the mystery in Scotland

Yesterday, I was standing in the garden with John, my dear friend and handyman, as he finished the fence he'd just built. It was an incredible day (sunny and 16 degrees! In November!), the trees flashing yellow and red, the birds ignoring us as they pecked at the feeder, the rest of the garden still green. (The former rickety bit of fence, incidentally, had been smashed by a crack addict trying to shove through, while being chased through Cabbagetown backyards by a store detective. I kid you not. So dull, my 'hood.)

I joked (feebly) that I'd be able to pay John for his work when I won the lottery. He stopped and looked at me. "You've already won the lottery, Beth. You have your health," he said, gesturing to the garden, "and this."

All this, and a lovely crabby cat. Yes, I am a lucky woman. And it's a mighty fine fence, too. That night, when I rode my bike home at 9.30 p.m. from Ryerson, I passed a young man walking home with groceries, wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops. In November. We have all won the lottery, so far this fall.

Here's a link, sent by old friends and blog devotees Chris and Cathy, to a story about an artist who works in secrecy, leaving his/her work as mysterious gifts for the world.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/10/28/141795907/who-left-a-tree-then-
> a-coffin-in-the-library?ft=1&f=100