I always enjoy listening to those types who are never wrong. They are so certain whatever they say must be taken as absolute that they are stunned by anyone who has a different point of view. It is as if a madman stumbled into their purview, an escapee from Bedlam, and somehow is allowed to speak.
A dear friend of mine has just returned from the D-Day 70th anniversary at Juno Beach in France. It was a terrific and moving event by all accounts, but my pal had another story I am afraid, pertaining to our dreadful Ministry of Veterans Affairs.
It is sometimes very amusing to be a Canadian especially in our relationship to our cousins to the south.
There are times when I think my only companion is disappointment. I realize this is a rather dark thought, but there is always room for dark thoughts in this roustabout world of ours. I say disappointment because I am rarely pleased with a nephew of mine, Reggie. His father, my slow-witted brother, asked me to keep an eye on him as he waxed and waned his way across Canada.
The Major has hinted to me gently that he thinks my comments have been harsher than he would like to see. I will try and improve. Sorry Major
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