His Voice, My Hand
On my return trip from Alaska I awoke one morning very depressed. Just one of those mornings when you awake and for some reason you have something on your mind that just won't go away. That was my experience this particular morning.
My daughter in law, a very determined person, was involving herself in my divorce. For what I perceived to be her personal reasons was steering my ex-wife. It was my feeling that things would go much smoother without her involvement and I awoke dwelling on this topic. As I drove through some of the most beautiful land in the world that morning I continued to dwell on this topic. I did not realize yet that dwelling on a topic that I can do nothing about at the moment only ruins the moment and the Cassier Highway through northern British Columbia in not something to be ruined .
I stopped for lunch at a tiny diner in northern British Columbia that can only be described as something from a Zane Grey novel. A worn bare wood floor and booths that were only a little better . The formica had been washed to the point that most of the pattern that once was there had long disappeared and the yellow-white base coat was now the decor of the booth. This booth was positioned by a window that overlooked the board sidewalk and the dirt parking lot. I ordered my lunch and continued to mull over the situation with my daughter in law. In my frustration I said "God what can I do about my daughter in law". As soon as the words were out of my mouth, a pickup truck pulled into the parking place directly in front of the window by my booth. It was a large truck with oversize tires and an big Indian man got out of the truck and came into the restaurant. Across the front of the pickup was a slogan that read
FOR OLD AGE AND TREACHERY".