in North York.
Since my father passed away, she’d been careful with money.
She rarely cooked elaborate meals for herself, preferring simple dishes that could stretch across several days.
That afternoon, she’d invited her neighbor Sandra over for soup.
When I arrived carrying an enormous Thanksgiving turkey, Mom stared at me.
“Margo? What on earth is happening?”
I managed a small smile.
“I brought dinner somewhere it might be appreciated.”
Mom blinked.
Then she burst out laughing.
She laughed so hard she had to sit down.
Sandra came into the
