It wasn’t that big a shed as I remember, but somehow we’ve ended up with this basement full of ugly lumber. Dennis says it’s going to last us forever. The boards are full of nails and, when I clean out the ashes in the mornings, I have to gather up the blackened nails too. Some of them get stuck in the grate and it’s a real job prying them out. But, on the other hand, there’s not much point in buying firewood when we’ve got all this scrap wood to use up. It isn’t as though we’re heating the house with the fireplace, as Dad says. It’s just for enjoyment. He can’t believe that people actually go into supermarkets and buy Prestologs. Prestologs floor him completely, the whole idea of manufacturing something for the purpose of burning it up.

Around noon I give Dennis and the kids a pick-up lunch, and while we sit talking at the kitchen table I look up and see Dad passing by the window. We never even heard him drive up. He smiles at us through the frosted glass, and I can see how we must look to him with our grilled cheese and glasses of milk and talk. The shoulders of his big plaid jacket are stippled with snow and his eyes seem vague as though the pupils are only parked there temporarily. “Is that goose I’m smelling?” he asks, coming in through the back way. I say yes, that I put it in the oven an hour ago. He looks happy, anticipatory.

In the afternoon, while the goose spits and crackles in the roasting pan, Dennis takes Dad to the New Year’s Day Levee at the Legislative Building. This happens here every New Year’s Day. In the old days it was a military affair, a strictly male-only event, but now the general public is invited, even kids. For entertainment there’s an RCMP band and a troop of Scotch pipers in full regalia. You line up and shake hands with the premier of Manitoba and his wife, the lieutenant governor and his wife, and then you have a glass of Gimli Goose, which is a kind of pinkish wine, and some fruitcake or shortbread.