Air Carrier Miscarriage

The flyer was left open on the table; the Cinnibuns looked good, only $3.00 for six, most tempting. But I had other immediate business: Flights to Montreal to be there for our grandchild’s birth. But while I’m searching fares, why not check flights to England from there; we’re already half way to England from Alberta.

Was my computer kidding me? Return flights to dear old Blighty for $279.00 round trip? Never seen prices like that for the forty six years we had been in Canada. I dutifully filled in dates for two adults—$558.00 for two. Celebrate later with those Cinnibuns! The webpage crunched the numbers.

In large gay red numbers it announced the result: A total of $1,697.24! I searched the page. Yes, there in small blue print it noted “taxes.” I clicked on it. A separate page opened and detailed the following list per person.

Security charge                       25.91

GST                                        1.25

Quebec sales tax                      2.23

Airport Improvement fee           25.00

Air passenger duty, UK             98.60

Passenger service charge, UK    56.63

Fuel surcharge                       344.00

Insurance and security              16.00

Total taxes for two persons added up to $1,139.24—twice the advertised fare. “Not fair,” I muttered. Now, the celebration with the Cinnibuns would shift to consolation—a coping mechanism. Ann had the car. I’d need a taxi into town to pick up those buns. I called Trusty Taxi, reputedly the cheapest in town.

“Wait for me,” I asked the driver, I’ll only be a minute.” The stack of brightly coloured boxes advertising their contents were stacked in prominent display. A steal at fifty cents each. I pulled out a $5.00 bill to pay for them.

“That’ll be $17.67,” the teller said in his friendliest manner.

“Pardon me?” I asked.

“$17.67,” he responded gaily.

“But they’re advertised at $3.00,” I countered.

“Of course, but there is a $2.00 charge for the box, and 1.00 for its colour printing.” He checked the till ticket occasionally for prompting. “You picked up a box of cream Cinnibuns—an extra $2.00. There is a $6.00 fuel surcharge to get the buns here, and a $2.96 administration fee—I have to be paid,” he added accusingly.

He continued. “Then there’s the GST and a $1.50 shop improvement fee—you want a clean store, don’t you? But,” he added brightly, “there’s no sales tax in Alberta,” as though that justified the excess charges.

I looked at my five dollar bill. He looked at my five dollar bill. I stuffed it back in my wallet and dragged out my MasterCard.

I sank into the back seat of the taxi, deriving what comfort I could from my Trusty Taxi. It was short lived. Back home the meter showed $45.00. The driver turned to me.

“That’ll be $175.00,” he stated matter-of-factly.

My shocked expression sparked the first salvo. Apparently, the car didn’t run on condensed air, so the need for a fuel surcharge, etc., etc. I listened to the same lame litany I’d just heard from the store clerk. My MasterCard again contributed unwillingly to this largesse.

I carried my precious cargo indoors and opened the box. Most of the cream crowning the Cinnibuns had migrated to the underside of the lid. Their emaciated appearance reflected my mood and MasterCard. I made coffee and cut a bun out of the box. This was no celebration, not even consolation. This was a funeral tea for a stillborn trip to England.

Thanksgiving Turkey: The Main Attraction?

This headline caught my attention. Is this the heart of Thanksgiving? Just a chance to nosh up on the good stuff? An “eat drink and be merry” event with nary a glance in our Provider’s direction.

To be fair, that article turned out to be a recipe for the meal, not a commentary on the holiday! But the title reflects a common purpose for this and other “holy”days.

Too many miss the deep significance of this and other sacred times to stop a while and strengthen our lives in Him. Romans 1:21 reminds us that lack of thankfulness to God leads to futility and darkness of the heart. 

 

It has always struck me that lack of gratitude is the flip-side of selfishness that is eventually self-defeating. An assumed right to a level of prosperity has led to riots and strikes in Europe that only deepens the financial crisis they protest. That anger displaces any thankfulness for those comforts they have; for even the meagre resources of some.

During the last century, a Christian ethic of hard work to rebuild nations after two devastating world wars fostered a growing and stable prosperity. In this century, an increasing sense of entitlement has shifted that prosperity to a rickety foundation of credit. Consistently living beyond our means has created a financial bubble of personal and national debt that threatens disaster across the planet.

Thanksgiving is a opportunity for us to reverse that trend, and begin to rebuild for a stable future. A mounting gratitude to God for all He provides, and appreciation of what we have, can work against the desire to acquire that plagues our culture. And godliness with contentment is great gain.

Give the Dog a Bone

Jake hunkered down. This invasion had him on edge. In addition to the gentle elderly couple he adored, there were two youngish couples, a teen and a couple of children. His eyes followed them all warily from his kitchen corner.

And the activity! Where was the quiet routine he normally enjoyed? Particularly today, mother was bustling around the kitchen as if possessed, helped occasionally by the other females. If there was any virtue in all this, it was the delightful aromas resulting from their efforts.

Jake rose and slowly padded around the other rooms. The men and children were chatting and playing in the living room, while the teen had a strange crown around her ears and quietly nodded in a corner. The dining room table had grown, and, putting his front paws on a chair, he saw a brightly decorated surface with too many place settings.

He returned to the sanctuary of his basket in the kitchen. Mother pulled the turkey from the oven and placed it on the kitchen table. ”Dad wants us all in the living room,” she said to the other women. “A short prayer of thanks together before we eat.” The three women disappeared.

Jake looked at the table. A plastic chequered cloth hung around the table edge with alternate squares sporting pictures of succulent pieces of turkey. Jake equated the smell with those inviting pictures, sauntered over and took a bite.

The next few moments were action packed, if hazy. The plastic cloth hooked itself around his canine teeth, and he pulled back sharply, trying to dislodge this foul tasting morsel by shaking his head furiously. He was conscious of a heavy object falling on his head, together with a shower of assorted vegetables liberally sprinkled with hot gravy falling around him.

The commotion brought the family running. They stood briefly in disbelief. Dad looked at Jake. A quiver of guilt shook Jake. Within seconds, a rolled up newspaper descended forcefully on his tender snout, and he found himself on the porch.

He barked at the door; no response. He whimpered—usually effective; not this time. He lay down for a while, guilt ridden, not sure why, his paws over his nose. Being shut out was worse than the family invasion. He licked the gravy off where he could reach.

He heard voices from an open window, padded over, and put his paws on the sill. They were all seated around the dining table, its centre piece a leftover joint, some burger buns, and a huge salad—mercifully stored in the ’frig.

The teen was holding forth, the children watching dolefully. “Couldn’t possibly eat that stuff now. Besides, it’s probably got rabies or something!”

“That beast deserves a whipping,” adjudicated a younger man.

“Damn right,” agreed the other.

Jake sunk to the deck, uncertain guilt washing over him again.

 “Now, now boys,” Mother sighed. “We still have more than enough to be thankful for and I doubt Jake knows what he’s done wrong. Probably won’t try it again.”

Dad nodded, Jake agreed. The window above him opened wider, and a bone dropped in front of him. He lurched forward and grabbed it between his teeth.

Suddenly, Jake was content; guilt suddenly replaced with thankfulness. A bone, forgiveness, a home, family . . . .

News Report: Mexico mulls 2-Year Marriage Licence

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the ideal time to pop the question.

He hesitated. “Er . . . I want to ask you a question. . . . Would . . .”

“Yes, go on,” she encouraged.

“Well, Would you . . . marry me?” He hesitated, trying to gauge her response.

“Possibly.” Now she hesitated. “For how long?” Marriage licences were available for one, two or five years with renewable options; some even had no expiry date.

“I thought five years; give us time to make a real effort.” His reply showed he had given this some meaningful thought.

“Hmmm. I don’t think that’s going to work for me. At my age, I don’t have that many child-bearing years left. One year would suit me better. After all, I can’t have children if we are possibly planning our break-up as well.”

He hadn’t thought about children. He didn’t want to wait five years before having children either. On that point, one year seemed the best choice.

“OK,” he responded, “I agree on one year. So, that’s settled. I’ve already done some thinking. I will buy the house—it’s the most expensive item—and you can buy the car.” He was feeling magnanimous.

“Hold it, you’re going too fast. I still haven’t said yes. We need to think about the break-up arrangements. For instance, I’m not happy about you buying the house. That will appreciate, the car won’t. You get the best part of the deal.” 

This proposal was proving more complicated than he had thought. Where had the simple: ‘will you marry me,’ and, ‘yes, yes, I will,’ gone to? 

She continued. “I want half partnership in the house, and you buy the car. And when we move in we must label everything ‘his’ and ‘hers’ to avoid misunderstanding later.” 

“You mean you want a pre-nup agreement?” He asked, becoming ruffled.

“Well, some have one even if they’re not breaking up,” she countered, “and we are planning to!”

“Look, I’m not planning to break up. I really do want to marry you for life. It’s just that if things don’t work out, a limited time licence avoids the hassle of a divorce.” It all seemed so logical to him.

She softened a little. “OK, on these conditions I’ll marry you, and we’ll see what a year will bring.” It appeared she really did love him.

“And will you stay married to me if things do work out?” He asked.

“That’s like asking a girl her age,” she replied. “Your not knowing will spice up our marriage. And you can keep that guessing game going in your head for a while longer: ‘will she or won’t she?’”

“That doesn’t appeal to me at all; I need more assurance than that.”

“All right.” She seemed tired of the game. After all, what girl doesn’t want security also? “Perhaps the best answer is just to live together—and let’s make it for life. If you’re worried about the hassle of divorce, why go through the hassle of marriage in the first place, temporary or not? And the door is still open if we don’t make it.”