I know, your heart leaps to see new text here, right? Mine too. “But why doesn’t he put up a new photo?”
Simon has hair now. And is about 2 lb bigger. Jasper’s in school, no longer crying each day en route. Resigned or loving it, we don’t care. I was one of those kids — held onto both folding doors of Bus 93 in Winsloe, bawling. Not sure who it was who kicked me onto that big orange bus to hell.
The office is now a rec room, the spare room now an office. I no longer work at home, and in my absence the office has moved above ground for the first time in 5 years. I love my new job, but it’s very busy. I have to cast a fleeting gaze out my window over the green roof of the Lord Elgin and imagine Batman and Robin going at it against villains, to amuse myself in rare pauses.
I’ve rediscovered corduroy pants and am working in 20-something dress shirts cut for cool writers with better pecs and no beer belly. So I’ve switched to a very civilized G&T tradition after work. Nice buzz, no belly.
Our next door neighbour and good friend Barb drives me to work most days, avoiding the bus from hell — again. I call her Warrior, because she has a hate-on for cyclists and, well, just about everyone else on the road. She pops a CD in each morning that reminds me of a Lord of the Rings battle scene, and off we go. A wee pit stop at Tim’s en route and we’re downtown by 7:45. I love the first hour at work. Quiet.
Barb and I are toying with an idea of taking advantage of the minority Parliament to get a private member’s bill introduced for a new December holiday: National Tell the Truth Day. It should be December 21, the shortest and darkest day of the year. On Tell the Truth Day, all diplomacy at home and work would be set aside.
Think of how a day of truth then would change Christmas! And just imagine the scandal on the Hill if our “Day of Truth” bill failed to pass and resulted in a non-confidence motion that brought down the government. Now that’s public service.