Yesterday I packed up the Wedgwood dinner and tea services for their journey to Ottawa. The task required four 1.5-cubic-foot boxes and about half a bale of clean newsprint. The only piece I could not somehow fit in was the coffee pot. It’s the tall kind that people just don’t use for coffee any more, so I don’t think Nephew 1’s family will miss it. I use it for mulled wine, and I think it might also work for a large batch of chai.

Tuesday used to be the day I kept clear of obligations so I could do occasional stuff like doctors’ appointments, but the choir has taken another bite out of my “free” time. Now the weekly newsletter must go out on Tuesday, so my butt must be parked in front of the computer by four o’clock in the afternoon. Geez, anyone would think I had a job with a boss and everything — well, everything except a paycheque.

Young Logan stopped by yesterday while I was working in the garage with the door open. He proudly asked me to guess how much money he had saved, brandishing a baggie full of loonies and twonies, with my two blue fivers riding on top. I wanted to warn him about tempting unscrupulous persons who might rip him off, but refrained. Instead, I introduced him to the notion of getting a tradesman’s estimate on the brake job his bike needs. He surveyed my lawn with dollar signs in his eyes, asking if it was time for more raking. I replied that he should wait until we could see a lot more daylight through the huge Norway maple. Satisfied, he wished me a good day and pedalled off.

It’s entirely possible that Logan has identified my property maintenance needs as a significant funding source.