We're Melting!!

The guys were here today. Wally and Angry Bob. We didn't get much done, really. Wally and I made a half-hearted attempt at installing some lattice around the deck, but it was so hot outside today, so unbelievably hot, so incredibly, unbearably hot, that we couldn't think straight. And the humidity makes even the strongest man feel like a rag doll. It was 33C this afternoon and the weatherman loves to remind us of the Humidex which made it feel "more like 42C". Sheesh!

I suppose that's just an average summer day in Miami or Atlanta. But this is Canada, Ms J. We're just not used to that kind of heat. Tomorrow, the temperature is forecast to reach 35C. And the Humidex will hit 45C. That's 95F and it'll feel like 113F.

That's just disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Poor Meagan. She must be so uncomfortable at camp. It must be miserable for everyone who has to be outdoors.

We endure months of cold and snowy weather in this country and eagerly look forward to July and August, but what the hell good is summer if we can't even be outdoors? Elderly people perish in the heat because they can't breathe!

We never experienced heat like this when I was a boy. Summers were nice. Warm and bonny. Sure, there were a few hot days, but not THIS hot and not THIS many in a row.

"I don't think we'll be round tomorrow," said Bob. "It's too f***in' HOT!"

I don't blame them a bit, Ms J. I don't blame them one damn bit.

***

Last Day With My Girl

Today's my last day with Meagan before she goes off to Teen Ranch. She loves it there. This will be her third year. Registration is this afternoon at 2:00.

I was up early this morning and spent some time working on the deck before Meagan woke up.


I used Adam's "chop saw" to finish the side railings.


The sides are pretty well done. Stairs (safe ones) are this week's priority.

Scout and I went to the movies last night. We saw "Click." It was really good and we both enjoyed it. But the cost!! $25. for two tickets. $15. for a bag of popcorn, some Gummi Bears, and a single drink. Whatever. It was a good show.

At home afterward, I asked Meagan if she'd cut my hair for me. She has often done it in the past.

"Sure, Dad. Same price as always?"

Five bucks, Ms J. It isn't much but it gives her some more pocket money for camp.

I got a towel and a chair while she fetched the clippers.

"Dad?" she said before she began the job.

"Yeah?"

"Can I buzz your name into the back of your hair? It'll look really cool."

"OK," I said. "Do it, take a picture of it, and if I don't like it, you can take it off."

"Sweet!" she said and switched on the clippers.

When she was done, she took a picture.


"How does it look, Scout? Should I leave it there?"

"Prob'ly not, Dad. The guys at work might make fun of you."

And so she buzzed my hair off. All of it. Well, whatever was there.

"Nice, Dad. I took it right down to the wood."

***

Indoor Activities

The heat and humidity continue, Ms J. It's currently 32C here in Mimico and the Humidex reading makes it feel like 42C. That's about 90F but it feels like 107F. It's a good day for indoor activities.

Meagan and I are going to see "Click" today. We have a couple of hours to kill before it's time to go to the movie theatre. Maybe we'll have a game of Boggle. Yeah. Boggle. I was considering Yah-tzee, but I don't know how to spell it.

Anyway, that's the plan for today. Play indoors. Man, I'm so glad I opted for air conditioning when I got my new furnace last year.

Oh yes!

***

Pebbles and Bricks

It's the last day of my holidays - well, the last official day - and what an incredible BLUR this week has been. I feel as if I've been spinning my wheels this entire week. I've been busy nearly every minute, it seems, and yet I feel as though I've nothing to show for it. I have a deck that's not finished. I have a house that needs cleaning and a garden that needs tending, and most importantly, I have a daughter who's come to visit and with whom I've spent very little time. My guilt gremlin has been tapping my shoulder and tugging at my sleeve lately, Ms J. And he's hard to ignore. I just feel that I haven't been showing Meagan the attention she deserves. I've chosen instead to pursue my own selfish interests: working on the deck with the lads from work and with Tammy and Adam, socialising with friends, racing off to buy building materials, spending the evening in Caledon, auditioning for a play.

My friend Frankie has often offered this bit of wisdom:

"First God tosses a pebble, then He throws a brick."

Last night, Ms Journal, He threw a brick.

We had just returned home, Meagan and I, from a backyard barbecue at Christine's house. It was fun, Ms J, to see old friends again and to make some new ones. Tom and Frankie were there. And Girl Alex. Bob and his lovely actress friend, Lois. And we were introduced to Steenie's new beau. His name is Jeff. Nice fellow. About fifteen people attended. Meagan was bored perhaps, but amused herself with my digital camera, snapping dozens of photos of party guests.


Girl Alex


Bob -- Actor, house painter, friend.


Steenie and me. She called it a "Firefly Ball" and she was dressed as a firefly, wings and all. Yes, she did get a glow on and no, her bum did not glow.


Frankie and me and GA.

Frankie had given me a book for GA and I'd forgotten to bring it to the party.

"That's OK, Dale," said Alex. "Maybe I could catch a ride home with you, grab the book, and then you could drop me at the subway. Besides, I'd like to see your new deck."

And so that's what we did. When we left the party, we came here, just GA and Meagan and I. Scout took my keys and opened the front door and led us through the house to the back. It was dark outside and she turned the exterior light on and opened the sliding glass door.

"This way, Alex," she chirped happily. "Check it out."

We followed her out onto the raised wooden platform and Meagan headed straight for the edge. There were stairs there leading down five steps to the lawn but they hadn't been fastened together. I'd set the wood there earlier to see how it looked. It wasn't safe at all to walk on.

"See? You can just ..."

And she was gone.

We raced to the edge and peered down into the darkness where we could see Meagan lying in a pile of steps and stringers. For a moment, Ms J, everything stopped. My heart. The earth's rotation. Time itself. And there was nothing, only a jumble of white arms and legs lying crumpled in a heap.

"Meagan! Are you alright?" I cried.

She was quiet for a moment and then she began to laugh. It was an embarrassed laugh, though. It was a frightened, embarrassed, I-hope-I'm-not-hurt kind of laugh. It was chilling.

"Oh my God!" Alex said. "Is she OK? Meagan! Are you OK?"

She was standing up now and I could hear the sound of the wood as she climbed out of the tangle. She was laughing louder now, laughing harder. But it wasn't the sound of real laughter. It was frightening.

"Yeah," she said, trying to sound convincing, "I'm fine. I'm fine."

She'd been wearing sunglasses and they were crooked on her face. I could just make out her eyes behind the tinted glass. They were filled with tears. She was struggling to regain her composure. I reached down to her.

"Here, Hunny. Take my hands. I'll pull you up."

"No, Dad. Really. I'm fine." She was still laughing that strange laugh.

"Can you walk?" I asked her. "Do you want to walk around to the side door?"

She didn't want any of that, Ms J. She just wanted to feel normal again. She was frightened and shocked and extremely embarrassed. Eventually, she raised her arms to me and I pulled her back onto the deck.

Inside, we checked her injuries and they were slight. There was a small scuff on her lower back and an abrasion weeping red on her upper arm. We cleaned her up and applied a couple of band-aids and she was good as new.

And my pulse returned. The Earth began again its rotation.

On Sunday afternoon, Meagan is going to camp for a week. Teen Ranch again. Then she'll go home to Norval. In a month, she'll start high school. My daughter is growing up so fast. And I've been ignoring her.

I am so sorry, Scout. It's my fault those steps were unsafe. I am so thankful that your injuries were minor. It could have been much worse. I know you love me and I know you forgive me, but I'll try harder to be a more attentive dad. I promise.


Thankfully, no broken ribs.

***

Short and Sweet

Got a bit more done on the deck today. It really looks great. Bob and Wally were here this morning. Adam was here this evening. Got too much sun today, I think.


"You need some aloe, Dad. Aloe? Aloe?"

Scout rolled my coins and took them to the bank. $302.50!!! We both got new shoes. She got a pair of Doc Martens and I bought new sandals. All is well here in Mimico.

Oh and guess who got the lead in "Tribute"? Yup!

G' Night.

Happy Birthday To Me

Yes, Ms J, t'was my birthday yesterday. I'm now 31. Err, 41. 45? Sigh ... Ok then, 48. And that's my final offer.

I had a lovely day yesterday. Meagan made me a homemade birthday card and taped it to the computer monitor. That was delightful to see first thing in the morning! She washed all the dishes after each meal - "It's the least I can do, Dad. Just don't expect it every day." She's come to spend the week with me.

One of the women with whom I sit on my afternoon train (her name is Tammy) offered to bring dinner here and cook for me on my birthday. Tammy's really cute, but of course, married. Her husband's name is Adam and Adam can build anything. He's just one of those lucky men who seems to excel at construction/renovation type projects. He is, by trade, an electrician. He offered to help with the deck.

"Me and Adam will help you build your deck, Dale, and I'll cook dinner for us. That will be your birthday present. OK?"

I was, and am, astounded at their generous offer. Of course, I accepted. And so they came, Adam and Tammy, and we worked together on the deck. The phone rang at least a dozen times while we worked and each time it was someone offering birthday wishes. It was nice, but intrusive. Friends are always good, though, aren't they?

Tammy worked right along with us men. She can swing a hammer or saw a board as well as I can, Ms J, probably better. And she cooked us some steak and shrimp on the barbecue. I'd never had shrimp done that way before. It was delicious! I've heard "shrimp on the barbie" is a popular summer treat Down Under. Those Aussies know what's good, don't they?

Meagan fetched the camera and snapped a few pictures.


Mugging for the camera

We worked again after dinner until it was too dark to see and my friends left around 10:00. I was so tired and so sore, Ms J, I felt as though I'd run a marathon.

"We'll be back tomorrow evening, Dale," they said. "We should be able to nearly finish it then."


And this is how it looks this morning.

Environment Canada is predicting temperatures in the low 30's today, and with the high humidity, it will feel more like 38C. I called Tammy at work this morning and suggested we wait until tomorrow to resume work on the deck.

"No problem," she said. "Adam has to work in that heat all day. I'm sure he'll be happy just to come home afterward. We'll see you on Wednesday."

Besides, Ms J, there's an audition I want to attend up in Caledon tonight. The play is called "Tribute". I hope I get the lead role.

***

Memories of a Picnic

I haven't much to tell you yet today, Ms J. I'm busy printing photos for Dan. And I want to frame that shot of the four generations of Pringles for him. I think that will please him.

I have to run now but while we're on the topic of photos, I'll leave you with a few Frankie took at the beach on Friday.

Ciao, Bella!


She tried and tried to light those candles. But the wind whispered no.


I tried, but I couldn't do it either. Look how the wind was blowing my hair!


Frankie walked barefoot on the sand. "The water's cold!" she said.


Lake Ontario's a big lake. It's a Great lake!


And Frankie's a Great Friend. Thanks for the pics, Girl!

***

Holiday Time!

Saturday. And I’m on vacation for a week. I have some plans made, Ms J, and I imagine the week will disappear pretty quickly. This week is the last vacation time I’ll get this entire year. I was off work seven months in 2005 with my broken leg and so I’m only entitled to two weeks vacation this year.

There are many things I want to do this week, but the two most important to me are to finish the deck and audition for a play in Caledon. Adam’s coming over on Monday evening to work on the deck and I’m going to Caledon to audition on Tuesday. I’d like to visit Mum and Dad but Christine’s having a party for me on Thursday and Adam said he’ll pop round here in the evenings to work on the deck.

Too many things to do, Ms J. Too little time. And Meagan wants to visit me for a few days.

I'm going groundhog hunting tomorrow with Pat and his son, Jeff. Dan's going too. I'll collect my son at 2:00 and then drive to Pat's. We'll all go together in one car. I hope it doesn't rain.




Lest you think we're bloodthirsty savages, Ms J, I must tell you that for me, it's more about being with family and men than about hunting. Yes, we'll carry rifles and wander around in hay fields hoping to spot a groundhog or two. We'll shoot at them. And we'll probably kill a few. But if we don't see any, that's alright too. I just enjoy being outdoors in the country with my son, my brother and my nephew. It's kind of a Pringle tradition.

We'll return tomorrow evening. I'll drop Dan at home and pick up Meagan.

***

Cake by the Lake

I had lunch with a friend today. A picnic lunch by the lake. With Frankie. We agreed I'd pick her up at her place at 11:30. But at 11:20 Bruno and Wally came over to work on the deck and I had to get them sorted out. Then the phone rang. It was Girl Alex calling to ask if she could use me as a character reference on a rental application for a new apartment. Yeah, she's moving again. I told her yes, but I couldn't chat as I was late. As I raced out the door to the driveway, a truck pulled up in front of the house. A lumber truck, Ms J, with the boards I had ordered to build a railing around my deck.

"Where do ya want this stuff," called the driver.

He and Bruno then proceeded to argue about where the wood should be left. I looked again at my watch. It was nearly noon. I really had to get going.

Wally was standing right behind Bruno and he called to me over Bruno's shoulder.

"Go on, Dale. We'll handle this shit. Just get --"

Bruno whirled to look at Wally.

"Yer yelling right in my f***in' ear, ya wiener!"

The truck driver voiced his impatience.

"C'mon guys. I haven't got all day. Pick a spot."

"Put it in the driveway, please sir," I said. "I'm just leaving."

And I jumped in the car and roared away screaming my thanks to Wally and Bruno.

I drove like a madman to Frankie's house, cursing every slow car and red light, and I arrived in a state of high anxiety. I hate being late, Ms J. And I was feeling completely overwhelmed. I told my friend how I was feeling.

"I need to sit a moment, Frankie," I told her. "I need to pause."

I hate feeling that way. And I certainly cannot drive safely in that condition. Frankie invited me to sit on her front porch and breathe for a few minutes before we drove to the beach.

A few minutes later, I held the door for her as she got into my car. She reached for the bag of sandwiches I'd made and smiled sweetly.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah," I grinned. "Much."

I went round to the driver's side and climbed in and fastened my safety belt.

"There's nothing that bologna sandwiches at the beach can't fix," she said.

And with a friend, I thought, although I didn't say it.

She was right, Ms J. We had a tasty lunch and some intimate conversation. The geese and gulls joined us at first, but left us in peace when we refused to share our food. Frankie even brought a chocolate pie with two candles which the wind made impossible to light. We tried and tried and eventually gave up.

"Screw it," laughed Frankie. "Happy Birthday, anyway."

My friend had lots to talk about. She's been challenged by family issues lately and it seemed she needed to talk. So I practiced listening. I hope I was a good listener, Frankie. Was I?

After lunch, we scoured the beach for bits of coloured glass to add to Frankie's collection. We found a few little pieces, blue and white and green. I forgot my camera but she remembered hers. When she sends me a pic or two, I'll post them here.

But I'm tired, Ms J. I didn't take time for a midday nap at all this week and I'm exhausted. I wish I could stay awake a while longer, but my eyelids are heavy and I must away to my quilted bed.

Good night. And thank you, Frankie, for your gift of friendship.

***

Good Lawd, That's a Lotta Money!

I went shopping this morning. At Sears. I bought a lawn mower and saved $80. Then I saved $300 on a new dining room table and four chairs and $500 on some patio furniture for my (nearly finished) deck. After having saved all that money, you can imagine my surprise when I received the bill.

$1700!!

Oh well. It's only money. The bank will be only too happy to lend me more whenever I ask. (Banks are good that way, Ms J.)

I'm on holiday next week. Hopefully, the deck will be completed by Friday. I'll post another pic when it's done.

---

And speaking of pics, Ms J, I wanted to show you a photo of the quilt Mum made me for my (early) birthday. I've put it on my bed and I think it looks fantastic!


The plaque is a gift from my friend, Frankie. "Live well. Laugh often. Love much." And the photo is a Lupine from the garden of another friend.

Plaque by Frankie. Photo by Gemmak. Quilt by Mum.

That bed looks so inviting. Good night, Ms J!

***

Little Things

A young man approached me just now at the grocery store as I put a box of groceries in the car.

"Hello sir," he said. "Good morning."

I eyed him suspiciously.

"Morning," I said.

He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He was tanned and fit and his blond hair was short.

"Could I borrow 70 cents?" he asked.

I slid behind the wheel and dug into a handful of coins I keep in the cup holder. I came up with a dollar coin and handed it to him.

"No," I said as he took it. "You cannot 'borrow' money from people unless you intend to pay it back. I'll never see you or this dollar again, will I? So I'm giving you this money. I'm giving it to you."

I stressed the word "giving", Ms J. He mumbled a thank you and hurried off toward the store.

I felt angry as I drove away. He was young and healthy. Why can't he get a job? Why can't any of these beggars get jobs? Like my boy, for instance. Why can't he?

The sun was too hot as I drove home. The car ahead of me was too slow and too noisy. I switched the radio off because I didn't like the song they were playing. I was in a foul mood, suddenly.

It's strange sometimes how little things can set the tone for the day.

As I write this, I realise that the "beggar" may simply have been seventy cents short when he tried to pay for his groceries. It was an odd amount, after all. Maybe he just needed seventy cents more to buy formula or diapers for his baby. Maybe, like my son, he was struggling. And maybe, just maybe he had a job.

It's the little things, eh, Ms Journal? I wish I could see them more clearly at the time.

***

Today

The deck project continued, Ms J, without much help from me, I'm afraid. The guys don't mind, though.

"It gives us something to do," they tell me. "It's boring sitting around work all day between our shifts."

Fine then, say I. All the better for me!


Wally and Bruno worked while I limped around like Quasimodo.


And Bruno had a wee problem with ants.

But I'm pleased with the progress made today. I'm well pleased, Ms Journal. And my back does feel a bit better.

***

Never a Dull Moment

I was on my way to work as usual this morning, following my usual route, when I encountered a police car with lights flashing. It was blocking the road.

"What's going on?" I asked and the cop's thumb shot past his ear.

"Are you blind? You don't see the fire?"

I looked past him and up Royal York Road and what I saw made my stomach sour. The church was on fire. Not my church, thank goodness, but the Anglican church. Christ the King Anglican Church. You know Ms J, there's something awful and foreboding about a church ablaze. I don't have words to describe the feeling, really. I just felt sick.

"The road's closed," the cop was saying. "Too many firefighters up there. Too much hose everywhere."

He pointed southward.

"You'll have to go around."

I nodded and drove off numbly, not really wanting to believe the conflagration now behind me. This is the second time that church has burned. Workers were still repairing the damage caused from a fire a few months ago. And now this. The damage was much greater this time. All the beautiful stained glass was destroyed and the front wall blackened.

How, I wondered. Or who?

---

Wally and AB came over this morning after work.

"Let's get going on that deck," said Wally.

I was ecstatic. And so we peeled off our shirts and got down to business.

We measured and cut and hammered and nailed. Things were going fine ... until I bent to pick up a nail.

"Uh-oh," I said through clenched teeth. "I think I just hurt my back."

And so I spent the rest of the morning inside on the floor on my back with an ice pack under me. The lads toiled under a scorching sun until nearly two o'clock when they came inside for a drink. They were soaking wet from sweat.

"I'm so sorry, guys," I said as I looked up at them from my place on the hardwood. "I wanted to help you but I guess I wasn't much help, was I?"

Bob said I helped by staying out of the way, which hurt a bit although it was probably true.

They're coming back tomorrow to continue. I've taken the morning off work (yes, I booked rest. So sue me.) to rest my back. Hopefully, I'll be able to help them a bit tomorrow.


It's beginning to resemble a deck, Ms J!

***

Building Suburbia .. One House at a Time

Morning, Ms J. Sorry I didn't write yesterday. I went to work with Pat and when I got home, I had a bite to eat and fell asleep. I was exhausted! The heat and humidity were ... Well, let me tell you about my day. Oh, hang on a sec. I'm going downstairs first to fill my coffee cup.

OK. I'm back. Did you miss me?

At 5:15 yesterday morning, the alarm clock sounded its electronic version of Beethoven's "Fur Elise". I switched it off and climbed out of bed. I opened the Venetian blind and squinted at the eastern sky, already glowing with the promise of a new day. I normally rise for work at 4:15. It's still dark then.

"It's nice to sleep late," I mumbled as I watched a robin wrestle with a worm in the garden.

After my morning ablutions, I jumped in the car and headed off to Mississauga to meet my brother at 6:00. He works for a lumber company there, and has for thirty years. If you follow the link in the previous sentence, you'll find a photo of Pat's old truck. He calls it his truck, but in Truth, it belongs to the company. Just a week ago, he got a new truck. It's a Peterbilt. Peterbilt trucks are known as North America's premiere heavy trucks. They're the Cadillac of heavy trucks.


The truck that "Peterbilt". $100,000. Nearly 500 hp. Ten forward gears and two in reverse. Brand spankin' new.

It's nice alright, but my brother said he preferred his old truck.

"It had more leg room inside," he told me. "And a lot of little details that made Life easier. This one's more powerful and quieter, but I'd trade it for my old International any day."


Big Carm drives a forklift. He loaded the specialised trailer with custom built roof trusses. The load would comprise the roof structure of an entire house. Pat's shown walking here beside the load.

The sky was perfectly clear, without a hint of the rain that was forecast. At 7:00 a.m. the temperature was already 26C and heading for an eventual high of 34C. It was going to be HOT, Ms J.

"This fancy new truck, Pat," I asked hopefully as we tightened the heavy nylon straps to secure the load. "Does it have air conditioning?"

"Yup," he said. "It sure does. Climb up the other side and let's hit the bricks."

Hit the bricks. He always says that. "Let's hit the bricks." It sounds kinda cool, doesn't it?

I climbed up the three steps to the cab and got myself settled. I could see what he was talking about earlier. It was a little cramped.


"The gauges and switches are not very driver-friendly," he said. "I can't even see most of them. I like the stereo, though."

On the road at last, we talked about his job. I asked questions about the trailer behind us.

"It's as short as it will go right now," he explained. "Forty-eight feet. But it's designed to telescope out to a max length of sixty-five feet. The truck trailer combination is normally about sixty-five feet long, but it can be up to eighty-two feet with the trailer fully extended. It's 8'6" wide, but we can carry loads up to 12' wide with a special permit."

I tried to picture it, Ms J. That's as long as eight or nine automobiles! And three times as wide!!

"How the heck can you turn a corner?" I asked. "Especially in city traffic?"


48 feet, "normally." That's a LOT of vehicle!

Most of his deliveries are outside the city, he explained. But it can be very tricky to manoevre a vehicle this long on city streets.


Pat leaves plenty of distance between his truck and the vehicle ahead. He's a very good driver, Ms J. Very professional.

The cab is nice and high and it affords a great view of traffic ahead. Truck drivers can see what's happening long before car drivers are aware of a problem. That's a good thing, Ms Journal, because trucks require MUCH more stopping distance than cars. Also, it's nice to see the legs of woman drivers in the lane beside you, an added bonus.

The trailer is flat, with large rollers on it. It's designed to be higher at the front than at the back so the load can simply roll off onto the ground at the construction site. Massive pneumatically-controlled steel pins prevent the rollers from turning until the driver releases them by opening an air valve under the trailer.


Here's Pat at our first delivery of the day. We've removed the straps from the load and he's released the pins that hold the rollers. Now, he'll simply back up a little and jam the brakes on. The load rolls effortlessly off the back of the trailer onto the ground.

It looks easy, Ms J, but I bet it's not. Pat says sometimes it's hard to find a place to drop the load. And construction sites are notoriously dusty or muddy. It can be dirty work at times, I should think. It was about 10:00 when we headed back to the yard for another load. The sun was brutal and we were both grateful for the air conditioned cab.


Here's Pat with Carm. Carm loaded the truck for our second and final trip of the day, this time to Bowmanville, ninety minutes east of Toronto. See why they call him "Big Carm"?

Soon we were back on the road, chatting about family and about Life. My brother is a skillful driver and the miles passed quickly. After forty minutes or so of traffic and concrete buildings, the scenery became more pastoral. As we passed the verdant fields of hay and grain and corn, I couldn't help feeling a little sad.

"I suppose they'll keep building communities out here until all the good farm land is gone, eh Pat?"

"Yeah, I reckon they will," he said as he manipulated the long gear shift to find yet another gear. "It'll all be one giant city one day, won't it?"

I nodded my head in agreement.

"I wonder what we'll eat then?" I said.

My question was rhetorical and for a minute, Pat let it hang there between us in the cab.

"I dunno," he said finally. "We've been building new suburbs around Toronto for forty years with no end in sight. It's been a career for me."

Canada is an attractive destination for immigrants, Ms J. More attractive even than our omnipotent neighbours to the south. As they pour into this country, they naturally seek areas with employment opportunities -- areas like Toronto, Canada's biggest and most culturally diverse city. They all require housing in one form or another. Urban sprawl is endemic, apparently, to Metropolitan Toronto. Lake Ontario lies to the south and so we melt and spread east and north and west. Today, over 2 million people live in the city proper. The GTA (Greater Toronto Area) comprises some 7,000 square km, and is home to 5 million people.

Fertile land is being paved over at an alarming rate. It's part of the price we pay for rampant growth. It's good, Ms J. And bad.


Prime agricultural land becomes a "planned community." See the green field in the background? It won't be green much longer.

But we've all got to live somewhere, haven't we? And the housing boom has meant employment for thousands of tradesmen and of course, real estate salespeople and greedy developers. And crooked politicians. And my brother. Mimico is only six miles from the downtown core. The value of my little house has increased by $40,000 in the two years I've been here. So it's good, Ms J. And bad, depending how you look at it.

I had a good day with Pat on Saturday. I always have a good time with him. I like just being myself, being relaxed and knowing I'm accepted. That's the great thing about families, I think.

Here's one more shot of the two of us before we left with our second load. Carm took the pic.


Thanks, Pat, for a brilliant day! I got my bald head sunburned, though.

Although we're both in the transportation business, I think Pat's job is more difficult than mine, more stressful perhaps. I was absolutely knackered when I got home last night. And I hadn't done a blessed thing all day!

***

Commuter Chaos

I arrived at work this afternoon to find dozens of guys standing around. Dozens. Scores, probably.

"'Scone on, guys?" I asked. "Are we on strike or what?"

"Train wreck," they told me. "Number 435's got seven cars on the ground just east of Mimico. We're not going anywhere for a while."

Seven cars of a freight train had derailed, Ms J, less than three blocks from my home. All three mainline tracks were blocked. The timing couldn't have been worse. It was just as the afternoon rush hour was about to get started, and nearly all of our commuter trains were now stuck in the yard. There was no way to get them downtown to collect homebound commuters. Apparently, Union Station was absolutely packed with people - angry, frustrated people who had worked hard all day at their office jobs and only wanted to get home to their families.

I went and sat in the large kitchen crowded with men who were chatting and joking and generally making the best of a bad situation. We were as uninformed as the poor passengers trapped downtown at Union Station.

"Turn the radio on," someone said. "Maybe we'll hear about it on the news."

We were just in time.

" ... cars of a CN freight train derailed around 2:00 this afternoon effectively blocking GO Transit's commuter trains and causing havoc among frazzled commuters. No dangerous commodities were involved. GO Transit officials say they'll have to wait for word from CN as to how long it might be before service is resumed. Officials at CN were unavailable for comment. Again, GO train service has been suspended due to a derailment of a CN freight train ..."

I sat and leafed through a magazine and listened to the fellows tell stories of other wrecks and of crossing accidents and other railway adventures and misadventures. After a couple of hours, I left and came home. I told a couple of guys that I was leaving and asked them to call me at home if my services were required. I came home and grabbed my camera.


Oops.


The police were there.


So were the local television news people.


Numerous feckless management types followed each other around like pickpockets in a revolving door. I'd never seen so many white hard hats in one place before!


The federal transport ministry was there as well. Civil servants earning a living doing nothing, God love 'em.


Neighbours stood and watched in the oppressive afternoon heat. If there had been an explosion, Ms J, those homes would have been obliterated. They were less than 100 feet from the train.

Anyway, it was a good thing and a bad thing. Most of the trains were cancelled and so train crews got the afternoon off. But for nearly 100,000 commuters, it was a nightmare. It must have taken some of them hours and hours to get home.

Hopefully though, the Einsteins in the white hats will have everything sorted out by Monday.

---

I'm going to spend the day with my brother at his work on Saturday. We'll go for a ride in his big truck. I'll take my camera, Ms J, and tell you all about it tomorrow.

Nighty-night!

***

Close, But Not Too Close

Nick was here briefly this evening. He came to use my computer to send some e-mail.

“Well,” he said, as he descended the stairs. “I finally got the money from the house and I gave Sue her share. She got $194,000. I got $19,000. I guess that’s fair, eh?”

I acknowledged his sarcasm and told him I thought it was pretty unfair.

“Wanna go for a beer?” he asked.

I told him no thanks and he asked me why not.

“Because I’m scared to drink with you, Nick. I’ve seen you drunk and I don’t like it when you get that way. You’re too weird. Too unpredictable.”

He seemed to accept that and as he left, he said, “I won’t see you at work tomorrow morning.”

“How come?” I asked.

“I’m taking the morning off. I don’t have to go to work until four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

I knew what he was going to do, Ms J. He was going to get drunk. He was going to try to drown his sorrow in beer. Again.

“You behave yourself, Nicholas,” I called after him.

“Yeah,” he said, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

A few minutes ago, the phone rang. It was Nick. He sounded angry.

“When you said you were scared of me when I’m drunk, what did you mean? That was pretty vague. I have never harmed a single soul, either drunk or straight.”

Thoughts swirled through my head. Yes, you have hurt people, Nick, I thought. You’ve hurt yourself. You’ve crashed your car, gotten yourself in trouble with the police, picked up a dirty woman and risked infecting yourself with God knows what. That’s only in the past two weeks. And I have no reason to believe your drinking wasn’t a factor in the demise of your marriage.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I said, “That’s what I said, Nick, but that’s not really what I meant. I think it’s closer to the Truth to say that I feel your drinking is harmful. You drink too much and it does you more harm than good. I don’t want to drink with you because I don’t want to encourage you. I can't support that kind of behaviour.”

He never missed a beat before replying.

“Yup. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m getting divorced. Anyway, that’s all. Bye.”

Further conversation seemed pointless, Ms J. Besides, he was upset with me and I didn’t want a confrontation. I felt a little uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Nick. But that’s my Truth.”

“Yeah. OK. Bye.”

“Bye, Nick.”

I waited a second before I pressed the Off button and ended the call.

I remember those days, Ms Journal. I will never forget the feelings of loss. Anger. Bitterness. Fear. Loving her and missing her one minute, and the next minute hating her and wishing her dead. I remember getting drunk once alone at a strip club. I tried to pick up a stripper but she milked me for all my money and then disappeared. Clearly, alcohol was not the answer to my troubles.

I longed for a line of speed, ached for it, and cried because I knew I couldn’t have it. Ever again. Ever. I smoked more than fifty cigarettes a day back then. I smoked all day and through many sleepless nights. I smoked until I gagged as I inhaled it. I smoked once until I vomited.

I was desperate for Love, desperate to feel a human touch. I wanted so badly to prove that I was still attractive to the opposite sex. I once rented a hotel room and paid for a hooker. I wanted to talk with her but she only wanted to satisfy me so she could take the money and run off to her next customer. She got angry with me so I paid her and sent her on her way. Then I cried.

It was a horrible time, Ms J. It was a terrible, horrible, miserable time. It was the summer of 2000, six years ago, but it feels like yesterday. I came through it though, stronger than ever before. I’ll try to be patient with my friend. I must allow Nick the time it takes first to hurt and then to heal. It’s a long, painful road, poor bastard.

A friend cautioned me recently against getting too close.

"The company we keep has a great influence on us whether we realize it or not. They have the ability to drag us down to their level without us even knowing it," she wrote. "Your friend 'Nick' is drowning very fast, Dale. You have the choice to go down with him or not. I love you Dale and I do not want to see you go backward with your life. You have worked too hard to get to where you are now."

She's right, you know. It would be pretty easy to lower myself to Nick's level. It would be easy, too damned easy, to return to drugs. But I won't do that, Ms J. I can't allow that to happen. I love myself too much. Friends show me daily that I'm important and that my Life has value. Friends like you, dear Frankie.

Please don't worry about me. I may get close to Nick, but I promise to maintain a healthy distance from his unhealthy Lifestyle.

***

A Friend Indeed

I have this friend, Ms J. - I've mentioned him before I think - and he's heartsick. His name is ... umm, ... Well you know what? I don't think I'll use his real name. I think I'd best use a nick name. So I'll call him ... Nick.

Nick suffers from the loss of his marriage. He's recently sold his matrimonial home and found a place to live here in Mimico. T'aint much,Ms J, compared to what he had, but it's a home. It's a home in the same apartment building where I lived when I was first on my own.

I haven't blogged much about him because his behaviour has been shameful lately. I hope by changing his name, I can ensure his anonymity. You never know who's reading this.

Let's back up a week or so. It was July 3, a holiday Monday. I had been at a Canada Day barbecue the previous afternoon. Nick was there too. He drove there and I brought him home. He was too drunk to drive. I remember watching him stagger to the door of his apartment and thinking, he won't stay home. He'll go out looking for more alcohol. I was right. Here's an page or two from my personal journal on that next day:

---

Monday. Holiday Monday.

Today I had planned to go with Nick to fetch his belongings from his sister’s house. I was up at 7:00. I had breakfast and then phoned a number of truck rental companies to inquire about the availability and cost of renting a cube van for the day. I guess we should have made plans earlier. There were no trucks available.

Nick told me he’d come to my house at 9:00 this morning, but of course, he wasn’t here at 9:00. He wasn’t here at 10:00 either. Or 11:00. At 11:30, there came a knock on the door. I answered it to find Nick on my front porch with a woman. I invited them in and made some tea.

Her name was Jenn. She was dirty, poor, a self-confessed alcoholic. Her brother, she told us, was in a drug rehab centre. She was wearing clothes you’d expect to find on a crack whore. Nick had found her in some seedy Mimico pub and they’d spent the night together in a drunken stupor on a mattress on the floor of his apartment. I couldn’t wait until this creature finished her tea and left in a cab.

“What the Hell is the matter with you, Nick?” I demanded after she’d gone.

“She’s a human being,” was his reply.

“Only just barely,” I said. “What were you thinking? I hope you used a condom, you dopey prick. There’s no telling what she might be carrying.”

“Hep C,” said Nick.

“Pepsi? What do you mean Pepsi?”

“Hep C,” he said, a little too loudly. “Hepatitis C. She’s got Hepatitis.”

“How do you know this?”

“She told me. She said she only had a year to live. She was throwing up blood last night.”

I opened my mouth to speak, Ms J, but no words came out. My jaw just hung there. Slack.

“Holy fuck, Nick. Did you …?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Probably.”

“Well, aren’t you sure?”

“I can’t remember.”

I was so completely disgusted, I could barely think straight.

“Did you kiss her?”

“Yeah. She sure smokes a lot. She smelled like a dirty ashtray.”

“Did you not have any condoms?”

“No.”

I shook my head. I just didn’t know what to say. All I could do was stare at him. I didn’t know whether to feel sad or scared or angry. I was leaning toward angry. I rubbed my cheeks with both hands then folded my arms across my chest.

“You get drunk and you completely lose your mind, Nicholas. Last weekend, you got drunk and crashed your car. Then you told the cops to advise your boss that you’d been caught for drunk driving. Now you may lose your job. Last night, you got drunk at the barbecue and acted like an arsehole. I brought you home safely, but that wasn’t good enough. You had to go out and drink some more. You found some skanky old slut with Hepatitis and took her home. Do you want to die, Nick? Is that what you want? Can’t you see that alcohol turns you into an idiot?”

He didn’t argue with me, Ms J. He looked scared and I wanted to hold him, but Nick is not the hugging kind.

“You’ve got to stop drinking, Nick. You drink to feel better, but it doesn’t help does it?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It just makes things worse. Hepatitis is contagious, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “Very. And there’s no cure.”

“I’d better go see a doctor, eh?”

“Yes, you probably should. But first, go upstairs and check the internet. Maybe it’s not transmittable through sex. It’s a blood disease I think.”

Nick went upstairs and checked the internet. He came down in a few minutes and said he’d discovered it’s transmitted through blood, from sharing needles. It can also be transmitted, he said, through “prolonged sexual encounters.”

“Maybe I’ll be OK,” he said hopefully.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “But you’ve got to stay away from the booze. It robs you of your sanity entirely. It takes away your ability to think rationally and logically. I know you hurt, Nick. I remember how much it hurts when a marriage ends. But you’ve got to go on. You will survive this. But if you drink and smoke dope to deaden the pain, you may end up dead yourself. You’ve got to start loving yourself, Nick. You’ve got to start caring for and about yourself.”

We never did get a truck, Ms J, but we spent the day together talking. I think he’s on the right track now. God help him.

---

You see? This is what I'm dealing with. I don't know whether to hug him or hit him. He just seems determined to make his Life more difficult. He must feel as though he just can't hurt enough. I want to help, Ms Journal, I do. But sometimes, I get frustrated and selfish and wonder why I ever involved myself.

***

Happy Birthday, Pat

It's my brother's birthday, Ms J. Pat is 55 years old today. Gosh, that seems pretty old, doesn't it? I can hardly believe I've got a brother who's 55. I've got a sister who's a year older at 56. My birthday's coming up soon as well. I'll be 48. We're all getting older, aren't we? I never really believed it would happen you know, this business of growing old. I suppose none of us did, but it happened nonetheless.

Pat is such a young person, Ms J, in so many ways. He still has wrinkle-free skin, a flat stomach and a head of thick, dark hair. He's still a good looking man, I think. When people meet us together, they often assume I'm older, although I'm actually seven years his junior. (I secretly hate him for that.) Well, not really, Ms J. I love my brother for he's the only one I've got. I have four sisters and somehow, they ended up with two brothers, lucky ducks. But alas, I have only one. And I love him.


Me and my big brother 2005

When we were kids, I always wanted to be like Pat. He was so cool. He had cool expressions and wore cool clothes. He drove a car and had a job. He could stay out as late as he wanted and not get in trouble. Dad let him carry a real rifle when we hunted groundhogs together, while I had only a BB gun. I couldn't wait til I was as old as my big brother.

Today, Pat still lives with Linda, the only woman he's ever loved. They've been happily married more than thirty years. His two kids, Jeff and Sherri are my oldest niece and nephew. Both are good people, and have good jobs. Sherri is a dental hygienist. Her brother is night manager at a local supermarket.

Pat has been a good father, and a good husband. He works hard to earn a living driving a lumber truck, but rarely complains. Indeed, if you asked him, he'd tell you he loves his job. My brother is just naturally happy, naturally content. Mum says he's been that way all his Life. He enjoys working with wood and has built things too numerous to mention. I envy him his creative abilities. Pat is warm and friendly and has an hilarious sense of humour. We both do. We spend a lot of time laughing when we're together.

I don't expect he'll read this (my brother's not much for books, Ms J, or reading) but I just wanted to say how much I respect him, how much I love him, and how grateful I am to have had such a wonderful role model.

Happy Birthday, Pat! I wish you many more.

***

Comme des Clous

Il tombe comme des clous. That's what the Frenchmen say, Ms J, in weather like this. Il tombe comme des clous. "It's falling like nails."

It was a rainy day in Mimico today. I woke this morning to the sound of thunder and pelting rain and it persisted, off and on, the entire day.

"Hey, Dale," said Angry Bob in the lounge after work this morning. "Doesn't look too promising for deck building today, does it? F***in' rain's s'posta hang around all day."

I agreed with him and then fell still while he took his turn at the billiard table. The cue ball careened off the 8 ball and plopped neatly into a corner pocket.

"F***in' piece o' shit. I hate this f***in' game."

I thought he might launch into one of his trademark tirades, but he didn't, Ms J. When he looked up, he was grinning.

"OK if I come round tomorrow morning?"

I told him that would be just fine and thanked him as I headed for the parking lot.

"Don't thank me," he said. "Wait'll it's done. You can thank me then."

I am truly and totally stuck without help, Ms Journal. Although I have plenty of clous, I honestly haven't a clue what to do next on my own. I will thank Bob when my deck is done. I'll thank everybody who helped.

I'll thank GOD, Ms J, when this deck is done!

***

Thinking Globally Acting Locally

I'm up, Ms J. I've showered and had my breakfast. I'm enjoying my second cup of coffee. I've been drinking store-bought coffee from a coffee maker for a couple of years now. I drank the instant stuff when I first lived on my own, but a friend, Bob King, gave me a coffee maker so I've been buying ground coffee. Folger's. Maxwell House. Whatever's on sale at No Frills.

But I've been thinking about "Fair Trade" coffee. Fair Trade coffee is coffee that's bought at prices that are fair to the producer. World coffee prices have plummeted and are currently the lowest they've been in decades. We consumers continue to pay full price, while the farmers receive a pittance. Many small coffee farmers in Central America receive prices for their coffee that are less than the costs of production, forcing them into a cycle of poverty and debt.

Who gets all the profits, you ask? Folger's. Maxwell House. Whatever's on sale at No Frills. Or Tesco's. Or Safeway.

When my tin of Nabob is empty, I think I'll visit David and Madeleine at Birds and Beans, a local cafe that sells only fair trade coffee. And I'm going to tell the folks at church about it as well and suggest we start buying fair trade coffee for ourselves and the church.

I'm sure it'll be a little more expensive, Ms J, but why should I support corporations who favour profits over human rights? I mean, it's all about social justice, isn't it? And environmental sustainability.

It all starts with me, doesn't it? Right here in Mimico.

***

Friday Afternoon

I didn’t work yesterday afternoon. I went in at my usual time, but my train had been cancelled. They were unable to find a conductor. I’m assuming that all the management types had already donned their work boots and crossing guard vests and were out on other trains. There seems often to be a shortage of brakemen and conductors, especially on Friday afternoons. Most engineers tend to work while conductors book rest.

I’m glad the train was cancelled, Ms J. I’m sorry for the commuters who were inconvenienced, but I got the afternoon off with pay.

I know.

But I refuse to feel guilty. I was there, ready to work. It’s not my fault the train was cancelled. If I’d taken the afternoon off on my own accord, I would not have been paid. That’s what the union has done for us. And that seems fair in my opinion. And management? They’re paid seven days a week, whether they show up or not. They get paid their FULL SALARY even when they’re off sick or on vacation. Must be nice.

But here’s what’s not nice:

It’s not nice to have to work a train with a supervisor on board who’s filling in when the regular guy is unavailable. It’s difficult and unbearably frustrating to work with someone who hasn’t the slightest idea how to do the job, yet looks for ways to discipline us for not doing it properly. They expect us to baby-sit them and help them get through the shift with minimal delays.

I used to help them, Ms J, when they emerged from their carpeted offices and came out into the trenches. It didn’t happen often, but when management people worked as conductors or brakemen, I would offer assistance and advice. I’d hold their hands and help them along. But not now. Not anymore. No one does. And delays of thirty minutes or more are not uncommon.

If management would stop harassing us, and just leave us alone to do the jobs we’ve been doing for decades, if they would treat us respectfully and like competent adults and not like school children, we’d be glad to help them when they have to work on the trains. And there would no delays.

As I entered the building, I met Don E., the supercilious supervisor who’d conducted my investigation last month.

“Can you do me a favour, Dale? We’ve cancelled job 10, but we’re looking for an engineer for job 44. Do you want to go on job 44?”

A favour. The same guy who had done his best to intimidate me last month, was now asking for a favour. He must have more dick than Nerve Tracy!!

“No thank you, sir,” I said. “I reckon I’ll just go home.”

I’m sure Jesus and his momma love him, Ms J, but I still think he’s an arsehole.

***

In Due Time

It's Friday again. T'was a short week, Ms J. Monday was a holiday. Remember?

AB popped over this morning to check on the cement. He declared it cured and tapped each one with a piece of brick.

"Yup. Hard as buck's nuts."

I nodded my head gravely. Buck's nuts?

"Do you think we might get started again on Monday, Bobby?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Wally's gone to the east coast fer a week or so, but we don't need him. I'll get Jeff and the boys. We'll come over after work on Monday. Joe too. And Bruno."

He slapped my back and laughed.

"Don't worry, Dale. We'll get the f%##er done. In a couple of weeks, you'll be sitting out here on yer deck readin' porn mags and jerkin' off as happy as a clam. A bearded clam."

And he laughed again. Too loud this time.

"I don't have any porn magazines, Bob. Dan had a few when he was here, but ---"

"I was jokin', you dumb f%##. The neighbours'd see you. But if we put up some privacy lattice, ..."

He went off then, to collect his young sons. He'd promised to take them out for lunch.

My deck will get built, Ms J. Maybe not according to my schedule, but it will get done. I'm a lucky man to have such friends, even if some of them are a bit rough round the edges.


A vertical support will go here. There are six of these now in the back yard. This pic was taken on Wed. while the cement was still wet. It's hard as buck's nuts now, though.

***

Five Minutes

Before I begin this post, I'll tell you that there was no progress made on the deck today. Bob said the cement needs at least twenty-four hours to cure itself. AB knows more than I about these things, but honestly Ms J, I didn't even realise it was ill. Come to think of it, it did look rather grey.

"We'll have a look at it on Friday," he told me after work this morning. "The f%##er should be awright by then."

I didn't argue with him.

---

As I waited alone on the engine at Hamilton this morning for the signal that would allow me to pull our train to the station platform, I noticed the wild flowers beside the track.

“How lovely!” I thought and I smiled and thanked God for these tiny gifts.

I glanced at my watch. 6:15. It would be five minutes or so until the signal would allow us to move. I decided to pick a handful of flowers and take them with me to the coffee shop in the station. A clear plastic water bottle became a makeshift vase.

When I set the bouquet on the counter near the cash register, little Jennifer spoke from her place behind the coffee machine.

“Flowers!” she exclaimed. “That’s so nice! I love you, Dale. You’re so thoughtful. Thank you!”

Five minutes, Ms J. That’s how long it took to brighten someone’s day.

***

Delighted!

The lads were here today. Angry Bob, Wally, Joe, Jeff, and Bruno.

We drilled six holes, poured concrete, set the saddles for the posts, and fixed the ledger board to the house. I'm thrilled with the work that was done!


Jeff (L) and Joe (R) used the auger I rented. Six holes were drilled to a depth of 40 inches. They were done in half an hour!

I have some skilled and strong friends, Ms J. I mentioned to Bob at work that I had reserved an auger and asked if he might go with me to fetch it this morning.

"Whatcha doin', Dale?" asked Jeff.

I told him I was preparing to build a deck.

"I'll help you, you old prick," he said. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"Can I help?" asked Bruno who was standing nearby having a smoke.

Joe offered his assistance as well.

"But I think you should buy us all breakfast first, eh guys?"

So the six of us went to The Canadiana for breakfast. They made me pay, Ms Journal.

"It's the least you can do, Dale," said Wally.

"Yeah," Joe added. "We can always count on you to do the least."

We laughed and ate and told stories, Ms J, the way men do, with lots of cursing and bawdy talk. Then Jeff and I went to get the auger while the others assembled my new wheelbarrow.


How many railroaders does it take to assemble a wheelbarrow? At least four, apparently.

Men are strange sometimes. I asked for some help and I got help. Lots of help. I'm not ungrateful, Ms J, but I wasn't really allowed to do much. I wanted to participate, but the fellows just sort of took over. It's true the others were more experienced and physically stronger than I, but I wanted to take part in the project too.


Bruno broke up some old bricks and rocks to put in the holes. "You'll use less cement that way."

Jeff and Joe mixed the cement in the wheelbarrow and poured it in the holes. Bob and Wally shoveled dirt around. It was hard, heavy work, Ms J, and they did it much faster than I could have done it, and they seemed to enjoy the hard work. Testosterone fairly flowed down the driveway to the street.


Jeff dumped the wheelbarrow while Joe directed the flow of wet cement. That's the same Joe who is our union rep and who accompanied me to my investigation. Angry Bob was elected foreman.

The language was pretty colourful, I must say. It reached a crescendo when I pulled a sixteen foot plank across Jeff's shins.

"What the f%## are ya doin', ya f%##in' homo?"

That's just Jeff, Ms J. He always talks like that. I apologised to him and then went next door to suggest to my neighbour, Cathy, that she might want to close her doors and windows until the lads were done. She laughed it off, but soon closed her windows. Later, Wally sprayed Angry Bob's bare back with cold water and I heard Cathy closing her doors.

"C'mon, guys," I begged. "Let me do something. It is my deck, after all."

Bob handed me his drill.

"Be careful," he warned me. "The f%##er's heavy. You'll have to push like yer havin' a baby if ya wanna go through that f%##in' brick."

Jeff said I wouldn't likely know how to push like I was having a baby and offered what he considered a better simile.

"Push like yer havin' a great big s**t," he said. "But don't do it fer crise-sake. We all gotta walk around here, eh?"


They did let me drill some holes in the wall to mount the ledger board. Bob and Joe watched me closely while Jeff used my c*%#-s*&#in' camera to take the f%##in' picture.

Anyway, they were here about three hours and I am really pleased with the work that was done. We've got a really good start now and the most difficult part is done. I thanked each one separately and offered to make them lunch. They all declined saying they wanted to go and shower and change their clothes before returning to work.


Jeff and Bruno and Joe and Angry Bob, after the work was done. Bob stayed pretty calm throughout. We were all thankful. I know Cathy was.


"Push like yer havin' a baby," he said.

I don't know who'll come back tomorrow, Ms J. I'll be happy if only one of them returns. At this rate, I'll have a deck in no time!

***

Today

Awake 4:15.

Shower.

Work 4:45.

Home 9:00.

Phone rental shop and reserve gas-powered auger for tomorrow.

Bob and Wally arrived 9:30.

Measure and mark placement of post holes for deck.

Remove rickety stairs.

Chop two holes through asphalt driveway to accomodate posts.

Drain and remove exterior water pipe.

Tidy up and put tools away.

Deliver and help Mike install window air conditioner in his new apartment.

Home.

Shower.

Make lunch for Mike and me at my place.

Work 3:30.

Home Depot after work (7:30) for more hardware for deck.

Buy wheelbarrow for mixing cement.

Home.

Water hanging plants.

Curse lawn in desperate need of mowing.

Partially assemble wheelbarrow before dark.

Wash up dishes from lunch.

Blog all about it.

Shower again.

Bed.

Tomorrow, Ms J, I'll get busy.

***

Catching Up

I went to church yesterday, Ms J.

So what, you ask?

Well, my church is closed for July so I went to church with my next door neighbours, the Moltos. I went to St. Leo’s, Ms Journal. It’s a Catholic church. I met the Moltos at 9:30 and we walked together to the church. Glen and Cathy are the parents. They’re about my age, I guess. Really nice people. Devout Catholics. Their children, Joseph and Daniel and Kathleen and Claire and Bernadette came too. Two other kids, Margaret and Cecilia were in Montreal, singing in a choir there.

The Catholic service is much different from the Protestant one at my United church. It involves more ritual I think, and less singing. More praying. Kneeling and standing and sitting. I must say, Ms J, I got quite a good workout. The priest was nice. He’s new to this parish. His thick accent was hard to understand, but I persevered and by the end of the mass (they call it a “mass”, Ms J) I could understand most of what he said.

And I learned a new word. Missal. It’s a book that shows the order of liturgy. It was difficult to follow, though because there are so many different options for the priest to choose, so many different prayers and responses. Cathy helped me stay on track.

Some of it was familiar:

Greetings. (“Peace be with you.” “And also with you.”)

The Nicene Creed. (“We believe in one God the Father Almighty, …”)

The Lord’s prayer. (They called it the “Our Father.”)

Some of it was strange:

Bells. Altar boys. Genuflecting and making the sign of the cross. Holy water. They served communion but I wasn’t allowed to take part, Ms Journal, because I’m not Catholic. That felt a bit weird. A bit exclusive, actually. But rules are rules and I accept that.

After church, we all went to The Canadiana Restaurant for breakfast. Glen paid. How nice!

At 2:30, I rushed off to a back yard barbecue at the home of some friends, Larry and Val. I collected Larry’s dad first, and his aunt (they live here in Mimico) and took them with me to Larry’s. It was after 11:00 when I got home.

It was a nice little party, Ms J.

Larry’s father, Ron and his aunt Helen were there. A friend of Val’s was there too, along with her mother. And Nick attended. Remember Nick, Ms J? He’s the man whose marriage recently ended. He often tries to numb himself with alcohol and marijuana. He got drunk and made a fool of himself at the party. He was in no condition to drive so I brought him home. He has rented an apartment just up the street from me. Indeed, his apartment is in the same building where I lived for three years after Donna threw me out. It was a place of healing for me. I hope my friend will heal there too.

I want to help Nick, but I don’t think he’s being honest about his feelings. He says he’s fine but clearly, he’s not. He drinks too much and uses drugs. He professes to be much further along in the healing process than is humanly possible at this point. And he thinks too much about his ex-wife. He’s always thinking of her, wondering if she’s found a boyfriend, bemoaning the fact that she’ll own a house while he can barely afford a crappy apartment. He talks incessantly about sex and about finding a willing partner.

I find all this distasteful and pointless, Ms J, because I remember doing all those things when I first split with Donna. I didn’t use drugs, but I did all the rest. It was stupid then. It’s still stupid. It's self-destructive, but I know it's natural and hard to stop.

I tell Nick to care for himself, but he doesn’t want to do that either. He eats and sleeps too little, and smokes and drinks too much. He has to go to court this month to answer to a charge of drunken driving. He’ll probably lose his license. He’s Catholic and goes to church nearly every day, he tells me. But why bother? Why go to church and call yourself a Christian when you’re behaving like a Godless Neanderthal?

But my friends were patient with me so I’ll be patient with Nick. I hope he soon recognizes his own worth.

I’ve promised to help him move some of his things into his apartment today. We have to rent a truck and drive to Cobourg and back. That will take all day, Ms J. And the weather is going to be hot again. And humid.

It's a holiday Monday here in Canada. I wonder if we'll be able to rent a truck today?

***

Family Gathering for a Birthday Party

"...dated at Windsor Castle on the 22nd day of May, in the year of Our Lord 1867, Her Most Gracious Majesty did ordain, declare, and command, that on and after the 1st day of July, 1867, the Provinces of Canada [Ontario and Quebec], Nova Scotia and New Brunswick should form and be one Dominion under the name of Canada;..."

Happy Birthday, Canada! You've got a few wrinkles, but you still look pretty good.

For many Canadians, Canada Day is a time to be outdoors with family and friends. Back yards and parks are filled with laughter; the smell of meat cooking on barbecues is everywhere. I spent a wonderful afternoon with my family. There were about 25 of us in June's back garden in Mississauga, a Toronto suburb.

(Click on the pics to enlarge them.)


It's hard to be serious when you're having your picture taken.

Dan and Meagan were both there. Maxine too, of course. And Baby David. It was the first time most of them had met the newest Pringle. Everyone took a turn holding him and David was so sweet, so relaxed. He really is a good natured little man, Ms J.


He enjoyed the attention. So did Dan, I think.

We had hamburgers and hotdogs (I brought the buns) and the women provided salads and cut up watermelon. June baked a rectangular cake and decorated it with red candy to resemble a Canadian flag. I wanted to take a picture of it, but it was eaten before I remembered it. I guess it must have been tasty too.

Maxine is a likeable girl and she visited with nearly everyone. She didn't appear to be too overwhelmed by the number of us. She and Dan were pleased that we made a fuss over the baby. Dan was glad not to have to hold him all afternoon, but neither he nor Maxine strayed far from David. That's as it should be, I think, Ms J.


"It's nice to get a break from the baby, Dad."

July is a birthday month not only for Canada, but also for my brother and me. Pat was born on July 11th and I on the 24th. Mum and Dad gave us each a card with a cheque inside. $100 That was nice. Even better was the gift I got from Mum.

She has made at least six quilts over the past ten years or so. Quilts, Ms J. Real quilts, hand sewn. They're extremely labour intensive, as you can imagine, each one requiring hundreds of hours of patient needlework. Mum made one each for Pat and for each of my four sisters: Donna, Helen and the twins, Jill and June. I wondered when she might make one for me, but I never asked.


This was the day. "Happy early Birthday, Dale."

You know, Ms J, I've written lots about my dear ol' dad but I haven't said much about Mum. Mum is ... well, she's my mother. OUR mother. She's cooked and cleaned for us and sewn our clothes. She can do anything in the house and she does it all well. She's a really good cook and I can't imagine how she came up with three meals a day for dad and us six kids, and always made it a treat. She patched torn pants and bandaged cuts and scrapes, even mended broken hearts. She always listened to our stories, even when she was busy. And she was VERY busy. Mum gave us our religious training, and although I hated going to Sunday school, I'm grateful for that now. I love my mum. And I know she loves me too.


Here's the tag on my new quilt. I wanted to cry, but I held the tears inside.

I promise I'll take good care of it, Ms Journal. I'll still have the quilt when I no longer have Mum.


Brother Pat holds up my quilt. "Get a shot of me holding up yer quilt," he said. Pat makes me laugh, Ms J. He made David smile too.

Helen was at the party too. Remember Helen, Ms J? She lost a breast to cancer this past winter. She's just begun chemo-therapy. I chatted with my sister for a while and she introduced her new beau. Bob's his name. Friendly smile. Firm handshake. He's good to Helen and that's what matters, isn't it? Helen was in good spirits, but she's lost weight. After only one treatment, her beautiful, wavy red hair is falling out in clumps. Oh Ms J, it breaks my heart to see it.

"I had a good cry in the shower the other day," she told me, "but it's only hair. It'll grow back."

Please Lord, be gentle with my sister. I know you love her, but I do too.

Meagan read the card Mum gave me. She decided it was nice.

"Take a picture of me, Dad," she said, "in my state of thoughtful reflection."

So I did. Notice her new hair colour? It looks quite purple in the sunlight. Her natural colour is a gorgeous strawberry blond. I don't understand why she wants to dye it. But she does, dye it I mean. Her Aunt Helen would be happy with hair of any hue as long as it was healthy.


"Thoughtful reflection."

Just before it was time to leave, Meagan reminded me of something I'd planned to do. Something important.

"Dad, you said you wanted a picture of the four generations. We'd better do it before we forget. You get Grampa and I'll go find Dan and David."

I'll leave you with the photo, Ms J, but before I go to bed, I want to say that I had a brilliant time at June's. It was the first Canada Day get-together at June's house and I hope we can call it the First Annual Canada Day Family Gathering. Family is really important, isn't it? I know it, and I want my kids to know it. I want them to know their cousins and aunts and uncles. My blood. Their blood. Our family. The Pringles. What a cool club!


My father, my son, and his son. Don't we look proud?

Good night, Ms J.

***