I had planned on making a cheese quiche for dinner last night. Irving loves eggs and we both enjoy cheese, and they make a perfect combination. I planned to chop lots of green onion and slivers of colourful baby bell pepper into it and the very thought of it was so pleasing -- to me. For some unknown reason Irving is lukewarm on quiche and wasn't thrilled. So I was spared the happy task of producing a pie dough and the filling for a quiche.

It had been a busy day anyway, house-cleaning day always is. And then we had a leisurely tramp through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie afterward. So we decided we'd eat light instead. Since it was also a cool early-fall day, and pretty wet beside, I thought having something warm like the quiche would be appropriate. As things turned out, we had vegetables, beginning with corn-on-the-cob which was all right, but nothing spectacular. Then a plate with more vegetables, sprats, deviled eggs for Irving and avocado for me. Fresh sliced pears for dessert filled out the bill. It was fine.

Today has been another busy day. Every day is busy and there's no complaints about that, none whatever. There's always so much to do, we have so many choices apart from the obligations it's pretty tough to be bored. I sometimes respond to poll notices delivered by email from Angus Reid. A few days back there was one I was interested in participating in. I always refuse the commercial ones. This one was directed to older people, and it was part of a project run out of University of Alberta.

A study to try to get a picture of how older Canadians are managing during this pandemic. The questions were many and most canted sympathetically to the difficulties the older generation is popularly assumed to face. The questions, in fact, posed a wide spectrum of issues from affordability of basic services and necessities of life to mental health issues and the state of the surveyed's peace of mind and appreciation of their lives. I had the impression that going into the study the researchers assumed that most of their subjects would be unhappy, miserable older people for whom life is a dreadful strain with few rewards.

It took me no time at all to get through the questions; on the allotted scales my responses were always 'positive' in that I am happy with our lives, we're comfortably well off, have no concerns over managing, don't feel isolated and unappreciated, and on and on. At the same time I realize how fortunate we are to begin with, that we've shared a pleasurable, rewarding life together and our 66 years of marriage have been as perfect as anyone has a right to expect. Still, some of the questions such as asking 'how often do you feel a sense of impending disaster, a foreboding'...seemed a little leading and dire as though prompting people to divulge their inner misery...

We were anything but miserable setting off this afternoon for our usual turn on the forest trails with our puppies, who are always ready, willing and eager to get about in the ravine. We noticed that for the past week we've seen a number of woolly bear caterpillars. It's their alternate time of year, besides spring, when they manifest their presence; for now they're looking to cocoon up somewhere for the winter. When we were children we were fascinated by them, and I guess we still are -- not children of course, but interested in the little creatures in their seasonal appearance.

We came across a friend we've known for some years with her little apricot poodle, and walked together for awhile. Irving in particular enjoys shmoozing with people on any occasions. At one juncture she pointed out to us, barely visible in the interior of the forest, an overgrown and collapsed mushroom on the forest floor. I ducked into the interior and it was, or had been a colossal mushroom, far beyond anything in size I'd ever seen before. It had collapsed, its gills visible through the widening cracks of its large fleshy cap. Seeing it left me wishing we'd noticed it earlier, when it was still intact.

When we returned home it was time for us to bid adieu, darlings, to Jackie and Jillie. They stood in the dining room door, heads poking out, watching us down the hall in the laundry room preparing to leave the house. Jillie was mute and miserable looking, Jackie was emitting faint little plaints, pleading with us not to abandon them. We told them to look after one another, and we'd soon return.