I'm pretty sure that's my ash...

blue, blue skies, cold, calm winds, temps minus 15

Doesn't feel all that cold. Inf act, it's a beautiful day. Just clumped along to feed the birds, doing the round - snow crunchy and white and not a breath of wind.

Just got back from the funeral home in Magog for the visitation for Jacques Dad. In French it's called the 'expose'. On the way down Michael and I talked about what we'd like for our own funerals. We both agreed we'd like the service at Grace Anglican church in Sutton. We both want to be cremated. I'd like to go before him, but apparently we don't get to choose. Seems unfair, but there you go. I also think the funeral home visits are horrific. Not for the friends and supporters, but for the family. So I told Michael I'd like a very simple service, and then a party in the church hall afterward. A celebration. Because, frankly, if I go tomorrow, while it certainly wouldn't be my choice I know for sure life owes me nothing. Infact, I've been way luckier than I have any right to be. Quite astonishing. Michael said the same thing - about himself, not me.

The interesting thing in Quebec, as I believe I've mentioned before, is that often the actual burial is deferred until the spring, when it's easier to break the ground.

My preference is just to have the ashes spread. We did that with my mother. Buried some, then split the rest up among the 3 kids. And we all spread her where we wanted. Michael and I spread her on the island here on our property, into the elder bushes. We thought for a while she'd killed the bush since it disappeared for a couple of years - but then returned.

I'd like to be spread too...though perhaps not right on top of my mother. Imagine spending eternity arguing with Mom over whose bit of ash that was.

we're heading in to Montreal tomorrow...Michael has a colonoscopy Monday at noon. Just a regular check-up, nothing else. And I'm going in on Wednesday morning for another breast scan. Seems to have become a pasttime with me. Some people hang around the mall, I hang around the ultrasound. We all have our 'hoods.

Will start writing book 6 tomorrow morning...Bury Your Dead. And of course we're fasting for Michael's test...and being good co-dependents, I'm fasting too. Am already fantastizing about lunch Monday. Yum.

Speak tomorrow - stay well.

No answer

sunny, humid, temp 27

We're in Toronto. Got up at 4am - drove to Montreal and stopped briefly at the apartment there to see if Michael's suit was there...after searching every closet at home in country for it - twice. We kept thinking - where could we have left it? When was the last time Michael wore it? Did Gary take it?

It was hanging in the Montreal apartment - feel quite badly now about locking Gary in the basement as punishment. Oh well, I'm sure he can gnaw himself loose. He did last time.

Stopped at The 5th Wheel in Cornwall for breakfast, and a change of driver. Easy drive, though we skirted some pretty impressive thunderstorms. Amazing fork lightening off to our left. But it never hit us. Then sun came out around Kingston and we rolled into Toronto about 1pm

Just had lunch and will have a nap, then off to the funeral parlor (such an old-fashioned word, isn't it?) for the visitation. Having done this for my grandparents as well as mother and father I always think there is something kind of barbaric about the funeral rites. I agree there's a sense of closure - but what torture for the family! To have a sort of somber cocktail party in the same room as the deceased. Make small talk. Or crying everytime someone new arrives. I remember being so tired at my mother's I could barely stand. And I kept thinking, 'I have to call Mom and tell her how it went.'

That feeling lasted a long time. Have to call her about the delicates cycle in the dryer, about how to make Yorkshire pudding, about the roses now in bloom, about the great deals at The Bay. All the little things no one else would ever be interested in. Mom was.

I remember the first time I laughed after she died...I felt horrible. That took a while too - to know that life indeed goes on.

Mary and her family are going through that now. Poor ones.

We have tons of fudge for the kids. If Earl Grey tea is the opiate of the Anglos, as Peter says in Still Life, then candy is the gentle drug for kids.

Speak to you tomorrow. Funeral's at 11am, so will probably be later in the day.

A Bittersweet Day

Cloudy, minus 4, no word of rain!

To be alive is power,
Existing in itself,
Without a further function,
Omnipotence enough. - Emily Dickinson

This is a bittersweet day, joyous and sad. Two friends have lost loved ones and there are two funerals. One has an important birthday and Louise is coming home.

Guy and Nicole, dear neighbours, lost their son, Martin, this week after years and years that he suffered with multiple sclerosis. Such richness he gave to the world, exercising his amazimg talents: as dancer, musician, writer, humourist and humanist. He leaves a profound emptiness, but much love.

Lise and Delmar lost his brother, Wayne, after a lengthy illness; again, far too young. We've heard of his family gathering, of supporting each other, particularly Wayne's parents, and our hearts go out to them all. And it's Lise's fiftieth birthday. 'If I can just be with everybody, supporting them, that's enough for me', she told me. A generous soul.

And, joy of joys, Louise is flying home from Houston, through Chicago, her work done. Last night she appeared at Murder By The Book, then could relax, enjoy a meal, and get a good night's sleep. With no need to rise at 3 or 4am for a flight. Instead, a leisurely breakfast, reading the paper and relaxing, before her noon flight. The change in O'Hare seems a little tight, but I know she'll make it. I'm afraid our diets may be bruised a bit tonight! Gotta celebrate!

So long for now, till Louise needs me to sub again. And thanks for reading my blog and all your kind feedback.

Be well and ciao