|Scott finally bought a new barbecue|
He put it together yesterday afternoon outside one of the sheds and was dragging it to the house when I went to take Emil back to town. I helped him haul it and, since it was so windy and we thought it might blow right over, suggested we tuck it in under the lilac trees where it's calm. But no, said Scott— it will get scratched up if the lower branches touch it.
And that's one difference between us. I couldn't care less if the barbecue is scratched up. I just don't want it to tip over.
He's as fussy with the appearance of his laptop, which sits on a table in the living room and looks, to me, like a handy spot for the television remotes when it's not in use. Hell no! they might scratch the lid of the laptop.
Who cares? I think. Well, he does.
It's cold and windy again today. I took the above photo while standing on the doorstep, glad I don't have to walk today. Fingers crossed tomorrow will be more pleasant.
Called Dad this morning. He was waiting to head onto the golf course. They've got so much flooding in Kelowna that at least one course is not usable at all, and others have only portions of their fairways available. So it takes longer to get onto the course as there are fewer of them, yet as many avid players.
According to Joan, if I just complain about the weather, it will change. Ha!
Go read her blog, and leave a comment. She has posted twice in a row in a short time; it's a miracle!
She thinks no one reads it, because I'm the only one who ever leaves a comment.
Comments are not the only indicator of readers, I keep telling her and anyone who will listen. Lots of people read regularly for years and never, ever leave a comment. They're like ghosts; even when they're there you don't see them.
Keep blogging, I tell her. Those of us who like you like IT, even if you don't think your life is exciting enough to blog about. I think she's a good writer, and her sense of humour and goofiness comes across. I remember once telling Mom how Joan had entertained us with her silliness, when us three daughters were living in Kelowna during Mom's last year, and Mom remarking, "So Joan is a clown, eh?"