Two uneconomists
Among my more memorable rides on the College streetcar in Toronto, was one I took past the “Clarke Institute of Psychiatry” (as it was then called). Outpatients were picked up between St. George and Spadina, and these included, on that day, a woman with a dazzling head dress, who was wearing a magnificent gown, and spake with a powerful, dramatic voice. It was rush hour, and the trolley was packed full, yet with apparently little effort she commanded the attention of everyone aboard.
And she declaimed, to all of us:
“The Army is my son! … The Navy is my son! … The Air Force is my son! …”
And then, turning for some reason specifically to me, she asked: … “Are YOU my son?”
I should be proud, I suppose, of my disproportionate success in attracting the attention of eccentric persons. This was a prize instance, though it ended when the lady suddenly disembarked, at Bathurst. Still, I have been ruminating upon her question, ever since, without yet coming to a satisfactory answer.
But next best is attitude, and a way of life, like this exceptional lady. I was thinking this just this morning, after having posted this email to my perfectly sane and responsible elder son:
“My position, as a luddite reactionary diehard troll, is that we should always be ready for a Carrington Event, with low-tech back-ups for every high-tech system. … That we should build everything to last for at least a century, or better for a thousand years. … Too, I am an enthusiast for labour-intensive, regenerative agriculture, without combine harvesters; of splendid fresh foods and fine cheeses, beer and bacon; and for the punishment of poor craftsmen. …”
(I should have mentioned that the army is my son, &c.)