Drove down to Waterloo yesterday for the annual family picnic. They used to have it in Bellwood but the Waterloo contingent considered that too far a drive, so for the last few years it's been held at the Laurel Creek Park in Waterloo.
That shortens their drive down to about ten minutes, but adds another 45 to mine, and I was having the longest drive anyway, absent any outliers from Montreal or New Jersey.
But these family picnics are a get-together I hate to miss.
What's way cool is how the next couple of generations are faring out. The third generation offspring of a bunch of DPs who got off the boat with nothing in their pockets are generally busy with masters or doctorate studies. It's the classic immigrant tale; the first generation digs ditches, the second generation manages the ditch-diggers, and the third generation, the Ph. D. crowd, produces studies that prove ditch-diggers are no longer required.
And while those master's and Doctor Phil kids have my utmost respect, I have to say there were a couple of kids there who I give even more. Nephew Sam found himself some kind of college course where he get's qualified to be a fishing and hunting guide.
Say what?
You can go to college for that?
Apparently you can.
Sam's got a gig at a hunting lodge in the North West Territories for three months, then he's got a fishing guide gig lined up in Algonquin Park, and after that he's eyeing some opportunities in New Zealand.
And nephew Isaac just got his Red Seal as a truck and coach mechanic. Isaac went the apprentice route instead of signing up for gigantic student loans. No student loans and making fifty thou a year doesn't sound too bad to me.
Especially when you compare him to all those schmucks with MA degrees in English Lit trying to pay their rent, not to mention their student loans, by driving for Uber.
But the family picnic is a tradition that goes waaay back. I think it had it's origins in the late 50's when they'd all decamp to Sauble Beach for a day in the summer. Then we moved it to the Elora Gorge Park for a few years, and then it went to Bellwood, and every year you'd see the same folks being just the same but a year older.
After fifty or sixty years, you can imagine they look quite a bit older...
Me included.
So the family shindig was six hours of driving for a three hour visit with the extended family, and today I drove half way back to Waterloo to have breakfast with my old pal Kipling at the Teviotdale Truck Stop.
Kipling is a larger than life character, and for reasons of national security I can't really tell the whole story till he kicks the bucket, and since he's looking hale and hearty I imagine that'll be a few years yet. Suffice it to say he's made his living in the transport business most of his life.
Kipling's got a bee in his bonnet about self-driving vehicles. Seems Freightliner or somebody recently ran a driverless truck all the way from California to Detroit without an accident.
Great!
Kipling points out that about 20% of the workforce is engaged in transporting goods from point A to point B.
He further points out that once you disemploy that 20% of the working population, there'll be 20% less people able to buy the shit those trucks are carrying.
I guess the AI robots who are taking over the driver's seat and a lot of other jobs in what's left of our manufacturing sector are gonna have to pick up the slack.
Not sure how that'll work out.
While I'm out breakfasting with Kipling, the Farm Manager is on the horn with the Bubbinator, and somehow, in their weekly exchange on all matters political, they get on the topic of dehumanizing the "other" and how that leads to genocide.
Canada as a British Colony dehumanized the native Canadians.
Germany under Hitler dehumanized Jews.
Israel today is dehumanizing the Palestinians. That's why it's A-OK for Israeli snipers to shoot unarmed Gaza protesters in the back.
To my surprise, Bubby agreed with this line of reasoning.
I was surprised because, as long as I've known her, she's been a staunch supporter of Israel, no matter what. This is a departure.
Note to Bibi; when you're losing the Bubbies of the Diaspora, you'd best have a long think about where you're heading.
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