Travels with the Cat Lady 2

The End of the World   Sagres, Portugal  Junebug Jorgensen    

Looking at the deep blue ocean that stretched over the horizon, I came to understand why Sagres, Portugal was believed to be the end of the world.

“Do you know that for thousands of year’s people thought sea monsters lived just over the horizon, and the earth dropped off into a terrible black hole?” I said to my son, pointing westerly, one warm Sunday in 2017.

“Oh really?” It must have been a long time ago,” Marc replied, standing on the cliff’s edge while the wind whipped his brown hair around his face.

“Yes, before the fifteenth century, when this area was one of the busiest shipping lanes, with vessels having to maneuver around the dangerous tip of Cape St. Vincent’s.  I read about it in this brochure,” I said, holding up a small booklet.

“I don’t know how they made it around these cliffs. That sea is incredibly wild,” Marc marveled, staring down steep rugged cliffs into the foaming sea below. Fisherman could be seen hugging the rocks edge like seagulls , casting lines out into the unforgiving Atlantic ocean.

“And it’s the most southerly point in Europe. They also believed that the setting of the sun off the point made the waters boil. It was considered Gods country for centuries.”

“I thought Christopher Columbus sailed around this point.”

“No, he sailed from Spain to the Canary Islands northwest of Africa looking for a new route to China but ended up in what is now called the Bahamas. It’s now widely believed that he didn’t discover the Americas. The Vikings were there five hundred years before 1492, and it is widely accepted that the Portuguese landed in Labrador and Newfoundland in 1473; Indigenous people lived in North America centuries before that.

“He sure missed his point.”

“Columbus wasn’t trying to discover a new continent, only a new trade route to East Asia. By the way, did you know Columbus was Portuguese? He was born north of here in the Alentejo region, but there’s still controversy about this fact, depending on which history books your inclined to believe.”

“Hmmm…interesting,” muttered my son, staring at some surfers breaking the waters edge and coasting to the sandy beach far below.

“Henri the Navigator sent Portuguese explorers on their journeys around this point to charter expeditions in South Africa about the same time. The era was called the Age of Discovery from the 14th to 17th century.”

Nodding his head in affirmation, he turned his attention towards a few food and souvenir stands scattered on a hill nearby. “I’m starved, let’s get something to eat.”

Munching down on a foot long hotdog and cold drink, we sat in the April sunlight, observing a handful of tourists wondering by.

“Sure is quiet here,” said Marc.

“”Yes, it is. Tourist season doesn’t begin until June. And sometimes it’s overlooked being an almost two-hour drive from Faro.”

Afterward, we walked to the Sagres Fortress and spent the rest of the afternoon looking at the mystical sundial (de Rosa dos-Vintos) carved in the ground, protected by the cannons and 16th-century towers with the lighthouse in the distance.

“What a beautiful place,” I exclaimed, as we drove towards Vila De Bispo, a small town a few minutes drive north, filled up with gas, then drove the forty minutes back to Alvor on the N125.

This was Marc’s second visit to Portugal; with only a 2.5-hour flight from Zurich, he found coming here easy and inexpensive, not to mention the warm weather to greet him, fantastic scenery, and great restaurants and cafes around every corner.

“I need to get back to Alvor to feed the camp cats,” I said, as we drove past Lagos, gazing into the distant hills full of orange and lemon trees. Turning onto the M531 at Portimao, we arrived home just as the red sun was sinking behind the clouds.

I still pinch myself for stumbling on this little jewel called Alvor. Located in the most southerly part of Portugal, the quintessential fishing village of 6,000  (swelling to +20,000 in the summer high season), with 3.5 kms of beach, is the meaning of Portuguese charm – the unscathed old town – picturesque harbour – the Church of the Divine Salvador de Alvor.

                                                 ***

Parking at my caravan, I fed my two cats, then left food outside and fresh water under a bush for the local four-legged residents.

Having a special place in my heart for animals began on my grandpa’s farm in Lethbridge, Alberta, when I was young; watching the barn cats being born, or playing with them for hours in the hay. Over the years, I was blessed with many of my own. There was always a fur ball on my lap, a dog yapping at my feet, or a cockatiel sitting on my shoulder. I fostered and rescued animals in Canada, and this carried on to my places of travel: Mexico, the US, Europe, Thailand and Portugal.

When I first came to the Algarve, I always carried a bag of cat and dog food, and a jug of water in my car in case I came across stray animals. I often ran out I food before I got home. Colonies of cats were in abundance, and dogs ran freely in packs, although the numbers have diminished over the years because of donations and dedicated individuals and organizations who give selflessly of their time to help them.

For a while, I fed the marine cats in the lovely city of Lagos with another volunteer. Nandi, a charitable organization in Lagos, sponsored the food, medicine and sterilization of the cats. (I eventually had to give this up because of my arthritis).

I volunteer at the APPA animal charity shop on Saturdays in Alvor, and support SOS Alvor and SOS Algarve, and other charities. Over time, my friends called me the cat lady, but what I do is a drop in the bucket compared to other volunteers.

                                                    ***

“Where do you want to eat tonight?” Marc asked me, as we put empty cans in the trash and bags of food in the storage shed and locked up.

“If doesn’t matter to me, what do you feel like?”

“A pizza always is my first choice mom, you know this,” he laughed.

“Let’s walk into town and look for an Italian restaurant.”

Walking on the cobblestone streets winding through the narrow streets in the old village, music could be heard from the restaurants and cafes. People sat in busy patios eating their evening meal. A cat scurried across the road and disappeared behind a food grill. Dogs barked at each other on strained leashes.

The Sunset bar was next on our list for a cocktail special, then on to Pizzeria D’Alvino, where we munched down on two large ham and pineapple, and bacon, mushroom pizzas. Yum!

Dancing and music seduced us from the discos and bars….but not tonight for this gal!  Eleven was my curfew because of an early morning appointment.

I waved goodbye to Marc and walked the fifteen minutes home.                                ***

The next day we had a late breakfast at the Wild Sandwiches cafe, collected sea shells on the beach and counted the sailboats and fishing boats dotting the deep blue Atlantic.

Then on to Portimao for some shopping.

“Did you know that Portugal is older than Switzerland?” I said to Marc over a coffee at the Aqua shopping center.

“Do you mean the country?”

“Yes, Portugal became a new independent kingdom in 1143, and Switzerland in 1291, making this small peninsula the oldest country in Europe.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” my slightly distracted son said, finishing a long text to his girlfriend in Switzerland. “Angela says hi.”

“Hello to her also.”

“So, what do you want to do later mom?” he asked.

Well, maybe head back to Alvor, go to a sushi place for supper, then see what’s on Netflix.”

“If it’s alright with you, we’ll go to that sushi restaurant you want to try, after that I’ll drop you at home, then I’ll walk down to a few bars on the strip. A good band is playing at Beer & Co.”

“Let’s meet for breakfast tomorrow morning at Jolly’s,” I cheerfully said, waving goodbye to my son later that night as he walked up the camp road.

Watching the moon through my curtains later in bed, I heard Bobo come in through the small window in the bathroom, jump on the bed, snuggle at my feet with his sister Bella – another rescue – and settle in for the night.

As my eyelids became heavy, I thanked the Gods that the end of the world was not over the horizon, and the Portuguese, one of the greatest explorers of that era, were brave enough to cross the Atlantic, as did other expeditions, and discover a new world.

Blog: Travels With The Crazy Cat Lady

Travels with the Crazy Cat Lady

     The following blogs, that I will publish once a week, I will introduce you to the countries I have travelled to: my stories and anecdotes, some crazy, some full of adventures, others hopefully inspirational.

1.Portugal

     First on my list, is a country that was once a little known gem in Europe. This is quickly changing as more and more people are discovering this tourist destination that is being described as the new California of the western world.

Allow me to introduce you to Portugal:

*Why I came to Portugal- my Journey

   *The history of the country and it’s people

   *Favorite places to visit and attractions

   *My furbabies and cat rescues in the Algarve

   *Why is Portugal a popular tourist destination

   *Crazy and interesting anecdotes in each story.

     I hope you will follow me on my journey of fun an adventure, and feel free to comment or review any story.

                                       ***

Why I Came to Portugal – My Journey

  A chance encounter and a sense of adventure brought me to Portugal. In the beginning, it was not my country of choice.

 Not that I had anything against Portugal. I just knew so little about the Iberian Peninsula tucked away in the most westerly corner of Europe, and only that it bordered Spain and had nice beaches. (Columbus used it as a jumping ground to launch his voyages of discovery, one being a new gateway to China – but stumbled instead upon a little known continent named North America).                            ***

 The idea was seeded in my mind on an autumn day in 2016 in a café in Switzerland.

 Recently retired, I was searching for a winter retreat in Europe to be closer to my son Marc and grandson, Rafael, who lived in Winterthur, Switzerland. So I crossed the pond once again from my home country of Canada in search of my Shangri-La.

 Spain tweaked my interest, where I’d spent three sun-soaked weeks in Majorca drinking margaritas a few years back, but a conversation with a friend changed all that.

 “What sort of place are you looking for?” my friend asked, as we sipped cappuccino’s in a busy café in the heart of the little Swiss city of Winterthur.

 “Somewhere warm, sunny, close to the ocean, and inexpensive,” I said. “And with a good flights to Switzerland and Canada.”

“Why don’t you try Portugal?” he replied.

 My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him why        Portugal.

“Because the people are friendly, the food and wine are superb, the climate, especially in the Algarve, is sunny and warm in the winter months, and it’s affordable to live there.”

Having my undivided attention, he went on to tell me more about this tiny country. How safe it was, how the clean, sandy beaches stretched to eternity, how one could wear a t-shirt in winter, and sip local wine or a cerveza for a couple of euros.

And flights between the two countries were less than three hours door to door.

After sleeping on it, I thought, what do I have to lose?  If it didn’t work out, I could find another warm place in Europe to hang my sandals, or go back to Mexico.

 Two weeks later, on a warm September day, I was on a plane from Zurich to Faro, with no real plans, and going it solo. I wondered if I had lost all my grey cells flying to a foreign land not knowing a soul, and at my age!

Making our descent towards Faro, the capital city in the Algarve, the most southern region of Portugal, all I could see out my port window was beach and water! I held my breath as we raced towards the blue water, only to feel the plane level off and slowly dip towards the coastline;  I sighed upon seeing ‘Aeroporto Faro’ in the distance.

Landing with a light thud on the tarmac, I stared at the green hilly countryside as the plane taxied to the grey, modest airport, not realizing how much my life was about to change.

The sun was setting as we drove west out of Faro. It was the most beautiful red sunset I’d seen in a long time, sinking slowly into the Atlantic Ocean. I was in the Algarve, but at that moment, I had no idea what that meant.

The shuttle bus dropped me off in Porches, a small town I randomly chose on Booking.com because the hacienda-style hotel reminded me of Baja, Mexico, where I had spent four winters.

 After a few days of sightseeing, Alvor caught my interest online in my search for a village closer to the ocean. So I hopped on a local bus, and an hour later I dragged my suitcase through the entrance of Camping Alvor just as music began playing in the local bar.

Settling in my room with a glass of wine, chatter and music could be heard through the shutters. Peering out the window, I saw a white building, a stones throw away from me, packed with people sitting outside on red plastic chairs and tables under big umbrellas, with many more dancing in front of a band playing very loud, strange music, with bursts of laughter filling the afternoon air. A huge grin appeared on my face, and I thought- this isn’t so bad. Later, I was serenaded to sleep with Portuguese music ringing in my ears.

Exploring the quintessential village of Alvor in the weeks that followed, I savoured  the scenes of everyday life in Portugal—locals drinking coffee in the little cafés dotting the cobblestone streets, sipping wine in the many colourful flower-decked restaurants down by the harbour, watching fishermen gut their catch and sell it to the local restaurants, buying local fruit and vegetables at the nearby market, taking in the natural beauty of the beaches, and swimming in the  ocean.

The fishing village lifestyle seemed perfect for me, growing up in a small city and on a farm in Canada, and later when I was married, living in a mountain village in Switzerland.

I loved the contrast between the new and old Portuguese. One can find white, tall, modern, five-star hotels on one side of the street, a bearded Portuguese sheep herder tending to his bleating flock of sheep grazing in rolling green pastures with old ruins scattered about—all in harmony with one another.

As the weeks flowed by, I wondered —was I crazy to come here? Was it a safe country, what was the cost of living, accommodation?

I also wondered what others thought of me beginning a new life past sixty. Wow! I had never considered myself as being older. I was told I looked younger than my age, and my marble were in pretty good shape- but in retrospect, my confidence was waning—just a little.

 Following my beliefs of fulfilling my dreams – being close to my family and living in a warmer climate for the winter had to be the right path…..right? And did it really matter what people thought. In reality, they probably gave little thought to my life, and if they did, they over-all supported me, and were proud that I had the courage to come here in the first place.

The warmth and friendliness of the people peeled off and  doubt and nervousness, and slowly I integrated with the people – expats like myself  from many different European countries, UK, France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Italy, Finland, Sweden, also Brazil and China, the US, and my home country. English was the common language spoken.

If I needed company or a good chat, I only had to step out my door and there was always a friendly face to greet me. I would often walk around chatting with friends or stopping for a coffee – play darts or pool at the restaurant, karaoke, or join a quiz game. In retrospect, approximately a third of the people I know are single, half of those being men. I say this because statistically women normally outlive men. Maybe part of the reason there are more single men is the lifestyle—men seem to be more independent here and overall more active, hence they live longer—maybe it was also the good wine and first class golf courses!

 Determined to give it a go, I read the local English newspaper, watched   local television, trying to make sense of the Portuguese language, (which was difficult as the language is unique and one of the most difficult to learn; many moments were spent frantically searching in my Portuguese dictionary for a word or phrase to explain what I wanted in a store). So I took lessons to try and learn basic Portuguese, read books on the culture and the people, and experienced first hand what the country was all about – slowly but surely, it began to grow on me.

 One day I saw an advert for a fitness group at the local community centre and joined in, meeting other ladies who were friendly and supportive. Our instructor was a lovely lady called  Marie. We not only broke sweat together, but everyone was encouraged to go for a coffee afterwards in the downstairs café.

 Before I knew it, there was show dancing with Shelley on Mondays, line dancing with Joan on Wednesdays, Barb on Thursdays, yoga, swimming and walking on the beach in between.

 I  joined a writers group, (eventually writing a book, but that’s another story), Jayne’s social group – ‘Let’s Get it On,’  having fun at concerts, lunches, dancing, walks, drinks/coffee, and day trips around Portugal.

 I came to realize that if I make the effort to meet people and be willing to try different things and have an open mind, I will love life and find happiness– and I have!

   I pinch myself every morning as I wake up to sunshine and t-shirt weather in January.  My confidence has returned. It feels right. It was all that my friend said and much more.

A chance encounter brought me to this beautiful country, and I am glad I had the courage to take that first step. I really was crazy, but in a good way.

“Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.” Buddha

R˜R™R

Thank you for reading my blog. Please follow me and like.

Free Book Giveaway!

I am having a one-time ‘Free Book Giveaway ‘ on Amazon for five days:

October 19th to October 23rd, 2022

Don’t miss this great offer! It’s a promotion to give readers a chance to read my book, and to say thank you to those that have supported me for the past year.

Go to Amazon books (the country of your choice):

Name: ‘I Heard The Alps Call His Name’

Link: B09CGFXGWS

Please follow me here and on Facebook.

Thank you so much,

Junebug

Newspaper Article about my new book

I’m grateful but humbled by the great article in the Portuguese News, November 20th, 2021, about my book and the story behind writing it.

I think it gives an excellent outline of the plot and the struggles I had accomplishing the task of getting it written and finishing the book. If you have any problem reading it, you can find the newspaper online at ‘The Portugal News, 20 Nov 2021.’

Story submitted to CBC Short Story Contest, October 2021

OLD GUS

Gus didn’t know it yet, but how he drove a car and with whom was about to change – in ways he never expected.

“What a stupid idea!” Gus said.

Carol sighed, looked lovingly at her father, picked up her empty plates and put them in the dishwasher.

“Now dad,” she said sympathetically,  “she’s only trying to help.”

“I don’t need no instructor telling me how to drive!” Gus said, glaring at her as he bit into his toast that Saturday morning in March.

Smiling warmly, Carol sat down across from him, remembering their trip to Walmart three days earlier. Gus had insisted on driving his car as he had done many times before. She didn’t mind because she knew how much he loved being behind the wheel. On the drive there, she noticed that her father turned his head less, barely enough to see the corner of his left side mirror and couldn’t turn it at all to the right. The week before he could turn his head just enough to see his right mirror, even though she always made sure there was nothing there if he wanted to make a turn. His neck was now so stiff, he needed an extra Ibuprofen in the morning. On top of this, she had to tell him to slow down when he zipped past a 30 km. sign at a robust 38.

Once home, she made an appointment with his doctor for the next day.

“Dad, I can’t drive with you anymore, not after what Dr. Evan’s told us,” she said sympathetically, patting his hand as she passed him another cappuccino. “Your arthritis is so bad in your neck that you can’t turn your head to see the side mirrors. And you need to wear your new glasses when you drive,” she continued, searching his face.

“My eyes are fine,” he barked. “It’s not my fault that guy on the bike came out of nowhere when I was turning left. I did swerve enough to miss him.”

“And almost hit a stop sign,” Carol exclaimed, caught herself, and took a deep breath, “Dr. Evan’s suggested I phone a driving school. Sally, the instructor, sounded very pleasant. Maybe she can point out some driving tips that can help you,” she continued, relaxing her jaw and exhaling softly as she held his hand.

Gus grunted and slurped his coffee, fixing his gaze on a meadowlark fluttering on a branch outside.

‘A driving instructor!’

‘Heck, by the time I was fourteen, I was driving a tractor on my parents farm, hauling hay for the cattle and cleaning manure from the stalls; in those days everyone  was expected to help with the chores. .

By the time I was sixteen, I could drive a farm combine, three axle grain truck, and a Chevy truck with a stick shift. Back then we didn’t have to go on no road test.  We just went to the town hall and bought a driver’s license for a buck.

I owned the first Thunderbird that came off the assembly line, a shiny red four door beauty with a V8 engine that would leave my buddies eating dust.

I spent my Saturdays polishing the chrome on it until it shone like a silver dollar.

Then I’d race up and down main street looking for chicks. I never had a problem filling the seat beside me with a pretty blonde or perky redhead.

Boy, they knew how to drive back then, by gum. None of these fancy shmancy lights that look like a Christmas tree, or multi-laned highways with a slow lane and a fast lane – in my day all lanes were fast lanes; and we didn’t have to worry about the police because there was only one cop in our dusty town of 1510 people; he lived in the next county and spent most of his time breaking up bar brawls.’

‘A women driving instructor? Why, in my day woman stayed at home, had a family and took care of the house.’

‘I’ll show her a thing or two!’

What time is she coming?” he muttered, coming back to reality.

“Two o’clock dad, please give her a chance. Besides she is a professional driver,” Carol said, gently, squeezing his hand, then slowly releasing her grip as she leaned back studying his deeply creased eyes. The same eyes that had shone with pride on the day she got her driver’s license all those years ago. The same blue eyes that had a tear in the corner as he handed her the keys to her first car, a yellow VW beetle that sat in the driveway on her first day of college.

Gus curled his shoulders and dunked the corner of his toast into his half-eaten egg. He thought of that first day moving in with Carol and her husband, grateful to them for taking him in after his wife passed away and he didn’t have to go to Shady Tree Lodge down the road. Some spunk was left in him at eighty-six, and Gus hated the idea of giving up the one thing he was still able to enjoy.

“Don’t expect me to be nice to her!”  he growled, munched on his toast, crumbs falling like confetti on his shirt.

At 1:45 pm, gripping his walker and standing in front of the living room window, his eyes squinted at the dark bare surface on the driveway where his car was usually parked. For a second his blood pressure elevated slightly, then he sadly remembered that his son-in-law had put it in the garage yesterday after he had gone down for his afternoon nap. His ’76 maroon Chevy Imperial, along with his car keys, both mysteriously gone from his life.

Five minutes later a grey car with a student driver sign pulled into the driveway, and parked in the same spot.  A middle aged woman stepped out, walked briskly up the front steps and rang the bell.

The front door swung open so fast she jumped back and almost lost her footing. Gus stood there leaning on his walker, his brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, like a python stalking it’s prey.

“Are you the driving instructor?” he bellowed.

“Yes, my name is Sally.  You must be Gus, glad to meet you,” she said as she smiled and extended her hand.

“What do I need besides my license?” Gus asked gruffly. He held on to his walker with his left hand as his right hand gripped her fingers before it fell to his side.

“Just your glasses and a cheque. You’ll be fine.”

“Got it. Lets go!”

Gus had maneuvered through the door and down the driveway before Sally caught up to him. He swung open the back door, folded his walker, tossed it on the seat, and settled in the driver’s seat.

“Boy, you sure move fast for someone with a walker,” she said, laughing nervously as she got into the passenger side and put the key in the ignition.

Gus ignored her and started to turn the key.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“No, what?” asked Gus, looking perplexed.

“Well, you first need to adjust your seat, put on your seat belt, and fix your mirrors before you start the car.”

Gus turned the corners of his mouth downwards, did as he was told and reached for the key.

“I believe your daughter said you had new glasses. Do you have them with you?”

Flashing her a glance from the corner of his eye, he groaned and put on the glasses,

“Now can we go?”

He started the car, put it in drive and lurched forward, stopping short of the garage door.

“Got a little excited,” he said sheepishly.

“That’s alright, no harm done,” said Sally, slowly lifting her foot off the brake pedal.

He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, swinging it around to the right.

Sally watched him put it in drive, keeping her left hand on her left knee, inches from the gears and steering wheel, with her right foot hovering over her brake.

She told him to drive straight ahead and at the next intersection make a right-hand turn.

“But I always go to the left into town,” Gus protested.

“ I just want to keep you on the side streets until you get used to the car and me sitting beside you,”

she said patiently.

“How long will that take?”

“As long as it takes,” she said kindly.

For the next half hour Gus drove around the residential area close to home, following directions with a sour disposition and a lead foot.

“WHY do I have to drive so slow?”

“The speed limit is maximum 50 km depending on the conditions. Some of the them are parked cars,  narrow roads, weather and playground zones, one of which you are driving through,” Sally answered.

“But there are no kids around,” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“No, but you slow to 30 km when the playground zone is in effect. Do you know the times?”

“Heck no!” said Gus. “I just look for the kids, then slow down if I think they’re going to run out in front of me.”

“Well, you need to know the days and times. Monday to Friday, 8:30 am to one hour after sunset.”

“Do you know when your school zone is effect? She asked.”

“Ah, no,” he replied, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Sally explained the times, and other rules of the road, all the while keeping an eagle eye on his driving.

After a couple more turns with one minor incident where Gus got a little too close to a parked car, they entered a busier residential street and came up to a red light.

Gus slammed on the brakes, lurched forward then back in his seat.

“ I’m not used to this car, by gum,” wiping his brow with his sleeve.

“Just press gently on the brakes and try not to stop over the pedestrian crosswalk.”

“Where’s THAT?” trying to crane his neck over the hood, knocking his glasses off at the same time. “ I always stop up close to the intersection so I can see the traffic better.”

“You’re supposed to stop further back to leave room for the pedestrians,” said Sally as she picked up his glasses and calmly gave them back to him.

“But there are no people around. Are you sure you know what you are doing?” he said, frowning.

“Yes, I do. Please watch the lights. They’re about to change to green.”

“I know that!”

When the light changed, Gus stepped hard on the pedal and sped through the intersection, barely stopping in time to avoid hitting the car in front of him.

 He could feel his brake go soft and looked down, puzzled.

“I stepped on mine to slow us down,” Sally said, never taking her eyes off the road and traffic.

“Ah,’ moaned Gus. ‘HE…RE we go again.”

An hour flew by and Gus finally pulled into his driveway.

“So, whadya think?” he asked, giving Sally a sour look from the corner of his eye.

“Well, you do need some work, but I think we can manage. Same time next week?”

Gus turned his head slightly, made a large circle with his mouth, “ You mean you’ll drive with me again?”

“Yes, I’ll take you driving for as long as you want Gus.”

Old Gus’s glasses began to steam up and he swallowed hard, glancing shyly at Sally. His eyes went soft and his thoughts drifted to the past, full of happy memories and fun times.

“I used to love driving my family to the cabin on the weekends. We’d all pile in our old Studebaker station wagon full of kids, dogs and my mother-in-law, stopping for ice cream along the way. For summer holidays we’d take road trips across the country in our motor home,” he said, his bottom lip quivering.

“I taught all three of my children how to drive. When the kids left home, my wife and I used to take Sunday drives together, stopping for dinner along the way; we never missed a Sunday. Those were the good days,” he said wistfully.

Sally smiled softly, “ I think I understand how hard it is to lose your independence. My husband has muscular dystrophy and he needs help with almost everything now. A caregiver comes in while I work, and some days can still be a challenge, but we manage. He never got used to someone doing everything for him. He’s my whole life.”

When they reached home, Gus pushed his walker through the door and gave his daughter a big hug. “Sorry for being such a grump,” he said, for the second time that day.  

Spring gives way to glorious summer. Tuesday morning, Gus was up early, ironed his best shirt, ate an early lunch and washed the dishes, all the while humming to himself.

After a quick nap, at 1:45 pm, he leaned on his walker at the top of the driveway, and with patient eyes he searched the quiet residential street for a familiar sight. His eyes lit up when he saw a grey sedan pull in with the sign on top.

“Hi Gus, how are you?” a soft voice said as he settled into the driver’s seat. “Which route do you want today, past the seniors center or down by the river?”

“Hi Sally, the river route please. Maybe we’ll see some geese or a meadowlark on the way,” Gus grinned, as he fastened his seat belt, adjusted his mirrors, gently turned on the ignition, and popped the gear into reverse, “Ok, Sally?”

“Yes, Gus, all clear. Gently release your brake and roll backwards.”

At the bottom of the driveway, Gus waited until a car went by, put it in drive and off they went, laughing and chatting away. They both knew the route so well they could do it blindfolded, well, almost – a few blocks in his neighborhood, a turn onto the road close to the river where he used to take his daughter fishing, a pleasant drive on the pebbled road, eyeing a meadowlark flutter over the hood. No traffic lights – a stop sign at an intersection- a pause for traffic to clear while Sally gave an extra check, nod her approval, gently stepping on the gas all the while smiling to himself.

As the first part of their journey ended, his favourite café was waiting, and a warm, frothy cappuccino. Then the joy of driving the same route home again. Gus had his two perks in one, his weekly thrill of sitting behind the wheel and going to his favourite cafe….well, maybe three- maybe the best of all – a chance to chat with a new friend.

‘Let’s go, Sally!’                  

                                                                        The end

Please be patient…I’m trying, I swear!

Because this is a new site, it’s taking me longer than I expected to set up my website. My host WordPress is helping me with guide videos, meeting seminars, etc., but it’s still complicated and time consuming. I just spent another long day learning how to set it up, and progress is being made.

I’m trying my very best, and will keep working diligently on getting my website looking enjoyable and informative as soon as I can.

I appreciate your patience,😁

Junebug🙃