Son Number Two hits the ground running

Well, my son slept until noonish, went to go see a friend, and came home at 6 p.m. not only with a job, but with a carpool lined up so he can get to the job. Wow! And on top of that, he has a friend who has been trying to find some gardening space she can use, and she's coming over tonight to check out my garden. So I might have help maintaining the space next summer, which would be terrific. Lots of problems solved in one day. Has been home just 24 hours, and he's off to work at 7:00 this morning. I see my work here is done.

Dog Memory

Son Number Two has moved back from Manitoba -- he arrived at about 6:00 this morning. The dogs had been asleep on the couch, and when he walked in the door, at first the reaction was to perk up and bark. "Who's there?" And then recognition followed by joy. I wasn't sure Brio would remember him, because he left a year and a half ago, when Brio was only about seven months old. But Brio launched himself at him, licking his face and wriggling like mad, more than he usually does with strangers. And then I brought Maple down (he can't do stairs), and Maple went into the most funny rapturous dance. Twisting, squirming, pressing his head down to be rubbed, and then jumping up to lick my son's face (and let me tell you, Maple never licks people). But he slobbered all over my son, bathing him with kisses, and it brought tears to my eyes.

The poor fellow obviously missed my son, but he wasn't able to say so, or to ask questions about where he'd disappeared to and why he wasn't around anymore. But he certainly made his feelings known this morning! It took him half an hour to stop jitterbugging.

And then once the dogs had worked him over, it was my turn to do my happy dance.

Westie Walk 2014

The St. Andrews Pipes and Drums played for the annual Westie Walk  for the rescue society this week. A great cause and a lot of fun with about 400 dogs.

On the couch

So I was stupid and picked up a heavy box of paper at work while trying to hold the door open with one foot, and I hurt my back. I'm more or less used to living with a constant, underlying pain, like a low grumble just out of earshot, but this was rather more than that. I spent most of the weekend lying down and taking muscle relaxants, went back to work Monday, and then made it through work on Tuesday until midday before having to go home and lie down again. I'm back at work today and will see how it goes.

Lying on the couch unable to do my usual routine made me ponder a few things.

• If I don't walk the dogs, no one else will. This means I spent the weekend with Brio draped across my chest, staring me in the eyeball, while Maple wrapped himself around my feet with a resigned but martyred sigh.
• My favourite thing on the planet really is reading, and luckily I can do this lying prone with my feet up. And luckily I have a lifetime supply of books in the house. Should I never walk again, I'm covered.
• I really can't read without eating, or eat without reading. I bet if I stopped reading I'd lose weight.
• As soon as I hear a neighbour start up his lawnmower, there is something in me that feels it has to jump up and mow the lawn too, even if it doesn't need it. How dare I lie here being lazy when there's work to be done? But there's a corollary to this:
• The world doesn't end if you don't get the lawn mowed.
• I like my living room. The walls are a textured gold, like Venetian plaster only matte, and when the morning sunlight comes in the window, the room glows. And I can make a shadow puppet of a panther.

And I suppose I must admit there's another point, too:

• If I didn't have my job to drag me out of the house every day, I'd likely turn into a very contented but useless blob.

Where did the week go?

I posted on Monday, and lo, it is Friday, and nothing memorable has been accomplished (to paraphrase Thoreau). Seriously, when I was young, summer seemed to last forever, days stretched to infinity, and there was always time for everything. I spent great swaths of time playing on the swingset in the backyard, rollerskating with Janice Gill, and curling up with Tolkien and Jane Eyre. And there was still time in the evening left over to play with the kids in the cul-de-sac and watch endless episodes of "Gilligan's Island." Now it seems like the days zip by, summer is over before I can get ready for it, and the person in the mirror is looking more and more like my mom. (Which is a good thing, mind you, but still startling when I still feel about fifteen.)

I once took a class at the U of Toronto, and our wonderful professor died of a heart attack right in the middle of the semester. I remember being stunned---How could someone die in the middle of the school year? He was in the middle of writing a book. He hadn't given us our mid-term exam yet. We were just about to discuss Isaiah, the best part of the Bible! After all, that was the whole reason I'd signed up for the course--because I'd heard he was an excellent scholar on Isaiah. Now I'd never know what he could have taught me.

Somehow (stupid as it sounds) I had just assumed that death would come when you were sort of geared up for it. During school break. After the paperwork was done. Once all the ducks were lined up obediently in a row. When the kids were grown and independent. It started me thinking about all the half-finished projects I have crammed in my closet and basement that someone would have to clean out when I keeled over mid-stride. What was I leaving behind? More importantly, what was I spending my time doing?

These thoughts could make you refrain from starting any big project. Not plant the garden. Not get a mortgage. Not start a journal (What if I don't have time to burn it before I die?) Or they could have the opposite effect and make you jump into a fever of activity, trying to squeeze all the happiness and accomplishment out of life that you can while you can. I'd rather they make me seek a middle road: calmly carrying out the activities at hand, but paying more attention to the journey and getting less hung up on the destination. That destination isn't guaranteed, and even if it were, the only way to reach it is present moment by present moment. When it's my turn to leave behind the half-written book and the astonished students, I want to be at peace with the future, content with the present, and satisfied with the past.

The Adventures of Son Number Three

My son went to Fan Expo this week in Toronto. This is a four-day event spread over the entire Metro Convention Centre, where there are vendors and displays and activities geared around video gaming, animé, comics, sci fi, etc. He had a blast. He reported each night on the excitement of that day. He got to meet Elijah Wood and Jon Heder, Stan Lee (inventor of Spiderman), the cast of Murdoch's Mysteries, two of the actors from The Walking Dead (whom he deflated somewhat by informing them he'd never watched the show), and he even got to chat with William Shatner. He also got to play Pokémon on his DS with the person who does the voice of Ash (lead Pokémon character), which was a thrill. He met a bunch of new friends, including some other LDS kids from New York, played hours of Magic cards, and got a job of sorts helping with the development and promotion of Terraforge's new card game. So all in all a successful week.

He reported also that on the long, boring bus ride home last night, there were only about five people on the bus and the ride was interminable. After a while his friend Zack started quietly singing "Bad Apples," and Gryffin joined in. And then the lady across the aisle started singing with them. And before the end of the ride, the entire bus was belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody." (Apparently Zack can hit that high note.) Only in Toronto!

Labour Day and Elizabeth Gaskell

I think it's funny that we commemorate Labour Day by resting from our labours. It has become a day for back-to-school sales and picnics and closing up the cottage. But I delved further into its actual roots by reading North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. It was dense reading, but it gave me a better understanding of the impact of the formation of unions, and a new appreciation for the relative ease of my job and fairness of my work environment. Not to mention indoor plumbing and inoculations and all those other perks that come with having been clever enough to have been born in the 20th century.

One aspect of the book that was interesting to me was how an organization ostensibly formed to benefit the worker ultimately became a Master itself. The labourers founds themselves crushed by both their employers and the union. The theory was good but some of the initial attempts at unionization had their flaws. As I suppose all big enterprises can. Human personality sabotaged some of the otherwise hopeful efforts. Nothing great can be gained without some errors being made along the way. The question is, can the greater good justify the harm done to individuals who get caught in the path of progress? And has unionization today proven worth it? I suspect the responses to that question would be a mixed bag. I've had limited experience with it myself, but the one time I had to turn to my union representative for assistance proved to be useless. Ah well, the theory remains good.