Disappointingly, I have no pictures of myself in a sunbonnet. Instead, please enjoy this old timey pic of the future Widow Smith in Prince Edward Island in 1983, with one of her primary supporters (then and now).
This is one of those little pieces I wrote some time ago that didn’t really fit in my book, but would have fit just fine here, had Substack existed for me at the time. If you know my roommate, Doranne, you will know that she often begins sentences with, “My Dear, can I just say…” and if you know her, you can hear her beautiful accent. I think of her because I think, Can I just say that I love everything about Substack and this format? And that I am profoundly grateful for my paid subscribers, for whom I do not do enough. Can I just say thank you? And here is a little, fanciful something.
The Widow Smith
I have neighbors who nearly always shovel my driveway. I actually don’t mind shoveling most of the time; I’ve always kind of liked it. It counts as a workout, I figure. But it’s pretty convenient to wake up to a shoveled driveway before you can even think of doing it yourself. I post a picture of my shoveled driveway and Regie says that she wishes they lived closer and could do it, but I tell her not to worry, because it takes a village to help the Widow Smith.
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