Good-bye, Ottawa

April 18, 2012 -- Ottawa Photo: Anne Marie

It was a perfect day on many counts.

The magnolia trees had come into flower.

The sun was shinning.

There was a chance to drive by on the way to the airport, so that I could take a look at all of this.

As well, Mary's colleague, Anne-Marie offered to meet us at the park on our way out of town, for a quick photo shoot.

She has an amazing eye for a getting amazing candids.

I can stand on a tree branch with my bare feet. Photo: Anne Marie

I did not know where to turn my own camera.

Butterflies were landing on the magnolias.

Soon the family forgot about taking pictures and were ducking under branches and pointing to where they could see yet another insect.

Bees were darting around the flowers.

Mary, Rhiannon and a hint of Annabelle

Good byes are always hard, but less so in this case, for I am going back there in August.

Still there were thanks to be given.

Today, Mary told me thank you for blogging so many of the family experiences and having them sound so good.

"Did I ever not tell the truth other there?" I asked.

Good bye Grandma, it was fun! Photo: Anne Marie

No, she had to agree -- I am a lot of things, and one of them is truthful.

Smell this magnolia, Rhiannon. Photo: Anne Marie

What is it that she would have wanted me to tell?

The day I made a mistake with the butter horns?

I had bread already in pans, but Mary had asked me to make at least one batch of butter horns before I left.

So I tackled those in tandem with the other cooking project.

I put the dough in the oven, an oven that was holding just a bit of heat for me, so I could jump start the butterhorn dough into rising faster than usual.

And I had a piece of plastic laying across the top of it.

Breathing in the scent of flowerings trees Photo: Anne Marie

In my rush to get the loaves into the oven to bake, I forgot about the butter horn dough rising in the oven, and so put on the dial to pre-heat to 350 degrees.

The moment when I remembered this mistake, was the moment when I could smell dough cooking and plastic melting, at the same time.

Can you tell I am still on crutches? Photo: Anne Marie

Now is this the kind of story Mary would rather have me tell out here?

The one about how hard it is to scrub half-baked dough out of a stainless steel bowl.

 Or would she like to me take a time-lapsed picture of me scrapping plastic off of the bowl with that tiny flat Richard's Tool that I use to scrap paint off of windows?

All this to say, that though a picture (like the ones in this post) can tell a thousand words, there are other thousands of words that are best left unsaid.

I have had the grace not to blog those words.

Arta