Romancing Doreen-01 is Page 1 of 6. It's my story about how I learned of my sweet next door neighbors Romancing to Love story.

Doreen’s Gaelic-speaking parents arrived to Canada with Scottish and English background. They settled on a farm in the village of Pugwash, Nova Scotia. Her husband was a World War II survivor. She was ninety-five when she shared her Romance story of love...

By Tsa-me-gahl.
X’aisla Rainforest, Kitamaat, Canada
Turtle Island, Mother Earth, Milky Way

It’s early fall. A few trees are brilliant yellow against our deep ever greens. A definite chilly nip laces our ebbing summer breeze.

I return to my apartment building from my hour-long evening stroll. I pass the apartment entry to walk down the eight steps to the lower landing and walk past Doreen’s apartment door. Her cluster of keys hanging from her door-lock catch my eye. I stop and gently knock.

After a few minutes she opens the door. She stands back far enough to bend her knees so she can tilt her head up to look at me over her wide black-rimmed and thick glasses that frame her sparkly blue eyes. I smile and point to her keys.

"What? What’s that? Oh! I'm always doing that! It's just how I am now," she laughs resignedly as her wrinkled and veined hands move slowly to pull her keys from the lock. She turns to me, "Will you come in for tea?"

"Sure thing! I’d love to," I reply. She turns and I follow her inside.

Her light beige and dark brown spotted swivel armchair with splashes of brilliant orange flowers is her visitors seat. I sit down. Her matching couch is reserved for her so she can lay down as she starts to tire.

In her stocking-feet she moves slowly to her small kitchen. She comes back to stand in front of me. In her outstretched hand is a small electric kettle. A big happy grin lifts layers of wrinkles.

In her soft-aged-whispery-voice she says happily, "Look! Look what I just got! All I have to do, is put in the water! Plug it in! And tip this little knob up! It turns off all by itself!"

"Wow! Nice! That's sure a handy little kettle to have," I say with admiration.

Her happy smile pushes through again. "Yes! My Hester (her daughter) got it for me yesterday. She said it's better than getting another tea pot because she lost count of how many I've burnt!"

"Well, I've burnt lots of tea pots too. Your daughter sure is kind and thoughtful," I say.

In a definite happy tone she says, "Yes. Yes, she is. That's my Hester! I'll fill it up now." She plods softly back into her kitchen. I hear the tap running and then it’s turned off. She returns to her couch and sits at the far end.

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