The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

pC Nl eH '. Wong ek Se 4 ald -- Nod 0) pS CRIN - - oT rn -y hoy - z A REAR CYTO ry -- 0 Rar oS 3 CS EPR q COREE POL TRO bR GEA = BTS A A VE PHAR AEN SL) Ria TA EA END DER AN Ph ~ CEA oe ABI Re a RCO St Pa » INES. > WLI AS i Bes .® oo Noa A ditorial poge Mean Times It is not a happy time to be a politician. The art of governing effectively has become almost an impossibility these days, partly because of the information explosion, and partly because the times themselves are mean. _ In the face of unprecedented wealth and luxury in this country, there is at the same time poverty and misery. As the month of December winds down the decade, there is an uncertainty about our way of life in Canada. Quebec.remains a question mark; nobody knows what the price of a gallon of gasoline might be next year or even next month. A former general in the Canadian Armed forces goes on national television to say that Canada is not able to defend itself against an invading force of 1000 in the far north, and at the same time meet our military commitments overseas. The revolutions in printing and broadcasting technology have given us an unprecedented access to information. Yet despite this, the issues that confront us seem more confusing and clouded than ever. Politicians at all levels of government are caught in a perplexing squeeze with citizens calling for increased and new services of one king or another and at the same time demanding that their govern- ments clamp controls on public spending. Our expectations in Canada are high, and well Booze And The Festive Season It is now the first week of December, and whether we are ready for it or not, the Christmas season is upon us. It is a time to enjoy with family and friends the gifts of giving and receiving, a chance to celebrate the birth of Christ, and for many of us, anyway, an excuse to be a little more merry than usual. But every year, the festive season is marred by tragedy that could have been prevented if people would just remember that drinking and driving don't mix, at this time of year or any other time. Every year as Christmas draws near, news- paper editorials warn people about the dangers of drinking and driving, police forces set up special patrols to nab drinking drivers, and yet, every year the tragedy seems to repeat itself. It's been said before, but it's worth saying again. Have a happy festive season, but if you're going to drink, leave the car at home. they should be, for this is one of the richest countries in the world, and most people work hard enough to expect that their rewards should at least keep pace with their labours. Here in Scugog Township we are in the middle of a controversy over the proposed construction of a new library. It is quite possible that under more ordinary circumstances, a plan to build something like a new library would meet overwhelming support from the citizens of any community, even this one. This paper has in the past supported the idea of a new library as something that would be beneficial to the community. We haven't changed this position, - although we are getting criticism now from both sides. To those who are working to raise money for the new library and get its construction off the ground, we would urge them to stiffen their will in the face of the opposition; dig in the heels and get on with the job. | To those who oppose the library, we wquld simply suggest that they base their opposition on the facts, something which has not been done so far. And to those we suspect are the vast majority of citizens in this Township who haven't yét formed an opinion one way or another on the library, we would suggest that they get as much information as they can on the issue before making a decision. \ v7, 4 RZ > . ) a\ 2 A \ \ of the country. the worst football team in Eastern Canada. bill NOVEMBER BLAWS Well, I seem to be able to influence the weather merely by writing a column about it. So let's try it again. Early in October, I wrote a column laudatory of those golden October days, with a sky of infinite blue, just a pleasant tinge of melancholy in the air, and a general sort of blat along those lines. Promptly, without even a decent inter- lude, October turned into a monster. One of my collegues, in whom I place infinite trust because he is always wrong, and I go from there, told me that this October had had approximately one-third of the sunlight hours of a normal October. For once, I believed him. November, surely the foulest month of the year in this country, with the possible exception of March, is living up to expecta- tions. One day of watery sunshine, four days of rain and dark skies. That's why I'm writing this. By the time it appears in print, the second half of November will have turned out to be a giddy adventure of belated Indian summer, with a touch of the deep south thrown in. SaorrnioEg Fr roast smiley November is a nothing month. The leaves are all gone. In fact, they're lying on your lawn, if you're like me, dank and soggy and heavy. The chap who's to put on your storm windows has gone into hiding, letting his phone ring its head off. And when he does come, the windows don't fit, because the sills have swelled through the inordinate rains. Or something. The skifts of snow become skiftier every time there is one, and any day you'll get up and it's midwinter. November is darkness and depression. And one of the most depressing things in view of the proliferation of Santa Claus and the four-colour advertisements for Christ- mas gifts, and the ridiculous beginning of Christmas, so-called, music. There are snow-tires to get on, and snow shovels, snow boots, and heavy clothing to dig out, each one a dull, sickening thud on one's spirits. This year, as in every other November, the government, whatever the shade of its coat, is waffling and indecisive and obtuse and strangely unaware of the real problems This year, in November, you-can go into a grocery store, spend ten dollars, and come out with your total possessions in the palm of one hand, in one smallish paper bag. You know the old car isn't going to make it through January, but you look in horror at prices of gas and a new car, and go on driving the coughing, belching old brute, hoping for a flood or holocaust to end it all and save you the decision. This November, people are running wildly from one bank to another trust company, trying to take advantage of the ridiculous rates of interest. If they have any money. And if they don't, they quietly cry in the dark and forget about building or buying a home, because there is no way they can ever pay for it, Joe Clark's silly mortgage deal or not. And if people can't afford to build houses, because of the cruel interest rates, what happens to the construction industry, and all the others that depend on it, from tiles to appliances to heating units. And the blue-eyed sheiks are rattling their sabres in the west, and the chain- smoker is rattling his quill in Quebec, and altogether, it looks like a long, dark, cold winter for this country, physically and spiritually. However, brethren and sistern, do not go quiet into that good night. It's not all bad. There's some great news on the sports pages. Toronto, at least, is maintaining its image. It has the worst baseball team in North America, in the big leagues. It has And the Maple Leafs are well on their way to being renamed the Cellar Dwellers. Doesn't all that cheer you up? At least there's ome consistency in the country. It's only a few weeks to the equinox. And even if you're so deep in snow by then that you don't know an equinox from a solstice, never fear. Spring is near. A mere four months off. I feel like a sailor throwing lead life-belts to drowning souls, but I repeat the call "Press on, regardless." Maybe you'll hit a lottery winner. Maybe your wife isn't really pregnant. Maybe you can live on unemployment insurance and still get your Saturday night cause of twenty-four. Maybe. But I know it's hard to keep the faith in November. Even the ruddy birds, those with brains, have gone south. Those without are walking. It's too wet to fly. Think of all the good things in life. Now keep on thinking. Think some more, and I'm sure you'll come up with one. Let's see. I'm not dying of cancer. I don't think. I can afford three square meals a day. I hope. My five shares of CDC have dropped only $28.00 a share on the market, and have rallied by one dollar. My wife hasn't left me, as she's threatened lately. Mixed blessing, that. My grandboys are six hundred miles away and can't use me for a climbing tree every second weekend. My bursitis is merely excruciating, not unbearable. Good old November. Nothing like it. Now, change, Weather!