Look-ing

We are in the mountains.

Banff.

We have been coming here for 32 years and, though our timeshare is getting a bit shabby, it’s home.

The weather has been nothing short of glorious. I can’t remember a time when the leaves have simply been falling without first being frozen. Golden. Orange. Some red. Leaving a marvelous carpet that smells of…Autumn.

This trip was a gift from my youngest daughter and my Husby for my birthday.

Makes getting a year older so much more palatable.

The apartment is on two levels. Two bedrooms up, two bathrooms, one up and one down, and a living room and a kitchen, down. Small, but comfortable.

Enough background…

This morning, we had finished our swim and Gramma was in the shower. Erm…showering.

I had remembered underwear, but had forgotten clothing.

Which was sitting in a neat pile on my bed.

Upstairs.

Oops.

Granddaughter #6, ten-years-old and Granddaughter #11, three-years-old, were playing in the front room just outside the downstairs bathroom where I was ablute-ing (is that a word?)

I poked my head out the door and said, “Gramma forgot her clothes, so I’m going to run upstairs in my underwear. No one look.”

There was silence in the front room. Which I took to be consent. (Silence means consent, doesn’t it?)

I dashed toward the stairway.

Just then a little three-year-old voice came form the front room. “Gramma. I looked.”

Well, at least she’s honest.