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Page 4 â€" Waterioc Chronicle. Wednesday, August 31. 1977 wmmM-wszMdMM’tmtm aâ€"nnmummnwnmmwum m.mu»mmmuromnuum»nzm floor and you are there Logan Pearsall Smith, an Angloâ€"American writer of some years ago, said this in one of his books: ‘"‘The test 4 1 CB P on o o en a A No Ldaviaws T9 S EER _ JCA L t on t n en e e onl g nen 222 of a vocation is in the love of the drudgery it involves." And here is how one dictionary defines drudgery: **Work that is hard, menial or unpleasant.‘" Surely it is cynical, even cruel, to tell some workers that they should love the drudgery théir vocation involves. In the drudgery of some jobs the elements of satisfaction and fulfilment and meaning are rather slight. waterioo chronicle For many of us the drudgery in our work is redeemed by the ends it serves, ends of satisfaction and selfâ€"realiâ€" zation. But for many others there is little personal satisâ€" faction and selfâ€"realization in their daily work: for them the primary work satisfaction is in the payâ€"envelope which contains money for subsistence and for the leisureâ€" time activities in which some personal satisfaction and fulfilment may be attained. Some jobs put callouses on the heart as well as on the hands. It is easy to talk about the dignity of work, about vocational fulfilment, about the significance of the work ethic, to the person who finds his or her work satisfying and pleasant. But it isn‘t easy â€" indeed, it may be imperâ€" tinent â€" to talk about the dignity of work to the person whose job is simply a matter of dull repetitive routine. Complicating the problem of work in these days of rapid change is what appears to be overâ€"production by the education system of certain skills and competencies. A lot of people today, mostly young, are unable to find jobs for which they can use the skills they have learned. E8 â€" Lo k c ow affâ€" _ fled that Enfilmant Dear Editor: I have just finished reading the Waterloo Chronicle which we enjoy and wonder if we could thank you? _ â€" I read the Government will soon change the highway signs from miles to kilometres and intend to immediately issue tickets for speeding. There is a simple way to convert metric measurements. Take your kilometres per hour highway traffic signs, just multiply the kilometres per hour by six and knock off the last figure. Six times 100 kilometres equals 600. Knock off the last figure and you have 60 miles per hour. It‘s not exact but it‘s close enough for practical purposes. Easy eh? It might assist drivers to keep out of trouble. Mrs. Gladys Brandt Morden Waterloo .etter to the editor welcomes letters to the Editor work ethic The Chronicle fiummwvmm a division of Kitchenerâ€"Waterioo Record Ltd., owner. 1Â¥ Fairway Rd. S., Kitchener , Ont. address correspondence to Waterioo office : Wateriloo Square, Waterion, Ont. . telephone 806â€"2830 subscriptions : $10 a year in Canada. $12 a year in United States and Foreign Countries O Editor: Mary Stupart Advertising Manager: Wolfgang Urschel Publisher: James M. Boland This is being written from a hospital bed, where I am in traction and under heavy sedation. Don‘t worry. I wasn‘t in a car crash. I just had a fiveâ€"day visit from my grandâ€" boys. It seems that my daughter was moving and it was going to be awfully difficult with the boys underfoot and it was a great chance for Gran and Grandad to really have a good visit with their favorite people untrammeled by the interâ€" ventions of parents. What can you say? ‘"Sorry, but we like to play golf in the afternoon, spend a quiet evening, and get up when we feel like it in the morning, during holidays""? â€" â€" Of course you can‘t. You burble something like: "No probâ€" lem, dear. We‘d love to have them. It‘ll be a real treat." And then you hang up the phone, look at your better half, and mutter mournfully, ‘"Good Gawd, the kids are coming."" They came, they saw, they conquered,. And that‘s why I‘m writing from hospital. As soon as I get out of traction, they‘re moving me, permanently, to a place called Autumn Daze, a home for chronic grandfathers to eke out their last few months, exchanging senile horror stories about grandâ€" children. Oh well. it may not be so bad. My wife says she‘ll come and visit me regularly, except during the golf. skiing, fall and sewing seasons. That means once in March and once in November. She promised to bring me a drink on each occaâ€" sion. because my nerves are shot to hell, too. But that‘s a long time between mickeys. It isn‘t that my grandsons are bad kids. They‘re not. It‘s just that they are three and a half and one and a half years old. and their favorite sport, indoors and out. is torinenting the living daylights out of each other. First few days weren‘t bad. The Old Lady has a way with them . She can change a diaper on one and carry on an incredâ€" ibly complicated conversation with the other without getâ€" ting a hair out of place. She can sit at the sewing machine, with one on each knee. and actually sew., as they try to poke their fingers under the needle. When she‘s cooking, she plops them up on the counter beside the stove, where the older one asks 84 questions. all beginning with "why," and the litâ€" tle one opens the cupboard doors and bangs his eye on them and shrieks. During this period. my role was a fairly passive one. All I had to do was get them their breakfast. Nothing to that. I give them each a can of yoghurt and half a banana. For dessert, I open a can of peaches and get the ice cream out Bill Smile It may not be your standard, unimaginative, cereal breakâ€" fast, but the boys go for it and seem to thrive on it. And then, of course, when they‘ve finished breakfast and are in a great mood, there‘s not much for me to do. Except let them play around, on, and over me, break up eight fights over whose ball or shovel it is, and serve as a trampoline when they line up at the far end of the living room, run as hard as they can, and hurl themselves headâ€"first into Granâ€" dad‘s lap, almost invariably knocking heads together, with subsequent recriminations, howling and both of them on my knees being comforted. PERSONALLY 1 THINK IT WoOwP 1o0K BETTER THREE FEET To THE LEFT ANP GIX NCHES HIGHER.. But before you know it, lunch is over and it‘s nap time. No. 2 goes down happily with a bottle. No. 1 requires six stories. If I read the one about Flicka, Ricka and Dicka one more time, I‘l} go out of what is left of my mind. LA hh dviti db inb Atvaiiiihett. « Anrfat ob diactaiihldets ht iss dsn dint d bnes. Alhatn ons But it works. He gets groggy. Just as he‘s drifting off, No. 2 hurls the bottle out of his crib, leaps up, rattles the bars, yells for action and both are wide awake ready for More Fun And Games With Grandad. Afternoons in the backyard are comparatively peaceful, except for one thing. For some misguided reason, 1 have only one lawn hose. Did you ever see two boys with only one hose between them? Older is stronger. He wrests hose from Younger and squirts him with iceâ€"cold water. Younger belâ€" lows, runs to Grandad, soaking from head to foot, and jumps up to be loved and petted. _ Older ibx"éétfi hose and starts to climb gate. Grandad yells. Meantime, Younger has picked up hose and gleefully squirts Grandad. â€" Grandad yells again, unprintably. Younger drops hose and runs, square into square corner of picnic table. Great welt on forehead. Gran will be furious with Grandad for not watch ing boys properly. Those were the good days. Came Tuesday. and Gran was committed to a golf tournament. Dubiously. ‘*Are you sure you can cope? "Who me? Course I can cope. No sweat. I can handle these two with one hand tied behind my back. **Well maybe... but...~ ~"Gawn. away wid yez. It‘ll be child‘s play. And it was. Six hours of it. During which: eight fights were broken up; the boys ate all four of the chicken legs I‘d prepared for the three of us: we went shopping and I lost one for 60 panicâ€"filled seconds in the maze of the superâ€" market . the Younger discovered how to unfasten the buckle of the seatâ€"belt; the Older started yelling for his Mommy when I smacked his ass for clobbering his little brother with a ping pong bat. which for some reason unknown to man or God. he had found behind the car seat â€" Niy daughter walked in with a cheery "Hi, Dad!‘~ and found me on the phone trying to call the police department. the fire department, anybody. _ _ She looked at me. shook her head. took the phone from my shaking fingers. and called an ambulance