The typical rotisserie chicken in southern Ontario supermarkets are fryers topping out at about a kilo in weight, but one easily provides four meals. I don’t go to Costco — it scares me, and the nearest one is 40 km away — and I’ve never seen a Sam’s Club on this side of the border, so I have no comparison there. Zehr’s, my usual source of rotisserie chickens, offers several seasoning finishes, but I always buy the plain so-called barbecue kind because — unlike real barbecue — the seasoning mix does not include sugar. Sodium isn’t an issue for me.

On Sunday I drove way down to the arse end of Oxford County to buy a piano bench that I saw advertised on FB Marketplace. It’s well made of local walnut and was lovingly refinished by the vendor’s now-deceased husband, and an excellent addition to my bedroom — it fits neatly at the foot of my bed and provides a spot for Watson to hop to on his way to his nightly slumbers. I have never liked putting a suitcase, laundry basket, or gym bag on the bed, and now I don’t have to.

Also last weekend, my friend Alden completed the first and (I hope) most agonizing phase of moving out of her spacious Victorian cottage in Stratford and into a tiny (750 square feet) granny flat in Guelph. When I picked her up at five o’clock on Friday, her son and grandson had the house mostly cleared and the movers were loading the bed and the kitchen table. Alden herself was more than tired; she was exhausted and perilously close to tears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being so in need of a stiff drink, and by eight-thirty she was spark out in my guest room bed. I haven’t had any bulletins from Guelph yet, but I suspect that the drama is not over.