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

att AY Sn NET RY WG ERY Of Stra ay FR IH Eh SAY BANS fe BR EA BES 1 1A har St Think Safety With a little care, common sense and forethought, tragedies during this Christmas season can be prevented. The risk of fire increases at this time of year. Make sure the tree is placed in a supply of water; keep the tree well away from any kind of heat source; check decorative light bulbs and wiring, and never leave the Christmas tree lights on when you are out of the house. And when the presents have been opened on Christmas morning, clear away the wrapping paper as soon as possible. There is nothing like a cheery log burning in the fireplace or wood stove to enhance the mood of the festive season. Make sure the fireplace or stove is in good working condition. . This is the time of year for holiday parties and get-togethers with family and friends. If you plan to drink, leave the car at home, or arrange for someone who is not drinking to do the driving. Think safety this Christmas season. Have a happy and joyous holiday and a prosperous New Year. Christmas 1981 Christmas, 1981, and there is not a lot in the world today to fill the spirits with good cheer. For the people of Poland, of course, this Christmas will be completely bleak, just as so many others have been for the Poles during this century. Events in that country in the past couple of weeks have moved with frightening speed. The cautious reforms that were heralding a new era for the Polish people have been crushed. The people themselves and their courageous leaders have been subdued and silenced. (Who would not be subdued looking down the snout of an automatic rifle or the barrel of a tank's cannon?). . As freedom loving people around the world watch in horror at the agony of Poland this Christmas, there is one candle shining in the darkness. And that is the knowledge that the spirit of freedom, justice and human dignity can never be wrapped in the chains of the oppressor, no matter how many guns or tanks he may have. The out-pouring of sympathy and solidarity with the Polish people from groups, organizations and individ- vals in Canada, the United States, and elsewhere is testament to the fact that no matter how bleak things look, the candle of freedom that shines in the darkness can never be extinguished. That may be small comfort for the men and women in that country who right now face uncertainty, food \ < "Well, well --« MINE TURTLE Doves AND A PARTRIDGE!" shortages, prison terms or even the firing squad under martial law. ; Yet just as the news of the events in Poland have a way of trickling out to the rest of the world, so will the messages of support for the Polish people find their way inside that country. And at least, they will know that the rest of the free world has not forgotten or shut its eyes and its heart.' What the free world is witnessing in Poland today is the heavy fist of barbaric tyranny at its worst. With little doubt that the strings on that fist are being pulled from the Kremlin (as they were in Hungary 26 years ago and in Czechoslovakia in the summer of '68) we should all be reminded of just how ruthless, despotic and inhuman the Kremlin regime Is. And for those of us fortunate enough to live in a country where democratic and human rights are enjoyed, the Polish crisis should served to jolt us out of our dream worlds, and wake us to the fact that no matter how tough things may seem, life in a country like Canada is a relative paradise. With recent events in Poland so fresh in our minds, it is easy to forget that just two years ago this month Russian tanks and troops rolled into Afghanistan. And they are still there, for the Afghanis have stubbornly refused to knuckle under without a fight. As we prepare to celebrate the tradition of Christ- mas with family and friends, we must be aware that freedom of expression, freedom of association, freedom of choice and even the most fundamental human rights are being denied countless millions of people around the globe. It is not a happy thought at any time of the year, but even less so at Christmas. Nevertheless, there are certain realities of this world that just will not go away on thelr own. Enjoy this Christmas season, and the spirit of freedom and hope that comes with. it. And: may we appreciate and understand more fully the good fortune we all have in this country. THE WORLD'S FOGIES Some old fogies get all het up every year, and write letters to the editor, deploring the increasing commercialism of Christmas. 1 used to do this when I was a young fogie, but I've quit. What's the difference? Well, a young fogie gets all upset about things that should upset only old fogies. As he gets older, he really doesn't give a diddle. They can play "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on the bill smiley say, "That's a lot of crap, John." Little do the kiddies know that I was a reporter because everybody else was doing something useful; that I was an editor because nobody else wanted to take the blame; that I was a publisher only because I owed half of a $30,000 mortgage; and that I am a household word across Canada, almost inevitably preceded by the prefix "bull." My colleague didn't mention that I wrote stories about nothing happening in town that first of July, and it doesn't bother him. An old fogie, on the other hand, is a young fogie who has molded his ideas early, and left them there to moulder. Or increased the rigidity of his early opinions until they are molded in iron. He likes "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas," but doesn't want it played until there is some snow, and Christmas'is imminent (not eminent, as my students insist). I prefer to be a middle-fogie. This is a person who listens to young fogies, old fogies, nods sblemnly in agreement, and wishes they had buried 'White Christmas" with Bing Crosby, its perpetrator. In other words, the young fogie dances in the latest, frenetic style, because he doesn't want to be called an old fogie. But he thinks it is decadent. He'd like the return of the waltz and the schottische. While an old fogie shakes his head at the modern, openly sexual dancing, knows the dancers are all going to the hot place, and would like to see the return of the waltz and 'the schottische (polka, what have you?). The. middle-fogie says, "Jeez, there but for the grace of God Go 1." Or, 'Holey ole moley, I wish my arthritis would ease up. I'd love to try it, especially with that girl who's just kicked off her shoes and displayed her navel." He'd like the return of the waltz, but never learned to count past two in the one-two-three of the waltz, and gets tangled up, and falls on his face, in a fast polka, or schottische. This brillian analogy, gentle reader, if you are still there, represents my attitude toward the commercialization of Christmas. I can turn off the commercials and ignore the town's brave decorations. Or I can crab when they commence, or are erected (sorry, that's a dirty word now.) Or I can say, "Cheeze 'nrice, I wish I were back in business again, pulling in all those dollars that should be going for food and fuel." ; As a middle-fogie, I choose to shut out the carols that begin drooping angels on the town decorations that were erected (there it is again) on Nov. 8th, and merely set my teeth, grit them a bit, and try to get through the Christmas season, bearing in mind that the Minister of Finance ~ wants a little piece of every action going on Ndv. 1st, ignore the. in town, out of town and across the country. The aforementioned gentleman, if you'll pardon the euphemism, 'after preaching a budget of equity and restraint, went out to lunch with a few of his ilk, and ran up a lunch bill between $600 and $2,000, depending on which version you read. That, to me, is the real Christmas spirit. - His boss, King Pierre the First, has expressed similar sentiments. "If they can't afford filet mignon, let them eat boiled sumac bushes." Very tasty, by the way, and a true national dish, along with pumpkin soup. Los I don't really know where I'm going with this column, but I have to live up to the billing another teacher gave me this week, after he'd arm-twisted me into talking to his creative writing club: ' "Wednesday afternoon, we are going to have a seminar on writing, headed by Bill Smiley, former reporter, editor, publisher, and author of a syndicated column that appears in more than 150 papers across Canada." It sounded great. Like those November Christmas carols. But I cannot week just to fill up a hole on the front page; that I infuriated merchants and township ~ reeves and little old ladies, and had to bear the brunt; that I personally carried" the newspapers to the post office in bags weighing about 280 pounds; that I helped stamp and roll up the out-of-town papers; or that I am neither rich nor famous. However, the show must go on, whether it's Good King Wenceslaus" in November, or yours truly talking a group of youngsters into adopting the glamorous life of journal- ism, at 60 hours a week and basic pay a little below unemployment insurance. But I must admit, the Christmas spirit sort of grabs you, whether it's by the pocket-book, or the short and curly. Just this week, I wrote a letter of recommendation for a student. If somebody checked it out, I would be on the stand for «perjury, mopery and gawk. But, what the heck, a commercial is a commercial, even ' though it's a tissue of lies, half-truths and exaggeration. Those Christmas commercials don't bother a middle-fogie. I just wish I were being paid for writing some of them.