Sherri

Sherri's my niece. She's the daughter of my big brother, Pat. Sherri was my first niece and maybe that's why she's still my favourite. I've always felt very close to her. She and her older brother still live at home with their parents, Pat and Linda.

Sherri is 24. She values herself. She has hopes and dreams for the future. Sherri has vowed never to be financially dependent on a man, and to guard against that ever happening, she's training to become a dental hygienist.




I had an appointment for Sherri to clean my teeth on Thursday last. That's why I had to rush home from the county. She has to complete thirty oral inspections and cleanings in order to graduate. The course is eighteen months long and is divided into four semesters. She's just begun her third semester. She's a keen student and seems to really enjoy it.

It costs $25. for a cleaning, which is probably one-sixth of the cost at a regular dental office. There is a downside to it, though. The treatment wasn't completed in one appointment.

"Yeah, you'll probably have to come about four times, Uncle Dale," she told me. "I know it's inconvenient. I hope it's alright though." And she smiled hopefully. Sherri has a radiant smile with beautiful white teeth.

"It takes a long time," she explained, "because a dentist has to inspect every single step you take in the process. First, I have to examine your entire face and note every bump and blemish. Then I have to do the same inside your mouth. I have to check your tongue and cheeks and the roof and floor of your mouth and write down everything I see." She nodded her head and then shook her long hair away from her face. "It takes a while, eh?"

I'm fine with all that, Ms J. Because in the end, it's not about getting my teeth cleaned. It's about helping my niece achieve her goal of becoming a qualified dental hygienist. She may one day earn more than $30. an hour.

"That's fine, Sherri," I said. "Lean me back, girl. And let's git to gittin'!"

The back of the chair fell away and I leaned back and followed it down. She pulled her white mask up over her face and bent slightly to look at me. I looked into her green eyes. They were smiling.

"Sherri?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really proud of you, you know."

And I am, Ms J. I'm proud of my niece.


I'll be returning next Thursday at noon for phase two.

***

The Meme Thing

Or as the French like to call it Le Meme Chose.

Scottie tagged me this morning. You can find her ever-changing and fascinating blog here. It's a musical thing this time.

Here's the meme.......

List ten songs that you are currently enjoying. It doesn't matter what genre they are, whether they have lyrics, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Well, if they were shite songs, you wouldn't be listening to them, would you? Anyway, the point is, post these instructions, and the ten songs (along with the artists) in your blog. Then tag five other suckers people to see what they're listening to.

My current faves are:

Knockin' on Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan
Levon - Elton John
One Precious Love - Prairie Oyster
May It Be - Enya
I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow - The Soggy Bottom Boys
Midnight Special - CCR
Gimme All Your Lovin' - ZZ Top
Gumboot Clogeroo - Stompin' Tom Connors
Harvest Moon - Neil Young
I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats

Yeah. I put them all on the same CD. My tastes are eclectic. (Shrugs.) What can I say?

OK then. I tag you, Anvilcloud. And you, Heather, out west there. And you dear Jenny. Don't look away. I got you. How many's that? Three? OK. Two more then.
(Looks around.) What's that over there? Cowboy boots sticking out of a pile of straw. I see you, Maggie! You're tagged too. And ummmmmm ... Crash or Donna. Please don't quarrel over this, you two! You can both do it if you like.

OK. Let's get busy everyone! Chop-chop!

***

Home from The County

G'day, Ms J. I'm home. I had a brilliant time in The County. It's Prince Edward County, actually. But to the locals, it's simply "the county."


The weather was dull and overcast. Adventure awaited. (Don't forget to click on the photos to make them larger.)

I met Christine in the town of Picton. Well, let me back up a little. I first met Christine five years ago in a play we were in. "Swimming For Shore." It was a wonderful play. She's a delightful young woman. Christine had a live-in lover then and so we became friends. And friends we remain.

I know what you're thinking, Ms J. Have we ever ...? No. We have not. There have been occasions when I might have moved in that direction, but I chose not to. Perhaps it's selfish, but I fear that if we became lovers, we'd sacrifice our friendship. And then, if we ceased to be lovers, I'd lose my Christine entirely. Besides, we're on vastly different Life journeys, she and I. Christine longs for marriage and children. I have no desire to father more children. I underwent a vasectomy five years ago ...

Anyway, back to the county.

I arrived at the time we'd agreed upon, and as I fished for coins in my pocket to feed the parking meter, I heard someone shouting my name. It was a familiar voice.

"DALE! DALE!"

I looked up and there was Christine, galloping up the sidewalk, her arms full of shopping bags. Christine is an Olympic class shopper. She came to me and we hugged. I really like hugging that woman. She hugs as though she really means it. And it's good.


"A Proud Loyalist Town"

We did some more shopping and then went to meet some of her family. Although she's an only child, Christine has a large extended family of which she's justifiably proud. She has uncles and aunts and grandparents and cousins. Lots of cousins, I think. Vicki is her absolute favourite. Vicki is married to Tim. Six weeks ago, they had a baby. Her name is Sage, and she's perfectly gorgeous.

Tim and Vicki are beautiful people. Warm. Genuine. Welcoming. They own a farm not far from the tiny hamlet of Milford. Vicki grows organic herbs and vegetables for local restaurants. She was busy making pesto when we arrived. I believe she also makes preserves each fall for sale in local markets. Indeed, fresh produce seems a big part of Life in the county.

Tim is a craftsman. A worker in wood. He's handsome, soft-spoken and honest. Besides tending chickens and sheep on their farm, he designs and builds furniture, cabinetry. He does home renovations large and small. Tim's calloused hands can create beautiful and enduring things. I envy him. Those same strong hands that offered me a firm and sincere handshake, later held baby Sage as though she were fragile and priceless. And of course, she is.

I held the infant child for a long time while the women chatted in the big country kitchen. I gazed into her dark blue eyes and wondered what thoughts lurked there behind them. I could discern but two emotions: Joy and Peace. The baby's calm and contented nature reflects her parent's personalities.


Baby Sage. Joy and Peace.

I made the acquaintance of another remarkable couple in the county. Their names are Quentin and Floral Minaker. Christine's maternal grandparents. Quentin is ninety-six years old. Floral is still young at only ninety-one. They have been married seventy-five years. Think of it, Ms J. Seventy-five years. They've spent only one night apart in all that time. That was a few years ago, when Quentin had some minor surgery and stayed overnight in hospital. Floral spent that night in a chair in the hall.

"I started the business across the street there in '25," Quentin told me as we chatted on the back porch. "Minaker Auto Parts. My son runs it now. Him and my grandson. They're doing a good business over there."

He looked right at me and his pride was evident in his broad smile.

"What do you do? Are you retired too?"

I told him I work for the CNR. I said I was a locomotive engineer and he asked lots of pertinent questions. "Freight trains or passenger trains?" "How far do you go?"

I answered all his questions and marvelled that a ninety-six year old brain could still be so sharp. He seemed to be obsessed with the placement of things and he re-adjusted the small plastic table for the ump-teenth time. Quentin moved his coffee mug a quarter of an inch to the left and then he looked up at me.

"What do you do?" he asked. "Are you retired too?"

---

Despite intermittent rain, we toured around and Christine showed me the sights. A local winery, a cheese factory, and an enchanted place called Lake on the Mountain. Here, we found a lake that sits atop a great hill, high above the MUCH larger Lake Ontario. It gave me a strange feeling to be there. It seemed very special somehow. A sign told us of the history and geology of the lake. Scientists are still undecided about how it came to be. Some say it was a giant crater caused by a pre-historic meteor strike. Others believe it was once a volcano. And some say it was carved out by a glacier in the last ice age. To the aboriginals, it was and remains a sacred place.


Lake on The Mountain - A Sacred Place

Prince Edward County is becoming a wine producing region. Apparently her gravelly soil is well suited to the growing of certain types of grape. The county now boasts more than ten wineries, and vinyards are becoming a common sight.


White or red? I didn't get close enough to check.

Christine's mother owns an impressive chalet on a hilltop overlooking Lake Ontario. Below it, sit two smaller buildings. One is a cottage built more than half a century ago by Christine's granddad, Quentin Minaker. The other building is much smaller and consists of only one room, a bed and some antique furniture. It used to be a chicken coop. Quentin thought it would serve as temporary shelter while he built the cottage. It's still referred to today as "the chicken house."


The chicken house. I slept here. The attached outhouse was an afterthought.

Christine slept alone in the cottage nearby. It's much larger with a separate kitchen and living/dining room. There's indoor plumbing and two bedrooms. We had dinner the first night at her mum's place on the hill. Lasagna. It was good. And we had lunch the next day at Quent and Floral's. Other than that, we ate all our meals in this cottage.


The house that Quentin built. You can see the lowly chicken house in the background.

Both buildings are quite close to the lake. The first night, the wind and rain and waves kept me awake. I wore earplugs the second night, although I probably didn't need them. The wind had abated.


It was cloudy and rainy for much of our tour on Wednesday. But I had a brilliant time nonetheless.

As I said earlier, fresh produce is a part of the local ecomomy. When I spotted an odd-looking flash of green in a field of raspberries, my curiosity was piqued.

"Stop here for a second, Steenie," I said and she stopped her truck on the gravelled shoulder.

A farmer had covered his entire crop of raspberries with green nylon mesh. I supposed it was to thwart hungry birds and raccoons. I'm glad we stopped here because I saw beautiful flowers growing tall and apparently wild by the roadside. I don't know their name, Ms Journal. But they were gorgeous!


Netting keeps the birds out. See the flowers?


They're taller than my head. Lovely, eh?

We invited Vicki and Tim back to our little cottage for dinner on Wednesday. They brought all the food and Tim barbecued some pesto chicken. The pesto was freshly made of course, and the chicken organically grown and humanely killed on their farm. It was delicious. Christine and I made a tomato and cucumber salad using Vicki's fresh veggies. Tim even brought gin and tonic to make ... well, gin and tonic. I've discovered I don't care for gin and tonic, Ms J. The sky cleared in the evening and we hoped for better weather on Thursday.


The promise of sunnier skies on the morrow.

Unfortunately, an appointment in Toronto forced me to leave the county on Thursday and I had to abandon the bonny countyside and friendly people to return to the rush of the city. I hated to go, Ms Journal. I truly did.


Lois, Christine's mum snapped a bright morning shot just before I left.

I can see now why my friend loves to spend time in the county. She's very proud of her Loyalist roots and of the picturesque region her family calls home. I hugged her good-bye and her mum too.

"I had a fantastic time here, Steenie," I told her. "Thanks for inviting me."

You're quite welcome, Dale," she said. "I'm sure you'll be down here again."

I hurried home, Ms J, for I'd lingered a bit too long in the county. My appointment was for noon and I really had to race. I'll tell you about the appointment tomorrow, but for now I'll just sit a while and savour the memories of my first trip to Prince Edward County, Ontario. Canada.


Westbound (homeward) on Highway 401


Yes, Ms J. I was in a bit of a hurry. Thankfully, the Ontario Provincial Police didn't catch up with me. The speed limit is 100 kph.

***

Pampered

No Ms, J. I did not wear a diaper. Jenn pampered me. She has a spa in her basement and she's a qualified aesthetician. I drove up to see her this afternoon and she gave me a facial, and a manicure. And the best back rub I've EVER had.


Cucumbers. Ya gotta have cucumbers.

My face feels clean and smooth. My fingernails are clean and shiny. And the back rub she gave was so relaxing, I fell asleep. Mmmmm ... Zzzzzzzz ... Jenn is a Reikiist as well, and she Reikied my sore back. It was amazing! She somehow knew how I'd injured my back.

"You were bending down to pick up a book, weren't you Dale?"

I don't understand how she knew, Ms J, but she knew. And my back felt better afterward. It's still sore, but I believe Jenn's Reiki treatment helped.

Jenn's kids, Jake and Julia helped me shuck the corn before dinner. Jake grabbed a handful of corn silk and decided it would make a jolly good hair replacement. He fitted me with a corn silk toupee and Julia snapped a pic.


Silky soft hair.

Jennefer prepared a lovely dinner of potatoes and corn on the cob done on the barbecue along with hamburgers. And a huge salad. She and Jane even got me a birthday cake - Black Forest, my favourite. They all sang Happy Birthday. A day late, but it's the thought that counts. Thanks Jenn and Jane. It's always fun at your house.


I wished I might extinguish the candle with one breath.

---

Tomorrow, after physio, I'm going to drive to Prince Edward County. It's a picturesque area near Kingston Ontario, about two and a half hours east of Mimico. I'll meet my friend, Christine there in the small town of Picton. Christine's family own a summer home near there. I feel honoured to have been invited. I'll take lots of pictures and show you "The County" when I return on Thursday.

Ta for now!

***

Royal York Road United Church

Quite a mouthful, eh Ms J? It's a new church and an old church. Let me explain. My own church here in Mimico is closed for the month of July. I've made a point of attending a new church each Sunday this month. This morning, it was Royal York. It felt a little like a homecoming because I used to attend that church. It was so long ago. Two wifetimes ago.

When we were little, Mum took us to church each week. All six of us. If for some reason I was unable to go, I was allowed to stay home and watch Bullwinkle with Dad. I didn't see Bullwinkle very often. Our church then, was Queensway United Church. The congregation got smaller and smaller until we had no choice but to abandon our church building and amalgamate with another congregation. It was Royal York Road United Church who took us in. They were a much wealthier group and I didn't like it there much.

Actually, I was at an age when I was starting to question religion. I was about Meagan's age (13), and starting to question all my parents' beliefs. I rejected most of it outright. Just because. I remember watching my mother head upstairs to church while I pretended to go downstairs to Sunday school. As soon as she was out of sight, I'd head off up the road to spend my collection money on candy. I felt no guilt. I was happy. Mum was happy. I'd arrive back at the car when it was time to go home.

I thought of that this morning while I endured the most boring sermon I've ever heard. I wonder if Mum ever knew what I did? What might she have done? Would she have made me feel guilty for stealing money from the church? I suppose she would have conceded my new agnosticism and left me home with Dad and Bullwinkle.

While the preacher droned on this morning, I looked around the sanctuary and noticed the details. Things you might not see unless you were really looking. New speakers on the wooden rafters high above the floor. How did they get them up there, I wondered. They'd need a massive step ladder. Or scaffolding. The windows were stained glass, but not particularly inspiring. They did not depict great biblical tableaux like the ones at Wesley Mimico United. They were just pieces of glass, different colours and shapes, all sewn together with dull strips of lead. The standard wooden cross on the wall behind the altar was smaller than I remember it, and bore intricately carved designs. I decided it was ostentatious and allowed my thoughts to continue meandering.

I got married in that church. We all did. Three sisters and a brother. I don't recall the date now, but it was in the spring of 1985. The minister who married us is dead now. My inlaws are both dead. The marriage itself is long dead. It was doomed from the beginning because although Dan and Scout both love their mother, I never did. I thought a lot about that, too.

I made a mistake, Ms Journal. A costly mistake. My lack of judgement, my lack of wisdom and experience brought pain not only to me, but to Kelly and most especially to two innocent children. Guilt? Yeah, I've got some of that. It's less that it used to be, but it still comes to visit my heart from time to time in quiet moments. And it still hurts a bit.

But I've got Dan and Meagan, haven't I? I wouldn't have met them if I hadn't married Kelly. Both kids have rejected the church, as I did when I was that age. I was 13 when I stopped attending church. At 26, I strode back into that sanctuary. But only to get married.

Ultimately, it was the storms of Life that eventually blew me back to church. I have Donna (my second wife) to thank for that. Insecurity and my desperate need for romantic Love led me to follow her down a path toward illegal drugs and illicit sex. And lies. And more lies. Despite this, I was absolutely shattered when she ended our marriage in 2000. No one could help me. Nothing could take away my pain. I thought my cheeks would never dry. So I went to church, and there I found peace. I found new friends. I found a new, healthier and happier Life.

It's my birthday today. I'm 47. I don't have Life all figured out. But I do understand myself and my Self a bit better today. I'm no sage or wise prophet, but I can tell you this with assurance:

There has been an alarming increase in the number of things I know nothing about.

And that's fine with me. My Life is, and has been, moving in the direction that will offer me the greatest challenges and therefore the greatest opportunities to learn and to grow, for myself and for others and to the glory of God.

It does however, seem a dreadful tragedy that a man might live out two-thirds of his Life before arriving at such a conclusion.

Happy Birthday, Dale. I love you. Unconditionally.

Me

***

Hugs. (Really)

Hugging is healthy.
It helps the body’s immune system.
It cures depression.
It reduces stress.
It induces sleep.
It’s invigorating.
It’s rejuvenating.
It has no unpleasant side-effects.

Hugging is all-natural, organic, naturally sweet and 100 percent wholesome.
It contains no pesticides, no preservatives, and no artificial ingredients.
There are no moveable parts, no batteries to wear out, no periodic tune-ups, no insurance requirements and no monthly payments.
It is inflation-proof, non-fattening, theft-proof, non-taxable, non-polluting and, of course, fully returnable.

Offer one today!

***

Hugs

I read a survey recently which asked the following:

Hugs or kisses? Which do you prefer?

Many respondents answered "both" assuming the question had its basis in romance. Some preferred hugs though and I chose that as well. I like hugs. I like to give them and I like to get them. I hug most people, but not everybody. Some people are not comfortable with hugs.

I hug all my female friends. I embrace them to say hello, and again to say good-bye. My family get hugs. My sisters. My parents, both Mum and Dad. My Dad's hugs are so ... I don't know, Ms J. So loving, I guess. When Dad hugs me, he holds me close and I can tell he's thrilled to see me. He rubs my back and I feel his whiskery cheek against mine. It feels warm and sincere. I can tell he loves me. Mum's the same, of course, but without the whiskers. I've begun recently to hug my big brother, too. It was uncomfortable at first, although I'm not sure why. I forced myself to do it. Pat always receives my embrace and returns it. It gets a bit easier each time. I hug my kids. I will always hug my kids.

Some male friends are quite huggable. Others are not. Kirk is huggable. Kevin S too. And John S. I got a wonderful hug from Dave once. I wish men weren't so afraid of hugging another man. Honestly, Ms Journal. What's the big deal about a simple embrace between two men? European men often hug each other in greeting. I don't know about British men. I wonder if they're as stiff and as uptight as many North American men? And what about Australian men? Is it homophobia? C'mon you guys. I won't try to kiss you or grab your arse. I promise. What I am learning, is that a hand shake is always acceptable. Maybe hugs are for really special occasions. Or something.

I had a friend years ago who often grabbed my buttocks when we hugged. He'd grab me and thrust his pelvis against mine. His name was Kevin M. I met him at a men's support group I used to attend after Donna threw me out. Kevin was about 60, I guess. And gay. We struck up a friendship and often did things together. Movies. Skating. He was nice, but he refused to accept my hetero-sexuality, often making inappropriate advances toward me. I told him I felt uncomfortable and asked him to respect me and our friendship. He didn't listen. The final straw occurred one winter evening after dinner at his place. He did his best to get me drunk on martinis (he called them "pants removers") and begged me to let him perform oral sex on me. I grabbed my coat and boots, walked out the door and never looked back. I didn't return his calls and I've never seen him again. It's inconsiderate people like Kevin who cause men to feel awkward about same sex hugs.

---

Shit. Now I'm sitting here wondering if I should post that story or not. I haven't shared it with many people. A few trusted friends. Very few. Oh I'm not worried about outing Kevin. He's proud to be gay and not afraid of people finding out. I'm thinking now about Jim over at the book store. Remember that story, Ms J? Jim was gay and he wanted me too.

So that's two then. Two gay fellows coming on to me. I guess that's not terribly remarkable. I mean twice in my Life is not a lot. Is it. It's not a lot, really. Is it? No. Not much at all. Only twice. In my whole Life.

I've been approached by woman too, Ms J. Lots of women. Older women. Desperate women. Fat women. Ugly women. Drunken women. Women though, nonetheless.

---

This is not the post I wanted to write. Gosh, how did I get so far from my original plan? I wanted to write about hugs, dammit. I just wanted to tell you about hugs.

Hugs ...

But what I wanted to post doesn't even fit with all this crap. Watch this space, Ms J. I'll post the piece about hugs tomorrow.


I feel kind of foolish, actually.

G'night.

***

A Day With Friends

I was sitting at the computer this morning, fiddling with settings and downloading updates when the phone rang. It was Larry Gower.

"Dad and I are going to The Canadiana for breakfast, Dale. Wanna join us?"

So I went. The Canadiana restaurant is a local favourite of mine and only a few blocks from home. I enjoyed ham and and eggs with my friends. Larry has recently returned to work on the railroad after a back injury three years ago nearly crippled him permanently. His father, Ron, was a big help to me when I first broke my leg. He delivered groceries to me and occassionally taxied me to appointments.

I had lunch with Frankie. She collected me at noon and handed me a card and a piece of chocolate cake. "Happy Birthday!" she exclaimed as she hugged me. "I know your birthday's not til Sunday, but in case I don't see you before then ..." She's very sweet, Frankie is. And happily married to Tom. "Let's go," she said and the two of us went to the beach.

Frankie brought drinks and fruit. My contribution was bologna sandwiches and stale cookies. The sandwiches were good. We fed the cookies to the geese and the squirrels. Frankie spotted a ragged looking gull and when we got closer to him, we discovered he had only one foot, poor thing. I suppose his disability will eventually cause his death. We tried to keep the healthy, but determined gulls from stealing the bits of cookie from their weaker mate, but we weren't always successful. After lunch, we walked by the water collecting sea glass for Frankie. She took me home around 3:00.


Much cooler by the lake. (Aren't I?)

I went next up to see Tom and Marie at Wine Not and bottled a batch of Pinot Noir. Thirty bottles. It didn't take long and by 4:30 I was home again. I carried the bottles a few at a time down to the cellar. By the time I was done, I was soaking wet from sweat. I had a cool shower and laid down to rest my sore back. (My back's been sore for three weeks now, Ms J. I should visit the chiropractor I suppose, but I'd rather just complain about it.)

I fell fast asleep on the couch and when I awoke, my back was worse than ever. And I was supposed to be at Kirk and Rey's house for dinner. I called Rey and told her I was late, but still coming.

"No problem," she chimed. "See you when you get here."

She served us stuffed chicken breast and rice and I even had a little bithday cake with one special candle on it. I wished that my back would soon feel better and blew out the tiny flame.

After dinner, we watched a movie together - "Hitch" starring Will Smith as a dating counselor. It was really good. Before I left Kirk and Rey, they gave me a Deep Heat patch for my lower back. It seems to have helped. Thanks, you guys!!

It was a communion day. It was about breaking bread with friends. The bread was good. The friends are excellent!

***

OK. It's all sorted.

My computer is repaired. It took four days and cost $350. but I'm back in business. Hard disk failure. Who knows why. I'm very disapponted at the loss of so much data: Photos of friends and family. Music. Movies. Poetry. Lots of stuff. I lost my sermon too, but fortunately, my ego had printed it so I could share it with friends. God bless my ego.

My nerd was here for six hours yesterday. He returned this afternoon for another two hours. He replaced my HD - mine was 60 GB - with an 80 GB model. He took my old hard drive away and "repaired" it. I have it now although it's not wired into the computer. So I now have 60 GB of free space on my new HD, and another 60 gigs on a disk as yet unused. This is good. But I'm still mourning the loss of my irretrievable writing and photos.


His name was Haroon. A very helpful nerd.

---

Last Saturday, I drove to Acton to get my kids. I promised I'd be there at 11:00 and I was. The kids were ready - indeed excited - to go. Dan climbed into the front seat with me as he's always done. Meagan knew her place was in the back seat. We chatted happily as we drove through the light rain and fog. The humidity acted to exacerbate the heat. In just under an hour, we parked in front of Steve's Music on Queen St. in Toronto. That's where we got Dan's guitar last winter.

Meagan is a careful shopper. She likes to take her time when considering a purchase. Her brother, however, is a typical male shopper.

"This one, Meagan," he pleaded after waiting impatiently for twenty minutes. "Get this one. It's fantastic. Just right for you."

He held a shiny red folk-style guitar above his head.

"This one's only 119 bucks, Dad. And look at it. It's red. Meagan, it's red!"

She acknowledged her brother's observation and continued to peruse the racks of hanging instruments. Finally, she found one that she fancied.

"This one's pretty good, Dad," she said, pointing to a plain-looking guitar. "It's a good colour. And it's the cheapest one I could find. I like this one."

The fact that Meagan was concerned with the price did not go unnoticed, believe me. Dan would have tried to get every penny he could out of dear old Dad.

"What do you think, Dan-boy?" I asked him. "Does that one seem like a good guitar?"

"Yeah, Dad. It's good. They're all good. Let's go. I'm hungry."

Meagan put him in his place.

"Daniel," she said, "I asked you to come with us today so you could help me choose the proper guitar. All you're doing is trying to hurry us up and convince me to buy something I don't like. You're not helping me at all."

The Boy tried to defend his position, but he knew it was pointless.

"Let her choose, Dan," I told him. "Help her choose. Don't force her to decide."

A sales clerk intervened then.

"Actually, that's the poorest quality guitar we stock. That's why it's the cheapest. You'd get a lot better quality for only ten or twenty dollars more."

Dan nodded his head in a sudden change of heart.

"Yeah, Meagan. That one's prob'ly crap. You should start out with something better. You know ... For you first guitar, I mean."

"But this is the one I like best," said Meagan. "I like the natural wood colour."

The clerk explained to us that the appearance was the least important of three factors to consider; he counted them off on stubby fingers.

"How it sounds. How it feels in your hands. And then how it looks."

I watched my daughter's discomfort as it coloured her face. Even her perfect little ears were rosy. She turned her face down and spoke to the carpet.

"OK. So I'm learning about guitars today. I honestly don't know anything about them. Except I want one."

I wanted to say something to mitigate her discomfort. I wanted to defend her somehow, to take away her embarrassment. But I understood that embarrassment is a component of humility. And humility is very attractive. There was an important lesson to be learned right then. So I allowed it to happen. I was proud of my decision not to intervene. But I was prouder of Meagan for allowing herself to feel her feelings.

The clerk suggested we try their competition.

"Long & McQuaid might have something you like. Why not check them out? If you can't find what you like there, you can come back and get this one."

We took his advice and later found the perfect instrument for the right price. Meagan loved it. Dan approved. And it was only about $10. more.

At the cash register, Meagan tugged on my shirt.

"Here Dad," she said. "This is all I've got left." And she handed me twenty dollars. "Mum said she'd pay you back. Thanks. It's good, isn't it Dad?"

"Yeah, Scout. It's good alright. It's really good." And I took her twenty dollars.

I would never have asked her for that money, Ms J. She gave it to me because she wanted to use her own money to buy her guitar. She does not expect gifts. That's the biggest difference between Dan and Meagan. She will grow to be an independent woman. Self-sufficient.

At home later, I took a picture of Meagan with her new guitar. Dan stood by and said nothing. Meagan had been getting all the attention. I turned to face my son and took a few steps toward him as he stood awkwardly by the door in the livingroom.

"Dan?"

"Yeah Dad?"

I felt tears starting to fill my eyes, but I swallowed hard and blinked them away.

"Thanks for coming with us today. This was a very special day for me. It was so nice to have both you and Meagan here with me. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I hope you'll come visit me again sometime. I miss you, you know. And I love you."

I looked at my son then. He was smiling and frowning at the same time.

"You're welcome, Dad." He turned to his sister who was sitting with her guitar and said, "We should come here sometime and spend a weekend with Dad, eh Meagan?"

"Yeah, Dan. We should sometime."

And she strummed the strings and smiled her contentment.

God, I love those two.


The next Liona Boyd? Who knows?

***

Well ... Look Who's Back!

Hallo, Ms Journal. Long time no write. See. Si? Right. I've had computer problems. Big ones. A "crash", the nerd called it. A nerd was here for more than six hours today. He recovered most of my hard drive. Most of it. Lost, however, were 3000 music files, about 1500 jokes, and Lord only knows how many digital photos. The good news is that I've gained nearly fifteen gigabytes of storage space and I have a new hard drive.

"Back up your files. It's important. You never know when your hard drive might fail and you could lose everything."

How many times have I heard that? But I never listen. Too much trouble. I couldn't be arsed to do it. So now I must pay for my indolence.

---

Anyway, Scout got her guitar on Saturday. And I reminded Dan that I still love him. On Sunday, (and this was exciting) I had the pleasure of touching the bare leg of a beautiful woman. I heard a bit of encouraging news from my physio girls on Monday. And on Tuesday, I played host to a computer repairman all the day long. He'll be back tomorrow with the bill.

I'll tell you all about it, Ms J, on the morrow. Now I must sleep.

***

I Could Have Predicted It

Meagan wants a guitar.

"Dan has a guitar, Scout. Why don't you just use his?"

"I want my own guitar, Dad. I want to play my own guitar."

I bought Dan a guitar last winter. Remember, Ms J? He didn't play it much. I suspect he still doesn't play it much. But he's convinced Meagan he's a good player, and she believes him. She idolises her big brother.

"Do you want to take lessons, Meagan?"

"I don't need lessons, Dad. Dan will teach me."

I let my girl believe what she wants. I know Dan knows less than half of SFA about guitars.

"OK, Scout. If you save $100., I'll pay the rest toward the purchase of a guitar for you."

We had this conversation a couple of months ago. Recently, she called to tell me she'd saved a hundred dollars. "From babysitting and birthday money." And now I will have to honour my committment. We've agreed to go tomorrow to purchase a guitar for Meagan.

Kelly called today. I knew she would. I could have predicted it.

"I borrowed $80. from Meagan and now she doesn't have enough to buy a guitar," she told me. "I needed the money to pay bills. Can you cover me? Please? I don't want to disappoint Meagan, but I really needed the money. After all, I only get $565. a month now since you don't pay for Dan anymore." Blah. Blah. Blah.

This is not the first time she has "borrowed" money from the kids. She never pays it back. I wish she'd get off her arse and get a job, but it appears she never will.

"Tim helps me as much as he can."

Tim is Kelly's ex-boyfriend and the father of Emily, Meagan's half-sister. Emily is 18 months old. She lives with Kelly and Dan and Meagan. Tim lives in the basement. Alone.

Why can't my ex-wife learn to support herself? Why does she borrow money from the kids with no intention of repaying the loan? Why do they continue to offer up their hard-earned savings when they know she'll never pay them back? And why do I always agree to pay the deficit?

I'll collect the kids tomorrow morning. Dan and Meagan. Scout says she doesn't want Maxine (Dan's live-in girlfriend) to come along and that's fine with me. It'll be just my kids and me. Just like old times. We haven't been together, we three, for months.

And eighty dollars seems a small price to pay for that.

***

Another Alex Day

G.A. and I went to the mall this afternoon. We invited Frankie to come with us. I felt so proud to stroll through the air conditioned shopping mall with my two friends. I'll bet I was the envy of every man there.

Alex inquired about employment at a few shops. I bought a CD, recommended by Linda at My Voice. "40 Days" by The Wailin' Jennys. It's very good! I looked for a book (any book) by Bishop John Spong, but found only one - "The Sins of Scripture" - and it was a hardcover edition. $35. No thanks.

"Just go on the internet," Frankie urged. "Check out the Toronto Public Library. All you need is a library card to open an account. Reserve the book you want, and when it's available, they'll send it to Mimico for you. Save your money."

She's right, I guess. I can borrow the book and read it. Later, if I still want to, I can buy it online from Amazon.ca

Frankie attends a weekly art class so we took her home and G.A. and I came back here for supper. I burned hotdogs and hamburgs on the barbecue. I was busy preparing a Caesar salad and forgot the damn bbq. The hamburgers suffered third degree burns to 100% of their flat little bodies, but we ate them anyway. Alex, bless her heart, didn't complain but instead thanked me for a nice meal.

After supper, she endured the heat upstairs while she searched the internet for jobs. I washed the dishes and tidied up. We chatted for a couple of hours about everything and nothing.

"I'm getting sleepy," she said at last, showing me her straight white teeth and pink tonsils.

"OK then," I said. "Shall I take you home?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "But let's get some ice cream first, OK?"

So we did. Baskin and Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon. Mmmmmm .... Delicious!

Girl Alex is planning a camping trip on Saturday into Algonquin Provincial Park The two million acre park is among the most well known wildlife sanctuaries in Canada and a favourite with campers and canoeists for four generations. Alex is going with some friends. She'll be gone a week or more and she's very excited about it. Lucky girl!

So that's the third day in a row I've spent with G.A. After I dropped her off at home tonight, I pondered my fondness for this young woman. She's just 18. Meagan is 13, but she'll be 18 soon enough. Maybe I'm imagining Alex as Meagan. Or vice versa. The two are not so very different, really. Indeed, when I first met G.A. in a play we did together in 2001, she had just turned 14.

I pray that my little girl can mature even half as much in the next 4 years. More news about Meagan tomorrow, Ms J. But now it's getting late. Night-night.

***

Ssssssss ......

That's the sound of skin as it broils and blisters under this sun. I went to bed upstairs last night and lay there about ten seconds. That's how long it took me to realise it would be impossible to sleep. I pulled the mattress off of Meagan's bed and carried it downstairs where I slept on the floor in the living room. I have a ceiling fan upstairs above my bed and an oscillating fan on the window sill. Together, they move the air about, but it's so humid, I can discern little relief. I searched a few stores this morning in a vain attempt to locate and purchase a window air conditioner, but my leg was getting tired and my back was beginning to ache. So I came home.

I spent the afternoon with Girl Alex. She's looking for a job. She graduated high school last month and she wants to work for a year before she goes to university. She'll need a lot of money, Ms J. University is becoming so expensive, it will soon be available only to the wealthy. A four year degree programme can cost upwards of $40,000.

It was too hot to eat at home, so we had dinner in a restaurant. It's a local spot called Jack Asstor's. Each table is covered with plain brown paper and diners are provided with crayons to play with as they await their food. It was fun! I wrote this:

Days are hissy
Nights are muggy
Sweaty kissy
Sticky huggy

I drew a big red heart around it and G.A. laughed.

We talked about finding a job and beginning a new phase of her Life. She's nervous Ms J, but unlike Daniel, she knows she must find employment. She and her younger sister share a basement apartment. Alex will be the sole bread winner. And she's looking forward to getting off welfare.

"Welfare's for really needy people, Dale," she told me. "And for losers. I'm neither one. Besides, they treat everyone like dirt."

She worries about finding the right job, about finding ANY job, and about making enough money to support Hanna and herself. I worry a little too. But I have faith in my young friend. I know she'll be just fine. And I'll help her if I can.

"Just enjoy this moment, G.A." I told her as we munched happily on our salad. "Try to focus on now, and not spend too much time worrying about September. It will all work out. You'll see."

I told her the story about the man who was chased by a tiger. Do you know it, Ms J? It's an old, old tale, perhaps two or three thousand years old.

There was a man who was chased by a tiger. When he came to the edge of a cliff, he climbed over. Clinging desperately to an exposed tree root, he looked down. A hundred feet below him, were jagged rocks. On the ledge above, the tiger growled and swiped at him with its huge paw. Just then, the man noticed a big, red strawberry growing just to his right. Ignoring both rocks and tiger, he reached out and picked that strawberry and popped it in his mouth.

"Mmmmm," he thought. "What a delicious strawberry!"


It's a teaching story, like the ones Jesus told. It demonstrates the value of letting go of worries and staying grounded in the "now". G.A. hadn't heard the story before. She understood the message and smiled that luminous smile of hers. She picked up a crayon.

"Let's write a poem together. Let's figure out an ending for that story. I can't stand to leave him hanging there."

So we wrote a limerick. I'll try to recall it.

There once was a woman from Lygar
Who was chased by a very big tiger.
As she fell off a cliff,
She caught a fresh whiff
Of a strawberry growing beside her.

She looked up above and she looked down below
And she thought to herself - Oh no!
So she ate the strawberry
And said, "This is very
Delicious." And then she let go.

She's a clever young woman, that Girl Alex. I'm proud to be her friend.

***

Dear Ms Journal,

Sorry I haven't written lately. I spent the weekend at Mum and Dad's. It was late on Sunday night when I got home. And the heat, Ms J. It's just been so hot and humid here lately. Too hot to sit upstairs at the computer.

Toronto is a BIG city, and although it stretches east and west along the shore of a large lake, a big lake, a "Great Lake", unless I'm sitting on the beach with the waves lapping at my toes, I still suffer with summer's heat. Mimico is only 6.6 miles from the downtown core. I'm 6.6 miles from Canada's most recognizable and tallest phallic symbol, the CN Tower. The tower is Toronto's most famous landmark. It sits next to our railway commuter hub. I pass it every day when I'm at work on the train.

Work. I have a vague recollection of it, Ms J. In Truth, I haven't been at work since the morning of February 8th. As I recall, it involved getting my sorry and sleepy self out of bed at 4:00 a.m. Work. Yes, I remember now. It was fun once I actually climbed the ladder into the cab of the locomotive. Getting there was the miserable part.

My broken leg has healed and my stiff foot feels much better these days. Although I still walk with a slight limp, I no longer use the cane that I borrowed from Kirk and Rey. I feel confident I'll be returning to work in August. I have an appointment to see Dr. Roscoe (the orthopedic surgeon who mended my leg) on August 2. I expect I'll be returning to work shortly thereafter.

I visited my family doctor yesterday afternoon. I told him about the hassle I was getting in dealing with the government people regarding my Employment Insurance benefits. The good doctor had penned a terse note on his prescription pad almost before I'd finished my story.

"These people are such morons," he said, handing me the note. "They have their rules and they can't see beyond them. A broken leg seems pretty straightforward to me, but then I'm a doctor, not a bureaucrat."

I thanked the doctor and shook his hand across the desk. Then I headed directly to the pogey office.

The woman with whom I dealt there was very nice. Cathy was her name. She accepted the note and authorized benefits to continue for another six weeks. With any luck at all, Ms J, I'll be back to work before then. So all's well that ends well.

---

I had a brilliant time in Mt Forest with Mum and Dad. We didn't do anything exciting, really. But we did spend time together and that becomes more important as I come to realise they'll be gone one day. Mum is 75. Dad's 84. They're both pretty healthy still, although Dad's hearing is becoming quite poor. He wears a hearing aid, but it doesn't help much.

Rather than drone on here about every little thing that happened over the weekend, I thought it might be nice simply to offer the highlights. So here they are. Here are the things I enjoyed most about three days at Mum's:

The journey to Mt. Forest. It takes nearly two hours and nearly all of it passes through the rich farmland of south-central Ontario. I love the smell of fresh cut hay. I sometimes honked the horn and waved to a farmer who was gathering his crop and baling the hay that will feed his cows all winter. The black and white Holstein cows always make me smile. They seem so content simply to be. I saw fields of ripening grain and other fields where bright yellow canola appeared resplendant against the cloudless sky. It's so pretty, Ms J. And it's there for me. It will one day feed me, but in the meanwhile, it thrills me with its beauty.

Mum's cooking. There is something very comforting in the sights and smells of Mum's kitchen. It's not the same house where I grew up, but it still feels like home.

I enjoyed all of my parents' attention. I have a brother and four sisters. I've always had to wait my turn for attention. But not this time. It was only the three of us. Mum, Dad, and me. I loved it!

Little things they do to help me. Mum washed my running shoes and dried them on the line. They look brand new again. Dad cut my hair and trimmed my moustache. After we'd been working in the garden together, Dad fetched a pail of water so I could wash my dirty bare feet before dinner. He held my feet and gently dried them for me. My dad loves me. Mum too. I know this by their actions. And by their selflessness. I want to be as good a parent to my kids.


Short to beat the heat

I like the fact that they are still in love after fifty-six years of marriage. They begin every morning with a hug in the kitchen. A long embrace. Every morning. I know how lucky I am that I can visit both parents at one home. My kids will never have that pleasure. Many kids will never have that pleasure.

Sitting between my parents in church. Mum goes to church every Sunday. Dad rarely goes. In the past, he's been openly critical of the church and I know that hurts Mum's feelings. Still, Mum continues to invite her man to accompany her to church and on Sunday, he agreed to go. I felt so pleased and so proud to be there with both parents. I know Mum was happy too. The best part was hearing my father praying. I had no idea he knew the words to the Lord's Prayer.


... and he trimmed my moustache.

Reading my completed sermon to Mum. I've finished my sermon, Ms J. I've tried it out on a few friends, but I really wanted to hear Mum's opinion. Of course, I knew she'd like it and she did. She offered one small criticism and I agreed. So I made a small change. It's better now, I think. Mum said she'd like to come to Mimico to hear me preach on August 7. I'd love her to be there. But I know it's a long journey across some very busy highways to get from there to here. And don't worry, Ms Journal. I'll be sure to show you my sermon on August 7th, after church.

Now, I'm off to collect Girl Alex. She and I are going to the beach this afternoon. Tonight, I'm going to have dinner and a swim with my friends Kirk and Rey. We'll swim before dinner because once we're full of food and wine, we lose our momentum and forego the swim.

***

Dealing with the Government

I got a letter yesterday from the federal government. HRSDC. Human Resources and Skills Development Canada. Fancy name, eh? They're the folks who administer our Unemployment Insurance benefits - Employment Insurance it's called now. We call it "pogey". As in, "Is he back to work yet or is he still on pogey?" They're also responsible for sick/disability benefits.

Most employers offer sick benefits to their employees, usually through third party insurance. My employer is no different. The deal is, we're entitled to 16 weeks of coverage through Great West Life, then we go on pogey for 11 weeks. If we're still not able to work after that, we go back on GWL benefits for a further 16 weeks.

I've been very fortunate so far. I've had virtually no trouble at all from the French-Canadians at Great West Life in Montreal. Even the Royal Bank has been more than fair about honouring the disability mortgage insurance I bought when I first purchased this house 18 months ago. I'm so pleased, and surprised quite honestly. I mean, if an insurance company won't give you a hassle, who will?

I'll tell you who will, Ms J. The government, that's who.

After paying me only four weeks worth of benefits, they send me a letter telling me I'll receive no further payments. "Please contact us."

I spent half an hour on the phone this morning before I finally spoke with a real person. The right person.

"Oh, we'll need a note from your doctor, sir," she said in her breathy kind of way.

I told her I'd given them a doctor's note when I'd first applied for benefits. A month ago.

"But we require another one, sir. A current one."

The note was written on the very day I delivered it to them. At their office. At my expense. On my sore leg. I told her that. I told her all that, and more. I explained my situation was temporary. I explained I wouldn't be seeing the specialist again until August 2 and asked if she could possibly authorise benefits til then. I remained calm and friendly. I joked a bit with her. As I became more desperate, I tried cojoling her. I even tried appealing to her sense of justice. I did not beg, though. I stopped just short of begging. But the woman was intractable.

"So if I somehow get a note from my orthopedic surgeon," I said at last, "and bring it to you, then you'll restart my benefits?"

"After a two week waiting period," she said. I think she enjoyed saying that, Ms J.

"Alright then, dear. As you wish." And I hung up.

What a pain in the neck these people are. I've paid into this programme for thirty years. Contributions are automatically deducted from our paycheques. The programme currently has a HUGE surplus. This has been widely reported. But this woman was just doing her job, I guess. She must deal with a lot of unhappy people. I resisted the urge to demonstrate my dissatisfaction, and I'm glad I did.

I made an appointment to see my family doctor here in Mimico. I'll visit him on Monday afternoon. Hopefully, he can help me.

I'm off now to Mount Forest to visit Mum and Dad. I'll be back on Sunday night. Ciao!

***

Much I Do About Nothing

I over-reacted on Tuesday with that thing about Scott. I was wrong and I feel foolish.

I sent Meagan a brief message via email yesterday. I had been cruel. What if something horrible had happened to Scott and I was sitting here ranting and feeling sorry for myself?

“What happened to Scott?” I asked.

She replied this way:

It’s not the Scott you are thinking of. My friend Scott got kicked out of his house by his girlfriend and he was drunk and totally confused, and then she said she would call the police, but he bet me she wouldn’t. Then she did and they took him away. They have a 4 month old daughter who is just gorgeous, and I was just sooooo sad for him, i was up all night crying my eyes out. I said "i love you, Scott" because its not so much i LOVE him, i just care a lot about him. God, he was getting me so friggin worked up, but i talked to him today and he said everything’s O.K., and that he and his ex came to an understanding. So everything’s ok.

So it wasn’t her stepfather she was talking about. How my little girl knows this drunken individual is a mystery to me. I suspect if I knew, I’d only be upset. So I won’t ask.

I didn’t handle this very wisely, did I? I responded to it with an email message and that was good. But first, I reacted. And that was not so good. It was a me jerk reaction. Response is always wiser than reaction. Response requires forethought. Reaction is immediate and without forethought.

This was another great opportunity to learn, to grow, to act appropriately. Squandered. But here’s the good news. Here’s the best part.

With the arrival of each new minute, comes a new opportunity. Forgiveness. A clean slate. A chance to try again. Over and over. Forever. Isn’t that wonderful?!

No harm done. Nothing permanent, anyway. I feel better now, just knowing that. I’m sorry Meagan. I’m sorry Kelly. And I apologise to you too, Scott. Although none of them will read this, it seems like the right thing to do.

I wrote Meagan back and feigned concern.

Thank goodness! I was worried. G'night, Scout. I love you to the moon and back, you know. I really, really do.

Dad.

I found her reply this morning.

Nighty night, Daddy.

My girl loves her daddy, Ms Journal. I know she does, even though I often behave like a human being – weak and emotional. I wish I could give myself a hug, because right now, I love me too.

***

Sermon Writing. Bah!!

I finally started writing my sermon for church, Ms J. I've got the material I need and I've got a rough idea of how I want it to look. I'm just not sure how to do it. I feel a little overwhelmed, to be honest with you.

Who am I to stand and tell people how to live their Lives, when I can't handle my own half the time? I get angry sometimes, and act like a moron. I read a blog this morning and one of the comments there made my blood boil. Picture it, Ms J. I was sitting here screaming at the words on the monitor and banging my fist on the desk. Reverend Linda doesn't know that. She doesn't know I act that way sometimes. She has faith in me, even though sometimes, I feel scared. Insecure. Angry. Inadequate. And jealous.

Here's a f'rinstance:

I filled out one of those email surveys this afternoon. You know the ones I mean. "What's your favourite this and your favourite that?" "How old are you?" "What colour's your hair?" Et cetera. A bit of fun. I included Meagan in my list of recipients. She filled it out and sent it back. No problem, right?

Well it would have been no problem except for her mention of Scott. Scott is her stepfather. I've written about him before, Ms Journal. Here. I'm jealous of this guy. Meagan seems to prefer his company lately even though her mother doesn't.

26. When was the last time you cried?
Last night, after the episode with my dearest Scott. My compassion
goes out to him. I LOVE YOU, SCOTT!

27. What is under your bed?
Dead bodies.

28. Who is the friend you have had the longest?
All my friends leave me. My mom, I guess. She's the only one who ever
stayed by me.

29. What did you do last night?
Talked to Scott, then cryed for, like, 2 hours.

Her compassion "goes out to him." I don't know what happened. I don't care. I wish the SOB would ... Well, I won't write what I'm thinking, Ms J. But you get the idea. I don't really hate Scott. How can I hate someone who loves my kids? I just feel so bloody jealous! How come he gets her compassion when I didn't even get a phone call from Meagan - my own flesh and blood daughter - for nearly three months after I broke my leg?

"Talked to Scott, then cryed for, like, 2 hours."

Oh boo-hoo. Poor Scott. What about me, Meagan Amelia Pringle? What about your father? The one who loves you so much it hurts. Did you shed a tear for me in my time of trial? No. You raised your fist and declared, "ALRIGHT!" Your mother shared that with me while I was still in the hospital, just out of surgery. Stupid cow.

I am so hurt right now, Ms J. So angry and jealous. I wish I could phone Meagan right now and talk to her but it would only come out all wrong. She's at someone's cottage up north right now anyway and I don't know the number.

Yup. I'm just the kind of guy to deliver a sermon.

***

A lot in my head today

No brain, really. Just an empty lot.

I was late for physio this morning. I thought the appointment was for 9:45. It's always at 9:45. But it was scheduled for 9:15 this morning. And I was late.

So that's about it, really. That's all the news for today. Exciting, wha'?
Here's a little joke someone sent me. It's an old joke, but still cute.

Happy Monday, everyone. And especially for my American friends who are celebrating the birth of their nation today. Happy Fourth of July, you guys!

---

Two nuns, Sister Marilyn and Sister Helen, are traveling through Europe in their car. They get to Transylvania and are stopped at a traffic light.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tiny little Dracula jumps onto the hood of the car, climbs up onto the windshield, and hisses at them.

"Oh my word!!" shouts Sister Marilyn. "What shall we do?"

"Turn the windshield wipers on. That ought to get rid of the abomination," says Sister Helen.

Sister Marilyn switches the wipers on, knocking Dracula about, but he clings on and continues hissing at the nuns.

"What shall I do now?" she shouts.

"Squirt him with the windshield washer. I filled it up with Holy Water at the Vatican," says Sister Helen.

Sister Marilyn turns on the windshield washer. Dracula screams as the water burns his skin, but he clings on and continues hissing at the nuns.

"Now what?" shouts Sister Marilyn.

"Try showing him your cross," says Sister Helen.

"Good idea," says Sister Marilyn.

She opens the window and shouts, "Get the %#&! off my car, you bastard!"

***

Live 8

I spent a few hours today at the home of friends. Tom and Frankie. Her name is Frances, but she lets me call her Frankie. We sat and chatted a while around their kitchen table. Frankie served us lunch. After lunch, we three sat and watched the television coverage of Live 8.

I wondered aloud if the politicians give a damn about the plight of Africans. I wondered if this intercontinental spectacle will have any effect at all on those who can ultimately make a difference.

Tom said yes.

"They're scared of us, Dale," he said.

I was laying with my foot elevated on the couch and I twisted myself round to look at him.

"Scared?" I asked. "You mean the politicians?"

"Sure," said Tom. "They're afraid of us. They're afraid of the masses. Why do you think they work so hard to hide things from us? Why do they participate in government 'cover-ups' and then try to censor what we see and read in the media?"

My friend made a good point, I think. I don't trust politicians. I never have, really. I suppose there are a few with scruples. But damn few. I don't trust Canadian PM Paul Martin. I don't trust Tony Blair. And I sure as hell don't trust George Bush. Maybe Tom's right, Ms Journal. I really, really hope Tom's right. We shall see.

I don't often link to other blogs in my posts here, but I've read something tonight I'd like to share. For a slightly different and immensely refreshing look at Africa and at our western charity movement, please visit Heather at Fumbling For Words. I think you'll be glad you did.

***

Happy Birthday, Canada!!

"The true north strong and free."

You were born on this day in 1867 in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. You're still young at only one hundred and thirty eight, but you've come a long way, baby. Across ten provinces and three territories 33 million people have made a peaceful home under your distinctive Maple leaf flag.

The tattoo on my arm says "Made in Canada." I'm VERY proud of that. Happy Birthday!

***