You can’t argue with the birth certificate. Especially the ones laminated with quarter inch plastic in the late 1940s.
All guests were assembled by 5:30, comfortably seated in my small living room, enjoying grandson Ollie’s antics.
My brother-in-law, Dave T., asked if I had any pearls of wisdom to share after living as long as I have.
Oh, I had a quick answer! (All I needed was a soap box).
“Live small,” I said. “Love your neighbour. Pursue a simple life. Blaze a new trail. And maintain a sense of humour at all times.”
“Slow down,” he said. “Sounds like I should be taking notes.”
Presents were presented and I asked Ollie to help me unwrap them. He eagerly obliged.
In fact, he walked off with the biggest package, which later turned out to be new motorcycle boots. We all had a great laugh watching him trundle around the room as he talked about Christmas.
["Bird boxes need a coat of primer. Beauts on the way": GAH]
New boots will be a gift that keeps on giving. They may even get a workout tomorrow if I get my next column typed up by 3 p.m. and the sun is shining, and I don’t get the bug to work in The Shed on my next batch of birdhouses and chairs.
***
What’s the weather look like tomorrow?
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