Oh, dear. Where shall I begin? So much has happened.
First, a Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year to everyone. Many of you have been in my thoughts recently. Please don’t make me name names. You know who you are.
Mom and I returned from British Columbia a week before Labor Day. What started as a one week visit turned into two months. During that time, my boyfriend Tony dumped me by way of a long distance phone call. I was crying myself to sleep every night anyway. I guess he thought a few more tears wouldn’t make much difference. I’m dating, but I don’t have a steady. Dad would have liked that. I remember Mom saying to Dad, “Would you prefer that your daughter go out with every Tom, Dick and Harry?” Dad said, “Yes. It’s called comparison shopping. Now go wax the fridge or something.” Mom managed a smile, but I fell into helpless laughter.
Dad’s guys didn’t buy the business, after all. It was willed to them for the token sum of twenty-seven dollars. No one knows the significance of this number. Perhaps there isn’t one. Or perhaps it’s in reference to something that happened here on the board. If anyone knows, please tell me. As the executor of the will, Steve told them not to bother about the money. They had a huge parchment certificate made, beautifully framed, with a collage of photos of machines that they had rebuilt over the years. In the center is a large photo of Dad on his cherished motorcycle. (pausing to allow the tears to subside) In big bold letters are the words, “We love you, boss.” It was a last friendly jab at a man they admired. He hated to be called boss. All around the edges are twenty-seven gold plated Loonies. It’s hanging in our living room. I look at it every day.
The inquest into Dad’s death only lasted a day, and no blame was attached to anyone. Dad was installing a transformer in a factory out of town. He was being raised by a forklift to the assigned place on the wall, about 6 meters from the ground. The edge of the skid he was standing on hit a bolt sticking out of the wall. The transformer started to tip and he grabbed it in an attempt to prevent it from falling, lost his balance and fell on top of a conveyor. The skull fracture occured when the back of his head hit the edge of the conveyor. The transformer fell on his chest. I know that many of you wanted to know the details, but I simply could not type these words until now.
We are coping much better than I thought would be possible. Steve is still at Queen’s, I’m at U of T, and Mom got herself a job, of all things. Steve and I were flabbergasted. We certainly don’t need the money. But it seems to have done her a world of good. She’s almost back to her old self again, which is wonderful to behold, because she was a zombie for months.
One last thing before I go. To the newer members who are wondering, “who is this woman, and what is she going on and on about?” please forgive me. This post is in reference to something that occured some months ago, and I don’t blame you for scratching your collective heads.
One last, last thing. When I logged on, I noticed that Coldfire, TVeblen and John Corrado are now moderators. Dad would have been beside himself. He loved you guys.
Again, have a Happy New Year, and may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.
One last, last, last thing. I was going to tell you about the Errant TV Signals, but thankfully I realized in time that I would have butchered it. Only WallyM7 could tell that story.
-Amy-
