The leaves dried and the flower fell away

It was a long weekend made extra long by the fact that Shawn took Friday off to pick up his father at the airport. This was a miscalculation as his father's plane did not land until Saturday morning, but a four day weekend is a hard thing to regret too much even when it's taken in error. We slept in, we ate breakfast in cafes, we went for walks with the dogs.

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His father is here but not staying with us. He is now staying with Shawn's grandparents, but he'll back to visit us on Thursday and will stay for two, maybe three, nights. I enjoy Shawn's father. He's a nice man with a similar sense of humour to Shawn's. Most of all I enjoy the way Shawn is around him, excited and happy and almost dancey. If we move to Vancouver we would be seeing Shawn's father far more often and for Shawn this would be a very good thing.

I am growing accustomed to the idea of moving again. I am mentally preparing for what feels inevitable. The only things that make moving bad are being further away from my niece and leaving behind the house we are having built. The second regret is easily remedied and also fairly minor. There are other houses. And I could be happy living in a one bedroom apartment with chicken-noodle-shag carpet anyway. As long as we're together.

The second concern, of course, is more difficult. It means I'd need to arrange for more visits. I'd need to come back more often and I'd need to bring her to me more often. This is something that can be arranged. It's not easy but it's doable.

In exchange I would have mountains again instead of this endless expanse of prairie, this great big sky. And something new. The Pacific Ocean.

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I noticed, yesterday, while reorganizing the bookshelf, that I had thrown everything away except the book. I just couldn't throw away a book. I could tear out the inscription, cross it out, white it out, or pretend it was written for someone else, but I could not bring myself to throw a book in the garbage.

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