One Little Robin

The other morning I sat in quiet contemplation which I do most mornings. I was sitting on the couch enjoying my morning coffee. I could  heard the chirp of a young bird. When I looked outside to pinpoint where noise came from, I saw a young Robin in our rose Sharon tree. The tree this year is larger than usual and provides just enough cover to protect my young friend. Luckily,  this tree is right infront of the picture window in our living room. So from the vantage point from the couch I can easily see him. I find the words living and room interesting.  A place to stretch out our wings and live. Everyone needs room to live. The rose of Sharon was a living room for my little feathered friend and I could see he wasn't strong enough to fly.

Thoughtful segways:

When legs are strong enough, hold on

When wings are strong enough, let go.

A bird will learn to fly but he must first learn to flutter, if not, he will never learn to land.

Soar when you can,  rest when you must.

But for now he is looks to skies for mom or dad. He is looking for two things: food and comfort.  And he is also looking foward to taking his first flight. While he waits he watches butterflies as they flutter happily above. I watch as he flaps his wings and hops from branch to branch. Once in a while Mom and dad come down. They didn't give up on him. He chirps with joy.  His belly is full and his energy is increasing. More flapping. 

He now knows someone else is watching. That someone is me.  I am also praying for the little fellow. I don't look too long. Every living thing needs space. I look out and sent out encouragement.  You can do it. I say.  Morning and night I look to see if he is gone. If he has survived and if he flew away.

The next morning I was sitting having my morning coffee on the couch but something is missing. There is no chirping today.  He is gone.  My yards, front and back are playgrounds for birds, butterflies, bunnies and unfortunately, hungry cats. I am worried about my young chirping friend.

Suddenly, I hear a familar chirp.

I look out the kitchen window and on the back porch looking right at me is a bird. The bird. He still has few extra feathers poking out here and there but he has survived. I am overjoyed. He hopped closer still, looked at me blinked his eyes as if to say thank you, then he turned around and flew away. 

He wasn't as graceful as mom and dad but young wings have to learn how to soar there own way. It was a reminder that angels are real but sometimes they need our prayers to help them fly. But once they learn to fly, they don't just fly, they soar. 

So strange I was just finishing up my thoughts on this story from the couch. A Robin just flew up sat on the window sill looked in pecked at the pane and flew away. I consider these moments "winks from heaven" proof that there are no coincidences, there is awareness and the blessings that come with it. 

I see you. I love you. Maybe God bless you. You got this. Stretch your wings. Soar.

 

Liver and Onions

I would like to say that my mother loved to cook. I‘d like to say that. But I can’t. She didn’t. And I can’t blame her. When you have seven hungry kids and a husband to feed, you cook based on necessity rather than joy.  She had the book. The pages were dog-eared like our Sears wish list catalogue.  She wasn’t buying it, and we had to eat whatever she made. I remember one day that went wrong. The story is called….

The shoe and the spud

My dad was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. My mother thought that if liver was good enough for him, it was good enough for us kids. It is supper time, and I could smell the butter seared chopped onions and milk-drowned floured liver as it hung like a cloud above Buckingham Drive. We could all smell it. It was game over in more ways than one. If we had had clothespins for our noses, we could have kept playing. As I walked toward culinary doom, I could get a hint of a better dinner offering that lingered despite the overabundance of stink coming from my house. I could have had spaghetti across the street. Perogies down the road. Sadly, unlike that cereal parrot, I didn't want to follow my nose. But I had to. 

The dish

There I was sitting at the dining room table looking at milked death on a plate. My mother could have dredged it through candy, but I wasn't going to eat it. The glass of milk was placed in front of me to aid in digestion. Good luck. As I looked at my plate, I drifted off and wondered. Insert a thought cloud here.  Who had the idea to eat liver in the first place? I imagine a couple of guys from Quebec. Who kills a calf for da liver? Isn't da veal good enough? Hey! You know wat? Don't trow da liver away, maybe if we drown it in milk, it would be good too.  The thought cloud dissipates, and I’m back to the present. Nothing has changed except that now the liver has a friend.  I thought that liver was bad enough, but beside the carcass is a red potato. Who eats red potatoes? Maybe Dad. I try it and gag. Not me. 

To chew or not to chew

I sat there and tried to find a way to make my folks look the other way, while I offered the dog a sample. The dog took one sniff, yelped and ran to the other room. Okay, I embellished the dog thing for your amusement. You know what was not so funny? Chewing it. Gag reflux overload. I asked to leave the table and use the bathroom.  It was my only escape plan. I spit out the half-chewed liver I had hidden in my mouth into a wad of toilet paper and hid it in my pocket. I put the seat lid down, and I sat. And I sat. And I sat.

The escape plan

I was already told I had to eat everything on my plate.  All mothers say the same thing when their kids don't eat their food. My mother was no different. Starving kids in Africa would love to have this food. From the throne, I wanted to yell out. You're right, I bet they'd make a nice pair of shoes with this discarded milk leather.  I hoped she would forget I was in there. When it comes to kids and bathrooms, there is no fooling my mom. She had a keen ear. She could tell if water was running or not in a tub, a floor away. I don't hear any water running. The reason she never heard water running was that we're running up and down the hallway.

Pate’ over

Eventually, the hours passed, and I emerged from the throne of discontent. Luckily, my plate is gone. I didn’t even ask for a possible substitute. I went to bed early that night and slept through the rumblings of my stomach. I woke up the next day and ate toast with peanut butter. A much better culinary choice,  and I never ate liver again. I still can’t stand the smell of it. 

Waking up with mom

It's morning my father is either still sleeping or working. My mother never slept much so seeing her on the couch is no surprise. My father's restless feet were so bad that he could have been paid overtime for working in his sleep. My mother had to resort to the couch. The couch is covered in quilts and throw pillows, provides very little comfort at all.  No one sleeps well on burlap. She is awake and I can tell she is praying. She smiles and nods lovingly. 

Beside her is a flowery ceramic coffee cup. The cup has a word on it. That word is Meme' Grandmother. The coffee brand is called eight o'clock. I know this because I have to go to the A&P, grind it and bag it whenever she runs out. And because our house is the coffee shop for all wayward travelers, running out happens quite often. Surprisingly, the coffee tastes okay.  

 A steamy cup

One day, she was gifted a Mr. Coffee machine. It was probably a gift from my father and after forgiving him for such a practical and unromantic gift, she decided to use it. This new machine was a game changer. The sound of water dripping through fine ground beans and paper.  Hearing the last burst of steam as it escapes was almost enough to wake up even the most sluggish souls. Just a heads up, drinking eight o'clock coffee at five in the morning doesn't improve the flavor much. Still, anytime is a good time for coffee.

 Pre-Ritual 

To the side of the couch is a maple table. It is just big enough to house magazines at the bottom and a few choice items on top.  Four items to be precise.  A chipped ashtray, a pack of Matinee kings, a cup of coffee and a rosary. A Pope John Paul autographed copy. Okay, maybe not but the round box it came in had his face etched on the lid. 

The ritual begins

There is a lit cigarette laying on a clear glass ashtray. The smoke is rising, competing with the coffee vapors funneling up through a yellow stained lampshade. My mother has a rosary in her hand. I try not to distract her. She has a system and plans drags and sips after each decade. I am in the dinning room eating breakfast. I know she is done when I hear the TV turn on. 

 Daily mass

When she finishes her rosary, she turns on the daily mass. Live from Toronto or wherever. I sit with her and watch as she verbalizes the responses. This mass is not bad and it's over in thirty minutes. No standing, no kneeling, no commercials.  At this church we could drink coffee and instead of smelly oil soaped pews we get to sit on a quilt covered burlap couch.  The quilt makes it bearable and bit more comfortable. I start to think how cool it would be to have a church filled with sofa's so that the Chesterfield's and I (pun intended) could really enjoy mass. At least now when I fall sleep, I could do so in comfort. The best part. No priest to bust me.

 Joy

I will never forget the comfort I felt nesting next to my mother with my head on her shoulders watching mass. How safe I felt being cuddled in angel wings, the arms of my mother. That is, when the dog let me get close enough.

 

Road Trips. Cottom Ontario.

Road Trips: Auntie Aldoo's in Cottom Ontario.

On the road with Denny D 

Roads: Starting point.  Essex, Ontario, east down old number 3, to Cottom.

Cottom Ontario is a fifteen-minute drive from home. We dropped the top on the bug to soak up some sun for our short drive. We arrive at a place I had discovered a few weeks back. Auntie Aldoo's Kitchen is Cottom's best-kept secret. It is not a secret anymore.

There is a cute patio in front. This is where we are sitting today. My partner and I are enjoying a spinach quiche and a cup of coffee. I had to take a couple of bites before taking the picture. Yum. The combination of egg, cheese, spinach and flaky crust is delightful. The coffee is just as delicious. 

Here's the kicker. One of the girls wasn't happy with the two macarons she had baked earlier gave them to us on the house. She didn't need to twist our arms much. Thank you so much. I will just say #OMG_Yummy. Sorry, no picture. I devoured it too fast.

The witch decor is delightful, and the seating inside is very inviting. They even have a shelf with various games to play. I felt like I was at home, and the staff made me feel like I was family.  

This little place is full of big surprises. Thanks to the great people at Auntie Aldoo's Kitchen. See you soon. 

Click here for more info:

https://www.auntiealdooskitchen.com/

Road Trips. Brant Conservation area, Paris, Waterford and Simcoe Ontaro

On the road with Denny D

Camping: June 15th- 17th, 2025

Roads: highway 46 east to Kent Rd. 3 to Blenheim highway 3 to Delhi north on 4 to highway 24 North towards Brantford. Right on Robinson Rd. to the end and left at the bend on Jennings Rd. Welcome to Brant Conservation Area.

Day one

We arrive around 3 pm and set up camp. Maple126 is a great site. Lots of space and plenty of shade.  We have a simple supper: sushi and spring rolls. Enjoy a couple of beverages and snacks while playing Mexican train dominoes. 

Night one

My job is fire starter. It has been a great first day, and I am determined to make it a great first night. The wood is not the best, but I get it going. I am holding a long tree branch, also known as a fire poker. This stick has travelled across Canada, and if it could talk, it would have some tall tales to tell. We call it a story stick. It is passed around the campfire, and each person who holds it must tell a story. My brother-in-law tells the tallest tales. Smiley face emoji.

Day two 

We head north on 24 towards Paris, Ontario. The road to Paris has many roundabouts. We survived the many roundabouts, but it wasn't going to be our last, because around about the time we get downtown, construction turns us around again. I couldn't tell how we got there, but we made it. Thank you, GPS.

Paris

The downtown area is torn up with a fenced-in construction zone. The sidewalks are still usable, and some of our favourite stores are open. There are usually two things on my mind when walking in a tourist area. One, why do I need to buy this stuff? The other is ice cream or coffee. And in that order. 

Walk

I park the car on a side street and make a mental note. The coffee shop is at the corner. We start to walk and stop at the lookout at the end of the road. Look out could also apply to the construction vehicles in our way. We have a picture-taking moment. I take none. It was more of a been there, done that moment. We stop by a few shops. We are really looking for just one shop.

Ice cream

Chocolate Sensations is our favourite store in Paris, Ontario. We sometimes buy chocolates here, and we would have if we hadn't stopped by Picard's Peanuts in Talbotville. Our halfway point on yesterday's journey, and a place I highly recommend you check out. That's was yesterday. Today, we have only one thing on our minds. Ice cream. Not just ice cream. Kawartha Lakes ice cream. I chose a small bowl of Nanaimo bar ice cream. I have no idea what everyone else is eating, and I don't care. Yum.

Chocolate Sensations 👈 check it out

Coffee

On the way back to the car, we stop by a café. I ordered a coffee and must wait while they brew a fresh pot. I like fresh coffee.  Their version of fresh is not fresh. I add two creams; I take a sip. I add one sugar, take another sip. And when we get back to the camp, I baptize an oak tree. Yuck. Sorry, no free plug here.

Back at the camp, we play rummy-o, and I try to stay awake. I'm popping chocolate-covered coffee beans, wondering if I will survive the crash. I do, and I now have enough energy to get the fire going again. I wanted to get my Boy Scout badge back that got burned the night before. This time, more paper, more kindling. Same result. Luckily, the ever-present breeze stokes the lacklustre flames.

Day three

Antique shopping 

We decided to go for a ride, hoping our favourite antique shops would be open in Waterford. Unfortunately, they were closed, but my sister was able to buy some new pants at Main Station Collectibles. Be sure and check the store out. Great friendly staff and a huge selection of bargains. You can find them on Facebook for more information.

On the road again

We decided to head down Highway 24 to downtown Simcoe. We parked on a side road and went for a stroll. On the corner, we discover Kaley’s. My sister thinks it's Kelsey’s, but it doesn’t look like Kelsey’s. There is a lady inside who welcomes us in.  She leads us to the restaurant inside. On the other side of the wall, we find our seats. We order our drinks. Three glasses of water and one coffee. I took my chances. This time it was a good cup. There are many options to choose from. But we are all intrigued by one.

What'll ya have?

I have seen flights of beer and spirits, but soup? There was a soup menu on the wall offering five or six soup-of-the-day options. My flight is Tai chicken, cheeseburger and tomato. The presentation is so impressive. Three cups of soup on a board with crackers and breadsticks.  I can't recall what everyone else decided on, and to be truthful, I didn't care. I was lost in my own soup du jour experience.

Back to the camp

The day closed with supper and games. There was no wood left. We watched an old comedy movie instead. Well, not all of it, I was in and out for most of it. 

We woke up early in the morning, made a couple of coffees for the road, said our goodbyes and headed out. It was another great trip. 

On the road with me, Denny D. 

Reminding you:

The road to life may have many roundabouts and construction zones, 

but they don't have to lead to a dead end. 

Sometimes you have to make your own roads, and if you can't, use your GPS.