My daughters have tended Kathy's garden for years, which was great for me, because it allowed me to photograph the results of all their hard work without actually doing any of it. It was a win/win. Well, it was a win. Sometimes KDTR and I would sit in the shade and drink coffee and watch whilst my offspring turned the compost or pulled weeds in the vegetable patch. That was surprisingly satisfying, I have to say. Most days though, Kathy would prepare a hot breakfast for my girls - eggs, toasted English muffins, a variety of jams and freshly ground coffee - and chat them up before they got to work. I did not have jobs like this when I was a teen. I scrubbed floors and toilets for minimum wage (at that time, $1.35 an hour) in the local A&W after the bars closed and all the drunks came for their midnight feeding. It was not pretty.
Anyway, while our house was up for sale, I frequently had to skedaddle with the dog while agents showed potential buyers around. I got sick of walking or driving around in circles for hours, so one morning I asked KDTR if I could sit on her back porch for a bit until I got the all clear to return. She couldn't be there, but said "go on back and make yourself at home." Waiting for me was a chaise lounge and a tray with the morning paper, some baked goods and a thermos of ice water and sliced limes. That's the kind of friend and neighbour, oh yes, is my KDTR.
As if that weren't enough, every year at Christmas, KDTR makes cookies and distributes them to all her friends. And when I say makes cookies, I mean by the hundreds of dozens. This year alone, there were thirty-two varieties of cookies in each tin or box. If cookie baking were a competitive sport, she would be a gold medalist. Don't even think about competing. She would take you down.
Just gaze upon the splendour. See the doggy on the top of the box? That was no coincidence.
Let's take a peek, shall we?
Oh, baby. Come to mama.
|Oh yes, that is the Budster, immortalized in plastic resin|
|The "tart angel" who has been straddling our tree since the kids were babies. Not sure where she originated, but we've referred to her as The Tart Angel as long as I can remember.|
|Buddy was unimpressed.|
|All ready to light the fire.|