Two men I love

Two of the men I love the most gave me the same gift for Christmas. A book about love, written by an author (a man) I love. 

Today is also the birthday of two other men (one an author) that I love. 

A day for reading about love, thinking about love -- not a bad way to spend a day. 

Goodbye Personal Servant

Personal servant? That may be a bit much, though truly that little machine, our faithful GPS served in so many ways -- not only keeping us on track to many destinations, but keeping us out of trouble.

He (yes, I have no hesitation in calling him a 'he' -- after all, his name was Simon, and he had a lovely English accent) came into our lives in 2011, part of the acquisitions we made when we set out on our cross-continent tour in 2011. Wending our way through the complicated cloverleaf highways in the US would have been nearly impossible without him. At the very least, the relationship between the Dear Man and me might not have survived my map-reading skills. Call him a subtle peacemaker. Which way do we go? No arguments; just ask Simon.

Sure, there were a few times his satellite connections fed him information that was less than accurate, but generally these errors led us into strange and wonderfully off-the-beaten track surprises. Once we found ourselves not at the campsite we'd been seeking, but instead in the midst of horse-and-buggy 'traffic' in Amish territory.

Keeping us out of trouble came with his speed limit alert feature. So many little towns seem to rely on income from speeding tickets issued to tourists who might happen to miss the suddenly-low speed limit at the town boundaries. The warning sound Simon emitted was, fortunately, enough to get us to slow down from highway speed to the safely low numbers they expected. Whew! He more than paid for himself in fines saved.

This seems like the right day to bid him farewell, as it's the anniversary of when we got home from the big tour, eight years ago.

Despite poking around for better photos of Simon than the 'farewell' shot of him (out of focus, no less), I've failed. Best I could come up with was a link to this shot taken during the big road trip, where it appears we've gone off-road on some parallel trail. I'm pretty sure it was just a construction-induced detour.

It isn't that I took lots of pictures of him, but now and then, it just seemed too fun not to. Best were when we were heading across some body of water in a ferry. The little blue Volkswagen Beetle (his avatar) looked as though it was magically gliding atop the water. Silly, I suppose, but then silly generally is my middle name.

He's gone -- to wherever the electronics recycling items go, hopefully not back to the Philippines where so much unwanted Canadian garbage turned up. I like to think he's gone to where someone or thing gets to guide him for a change -- a bit of payback for all the gentle guidance he gave to us.

Once upon a time, I believed

Once upon a time, Christmas Eve was the day my dad would go shopping for gifts. My sister and I often got to go along on these last-minute excursions. It was lucky for us, as we usually wouldn't have bought anything for our mother by then either.

He'd give us each a dollar. That narrowed it down, didn't it.

One of the best-ever (I thought) gifts was a cookbook I bought her -- and yes, that faded brown thing in the photo is it. I was surprised, and a little bit hurt, that she didn't seem very thrilled by it.

Looking back, I can see that she might have taken it as an insult to her cooking. That wasn't the intent, though I suppose she could have used some help in that department, or at least encouragement. Weirdly, I still make several recipes from it -- it's the best for basics like pancakes or biscuits -- and the best-ever barbecue ribs come from it as well.

But the thing was, it fit the bill -- literally -- as it cost a dollar.

A baster is there too (not that it's the original) as it was another one of my 'inspired' one-dollar gifts for her. And this probably came about because one of my dad's favourite stores for his last-minute shopping was not a dress shop or a jeweller's, but a place he was likely more familiar with, the hardware store. There was something about going there with him that will always make visiting a hardware store feel a lot like Christmas to me.

Best cheers, however you celebrate, to all!

Something new for a new year

Because I'm a person who likes things that are 'broken-in' it's often hard to part with items that others might consider worn out, or at least well past their 'best-by-date'.

New clothes feel scratchy, new shoes can pinch. Second-hand pillow slips are softer and often prettier. Garage sale cups and serving plates are sometimes hand-painted, and nearly always more charming than those that are brand-new. Even a new book needs its pages turned before it gets good.

Still, sometimes I have to admit that an object or item of clothing has served beyond its duty. Sadly, this seems to be the case with my beloved carry-all bag from Duthie Books, a locally-owned chain of shops that closed down for good in 2010. The letters are nearly worn off and the handles are frayed enough I sometimes worry that they might break.

The bag has worked overtime as a purse for me for many years, never complaining about dragging around an oversized wallet filled with library cards and receipts. Or my camera and glasses, and often an umbrella. Not to mention various notebooks, magazines, water bottles, combs and Chapsticks that may have ridden around in its black folds.

Sentimentalist that I am, I won't be throwing it out, but I do plan (yes, for the new year) to transfer those glasses cases and gloves and assorted paraphernalia to a newer bag -- this time, navy blue, one from Word Vancouver. At least it'll still be in the literary theme. And I can only trust it'll be as faithful to me as the black one has been.