Here I am at Halifax International Airport, preparing for my flight to Toronto and thence to Chicago. I'm exhausted, because I had to get up at 4:30 a.m.; my brother works at the Airport as a member of the RCMP detachment there, and his shift begins at 6 a.m. And he was my ride. Ah, well, sleep is over-rated.
I did get a chance to meet what seems like almost every working person at the airport. It's a small airport, but still big enough for this to be rather amazing - unless you know my brother. He's charismatic, slightly theatrical, and genuinely interested in human beings. The latter is both an excellent tool for any police officer to have, it's a fine, fine, tool for human beings in general. I'm proud of my brother for many, many reasons, but the fact that he'll probably be eight days getting to heaven because he'll have to stop and chat with everyone he knows on the way up is actually one of the bigger reasons. Every person he approached broke out in a big, big smile when they saw him approaching, even before he had a chance to say hello. He leaves a mark where he goes, and it's a good one.
(I have a slice of that talent, in that I can generally remember a face and one or two interesting things about people that I may have met years before. It comes in handy for reporters. Come to think of it, cops and reporters both require people skills of various sorts.)
So; back to the U.S., back to union insanity and crushing work schedules. Back to pending intense family drama vis-a-vis the younger generation. Back to the love of my life. Back to my own bed. Back home, with the knowledge that my mum is getting better. Not bad, as we say in Canada.
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