Scene from a train station

Little boy waits
London, ON, March 2008 [Click to embiggen]

Before we begin: If you haven't captioned yet, click here. I promise you it won't hurt. There, let's continue...

We've been experiencing a revolving door of extended-family illness of late. My father, father-in-law and mother-in-law have collectively logged enough time in hospital these past few months to qualify them for lifetime patient-of-the-month honors. It's a status I'm sure all of them would gladly decline.

When my wife went to Montreal earlier this month to be there for my father-in-law's surgery, I hung back at home with the little ones and tried to avoid inadvertently poisoning them with my unique kitchen creations. By virtue of the fact that I brought three very much live children to the train station to pick her up, I believe I succeeded.

As is typical of Canada's lame duck rail service, the train was late. Via Rail trains share the tracks with freight trains. And since slaughterhouse-bound cows must take precedence over human cargo, my wife's train sat on a siding for an hour and a half while I tried to find ways to amuse them. Note to self: fabric frisbees work wonders in cases like this. SMS also works well: I was able to tell her more about what was going on than the staff on the train could.

This scene captured what it felt like for us to be there, waiting for a train that threatened to never come. If anything, it made her arrival that much sweeter.

(And, no, his socks don't match. He's got an entire life to match to perfection. For now, we're fine letting him pick and choose his footwear. It made complete strangers smile, which made him happy despite the fact that he missed his mom.)

Your turn: Waiting for someone who matters. Please discuss.