Today being Sunday, and family being afoot, I thought it would be fun to go to our Vancouver lunch haunt - The White Spot. Now we did not brave highways waves and ferries to go there, we opted for the local franchise where we still could order the "Legendary White Spot Platter" and yum yum to that. No matter how old I get the White Spot is the standard by which I measure the tastiness of all hamburgers.
On the wall of the restaurant is a picture from long ago of the original White Spot in it's location at 65th and Granville. We South Vancouverites are well acquainted with it as we used to cut through it's parking lot on our way to David Lloyd George Elementary School - another relic from early Vancouver.
We gave our name and waited for a table as the after church crowd swelled the joint to capacity. I excused myself and went to wash my hands. And who should be sitting at a table for 4 with 3 church goers but (cue evil theme) THE PROFESSIONAL. How lovely to see her looking so very well so botoxed and groomed and dressed to the nines. She lives in my mother's house, the one she saved her entire life for to earn a retirement on the beautiful waterfront of this Island, on my father's money- the money he earned working from the age of 6 for, but, as, Madame Professional likes to say of her gorgeous renovated waterfront home, "She earned it". To my credit I did not accidentally drop something on her head as I walked past nor did I make a remark. I did, however, eat my lunch happily ignoring her.
Grace must be working its magic on me. Slowly.
Very very slowly.
I think I will take flowers to Mom's grave today.