So Thankful

Good evening, Ms J. I'm feeling thankful tonight for so many things. Mostly though, I'm grateful for friends.

I had a bit of a party this afternoon. My "GO Girls" were here at 4:00 with husbands in tow. Kirk and his wife, Rey, were here too. There were eight of us in total. Buffy and Bill brought salad and beer. Cathy and DJ brought not one but two homemade pies - Apple and pecan. Rosie made some of her devilishly tasty deviled eggs. Kirk and Rey arrived early with paper plates and a bottle of wine. They helped me clean the house and get ready for the party. It was raining, but Rosie held a brolly over my head while I barbecued some hamburgers on the deck.


Rose helped me flip the flippin' burgers.

It's about 9:30 and they've only just left. Gosh this house seems quiet.

I'm tired and not feeling particularly creative at the moment. I can't express myself tonight other than to say again how important friends are. My friends. They support me and love me and always make me feel that they're the ones who benefit most from the relationship. We laugh and eat and share stories and wine. We respect and value each other.

Some read this blog. Some don't. But I love them all, Ms J. They're good people, honest, kind and loving. I'm so honoured to know them.

Thanks, you guys! I had a brilliant time. God Bless you every one!

***

Seven Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty Dollars

$7350. That's the price to be paid, apparently, for self-loathing.

I was talking to Nick the other day. He was bitter, more even than usual, and angry.

"I just wrote a cheque to the lawyer," he said. "Seventy-three fifty. And I don't mean seventy-three dollars and fifty cents."

He slapped his hand hard against the table and let loose a stream of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

"... and it's all thanks to that c*** I married."

I observed him as he thrashed about, consumed by his anger and his hatred toward a woman he once loved. The woman he married twenty-five years ago. The mother of his children.

"You didn't have to marry her, Nick," I suggested softly. "Maybe that was a mistake, your mistake. Maybe you're angry at yourself."

But he was in no mood to listen to reason. He was determined to continue his rant in a bid to validate his feelings.

"The bitch was pregnant," he spat. (Oh how that term makes my skin crawl, Ms J) "She was pregnant and so I did the right thing. I married her. I worked my arse off for twenty-four years so we could have nice things and now she gets to keep everything while I get sweet fuck all. They're all bitches, every fucking one of them."

Nick is a handsome man, Ms J. He has lots of thick, dark hair, a smooth complexion, strong jaw, flat stomach. I've always been a little envious, to be honest with you. But in that moment, as I watched him curse and bang the table, he was not attractive in the least. He was ugly. His language was ugly, his gestures were ugly and his attitude was ugly. And while I was repulsed by his behaviour, I felt a great compassion for him. I had behaved in the exact same manner after Donna threw me out. It's a wonder I had any friends at all then.

"So is that the end of it?" I asked. "Is that the price of a divorce nowadays?"

Nick looked at me then and for a minute returned to the real world. He actually appeared amused at the question.

"Divorce?" he said. "No this has nothing to do with the divorce. That's a different lawyer. This is the drunk driving charge I'm trying to beat. It hasn't even gone to trial yet. I'll definitely lose my licence for a year and my insurance premiums will probably triple. I just hope it doesn't cost me my job."

So here is a man, Ms J, who is reasonably intelligent, quite handsome and, according to him, "a fairly religious guy". Yet he found himself in a bad spot and rather than look for a way out, he's chosen to engage in self-destructive behaviour to make things worse. I just don't understand it. I can't imagine ever despising myself so much that I would sabotage my Life and make things more difficult than they already are. Sometimes, it seems, we just can't hurt enough.

I wish there were some way to show my friend that he is still loved. Just because he's lost Sue, it doesn't mean no one loves him. It doesn't mean he has no one to love. All is not lost. God loves him. So do his family and a few (very few) friends. And he has himself to love. In the end, that's the most important of all.

Why is that such an elusive and difficult concept, Ms Journal? Why don't we consider the importance of Self Love? Can we not make a clear distinction between Self Love and selfishness? Selfishness is putting your needs ahead of others. Any ten-year-old understands that. But Self Love speaks of honouring yourself, of seeing your own true value and of being gentle and forgiving of your Self when you make mistakes.

Some people can grasp the concept. Those are the fortunate few. And right now, Nick is not among them.

Seven Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty Dollars, Ms J.

I'm afraid that if he doesn't soon gain a sense of self worth, it'll be just another in a never-ending series of installments Nick will pay to satisfy Satan's hungry loan sharks.

God help him.

***

A Humble Apology

Sorry, Ms J. I guess I sound like a spiteful misogynist, but I hurt to see others hurt. And lately, it seems we men are hurting while the women appear to shrug and simply walk away. I've spoken with some of my female friends, and they all agree that there's usually a whole lot of "processing" in a woman's mind before she finally decides to end a relationship. A lot. Usually.

With each of my friends, the same issue kept coming up: Men don't listen. Apparently, women give us hundreds of clues that something is wrong, but we either can't or won't hear them.

What's wrong, then? Why don't we listen? Is there ANY way a woman can make her pleas heard?

I'll be honest, Ms J. In almost every case, when the woman walks away, the man is left stunned and reeling. We really and truly have no idea there's trouble brewing until we're on the sidewalk with our clothes piled round us. And even then we turn our palms up and ask what happened.

I tell you truly, Ms Journal. It happened to me not once but twice. It's happened to Nick and to Allan and Angry Bob and Jeff and Andrei and Rob. The list continues to grow. Marriage corpses are piling up like the ghastly remains of a Gulag labour camp. I've seen enough frantic, weeping men to last a lifetime.

Guys: For the Love of God, PLEASE LISTEN!

Ladies: Surely to goodness there MUST be some way to get your point across. Kick our balls if you must. It hurts much less than a broken heart, and the pain doesn't last as long. Shake us, physically. Scream. Talk to our families and friends. You know what? Kick us the hell out, but do it earlier. Do it before there's no hope of mending the relationship.

This horrible fate shall never befall me again. This is my solemn vow. I will be alone forever before I allow this to happen again. If ever I give my heart to another woman, I will listen to her. And I will make her promise to throw me out if I refuse to acknowledge her feelings.

Enough misery, already. Let's make Love.

***

When Men Hurt, and Women Don't

Well, Ms J, here I am again, the proprietor of Mimico's Heartbreak Hotel.

First it was Nick, and his bitterness and drunken foolishness. Now it's Allan. Allan and his wife are friends of mine, both of them. I've known them about four years or so. They've been less than two years married and already, they've split up.

"A trial separation" they call it. Allan arrived here last night with a suitcase and a portable TV. He wore the most crestfallen countenance I've seen on a man in a long, long while.

"We're trying it for a month or so," he told me, his voice flat and devoid of hope. "She says no contact at all until Hallowe'en."

As I said, Ms J, I consider both of them friends. I've spoken with both parties separately since the break-up and one thing seems quite clear:

The man is absolutely shattered while the woman seems fine. How can this be, I wonder? It was the same with Nick and Sue. It was the same with Donna and me. I always thought women were more sensitive than us men. I've always believed a woman would suffer more (or at least more openly) in a relationship breakdown.

But apparently, I was wrong.

I recall the intense suffering I endured when Donna kicked me to the curb. That suffering was only made worse by the fact that she didn't seem to be affected by it at all. If she had shown even the faintest scintilla of remorse, it would have helped me to know she had feelings for me.

Why must you women behave like such cold-hearted shrews? We men have feelings too, you know.

***

... as we forgive those

I spent Saturday at Mum and Dad's. It had been a while since I last saw them and in Truth, Ms J, I was missing them. I arrived in time for lunch on Saturday and left after lunch today. At breakfast this morning, Dad asked about work.

"How're things going on the GO trains?" he asked. "Are you still on that Hamilton train?"

Dad worked at CN for nearly forty years and was very familiar with GO operations. But things have changed since he took his pension and left the company in 1980. Things have changed a lot. I began to tell him about my demerit points and about the firing of A.J. and about all the crap we contend with now and I guess I worked myself into a lather. I ranted and railed for ten minutes against the injustice and cruelty of my employer. I ended with "I hate my job, Dad. I hate the sons o' bitches and I can't wait to go on pension. I'll spit on the floor and tell them all to go FUCK themselves! I hope they rot in Hell, the pricks, for what they did to A.J. and for what they've done to us all."

My stomach was suddenly sour and I ran from the table to the toilet. When I returned, I offered a humble apology to my bewildered parents.

"I'm sorry for the way I behaved. I'm just really scared for my job, that's all. We're all scared. It's not the same as it was anymore, Dad. It's not a good place to work. It's very stressful now at work. And there's nothing we can do to change it."

"What about the union?" Dad suggested. "Can't they do anything?"

"What union?" I said. "If we had a union that cared, we'd have walked off the job long ago. The company does whatever it wants and the union does nothing."

"Why?" said Mum.

"Because the union is deep in the pocket of management, Mum," I said. "That's why. We can't prove it, but we all suspect it. There's nothing we can do on our own. The company is powerful. We are weak and powerless. That's why we're scared. That's why we're frustrated. I'm sorry for my outburst earlier. I'm sorry for my language, Mum."

At church later, the Lord's prayer made me cry.

"... and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

I hid my tears and no one knew but God.

It sure is hard to do the right thing, isn't it, Ms Journal? It sure is hard not to hate when you feel afraid.

***

Justice No More

I got my ten demerits on Thursday afternoon. I forgot to tell you. I was standing in the bull pen at work, chatting with a couple of engineers when someone called my name. I turned around and saw the boss motioning to me from the door to his office.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Dale?” he asked.

I turned back to the lads I’d been talking to and said, “Here it comes, guys. This is where I get my ten shares. I’d hoped maybe they’d come to their senses, but I guess not.”

As I marched toward the trainmaster’s office, someone slapped my back.

“Give ‘em hell, Doc.”

I entered the small, bright office and stood awkwardly by the door. I felt a little angry, Ms J, but mostly I felt tiny and powerless. Mostly, I felt sad. The company had absolutely no grounds whatsoever for assessing me this discipline. They’d interviewed the entire crew of our train regarding the red light incident last month. We had all cooperated fully and all the stories matched. But they fired A.J. They fired him. I’m still in shock. FIRED him. No demerit marks, no second chance. Fired. And now they wanted to give me demerits when clearly, there was nothing I could have done to prevent what happened.

“I guess you know why you’re here, eh?” Don said as he removed a sheet of paper from a desk drawer.

“Yeah,” I said. “I reckon I do.”

He handed me the paper and looked away as he spoke.

“There’s a place at the bottom there where you’re supposed to sign it. If you want to. You don’t have to, though.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I’d rather not sign it. Consider it a form of protest.”

And I took the paper from him.

“This is bullshit, Don, and you know it. A.J. shouldn’t have been fired. Nothing happened for God’s sake. No one was hurt. No damage was done. We all cooperated in the investigation. I guess the company has an agenda. They planned to fire poor A.J. from the very start and discipline the rest of us. Why did they even bother taking statements from us?”

“I’m sorry, Dale. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Tell me it’s all a bad dream,” I said. “Tell me there’s been a mistake and A.J.'s being brought back to work and paid his back time. Tell me ...…”

I didn’t know what else to say, Ms J, and it was quiet there for a long time. Don looked at me then sat down at his desk and shook his head sadly.

“Tell me the name of the man who decided this,” I said. “So I can hate the son-of-a-bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Don said. “I know it’s not fair. I know it’s wrong. But there’s nothing I can do.”

I nodded solemnly and closed the door quietly as I left his office.

You know it’s a strange thing, Ms Journal. I had worked nearly fifteen years without ever getting a demerit mark. Now, in the past two months, I’ve been disciplined twice and given ten demerits each time.

The first ten were for exercising my right to book rest, a long-standing right afforded us by collective agreement. And the second ten, according to the piece of paper I got from the trainmaster, were assessed for “failing to provide a proper job briefing. More specifically, failing to discuss the presence of, and significance of signal 57.2 at Hamilton.”

I used to be proud to work for the CNR. I was proud to walk in my father’s footsteps. Today, my heart aches to see what greed has done to my daddy’s railroad.

***

Life Propels Us All

Donna's right, I guess. Maybe everyone gets a push now and then. Some are embittered by it. Others pay no heed at all and continue in the same tight circle, destined to repeat mistakes until some horrible misfortune finally wakes them.

I heard some more disturbing news at work this morning. Two men I know well have recently been fired. They began their careers at CN about the same time I did, in the late 1970's. Mike and Gord. Gord was among the first men I knew on the railway, and Mike and I trained together to be locomotive engineers. It was Mike who sold me the house I now live in. A few years ago, they left CN to work for VIA Rail, Canada's national passenger train service.


VIA Rail. A familiar sight to most Canadians.

Good men, Ms J, who made a mistake. VIA Rail, it seems, are as hard-hearted as CN nowadays.

Last night I got a phone call from another friend. She told me she and her husband are suffering severe marital discord and asked if I'd be open to taking in a lodger. She'll remain in the matrimonial home, Ms Journal. She meant her husband.

"Just for a month, Dale. Please. He really has no place to go. He could stay at his mum's but it's two hours away. Too far to drive twice a day to work. He doesn't have many friends and he needs one now."

I called him and we chatted a bit. I'll have a room mate next Monday. For a month.

As I walked home from work this morning, I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Nick. Heart-sick Nick.

"How ya doing, old man?" I asked. "I'm going to make some breakfast. Care to join me?"

Nick declined my offer saying he was really knackered.

"Thanks, but I'm going straight home. I didn't get much sleep last night. I couldn't seem to calm myself. Too much thinking, I guess, about ... well, you know what it's like. I went for a bike ride and that didn't help. I tried reading for a while, but I couldn't follow the story. Sucks to be me right now."

And we shared an awkward laugh.

Changes, Ms Journal. Major Life changes lie ahead for all these men. Gord and Mike may be forced to find a new career. My married friends will spend a month apart to try to gain some understanding of the issues that affect their sacred partnership. Will they proceed together or separately? Only God knows. And poor ol' Nick. He's lost his wife, his home and kids, and shortly, his driver's licence. As a result, he may lose his job as well.

Yes, Life propels us all. Thanks, Donna. The fortunate ones are those who are open to a whispered suggestion or a gentle nudge. Some, like Nick I'm afraid, require a ruthless beating.

***

Life Propels Me

Things are not always as they seem, are they, Ms J? Sometimes, a bad situation can have a happy ending. Very often, this is the case. Indeed, it was I who once opined that if you're not happy, it's not over.

I don't know about you, but I sometimes feel as though I'm stuck, as though my Life is not moving forward as it should. It could be a relationship that's stalled or perhaps I'm working a job that's become stale. Maybe a change of some kind is in order, but maybe I don't quite know what to do. Sometimes, in Truth, I may not even realise I'm stuck until Life (or The Universe, or God if you will) gives me a push. At the time, it feels like a curse, but later, I discover it to be a blessing.

My separation and subsequent divorce from Kelly is a good example. Another is my divorce from Donna. Even the awful experience of my broken leg last year held wonderful surprises, eventually. If I'm really vigilant, there are often signs that illustrate my predicament and suggest the need for a course correction.

My current assignment at work is a case in point. For the past three or four years, I've been the engineer on "Job 10". There are some forty or fifty assignments in commuter service, each one responsible for the operation of certain trains and specific schedules. Most are split shifts, serving both morning and afternoon rush hours. The system is designed to bring people into the city in the morning and take them home to the suburbs each evening.

The crew of Job 10 take an empty train to Hamilton in the morning. There is ample time for coffee and even breakfast in the Hamilton station coffee shop before departure. This ritual of a sit down breakfast, a cup or two of good coffee and an opportunity to gather my thoughts has become important to me. I found comfort in the routine, in greeting passengers I'd come to know by name, and sharing jokes and smiles. Relaxing for forty minutes before returning to Toronto with two thousand bleary-eyed commuters became a pleasure for me. I knew the girls behind the counter. They knew me. They even named a breakfast sandwich in my honour, "The Dale".

In the afternoon, we'd load our passengers at Union Station in Toronto and make the stops then to Oakville. The other engineer operated the train westward and so I'd sit and visit with four women who I came to call my GO girls. A friendship developed and we'd even gather once or twice a year at someone's home to share a meal, tell stories and laugh.

But you know what, Ms J? I was stuck on that job. I was stuck in a routine that somehow held me back from ... Well, I'm not sure, really. But I know that it was too comfortable, too routine. Too predictable, perhaps. I was comfortably numb there, and quite content never to leave. Then Life intervened. Life intervened on my behalf, to my benefit, and to help me grow. I don't know how, Ms J. Not yet. But I know it must be time to move on. Life is tapping me on the shoulder. I can feel it.

The afternoon train was late on a regular basis. Every day my GO girls would miss their bus connection at Oakville. They tired of it, and now they've gone to ride another train. An earlier train. I don't blame them. I'd have done the same thing. But now I don't see them on my train anymore. Our daily visit was the best part of my afternoon shift on Job 10. And now that part's gone. Tammy still rides that train, but the other three don't and won't anymore I suspect. Tammy's ride only lasts about eighteen minutes. It's just enough time to begin an interesting dialogue and then she has to detrain.

Then, there was the infamous red light incident. AJ is fired. I received ten demerits for ... I don't even know what the hell I did wrong, Ms J, but I got ten anyway just for being there.

Next came Deb. She frightened me so much with her incompetence, I can't bear to work with her.

Today, I learned the coffee shop in the train station in Hamilton has been closed. So no more coffee. No more "Dales". No more jovial banter with passengers.

That was the final straw. I've been working a temporary vacancy on another assignment for a fortnight, but when the regular engineer returns from holidays, I won't go back to my beloved Job 10.

Although I'm sorry to say good-bye to Job 10, I sense it's time to explore other assignments, other trains, and to work with other men. I still hope to see my GO girls on occasion but I guess it won't be every day like before. Bye TammyDot. See you round, Cathy. Take care, Rosie. So long, little Buffy. I don't know what this will mean for our friendship, but I hope we'll stay in touch. We've planned a bbq here at my place on September 30. I'll see you all then, but after that, who knows?

It's funny, you know. I shared a cup of herbal tea with a friend here in Mimico on Monday night. Carolyn. She admitted to feeling stuck too and she's been trying unsuccessfully for many months to affect changes in her world.

I wonder why Life pushes me so but seems to ignore others?

***

Today's Happenings

My friend Bob popped over this morning and took me out to breakfast. Happy Bob, Ms J, not Angry Bob. Happy Bob is a painter/actor type fellow who's always quick to laugh and slow to anger. AB's off on holidays and I've been working his job this week.

Our train was delayed about forty minutes this morning when a man was struck and killed by the train just ahead of us. Police and ambulance were still on the scene when we passed. Very solemn, Ms J. Police cars and ambulance with lights flashing were parked on the grass beside the track. There was a body, covered with a white sheet, on the ground. I don't know if it was an accident or not. Either way, it's still quite tragic.

I've taken on a small painting job at the church. The wood trim around the front doors is in dire need of repainting. I'm off now to scrape and sand it in the warm sunshine. I hope the weather stays nice, Ms J. I'd like to finish the job this week before the weather turns cold and nasty.

I'm thinking now of an old joke in which Jesus appears before a man who has painted a church. The man made a horrid job of it. He used too much turpentine and the paint was way too thin. There are drips running everywhere, now dried, and he has more paint on the ground than he has on the church. He turns to Jesus for help.

"I've made an awful mess here, Lord. What shall I do?"

"Repaint," says Jesus. "Repaint and thin no more."

Sorry. OK, no more jokes. I'd better hie myself to the church before it's time to go back to work.

***

On Being Still

The conductor on my train is named Thomas. Thomas talks a lot. A LOT. And he rarely says anything worth listening to. Oh it’s not just me, Ms J. Everyone at work agrees. The man’s a wind bag. His mouth is like a barn door in a wind storm. My son, Dan, behaves that way at times. I did too, when I was younger. I probably still yammer on sometimes, even though I’ve nothing to say. "Scottie", my character in the play, talks incessantly it seems, always using more words than necessary to get his point across. Psychologists tell us that the negative traits we ourselves possess, are often the ones we find most distasteful in others.

It’s painful to listen to, isn’t it? I mean, if a person has something to say, Ms J, something that will contribute in some way to the situation, by all means, he should speak up. But sometimes, there’s nothing to say. Sometimes, silence is the only real option.

But people like Thomas, and Dan, and Scottie, and yes, me too -- are afraid of silence. People like us find comfort in the sound of our own voice. Thomas drives me bonkers with his insipid chatter at 5:00 in the morning. Daniel’s monologues have taken me to the edge of my endurance in the car on long journeys. And I’m sure I’ve done the same to weary listeners.

My friend Frankie seems comfortable in silence. Sometimes when we talk on the phone, there is a lull in the conversation when neither of us has anything to add. I hear her breathing in the silence on the phone and I ache to fill that void. And fill it I do, with banalities or silliness.

In one scene in the play, Scottie has just told his ex wife that he’s dying of leukemia and of course, she’s upset. Rather than feel his own discomfort, Scottie blathers on about some old movie plot. Eventually, he catches himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I always did have this insane compulsion to fill any conversational gap.”

Let this be my goal then, Ms J. Let me strive to be more accepting and less fearful of silence. Silence cannot hurt me. Silence is nothing more than the absence of sound.



And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

***

Sunday's Scattered Musings

My shoulders hurt. My trapezius muscles, actually. Both sides. My neck too. I've got a stiff neck, Ms J. Tension, I guess. Or maybe a pinched nerve. I don't know, but it hurts. It's work, I think. Work related stress. Imagine that! Welcome to the new CN. I sure don't want to go back there tomorrow, but I haven't much choice.

---

I spoke with my neighbour yesterday. She was getting in the car with her husband and they both seemed disturbed.

"Dale," she said. "Please pray for Glen's sister. She's having surgery right now and we're not sure she's going to make it."

"OK, Cathy," I said. "I'll pray for her."

And I did. Later, I called to ask about her condition. Glen said she was OK, but the next few hours would be critical.

"What happened to her, Glen?" I asked.

He told me she'd had an accident and I asked for details, Ms J, even though I knew it was none of my business.

"She was struck by a subway train."

I expressed condolences and hung up the phone but now I'm plagued with the thought that it was probably a suicide attempt. People don't get hit "accidentally" by subway trains. People are either pushed off the platform or simply leap in front of a speeding train as it enters a station. It happens more frequently on the subway system than on our commuter trains, Ms Journal. But still it happens. And it happens too often. Such agony. So much suffering. And the suffering continues for those who are left to wonder why.

---

I ate my dinner al fresco this evening. On the deck. Lord, how I love my deck!

---

Nick (remember my friend Nick?) goes to court tomorrow to answer to a charge of drunk driving. I'll pray for him, but I'm quite certain he'll be convicted. For a first offence, the law prescribes a licence suspension of one year plus a $1000 fine. I wonder if that will be enough to set him on the right path? I hope so.

Good night, Ms J.

***

Fun With Words

I really enjoy playing with language, Ms J. Dad has always loved puns and he gave us that gift as kids. I studied Latin at school and I speak a little French and some German. I have always been fascinated by language.

I don't often post things here that I haven't written myself, but this is just too good not to share. A friend sent it to me in email a while ago and I've been saving it for a day when I'm unable to conjure anything original. Today's the day.

These are the winners of a magazine contest in which contestants take a well-known expression in a foreign language, change a single letter, and provide a definition for the new expression.

---

HARLEZ-VOUS FRANCAIS? Can you drive a French motorcycle?


EX POST FUCTO Lost in the mail


VENI, VIPI, VICI I came, I'm a very important person, I conquered


COGITO EGGO SUM I think; therefore I waffle


RIGOR MORRIS The cat is dead


RESPONDEZ S'IL VOUS PLAID Honk if you're Scottish


QUE SERA SERF Life is feudal


LE ROI EST MORT. JIVE LE ROI The king is dead. No kidding.


PRO BOZO PUBLICO Support your local clown


MONAGE A TROIS I am three years old


FELIX NAVIDAD Our cat has a boat


HASTE CUISINE Fast French food


VENI, VIDI, VICE I came, I saw, I partied


QUIP PRO QUO Fast retort


ALOHA OY Love; greetings; farewell; from such a pain you would never know


VISA LA FRANCE Don't leave your chateau without it


AMICUS PURIAE Platonic friend


L'ETAT, C'EST MOO I'm bossy around here


COGITO, ERGO SPUD I think, therefore I yam (OK, more than one letter)


VENI, VIDI, VELCRO I came, I saw, I stuck around (OK, another exception)


ICH BIT EIN BERLINER He deserved it.


ZITGEIST The Clearasil doesn't quite cover it up.


E PLURIBUS ANUM Out of any group, there's always one arsehole.


Brilliant, aren't they?

***

Shaddup Already

People and their friggin' cell phones!

I am so tired of listening to phone conversations on the train, Ms J. Honestly! Why is it that on a car that seats about two hundred people, there's always one idiot with a cell phone permanently stuck to the side of his face?

"HI IT'S ME AGAIN. I GUESS YOU'VE LEFT THE OFFICE. IT'S 5:15. HA! HA! I ALWAYS SEEM TO GET YOUR VOICE MAIL, EH? SO ANYWAY, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT PROPOSAL YOU MENTIONED AT THE MEETING AND I REALLY THINK WE SHOULD GO AHEAD WITH IT. IT'S THE BEST IDEA I'VE HEARD YET."

Blah blah freaking blah.

No one cares, Buddy. There's no one on this train who wants to hear your stupid conversation about a stupid proposal to a stupid answering machine. It's Friday for goodness sake. Give it a rest.

Hey. Here's a proposal for you. How 'bout we all swarm you, remove that phone from your ear and insert it where it'll be no good to you whatsoever?

Lower your voice! You don't have to yell. It's a modern telephone you're using, not a piece of string and two tin cans. And turn the speaker volume down. We don't want to hear the other side of the conversation either.

And what about those irritating ring tones, eh Ms J? Happy, sappy electronic versions of songs that were annoying enough in their original format. And why must they be so loud? Don't most phones have a "vibrate" feature that allows a silent ring? Why not use it?

I'm tired of cell phones and people who feel they must be available every waking minute. I mean really, Ms J. Is anyone really that important? Whatever did we do before the age of cell phones? We left a message or tried again later, that's what we did. We actually went out, away from the phone, and had a Life. When we returned, we collected our calls.

Me? I don't own one. I find the damned things intrusive and annoying. But if you must use a cell phone, please consider those around you. And for goodness sake, turn it off in theatres and cinemas and restaurants.

Don't even get me started about restaurants.

***

Tempus Fugit

Thursday. This week’s disappearing fast. Dad’s right, Ms J. He says Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The nearer the end, the faster it goes. Summer was just a blur and it’ll soon be fall. Coloured leaves will litter the ground and Hallowe’en will be fast upon us. Snow. Then Christmas and the end of another year.

When I was younger, I measured time in minutes and hours. As I grew older, I began to use weeks and months. Now, it seems, I mark the changing seasons to denote time’s steady passage. Spring and summer, fall and winter. Time must really fly for dear ol’ Dad. He must see it in terms of decades, perhaps.

I’m thinking now of Life, of the circle of Life, Ms Journal, and I’m smiling.

***

Softer Memories. Gentler Wishes.

I washed the supper dishes tonight and then drained the sink. A residue of suds and grease remained on the stainless steel. I wiped it with the dish cloth and for the millionth time, thought of Donna. She'd always leave the mess in the sink after she'd pulled the plug. It always bugged me. And I always complained about it. I complained about most everything she did, Ms J, or didn't do.

Donna is my ex-wife. My second ex-wife. The wife I loved. We were married in June 1998 and separated in May 2000. We've been divorced a long time now, and she's since remarried. She lives in Holland somewhere. I don't reckon I'll ever see my Donna Lesa again. But I still think of her.

I think of her when I boil the kettle for tea. She always put too much water in it, and I always complained. Even though she was making tea for me, I couldn't resist the urge to find fault.

I think of her whenever I find a convenient parking spot. She always seemed to find a good spot right away while I'd have to drive round for ten minutes to find a spot a hundred yards from the shop I wanted. And I always complained.

I think of her whenever I think of using drugs. Speed. 2C-B. Ex. Whatever. She always seemed to get off first and enjoy it more. I was always jealous. And I always did my best to make her feel guilty. Don't worry, Ms J. Those days are behind me now. Well behind me.

She threw me out and I was so hurt back then, so angry and bitter. I loved her madly and despised her at the same time. But she'd fallen out of Love with me. She'd had enough and she couldn't wait to divorce me and begin Life anew as a Dutchman's bride. Gosh it was painful.

It's strange, you know, how my feelings have mellowed. Back in those dark days, I thought I might perish from the pain. Indeed, Ms J, I hoped I would. I prayed for relief even if it meant death. So much pain. So much hatred.

I still think of Donna, but the thoughts don't hurt anymore. I remember the good times. I remember our first date and the pub, Toozers, where we met. I remember our first kiss, in Marie Curtis Park in Long Branch. I can still recall my first trip to Cape Breton Island, Donna's home, and the warm reception from her family there. I remember long talks and longer drives. I remember her smell and the warmth of her body beside me in bed. A cotton night gown with Mickey Mouse on the front. The feel of her arms around me. And her soft lips and luminous smile. In my mind, I can still hear echoes of her laughter and it makes me smile. It makes me smile.

I no longer pine for her, Ms J, or regret our break-up. It was all for the best, really it was.

But I wonder sometimes if she remembers me, if she thinks about the good times we had, and how much I loved her. I sometimes pray that she might find this blog and read it and know of my struggles and my successes. I want her to know I'm alright now. I'm happy for the most part. Things have changed so much since she last saw me. I want her to know about Dan and David and about Meagan and about my sister Helen and her cancer. I want her to know about my Life. But I understand she might not care.

And that's OK, I guess. I don't imagine we have much in common anymore. Nothing but the six years we spent together.

If you ever read this, Donna, I hope you'll comment. I want you to know that although we can't be together, I will always love you. I love you better now than I ever did back then. And I wish you peace.

***

... because you never know who's reading

OK, then. That's it. No more rants against the fu---

No more rants against the ars---

Hold on a minute. I can do this. I can.

Deep breath now.

Smell the roses. Blow out the candle.

Shhhhhhhhhh.

And smile benignly.

All is well at work these days. Everyone is at peace, and happy to be working for such a great bunch of people.

=====================

From now on, I'll save my most ascerbic criticisms for my private journal.

Last month marked my second anniversary here in Blogsville. I've written a lot of words, Ms Journal. Through hundreds of posts I've shared a great many thoughts and fears. While I've tried to avoid engaging in self-pity or self-aggrandizement, I've often been quite open with my feelings of anger and outrage. Never once in the past twenty-five months have I given much thought to who might read this or what sort of consequence might result.

But this is the internet after all, and I must acknowledge the fact that a simple Google search for something quite innocuous could easily lead the searcher here where he or she might know my dark thoughts and take some sort of action against me.

Am I paranoid, Ms J? Maybe. But if you knew the vindictive nature of some of the management types at North America's largest railway, ... Well, you'd feel the same as I do.

I don't know who these nameless commenters are, but quite honestly, I feel uneasy about sharing with them my heart of darkness regarding my employer.

GO train passengers! Good lord!

I don't know how exactly they find their way here, Ms J, or how long they've been reading. A part of me is flattered, of course. Isn't it nice that someone visits this site regularly, hoping to gasp wide-eyed at my scintillating prose?

But GO train passengers? I mean really, Ms J. That's just too close to home for someone I don't even know.

***

Thoughts on A Monday Morning

I was up a little earlier than normal this morning Ms J. My alarm was set for 4:00, but I was awake at 3:45 so I turned off the alarm and got out of bed. 3:45 AM. Three forty-five in the morning. That does seem an ungodly hour to rise and begin the day, doesn't it? Oh well. A man does what he has to to earn a living. I noticed Deb was scheduled to work Job 10 this morning, my old job, the job I can't risk working while she's on it.

I phoned Joe on Saturday. Joe's our union steward. I told him I had worked with Deb on Friday and expressed my concerns.

"I know, Dale," he said. "You're not the first to complain. I wonder who rode with her to qualify her in commuter service?"

I gave him the name of the supervisor who had pronounced her "qualified."

"Really?" asked Joe. "He hasn't operated a train for years. Many years. More than a decade. I wonder how he feels he's qualified to qualify anybody?"

"He's a supervisor, Joe. He just does as he's told. I suspect his supervisor issued a direct order to him. 'She's had enough training. Get her out there working on her own. Now.'"

There was silence on the line and I imagined Joe's head bobbing in agreement as he took in the Truth of my statement.

"Yeah. They do pretty much whatever they want now, don't they?"

I didn't reply and he continued.

"They fire good people and promote the incompetent ones. They have no regard for the safety of the public or the welfare of their employees. And did you know I attended a meeting yesterday where I learned they plan to discipline you for that red light incident?"

I was shocked, Ms Journal.

"What the fuck, Joe?! I was at the other end of the train, a thousand feet away! What was I supposed to have done??"

"I don't know, Dale, but they're going to give you ten demerit points anyway."

I just received ten demerits a few weeks ago for exercising my RIGHT to book rest as is formally afforded me by our labour agreement. So now I'll have 20 demerits. Sixty is the magic number, Ms J. When you accumulate sixty, you're fired.

It's an odd thing, you know. Things had been going fairly well at work for the past 28 years or so. Then things changed. EVERYTHING changed. It was the American invasion. And Life at work will never be good again.

I operate a commuter train. They're called GO trains. G.O. stands for Government of Ontario. GO Transit was formed in 1967 by the provincial government. It is they who own the trains and administer the system. CN Rail is my employer. They are contracted by GO Transit to operate their trains.

But since the Yanks have arrived, pushing their weight around and treating people like SHIT, ... Well, we just don't feel motivated anymore to go the extra mile, to come to work when we're tired, to work extra shifts when required. My direct supervisor is a cruel tyrant who seems to take pleasure in the suffering of train crews. He's always out looking for trouble in the form of petty rule infractions, and poised to inflict severe discipline. His name is Mr. Kelly.

KELLY! Can you believe that, Ms J??!! Why is it that that name is so connected with my misery?? Clearly, there's some lesson here for me. But before I can learn it, I'll have to figure out what on Earth it is.

And GO Transit are very dis-satisfied with the level of service they've received from CN recently. They are so upset, in fact, that they're considering severing ties with CN and hiring another railroad company to operate their trains. That would mean about 170 men would lose their jobs. And mine would be among them.

Maybe they're bluffing, Ms J. Maybe they wouldn't or couldn't find another railroad to run the trains. I really don't know. Our contract expires in May of 2008. After that, I don't know what will become of us. Maybe we'll be employed by GO Transit directly.

If that option were made available to us, Ms J, men would flee the oppression and smirking arrogance of our current masters like rats from a sinking ship. And sink it will if the pricks at CN don't soon begin to consider the value of their employees.

***

Dinner With Friends

I had dinner with Kirk and Rey tonight. It was very nice. I've missed seeing my friends lately. I often see Kirk at work, but I rarely have time to chat. His wife, Rey, has been out of town a lot lately, on business trips. I cherish their friendship, Ms J. They were very kind to me last summer when my leg was still tender.

Kirk's brother was there too, along with his girlfriend and her young daughter. After dinner, we played dominoes and chatted. I finished the game dead last while Keith won.

"Did you bring your script with you, Dale?" Rey asked. "Do you want to run some lines?"

I had hoped we might be able to do that, but when I learned they had company, I thought better of it.

"Well, I don't know, Rey. I don't imagine the others will want to hear us reading a play."

"I wouldn't mind reading with you, Dale," said Keith. "Is there a part I could read?"

And so we read it, Ms J. Tribute. All of Act 1. Keith and Rey and I. Kirk happily played a computer game and the little girl and her mother watched TV. It was really good practice for me. The script runs 90 pages and I'm familiar with the text up to page 42. There's SOOOO much to memorise, Ms J. My character, Scottie Templeton sure talks a lot.

Thank you for dinner, Rey! It was a nice visit, although I wished I had seen more of Kirk. They've invited me back to read again on Monday evening. I'll bring a tape recorder and a cassette.

---

Church tomorrow morning then off to Caledon for an afternoon rehearsal.

Good night, Ms J.

***

It's Happening Again ...

I haven't seen much of my GO girls lately. They're the four women with whom I used to sit on my afternoon train. I met them all about 3 or 4 years ago and we've become friends. We would spend forty minutes every afternoon chatting and bitching and laughing. I really enjoyed that time with them.

But I've been staying on the engine lately to study my new script and the girls have been taking an earlier train. I don't blame them. The 4:13 is late nearly every single day. It's getting bad, and I'm feeling really frustrated. The crew try our best to operate the damn thing on time, but it seems we're the only ones (besides the passengers) who care. Freight trains block our way. Empty commuter trains seem to take precedence of movement over our fully loaded rush hour train. I've complained, but the authorities don't appear to care. I don't understand why this is.

Two weeks ago, the engineer I was working with ran through a red light in Hamilton. He was removed from service immediately. Yesterday, they officially fired him.

This was a good man. A good employee who made a mistake. One mistake in his career. He admitted fault and co-operated fully in the investigation. He had a perfect work record that spanned 19 years. He has a young family. But CN doesn't care. They fired him. All the train crews are saddened and angry. There's a LOT of anger, Ms J. A LOT. I'm afraid someone will do something stupid, like punch our boss in the mouth, or vandalize his car, or ... I don't know. But it's bad at work now. Really bad. I have never seen morale this low. We're afraid for our jobs and we loathe our employer.

Today, I learned I have a new mate. There's a new engineer who'll be working with me every day. A woman. She has NO CLUE what to do. She's dangerous and completely unqualified to operate a GO train. Or any train. She admits this herself. It's terribly unsafe and very nerve-wracking for me to have to work with her. She literally shook as she talked about operating the train into Hamilton this morning.

I took pity on the poor woman and ran the train both directions while she simply observed. The company says she's qualified. I can see she's not competent but I cannot refuse to work with her. I'm afraid she'll make a mistake that might cause both of us to get fired. Or worse ... And believe me, Ms Journal, she shares my concern.

Next week, I'll be working a different train, a train with experienced people who can work safely and efficiently. I'm sorry to abandon poor Deb, but I cannot risk losing my job. I just really need to get away from that assignment for a while. I am angry and short-tempered at work and I'm afraid something bad will happen.

The last time I felt that way, I fell down the stairs and broke my leg. This time, I will listen to my feelings.

I could stay on that job and help Deb learn to become more proficient. Maybe I will later, but right now I feel I need to operate a different train, to work a different assignment. I've been working the same schedule for four years now. Maybe The Universe is telling me it's time to move on.

Good Luck, Deb. God help you and the people you work with. The passengers too. Maybe I'll see you in a week or so. Or maybe not.

***

"I'm VERY Happy, Dad"

I spoke with Meagan yesterday.

"So how's school, Scout? What's it like being in high school?"

"It's good. My classes are pretty easy, actually. It'll get way harder next semester, I know. But this semester will be a breeze, I think."

"What about the other kids? Are they nice?"

"Yeah, they're OK, really. The school is massive compared to my old school. I keep on getting lost. But the kids are nice. They're really helpful. I guess they remember what it's like to be a minor niner."

"And the bus ride? What's that like?"

"It's good, actually. It's fun. I already have two new friends -- Steve and Anton. We sit together on the bus and laugh our butts off."

"Is either of them a ... Do you ...?"

"No. It's not like that. We're just friends. We laugh our asses off. On the bus. It's hilarious."

"So school is good, eh? Are you comfortable going there? You were pretty worried last month, Scout. You're feeling OK with it now?"

"I'm fine now. I really like this. I'm VERY happy, Dad."

It was like music to my ears, Ms J. It was the best thing she could possibly have said. I think that girl's going to be alright, you know that? I think she'll be alright.

***

Mememe and My Blog

PBS has challenged me to take this meme. I promised her I would. So without further ado, I do!

1. Are you happy/satisfied with your blog and with its content and look?

Yup. I'm OK with it. I wish the train in the header had its headlight on, though. It bugs me every time I see it.

2. Does your family know about your blog?

Most of them, yes. Brother and sisters know. And my niece and nephew. I write a lot about my kids and about their mother. The kids know I have a blog, but they don't read it. They don't know the URL, I don't think. I suppose Kelly will discover it one day. She'll Google something one day and discover it by accident. When she reads about herself, she'll have a shit haemorrhage. (shrugs) Mmm. Oh well ...

3. Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or do you consider it a private thing?

It's not a private thing. I mean, how can it be? It's on the internet. My close friends all know of it. A couple read it regularly.

4. Do you only visit the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?

I used to surf around and read others but quite honestly, I don't have the time to do it anymore. A person could sit all day long and explore blogs. I have neither the time nor the inclination.

5. What does a "visitors counter" mean to you? Do you care about putting it on your blog?

I have a hit counter. Obviously, it can be an ego thing and sometimes, for me, it is. I could live without it though.

6. Do you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real faces?

In most cases, the bloggers I read have posted pictures of themselves. I know what they look like. I do find myself wondering sometimes, if we met, would we sustain a friendship in the real world?

7. Do you think there is any real benefit in blogging?

Yes. It's incredibly helpful for me when I discover other people struggling with Life as I do at times. I enjoy sharing hopes and dreams with others and the interaction with people on other continents and in other hemispheres is fascinating!

8. Do you think that bloggers society is isolated from the real world or does it interact with events?

"Blogger's society is so much a part of the real world. It deepens and broadens my world. I often learn about events from reading blogs (example: Steve Irwin) before I hear about it on the news."
PBS wrote that response, and I couldn't agree more. However, I acknowledge the possiblitity that the internet can be highly addictive and a means to isolate people. I have lots of "real" friends though, and interests outside the internet.

9. Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?

I don't like criticism, but then no one does. I guess what bothers me most, is uninformed criticism. I am offended when commenters judge me without knowing all the facts. I have no problem with differing opinions. I just don't easily suffer hurtful criticism.

10. Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?

A couple of years ago, I made some glib remark that was taken as anti-American by a woman in Nebraska. The comment she left began a series of shameful and juvenile exchanges among other readers. Like religion, political ideas are firmly held. I don't fear them, but no, I don't read political blogs. I rarely, if ever, write political posts.

11. Were you shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?

I suppose I might have been shocked, had I learned of it when it happened. Did it happen?

12. Have you thought about what will happen to your blog after you die?

Gee, I haven't given much thought to dying. Hmmm ... How morose! Well, I would hope that someone might get the word out to my blog mates if I met with an untimely demise.

13. What do you like to hear? What's the song you like to put on your blog?

I do enjoy music but my blog is not a place for music. For me, it's a place for words and photos. It's about my Life.

14. Has reading blogs caused positive changes in your thoughts?

Oh my, yes! I've often found strength and inspiration from reading of challenges and victories on other blogs. I've also experienced sadness, joy and sometimes a bit of jealousy when I read about others traveling or winning accolades. But yes, I've learned about myself even as I learn about others.

Thanks, PB! That was fun, wasn't it? Anyone else care to try? Michelle? Heather? AC? Jenny? How 'bout you, Zed?

Helloooo? Is there anyone out there???

***

A Tuesday

First day back to work after the long weekend. The Labour Day weekend, Ms J. The last long weekend of the summer.

It was a good day. Our train was on time all day for a change. That felt good. Another nice thing was lunch with a friend. (Hi Frankie!) Frankie and I sometimes have the most enjoyable, rewarding conversations! It's really amazing how connected I feel to her when we share intimacies, and no Ms J, I'm not talking about that kind of intimacy. I just mean talking about Truth and about feelings. I really like that kind of stuff.

So yeah, it was an excellent day.

Tomorrow should be good as well. The company has decided finally after ten days, that I should be brought in for questioning regarding the red light incident. I mean, honestly! They have plenty of evidence. All the employees involved have offered full co-operation and honesty. The man ran a red light. It was an accident. He's admitted fault, and stands ready to accept his fate. Let's get on with it, then, shall we? Why must they prolong this? Why must it be more complicated and protracted than need be? I have only one possible reason. Cruelty.

It's a good thing mk99 has sworn never to read this blog again. She'd probably go mental when she read about me taking the entire day off tomorrow to attend their stupid investigation. Oh yes! CN will pay me a full day's pay to sit for an hour and answer some questions. That's their obligation under our labour agreement.

That's how stupid they are. That's how pointless it all is. I'll gladly accept the pay, but I must tell you, Ms J, as a shareholder, I'm appalled at the waste of resources.

Nighty-night.

***

C'est la fin de l'été

It's over, Ms J. Summer's gone for another year. It seemed only a brief moment, a few long, warm days, and then it was gone. The sun sleeps a bit later now and retires a bit earlier in the evening. The air has a certain feel to it that hints of crisp, cool mornings and tomato plants blackened by frost. Soon the trees will offer one last hurrah in resplendant colour before shedding their withered leaves in preparation for the long bath of winter. The Exhibition officially closes tonight at 10:30 with fireworks, and mums and dads will carry sleepy children home to bed for schools open again tomorrow. Meagan begins a new chapter of her Life: High School.

Thank you, Lord, for the friends who built my deck. Thank you for red tomatoes and green peppers and yellow squash. Thank you for Baby David and for his father, my son, Daniel. Bless them all - Daniel and Maxine and Baby David - and keep them safe. And my little Scout, too, Lord. Help her remember to do right at school, to keep good company and to make herself proud.

Thanks for a fabulous summer, God. I know I did a lot of complaining, but really, it was pretty good. And I really am grateful you know. For everything.

Good night.

***

Sound Reasoning

Morning, Ms J. I'm up early today -- fed, shaved, and showered. It's cool and rainy outside. 13C I wonder if the airshow will be cancelled due to the weather? The Canadian International Airshow It was wet and overcast yesterday, but the show proceeded anyway. Actually, I've got a hunch it was cut short when the rain began in earnest.

I was sitting at the table, studying my script, when the early afternoon silence was shattered by the crackle and roar of a powerful jet engine. I leapt up and dashed outside just in time to catch a glimpse of a CF-18 as it banked sharply in a tight u-turn to return to the CNE grounds four miles away. The noise was nearly overwhelming, Ms J! I could actually feel the air moving about me and rumble deep in my chest. I felt excited and happy.

"Cool, eh?"

It was my young neighbour, Maggie. She's just 17.

"Yeah," I said. "Wicked cool!"

I looked up and down the street and I noticed a few others on front porches and lawns, all gazing upward hoping for another look at the powerful jet fighter. It was awe-inspiring, Ms J. Really exciting.

I returned to my coffee and script at the table and thought of the poor unfortunates who live every day with the threat of war outside their homes. I'm sure the roar of a military jet doesn't evoke the same feelings of excitement for them. I'm certain they don't rush outside to look, but instead hurry their families into closets or cellars and pray for their safety. Children cry with fear and mothers do their best to mask their own fears to offer comfort and assurance to the little ones.

This morning at church, I'll pray for those helpless souls. I'll pray that world leaders might soon wake up to the needless suffering and devastation they're causing and withdraw their troops and silence their guns.

You know Ms Journal, I may never experience the sound of a military jet quite the same again.

***

Birthday Celebrations

Happy Birthday to two of my favourite women!

My niece, Sherri and her mother both celebrate birthdays today. Sherri is twenty-five. Linda is fifty-four.

And while we’re on the topic of birthdays, let me tell you what my plans are today. I’m going to Orangeville late this afternoon to attend a surprise birthday party for a friend. Suzanne is fifty today. You can see a photo of her here on this post from the archives. I first met Suzanne in a play we did together about four years ago. She’s absolutely gorgeous, Ms J. And married. I have a crush on this woman nonetheless.

Suz, if you ever tire of Bill and you long for fun and romance, I invite you to run away with me to Mimico.

***

Save a Horse ... Ride a Cowboy

Whew. What a day I had yesterday, Ms J. I was awake at 4:15 and off to work at 4:45. At 9:00, I came home and found Alex awake and dressed and ready to go. She stayed at my house on Wednesday night so we could get an early start on Thursday. We jumped in the car and went off to collect Frankie. Then the three of us went to Mimico Station to get the train to the CNE. The Canadian National Exhibition. It's a Toronto tradition and Canada's largest and longest-running annual fall fair. To us locals, it's known simply as "The EX".

The weather was absolutely perfect, Ms J. Just like last year. Sunny. Not too hot, with a lovely breeze off the lake.

Just as we did last year, we spent all our time on the midway. We rode the rides and ate junk food and played games to win prizes. Frankie won two stuffed toys. Sesame Street's "Cookie Monster" and a character, "Stewie", from an animated television show. She was thrilled.

"Do you think we should visit some of the exhibits?" I asked her. "Maybe we'll see something we'd like to buy."

"No way," she said, and G.A. concurred. "The exhibits are for grown-ups. We're here to be kids."

And so we spent the day together playing like children. We denied ourselves nothing. The girls went on every ride they wanted, and many twice. I sat out most of them because my old stomach can't stand all that violent motion.


Intrepid souls, these young women. Look at them offering a "V" for victory from the back row.


The car swung this way ..


... and that way, like a giant pendulum. The G-forces must have been great. But those two laughed and screamed and LOVED it!


Here they are on another ride. Ready for take-off. It sure looked like fun, but I was content to stand and hold their bags. Girl Alex on the outside and Frankie inside. Don't they look happy?


Look Dale! We're flying!! Weeeeeeeee!!!!

I wasn't a total chicken, though. I went on some of the rides. Alex took a picture of me on the big slide.


I'm a bit, er ... heavier than Frankie. I lead the race to the bottom.


"I win! I win!"

"Let's go again, Frankie!" I said. "I'll take a picture from the top as we're going down."

And so I did. It seemed like a good idea, Ms J, but it was really scary not watching where I was going. I lost my hat to the wind, but later retrieved it.


I was so frightened, I almost couldn't press the shutter release!

Another ride we enjoyed was a swing-type arrangement. The line-ups were short and wait-times brief so we went on this one three or four times. I liked to close my eyes and feel the wind on my face. Frankie always spread her arms like wings. It would have been more relaxing without the music blaring.


I wonder if these women know how they enrich my Life? I hope so. I must remember to tell them if I haven't already. Frankie is a school teacher and Alex starts college on Tuesday.


Frankie and I went on the Merry-Go-Round. Alex took pictures.

"Are you sure this one's not too violent, Frankie?" I asked and she assured me I'd be fine.

"Dale ... It's the merry-go-round."


I was a bit nervous at first, Ms J. But Frankie stayed right next to me and helped me relax.


Soon I was relaxing and enjoying myself. The girls laughed at my antics.

There was a lot of laughter that day, Ms J. I always enjoy the sound of honest laughter, but especially from people I care for. The smiles and joy I witnessed on the faces of my friends was without a doubt the best part of the day for me.


Here we are on the giant Ferris wheel. That's my favourite ride, Ms J. From the top, you can look out over Lake Ontario and see the sailboats and gulls, fresh and white against the blue water and sky. It just feels peaceful up there.


The "CRAZY MOUSE" was a hit too. It's a rollercoaster with cars that rotate unexpectedly. Sometimes, you're going forward, then suddenly, you're racing backward downhill. It was great fun but terrifying!

Near the end of the ride, on one of the most frightening drops, a camera takes your photo. The picture nicely sums up the day's excitement.

Alex? Frankie? If you read this, please know that I love you both. Thank you for a brilliant day!


Joy. That's what it looks like.

Oh, and today's title. What's with that, you ask? "Save a horse, etc?"

Well, that was the name of a song that was blaring from loud speakers as the girls prepared to board a ride. I was singing along and dancing to the beat. It was funny and there was more laughter, not only from G.A. and Frankie, but from others who were waiting in line.

"You should make that the title of your blog post, Dale," Frankie suggested. "It'll get their attention, won't it?"

And so I did.

***