NOTES FROM PARADISE, PART THREE

One of the truly wonderful aspects of our visits to Cuba is the friendships we have formed over the years. We have met so many great people, both Canadian and Cuban. The Canadians seem to represent the stereotype our nation has been given: they are unfailingly friendly and completely willing to accept the fact that they are not home anymore, and willing to try to understand the reality of life of the people who actually live here. And the Cubans are happy to meet foreigners and proud to show off their resort and their country. Despite the challenges of living in a land that can best be compared to a political and economic science experiment, they remain unfailingly cheerful, happy and positive. But we have always been curious as to why they are so happy: is it because they are just naturally positive, or is it because they know nothing else than their experience in living in such a closed and insular society?

We have become particularly close to one of the staff at the resort. I will not use his real name because he asked us to keep our visit low key, so I will call him Fred. We've known him for a few years now, and he is easy to like. Fred is a big, athletic, good looking man. He is also good natured, good humoured, and easy going. Over the years, we've been fortunate to benefit from his friendly manner at the resort, and we have done our best to help him out a bit.

This year, we had the opportunity to visit Fred and his family at his home. He lives in Holguin with his wife, Joan, and his daughter Jane (also not their real names). Joan is a dentist, and she also teaches dentistry at a local college. Jane is a ten year old school girl, and is cute and shy: a lovely girl. Together, they make a nice family.

Fred arranged our transportation to Holguin with a taxi driver/ tour guide named Mauro, who I introduced you to in  my first post. The plan was to drive in with Mauro, who would wait for us in Holguin for the day while we did some sightseeing with Fred. Then, we'd go to Fred's house for lunch and  meet the family. After lunch, Fred would go back to the resort with us and Mauro for his afternoon shift.

It was a hot and sunny afternoon when Mauro parked at the Plaza of Flowers in central Holguin. We had been to Holguin about five years ago, and the scene was familiar to us. It was Saturday, so the square was bustling with families enjoying a day off from work or school. We were astounded at the number of vintage cars still working hard: everyone knows about the old cars in Cuba, and you certainly see them at resorts or in the tourist centre of Havana. But here, the cars were plentiful and decidedly less shiny. They belched out black smoke and made strange and loud noises, but they were working. Nothing touristy about them.

Fred joined us shortly afterward and Mauro left us in his care. Fred is proud of his home town and we visited plazas, shops, the local cathedral, and walked the side streets. The stores were interesting to see. When we visited five years ago, the stores seemed to be badly organized and lacking in goods. We remember that, in one particular store, auto parts were stacked beside toiletries, which were beside light bulbs and next to the school supplies. It was basically whatever the store could get its hands on. But in the stores Fred showed us, there was a plentiful supply of goods, all grouped together in some idea of "departments."  Fred wanted us to pay attention to the price of goods. They were not expensive by Canadian standards, but the price was listed in convertible pesos, which meant that they were highly expensive for Cubans. An example would be a washer/dryer set, which cost about 300 pesos. Not bad, but when one considers that a good Cuban working wage is about 20 pesos a month, one begins to see the problem. A washer/dryer is more than a year's wages for an average Cuban.

We visited the basilica and were delighted to see that it was a day for families to bring babies for baptisms. Proud parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and brothers and sisters crowded around the beautifully dressed babies awaiting their turn at the baptismal font. Certainly a proud day for them and further proof as to the importance of family for the Cuban people. Then, to finish off a morning of celebration, we went to a nice covered patio and enjoyed a friendly beer to talk about the greatest of Cuban passions, baseball.

Finally, it was time to find Mauro and drive to Fred's house. Through a rabbit warren of winding, busy streets our '51 Chevy careened and we took in as much as we could. This was the real Holguin, far removed from the downtown areas where the few tourists walked. Now, we were confronted by large crowds of pedestrians and horse and buggies. Fewer cars competed with us for space on the roads, but many large trucks rumbled through the narrow streets. Deeper we went, and, had we been abandoned by our hosts, we would be there still. Finally, we turned off the pavement onto a narrow dirt road and bounced our way past low rise buildings, most of them two and three stories tall. Then, Mauro pulled over and we stepped out to Fred's house.

We climbed a spiral staircase to be greeted by Joan and Jane at the door. A warm welcome brought us out of the hot sun and into the cool shade of their home. As we settled in, Fred told us proudly that he had built the house himself, with some help from family and neighbours. Fred is a carpenter by trade, but he told us he learned plumbing and electricity at school. He began construction in 1995 and it has just recently been completed. He said all these things with a quiet pride that comes from such a solid accomplishment. Fred built the house over top of his father's home, which occupied the main floor. We have seen this many times before in our trips to Latin America. It's a great way to build homes without using up valuable land or paying exorbitant prices for real estate.

We enjoyed a pleasant afternoon of good conversation, despite the fact that many of us didn't know the others' language: my Spanish is non-existent, while Joan and Jane know no English. It was largely Fred and Lou who carried the translation duties. Fred's English is pretty good, while Lou's Spanish is surprisingly good. The lunch was plentiful and delicious: we enjoyed pork medallions cooked in oil and garlic, congris rice, friend plantain, and salad, all prepared by Joan. Cold beer complimented the feast.

The house is small, but comfortable and with many "mod cons". We are led to believe that Fred's salary at the resort is the main source of income when he's working. But he cannot count on full time employment. In fact, he told us that he had been called back to the resort only a day before we arrived, and hadn't worked there since April. When he's not at the resort, he and his dad do carpentry and other construction work. Joan's work is year 'round, and she works at a clinic in Holguin. Thus, they can afford good furniture, appliances and, the pride of the house, a modern and spacious bathroom. Out the back and in the central courtyard of the cluster of buildings sat Fred's workshop. All in all, an impressive house.

We were able to trade ideas and information freely and frankly during lunch. Fred and Joan are honest about their lives: they know they live fairly well, but would like more for themselves and for Jane. When I asked them about the changes in Cuba, they were somewhat stoic about the future. Basically, their attitude was that changes were coming, but slowly, and that they would accept whatever came their way. There was no sense of bitterness or disappointment in their talk. Perhaps that is the Cuban way: they are constantly told about their new freedoms, but are completely realistic and resigned to the slow pace. They are also fully aware of life outside Cuba. Fred discussed a wide range of issues with us that showed that he knew what was happening in the wider world. He also expressed a slight regret that Canada and Cuba were not closer, and by that, he did not mean geographically closer, but rather that relations were not better. I expressed my agreement and, as will be no surprise to readers, blamed Stephen Harper for the colder relations.

We said a fond and reluctant farewell to Joan and Jane, found Mauro and made our way back to the resort. During the ride, we passed through more of the twisting and winding streets of Holguin's suburbs until we found our way to the more familiar highway to the coast. On the way, Mauro and Fred kept up a lively and animated conversation in Spanish. Lou and I sat mostly quiet in the back seat. It had been a rare day, and we needed time to digest all of it. We reached the resort where we deposited Fred outside at the workers' entrance. Mauro drove us to the main entrance and we thanked him for his safe driving and interesting insights.

What did we learn? Are we better off for the visit ? And, are we more "expert" in all things Cuban? Hard to answer. We certainly felt honoured to be part of the lives of these people, even for a short time. We learned a lot, but not enough to claim to be "expert." I doubt if even Cuban people themselves would claim to be "expert" on their own country. Cuba is endlessly fascinating, endlessly complicated, and always will be. Why ? Because it is changing in noticeable and interesting ways. We feel as though we have been invited in to a party that is just starting to get going. It would be rude and impolite not to stay a bit longer. And so, we will return to continue our education in this earthly and imperfect Paradise.

NOTES FROM PARADISE, PART TWO

The bus ride from Frank Pais airport in Holguin to the Playa Costa Verde resort takes about an hour. We've travelled that road several times now and I honestly think that, if I had to drive the route, I could do it and get to the resort with no problem or road map. I remember a small "incident" about four years ago which shouldn't even have registered with us on that road, but, in retrospect, it certainly did have great portent. We saw several fruit stands along the road: small huts in front of farm houses selling everything from pineapples to bananas. What's the big deal with fruit stands? They were the first signs of the changes coming to Cuba. The stands were owned and operated by the farmers themselves and, amazingly, whatever they sold and earned, the could keep for themselves.

Fast forward a couple of years and the changes became even more apparent. One of the resort's most popular bar tenders, a man called Jesus, opened his own restaurant in the nearby town of Melilla.  Jesus is quite a character: articulate, quick witted, funny, friendly and energetic. I always liked Jesus and figured that when you have a bar tender with that name, you're going to be well looked after. Jesus started the enterprise with his brother in law and was openly encouraging resort guests to visit the restaurant with his own business card. Word of mouth spread the name and reputation of the restaurant. It has the catchy name of "La Finquita Alegre", which, loosely translated, means the Happy Farmhouse. We were not able to visit the restaurant that year because of timing, so we made sure to visit this year.

You may be wondering, "why write a blog about fruit stands and a guy's restaurant?" Good question: such things pass unnoticed here in Canada because they are such every-day things. But in Cuba, these are about as significant as you can get. They mark the start of a type of free-market entrepreneurialism that was unthinkable only a few short years ago. They are the leading edge of the new effort to move Cuba away from the rigid state-controlled communism of Fidel and Raul Castro and into a new era where Cubans can at least have a chance at some kind of personal prosperity.

Cuba has stagnated in the two decades since the fall of the USSR in the early 1990's. The Soviet Union was very much Cuba's "sugar daddy" in those days and helped develop a highly organized and controlled society. There were positives and negatives to this relationship. On the plus side, when Cuba overthrew the corrupt dictatorship of Fulgencia Baptista in 1959 and installed Fidel Castro as its leader, Cuba moved into the modern world. Its education system developed a large and well-trained cadre of professionals: engineers, doctors, teachers, nurses, all of whom are among the best in the world. People were able to move out of the peasantry that they had been living in and became modern and largely urban. Cuba became a very ordered and civilized society. The down side, however, was that, with communism, individual liberty and initiative were stifled and eliminated. The Castro regime tolerated no criticism, and jails filled up with political critics, journalists, and anyone who dared to stand up to the regime. Cuba also became a puppet of the USSR and fought several wars, particularly in Africa and South America, at the Soviet Union's command as proxy troops: undoubtedly, many Cuban families lost sons in those wars in the 1970's and 80's, and many Cubans lie buried in unmarked graves in those far-off lands.

When the USSR collapsed in the 1990's, Cuba was particularly hard hit. The trade embargo placed on it by the United States was still in full effect ( as it is today ) and trade with other countries was almost reduced to a stand-still. The dozen years from 1990 to around 2002 are referred to in Cuba as the "Special Period". Not much is known by foreigners of this time period, but it must have been an exceptionally harsh period. Food was rationed: industries shut down: schools and hospitals ran out of supplies. I would not be surprised at all if people starved in Cuba during that time, and I'd be interested to do some research into this "Special Period". Almost desperately, Fidel Castro realized that he had to open up his island to foreign tourism and foreign investment, which began in the early 2000's and continues to this day.

With foreigners coming into the country, the Cuban government and Cuban people were finally awakened to the wider world outside their little version of paradise. Fidel has given way to his younger brother Raul, who has presided over these small changes. The result: old style communism is on the way out, and a more market-oriented way of looking at things is emerging. The changes are small and almost imperceptible. But frequent visitors notice them every time they go back.

"La Finquita Alegre" is a lovely country restaurant, situated in the back part of a small farm house. It is an outdoor dining area, so that, on a lovely warm Cuban evening, you enjoy the beautiful stars over your head. There is a small bar that is well-stocked with beer, wine, spirits and soft drinks. The washroom is fully functional and immaculately clean. And the food .... excellent !! On the night we visited, Jesus arranged for a whole pig to be roasted on a spit because there were several of us. We had three kinds of rice, including congris which is the famous Cuban staple of rice and black beans fried in pork fat. There were fried bananas, salads, breads, soups, and other side dishes, all prepared skillfully by the chef that Jesus had been able to hire. The server was a lovely woman who, we believed, was Jesus' sister-in-law. And, best of all, we observed that some of the diners that night were Cubans. They may have had to save up a long time for the night out, but it was good to see that not all the patrons were tourists. Drinks flowed: conversation mixed with laughter filled the night: food was delicious and plentiful. It was a wonderful night.

Jesus arranged the whole night for us. Our taxi ride to and from the resort ( in a beautiful 1951 Chevrolet convertible ) , plus one complementary drink, and the dinner itself was included in a package that cost us 20 convertible pesos: the equivalent of $20.00 US. Not a bad night !! Finally, we learned that La Finquita Alegre has its own facebook page: I urge readers to find it and like it.

Is this the face of the new Cuba? Will Jesus and his partners emerge as the new Cuban entrepreneurs? And will Cuba itself be able to control the pace of the inevitable changes that are coming? Will the changes be beneficial ? There are no easy answers to these questions. Only two things became clear to us. First, the changes, now underway, cannot be stopped. And second, there will undoubtedly be winners and losers in the "new" Cuba that these changes create.

For those of us foreigners who have come to love Cuba, we are left with a dilemma of our own. Do we celebrate the possibility of a better life to the winners in the "new" Cuba? Or do we mourn the passing of a place that we have grown to love: a place that was, despite the hardships, a quiet, friendly, slow-paced, simple and honest place. Cuba had and still has no pretentions of being something glamourous or glitzy. But the signs of material prosperity are starting to show. One thing I remain confident in is this: the change will largely be controlled by the Cubans themselves.

On our ride back to the resort in a different 1951 Chevy ( this one a sedan because of the coolness of the night ) I looked up to the immense stars in the heavens over the island. I don't believe in omens, but, as I contemplated my wonderful evening and my full stomach, I believe I saw a shooting star overhead.

NOTES FROM PARADISE, PART ONE

We have just returned from our "Cuban cottage" at the Playa Costa Verde resort near Holguin, Cuba. It was our 14th visit to this area, and, as always, we enjoyed it. We reunited with several old friends, Cuban and Canadian, and did all the old and enjoyable things. But we also were able to do a couple of new things which I'd like to share with you.

Lou and I love Cuba, but we're under no illusions as to what it is like off the resort. But our education in this area was enhanced by a wonderful encounter with a cab driver named Mauro. Mauro drove us to the city of Holguin from our resort in a magnificently restored 1951 Chevrolet, a journey of about an hour. During this time, Mauro, a friendly and good humoured man who spoke excellent English, talked freely and candidly about life in Cuba for Cuban people. The following two anecdotes are his and I merely repeat them for your enlightenment.

First, Mauro asked us if we enjoyed cocktails at the resort, to which we enthusiastically responded "yes!" He asked us if we were familiar with the cocktail that featured rum, cola and lime juice. Of course we were, and we answered that it was the famous "Cuba Libre". Mauro asked us if we knew what Cuba Libre meant, and we said "Free Cuba." He then asked if we knew what Cubans called the same cocktail. We were mystified at this question. He said that Cubans, when ordering this drink, asked for the "Lie Cocktail", because the idea of a "Free Cuba", to Cubans, is a lie.

We fell silent and started to ponder this. While we were doing so, Mauro began to tell us another story. Settle back for this one, because it's a bit long, but it describes life in Cuba for the people who live there permanently. His story runs like this:

One day, a man died and went to heaven. He took his place among the clouds, and played his harp and sat peacefully, ready to begin his time in Eternity. Eventually, however, the man became bored and decided that he needed a change. He went to find God to ask for a favour. When he found God, he said, " I want to ask something of you, please, God." God asked what the favour was.

The man said, "I like it here in heaven, but I must admit that I'm a little bored. You know, the same thing every day for eternity. I was wondering if it would be possible to go to Hell, just for a little while, to see what it's like. I must admit, I'm a little curious and need a break."

God thought about it for a while and told the man that he would have to wait until the proper paper work was done before the request could be approved. The man thanked God and resumed his place among the clouds with his harp. Eventually, after some time had passed and the man's boredom approached apocalyptic levels, God came back to him with the good news that the man's request had been approved and he could go to Hell for a short visit.

The man flew down to the gates of Hell. Taking a deep breath, he tried to pry the gates open, but they would not budge. He tried and tried and, eventually, got the gates to open a little. He heard what he thought was music and this encouraged him to try harder. Finally, he pried the gates open wide enough for him to squeeze in. He stepped into Hell and, to his great surprise, found a wild party going on. Music, food, drinks, pretty girls, and wonderful scenery greeted him. He stepped in further and spent a wonderful, carefree and exciting time in Hell, having so much fun and happiness. Eventually, his temporary pass expired and he had to leave. He flew back up to heaven and resumed his seat with his harp among the clouds.

God came by one day and asked the man how he enjoyed his trip to Hell. The man told God how much he enjoyed it and asked if it would be possible for him to go back, but this time to stay. God once again frowned and said he'd have to do the necessary paper work before this new request could be approved. Much more time passed, with the man once again bored with his time in heaven. Finally, God came back with the good news that the man's second request had been approved, and that he could go back to Hell, this time for good.

Overjoyed, the man flew down to the familiar gates of Hell. He tried and tried to pry the gates apart, and they proved just as difficult as the first time, but he was motivated to put all his strength into it, so he could rejoin the party forever. Finally, he succeeded in moving the gates apart a little, but could hear no music. He pried even further, enough to see inside, but saw only darkness. His curiosity got the best of him, and, with a mighty push, opened the gates wide enough to enter. But he saw nothing but blackness, and heard no sound. He took some steps further inside to investigate.

After only a few steps, the man stumbled and fell into an endless pot of boiling water. He suffered greatly and screamed. When he opened his eyes, he saw the Devil himself, horned and cloven hoofed, grinning down at him, stabbing him with his pitchfork. The man struggled, but could not escape the Devil's grasp. Down deeper into the boiling pot he sank, doomed to drown and suffer forever. With his last effort the man looked up to the Devil.

"What happened to the party? Where is the music, the fun, the pretty girls? What has happened to me?"

The Devil grinned and said to him:

"First, you arrived as a tourist. Now, you live here!"

And, with that, the man sank to the bottom of the pot, to suffer and die forever!

We fell silent while Mauro laughed at his story. I looked at the lovely countryside as it sped past. Palm trees swayed, blue sky hung endlessly overhead, and we loved the ride in this vintage car. I said that this must be the most beautiful prison in the world. The salsa music blared louder on the radio and the warmth of the day mounted. Mauro nodded, and we drove on.

I'M SOOOOO SORRY

Many years ago, I taught a student who became, for various reasons, a serious challenge to me in my attempt to teach in a particular class. For reasons of anonymity, I will not use her name, nor will I provide any clues as to when she was in my class, or what grade it was. I don't normally write about experiences with students because I don't wish to cause emabarrassment or shame ... to either the students or to myself. But, I wish to prove a point with this anecdote.

The student in question had many issues, serious and real. She had been a challenge to other teachers before me, and, I suspect, long after me. It became increasingly more difficult to teach not only her, but the other students in this class because of her inappropriate behaviour. I used all the tried and true methods of class control and tried several interventions involving her parents and the school's administration. Everyone concerned became increasingly frustrated with her behaviour.

It got to the point where she would not be able to last more than a few minutes in the classroom before she displayed some type of inappropriate behaviour. I would have to take some kind of action, and, inevitably, she was sent to the office frequently. The particular vice principal who handled her case was also at wit's end. Nothing seemed to work.

And then, a miracle happened. The student apologised for a particular behaviour she exhibited. It was the first time she had done this. Everyone was pleased: the vice principal thought it was a real breakthrough, the student's parents were encouraged ... even I was at least mollified to some degree. I agreed to let the student come back to class, in the hope that the apology was the educational equivalent of the conversion on the road to Damascus.

We had, I recall, about three days' relative peace. Then, another inappropriate behaviour. I was inclined to give the student a bit more slack because of the previous breakthrough, but it was merely a futile hope. Her behaviour deteriorated to the point where I had to, once again, remove her from the classroom and send her to the office in order to be able to continue my lesson with the rest of the class. Predictably, I was called to the office at the end of the day, where the student was in the office of the vice principal, crying and acting so contrite. Another apology flowed forth. I looked at the VP, who looked back at me with eyebrows upraised, as though in surrender.

Back into the class next day, and we had at least a day of peace. Then, another breach of classroom etiquette, another reprimand, another trip to the office, another meeting, another apology. Back to class, where another breach of classroom etiquette followed, with another reprimand, another trip to the office .... you get the drift.

After about a month of this, the VP got the hint and withdrew the girl from my class and set her up in a special ed situation in order to get her to try to earn a credit. I breathed a sigh of relief, my class became an actual pleasure to teach because the other kids settled down, and I listened with great compassion to the spec ed personnell who had to deal with this student. I understand the student frequently apologised for regular breaches of classroom etiquette in the spec ed room.

Apologies are easy. For some people, it becomes apparent that saying sorry is all they have to do in order to continue to act the way they want. They become finely attuned to the inability of a system or even society in general to effectively deal with abberent behaviour. The words of apology become perfected with practice, the body language suitably shrunken, even the tears look real. But they are only words and acting. Anyone can learn to do this.

And, once learned, the act can be repeated ad nauseum in order to get what the practitioner wants. Inevitably, the goal for the practitioner is attention. Why? For it's own sake. The habitual apologist is a narcissist par excellence. In order to feed this narcissism, bad behaviour is repeated in order to get a reprimand, in order to perform the neatly choreographed apology and have all eyes and ears on the narcissist. Success !!

I do not truthfully know what became of this student. I do know that she was in our school for at least one more year after my attempt to teach her, although never again in my class. It was the strangest thing. Every time I passed her in the hallway, she had the biggest smile and the warmest greeting for me. In front of other students, she actually said that I was her favourite teacher. My sarcasm radar was going into overdrive with all of this. But I could never actually detect any sign or hint of sarcasm or cynicism or negativaty in her voice, her expression or her actions. I was not convinced of her act, of course. But, I had to admit, this kid was good.

This leaves us with rather unsettling questions. When is an apology enough to settle a dispute? How does one actually know when an apologist is actually sorry ? Are words alone enough ? Or must some kind of act of contrition accompany the words ?

There are no answers. But, to the majority of us, when a person continually apologises for repeated bad behaviour, words are most certainly not enough.

A WALK THROUGH THE RINGS

You can learn much by walking. It is not only a physical exercise, but an opportunity for meditation on the huge issues dominating life. And it is the best way to observe things, especially how things change.

I live in a wonderful town, Newmarket Ontario. Recently, Money Sense magazine declared Newmarket to be one of the ten best places to live in Canada. Such things as median income, employment rates, schools, traffic, and other "quality of life" criteria were taken into consideration. Residents of this historic town have known of Newmarket's excellence for some time.

For me, walking from Newmarket's historic heart reveals how the town grew. Like a tree, there are rings of growth. The oldest part exists along the Holland River and Fairy Lake. The old Main Street is the core of this area, and the lovely homes and buildings, many proudly displaying plaques of the original owner's name and year of construction cluster around the core. Many buildings pre-date Confederation.

As the walker moves east, changes are evident. Many homes in the next outer ring are of the "post war" style, simple bungalows on large lots with corner stores and laneways behind houses. Move further out and the "surveys" of the 60's and 70's come into view: larger homes, many multi-story and with shorter and shallower front yards are the style. Then, the streets become a jumble of cul-de-sacs and crescents as the 80' and 90's emerge. Now, the new millenium arrives and houses become huge structures on postage stamp sized lots. And in the future ...? Will a walker find younger, stronger, fast growing rings decades from now?

The town is currently involved in a process which will determine how the town will grow in the next eighteen years. In that time, Newmarket will add upwards of 21,000 new residents. Where will they live? How will they get around? What will our town look like in 2031? To deal with all of this, a plan, known as the "Town of Newmarket Urban Centres Secondary Plan" has been formulated and was discussed at a public meeting at the new town hall. In a nutshell, the plan identifies areas where growth will occur and will need to be managed, with new streets, new transit, new infrastructure, and new buildings to house people and allow them to conduct their businesses. The plan is ambitious, wide-ranging, daunting, expensive, and will completely change the face of Newmarket forever. 

Many people voiced concerns about the draft plan. Some of the main growth areas in the plan involve the Yonge Street and Davis Drive corridors. Several developments include provisions for the construction of high rise mixed use buildings, some going as high as ( potentially ) thirty stories. People raised genuine concerns for the appearance of such construction, the problems with density impacting traffic ( already bad in the corridors ) and safety of pedestrians, school children and seniors. People who live in quiet neighbourhoods voiced concerns about the shadows of high rises looming over their homes. And people quibbled about the difference between "absolute" height limits and "bonus" limits. Developers were regarded as though they were sharks circling our town, ready to devour it and all who live there.

For me, I share the concerns of residents .... to a point. Unfettered growth is dangerous, and, to be sure, developers are motivated by one thing only: profit. Those who voiced concern about the greed and lack of concern for quality of life must be listened to. But some people are undoubtedly motivated by "Nimbyism" ... the "not in my back yard" syndrome.  I would certainly be concerned if one of these towers were build overlooking my yard. But Nimbyism is narrow and selfish. It is motivated by only thinking and being concerned about oneself and one's own interest, without paying any attention to the greater good. It denies growth and believes that one can put a halt to growth permanently and, thus, preserve the status quo forever. Nimbyism is utter nonsense. Growth is coming, whether Newmarket likes it or not. The population estimates are based on trends. But what if the projections are wrong? What if more than 21,000 people choose to live here before 2031? What then? Will Newmarket drown in a chaotic mess of poor development and lack of services? Will we stagnate in a town where it is impossible to even get around? Will current respectable neighbourhoods become over-crowded ghettos as middle class people move out to quieter places like, say, Sharon or Holland Landing?

The fact that Newmarket has a plan is encouraging. The fact that the plan is public and allows for public input is laudable. And, most importantly, the fact that the plan allows for future generations of Newmarket residents to prepare for further growth is not only appropriate, it is truly visionary. Thirty story towers are not going to be built in the next five or ten, or even fifteen years: but twenty or thirty years from now? The need for them may well be pressing. For a group of residents or for the current town council to put permanent caps on growth, handcuffing future town councils and preventing them from managing the changes that they will face looking forward to the next hundred years would not only be short-sighted, it would be destructive and plain stupid.

One wonders how the townspeople of Newmarket in the 1840's ( the time when my beloved Grey Goat was built as a well-to-do farm house ) might have felt about the construction of the homes and businesses that comprise the current core of the town. They would probably be horrified to think that their little settlement of a few dozen souls could grow into a town of a couple of thousand people. Imagine how they would react if they could see Newmarket today? They would probably cry havoc and try to prevent the changes that allowed the growth to occur that created today's town.

Similarly, we in the present cannot allow our immediate concerns to cloud our judgement. Certainly, common sense has to prevail. Appropriate priorities need to be established and adhered to. But Nimbyism cannot ever be allowed to stop the inevitable.

Newmarket, like the venerable old maple trees that grace the front yard of the Grey Goat ( probably a hundred years old, at least ), will grow new rings. We must accept that, and embrace the growth. It will happen no matter how we feel about it now. We can't stop it. So, let's plan for it and do the right thing. Let's grow tall, strong and smart and grow with vision and hope for a better future.

IN PRAISE OF AN OLDER SEASON

Now that the weather is turning colder, many people are becoming wistful for summer. They bemoan the loss of heat and humidity. They look out of their windows into an October sky and comment on the arrival of winter. People look to coop themselves up, put on layers and wait out the upcoming weeks until spring.

Not me.

I love all the seasons, but I now have a special spot in my heart for autumn. When I was working, autumn was an enemy: it signalled the return of the work year and the loss of complete freedom that a summer brought to a teacher. Oh well ... that was then, this is now.

I have had the opportunity, between the sighs and curses of friends and family, to recount what I have been able to do this autumn. I've been to Algonquin Park twice, once to kayak on a quiet and serene lake and river and behold a lovely waterfall by myself. The other time to Algonquin was with my wife and my mom to take in the absolutely spectacluar display of colour in the hardwood forests.

I have also been boating with a couple of good friends on Lake Couchiching. Again, the lake was completely deserted. The fish weren't biting, but it didn't matter. The weather was cool, but we were dressed for it. We had good conversation, good companionship, and time slowed down to a nice rhythmn as the breezes ruffled the waves.

I've seen some good football, both live and on TV. This is the time for "football weather", and the cool, sunny days allowed for some incredible displays of athletic prowess. In fact, October is a sports fan's paradise. Football, both Canadian and American, professional and college, is in full swing. Baseball is in its post-season. Hockey is starting up, with all the promise of early days' success. Golf, tennis, auto sports, horse racing, soccer ... they are all going strong at this time. There is no better time of the year for a sports fan.

We have been able to enjoy our family. We celebrated Thanksgiving here in Newmarket with a traditional turkey dinner. We marvelled at our sister-in-law's talents at an art show in Toronto. We celebrated a truly fun and unique wedding of my second cousin and caught up on all the family accomplishments.

Lou and I took a long and enjoyable road trip through the Canadian and American mid west. Technically, the trip took place in summer, but I count it part of the autumn since much of it was in September. We saw some wonderful things, enjoyed the pleasures of great cities like Winnipeg and Chicago and ran into some good friends.

Autumn always brings back wistful memories for me. Many years ago, when my dad was diagnosed with the cancer that would eventually claim his life, we went through a terrible time as we watched him grow weaker and sicker. And yet, I remember that the weather that autumn was wonderful, and the colours absolutely fantastic. I tried to spend as much time with my dad as I could. I went home every weekend and sat with him in the back garden talking and enjoying the sunshine. Even though I knew he was slipping away from us, I think of those last days and weeks as the "golden days." We had many wonderful talks which I will carry with me all the days of my life. My dad finally grew desperately sick and died in the winter, so, for me, that last autumn was truly "golden."

When I take long walks along the trails here in Newmarket, I begin to think of my own life. I guess it's true to say that I have now entered the autumn of my own life. I like to think of myself as still youthful in my outlook: I am still in pretty good shape: I enjoy all the pleasures and aspects of life. Yes, I still think I'll live forever and never change. Until I look in the mirror. The signs are unmistakeable. Just as the weather grows cooler, the sun's light grows paler, and the trees' colours more remarkable, I see someone changing into something other than young. I'm not angry or depressed by this: it's natural. And, just as though the best pleasures of the year are in autumn, I truly believe that the next few years will be incredible for me. I have health, a wonderful wife, a loving family, truly good friends and , well, a little money to do some things. Winter is a long way off yet.

It really has been a great autumn. The weather has been unusually mild, the colours fantastic and the family and friends so warm and precious. So what if it rains a little, or the leaves are starting to fall, or the temperature is in single digits now?  It's truly great to be alive !! 

LEAFS FANS WONDER: IS THIS FINALLY THE YEAR ?

Pffffttt.... NO ! .... get serious.  Maybe next year, as always !