I phoned Mom yesterday and was telling her about what Don’s aide said about the teachers loving him. Mom said maybe he’s like my Grandpa J, that he was a guy everyone thought was so nice.

Later I dug out some old photos of Grandpa J as a young man, and darned if I don’t see some resemblance between him and Don! It’s probably a stretch on my part, but --

I also pulled out the family photo taken at Grandma and Grandpa B’s 50th anniversary, and looked closely at Grandpa’s face. It is such a loving face, and I started to cry for missing it. I thought to him “I wish I could see you again” and to myself “What melodrama; there was no intense longing like this when he was alive.” Of course that was different; I knew I *could* see him. Now I don’t know that at all. Still, I observe my sorrow and doubt its authenticity, suspect I am caught up in a dramatization of grief.

The photo above is my Grandpa J, my grandmother (who I have been said to resemble; don't see it myself), and my dad as a youngster.

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We are off in a couple hours to make the four-hour drive to take the boys to meet their dad. They'll be gone for over a week. Manful and I will be back here tomorrow sometime, will spend tonight at Petra's in Saskatoon.

Frigging snow is covering the ground again, several inches of it.