Yesterday, my son decided that he wanted to write a letter to his bear, Walter … so he did. As I described it on Facebook:
“The letter included Walter’s name, my kid’s name, a drawing of each, a drawing of a house and a drawing of a cave. Oh, and a drawing of some hydro wires. Then he made a bracelet for Walter, and included a set of keys (not ones we actually use). Then we weighed it (52 g), so we had to put five stamps (stickers) on it. Very productive afternoon.”
Inside the letter, he traced the letters I’d written. On the envelope, he printed them all by himself. I posted pictures of both, and his grandma (my mom) made a sweet and benign comment about how he is a “budding writer.”
We were living in Webequie, Ontario. Joe Clark was Prime Minister. Despite regular calls home to her family, who kept her apprised of all the local gossip, no one ever told my mom there’d been an election. Which is why, to this day, she’ll slap you if you try to turn the channel during the news.
Got this challenge from my friend Geoff and even though it’s supposed to be “played” on Facebook, I knew I was going to have too much to say. So here’s the extended response to this pretty straightforward challenge:
I started writing this as a submission for a series on the end of summer, but it ran long and I didn’t have the heart to cut it by half. Happy back-to-school week, however you choose to celebrate it.
At least once a day I remember my husband. Always at one o’ clock.
For as long as we were together — which was a gobsmacking 47 years, I should add — he was in charge of the clocks.
He’d set them, check them, every couple of days. It never took long, because unless a battery died or an old wound one wound down, they were never wrong.