Happy To Be High
If she is high on a lot of life
And high on a lot of living
Then let her be high
Pump it up and let it flow
Higher than a kite
Quietly High
with occasional turbulences
Trying to slow her down
Like drama, jealousy and envy
But failing.
She is high, happy to be high
Beyond what she could have imagined
Confidently holding hands and head high
Embracing high fives.
Happy to be high at last.
Antoinetta DeWit
August 2023
Garden of Glory
After enjoying two fabulous weeks near the equator, far removed from mountains and Canadian scenery but close to heaven, harmony and unimpeded happiness, it has also been great to come to my other home and back into the groove of retirement life in British Columbia.
As tired as I often feel on day one of my return, I once again rolled over out of bed at a very weird early hour, wide awake and anxious to get ready for the plan for the day.
Before heading out to the community indoor pool for an Aquafit session with a group of like-minded, diverse and very interesting aqua mammals, I loaded the washing machine, made a delicious mochachino coupled with authentic dutch gouda on toasted pumpkin seed bread, and turned on the iPad to catch up on scrabble turns and news.
The welcome back at the pool was heartwarming and appreciated; the class was refreshing and it nicely awakened dormant muscles. It is very hard to endure outdoor exercises in the tropics because it is so very hot; and, since outdoor exercises is what I favour, being away from them usually requires a bit of a slow ease to get back into the groove. It now only takes one class and it is like I never left. I also easily see the grumpy mammal in front of me at the pool is as grumpy and unpleasant to me (and me alone) as ever — she is an interesting study but that would be a whole different story to tell. Needless to say this garden of glory story has no room for weeds.
By early afternoon, I start to feel my feet drag and I yearn to stretch out on my comfortable sofa for a few zees. I fight it off by doing the basics like opening mail, returning phone calls, reconciling expenses, paying bills, and making a grocery list. I open my paper ‘month in a glance’ booklet and start to fill in the slots with social and recreational plans.
At some point, I cannot keep my eyes open much longer. I fall to a summer catnap and wake up just in time for a 3 pm game of online cribbage with a friend in Peterborough. It is one of those daily routine things that takes a bit of a hiatus when I am away.
Although I am not an avid television viewer, and I do not use recording devices, there are two weekdays shows I enjoy watching when they are on — 4 pm and 7 pm. Due to the nature of those shows, it is very easy to catch up and figure out what actually happened. The story lines are intriguing and they help me keep my own creative juices well oiled.
By day two this time, I woke up a bit later and felt a lot better. I glanced at my ‘to do’ list and plotted out a cycling map to accomplish as much as I could in one circle route. Bank, Post Office, Drug Store, groceries, take-out lunch. I reconnected with my FB social groups on line and friends in person, and joined the walking group for a 90 minute walk along the dyke paths nearby.
In the days leading me closer to Canada Day (July 1), I go to my ‘go to’ storage area to dig up the appropriate apparel for the local festivities. I usually go to a different community every year to see how the celebrations differ, but this year I am doing the same as last year — cycling to Pitt Meadows in the morning and Maple Ridge in the afternoon.
The day turns out to be a beautiful warm and sunny one with very little traffic, as I cycle the almost four kilometres to the Spirit Square in Pitt Meadows. I arrive early but many of the booths are set up and the pancake breakfast was in full swing. At the information booth I take a tattoo, flag and mojo; I talk to some people I know; I check out the venders and found myself freeze in front of the three flag poles donning flags at half mast. I ask around to find out who died and why the flags were in mourning. Nobody had an answer, not even the clerks at the library booth, and oddly nobody seemed to care, I did care and was very bothered, as I moved on to view the tall stick people and the star wars character picture booth.
After eating the pint of fresh blueberries from the local blueberry farmer at the Khalsa tent, I left Pitt Meadows along a quiet and safe route following the railway tracks most of the way before turning north to the very impressive multi-use path along 117th. That path in and of itself assures me my tax dollars have been well spent.
I make my way to the Memorial Park in Maple Ridge where a flurry of vendors, promotional booths, samples, freebies, a market and entertainment. I saw many familiar faces and was especially glad to enjoy a large freshly squeezed lemonade! I entered a contest to name a Jeep; it is not clear if the winning name wins the Jeep or some other prize; but, I’m expecting a phone call in the days ahead to announce my win !
I saw a couple of my co-aquafitters fully enjoying their day donned in red and white. One was that grumpy mammal from whom I stayed clear because nothing and nobody will ever be given a chance to dampen my spirit on Canada Day! I did not want to give her cause to ignite that awful side of her either. Her two companions would be equally stunned, I am sure. I continue to hope she gets the help she needs to move forward. I have offered to wave my fee!
I did have a few good chats with the other one, and her delightful husband — both very pleasant people. My friend Tina was managing the COUNTRYFEST promo between the Llamas and rabbits! She heads that organization and is the brains behind its success. Her booth was getting a lot of attention and it was nice of her to allow me to station my bicycle there while I went off to view the classic cars and watch the fabulous Indigenous dancing on the MainStage. This was another wonderful day in the life of a happy Maple Ridge resident and proud Canadian! It was topped off with an ice-cold sparkling made in Canada apple cider!
Canadians are known to be pretty low key when it comes to patriotism; but, on Canada Day clear across the country, people come out in droves to partake in the festivities. Many don the red and white clothes, apply the maple leaf tattoo, hold the paper flag, wear the flag pin on their tops, and stand tall and proud during the singing of O Canada. It is quite amazing and impressive. It does not seem to matter if I experience it in small towns, medium cities or large metropolises — we know how fortunate we are; we know we have come a long way in 156 years; we know we have some wrongs to correct; and, we can now finally say the tide on those wrongs are turning in the right direction as more and more people are clueing in.
As my family and friends already know, I love to escape to the glory of my home away from home (Aruba); but, I also love to come home to enjoy the many glories of this home too. In a sense, they are two very different paradises; but, I will never choose one over the other, and always fully enjoy both — making sure the metaphoric ‘gardens’ are well tended to in either place.
HIGHWAY HEROES
There is a Canadian TV series that follows the heroes of our most dangerous highways, and our most incredible highway accidents in the province of British Columbia. They are the heavy wreck rescuers — incredibly smart, devoted and determined angels who can unravel any roadway mishap with confidence and carefully planned, precision decisions, under any weather or road conditions.
The show is called Highway Thru Hell and features the unique rescue operations of Jamie Davis’s Motor Truck and Auto business undertaking the rescuing of the most scary and unbelievable big rig accidents on the mountain pass highways. He often teams up with other extreme road assistance companies like Aggressive Towing and Reliable Towing, and that is where this story begins.
Today I undertook a journey from the burbs to the big city. I started along the Lougheed Highway heading west and up ahead I spotted a massive tow truck. It continued along the Mary Hill ByPass and as we approached a traffic light, I found myself stopped right beside it. I smiled when I saw the word RELIABLE on the driver’s door. I honked at the driver, waved and smiled. I could not see his face at the time because his seat was very high up and I was a mere midget in my regular sized car. As he drove off, I stayed behind a tad to get a better look at the driver — he was one of the guys I often see on the show.
“Wow”, I said to myself. “I wonder where he is going?”
He continued on ahead of me, exited the ByPass and linked on to Highway One. I decided he must be going to rescue a big rig on the Sea to Sky Highway. At least I thought that was a logical conclusion until he took the Grandview Exit and travelled along Twelfth Avenue — my route to midtown Vancouver. This was no where near our mountain passes, logging roads or rugged cliffs — all memorable scenes from the show. This was to be something very different.
At this point I was in a good position to pass him.
As I looked up ahead, to my right, I could see yet another larger than usual tow truck parked along Twelfth Avenue. As I passed it, the side panel said ADVANCED TOWING. Based on the many Highway Thru Hell shows I have watched, my mind put two and two together — the assigned job was too big for Advanced so he radioed headquarters for assistance, and that brought out the RELIABLE big white rescue truck so the two could work together to get a job done, and done well.
Some might wonder what kind of massively complicated rescue job could be happening, on a bleak and drizzly day, along side a mostly residential neighbourhood, with the occasional business here and there?
Well — it just wasn’t feasible for me to stop to get the answer. But, hopefully, the answer will come on an upcoming episode. Then I can say: “I was there!!”
A BLAST FROM OUR PAST!
This week I saw an advertisement that flashed me back into nostalgia mode — “$1.49 Day Tuesday.” Can you hear the jingle?
Back in the day and even before I was born, a big department store named Army and Navy and another big department store named Woodwards, featured $1.49 Day sales on some Tuesdays. Another big department store named Eatons featured an occasional sale called Eaton’s Surprise Sale.
All three events became the talk of the town and of the dinner tables across the regions in which those stores existed. People would come from far and wide — by foot, bicycle, car or public transit. It was ‘the’ sale of sales and not to be missed. It was ‘the’ time to stock up on toilet paper, Kleenex, hosiery, underwear, socks, Spam, canned goods, light bulbs, cleaning supplies and so much more. Amassing the bargains was an amazing experience for the shoppers and the businesses — a win-win all around.
At some point in the 1980s, those experiences ended — until now!
What we have experienced this week is like the phoenix rising from the ashes and bringing new life to a long lost treasure: $1.49 Day. We have been gleefully caught off guard with a pairing of very fine wine and aged cheese — namely, a Surprise Sale and a selection of incredible healthy items for $1.49 combined for one day: Tuesday!
Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, ham, milk, and almost a dozen other items. Supplies were advertised to be limited but the stores were well stocked and the people, those who knew about the sale and those that did not, were stunned and amazed as they loaded their baskets with that “start the car, start the car” look.
Kudos to Save on Foods for taking a giant step forward (or some might say backward) and bringing back a spring in the step of shoppers during these tough economic times. This is the right time for corporate giants to show leadership even if it is only going to happen on occasional Tuesdays. It not only benefits the pocketbook, but helps get healthy, often expensive foods, on the table.
It only takes one to make a snowball and turn it into something bigger. Thank you Save On Foods. Such a sale is a win-win — let’s hope other businesses catch on!
A TOUCH OF DUTCH NEXT DOOR
THERE is a quaint Dutch town only eight kilometres south of the British Columbia/Washington State border. It is called Lynden and it is now one of the largest Dutch American communities in the USA.
A small group of Dutchies settled there in the 1800s, followed by many others in that century, and the next, influencing the town’s history, culture and ambiance — much of which is still obvious today. It’s a community of about 12,000 and its economy depends on dairy, berry, grain, hops and vegetable farms, as well as tourism.
“Holland Days,” a Dutch Cultural festival, started in 1985. this two day Spring event, features costumed shopkeepers and Dutch Klompen (wooden shoes) dancers, and Dutch food. In the 1980s, Lynden remodeled part of Front Street in a Dutch theme, complete with a windmill. There is now also a Dutch bakery and restaurant in the town.
One of the showcase events of this part of Washington State is the annual tulip festival, an experience enjoyed by thousands of people who come from all over the region to witness the vibrant blooming of Spring.
Whether it’s festival time or just an ordinary day, Lynden is like a hidden jewel in the middle of nowhere, making itself somewhere worth seeing and experiencing!
NEW YEAR’S EVE 2022
As my life as a single retiree unfolds, I have developed a love of establishing my very own traditions. One of those traditions has become a yearly trip to the lovely home of a Dutch family that lives only a community away — Pitt Meadows, British Columbia, Canada.
I met Klamer at the outdoor aquafit class many years ago and my ears were drawn towards his accent.
“Oh my gawd, there is a dutchie in my midst.” I said to myself and immediately introduced myself.
It is not often that I meet dutchies in my circles, and that point in my life cycle, was the most ร propos time to get the opportunity to appreciate it. We engaged in lots of conversations, all linked to our homeland. We talked about how we ended up in Canada, how our family lives unfolded, what cultural traditions we kept, what Dutch things we still buy, make, eat and enjoy.
As New Year’s Eve approached that year, he invited me over to his house to enjoy a Dutch tradition called Oliebollen, with his wife, adult daughter, and other relatives. It was a heartwarming experience that reminded me of the years I enjoyed those purely Dutch evenings with my family.
We all watched Klamer who is a trained baker extraordinaire, prepare the batter, explain the process of making it right, demonstrate how to transfer the dough into the appropriately heated oil, wait for the balls to flip over on their own, and then transfer them to a stainless steel bowl, paired with a bowl of icing sugar, for presentation at the dining table. It felt so great to realise I was experiencing “Dutchness” outside of my family home for the first time in my life.
The occasion has continued every year since and this year was no exception. I arrived on time and there was Klamer outside on the back porch, standing in front of the small patio table upon which stood a new burner and a new pot of hot oil.
He proudly and carefully dropped five ice cream scoops of batter into the hot oil, watched and waited for the balls to turn over on their own, to brown on the other side. He would then scoop them into the awaiting bowl, and go through the whole process again several times, producing probably fifty oliebollen for the guests to enjoy (and take home).
At this point the readers are asking “what are oliebollen?” Basically they are a special recipe of yeast, milk, flour, eggs and raisins (optional). They are Dutch pastries similar to doughnuts. Some modern variations are served plain or with berry filling, and they are a popular treat on New Year’s — and, especially delicious when served warm.
This yearly occasion definitely puts the ‘happy’ in my Happy New Year! What are the chances of actually meeting a dutchie; pretty slim. Probably even more rare is to actually meet a dutchie with lifelong experience as a culinary specialist, with a warm, loving, proud and welcoming family that invites me into their home to share in the glory of indulging in a delicious feast — all the while engaging in meaningful and interesting conversation around topics of mutual interest.
It’s a blessing for sure and it’s a tradition that helps me remember my roots, my culture and my mindset. Dutchies are steadfast and proud; our cuisine is simple and low cost; our bakeries are popular and very busy. Our candies are salty and sweet; black, white and colourful. Our hearts are spirited and we are determined in our resolve to not let go.
Celebrating all of it at the end of the year, with the rising dough of oliebollen and the joy of like minded people in a beautiful home, truly makes for a wonderful celebration of one of our cultural traditions.
There is a thorn in my side and it just won’t go away!
A few years ago I was asked to take over the administration of an Aquafit FaceBook page. At first I hesitated as I had no knowledge of what that actually meant and have never easily enjoyed learning new techno things. But, since nobody else volunteered, up went my hand.
At that point in time, our City communication strategy lacked public confidence because relevant information was rarely forthcoming and all too often last minute. Aquafitters would arrive at the pool wondering things like why is the pool closed or why an anticipated instructor was someone else or why the location of the class had changed. Rumours would flap around by people who said they talked to a lifeguard and found out this or that, only to find out that the lifeguard spoke out of turn and was completely wrong. There was a whole bunch of he said, she said, they said — don’t you just love the line ‘they’ said …? When you ask them who ‘they’ is, suddenly they don’t remember! Certain people were striving to be seen as the person with the inside scoop — all the while they were most often misinformed, causing widespread confusion and frustration.
So then I came to the plate and immediately dug into the problem. I developed a close working relationship with the official management team and communication director. I got head’s up on almost all alerts and longterm plans. I carefully presented them accurately and clearly so no rumours could form. I built the membership of the group from 32 to 83 assuring everyone the only information I would post or allow others to post would be confirmed accurate and only things specific to aquafit. In other words, no lost pet notices, garage sales, craft events, funerals, marriages, holiday photos etc.
Everything was marching along swimmingly, until a disgruntled person decided to adjust aspects of her Facebook settings and, as a result, lost the ability to view posts. I worked tirelessly to find out what could have happened. I paid an IT person to help me understand and explain how to go back and reverse her actions. She had moved her ‘availability’ toggle from ‘available’ to ‘not available’ for postings. As a result, she was not seeing posts.
I offered to assist her one to one if the recommendations were hard to follow and no matter what I did, she decided she had made no adjustments to anything and that her problem was all my doing.
Occasionally she would go public and post an accusatory message implicating me. Each and every time I took the highroad and calmly explained the way to resolve her problem. I even suggested a specific learned person in the group could be immensely helpful to her in confidence.
It got to a point whereby other members of the group asked me to remove her because of her ad hominem attacks on my integrity. I dismissed the suggestion because she is clearly troubled, and needs an outlet. Some would say it’s a form of grieving and others would say it is jealousy or envy driving that behaviour. I would say she needs a new mirror to figure it out herself.
Whatever the actual explanation might be, it’s now over the top with repetitive accusatory postings, or irrelevant postings, and I have suspended her from posting for 30 days.
One good thing about all of this is that there is only one thorn in a beautiful appreciative collection of diverse flora, and my hope can be that one day that thorn will listen to the mirror, transform and fit right back in to live happily ever after with the rest of us.
REFLECTING ON RECONCILIATION
From my very early days of being a child in the hamlet of North Bend, British Columbia, Canada — a small village of maybe 300 people in the 1960s, I have always felt different levels of being perplexed about the segregation of our Indigenous peoples from the rest of us, as well as being uninformed or misinformed about their traditions, customs and experiences upon the arrival of the new settlers.
It wasn’t until later in life that what I experienced and witnessed in our beloved North Bend, actually hit my conscience quite hard. Even as a young lass I knew something wasn’t right about how we viewed, treated and talked about the indigenous people who lived on the other side of the tracks.
The mainstream attitudes carried well into my teen and young adult years when we moved to a metropolitan region of the province. Even the school textbooks accentuated the stereotype images that white man created and wanted the masses to believe. Despite it all, I still felt perplexed and felt a need within to never tow that line.
Part of my drive to take this stand forward could have something to do with my own arrival to this country. My older brother and I came to Canada with our parents from our original homeland — The Netherlands, in the late 1950s. Almost as quickly as we got here, people who lived here counselled our parents to assimilate. This meant to leave our language, customs, and ways of life behind, and follow the way of established Canadians. Thankfully we did retain a few Dutch traditions while under our own roof. But, we just all played along publicly. It wasn’t until my late teens that I questioned that decision and set in motion a determination to correct that wrong, as have my brothers, sister and the other Dutch people we have met over the years.
In my working life on the political side of government, I experienced a wonderful awakening. I met and met with many Indigenous leaders and Indigenous people. I attended events, ate and made bannock, learned about smoking fish; but, more importantly, I learned about treaties and treatment, promises and broken promises.
During those years I learned about genuine efforts to acknowledge wrongs, and witnessed the baby steps taken to show an effort to reverse or change discriminatory programs, policies and practices.
As sincere as those efforts may have been, they could only be effective if they were supported with actions. Sadly all too often, although the new path to moving us forward as educated, informed and responsible public servants in a democratic society should have worked, the original enthusiasm wavered and fell flat. I could go on and on as to why that happened, but I think that answer is obvious.
So now, I am in my 60s and I continue to be on side with the ongoing reconciliation movement. I quietly put together a short story in which I present but one example of a co-produced project that demonstrates working together to inform, educate and appreciate the effectiveness of problem solving. The story is called “Can You See Me Now?” and it can be found on my blog.
I am also in the middle of reading Jody Wilson-Raybould’s newest book entitled True Reconciliation - how to be a force for change.” Her personal upbringing taught her to live in two worlds and to this day she strives to bring those two worlds together in order to effect change to the status quo. She has worked hard throughout her lifetime, has had some successes and some knocks, but despite the ongoing challenges, she stands tall and determined to keep trying.
Her book is written in simple language and reads like a discussion; by the end, the reader can sit back and hopefully say something like “okay, this makes a lot of sense; how can I help?”
True Reconciliation would be an excellent book for Book Club people and would bring out open and honest discussion at the very least. I also hope it will encourage more non-indigenous and Indigenous people to step harmoniously into the reconciliation journey. Leaving it in the hands of politicians hasn’t helped much; many of them mean well, but carrying good ideas forward needs more widespread support and efforts.
As the author says: the three pillars to change are To Learn, To Understand and To Act —we all have a part to play and I feel confident that by following that sequence, we will get there in my lifetime!
[my blog is antoinettadewit.blogspot.com ]
REMEMBERING WHEN
Remember when our lives began?
After wars there came a Plan.
The Plan unfolded bit by bit
Few folks had much time to sit.
They rebuilt and built a fresh new start,
Creating a better way to live each day;
Days of peace and harmony
And better days for you and me
to remember,
and to always remember when.
written November 2022
PICKLEBALL
MY journey into the intriguing world of pickleball continues after four helpful and enjoyable lessons by Adรจle, at the Pitt Meadows Recreation Centre.
Pickleball is a sampling of badminton, tennis and ping pong, and it is played either indoors or out. The paddle is an oversized ping pong racket and the ball is as big as a tennis ball, but hollow and full of evenly spaced holes.
The game can be played in doubles or singles. The serving is much like badminton — underhand and to the opponent at the diagonal position. There are some basic rules related to the lines on the court, where players stand, and how to score. The game ends at the score of 11.
So the other day was a new test day in the life of a newbie. I went to the outdoor courts in Pitt Meadows. It was a cool but sunny morning, but all the courts were full. I wandered around to watch people play and immediately noticed they clearly were experienced. They’d definitely had more than four lessons!
Since watching is a form of learning, I decided to find a bench and watch. I also decided that a few more lessons and a few more practices with players at my level, would be a good idea. -- a very good idea!
MUSIC BINGO
The other day I tried a new activity — Music Bingo, at the local Royal Canadian Legion in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. I had a bit of an idea of what I would be doing, but reality hit me in the head.
Arriving early was a good idea so that I could secure a good table for my friends who would be joining in. It also gave us a chance to chat and catch up, and order a dinner before game time.
At some point someone brought up the question “how does music bingo go?” We got various responses, some supposition responses, and all of them together made me realise a challenge was ahead.
I got up from the table to visit with The Caller and to look at a typical music bingo card. He was happy to explain.
“This is a piece of cake!”, I said to him.
So the time comes for the first game. The caller announces additional ways to win prizes such as jumping up when we hear words like Love, Jump or Stumpheads.
The first song started and I heard the word Love. I jumped up and collected an edible sweet treat, and felt excited.
“Bring it on!”
I check my card and realise that although I recognized the tune , I didn’t know the title. In music bingo, you definitely need to know titles. I hear people at the table whispering but I cannot hear them. As much as I abhor conversation during games like bingo, I had to heed to desperation.
After the tenth call, and asking for help almost each time, I decided I was in over my head and maybe a slight bother to the keeners around me. The stress-pulse behind my temples on each side of my head started to thump. I looked over to the person beside me. She had an app on her smartphone that was able to detect song titles in an instant. My teacher hat said to me and only me; “ isn’t that a form of cheating? I’m almost 66 and this is what’s become of me!” I did look over at the smartphone most of the rest of the night.
In my younger days, I was an avid concert goer and I have always loved music; but, that night I realized that I had never connected a song title to an artist. Okay, maybe occasionally, but not frequently — especially not “one hit” wonders!
I laughed at my stooping to such behaviour as I took another sip of Jackson Twiggs merlot. I reminded myself that I was a guest in a Legion and that the stress I was feeling was nothing compared to the stresses of our veterans!
At that point I heard the word “jump” … I jumped up to the caller to collect a prize — an other edible sweet.
My cards were filling in well but I never did get a bingo. I did however enjoy being in the company of so many others who were keenly into the challenge of naming that tune! It will never become my strength, but I will continue to enjoy singing the lyrics I do know, now and then, and make up lyrics that seem to fit the ionic pentameter rhythm of the song. I do love doing that!
So, although my brain felt very taxed, that Music Bingo night, I did enjoy the evening — the friendly company, the great Chef’s Salad, the wine, the sweets, and the atmosphere inside a special temple commemorating veterans, welcoming and serving veterans, with the help of all of us who honour and praise them in every way we can.
I will be back!
THE SECRET DOOR
My intention today was to just jump on public transit to venture into downtown Vancouver for lunch with long time friend Michael. As usual, the adventure branched out beyond “just” and became so much more.
Upon arriving at Waterfront Station, I realized I was ninety minutes early so I decided to stroll over to one of my favourite textile stores at the edge of the seediest neighbourhood a few blocks away. It is called Dressew and it’s been at that location for more than 60 years. I have done this trip many times before, but this time it was like a scene out of a treasures of the world movie.
As I approached the block, I noticed a moving truck at the corner and three men pushing an antique display cabinet. Just prior to my destination, my eyes caught the window display in the store next door. A businessman was exiting and acknowledged my efforts to read a notice on the window. It was yellowed but the words ‘Final Sale’ stood out.
“Are you going out of business?”, I asked.
He looked at me stunned and said he has been out of business for the past twenty years.
“Oh! Twenty years! Aren’t all the things inside rather dusty?”
“The store has been shuttered but we kept the inside clean, selling things via Marketplace.”
“I love that beautiful table cloth in your display window? How much are you asking?”
‘All the tablecloths are in the center of the store. If you want to see them, walk in carefully and don’t allow anyone else in. You can have any one of those for $10.”
He left to deal with the moving van.
I jumped with joy and carefully walked through a small alcove and into the store. There were so many from which to choose and I was hurriedly thinking about my tables and the tables of everyone I know!
I settled on two. 100% cotton. One has a length of 90” and the other 120”. Each nicely embroidered. One had a regular price of $140 and the other $120.
As the man returned, I handed him a twenty and wished him well in his quest to sell everything.
So off I go to Dressew. I know what I want and where to find them, and quickly finish the transaction. I walk out of the store in the direction of the tablecloth store, to take a photo. The once rolled up shutters had been closed. I felt like nobody is going to believe me! It was like that unimaginable make one wish experience, and then POOF it’s gone!
With an extra jump in my step, I went directly to the meeting place to enjoy lunch with Michael. I told him my tale and he was as excited about my buys as I was. He suggested we should go back and take a photo of me in front of the shuttered door.
While we walked there, I kept hoping the owner had returned and reopened, but it was not to be. Michael took the photo — me in front of shuttered doors, holding the tablecloths, smiling and feeling grateful for yet another fantastic day!
