A Cookie

I've been out in the kitchen, dipping those Ginger Thins in milk. That's not my kind of thing to do, but it was Wayne's, and I know he would dip these cookies. I am quite sure he would like them; they are exactly in the middle between his two favorite kinds of cookies: no taste cookies and ginger snaps. And they are the kind of cookie you can just keep eating, if you're not careful.

I have just eaten too many. I didn't count and probably should have. Thank goodness I have had sense enough to stop. Wayne didn't always have such good sense. He would just keep eating cookies until all were gone, or maybe all but one or two, which to me seemed a rotten thing to do. Leave one cookie. Well, not rotten, just a bit of a cheat. He might, and sometimes did, speak of having eaten too many cookies, and once in while you could detect a slight sense of shame. Slight, though.

Our son Richard dipped his double stuff Oreos, which he asked me to bring him "from the States" because the ones they have there in Saskatoon are just not right.

Richard may have thought of his dad as he dipped his cookies, but more than once he wished out loud for his dad to be there last weekend, so that he, Wayne, could take Richard and Sarah's baby boy in his arms and give him a good looking over. That would have been a good thing. Penelope, now nearly two, never had a few minutes on her Grandpa Wayne's knee either, and she could use it, too. Just because.

And so could John and Charlie and Clayton and Peter and Caroline.

Almost everything can make me think of him, you know. That's just the way of it.

What's Happening in Canada

Here he is. It's Axel. Penelope calls him Ackel.

His full name: Axel Brimley Schiess, and I quite like it. The name Axel is Scandinavian. It just so happens that Danish blood flows in our veins, coming from my mother's side of the family. Richard's friend, Axel, says the name means Peacemaker. Something more to like, and I do. Brimley is my maiden name, so I'm gratified by that as well.

Axel is a sweet boy, quiet and mellow so far. Well behaved, perfect, in fact, for his naming and blessing. Richard and Sarah invited friends, family, and ward members to come Saturday night. The blessing ordinarily takes place at church, but because I would be there Saturday and not Sunday, they performed it in their home.

I say thank you for such thoughtfulness, and thank you for a good visit.

I have more pictures, of course, but this one will do for now.

The Perhaps Real

Lying on my bed, not quite asleep, I saw Wayne kneeling by the bedside. I said his name out loud as I opened my eyes and looked to see him. He wasn't there, of course.

The brain tells us things very quickly. Mine told me, as I opened my eyes, that he wasn't really there but that I should look because he might be. It told me this moment, this vision, was significant and that if I would keep my eyes closed, perhaps he would say something to me.

I saw him, saw how he looked, what he was wearing. That's from the brain, isn't it?

And I had time. Time enough to reflect on why he would be wearing a plaid shirt, why he would be kneeling. All this in the time it took to open my eyes. I wish I had kept them closed a while longer.

Saying his name was immediate and seemed not to have been directed by my brain, although, no doubt, it was.

A strange, startling moment, and, of course, it seemed real.

It's Just a Lawn, Carol

Sam Nelson mowed my lawn yesterday for $20. I thought it was going to be $15, but it's only money. Worth $20, I'm sure.

I have a guy who comes weekly for $25. He works for Renn, whose company is ATD Lawncare. The care part is missing, though, and I told as much to Sam. "The guy who comes now doesn't care about my lawn. It's just mow and go," I said, "and I want my lawn to look good.

So Sam did the job and I liked his work as well as anyone's. Now I have to make the decision. Do I keep Renn, who is in the lawn business, or hire Sam, who is about 16 and may or may not keep doing lawns?

If I hire Sam, then I have to tell Renn, and he's a former student, which somehow means something or should. I hate chores like that, becauseI feel bad, and I maybe will say too much. Certainly I want to help Renn in his business. But I've never been fully satisfied by the work his guys do. This is business, after all, not friendship, not nostalgia over "good times" in Mrs Schiess's English class. Right?

Sounds like I've made the decision. Wrong.

It has been hot this week. That seems right, it is July. This post was prompted by the quick vision in my head of Wayne out there mowing, straw hat, long-sleeved shirt, even in the hottest heat of summer. That would be good to see again, for real. And then I wouldn't have to make this decision.