Communication Restored

Today is my sister's birthday. She's 52. Happy Birthday, Helen! My brother and I are going to visit her tomorrow.

---

I tried Kelly's number again yesterday. The phone rang only twice before she answered.

"What's been the matter with your phone, Kel'?" I asked. "Sherri and I both tried calling you but the number was out of service."

"Oh yeah," she said. "That."

"Well ...?"

"Well I didn't have any money so they just cut me off. Just like that. Can you believe it? I owe them, like $260. or something, and they just cut off my phone because my payment was a few days late. Assholes, eh? But I just got my cheque yesterday so I called the phone company and told them I had made a payment and could they please turn my phone back on."

I didn't know how to respond, Ms J. Two Hundred and Sixty bucks!!! WTF?? I knew what I WANTED to say, but that of course, would have been inflammatory.

"Well, the main thing is, you've got a phone again. That's all that matters. How's the baby? And how's my boy?"

"Fine. They're both fine. And Maxine's nursing him, eh? Her milk's come in. She's doing fine."

I asked if the baby had been to see a doctor for a check-up. She told me yes, David had seen the doctor and the baby now weighed 3.33 kg.

"How much is that in pounds and ounces, Dale? Do you know?"

I fetched the calculator. It worked out to about 7 lbs. 5 oz. He's lost about four ounces since birth. Kelly assured me that was nothing to be alarmed at. It's common for newborns to lose a little weight initially.

"What about Dan, though Kelly? How's he doing? Is he being a good father?"

"Yeah, he's really helpful. He's scared though."

"That's understandable," I told her. "I was pretty nervous when Dan was born, remember?"

A silence ensued then and I could sense Dan's concern was more than just new baby jitters.

"It's not just that, Dale. He's worried that Children's Aid will take his baby away. Can you talk to him? Tell him not to worry?"

Dan is upset that he's not allowed to venture out with the baby by himself. The CAS has made Kelly guardian and she must be with the child at all times. In light of Dan's turbulent past, Ms J, with drugs and depression, I can understand their response. But I also feel sorry for my son.

"I just want to be like a normal family, Dad. I just want to be able to go for a walk with my son. Mum has to go everywhere with us."

I trust my son, Ms Journal. He's a good boy and quite capable of Love. He's gentle and patient with every living thing. He's impatient with himself, though, and he's angry that the authorities don't believe he would never harm his child.

"I got a card from Grandma and Grandad today. It was so nice. I cry every time I read it, Dad. I want to go and visit them. Mum has to come too."

My eyebrows went up. Kelly? At Mum and Dad's? Ermmmm ... Probably not a great idea. I suggested waiting a while.

"Let's wait a few weeks, Dan. Let the CAS see what a good dad you are. Let David get a little stronger. Then we'll go and visit Grandma. Why don't you send her a letter and a picture of the baby? That would really please her. I know it would."

He seemed OK with that.

"How's it going with the job search, Dan?" I asked.

"I've applied for the Ontario Works Programme. They'll pay me while I'm looking for a job."

Ontario Works. It's welfare, Ms J. Dan qualifies for welfare now that he's a father. I asked him what he thought of being on welfare.

"It's not just for losers anymore, Dad. We had to go and watch a video about the programme. It's for people who just need some temporary help, you know. Just til they can get a start. I'm getting a job, Dad. I have to work. I have a family to support now. I went for an interview yesterday at the Canadian Tire gas bar in G-town. I can walk there in about twenty minutes."

I worry about my son, Ms J. I worry about both my kids. That's what parents do, isn't it? Poor Dan's got a long, hard journey ahead of him. It could have been much easier. He could have stayed in school. He could have remained childless until he was married and had a good job. But he's chosen this path. He's chosen the hard way. Or perhaps it's chosen him.

I tried the easy path. I was married before I had a child. I had a good paying job. I'd begun a career on the railroad. It was a pretty good start, but still I made a mess of things. I ruined two marriages. I strayed far from "the path of righteousness". Life had other plans for me. I'm forty-seven years old and still growing up.

I will do my best to allow Dan to grow in whatever way the Universe sees fit. I'll watch him as he travels, one tiny step at a time, along his path, Ms J, loving him, offering a little guidance here and there. Ultimately, he'll find his way to adulthood and thence to old age. He has so much yet to learn, so much still to discover about his world and himself. I have gained some wisdom over the years, but sadly, it can't be shared. My son must go alone to learn Life. That's a fact.

I feel so sad right now. I wish I had never let go of his hand.

I love you, Dan. And I always will.

***

Communication Breakdown

The female voice on the phone was young and at first I didn't recognise it.

"Hi! Whatcha up to?"

"Not much," I said. "Just talking on the phone at the moment."

When she laughed, I knew who it was. It was my niece, Sherri. You remember her, Ms J. She's finished her dental hygienist course and is about to graduate.

"It's me, Daley. I'm in my car right now and I was wondering if you could give me Kelly's phone number. I want to go over there and see Dan's new baby."

I gave her the number and she programmed it into her phone.

"It's a very nice thing you're doing, Sherm," I said. (I call her Sherman, Ms J. I'm not sure why.) "It'll mean a lot to Dan that you came to see the baby."

We concluded our conversation and I went to get ready to return to work. I was pulling my boots on when the phone rang again. It was Sherri.

"Are you sure that was the right number?" she asked. "I tried it and that number is no longer in service. Has her phone been disconnected again?"

I checked the number I had given her against the one in my phone book, and it was the same.

"I don't know, Sherm'. I was talking to Kelly yesterday and her phone was fine then. Let me try it. I'll call you right back, OK?"

I dialed Kelly's number myself and the recorded message verified what my niece had said.

"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again. This is a recording."

I called Sherri again.

"Well, that's weird, eh Sherm? I wonder why the phone's been disconnected."

It was a silly question, Ms J, but Sherri answered it anyway.

"There's only one reason I can think of," she said. "I guess she didn't pay her phone bill."

"Are you still going to visit?" I asked.

"I'm not sure now. I kinda wanted to phone first to make sure it was OK to come over. What do you think, Daley? Should I just pop over?"

I told her it'd probably be alright. I imagine they'll have plenty of visitors over the next week or two. I know Dan would be pleased to see his cousin.

So now I'm left wondering, Ms Journal. Is Kelly simply forgetful? Or are they so poor right now, they can't pay their bills?

A case worker from The Children's Aid Society visited Dan and Maxine in the hospital. Kelly considered it an afront to her abilities as a caregiver and took offense, but I'm sure it's hospital policy to alert the authorities in cases like this.

It's good to know the system's working.

***

This Year at Eastertime

Hasn't this been an exciting Lenten season, Ms J? Exciting in a good way and exciting in a bad way. Baby David is home now, I think. Boy, they sure don't keep the new mothers long in hospital anymore, do they? You know, Ms Journal, despite the contempt I've shown for Kelly these past few years, she is very good at caring for infants. Dan and Maxine couldn't ask for a better place to live with the baby right now. He will get the best of care. I'm certain of it.

I spoke this morning with my sister, Helen. She is a very spiritual woman with strong Christian beliefs. She has a very positive attitude about her illness, and enjoys a huge amount of Love and support from family and friends. Her mastectomy is scheduled for April 4th. I wish I could feel as confident as she does.

It's my mum's birthday today. She's 76. She's rejoicing in the birth of her first great-grandchild, but her joy is tempered by her concern for Helen.

"Good Folder"/"Bad Folder". Remember, Ms J?

Hopefully, in time, all my former worries will fill the Good Folder and the Bad Folder will be empty.

---

I've been neglecting my friends, lately. Andra wants to get together. Christine wants to meet for lunch. I haven't seen Roland in more than a month. I'd love to get out to visit Kirk and Rey sometime soon. And I'm trying to arrange to visit Helen this weekend with my brother, Pat. Helen lives two hours away.

I'm thinking about joining the church choir. I can't sing worth a damn, Ms J, but the choir really needs male voices. Even mediocre ones. They practice every Thursday. I'm more a fan of Hank Williams than of J.S. Bach, but I do love to sing.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I meet with my play writing group. So far that's been a bit frustrating. I wish that we had simply chosen a published work to produce, instead of trying to write one ourselves. I know, Ms J. Trust in the process. Be patient. Give it time to develop. We have the entire month of April to put something together.

Kelly called this afternoon. I let the answering machine get it.

"Hi Dale. It's Kelly. Can you please call me? Thanks."

If I return her call, it may spoil my evening. If I don't return the call, I'll spend half the night wondering what she wanted.

Yeah, Ms J. It's been an exciting Lenten season.

***

Tears For Fears ...

For Nothing.

I went to visit Dan and Maxine yesterday afternoon. I went to see their new baby. I didn't really want to, Ms J. I knew Kelly would be there. And Tim. And little Emily. And most probably Scott, the stepfather who won't go away. I was afraid I'd have to see them all and I wasn't sure I'd be able to behave appropriately. I was afraid my insecurities around Scott (and his continued relationship with my kids) would get in the way. I was fearful that Kelly would push my buttons and I'd get angry and spoil the afternoon for Dan. And I was still clinging to old fears for the welfare of the infant child and still worried about the parenting abilities of Dan and Maxine.

I went to church in the morning to get my mind and my heart right. Linda preached about our inability to see the big picture and cautioned us against getting impatient and doubting God's long term plan for us. She spoke to my heart. When it was prayer time, I asked her to thank God for the safe arrival of my grandson and to ask Him to help me to be a good grandad. It left me with wet cheeks.

Some of my church friends know of my struggles to accept this new Life and many of them approached me after the service to offer hugs and congratulations. I wiped away more tears. I don't know if they were sad tears or frightened tears, Ms J. Or tears of joy. I was pretty emotional.

I drove to Milton and spent the hour in the car rehearsing my lines.

If she says .... Why, I'll just say ...
If he mentions ... I'll tell him ...

It was all so unnecessary. Kelly wasn't at the hospital. None of them were. I spent an hour and a half there with my son and his girlfriend and their new little boy. I had them all to myself, Ms J. It was such a nice visit! Maxine is happy and healthy. She's sore of course, and terribly fatigued. Dan is proud. He seemed calm and confident. He is quite at peace, Ms Journal. That's something I haven't seen in my son since he was a small child. Maxine has kept him away from drugs. A child has given him confidence and self-worth. How can this be a bad thing?


David Robert. Less than one day old.

Soon visiting hours were over and Dan walked me out to the parking lot. We stood together in the afternoon sun and grinned at each other. I told him I loved him. I said I was proud of him. I offered congratulations. And before I left him, I offered some advice.

"My dad told me something the day you were born, Dan. A bit of advice. I've never forgotten it. Would you like to hear it?"

"Sure, Dad. What is it?"

"Hold the boy's hand."

"I do that already, Dad. I sit beside David and take his little --"

I shook my head.

"No, Dan. Listen. Grandad told me to 'hold the boy's hand' and when I asked him why, this is what he said."

Dan furrowed his brow and cocked his head. The wind blew a strand of long hair across his eyes and he hooked it with his thumb and secured it behind his ear. I continued.

"'Hold the boy's hand', he said. Hold it every chance you get. One day you'll reach down for it, and he'll jerk it away. When that day comes,' he said, 'and it surely will, it'll break your heart. So you take that boy's hand and you hold it just as often as you can.'"

Dan's focus was intense. His gaze was soft and his clear eyes were the colour of summer's heaven.

"Honestly, Dad? Is that what he told you?"

"That's what he told me, son. That's all the advice he gave."

"Did you take it?" he asked me.

"I sure did. It was the wisdom of my father. He gave it to me, now I'm passing it on to you. Hold the boy's hand, Dan. Hold his hand and don't ever let go."

I watched my son's eyes fill with tears and before they could spill down his cheeks, he took me in his arms and held me.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Dan."

He was still standing there, wiping his eyes and blowing tobacco smoke as I drove away. He waved and I honked the horn.


Father and son. Dan's so proud, Ms J.

On the way home, I was wondering what I should do now. What is my role as grandfather? What is my job description? A thought occurred to me. I love when that happens, Ms J. I love when thoughts occur to me.

My job now is simply this: To love. To love baby David as I have loved his father. To love him as my father loves me. The circle of Love, Ms Journal. The circle of Life. There's no clearcut beginning, and so far no dead ends.

A new chapter has begun. And my heart is free.

***

At the Hospital in Milton, Ontario ...

... a teenage girl is awaiting the birth of her child. Dan's child. My grandchild.

The phone rang at 1:30 this morning and woke me from a sound sleep. I answered it to hear a frantic Kelly announcing that Maxine was in labour and they were off to the hospital to have her baby.

"Can you call Meagan? She's at home, worried sick."

So I got up and thumped down the stairs in my underpants to find the phone number and call my girl. Of course, she was still awake and sounding quite at peace.

"I'm fine, Dad. Mum's the one who's freakin' out. She's scaring Dan and Maxine. They've gone to the hospital. The one in Milton, I think. Really, Dad. I'm fine. Go back to bed. I'll call you as soon as I hear anything, OK?"

"K, Scout," I told her. "Thanks."

And I went back to sleep.

It's 3:30 in the afternoon now and Kelly just called. She's still at the hospital. Still waiting. Good. I hope she waits there all day.

"How's Dan?" I asked.

"Fine. Getting impatient and complaining of being tired. But otherwise, fine."

"What about Maxine?"

"She's doing really well. She's still frozen from the epidural. I told them to turn it off. I told them she wouldn't be able to push if she was frozen down there. It was a meconium birth, eh? Like Meagan. I was disappointed 'cuz I couldn't do my doula thing, eh? I told them they should ..."

And so on, Ms J. Blah, blah, stupid-woman-blah. Whatever. I can't believe I actually had to listen to her. It's too bad she called. I had specifically asked Dan to call me when the baby was born. I don't want to hear Kelly's voice.

"So are you coming to the hospital this aft'? The baby will be here in a few hours. Prob'ly less."

I told her I'd pop round to see the baby tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon.

"Why? Do you have to work today?"

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Work. I have to go to work. I was a bit surprised really. She seemed OK with that. I thought she'd try to guilt me into driving out there now.

"Please ask Dan to call as soon as the baby is born, Kelly," I told her. "Let me know that everything's OK."

I have a date with Jacqueline. We're meeting first for dinner then going to see a play. The baby can wait until tomorrow.

Am I a selfish Grandad, Ms J? Grandad. GRANDAD?

HOLY SHIT, MS JOURNAL! I'M A GRANDAD!!

Nearly.

***

Avoiding Misery

We've all known unhappy souls who seem to spend their whole Lives collecting insults and searching for proof that the world is a terrible place full of malevolent ne'er-do-wells. I've met a number of them at work.

"What did he mean by that?" they wonder suspiciously. Often, they shake their heads and offer dire predictions: "This'll end badly for us."

Expecting the worst, that's usually just what they find. Lately, it's been "They're out to screw us, this company. We ought to do whatever we can to screw them first."

My conductor lives and breathes this attitude. And I don't like it.

I'm tired of listening to it, Ms J. I'm tired of hearing him prattle on about how the supervisors are all bastards and they're all out to get him. It's a personal battle, it seems, between him and every manager on the property. It was entertaining at first and I'll admit to being drawn into his whirlwind of worry. Indeed, there have been occasions when I've taken his side and adopted his bellicose attitude, but I suffer for a few hours afterward. I feel anxious, and fearful. Shaky inside. It disturbs the quality of my day. And I come home here then, and pour out my vitriol to you, Ms J. Thanks for being a vessel for my anger. But I'd rather not feel it in the first place.

Life is difficult sometimes, I know. Bad things happen. But surely something positive can be found in every situation. Well, nearly every situation. Sometimes it's hard to see, but it's there if we look hard enough. Maybe the good that will come of this oppressive management style is that senior guys will opt to take their pensions and leave the company. That will make room for younger guys (like me) to advance to better paying assignments.

Life is like a jigsaw puzzle, Ms J. We only see one small piece at a time. Who knows what wondrous things may come from today's troubles? Mould growing in a dish of water became penicillin. The same rain that ruins our shoes, grows our food.

Unhappiness, misery, insult, death, and destruction come to us all, Ms Journal. But so do goodness, beauty, decency, Love, and comfort. We find what we look for.

So I've been avoiding my conductor lately. I say good morning and good night, but try to interact as little as possible in between. I am the architect of my own emotions. And I will not allow anyone's careless or apocalyptic predictions to soil my blueprints.

***

Too Much Doing - Not Enough Being

I'm getting too busy again. My Life seems to go this way, in waves of busyness. I am seriously sleep-deprived. Today began with my usual early morning train ride. Then I drove out to Mississauga (it's a Toronto suburb, Ms J) to join some friends for breakfast. We had some good conversation, shared some laughs and a few tears. At noon, I went to the bakery here in Mimico and collected about twenty loaves of bread for the food bank at our church. When I'd put the bread in the freezer at church, I went upstairs and sat alone in the quiet of the sanctuary.

It feels so different there when it's empty, Ms Journal. Both the heating and lighting were turned off. The sun, however, poured in through the windows, radiating off the red carpet and creating a glow of imagined warmth. I removed my hat and coat and sat in a wooden pew at the front of the church. I folded my hands in my lap and gazed at the wooden cross that had borne my tears and pleadings last Sunday. It looked dull and non-descript there in the shadows.

The church was built in 1922. I'll bet it has seen a good many tears, I thought, and nodded my head slightly: Tears of joy at weddings and baptisms. Tears of grief and sorrow at funerals. And during thousands of hymns and sermons, tears of fear and anger and self-loathing. Tears of guilt. Tears of frustration. It had seen my tears and heard my plaintive cries for help when I broke my leg in the basement there a year ago. A year ago. Gosh, time has flown since then.

I got the idea suddenly, that I'd like to light a candle for my sister, Helen. I stood and searched behind both pulpit and lectern but found no matches. OK, then. No candle today. I knelt at the altar for a minute or two, but it didn't feel right. I don't know why not, Ms J. They do it on TV. It looks right when they do it on TV. But it felt awkward. Too Hollywood or something. I returned to my pew.

I looked up and breathed deeply. It smelled like ... I don't know. Religion, I guess. Old books. Wooden benches. Dusty carpet. Candles? I wondered what God smells like. Maybe She smells like a church. Or a flower. Or Mum's Thanksgiving dinner. I smiled at my silly notions. And I imagined God smiling too.

I suddenly felt so sleepy. So relaxed. My heavy eyelids drooped. I bowed my head and tried to pray for Helen, but an image kept intruding. It was an image of me. I was standing at the window of my home and leaning out to hand a large heavy box to someone. I was struggling with it and the man outside was saying, "Let it go. I've got it. It's OK. Let it go. You're gonna hurt your back!"

I pushed the image away three or four times before giving up in frustration.

"Fine then. I guess I won't bother trying to pray for you today, Helen," I muttered. "You'd think a person would be able to pray in a church," I said quietly as I snatched up my hat and coat and headed back down the stairs to the car.

I was nearly home before I realised who that person was in my vision, and what I was reluctant to let go of. At home, I lay down on the couch and smiled myself to sleep.

***

Unremarkable

I haven't much to tell you today, Ms J. I had breakfast in Hamilton as always. I had lunch with my friend Bob at a restaurant not far from home. I didn't work my normal afternoon train because I traded with another engineer - Rhonda. She had plans downtown this evening and my train better suited her purpose. It was a treat for me to finish up a bit earlier tonight. And it was also a pleasant respite from my regular conductor who can't seem to talk about anything lately but how CN is making his Life hell. I'm so tired of listening to him whine.

I'm off now to my play rehearsal. Well, it's not really a rehearsal, Ms J, for we haven't much to rehearse yet. I've written (or co-written) four short scenes and hopefully, we'll get a chance to read them tonight. I'm keen to hear how they sound.

Adios & Good night.

***

So Say My Friends

There's a brewery in the province of Nova Scotia on Canada's east coast. It produces a beer called Alexander Keith's Pale Ale. Their slogan is "Those who like it, like it a lot." And so it is with me, Ms J. Those who like me, it seems, like me a lot.

A while ago, I sent an email to friends asking for a one-word description of me. One word. I've received a lot of responses. Evidently, my friends see me as:

Amazing. Fun. Considerate. Boisterous. Vulnerable. Awesome. Searching. Caring. And truthful. They also say I'm kind, honest and devoted. Some said I was artistic. One called me inspiring. Another, genuine. Christine said I was loyal. Charlotte branded me heartful. Patricia said childlike. And Karen called me full-of-life. She cheated a bit. One person offered the erudite observation of mercurial. I had to look that one up. One wrote simply "friend", while another labeled me "very". I hadn't expected adverbs, Ms J.

So that's what my friends think of me, then. Isn't that great? My ego is writhing in pleasure.

I wonder what my enemies think of me?

***

When Church Hurts

The worship service was unpleasant for me today, Ms J. It was a surprise, really. The day started out happy enough. I opened the church and prepared things for the service and played a CD of Celtic fiddle tunes over the new sound system. I was step-dancing down the aisle and lighting candles and having a great time. Soon the congregation arrived and the organist began to play. And the atmosphere became more reverend.

It's all good so far, Ms J. We had children's time and heard about God giving Moses the ten commandments. I love children's time. I always join the kids at the altar and listen closely as the preacher tells us a story. After we'd heard the story and had a little prayer, the little ones went downstairs to Sunday school and I rejoined the congregation in the pews to listen to the scripture reading.

Here's where things went bad for me.

Colleen stood at the lectern and read from Exodus 20: 1-17 It was the story of God speaking to Moses and telling him of God's rules. Sacred words, Ms J. Sacred rules for all Christians. The Ten Commandments. The first one was fine.

"you shall have no other gods before me."

I sat back in the empty pew and stretched my arms out on both sides. I took a long, deep breath and exhaled comfortably. It was the ten commandments. Yup. I knew this passage, Ms J. Didn't everyone? I relaxed and waited for the second one.

"You shall not make for yourself an idol ..."

Colleen was wearing mascara this morning. And eyeliner. She looked pretty there behind the microphone. I listened to her soft voice as she continued.

"You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and fourth generation of those who reject me, ..."

I wrinkled my nose in bewilderment. Had I heard correctly? Did she really say that? Is that in the Bible? I shook my head to clear my senses and repeated in my mind what I'd just heard.

... punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and fourth generation of those who reject me, ...

Punishing children? For the sins of their parents? Punishing children?!!

Colleen's voice faded and disappeared. There was nothing anymore but my own tortured thoughts. Was Dan being punished because I was so immoral? What about Meagan? Would she be made to suffer as well? I couldn't contain my remorse. No, Lord! Not my Scout! Not her.

I was a real miscreant until about six years ago. I took drugs. I visited hookers. I cheated on my wives. I stole. I lied. I treated both Kelly and Donna like dirt. I drove, wasted, to collect my children, Ms J. Not just once, but many times. Many, many times. I went to work in that condition and jeopardised the lives of thousands of innocent commuters. I was an angry, violent man. My children were all I cared about. My kids, and the next line of speed. Or coke. Or whatever.

... punishing children for the iniquity of parents.

But isn't God a loving God? Isn't He merciful? Isn't He just? That's what we've been taught. How could He be so cruel? What about my dad, Ms Journal? I wondered what evil he'd done to cause Jill's cancer. And now Helen's. What better way to punish someone than to bring suffering to their children?

Tears were dripping on my sweater. I was literally sobbing, Ms J. I wanted to get up and flee from that place, but I couldn't let anyone see me like that. I was seated near the front. I'd have to face everyone as I ran out the back. I had no choice but to stay there, trapped with my pain.

I wasn't aware of any sound in the church whatsoever. I couldn't hear Colleen. I didn't hear Rev. Linda when she spoke. I just sat and stared at that empty wooden cross on the wall behind the choir. The same desperate thought kept repeating itself.

I'm sorry, God. I'm so sorry for what I did. Please don't punish my family. Punish me if you must. But leave my kids alone. Leave my sister alone. I'm sorry, Lord. I am so fucking sorry.

I don't remember much of the service beyond that point. After the benediction, I sat with my head bowed until most of the people were gone. My nose was dripping. I wished I had a Kleenex.

Finally, I stood and sniffed and swallowed, wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands, and marched bravely down the aisle to the narthex. A few people were gathered there, sipping coffee and chatting with Linda. I didn't acknowledge them at all as I passed. I could feel myself getting angry. How dare they say that? How dare they let Colleen, or anyone, read from the Bible like that with no warning? No explanation. What kind of God punishes innocent children because He's pissed off with their parents??!!

Carla is our student minister. The door to her office was open so I entered and found her there talking with someone. I didn't wait for a break in their conversation. I didn't even say excuse me. I just walked up to her and asked her point blank for an explanation. I tried to be strong and angry, Ms J. But I was neither. I was weak and hurting.

Carla was so gentle. So compassionate. She will be an excellent minister one day. She explained that the story has to be heard in the context of the time in which it was written. People then were simple. There was no science to help them understand things. They needed to have a reason for their misfortune and suffering. Much of the Bible is not to be interpreted literally, she said. It makes more sense to us today, to see the metaphorical meanings in some of the stories.

"Linda explained that in her sermon," she said. "I guess you were too upset to hear it."

She put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. She has the warmest brown eyes I think I've ever seen, Ms J.

"I'm glad you came and asked for an explanation, Dale. I'm so sorry that happened. Are you alright now?"

I told her I was feeling better. I came home and lit a candle and sat quietly for half an hour. Maybe I needed to feel that way this morning. Maybe it helped me to better understand the suffering of others. Helen told me on Friday that Dad blames himself for her illness. He had prostate cancer years ago and believes he's passed that faulty DNA to his daughters. She told him that was preposterous.

Rev. Linda phoned around dinner time. We had a nice chat. She'd heard I was upset and had called to check on me. She is so sweet, Ms J. We all love her so.

"The Bible contains some really horrible things, Dale. Terrifying concepts. Brutal violence. It can be very disturbing," she said. "Especially the old testament."

"But it's always a good idea to remember the historical context of the passage. I think that's the key to understanding it, and making it pertinent to our Lives today."

"God loves you. He forgives you for whatever you've done. And He is not punishing Daniel or Meagan."

"Will I have any more experiences like this in the future do you think, Linda?" I asked.

"Probably," she said. "But that just means your heart is open to receive the spirit. It may be a good thing in the end."

"It hurt like Hell, Linda," I said.

"I know," she said softly. "But sometimes we need to hurt a little to get where we need to be."

I wonder where I need to be, Ms J? I wonder where I'm going?

***

Bad Things Good Things

Big things. Little things. Perspectives, Ms Journal. This morning, I'm thinking of some recent events in my Life. I've labeled them all "good" or "bad" and filed each one accordingly.

Stress at work -- Bad
Dan's situation -- Bad
The possibility of a relationship with Jacqueline -- Good
Meagan's recent visit -- Good
Her newly pierced nose -- Bad
Having to share a planet with my ex -- Bad

It's as if I have but two folders in my file cabinet: One for the "good" and one for the "bad".

But Life is not quite so easily categorised, is it, Ms J? Just when you think you've got things all put in place, something else arrives to disturb the peace. And you scramble to try to reorganize things.

My sister has breast cancer.

Mum called last night with the news. She spoke at length about the lump and about it being diagnosed malignant and fast-growing. She told me doctors are planning surgery sooner rather than later. She told me about how she and Helen have cried together. I listened numbly to her voice, Ms J. My heart could not accept her words.

"Are you still there?" asked Mum when she heard my silence.

What was I to say, Ms Journal? What kind of response is appropriate? What words will offer relief? Helen is fifty-two. Divorced. The devoted mother of three incredible teens. She's vibrant. Intelligent. Generous. Compassionate. Caring. A nurse, by profession.

Why her, Lord? Why anyone? Is there a family anywhere who haven't been affected by cancer? Is there anyone left who hasn't been scarred in some way by its jagged claws? Helen is the second of my sisters to suffer this affliction. A younger sister survived it a few years ago. She has since had two gorgeous children. Jill beat it. Helen will too.

I've reorganised my files, Ms J. Again. The "good" folder is fat and bulging. There is just one file now in the "bad" folder.

Let us put our hearts together. Let us think of Helen. Let us offer our prayers and our good wishes. Collectively, let us send forth our White Light of Healing. Life is strange sometimes, you know. In my experience, often what at first appears malevolent, later turns out to be a blessing.

My prayer is that our "good" folders will swell ever fatter while our "bad" folders shrink to lie flat and empty.

I love you, Helen.

***

Two For the Price of One

Meagan brought a friend with her. Sarah. She seems like a nice girl. Polite. Respectful. I'm glad to finally meet one of Meagan's friends, but still I must admit to feeling a bit left out. I knew it would happen, Ms J. Teens prefer their own kind. I did too, when I was her age. We went out for lunch yesterday in Georgetown and then I brought them back here to Mimico. They spent the entire day sitting together at the computer and chatting on msn. The entire day. And a portion of today already.

I left the two of them to go to bed at 10:00 last night. They were on the internet, typing away madly and giggling. The music (I use the term quite loosely, Ms J) that they were playing was reduced to an acceptable level. I closed my bedroom door, but still I could not sleep. It was odd to hear noises in the house at night. I'm used to living alone. When I turn the lights off and climb into bed, I normally hear nothing but my own breathing. I listened to the sounds for about half an hour before I got up and found a pair of earplugs. I wear them at work, Ms Journal, on the engine. It must have been close to 11:00 when I fell asleep.

I didn't sleep soundly, though. I guess I was worried about the two of them and wondering who they might find to chat with late at night. I remembered Dan's wild adventures at my computer a year ago.

I was wide awake again at 4:00, so I decided to get out of bed. The alarm would sound in fifteen minutes anyway, so I switched it off, turned on the light and put my feet on the wooden floor. For a minute or two, I sat with my eyes closed on the edge of the bed and listened to the night. I was aware of a faint sound and remembered I was still wearing earplugs. I took them out and the sound was louder.

Tap tap tappetty-tap-tap.

Were the girls still awake? Still on the computer? Crikey! It was 4:00 a.m.!! I put my bathrobe on and opened my bedroom door and looked down the hall. Meagan was sitting alone at the computer, eerily lit in the dull blue glare of the monitor. She was startled.

"Holy crap, Dad! You scared me half to death! What are you doing?"

I told her I was getting ready for work and suggested she might like to go to bed.

"It's four o'clock in the morning, Scout. Where's Sarah?"

"She went to bed already. Sorry, Dad. I didn't realise it was so late."

Mmmm-hmmm.

"Do you want to use the washroom before I have a shower?"

"No. I'm good. Have fun at work, Dad."

She was in bed when I finished my shower. I wished I had told her good night.

I asked the girls after dinner, if they'd like to visit the mall today. Sarah was "up" for it. Meagan, I think, would be content to stay here. I said I'd give them some money if they wanted to go, but I can't imagine they'll get out of bed in the forenoon.

We shall see, Ms J. We shall see.

Incidentally, I overheard Sarah whispering to Meagan last night.

"Your dad is so cool! My dad is always yelling at me and grounding me for no reason. I wish we could trade dads for a while."

I smiled, Ms J because I know the Truth. It's easy to be a "cool" dad when your daughter only visits once in a while. I suspect I'd lose a great deal of coolness if I were a fulltime dad.

***

Feeling Bored Lately

I know, Ms J. I've been as busy as a bee lately. How can I feel bored? I feel bored with work. And stressed. Can you feel both at the same time? Maybe it's not bored I'm feeling. Maybe I'm just uncomfortable. Unhappy. It's the same routine every day on the job, although I'm OK with that. I rather enjoy that part -- Quiet time alone on the empty train to Hamilton. Coffee and a muffin (no bagel yet) in the coffee shop there. The girls behind the counter - Jenn and Michelle. They're always nice.

So what's the problem, then?

I don't know, Ms J. Let me type away here until I get it sorted out. OK?

Ever since I told the guys that I had given up bread for Lent, they tease me every day about it. They find some way to mention it every morning. Now that they know I'm a Christian, they ask stupid questions to test me.

"No bagel today, eh Dale? Is it still Lent? How many more days til you can have a "Dale"?

They've given my breakfast bagel a name, Ms J. "The Dale."

I wish they'd just shut up about it. I wish they'd just ignore me like they did before I told them about Lent, and about me going to church.

"So when you yelled at John last week, did you curse?"

Yes. I cursed.

"Did you curse when you fell down the stairs and broke your leg?"

Yes. I cursed then, too.

"Do you curse when somebody pisses you off?"

Yes. I sometimes do on occasion. So fuck off now and leave me alone.

I'm tired of that routine, Ms J. And I'm tired of listening to the same crap every day.

"So and so's in trouble. He got caught going home early."
"I saw a supervisor hiding by the wall yesterday trying to nail somebody for not wearing safety glasses."
"I heard the company was trying to screw us out of our pensions."
"They're in bed with the union."

BLAH, BLAH, freaking BLAH.

I don't care. Well, actually, I do care. I care so much in fact, that I let it affect me and then I get anxious and scared and angry. It spoils the quality of my day, Ms Journal, as evidenced by the angry post I put here yesterday. I don't want to listen to all the fear and negativity. I'm sick of it. I want something happy. I want something that'll make me smile.

---

I phoned Meagan just now. I'm going to pick her up tomorrow at noon.

***

They're All Afraid

Everyone's afraid at work these days. Me too, Ms J. We all fear change, that's true, but this is more than just change. This is harassment. Oppression. Pointless projection of power. Muscle flexing. Our once proud railway, a government-owned crown corporation has been sold off to private interests. Powerful, rich men have elected a cruel tyrant and ruthless businessman - E. Hunter Harrison - to the position of CEO. Mr. Harrison is a good ol' boy from Tennessee. He's hired his American friends to teach us Canadian boys how to march in step like good soldiers.

To say he's despised would be a gross understatement.

Mr. Harrison knows business. He concerns himself only with profit. And it never seems to be enough. No matter how impressive the profits are for the current fiscal quarter, his goal is to increase the figure next quarter. But continued growth is not sustainable. Not over the long run. He's cut and slashed budgets from coast to coast. He wants more productivity from a smaller work force. I'm sure he must be outraged that he has to pay us at all.

Here's a news flash for you, Mr. Harrison:

You may think you're the king of the world right now. You've proven you can turn huge profits here at CN. Since you've taken the helm, share prices of Canadian National have steadily increased - over 1000% since CN was sold in 1995. You've only been president here since 2002 but already you're wealthy beyond imagination. You personally made $27.7-million in stock option gains in February last year. Other stock options are potentially worth tens of millions of dollars more. You're rich. You're friends are rich. Good for you.

But enjoy it, you greedy prick. It won't last forever. Nothing does. Nothing and no one. Every powerful dictator has fallen. Every empire in it's turn has fallen. Every one. Every evil oppressive regime has sputtered and stalled. It may be that your plan is simply to suck every last dollar out of our national railway before you flee back to the safety of your American mansion. I hope not. But time will tell.

And time, sir, is on my side.

***

Not Much to Report

T'was an ordinary day, Ms J, despite extraordinary weather. The temperature reached 15C in Mimico this afternoon. That's nearly 60F. It was sunny as well, so I went for a bit of a walkabout after church. It felt wonderful to be outdoors in shirt sleeves, unencumbered by bulky coat. Environment Canada predict cooler temps again this week. March is such a fickle month, often teasing us with spring-like temperatures one day and then surprising us with a winter storm the next.

I went grocery shopping this afternoon. Navel oranges were on sale at Sobey's for $1.99 a four pound bag. I spent $94. and forgot the *&%*#@ oranges! My mind is failing due to a lack of bread in my diet.

Two hours were spent writing after lunch. I've written a couple of scenes for our play. I'd never written pure dialogue before. A script advances the plot purely by dialogue. There's no descriptive passages or third person narration to explain things. It's harder than it looks. At rehearsals, we've sat together in pairs and improvised conversation between characters.

I must tell you, Ms J. I've never experienced creativity, or at least the possibility of it, on this magnitude before. Indeed, because the options are so vast, I'm finding it difficult to strike out in any definitive direction. I feel like a man wandering about in the arctic. The landscape is so expansive and the view is the same in every direction. I wonder if the others feel the same way.

I haven't heard much from Jacqueline since our jazz concert. She has a daughter, Laura, attending McGill University in Montreal and she planned to visit her this weekend. We have tickets to see a play on March 25th. We're both very busy and I may not see her before then.

Scout and I still have not spoken. There's been this wall between us since January 23, when I asked her to try a little harder to attend school. I promised you yesterday that I'd phone her today. That's how I force myself to act when it's easier to do nothing. If I make a promise, Ms J, I feel compelled to keep it.

So I phoned. She wasn't home. Maxine said she'd gone to a friend's house.

"Is she spending the night there, Maxine?"

"Ummm .. I don't know."

"Will she be home tomorrow?"

"I don't really know."

"Tell her I called please. Tell her I miss her."

I'll try calling again tomorrow evening. It's bedtime now. 10:00. Night-night.

***

A Day For the Theatre

I saw four plays tonight, Ms J. And I attended a play reading this afternoon.

An acquaintance of mine - her name is Dianne - is a playwright. She's written about five plays in as many years. Dianne is a very talented woman. I'm proud to know her. I had roles in the first two plays she did, and won best actor awards for both. Her latest play has yet to be performed, but it was read by some talented actors at a downtown theatre today as part of The New Ideas Festival. The three week festival is an annual event to showcase new plays and new actors. This year is, I think, the eighteenth year.

I went with my friend, and fellow actor, Bob. I was a bit apprehensive at first, never having attended a reading before, but it was really enjoyable! Bob and I joined Dianne and two of the actresses for lunch afterward. One of them wanted to attend the other plays this evening.

"How about you, Dale?" asked Lois when the others had declined. "Would you like to see four more plays tonight?"

I had nothing to do this evening, so I agreed. I came home and had dinner then met Lois back at the theatre at 7:30.

The plays were short, one-act pieces, running about thirty minutes each. All were very well done. Unfortunately, there was only one of the four that I really enjoyed. It was called "The Girls Do Brunch". It was about four women friends who met for brunch and shared thoughts and feelings. One was a lesbian. One was straight and married. One was straight and single. And one was transgendered and had a very deep voice and bright red lipstick. It was funny at times, but touching too. It was very real. Very downtown.

So I had a brilliant day, Ms J. I spent time with Bob, met some old friends, and enjoyed some amateur theatre.

And speaking of drama, I think I'll call Meagan tomorrow. March break begins Monday for a week.

***

Now What?

I got a copy of Meagan's report card today. I've been worried about it for weeks now. Remember, Ms J? I went to visit the principal and Meagan's teacher back in January and Meagan got angry and stopped talking to me. I learned that my daughter had missed a lot of school and I assumed her report card would be disappointing. But surprise! It wasn't too bad at all, really. Her marks aren't brilliant, but she's passing all her subjects. I am shocked to learn that she's missed nineteen and a half days this term. That's nearly a whole month of classes!

Dan was her age when he began to fall through the cracks at school. He didn't understand grade seven work, but the school promoted him to grade eight. Things worstened there for my boy. In a process called "streaming", the school board pushed him on to high school. He failed all his subjects in grade nine and completely lost interest in everything but drugs. He found a real attraction to drugs.

I don't want this for Meagan. She's doing OK according to her report card, Ms J, but I don't feel I can trust the school. Is Meagan truly and honestly learning the curriculum, or is she just being "streamed" to make the board look good?

I plan to phone her this weekend and invite her to visit me for a few days during March break. This silent treatment has gone on long enough. Should I mention the fact that I have obtained a copy of her report card (despite her wishes to the contrary) and inform her that I will continue to monitor her progress at school? Or should I simply continue to monitor her, but say nothing? Should I contact the school again and ask for proof that Meagan is worthy of promotion to high school?

I'm relieved to see her report card, Ms J, but I'm just not sure I can trust that it's accurate.

***

Another Change of Plans

Well, I had to work with my boss this afternoon, Ms J. The BIG boss. He's the Senior Manager at the train yard where I work. He's new. He's full of himself, high on his authority, and busy changing things. He's despised. His name is John. Guess what his last name is? Just guess. Think "despised", Ms Journal. Think "corpse". Got it? Yup. Coincidence? Probably not. My lesson is to learn tolerance and acceptance of ... well, of Kelly.

He and I had words, Ms J. Strong words. Abusive words. I talked. Shouted, actually. Hollered my indignation. He pretended not to know why I was upset, why we're all upset. Power-tripper. Idiot. I drove home just now pumped and primed for a great, big rant against this moron, and against Canadian National Railways and their new official executive direction:

"COMPLIANCE."

I was ready to sit with a glass of wine and write about "abuse of power" and "the use of fear as a tool to enforce 'compliance'." I had planned to employ hackneyed expressions like "more flies with honey ..." and "be careful what you ask for .."

Et cetera.

I parked the car in the driveway and stomped up the steps to the front door, and there, in the mailbox, was a large manila envelope. Unaddressed. I snatched it from the metal box and carried it inside.

The envelope contained a cute little pen topped with a bunny that lights up when you write, a small journal type book with metal cover, and a card. The card was the best bit.


Friends are thinking of me.

I belong to a study group at church. Bible study, I suppose you could call it, although we've recently been studying Marcus Borg's book - "The Heart of Christianity". The group meet on Tuesdays. Another group meet on Wednesdays. I'm disappointed that my play writing group meet on the same two evenings, so I can't be with my church friends during the week. I miss them. Evidently, they miss me too. The card was signed by all eight members of my Wednesday group.

Dear Dale, missed you at bible study. Gert

We miss you ... but do you know you're missing chocolate chip cookies? Dolly

Dale, Hope you find this pen as illuminating as the group. We miss you. Charlotte

All the best with your play. We miss you at Bible Study. Karen

Dale, Just remember 'The play's the thing.' Larry

Missing you and your creativity. Bob

We miss you, Dale. I hope you are having fun! (Isn't it good?) Carla

Sure miss you Dale and all your witty remarks. Love Patricia

Patricia reminded me of the homework for this week: Write five things every morning and five things every evening for which you're thankful.

---

1. Friends
2. Faith
3. Family
4. Home
5. Gainful employment

Tomorrow morning, I will seek out the man to whom I was disrespectful and abrasive. I will offer him a humble apology. Although my opinion of him will remain unchanged, as will my opinion of CN's soul-sucking policy of enforced employee compliance, at least there will be one less arsehole at work.

Good night, Ms J.

***

Tuesdays and Wednesdays

Tuesday and Wednesday evenings have been busy for me lately, Ms J. I'm involved in a creative project. I meet twice a week with a group of people and together, we're hoping to create a play. A stage play. Live theatre. Community theatre. There are six of us in the group: Two men and four women. Most of us are actors, Ms J. A couple of us have never been on stage before, but what the heck ...? We all have to start somewhere, right? Five of us are, or have been students of acting. The sixth has been our teacher. Heather.

Heather is a delight to work with. She's skilled and helpful. She's experienced. She's enthusiastic and gentle. And she's not too hard on the eyes, either. Heather called us together about a month ago with the barest idea for a play: Strangers on public transit.

Nothing more.

We've collaborated to come up with six raw characters, a plausible story line, and a title - "Street Hearts". That's about all we've done so far. Already, it's been through a number of permutations and amendments. And the process continues. We've secured the use of a room in a local church for rehearsals. Luckily, the room contains a small stage as well. God is good.

It is not without doubt and trepidation that I proceed with this endeavour. It really is nothing at the moment. Rien. Nada. Nichts.

I hope the Lord's a fan of the theatre, Ms Journal. We plan to open in June.

***

Best Friends

They say you can't have more than one "best friend." But I love all my friends, Ms J. They're all the best friends any man could ever ask for.

I went to visit Frankie today. She's a school teacher but she doesn't work every day.

"If ever you find yourself at home during the day, Frankie," I often tell her, "give me a call and we'll have lunch together."

So she did. I took some leftover lasagna and some bread, fresh from the bakery, and drove to her house around 1:00. No, Ms Journal. I did not eat any bread. My friend enjoyed a couple of slices though, and of course she made certain I was reminded repeatedly of my Lenten promise.

Thank-you, Frankie. You were very helpful.

We talked about Meagan and about Kelly. We talked about Life - Frankie's and mine. Frankie is a spiritual woman, gentle and sweet. Her husband, Tom is a lucky man. (You owe me $5 now, Frankie) And I always enjoy her company. (Make it 10.)

Two hours passed quickly while we ate and chatted, and soon I had to return to work.

Look at this, Ms J. Look at what Frankie gave me, "just because."


It's made of plaster, I think, but it looks like stone. It's meant to appear cracked.

I've been signing my e-mail "Live. Love. Laugh." for years now. It's become a kind of Dale trademark. What a sweetheart, eh? Thanks, Frankie!

See what I mean, Ms J? Don't I have the absolute BEST friends?

***

A Change of Plans

Ain't it funny how things turn out sometimes, Ms J?

I didn't go away with Kirk and Rey yesterday. Our plans were beginning seriously to erode in the early afternoon, and after conversations with Jenn and with Kirk, I decided to contact Jacqueline to see if her offer was still good.

"Call Kirk," said Jenn. "See if he'll be disappointed if you change your mind."

"Call Jacqueline," said Kirk. "See if she's still planning to go to that jazz thing."

"Thanks for calling," said Jacqueline. "But are you sure?"

I explained the altered situation.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sure."

I dressed in a pair of black dress pants with pleats and cuffs, a mock turtleneck, and a black blazer and drove to a Greek restaurant in the city. I looked pretty smashing, actually.

I arrived first, and chose a table for two near the back of the room. It was narrow, this restaurant. Narrow but long. The stage was halfway between our table and the door. I was fifteen minutes early. Jacqueline was ten minutes late.

We were both a little overdressed given the casual atmosphere of the restaurant. She wore a long, layered wraparound skirt and black blouse. Her ash/blond hair was braided into a ponytail and worn high on the back of her head. We both looked pretty smashing, really. We dined on tilipia and lamb. I had the fish. She had the lamb. A rack of lamb. Rare. Never having eaten lamb before, I tried a bite. I enjoyed the flavour, Ms J, but I found the blood quite unappealing.

"Do you always eat it this rare?" I asked her.

"Oh yes," was her reply. "Steak too. I like it blue."

I wrinkled my nose at the mere thought of it. Raw meat. Yuck!

The music was agreeable to me. I'm not a great fan of jazz music, but this music had a beat and wasn't at all overpowering. Jacqueline felt the same way. She was there to support a musician friend. Larry Kauffman is the talented son of the late Moe Kauffman, legendary Canadian jazz musician. Jacqueline and I sat side by side and chatted comfortably over a litre of South African Merlot.

"The Nearness of You", a Hoagy Carmichael standard was among the evening's last tunes.

"Oh I love this song," Jacqueline said. "It's so romantic."

I moved closer to her and put my arm around her. My other hand was on the table and she put her hand on top of mine. It was good, Ms J. Yup. Good. Soon the band finished the set and packed up their instruments. We rose together and I helped her with her coat.

"Walk me to my car?" she asked, looking up at me and batting her eyelashes.

She took my arm and we marched to her car around the corner. We stood there on the sidewalk and exchanged awkward good-byes under a humming streetlight. I got an idea then to dispel the awkwardness. I kissed her. And she kissed me. Kisses are always good, Ms J. Always good.

I suggested after a while, that she ought to get into her car and go home as it was getting late. She did and I watched her turn left and head off north toward the highway. It had been a lovely evening.

On the drive home, I was listening to country gospel music and singing along when I remembered a snippet of a conversation we'd had in the restaurant.

"You mentioned that you wanted to go to church on Sunday, Dale. What church do you go to?"

I told her I attend Wesley Mimico United Church and that I belong to The United Church of Canada.

"It's a Christian church," I'd said. "Protestant. Do you go to church?"

"No, I don't, actually. I'm an Atheist. Does that bother you?"

Well, I nearly shit and slid in it. Atheist?!

"Does it bother you that I believe in God?" I'd asked her.

"Not at all," she'd said. "I think it's important to believe in something."

"But if you don't believe in God, Jacqueline, what do you believe in?"

She turned her head then and looked directly into my eyes.

"Truth. I believe in Truth. I guess you could say that I worship it. Truth to one's self and Truth to others. It's tremendously important to me."

I, too, value Truth, Ms Journal. Her pursuit of Truth makes Jacqueline very attractive. Very attractive indeed.

But an Atheist!!

I've said this before, but I think it bears repeating:

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

My God. My Truth. And no, I will not try to convert Jacqueline.

***

Sacrifices in the Name of Friendship

I was sitting here at the computer last night, sipping tea and trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle of thoughts about World Day of Prayer, when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

The voice I heard was soft and warm with a delightful Irish accent. It was Jacqueline.

"Hi Dale," she said. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in having dinner together tomorrow night and then attending a jazz concert in Toronto. I realise it's short notice."

She was smiling, Ms J. I could hear it. I hated to dash her hopes. I hated to turn down her invitation, I really did, but I had already made other plans for the weekend. I furrowed my brow and spoke.

"I am so sorry, Jacqueline," I said, "but I've made plans to go out of town this weekend with friends. We're driving up to the casino at Orillia on Saturday and then on Sunday morning, we're off to Campbellford to see the sights and maybe buy some fresh cheese."

If she was disappointed, she hid it well.

"Oh that's alright, Dale," she said. "I know it's short notice. I hope you don't mind me callin' you like this."

Mind? Did I mind her calling me? Good golly lolly day, Ms J! That was the first time we'd ever spoken on the phone. Until now, we'd only left voice mail for each other.

"No, I don't mind at all. I hope you'll feel free to call me again. Anytime, Jacqueline. I'm disappointed I can't see that concert with you, but I've promised Kirk and Rey I'd join them this weekend."

"No worries, Dale. Let's say we'll call each other whenever something like this comes up though, shall we? Even if it is short notice. I do enjoy your company."

Christine phoned later and asked about my plans for the weekend. I told her about the conversation with Jacqueline.

"Do you think I did the right thing, Steenie? Do you think I should have canceled my plans with Kirk in favour of a date with Jacqueline? Maybe she'll think I'm not interested in her."

Christine disagreed.

"No she won't. She knows you like her. You told her she could call you anytime and you said you were disappointed you couldn't join her at the jazz concert. What you have shown her is that you value your friendships, and honour your promises. I think you did the absolute right thing."

You see, Ms Journal? See how good it is that I have so many women friends? They're all so special to me. They help me relate to women, a lesson I'm learning rather late in Life. Thanks, Christine! And thank YOU, Jenn, for introducing me to Jacqueline. I wonder where this relationship will lead?

There will be no date for me tonight, Kirk. And I'm forgoing church tomorrow. You know how I enjoy church. But I'm looking forward to spending the weekend with you and Rey. You two are important to me. And we always have fun together, don't we? I'd better get busy and pack a bag.

See you Sunday night, Ms J!

***

World Day of Prayer

Today is "World Day of Prayer", Ms J. World Day of Prayer is an international, ecumenical, prayer movement initiated and carried out by women in more than 180 countries and in over 1000 languages. Christians of many traditions and all ages - women, men and children, - celebrate a common day of prayer on the first Friday in March. God's inbox must surely be full!

This year's WDP service was written by women in South Africa and held here in Mimico at the Catholic church - St. Leo's. I had never before observed World Day of Prayer, but Rev. Linda mentioned it last Sunday and said it was going to be at St. Leo's. I decided then to go because I'd never been inside a Catholic church before, either. Why not kill two birds with one stone, I figured.

I am so glad I went. It was at 1:30 this afternoon and I enjoyed the ten minute walk in the bright sunshine. The church was by no means full, but there were, I suppose, about a hundred in attendance. We listened to Scripture readings and reflections on South African issues: HIV/AIDS, poverty, and homelessness. We sang some really beautiful hymns, too. I felt welcome. Those Catholics are soooo nice. I'm reminded of a story Dad told me once.

"When I was in the army, I heard about a guy in our outfit who was a Catholic, so I made a point of meeting him. I remember thinking, 'Holy shit! He looks just like me!'"

Dad was eighteen at the time and fresh off the farm.

I have Catholic friends and neighbours, but none who are practicing Catholics. None who attend church regularly. I had never set foot in a Catholic church before. But I wouldn't hesitate to return. The sanctuary was lovely. The sun lit the stained glass windows and made them radiant. There was a cross at the front, but it wasn't plain and empty like the one in our United Church. This one had Jesus on it. His arms were open as though He wanted to hug me. There were depictions of Mary as well, with her halo. Joseph had one too. Different. But comforting, somehow.

We prayed for an end to war and strife in Africa, for the welfare of orphans of AIDS and for an end to hunger and disease. We prayed for an end to war in the Middle East. I prayed for my kids, Dan and Meagan, that they might grow to be healthy, happy adults. And I prayed for Maxine and for her unborn baby.

The service lasted about an hour or so, Ms J, and although I'm a Protestant, there's no doubt I felt the presence of God in that church this afternoon. I sensed a connection to each of the people in the pews around me and I left the church with a happy heart. I'm glad I went. I feel now as though I'm a part of something much bigger than the tiny congregation at Wesley Mimico United Church. I'm a Christian.

I really don't know for sure if our prayers today (individually or collectively) helped, or will help solve the world's problems, Ms Journal. But I know they can't hurt.

***

Daily Bread

"No bagel for me this morning, Michelle," I said as I entered the coffee shop in Hamilton yesterday morning. The crew of another train were seated around a small table near the entrance and they all stopped to stare at me. I've had bacon and egg on a bagel every morning for months now and the lads were puzzled at my sudden change of breakfast fare.

"What? No bagel? What's up with that, Dale? Are you sick? On a diet? What?"

I smiled but said nothing. Let them wonder, I thought. But my decision not to have a bagel that morning was beginning to cause a real stir among my work mates. Not only were the men of that train crew suddenly interested in my choice of breakfast, but my own crew had found their way to the little restaurant and they, too, offered questions and queries and opinions.

"Maybe his cholesterol is too high."

"He's prob'ly met some young chick and he's tryin' to lose weight."

One generous fellow offered me money.

"Shuddup you guys! He's prob'ly got no money. Here, Doc. Here's five bucks. Get yerself some breakfast."

I waved off his fiver, bought some coffee and sat alone at a table in the corner.

"Anybody know what day it is today?" I asked. "I know it's Wednesday. But it's a special day as well."

The responses were typical of the ignorant cretins with whom I work.

"First day of spring?"

"Pay day?"

"Mother's Day. When's Mother's Day? It's around now, isn't it?"

"Mother's Day is on a Sunday, knucklehead. It's not Mother's Day."

"Oh my God! It's yer birthday, isn't it?"

They were all talking at once and getting louder by the minute. Someone bid them be quiet with an insistent "SSSSHHHHHHHH!!!" A woman at the counter turned with her coffee and said, "Ash Wednesday. It's Ash Wednesday."

The men were quiet now. They looked at each other blankly and then back to the woman.

"The first day of Lent," she said and calmly exited.

John spoke first.

"It's Lent you idiots. Today's the first day."

"What the hell's 'Lent' then smartypants?"

John shrugged his big shoulders and grinned sheepishly.

"Shit, I dunno. What do I look like? Dictionary Dan?"

"Lent," I explained, "is the time between Ash Wednesday and Easter. It lasts forty days and I don't think it includes Sundays."

Bill spoke up then for the first time.

"What if Mother's Day falls during Lent? Would it still be Mother's Day?"

(Do you see what I have to work with, Ms J?)

I continued.

"Lent is the Christian season that precedes Easter. Traditionally, it's a time of fasting. People vow to give up something they like during Lent as a kind of penance for their sins. I've decided to give up bread for Lent."

Heads were bobbing now. A light was beginning to flicker. Bill said, "And bagels are the same as bread, right?"

Someone proposed that bagels were not really bread because they're round with a hole in the middle "which makes them more like a doughnut." An argument ensued as I took my coffee and went out to visit with Kathy, the ticket seller.

I had no bread yesterday, Ms J. And I had no bread today. I love bread. I eat way too much of it. If I give up bread for forty days, not only will I be observing Lent in a meaningful way, I may even lose a few pounds. That way, I'll be ready to pig out on Easter chocolate.

Oh. By the way, Ms Journal ... Do you suppose muffins are considered "bread"?

***

Done and Dusted

And all before lunch.

I've had a productive morning, Ms J. I got busy as soon as I was home from work. I've baked lasagna and tidied up the kitchen. I've made reservations or inquirees about three different stage plays. I've read and replied to email from Jacqueline. And I've called a few more lawyers and happily found one who offered help on the phone. For free!

"Oh yes," she said, after I'd explained things once again. "I see this sort of thing all the time. You absolutely ARE entitled to information about your daughter's education. The school board have lawyers. I don't know why they don't instruct their teachers on the rights of non-custodial fathers. Do you have a pen and paper?"

I said I did.

"Write this down," she said. "This is what you need to quote to the principal at your daughter's school."

I took up my pen and began to copy.

"The Children's Law Reform Act: section 20 subsection 5. That's a provincial statute. Ontario law. I'll read it to you."

I verified what I'd written.

"Subsection 5, was it?"

"Yeah. Just write section 20 and then put a little number five in brackets."

"OK," I said. "I've got it."

"You have access to the child, right? You're allowed to see her, aren't you?"

I told the lady - her name was Bonnie - that, yes, I'd been seeing Meagan every second weekend for ten years.

"Good, then. Here's what the law says: The entitlement to access to a child includes the right to visit and be visited by the child and the same right as a parent to make inquirees and to be given information as to the health, education and welfare of the child. That's the law. The school does not have the right to deny you information about your daughter. And neither does your control freak ex-wife."

"Well, that seems pretty clear, doesn't it, Bonnie?"

"You're damn right it's clear. I'm tired of dealing with this issue. I see it every day. Often, I have to write a letter to a school board superintendant before they finally see the light. You call up that principal and quote that passage to her. Section 20, subsection 5. It's on the internet. Children's Law Reform Act. Print off the section and fax it to her if you have to, but you are undeniably entitled to receive information like report cards, etc. from your daughter's school. That is your right under the law."

Oh my word, Ms J! I could have kissed the woman! But I thanked her instead. Then I called the school.

As usual, the hoity-toity principal wasn't available so I spoke with the vice principal. Sharon. She was nice. And quite reasonable. Non-confrontational. Co-operative, even.

Second term report cards will be issued to students on March 8th. I expect to receive a copy in my mailbox, along with a copy of Meagan's first term report. My faith in the school system has been somewhat restored. And it would seem that not all lawyers are greedy pricks. Some really seem to care.

Incidentally, I asked Sharon if Meagan was in school today and waited while she checked the attendance record.

"Yes, Mr. Pringle. She's here today."

Life is good again. Now, if the girl would just speak to me ...

***