Not off to Buffalo,
But up to Sexsmith.
It used to be 12 miles north of Grande Prairie.
Might still be, for all I know.
I haven't been there since Hillary was 7 months old, as far as I can remember.
Although, that's not saying much these days if The Husband is to be believed- and he usually is.
Apparently when we were in Camrose yesterday I walked right past him, then stopped, turned a bit, looked him in the eye and continued on after he told me he was in the particular store he had come out of at the time.
When I claimed to have no recollection of this incident he pretended to be a little nervous about sending me away, by myself, on the bus this morning.
Ah, well. I think it's a direct flight, and Hillary, who's now 20, will be there to collect her forgetful old mother.
It's mission's week at Peace River Bible Institute, and I'm going up for 2 nights to hear the choirs sing.
I guess Thomas and Hillary are both in a choir.
It should be interesting.
Probably even very fun.
If only I could find my Avon Skeleton earrings... tomorrow is Halloween after all. And I'm always ready to explain that these skeletons are representative of Ezekiel's vision of the dry bones and break into a chorus of "Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones..."
I'd better go finish packing.
I think I've got all the important things.
Strawberry jam... Dill pickles... Chocolate chip cookies... Chocolate peanut butter chip cookies...
We're good to go then.