To me the cosmological sense is that life, love, nature and reality all have second chances, with this meeting once a month, face to face in the same place when the Sun and the Moon meet.
It’s an old saw that we don’t learn from history, but the repetition of bad behaviour in the extreme during a world pandemic is unconscionable by those in power of anything.
I went to see my mother at Haro Park Center where she has lived the last 4 years, and where she survived the Covid pandemic that hit Vancouver in March 2020. It had only been a week but seeing her come towards me took my breath away. She appeared more frail. Smiling so bright, her electric neon pink suit and the hydrangeas she was walking past confused my line of vision.
August 9, 2020 Pipits and wagtails and maybe a song sparrow or two, breakfast from my very old bird feeder in my terrace garden around 5:30 in the mornings. It delights me to see them beak down, as they pick up, then thrust their heads up. Sometimes out of the blue – a seed will fly out of their beak grasp. That seed flying into the air reminds me of how a memory will fly into your head… also, out of the blue. Like it did, a month after Ghislaine Maxwell was rounded up for arrest in the Jeffrey Epstein […]
May 5, 2019 My best friend, Mark in London, and his wife are selling their house now that the kids are setting off for college. It’s that empty-nesting-downsizing thing. With the overemphasis on hurry-up-and-click-bait your life to death with techno gadgets, it was reassuring for me to tell him our own house buying story of twenty-nine years ago. Some things never change, I reminded him. He had explained the forever-the-same dance: someone made an offer on their place while they made an offer on the home they want. It all went belly up – because that’s life. And, if they […]
Remember back in the l970s’s the Orgasm-Atron in the movie, Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask? A character would walk into what looked like a space-age telephone booth. After a few minutes of twirling around inside he would come out totally refreshed after being pleasured beyond compare.
Well… Going to see your 87 year-old parent in a Care Facility is nothing like that.
When I drink tea from a particular porcelain cup of my mother’s which I have known all my life, I am transported to another world. Where the Crinoline Lady in blue and yellow holds a basket of flowers I imagined as a kid, a whole garden of such ladies waiting for me to join them. Considering that it was Winnipeg in 1960 - and likely a frosty winter day at thirty-below zero - the powers of imagination are something to behold.
“…The truths of our hearts and memories never finish running their risks,” wrote Peter Abelard to his love, Heloise in the 1100s. I look down from that flash card clipped to the lampshade on my desk as my eyes catch sight of a dusty wood carved turtle.
The latin word for memory is memoria. The very sound of that word draws me back
into, and forward with, a wave of some emotion I cannot describe. Like the tides I watch from the 26th floor of my apartment building. Even from a distance those tides are rhythmic, unrelenting, unremitting perpetual and ultimately mysterious.
“When did you get back from China?” Mom asked.
“I’m not in China, mom. How are you?”
A few minutes later, she said, “When are you going to China?”
Mom, I’m not going to China. I’m going to be right here.