A Perfect Saturday
This Saturday felt like spring at last. It is hard to believe that just last Sunday, for the Easter Sunrise Service, I dressed in many layers of warm clothing and wore gloves. Susan, who stood beside me, said that her ears were hurting with the cold and I wondered if Lowell Tippet, the trumpeter, might find his lips freezing to his instrument.
But this morning it was warm and the windows were open, letting in fresh air, sunshine and birdsong.
Peter and our three youngest grandchildren, Emily, Joshua and Stephen, were coming over for breakfast, so I made a big, fragrant pot of coffee, and soon a copious quantity of bacon was sizzling tantalizingly under the grill, to accompany the pancakes that were bubbling on the griddle and piling up into a steaming mountain.
The feast was heartily devoured and only one lonely pancake was left over. The coffee pot was drained and refilled and while Peter, Brenda and I sat around the breakfast table chatting, the children went off to play, or watch Saturday morning sports on TV.
At noon, Peter and children all piled back in their van to go home, and I got on with laundry, cleaning oven racks, attacking a bulging refrigerator that desperately needed sorting out and going shopping.
All day long I held onto a determination that before the day was done I was going out into it with my furry friend Molson, but by the time I got home from grocery shopping and put everything away, Paul thought that it would be a good idea to have supper.
So I put together some delicious leftover ham, scalloped potatoes in cheese sauce and french cut green beans, and we ate supper while watching a movie.
By the time the movie finished, it was getting dark, but I grabbed a flashlight and called Molson up from downstairs, and out we ran, into the cool evening air.
We alternated between running, and walking briskly, through the sleepy, quiet, darkening village, passing two backyard bonfires with red sparks flying up into the night air and the delicious scent of woodsmoke.
Sidney, a golden retriever with a light curly coat, who is always tied out on his front lawn, barked at Molson, who cried softly under his breath as we passed, but other than that, he paid no attention.
We surprised a white cat sitting at the end of her driveway. She hunched up as we walked by, and Molson's ears perked up with interest. She eyed us warily from her post until we were safely past. On we walked, with Molson's eyes laughing up at me with pleasure at being out.
We were on the last stretch and almost home, when we passed the house where Rambo the boxer lives. He is always tied up by his kennel and barks viciously with a gutteral snapping and snarling as we pass. Tonight though, he seemed to be running loose and his people were out in the front of the house as well. As soon as he saw us I knew we were in trouble. I watched in horror as he bounded across the road towards us. I shouted out, but before his owners could get there he was on top of Molson and I watched helplessly as the muscular Rambo and Molson rolled over and over with vicious sounds emanating from the furry ball they had become. Three men pulled Rambo off and checked Molson over. He was fine and they were so sorry. Apparently Rambo has a wireless fence now, but his battery must have been low they said. I made a mental note not to walk past their house in the dark again. Apart from being ruffled and having wet fur, Molson was his normal calm self and seemed none the worse for being pounced on. He trotted on quite happily.
When I got home, Susan had sent me an email with a play by play of her day, some of which she had spent hiking on the Bruce Trail; with six of her grandchildren, her daughter Abby, a friend of Abby's and her two children, and a dog named Otis.
Susan wrote of the dog: "Otis the rather corpulent bassett hound. (I wanted to call him "Bloatis". Then I thought that he had quite a handy name, really, because if he was swimming you could call him "Floatis" and if he was carrying something, you could call him "Tote-is", etc, etc. Anyway, I digress.)" That made me laugh!
So we both had adventures with grandchildren and dogs today, out in the fresh spring air. It was a perfect Saturday.
But this morning it was warm and the windows were open, letting in fresh air, sunshine and birdsong.
Peter and our three youngest grandchildren, Emily, Joshua and Stephen, were coming over for breakfast, so I made a big, fragrant pot of coffee, and soon a copious quantity of bacon was sizzling tantalizingly under the grill, to accompany the pancakes that were bubbling on the griddle and piling up into a steaming mountain.
The feast was heartily devoured and only one lonely pancake was left over. The coffee pot was drained and refilled and while Peter, Brenda and I sat around the breakfast table chatting, the children went off to play, or watch Saturday morning sports on TV.
At noon, Peter and children all piled back in their van to go home, and I got on with laundry, cleaning oven racks, attacking a bulging refrigerator that desperately needed sorting out and going shopping.
All day long I held onto a determination that before the day was done I was going out into it with my furry friend Molson, but by the time I got home from grocery shopping and put everything away, Paul thought that it would be a good idea to have supper.
So I put together some delicious leftover ham, scalloped potatoes in cheese sauce and french cut green beans, and we ate supper while watching a movie.
By the time the movie finished, it was getting dark, but I grabbed a flashlight and called Molson up from downstairs, and out we ran, into the cool evening air.
We alternated between running, and walking briskly, through the sleepy, quiet, darkening village, passing two backyard bonfires with red sparks flying up into the night air and the delicious scent of woodsmoke.
Sidney, a golden retriever with a light curly coat, who is always tied out on his front lawn, barked at Molson, who cried softly under his breath as we passed, but other than that, he paid no attention.
We surprised a white cat sitting at the end of her driveway. She hunched up as we walked by, and Molson's ears perked up with interest. She eyed us warily from her post until we were safely past. On we walked, with Molson's eyes laughing up at me with pleasure at being out.
We were on the last stretch and almost home, when we passed the house where Rambo the boxer lives. He is always tied up by his kennel and barks viciously with a gutteral snapping and snarling as we pass. Tonight though, he seemed to be running loose and his people were out in the front of the house as well. As soon as he saw us I knew we were in trouble. I watched in horror as he bounded across the road towards us. I shouted out, but before his owners could get there he was on top of Molson and I watched helplessly as the muscular Rambo and Molson rolled over and over with vicious sounds emanating from the furry ball they had become. Three men pulled Rambo off and checked Molson over. He was fine and they were so sorry. Apparently Rambo has a wireless fence now, but his battery must have been low they said. I made a mental note not to walk past their house in the dark again. Apart from being ruffled and having wet fur, Molson was his normal calm self and seemed none the worse for being pounced on. He trotted on quite happily.
When I got home, Susan had sent me an email with a play by play of her day, some of which she had spent hiking on the Bruce Trail; with six of her grandchildren, her daughter Abby, a friend of Abby's and her two children, and a dog named Otis.
Susan wrote of the dog: "Otis the rather corpulent bassett hound. (I wanted to call him "Bloatis". Then I thought that he had quite a handy name, really, because if he was swimming you could call him "Floatis" and if he was carrying something, you could call him "Tote-is", etc, etc. Anyway, I digress.)" That made me laugh!
So we both had adventures with grandchildren and dogs today, out in the fresh spring air. It was a perfect Saturday.
Comments