cue the theme from deliverance

September 5, 2014April 22, 2015 ~ carin ~ 18 Comments

So I’m driving home from lunch with a friend. Said friend lives way over yonder and I live here, and so we meet in the middle once or twice a year.

There’s a lot of countryside between here and way over yonder and it pleases me to drive through it.

But I’m late and there’s a cement truck in front of me all the way up one (two lane) highway, and then construction on the other (two lane) highway, so I can’t stop for pictures, except the ones I take while stopped, to prove there’s actual construction and that I’m not just rudely late. Not that said friend needs proof; but taking pictures is something to do while stopped.

Lunch is a patio, an endless strings of words, hugs and laughter. This person has been through much in the past few years, one of the strongest people I know. Yet she, in the way of such people, has no clue as to her own strength. It’s my pleasure to remind her. And to celebrate having come out the other side intact, more brilliantly herself than ever.

Driving back home, I’m in no rush and so decide to turn left here, and right there, venturing down the occasional country lane.

As a woman, I’m always aware of the potential for trouble in venturing down lanes. I take in the air and the sights. But I remain alert. I’d like to pretend this isn’t the case, to throw out some bravado, but it wouldn’t be true. Not that the ‘awareness’ stops me from the venturing, it’s just that I don’t do it casually, the way, maybe, a fellow would.

I suspect that every woman has a few dicey-situation stories to tell. Keeping one’s wits about one helps ensure they have happy endings.

But back to all that green.

And then, as I walk along the shoulder of a particularly untraveled road in order to get the optimal view of greenness, a car in the distance coming toward me.

Not especially noteworthy, except that I can tell it’s slowing down. A beater of car, as if the driver forwards and backs into walls as a matter of course.

I tell myself it’s a kind soul who wonders if maybe I’m in distress, but even I don’t believe me. I am very obviously not in distress. I am very obviously taking pictures. And the car is very obviously now stopping right in front of me. The window is lowered. Inside, a large man in a dirty tee-shirt. His stomach abuts the steering wheel as he looks me over before speaking, says so, what ya doin’, taking pictures?

He doesn’t care about pictures. I’m pretty sure he’s not big into the creative arts. My car is clearly visible, but it would take me a good minute to walk back to it. Long enough. There’s no traffic on this road.

I look him in the eye. That’s right, I say. See ya.

He continues to stare at me a moment and I stare back, give him the best f**k-you look I can muster. (It’s not hard.) And maybe it’s my age, or maybe it’s the look, or that it occurs to him that it’s only a matter of time before someone drives by (although no one ever did)… but he snarls a bit then steps on the gas and tears away in what feels distinctly like some kind of moronic snit.

I’d like to say that I was emboldened by all this, that my veins surged with a kind of f**k you, assholes who bother women, you can’t stop us from taking pictures on deserted country lanes, “superpower”. But the truth is I walked quickly back to my car.

I continued on my way, still stopping for pictures, albeit on less untraveled roads; I found a greenhouse and bought a fern. I was grateful for traffic. And I hated that this is the way it is for women. On empty country roads, on crowded city ones. There is an ever-present ‘lurking’ that goes on among a certain kind of men.

And it occurs to me how important the friendship of women, how its embrace is one of the few truly safe places. I’m equally grateful for friendships with good men, and it’s a sad thing that that particular bunch is so tarnished with the likes of so many others.

Mostly, though, I’m grateful for a good f**k you look, which I believe I inherited, quite by chance, from my mother.

The moral of the story? How’s this: ladies, teach your daughters it’s not always good to be polite.

And enjoy all the scenery you’re entitled to enjoy…

a day at the beach

July 28, 2014June 30, 2015 ~ carin ~ 2 Comments

Anne Morrow Lindbergh says the beach is not the place to work or read or even think. I’d gladly argue with her but for the fact that she adds something like ‘initially’, as in first you need to find the rhythm of things, of yourself, the words you take in or mull over or put out.

I notice how right she is when I arrive and set down my bag containing water, lunch, notebook, pen, reading glasses, hat, camera, and before unpacking it all… just sit for a while. I’m hungry. I want to eat and read and make notes, take photos but all that To Do can wait. To reach into that bag too soon defeats the purpose of being here.

Instinct says sit. And just breathe.

It’s not difficult.

There is the sky.

And two women, both in red and white striped tee shirts; one is elderly, the other in her forties maybe, a daughter? They’re collecting something as they walk, reaching down every few moments and picking things up. Beach glass? Are they scooping up ALL the beach glass before I can get any?? I panic a little at the thought and consider racing out in front of them. It occurs to me that in all the hundreds and thousands of times I’ve been here I’ve never once noticed anyone else collecting beach glass. People skip stones and there’s the guy who has a metal detector who showed me the old silver Tiffany locket he found. People carve initials into picnic tables and have BBQs and recently I saw a margarine container filled with really beautiful glass that someone left behind in the playground… but I’ve never seen anyone do the actual collecting.

The red and white stripes are so far along by now that to rush ahead of them would be a spectacle, not to mention tiring in the heat. I decide to let it go, that whatever glass they find is meant for them. I’ll find my own. There’s always more…

Just then two more women, up on the boardwalk this time, an elderly one in a wheelchair and another, younger, pushing. The younger smiles, maybe thinking how lovely this choice of venue but the one being pushed looks sad and I wonder if this is, in fact, the worst possible venue because it reminds her of all those days and years when she was able to walk barefoot in the water… and then I think: with some things, there’s not always more.

Long before I open my bag for lunch company arrives.

We watch each other a while.

Then back to people. The guy on the jet-ski demanding attention, thundering about the lake doing doughnuts who zooms close to shore, stops, bobs on the water for fifteen minutes… checking his phone… perhaps firing off a few tweets about the thrills and chills of solitary circles at top speed.

Two boys and a girl named Lily settle down a few feet away and begin digging among the tiny stones at the edge of the water… for beach glass. They shriek when then find some and one of them walks right in front of me and smiles and I smile back but at the same time I send a strongly worded telepathic message that he not even think about digging on my turf. And he doesn’t. Never under-estimate the power of the mind.

Lily soon gets bored and leaves and the boys follow.

The bird has also moved on.

I consider having lunch but on the pier a teenaged boy in plaid shirt and work boots, picks up a teenaged girl in a brightly coloured muu-muu, and pretends he’s about to throw her into the lake. She laughs and then they walk along the shore not holding hands.

And then another couple follows a few minutes later, like a fast forward of fifty years.

Only eventually… very very eventually… do I reach for my sandwich and my book…

five frivolous minutes over pickled beans with ‘cd’ — age 46

July 21, 2014December 8, 2014 ~ carin ~ 2 Comments

Things I know about ‘cd’.

For her first birthday her mother made a cake entirely out of whip cream, sat ‘cd’ down in nothing but a diaper and let her have at it. Which she did. I can’t remember if I was there in person or just remember it from the movie.

She’s an excellent cook, afraid of heights, was good at baseball and has a large dog (when asked if he bites she says: only if I tell him to.)

She was the first person I ever babysat and when she was twelve she came to stay with me for a while in Toronto, during which time she tried to clean my apartment and broke the cover of an electrical outlet so hopped on a bus in search of a replacement. She didn’t find one but it was a fascinating story she told when I got home from work. This was a kid who grew up in a small town; she had zip knowledge of the city. I remember being torn between freaking out and being touched. I think touched won, but I still shake my head over her chutzpah. Years later, on another visit, we were about to order a drink in a restaurant when I sensed something bad about to happen at the next table. We left just in time to see someone being thrown through the front window. ‘cd’ wanted to stay to see how things came out. I was driving. We left.

She says it was me that introduced her to the Crunchie bar. I don’t see her often; she has lived in the States for at least twenty-five years. It is impossible to spend time in her company and not have your cheeks hurt from laughing. Hers is one of my favourite voices to hear over the phone.

♦

How long could you go without talking? A month.

Do you prefer silence or noise? Silence.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? Less than 10.

If you won the lottery? I’d pay bills, buy an island, a beach house or something in Muskoka, kids’ tuition.

One law you’d make? Death penalty for pedophiles. Send sex predators to a remote island all their own.

Unusual talent? Throwing together a meal out of nothing.

What do you like to cook? Mac and cheese (because of the reaction it gets).

Have you or would you ever bungee jump? I haven’t, but I’d love to, but I won’t.

What’s the most dare-devilish thing you’ve done? I once jumped off a cliff into the lake.

Do you like surprise parties, practical jokes? Yes to both as long as no one gets hurt.

Favourite time of day? 8 – 9 a.m.

What tree would you be? An apple tree.

What do you like on your toast? Lots of butter.

The last thing you drew a picture of? Superman.

Last thing written in ink? Hours for work.

Favourite childhood meal? Potato stuffed dumplings.

What [past] age was your favourite? 30

Would you go back if you could? No.

Best invention? Sliced bread.

Describe your childhood bedroom. No windows, no air, hot, stuffy.

Afraid of spiders? Outside, no. Inside, yes. But centipedes are worse.

Phobias? Heights, confined spaces.

Least favourite teacher and why? First grade teacher, wouldn’t let you go to the bathroom.

Favourite children’s story? Little Red Riding Hood.

Ideal picnic ingredients? Bread, wine, cheese, pickled string beans.

Is Barbie a negative role model? Yes.

Best thing about Canada? It’s where I was born. Home.

Best thing about people in general? They can reproduce.

What flavour would you be? Maple walnut.

What colour? Red.

What would you come back as? A horse.

Favourite saying: “Really?” (That’s the PC version.)

♦

—the frivolous five, a series of frivolity

five frivolous minutes over steak and greens with ‘d’ & ‘t’ — age 14

May 2, 2014December 8, 2014 ~ carin ~ 2 Comments

‘D’ and ‘T’ are brothers. Twins. I spoke with them separately and intended to post the Q&As separately but I think the brother thing is not to be discounted. There’s something interesting going on with siblings generally, how they can grow up in the same family, with more or less the same values, rules and traditions, the same holidays, the same weird Uncle Waldo… and yet evolve quite differently, with different memories standing out, different versions of the same holiday, and entirely different emotional make-ups.

And then there’s twins, who, it’s said, can be raised in different families on opposite sides of the planet and both end up loving the same movies, books, both collecting Romanian coins and sporting Fu Manchus.

And so, because of my interest in siblings and sameness and difference, I decided to present D&T together… though I do wonder if they, if twins, triplets, etc., ever get tired of being seen as a kind of package in a way that other siblings aren’t subjected to. Or is this ‘package’ one of the best parts of twindom, a gift the rest of us can never know…

Unfortunately, that was a question I didn’t ask.

‘D’

How long could you go without talking? Two hours.

Silence or noise? Noise.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? Ten.

If you won the lottery? Take my family on a holiday.

One law you’d make? Make it harder to get guns.

Unusual talent? Drawing.

What do you like to cook? Tacos.

Have you or would you ever bungee jump? I haven’t, but I would.

What’s the most dare-devilish thing you’ve done? When I was ten, I jumped from the top of a 15′ slide.

Do you like surprise parties, practical jokes? No to parties; yes to jokes.

Favourite time of day? When school is over.

What tree would you be? A big one.

What do you like on your toast? Butter and cinnamon. Or jelly.

The last thing you drew a picture of? Me and my dog.

Last thing written in ink. Signed a document for volleyball.

Favourite childhood meal? Ribs.

What age would you go back to if you could? Four.

*Would* you go back? No.

Best invention? Printing press.

Describe your childhood bedroom. Still in the same room but it used to seem bigger. White walls, posters.

Afraid of spiders? Not afraid, but don’t like them.

Phobias? Solitude, darkness.

Most disliked teacher and why? Spanish teacher gave too much homework.

Favourite children’s story? Green Eggs and Ham.

Ideal picnic ingredients? Water, ham and cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, apples, grapes, Sprite.

Is Barbie a negative role model? Yes.

Best thing about Canada? Have family here.

Best thing about people in general? When they’re loving instead of hateful.

What flavour would you be? Orange.

What colour? Green.

What would you come back as? A person again.

Favourite saying: “Shoot for the moon, but reach for the stars.”

‘T’

How long could you go without talking? At most, 3 1/2 hours.

Do you prefer silence or noise? Noise.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? About 12. I wear about 5.

If you won the lottery? Help my mum and dad with whatever they need. Buy cars and a basketball court.

One law you’d make? I’d remove the Stand Your Ground Law.

Unusual talent? Writing, basketball and volleyball.

What do you like to cook? Pizza.

Have you or would you ever bungee jump? I haven’t, but I would.

What’s the most dare-devilish thing you’ve done? Acrobatics on park equipment when I was a kid. Hit my head.

Do you like surprise parties, practical jokes? Yes, both.

Favourite time of day? Afternoon.

What tree would you be? I’d be a strong tree growing someplace on its own.

What do you like on your toast? Cinnamon and butter.

The last thing you drew a picture of? Self portrait in charcoal, to illustrate a story.

Last thing written in ink. Birthday card.

Favourite childhood meal? Rice and hamburger.

What age would you go back to if you could? Four.

*Would* you go back? No.

Best invention? Car.

Describe your childhood bedroom. I remember crawling out of my crib one summer.

Afraid of spiders? YES!!!

Phobias? Arachnophobia.

Least favourite teacher and why? In 4th grade; too slow; ignored people who were able to do more.

Favourite children’s story? Don’t have a favourite but least favourite is a zoo book with large print that I had to read too many times.

Ideal picnic ingredients? Sandwiches (chicken, ham, turkey), hot dogs, hamburgers, fries, pizza, wings, pop, water, juice, basketball, volleyball net, soccer ball, Frisbee, football.

Is Barbie a negative role model? Yes.

Best thing about Canada? The people are friendly and the money is coloured. The loonie and the toonie. I like the houses too.

Best thing about people in general? Humour.

What flavour would you be? Caramel.

What colour? Purple or red.

What would you come back as? A bird, a blue jay or a mourning dove. Wouldn’t want to be a spider.

Favourite saying: “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

♦

—the frivolous five, a series of frivolity

hello, spring

March 21, 2014March 21, 2014 ~ carin ~ 7 Comments

On my way to the library I see a man pacing in his garage, smoking. I’ve seen him there before. He pretends he doesn’t notice me as I pass and I sense I’m meant to do the same. I feel sorry for those who like to indulge in a cigarette. They’re always huddled outside but no one waves, no one says Hello, fine weather, isn’t it! the way you might to someone raking a lawn. I may have to change this pattern next time I go by.

Further along the same street, a boy, playing hockey on his own,

and the blueprints for a house interior sketched onto several squares of sidewalk.

This is the kitchen. The living room is to the left; bedrooms to the right.

Around the corner, a man in a green ski jacket cleans a ski-doo the exact same shade as his coat. When I stop a few houses down to make some notes, I look back and notice the man staring at me. He’s actually stopped cleaning the ski-doo and looks concerned about me jotting things on a notepad with a pencil. It occurs to me that if I’d stopped to look at my BlackBerry or equivalent [which I don’t own] he’d be feeling much calmer. It reminds me of my experiment at the casino, and the unexpected things that frighten people.

At the library, a woman comes up to me, says, quite out of the blue, “You must be an artist,” and I assume she means because of the hat but I ask whatever makes her think so. She says she was driving by and saw me walking, saw me stop on the sidewalk and go back and take a picture of something on the ground. “Only someone with a certain kind of eye would do that,” she says. I tell her she must have a pretty good eye herself and we laugh the laugh of strangers.

This is the picture she saw me take.
Tell me this doesn’t look like a monkey spitting out an apricot.

Back outside a black pick-up truck goes through a red light and from the other end of the street, totally unrelated but at the same moment, tires squeal.

A woman in white plays drums on her steering wheel and sings while waiting for the light to change.

I take a different route home and find a nest of feathers. Not a good kind of nest.

And in a nearby window, what appears to be a rather self-satisfied expression…
Close to home I find a bag crackling in the wind and so I detach it with the idea of collecting a few bits of the always-debris that is everywhere.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m out of bag.

she washed; i dried

January 21, 2014June 12, 2019 ~ carin ~ 29 Comments

This month marks twenty-five years since my sister died of ALS.

Eleven years older than me, she had all the powers of an adult [or so I thought] but was more fun.

I inherited her green two-wheeler—too big for me to sit on and pedal at the same time but otherwise perfect—and a yellow cardigan that I wore with yellow stove-pipe jeans and white go-go boots. I was ten and the sweater came to my knees. It made me invincible.

She worked at Diana Sweets where she let me watch her copy menus on a Gestetner machine and later she worked at a greasy spoon near the canal where, when I’d run over to meet her after a shift, she’d pick me up and carry me back like a monkey.

She made the best toast I have ever tasted.

When she moved out I got her room. It was a nice room but I liked it better when she was in it.

For a while I phoned her every day to read her a joke from some book I got at the library.

Of all the people waving at the train station when I left for Edmonton, it was her that I was waving back at.

And when I returned, she was the first person I called.

On summer nights we’d sit in her yard, have a beer and talk about everything we hated and everything we loved.

When the disease got worse, I’d take her shopping in a wheelchair. I noticed the way people looked at her.

One time we drove to the beach and just sat in the car and she said she missed walking. I didn’t know what to say. I think on some level I was still pretending she could walk, that she just chose not to.

Eventually she couldn’t move. This is what ALS does, traps the person inside their own body while their mind continues to function perfectly well. Her only means of communication was very laboured, slurred words, hard to understand. And the effort exhausted her. So we organized conversations around questions she could answer by blinking once for yes, twice for no. Of course I couldn’t always tell if she was ‘talking’ or just blinking and sometimes the confusion made us laugh so hard we’d cry. I’d wipe her tears away first, then mine.

The last time I saw her she was a skeleton in the hospital, on serious morphine. I don’t know if she knew I was there or if she heard what I said to her; in fact I have no idea if I said anything at all…

A few million years ago, when we’d do the dishes together, she washed, I dried. Except for the big knife, which she washed and dried.

She liked roses, carnation, lily of the valley soap, and garage sales, and on rainy days, for fun, she’d pile her kids in the car and head to the countryside to look for deserted roads and puddles big enough to plough through at speeds that would render the windows thoroughly sploshed and the kids thoroughly thrilled.

She read cheesy books in the bathtub while eating chips and salami and had coffee with my mum every Tuesday.

She liked the sound of laughter in her house more than the sound of a compliment for décor or tidiness.

She was a master of chicken wings, potato salad, and lemon meringue pie.

And there was always room at her table for anyone who dropped by unannounced.

Her name was Mary.

today’s walk

October 26, 2013October 27, 2013 ~ carin ~ 6 Comments

Uneventful.

Except for the daring blue heron that wades in the creek up to its icy blue thighs, and the black and white bird that watches from an overhead branch. No idea what it is. Magpie? But we don’t get those here… I haven’t seen one since Edmonton in the eighties when everything was a revelation. I had a friend there who grew up on a dairy farm so we spent a lot of time in the country. That’s where I learned that magpies aren’t exactly the most beloved birds. Also, that you can drink directly from a cow. No middleman or cartons required. This was big. I didn’t believe it at first. Could not fathom that a tin bucket in the kitchen was what I was meant to ladle milk from for my Cheerios. One afternoon I took a walk in the back forty, picked some flowers, brought them inside, found a jar and filled it with water, a gift for the dinner table. When my friend’s mother came in she said Where did those stink weeks come from? It’s true that there was a very distinct and un-gift-like odour in the room… I’d assumed it was the fermenting milk.

But today’s walk.

Uneventful, except for the above and a dove too— just because the sight of them always makes me happy. They needn’t be doing anything and they usually aren’t; something about their shape pleases me, the way they look to the left, the right, left again, as if always curious, forever surprised at the sameness of things. And a blackbird soaring above yellow and crimson leaves, circling and dipping and dipping some more, just because it can. A sparrow hiding under a Toyota Camry, or maybe just keeping out of the rain.

And a man in his eighties, wrinkled from laughter, bright-eyed and sprightly, carrying two logs from the back of a house where I hear a chain saw working. He tells me he’s looking for volunteers to help… I tell him I’ll help him look, send them all his way. I circle the block and when I pass his house again, he’s there carrying more logs. He laughs, calls out, says in a wink-wink tone, “You haven’t forgotten where you’re going have you??” I realize the fact that I’m carrying a full shopping bag makes it look as though I should be heading home with my groceries, not strolling about the neighbourhood. I don’t tell him the bag is full of litter… I’m simply pleased that I’m finally worthy of insider status to an octogenarian’s joke…

*five frivolous minutes over roast chicken with ‘ch’ — age 62

October 15, 2013July 11, 2015 ~ carin ~ Leave a comment

I met ‘ch’ in 1987. We became friends immediately.

She is the most voracious reader I know. She also believes in the protective power of magic sticks when walking through parks late at night… not for wielding but merely to hold, letting the inherent magic do its thing.

She has canoed the Mackenzie River (**or was it the Fraser?), worked in the Sudan and claims France as her country of choice for a nervous breakdown.

Once, walking together along a sidewalk, a black cat crossed our path and without a word to each other—and without any idea that we both had a spontaneous ‘ritual’ for situations like this—I came to a complete stop while ‘ch’ did a pirouette. And then without missing a beat we continued on our way.

Over the years she has introduced me to expressions such as ‘gin memories’, ‘yars, yars, yars’ and, most recently, ‘pearls before swine’.

She has a perfect Lauren Hutton gap between her two front teeth and on any given day, if you phone and ask what she’s having for dinner, the answer will invariably include some form of eggs. She will deny that it’s that often.

♦

How long could you go without talking? To myself? Not long. To other people… days.

Do you prefer silence or noise? Silence.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? 15.

If you won the lottery? I’d share it, become a secret benefactor, buy things people need, anonymously.

One law you’d make? I’d do something about legalizing drugs, with a drug education component.

Unusual talent? Painting walls.

What do you like to cook? Soul food type bean dishes.

Have you or would you ever bungee jump? No.

What’s the most dare-devilish thing you’ve done? Nicky-nicky nine doors.

Do you like surprise parties, practical jokes? No and no.

Favourite time of day? Dusk.

What tree would you be? A spooky drooper. (a type of cedar, with spooky droopers)

Best present ever received? A heartfelt thank you.

What do you like on your toast? CheezWhiz

The last thing you drew a picture of? The sunflowers in my garden.

Last thing written in ink. Morning journal notes.

Favourite childhood meal? My mother’s mac and cheese with bacon on the side.

What [past] age was the best? 27

Would you go back to that if you could? No.

Best invention? The wheel.

Describe your childhood bedroom. Shared with sister, double bed, played games when supposed to be sleeping; ‘Fighting Feet” was one.

Afraid of spiders? No. In fact I love them. The non-toxic ones, I mean.

Phobias? None.

Least favourite teacher and why? Geography. Was sent out of the room because I objected to something. Sent to V.P. who understood my position… so it turned out well.

Favourite children’s story? The Grand County Fair. “…Come to the fair, the grand county fair, with horses and sideshows and fun everywhere.”

Ideal picnic ingredients? My mum’s fried chicken and potato salad.

Is Barbie a negative role model? No.

No??? No. Who takes Barbie seriously?

Best thing about Canada? It’s home.

Best thing about people in general? Connection, when people ‘get’ each other.

What flavour would you be? Lemon.

What colour? Red.

What would you come back as? A more evolved person, hopefully.

*Five Frivolous Minutes is a series devoted to non-essential questions and answers. It amuses me.
** It was the Mackenzie, I’ve been told. The Fraser has rapids.

a frivolous five minutes over fish & chips with ‘m’ — age 8

September 16, 2013March 30, 2015 ~ carin ~ 4 Comments

I have known M all her live-long life but not until recently did we spend a whole day together beginning with ice-cream for breakfast, followed by a few hours at the beach where we leave messages on hand-painted rocks such as “Enjoy the birds!” and “The beach is beautiful!”. We collect a far too heavy bag of unpainted ones and pick up some litter and slosh about skipping stones and looking for beach glass, of which we find a surprising amount—mostly green.

Later, en route to the art gallery (where we plagiarize some of our favourite pieces with crayons and sketch pads) we meet a man with a lizard named Igor. There’s a lovely woman named Jenny in a chip truck who gives us waaaay too many chips, but not too many to eat. Later we buy a cotton candy flavoured milkshake, which is not finished and which I’m not sure we would recommend.

There is lunch on a patio overlooking a lake and much chatter in the car on the drive to a small town where we traipse up and down both sides of the main street, searching for just the right thing and once we decide what that is and go back to the store to get it, the store is closed and there we are, hands and dropped-jawed faces pressed up against the glass, neither of us able to speak because the ‘just the right thing’ is SO VERY RIGHT and can not be found in any of the other shops in town.

Because, believe me, we looked…

And then, in the distant dark of the store, we see the woman who’d been there earlier behind the counter… and we wave through the window and jump up and down and instead of getting her purse and going home, the woman marches through the store, straight to the door, and she opens it.

And this is so thrilling our insides are all a-tremble.

We explain about the JUST THE RIGHT THING and the woman says, “Of course, come in.” And so we do. And M runs to the shelf where the Right Thing is and shouts its name and hugs it until it says moo in relief and joy of adoption, for the JUST THE RIGHT THING is a soft and huggable cow named Cowy.

And all the way home in the car the chatter centres around the dreadful, barely thinkable What If ???— What if people weren’t as wonderful as they are and the door had not been opened and Cowy had to spend a long, long night alone (with the other ‘not so quite right’ things) in the store?? Our minds boggle at the very idea. And our insides tremble for some time to come.

—Things about M: she likes apples and everything about school and her favourite colour is not pink.

♥

How long could you go without talking? Three minutes

Do you prefer silence or noise? I like sound in the background, but sometimes I like quiet.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? More than ten.

If you won $25 million? I’d get one or two things that my family want and five things for me.

One law you’d make? No littering.

Unusual talent? I swam the whole length of my grandma’s pool underwater without breathing.

What do you like to cook? Sundaes. Vanilla with Oreos and caramel and strawberries cut like hearts… and that’s with NO recipe. I can also do it with chocolate sauce.

Have you or would you ever bungee jump? No.

What’s the most dare-devilish thing you’ve done? Stepping into a lake with fish.

Do you like surprise parties, practical jokes? I like surprise parties and I kind of like practical jokes.

Favourite time of day? Afternoon. It’s more sunny.

What tree would you be? An apple tree. That way I could give people food.

Best present ever received? The watch that my grandma gave me that was my grandpa’s.

What do you like on your toast? Nutella.

The last thing you drew a picture of? The picture I did at the art gallery called ‘Creative’.

Last thing written in ink. A list of paintings and things in the gallery.

Favourite childhood meal? Spaghetti.

What [past] age did you like best? Two.

Would you go back to that age if you could? Yes.

Best invention? Well it’s definitely not Twitter.

Describe your childhood bedroom. I share a bunk-bed with my sister, posters on the closet, Justin Bieber on the door, two dressers, karaoke machine, purple walls, two piggy banks and bookshelves up to the ceiling.

Afraid of spiders? Yes.

Phobias? Locked doors, dark.

Least favourite teacher and why? Don’t have one. I like them all.

Favourite children’s story? Smelly Socks and Sometimes I Like to Curl up in a Ball

Ideal picnic ingredients? Monkey blanket, apples, Nutella, books, sandwiches, pencil crayons, colouring book, journal, bananas.

Is Barbie a negative role model? No.

Best thing about Canada? There’s no poisonous snakes.

Best thing about people in general? They’re polite and respectful and some of them are thoughtful.

What flavour would you be? Banana sherbet.

What colour? Orange.

What would you come back as? A unicorn.

Favourite saying: “Don’t litter.”