Where does it come from?

"You're too much of a bitch to die," I said laughing.  Had lunch recently with a friend from the pool.  She has stage four lung, brain and liver cancer.  Other than that, she's in fine fettle and good humour.  The first person to befriend me at the pool four years ago, she is someone with whom I clicked. 

We compared funeral notes.  Both of us have ours organized and paid for -- right down to the headstone.  All that's missing is the date of death.  We agreed we don't want our children cursing us as they try to tidy up our messes and stick us in the dirt or throw us over the water.  But I have to admit, I would not be as cheerful were I in her situation.  She is remarkable. 
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Toronto son left yesterday morning after a week-long stay.  Miss him already.  He spent two hours polishing the ancient, pocked headlights on my Civic while he was here.  Hitherto, I was not certified to drive at night because they were so bad.  He also swept out the garage -- which I have not done in more than four years.  What a lazy b-tch I can be at times!  We had a grand time, voici a couple of snaps:

Visiting the famous Ranchmen's Club.

Some of the whimsical painted mounts at Spruce Meadows.