Today, actually this morning, I killed a nice woman who was in the way, and is now out of the way. I committed the crime with a bleeding heart. I cried, really I did.

I held no grudge against her, but feel I too have to go with the flow of the story demanding it.

I am all confused and feel guilty, but saw no other way out. I am sorry about it all.

You know who she is, or was - Lolke's wife, Agnes. (see Friday's story)

Right from the beginning it was decided that that Lolke and Helen would have to meet up again sometime, somewhere, and not casually, like an accidental meeting in the mall and going for a cup of coffee at Tim Hortons, no we all wanted something better for Helen, the happy kid with the dancing blond hair who even moved the village dominee, didn't we.

Lolke received more than what he was going to get from Helen, remember that she, still a teenager, demanded Lolke to promise not to have more than four children, and this was way back in the dark ages of the early fifties, when birth control was way in the future, and sinful. They were mere kids then and innocent kids at that. Well, not quite.

Lolke is a widower now, just at the beginning of building a large dairy business which he started to build together with Agnes. They received not four but seven children, all boys.

It is so tragic and I really do not know where to go from here.

The rest of the week was pretty good and really exciting.

My brother Durk, the one aiming to live 120 years, together with his lovely wife Brenda, is safely (and temporarily) living with his daughter in Kelowna. It has been raining but not enough to quench the fires, and Durk thinks it will be a while before he and his wife are able to return home in Williams Lake.

Our building at Menno place is being revamped and receives air conditioning!

Not only that, the vacant areas between several buildings are in the process of receiving a complete rejuvenation, as those spaces together are made into a mini golf course, so I have to learn how to play golf, or actually, how to putter.

At one stage the ball, being puttered into the last hole on the high greens, keeps on going through a pipe underneath the artificial turf, under a new hedge, and spills onto a concrete sidewalk below, where it rolls at a dignified speed unto the second green, which is three or four feet lower, and contains the last four of the nine-hole putting greens.

It really excites me as it is a masterful invention, all engineered by staff members, who must have had a lot of fun creating it, but I can foresee one extra cost yet – every time a ball, traveling from the last hole in the upper greens, tumbles onto the footpath below, should there not have been booms installed, stopping the sidewalk walkers behind their walkers momentarily, allowing safe passage of the tossed about balls finding their way into the lower regions for the final onslaught?

And if that's not enough, we are also getting a grass-bowling green, or greens. (I like to cover myself as, besides all these improvements they have also employed *a very nice aber very knowledgeable young woman whose job it is among many more and much more important tasks, to inspect my scribbles as to accuracy, artracy, and whatever racy's she might think of, and only if she deems my epistles worthy to consider.)

As the lowest on her totem, I like to climb at least a few steps upon the ladder of success so I can enjoy the view from above.

to my loyal reader(s) – have a great week and join us for a coffee at our open house.
Since I do not get paid for words over 694, that's it – lex.

*the young woman has three A's in her name, not all capitals, more like Argantina.