Twenty years ago when Irving rebuilt our deck after the original began to rot -- even though the house builder that had included the deck had used British Columbia cedar and we expected it to last for a long time -- we didn't imagine that the time would come that some of the boards of the later rebuilt deck would begin to show signs of wear, given that every spring Irving treats the wood with preservative stain. He tried various methods of removing the special hardened spiral screws he used when putting the second deck together, but they're stubborn.

There are two boards that need to be replaced. It isn't anything like an emergency; just that on two boards there are signs of the wood beginning to rot. Irving doesn't like to leave things. He bought a special tool that was advertised as perfect for removing really tough screws, but it was useless. Irving is nothing if not resourceful; he thought of various methods he could use, but none worked. Finally he did the simplest but most energy/work-intensive thing and removed all the screws finally for one of the boards. It took him hours.

 

He plans tomorrow to tackle the second board. He already has the replacement boards and the task of replacing them will be far simpler than that of removing the two originals. In the meantime, though it's a brisker, cooler day than the last several we've had, it's also been sunny today. We had really hard winds, though, enough to bring down whatever was left of the colourful foliage in the forest.

We went out with Jackie and Jillie earlier in the afternoon, and now it truly is a forest bereft of its foliage, all sprinkled liberally on the forest floor. Thank heavens there's such a mix of hardwood and softwood in the forest; the conifers' green needles offer relief from approaching November's sere landscape of shades of black-and-grey until the snow begins flying. The wind and the sun made a start on drying out the forest from its inundations of previous days, making negotiating some of the clay-slick terrain somewhat easier.

 

When we finally returned from our forest idyll, I went back out after giving the puppies their obligatory salad, to make use of the kind weather in continuing the garden clean-up. Apart from sweeping up the fallen foliage and other detritus from the walkways, removing many of the annuals from the flowerbeds made for some pretty heavy compost bags, even when knocking loose dirt off the plant roots.

From the front gardens I made my way to the backyard. I had left most of the flowering annuals that still appeared fresh and contented to bloom, so the garden isn't completely without colour, in the knowledge that nights to come will be giving us some hard frosts that will challenge those annuals still left. In the backyard there was ample to do, moving from the various flower beds to the rock garden, cutting back hostas, rose canes and other perennials. Sad to see them all go.

This family of ours -- two (senior) adults and two (very small) dogs -- certainly goes through a lot of eggs in our weekly diet. I wonder whether that's uncommon or just about average. In that we usually use roughly two dozen eggs on a weekly basis. Not hard to do with one of us having two eggs usually for breakfast, and the two little dogs share an egg between them, scrambled or chopped hard-boiled most mornings.

Today alone I used a total of five eggs on a day when we had oatmeal for breakfast and Jackie and Jillie shared a scrambled egg between them following their kibble breakfast. Another two eggs went into the filling for a half-dozen butter (raisin) tarts. And then another one was used in the coating alongside seasoned breadcrumbs in preparing skinned, deboned chicken. Finally, the last egg was used in the making of a potato pudding to accompany the chicken.

In this kitchen eggs are versatile and nutritious and have so many uses I cannot imagine what I'd do without them. True, I'm not all that fond of them myself, the smell of a hard-boiled egg interior repulses me. I will enjoy a fried egg as long as it's slathered with aged cheddar cheese. But I recognize its sterling qualities for a multitude of uses.

Another gloomy day, heavily overcast, but mild. Still, we were surprised when heavy rain came down for hours all morning and into the afternoon. After a rain event that began last evening and went on through the night-time hours. In another month all that precipitation will come down as snow. We'll be delighted at first, enjoying the sight of snow covering everything, but eventually it'll seem tiresome, the constant shovelling and having to dress for the season -- not only for us but for the puppies.

We'll graduate to winter coats for them, and little rubber boots so their tiny  tender pads can withstand the ice and the extreme cold that will eventuate. The forest will be a landscape of glowing beauty and we'll appreciate that no end. But we will also have to begin wearing ice-cleats to keep from slipping and sliding on  trails turned treacherous. All that in good time. Often in mid- to late- November we'll have had our first serious snowfall of the season.

Meanwhile, today was absolutely balmy, and when the rain finally stopped out we went to the forest. Where the deciduous trees have begun to look awfully bare. Colour is still fresh on the fallen leaves but they're turning that indeterminate dirty-dark-grey already. November will be a month of drab landscapes until the snow begins to fly.

In the garden, still awaiting the final late-fall clean-up, annuals are still defying the season; mostly begonias thriving despite the inclemency of the weather. Their bright floral faces never fail to excite our senses. 

 

Nature has given us a temporary reprieve from late-fall cold and wind, and we're grateful. Overnight temperatures were far higher than they've been in a month of frosty nights. And it felt so balmy this morning, it was comfortable enough to be out in the backyard with just a light jersey. It was also why during my hours of cleaning up the garden yesterday afternoon, I soon worked myself into a sweat. 

 

I had intended to hold off for as long as I could, cutting back still-flowering roses and happily blooming annuals, so whatever looked in good health stayed put, and I just worked around them. Now that we've a spate of mild weather they're in fine fettle. No sun, and ongoing rain threats, but the air humid and warm pleases them as mightily as it does us.

 

 

I've still plenty remaining to be done. Although I've been cutting back perennials and shaping the gardens up for winter's arrival over a lengthy period of time, there's still enough to be done that the backyard will still need a day's work. And after that the garden urns and pots will surrender their annuals. And the final tranche will be emptying the pots of their soil and distributing it all to some areas of the backyard gardens. 

Irving will put away the rest of the garden furniture in the large garden shed, and he'll also cover our garden statues, and the urns and pots with large plastic bags to keep them from the inevitable freeze-and-thaw cycles that occur when they fill with water that will become solid ice and strain their integrity. We've had them for decades, and wear over the seasons has become evident.

 

In the afternoon we went off for our ramble through the ravine, when the laundry had been mostly completed. I've decided on making a seafood paella for dinner tonight and that'll take some thought. In the meantime, we enjoyed the forest with Jackie and Jillie. As a result of this perfectly beautiful weather, we were able to dispense with jackets for them. Hard to say whether they felt freer and more comfortable without them.

 

 

The fall colour zenith has now passed. Despite which there are ample splashes of bright colour here and there to provide us with an ongoing autumnal landscape even if it's somewhat muted. On days like this out on the woodland trails, no hurry, fully relaxed, the minimal effort it takes to clamber up some of the hills makes for a perfect outing for all of us.

The occasional stop for chats with any others who might be out and encountered makes it also a pleasant social event now and again. Not to be compared, however, with ambling down the street after exiting the forest, to see neighbours out raking, amending lawns, placing Hallowe'en decorations on their lawns, taking full advantage of the kind of weather children yearn to have on the evening of October 31, not really caring if truth be known if it is cold, if it does rain, as long as their candy cravings for that night are satisfied.

 

By early afternoon, the rain finally lifted, although the dark-sky-menace remained and so did the wind. Suddenly Jackie and Jillie rang up a pitched volume of barking, of the kind that could only mean someone was at the front door, though no doorbell rang. I shooed them away and opened the door to two young men both wearing bright red jackets with the logo of Rogers internet service providers. One of the  young men was dark complexioned, the other light; black-hair and blonde. It was the dark young man who spoke, the other leaving it to him.

I had the impression that the one speaking was 'teaching' the other how to change a potential client's mind from 'thanks very much, I'm satisfied with my present service provider' as the sales pitch went on even though I repeated time and again we're not looking to change, and are perfectly satisfied with the service we have. Rogers, in my memory hasn't a sterling reputation and I simply wasn't interested. I  remarked it was obvious they're university students engaged in a summer job, and wished them luck.

That brought an engaging smile from the young blonde man, but it didn't stop the other from switching to a new tack, assuring me that my neighbours said they were dissatisfied and were interested in switching to Rogers. He was becoming downright obnoxious, and it was at that point, that Irving who had been in the family room and overheard the lengthy conversation and no doubt my exasperation, came along and gruffly invited them to move on.

We moved on ourselves not long afterward, to take advantage of a gap in the rain. Which had begun last night and carried on throughout the night, continuing in the morning and into the early afternoon. So everything was well irrigated: read thoroughly soaked. On came the puppies' raincoats in case rain started up again while we were out, and off we went. We've passed the zenith of the forest colour. More bright foliage brought down by the copious rainfall.

 

 

The brightly coloured foliage that plushed the forest trail had already begun to fade, and now newfallen leaves glow gold and red on top of those no longer fresh. The wind probed its fingers through the forest canopy and a steady shower of freshly detached leaves filled the air, languorously swirling through the air to join their cousins below.

 

The air felt freshly scrubbed, and although it was quite cool first thing in the morning, a warming trend has arrived and the frosty nip of previous days was absent, making for a relaxing and serene walk through the trails. And then it was time to return home. I had planned, despite that everything was so wet, to continue working on garden clean-up. We've so many hostas to be cut back that my previous work didn't tend to them all. 

 

So I cut back roses, and hostas and remaining hydrangeas, and before I knew it there were four full compost bags lined up to await collection. Just yesterday that collection had carried off four bags I'd previously filled, the week before. But it's taking me closer each time I set aside a few hours for the garden, to completing the entire task. Neighbours walking by stop awhile to chat, and then I resume, until I feel enough has been accomplished for the day.

 

We're a week away from the start of November. The weather is becoming progressively more inclement; cooler, windier, heavily overcast skies. The garden is in stress mode. What's left of it, that is. Still, there are remaining pops of colour, enough to buoy us up somewhat in mood, though it doesn't last long. This October, the month when two of our children were born over 60 years ago, has been fraught with the horror of death and conflict. October 2023 will be remembered for that.

 

Only this afternoon when we were in the car driving home from our weekly food-shopping expedition, there was an impassioned interview with a local Liberal Member of Parliament. The interviewer asked neutrally standard questions, and the interviewee, a woman whose name we'd never before heard, although she is a local, bemoaned the fact that the 'Palestinian question' remains, and the world has done nothing to settle it. Yet another Hamas supporter.

 

It boggles the mind that a candidate for Parliament was elected ostensibly for the purpose of representing her geographic region and the needs of the population living there, yet she has become -- or is revealed to be, through her own sympathies -- an 'activist'-agent supporting a foreign terrorist group known to commit atrocities and indeed surpassed its reputation on October 7. Who is it she speaks so passionately for, other than committed murderers who 'govern' Gaza, a governance that has kept the Palestinian people living there in a state of indigence, but for its elite  terrorist members.

 

A people mute on their Hamas masters who at intervals see fit to make them human shields whenever it shoots rockets and missiles at Israel, from weapons sites deliberately placed near or within schools, medical clinics, crowded apartments, hospitals knowing that Israel's defence forces like any other country under attack will respond to those attacks threatening the lives of its citizens, to destroy the rocket sites.

 

We're fortunate to live in a country where armed conflict does not visit. Oncoming winter sees us slowly acclimating to colder weather; our furnaces and our homes are warm and dry and comfortable, and frankly lovingly appreciated for the assurance they offer us of that comfort we so need. We know they won't be invaded by a death-cult-crazed legion of haters. But the world is a finite place and becoming more interwoven year by year. We have absorbed a population among whom an admiration has been cultivated for those deliverers of death to innocent people.

 

Jackie and Jillie remind us every day of our obligation to them and to ourselves, to live life with as much joy as is possible. Taking ourselves out into raw nature is one of those assets given our geography that we can indulge in, and so we do. The calming effect of nature's indifference to the affairs of humanity brings us brief intervals of serenity. And for this, we are grateful.

 

 

We awoke this morning to light streaming through our bedroom windows. And that was a refreshing, welcome change from much of the past week gone by when rain was incessant. Mind, it's also colder now, we're expecting frost again tonight, but we can live with that. And whatever is left of the garden can also live with the frost, at least a day or two of it, since all that blooms has been well inundated and thus protected to a degree from icy temperatures.

Warming bowls of hot oatmeal seemed perfect for breakfast following our fruit course of melons and bananas. And then, of course, tea and coffee. Jackie and Jillie had their usual bowls of kibble, yoghurt, bits of melon and a leftover meatball cut into small pieces. Oh, and a scrambled egg between them to set them up for the day. 

A day that looked promising, that would compensate in part for their having been shut out of a walk yesterday since there was not even the briefest period of rain lifting enough for us to get out. It poured and it poured and then poured some more. Even the canopy in the forest isn't dense enough to ensure they wouldn't get drenched, despite wearing raincoats.

After breakfast, Irving re-arranged the space in the larger of our two garden sheds, and began emptying the deck of its summer furniture. Now it's all securely stored in the shed, with shovels and the snow thrower moved to the front of the shed, readily available when needed. There's still more furniture at the front of the house, and that'll be next in line to join the storage brigade.

The temperature had warmed to a toasty 9C by the time we got out in the afternoon for our ravine walk. The wind was  balanced by the warming effect of the sun sailing through a blue sky with not even a hint of a wispy-white cloud. Wind and rain of the days previous, especially yesterday when torrents came down and the wind whipped the atmosphere, had brought down light branches and far more foliage.

The trails were dazzling in a radiant display of bright yellow leaves, both poplar and maple. We swept through the the growing piles, appreciating the colour, knowing that as the days progress the bright yellow will become a tired and unappealing dark and dismal grey, the freshness dissipated, the still-moist leaves becoming brittle on their way to decay.

On our return home a short survey of the garden revealed roses still in bloom with new flower buds presenting themselves in anticipation of their yet-endless opportunities to bloom. It's amazing how tough and adaptive to inclement weather some roses can be. 

We're steeped deeply in voluminous rain again. Not only rain, but the temperature has taken a plunge; 3C in the morning and it has since, by afternoon, nudged up 2 degrees. There'll be frost tonight, but our remaining flowering plants won't be hurt this time, I'm sure, since they've been well inundated with rainwater; protection against a quick frost. 

In weather like this we work to a kind of relay team rhythm. One of us dons a raincoat and persuades the puppies to follow outside. Jillie is quick, she does her business and zips back up the stairs to be let into the house. Jackie takes his sweet time, no matter the weather, and sallies back and forth around the backyard, trips around to the back of the garden sheds, under the deck, over to the back fence, then repeat. He's in no hurry.

Meanwhile, whoever stayed in the house takes in the wet, bedraggled pups as they appear at the sliding doors to towel them down as dry as possible. Invariably, after this routine they're bumptious and want to have a tussle; not with one another, but with us. We take turns at this routine too.

I took my camera out with me on one of my 'turns' to snap a few pics of the still-blooming backyard potted begonias. They look perfectly composed. This weather presents no dilemma to them. Not until frosty nights become more numerous and seriously nippy. That's the time when garden clean-up includes divesting the containers of their bright and beautiful flowers.

The wind that has accompanied the cold and the rain has thrashed the trees, bringing down more foliage, twigs and whatever else is detachable. Everything, leaves and flowers, glistens with rain. The windows are thick with droplets that cling to the glass. The screens are full of rain. Ladybugs are doing their own seasonal thing, trying to escape the cold by entering the house with us. Yesterday on our return from our brief ravine hike we found a slimy snail clinging to Jillie's haircoat. Out it went, poor thing, into its element.

No interlude in the rain today offering us an opportunity to get out. A perfect day to warm ourselves with the  help of the fireplace, and on it went. It will remain on for the remainder of the day, until we move ourselves upstairs to bed.

On the brighter side, we've got a family Zoom get-together this evening when our older son talks about his recent trip to Italy to attend an international Antique Telescope Society convention, that took place in Rome, Florence and Milan. He had 'spare time' to visit museums and art galleries with their legendary sculptures as well as absorb the sites visited as a group by attendees of the conference where he delivered a paper himself.

Heavy overnight rainfall continued throughout this morning and into the afternoon hours. A dark day of perpetual dusk, overhead black clouds scudding over a landscape that would see no clearing this day. A day of leisure and the comfort of a warm, dry house, while outside raged the wind and the rain, the atmosphere cool and denying aspirations toward a tryst with nature in our nearby forest.

There is an undeniable beauty on such moody days. Looking out toward the house exterior into our gradually diminishing  garden, I'm grateful for the beautiful, still-fresh-in-appearance, hardy annuals that continue to bloom in our garden containers, insouciantly denying the season and oncoming frosts. Each time now, at this time of fall, when I glance out at our intimate landscape I'm thankful for this brief extension of summer's garden gifts. In the knowledge that their remaining time is brief.

We're absorbed by the news, watching footage through the Internet compulsively, listening to news releases, viewing debates and worrying, worrying with concern over outcomes. We speak quietly together, our voices betraying disquiet and concern. Jackie and Jillie are concerned about nothing but their creature comforts and we reflect those basic instincts ourselves. Unlike theirs, ours are tainted by the stain of ages-old experience.

We regularly update one another in sometimes terse passages of newly-acquired information. And then turn to musing over what underlying message there can be regarding events and statements by those close geographically to those events. The tragedy unfolding yet again seems too much to bear. Bear it we must. And look for comfort wherever it can be found in the outside world, finding instead that it is sparse, while the opposite is spirit-overwhelming.

Then finally the rain begins to lighten, though not the sky. Soon, in mid-afternoon we're able to get out with our puppies, albeit dressed for more rain, which will most certainly fall, given prevailing conditions. We're hoping a brief interval will allow us a short walk through drenched forest trails before the rain continues, and this is exactly what occurs.

We take precautions in balance on our initial descent into the ravine. Throughout the hours of heavy rainfall, much more foliage has descended to the forest floor. A kaleidoscope of colour is everywhere, beautifully varnished by the rain. Colour, despite the gloom of the dusky forest interior, is intensified. 

The creek is swollen with rainwater. It rumbles and burbles over cascades created by rock and fallen trunks and branches that temporarily interrupt its smooth but turbid flow. Carrying with it, fallen detritus, masses of spent foliage, and cloudy with particles of clay. A strange, and eerie light, common to such weather events, hangs over the landscape, further enhancing its beauty.

While our bodies are physically active, our minds are passively focused on watching Jackie and Jillie, and allowing our eyes to capture the beauty surrounding us. There is no intention, only a relaxed mode of contemplation even though the serenity of the place clears our minds. One other couple whom we're familiar with has braved the opportunity to briefly visit the forest. Their dog, far more familiar to us, takes its share of cookies, and we see no one else out this day.

When we return home we linger briefly in the garden. To look at the brilliant colours of the forever-blooming begonias that we plant so lovingly and expectantly in the spring, so many months ago, yet seemingly just yesterday. The flowers are lush and lovely, their colours scintillating with rain.

 

Most days of the week I'm too busy to spare time for the garden. The week's forecast informed us that Saturday would be a mild, sunny day, and I earmarked it for giving me the opportunity to continue cleaning up the garden for fall. Unfortunately, the forecast has changed since then and rain is in the offing; 90%, so there goes that plan. I had planned to go through the rock garden and finish up the backyard, cutting back vegetation. It'll have to wait for another day of opportunity. Meanwhile, the four bags of compost I collected on Wednesday will be put out for collection on Monday night.

 

 

I asked Irving what he'd like for a dessert treat and he came back with a chocolate cake. So that's what I baked, in two layers, and between them I slathered raspberry jam, with a chocolate frosting over the entire cake. Too bad I can't get baking tins half the size of the ones I have, since I'd prefer to bake smaller cakes, but these old round pans will do; the layers are just thinner, while still as large in circumference as usual.

 

 

When we took ourselves out to the ravine in the afternoon, we came across an old ravine-hiking friend we haven't seen in months. As usual, we stopped to chat briefly. From initially discussing how beautiful the forest is now in its autumnal glory, we deviated into a sombre exchange on the massacre in Israel. His daughter, he told us, is dating a young Jewish man, whose best friend in Israel just lost one of his legs during a battle.

 

 

I excused myself, and walked on down the steep decline, apologizing to our friend, telling him I just was unable to continue the conversation. Irving stayed up above, and they talked together awhile, while I waited at the bottom of the descent, looking around at the trees. Now that I was speaking with someone from the greater community, I just wasn't able to unemotionally talk about the situation. I was no longer weeping when Irving finally caught up with me and gave me a reassuring hug.

 

It was about then that the sky itself began weeping. We weren't dressed for rain. There was only supposed to be a 30% chance of rain today. But most of the forest canopy, colourful as it is, was still fairly intact. No need to return home; we counted on the rain continuing to be light. And evidently so did a lot of other people. Surprising, since so often we see no one else out, particularly on a week day.

 

But out they were, and we kept seeing dogs we know trotting and running purposefully toward us. So it didn't take very long before the large-sized cookies were gone. The dogs that stop by to say hello while their humans are off somewhere else on the intersecting trails, usually expect two cookies; that's the formula, and until both are received they wait, then turn and depart as quietly and swiftly as they had arrived.

 

 

It's all balm for troubled souls. The magic of nature's serenity, the beauty unfolding before us. The prospect of greeting old friends, both canine and human. The pleasure that Jackie and Jillie derive from their daily rounds through the forest trails and meeting up with their friends. And our quiet conversations between ourselves, troubled and sad.

 

 

 

The street we have lived on over the past thirty years, and streets adjacent to ours, hosts a community of people from everywhere in the world. There are people living on the street whom we've known for decades and others for only a few years, while some, mostly very young families are as yet personally unknown to us. But we've known and know neighbours from Bangladesh, India, Russia, Hong Kong, France, Syria, Egypt and elsewhere. Among us live French Canadians, Black Canadians, Christians, Hindus and Sikhs, Muslims and Jews.

 

 

When I was out this afternoon working in the garden, a man we know as a frequent visitor to the forest we visit daily walked by with his beautiful Rhodesian ridgeback, a noble creature of great beauty. Down the street came the regular thwack of a young boy hitting his ball through his net. There was a rise of children's voices in play. Very little vehicular traffic passes on the street. It is a quiet street of single-family and attached homes. Just down the street there is a semi-major artery and crossing that, there are parks and playgrounds in both directions.

 

 

The ravine that we visit daily runs through the community. Barely a trickle of the number of people who live nearby have any idea of what it's like to walk through the woodland trails. We're mostly urban creatures with little curiosity about the natural world close at hand, even though on occasion someone might glimpse a raccoon or a rabbit, even a fox and in the past deer or beaver, edging out of the forest briefly onto someone's lawn.

 

 

Another overcast, cool and very pleasant day today met us as we walked through the forest with Jackie and Jillie. On our way there, we came across one of our near neighbours just exiting the ravine as we walked up the street. She walks alone now for a relief from concerns, her husband no longer accompanying her since he's been experiencing health and mobility problems. It's a pleasure to stand awhile and talk together quietly as she described their recent visit with scattered family members in Winnipeg.

 

We made our trip through the ravine this afternoon a bit on the short side. Irving had been busy in his workshop completing one of his stained glass pieces; puttying it before installing it within a door frame he has yet to produce. So while he was cleaning up from that I had taken Jackie and Jillie out and began working in the garden, cutting back our myriad of hostas. On our return the puppies had their salad, Irving went out to run a few errands, and I continued clearing away the garden for its fall/winter rest.

Right about now on the calendar we're nearing the height of autumnal colour. In the same vein, our annuals, those that haven't yet been taken out of the garden for composting, are beginning to dry up. I watered our hanging dipladenia vine in the back garden for the last time, out of compassion, seeing the foliage still bright and glossy, but the flowers hanging limp and beginning to rust and fall off. 

Some of our garden ornamental trees are almost bare of leaves, but most still cling to their foliage and in a way it's sad to see how bedraggled and miserable some are becoming. But this seasonal change is inevitable and though they've been through it countless times, like us, the reaction is one of dismay. The loss is temporary, everything will regrow, from sturdy old perennials to the foliage now vacating tree branches.

This is nature's way of giving all these hard-working and varied vegetation specimens, from trees to shrubs to faithfully-returning perennials a well-earned rest. Animals are sentient, we don't have any real idea how green growing matter erupting from soil could be 'aware'. Simply put, they all react to the ancient signals of weather conditions, of temperature and of light.

Walking up the street toward the ravine, the street landscape itself declares fall  is present, winter is imminent. Trees on people's lawns, on the periphery of the forest bordering the street, all declare their awareness of the fall transition. Before we reach the group mailbox it's time to turn right, enter the trail, turn left again and descend into the forest.

Now that rain hasn't fallen again for a week, the creek running through the ravine's bottom is hugely reduced in volume. It barely makes a sound as the water makes its way tranquilly downstream. Robins occasionally rise from the water in little groups, juveniles of the season who may or may not migrate. 

Jackie and Jillie sniff about incessantly, picking up messages only their keen noses can decipher but obviously delivering important news of the canine world to them. We dress them now in light little doggy-sweaters to fend off the cool air, their harnesses over, quickly accessible to their leashes. And now and again when Jillie becomes a little too obstreperously hostile to the random presence of dogs she doesn't know, she gets placed on her leash.

We haven't the heart to restrain her, however, when the coast is clear as it mostly is, and she happily greets other dogs that she knows well from long acquaintance, off comes the leash and she's free to continue gamboling along with Jackie. 

When we return home, they turn suddenly glum. Instead of dancing around me, demanding their vegetable salad as always after our forest gambol, they go off to the family room, morosely waiting. Then, when we're ready to leave, they raise a chorus of yodeling their unhappiness at being left at home alone while we go off to do the grocery shopping. 

They didn't respond when I told them their salad was ready, uninterested in racing into the kitchen as usual to gobble them down. That had to wait on our return when being reunited with us relieved their tension and they were ready to indulge in eating once again.