I am going to deviate just a little bit this morning from my normal routine. I had promised all of you the next installment in the William Stephenson story about how he became a key inspiration for Ian Flemming’s master spy James Bond. To be honest though I really haven’t had the time this weekend to hit the books and do the research required to write a top notch history.
This weekend I spent with my darling daughter who lives a couple of hours out of Winnipeg. It was her 14th birthday last weekend so I took the chance this weekend to spend a fun filled day with her bowling and generally having a good time.
In any regard that got me thinking about my own situation, as many of you may know I am an adopted son to my late father and globe-trotting mother. It’s the only life that I have ever known so please don’t feel badly for me. I really couldn’t have asked for better parents and the childhood that I had was a very happy one in most regards, but there has always been a hole in my heart that I have never been able to fill. The one left by my birth mother when I left her arms and was taken into foster care.
I will admit right off the hop here that I was not a political believer in Jack Layton. His leanings to my mind are a little bit left of what I personally believe the Canadian public can afford right now.
OK, disclaimer done.
Other than his beliefs, I LOVED Jack Layton, he took the political stage by storm like no one since dare I say Pierre. He grabbed voters by the scruff and woke them up, with his cane and dashing good looks.
Today’ s Canadian capital hill crowd in Ottawa is vanilla by comparison. Just take a look at Steven Harper, ya the PM tries to get on stage but nothing can compare to Jack and Olivia taking care of business.
A born politician Jack had a great right wing to call on early, yet he chose the left wing. His own family having great membership to call upon, yet he followed a higher calling.
Would I vote for Jack, probably not. But would I sit and have not one beer but a case with the man and invite my friends, you bet your ass Jack.
To Jack Layton, not just a man, but an idea.
Hip hip, to Jack.
And to the NDP you had THE JACK!
Much love to parties of all stripes on this sad day.
It’s been nine long years since the events of September 11, 2001 happened and much like people who talk about remembering where they were when Kennedy was killed, I know that I will always have that fateful day burned deeply into my memory.
I remember sitting in my shared office at work my co-workers and I reading the newspaper and drinking our morning coffee as we did every other day before and since. We were joking around listening to a local rock and roll station when the news slowly began to break from New York.
The reports sounded confused at first, a small plane had hit a building in New York, a Cessna one eye-witness had mistakenly reported. It didn’t sound like a big deal at the time, we all went on drinking our coffee. Then the news told of a second plane had crashed in New York, hitting the World Trade Centre and this time it was a commercial airliner. Reports came with every song now, and it seemed prudent to change to a news radio station.
The second airliner approaching the World Trade Centre. (Photo: Reuters)