Words on paper . . . “Books,” wrote Jesse Lee Bennett, “are the compasses and telescopes and sextants and charts which other men…

Words on paper . . .

“Books,” wrote Jesse Lee Bennett, “are the compasses and telescopes and sextants and charts which other men [and women] have prepared to help us navigate the dangerous seas of human life.”

A profound thought, leading to a burning question — since the demise of newspapers has been prophesied, again — does anyone remember when TV came along a half century ago and doomed newspapers and magazines to the garbage bin?

Now the internet is the bugbear to end newspapers. The prediction is we’ll be square-eyed reading newspapers on computer screens; perhaps we’ll chew up tons more paper printing them for the rest of the family to read?

Or, even riskier, the outcome may be we’ll eventually revert to Dick and Jane — big pictures, fewer words?

“P’shaw,” said Jimmy, “newspapers are just like women wearing long pants, they’ll never go out of style!”

I’ve never found speed of communication to ensure quality, have you?

An American couple proved that. They were in an airport terminal somewhere waiting for their luggage, when the wife noticed a differently dressed man beside them, and asked her husband where he thought the man was from. The husband said he didn’t know, and asked him.

“Saskatoon, Saskatchewan” the man said.

The wife immediately asked, “Well, where’s he from?”

“I don’t know; he doesn’t speak English.”

The man who can make others laugh secures more votes for a measure than the man who forces them to think.

Malcolm De Chazal, writer and painter (1902-1981)

According to my e-mail friend the following comparison is attributed to a creative black gentleman in Texas with a great sense of humour. Amen to that!

Coloured Folks . . .     

When I was born, I was black ,

When I grew up, I was black ,

When I went in the sun, I stayed black,

When I got cold, I was black ,

When I was scared, I was black

When I was sick, I was black ,

And when I die, I’ll still be black.

Now, you “white” folks . .

When you’re born, you’re pink ,

When you grow up, you’re white,

When you go in the sun, you get red,

When you’re cold, you turn blue,

When you’re scared, you’re yellow,

When you get sick, you’re green,

When you bruise, you turn purple,

And when you die, you look grey.

So who y’all callin’ coloured folk?

“Too often I would hear men boast of the miles covered that day, rarely of what they had seen. Louis L’Amour, novelist (1908-1988)

I do hope all our visitors this summer don’t fall into this travel trap. If they do, they’ll sure miss a lot!

A tip of the hat to visitors who linger awhile, and soak up our spell!