It's a fine sunny day in Stratford with a forecast high of 13C, so garden work is on the agenda. I have hardly poked my nose out the door since getting needled on Friday, and I'm feeling a bit cabin-feverish.

There's about ten litres of really nice product in Edmund's rolling secondary composter (a barrel that rotates horizontally on an aluminum stand), so I'll shovel that onto the least prosperous-looking flowerbed. Then I'll hose out the container and take some pictures to post on Facebook Marketplace. I'm sure there's an avid gardener out there who needs a rolling composter far more than I do, and doesn't begrudge the space it takes. It's currently sitting in a sunny spot on the patio that I would like to use for something more sociable, when socializing is possible again.

The primary composter (the upright barrel-with-bottom-access type) needs digging out and a good stir. If I have enough energy I might tackle that job, too, with one of the more lethal-looking pole-arms among the garden tools.

It's also time to sweep the winter's accumulation of dried mud and road grit out of the garage, and round up the wine bottles and beer cans for a trip to the Brewers' Retail, which is responsible for recycling them in Ontario. The other major source of garage clutter is packing material, exponentially more copious now that most shopping happens on line, but that's not a problem since the big clearance I did during the pre-Easter warm spell.

I think that's enough grunt work for this week.

Six months after Edmund's death, it is now clear that the investment company holding his registered retirement and tax-free savings accounts will not budge on its demand that I put his completely unambiguous will into probate. Between them, the probate fee (a percentage of the estate) and legal costs will wipe out the tax-free savings account, but the alternative is a lawsuit that would cost a hell of a lot more and take years. While shaking his head and muttering, my lawyer admits that changing my investment arrangements would also be very expensive, and could well generate new hurdles that would be more difficult to overcome.

Being a bourgeois capitalist is more complicated than I expected.