Live on a street long enough and not only do you become familiar with most of your street neighbours but you also become acquainted with neighbours living on the street behind you.

We had decided last night, to have a light, simple dinner. We have non-meat-based meals frequently, and this would be one of them. We had just finished our garden salad, and I was preparing to cook our cheese-herb omelletes when the doorbell rang.

Turned out to be one of our neighbours who lives behind us, whom we see once a year when he circulates on the nearby streets to garner support for his annual Terry Fox run. He's a soon-to-be-retired military man who has reached the apex of his career. He is friendly and outgoing, manifestly physical; stalwart, tall, energetic and muscular. And he's a runner.

He has connected his passion for running (for which he has garnered his own share of winning medals) to his concern for raising funds for cancer research. And we always support his efforts.

At the door, my husband exercised his usual effusive welcome and the two men spoke for a lengthy period of time. Since I had already begun the omelette process this was rather concerning, but I had no intention of interrupting a lively conversation.

There were no complaints issued by my husband, nor me, when he finally sat down across from me at the dinner table, to partake of a meal that was not presented at the top of its form.