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I HI hn 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, April 10, 1984 editorial comments 4 ER I SR SLT Bk chatterbox by Cathy Robb LET'S GET PERSONAL It's Friday morning in downtown Claremont and things at the Robb residence are running according to game plan. Liz is applying her third layer of mascara, Boy George is cranked up loud enough to overcome the noise my blow dryer is making and Charlie the cat is mooching for breakfast crumbs. The peanut-butter-on- toast is sticking to her whiskers and she's lapping it up haphazardly while the dog hides his head in his paws in disgust. Somewhere down the hall my brother and mother are arguing about who needs the bathroom more desperately. Mom wins, and Billy retires to his room to sulk. When suddenly, just like on TV, there's a knock at the door, we think. It's hard to tell with the radio and the blow dryer going at once. "Whaaaat," shrieks Liz, over the din. "Turn the radio down so you can hear,' I shriek back. "You, you're closer," she says, touching up her eyelids. "-- + x§0@4&," | mutter, hitting off the switch on the stereo. And there! The knock comes again. Louder, more insistent! "Liz?" It's Dad! Sounding mad. "You're in for it now," I simper. "Whaaaaat,' she says again. "Liz, she's had it. Gypsy's had her baby!" Liz looks at me. I look at Liz. Liz says something illegible, a grin spreading from one ear to another. Mascara, blush and curling iron forgotten, she throws a housecoat over her nightgown and whirls out of the room, with me in hot pursuit. We make a pit stop at the back door to throw on the quickest pair of shoes we can find ---- mine are my good fuspe which need no doing up, Liz slogs on a pair of d's boots. The trip to the barn is made like lightning. Liz gets there first, throwing open the outside door, and then slowly, cautiously, opening the door to Gypsy's stall. Breath held, we look inside at what must be the sweetest, prettiest, most adorable baby we've ever set eyes on. Gypsy is nervously standing guard over her new . son, a fluffy white-f au lait. ""Awwww," me and Liz say in unison. A few minutes later, Mom, Billy and Dad arrive on the scene. The new baby now has five shining faces star- ing at him, with five voices babbling away in baby talk and five sets of fingers reaching out to touch him. If 1 was him, I'd faint, but the newest addition to little pony colt the colour of cafe 'thought that Heinz 57 might be an a our family takes it all in stride, wobbling up to us on unsteady legs, wrinkling his little nose and squealing gleefully. "What's he saying, Liz?" I ask my sister, who has been known to put words in the mouths of her horses. "He says, 'Gee it's good to be finally out here,'"' Well, I guess so. The vet told us tb expect Gypsy's baby in late January or early F and we've been hol our breaths ever since. I made the mistake of writing about Gypsy's pregnancy way back in January and ever since then I've been deluged with the famous question, "Has she had it yet?" Every Monday morning for the past two and half months I've had to answer no, not yet, to the staff members here at the Star who have asked about Gyp- sy"s baby-to-be. After awhile, it became sort of a joke and people were beginning to think she'd never have her foal, or that I was making up the whole thing. I wasn't, of course. The problem was, we didn't know when Gypsy was bred. We bought the little Indian- red pony mare from a farmer who kept several ponies together in the same field. Liz bought her for breeding (there's a teasing pony at a local stud farm who's go- ing to get lucky when Gypsy recuperates) but had no idea she was pregnant n she bought her. She was a little tubby, maybe, but it wasn't until a couple of months later, that she really began to swell. "She looks pregnant,' Liz would say to me last November. '""Naahh, she's just been eating too much grass," I'd say. As usual, my sister was right. And now we have an adorable midget-sized horse to prove it. Liz doesn't know what to name him. She ate name because he's such a mixture of and she sort of liked the name Little Sky Blue. But now that the baby is here, she's going to wait until she sees what his per- sonality is like. I think she should call him Rosebud because he's every bit as sweet as a flower, or maybe Horace, because he snorts and nickers like a Horace the horse. Whatever she decides to call him, there's one thing for sure. He certainly is a welcome addition to our barn. There's nothing like new life to inspire the old. Dezi Brown, our retired Morgan gelding, and Cocoa, the on- ly mare I've ever met who resembles Joan Rivers, have been as excited as grandparents over the new birth. Dezi has been nickering and carrying on like he should be passing our cigars and I think Cocoa has already volunteered to babysit. The barn is a wonderful place to be in the springtime. Everywhere you look there's new life. The (Turn to page 6) A Good Move We are pleased to see that Scugog and Uxbridge councils have agreed to chip in the municipal share of the operating costs for a transportation service for the physically handicapped and disabled in the two communities. i At a joint meeting last week, the councils learned that there are nearly 50 people in Uxbridge and Scugog who would make use of this service, and there are pro- bably more who could get identified once the service is in place. They are people of all ages; stroke victims, quadraplegics, amputees, severe arthritics, accident victims. It was estimated that each Township would have to contribute about $12,000 in operating costs for a year. The rest of the cost would come from the provincial government (25 per cent) and there is a nominal user fee. The number one priority for this service is people who are unable to use private vehicles for transportation. They can use it to get to medical appointments, rehabilitation programs, schooling, shopping, social events or visits with families and friends. Freedom of movement is pretty much taken for granted by the vast majority of people in society these days, and most of us probably don't give it a second thought. We are talking about a quality of life service here for a relatively small number of people. And while there is no question that local governments have a responsibili- ty to keep a tight rein on the purse strings in these times of restraint, we would be hard pressed to argue that this $12,000 is not going to be money well spent. Local councils each year spend a lot of money for amenities like arenas, parks, baseball and soccer fields which are enjoyed by a large number of people. Spending money (within reason) on the physically handicapped or disabled to improve their enjoyment of life is just as important. Although the councils have agreed to pay their share of the service operating costs, it has fallen upon local service clubs in Scugog and Uxbridge to come up with the funds for a van or a small bus. Let us hope that one or more clubs will take up this project and supply the van gr bus. It would be a shame if the service couldn't get off the ground for lack of the most essential thing: the means for the transportation. What's A Million? it wasn't too many years ago that the expression "what's a million' was made popular by a Canadian politician. Well, here it is 1984 and a million sure ain't what it used to be. Heck, just a few weeks ago, a couple ac- tually won $13 million plus change playing a lottery game. That windfall was unprecedented, of course, but it sure created a stir in this country, and we note that lot- tery officials last week moved to prevent this from hap- pening again. If that particular lottery goes without a winner in future and the jack-pot climbs higher and higher, the first prize will be cut off at a skimpy $7 million with the rest of the money spread around so more people can at least get a few bucks for their efforts. Yes, that old expression "what's a million" has real- ly lost its significance in this day and age. Even in the world of high finance at the international level, we note that in March, the federal government through the Bank of Canada had to dip into the reserves due to the tune of $807 million to prop up our Canadian green-back. The old dollar was (again) taking a pounding, los- ing value in relation to other currencies, (mainly the one with George Washington on the cover) so Canada chas- ed it with $807 million. it apparently worked as the dollar's slide bottomed out somewhere around 78 cents U.S., and so far interest rates in this country have not shot through the roof as they did a couple of years ago. It is more than a little frightening when a country like Canada, blessed with a stable democracy, all kinds o! resources, a small population, and so on, must shell out $807 million to keep the currency from falling off the edge of the table. Where will it end? Is the monetary system in the world that fragile? Is it nothing more than a giant house of paper just waiting for a puff of air to blow it all down as happened back in 19297? "What's a million' used to be an expression with meaning. If things keep going the way they have, that expression and 50 cents MIGHT get you a cup of coffee.