Just by coincidence we happened to be at the same place, same time on Saturday afternoon.
We hadn't seen them in several years. They were our across-the-street-just-up-the-road neighbours for many years. When we first moved into our house 22 years ago they were already there with their young children. By the time they moved several years back the street had become a busier place because of those children, now adults. Boyfriends and girlfriends and sleep-overs of course, but drug-dealing as well, the talk of the neighbourhood.

He worked in construction, his specialty cement, and she had risen to become a deputy minister of human resources in some government department. They were all extremely nice people, children included, very personable. He was forever puttering about, doing something, although it was difficult to appreciate what he accomplished, despite his hard efforts; physical exertion did not at all faze him. He began to talk about the wonderful piece of property they'd bought in the Haliburton Highlands. And their plan to build a house there, and end up living there.

When she retired from her well-paid job with its excellent gold-plated retirement funding her pensioned  future that's just what they did. They sold their house; houses on this street go quickly and for very good prices; and removed themselves from the city. It's quieter now on the street, but they're missed, as are most of the old-timers who have decided to down-size or move elsewhere for whatever reason.

We had driven to the west end of the city to drop by the stained glass shop my husband uses for his supplies, and they had driven from their home about a half-hour drive distant from Arnprior for a family reunion. On the way they dropped by the stained glass shop bringing with them a knock-off Tiffany shade they enquired about repairing. Its repair would outstrip the cost they paid for the lamp, but they could no doubt afford it.

I barely recognized him at first; he was dressed so spiffily, quite unlike the fellow I knew who never gave much thought to his attire. He looked well and seemed happy, and so did she and I told them so. He wanted to linger to talk and enthuse about their move. In the course of which he told me that they had both had hip replacements and he had developed bursitis as well, so it has become increasingly difficult for him to get around, to do all the things that he wanted to do. They're semi-isolated and I asked how long a drive to the closest medical facilities; about a half-hour, he said. They had joined a local seniors' group, he grimaced, though they're 20 years younger than us, and we haven't done so.

They love it there in the summer months, with their dock beside a little lake, where they swim constantly. Not so much in the winter when they mostly don't do much of anything. He has a boat, but hasn't invested in a Ski-Doo; it doesn't much interest him. Occasionally they don snowshoes and flop about, but nothing spectacular. In all the years they'd lived on the street they had never once ventured into the ravine. They aren't much interested in wildlife, though there is plenty of deer around, and sightings of other wildlife are rare to them. For years while living on our street they'd had a family dog, a sweet-tempered golden retriever which was seldom allowed in the house, though housekeeping niceties never seemed a priority. The dog had its place, in its doghouse, in the backyard.