Never Eat Shredded Wheat

At 11.30pm, on the eve of Ash Wednesday, I regretted, slightly, of the promise to wait with them for the school bus in the morning. But I set the alarm and got up at 6.30am.

At 6.35am I saw that the grandson was in his drill; changing from pajamas to his laid-out school clothes and then a quick breakfast of yogurt and one toast. His mother helped with his outer gear of snow pants, parka, boots, toque and gloves. Then the backpack was hoisted on and we were ready for the short walk to the roadside for the 7.10am bus. The temperature was - 10 degrees C on March 24; this is NB, Canada. He and his sister usually go at 7.09am but because grandma walks slower on icy patches we went a minute earlier.

I pointed to the remnants of the sunrise and was introduced to the mnemonic:
Never Eat Shredded Wheat by my eldest grandchild. Brightens my day to have an aid to hang on to the cardinal points, Thank you and Happy Easter.
 

contemplation

J. G. Ballard's opening sentence in High Rise:
" Later, as he sat on his balcony eating the dog ....."
We are looking after Jones and just about keeping up with him.

It is a thought.