More Kelly, but Still No Kids

Kelly called again today. That’s three times in the past week. This time, she wanted to know the name and address of the psychiatrist that Dan’s supposed to see tomorrow.

“You gave me the information already, Dale,” she said, “but I must have misplaced it.”

I gave her the address and phone number again, Ms J. And then I got off the phone. That’s the kind of conversation with Kelly that I don’t mind. That’s the only kind of contact I want with her. I wish Meagan would call.

My physio appointment was fun today. I had a lovely foot massage by the attractive attendant and then Barbara treated me with acupuncture. It was pretty interesting, really. Two needles. One just below my knee, and the other in the top of my foot.

“That may help alleviate the swelling,” said Barbara.

It felt very warm and then I felt a kind of intermittent, dull ache around my ankle. It wasn’t unbearable, and I believe it did help the swelling a bit. She left the needles in for fifteen minutes.

I’ll return for another treatment tomorrow.

On Saturday, when I was at Cy and Karen’s place for supper, I asked their son if he’d heard of a guitarist named Steve Vai. He said he had. Apparently, Steve Vai is a popular rock and jazz guitarist. My boy is a great fan.

Way back in February, in an effort to buy Dan’s affection, (how’s that for honesty, Ms J?) I used my credit card and bought two tickets to see Mr. Vai perform live in Toronto. $50. each. The show date is April 2. Dan was VERY happy about going to see his idol.

I haven’t heard from Dan since he left this “hell” on March 6. He may have changed his mind about going to the concert. Or maybe he’s forgotten, although I doubt that. I decided last Saturday, that if someone else would enjoy the show, and since Dan didn’t seem interested in even calling me, then maybe I should give the bloody tickets away. So I did.

I wonder if Dan will phone me one day soon to ask about the tickets? If he does, I’ll tell him I gave them away.

“I didn’t think you were interested in going, son. You didn’t bother to call.”

And if he doesn’t call at all, then that just proves how little he cares about anything.

Opinions? Comments?

Seven Weeks. But who's counting?

Happy Birthday, Mum! Mum was seventy-five yesterday. Gosh, it’s hard to believe my mother is seventy-five years old. She still gets outside and walks every morning. She’s still a great cook and homemaker. And she’s still very active in her local church. No son could ask for better. I phoned her at 8:30 yesterday morning. I wanted to be the first to offer birthday greetings.

Ron Gower drove me to physio yesterday at 10:00. Barbara berated me for not using my crutches and for walking sometimes at home without my cast on. I tried to tell her it was only a few cautious steps once in a while, from the bathtub to the bedroom, and that I never put much weight on my bad leg. But she wouldn’t listen. I was chastised and I felt embarrassed, like a scolded child. She gave me a letter to take to Dr. Roscoe at the fracture clinic today. Barbara is concerned about the lack of mobility in my foot.

I told Ron Gower that my appointment time was 8:40.

“Pick me up between 8:00 and 8:15,” I told him. “That’ll give us lots of time to get to St. Joe’s.”

At 7:45 this morning, he was parked on the road in front of my house. I made him wait ten minutes before I went out. There’s no reason to be that early. It’s just silly. He’s seventy-something and he’s been retired ten years or so. I guess old Ron is lonely. We arrived at the hospital at 8:15.

It turned out OK, though. They took me ahead of my appointment time and at 9:00, I was ready to come home. Twenty minutes at the fracture clinic at St. Joseph’s hospital! That’s unheard of. Three hour waits there are not uncommon.

Dr. Roscoe x-rayed my leg for the fourth or fifth time and declared again that it was healing well. I told him about my inability to lift my foot by flexing the ankle and showed him the letter from Barbara. He read the note and examined my foot. The doctor did the same test Barbara had done. He pressed up on the sole of my foot and held it on the palm of his hand.

“OK,” he said. “I’m going to take my hand away and you hold your foot up like that. Ready?”

I nodded and he removed his hand.

I grunted and gripped the table tightly, but despite my best effort, the foot dropped down again. It’s frightening, Ms J. And more than a little frustrating.

The doctor said it was possible there’d been damage to the nerve that ran across my shin. But he was optimistic.

“The leg is still swollen. Where there’s swelling, it often presses on a nerve and temporarily restricts movement. Is there any numbness here?” he asked and gently stroked my big toe.

I told him yes. It was kind of numb.

He said I’d most probably regain normal movement in a month or so. Maybe less. He ordered some neurophysiologic exams. That appointment is slated for May 16. MAY 16!! I hope to be back to normal and back to work before then.

And I still have to wear my cast. I’m to go back and see him in three weeks.

Memories of Spring

It's a beautiful day in my neighbourhood. The sun shone brightly all day in Mimico. I sat on the front porch this afternoon and read for a while in my shirt sleeves. Gosh, the sun felt so warm and welcome. I'd forgotten how I'd hungered for it's eternal promise of spring. Tulips have poked their green stems through the soil, hopeful of still milder climes to come. I inhaled deeply and marvelled at the earthy smell of spring. I remember taking the kids to the park, one warm spring day years ago. Dan was about 12. Meagan, 6. I encouraged them to use all their senses to experience the world around them.

"Now close your eyes," I said as we sat together on a wooden bench. "And use your nose. What does spring smell like?"

They were quiet for a minute while they sniffed the air. Meagan spoke first.

"Dog poo, Dad. Spring smells just like dog poo."

For those who hurt, Hope.

A song of Hope. A song of Spring. A song for Easter. Dedicated to all those who remember lost loved ones. Dedicated especially to Wash Lady

In the Bulb There Is a Flower

In the bulb there is a flower, in the seed, an apple tree,
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There's a song in every silence, seeking word and melody,
There's a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future, what it holds, a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning, in our time, infinity,
In our doubt, there is believing, in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection, at the last, a victory,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.


United Church of Canada Hymnal - Voices United
copyright 1986 -- Natalie Sleeth

Happy Easter, everyone!

Never Boring

Friends and family make sure that although I'm not able yet to get out much on my own, at least my Life's not terribly boring.

Today, Bob King came over to bring me more movies and to collect the ones he'd left earlier. He arrived just as I was setting out for a walk with Sherry, the lady from across the street. Sherry had her two young kids with her. Laura is about five, I guess; her brother Gary is three. The kids walked through every puddle and fell into every muddy place along the way. Laura loves water. Gary is fascinated by dog shit. They're quite a handful, I must say.

Bob joined Sherry and me as we walked together around the block. It seemed like a marathon to me, as it was the furthest I'd walked since my accident on February 8. The weather was gorgeous - sunny and mild (5C) - but I was glad to get home again.

My friend Cyril called this afternoon and invited me over for dinner. His wife, Karen picked me up at 6:00. After a delicious dinner of rice and brocolli and pork chops, the three of us went over to the church to attend a bi-monthly "coffee house." The coffee house is a minor event held in the basement and featuring local talent (musicians, mostly) Tables and chairs are set up for any audience who care to attend. Coffee, tea and cake are served. It's always enjoyable and admission is free.

Cy is a talented singer and guitarist. He took his turn on the little stage where he performed a few folk and country songs in duet with Patricia Orr. Pat is the lady who first discovered me at the bottom of the staircase after I'd fallen. She has a wonderful singing voice. The audience was small, but quite enthusiastic and appreciative. We sang along and clapped and generally had a brilliant time. There were four different acts in total and all were delightful. I had a blast!!

Tomorrow, Joan is picking me up at 10:00 for church. Easter Sunday. I'll be performing in an Easter drama, playing the role of a Roman soldier who's just deserted from Caesar's army. I think it's a good script. I hope we can convey the powerful message to the congregation.

After church, my sister June is coming to collect me. She's taking me to her home to have Easter dinner with her husband and their two children.

See what I mean, Ms J? My Life is never boring. There's always something planned. A phone ringing. Someone coming round with food or simply an opportunity to socialize. I hardly have time to myself these days. And I don't spend so much time missing my kids and feeling sorry for myself.

Springtime snow. Yuck!!

:(
Is there anything more depressing than a snowstorm in late March? I suppose there is. A snowstorm in late April is worse. Oh man, I'm so sick of winter. I'm sick to DEATH of snow and ice.

It snowed in Mimico this afternoon. It snowed for a few hours and left about an inch of the wretched stuff on trees and cars and walkways. It's funny, you know. A November snowfall is so pretty, so clean and fresh. But a snowfall in late March is a bloody abomination.

A couple of friends were here this morning. Larry and Mike. They brought hot coffee and warm, toasted bagels with cream cheese. Larry and I chatted while Mike repaired the flat tire on my car and then boosted the battery and started the engine. Afterwards, we went out for lunch. Larry insisted on paying.

Kelly called again today while my mates were here. She told me Dan had run out of pills and she couldn't afford to buy more.

"I just wondered if maybe you could use your credit card ...," she said.

She's a real piece of work, that woman. She takes my kids away, tears my heart out, threatens to take me back to court for more child support, and then calls me two days in a row, asking for help. I did not get angry.

"How many pills does he have left, Kelly?" I asked.

"None. He took the last one last night. I'm afraid he'll get crazy again. And the doctor said if he goes off his anti-depressants, he could have a seizure."

I chose my words carefully, Ms J. I walk on egg shells around her these days.

"I wonder why you waited until now to refill his prescriptions, Kelly? When he lived here, we always ..."

"It's not my fault," she blurted. "Dan didn't tell me he was getting low on his meds. How was I supposed to know he was running out?"

Our son is the epitome of irresponsible behaviour. He lived with me less than a week before I realised it. Interestingly, the boy has spent his entire Life with Kelly, but she hadn't yet noticed he couldn't be relied upon.

"I can't get hold of Scott," she said. "His drug plan doesn't seem to cover Dan anymore. I don't know what's wrong."

Gee Kel'. Maybe it's 'cuz Scott doesn't live with you anymore. Maybe the insurance company noted that Scott and Dan have different addresses. Or maybe they discovered that Scott is not Dan's father and is not entitled to coverage. Maybe you should get a job, Kelly. Maybe you should get a brain.

I thought it, Ms Journal. But I did not say it. Egg shells, remember? I don't want to upset her again. Poor, sensitive soul.

"He'll be fine for a day or two," I told her. "Where is he now?"

"In bed," she said quietly as though she feared she might wake him. It was almost noon.

"Don't panic," I said. "Just keep trying to reach Scott. He's probably in a meeting or something. He'll get it sorted out. I honestly don't know what I can do from here. If Dan still has no pills tonight, give me a call and I'll see what I can do. No promises, though."

Honestly, Ms J. Must I be forever responsible for Dan's welfare? Will they EVER learn to survive on their own? The answer, I think, is obvious.

Does this mean we're friends again?

Kelly called this afternoon. I was just home from physiotherapy. Murray drove me. He did my grocery shopping too, sweet man. Yes, Kelly called. I saw her name on the call display and I almost decided not to answer. My curiosity won out, though. Maybe it was Meagan.

"Hello?"

"Oh hi Dale. It's me. How are you doing?"

It was a sexy, breathy kind of voice. The one she uses on the telephone. I've always found it bizarre, frankly.

"Fine, Kelly, I answered confidently. "Just fine, thank you."

I was doing my best to keep things formal. No signs of emotion (mine) whatsoever. I listened carefully for evidence of stress in her voice. I would not allow her to hurt me again.

"I was wondering if you could give me Dr. Panturescu's phone number. Daniel is nearly out of meds and I need to call the doctor to get him to refill a prescription."

So it began. She was so ... normal. As though nothing had happened. I shook my head in disbelief and breathed deeply a few times.

We talked, my ex-wife and I. Civilly. I gave her the doctor's number. She asked also for Dr. Cirone's number. I told her about an upcoming appointment Dan had with a psychiatrist.

"This one's really important, Kelly. I've been advised by a social worker to take Dan to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible. The boy needs a full assessment, I think. I can't drive yet, but I really hope someone from Acton can bring Dan into the city for that appointment. He really needs follow-up visits as well. Please, Kel'."

She agreed, and promised to find a way to get Dan to his appointment. March 31. 4:30. I provided the doctor's name and address. And phone number.

"Please make sure you call at least twenty-four hours in advance if you have to cancel. But gosh, I hope you don't cancel it. This one's really important and we've waited a long time for it."

The conversation lasted about fifteen minutes. She told me Dan was falling back into his old sleep patterns. She told me they were fixing up a room for him, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he'll stay there. I hope to God he stays there. He's still welcome to visit me for a weekend as he's done over the past eleven years. Only for a weekend, though. I know, Ms J. Never say never. But God help us both if he comes back here to live.

Kelly talked about Tim going back to work soon. And I held the phone away from my ear. She talked about Scott getting a new job. And I held the phone away from my ear. Suddenly, I thought I heard something important. One word. A name. Meagan. My heart leapt and I hugged the phone to my cheek again.

"Sorry, Kelly," I said casually. "I missed that. What did you say about Meagan?"

"She says she wants to go back to camp again this summer. For two weeks this time. Teen Ranch. She loved it last summer. Remember?"

"Yes. I remember."

I'll never forget the look of joy on Meagan's face when she came home last August. I'd never seen my little girl so excited about anything.

"I'll help with the cost of it, Kelly," I told her. "Maybe we can split it three ways again like last year."

And then she spoke the words I'd longed to hear.

"Meagan said the other day that she should probably call you. She hasn't yet, has she?"

My mouth was suddenly dry. I took a swallow of water from the plastic bottle beside me.

"No," I replied, trying to sound relaxed and sanguine. "Not yet."

Meagan is my great hope, Ms J. She's doing really well in school. She has a positive and healthy self-image. She has (so far) kept good friends. Meagan is my shining star. Now don't misunderstand me, Ms Journal. I love Daniel too. But he's much harder to like, alas.

So that's it. That was the conversation I had with my ex-wife, Kelly. No mention was made of any transgressions or inappropriate behaviours, either recent or from the distant past. She did not demand an apology. I didn't offer one. Nor did she. All, it would seem, is well.

Does this mean we're friends again? No, Ms J. It does not. In Truth, we never were friends, Kelly and I. Never. She thought we were. But we weren't. I've got a feeling that I still haven't experienced the full consequences of my greatest mistake in Life thus far. I believe I will come to regret more deeply yet my decision to marry a woman I didn't even like. Time will tell.

I'm Famous!

"Ever Google yer name?" Bob asked me the other day.

"What?" I asked him. "What are you talking about, Bobby?"

"You know. Google. The search thing on the internet. Helps you find stuff. Google. Ever type your name in? Because I just typed in your name and ... Well, you should do it youself. Just do it sometime. See what comes up."

So today I "Googled" my name. Dale Pringle. What a nice surprise. Out of some 165,000 items, I was second on the list. In only two or three clicks, I found a photo of myself looking rather stunned after receiving an award last year for acting.

Try it! Try "Googling" your name. Maybe you're a star and you don't even know it!

Weekend Update

March 19, 2005

Saturday. I didn’t do much this morning. I was awake at 7:00 so I got up and showered. The plastic shower chair I got from Mum and Dad has been so useful. It’s easy to shower now.

After my morning ablutions, I descended the stairs (on my bum, still, for safety) and lay on the couch to do my exercises. Barbara wants me to try to practice moving my foot in various directions by moving my ankle. I use a scarf on the bottom of my foot to help me move it. The scarf is looped under the foot and I hold the two ends and pull gently. I am not happy with the tiny range of motion I accomplish. It’s discouraging. I do these exercises thrice daily and ice my foot for ten minutes afterward.

This afternoon, Linda, our minister came to get me. We went to the church where we met with some others and rehearsed the little play we’re planning for tomorrow. I have the role of Easter Bunny. It seems a bit strange, Ms J, to have the Easter Bunny in church, but I have faith in Linda’s creative abilities. I’m sure we’ll be fabulous!

After the rehearsal, we all went downstairs to the gym. The Toronto Children’s Aid Society was holding a lasagna dinner to raise money. Lasagna. Cor! Ten dollars a plate. I had no money with me, so Cy MacPherson paid for my dinner. I’ll repay him tomorrow. It was nice to get out and socialize. Bob and Charlotte brought me home.

I must tell you about the one low spot in the evening. When we were ready to come home, I put my coat on and then went round to say good-bye to some friends at other tables. Many folks asked about my injured leg. One woman – it was Mary Pope, I think – asked about Meagan.

“So what did your daughter say when she heard Dad fell down the stairs and broke his leg?”

The question caught me off guard. It’s not often that I can’t think of something to say, Ms Journal, but that was one of those times.

The Truth is that Meagan had jumped up and offered her mother an exuberant “high five”. “Alright!” she’d exclaimed. “That’s good.” Her mother had kindly shared that with me while I was still in the hospital.

That was the Truth, Ms J. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I stammered and stuttered a bit before I spoke. And I lied.

“She said ‘Watch where you’re going, Dad. That’s what you always tell me.’”

There was some polite laughter around the table and I turned to go.

“That’s quite a little girl you’ve got, Dale,” someone said as I hurried to catch up with Bob and Charlotte.

“Yeah,” I thought ruefully. “Quite a little girl.”

March 20, 2005

Palm Sunday. Bob opened the church for me this morning. I am an opener, Ms J, and it was my turn to open the doors and get things ready for the worship service, but of course, I’m not able to do it.

Bob came round at 9:20 and picked me up and took me to church. I had to be there early to get into my bunny costume and go over my lines once more. Patricia is a talented seamstress and she fashioned a one-piece bunny outfit for me, with matching hat and ears, and even gloves. She used an eyebrow pencil to give me whiskers; lipstick coloured my nose. I looked fabulous!

The service went off without a hitch. Jesus was there with two disciples, whom he sent to obtain a donkey for him. We had a homemade donkey on wheels. We had the children parading around the sanctuary, waving palm fronds. And of course, we had the Easter Bunny, proclaiming that he alone was in charge of Easter. It was delightful!

It was a communion Sunday, and the four communion servers were – are you ready for this, Ms J? – the minister, the narrator of the drama, the Easter Bunny, and Jesus Christ himself.

And you know what? It worked. Everyone loved it. At first, I thought that having the Easter Bunny serving communion was perhaps a tad irreverent. But it was fine. It worked out just fine. I had a brilliant time this morning. And I think the congregation enjoyed it, too.

After church, I was invited to join some people at a local eatery for lunch. I sat with Karen and Cy and Marg. Marg bought my lunch, and drove me home! She made sure I was safely in the house and then kissed me good-bye. Marg is divorced. Fiftyish.

And come to think of it, her hug lasted a bit longer than was necessary, I think.

Sigh... So few women. So much time.

Money and Food and Great, Big Boobs. (Oh, and Easter.)

Maureen Carson was here yesterday morning. She’s an engineer like me. I like Mo. Everybody likes Mo. She came and brought me a union hat. Inside the hat was $570. that had been collected for me at work. I really didn’t know what to say but thank you. I’m grateful, Ms J. So eternally grateful.

Physiotherapy continues, but at a new location. Joan has taken me now at least four times. I really like this new place. The therapists are nice. I had ultrasound and a gentle but painful foot massage. Sabina had me using a “wobble board.” A wobble board is a round, flat piece of wood, perhaps eighteen inches across. It has a large, round knob on the bottom. The idea is to put both feet gently on the board and tilt it back and forth, and side to side using my good foot. The injured foot simply goes along for the ride, moving in concert with the other foot. The motion is slow and gentle and deliberate. And no, it didn’t hurt.

Sabina is VERY attractive. So is her mate, Barbara. Barbara has wedding rings. Sabina is twenty-something. My eyes are drawn to Sabina's ample bosom like moths to a flame. It requires my full focus to avert my lustful stare. WOW!! They look like a pair of puppies playing under a blanket!!

I gave my friend, Joan $20. for gas (she’s been so sweet to drive me everywhere lately) and promised I’d find someone else to help me travel about. I called Ron (Larry’s dad) and he volunteered to take me to physio on Monday morning. Maybe Murray will take me on Tuesday.

Bob King was here last night around dinner time. He brought another batch of videos for me to watch. Twenty-six of them. He collected the last batch he’d brought. I’m thankful for Bob and his movies.

I ate some of Dave's soup for lunch yesterday. It was delicious and I finished it today. I had some of Karen's sausage casserole for dinner. There's a lasagna dinner at the church today. I'm really getting tired of lasagna, Ms J. So many friends have brought me lasagna. My new freezer is half full of lasagna in various incarnations. But it'll be a chance to visit my church friends in an informal atmosphere. I like that. Besides, Rev. Linda, our preacher is picking me up today at 4:00. I've been asked to take part in the Easter play at church again this year, and Linda wants us to rehearse it once or twice.

Actually, I'm playing the part of the Easter Bunny (!) on Palm Sunday. On Good Friday, I'll be a Roman soldier. And there's a bigger production planned for Easter Sunday, when again I'll play a soldier.

I had a great day yesterday, Ms J. I'm having a good day today. And I'm moving about without using my sticks much today. I’m putting a little weight on my right foot and limping badly. But I'm hardly using those loathsome crutches at all.

I subscribe to dictionary.com’s “Word of the Day”. Each day, I receive a new word and its definition by email. Interestingly, yesterday’s word was pecuniary.

Word of the Day for Thursday March 18, 2005

pecuniary \pih-KYOO-nee-air-ee\, adjective:
1. Relating to money; monetary.
2. Consisting of money.

G.A., Frankie, and Superman

It's been a good week so far, Ms J. It's been a busy week. I've had lots of visitors. Lots of things to do and see. Frankie was here on Monday, as promised. She made some sandwiches and we ate lunch together at the table. I can't begin to express my delight at seeing friends and relatives. It feels so good to know that people care. I know how easy it is to be busy with our own Lives and neglect a friend who's unable to get out on his own. I know it, Ms Journal, because I've done it myself. "I'll go and visit tomorrow." But tomorrow never comes.

Lately, I've been entertaining thoughts of self-pity. It's silly I know, but each morning I stand, flanked by my wooden crutches, and stare out the front door, hating every passer-by who can walk, begrudging them their effortless gait. They all hurry by, lost in their own thoughts, consumed by their own worries and cares. They cast their eyes down or out toward the street, pretending not to notice me. I wish they would turn my way, even for a second, to acknowledge me. I lift my hand to wave sometimes, but drop it quickly before I'm spotted. Heaven forbid they should assume I'm a lonely, pitiful soul, abandonned and miserable. I'm not, Ms J. I know I'm not that at all. But still sometimes, I despair.

"Superman was jealous of people who could walk," Frankie told me. "I saw him interviewed on television once. Christopher Reeve, I mean. He said he felt jealous of people who could just stand up and move about on their own."

Et tu, Superman?

But my affliction is so much less severe than his. Christopher Reeve was completely paralysed. A quadra-plegic. Me? I'm a uni-plegic. A temporary uni-plegic. And I am getting stronger. I really am. I move about sometimes without my sticks, putting weight carefully on my bad leg. I call them 'sticks', Ms J. I don't like to use the word "crutches." Such a negative word. It implies hurt, pain, debilitating injury. Crutches are for cripples. Like Tiny Tim. God bless us every one.

Girl Alex was here last night. G.A. She called first on Monday.

"I'd like to come see you, Dale," she said and I could hear her smiling on the phone. "Let me make dinner for you. Would you like that?"

Now it was my turn to smile.

"Oh G.A." I gushed. "That would be so fantastic!"

So she came. She arrived at 5:00 with chicken and potatoes to cook. We had a very nice visit. I've written about Alex before. She'll be turning 18 in April. She'll finish high school in June. She's so ... I don't know Ms J. So beautiful. So young. Healthy. Big, bright, clear eyes full of promise. All the best of Life lies ahead of her. She does well in her studies. Alex has lots of friends. She's just finished performing in a school play and together, we looked at photos from that experience. Never will she ever look back with regret on a mis-spent youth. I wish I could say the same about my son.

I was filled with emotion last night. It was a lachrymose evening for me. I surreptitiously wiped away tears half a dozen times. I thought of Alex and of her struggles and her disappointments and I just wanted to hold her and keep her from everyone and everything in Life that might bring her pain. But we grow, it seems, only through our pain.

I was lying on the couch last night, with my foot elevated on a stack of pillows, and listening to Alex as she prepared supper. She was scraping a pot with a metal spoon, and humming softly to herself. I cried. I'm not sure why, Ms J. I guess I was aware of not being alone. Someone was there with me. Someone who cared about me and who was caring for me. The delicious spicy smell of baked chicken and the sounds of Alex in the kitchen made me feel so grateful. I was so thankful for friends who love me.

Thank you God for Frankie. She made me lunch. She washed my dirty clothes and folded my bed sheets. She took me to see a painting that was inspired by a story I wrote. The painting was awarded a prize. "Most Poignant Representation of a Story." I couldn't see how the judge arrived at that but, hey. To each his own.

Thank you for Girl Alex. Please Lord, keep her safe and help her grow. I love her as though she were my own.

Thank You Lord, on this day, for our many great blessings;

Thank You Lord, on this day, for our friends and families.

Glory to God, may You hear our prayer, guide us on forever.

Thank You Lord, on this day, for our friends and families.

Physiotherapy

Physiotherapy hurts. It hurts like the dickens. But it has to. Hurt, I mean. If it's going to do any good. My toes each have two joints. So that's ten possible pain centres in my toes alone. My ankle has only about five percent of it's normal movement radius. My calf muscle has shrivelled. The young girl at the physio clinic is fairly gentle but when she forces my toes down or up, I nearly cry out.

They've scheduled me for daily sessions. 1:50 every afternoon. Mon-Fri. Every day this week. And every day next week. It'll be a long, long process. But it will be worth it to walk. To run. To ride my bike this summer.

I miss my Life, though. And I miss my daughter.

Yes, things are improving a bit.

Thanks Michelle. Yes, it's getting a bit easier, my Life. Of course, I still lie awake at night worrying about Dan and wondering if Meagan misses me as much as I miss her. But my days have been more pleasant. I've had lots of company these past few days, and that helps pass the time and keep my thoughts more positive.

On Thursday morning, two workmates popped by for a visit. Mike Dwyer and Larry Gower. They brought me coffee and bagels. Mike repaired the light fixture in the kitchen (it was falling down and hanging precariously from one small screw) and a dear friend surprised me with a new stereo. Larry fetched it from the post office. It's a Sony mini stereo with 3 CD changer and double cassette decks. Remote control, so I needn't get out of my chair to select my music. It's brand new! It's good quality! And it sounds fantastic! Mike and Larry stayed til about 3:00.

Tammy and Adam arrived at 5:30 with a huge casserole and salad and wine - both red and white. They even brought dessert, bless them. We had a lovely supper and a really nice visit. Tammy washed all the dishes and tidied everything up nicely. What a sweet, sweet girl!

"Is there anything at all we can do for you before we leave, Dale?" Adam asked.

I couldn't think of a thing. We exchanged warm hugs and best wishes and at 9:00 they were gone. The house seemed so quiet and empty.

Friday night, I went to see my young friend Girl Alex in her school play. Arthur Miller's "The Crucible." It was absolutely rivetting, perhaps the best piece of theatre I'd seen in a long while. High school kids. It was really well done! My friends Bob and Christine took me there and then delivered me home again. I had a brilliant time, Ms J, but I was knackered by the time I got home.

Andra called this morning.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just studying a script for a new play, Andie." I call her Andie, Ms J. I'm allowed that because I'm special.

"Well, the wine guy just called me. We've got to go and bottle our wine. I'll be over in an hour. We'll bottle the wine," she said, "then I'll take you out to lunch. OK?"

So we did. Andra corked 30 bottles of cheap cabernet while I sat and visited with another customer. Afterward, we went for lunch. Andie brought me home around 2:00. I found voice mail from Jenn and from another workmate - Dave Sourwine. Nothing yet from you-know-who.

This evening, I had a visit from Sherry, the "have-not lady" from across the street. I've written about her before. Sherry brought half a package of crackers and two poppy seed bagels. Bless her heart. She's really been struggling in her marriage lately. I suppose she just needed to talk.

Tomorrow's Sunday. Joan Hewitt is picking me up at 10:15 for church. My favourite (and only) brother, Pat and his wife Linda are coming for lunch. They're always very helpful when they visit. On Monday, after my physiotherapy, my friend Frances will drop by to prepare and serve grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Frankie is a sweet girl and a dear friend. She often reads my blog. "Hi Frankie!" (I call her Frankie, Ms J. Because I'm special.) And on Tuesday morning, Patty Ranalli will be here. Patty is a neighbour of mine. She's offered to clean my house for me.

So that's it, Ms Journal. Friends. They're God's way of looking after us. Love helps those who cannot help themselves!

Peace.

$155. Ridiculous!!! 

Stiff and swollen is NOT always good 

Not much news, I'm afraid

Hello Ms Journal.

I have a new cast. An "aircast". A walking cast with two inflatable bladders, one on either side of my ankle. It looks like a great big ski boot. Battleship grey. Our government health insurance doesn't cover that, either. $155. I hope my health insurance at work covers it. This cast is removable, though. So I take it off to bathe or shower. Very nice.

I have scheduled my first physiotherapy appointment. It'll be on Monday. 11:30. Government health insurance will cover that, but only til April 1. What the hell has happened to our beloved OHIP, Ms J? Canada's socialized healthcare system was once the envy of the world. Our heartless government continues to chip away at it. Soon, only the rich (or the privately-insured) will have access to proper healthcare. It makes me mad and it breaks my heart.

My leg is healing well, says Dr. Roscoe, orthopedic surgeon. The large bone is nearly totally "ossified" but the small bone still shows a wide fissure on the x-ray.

"That's normal," the doctor told me. "I spliced the tibia with a metal plate, so of course it will mend more quickly. The fib always takes a bit longer. It's time to get you started on physiotherapy. Get that ankle loosened up."

Yes, Ms J, my leg is feeling much better. The incision is healed up. The sore part now is my ankle. You see, because my ankle has been immobilized for five weeks, the tendons and ligaments have shrunk. And the muscles atrophied. It hurts like hell to put weight on my right foot. I suppose the longer I delay in getting physiotherapy, the worse the problem will become. So I'm going on Monday.

Dan is still away. No phone call. I haven't heard from Meagan yet either. Here's her list of demands as they were dictated to Daniel a couple of weeks ago:

Dad,
Meagan will come only if you simply write a letter of apology to both Meagan and Mom making amends for what you have done to both of them and state (truthfully) that you are going to make up for past abuse of Mom and state that you WILL get help for your anger and how to handle it.

So I wrote a letter to Meagan. My dad mailed it on March 2 in Mt. Forest. I'm certain it's arrived in Acton by now. Probably arrived on the 6th or 7th. I wonder if Kelly intercepted it? I doubt it. I think I haven't heard from Meagan because I didn't apologise to her mum. I told Meagan I was sorry for getting angry and apologised for hurting her feelings. I acknowledged hurting Dan's feelings too. But nowhere in my letter did I mention Kelly. I think that's why Meagan still hasn't called me. I failed to fullfill her list of demands.

"You may have to apologise," said Marsha, the social worker.

"I cannot," I replied. "I will not."

"How badly do you want to see your daughter?" Marsha said.

The Truth, Ms J?

A lot worse than I want to see my son.

Daniel has been an incredible disappointment to me lately. He thinks he's ready to live a grown-up Life, but has no idea how to behave responsibly. I cancelled two doctor appointments he had this week. A friend of mine returned a video game he'd rented before he ran away. He has an appointment with Dr. Cirone (the lady who checked out his "twig and berries" last month, remember?) at St. Joseph's hospital on Tuesday, the 15th. I may have to cancel that one as well. This is not the way to demonstrate adult behaviour, Dan.

He may not take his pills. Or he may neglect to refill his prescriptions. He may abandon his treatment programmes. If he chooses that path, he'll have to choose another address. I have done what I can for him.

Oh, one more thing. If I get up the courage to call Kelly and offer a (totally insincere) apology, I plan to tell her that when Dan returns to Mimico, he's to leave his cat in Acton. I'm not able to clean up the mess of disgusting hair, and Dan's not willing to do it. I'm not a cat lover. I never wanted the creature here in the first place.

I love you too, Daniel. 

He's Gone Again

I wish I were English. If I were, "Blimey!" I'd say. Or maybe "Bloody Hell!" Dan has gone again. This is the third time.

On Saturday, I checked my bank balance via the internet and discovered he'd stolen $20. from my bank account. He was shocked to learn I knew he'd done it. I'm sure he'd be absolutely AMAZED at how clever I am -- compared to an average omniscient teen.

He cried. He always cries. Why, I wonder? Are they tears of regret? Embarassment? Does he hurt to learn he's disappointed dear ol' Dad? I don't know, Ms Journal. I really don't know. What I do know is that he continues to do stupid things. And he continues to have little or no concern for me or my home. I place almost no restrictions on the boy, but still he believes my rules are too numerous and too strict.

After I'd gone to bed, he was still talking on the phone to Maxine, his girlfriend. Long distance. "I love her, Dad." Yeah right, son. Sure you do.

"Please be mindful of our long distance bill, Dan," I asked gently as I reached the top of the stairs.

He knew just what to say, of course.

"OK, Dad. I won't be much longer."

Ten minutes later I heard him shouting.

"Don't fuck with me. You hear me? Don't you fuck with me. Don't you DARE fuck with me. Because I will come down on you like a ton of fucking bricks. Do you understand me? I think you're old enough to understand what I'm saying."

I rolled out of bed and hopped down the hall to his bedroom and opened the door.

"Daniel! Who on earth are you speaking to that way?" I demanded.

"Cathy," was his response.

"And who the hell is Cathy?"

"Maxine's mum."

I was appalled. He was speaking to his girlfriend's mother!

"Hang up the phone, son," I said.

"I will."

"Hang it up now," I said. I could hear my voice getting louder.

"OK. I am."

"No you're not, Dan. You're lying on your bed with the phone still stuck to your ear. Hang up the phone and do it NOW!"

He tossed the cordless phone onto the floor and glared at me.

"There. You happy?"

With some difficulty, I retrieved the phone and left his room. I did not slam the door.

"You'd better learn some respect, Daniel," I hissed as I hopped back to my bedroom with his phone.

As I lay there, replaying the scene in my head, I heard him downstairs on the phone again. I assumed he was calling his sweet little Maxine but he was in fact, calling his mum. I suppose the rules here are once again becoming too difficult to live by, and he was telling his mum what a tyrant I am.

I came home from church on Sunday to find a phone message from Kelly.

"Well I hope you're happy, Dale," she said. "You've lost both of them now. Dan and Meagan both say they hate you and they never want to see you again. Dan is coming back to live with me. Scott is on his way now to collect him. Oh, and I'm taking you back to court to get more money. You're going to end up a lonely, pathetic fuckin' loser. G' bye."

Isn't she sweet? My my my. Women sure can turn on you when they want to. No wonder there are so many gay men. I don't understand what's happened lately. A few months ago, Meagan and I were walking in the rain, holding hands and laughing. Now, according to Kelly, she hates me and never wants to see me again. It's unfathomable. A few months ago, I was living a successful and happy Life. Now it's all turned to shit, somehow. And I just don't understand it. I don't understand it at all.

I called some friends for help. The best advice I got was from Kevin Smith.

"Pull back, Dale."

He acknowledged the hurt and anger I felt and he said he could hear it in my voice.

"You're just overwhelmed right now, buddy," he said. "You've got too many worries all at once. You've gotta pull back on the reins. Pull back and say 'Whoa!'"

Kevin's right. It's all too much and I can't bear it all at once. My leg. My kids. Ex-wife. I'm tired, Ms J. I'm just really tired.

"Look after yourself first, Dale," he told me. "Get that leg healed up. Once you've got the use of your legs again, Life will get a little easier. Then you can worry about Dan. Get him sorted out. Meagan is fine. She's being cared for. She'll be alright for a month or so til you get a bit stronger. Step away from the fire. Step back and let Life happen."

Kevin's coming for a visit on Wednesday morning. I look forward to seeing my old friend again.

Jenn picked me up on Sunday afternoon and took me to audition for a play in Caledon. I got the part. Yeah. No big deal, really. They love me in Caledon and besides, I was the only one who tried out for that role. I spent the night at Jenn and Jane's house. They only live ten minutes from the theatre.

Jenn brought me home today. Dan was gone. The TV was on. There was a full glass of juice on the table in the living room. The lights were left on. His bedroom is an utter pig sty. He left no note to tell me where he was going, exactly. Or when he might return.

I do not miss my son, Ms J. That sounds awful, doesn't it? But tonight, as I sit and peck away at this keyboard, and feel not the slightest twinge of stress or fear or conflict, I'm glad he's gone. I'm not anxious for his return, either.

I'm Back!!!

OK. I'll keep it short. Short and sweet. I spent a week at Mum and Dad's. I just got home on Wednesday. It was great being at my parent's house. Let's face it, Ms J. No one cares for you better than dear old Mum. I had good meals three times a day. Fresh brewed coffee. Tea every afternoon. Dad helped me shower. I enjoyed the first shower I'd had since the accident. Dad and Mum have a plastic/aluminium shower chair so I could sit down while I scrubbed myself clean. Dad tied a plastic trash bag around my cast and helped me in and out of the shower. Oh, Ms J! It felt absolutely divine to be clean!! I've brought that little chair home with me so I can shower here too.

My leg is feeling much better. I take one painkiller in the morning and another at night. Three weeks ago, I was taking two of them every three or four hours. Percocet. Very strong drug. Dan has shown little interest in them, but I keep the bottle close at hand nonetheless.

Dan hasn't been much trouble since I've been home from Dad's. The Boy has the flu and hasn't strayed far from his bed. I don't want him around me. Dear God, imagine if I were to get the bloody flu?! That would be terrible. So he stays upstairs in his bed. I encourage him to drink lots of juice (he won't drink water) and remind him to take his prescription medicine - Effexor, Seroquel, and Clonazapam.

My theatre friends at The Caledon Townhall Players sent me $30. worth of Swiss Chalet vouchers (chicken dinner, delivered) and also two free tickets to their current performance of "Arsenic and Old Lace". My friend Bob King is taking me there tonight.

I still have a freezer full of lasagne, and friends pop by now and then with hot coffee or bagels or sometimes a lovely casserole. Believe me, it's very welcome. I'm able to fend for myself a bit better lately, but it's still quite tiring to balance on one foot while I prepare food or wash dishes.

One more thing:

The day before I was to leave for my parents house, I did something really stupid. I was having an angry moment, wishing Dan would do a little more to help around here, and thinking about how dry my house plants were. They needed watering and Dan would never think of it. So I decided to do it myself. Angry I was, and needing to assert my independence.

I hopped across the room and into the kitchen where I found a big jug and filled it with water. I then hopped around the house, spilling water on the hardwood and eventually got all the plants moistened. All except one -- a Spider plant that hangs from the ceiling in the dining room.

I pulled a chair from under the table and hopped up on it. Balancing precariously on my one good leg, I reached above my head to water the plant. You know what happened then, don't you?

I lost my balance and fell backwards off the chair. I had no choice but to break my fall with my already-broken leg. I cried out in fear, although luckily, it didn't hurt much. I fell back against a little table and bruised my arm and bumped my head and twisted my wrist. It was my leg that really concerned me, but as I say, I didn't re-injure it. I was lucky. Very lucky.

Dan heard the crash and raced downstairs to find me in a heap against the wall. I wasn't badly hurt, but I was frightened. I won't do that again.

So all is well, Ms Journal. Not exactly 'well' but not too bad really, given my current state of affairs.