My Baby is 26

The Barn Dog Bar & Grill in Hendon, Sask.

Emil wanted to "go out for supper" on his birthday, so I suggested the Hendon bar, a place he hadn't been before. Scott and I have been there a time or two for wing nite, which if I'm not mistaken is Wednesdays.

On the way there, the rain pounded down so hard several times that I had to pull over because I couldn't see. Then suddenly we were through it.

After Emil demolished a big plate of food and a grape pop, we headed east to visit Ivan (Scott's dad) at the lodge in Kelvington.

Emil made sure to tell everyone everywhere that it was his birthday.
"I'm twenty-SIX today."
Scott's cousin Orlynn, who was clearing tables in the dining room below, sang Happy Birthday to him.

Emil, age 26

I have to admit, I enjoyed what was on television in the background at the nursing home far more than what was on the screen at the Barn Dog.

The bar had Nascar racing (yawn)(grind teeth)(why can't I escape goddamn sports of one sort or another on a frickin' loud TV in every eating establishment I go to?) and the nursing home had Walter Ostanek and the Polka Kings, followed by Tribal Trails. Don't quote me on those names. But I have come to love the old-time music that, in my teens and twenties, I looked so far down my nose at. Apparently we really do come full circle.