Bacon Scrapins – “Naming Stuff!”
© by Barry S. Wolfe
Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They’re tasty, but the ‘nutrition’ needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin.
I sometimes think I’m directionally challenged. I sometimes have no idea where I’m going. I know left. I know right. I know up. I know down. I know north, south, east, and west – as a concept only, not in reality. I know over, under, beside next-to, above, below, closer, farther – the easy stuff.
It’s getting much harder to know how to get to where I think I’m going, without using remarkable visual landmarks. The old places, named for who or what or where they are, are disappearing.
My male acquaintances usually give directions based on following road numbers, in a specific direction, until one reaches a named town, then turning a direction on a different numbered road, until one gets to the junction of another numbered road, turning another direction, and on-and-on it goes.
I’m a happily married man, but as I get older, I think I’m getting in touch with a different gender because the directions I understand are not based on numbers, but rather on the names of places and things – with some lefts and rights thrown in.
For example. If I’m going to the Peavey store (the old Tractor Supply Store) in Stratford, I already have a destination based on the names of a place and a building named after people. If I wanted to, I could picture Shakespeare and his Stratford theatre in my imagination based on images I’ve seen in books I’ve read. I’ve got a mental connection to my destination – even before I start. Peavey? No idea who he was – but because I’m a reader and used to making up images of characters in my mind, my imagination flashes an image of a scrawny guy sort of like Don Knotts, or the squeaky-voiced Peavy guy in the Great Gildersleeve” radio show. Yes, I’m that old.
My directions would be something along the lines of: “Head out of this nine-stop-signs-sized community, past the swan pond, and stop after you get out of the gates at the dead end. Turn left, go past the hydro tower with the huge birds’ nest, and stop at the corner with the flashing light and the multi-windowed storage barn right on the edge of the road. Go straight through, past the Evangelical Lutheran cemetery, and just as you’re curving to the right, don’t curve, but make a sharp left, go across the creek bridge past the row of old Chryslers on the right. Keep going straight ahead and when you get to the B-W Feed silo towers in the field on your right slow down for the stop sign. Watch for traffic and turn right, go under the train bridge and keep going until . . . You get the idea. No road numbers, just visual stuff that regular folks can see and recognize.
My problem is, they’re starting to change the names of places and buildings that used to be named after real people who lived in the area or were respected in the area. The old stuff is no longer any good. It seems that anything named after a real person turns out to be in honour of someone who is no longer deemed honourable, or worthy of respect.
Example. You know where the Waterloo Public Square is? Yup. Right on the main drag in the centre of town. The name describes what it is and where it is. That’s not good enough anymore.
There’s talk of changing the name from Waterloo Public Square and naming it in honour of someone who did some great things for the development of Waterloo. OK. But, have they forgotten the rabbit hole of naming stuff after people of honour, who did respected stuff, during someone’s lifetimes? Don’t they know that someone, sometime is going to be insulted to have to walk past a public square named after that guy? We might have paint tossed everywhere.
If we continue to name public spaces or buildings to honour people who have made significant positive contributions to the area in which we now reside, then we are forced to remember what the living conditions and respected values were at that time of naming.
We may be exposed to the possibility that someone had character traits that were respected and highly valued, that their ethics of working and giving of one’s self for the benefit and advancement of others was and is, presently, admirable, but maybe will make someone feel bad about themselves in comparison.
We cannot make anyone feel bad about anything, or we’ll have to form a special investigative committee, form an action commission, lobby for tax funding, and everyone, not just one, will be all upset.
Just like all the others I read about these days, who know all the right answers for everyone else, I had an enlightening spiritual vision that compelled me to pass on the message that, “That Public Square cannot be named in a manner that could possibly be perceived as offensive to anyone. Nobody.” So there!
The vision tells me that no names can be used of highly respected contributors to our society. Not a one. No potential insults to anyone, anywhere, at any time. It’s a lifetime guarantee for happiness – for everyone.
If they use the best possible name my vision gave me, then I can’t use mental pictures as visual reference points to give me direction. I will have to change my entire sense of direction, learn street numbers and figure out which way is north, south, east and west in Waterloo. I don’t know anyone who has that figured out yet.
My vision’s name for the public square in the middle of Waterloo should go down well with everyone.
My vision told me that the Waterloo Square space should be named, “Tapioca Pudding Square!”.
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