“There are days, Barnaby, when I’m glad Phillip isn’t around to witness what’s going on.”
Phillip, Elsie’s late husband, dead and gone just over two years ago now. Two? Maybe three. Time does fly. Continue reading
“Says here that Alberta wants out again, Barnaby,” Cecil informs me from behind his newspaper.
Yes, we are of that vintage. Sitting at our breakfast place, discussing current affairs from behind our respective newspapers. Continue reading
We’re looking out over the lake from the deck of Elsie’s cottage, bundled up on this the first unofficial long weekend of the summer. What had started out as perfect weather, cloudless, unseasonably warm, has now rained itself into a sodden last thirty-six hours. Continue reading