It's without doubt an age thing, casting your mind back subconsciously into your memory banks, dredging up thoughts that surprise you by their seeming inconsequentiality in your life. But if you remembered them, as slight of meaning as they seem to be, perhaps they're not as limited in meaning as you believe even if you have difficulty intellectually grasping how they could be in any way relevant enough to be recalled.

Memories of yourself as a child, feeling lonely and wishing for a friend, someone who would want to be with you, someone you could confide anything to, someone who would always be at your side. My parents moved their little family consisting of me, around age five and a baby sister four years younger to a flat on the second story of a family home on Manning Avenue in Toronto. Across the street was a school I would attend. And up the street lived a family that befriended my parents.

That family owned their own home and behind the house was a small brick, one-story purpose-built factory that produced seltzer water and soft drinks in large bottles. Which meant that family was well off compared to mine. There were five girls in the family ranging in age from their late 20s to five. I can still recall their names; Mary, Lily, Esther, Gertrude and Yetta. Even as a child I was aware of who 'Mary' was, the mother of Jesus.

And I belonged to a tribe of people who were "Christ killers", a lesson I learned at an early age on the street. So I felt it strange that a Jewish woman was named Mary. Eventually I discovered that my mother's sister whom I had always known as 'Munya' was also named Mary. I recall that both the younger sisters hated their names; Gertrude and Yetta. Yetta renamed herself Annette and was furious if she was ever called Yetta.

I wanted her to be my friend, but she was lukewarm about the proposal, though we did on occasion play together. I was left to yearn for that elusive 'best friend'. I had few toys, but I did have a few books and I immersed myself in reading, joining the public library. I was embarrassed at school and jealous of the nice clothes and shoes other girls wore; mine were mostly second-hand outgrown by the children of my parents' friends.

 Eventually my parents moved years later to Brunswick Avenue and a house of their own. I found a friend, more privileged than me, but a friend. Whose mother took her to ballet lessons. I was still lonely, and yet never felt quite comfortable in the company of others.

I discovered there was such a thing as social cliques, where some people were ostracized and others welcomed, where people spoke about you in your absence, where those you thought were your friends might not actually be your friends. And then, by the time I turned fourteen I found that friend. I never wanted to be around anyone else. And 70 years later we've remained friends.

He and I took our two little dogs out this afternoon for their usual hike through the forest trails in the ravine. Earlier in the day he proposed giving me my birthday card, though my birthday is still two days' off. He's like that; not only can he not keep anything from me, if he has something, he wants to immediately share it with me.

 We compromised; he'll give me this year's birthday card -- he's obviously pleased with it, and worked on it for the last few days downstairs in his workshop when I assumed he was working on the latest stained glass panel -- on Monday evening, when we go upstairs to bed, presumably around midnight when it will officially be my 84th birthday.

It's been another cold day, but not as windy as yesterday, so though the atmosphere was chilly at -4C, it was tolerable. We're still waiting for some serious snowfalls. The light layer of snow that followed two days of pouring rain on Friday and Saturday will fade fast despite the cold, if nothing is added to it, and then the landscape will look even darker.

 As it was, we didn't leave the house till shortly after three. I'd been busy all day, and wanted to put on a soup to start cooking before we left. One of my favourite soups; lentil-tomato. And instead of croissants I planned to use the same dough, rolled out as for croissant, but flat, at my husband's request, to accommodate the smoked salmon he'll be eating with it.

 

In the ravine dusk had already fallen, and we knew it wouldn't be long before it turned into the dark of impending night. We met some friends along the way and they regaled us with their super-terrific Christmas dinner shared with their daughter and their four very young grandchildren.

As for that memory of the five girls in the family that lived across from where my family did when I was quite young. It was without doubt spurred by my having come across a photograph of our wedding. There was I in a wedding gown. The gown was Gertrude's, lent out to me. I look busty in it and it's not me because I am much slighter than the person for whom the gown was meant.