And there it is, our little blue house. Home at last. We settle in and everything is familiar and I feel safe.

Finally some definite news! Harry’s to get his three teeth extracted locally. His surgery is booked for July 3, so we’ll probably drive to Edmonton Sunday, pre-admission is Tuesday, and maybe on Monday we can make arrangements for accommodation when we are there for Harry’s radiation.

It is February 15, 2002. I wait anxiously for the sound of my husband’s car in the driveway. The back door opens, he looks across the room to me and my heart breaks. I read in his eyes what his lips begin to utter.

I had loved a man deeply for 54 years and lost him to cancer. My family, church family and friends were close by and were a blessing to me. I was ready to step back.

“No lady, I can’t leave you here, it’s not safe”, the taxi driver advised.

The key slid like butter into the lock and my eyes widened as the door swung open.

With an agility almost forgotten, I step onto the old school slide … woosh!

For the first time I sat at the Communion table and helped.

I wrote of girl-friends, “saddle shoes,” And “sock-hops.”

As a pre-teen in B.C., I remember filling bags with sand, loading them on a wagon and pulling this heavy load to…I’ve forgotten where but it was very important at the time.

“I’d like to take out a library card, please.” I timidly whispered.

We watch as shadowy figures cross the street while police lights alternate from red to green.

One thing city dwellers take for granted is the availability of merchandise. In smaller communities you soon learn to “make do”.

Pauline Brown’s visit was to be very special. It was obvious from the first moment that we were going to get along famously.

He had already cautioned her “You’d better learn to say please and thank you if you are going to stay at Grandma’s house.”

“Quick, out of the house,” my mother yelled to her three little girls. There was no argument from any of us, by the tone of her voice she meant business.

It was seven days of sea-sickness on the old Franconia, which I believe was dry-docked some time later.

With a lift of his glass of egg-nog, my husband wished us all a Merry Christmas. They were the last happy words I heard from him for over a week.

His two hands reach out and enclose mine in greeting. We have not seen each other in 40 years.