Still Saving French Asses

Wow! Vimy Ridge! 90 years ago today! ..."A defining moment." ..."The birth of a nation." ..."A proud, young dominion." ..."A glorious victory." ..."A momentous act of sacrifice."
Yeah, right!
It was'nt the first time Canadians saved French asses, and it would'nt be the last! Fast forward about twenty-five years and once again we have Germans in France, with Parisian women comforting, cavorting with and cajoling the invaders so they can beg or steal a few morsels of food to throw to their men cowering under their beds. Nine hundred Canadians died in one day at Dieppe saving French asses! Another glorious moment for a proud, young dominion.
Yeah, right!
Let's fast forward another sixty-odd years to yesterday. April 8th 2007. Yesterday, six Canadian soldiers died in Afghanistan. That makes it over 50 dead Canadians and about a thousand wounded. The French have suffered one casualty in Afghanistan: He got his head caught in a French tank turret as it swung around. He was toast! (Please, no jokes, please!)
The Canadians are in Southern Afghanistan, where the Taliban is. The French troops (still hiding under beds) are in Northern Afghanistan where the Taliban is not! The French heroes wont even go out after dark! There are even places in Northern Afghanistan deemed too dangerous for French feet to tread! It's a bit ironic that France's old enemy, Germany, is also up there in the relatively safe north cowering right along with them.
I wonder if six dead Canadian soldiers is enough to constitute a "defining moment"? Is six enough dead bodies to be able to use words like "Glorious" or "Momentous" like we've been hearing all day at the Vimy ceremonies. Sunday, April 8th 2007. Six young, Canadian men will never again see their loved ones. Never again hear Don Cherry rant. Never again swim, fish, skate on or drink Canadian water. Never again feel the green, green grass of Canada. Six young, Canadian men were blown to smithereens. It was a glorious and momentous day. . .
Yeah, right!
Dimmy

Bottoms Up

A Few weeks ago on CBC radio the lady broadcaster said, and I quote, "Mavor Moore has died, butt first. . ." then she was talking about something else. I pondered over my breakfast how a person might accomplish (if that's the word) such an exit? As I forked a lump of egg, the old "what came first" riddle went through my mind. The big question of course is: can a body somehow control what part goes first. In the overall scheme of things this could be a question of the utmost importance. If there actually is anything after death, I'm sure we would all like to make that great first impression. Arriving butt first may not be the ideal way. "Hey Pete, make sure that fat hairy ass keeps floatin' right on by!" Anyway, I've gotta go to bed now, but first. . . I think I'll have another wee nip o' nog.

Dimmy