My holiday with Andrew was scheduled from Sept. 25 to Oct. 2 2010, and this time, we thought we had Murphy foiled. First, since my niece Beth is a secret shopper, she offered to get a job in the Dunnville area, and drive me there. Then, when I was talking to my nephew Mike, he said they could easily bring me home again at the end of the visit.

But Beth wasn’t able to get a job for the Saturday in September, but did get one for the following Saturday, October 2^nd. So the plans were changed, and Mike agreed to take me to Dunnville, and Beth would look after the return trip. Since she was doing a secret shopping job on services at a hotel, she took her daughter Mandy, and four year old grandson Robby with her. They apparently had a great time, and went to African Lion Safari before coming to Dunnville

My visit went well, Andrew had been granted control of his own money, and had opened a bank account. I gave him fifty dollars, and he wanted to deposit it, so we went downtown to the TD bank. He can walk, but not far, as it tires him out very quickly. So we took a manual wheelchair, and I pushed him. The sidewalks in Dunnville seem to have many little hills in them, so it was push hard up, hold back some going down, all the way; and then the same going back to Edgewater. By the time we got back, I was exhausted, and had a very sore area in my lower back, on the right side. I think I had pulled a muscle, as it took a week or more to heal.

As I had understood the arrangements, when Beth and co came to get me, they would pick up something Mandy could eat, and then come on and join us for dinner. But time went by, and we waited, until at last they arrived, at 7 p.m. We had finally ordered dinner and were just finished, so we went off to show them Andrew’s room. Then we headed out, picking up my luggage on the way, and were away by eight or so. Rob had my keys, so we had to go to his place in St. Catharines before heading to Toronto. And that’s when Murphy had a field day.

St. Catharines is not an easy city to find your way around in, so we went around in circles for a while. And to make matters worse, though I had a little phone/address book in my purse, I didn’t have Rob’s address or phone number. Mandy was driving, and we stopped at various places trying to get directions to Vine Street. I knew at least that much of the address. But no one seemed to even know there was a Vine Street, and the one person who did, couldn’t give us directions. Robby was getting tired and stared crying, and saying “Mommy, I need a hug.”  Mandy kept trying to soothe him, and after a while, he settled down and fell asleep. Then Beth got the bright idea – why not call the operator and get the phone number from her? Great idea – the operator not only got the number, she connected Beth to Rob, he gave the directions, and we were soon there.

We stopped there for a while, long enough for everyone to stretch their legs and have a drink, and for Robby to give an animated account of his visit to the safari, which was very funny and entertained everyone. About an hour later, we were on our way again, and by about ten thirty, I was home. I do hope we can do a better job of foiling Murphy next year. I am getting extremely tired of his interference!

On October 2^nd, 2009, I set out on my annual visit to Andrew. This time, everyone was sure we had out-foxed Murphy, as they had arranged to pick me up in Niagara Falls and return me there on October 9^th, ignoring the bus from there to Dunnville entirely. All went well, though it was raining when I left home, and rained for the whole trip to Niagara Falls. The bus was only about half full, at most, so I had a whole double seat to myself. I settled in and relaxed, watching the scenery go by, partly obscured by the rain on the window.

It was actually a restful ride, and when we arrived at Niagara Falls I was not stiff and aching – I had thought I would be, what with the chilly wet weather. It was only a few minutes before Andrew’s friends, my rescuers from last year, arrived. John came in and took over the suitcase, and said “We have a surprise for you in the van.” And what a pleasant surprise it was, too – they had brought Andrew with them. Instead of taking the most direct way to Dunnville, we took a more scenic route, and were able to enjoy the changing colours of fall in spite of the rain, as we chatted, laughed and teased Andrew.

By the time we were in Dunnville, it was long past supper time at Edgewater, so Marilyn decided we should go to their place, and she would make spaghetti and sauce for supper for us. It was very pleasant, and we had a great time. Andrew finally suggested that we head off to Edgewater, as it was half past eight, and I still had to get settled in. He had taken the precaution of collecting the room key and some of the meal tickets for me, so Murphy was foiled again; for the time, anyway. So shortly we were saying goodnight to them, my bags were stored in my room, and Andrew and I were in his room, logging in to Second Life to spend time with our friends there.

When I went back to my room that night I started to unpack – and found that Murphy had made a sneak attack. I knew I had prepared a bottle of mouthwash, and had a new tube of toothpaste ready to pack. But on unpacking, I found that they were nowhere to be seen. Since we had both decided to sleep late and forego breakfast, all I could do was hope that my breath wasn’t too bad when I went for lunch on Saturday. I wondered what I would do for the rest of the week, and hoped the gift shop could accommodate me. Then someone’s guardian angel stepped in, and Marilyn turned up at my door, to find out the last name of my nephew, whom they hoped would be able to take me back to Niagara Falls on the following Friday. She was going shopping, and was quite willing to pick up what I needed, so that problem was solved, quickly and with no fuss. That trick failed, Murphy!

It was a lovely visit, though it seemed that I had brought the chilly, rainy, weather with me. A few days started out sunny, or had the sun break through for a while, but mostly it was dreary, wet, fall weather. We didn’t go outside at all, but took our exercise by walking the long way back to his room after our meals. I saw again the folks I had made friends with the year before and made new friends, and they all seemed happy to see me. But for the most part, Andrew and I were in his room, on the computer. Some of the time I crocheted or read while he worked away, helping people set up things, or working on his own projects. It was nice just to sit and be together.

Now, as I said, I had been told not to buy tickets for the Dunnville bus, either way, as John and Marilyn were making arrangements to cover that part of the trip. However, the plan to get my nephew to take me back didn’t work out, probably because they couldn’t get away from the farm. John and Marilyn were already booked to be in Hamilton for medical treatments (they are both over 70). In the end, they decided that they could do it themselves. They arrived back in Dunnville from Hamilton around one, had lunch, but were so tired that they both took a short nap. Only they overslept, and it was after three before they woke up. Murphy’s fine hand at work again, of course.

My bus was due to leave Niagara Falls at five thirty. At the best of times, with perfect traffic conditions, it is about an hour and a half drive, so they had planned to pick me up at three. This would have given plenty of time for me to go to the rest room, and buy something at the snack bar if I wanted to. As it turned out, it was after three thirty before John came in, and we were up and out very quickly, as I had already said goodbye to Andrew. All went well, traffic was light (though it was still raining), and we were making good time – until we reached the old Welland Canal. There, the bridge was up, and when we got almost to the bridge entrance, there were signs saying it was being repaired and the road was closed.  There was no indication of a detour until then, much to John’s disgust.

Marilyn got the maps out, and started trying to find the best way to go. The light was poor, and she had a hard time seeing the highway numbers and street names, but gave John directions. Well, Murphy swept in with glee, and managed to get us going in the wrong direction, and every time she corrected, it took us farther from the Falls. We went around and around, always almost getting it right, only to find that there was a problem and we had to turn back, or work our way around to find another route.

In the end, it was five o’clock as we hit the outskirts of the Falls, and we were all on edge. Marilyn was getting quite upset, worried that I would miss the bus and they would have to drive all the way to Toronto, much too far when they were already tired. I said if I got to the terminal, I could change my ticket to a later bus, and still get home, and John was just driving and trying to calm Marilyn. My warped sense of humour kicked in, and I was having trouble keeping from bursting out laughing and announcing that ‘Murphy Strikes Again’.

In the end, we arrived at the terminal with about two minutes to spare. John and I jumped out, I grabbed my carry-on bags and he got the suitcase. I didn’t wait for him, I just went rushing into and across the terminal and out to where a bus was loading – not a Greyhound bus, though. The driver had already closed the luggage compartment when I stopped in front of him and asked “are you taking Greyhound passengers to Toronto?”. He said he was, I gave him my ticket, John arrived with my suitcase, I kissed and hugged him thanks and goodbye, and I made it – with about half a minute to spare, and no chance at the rest room.

Fortunately, they do have them on buses – but it is not exactly easy to try to keep your balance while making ready to use it. Or afterwards! Still, I made it, though I nearly landed in a young man’s lap as I made my way back to my seat. So in the end, Murphy was foiled – just barely – and I made it back to Toronto and home. And the promise I made to the people in Dunnville that I would bring the rain back with me? Well, that worked out, too. All of us had sun today. But it was cold!

Oh, and the missing mouthwash and toothpaste? I found those, too – the Tuesday after I got home. I was getting ready to go to my therapy when I glanced down at the wastepaper basket beside the bathroom sink, and there was the bottle of mouthwash. I muttered a few unkind words about Murphy and picked it up, brushed it off, and stood for a moment looking at it. Well, it was unharmed, still sealed, so why not? I opened it and the original bottle, poured the liquid back in, and closed the lid. Then I rinsed the small bottle and put it away – never know when it will come in handy; but what about the toothpaste? Hmmm…maybe…I looked in the wastebasket again, and sure enough, there it was. Well, Murphy, you may have caused me to buy extra in Dunnville, but I thumb my nose at you. Now I won’t have to buy mouthwash or toothpaste next month. So there!

This happened in 1963.  It started prosaically enough; we had just moved into a farmhouse situated one-half mile from the village of Wainfleet, in Welland County.  It was an area we knew well, as I had gone to public school there, and in fact my son transferred to the same school after we moved.  The move was made because my father had suffered a bad heart attack, and while he was recovering he told my oldest sister, Ruth, that he wanted to “go home to die”.  She and her husband Lawrence knew that the house was for rent and made all the arrangements.  We were familiar with the house, as we had in earlier times bought beautiful, big, juicy apples from a man named Walter Palmer, when he lived there.

We had only been there ten days when my father was stricken by a massive heart attack, and he died later the same night.  Soon after the funeral, my son saw his grandfather standing beside his bed, as though saying goodbye.  It was after this that we started to hear the footsteps; every night, after we had settled in bed, we heard the footsteps of a weary man climb the stairs, turn at the head of the stairs and walk down the hall to my bedroom door.  Oddly enough, we all knew that it was not my father’s ghost wandering around, but we didn’t know who it might be.  After about a week, though, I began to suspect his identity.

There was no feeling of threat or fear, but still, it was a very eerie feeling, especially for me.  Night after night, as regular as clockwork, the footsteps climbed the stairs and walked the hall to my bedroom.  This went on for a couple of weeks, and I was getting just a little disturbed, as it was hard to settle down to sleep when those ghostly footsteps always stopped just outside my bedroom door.  At the time, my son was doing a school project on haunted houses and the people who de-haunted them.  One morning as he prepared to leave for school, he told me about one method the “ghost-busters” used to rid a house of spirits.  I had to walk into the village that day to pick up some groceries, and as I always did, I stopped by to visit with my eldest sister, Ruth, who had lived there for over twenty years.  This time I had an ulterior motive and in the course of our conversation, I asked her where Walter Palmer had died, was it in the hospital? She thought for a moment and then said “No, in fact, he died at home, in your bedroom”.  That was all I needed to hear, my suspicions were confirmed, and I knew what I would do.

We went to bed that night as usual, and as expected, we heard the footsteps climb the stairs and walk to my bedroom door.  I used the method suggested by my son.  “Walter” I said, “you are dead; you do not belong in this world any more.  You must move on now to the next world, for that is where you belong.”  After saying this, I felt calmer than I had for many nights, and went straight to sleep.  From that night on, we never again heard the ghostly footsteps.  I think that my father’s death and appearance at my son’s bedside had somehow roused Walter’s spirit, causing him to walk once again in his old home.

For three months, I happily planned another visit my youngest grandson, in Dunnville, Ontario. That trip, by car, would take about two hours. However, by bus it takes four, since it goes ‘all around Robin Hood’s barn’! It was September, and I planned on visiting from the 19^th to the 26^th.  We were both looking forward to another visit, and I planned on getting him to take a walk at least once a day outside. He stays in his room at the computer all day and far into the night, and I thought it would be good for him to have a little change.

All the plans were made and I was mostly packed, when I went to a meeting of the Arts and Crafts group in my building. I had heard a snippet of news that disturbed me before I went down, and asked if anyone had heard the whole report. Several said yes, and the report was that Greyhound was going on strike at midnight. That is the bus line that I use, the only one that has a connection to Dunnville. I almost stopped breathing! Oh, drat that Murphy!

In order to visit my grandson, I have to let the place where he lives know, a month in advance, my arrival and departure dates. The room was booked – when could I re-book if there was a strike? And how long would the strike last? I went back up to my apartment with my mind in a whirl, and got on the computer to contact Andrew. He was, as he said, ‘not happy’ at the thought of a strike, and my visit being indefinitely postponed.

It wasn’t until eight a.m. on Friday, September the nineteenth that I called Greyhound and, at last, talked to a real, live person. I heaved a big sigh of relief when the young lady checked and informed me that there would be no strike. I computered Andrew to let him know, and finished my packing. At two p.m. I boarded the bus for the first leg of my journey, from Toronto to Niagara Falls. I thought Murphy had struck and gone on his way, and settled back to enjoy the bus ride. Little did I know!

The bus went through Mississauga, ran into heavy traffic at Burlington, went on through Grimsby and St. Catharines, so we arrived at the Niagara Falls Terminal about one minute past five p.m., and saw another bus pulling out. I asked the dispatcher who was standing by the bus door when the Dunnville bus was due to go. He looked almost sheepish, tilted his head toward where the bus had disappeared, and told me that was it! I almost wailed, “What can I do? I’m supposed to be on it!”

The Toronto driver hadn’t looked at the second part of my ticket, only the part he took off, so he hadn’t realised he had a passenger to connect with the Dunnville bus. He was mildly upset, but radioed the Dunnville driver to come back and pick me up. I thanked him, and dragged my suitcase into the terminal to await the arrival of my bus, muttering curses at Murphy and his nasty tricks.

By six fifteen or so, I realised that the driver had either ignored the call and refused to come back, or the Toronto driver hadn’t been able to contact him, and I was stranded. I asked the man who sold tickets and announced arrivals and departures, and he told me to contact Greyhound, and refused to even try to do anything himself. I sat for a while wondering what to do, and groused to a young lady sitting beside me. She suggested calling my grandson to see what could be done. It was a great idea, but I wasn’t sure I had the number with me. You can imagine my relief when I found I did. Then came the problem of getting enough change to make a long-distance call.

Once I had everything I needed, I went to the public phone and started to make the call. I placed the little book and the change on the top of the phone, just below eye level, ready to make the call. And Murphy took over again! The little phone book I had wouldn’t stay open, I had my purse and a large tote bag on one arm, my glasses, a handful of coins, and the phone receiver to cope with, while I put the required coins in and tried to punch in the numbers. Coins went rolling all over the floor, so I had to hang up, gather the coins, take the ones from the return slot, and start all over.

I managed to get through to the reception desk, and started telling the young lady there my problem. While we were talking, I was told to put in another quarter for one more minute. I tried to pick one up, only to have coins scatter again, and was cut off. This happened again on attempts two and three, (at three dollars and eighty cents a shot!), after which I finally re-organised everything, using the suitcase as a more reachable and roomier table top for the coins and book. Thankfully, that worked, and I was able to get through to Andrew at a few minutes before 9 p.m. The receptionist had notified him of the problem, so he already had John standing by, who told me not to worry, they were on their way to get me. I thought I had at last defeated Murphy.

I sat back down and waited, and at around ten p.m. John and Marilyn arrived. I was so happy to see them, I hugged John (to his surprise), and would have hugged Marilyn too, but she had a bad cold and didn’t want to spread it.

It was after 11 p.m. when we finally pulled in to the parking lot at Edgewater Gardens (the bus arrived in Dunnville at six oh two!!), and we went in. We were greeted by the head of the night staff, who was very upset. She couldn’t find the key to the room I had booked, and didn’t know if she could get it before Monday! “Sheesh” I thought “Murphy is really working overtime on this. What else can go wrong?”

John and I went to Andrew’s room and I hugged him and thanked him for his good work getting me there. John said I would be staying with them overnight, so we said goodnight, and left. I had a nice, quiet, rest that night, breakfasted with Marilyn on Saturday morning, and she drove me back to Edgewater Gardens. I was greeted by a happy staff member, who had the key to the Harvest Room, and all was well. Marilyn brought my luggage over later that day, and, except for providing a very cold, windy afternoon for the Church picnic on Sunday, Murphy backed off and went to play his tricks on someone else. I do hope he leaves me alone next year, when I go to see Andrew!

Just in case the reader doesn’t know Murphy’s Law, it’s: anything that can go wrong will go wrong, the corollary, at the worst possible time.

I had not seen my youngest grandson, Andrew, since his sister’s wedding in 2002. It was now June, 2007, and I decided that I would like to have a visit with him. He lives in Edgewater Gardens, a long-term care facility in Dunnville, Ontario. But could I get there by bus?  I thought if I could, I would go for a weekend, from Friday to Monday. I would have to find a place to stay and someplace where I could get meals. Then, when I was chatting with him on Google chat one evening, he told me that there’s a room right in the facility that I could rent, and I could get my meals there for $5.00 each. That was the best bargain I could wish for. We could spend all day, every day, together, instead of me having to go from wherever I found a room to Edgewater, which would waste a lot of time.

So he helped make the arrangements, and I started organizing. Friday, June 10^th rolled around – a notable day; my oldest great-grandson’s second birthday, and the day I would leave for my weekend with Andrew. All was ready, great-nephew Kim arrived and I gave him my keys, as he would check up on the apartment while I was gone, and be there when I returned on Monday. He helped me get my luggage down to the sidewalk where I hailed a cab, and off I went.

All went well, I made it to the terminal in plenty of time, the bus trip was comfortable, but very slow. We were supposed to be in Niagara Falls, where I would transfer to the Dunnville bus, by 4:10 p.m. It was about ten to five when we pulled in – just time to run to the washroom and still make the connection. That’s when Murphy stepped in. The driver took my ticket, looked at it, and asked “How are you going to get back to the Falls on Monday?” “On this bus,” I said. He shook his head sadly and told me “This bus only runs on Fridays!”

I stared at him in shock, thoughts rushing through my head – what should I do? Just turn around and go home? No way!  I got on the bus, settled in, and worried. The trip was smooth, my seat mate was a friendly young woman, and even using the washroom wasn’t too scary. Though it is good that the room is so small – you can bounce off walls, but you can’t fall.

I got off the bus at Dunnville’s one and only stop light at 6:02, right on schedule, gathered my luggage, and set off. I walked along, pulling the big suitcase, and wondering just where the facility was. I knew the name of it, and the address, but not how far it was from the bus stop. I met some high school kids and asked if they knew where Edgewater Gardens was, and they directed me on. Murphy took a hand again, as I walked on for what seemed miles, until I finally saw some people sitting around tables under umbrellas in a small courtyard. I went in and asked them where Edgewater was, and was told that I had walked right past it. Following their directions, I went back a short distance and there it was.

I went across the parking lot to the front entrance, and there was Andrew, just inside, waiting for me. Just the way he had always done when he was little and living at Bloorview Children’s Hospital residence. He let me in, I hugged him and said “Andrew, I have a problem!” After all, if a like announcement worked for the Apollo 11 astronauts, it should work as well for me, right? He asked what it was, and I told him I couldn’t get home again – at least, I couldn’t get from Dunnville to Niagara Falls. “Don’t worry, grandma,” he said. “I’ll look after it. I’ll call John, he’ll help.” And that is how I met two of the nicest people in the world. They have been invaluable friends and helpers.

The visit was a success, we had a great time together, and I decided that next time, I would make the visit for the week, from Friday to Friday. That would save a lot of worry (I thought). I met several residents who had lived in or near Wainfleet, a small village where we had lived for several years. It was fun talking to them, remembering old friends and events from years back.

I got mostly packed Sunday night before bed, and finished in the morning. We had breakfast together, and John and Marilyn picked me up with time to spare to get me to the return bus. I knew that I would be making the trip again next year, making sure that I would leave Edgewater in time to catch the Dunnville bus. It seemed that if I could do that, there would be no more trouble, and Murphy would be foiled. But I did wish that when I bought the tickets, they would have told me about the ‘only on Friday’ schedule for the Dunnville buses. What a way to run a bus line!

Oh, well, I did try! Read on, and find out what happened for my 2008 visit.