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Lethbridge Herald, The (Newspaper) - February 8, 1975, Lethbridge, Alberta Saturday, February 8, 1175 THE IETHBRIDQE HERALD 5 Apartment living By Margaret Luckhui st WINNIPEG It has to be said that apartment living offers a number of advan- tages. Three, which my hus- band never allows me to forget are: no grass cutting no hedge trimming; and no snow shovelling. After a recent storm he sat at the window all day and smugly watched the fo'lks across the street shovell- ing out their driveways. His car, at the time, was tucked away somewhere in the bowels of the apartment, in a lovely heated subterranean garage. On the other hand, in summer, when the ther- mometer shoots into the high 90s, we flick on the air con- ditioner and occasionally have to put on sweaters. Then too, if a tap drips, or the windows need washing, we just call on the superintendent who sees to these chores without charge and with a cheery smile. We aren't plagued by door- to-door salesmen, pop-bottle collectors or even unwelcome guests, because of the tight security system. No one can get into the building without a key, and if a guest visits he must come prepared with our phone number because he can only get our attention by phon- ing up to our apartment from the outer lobby whereupon, if we feel friendly, we will press a button which releases the door lock. The building is reasonably sound-proof, with sturdy walls and carpeting everywhere. You can therefore have a par- ty, or engage in a rip-snorting family fight without attracting your neighbor's un- welcome attention or suffer- ing his rebuke. If you feel a sense of claustrophobia, most high-rises have little balconies where you can grow a few' plants and barbecue your hamburgers. As we're on the second floor overlooking a busy, dusty street, we don't use our balcony except for utilitarian purposes. In winter I keep frozen goods out there as long as weather permits, and until recently I stepped out onto it to shake my dust mop. I was under the mistaken notion that my dust simply wafted away on the wind, but ap- parently, not always. Sometimes it wafted downward onto my neighbor's balcony below, usually when she. had a roast on the rotisserie. She visited me one morning after a rather zealous housecleaning on my part, and on the pretext of in- viting me for coffee, in an aggrieved voice, suggested that it was customary for mop-shakers to place the mop and its rolls of dust in a paper bag and head for the garbage bins where a truly fastidious housewife could shake her dirt away without distressing anyone. The apartment I'll admit, has plenty of cupboards, as well as two fairly substantial lockers. But. this still doesn't allow enough space for all the precious clutter we've collected over the years and Which formerly we've confin- ed to dark corners of our various basements. Books, Books, and more books, line one side of a locker. Christ- mas decorations and seasonal clothes another, and in between, piled nine feet high, are boxes filled with years of memorabilia which, for the most part, belong to our offspring who promise to go through them all sometime. Among other items there are an inordinate number of old graduation programs, report cards, Sun- day School certificates, text books, dried-up corsages, athletic ribbons and awards, autograph albums, and scrap- books filled with dozens of newspaper clippings. I was surprised and rather pleased to find recently, a clipping on my own long-ago graduation describing, of all things, what I was wearing. "Miss Margaret Fairfield looked charming in pale blue dotted Swiss with accents of pink at the waist and hem." Surely this must have been in my mother's effects, because I know I wouldn't have clipped that souvenir for the usual teenage reason that I recall haying a perfectly crummy time. My date danced as if on snowshoes, he had sweaty hands, and his over-done Brilliantine lulled outright the pretty pink corsage I had pinn- ed in my hairdo. I can't think now, why I went with him, but I believe it had something to do with my best friend who was shy and viewed this chap fondly from a distance. I think she talked me into inviting him to be my escort, so that ike could get to know him better. Come to think of it, there must have been another reason; I don't believe I was ever that unselfish. But who knows, maybe for once I may have felt extremely benevolent ah, the schemes of youth! Mind you, storage places such as under beds make for difficulty in doing a thorough dusting job on a regular basis, but as our grandson, Hurricane-Ethan, (midway through the Terrible Twos) crawls under all the beds at least twice a week, he catches what I miss. Then his mother simply runs the vacuum over him and my dusting and Ethan are tidied up in short order rather efficient actually. For us, the apart- ment presented two serious problems right from the start. Number one each Sunday the family comes for dinner, and as we now add up to 16 and they nearly all come all of the time, it makes for exceedingly ungracious living. The meal has to be of smorgasbord type, but 16 people, (five of whom are un- der eight) in a fairly small area makes for nose-to-nose dining and it can sometimes be downright dangerous.. A fork-weaver can pierce nearby flesh; little ones get tromped on (unless of course, they're under beds) and the people who get there first to claim seats face starvation if they are unwilling to forfeit their places, because certain- ly nobody is going to wait on them. No matter, all risks aside, they keep returning with the homing instinct of the Capistrano swallows, ,so the event must be meaningful in a way which I have yet to perceive. The other, and most serious drawback is the boredom which apartment-living inflicts on its residents. I have the. place cleaned up and my laundry done by a.m. which leaves a lot of day to put in. In the evening there is little to do except watch the tube, or go for a walk along the same routes. In an apartment there are rules which have to be adhered to and the owners frown on liberated putterers and do-it- yourselfers who create odd smells and harsh noises. Naturally, a conscientious te- nant tries to adapt to the rules in consideration for his neighbors, and the fact that a complaint from one of them could result in you and your belongings being ordered out within 24 hours. I'm surprised that niy neighbor below has not been up to mention my pot- dropping problem. It seems no matter how careful I am, as I make breakfast each morning I somehow manage to drop a pot lid which then spins helplessly around the corlon floor like a top, while I fran- tically try to capture it. It must jar the poor soul beneath me right off her kitchen stool but I've concluded, because of her acceptance of this daily occurrence, that she has her hearing-aid turned off. But rules don't make for boredom, people do. As soon as I got this fact through my skull I began to sulk less and put my time to better use. At a 'friends' suggestion, I got back to some volunteer work and do-gooding: I learned how to do needlepoint, macrame and crewel work. Recently I took up rug hooking which is expensive but fascinating. I've gone about it with such enthusiasm I may be able to wall-to-wall Portage Avenue single handedly. Needless to say I've had to turn a deaf ear to my husband's somewhat boorish remarks that I've become too involved in happy hooking and should turn to something else for a break. Weekdays in the apartment didn't seem to bother my hus- band at all. He was weary when he came home from work and just grateful he didn't have to drag out the lawnmower or shovel or whatever. But weekends got to us both. On one particularly dull weekend which we seemed to spend bumping into each other, we suddenly came to the realization almost at the same moment, that what we really needed was to get away from the confinements of our second floor habitat and renew and reawaken old interests. So without any mutual planning or lengthy discussions we began poking around the countryside until we found a little house with a big yard where we could es- cape for weekends, winter and summer, and thus avoid, oral least sidetrack, the ruts and routines into which we were surely and unhappily slipping. THE VOICE OF ONE Dr. Frank S. Morley Col. William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody Painted from real life by Rosa Bonheur Book Reviews Highlights of Buffalo Bill museum "The West of Buffalo BUI: Frontier Art, Indian Crafts, Memorabilia from the Buffalo Bill Historical Centre" by Hedgpeth, Frost and Flatterer, (Prentice-Hall of Canada Ltd. 289 pages, One of the most impressive museums I have ever been in is the Buffalo Bill Historical Centre in Cody, Wyoming. This book is a collection of highlights from the museum's vast and impressive displays. Divided into sections, the first one dealing with the Buf- falo Bill Memorabilia, the book provides an amazingly detailed look at the museum. The only thing the book cannot portray of course is the size of some of the magnificent paintings that grace the museum's walls. In the Buffalo Bill Cody seg- ment of the book the reader is given a brief glimpse of the legendary westerner's life and then taken on a picture tour of the many displays depicting the Cody legend. Posters from the touring Wild West show are prevalent throughout the museum and the book .reprints many of them. Photos, paintings and interesting notes about Cody make this section enjoyable reading. There is even a shot of the awe-inspiring Buffalo Bill Dam that is situated between Cody, Wyoming and Yellowstone park. The photo, white showing the dam to be high, does little in getting across the ruggedness and maccessability of the area in which the dam is built. It is something one must see for oneself. The museum, incidentally is not that far from Lethbridge. Once in Yellowstone Park, it is but a short drive to Cody along a picturesque highway. The second section of the book deals with the Plains In- dians. Once again the color photos in the book show the reader the beautiful beadwork, costumes and headdresses that are on dis- play, but they only hold real significance for the reader who has toured the museum in person. Photos fail to capture the delicacy of the costumes and the intricacy of the beadwork. It stirs one, particularly if one is a western history buff, to see the authentic ceremonial costumes that such renowned Indians as American Horse and Red Cloud once wore. Also included in the book is a special section on the Whitney Gallery of Western Art that is an integral part of the Buffalo Bill Museum. When our family visited the museum last summer one of the most impressive art dis- plays I've ever seen was featured. Over 180 original sculptures and paintings by the renowned western artist Frederic Remington were on display. These magnificent works of art were right alongside other large displays by Charles Russell, Farny, Seltzer, Johnson, Borglum and Browning, Montana's Bob Scriver and numerous other great artists including some magnificent, super-large paintings by Albert Bierstadt that one could sit and admire for hours. Words cannot describe the feeling one gets walking through the large, brightly il- luminated corridors of the sprawling museum at Cody, surrounded by the works of some of the world's finest ar- tists. This book serves as an ex- cellent stimulus to one's memory of the experience of visiting the museum. The black and white reproduction of Henry H. Cross' "The Victor" in the book reminds one of the large original painting that dominates its section of the gallery and leads the onlooker to stand beneath it in awe at its over powering magnifi- cence. If you like western history or western art there is no ex- cuse for not making the trip to Cody, Wyoming to take in this museum. But if you manage to find an excuse, I strongly urge you to spendi the this book costs, and see what you're missing. It goes without saying that if you do go to the museum then this book will be a necessity for you to serve as a constant reminder of your visit to one of the most memorable places you'll see during 'your life. GARRY ALLISON Impressive idealism "Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons" by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (Delacorte Press, 110.30, 285 pages, dis- tributed by Fitzhenry Whiteside Under an umbrella of invented words, first appear- ing in his novel Cat's Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut has gathered some of his speeches, essays and reviews of recent years. Although they deal with a wide variety of subjects, including science fiction, Biafra, and the 1972 Republican Convention, there is a binding element of idealism that I found im- pressive. Over and over, Vonnegut ex- presses concern over inhumaneness. There is a positive expression of his out- look in the long Playboy inter- view at the end of the book. "I admire Christianity more than Christianity as symbolized by gentle peo- ple sharing a common bowl." In an essay about Transcendental Meditation, in reaction to a comment that the worst thing that could happen to someone trying this new religion is that one could be .disappointed, he wryly observes, "that's a long way from being hung up on a cross or thrown to the lions." It may be a mistake to suggest that Vonnegut is an orthodox Christian but he seems to be one who, in spirit, is not far from the Kingdom of God. Those who have been put off -by the street language found in his novels should read these pieces to gain another perspective on the man. Also those who have categorized him as a science fiction writer need to read what he says about that. DOUG WALKER A genius at work "Bernard Shaw" by Vincent Wall, (Longman Canada Limited, 154 This is an account of Shaw's struggle to get his plays before the London public. Banned by the Lord Chamberlain, along with those of Ibsen, as dealing too realistically with unpleasant problems of the day, it was .necessary at first to produce them privately at the court theatre under the aegis of the Stage Society. Wall recounts the series of financial losses both at the Court' and later In the West End, continuous struggles with actors to get them to enunciate their lines properly, and with directors to achieve the proper rhythm of the plays-which he main- tained should be operatic in scope. Quotations from his notes to members of the cast, criticizing, cajoling, and in- spiring them, are highly entertaining as are those from love letters to various actresses such as Ellen Terry and Mrs: Pat Campbell. Theatre buffs will enjoy this lively look at this fascinating genius -at -work. MARY HEINITZ Poetry and the Puritans As the year plunged into an early Lent, nothing could be more proper than to turn the mind to the Puritans and, since they are so maligned and misunderstood, to their poetry. Take first Edmund Spenser, included in the roster of Puritan poets by the famous Cambridge scholar, T. R. Glover. Born in London about 1552, Spenser went to live in Ireland as Sheriff of Cork. His house was pillaged and burned, a little child dying in the fire. In Ireland he fell in love with Elizabeth Bayle arid not even the romance of the Brownings is more beautiful. He was a Puri- tan in his love of freedom, his hatred of tyrants, his desire for equality, his distinct of walth, his love of nature, his contempt for court life, but most of all in his concept of beauty as a spiritual thing with power for good or evil, inspiring love arid virtue. The exquisite description of Una as Truth with infinite capacity for tenderness is an ex- ample. The heroic and lovely Britomart, who buckles on her armor to rescue her beloved, is another. In a letter addressed to Sir Walter Raleigh for the Faerie Queene, Spenser says, "The general end of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline. "He sees love as the civilizer of the world, drawing it from chaos. Apart from the Faerie Queene, Spenser's production and fame are immense, but in the Faerie Queene Milton saw in him" a greater teacher than Scotus or Aquinas." Never holding a brush, he was a master painter and Legouis says that "he was one of the master musicians and perhaps the greatest of the picture makers of the world." Poor Spenser died of starvation in London, which is a well known fate of poets. There is no musician in any language, however, who surpasses John Milton, whose organ notes roll on flawlessly. He had an im- peccable ear. As Wordsworth said, "Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart." His marriage to Mary Powell was tragic and his writings on divorce show his desperation in being trapped in a sexless, loveless marriage. Milton had the Puritan contempt for the crowd. He had the Puritan hatred for in- justice and cruelty supremely shown in his marvellous sonnet on the massacre of the Waldensians by the Piedmontese. In Paradise Lost he reveals the Puritan's devoted immersion in the Bible. He had the Puritan love of freedom: "No man who knows aught can be so stupid to deny that all Men naturally were born free, being the im- age and resemblance of God himself." He had the Puritan sense of national destiny and of England being chosen by God for some great purpose: "God is decreeing to begin some new and great period in his Church, even to the reforming of the Reformation itself; what does he then but reveal Himself to his servants as His manner is, first to his No more splendid argument for freedom of printing and speaking was ever made than Areopagitica: "Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all Alas that Mary Powell died so late before Milton would be free! He would marry again, but not see his wife. He was blind long since. John Bunyan is claimed as a Puritan poet, but surely his enduring genius was prose which he wrote with moving sincerity, an easy, natural style, expressing the con- science of a people, to which prose his poetry 1 is incidental, with a way of bubbling out sur- prisingly. Now William Cowper is a much better example of Puritan poetry, a truly great poet with purity of thought, freedom and truth- in its commonplace themes, emphasis on morality, the family, and the country, an anguished struggle of soul through which humor breaks like sunshine. Another example of Puritan poetry is George Crabbe with his deep sympathy with the poor, his sincerity and realism, the only man, said Jane Austen, whom she would con- sider marrying, though she did not know him! If, however, you would add splendor to Lent, read Wordsworth again. Lamb wrote a friend, "Why, a line of Wordsworth's is a lever to lift the immortal spirit. Here is the Puritan social and moral idealism. John Stuart Mill called his poems "a medicine for my mind" and a source of inward joy. Caza- mian says that Wordsworth influenced the en- tire 19th century of English poetry. Legouis says he influenced the French poets. He was a man of tenderness and immense sensibility with whom, as with all Puritans, the reformer was usually, but not always, mixed with the poet. In his later years Wordsworth tended to be didactic, the radical rapture and ecstasy of early years growing thin and the celestial illumination fading, but to the end he carried the spiritual power, as Mill related, to lift men from depression into joy. SATURDAY TALK By Harry Bruce Freight rates HALIFAX In neat countries, almost everyone knows what public issues are bugg- ing almost everyone else. Together, the British suffer news of the latest kick to their economic groin. Together, the Greeks hear violent word of another coup, the Portuguese see the changing fashions of revolution, the Israelis sniff a border mood. Canada is not like that. Oh sure, we sometimes share a hockey score, a political 'scandal, a bizarre remark by a national character, or even the muggy foreboding spreading like a greasy cloud of dispiriting gas that something grim is about to happen to our money. But more often, the crises of Vancouver are no more familiar to the people of Quebec City (or, for that matter, of Calgary) than, say, the dog problem on the Australian out- back. A Canadian, as a rule, really has no idea what's bugging all those millions of dis- tant strangers whom John Diefenbaker has endlessly and sonorously defined as "Y1 fellow Canadians." You don't believe me? Okay. I want you to try my handy-dandy, up-to-the-minute quiz on what's currently making influential Maritimers yelp as though lobster claws had snapped onto their most tender parts. Many luminaries of east-coast affairs are red with so much outrage there's even talk about getting the heck out of Confederation once and for all and yet, if you live in upper Canada, I'll bet a quintal of cod against a bluenose dime that you know less about their latest grievance than you do about Pravda's opinion of some Moscow hockey star's drink- ing habits. Here's the quiz: 1.) What angers at least one Nova Scotian MP so much he wants Maritimers to march on Ottawa? 2.) What causes the Maritimes' biggest dai- ly newspaper, the Halifax Herald, to demand a "sweeping shake-up of the federal cabinet and the top echelons of the administrative ap- paratus in 3.) What makes the Herald see railway public relations men as "glib, persuasive, rationalizers, hired for their mastery of propaganda 4.) What inspires the Herald and a lot of politicians and business leaders, as well to urge the speedy formation of a rough, tough, non-partisan coalition of senators, MPs and provincial politicians exclusively from Atlan- tic Canada? What could be so evil its defeat justifies the warm, rare abandonment of the traditional grass-roots hatreds of east-coast politics? 5.) What recent action by federal govern- ment agencies suggests to the Nova Scotia leader of the opposition that the province must try to get a supreme court injunction against Canada? 6.) Maritimers have taken to describing a certain federal policy as a horrible thing, a nightmare, an injustice, a disgrace, another severe blow, a double-barrelled blow, a drastic blow, a death blow, and a terrible, terrible action. They've added that the policy is atrocious, vicious, ridiculous, disastrous, devastating, arbitrary, discriminatory, totally unaccep- table, extremely disappointing, worthy of storms of short of a criminal act, and part of a dirty upper Canadian plot to keep Maritimers groveling in a condition of servile economic malnutrition. What is this hateful policy anyway? 7.) A recent federal decision has spawned more cliches down here than you'll find on all the aprons at a barbecuing contest for sub- urban mayors, only the Maritimers' cliches are expressions of alarm. Maritime businesses, we hear, can barely hold their heads above water. Now, they'll be out of the ball game altogether. Worse, they'll'be further down the pipe because this federal decision could well be not only the straw that breaks the camel's back but also the final nail in the coffin containing several Nova Scotian industries. Yup, the Atlantic provinces must use their muscle, lay down the law, speak with a united force. They must be the victorious David confronting the loathsome federal Goliath, and all because of what? That's the last question, but the answer is the same. All seven questions have this one simple answer: The removal of the freeze on railway freight rates the approval by the Canadian transport commission of a 12.5 per cent increase in the rates, starting last January 1, and of another 12.5 per cent jump for March 1 and the feds' refusal even to consider phas- ing in the 25 per cent rise over the whole year. Freight rates. That's the issue that's got Nova Scotia bubbling with rage early in That was the issue that had Nova Scotia bubbling with rage early in 1875, too. It's doubtful if upper Canadians cared much more about freight rates then than they do now. The voice from the crowd By Dong Walker A panel of principal participants in the life of McKillop United Church spoke about their concerns at the annual meeting of the congregation. Isabel Blakeley's concern is that new- comers to the church may not be welcomed because, established members busy themselves with talking to each other after the morning services. "I'm not pointing the finger at any of she said to the assembled people. "I'm as bad as anyone when it comes to this." was the terse comment of hus- band Phil from the audience. ;