Move It On Over
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
I read a shocking scientific article in the Toronto Star early in February that solved a mystery which has perplexed me for over twenty-five years and that mystery is, or was, how I got lost coming home from the legion one Friday night after the last call. Well I didn’t get lost per se; I ended up parked in the driveway of a house where I no longer lived. Foolishly I thought for all this time the consumption of alcohol might have been involved to some small degree but the article clearly pointed out my assumption was not only flawed but a trifle asinine – not unlike most of my other assumptions. It had nothing to do with me at all, the Earth’s Magnetic North Pole had moved.
You can imagine the feeling of relief flowing in and out the empty corridors of my mind when I realized through no fault of my own I had misplaced several years of my life. Fortunately, I didn’t make a big fuss a few minutes later when I crawled into bed and discovered some bozo snuggled up to a woman I had never seen before in my life. I just quietly tucked him in, kissed her goodnight, and tippy-toed out the door.
But this magnetic pole business is, and will in the future continue to be, a serious problem for anyone depending on a GPS system to get from here to there. Well not so much ‘here’ since you are already there, but ‘there’ will not be where your GPS thinks it is – it could be miles away. Scientists have discovered the North Pole is sprinting towards Siberia at more than 50 kilometers a year. It also helps to explain why when we were going to Barrie to my granddaughter’s birthday party I ran into a fish hut in the middle of Lake Simcoe. Thank God, it was January or I would have drowned.
Come to think about it, the annual pole shift also explains why four years ago when we thought we were in Mexico the Mexicans were all sitting around drinking Newfy Screech and singing, “I’s the b’y that catches the fish and takes them home to Liza.”
Now I am sure most of you fail to see the dilemma we as a nation are facing here, there are ramifications to the pole’s eastward march that affects more than you and I going to Barrie (although why anyone would want to go there is certainly a mystery to me since every community with more than fifty people has their own liquor store and let’s face it, what else do they have down there? Okay, strippers but nothing else).
Think about this – who lives at the North Pole? That’s right, Santa Claus. You see the problem? With all the foofaraw going on with their interference in the American elections, now the Russians will be meddling in our Christmas celebrations too. It won’t be too many years before Santa’s toyshop will be a dacha somewhere north of Ust-Yansk. (I have no idea where it is. Look it up on the Internet, I can’t do everything) Not only that, his elves will be replaced by anyone who peed off Moscow or are on Paul Manafort’s email list.
Another problem for our little ones, the only toys they make over there are those little dolls that fit inside each other. After an hour of unwrapping a dozen of those little suckers the kids are going to get real ugly and start throwing things. On the bright side, they don’t need batteries.
There is also the problem of his Christmas Eve ride and his sleigh. It’s too cold up there for eight tiny reindeer, Sergei Claus will have to use Mongolian yaks and you try to get one of those big hairy suckers off the ground – good luck with that.
But how did all this happen? You will be surprised to know it isn’t Trump’s fault although I’m sure he will take credit for it. There is a simple explanation. Something strange, and potentially powerful, is taking place deep within the planet. It’s all very complicated and only geologists and three or four guys who sit on the deck at the Couchiching Golf and Country Club for hours on end will understand it. The Earth’s magnetic field is generated 3200 kilometers beneath our feet in the swirling, spinning ball of molten metal that forms Earth’s core. Why that should make the pole move I haven’t a clue. But it does explain why we should always wear a good pair of sandals when walking on a beach on a hot day in July.
