If it were up to him.

Really his call? They'd stay home on Sundays. But her mom needs to go, and she can't get her into the car all by herself. So every Sunday by 10:30 am they're on the road to church. And he thinks it's not too bad really, compared to what it was a few years ago when he, if you'd have asked him, if you'd have even thought he'd talk to you, talk to anyone, sitting in the curling club lounge drinking rye and coke and watching, his knees shot, and him unwilling to use that long shuffleboard pole to push the rock and then stand there like some invalid as it slides down the sheet. He couldn't even walk along to help sweep if they needed it. It was, in his word, stupid ridiculous.

One winter a few years ago she walks up into the club lounge during the women's spiel after her game and there he is at the window watching and sipping and, it's strange to say it of these two, really if you could see them they're just plain opposite of the romantic ideal: tall and stout meets short and plump, balding meets graying, but they were both wearing plaid quilted shirts. Maybe that was what gave them permission. Gave her permission to sit down beside him, with her drink in a tall cup, and a piece of blueberry pie. She just walks over to the window he's sitting at and asks if she can sit down. He nods. She sits. They sip and eat in silence. Ten minutes. Some of those who saw them there say it was twenty. Whatever it was, they sat there until all the games were over. Then they stood up at once, brought their cups and so on to the counter and walked out together. Into the night, as it were. Into their lives together. Ho hum. For some. Anyway everyone believes that's when they met first. That's when it started. No one knows for sure. No one's ever asked.

But he would rather be in church every Sunday with her and her mother than sit in the house with his older brother - who he farms with - and watch Jimmy Swaggart and Nascar. Of course he'd be happiest sitting in his living room with her, eating eggs and toast and listening to the radio - he's offered to bring her mother over for this sort of thing - and then get on with the day. But she just shakes her head. You can't always get what you want. And you know the rest.

Rode 40ks: E to 30, S to border, N to Altona (around by Bunge), S to 421, W to home. Wind S 30-50 ks.