Church: Why Bother?

I remember reading a comment somewhere in Blogsville recently in which the writer stated he didn't miss church. I guess he'd become disillusioned with organized religion. He's not alone. Church enrolment and membership has been in steady decline over the past few decades. My church - The United Church of Canada - has begun an advertising campaign in hopes of enticing new members and growing our congregations. It's called "Emerging Spirit" and ads can be found in many Canadian magazines. The ads invite the curious to visit a website called Wondercafe and engage in lively discussion on a number of current issues - Gay marriage, parenthood, sex, etc.

Why do I go to church, Ms Journal? Why do I miss it when my job requires me to work on Sunday morning? In a word, community.

Church and the people there offer me a sense of belonging to something larger than myself. My biological family is supportive and caring, yes, but my friends at church offer an extended family that is often more readily accessible. My church friends live here in Mimico, in my own neighbourhood. They know me. They suffer when I suffer. They've been aware of my struggles at work and many ask how I'm doing. Some phone to chat. And last week, after I'd missed a couple of Sundays, the members of a committee to which I belong sent me a card.

"Just believe ..." was the message on the front. Inside, it said, "When the stress and strain of Life seem too much to bear, remember God loves you -- and so do we."

They all signed it and included personal good wishes.

"May you find comfort in knowing we are all there for you." Diane

"Dale, You have the memory of the Love and support of the healing circle in every cell of your body. Draw it close around you whenever you feel the need of Love and comfort. May the Divine Mystery light your path." Charlotte

"Thinking of you and praying for you and your loved ones." Mary

"Thinking about you. Take care." Joan

"Praying for you, Dale. God bless." Shirl

"Dale, remember you are a beloved child of God. May you feel the loving arms of the Divine embracing your Spirit today and every day." Deb

I held the card and breathed deeply for a minute or so while tears coursed down my cheeks. They're thinking of me, Ms J. They care about me. They want me to be happy. And I want the same for them. All of them, not just the ones who sent the card.

This is why I go to church. And this is why I miss it so when I don't go.

***

Today's Gossip

Gossip. Is that how you spell it? Gossip. Strange word, that. I don't remember ever writing it before. It's not really gossip, but the word comes to mind. Anyway, here's what's on my mind today.

I have a friend - well, more of an acquaintance I suppose. She's in a bit of a bind. She needs money. A lot. And soon. I can't go into detail here. It seems the walls have ears these days. I could give her money, but if she knew it was from me, she couldn't accept it. My gift could bring her trouble. Yeah. It's weird, eh? I've been with this thought since this morning. I don't know what to do. I think I'll wait. Maybe she'll solve her problem on her own. Somehow. And if not ... Well, an envelope could find its way to her mailbox. Anonymously, of course.

And here's something interesting. You know how troubled I've been lately regarding my employer? How scared I've been for my job? Well, my guess is that others are scared too. Of course all the people who've been the object of harsh discipline, who've been investigated, humiliated, castigated and berated, of course they're all frightened. Who wouldn't be? John, for instance. He was fired for pushing past a supervisor who was blocking his access to a washroom. Or Jeff. Jeff was fired for using a swear word on the company telephone. Mike is diabetic and rushed off for something sweet and delayed a train four minutes. Four minutes. He got thirty demerits. He's halfway fired. These people are scared. Traumatized, I should think. I know I was. Still am.

But I think management is frightened too. Oh not the top people. No, nothing frightens them. They're so wealthy and so powerful and so far removed from reality, ... They're too arrogant to be frightened. I'm talking about my supervisor and the next couple of levels beyond him. They're so frightened of losing their posh jobs and luxury Lifestyles, that they feel they must subjugate their workforce, and through methods of intimidation and cruelty, enforce compliance.

I got a call the other day from someone in the crew dispatching office. He was using his cell phone to warn me against saying anything I didn't want the Regional VP to hear.

"It's crazy, eh? I can't tell you this on the company phone," he said. "It's all recorded. They actually sit and listen to all the calls made over an entire shift. Can you believe it? What a waste of time! But they do it, hoping to catch someone doing something wrong."

Caring, confident, compassionate people do not behave this way. They're frightened, too, Ms J. They're just as scared as we are.

It's a shame, really. Imagine how productive and creative we could all be if we weren't always burdened with dread.

***

A Note Before Bed

Friday, Ms Journal. Another week over. Seven days closer to retirement.

It’s funny. A few weeks ago, when things were normal at work, when Life was good at work, I looked forward to Friday. Friday meant the end of the work week and two days off.

But now, things have changed. Friday is just another day. Just like Saturday or Sunday or Tuesday. They’re all work days. I’ve worked twenty-five of the past twenty-six days in this month. But I’m making lots of money, Ms J. I hope to pay down my mortgage with the extra money I get. If I have to suffer the crap at work, let it not be for nothing.

Besides, my border is starting to get on my nerves. By working every day and coming home only to sleep, I can avoid seeing him. He’s been a wonderful border, Ms J, but I’m getting to the point where I’d like my house to myself again. Alan’s been here four months now. I don’t quite know how to ask him to leave, but I’d like to see him out of here in the spring. I’m going to suggest he consider getting his own place.

One day.

When I get the courage.

***

Getting Better

Life is like a mountain railway
With an engineer that’s brave.
We must make the run successful
From the cradle to the grave.
Heed the curves, the hills and tunnels
Never falter, never fail
Keep your hand upon the throttle
And your eye upon the rail.

Chorus

Blessed Saviour, Thou wilt guide us,
Till we reach that blissful shore,
Where the angels wait to join us
In Thy praise forevermore.

As we roll along the mainline
There’ll be storms and there’ll be night
There’ll be side tracks unexpected
On the left and on the right.
But with the straight always before us
And our hearts upon the prize
There’ll be no disembarkation
Until we reach paradise.

Life’s Railway to Heaven
(Eliza R. Snow / Charles D. Tillman)


I’m getting used to Life on the spareboard, Ms J. I don’t like waking to a ringing phone in the middle of the night and not having a social Life. I don’t like it, but I’m learning to tolerate it. Although the country gospel song above was written a hundred years ago, the lyrics ring so true for me. Storms. Night. Side tracks. Don’t I know it!!

It’s stressful, working freight trains in unfamiliar territory. It’s difficult too, to have to work with new employees often. I don’t know where I’m going and they don’t know what they’re doing. But I’ll do my best to put my time in and stay out of trouble. Seven more years til a fat, juicy pension. Seven years of crap and stress and worry. Six years, six months.

I’ll keep my hand upon the throttle, Ms J, and my eye upon the rail.

Be with me Lord. Keep me safe.

***

Two Ears -- One Mouth

We had fun at Dad’s yesterday. My sisters – Jill and June went with me. It was rather nice to have company in the car. I was tired though, from working every day, so I practiced listening. Even at Dad’s, I was uncharacteristically quiet. The girls and Pat were boisterous and silly and I let them fill the silence with their good-hearted banter and laughter. We sat down to eat as the shadows grew long in the gloaming.



Mum made Dad’s favourite dinner – roast beef and mashed potatoes. Apple pie and ice cream were offered for dessert. It was very tasty. It felt good to be around the table as a family. Two siblings were absent: Helen and Donna. Linda was there, though. I adore Linda. She’s my sister-in-law, Pat’s wife. They’ve been married thirty years or more and it seems to me Linda’s been a part of our family forever. The three youngest (Jill, June and I) can scarcely recall a time before Linda.

I’m sure Dad had a nice time and it was much quieter without the little ones present. Jill and June left their kids at home with the fathers, Dave and Rob.



It was after 7:30 by the time dinner was over. The twins and I said good-bye and left to come home then. We didn’t even help Mum with the dishes. June had to go to work this morning and so did I.

I practiced my listening skills for two hours on the ride home as well. You know, Ms J, I’ve always been a talker. Loquacious, is the right word. I’m a little uncomfortable in silence and I’ve always enjoyed showing off my intellect. Pedantic, I think is what I am sometimes. Didactic.

I really need to respect other people in their need to be heard. Everyone has a story to tell. Everyone deserves to be honoured and listened to. It’s good that I am aware of this. I’ll try to practice listening more often.

Sometimes perhaps, the best way to contribute to a conversation is by staying out of it.

***

Saturday's Thoughts

Happy Birthday, Dad!

It’s 10:00 a.m. and I’m ready to come and see you now. I have to collect the twins, Jill and June first at June’s home in Mississauga. I’ll leave home in about an hour. See you soon!

Hi Ms J.

Let me share some thoughts I had as I regained consciousness early this morning. I lay there in the dark and thought about Meagan for a long time. I think of that girl often. In Truth, she’s never far from me in thought and in memory. God, I love her so. I recalled a conversation we’d had a week ago.

Last weekend I worked a shift in Oakville. When I was done, I drove up to Georgetown to visit my brother. On the way home that evening, I popped in to see Meagan. She’d forgotten her canvas sneakers at my house and she needed them for gym class at school.

“It’s Grandad’s birthday next weekend, eh Scout? I’m going up to wish him a Happy Birthday. Wanna come with me?”

She hesitated and bit her lip. She has two piercings on her lower lip, and I could hear the silver hoops click softly against her teeth.

“I don’t know, Dad. Do you really want me to go?”

She tries so hard to please me, Ms J. I think she often puts her feelings and desires aside to please me. Others too, I would imagine. I took her by the shoulders and looked into her blue eyes.

“Meagan, I want you to go,” I said. “That’s the Truth. My Truth. I’d like to hear your Truth now. I want you to tell me what you want to do. No pressure. No guilt.”

She drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

“I don’t really want to go, Dad.”

I was disappointed but I didn’t show it. Dad’s eighty-five years old. How many more birthdays will he have? But Meagan is fourteen. And she’s busy growing up. I understand. Grandad will understand too.

“Then you don’t have to go, Honey. Think of Grandad, maybe, if you remember. He’ll be thinking of you.”

“How old is he going to be?”

“Eighty-five.”

I watched as she tried to comprehend the significance of eight decades of Life. It was clearly beyond her ken.

“Eighty-five, eh? Wow. That’s getting’ up there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s getting up there alright.”

“Tell him I said Happy Birthday.”

“I will.”

And I drove away feeling a tinge of disappointment. A little disappointment and a little sorrow.

My father. My daughter.

An ending and a beginning.

Life.

It’s all so marvellous, Ms J.

It’s all so happy and so sad and so ... overwhelmingly beautiful.

***

Lives Are At Risk

The GO trains suffered serious delays this morning.

I was called at 0230 to report to work at 0430 for a GO train. Job 9. We left Hamilton twelve minutes late. We would have been on time, but there’s only one engineer on the trains now. It takes longer to change directions. Maybe, when the public gets fed up with train delays, they’ll complain loudly enough that GO will demand a return to two engineer operations. We were about sixteen minutes late at Clarkson, our last stop. We were to run express (non-stop) then to Union Station.

Because we were late, and due to bad weather, the crowds were larger than normal. About half of the people on the platform at Clarkson were unable to board the train. We were jam-packed and left a hundred or more waiting in the freezing rain when we finally departed.

Nine miles further east, at Canpa, we were stopped by a red signal. I radioed the dispatcher to ask what was wrong.

“There’s a signal problem at Canpa,” he told us. “There’s a signal maintainer there and I’m sure she’ll get things sorted and have you on your way shortly.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Yeah, OK, dispatcher,” I said. “I’m sure she will. She’ll have things fixed up in no time.”

And so we waited. And waited. And waited.

After thirty minutes, alarms began to sound in the locomotive. Passenger assist alarms. A digital display in the locomotive showed the location. I called the conductor on the intercom.

“I’ve got a passenger assist alarm here in coach 2402, Mike. What’s going on back there?”

But the train was so crowded, there was no way he could possibly respond to the alarm.

“Shit, I can’t get to it,” he said. “I can’t even move back here. Send Jordan back, will you?”

Jordan was the brakeman – the conductor’s helper. He was on the engine with me. That’s what they do now, Ms J. There’s only one engineer, so the brakeman rides on the engine and leaves the conductor alone in the train. Ten coaches, 2000 passengers, and one conductor. It’s insane.

Jordan walked outside on the track beside us. It’s a very dangerous thing to do, of course, but we had no choice now. There was some sort of emergency on our train and we had to investigate it. It took him about ten minutes to reach the victim. Then he called me on the radio.

“There’s a man here,” he said. “The guy’s a foreigner. I can hardly understand him, but I think he has high blood pressure. He’s having trouble breathing. There’s too many people on this car. He’s already fainted once. He says he needs an ambulance.”

We were at Canpa, Ms J, two miles west of Mimico, in the middle of nowhere. How could we get an ambulance out here? Then another alarm went off. Then a third one.

“Jordan, there are more alarms for passenger assistance. One in 2414 and one in 2312. Hang on a second. I’m going to use the PA and ask if there’s a doctor on board.”

“Never mind,” said young Master Jordan. “There’s a couple of nurses here with me now. But I still need an ambulance.”

“Go and check out the other alarms,” I told him. “I guess you’ll have to walk outside. I’ll watch for trains and let you know if I see one.”

I used another radio to call the operations centre and ordered an ambulance. We had a red light, though, between us and the next station – Mimico. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I told the ops person to dispatch an ambulance to Mimico. We’d be there eventually, if the signal problem was rectified.

The conductor and brakeman both responded to the other alarms. Other passengers were feeling ill, nauseous, dizzy.

“They’re dropping like flies,” said the conductor. “They’re packed in here like sardines.”

It was pretty crazy, Ms J. And no, I wasn’t laughing about it. This is what happens when trains run late. People panic. I guess they don’t want to wait for the next train, so they pile onto any train they can. It was bedlam.

After an hour’s delay at Canpa, we finally proceeded to Mimico where an ambulance was waiting to take the man to hospital. The conductor opened all the doors to allow people to step out onto the platform and after a brief stop, we carried on to Union Station in Toronto. We arrived about eighty minutes late.

It was stressful, Ms J. Exciting and stressful. I hope the man with high blood pressure is OK.

***

2007 Horoscope

I got the idea for this post from a certain Sheila who lives in Queensland. Thanks, Buffy!

LEO: Your sunny disposition will bring harmony into your life this year, resulting in an integration of all that you are becoming. Your love for pleasure and natural beauty will help you recreate yourself. You are dynamically active with lots of friends and group associations, and you love diversity and stimulation. You do well organizing group activities, be it a party, a meeting or a social event. Making a career out of this would be especially good since you are such a socially-oriented person, not to mention a great organizer with a gift for details.

Guard against taking on too much responsibility this year, otherwise you might end up feeling overloaded. Take care of your personal needs, and maintain your sense of well being. You seek comfort and security, and you'll benefit from periodic retreats and spending time in nature in order to keep positive boundaries. This is a good time to explore your inner character and high standards, and reevaluate what you believe is important.

The passion you feel toward your family this year will lead to a powerful relationship you may have never known. Examine your connection to your past and assess how it affects your present-day reality. Since you experience much of your emotion through creative endeavours, it would serve you well to teach, write or share some of the profound insights you've gained through this time of personal transformation.

Personal transformation, eh? Hmmm .. Well I could stand to lose a few pounds, eh Ms J?

***

Yawwwwn ...

Not much to tell you today. I worked a train in Oshawa yesterday. 1800 start. It was train #548, a road switcher. We serviced industries in Whitby, Ajax and Scarborough. It's tedious work, stopping and starting, moving a few hundred feet and then reversing. The locomotive was tiny, cramped inside, noisy. I miss the big, bright climate-controlled cabs on the GO trains, like the engine on the header photo above. My arms were tired from moving the levers and my neck was stiff from looking this way and that. We worked in industrial areas, Ms J, poorly lit and deserted at night. I found it hard to see the ground and referred to the speedometer a lot. The train moves really slowly when you're shunting cars. 3,4,5 mph max. Like I said, tedious. Finished at 0300. Home at 0400. I booked heavy rest – 22 hours. I hope to go to work on a GO train tomorrow morning.

Alan’s sick. Coughing and sneezing. He didn’t work today. I hope I don’t catch it. Better get to bed. CN could call at 2:00 a.m. and send me to work at 4:00.

***

The Big Green Monster Lives

I had taken a call to work last night - 1800 on duty time - and I was preparing dinner when Alan came downstairs.

"You want some dinner?" I asked. "I'm making rice and vegetables."

"Nawww," he yawned. "We're going out for dinner and a movie tonight."

We. He said we, Ms J. Alan uses that pronoun to refer to Christine and himself. Christine. My friend, Christine. MY friend. Christine has been my friend for about six years. We met in the theatre where we were doing a play together. She's cute as all git-out. She's 37. And did I mention she's MY friend?

Christine was here for a visit not long after Alan arrived. She was despondent and sobbing over a recent lost Love, and Alan was fresh from his failed marriage. A match made in heaven, yeah?

But when Alan uses the word "we", as though they're a couple, it drives me absolutely mental. She invites him over to her place to watch videos. They go shopping together. She had him over to her mother's place for dinner for goodness sake. I've NEVER been there! Alan has done a few home repairs for Christine. She phones him nearly every day. Sometimes, I come home from work, hoping to have the house to myself and I find the two of them here. Why the hell don't they go to her place, Ms J, and leave me in peace?

Last night, I only wanted an hour alone before I had to go to work. But no. As I sat down to eat, there came a knock on the door. Christine was here and I watched them sitting on the couch together, laughing and smiling.

Christine is MY friend, Alan. Now, it seems she prefers your company to mine. Anyway, I can't enjoy an evening out because I have to work. It must be nice to have weekends free.

Am I jealous? Yer darn right I am.

Will I recover? Yes, of course. But still, it bugs the crap out of me.

Sorry, Ms J. But I guess I'm only human. And things are a bit shitty here in Mimico at the moment.

***

Four A.M.

I was awake this morning at 4:00. Force of habit, I guess. I’ve been rising at 4:00 every morning for years. The world is quiet at 4:00 a.m., isn’t it? Thoughts and worries come unbidden in the darkness. I tossed and turned for an hour or more, tortured by images of Daniel, alone and lost in the swirl of his addictions. I love him so much, Ms Journal, and I’m so afraid he’ll go to prison one day. I lay there in my bed, planning whether or not I’d pay his bail if ever he phoned and asked for help. You’re only allowed to make one phone call. I wonder if he’d be brave enough to phone me.

But of course, my son is not in jail. He’s probably back in Georgetown now, at his friend’s house. His friend’s mother’s house. I’ve tried to phone Kelly to ask about him, but her phone is nearly always busy. She spends a lot of time on the internet, and it ties up the phone line.

I worry a lot about my girl, too. Meagan. Even though I have more faith in her than in her mother or brother, still I fear she’ll involve herself with the wrong friends and start smoking cigarettes or marijuana. She told me she’s tried smoking pot.

“I didn’t like it, Dad. Tastes like crap.”

So she says. Peer pressure is incredibly strong when you’re fourteen, Ms J.

I pray for Meagan a lot. I don't pray for myself too often because I don't know what to ask for. I don't know what I need. But I pray for my girl. I don't pray for Dan, though, hardly ever. I'm not sure why not. Does that mean I don't love him as much as his sister? Does that make me a lousy Dad? I don't know what to think about that boy. I don't know what to pray for. Honestly.

And my job. I worry about my job. All the time. It’s worse at night, though, when I have more time to think.

It’s strange, you know. A few months ago, I loved my job. I’ve enjoyed driving a commuter train for the past few years. I never complained much about the early mornings or the split shifts. In the end, I actually came to like the early mornings. I always looked forward to the sunrise and the beginning of a new day. And being home during the day was another bonus. I had a routine, Ms J. And I guess that’s what I miss the most. I miss being able to plan things around my work schedule. I miss knowing what to expect when I go to work. I miss feeling as though my Life is my own and not controlled by my employer.

This feeling of not being able to control my own Life is a familiar one. I remember feeling this way when my leg was broken and I was dependant on the goodness of others to prepare my meals and wash my clothes or take me to a doctor's appointment. It was very difficult in the beginning, but in the end I came to accept it. And my Life improved. Acceptance, Ms J. I suppose that's the key then to suffering successfully. Acceptance, submission, surrender. Much easier said than done.

I sit around now waiting for the phone to ring. While I wait, I worry about what train I’ll end up on, or where I’ll have to report for work, or where I’ll travel on that train. Will I be away six hours, or sixty? I still haven’t had to operate a big, ugly freight train, but I expect I will, soon enough.

On the spareboard as I am, it’s impossible to have any routine in Life. Yesterday, I worked during the day. I may not go to work now until tonight. It’s stressful enough to go to work well rested and nourished, but even more so when you’re tired and it’s dark outside. How can I eat and sleep properly? How will I plan to see my Meagan? I feel so anxious and sad all the time now.

I was on the spareboard before, Ms J, years ago when I was younger and stronger. I’m getting too old for this shit now. I’m going to try to hold on a few more months.

Maybe things will get better.

***

An Uncertain Beginning ...

... but lots of laughter.

Happy New Year, Ms J.

I've just read the last post I wrote in 2005, and that too, was a time of uncertainty, a time of suffering.

Sighhhh ...

Life is difficult, isn't it? I'm reminded though, that it's only as difficult as I choose to make it. So I'll do my best to stay positive despite the fact that the arbitrator ruled in favour of the company last week and thirty jobs have been abolished as a result. Mine is among them. This doesn't mean I'll be out of work, however it does mean I'll be back doing what I was doing fifteen years ago. My twenty-eight years of service count for nothing. I think I'll still be working as an engineer, Ms J, but I'll probably have no set work schedule at all and be subject to duty on a two-hour call.

Rather than stay home this weekend and worry every time the phone rang, I decided to visit my dear old dad. There were a number of events this past weekend to make me smile and invite me to count my blessings. Let me tell you about them.

I bought a new car!

I've been searching for a car for a fortnight or so. I had hoped to find something reliable and fuel efficient and I'm satisfied with the vehicle I found not far away, at a dealership in Long Branch. It's a Honda. A Honda Civic.

"You can't go wrong with a Honda," my friends told me. "They're a good, sturdy car, built to last. Look how many of them you see on the roads today. Very popular."

So I've got a Honda, Ms J. A boring, ordinary, just-like-every-other-Honda Honda. I'll have a hard time finding the darn thing in a parking lot. It's not as posh as my old Monte Carlo, but it makes a lighter footprint on the environment. And that's really important to me nowadays. I don't need to show the world how cool I am or how rich I am. I'd rather demonstrate my respect for the planet and my common sense and frugality.




My old Chevrolet had a 3.4 litre engine. This new car has only 1.7 litres under the hood. Half the motor. Half the gas consumption. Half the pollution. It has no power windows or leather seats or automatic transmission or fancy stereo. It's just a car. But it's fun to drive and gentle on my bank account. It will be the car in which Meagan learns to drive. Buying it was the right thing to do. Besides, my old car was perilously close to a major breakdown.

I picked up the car on Saturday morning. I left my old car there at the dealership and as I removed my belongings and transfered them to the Honda, I felt a great sense of loss. That big, blue car and I have been through some incredible adventures together. We've been involved in three serious crashes and although the car was badly damaged each time, it kept its passengers safe. Meagan and Dan and I had traveled thousands of miles together through all sorts of weather, and we were protected and brought safely home every time. I patted the old girl and silently thanked her for keeping us safe across all those miles.

When I left Long Branch, I drove straight to Georgetown to meet my brother. Pat and I then went in my new car to Mt. Forest and spent a couple of days with Mum and Dad. It was good, Ms J. I really enjoyed the time I spent there, just my big brother and me. I told Dad about my trials at work and he tried to be sympathetic.

"I know it's hard, Dale," he told me, "but just do your job as best you can, and they'll have no reason to bother with you."

They had no reason to bother with me before, Ms J, but they fired me anyway. And now they've taken our jobs away on the GO trains. Dad worked for CN Rail for forty-two years. It was a good place to work then. It's absolute shite now, but he can't understand that.

"If you're doing as you're told, they'll leave you alone."

Yeah, Dad. Sure they will.

I went with Mum to church on Sunday morning. I always enjoy going to church with Mum. I feel special to be out with her. Dad and Pat stayed home and worked on a puzzle Dad had got for Christmas. After lunch, my sister June arrived with her two young ones.


Ryan and Shauna.


Here's Ryan. He's five. Santa brought him a "whoopee cushion" for Christmas.

He begged Grandma to sit on it and she played along. We all laughed at the rude noises it made when Grandma sat on it.


It was funny, but not as funny as my haircut.

Dad cut my hair and June took a couple of pictures. Pat is a funny guy and he's always ready with a joke or a silly idea. Here he is getting in the picture with Dad and me.


Ever the joker.

"Hey," Pat said. "I've got a great idea. We should get a slice of bologna and cut it to look like Dale's ear. Then get some catsup for blood and ..."

So we did, Ms J. And I have never heard Dad laugh so hysterically in my entire Life! We all laughed, but poor Dad laughed the hardest. He completely lost himself in wild fits of laughter. My brother always thinks up the silliest things to do, Ms J. Gosh, he makes me laugh sometimes!


We sure act silly sometimes, Ms Journal, but my word, how we laugh!


I'm still smiling, Ms J. It fills my heart to hear Dad so joyous.

Pat and I left Mt. Forest after lunch and drove south again to Georgetown where we spent New Year's Eve downloading pictures from his new camera to his computer. We didn't even have a drink and it was long past midnight when we finally went to bed.

I came home today after dinner. It was good, REAL good, to spend time with my brother and family over the weekend. Now I'm home and I'll have to deal with the frustrating business of trying to find a train to operate on Wednesday.

But I feel happy, Ms J. I'm not pleased with my employer, but I do feel grateful for family. It's uncertain what will become of me in my career this year, but I know my family will be there to love me and support me and help me disperse my anxiety through laughter.

It really is the best medicine, isn't it?

***