Just ducky

It's the last day before April. Water everywhere. The snowbanks are sinking quickly like the playoff hopes of the Oilers. Oh well. Yesterday, as I tried to find a puddle-free place to walk, I declared it was time, high time in fact, that I buy myself a pair of ducky boots. Ducky boots! came the reply. Not this again. Before long, my foot finds another puddle. My sock soaks it up. I'm all growls. I hate getting my feet wet. The way a wet foot looks when you get home and finally pull your sock off. No way to warm up after that.

That girl

Recently one of my sisters--how delightful to have sisters--asked for photographs of our mother with us and our kids over the years. While digging through my box of pics I found one of myself in my heavily bearded phase, also known as my Letter Carrier phase, Calgary, mid-70s. My walk included a swank crescent along the Elbow River. You had to be rich (or, in the case of one of my Education profs, exceptionally beautiful) to live there.

I loved the job. It paid well, and once I got to know the route I could have it all sorted and delivered and be home by 2 or 2:30. Let the summer recreation begin.

I got to know a little girl named April Waters, age 5 or so. One day when I rounded the corner to her street I could see her on the sidewalk in the distance, dancing or gesturing wildly or something. This continued for the several minutes it took me to walk up to every mail box, walk back to the sidewalk. Eventually I realized that what April was doing was standing under a spruce tree, throwing pebbles up into the tree every few seconds. "A magpie is trying to eat the robin's eggs," she said. "I'm keeping him away."