Little Beckster, one of Scott's three nieces who live in the house in the other yard, likes to come over and follow Everett around. She finds him quite entertaining and he gets a kick out of her, too. Yesterday he was doing homework and she was colouring at the table with him. I thought this would be a good opportunity to show you the "retro" table given to us when Grandma's house was cleared out to ready it for sale. The table must be 40 years old and had been in her kitchen all that time.

***

Emil and I were headed downtown for groceries and other errand-running when at a corner we passed an RCMP car waiting to turn onto the street. Emil pointed it out to me because police cars are noteworthy I guess, and the car pulled onto the street and followed us.

I stopped at a stop sign as the police car came up behind me, and after checking for traffic I pulled onto the highway that passes along the southern side of the town. After cruising three blocks I stopped for a moment at another stop sign -- the police car behind me still -- before turning onto the town’s main street. There was a space in front of the drugstore, and I signalled and swerved in alongside the vehicle ahead, preparing to parallel park. The police car was behind me, so I waved to him that I would wait for him to go past. He waved to me to go ahead and park. I did so, and the police car pulled up beside the van. The officer got out of the driver’s side and walked around the front of his car.

I rolled down my window, wondering what he could possibly want.
“Are you coming to talk to me?” I said.
“Yes I am.”
“Oh! All right.” Was he just checking licences and registration? I had removed my seatbelt as soon as I’d put the gearshift into park; I hoped he wouldn’t assume I didn’t have it on while driving, as the ticket for that offence is $150.

When he reached the van, I stretched my hand through the window to shake his, and said “Well, hello! How are you?”
“I’d be a lot better if you’d come to a full stop at those stop signs,” he said.
“I did stop,” I said, perplexed.
“No you didn’t.”
“I thought I did.”
“No. Your tires never stopped.”
“Hm. I’m quite sure they did.”
“Just come to a complete stop from now on, all right?”

Stop longer, you mean, I thought but did not say. There was no point in arguing with him further; he saw what he saw. I am surprised that he’d think I’d be dumb enough to purposely blast through two stop signs with a cop car immediately behind me! Now come on -- I’m not one to throw money away like that.

We went on to have a short conversation, with me asking all the questions. Is he new to town? Arrived in the spring. Where did he come from? Ontario; 10 years before that, the West Indies. Does he like it out west? Seems to. How come he has no West Indian accent? He does when he talks to his buddies back home, he says with a grin. He tells me his first name. He looks young.

Anyway, lesson learned. I will make a point of stopping at stop signs for a few seconds from now on before stepping on the gas pedal again so quickly.