When we moved to Legal, Alberta, we were soon fortunate enough to meet Helen and Joe, whose house was two doors over. They became family to us; Helen spoiled the boys with care and kindness and oh all right, she treated me and Gord like gold too.

Joe was retired and could fix and build most anything, so we often went to him for advice or a hand with some small problem. He did several projects for me, actually: the first was to build a small ramp to make it easy for Emil to get up to the front door with his walker; the second was to build partitions in a silverware drawer; the third was to construct a framework for a system of lights over a bench in the basement, where I'd plant my flower seeds in late winter.

Helen looked after the boys for me every so often, fed them milk and cookies, and gave them her full attention while they were with her. She's still "Auntie Helen" to my kids.

They came originally from Larry's River, a francophone village in Nova Scotia, but although I could practise my French with them we soon slipped back into English. It was surprising how much of the language I could call up after 20 years without speaking or hearing it much. And even if we weren't speaking French, I was content to listen to their accent all day. They were the best neighbours I've ever had.

I'll never forget how Joe went into action when his help was needed. One day I'd told Everett we'd go downtown and had taken a phone call while he waited for me in the front entrance. By the time I got off the line, he was gone and I couldn't find him anywhere. He was only two years old, if that, and after searching everywhere I was getting pretty worried. I went over to Helen and Joe's in hopes he'd gone there, but no. Joe immediately got out his quad and started patrolling the neighbourhood; he went downtown and all over town; but Everett still hadn't been spotted. Helen and I were standing in their driveway and I was trying not to imagine the worst and wondering what to do next when I noticed, through the front windshield of my van (parked facing Joe and Helen's), Everett's head in the back seat. I have never been so relieved.

Apparently he had assumed we'd be driving, and had climbed into the van to wait and then been unable to open the latch to get out. The van's windows were dark so one couldn't see in, and it hadn't occurred to me that he'd get in there; when I'd said we'd go somewhere, I'd meant we'd walk. It was a very, very hot day and it is fortunate I saw him when I did, or things could have been much worse. As it was he was already weak and flushed from the heat. He and I went into our house and sat side by side on the step indoors until I gathered him into my lap and held him while we both cried.

By this time every year Joe had their house and yard decked out in its Christmas finery for weeks already. There would be at least two decorated trees indoors, lights galore, the whole shebang. So it only makes sense that I think of Joe every year during the holiday season.

Helen just called me; it's been a while since we've talked so we caught up on each other's news. This will be the second Christmas that Joe's been gone; that goddamn *@$%>!^# cancer took him, too.

I haven't seen Helen since before Joe got sick. But I intend to go visit her next summer when I either take the boys to Edmonton, where they will spend July with Gord, or go and pick them up. It will be a week to spend with my good friends who live out there and I'll drop in on my little brother, too, and find something to give him a hard time about.

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