Moving, just more slowly
We may have a lot of rain, but we don’t have wildfires. That should be a motto, given that missing a beach day is better than missing your home. On the West Coast, it’s not going well. And we still have weeks to go before snow.
The border guards might not strike. I can hear the sighs of relief from a select group of folks that live most of the year south of here. They want to come north.
The AB premier is adamant: no advice from Ottawa, because it’s all just a pre-election ploy. I’m referring to health advice. When it comes to sending money his way, advice is welcome. I really hope for a moment where the general population will clue in.
I’m still double-dogging my life, and it doesn’t require much more than tending the door and making food available on demand. The pair don’t fight (with me or one another).
Son #2 moved to a new apartment today. I don’t know much about the choice, other than the generic address. StreetView shows a building much like thousands of others, and his neighbourhood has trees and curves. I guess that’s positive. No visit planned, by us, until next year. All of the cardboard boxes should be unpacked by then. (Of course, we can’t claim the same thing, and it’s been more than six years already). I guess I’m moving more slowly than the younger set.
Sometimes you can’t win for trying. A local man was in court to face sentencing on a drunk driving charge. Seems that he was out on the road, realized he was tipsy, turned in a nearby driveway, got stuck and then had to wait to explain his case to the constabulary. Two wrongs don’t make things right.
