I don't think it's a secret that I'm half-Canadian. Mom's family comes from Scottish immigrants (refugees?) and Loyalists that had to leave after "those traitors" won the war; been in Upper Canada since at least the American War of Independence. I happened to be born a mile or so north of the border, so that makes me a US citizen ... but I spent a fair amount of time in Canada. Learned to drive, shoot, understand the only way to eat fries is with white vinegar, bale hay, milk cows among other things up there. One of the two Debbies I was desperately in love with was Canadian. God, that was so long ago ... Could cross the border without customs (or a passport) back then.

Some years back, we had to give up the family farm. I'd have been the 5th generation to work the place but life didn't take me that way. Hey, the "new" barn was built in 1902. But, given the conditions with and in Canada right now - and the last of my g'grandfather's apple trees having died - perhaps it was for the best.

But, damn, I miss the place.

From ZeroHedge:

"If it takes an executive order to enforce laws that already bar illegal immigrants from Social Security, the problem isn’t policy - it’s a government that’s given up on enforcement…"

... and it's not even Tuesday. I can get lost in this one.

I started getting a little peeved thinking about things I can do nothing about - things now, things then. Then this came on.
I thought I'd force it on y'all share it with you all.

April 30, 1975. Saigon. We've been refining the technique ever since with Afghanistan the current culmination of our efforts.

Did they die in vain? Seems so. There's still a burn deep inside; the fire subsided long ago but every once in a while, an ember starts to glow.

I'll not go further other than it's easier to win wars if the politicians that put us into such actually wanted to win.

So, here's to Paul and Randy and Bill and Jim and all the others I knew and didn't know.
To those that didn't come back, to those that did, and especially to those that did but didn't.

No, I'm not a vet. I got picked in the lottery towards the end, got my physical, was 1A, then got my notice - but Nixon got caught doing something and they changed the call-up. My orders were rescinded. I had a low number but it turned out high enough. Doesn't mean I didn't know others my age or so that weren't so lucky - if that's what it is.
On the other hand, while the combat troops were at the pointy end of the stick, I spent many years helping put the stick together.

but they can't all be gems.

Update: I should clarify. I refer to the previous post. It appears it upset some and that was not my intent.

A fiery sunset - taken from my front porch.