Zzzzzzzz

Too tired
To post
Too much
Today

Tune in
Tomorrow
Tonight's
Too late

***

Busy Times

Worked with you-know-who again this morning. Gah! That man could turn a dog off a gut wagon. I couldn't bring myself to suffer him again this aft' so I booked rest.

My sister June popped over with her kids, Shauna and Ryan, for lunch. After lunch, we went for a long walk along the waterfront trail. It's really nice there, Ms J. Flowers and trees and butterflies. And lots of pretty girls on bikes and roller blades. The weather was perfect. We all enjoyed it.


Great kids. A great day!


Ryan, June, Shauna. The city's downtown core is seen across Humber Bay.

We had ice cream when we got back. They just left a minute ago to battle the rush hour traffic back to their Mississauga home.

Girl Alex is coming over tonight. She's going to spend the night here and then tomorrow, after my morning shift, we'll collect Frankie and the three of us are going to the CNE. The Canadian National Exhibition.

Remember last year, Ms J? Meagan went with us. Hanna, G.A's sister too. We had a brilliant time. This year, it'll be just the two women and I. I wish Scout would come. I asked her but she said no. Oh well. We'll have fun. I'm sure of it.

There's a church meeting at a neighbour's house tonight. I really should attend, as I'm on the worship committee. We'll discuss and plan the worship services for the next few months.

I feel bad, really. Alex will be here but I'll have to rush off as soon as she arrives. I'm sure she'll understand.

Anyway, I gotta go. Maybe I can have a wee nap before she gets here.

***

Caution: Not For the Squeamish

I worked with a chap this morning - let's call him Louis - who ...

No. Wait. We can't call him Louis, Ms J. That's his real name. We'll call him ... John. No, that's too common. Frank. No. Phil. Yeah. OK. We'll call him Phil.

So I was sitting in the coffee shop in Hamilton this morning when Lou - er, Phil waltzed over and plunked himself down heavily at my table.

"How ya doin' this morning, Dale?" he said.

I busied myself with a paper napkin for he'd jostled the table and slopped my coffee all over the place.

"Fine," I said. "I'm alright, thank you."

He picked a dry napkin from the table, held it to his nose, and proceded to blow his nose for what seemed like five minutes. He blew and then he honked. Then he snorted and sniffled and blew some more. I tried to concentrate on my breakfast bagel, but the sound he was making was disgusting.

"I wish I had a t-shirt with a big "M" on the front," he said finally.

I chewed my food tentatively, raised my head slightly and looked at him over my glasses.

"Why?" I asked, although I really didn't care.

He was still wiping his nose, and with the same napkin.
I remember thinking God, it must be full by now.

"I could be a super hero, eh? Mucous man."

He grinned and there was wet paper and snot on his upper lip.

"Shut up, Lou .." Er, sorry. "Shut up, PHIL. And wipe your nose."

The hand came up and wiped with that same disgusting tissue and I nearly lost what breakfast I'd eaten. He only made matters worse. I made a silent vow not to look at him again the entire morning. I didn't finish my bagel, but I did manage to drink some coffee. I drank it, Ms J, but I didn't enjoy it.

He's not a kid, this fellow. He's a grown man. And I had to sit with him in the cab of the locomotive all the way back to Toronto. He spent much of the trip, coughing and hawking up great gobs of green goo which he spat ceremoniously out the window. My stomach did cartwheels.

I have to go back to work in an hour. I hope he's feeling better this afternoon.

***

Still Glowing From Yesterday

Have you ever had a thought or a recollection that was so pleasing, you almost became addicted to it?

I keep replaying the congratulations I got yesterday morning after I gave my sermon in church. Each time I recall it, a feeling of pride and satisfaction washes over me.

I was good, Ms J. Real good.

Rev. Linda said it was better than last year's. And she was so excited, she pulled me into a warm and sincere embrace.

"That was really good, Dale," she said. "I really enjoyed it. I think we all did."

I grinned and thanked her. And my chest seemed to fill with Love and goodness.

Sometimes, it seems, Life is almost too sweet to bear.

***

"Out of The Depths ..."

Morning, Ms J. This is the day. Today's the day I get to give my sermon in church.

The sermon is based on Psalm 130 and the psalm will be read before I deliver my sermon. I think it might be helpful if you read it first. So here it is. Don't roll your eyes, Ms Journal. It's not that long.

1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;

2 O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications.

3 If thou, O LORD, should mark iniquities,
Lord, who could stand?

4 But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.

5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope.

6 My soul waits for the Lord
more than those who wait for the morning,
more than those who wait for the morning.

7 O Israel, hope in the LORD,
for in the LORD there is steadfast love
and with him is plenteous redemption.

8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.

There. That didn't hurt too badly, did it? Good, then. I'm off to church. Here's the sermon. B-bye, now.

---

“Out of the Depths, Still He Loves Us”

It’s been said that there are really only two kinds of prayer: “Thank you Thank you Thank you.” And “Help me. Help me. Help me.” Our psalm this morning begins with a cry for help.

“Out of the depths, I cry to you O LORD. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!”

In a word – HELP!

We’ve all, at one time or another, found ourselves in The Depths. The Depths of Despair. We’ve come to think of Heaven and Hell as directions: Heaven is up. Hell is down. And The Depths, my friends, suggests Hell. If you’ve been there – and I know you have – you know what I mean. It’s Hell on Earth, isn’t it?

Each of us has suffered sleepless nights and worrisome days filled with fear and dread and anxiety. We want so badly to alter the outcome of a situation, but we know we’re helpless to change things. Often, I think, it’s we who need changing. We’re in need perhaps, of a fresh outlook, a new perspective. We need to stop feeling angry or jealous or hateful. We know what we must do, but we cannot. We obsess about it, but we know we can do nothing, change nothing without God’s help.

Me? I worry about my kids. Daniel and Meagan. It’s a parent’s lot to worry about their children. My kids don’t live with me you see, so I can’t influence them as I wish I could. I can’t always be present to keep them safe. And it drives me crazy. Sometimes, our relationship is strained and the only way to change it, is to change myself, to admit fault, to apologise. Seek justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly with my God.

In those dark times, I know what I have to do, but I just don’t seem able. And so I do nothing. I wait. But I don’t wait gladly. I don’t wait patiently. I rant and roar, and hurt and yes, I cry.

Out of the depths, I cry to you O LORD. Lord, hear my voice!

And still I wait, wringing my hands and writhing. In my darkest hours, I sometimes imagine myself so far down and God so far up, that there’s no way He could hear my cries.

But the psalmist continues:

“I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope.”

Perhaps that’s the key then. Hoping. “In his word, I hope.”

Did you know that in Hebrew, the same word is used to mean both waiting and hoping? If I wait, don’t I also hope?

“My soul waits for the Lord,” says the psalmist, “more than those who wait for the morning, more than those who wait for the morning.”

There is hope in God and there is hope in His son, Jesus Christ. It’s the hoping that makes the waiting bearable. Yes! That’s it then. It’s the hoping that makes the waiting bearable.

When he realises this, the fellow invites the whole world to partake of this wisdom.

“O Israel,” he writes, “hope in the LORD! For with the LORD there is steadfast Love.”

Steadfast Love. Well, I wasn’t sure exactly of the meaning of the word “steadfast” so I looked it up. It means “unfaltering, unwavering, unshakable.” Even when we forget about God, He doesn’t forget about us. God is always with us, always wanting what’s best for us, always loving us. No matter what. Steadfast Love.

If I trust in His steadfast Love, I must believe that he hurts to see me hurt. Don’t we hurt to see our children suffer? But as wise parents we know that sometimes, the only way to grow is through pain. God knows this too.

I once wrote myself a note, printed it and posted it on the wall at home as a reminder of this. It says: “My Life is and has been, moving in the direction that will offer me the greatest challenges and therefore the greatest opportunities to learn and to grow, for myself and for others and to the glory of God.”

God loves us. His Love is steadfast. And unconditional. He doesn’t want us to hurt, but he’s keen to see us grow. In wisdom. In compassion. In humility.

That’s why Love always wins. It may take some time, but Love always wins. Steadfast Love always wins. And it’s there for us. Every minute of every day. Even from the murkiest depths of our despair, God loves us.

A friend sent this to me recently, and I thought it was quite propitious. It’s a quote by Mahatma Ghandi.

"When I despair, I remember that all through history, the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and, for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it...always."

I once read about a 15th century monk who used to pray for adversity, claiming it was hard times and difficulties that brought him closer to God. It’s easy to forget in good times. It’s easy to imagine that things are supposed to go our way all the time. And we’re shocked and outraged when troubles befall us.

But when we think of God, when we acknowledge Him through prayer or meditation, He listens. He’s always listening. God is listening now. And He accepts us, warts and all. Simply asking for forgiveness guarantees it.

He doesn’t regard our misery, often self-inflicted, as an opportunity to keep score against us, but rather as another opportunity to demonstrate His grace and his forgiveness. And He invites us to mirror His Love by offering the same kind of grace to others.

Merely thinking of God, is often enough to ease our burden. Isn’t that amazing? I don’t know about you, but for me, just knowing there’s someone out there who loves me, who knows my every fault and weakness, and forgives me and loves me anyway … Well, there’s great comfort in that, isn’t there?

We can all find solace, we can all discover the peace of Christ, secure in the knowledge that even out of The Depths, still He loves us.

Amen.

***

I Do It For Fun

The guys at work often ask about my acting "career."

"Got any plays on the go right now?" they ask and I tell them.

"How much do you get paid for doing a play?"

"Nothing," I tell them. "I just do it for fun."

Often, they seem surprised at my answer.

"Really? But wouldn't you like to get paid to act? I'll bet you'd love to make it big in Hollywood, eh?"

Actually, Ms J, no. I'm quite content doing community (amateur) theatre. I have no aspirations of "making it big" in Hollywood. Or anywhere, really. There are thousands of actors here, and in Los Angeles and New York - talented actors - hoping desperately to be cast in a movie or Broadway show. Their chance of being "discovered" is incredibly slim. Incredibly slim.

I am happy to run an engine, to drive a train for a living and act in little theatre in my spare time. There's not so much pressure there. There's not the possiblity of dashed hopes and a Life of poverty and uncertainty. Why ever would I give up my regular job on the railway to pursue a pipe dream?

I act because it's fun. It fills my heart, I tell people. I don't need to be famous or rich or sought after. The fun is my reward. Acting is challenging. It keeps my mind active. And I've met some really wonderful friends in the theatre both on and off stage.

I write for the same reasons, essentially. I write because it's fun. I like it. I enjoy the challenge of choosing just the right word or exploring different sentence structures in order to convey my thoughts just so.

I like it when the audience laughs or applauds or when folks read my writing and comment. It's only natural to enjoy praise if it comes. But even when the audience is small or if Mum and Dad are the only ones who read my journal entries, I will continue to explore these creative outlets. I like to act and I enjoy writing.

I expect I'll continue for years to come.

***

Friday's Post

Friday, Ms Journal. It's Friday and today's news is good. And bad.

This morning at work something bad hap ---

What, Ms J? Yes, that's the bad news. You want the good news first? Oh. OK then.

Well, there are a few good news items, actually. It's Friday, and that's pretty darn good all by itself. But there's more. My sermon is finished and that's a load off my mind. I know. I already told you that, but it's a good thing, a happy thing, and so I'm telling you again. Deal with it. Also, I'm wealthier than I thought. I've been buying shares in CN (the world's most ruthless employer) and I ---

Yes, Ms Journal. I know it's hypocritical of me to invest in a company I despise, but ... But, well .. I did, OK? I signed up for the employee share purchase plan. So sue me. Anyway, I checked my account today, and there's more there than I thought. So now I don't know what to do. If I sell them, I'll have to pay capital gains tax and if I hold onto them, well ... what's the point of just keeping them? I mean there's potential value in shares, but it's only realised when you sell them. Yes?

I believe that when our current and despised CEO has drained all he can from our once proud railway, he'll scurry back south to his Tennessee mansion and leave the Canadian taxpayers to rescue the company. When that happens, share prices will plummet. The arsehole's tenure is up in 2008.

But enough of that. Here's more good news. Nick was here for lunch today. We had steaks and baked potatoes on the BBQ. Nick looked good. He was neither drunk nor hung over. He was nicely dressed and I quite enjoyed my time with him. Could be there's hope for him yet. I believe he'll be fine. I believe in the power of time and friends to heal emotional scars. I believe in Nick.

Is it OK if I tell you the bad news now? Thank you.

This morning, our train went past a red light. So what, you say? What's the big deal? Well, our trains operate via a signal system, Ms J. It's called CTC - Centralised Traffic Control. Just as aircraft movements are directed by air traffic controllers, train movements are guided by trackside signals which are controlled remotely by rail traffic controllers. When an engineer inadvertently takes his train past a red signal, it means trouble - big trouble for the entire crew. And of course, it carries with it the possibility for an horrific disaster.

Fortunately, I am not implicated as I was at the other end of the train when it happened. I was preparing the train for movement in the opposite direction. We were moving slowly at the time and our empty train was nowhere near a busy mainline track. But still ... The light was red, and the other engineer went past it. He saw the signal, but mistakenly believed it governed movement on an adjacent track. As a result, hundreds of commuters were inconvenienced, and the engineer responsible was removed from service on the spot. I feel so sorry for him. He's a good man, honest and hard working. He has a young family. He's afraid he may lose his job.

We're human, Ms J. We sometimes make mistakes. Sadly, management at Canadian National are not interested anymore in recognising the fallibility of men. They don't care about employees coming to work tired because they're afraid to book rest. They have no regard for the possibility that mistakes happen. No one would ever intentionally put a train or its passengers in danger.

There is no compassion anymore. There is only investigation and discipline. Harsh discipline, Ms J. for this incident is considered a "cardinal" rule violation. It's very serious and dealt with at a management level far above that which we normally see. The people who will proscribe the discipline know NOTHING about train operations. And they don't know what a good man this employee is. They have no idea of the emotional torment he must be feeling tonight at home with his family. Isn't that punishment enough?

I'll pray for you, AJ. I'll pray that you can soon return to work and continue to earn a living to support your family.

***

The Smallest Acts of Kindness

"Excuse me. Miss? Are these your keys?"

I watched as the woman turned back toward the coffee shop to face the man who'd spoken.

"Oh, yes. Thank you," she said and accepted the keys. "I left them on the counter, didn't I?"

The man nodded his head.

"I thought you might need them."

A smile lit her face and she thanked him again. Then she turned and hurried toward the stairs and the train.

I looked around at the others in the coffee shop. Most had witnessed the interaction and some were smiling quietly as was I. It's the little things, eh Ms J? We had seen the man's thoughtfulness and derived a moment's pleasure from it. His simple act of kindness had brought a little joy to perhaps half a dozen people, strangers all. I marveled at how it had rippled and spread.

He didn't have to take the woman her keys. He could have chosen to ignore them and leave them there by the cash register. But he didn't. He considered the inconvenience it would have caused her and chose to act. We say he was considerate, Ms J, because he considered her.

I'm an actor. I enjoy observing people in natural environments, doing what they do in ordinary and sometimes no-so-ordinary situations. I see little acts of kindness every day. Every single day. It pleases me so to see it, that I actually watch for it.

Someone will pause to hold a door for the person following. Someone will stoop to retrieve a coin and return it to its owner. A young man accepts his change at the store, then moves aside while he puts the money in his wallet to allow the next person to conduct their purchase. I even watched once as a man parked his car and raced off into a shop without putting money in the parking meter.

"Uh-oh," said a man standing nearby. "There's a cop just down the street and he's writing tickets."

He reached into his pocket, extracted a coin and fed the parking meter. It was only ten cents, Ms J, but the point is not his generosity, but rather his consideration for someone else. That's the part that thrills me.

Sure, I participate sometimes. I hold doors for people, and consider their feelings (usually) and try to think beyond the end of my nose. I do it and of course it feels good to help others. But for me, the real thrill comes in witnessing the kindness of someone else. That's what turns me on.

It doesn't take much, really. Only the smallest act of kindness. Try it sometime. Watch the ripples.

***

Halleluiah!

My sermon is done! I spent a couple of hours working on it this afternoon and despite numerous interruptions, (The phone rang and friends stopped by. Christine was here for lunch) I finished it. I don't think it's as good as the one I did last year, but it's not bad. It's alright. And I'm thrilled that it's written. I'm satisfied with what I've done.

"Out of the Depths, Still He Loves Us"

Wanna read it, Ms J?

Too bad, my dear. You'll have to wait until Sunday.

Bonne Nuit!

***

A New Angle for My Sermon

I was stuck, Ms J. I've sat here half a dozen times over the past two days and tried to write a sermon. I had less than a page of text, and it was drivel. The sermon is to be based on Psalm 130. So says Rev. Linda. It's a cry for help. "Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord." Actually, there are a couple of important points in the psalm. But despite repeated attempts, I kept coming up with nothing. Or almost nothing. I was stalled. I needed help to get started. I called the church this morning.

"Hi Susan. Is Linda there?"

Susan told me the preacher had gone away this week and wouldn't be back til Saturday.

"Oh poo!" I said. "I really need some help with this sermon. I have to present it on Sunday and I'm going crazy here trying to write something good. Or anything at all, really. What should I do?"

"Call Charlotte," she advised. "She'll help."

So I did. I'm just home from Charlotte's house. We had a cup of tea together and she suggested that I might try a different tack.

"You've been in the depths, Dale. You've suffered there with worries for your kids, especially Daniel. What did you do? How did it feel? And how have things turned out? What happened to turn you around? Why not speak from your heart instead of trying to preach directly on the Bible passage?"

"But it's too personal, Sweet Charlotte," I said. (I call her Sweet Charlotte, Ms J, because she's ... well, sweet.)

"You don't have to go into great detail," she said. "Just enough to get your point across."

I've just deleted my old sermon and written a few notes based on my conversation with Charlotte. I'll sleep on it and start fresh in the morning. I feel more positive, Ms Journal, but in Truth, I'll be happy when Sunday is finally behind me.

God Night.

***

Camping With The Pringles

Hi Ms Journal.

I hope you'll excuse this jumbled mess today, but I really should be working on my sermon. Or something. My thoughts are really scattered, but I'll try to tell you about the weekend. I may resort to photos if I can't write coherently. OK, here goes.

I packed the car Saturday morning with tents and sleeping bags and headed off under grey and gloomy skies to fetch the kids from Norval. It looked like it might rain any moment, but it didn’t, Ms J. It didn’t rain until after we went to bed that night.

I put Dan and Maxine and the baby in the larger tent. Meagan slept alone in the smaller one. I slept in Sherri’s friend’s car. It was an SUV type vehicle with seats that fold down. I borrowed an air mattress from Mum and I was quite comfortable. Diana even let me use her portable DVD player and I watched a movie before I fell asleep. “Bruce Almighty.” It was enjoyable.


David, Diana, Sherri

Baby David was the star of the weekend. Everybody wanted a turn at holding him. In the photo above, Sherri joins in while Diana cuddles the baby.

David is not quite five months old. He’s a big boy. He’s nearly strong enough to hold his head up all the time. He smiles sometimes and he reaches his arms out toward what he wants. He doesn’t cry much except when he’s tired or hungry.


Mum and her great grandson

Helen also got her share of attention. My sister has had three chemotherapy treatments and her thick red hair is completely gone. She’s lost a lot of weight. But she’s still Helen, still positive, still able to smile and enjoy her Life. The weekend was a bittersweet one for her. She was scheduled to undergo another treatment this (Monday) morning. She’ll be incapacitated with weakness, nausea and body aches for more than a week.

“This is my last treatment, though,” she told us. “Just one more bout of horror and then I can begin the healing.”

She hopes to return to her job as a neo-natal nurse by Thanksgiving. I hope so too, Ms J. I think of her often and pray for her.

Most of us went to bed before midnight, but some stayed up late talking round the campfire or sitting in Pat’s gazebo, protected from the intermittent rain. The kids and I were all in bed by midnight.

Dan and Maxine slept on my brand new air mattress. Meagan used my sleeping bags.

Sunday. We awoke to a light rain this morning and dreary skies. Everything was wet. Maxine had peed the bed (“she does that sometimes, Dad”) and soaked my air mattress. Meagan had told me she might and I had asked Helen for an adult diaper.

“I thought she had a diaper on, Dan. What happened?”

“She couldn’t figure out how to wear it.”

Pfff. Unbelievable, Ms J. Again, I say, a curse on Kelly for introducing my son to that girl. Not only can she not work or do housework or cook or clean or care for the baby … She wets the bed. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. Dan has no idea what it’s like to have a normal girlfriend.

On a lighter note, Dan proved himself to be a good father. A few people mentioned how good he is with the baby.


A very good father.

He washed him and fed him and changed his diapers. Maxine held the baby, but I really didn’t see her actually caring for him. What will become of my son, Ms Journal? Will he be on welfare forever? He really doesn’t appear to be ashamed to be on the dole.

“We go to the food bank sometimes, Dad,” he told me without hesitation. “I have this card I show them and I can get whatever I need. Plus, I get free dental care for David.”

I don’t know how he can live that way, but I guess kids learn what they see. Dan has the same attitude as his mother. I don’t need to be financially responsible. Someone else will pay my bills.

The cold rain stopped by mid-morning and the sun shone to warm us and dry the tents and air mattress. Pat had no competitions planned this year. We amused ourselves by visiting and getting caught up on the goings-on in our Lives. The young ones played all day catching frogs by the river.


Shauna and Erin and Jason. Cousins.


What's everybody looking at?


"We caught a blue fwog, Uncle Dale. A gween one and a black one and a blue one."

A blue frog! Well I’ll be jiggered!!

Some of the adults did some shooting.


With a BB gun


With a bow and arrow.


And with a camera


Archery's not as easy as it looks. Uncle Pat offered help.

Everybody got to try the archery. Pat offered instruction. Dan tried it. And so did I, Ms J. Helen too. Meagan bruised her arm when the bow string hit her.

Sunday was a relaxing day. It was a day for doing whatever we wanted. It was nice to be with family. Everyone was at peace. Nearly everyone. Maxine did not appear to enjoy herself much, although she didn’t complain. It was her very first camping trip.


Maxine held the baby, but Dan did the feeding and the changing. She's a sweet girl, but I wonder what the future holds for her.

On the ride home, we chatted in the car.

“Did you have a good time, Maxine?” I asked.

“Well, it was alright. It gets too dark at night, though.”

“Were you scared?”

“Yup.”

I asked Dan what he thought of our weekend.

“How about you, Boy? Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, Dad. It was pretty good. David liked it too. I asked him if he liked camping and he smiled at me.”

“Would you go again, do you think?”

“Sure. I’d take David too. In a heartbeat. And Maxine would be happy to stay home with Mum I’ll bet.”

Then he kissed her while the baby slept in the car seat between them. Maxine nodded her head and Dan nodded too. Meagan laughed.

It was good, Ms J. It was pretty darned good.

***

Now Playing With a Full Deck

It's done, Ms J! My deck is all done. And in less than seven weeks!


It looks fabulous, Ms J. Those guys are really talented.

The lads were here about four hours today. They installed a table on top of the front railing. They even put a custom railing on the table. It looks a little like a captain's shelf.

"It'll keep your beer or your plate from sliding off by accident," Bob said. "Maybe you'll get a couple of bar stools one day and you can sit here and eat yer Corn Flakes in the morning."


Wally and Bob fasten the top rail in place. I'm really pleased.


Cool, eh? It's definitely one of a kind.

I'm going to invite them all over for a barbecued lunch next week.

---

Tomorrow morning, I'm driving to Norval to collect Dan and Maxine and David. Meagan too. We're all heading up to Pat's wilderness retreat two hours north of the city. It's time once again for the annual Pringle Family camping weekend.

No worries, Ms J. I'll take pictures and make notes. I'll tell you all about it on Monday.

Good Night.

***

Television on The Trains

They've installed TV's on our GO trains, Ms J. Not on every train, and not in every coach, but still ... Four 19" LCD monitors are suspended with fancy chrome hardware from the ceilings on both upper and lower levels of some of our bi-level coaches. I assume it's a trial to see if the travelling public fancies them or not. There was no sound, only advertising, news and weather and sports. Count me among those opposed to the idea.

Have we become so wrapped up in ourselves, that we must seek out new reasons to ignore each other? We have Walkmans and Discmans, and now mp3 players to blot out the world around us and allow us to withdraw from Life. Cell phones are ubiquitous. A few old fashioned souls sit quietly on the train and read a book, or the newspaper. Very seldom does anyone attempt conversation with a seat mate.

It's sad, Ms J. Nearly 2000 commuters ride on a rush hour train. The same people each day, many of them in the same seat each day. You'd think they might strike up a conversation. You'd think they'd all be friends by now.

But no. Each of them has his or her own set of cares and can't imagine sharing them with a stranger. And now they can sit and stare at the coloured lights and moving images being fed them by wealthy corporations and government. Do this. Don't do that. Buy this product. Use that service.

Remove the cursed televisions, say I. Put down your newspapers, friends. Unplug yourselves from your electronic masters. Lift your face from your laptop computer and meet the gaze of the person across from you.

"Hello. How are you today?"

How difficult can it be? I do it all the time. That's how I met my GO girls. Try it, people. Try establishing contact with a stranger today. Tomorrow, you may call them friend.

***

From Flummoxed to Fine

Well, I had lunch with The Boy today. With Dan. I drove to Norval and picked him up at 11:30. We went to his favourite restaurant in Georgetown. We ate. We talked. Mostly, he talked. I listened.

He talked about David. And about David's bedtime, and David's teething pains, and David's moods and ... Well, he talked about the baby. I told him I was a little nervous about taking an infant camping this weekend.

"So am I, Dad. He's been cranky lately, with his teeth coming in and so on. And he reacts badly to insect bites."

I asked if his mum might look after the baby for the weekend and he and Maxine might come camping alone.

"Well, I don't like leaving him, really. He always cries when we leave him. And Mum doesn't know his schedule like me and Maxine. I'd like to take him, Dad. I just feel a little nervous, that's all."

"There'll be lots of people at Uncle Pat's to help you care for him, Dan. Lots of arms to hold him if he cries."

"Yeah, I know," said Dan, "but David is my responsibility, not anyone else's."

I liked the sound of that, Ms J. I really liked the sound of that.

We enjoyed our lunch. I decided not to lecture my son or to suggest (for the twentieth time) that he get a job. Instead, I observed his clear, blue eyes and sincere manner that reminded me how far he'd come since those horrible days when he lived here and when he was full of drugs and mental illness. I remembered the frantic trips to the hospital and the visits from the police. He's come so far since then. I really feel there's hope for him.

If I preach to him or criticise him, he'll only close his ears. But if I continue to demonstrate my "sense of direction" and how it helps me to lead a happier Life, perhaps he'll get the message. Eventually. One day. On his own. It'll be fine.

Dan'll be OK, Ms J. Somehow. God knows how. And I believe He's got a plan for my son.

***

Thought: Action In Rehearsal

Tomorrow's Wednesday, Ms J. I'm planning to have lunch with The Boy. I often refer to my son as "The Boy". His name, of course, is Daniel. Dan. Never Danny, for he hates that. A commenter here once criticized me for calling him The Boy and not using his name. It was disrespectful, he said. I don't know. Perhaps he was right. But when The Boy stops behaving like a boy and begins to act like a man, I'll stop referring to him that way.

The Boy is selfish, indolent, truculent, angry and insolent. Substitute the indolence for a half cup of ambition, and you'd have a carbon copy of his father at that age. The big difference between Dan and me is that when I was 20, I'd finished high school, and had worked more than a year on the railroad. I had no girlfriend - retarded or otherwise - and no infant child. I was slim, fit, active. My hair did not hang on my shoulders. I had a car, a motorcycle, a driver's licence. I didn't live with my mummy.

I know, Ms Journal. Don't even say it.

"You're not Dan."

I know that, dammit. Don't you think I know that?

Times are different today, so they tell me. But different how? A person still needs to be responsible. A man needs a job, or a compelling reason why he's not working. School, for instance. Or some sort of disability that renders him unemployable ... like Maxine.

"But I can't get a job, Dad. Maxine freaks out every time I leave the house without her. She has separation anxiety. She had a lousy childh ---"

"Tell Maxine to smarten up, wake up, or get the hell out. She's holding you back, boy. She and Mum, the two of them are keeping you from becoming a man. They're like weights tied to your ankles, Dan. They're pulling you down. Can't you see that? Maybe you don't care about yourself. Maybe you're happy to live with your mother and play video games and eat your way into oblivion, but don't you want something more for David? Can't you envision a better Life for him? Don't you want your son to be happy and healthy and successful? That's what I want for my son."

"I am happy, Dad. I've got everything I need."

... Ok, here's where the rehearsal begins to sputter. He does have what he needs. He has a girlfriend and a son. A roof over his head and a full (VERY full) belly. He has a regular pay cheque thanks to the Canadian taxpayers. He gives his mother some money for rent and has a bit left over for luxuries like a pellet gun and junk food and tobacco. Maybe some marijuana or hashish, I don't know.

"But look at you, Dan. You're getting fat. Your beard and your hair are ... disgraceful. And you're on welfare for goodness sake. Welfare! Jesus, Dan! Welfare! I mean WHAT THE F...?"

Sigh ...

You see, Ms J? I've been thinking about this all day. I've been thinking about having lunch with my son and rehearsing what I'd like to tell him. Every time, every single time, the scenario ends with me getting angry and Dan getting defensive. Sometimes, it ends with him crying.

I don't want to break his heart, Ms Journal. I don't want to lecture him or preach to him. And I sure don't want to alienate him. I only want what's best for my son.

But do I have the right to decide what's best? It's his Life after all.

"Flummoxed" is the word of the day today. Flummoxed. I am completely flummoxed.

***

Not Much to Tell You, Ms J.

When compared to eventful days of the past, this one was ... unremarkable. I woke, went to work, returned home. Wally and Bob and Bruno came over. We finished the railings. I fed them hamburgers and hotdogs for lunch. I went back to work at 3:15. After work, I drove to Home Depot and spent another sixty dollars on the deck.

I'm growing weary of spending money on that deck, Ms J. I think I'll have to tell the lads, that's it then. Thanks for the help, but I can't afford to spend any more money. I'm well pleased with the work they've done, but I'd like to have a few rubles left to buy some patio furniture. Then I'll invite them for a BBQ.


Bob, Wally, Bruno. I couldn't have done it alone.

I haven't started writing my sermon yet. And I feel anxious about it. Nervous, like. It has to be ready by August 27th. I'm wishing right now that I didn't have to do it, but as our Aussie friend, Michelle might say, it'll be right, mate, on the 27th.

I just need to get motivated.

***

Beer and Bikes and Boys. And Colleen.

Another fabulous day, Ms J. I began the day at 7:00 with an oatmeal breakfast followed by coffee al fresco. The morning air was cool and fresh and I welcomed the warm sun as it softly lit me and all my garden. The dew sparkled with delight and the song birds rejoiced. It was a beautiful morning. Soft and peaceful.

I rode my bike to church where I led the congregation in worship until Linda took over and delivered a moving sermon about “A Sense of Direction.” I listened and wished my son could discover his own sense of direction. I called him last night and arranged to take him out to lunch on Wednesday – just me and my boy. We’ll talk.

Colleen grabbed my arm after the service.

“When are you coming over to see my new fence and patio?” she asked.

“How about today?” I said. “How ‘bout now? How ‘bout I invite myself over for lunch?”

She laughed and her blue eyes twinkled.

“OK, then. It’s a deal. See you in a few minutes?”

So I pedaled over to Colleen’s house. She proudly showed me the fence she had built in her back yard. It was made of wood and trimmed with lattice on top. I was impressed!

“You did this by yourself, Colleen?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said and folded her arms across her chest. “All by myself.”

“I helped too, Mummy,” said a little voice from behind me.

Ivy is her name, Ms J. She’s six and as pretty as any child I’ve ever seen. Ivy’s eyes are green and large and gorgeous with long, dark lashes.

Colleen is 33 and divorced. She’s a beautiful soul. Her mum and dad are wonderful people too. Colleen and I sat on her patio and chatted over a glass of iced tea and when I next looked at my watch, it was half past four. I excused myself and came home.

Yeah, she’s a nice girl, that Colleen. I like her honesty. I find honesty very attractive. So why don’t I ask her out on a date? Well, we talked about that too. Not in those words, exactly, but we both stated how good Life is right now and how set we are in our ways, and how disinclined we both are to enter into a relationship that could enhance our Lives, but would, in all probability, complicate it. We’ll remain friends.

At home later, I was putting gas in my new lawnmower when I heard the clinking of beer bottles. I knew Nick couldn’t be far behind and sure enough, he’d arrived on a bicycle. He had four bottles of beer in a plastic bag. He was drunk.

“I’ve just left Ron’s,” he said. “Ron is drunk and so is his neighbour, Joe.”

“And so are you, by the look of it,” I said.

“Yup, I guess I am,” he said, staggering away from his bike, “but not as drunk as them other guys. Here. Want a beer?”

I took a beer from him, Ms J, not because I wanted it necessarily, but rather to keep him from drinking it. Clearly, he’d had enough.

We sat together on the deck and talked. Nick talked. I tried to listen. He talked about George Bush’s war and about government lies and corruption. I agreed with the essence of his rant, but much of it was rubbish. Finally, I’d had enough. I had to get him away from his beer.

“It’s a beautiful evening, Nick. Would you like to go for a ride along the waterfront?”

“Sure,” he said. That’s a great idea. Let’s go.”

So we did. We mounted our bikes and rode off into the gloaming. It was really enjoyable. We rode for two hours and when we returned, Nick was beginning to sober up.

“We should go over to the pub and get some wings,” he suggested as we approached his apartment building up the street from my home.

I knew it was beer he wanted, not chicken wings, and I declined his offer saying tomorrow morning would come early. He accepted that, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he went down to the pub alone after I left him.

A Sense of Direction. That’s what Nick lacks. Dan too. I can point out the way to them, even draw a map, but ultimately, they’ll need to find their own way. They’ll have to discover their own sense of direction.

I hope they find themselves before they lose themselves.

***

Very Satisfying

I spent the day alone, Ms J. I had to wait around for Sears to deliver my table and lawnmower, and they did eventually show up. I had feared they wouldn't bring the lawnmower, but they did. I am very pleased.


Ain't she a beauty?

I assembled the table and chairs and did some much-needed housework, and just pottered about at my own pace, listening to music and drinking wine. I worked in the garden and swept up the sawdust and bits of wood that were left lying around. It was a peaceful day, sunny and gorgeous.


It's oak. Well, it looks like oak, anyway. It goes nicely with the hardwood floor. See the deck in the background?

As I sat on the deck this evening, I pondered my great good fortune in having friends who were so willing to help with that project. And at no cost beyond a few bottles of beer and countless jugs of lemonade. Bob, Wally, and Bruno. Jeff too, and Joe. Adam, of course. And Tammy. Even Nick helped out by lending me some power tools. I couldn't possibly have done it by myself. It might have cost $2000 more had I paid professionals to build it.


It's like having another room to live in, Ms J. I absolutely love it!

I wonder what I can do to thank them all? Maybe I'll buy some steaks and invite them over for a barbecue. Still, it doesn't seem like enough.

***

Rather an Ordinary Day, Really. Sort of.

Well, I can't conjure up something brilliant every day, Ms J. And today was something less than scintillating.

I returned some lumber to Home Depot and bought some more. Two by twelves, they were. Twelve feet long. Two of them. Nearly seventy bucks for the pair! Adam came over tonight and cut four pieces from those boards. They look like giant hockey sticks and they'll be hand rails for the stairs on the deck. I'll install them this weekend, hopefully. The deck is mostly finished. It looks fab, and I'm thrilled.

I went to the church today to talk with Linda. Psalm 130, Ms J. I'm doing my sermon on Psalm 130. A prayer of lamentation. I'm not sure where I'll go with it, exactly, but I'll come up with something good.

Christine wants me to care for her fish next week. Larry is on a diet. He's lost 17 pounds. "Only 208 pounds to go." Nick is doing better, I think, although he invited me to share some beer tonight and I didn't call him back.

Sears has promised to deliver my table and chairs tomorrow. I hope they bring my ruddy lawnmower as well. I've told Nick he can have my old table. And I hope Sears arrives early with my stuff. I've been invited to spend the afternoon, picnicking by the lake with Kirk and Rey.

I'm doing the lay reading at church on Sunday. Next weekend, the Pringle's (dozens of us!) will go camping at my brother's sylvan retreat. I want to go and so does Meagan. Dan wants to go too, but I'm not sure about taking the baby. Seems to me, a camping excursion is not the place for a five-month-old child. And Maxine will add another twist to things.

The weekend after that, I'll be taking to the pulpit to deliver the sermon I haven't started yet.

Girl Alex wants to visit. Andra wants to see me. My GO girls want to plan a BBQ on my new deck and I still have no furniture out there. Meagan wants to spend a weekend here. Dan's not being very respectful of Maxine lately, and I still haven't talked to him about it.

The garden needs tending and I haven't done any laundry since ...

You know what, Ms J? I think I'll go to bed.

Night.

***

A Hunger Insatiable

I'm hungry, Ms J. We all are. Every soul on the planet is hungry. We each have a spiritual hunger and we all try to sate it physically -- with things and with acts and by using other people. We all have this longing deep inside for a kind of peace, an assurance that we are loved and accepted just as we are. This universal and undeniable hunger is, for me, the reason I go to church. This is not a sudden realisation, or one of those moments of elucidation or epiphany. I've been thinking about this for many years.

Our hunger can be recognised most often by noting the use of two little words, words we speak from our lips and in our hearts dozens of times every day:

I want ...

I want my deck finished. I want my furniture. I want my friends to be impressed. I want people to change.

I want.

More money. Less debt. A better car. A bigger house. A happier marriage. Motivated children. The list is endless.

These desires we label and identify as the source of our hunger. So we work harder, buy a new car, get a bigger house, a divorce, or pressure our kids. And guess what? We're still hungry.

We turn to the comfort of our addictions. We over-eat. We drink and have sex and take drugs and smoke cigarettes and masturbate furiously, but still the hunger persists.

The soul is the part of us that hungers, not the heart or the stomach or the sex organs. And for me, this hunger can only be satisfied by Love. Unconditional, never-ending, Love. Friends come and go. Wives too, and husbands. Parents die. Children withhold their affection when they're angry.

But if I hold to a firm belief in a higher power, if I trust there's someone who is pure Love, someone immutable, omnipotent, omniscient, someone who always forgives me, who loves me no matter what ... Well, then I can love myself. I know then that I am lovable, that I am worthy of Love. My fears subside. And my hunger is satisfied. My thirst is slaked.

"The bread of Life. The True vine."

Whatever trials may visit me, whenever storms threaten me, I have this belief to hold to. This Higher Power - God, Allah, Buddha, Muhammad, The Creator, Mother Earth and Father Sky - call Him/Her what you will, this divine entity loves me and desires and encourages my spiritual growth.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come.
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home."

I am safe. I am loved. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

***

ATTENTION SEARS SHOPPERS

I visited my local Sears store a while ago. It was July 20th. Sears is a department store. They sell clothing and furniture and nearly everything imaginable. I was looking for a lawnmower and some patio furniture for my deck. I found what I wanted. I also found a fabulous dining room table and chairs to replace the ugly old hand-me-down furniture I've been using since I left Donna in 2000. It was oak, perfect, and on sale. In fact, everything was on sale.

"Thank you, sir," I was told after I'd paid for it with a credit card. "It'll be delivered to your home on Wednesday, August 2."

I was happy and excited. I was looking forward to my new things. But in the days that followed, I began to reconsider the patio furniture. It was too large, Ms J, too much furniture. So I drove back to the store to cancel the patio furniture. I was there two hours.

"Not my department, sir."

"Oh, you can't cancel only one item. You'll have to cancel the entire order and then re-order the dining room set and the lawnmower."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you. But wait there. I'll be right back with someone who can."

I waited fifteen minutes for that one to return, but she had vanished, perhaps never to be seen again. Finally, after demanding to speak with a manager, I got things sorted out and I was happily on my way.

Sears called me on August 1st to tell me they were unable to deliver unspecified items in my order and they had taken the liberty of postponing delivery until Saturday, August 5th. So I rearranged my Life (again) to accommodate these changes. Saturday, remember, was Meagan's rodeo. On Friday, they phoned to inform me that my lawnmower had not yet arrived in their warehouse and they would be contacting me later to re-schedule delivery.

This morning, I called Sears.

"Customer service."

By what perverted definition, I wondered.

"Just wondering what's become of my order?" I asked. "This is the first time I've ordered from Sears and it may well be the last."

And I told the woman my story. She looked in her computer and asked, "Did you cancel the umbrella base?"

"The what?"

"The umbrella base. The base for the umbrella for the patio set. Did you cancel that?"

My patience was waning.

"Well, yes. I cancelled the patio set. I don't want that anymore. The base is part of the set. Of course I cancelled the umbrella base."

"Don't get snarky with me, sir. I'm trying to help you."

"I'm not being snarky. I am upset though, that Sears has my money and they haven't provided my merchandise. I want what I've paid for."

"Yeah, but you don't have to yell at me. Don't get angry with me. I haven't done anything."

I breathed, Ms J. Deeply. Smell the roses. Blow out the candle. She was right. She hadn't done anything. Nor did she intend to.

"Can you please just find out when Sears plans to deliver my ---"

"It hasn't come into the warehouse yet, sir. We can't deliver it until we get it from the suppliers."

"To what are you ref ---?"

"So you cancelled the umbrella base, right?"

"Yes. I've cancelled the umbrella base. I've cancelled the patio furniture. All of it. The entire set. But I'm still waiting for my dining room ---"

"Sir?"

"I'm still waiting for my dining room furniture and lawnm ---"

"Sir?"

"What."

"Don't be angry with me. I know you're upset, but you don't have to be angry with me."

I was getting angrier and angrier every time she told me not to be angry. I hadn't even raised my voice. I hadn't cursed. Yes, I was upset, but I wasn't angry with her. Yet.

"I'm not angry with you," I said. "When I'm angry with you, you'll know it. You haven't heard my anger yet. I just think it's not right that Sears can advertise their wares and accept payment for merchandise they don't even have and can't possibly deliver. I'm frustrated and ---"

Click. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

She hung up on me! Can you believe it, Ms J? The "customer service" person hung up the bloody phone!

Well, I walked round in tight circles here until I was calm enough to phone back. Ten minutes later, I was dizzy, but calm.

"I'd like to speak with the highest ranking official in that office, please."

I spoke with a woman by the name of Wendy. Warm, wonderful, Wendy. Wendy listened, really listened to me. She offered regrets and apologies and then confirmed that my dining room suite was indeed available. The lawnmower was back ordered.

"I'll guarantee delivery on Saturday, Mr. Pringle. And I'm sending you a $100. gift voucher. I'll do my best in the meantime, to find you a lawnmower, and hopefully it will be included in the delivery on Saturday. Here's my direct number. You can call me directly if things don't go as I've promised."

I feel hopeful again that I may finally get my furniture. The lawnmower, however, still seems an elusive dream.

Will I shop again at Sears? No. I highly doubt it. But I am glad that I was persistent in my complaint. And who knows? I may yet get my lawnmower, even while the grass is still growing.

***

A Course in BS and Boredom

I didn't work today, Ms J. Not on the train. I'm attending a course. A refresher course in rules and regulations. Operating rules. Regulations. And company policy. It's the most ...

It's the ...

It ...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

From noon til nine o'clock. Tomorrow too.

My brain not work good now.

Nightly-night.

*

A Lovely Day

T'was a perfect kind of day today, Ms J. Warm, but not hot. Sunny. It was a perfect day for working outdoors, and I did. It was a perfect day for visiting old friends, and I did that too. I rode my bike a little. I walked a little. And just now I've come from the deck where I sat and read the script for the play I'll be rehearsing soon. It's getting too dark to read so here I am, reluctantly indoors.

There's absolutely nothing and no one to complain about.

Marie's in town, visiting family and friends. I first met Marie a few years ago when were in an acting class together. She's really nice, cute as hell, and of course, married. She lives in England now. I hadn't seen her or her little girl for a couple of years and they were spending some time at a friend's place in Mississauga, only fifteen minutes from Mimico. I drove over there this afternoon.

Eva made hors d'oeuvres and icy cold smoothies and we chatted for an hour or so.

It's strange, isn't it, how Life carries us to and fro? Since Marie and I first met, she and her husband have adopted a child from China. Amelia. She's three years old and a delightful little pixie. Marie has left Canada and moved to Devon with her English husband. She's even begun to speak a little like a Brit.

And Eva was unhappily married when I first met her in a play we did about five years ago. Since then, she's divorced and remarried and is now expecting her second child. Her first is a girl. Brynna is thirteen and like her mother, strikingly gorgeous.

Thank you, Eva, for a lovely time. Marie, you are still as pretty as I remember you. And Amelia has grown so much! She was a babe when I last saw her. Come to think of it, so were you! Have fun here in Canada and a safe journey back across the pond.

Yuppers, Ms Journal. I had a good day. A peaceful, productive, doing-what-I-want-to-do kind of a day.

As James Brown once said: I feel good!

Night, Ms J.

***

New Life for My Sermon

Today was our first day back at church, Ms J. Our church was closed for July, remember? It felt good to be back, really it did. Reverend Linda was first to greet me as I strode past the heavy wooden doors and up the carpeted stairs.

"Hi Dale," she said. "How's the sermon coming along?"

"Not very well," I told her. "I haven't even started it yet. It's been a busy July."

She was sympathetic.

"Boy, it sure has been," she said. "Have you had a chance to look at the reference material I gave you? Was there anything there that seemed to resonate for you?"

She had offered me a choice of four different Bible passages, Ms Journal. None of them interested me in the least. I honestly had no idea where to begin a sermon.

I wrinkled my nose and shrugged my shoulders. I had promised I'd write a sermon and I'd reneged. I'd let her down.

"Nothing grabbed you, eh?"

"No," I said. "Not really."

Linda smiled that reassuring smile of hers and I felt better.

"That's OK, Dale. Do you still want to write one, or have you given up?"

"No, I'd still like to write a sermon, Linda. It's just that I didn't like any of those passages you gave me. The sermon I did last summer was so easy. It took me about an hour to write it. It seemed to speak to my heart. Remember I talked about getting out of the boat like Peter did and asking for help when my leg was broken? That experience was still fresh in my mind."

She nodded her head a moment before she spoke.

"What's been on your mind this summer? What's fresh in your mind right now?"

"Well, to be honest with you, I've been really busy building a deck in my back yard and getting things organized for that. I've been socialising with friends and dealing with challenges at work. I really haven't bothered taking time for God much this summer."

She smiled then, one of those big ah-ha kind of smiles and said, "If I find you a Bible passage that talks about taking time for God, could you write a sermon on that?"

"I sure could!" I said. "That'd be great, Linda!"

"Good then. Throw all that material I gave you in the garbage. I'll get you something better."

I'm going to the church on Tuesday morning to meet with her. She's promised to have something just right for me, something that will speak to my heart.

God is good, Ms J. All the time.

***

At Teen Ranch with Meagan

I was in bed last night, sound asleep when the phone rang. I opened one eye and looked at the clock. 10:15. Who the heck would be calling at 10:15, I wondered. I picked up the phone and offered a groggy hello.

"This is a Bell Canada automated message. You have a collect call from --"

Then Meagan's voice -- "The world's coolest daughter"

"To accept the charges for this call, press 1. To refuse, press 2 or hang up."

I pressed 1.

"Hi daddy. Sorry to call so late. Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah. No. I'm fine. It's fine. What's wrong, Scout? Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm having a great time! It's all good. Fantastic, actually. Tomorrow's my last day at camp. We're having our rodeo. I'm just calling to remind you. You're coming, aren't you?"

"Yes, hunny. I'll be there. No worries. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good. It starts at 10:30 but they said you should try to be there by 10:00. Could you call Mum in the morning and make sure she's awake? I hope she doesn't forget about the rodeo, Dad. I'm doing the barrel race. They timed us today and I kicked ass. But I can't talk long. We're not supposed to be using this phone."

After we'd ended the call, I lay there smiling in the darkness for a long time. She sounded so happy. She always has a wonderful time at that camp. She loves it so. I shared her excitement about the rodeo.

I left Mimico this morning at 9:00 under clear skies. It was warm, but the oppressive heat and humidity seem to have abated somewhat. The air was quite breathable. It was a gorgeous day.

Scott and I arrived about the same time. He said (although I didn't believe him) that he had driven five hours from his new home in Ohio. He said a lot about his new home in Ohio. He said a lot about his Life and how wonderful it is and how much money he has and how inexpensive everything is in The States. Big deal. If you like it so much, why don't you stay there?

Kelly didn't get there until 11:30. Scott and I were both concerned that she might miss Meagan's race, but thankfully, Meagan was among the last to ride. Kelly arrived with Tim and little Emily, but no Dan. No Maxine. And no baby.

"Where's Dan?" I asked.

"He wouldn't get out of bed," she said and I was disappointed. I wanted to see The Boy. And Baby David.

It was a glorious day, Ms J. Meagan was in fine spirits, happy to be at camp, proud of her riding ability, anxious to show us what she could do. It was a happy time. And Kelly began immediately to spoil it.

"I don't mean to be negative," she said, "but things aren't going very well with Dan and Maxine."

I nodded and said nothing. I was grateful that Meagan was astride a horse in the corral and beyond hearing range. She waved and hollered in our direction.

"Hi Mum! You finally got here, eh?"

"Yeah. The traffic was really bad, Meggie. It took forever to get here."

That was a lie, of course, but maybe Meagan believed it.

"What's the matter with Dan?" I asked.

"Him and Maxine are not getting along. He treats her like shit. And she has anxiety attacks every time he steps out for a smoke. They fight about whose turn it is to look after the baby. And Maxine had a big fight with the neighbour. She used the "c" word and threw beer bottles. I've lost a friend over it. They're both sick, Dale. They're both disturbed. I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it. I told Dan he'd better ..."

I stopped listening somewhere around there, Ms J. I turned my head to watch Meagan trotting gaily in the dust, her hair flying out behind her. Kelly was still yammering and I was aware of snippets of her conversation.

" ... so stressful."

" ... Tim can't work .."

" ...no money at all until I get my child support cheque."

" ... and Dan can't even work because she freaks out every time he leaves her. She's retarded, Dale. She can't care for that child."

Maybe you should have thought of that before you introduced them, I thought, although I didn't say it.

I turned away from Meagan and looked into the eyes of my ex-wife. God, that woman enjoys chaos. She likes confrontation and struggle. She loves to be poor and to have all manner of problems to deal with. Kelly would make a perfect guest on a daytime talk show. Jerry Springer or Montel Williams. Trashy people talkin' trash on trashy daytime TV. I wished so much my girl didn't have to return to that asylum.

"Would it help, Kelly, if I took Meagan back home with me for a few days? You know, just til things calm down a bit at your place?"

"That would be good, Dale - if she'll go with you. We still have no hot water so she can't even have a warm -- "

"Whadda ya mean, 'no hot water', Kelly? Why is there no hot water?"

"They turned our gas off, eh? I owe them, like $300 or something. It's such a pain in the ass to heat water on the stove and carry it upstairs to the bathtub."

What could I say to this woman. Ms J? What on earth could I possibly say to her that might change anything?

I asked Meagan if she'd like to come back home with me, but she declined.

"No thanks. I really miss Emily. I want to spend time with her."

I nodded and said that was fine, but I told her if things get too crazy, she can call me.

"I'll come and get you, Scout. Anytime."

Despite Kelly's doom and gloom, despite her cries of helplessness and despair, it was a good day. Meagan won two ribbons: first place in the barrel race and fourth in "equitation", whatever that is.


The horse's name was Maggie. They really bonded, those two.


She was absolutely glowing. And my heart swelled with pride!

Daniel has dug himself a grave and leapt into it. His mother is busy backfilling the hole. Meagan is my last hope, Ms J. She still has a chance at making something of herself, if her mother doesn't screw things up for her.

I must say, it was difficult to see this happy child ...


(Isn't she beautiful? I love her so much, it hurts.)

... return to the craziness and chaos of Life with her mother and brother. I suppose it's not too much for her. Otherwise, she'd prefer to live with me.

You're in my prayers, Meagan Amelia. And your brother too.

***

Step by Step

Wally was here today. We dug holes and mixed concrete and set posts in the ground. The posts will eventually support railings for the stairs on my deck. It was hot, Ms J. We worked hard and we sweated like horses. I'm pleased with what we accomplished. I got my head sunburned again, though. I wonder if it'll EVER tan enough that it won't burn anymore? Yes, I wore a hat, but I didn't put the darned thing on until my head felt hot.


It doesn't look like much, Ms J. But it was truly a lot of work. Safe stairs are a priority. The next person to fall there may not be as lucky as Meagan was.

---

Sears phoned today. I wasn't home and they left a message.

"Hello, Mr. Pringle. It's Sears delivery calling. You have a delivery scheduled for tomorrow, but unfortunately, the lawnmower you ordered has not arrived at our warehouse. We'll call again to reschedule. Sorry about the delay."

It's a good thing I wasn't home to receive the call. I might have told the man to cancel the entire order. I ordered a lawnmower on July 20th, Ms J. I've been waiting for it so I can cut my shaggy lawn. They've already called once to reschedule. Now they want to do it again. When I purchase something, it's because I want it. I don't expect to have to wait for weeks to get it.

Unacceptable, Sears. Completely unacceptable.

I'm on a bit of a rant here, so if you're an anonymous reader who thinks I need education or correction, please keep your thoughts to yourself. I'm pissed off and I'm gonna rant. Because I can. Because it's MY blog. Do I criticize you?

I think I'll call Sears tomorrow and tell them to shove it. All of it. The entire order. $1700. No patio furniture from Sears. Ever. No dining room table and chairs. And no lawnmower. They've lost my business. Is it too much to ask that they provide the merchandise they advertise? I'm disappointed and I'm angry. I won't be shopping there again.

---

Right. On a happier note, I'm off to see Meagan's rodeo tomorrow morning. She's been at Teen Ranch all week and tomorrow is the day the campers get to show the parents what they've learned. Meagan's mother will be there, I suppose. And Tim. I'm sure Scott will attend as well. He's Meagan's stepdad, separated three years now from What'serface and not yet divorced. I feel so jealous of his continuing relationship with Meagan.

So many thoughts tonight, Ms J. So many uncomfortable feelings.

You know what I need right now? A warm bath, candles, prayer and meditation. That always helps me feel better. Easy does it, they say. One step at a time.

***

What's the Hurry?

Thursday. My word, this week is disappearing quickly, Ms J!

After speaking with Tammy (one of the GO girls) yesterday and today with my sister June, I made up my mind that the patio furniture I’d ordered from Sears was too large. I drove to Sears this morning after work and cancelled delivery of the patio set. It was comprised of fourteen pieces: a huge, glass top table and six chairs, an umbrella and stand, a smaller table, two ottomans and two other pieces. Too much, Ms Journal. Just too much. In Truth, I had rushed into buying it because I wanted furniture as soon as my deck was ready.

“What’s the hurry?” asked June. “Why not wait til you find just what you want? You’ve waited all your Life for a deck and patio furniture. What’s another week or two?”

She’s right, of course. Tammy too.

I’ve been feeling impatient lately. I’m impatient to have my deck completed and impatient to use it. It’s nearly done, really. It lacks stairs and a railing across the front. I worked alone in the sweltering heat yesterday to cut lattice and install it around the top of the side rails. I spent two hours cutting mitred joints on ¾ inch strips to frame the lattice and hold it in place. I didn’t complete the job, either. I know Angry Bob or Wally or Adam could have finished it in half the time, but at least I was trying. I felt good about it. I felt as though I was working toward getting the deck done, even though my contribution was slight.

The weather has not been conducive lately, to getting work done outdoors. It’s been dreadfully hot and humid and if not that, then pouring rain. Today, when I returned from Sears, I had some lunch then began carrying tools outside. I carried Adam’s heavy chop saw out and plugged the orange extension cord into the receptacle on the wall. I then went back into the cellar to retrieve the Skill saw, hammer and nails. When I came outside again, it was raining and I raced to return Adam’s saw to the safety of the basement.

Sigh ...

What’s the hurry? I’ve waited all my Life for a deck and patio furniture. What’s another week or two?

***

$450. My Arse!

OK. I picked up the car from the garage this morning.

Yesterday's test: $37.00

Emission diagnostics: $82.95
EGR valve: $404.69
EGR gasket: $5.14
Labour: $83.93
Oil change: $33.69
Air Filter: $21.10

Add in federal and provincial taxes and it comes to a total of $775.61

This outrageous expense allowed me the privilege of renewing my license plate sticker (another $74) so I can drive my car another year.

The EGR valve, incidentally, was made in Mexico. It would fit in a jacket pocket and probably cost less than $20. to manufacture. Clearly SOMEONE is making a killing here.

I'm pissed off. My car ran great before I took it in. It still runs great. There was nothing wrong with it! But I had to obtain a certificate from the garage before I could buy a new sticker for my license plate.

And here's the best bit:

The car still didn't pass the emissions test, but I received a "Conditional Pass" and went and got my sticker anyway.

What a crock of SHIT!

***

EGR: Expensive Garage Repairs

I took my car to a garage this morning, Ms J, to have an exhaust emission test. The province of Ontario has decreed that every car must be tested for exhaust emissions every two years. The test costs $37 and the certificate must accompany the application to renew the license plate sticker. We must purchase a renewal sticker each year ($74) and every other year, this test must be done. It's the law.

I suppose the ideology behind it is a good one. Aren't we all concerned about the environment and the control and reduction of green house gasses? But the reality of it, however, is that it costs money. The garage owners must buy expensive computerized diagnostic equipment, and consumers must pay to have their cars inspected.

And what if the vehicle doesn't pass? Conceivably, it could cost hundreds of dollars to affect the repairs necessary to achieve a passing grade. What then?

$450. Ms Journal. That's the cap. That's the maximum any driver would have to pay in order to get a "conditional" pass. The car may still be spewing toxins, but at least the owner wouldn't have to re-mortgage his house to satisfy the requirements. The government has decided that if the consumer invests $450 in his car, he's been suitably hobbled and the mechanic well and fairly remunerated, even if it hasn't made much difference to the quality of the tailpipe emissions. It seems like a bit of a scam to me.

So anyway, I've left my car at --

Oh. Excuse me, Ms J. The telephone is ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dale. It's Omer calling from the garage. We've tested your car and unfortunately, it's failed."

"I see. What does it need, Omer?"

"Well, your EGR valve is definitely shot. I've checked the onboard computer and it shows thirteen faults. Most of those should clear up if we replace the EGR valve."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, and well, they're not cheap, eh?"

I closed my eyes tightly and grimaced. I could see this coming.

"How much then, do you think?"

"About $450."

Like I say, Ms Journal, it seems like a bit of a scam. I hope the car's ready by three o'clock. I've got to go back to work and it's too hot to walk.

***