Tonight I realized I’m old, old enough to instill fear in our youth. I watched as a 15 year-old led three kids ages 6 to 9 across the street in front of my parked car, at 6:15pm, without coats, or hats, or mittens, to the park, to play in the snow. Crazy, right? We live in Calgary, which is basically north of the wall for you GoT fans. You know, full of wildlings and snow — not Jon or the princess formerly known as Ms. White, but the cold white stuff that in Calgary can arrive at any time of the year — I wish this statement was exaggerated for effect, but it is not. Winter is here and it has been for some time. This photo was taken on October 2, 2018.

I pulled away from the curb thinking, “Kate, mind yer business” but instead of continuing down the street I looped around the park and slowed the car down so I could provide some unsolicited advice, a drive-by as they call it. This must be what Hillary had in mind when she said it takes a village. Just as the teen threw a shovel full of snow at the little girl’s body — now, I have to pause momentarily to note that she wasn’t even wearing wool, her shirt was made of a light cotton rayon blend, hardly sufficient to maintain her body temperature — I rolled down my window (is it still called “rolling” if I use a button?) and called out “buddy” he didn’t hear me, I tried again, “hey, buddy” this time he turned around. “The kids really should be wearing jackets, it is cold out here and they are going to freeze” I explained.

I was impressed that he didn’t tell me to fuck off, instead he responded with, “it is ok, they decided not to wear them, it is their choice.”

Terrible answer. Truly. “But it really isn’t. I assume you are looking after them right now?” I asked.

“Yes” he replied.

“Yeah, so, it is actually on you if their hands or feet, fall off, any limb really.” He stared at me, his eyes wide. I maintained eye contact with him as I rolled up my window (I’ve decided I’m ok to use “rolling” to describe the action) and gave him a nod as I slowly pulled away from the curb. In the rear view mirror I watched as he gathered the kids and hurried them home.

So, yeah, I’m old. Not as old as my office dog Bones, or Bonesy, as I call him, but old nonetheless.

They call me fun killer Kate.

Stay great!

FKK