It was 12:25 p.m. on Tuesday, August 16, when we left the rest stop on Highway 97 to continue traveling south toward Prince George. We were on our way home from Dawson Creek, B.C. after spending three weeks with our daughter’s family. The picnic table we’d found, hidden from the road by trees and within sight of a pretty little river, had been the perfect place to eat our lunch.
Half an hour down the road I reached for my camera to take a picture of trees that were already starting to yellow this mid-August. But my camera wasn’t there! I scrambled around, searching the front seat, under the seat, in my handbag. Nothing! Hubby stopped the car and we looked in the trunk, the cooler, the car door cubbies—everywhere.
I first saw this picture on a card I received years ago from someone with a sense of humour that matches mine. I displayed it in my house recently when my extended family came for a reunion. About a year ago, my husband and I offered to host a reunion for my family. It was
Ah yes, celebrations. Don’t we love them? Confetti, balloons, music and dancing, eating and drinking, all because we met a deadline or finished a manuscript. Maybe we even got the final edit over with and the actual book is delivered to our front door. Ah, yes; celebration indeed.