www.insideHALTON.com · OAKVILLE BEAVER Thursday, May 24, 2012 · 6 The Oakville Beaver 467 Speers Rd., Oakville Ont. L6K 3S4 (905) 845-3824 Fax: 337-5566 Classified Advertising: 905-632-4440 Circulation: 845-9742 The Oakville Beaver is a member of the Ontario Press Council. The council is located at 80 Gould St., Suite 206, Toronto, Ont., M5B 2M7. Phone (416) 340-1981. Advertising is accepted on the condition that, in the event of a typographical error, that portion of advertising space occupied by the erroneous item, together with a reasonable allowance for signature, will not be charged for, but the balance of the advertisement will be paid for at the applicable rate. The publisher reserves the right to categorize advertisements or decline. Editorial and advertising content of the Oakville Beaver is protected by copyright. Unauthorized use is prohibited. Letters to the Editor I've observed what seems like endless road construction on Sixth Line. Now the Town is installing sidewalks and curbs on the west side of the street next to the golf course where there are no homes and there have never been sidewalks or curbs before. The question is why. Neil Oliver Vice-President and Group Publisher, Metroland West David harvey Regional General Manager JILL DAVIS Editor in Chief Daniel Baird Advertising Director ANGELA BLACKBURN Managing Editor Riziero Vertolli Photography Director Sandy Pare Business Manager RECOGNIZED FOR EXCELLENCE BY: Ontario Community Newspapers Association MARK DILLS Director of Production Manuel garcia Production Manager CHARLENE HALL Director of Distribution KIM MOSSMAN Circulation Manager Website oakvillebeaver.com The OakvilleBeaver is a division of Work needs explanation It is a very expensive exercise that appears to me to have no purpose. I can't help but wonder if something is amiss in our public works department. Perhaps there is a good explanation, but it certainly isn't obvious to me. David Bazar, Oakville Canadian Community Newspapers Association Suburban Newspapers of America THE OAKVILLE BEAVER IS PROUD OFFICIAL MEDIA SPONSOR FOR: Driving is dangerous in town I concur with Joanne Fitzsimons' comments re: dangerous driving in Oakville, May 18, Oakville Beaver. I have two peeves. First, slowing for an amber light is terrifying because of the speedy driver behind who expects you to continue through the signal. If I stop, I fear being rear-ended, where I frequently have a child seated, so I choose the lesser of evils and often try to run it. Not good. Second, is the discourtesy of drivers who notice you are struggling towards the right lane to exit, and yes, they speed up rather than waving you over, especially when you are desperately running out of road. Of course, perspectives change as we age; sometimes we wish people could just slow down instead of taking such a frenetic pace. Regardless, courtesy should have no boundaries or age limits when one is old, or young enough, to be licensed behind the wheel. Sylvia Valevicius, Oakville United Way of Oakville ATHENA Award Fireworks should be banned As I sit here at 11:10 p.m. at night, still having to listen to fireworks going off, scaring my pets, the birds and generally being a darned nuisance, I cannot believe that fireworks are not banned in residential neighbourhoods. It's a really crazy world that allows dangerous explosives to be going off here, there and everywhere. There is no safeguard as to who is using the fireworks. It's amazing for a country that prefers you not say Merry Christmas, instead using the politically-correct Happy Holidays, that all this hazardous noisy, intrusive fireworks business can go on to celebrate a holiday that is, in essence, meaningless to most. I like a free day off, but I would also like to have it in peace. Jill Williamson, Oakville eric riehl / OAKVILLE BEAVER / @halton_photog anniversary on May 17. Their family held a surprise party last weekend to honour the pair and their 60 years of marriage. Here, the couple shows off a photo from their wedding day. A diamond anniversary: Oakville residents John and Irene Kennedy celebrated their 60th wedding A glass of seasonal whine with notes of grass and gardening f you decide to live in Florida, you really have no right to complain about having sand in your shorts. If you insist on cutting the lawn in your fluorescent-green thong swimsuit, you really have no right to protest the proliferation of "For Sale" signs in the neighbourhood. Likewise, I suppose, if you decide to buy a country property accompanied by all-kinds-of acreage, you really have no right to complain about the work that naturally comes with the property. And yet, I find myself... complaining. Granted, mine is a tall glass of seasonal whine. Each spring, you see, my wife and I go on a little getaway an attempt to recharge the batteries and finally, fully shed the surly bonds of winter and when we return, everything (seemingly overnight) is overgrown. It's like Mother Nature watches us leave, snickers with malice, and then throws the switch: presto! Which is to say that I return to an Amazon Rain Forrest right in my backyard. Which is to say that I never learn (like, dude: holiday in winter or fall, or even late summer when everything is parched and no longer growing wild). Which is to say that, upon my return, I don't know where to begin to try to reclaim the acreage as our own. I Normally, I begin with the grass. But this year, my earnest attempt to tame the grass was thwarted: after eight summers of faithful service, the transmission on my riding mower broke down, forcing me to retire and replace The Hog. I picked a bundle off the money tree in our backyard and was eventually back in business with Andy Juniper The Hog II (the sequel). Once the grass was hacked down (thereafter requiring only its usual weekly seven-hour trim), I focused on the gardens. Which, at this time of year, are another nightmare altogether. At some point, when I was otherwise distracted, the weeds launched a coup, overrunning the flowers and overtaking the gardens. Reclaiming the gardens is a Herculean task. Thankfully I'm not alone in this. Why, just last weekend I was weeding around the pool for the umpteenth-straight hour, trying my best not to cramp up or succumb to sunstroke, when my catnapping wife lazily opened her eyes, languidly lifted a finger in the direction of some river rocks, and ever-so helpfully intoned: "You missed one." And let's not forget my offspring who could not possibly be anymore obliging. We've lived in the middle of nowhere for nearly nine years and in that time The Three Musketeers have put in at least 19 minutes of work on the property. I know, I know: I'm fortunate to have them. Just last weekend, as they were recreating and relaxing in the yard, they took the time to think about their old man. More than once they suggested that if I needed a break from the punishing sun, perhaps I could scoot indoors and retrieve them a refreshing drink. You know, if you distill hillbilly moonshine in the shed in your backyard, you really have no right to complain when your eyebrows are singed in the inevitable explosion. And if you buy a country abode and acreage, springtime will own your soul. You bought the property, you acquired the acreage: what did you expect? Really, no right to complain. Ah, but you know that I will. Andy Juniper can be contacted at ajjuniper@gmail.com, found on Facebook http://www.facebook.com, or followed at www.twitter.com/thesportjesters.