In mining other people’s prompts for this post, I dug up a lot of other options but, for the letter
it all came down to one choice. I have to write about CANADA!
This is Canada’s sesquicentennial. That’s just a sesquipedalian word that means we’re 150 years old this year. We’ve been at this ‘country’ thing for a century and a half. The Government is so thrilled that it directed the Bank of Canada to issue a new, commemorative $10 bill, which features people and places that even Canadians have never heard of.
The US gained its freedom by revolting, a definition still agreed on by much of the world. Canada became independent by asking nicely.
50 years ago, we celebrated our Centennial. I should apologise to the rest of the world, especially the Americans, for Pamela Anderson. She was declared Canada’s Official Centennial Baby, being born the soonest after the stroke of midnight that began July 1-1967, CANADA Day.
The problem was that she was born out on the Left-Coast, beautiful-bud, British Columbia. The Centennial was already 5 ½ hours old in Newfoundland and the rest of Canada, by the time it dawned on her. Continually told throughout her childhood that she was Special, as she grew older she decided to inflict it on prove it to other people, by getting into TV/movies.
The best thing that she ever did for Canada was move to California, where she became the bulbous Baywatch bitch. After that was cancelled, she became a born-again vegetarian, and endured a lackluster career of dressing up in lettuce leaves and shoving her boobs and her unfounded, ill-considered opinions into other people’s faces.
The wife and I got married as a Centennial project. We were going to leave it until the next year, but saw little reason to wait, so we moved the date up to Dec. 2 – 1967. We almost caused an evil-minded, judgemental, Catholic sister-in-law to wear out her fingers, counting the months till the birth of our first child. The daughter fooled her, and saved her fingers, by being born 10 months and 1 day after our wedding.
When we got married, both we and Canada were filled with naive optimism. For proof, you can click on the YouTube link to see and hear. The French have the stirring, martial, Le Marseillais. The Americans have the patriotic Star-Spangled Banner, with bombs bursting in air. We have Canada’s Centennial Song. One little, two little, three Canadians – Weeee love you. Now we are twenty million. That was then. Now, 50 years later, we are 33 million – perhaps 34 million, if you count the illegal immigrants being welcomed with open arms by the RCMP, as they leak across the border into Manitoba and Quebec, trying to get away from Trumpetopia.
As the wife and I near our 50th wedding anniversary, both we, and the country, are older if no wiser. Both have become harder and more cynical, especially now as we endure a Care-Bear, second-generation Prime Minister who is spending the country’s, and our children’s, financial future on frivolous, feel-good, social-engineering plots. When he visits Donald Trump, he’s on his knees, and not to pray.
This too shall pass! We are tough. We will prevail. You can tan my hide and make work boots out of me.
Please use your boots to walk back over here in a couple of weeks, to see what indignities I inflict on poor, unsuspecting Letter D. 😯