the bills. That is just un-American!
Speaking of my kids, I also don’t buy into that government regulation crap about kids needing to be 16 to drive. My kids might not be able to see over the steering wheel yet, but that’s no reason to deprive them of their freedoms. They’ll probably only hit the old people who can’t get out of the way fast enough, or those slowed down by pre-existing health conditions, so who cares? Besides, the idea that young children are too immature to drive responsibly is a hoax the Democrats thought up to hurt our beloved president. All those statistics and articles in the media about young drivers killing people are FAKE NEWS!’
Many important issues were covered on Broadway in those 1930s musicals — issues which society would not have been comfortable confronting in other ways. Just as comedy was, and continues to be, used to help us deal with the unbearable, musicals often presented audiences with differing views than their own. Audiences were thus encouraged to look at and rethink their own attitudes.
‘Porgy and Bess’ the first and only opera created by the famous American Gershwin brothers, was written and first performed in 1935. Unfortunately, George died of a brain tumor in 1937, so no more operas followed. The magnificent songs alone make it worth seeing, however, this masterpiece is so much more than only beautiful music.
Eric Owens is Porgy and Angel Blue performs Bess (The Gershwins would have been pleased by the casting)
George Gershwin, 1898-1937
The Gershwin brothers, whose parents
Ira Gershwin, 1896-1983
immigrated to the U.S. from Russia, like my own — for good reason, well understood discrimination, prejudice, antisemitism — and racism. For this opera, they insisted that all performers appearing in black roles, be black. This at a time when opera singers in the U.S. were white only and using white performers in black face was common.
Marian Anderson 1897-1993
Contralto Marian Anderson waited until 1955 to be able to perform in a Metropolitan Opera. Before that, she performed in concerts in Europe.
The libretto of Porgy and Bess, set in 1920‘s South Carolina, makes a powerful statement regarding the vulnerability of the black community’s attempts at survival. All this years before Dr. Martin Luther King came along. Shamefully, the struggle still continues today.
But, if all you want are songs, Porgy and Bess has glorious songs: ‘Summertime’. ‘It Ain’t Necessarily So’, ‘I Got Plenty O’Nothin’, and then some. Definitely worth seeing! (I saw the Metropolitan’s Live Broadcast at a local theatre, and yes, all black roles were performed by black artists — as the Gershwins would have wanted..)
WE need to build a wall…
Just got back this week from California. Had a grand time there with loved ones who treated me royally. Bless their hearts. How I love them and appreciate their consideration and kindness.
Still, there was a strange feeling of unease in the air. Something’s going on….
Trump’s wall south of the US
California is short of water again and that’s no joke. Residents are being careful with the precious stuff while the state is dealing with wild fires. Folks have had to evacuate and some even lost their homes.
People are losing their homes
I, myself, saw burned down trees and brush right off the freeway we were driving on in the San Fernando Valley. It was also hot, which they tried to hide from me with air-conditioning, but they couldn’t fool me. I’m too smart for them.
Avocados need a lot of water
California grows much of the fruits and veggies we in Canada buy. Those groves of trees and fields of veggies need water. Lots and lots of it. Luscious avocados, so popular
Lettuce fields need to be watered
with us now, need to be watered 2-3 times a week. Lettuce fields need to be watered. I just told you they’re short of that liquid. Where do you think they’ll try to get it from?
Aha! Think man think!
Not difficult to cross this border
Naturally, they’ll declare war on Canada so they can get their unwashed hands on our glorious, clear water!
Listen, just maybe that’s the real reason why Trump withdrew his U.S. troops from Turkey and Syria — because he wants them at home so they can be well-trained and ready to invade his northern neighbor and grab possession of our lakes and rivers! Then, he’ll build a few golf courses to rub it in.
WE need to build a wall…
We must stop this disaster from happening. WE need to build a wall along our southern border — and the US should pay for it. What’s fair is fair, right?
P.S. I apologize to all my dear American friends. Just couldn’t resist being naughty.
Going through old papers, I found a letter written to my family after I rode a mule down (and up) the Grand Canyon in the 1950s. Only a stupid youngster like me (who had never even been near a horse) could do such a crazy thing….
Enjoy reading it.
Believe it or not, that’s my name in faded ink proving I actually did this
Dear everyone:
Shirley and I were in the saddle from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. today with only one short break at the bottom of the Grand Canyon for a box lunch. Are we ever sore — and you know where. Surprised? Well, no one is more surprised than I am. This is the most foolhardy thing I’ve ever done. Of course, I’d no idea what I was letting myself in for….
The magnificent Grand Canyon
It’s six miles down and six miles up a steep, narrow trail with sharp turns. Looking down, I worried about the mule, but then more about myself. Often I just had to close my eyes and trust in God.
We were eight daring souls and a guide, as for me, a good part of the battle was just getting up onto the mule for the first time. After a while, I got used to the movement and even the height. But when we got down to the bottom for lunch, our guide helped me down, asked if I was okay, I said sure, and my cramped legs collapsed under me. Still, it was a great experience and left such an impression I’m so sore I can hardly sit.
Ready to go. That’s me right in front of the last man up on top. He’d whip my mule when we slowed down.
My trusty steed was Howard, who made me feel as if I should carry him instead of him carrying me. Sometimes he slipped on the rocks, always preferred walking right at the edge of the narrow trail, and stubborn as a mule, wouldn’t budge from there.
Our group on the trail
Shirley’s mule was Eva, who nibbled on every patch of green we passed. On one of the stops we made climbing up to allow the animals to rest, Eva leaned way over the cliff for a snack. Terrified, Shirley, who thought the dumb mule was going down, jumped off. She landed on the ground right under Eva, frightening the poor animal which darted about upsetting everyone.
Nothing would make my Howard run. (*We were right behind Shirley.) He was merely startled and a quick pull on the reins and a real western ‘Whoa’ put him in check. Our guide, however, was furious. True, it could have been a deadly accident. Shirley didn’t want to get back on Eva and I can’t blame her, but it would have been a long, hot, three mile hike straight up. She had no choice.
Me on Howard
Howard begrudged me every step. I wondered why the guides kept teasing me. From way up, I’d hear them yell: ‘Get on there Howard!’ Afterwards I asked and was told Howard had always been the laziest thing they’d ever seen. I didn’t mind that and Howard and I got along famously. The only disadvantage was that we kept falling behind and I hated to whip him. The guy behind me would get fed up with us both and give Howard such a lash on his backside, he’d go flying with me hanging onto my Genuine $2 Stetson, my eyes closed, praying for all I was worth.
In this color photo of another group, you can see how narrow and steep the trail is.
The picture I sent you today was taken before we started down the Canyon. We all look cool and neat. I took a snapshot after we returned — big difference. We were covered from head to toe in brick-red, white, yellow and gray dirt. I had so much gray in my hair, our guide teased me about being so frightened I‘d turned gray. Tonight, I see what he was talking about.
After the fabulous Grand Canyon, we arrived in Flagstaff, showered the filth off, washed it out of our hair, and now feel better. We had planned to go Las Vegas tonight, but need to recuperate. Don’t laugh, you would too.
With a very tender rear, I bid all goodnight. I’m having the time of my life.
Regards and love to all,
Muriel
photo by my Chandra
I don’t get sick often, but I did so now and this whatever-it-is is a humdinger. It’s so attached to me, it’s reluctant to leave. As a result, here I am stuck indoors and fighting cabin fever.
Years ago, I recall thinking it would be great to be sick for a little while, comfortably tucked in my comfy bed with a good book and hot coffee and tissues within reach. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. When I have a cold, my eyes are so bleary, reading isn’t the pleasure it usually is, or as I imagined it would be when ill. I admit I spent most of my time this week just watching Netflix.
A book certainly worth a read
I was deeply involved in reading H.G. Wells’ ‘The War of the Worlds’, which I had picked up with my grandson, Remy, in mind. (Remy consumes books the way some children consume sweets.) Because Remy is eleven, I like to pre-read the books I buy him before I pass them on. I could hardly put this book down. I had heard of ‘The War of the Worlds’ but had never read it, yet i seemed to know what it was about. How come?
The successful H. G. Wells wrote over 100 books
It took my clever son, Rafi, to solve that puzzle. When we discussed the book by phone, he immediately referred to Orson Welles’ famous 1938 radio broadcast, which I had, indeed, heard of even though I was too young to hear it.
The young Orson Wells broadcasting in 1938
That realistic radio dramatization of ‘The War of the
One of many headlines in 1938
Worlds’ created a nationwide panic throughout America. Many believed the world WAS being attacked by Martians. Orson Welles, all of 23 at the time, and his Mercury Theatre, had decided to update the story. The results were shocking.
The original book, which I’ve about finished, is
H.G. Wells, 1866-1946
shocking as well, considering it was published in 1898, long before astronauts, space exploration, and so many other modern technologies were even thought of. Perhaps ‘The War of the Worlds’ IS the original alien invasion story.
Dame Rebecca West considered Wells the love of her life
In trying to learn more on the Internet, I am told Mr. Wells. a most successful science fiction writer, had a ‘scandalous sex life’, was comfortable with committing adultery, and believed in free sex! Mr. Google, willing to gossip, said Mr. Wells once claimed ‘Sex is as necessary as fresh air.’
If I felt better today, knowing me, you can be sure I’d be checking further into all this. You know what a ‘histerical’ (I just made up that word) gossip I am, but since I’m only now getting better, I’ll leave checking into his many love affairs up to you.
Happy hunting…..
Terror after Orson Wells’ radio presentation in 1938
photo by my Chandra
I’m trying to eliminate clutter. It’s my true effort to become a thoughtful parent. Unfortunately, I find it almost impossible when it comes to my files.
Tackling one of the thick folders of correspondence from my late friend
Hans. He was a lot of fun…
Hans, I re-read one of his letters and just couldn’t bring myself to dispose of it. It is too funny. Right behind it was the following poem he wrote to Christopher Columbus. If you were me, could you toss it out?
‘What I always wanted to say to Chris but was afraid to’
by Hans Muller
‘Mister Christopher Columbus
Christopher Columbus, by Granger. I doubt he was much fun.
you’re in history’s vein a thrombus
which, on wide spread urgery
should be removed by surgery.
By Soviet-style complete excision
lest history’s held up to derision
occasioned by your sine-qua-
non mis-historical faux-pas.
What befogged your addled brain?
There was no smog or acid rain,
no radio or T.V. commercial,
nothing crass or controversial
to have made you cause such terror
by your gross baptismal error,
christening our natives ‘Indian’.
Did you hear them speaking Hindi-an?
Did you see them wearing saris?
Your fraudulence tops Mata Hari’s.
Had odes been sung in Amerindian,
not Shakespearean or Pindian,
but sung in praise of Red Man’s Gods,
you’d probably call those odes odds.
You would call a square a rhombus,
wouldn’t you, Signor Columbus?
You’d misquote the works of Homer,
The Nina (Santa Clara), Pinta (Spanish for ‘the painted one’ (prostitute), and Santa Maria
you champion of the crass misnomer.
No more of your mumbo-jumbo
Don Chistoforo Columbo.
I shall ask the nearest cop
to jail you, Mister Malaprop
for the lies with which you bomb us,
Mister Christopher Columbus.
*Hans, who could speak/read about five languages, had no problem making up words in any of them. He believed in having fun.
View from Over the Hill 