Bye-Bye Christmas Tree

The other day we took down our Christmas tree and put it out by the curb for the very last time. The tree had been up for a month and somehow the dry needles had migrated to unexpected places—the carpet in the middle of the room, between the sofa cushions, and even on the coffee table. The seven foot balsam was so dehydrated that by the time it landed on the curb, it looked like a sickly spindling, naked and neglected.

Next year, we won’t be leaving a tree by the roadside. We won’t experience the fresh evergreen aroma and we won’t make the trek to our favourite Christmas tree supplier. There will be no more hauling it into the house and erecting it upright into its stand, and no more needles flying haphazardly around. Why? Because next year we will join the contingent of fake tree owners and simply unfold the plastic branches attached to a metal trunk and plunk it into the corner of the room.

Bye, bye fresh, fragrant, beautiful Christmas tree. The holidays will never be quite the same.

My husband has terrible allergies and every year in mid December they get worse. He’s stuffed up and itchy and has difficulty breathing. Ironically, wintertime is usually when his allergies improve as there’s no pollen or grass or ragweed or any other offending allergens in the air. We should have figured this out sooner, but I think we were in denial.

I know many people who have artificial Christmas trees. They think they’re great. Easy set-up, easy take-down, no fuss, no muss. Their homes are no less festive than those with the real deal. But still...

We love fresh Christmas trees; they are entrenched in our psyches as integral to the holiday season. The ritual, the tradition, the memories of our own childhood experiences cannot be easily dismissed. My eighty-year-old father still talks about the Christmas trees of his childhood in Slovakia, selected from the forest on his family’s property. Illuminated by dozens of candles, and decorated with homemade candies wrapped in colourful paper, the tree had a magical presence in his country home.

Unlike the perfect cultivated firs, pines and balsams that stand in our urban living rooms today, his all-natural tree was more like a larger version of the “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree. In fact, he was so attached to this style that when we were kids, he would seek out the most sparse, sad looking tree in the lot. We always rejected his selection. One time he bought the tree on his own and came home with such a gangly evergreen that my mother made him return it. After that experience, he forever lost his enthusiasm for Christmas tree shopping.

The history of the Christmas tree dates back to the ancient pagans who celebrated the Winter Solstice. After December 21st when the sun began its ascent, the fertile time for planting and producing bountiful harvests was around the corner. The evergreen tree symbolized eternal life and replenishment. To represent the plentiful food to come, trees were decorated with apples and other fruit. Candles were used as reminders of the sun’s brilliance and warmth.

It’s not entirely clear when Christians appropriated the evergreen tree as a symbol of the Christian faith, but it is thought that St. Boniface (672-754), a German missionary, was the instigator. “Let Christ be at the center of your households. Its leaves remain evergreen in the darkest days,” he said, according to legend.

But chopping down and erecting a Christmas tree began as a custom in 16th century Northern Germany, when the tradition of placing the decorated tree in the town square to celebrate the holidays emerged. First a Protestant tradition and later accepted by the Catholics, the practice became popular in the early 19th century.

In 2006, a Toronto judge created a flurry of controversy when he ordered a Christmas tree out of a downtown provincial courthouse lobby because he felt it was an affront to non-Christians. He asserted that it was inappropriate that the first thing a person sees when they walk into the building is a Christian symbol.

Everyone can probably appreciate the spectacular 18-foot evergreen that graces the White House Blue Room—a public space open to visitors—each year. This year, Michele Obama had the tree adorned with the theme of “Reflect, Rejoice and Renew” in mind, and communities from all over America contributed to the decorations. None of the ornaments on the White House Christmas tree are of a religious nature; there has even been talk of changing the name to the White House “Holiday” tree.

To me, the Christmas tree denotes a festive spirit, regardless of religion. It can represent whatever you want it to, whether you’re a pagan, a Christian, someone from another faith group, or an atheist. Whether it symbolizes the Winter Solstice and bountiful harvests, or Christian beliefs, it’s a tradition that can simply uplift a room and bring cheer to its viewers.

I say keep the tree and call it what you want. Place it wherever it can be enjoyed by many. My only concern is that next year, our family Christmas tree will have to be a plastic reproduction. At least I won’t find evergreen needles in my hair anymore, and my husband will hopefully breathe a little better.

Seven's a Charm

Last night I met a lovely woman about the same age as me at a dinner function. Sitting across from each other, we entered into general conversation about family life. I noticed her beautiful clear complexion against her pretty orange top as she spoke joyfully about parenting. Like me, she had boys, but unlike me, she had seven of them!

“Seven?!” I asked, incredulously.

She nodded, unfazed.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Twelve to twenty-four.”

The woman’s father, who was sitting next to her, piped in, “And all their names begin with Br.”

This prompted me to guess what they were: “Brian, Brendon, Bradley, Brock...?” which was as far as I got. “Did you give birth to them all, or are some adopted?” I couldn’t help inquiring.

The woman smiled. “They’re all our natural children. We kept trying for a girl.” Then she told me that the odds of having a girl actually decrease with each subsequent male child, but since they weren’t fanatic about the gender, they never investigated medical means to improve their chances.

I learned that the family built a cottage together and that the boys often help their retired grandfather with renovations and handy work, bonding with him while learning useful skills. The kids all get along well (apart from the occasional scuffle) and they watch each others’ backs. They also include one another in their social activities. The family contributes time to volunteer programs, such as “Out of the Cold,” including cooking Christmas dinner for a men’s shelter.

I’m writing about this because I can’t stop thinking about it. I am in awe. How is it humanly possible to raise seven sons (who all sounded like really good kids) and remain not only unscathed, but buoyant? If this were me, I’m sure I’d look haggard and old and terribly anxious. I’d always be worried about somebody. There is a saying that goes: “A mother can only be as happy as her most unhappy child.” With such a large brood, there’s apt to be at least one child who is struggling or suffering, in some way, at any one time.

I love being a parent. I’ve loved every stage of our sons’ development and I’ve revelled in watching their personalities develop while guiding them through their childhood. But life is busy and full of challenges along the way. Parenting our two boys (not to mention driving them all over the city) takes the two of us, and I can hardly imagine what it would be like managing seven. I have friends with four children and their lives seem a complicated maze of navigating school work, sports and music programs, social worlds and all-consuming domestic chores.

I didn’t have a chance to ask my dining companion how she does it. Do they have a car that fits nine people? Does she have extra help in the home? How does she have time to do volunteer work? Does she have two ovens, two fridges, five bathrooms? Who does the laundry? How many bedrooms do they have? What was it like to have several tots in diapers simultaneously?

In the past, large families were the norm rather than an anomaly. Especially if you were Catholic or living in the country, running a farm. As soon as the kids were old enough, they’d work the fields, milk the cows, and perform household chores. The older siblings would help raise the younger ones and the family worked like a community rather than a small unit. Twelve children or more was not a rarity.

According to Statistics Canada, the birth rate per average Canadian woman was 1.6 children in 2007 (we need 2.1 to replace ourselves). In 1959 the birth rate reached its peak at 3.94 children per family. Since then, there has been a steady decline. This is partly because women are waiting until later in life to start a family, using birth control, achieving higher levels of education, and having growing concerns about bringing children into a world plagued by terrorism, global warming, and general instability.

Nonetheless, some people still choose to have many children. The more, the merrier. Many of the larger families today comprise two blended sets of children. Think “Brady Bunch.” However, a blended home doesn’t usually consist of more than five or six children at any one time.

My father has a distant relative who had nineteen children. All natural births. I never met this family, but when I was young, I’d hear the occasional passing comment about them. The parents had emigrated from Hungary to Vermont after the Second World War. They lived in the country, but were well off and could afford a comfortable lifestyle because of royalties inherited from Franz Lehar, the famous Hungarian composer. In my mind, the concept of eighteen brothers and sisters was surreal. The setting, the plot, and the characters in the story were suggestive of an expanded fictional version of “The Sound of Music.”

Contemporary life does not seem conducive to producing huge families. Just the cost of raising children makes it practically prohibitive for most of us. Yet there is evidently a way to make it work. One must have courage, financial capability, and a whole lot of love to pass around. I’m still in awe of the lady I met last night who has seven boys, and, to be honest, a wee bit jealous—I love the idea of a big boisterous household...in theory!

Coming in From Out of the Cold

Growing up in Montreal, I’d play outside for hours with my friends on cold winter days. Eventually my mother would call out to us, “It’s time to come in out of the cold!” After shedding our rock-frozen mittens and kicking off our snow-filled boots, we’d warm up by the fire with hot chocolate and cookies.

For the homeless women and men in our city streets, coming in from out of the cold means much more than warming up by the fire with a cup of hot cocoa. It is a matter of survival. Thanks to the goodwill and dedication of many volunteers throughout the city of Toronto, the marginalized and socially isolated do have a place to go during the long, bleak winter nights.

Out of the Cold is a men’s shelter program devoted to providing those in need with a warm place to sleep and shower; a home-cooked dinner and breakfast the next day; fellowship in a safe environment; a haircut from a volunteer barber; and a selection of clean, warm clothes to wear, generously donated by people who have gently used items to pass on. Subway tokens and toiletries are also provided.

It's never easy to accept charity, and many of the men who walk through the doors would much rather be somewhere else. They can be unemployed, hard-working indviduals who have been out of job for various reasons, they can be men struggling with alcohol or drug addictions, or suffering from mental illnesses. Many have families but have become alienated or rejected.

About twenty churches and synagogues participate in this program, which has been running since 1987. Each night of the week during the cold winter months, a bed and two meals are offered by one of the host sites. I belong to a group of women who chips in by supplying, cooking, and serving dinners at St. Matthew’s Anglican Church in the west end of Toronto. We buy and prepare the food, including meals like baked ham with pineapple orange sauce, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, coleslaw, corn, and cherry tarts with ice cream. A recent menu consisted of a variation of chicken cordon bleu, rice and broccoli--a very big hit!

The food is prepared off-site and transported to the venue, where a cheerful group greets you and explains the procedure. The guests begin arriving at 5:00 and are first served a bowl of homemade soup followed by plates loaded with food. The system is down to a science—no more than four cooks in the kitchen; hairnets a must; average portions to start, but seconds available. Three expert dishwashers await the onslaught of dirty dishes.

In the dining hall, tables are set for about seventy-five men, and mattresses and blankets line the periphery of the room, which another group of volunteers, including kids and teenagers, arranges in advance. Greeters and servers meander about, chatting and joking with one another as they wait for the gentlemen to arrive. The volunteers, whether religious or not, congregate for a short prayer before dinner. You don’t need to be religious to appreciate the powerful and inspiring message:

Most Gracious God,

You have called us to be a caring church. Strengthen us with your love today. Give us grace in our work together. Grant us wisdom in our conversations. Give us ears to hear the unspoken cry of the heart and eyes to see others as fellow pilgrims on the road of life. Let your Spirit flow through us to guide and bless all we do. As we share the cup may we touch your cross. In Jesus name we pray.

Amen

Once the men enter the hall, the volunteers move into action. Soup is served, meals distributed, milk and juice poured. Second servings are requested and provided. It is heartening to see many of the diners in animated conversation while enjoying the meal. One of my friends, a devoted volunteer, loves to socialize with the men and listen to their stories. She is a dynamo who brightens the room with her signature good cheer.

When all is said and done, one can only feel a sense of gratitude for programs such as these, and for all the people who contribute so much time and energy to helping others. Mine is but a small part in the production, but every part counts and I’m always happy to participate alongside the wonderful people who make these dinners so special.

On cold winter nights like tonight (it’s about -20 degrees right now), sleeping in the streets can be deadly. Thank goodness there are places for people to go and that there are those who care enough to create a warm, nurturing environment where the downtrodden can find a good meal, a warm bed, and a reason to face tomorrow.

A New Year's Cheer

Another year gone, like a snap of the finger,

If only time passing would slow down and linger.

Some dreams were delivered, but many were dashed,

Wars kept on raging while economies crashed.

There were those who worried about jobs and lost wealth,

While others were pained by the decline of their health.

When we opened the papers to find out the news,

There was always a story to give us the blues.

Some people were grieved when loved ones passed on,

And are clinging to memories from before they were gone.

Life can be hard with its valleys and peaks,

But we must carry on through the days and the weeks.

Now that we face a bold, fresh New Year,

Perhaps we can hope for some goodness and cheer.

May the hard times diminish and the good times rein in,

And we mustn't forget that peace lives within.

It’s not our belongings that give us most pleasure,

Nor our travels, our homes, or even the weather.

It’s the people we love and the times that we share

That give us life’s joys and a reason to care.

We are on this planet for what seems a flicker,

So let’s not enrage or disparage or bicker.

For kindness and justice and humility too,

Are not just nice words, but things we should do.

I wish for you wonderful people out there,

In this world that is grand, but sometimes unfair,

A year filled with peace, love and delight,

Where your hopes and your dreams are well within sight.

       

Happy New Year and manifold blessings!

Carla  XO

An Unsuspected Angel

Every now and then, an angel visits our home over the Christmas holidays. His name is Tom. Our boys always ask for a visit from Uncle Tom (my husband’s older brother) for Christmas and when he comes, all the way from Vancouver, he is their favorite gift of all. Standing six-foot-four, wearing rock-band tee-shirts and worn jeans, this mid-life rocker hardly fits the image of an angel. This is a guy who drives a Harley, has a few tattoos and a gruff voice that could make you shudder. He’s the quiet brooding type with a powerful presence; Marlon Brando comes to mind.

Tom is a rebel of sorts, singing to his own tune and steering down his own path. He has worked many jobs over his life, from chef at a remote mining camp, to cab driver, to car salesman, to entrepreneur, to ski lift operator. He works when he needs to and quits when he’s had enough—a shrewd man who knows when to save money and when to spend. For leisure he plays poker with his buddies and goes on motorcycle rallies across the continent. One time, when he was between jobs and taking a road trip on his bike, the customs official at a US border crossing took one look at him and refused him entry.

So what makes Uncle Tom an angel? The signs have been there over the years, but every time I encounter him, they become more and more apparent.

I got my first glimpse when both his parents were suffering from various life-threatening ailments. His father had had several strokes and had become confined to a wheelchair, while his mother had a serious heart condition and was legally blind due to diabetes. Having lived in their home for over thirty years, the thought of moving was inconceivable. But their health’s continuing decline made it necessary to consider an assisted-care residence—a devastating prospect.

Watching his parents struggle for too long, Tom quit his job to become their full-time caregiver. He took them to doctors’ appointments, did their grocery shopping, helped manage their medication, looked after the house, and kept them connected to the outside world. My husband felt helpless as he heard about the trials from afar. Tom never complained, never relented, and never faltered in his mission. For well over a year, he devoted his days to his parents’ comfort and well-being. When they finally succumbed to their illnesses and passed away (within nine months of each other) Tom was devastated.

But there is more to tell about this ‘biker angel.’ When he is in our midst, his goodness presents itself in unexpected places. During one of Tom’s visits we took him skiing for the day, and when we stopped for lunch he noticed a little tot struggling up a long set of snow-covered stairs to get to the chalet entrance. Tom took his small hand and helped him up the rest of the way. I smile when I recall the image of that giant glove reaching out to the tiny mittened hand.

Next came the towing incident. My husband, our two boys, and Tom went shopping downtown for the afternoon to check out some specialty shops. When they came across the latest video game, ROCKBAND, which was difficult to find at the time, the boys tried to figure out if they had enough money saved between them to buy it. To their utter delight, Uncle Tom bought it for them. With the massive box in hand, they all trudged back to the car through blowing snow. But when they got to the spot on the street where my husband had parked, there was no car. The maximum limit had passed and because it was rush hour, the car had been towed.

If you’ve ever been towed, I don’t need to explain the searing anxiety that burns your chest when you realize that your car has vanished. Finding a cab and locating the car pound with two young boys, not to mention carrying a huge, heavy, awkward box to boot, was not my husband’s idea of a fun! Frustrated with himself for losing track of time, for throwing money out the window, and for putting his brother through such aggravation on his first day in town, he tried to keep his cool.

The car pound was not a friendly place. Angry voices dominated the scene as people retrieving their cars yelled at the attendants. When my husband approached the counter, Tom followed. Sensing the tension and eying the clerk’s dour expression, he said something to make her laugh. He ignored my husband's protests and handed over his own credit card; sympathizing  with the woman for her tough line of work, he paid the fine and wished her a Happy New Year. According to my husband, her rigid face quickly transformed into a soft, warm smile.

My favourite side of Tom is revealed through his interaction with his nephews. He can talk to them man-to-man and play with them boy-to-boy; he makes them feel important, treats them with respect, and makes them laugh. One time, our then ten-year-old son asked Tom if he believed in heaven; for a man who’d lost his faith long ago, that should have been an easy question to answer. But he couldn’t bring himself to say no, so he subtly changed the subject. Such an irony to behold—an unbeliever who doesn’t see his own wings!

Whether or not angels come from heaven, I don’t know, but what I do know is that Uncle Tom, with his tough, burly outward appearance, has the inward qualities of an angel. I wish everyone had an Uncle Tom in his/her life; or better yet, I wish we all had a little more ‘Uncle Tom’ in us.

Falling off the Pedestal

I’m not one to pay much attention to the tabloids or think much about the lives and transgressions of celebrities, but with all the recent hoopla regarding Tiger Woods, it’s hard not to weigh in. It appears that he’s been a very, very bad boy. Does he have a right to privacy as he deals with his domestic problems? Absolutely, but unfortunately, he’s the one who put it out there for all to see and hear. If you go to lengths to showcase yourself as a squeaky clean family guy, and you’re having shenanigans on the side, there’s always a chance you’ll get busted.

But as Margaret Wente points out in her Globe article, In a case of lust over brains, a mighty Tiger becomes mortal, alpha males can’t seem to stop themselves from falling away from their well-intentioned morally driven lives. She believes that if the average male had the same opportunities (i.e. beautiful women throwing themselves their way), they too would plunge into the abyss of infidelity. There may be some truth to this but I’d like to believe, perhaps naively, that raging hormones and colossal egos are not the main driving force in human behaviour.

Everything we do, every sentence we speak, involves a choice. And there are always consequences to the decisions we make. So when alpha male decides to sleep with trashy Tammy, sensuous Susan, and lusty Lucy when he is married with two young children, there are going to be repercussions. Big ones. We’re all fallible and we are all capable of doing remarkably irresponsible things, but when you are a big name, whether a politician, a religious leader, a sports figure, or a superstar, and you actively promote yourself as a pedestal-worthy guy, then you’d better work hard to warrant that status.

Some journalists criticize the public for holding leaders and celebrities to impossible standards. But is being faithful and true to one’s wife and family really too much to expect? The press and the public may be complicit in creating heroes out of fallible humans, but are they responsible for the betrayals and indiscretions committed by these men? Hardly.

I can rhyme off about a half dozen men who have thrown their reputations, their hard-earned careers, and their families out the window, only to regret it later. Sometimes they manage to overcome their shame, but they can never regain their glistening image or get anywhere near that pedestal again. That’s the price of hypocrisy.

Tiger may be in our minds today, but there are some politicians and religious leaders who make him look pretty good in the scheme of indiscretions. Here are some examples:

Who can forget Gary Hart, the Colorado state senator who was the frontrunner for the Democratic nomination in 1988? Having denied an extramarital affair and then dared the press to follow him around, he was soon caught red-handed with his mistress, Donna Rice, on a yacht ironically named “Monkey Business.” When an incriminating romantic photo was published in the press, he immediately dropped out of the campaign.

More recently, South Carolina Gov. Mark Stanford, also a potential presidential candidate, disappeared from the public and private radar to visit his Argentinean girlfriend. The married father of four young boys garbled his way through an explanation when he returned. “She’s my soul-mate,” he tearfully said of his mistress. Needless to say, he lost his job.

New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer may not have been having an extramarital affair in 2008, but patronizing a prostitution service (using government funds) was not the smartest move for the married father of teenage girls. It is believed that Spitzer spent over $80,000 on prostitutes over several years. This is a man who devoted much of his career to “cleaning up” the corruption on Wall Street. A hotshot with great brains and talent, Spitzer was another political superstar with a presidential calling. In his own words:

"From those to whom much has been given, much is expected. I have been given much — the love of my family, the faith and trust of the people of New York, and the chance to lead this state."

"I am deeply sorry that I did not live up to what was expected of me."

The cynic in me thinks what he really means, and what his fellow womanizers mean when they make such public apologies is: “I am deeply sorry that I got caught.”

Then there’s Bill Clinton...who can forget Monica Lewinsky and her soiled dress. And Clinton’s infamous words while under oath: “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

After months of denying it, 2008 Democratic presidential candidate, John Edwards finally came clean. Yes, he was having an affair during his campaign, while his wife was battling life-threatening cancer. The clean-cut senator admitted publically that he was narcissistic and egocentric and had made a serious error in judgement.

Do these transgressions mean that such men cannot effectively run the country? Not necessarily, but if their devoted wives can’t trust them, then how can the public?

One of the biggest hypocrites of all was Pastor Ted Haggard, the American Evangelical preacher from Colorado. Devout Christian, husband, and father of five, he was the founder and leader of the 14,000 member New Life Church. He was also the leader of the 30 million–strong National Association of Evangelicals. He had a big role in shaping Christian policy and had a direct line to President George W. Bush. His fall from grace occurred in 2006 when his homosexual relationships and heavy drug use were exposed. I remember watching his emphatic (and pathetic) denials on television.

He feels that the church has betrayed him by not helping him get back on his feet; now he sells insurance.

It’s all very sad, but these men made their own beds. They wanted to stand high and mighty on that pedestal and they publically proclaimed the standard upon which they should be judged. My sympathy goes to their families and to all the others affected by their irresponsible and hypocritical actions.

And sorry to say, Tiger...but for most people, “sorry” doesn’t quite cut it.

The Decline of Dubai...and other tales of disaster

Thanks to the near collapse of one of the most rapidly growing cities in the world, we are once again reminded of the poison that drives such economic destruction: ego and greed.

Dubai is one of seven emirates of the United Arab Emirates, located south of the Persian Gulf on the Arabian Peninsula. Its land mass is tiny by Canadian standards—smaller than Prince Edward Island. The current population is about 1.9 million of which the vast majority are foreigners.

Around two years ago, CBC aired a television documentary (Dubai: Miracle or Mirage) about the amazing Dubai construction ventures spearheaded by its ruler, Sheik Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum. He wanted to showcase this small municipality as the most impressive global city in the world. In the CBC piece, he spoke of his desire to create the biggest, the tallest, the best, and the most decadent landmarks known to man. (Have a look at Lauren Greenfield’s fascinating New York Times photo exhibit, depicting Dubai’s construction boom and subsequent collapse: Showcase: Dubai’s Improbable Tale.)

When developers and architects told the Sheik that it was unfeasible to build the amount of waterfront properties that he had in mind, he told them that nothing was impossible. They must simply take his vision and make it a reality. Since there was limited coastline, and no possibility for further development along the shore, there was only one way to conjure up more property: create it. And so they did.

Islands configured in the shape of a palm tree emerged in the Gulf, sprinkled with commercial and residential real estate.

If you’d like to do some downhill skiing in the desert, you can pack up your gear and head over to the indoor ski hill. Then there's Dubai Land, the world’s most ambitious tourism, leisure, and an entertainment complex, which was to open in 2010. I wouldn’t be booking my holidays there at this time.

We tend to think that Dubai is an oil rich nation. Well it’s not. The economy is built on tourism, property, and financial services. It has friends with oil, like Adu Dhabi next door, but it is not clear how much help will be offered.

There are those who benefited in the short term. Employment was high and big money could be made. Take it while you can, was the underlying message. Because one day, the tide will turn and the money will run out: major construction projects will be abandoned, vegetation will be left to desiccate, and cars will be deserted in empty parking lots. The workers, the most important resource, will flee. That time came too soon.

In Dubai, some foreigners who have bought property are fearful of their fate. If they can’t pay their bills and mortgages they may face a Dickensian reality—debtors prison. If you’ve ever read David Copperfield, one of Charles Dickens’ most popular novels, you’ll know what this means.

Last year’s western global melt-down is an eerie reminder of what can happen to an economy spurred by ego, greed, and too much debt. Building and buying houses with money that doesn’t exist is not much different than building sky-scrapers and waterfront properties on a foundation that cannot be sustained.

In the US, the beautiful sub-prime packages were all wrapped up in glistening prospects, and the true value was exposed only when the package was opened by the end user and the contents were revealed: nothing. After that discovery, the collapse was set in motion and the cards began to fall. Governments scrambled to stop the last card from falling by creating the fanciest packages of all (bailout and stimulus packages). Financial experts call this a "black swan" event, where many triggering factors come together simultaneously once a century or so. Nonetheless, it happened, and there is a universal price to pay.

We are still struggling to put the shattered economy back together so that hope and prosperity can be restored. According to the BBC documentary For the Love of Money we can largely thank CEOs like Richard Fuld of Lehman Brothers for the catastrophic damage. Fuld was so driven to “crush his enemies” and become number one in the investment banking industry that he made foolish ego-driven decisions. His employees report that he had a “God like status” and that “you just didn’t argue with him.” Building false confidence amongst employees and investors, Fuld was on a risk-taking rampage.

The result? The biggest bankruptcy in history, followed by a slew of other institutions participating in the NINJA program (offering risky loans to people with NO INCOME, NO JOB OR ASSETS), and those who had bought the empty loan bundles from the banks. When Enron went bankrupt in 2002, it was, at the time, the biggest bankruptcy ever. But when Lehman Brothers went down, the crisis was ten times greater.

Of course, there were numerous other contributing factors such as:

• Deregulation
• Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac low interest home ownership programs
• The lack of state regulation/oversight over fraudulent mortgage brokers
• The Feds keeping interest rates dangerously low
• US and global investors who bought the bundled sub-prime mortgages
• Credit Rating Agencies who didn't do adequate research

When unchecked recklessness occurs in business and politics, there is sure to be trouble. Richard Fuld was not the only culprit here, but he was no doubt a high flyer who exploited the situation, instigating calamitous consequences for the world.

Shockwaves travelled quickly when the global crisis was set in motion. The Feds stepped in with their recovery plans whilst citizens lost their jobs, their houses, and their life savings. Now we have debts and deficits that have never been so massive. And who will pay? Not the CEOs like Dick Fuld, or rulers like Sheik Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum; rather, it will be the folks facing retirement and their children who will have to carry the debt load.

In Dubai, a foundation of greed and ego cannot hold the weight of bricks, mortar, glass, and steal. Likewise in the west, packages wrapped in greed and ego (and irresponsible debts) will have nothing inside.

Were no lessons learned from the fall of the Roman Empire? Civilization still has a long way to go, I’m afraid.