A Smoke-Free Province

No Smoking. Smoking Prohibited. Non-Smoking Area Only. It's official now here in Ontario. The whole damn province has become a NO SMOKING zone. The guys at work were talking about the new legislation, which takes effect today.

"Where's a guy supposed to smoke now?" asked one.

"You can't even have a puff outdoors," said another. "And you can't smoke in bars or pubs or restaurants."

Someone threw a newspaper at me.

"Here. Read this, Doc. It's enough ta make ya puke right where ya sit. This government's gettin' pretty high and mighty tellin' me I can't have a smoke down the pub. The bar owners are pretty pissed off too. They're gonna lose a lot of business over this."

I glanced at the article, Ms J, but as you know, I'm not a fan of newspapers. Or any news media, really. It's all the same. All shite. Opinions. Propaganda. Dire predictions of doom. Another stupid act of violence or another stupid army aiming their stupid guns in another stupid war. Shite.

Anyway, I skimmed the article and this is what I learned:

The government of the province of Ontario has enacted sweeping new laws and new changes to anti-smoking legislation. Effective today, nine million Ontarians will have access to completely smokefree environments at work, in ALL public places, including outdoor common areas such as restaurant and bar patios, bus stops, train platforms and outdoor sporting events.

Seems to me, Ms J, that if you're going to smoke, you'd better do it at home. Unless of course the wife won't let you smoke in the house, or around the kids. In that case, I reckon you're well and truly screwed. You might want to consider quitting.

And as for our benevolent politicians, who are so concerned for our health ... Well they're not fooling me. For if our government really gave a damn about our health, they wouldn't simply ban smoking, they'd ban tobacco.

I won't hold my breath, Ms Journal, (pun intended) because they stand to lose BILLIONS of tax dollars. I quit smoking about six years ago. Cigs were about six bucks for a pack of twenty-five. Today, the same package costs nearly eight dollars. More than half of it is tax. Canadians are among the highest taxed populace in the world. We're taxed to death, quite literally. Let's show the government we're fed up and we won't take it anymore.

Why don't we all quit smoking? Yeah. That'd show 'em, wouldn't it?

***

Preacher Dale: Reprise

Ring Ring Ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dale. It's Linda. How are you today?"

Reverend Linda, Ms J. From the church. I wondered what she wanted. I'm overwhelmed right now with this play.

"I'm fine, Linda. What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to try preaching another sermon."

What? Now? My God, woman! You've got to be kidding!! I'd have to write it and then deliver it ... But I have no time for that. I have no time for anything but work and rehearsals. There's no way I could ...

"Not right away," she continued. "In the summer, like last year. Remember? I was thinking maybe you could preach one Sunday in August. How does August 27th sound?"

I sat down on a chair in the dining room and exhaled softly. Yeah. I could do that. I could do a sermon in August. The play will be long over by then. I nodded my head and smiled.

"Yes, dear Linda. My word, yes! I'd be honoured to do it."

"Great then," she said, and I could hear her smiling. "I'll get a package of reference material together and I'll make sure you have it by the end of June. How's that sound?"

"Fab-tastic, Rev! That sounds just fine."

"OK. Thanks, Dale. See you Sunday?"

"Yuppers."

"OK, then. Bye."

"Bye, Linda."

So there you have it, Ms J. Looks like I'm going to be preaching again this summer. I can't wait to see what the topic will be. I hope it's not forgiveness. I've been struggling with that one a bit lately.

***

Spectres From an Angry Past

I was standing at the kitchen sink last night, absentmindedly peeling potatoes for supper, when an image came to mind. It was a pair of women's shoes, high heels, black and shiny. The toes were pointed. Thin straps at the back held them to the feet that wore them. Beneath the shoes, was the grey pavement of a highway, the shoulder of a highway, Highway 427, a major north/south traffic artery in Toronto's west end.

I put the potato in a pot on the stove and turned to look out the window. This was not a happy memory, Ms J. This was a shameful, horrid memory from a time when I was terribly unhappy. I hadn't recalled this story in many, many years. And now here it was, invading my consciousness, uninvited. I tried to will the image away, but of course, the harder I tried, the more insistent it was to be remembered. Two little sparrows lit suddenly on the fence just beyond the window. They both peered at me through the screen and chirped.

"Well go on," they seemed to say. "Tell us the story."

They flew off then, and I knew my story would be heard even by those not present. I believe thoughts and emotions have a way of swelling, Ms J, like ripples in a pond, until they reach the farthest corners of the Universe. Stories too. So I stood and gazed at the clouds as they melted and flattened against the sky, basking in the last of the day's warmth. I nodded my head and frowned and opened my mind to the recollection of an event that until this very moment, had been known consciously only to me and to the poor woman in those fancy shoes.

It was early summer, 1991. Daniel was five. Meagan's soul was somewhere, still waiting for human form. Kelly and I had had a fight, and as usual, it was just as I should have been leaving for work. I don't remember what we'd quarreled about but I imagine it was something trivial. I imagine it was ignited by my selfishness and fueled by Kelly's obstinance. I left for work in a terrible mood, and late. Again.

The morning rush hour traffic was moving slowly on Highway 427 and I glanced for the hundredth time at my watch. I was going to miss my train. Again. They would have to leave without me if I weren't there on time. Trains must operate on time, Ms J. I was sure to be in trouble with my supervisor. Again.

Suddenly I felt a bump. Not a crash, really, but a bump. A good, hard bump. Someone had hit me from behind. I let loose a stream of profanity that would have made my father blush and then I pulled over onto the paved shoulder of the highway. I got out of the car and walked round to the back.

There was no damage at all, really. Not even a mark on the paint. My head was still lowered when I heard a voice. A woman's voice. It was the other driver, now stopped behind me.

"I am so sorry," she was saying, near tears, her voice oozing remorse. "I must have been daydreaming or something. I just looked up and you were stopped. It's completely my fault. I'm willing to pay for any damages. Would you like me to phone the police? I have a cell phone. I'm really sorry sir. I hope you'll forgive me."

I don't know why, Ms Journal, but I could not bring myself to look at her. I remember her shoes, but I have no memory of her face whatsoever. I didn't even raise my head. I couldn't feel anything that day but anger, and helplessness. I was hopelessly stuck in an unhappy marriage to a woman I didn't even like, but with a son I couldn't bear to leave. And now I was in danger of losing my job.

I spat on the asphalt between those shoes and without looking up, I spoke the following words:

"Why don't you watch where yer going, you f#%*in' bitch."

"I beg your pardon?" said the owner of the shoes.

She didn't sound angry, Ms J. She sounded hurt. But she wasn't hurt enough yet to suit me. So I followed with:

"Go f*#* yerself, you c**t."

Then I walked back to my car in a blinding rage and drove away leaving her standing on the side of the busy road. She may have been crying. I don't know. I didn't look back.

So why am I telling you this story, Ms J? Why am I sharing this dreadful tale with you? Well, as I said earlier, I believe that thoughts and stories, sorrows and cares, curses and benedictions all ripple out to the furthest reaches of the cosmos. Somehow, every message is eventually received, although not often in a conscious way.

I am so sorry for the way I behaved that morning. I wish there were some tangible method to apologise to that poor woman, but sadly, this forum is all I have. This and prayer.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Mrs. I am no longer such a bitter man. I was suffering some real challenges back then. I'm truly sorry."

Now, Ms Journal, can I offer my transgressors the same forgiveness? Neil? Kelly? Can I imagine that they may be suffering some real challenges too?

Probably not. But I know I should try.

***

Sunday. Dusty Sunday.

After church this morning, I came home and looked at my dirty house. It's really getting bad, Ms J. There's mud on the floor by the front door, a reminder of my garden work last week. The kitchen floor needs vacuuming. So do the rooms upstairs. I have dust bunnies nearly as big as Buicks under my bed. The bathroom is filthy. I'm aware of it all, but I just can't find the motivation required to address it.

I've been spending so much time writing and rehearsing this play, that when I'm home I don't want to do housework. I used to be so fastidious. I used to keep a very tidy home, and I suppose I will again, but I've been so busy lately.

Is this a cop-out, Ms J? Am I making excuses for my indolence?

It's in times like this when I see the benefits in living alone.

***

Rehearsal Weekend

Saturday. There’s a rehearsal today at the church. At the Presbyterian church. That’s where we rehearse, Ms J, and where we’ll perform our play. Opening night is eleven days away. It is for that reason that Heather wants us to rehearse from 11:00 til 6:00 today. Pretty much the entire day.

“Bring a lunch,” she said and then remembered the bake sale planned for this afternoon. “Or never mind a lunch. There’s going to be a bake sale at the church on Saturday. We can probably get something to eat right here.”

Oh joy, Ms Journal. Coffee and cookies for lunch. I think I’ll take a sandwich, thank you. And some fruit.

We’ll be meeting again tomorrow evening to do some “sensory and movement” exercises. Heather wants us to look like we’re actually riding on a moving streetcar. Makes sense to me.

This play has taken over my Life. Every play I've ever done has taken over my Life, but never for five months.

***

A Day of Rest ... Sort of

Yaaaaaaawwn. It's Friday, Ms J. Friday. Hmmm. I had to type that word four times before I got it right. My eyes won't stay open. Thet feel like tey're full of sand. Man, I'm tired. I've been rehearsing every night this week. Rehearsals run til 11:00 some nights and I just can't seem to get enough rest. When I finally lay down to nap during the day, I can't idle my mind.

I'll go to work now and climb into an empty coach and close the doors behind me. I'll take time for my morning meditation and prayer and then curl up on the seats and try to catch forty winks before we arrive at Hamilton.

This morning, when I get home after my first shift, I've got to visit some local businesses to try and sell ad space in our printed programme. This is one way we've devised to help offset the production costs of the play. I also want to spend some time memorizing lines. And this house is a mess! There's laundry and dirty dishes to attend to. I did mow the lawn, though, so it looks like someone lives here now.

There's no rehearsal planned for tonight, thank goodness. But we'll practice seven hours on Saturday and five on Sunday.

I know. Breathe. Breathe. Br ... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Oh poo! Now I'm late for work!

***

Universal Ebb and Flow

Morning, Ms J.

In the pre-dawn quiet this morning, as I lay in my bed awaiting the alarm clock's reveille, a thought occurred to me. It was just a phrase at first, but it gradually built into a thought. A concept. An aphorism, I suppose. Words to live by.

"It's just the ebb and flow of The Universe."

You see, I'd been thinking about my mercurial moods lately. Up one day and the next day down. In this moment, I feel content and secure, and in the next, fearful and anxious. The evidence is here in the posts I've offered these past few days. (Weeks?) Neil. My job. My employer. The play. Meagan. Daniel. Even the weather. My moods have been up and down like - if you'll pardon my crude comparison, a whore's drawers on payday.

"It's just the ebb and flow of The Universe."

The Universe, although seemingly quite ordered, is constantly changing: Day becomes night and then day again. The seasons change, winter to spring and spring to summer. Fall leads us irrevocably toward the death of winter where we wait in the cold and dark until spring arrives and nature is born anew. Rivers that roll and boil after spring rain and melted snow, are reduced in summer's heat to mere trickles. The moon waxes and wanes. Ocean tides flow in and out. We spend time in both sleep and wakefulness. We laugh and we cry, our tears evaporating and returning to the heavens from whence they came only to fall again as rain. Or snow. Or tears.

It seems to me, Ms J, that it's entirely appropriate, right even, that my moods change too.

"It's just the ebb and flow of The Universe."

And in the end, all will be well. This I know. All things are, and will be, well.

***

A Return to Sunshine

The sun shone all day long yesterday. The sky was a brilliant blue with just enough puffy white clouds to make it pretty. The sunrise was very satisfying, and Environment Canada predicts another bonny day today.

The play is coming together. It's far from perfect yet, but we're starting to understand the flow of it. Heather surprised us by handing out scripts, completed and finalised, at the rehearsal last night. This is definitely a good thing, Ms J, and long overdue I think. I'm still anxious of course, but I do feel somewhat better about this production.

Work was (dare I say it?) enjoyable yesterday. I'm back on my old job and you-know-who has gone who-knows-where. And who cares where? The conductor I complained about has also fled and been replaced by someone nice. And capable. I'm sleepy still at this hour of the morning, but I'm actually looking forward to going in this morning.

Life is good again, Ms Journal.

Now, if I can only summon the strength to mow the lawn today ...

It's so tall after all the rain last week. I'm embarrassed of it. The neighbours have lost three children now in my back garden. I'll have to cut the lawn now to find them.

***

Shopping With Dan on Saturday

I drove to Norval on Saturday morning, remember? I didn't see Kelly. I don’t know where she was. In the basement, I guess, still in bed. It was still early by her standards. Noon. I found Maxine on the floor in the living room playing with the baby. He was smiling! Dan was glad to see me and gave me a big hug.

“Thanks for this, Dad. I really appreciate it.”

I gave him two bags of diapers and a tin of Penaten cream. Then I reached into my coat pocket and felt the money I had for them. Five crisp twenty dollar bills.

“Yeah, Mum said just get the money, but I told her we don’t need money. We need food. There’s nothing here to eat, Dad.”

“Is the baby hungry, Dan?” I asked. “Did you feed him?”

“Oh yeah, Dad. It’s all good now. Some of Mum’s friends bought us formula last night. He’s OK for a few days. Could you give me a ride to the store? I can walk home.”

I asked him where he wanted to go and he told me. It was far, Ms J. They live in Norval and the nearest grocery store is in Georgetown. It’s probably two or three kilometres each way.

“Let’s shop together, Dan,” I suggested. “That way I can drive you home again.”

He was pleased with that. Maxine was content to stay home with David. On the way into town, we talked in the car.

“How come you guys have no money, Dan? What happened?”

“I don’t know, Dad. Mum’s cheque from the government usually comes, like last week. And now it’s not coming til the end of the month. I don’t know why. Some kind of screw-up I guess.”

“But what about Tim? Isn’t he still working for that landscaping company?”

“Naw. He quit, eh?”

“What’s he doing now then?”

“Nothin’. Well, he did this home repair job for a friend of his a while back. It was an insurance job, eh? And you know how hard it is to get money from an insurance company. So we’re still waiting for that cheque.”

“I see,” I said as though I understood. But I don’t, Ms J. I don’t understand at all. Tim is a loser. He’s got nothing and he’s going nowhere. If Kelly has to have a man to support her and her family, she could do a lot better than Tim. That’s a fact. But Tim is Emily's father ...

We found a parking spot and pulled into it. I shut the engine off and turned to look at my son.

“You know, Dan,” I began. “I’ve looked after my son for nearly twenty years. Now it’s your turn to look after your son. You have to find work, Dan. Mum needs your help and Maxine and David are counting on you.”

He told me about some friend of his whose father owns a moving company.

“When he gets back from Florida, he said he might hire me.”

Dan always has a story for me, a job prospect that never quite materializes.

I really don’t know what more I can do. I don’t know what to say to the boy to entice him to get a job, or to impress upon him the importance of returning to school to get some education or job training. He’ll have to discover this for himself, I reckon.

We bought $113. worth of groceries and I drove him back home. At home in Norval, Dan looked me in the eyes and smiled broadly. He was well pleased.

“This is good, Dad. Real good. I’m gonna make a fantastic supper for everyone tonight. Maybe that’ll make Mum happy. We still have no money, but at least we won’t starve. ”

Yes, Ms Journal. At least they won’t starve. At least I know for certain that Kelly didn’t use the money for cigarettes or marijuana.

I won’t hold my breath for a thank you from her, either.

***

Happy Birthday, You Dead Queen, You

Monday. Holiday Monday. Victoria Day. No work today, however I did receive some happy news on that front. Apparently, Neil has left Job 10 to work a Georgetown train. The timing was propitious. The man whose position I filled last week has returned from vacation and I’ll have to go back to Job 10.

So I’ll be back on my Hamilton train tomorrow. Coffee. Bagel. And no Neil. There'll be fireworks tonight and none tomorrow.

Thank you, Lord.

I’d better have some lunch now and then go over to the church for another rehearsal. Oh me. Oh my. Oh joy. Oh bliss. This one goes from noon til 6:00.

***

God and Love and Neil

Reverend Linda's sermon this morning was written for me. At least it seemed that way. It happens sometimes, that the sermon is just exactly what I need to hear. It speaks to my heart. It resonates in me.

The sermon was about Love. It was about friendship and Love.

"The gospel of John," Linda told us from her pulpit, "is nothing less than an invitation to love one another."

I slouched in the pew and folded my arms across my chest. She'd never met Neil. I wondered how ol' JC might have dealt with an incorrigible miscreant like that. I'd like to see Him "love" a sanctimonious fuckwit like Neil. I thought about Neil's smirking face and self-serving attitude, always putting others down to make himself feel superior.

"Think about it, Linda. It's not rocket surgery."

I knew I needed to hear what she was saying, Ms J, but I didn't like it. I decided not to listen. I picked up a hymn book and leafed through it. I nearly dropped the damn thing so I slid it back into the wooden pocket on the back of the pew and turned my attention again to the minister.

"Does this mean we all have to love everybody," she asked, "when some of us don't even like each other?"

I gripped the rounded edge of the pew and pushed myself up straight. Maybe there was an escape clause here for me. Maybe there was a loophole.

"We don't have to like everyone. We might disagree with their choice of lifestyle or reject their character faults. But we can still love them. We can still offer them respect and grace. Forgiveness. Compassion."

Shit. That was no good to me. I don't respect Neil. And I'm not ready to forgive him for the way he treated me when we worked together last year.

I'll probably be forced to return to job 10 on Tuesday. Monday's our Victoria Day holiday, Ms Journal. We Canadians celebrate Queen Victoria's birthday by setting off fireworks. Many of us see it as the unofficial start of summer. If Neil's still on job 10, there'll be more fireworks on Tuesday -- in the cab of the locomotive. I plan to speak to him for the first time since the day I broke my leg last year. I can't bear any more awkward silence in the cab. I'll simply have to talk to him. But what am I to say?

"I love ya, Neil. I respect ya. And I forgive ya. Now get the hell off this job!"

Why is it always so hard, Ms J, to do the right thing?

***

All the World's a Stage

June and I went to the theatre last night. Caledon offered a two for the price of one admission this weekend so we went to see their production of "Crimes of The Heart". It was a play about three sisters in Mississippi. It was all about Love and emotions and ... well, girl stuff. Oh, and attempted murder. I really enjoyed it, Ms J. Especially the southern accents.

June could relate to the story perhaps better than I. She's experienced the high emotion and unconditional Love of sisterhood. It's been the foundation of her relationship with her twin sister since we were kids together. It was great to see some old friends again and I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of them, up there on stage, acting their hearts out, and just thoroughly enjoying themselves. After the show, my sister and I were invited to stay and enjoy "a glass o' red waaaan and a slaaaace o' pecawn paaaa" with the cast. (Y'all.) Suzanne was in the cast. She played one of the sisters. Suzanne is gorgeous. Suzanne is married. I have a HUGE crush on Suzanne.

Sigh ...

All the best ones are married it seems. Or gay. Or gay and married.

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when I dropped June off at home in Meadowvale and drove back to Mimico. I was smiling, Ms J. I always smile a lot when I'm with June. And the smile lingers a while after we part. I love you, Goon. Thanks for coming with me.

---

The little red light on my phone was flashing. Message waiting. I picked it up and checked the call display. Kelly (or someone there) had called. 4x

As I pressed the buttons to retrieve the voice mail, I wondered what the crisis was this time? Had Daniel gone berserk again? Was he using drugs? Had Meagan run away? Dear God, I hoped, not the baby. Funny eh, how your mind conjures visions of disaster?

I held the phone to my ear there in the darkness and closed my eyes. It was Dan's voice. He was troubled.

"Hi Dad. We've got a bit of a situation here. We have no food in the house, no food for the baby, and we have no money. I don't know what the hell happened. But I need your help, Dad. If you could lend us, like, a hundred dollars, ... I promise I'll pay you back. Please call me as soon as you get this message. Thanks. Bye."

I pressed the button to end the call and stood there for a minute with the phone in my hand. I felt myself getting angry at Kelly. A curse on that stupid woman, I thought. How could she let this happen? What did she do with the $600 in child support money I send every month? What has she done with her welfare cheque? And what about the Neanderthal Tim? Does he not get a pay cheque? This has NEVER happened to me. Not even one time. I have a job. I've always had a job. Why the hell can't Daniel get a job??! It wasn't the lack of money that upset me. It was the lack of responsibility. It was too late to call so I went to bed. Angry.

This morning, I feel better. I'm not angry anymore. Shit happens, doesn't it, Ms J? Sometimes there's just too much month at the end of the money. It's never happened to me because I've enjoyed good fortune. I've been lucky. Blessed, I suppose. My boy needs my help. He hasn't often asked for help. The situation requires action. David's hungry. Dan's worried. Kelly's a twat.

I just phoned The Boy and I'm on my way to Norval with some money. I'll stop on the way and get a package of diapers and some formula. I won't offer judgement, this time.

I know, Ms J. They won't learn to work for a pay cheque as long as they can let someone else look after them. Me. The government. Insurance companies. But what am I to do? Let them go hungry?

WWJD??

***

A Minor Course Correction

I'm feeling better today, Ms J. Thanks for asking. I was pretty wound up yesterday, wasn't I? But I received some good advice in the comment section.

Hello grumpy ;)


LOL Dale, every time you get near to a production you get all panicky about it not being all done yet...it always seems to come together tho in the end. Chill :o)


Neil isn't anywhere near you, you solved the problem of him and you're STILL letting him affect you!! Forget him till he's back harassing you again.

I agree with gem, you're a worry wart, take a chill pill and relax!
It'll be right on the night!

This is the value of friends. Friends can grab you by the arm and give you a shake when you get too crazy. Friends don't want to see you suffer unnecessarily, or by your own hand. Friends care.

I am a worry wart. I do this every time. Things may appear desperate at the moment, Ms J, but it'll be alright.

It'll be right on the night.

***

Feeling my Feelings

I'm frustrated today, Ms J. Impatient. And my bad leg's hurting. I'm getting pretty tired of this rainy weather, too. As I drove home from work this morning, I thought what the hell? Why not just feel my feelings? Experience whatever's there and get over it. So pardon me if I sound a bit owly today. I'll try to blog it away.

I miss job 10. Neil is still there so I don't want to return, although I may have to at some point. You don't suppose the miserable twit would stay on my train just to spite me, do you? I think it's entirely possible. He's such a ... prick!

Our play is really getting on my nerves. I don't remember ever feeling this way about a play before but honestly, Ms J, I can't wait til it closes. We meet four times a week and waste masses of time discussing trivial rubbish. We've been meeting twice weekly since February. If I had known this would be such a trial, I would not have involved myself. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, I rush directly from work to the rehearsal space and there I stay until way past my bedtime. Sundays are rehearsal days as well now. I feel as though I haven't time for anything anymore. A couple of these weekend rehearsals are slated to last all day. We open in three weeks and we've only just now begun to rehearse. And the script has still not been finalised. We have no set, no sound or lighting people, no costumes. However, advertising and marketing seem to have been quite important. I'm an actor, Ms J. I just want to act. I'm not interested in selling ad space or marketing the play. I don't know how to build a set or design costumes. I know these things are important, but I want to get on stage and act.

My theatre friends up in Caledon have announced their production line-up for this coming season. The first play is "Tribute". It sounds terrific and I plan to audition in late July. It'll be so nice to start the process with a script in my hand. I hope I get the part.

The rain continues here in Mimico. It has rained nearly every day this week, and Environment Canada predicts rain for the holiday weekend (Victoria Day) and for much of next week. I'm anxious to begin work on my deck, Ms Journal, but it may be more prudent to build an ark instead. It's cold, too. 12C

I think I'll build a fire in the fireplace. That ought to chase away the chill and invite some cheer. Which I sorely need.

***

And Now ...

Mother's Day. With Dad.

I know, Ms J. But I'm too doggone busy to get these posts done on time. Mother's Day is long gone, I know. But I said yesterday I'd tell you about Sunday. So I shall.

My sister phoned me last week.

"Are you going up to Mt. Forest for Mother's Day?"

I told her yes, I had planned to.

"Nobody else is going," she said. "Mum's not going to be there."

I was shocked, Ms J. Mother's Day and no Mother?

"What the hell, Goon?" I asked. (Her name's June, but I sometimes call her Goon -- I have since we were kids.) "Where's Mum gonna be?"

"I don't know," said June. "I think she's going on a bus tour into Quebec or something."

I told her I was planning to go with my brother, Pat. We were going to ride in his new car.

"You should go anyway," my sister said. "You and Pat can help Dad with some chores around the house. Anyway, it might be fun with just the men."

So we went, Pat and I. I slept at his house in Georgetown on Saturday night and we rose early and drove to Mt. Forest and had breakfast with Dad on Sunday. Pat loves his new Mustang. He was keen to show it to Dad. Surprise him, like.

It's a 2000 Ford Mustang with a convertible top and a 4.6 litre V8 engine. It'll pass everything but a gas station. Pat let me drive there and back, Ms J. It's a rocket!


Here's Sherri (the dental hygienist) sitting in her dad's new 'Stang.

After breakfast, there was a long discussion about the Mustang. Dad approved of Pat's purchase. Pat was glad to have dad's blessing, and he said so. It's a funny thing you know, Ms J. It doesn't matter how old a man is, he still wants to hear his daddy tell him he "done good". It sure was nice to sit around the table with my dad and my big brother. Dad said he couldn't recall the last time we three were together. It's a distant memory to me too.

"Do you want me to cut your hair, Boy?" Dad asked me. "It wouldn't take long."

Pat spoke next.

"Yeah, he hasn't got much to cut, has he?"

My brother has a terrific sense of humour, Ms J. (Hardy har har.)

After the haircut, Pat used a shop vac to clean up the hair. He vacuumed me too! Then Dad took us outside and showed us his vegetable garden.

"I've got pataytas planted," he said pointing to a spot in the dirt. "There's carrots over there, and here I've got beets. Nothin' comin' up yet, though. C'mon down to the berry patch and I'll show you where the goddamn mice et up my razbries. Took the bark right off, the little bastards. Dale and I put up chicken wire last fall to keep the rabbits out, but the mice got through it."

Dad knelt down and we followed him, one on either side.

"See that?" he said and he pointed to the raspberry canes about a foot above the ground. "Mice. Sons-o'-bitches, eh? I hope it don't kill the damn berry bushes."

"Musta been rabbits, Dad," I said. "How could a mouse reach up that high?"

"Shit, we had snow up higher than that rail fence there. A mouse would just have to stand on the snow to eat all the bark he wanted. We had a hard winter up here. Lots of snow."

My dad smiled then, a little smile. You'd miss it if you weren't watching him. And he softened.

"Poor little buggers. I guess they've got to eat too, don't they?"

My dad's not as gruff as he'd have you believe, Ms J. He's kind. And gentle.

And when I grow up, I want to be just like him.



Here's another look at Pat and me as we hurried home. It's a rocket, I tell ya.
A rocket! (Thanks, Scottie!)

***

Mother's Day ... With Dad

I had a good weekend. I shopped with Meagan on Saturday and visited my dad on Mother's Day. My brother and I ...

What, Ms J? Meagan's grad dress? Oh I guess I didn't conclude that story, did I? OK, I'll tell you that story and save Mother's Day til tomorrow.

Well, I took my girl home to her mother on Saturday night. We'd shopped on Saturday afternoon but after visiting only one shop, Meagan declared an end to the search for graduation attire.

"That's it, Dad. I'm done. I'm not going to the grad."

I tried to reason with her.

"But we've only been to one store, Scout. This mall has thirty-eight shops selling womens apparel. I counted them on the directory in the mall. Why don't we try another place?"

"What's the point?" she said. "They all have the same stuff. Blouses, skirts, slacks, whatever."

So we came home. I prepared her favourite supper and we ate together and watched The Simpsons on television.

"Dad?" she said, licking a forkful of mashed potatoes as though it were a lolly.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for taking me shopping. I know I was grumpy in the stores, but I really don't like shopping. Women are supposed to love shopping, but I don't. I hate it. I know it was hard for you and you were so patient. Thanks for that, too. Sorry I didn't find anything to wear. You spent all that time with me for nothing."

"Meagan," I said, "You've missed the point entirely. It was never about shopping. Not for me, anyway. I just wanted to be with you. I don't care what we do or where we go. I just enjoy spending time with you."

Her fork was clean now and she dug again into her potatoes. When she looked at me, she was smiling.

"I don't care about the grad anyway, Dad. Not really."

"You can still change your mind, Scout, if you want to you know."

She spoke with her mouth full.

"I know. But I don't think I will. And you know what else?"

"What hunny?"

"Your mashed potatoes are better than Mum's."

***

David, Daniel, Grandad, and Meagan

Friday night at Uncle Pat's. David was having a "Maxine" moment.

A Day Late, Ms J, But Still Worth Reading

An American woman named Julia Ward Howe wrote this. She called it a "Mother's Day Proclamation". Howe (1819-1910) was an educated and privileged woman who lived in Rhode Island and who spent most of her Life campaigning for world peace. In her book "Reminiscences", she offers this background to the "Proclamation".

I had felt a great opposition to Louis Napoleon from the period of the infamous act of treachery and violence which made him emperor. The Franco-Prussian war was little understood by the world at large. To us in America its objects were entirely unknown. On general principles of good-will and sympathy we were as much grieved as surprised at the continual defeats sustained by the French. For so brave and soldierly a nation to go through such a war without a single victory seemed a strange travesty of history.

As I was revolving these matters in my mind, while the war was still in progress, I was visited by a sudden feeling of the cruel and unnecessary character of the contest. It seemed to me a return to barbarism, the issue having been one which might easily have been settled without bloodshed. The question forced itself upon me, "Why do not the mothers of mankind interfere in these matters, to prevent the waste of that human life of which they alone bear and know the cost?" I had never thought of this before. The august dignity of motherhood and its terrible responsibilities now appeared to me in a new aspect, and I could think of no better way of expressing my sense of these than that of sending forth an appeal to womanhood throughout the world, which I then and there composed.

It is as apt today as it was in 1870.

Arise, then, women of this day!

Arise all women who have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or of fears!

Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,

"Our husbands shall not come to us reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.

"Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy, and patience.

"We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devasted earth a voice goes up with our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"

The sword of murder is not the balance of justice! Blood does not wipe out dishonor nor violence indicate possession.

As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as the means whereby the great human family can live in peace,

And each bearing after her own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

***

Dramatix and Histrionix in Norval

I went to Norval last night to get Meagan. The search continues for clothes to wear to her grad ceremony. When I arrived, Dan was playing on the floor with his half-sister, Emily. Emily is two. Maxine was feeding baby David. David is my adorable grandson. He is seven weeks old.

"Hi Dan!"

"Hi Dad! How's it going?"

"Fine, boy. It's all good. Scout and I are going to pop in and see Uncle Pat before we head for Mimico. He's just bought a new car and I want to see it. Wanna come with us?"

He stood up and grinned.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll bring David. Can I, Dad?"

The Children's Aid Society told him he couldn't take the baby anywhere without Kelly. She is the official "guardian". I reminded Dan of this.

"Not anymore, Dad," he said. "The lady was here today. She looked at David and she told us we were doing fine. She didn't even check him for bruises this time."

Something inside me recoiled at his words, Ms J. Bruises? But the CAS has a duty to protect children who they deem may be at risk. Dan has a sordid past and Maxine is ... well, Maxine.

"So did she say you could take the baby out by yourself, Dan? Without your Mum?"

"Yup. She said we could take him out for an hour a day. She'll be watching us to see how that goes and then it'll get longer. She was real happy with the way things are going. Me and Maxine do pretty much everything for David. We bath him every day and feed him and change diapers and everything. I even clean the boogers out of his nose."

That was a bit more information than was necessary, Ms Journal.

"Do you have a car seat, Dan? We can't take the baby in the car without a special --"

"I know, Dad. I know. It's right there." And he pointed to a new child safety seat in the corner.

"Great then," I said. "Let's do it."

Dan hesitated a minute.

"I hope Maxine lets me go."

"Why wouldn't she, Dan? We're only going over to Uncle Pat's. We'll be back in half an hour."

"Yeah, but she'll want to come too."

Meagan had descended the stairs and now spoke in a quiet voice.

"She always has to go everywhere Dan goes, Dad. She never lets him go out alone or with his friends. I wish we could just go without her this time. Just you and me and Dan and David."

There was a commotion now in the living room. It was Maxine.

"NO, DANIEL! I WANT TO COME WITH YOU!"

"But Maxine," Dan pleaded, "We won't be long. I just want to go with my Dad and see my uncle's new car. He only lives in Georgetown. Please? Please, Maxine? We'll bring you back a treat."

But the girl was adamant. She wanted to come with us. And Dan didn't want her to come. Neither did Meagan.

"NO, DANIEL! YOU'RE NOT GOING WITHOUT ME!"

I was proud of my son. He did not raise his voice. He simply stated his intentions.

"Maxine, I'm going to see my uncle with my dad. I want my Auntie Linda to see David. Meagan and I are going. David too. We'll be back soon and we'll bring you a treat from Tim Horton's."

Maxine raced up the stairs, screaming hysterically and crying.

"FINE! GO THEN. I WON"T BE HERE WHEN YOU GET BACK. I'M CALLING MY GRANDAD TO COME AND GET ME!"

Dan was embarrassed. I was uncomfortable. Meagan was outraged.

"Fine. Be a bitch then, Maxine. We don't --"

I put my hand on Meagan's shoulder and she stopped mid-sentence.

"She's always doing this, Dad. She won't let Dan have a Life."

"Dan," I said. "I don't want to cause trouble for you, son. Maybe you'd better stay here. Or we can take Maxine with us."

He shook his head.

"No. I'm going out with you. And we're taking David. She'll get over it."

Maxine was still crying and screaming threats from upstairs when Kelly appeared from the basement.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON UP HERE?" she demanded.

Meagan tried to explain but Dan interrupted her.

"Shut up, Meagan. Maxine doesn't want me to go out with Dad, Mum. We're only going to Uncle Pat's. We'll be back in half an hour. But she's having one of her freak-outs."

Kelly stormed upstairs to confront Maxine. And then there were two hysterical women. There was lots of cursing (Kelly) and threats (Maxine). My kids and I stood in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs and looked at each other. I was holding baby David and I marveled at how relaxed he was. His belly was full and his eyelids were slowly closing in slumber. What a peaceful child!

We went out to get in the car and Maxine came out afterward to apologise to Dan. He was busy installing the car seat for the baby and she came to me first. She was sobbing still and so I held her.

"I hate my mother," she said. "I hate her for leaving me alone to go out with her friends. I used to get so scared all alone."

Maxine did not enjoy a happy childhood, Ms J. Her mother is an alcoholic who neglected her daughter.

After appropriate apologies and heartfelt hugs, off we went to Pat's. Just my kids and I. And my grandson.

I do not have words strong enough to express my joy at being out with my three favourite young people. My daughter, my son, and my grandson. It was a good visit, albeit a short one.

We dropped Dan and David back home later and Scout and I returned to Mimico.

Today, we'll resume our quest for the right outfit to wear to a grade eight graduation. Wish us luck, Ms J.

***

Lookin' Up

Things are improving, Ms J.

Oh, I suppose you could say things are the same, and that it's my attitude that's improving. And I could say "get bent". But you'd be right. I am feeling better.

Work is better. Now 100% Neilfree.

I start work at 4:00 a.m. so it means getting up a bit earlier. Like three freakin' thirty!! The morning half is long - about five hours - but the second half is only three hours. I'm home by 6:00 which is nice.

I found myself looking at my watch this morning and thinking about my old job.

"I'd be sitting in the coffee shop in Hamilton right now," I muttered to myself, "but I'd be looking at ... him."

I'm better off where I am, Ms J. But I do miss the passengers I had come to know over the past four years. I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. Oh well, it can't be helped. I'll be back on Job 10 one day when Neil's off it. Anyway, this new job pays a little more and I only have to work nine days a fortnight instead of ten.

---

I've decided to build a deck in my back garden. It'll be made of wood and raised to allow me to walk straight out from the dining room. It'll be 16 feet wide and reach 12 feet out from the back wall of the house. I'll build a railing around it with some lattice for privacy, and wooden steps down onto the lawn.

I haven't the slightest clue about how to build it, Ms J, but I've enlisted the help of a couple of mates from work. Wally has built two decks, and Bob (Angry Bob - remember him?) used to work for a contractor who specialised in decks and fences. Wally's a great guy and Bob doesn't seem quite as volatile as he once was. They were both here yesterday to discuss the project.

"I'd be glad to help you, Dale," said Wally. "I enjoy this sort of thing. And we can work a few hours every day between our morning and afternoon shifts. That's perfect."

Bob concurred in a voice that was WAY too loud given the proximity of my neighbours.

"It might take a couple of f***ing weeks to get the f***er done, but as long as your c*ck-s*ckin' neighbours don't mind the racket ... You know, f***in' saws and stuff. Have you got good neighbours?"

I winced and shot a worried glance at Wally who was trying not to laugh.

"Well, I used to, Bob. The people on this side are quite religious actually so maybe we should try to watch our language a bit."

Bob flicked his cigarette butt over the fence.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "No problem. They won't give you a hard time about the noise though, will they? The f***ers."

"Ah no, Bobby. They're really very nice people. But religious, eh?"

I looked at Bob and wrinkled my nose. "You know?"

"Oh f***! Sorry. F***. SORRY! SORRY!"

Wally was laughing now hysterically and I couldn't help but join him.

I'll order the lumber next week. I'm looking forward to the project, but more than that, I'm looking forward to enjoying the morning sun with a cup of coffee and a good book this summer.

Once we begin work, I'll pray every night that Bob doesn't hit his thumb with a hammer. All of Mimico will hear him.

***

(Not) Thinking Good Thoughts

Alright, Ms J. Let's think about something positive. I've had enough doom and gloom for a while. And anger. We're all entitled to our bitter feelings now and then, but it's good to be aware of them and to take care not to get mired in misery for too long.

So here are some random musings this morning:

It's crappy weather today in Mimico. Cool. Rainy. And it's ... Oh. Sorry. I forgot. Positive things, right? Yes.

Well, ... The flowers need the rain. So do hay crops and grains. Environment Canada is predicting "dry, sweltering conditions" this summer for much of the ...

Oops. Sorry about that.

I have a new air conditioner, don't I? That'll keep me cool at home. Electricity prices have taken a huge jump though, so I'd better use my A/C sparingly. I can't believe the bastards at Toronto Hydro ...

Right. I'm doing it again, aren't I?

Hmmmm. Something positive. Something good and upbeat. Something to feel happy about. Let me think a minute, Ms J.

The play we're still writing is ... er, opening ... in four weeks.

Sigh. This is hard some mornings, isn't it?

Well I have my health, haven't I? Two good arms and two good legs. No hair. And a big, fat belly.

OK. You know what? I'm going to leave this for a while. I'll have a warm bath, with bubbles and scented candles. A nice hot cup of tea. Then maybe a wee kip. I'll try again later.

***

Free At Last

Last week was lousy. I had to work with Neil four out of five days. This week was looking the same. It's stressful, I must say. Although we don't talk and we don't fight, I still feel prickly to be in his presence. I am serious, Ms J. The man is evil. He frightens me and so does my reaction to him. I sit there, manipulating the controls of the locomotive and rehearsing what I'll say if he attempts any conversation. I just don't like the guy. And I don't want to talk to him.

A few days before Neil came to work on my train, I was quite vociferous in expressing my distain for him. I told anyone who'd listen.

"I don't like the sonofabitch and I don't want to work with him. I have nothing to say to him and I don't want to hear his voice. I can't even look at him. Every time I see his face, I want to bury my fist in it."

Usually, I wasn't so gentle in my reproach. Tongues began wagging. I knew they would. Word gets around. Neil arrived knowing he wasn't welcome. I had hoped he might change his mind and go on another train. But he didn't.

You know, Ms J, I try to do the right thing. I really do. I'm a good friend, a caring father, generous, kind (usually), tolerant (of most people). But I cannot suffer another minute with Neil. I will not. I make no apologies. Not to Neil and not to anyone. I cannot forgive him for the way he treated me in the weeks that preceded my accident last year.

Effective this morning, I am off that train. I've bid successfully on a different run. A different train. It's only temporary, Ms J. It's only for a few weeks. But it'll be like a vacation to be rid of that detestable man and his arrogance and criticism and negativity. And with any luck, he'll be gone from Job 10 when I return.

You're an arsehole, Neil. You make a good case for adding extra chlorine to the gene pool.

Alright then. Enough about Neil. Let's move on now, shall we?

***

A Whole Lotta Hatin' Goin' On

I brought my hand down hard on the clock when the alarm sounded this morning. I was angry. I was thinking of Neil. I really didn’t relish the notion of returning to work with him, Ms J. And as if Neil’s not bad enough, the conductor I work with is an idiot as well. His name’s Mike. The guy’s been on the railroad for nearly twenty years and still has no clue what he’s doing. I do not suffer fools well. In fact, it seems that as I get older, I’m becoming less tolerant of stupid people.

I’ve been on the same job, working the same train for four years now. I’ve enjoyed “Job 10.” But not anymore. Not with that pair of morons.

“At least I’ll have a nice coffee and a bagel at Hamilton,” I muttered as I hurried across the deserted tracks ahead of Neil and Mike.

I hate wearing a stupid crossing-guard safety vest and ridiculous safety glasses. I can’t wait for the day I retire. I’m going to spit on the vest and throw it on the floor along with my safety glasses.

“Here’s yer damned safety shit,” I’ll tell the boss. “You can keep it. You’ll need it, you morons.”

Yes, work sucks nowadays. I hate CN. I hate the company and the American president of CNR. I hate the oppressive management style and I don’t give a shit about their stupid new regulations. I hate the harassment.

But mostly, I hate Neil.

When we got to Hamilton this morning, I took my coffee mug and descended the stairs from the platform only to find the coffee shop closed. I guess the girls couldn’t be arsed to get out of bed and open the shop.

So no coffee. No bagel. But still Neil and Mike.

I’m going to bid on another job, Ms J. Job 10 is no longer enjoyable. Job 10 is miserable. And so am I.

***

No Dress, Ms J. But a Solid Plan

After church yesterday morning, I was working with Patricia and Colleen, a mother/daughter team who are active in our church. We were tidying up the kitchen after our breakfast communion.

“What do you have planned for this afternoon, Dale?” Pat asked. “Is Meagan visiting you this weekend?”

I told her yes, and that we were hoping to purchase a graduation gown.

“And how’s that going? Any luck?”

I explained that shopping with Meagan was like using a rope to paddle a canoe.

“Would you like me to make a dress for her?” she asked.

I was stunned, Ms J! I know Patricia is a talented seamstress. She’s made a number of items for our church – costumes, etc. But this was too much!

“Are you serious, Pat?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Meagan and I could plan to spend a few hours together one day. We could go to fabric shops and choose a fabric, and then look at different patterns. We could modify one if she wanted. Or just make the dress exactly as the pattern shows. Whatever she wants. Really, Dale. I don’t mind. I like sewing. And I love making dresses.”

“Mum made my wedding dress,” Colleen said. “And dresses for my bride’s maids too.”

I thanked them and promised to discuss it with Meagan. A burden had been lifted. Pat could make a dress in a week, she said. Or alter a store-bought dress.

Meagan was ready to go when I got home. I was surprised she was so keen to return to the shops. Saturday’s shopping experience was not only unproductive, but at times it was downright miserable. Meagan got very frustrated when she couldn’t simply walk into a store, and buy something she liked right off the rack and right away.

“I hate trying things on, Dad," she said through clenched teeth. "Why does this have to be so hard?”

I was patient with her, though. I surprised myself, quite honestly. I had imagined I’d be more irascible, and that I might offer more suggestions about what to buy in an effort to expedite things. But I was content to follow her around the mall, in and out of stores, up and down the aisles. I helped a little, but mostly I let her lead.

We only visited one shop before Meagan had had enough.

“I’m done,” she declared as she stormed out into the crowded mall. “This is just stupid. I can’t find anything I like. I don’t even want a dress. I guess I won’t bother going to the stupid grad. I never wanted to go in the first place.”

We sat together on a wooden bench and watched the shoppers strolling past. I wanted so much to help her feel better but I didn’t know what to say. I reached out to stroke her hair and she brushed my hand away.

“Don’t, Dad. I’m pissed off right now. This is hopeless.”

“But we’ve only looked in one store, hunny. You have to give it a chance.”

But her mind was made up. Dress shopping was concluded for the day. We sat in an awkward silence for a long time before I spoke again.

“Did you see anything at all that you liked? Today? Or yesterday?”

“No!”

I wanted to touch her so badly, Ms J. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to hold her hand. I remembered Pat’s offer and I told Meagan about it. She didn’t seem terribly interested.

“Why do I have to have a dress, anyway? I look like a dork in a dress. I feel stupid.”

I explained that all the other girls will be wearing dresses and she interrupted me to insist that she knew of at least two girls who wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress. She named them.

“Remember that outfit we saw yesterday at Le Chateau?” she said. “The one with the white blouse and black tie? And the blazer? ‘Member, Dad?”

I told her yes, I remember it.

“I liked that one. It was like a business suit or something. I think that would look good on me.”

She lowered her head and spoke in a monotone. “But it’s not a dress.”

I turned on the bench to look directly at her.

“Meagan, you don’t have to wear a dress. I just thought you should have a dress because the other girls will have dresses.”

“The other girls look good in dresses, Dad. And I’m not them.”

Things began to make sense again for me. The fog was lifting. Why the hell should she be forced to wear something she doesn’t feel good in? What is the point of all this shopping if she’ll feel foolish and self-conscious in a formal dress?

“Why don’t we go back to Le Chateau, then,” I said firmly, “and get that outfit.”

I looked at my watch. There wasn’t time now. I had to get her back home. I had a rehearsal to attend here in Mimico. And we still hadn’t had dinner.

Her face was bright and her smile wide.

“Do we have time?”

I hated to disappoint her, but we really didn’t have time to drive to another mall. We made plans to meet again next weekend – Saturday, to go back to Le Chateau and buy that little business suit. And maybe a black skirt or slacks. And accessories. Shoes too, maybe.

Remember that character Billy Crystal did years ago on Saturday Night Live?

"When you look good, you feel good. And dah-ling, you look mah-velous!"

My girl will feel good at the graduation ceremony next month because she’ll look good. She’ll look MAH-VELOUS!!

***

Finally, A Moment To Myself

Morning, Ms J. It's Sunday. 7:30. I just now roused Meagan from the couch and sent her upstairs to bed.

What a busy man I've been lately! Crazy busy! This is truly the first opportunity I've had to sit and write in more than two days. Even now, I'm conscious of the fact that I have a reading to present at church this morning. We're having a breakfast communion this morning. Church will begin an hour earlier than usual. 9:30 instead of 10:30.

So what have I been doing that has kept me from the keyboard? Well, sit back, Ms J. Relax. Breathe. And listen.

Friday:

I was awake as always at 4:15 a.m. After a morning dose of Neil (it was uneventful, really), I rushed over to collect Girl Alex. She had an appointment to keep with her new friend, Jennefer. Yup. That Jennefer. Jenn was attending a Mary Kay cosmetics event in Brampton and G.A. was keen to go as well. Jenn would do her make-up for her and take before and after pics. No, Ms J. I do not have any photos. I did not attend. I just dropped Alex there and returned alone to Mimico after stopping first at the wine shop to bottle some Pinot Noir. Thirty bottles. It's still a bit young to drink yet, but it'll be fine later this summer.

At home, the phone was ringing. It was my sister, Jill.

"I could use your help, Dale," she said. "Dave's at work and Erin is sick and I have to go out and get some groceries. I can't leave a five-year-old alone and I don't want to wake her up to take her with us. Could you baby-sit for an hour or so?"

I had things to do at home and not much time to do them. I had promised Rev. Linda I'd rework a story she'd given me to read on Sunday morning. There'd be no time to do it later. I still had to get ready and drive thirty miles in rush hour traffic to attend my niece's graduation ceremony in Richmond Hill. And I had promised Meagan I'd be in Norval to get her afterward.

Are you still with me, Ms J? OK.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I really didn't have time for this. Why on earth had I answered the phone?! I proposed an alternate plan.

"How 'bout this, Jill? I'll go out right now and get you whatever you need. I'll deliver it to you. But I can't stay for lunch or anything. Besides, I don't want to catch whatever Erin's got. Let me fetch a pen and paper."

So I did a little shopping for my sister, delivered it, came home, shaved, showered, dressed, called work and told them I wouldn't be back this afternoon, rewrote that story for Sunday morning, and then rushed off to The Premiere Ballroom and Banquet Hall in Richmond Hill for Sherri's grad ceremony. It was four o'clock and I hadn't had time for lunch. Damn, I was hungry.

Sherri - remember Sherri, Ms J? - has just completed eighteen months of intensive training in dental hygiene. Friday was her graduation.

She joined about fifty or more young women, all dressed in caps and gowns, in a wonderful, moving ceremony. There were speeches and a lovely slide presentation in which we were treated to photos, not only of the girls at school, but also of family and friends who'd supported them throughout. There were even pictures of the grads as babies and toddlers. They were all adorable of course, but Sherri was clearly the cutest!


Sherri favours white teeth and brown skin. She spends a lot of time in tanning salons.

I sat with my brother Pat, and his wife Linda, and Sherri's brother Jeff. We were all so very proud of her! A few times during the slide show, I wiped away tears. It must be a little sad for my niece to know that she'll never see most of her school friends again. It's both an ending and a beginning, isn't it?


If Meagan could grow to be like her cousin ...

After the ceremony, the grads all adjourned to another room where they enjoyed dining and dancing until the wee, small hours. I wished we had been invited. I was nearly famished!

Pat and Linda and I joined Diana (a friend of Sherri's) and we all went out for dinner. It was nearly ten thirty when I finally arrived in Norval to collect my Meagan.

"Where have you been, Dad?" she demanded. "I thought you'd forgotten about me. I was going to call you but Dan said you wouldn't forget."

Gosh, I felt lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut. I hate to disappoint my kids, Ms J. I tried calling Meagan from the restaurant, but I couldn't remember her phone number. Can you imagine it? How stupid of me! I tried phoning directory assistance, but the number is unlisted. There was nothing I could do but worry, gobble my food, and dash off to drive across the entire city.

Scout and I arrived home here about 11:30 and I fell into bed, exhausted.

That was Friday.

---

Saturday:

I checked my email Saturday morning.

Hi Dale
I just wanted to say thank you for coming to my graduation. I was so glad you were there to celebrate a special day. I love you. Never Change!!
Love Sherri
P.S What is the link to your Blog--I wanna put it in my favorites folder.

Meagan and I planned to go off today in search of a graduation dress for her. She'll graduate from grade eight in June. It's a big deal, I guess, although there was no fuss made over us when I finished grade eight. It's an important day for kids today. Especially, it would seem, for the girls. It's quite a task, really, to find the right dress. We wanted to get an early start.

"Meagan! It's nearly 11:00, hunny. Please get out of bed!"

We shopped for more than four hours and found nothing she liked. Meagan has very definite ideas about what she doesn't like in a dress, Ms J. And no clue about what she does like.


A punk rocker in search of a formal dress. It seemed hopeless.

"Perhaps if you tried it on ...," I suggested a number of times, about a number of dresses, in a number of shops at a number of malls.

It was tedious work, I must say, shopping for a formal dress with a fourteen year old girl.


Some music by "The Misfits." A reward for being such a good daughter. I was a good dad, too.

At five o'clock, we came home, still without a dress. I made a simple pasta dinner and Christine arrived precisely at five-thirty. She had just returned from a Florida vacation. She looked fabulous and I told her so. I had tickets to see a play in the little town of Hillsburgh that evening and Christine was to be my "date". A friend of mine - a fellow actor, actually, who I greatly admire - had a key role in the play. The man's name is John Carter and the play was "Count Dracula". No, John did not play the vampire, but rather the vampire hunter.

We ate our dinner and off I went again, this time with Christine, to meet up with Jenn and Jane in Hillsburgh. It's an hour drive.

The play was fantastic, Ms J! The set was amazing. There were secret passages and wonderful special effects. Dracula disappeared at the end and suddenly a bat appeared to fly through the theatre. It was great fun and of course John was the best actor on stage. We all looked forward to his entrance and felt a little disappointed when he exited. It's a rare pleasure for me to see my friend on stage, as I'm usually on stage with him! We've done, I think, four plays together.

Well done, John!!

As an added bonus, John's son Harrison accompanied his father on stage. Young Harrison told me it was his first time on stage and he did a great job. John was clearly thrilled to be able to work with his son.

"It was a chance for some real father/son bonding," he told me afterward.

I was happy for him, Ms J, but I'll admit to feeling a twinge of jealousy. I wish Daniel was interested in acting. Or Meagan.

Jenn and Jane had expressed an interest in going to the pub after the show, but we were all so weary after a full week's work. We said our good-byes under a starry sky and headed off in opposite directions.

"Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Dale," Christine yawned in the car later. "I had a brilliant time! The play was really good, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, Steenie," I told her. "If John Carter's in it, you know it's worth seeing."

At home again, I said good night to Meagan who was chatting on MSN.

"How was the play, Dad?"

"It was good, Scout. Really good."

"Was it scary?"

"Some parts were scary. Some parts were funny."

"Are we going out to look at dresses again tomorrow, Dad?"

"If you want to. We don't have to, though. I know it's a stressful thing for you."

Her face softened somehow and she looked down at the keyboard.

"Yeah. I just ... I just wanna look ... I don't know, Dad. I want to, like, look good at the grad, you know? I want the guys to notice me but I don't want people to, like, stare at me. I don't like those dresses that make me look like a ..."

I waited a second before I spoke.

"Like a slut?"

"Yeah."

Poor Meagan, Ms J. She wants so badly to grow up but she doesn't know how. It must be terrible not to feel comfortable in your own skin.

"We'll shop again tomorrow, Scout," I told her. "We'll shop every weekend until the end of June if we have to, until you find the right dress. I won't let you buy anything you don't absolutely love. I know it's a hard time. I know it's stressful for you. It's your first dress of any kind, isn't it?

"Yeah," she said. "I'm not much of a dress girl. I'm like, jeans and t-shirts and punk stuff, you know?"

"But you'd stand out at the grad ceremony dressed like that, girl!" I told her. "With your piercings and your safety pin earings!"

We both laughed at the idea of it.

"Sorry I was angry with you at the mall today, Dad. I know you were trying to, like, help me."

"I love you, Meagan Amelia. Always and forever. No matter what. We don't have to shop tomorrow if you don't want to. Good-night, Scout."

And I went to bed.

---

That was Saturday.

This morning, when I got home from church, Meagan was showered and dressed.

"Ready, Dad? Let's go then. Let's, like, try a different mall or something. There's a dress out there somewhere for me. And we've got to find it."

See you later, Ms J.

***

"Ye Done Good!"

That's what my grandma Pringle used to tell us, Ms J, when she was proud of us. And I think I did a nice thing yesterday.

Alex and I went to see Jennefer yesterday. It was good, Ms J. It's always good to spend time with friends, especially faraway friends. We chatted and rocked to a Green Day CD and thoroughly enjoyed the hour long car ride through the rolling countryside to Orangeville.


A smiling Jenn met us at the door of her basement spa.

"Welcome, Alex!" she said. "C'mon in."

I wanted to stay and visit with the women, but I understand a facial is kind of a private thing. Just for girls, you know. I remember last year when Jenn gave me a facial, it was ... Ahem. Er, yes.

I left them together there and turned to go upstairs.

"Give her a pedicure too, Jenn," I said and tucked some money into her blouse. "If you think her peds need curing. And come fetch me when you get that goop on her face. I want to take a picture of that. For my blog, eh? OK, G.A? Are you OK with your picture being posted on the world wide web? Are you?"

My friend had but one word for me in response.

"Whatever."


Pink and green!

I visited with Jane over a cup of tea in the dining room while Jenn worked her magic with Alex. After nearly two hours, they finally emerged.

"I feel fabulous!" chirped Alex. "I got a pedicure too!"

It was her first facial, Ms J. And her first pedicure. The girl's nineteen now, and I think it's time she was pampered a bit. Jenn excels at pampering people. She makes everyone feel special. We celebrated the event with treats from the local Dairy Queen. Ice cream sundaes and peanut parfaits. Dee-lumptious!

I felt really good about making that experience possible for Alex. She hasn't much money and continues to search for a rewarding job. Jenn and Jane can always use a bit of extra cash, so it helped them a little too. And I got to spend time with some of my favourite women. Everybody's a winner, no? I would like to have stayed a bit longer, but I had to return to Mimico to go back to work.

As we descended the great hill known locally as the Caledon Mountain, Girl Alex turned to me and smiled. Her smile is so luminous it nearly breaks my heart.

"I had a brilliant time today, Dale. Thanks."

"You're welcome, hunny. Happy Birthday."

She touched her smooth cheeks with her fingers.

"My face feels so soft. And my feet! Oh my God, Dale! Look at my feet! I feel so beautiful!"

I nodded because I knew the Truth of what I was about to say.

"You ARE beautiful, Alex. You are absolutely gorgeous!"

And we smiled silently together all the way to the bottom of the hill.

***

Michelle's Right

I am obsessed.

I've been worrying too much about Neil and so far, it's all been so unwarranted. Tuesday wasn't too bad at all, really. Here's a complete transcript of our conversation yesterday:

Neil: It's too cold.

Me: OK.

Then I switched off the air conditioner. And continued the trip in silence.

Friends have offered their advice. Kirk said ignore him. Rosie said tell him to be quiet. Cathy said punch him in the mouth. Chris advised finding another train to work on. I liked Kirk's idea the best. So we sit in silence, Neil and I. It isn't ideal, Ms J, but it's much better than screaming at each other which is what we did the last time we worked together. At least it's tolerable this way.

---

My play writing group met last night. We have a budget now and a set designer. We have a professional dramaturge who has agreed to read our play and help us stitch the scenes together into a proper story. There was a great, long presentation about all this and I sat there, bored completely off my nut. Posters (thanks, Jenn). Marketing. Ticket printing. Fees for set design and advertising. We're spending $3500 to produce this play. Heather has it calculated out to the last penny. We have it all sorted out, Ms J. We have everything we need. Everything that is, except a script. I'm an actor, damn it. I need a script! We open in a month and we haven't had even one rehearsal. We haven't finished writing the script yet. I must tell you, I'm getting nervous.

---

Carla and Bert are gone. Our student minister and her husband left yesterday afternoon to return to Ottawa. I spent four hours helping them load their belongings onto a truck. Then I went back to work. I had no time for a nap or even to rest a spell. I'm feeling it today. My back is sore. My arms and legs feel heavy. Even my fingers are sore. I'm sure going to miss that woman and her bright smile.

---

I won't get much rest today either I'm afraid. Girl Alex and I are planning a trip to Orangeville to visit Jenn's home spa. I didn't get GA anything for her birthday a fortnight ago so I offered to take her to be pampered at Jennefer's. She'll have a facial and maybe a manicure, if I can afford it. I'm sure Jenn will spoil her.

Gotta run, Ms Journal. It's 4:50 a.m. already.

***

A Pleasant Day At Work.

No Neil.

He'll be back tomorrow, though.

Stay tuned.

***