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www.insideHALTON.com · OAKVILLE BEAVER Thursday, March 1, 2012 · 6 The Oakville Beaver 467 Speers Rd., Oakville Ont. L6K 3S4 (905) 845-3824 Fax: 337-5566 Classified Advertising: 905-632-4440 Circulation: 845-9742 The Oakville Beaver is a member of the Ontario Press Council. The council is located at 80 Gould St., Suite 206, Toronto, Ont., M5B 2M7. Phone (416) 340-1981. Advertising is accepted on the condition that, in the event of a typographical error, that portion of advertising space occupied by the erroneous item, together with a reasonable allowance for signature, will not be charged for, but the balance of the advertisement will be paid for at the applicable rate. The publisher reserves the right to categorize advertisements or decline. Editorial and advertising content of the Oakville Beaver is protected by copyright. Unauthorized use is prohibited. Letters to the Editor Neil Oliver Vice-President and Group Publisher, Metroland West David harvey Regional General Manager JILL DAVIS Editor in Chief Daniel Baird Advertising Director ANGELA BLACKBURN Managing Editor Riziero Vertolli Photography Director Sandy Pare Business Manager RECOGNIZED FOR EXCELLENCE BY: Ontario Community Newspapers Association MARK DILLS Director of Production Manuel garcia Production Manager CHARLENE HALL Director of Distribution Sarah McSweeney Circ. Manager Website oakvillebeaver.com The OakvilleBeaver is a division of Canadian Community Newspapers Association Suburban Newspapers of America THE OAKVILLE BEAVER IS PROUD OFFICIAL MEDIA SPONSOR FOR: United Way of Oakville ATHENA Award Before we get ahead of ourselves celebrating the second anniversary of Sidney Crosby's Golden Goal, let us first toast Team Canada's 10th Olympic Gold Medal anniversary in Salt Lake City on the 24th of 2002. It ended a colossal 50-year gold medal drought and was the first Men's-Women's double Gold Olympic victory ever. Fifty years from now, hockey historians will continue to point out that the puck stopped here and the excellence started. Hockey Canada chose Wayne Gretzky to head the team and in descending order, Mario Lemieux captained goal scorers Joe Sakic, Paul Kariya and Jerome Iginla (who also passed the puck to Sydney in 2010). One cannot overstate the value of a single-toe save by the most wins, elite goal tender ever on a slapshot, Brett Hull. Martin Brodeur's save of the game stopped the surging U.S. team in its tracks, with then American vice-president Dick Cheney in the stands and the largest TV hockey audience to date. From that moment on, Canada's patriotism crystallized into a euphoric late-night flag waving, coast-to-coast party duplicated only once. Amid all the 9/11 security and hyperbole that our American hosts could muster, the legend of The Golden Loonie was frozen in time and became Gretzky's finest hour. Michael John Charette, Oakville Cheering hockey's finest Canadians D.J. Platt / Special to the beaver `SHIP AHOY!': The Bronte Harbour Yacht Club is raffling this 1977 Grampian 7.9 Discovery sailboat to raise funds for several community and charitable initiatives, such as the Ian Anderson House hospice and Salvation Army's Lighthouse shelter. The sailboat was donated to the club, which refurbished the vessel. Anyone interested in inspecting the boat can do so by visiting the 2514 Lakeshore Rd. W. club and calling 905-827-6437. To purchase tickets, call 905-465-3147 or e-mail john.mcmullen@teksavvy.com. The raffle ends March 30. It is with some amusement that I read about the planned final demise of the Gairloch Garden gallery. Let's just sell the whole thing seems so par for the course and shows the utter lack of imagination at work here. I have taken many walks around the gallery through the years. Rarely is there anything happening there in recent years. Here is a beautiful showpiece, yet if you look at the gallery parking lot, almost all the parking spaces are reserved for staff. Staff for what? And, in fact, you rarely see any staff. It has hardly been an encouragement for anyone to go there or for anyone to expect anything to be happening there. It is as though this gallery has been on the chopping block for some time. I can only imagine someone has had a different agenda for this place all along. Neglect and lack of funding have been evident for some time. Well, now is the time nobody really cares any more. And someone is going to get a prime piece of real estate. Nice job. Let me just say that everybody concerned should be ashamed of themselves for what they have made of this opportunity. Might I suggest talking to some people in the Oakville art and education community for some possible creative suggestions, i.e. visual and performing arts. And, please, whoever is in charge, take those prolific staff parking signs away, they are a joke. Ray Konrad, Oakville Gairloch gallery could be saved When life is not turning out the way you thought it would A s a kid I would contemplate how my life would turn out -- ruminations replete with fame, fortune and freedom from all things ordinary, everyday, and icky. Suffice to say, my life's not turning out the way I thought it would. In fact, if recent history is any indication, I'm up to the elbows in icky. It started with my wife who went to bed one night feeling healthy and awoke four hours later with The Mother of All Colds. How bad was this bug? My wife never misses work. So, imagine my surprise when I found her still in bed hours after the alarm. Now, I don't want to give the wrong impression: while my wife was indeed missing work, she was nonetheless still working. Unable to rise to the occasion, she simply put in her usual 21-hour workday at home, in bed, propped up by pillows that I would be requested to fluff every hour, and plied with the assorted exotic teas I was called upon to boil, steep and serve with a smile. And so it was for three full days: my wife and her sickness and me in my servitude. If I wasn't delivering cold-and-flu medications or hot, homemade meals, I was gently, yet firmly, massaging her muscles and refilling her hot-water bottle. "And honey," she said to me more than once, "When you have a minute, could you throw out these tissues for me?" And more than once, I gaped at the mountainous mound of tissues on her night table and sweetly responded, under my breath, "Sure, honey, just give me a minute to go out and rent a backhoe." I finally got my wife back on her feet and my life back together. The weekend arrived Andy Juniper and I was at my computer trying to catch up on the work I'd missed while playing the role of Florence Nightingale in the horror production of My Wife's Home Sick when I received a text from our 16-year-old daughter who was at her dance class. It read: "I just swallowed a bobby pin... I'm terrified." As is my nature, I calmly responded: "Whaaaaat?" Apparently, the poor lass had taken a brief break from dancing to fix her coiffure, which entailed placing a bobby pin between her lips while she monkeyed with her hair. Well, I guess she inadvertently inhaled -- sending the bobby pin on a magical voyage down her throat, into her belly and (hopefully) beyond. Have you ever spent a Sunday afternoon in the emergency ward of your local hospital? It's not quite as glamorous as it sounds. In fact, it's kind of icky. Having narrowly outmaneuvered a child intent on throwing up on our shoes, we eventually saw a doctor who ordered an X-ray, which showed the offending pin sitting pretty just south of the stomach. We were sent home with assurances that all things must pass, but to return if all things, well, didn't pass. Three days later we were back. Have you ever spent four hours in the emergency ward of your local hospital waiting to get one simple follow-up X-ray? The new X-ray showed Mr. Bobby Pin still making its way through the digestive tract. We were sent home with instructions to return in a few days if the pin hasn't appeared. Last night, I told my wife that if round three is necessary, she will be accompanying our daughter to the hospital because I fully intend on being knocked out by some insidious illness passed on to me by any one of my newfound friends in the emergency ward of my local hospital. Hey, as icky as it sounds, this is my life. Andy Juniper can be contacted at ajjuniper@gmail.com, found on Facebook at www.facebook.com, or followed at www.twitter. com/thesportjesters.