found found found

My engagement bracelet, back where it belongs, where it has lived since March 1980.

Age spots. Swollen fingers - some of my rings barely fit any more. But the fingers are still typing. I will be typing on my deathbed. With, I hope, this bracelet still on my wrist.

It's 5.30 p.m., getting dark, and there's silence. I'm used to silence, to a house that's empty except for little old me and a tenant or two. Annie who's a recent widow finds the evenings very difficult; during the day she and her husband were busy and separate, but the evenings were together. Now she's alone and the evenings are long and silent. I'm used to being alone. But still, the advent of the cold dark season is hard. Luckily, my gas fire now works. So I'll hunker. There will be much hunkering in this house from now till next May.

Just as I'm always too early for flights, I like to be more or less prepared for Xmas by mid-November, so I'm getting ready now. Ben wants anything to do with the Titanic, and Eli wants a Fitbit. He's 9 and he wants to track his heart rate and footsteps. Maybe I should get one too - matching Fitbits for my grandson and me. Do I want to know that much about my inner workings? Maybe not. 

Anna loves the Métis artist Christi Belcourt who recently had a sale of her prints. I'm getting her one. Don't tell; luckily she never reads this blog. One way to get through the long dark days of winter is looking at the joyful colours of Christi Belcourt. 

 PS

Among the really great gifts I will not be considering for my grandsons: Tim Hortons hockey-playing Barbie. Well, you've gotta admit, they're trying.