So much depends...

Oh, just look at all that shiny stuff -- right down to the gold-striped serviettes. Shiny or what. 

Those items were accessories at the buffet meal served yesterday at the 'celebration of life' held for a dear friend. I'm not sure she would have liked that much plastic, especially where it looked like it might not be recyclable. Still, it certainly made the table very pretty, and I know that intentions were good. 

The food was quite amazing, with everything from several kinds of salmon -- delicate smoked lox, even chunks of candied salmon. And just about every kind of fruit you could think of, especially the summer treats like melons and berries. 

But for me, even more amazing were the memories people shared. It felt like all of us in the room were part of some overgrown aging family. 

And most amazing of all was one of the speeches, clearly the best-prepared of any that were presented. 

This friend used the analogy of the humble wheelbarrow to illustrate the many wonderful traits of our recently-gone friend. The wheelbarrow, overall, was such an apt metaphor for our friend as she was an avid gardener who never let the chance to enlist guests in work parties pass her by. But on, to the wheelbarrow, on which we know 'so much depends'. 

The legs, left and right, stood for the two sides of her brain -- logic and organizational skills on the right, balanced by the freedom-loving creative side on the left (which was also pointed out as being the departed's political leanings). 

The wheel with its ever-forward, onward direction reminded us of our friend's penchant for travelling the globe, sometimes even on the wheels of a bicycle. 

And yes, William Carlos Williams told it so beautifully all those years ago with his spare little poem about the wheelbarrow. 

Shiny plastic cutlery or not, I am sure our friend must have looked down on all of us and smiled. 

Well-deserved

There are days when it's a treat to get out and see people. Happily, today was one of those, and not just because the sun was shining (though yes, that helps). 

My reason for getting out -- and even into the city -- was a celebration. 

Susan Musgrave was being presented with the George Woodcock Award for a lifetime achievement in the literary arts. The list of her publications was far too long for the presenters to read, though there was an amazing display of the library's copies of her books on a large table at the back of the room. 

Despite the weighty occasion, as always is the case, Musgrave managed to make the audience laugh. She remembered how the award was originally sponsored by the company then known as 'BC Gas' (now Fortis) and how she thought the idea of getting a lifetime award from that outfit didn't sound so great -- 'a lifetime gas award?'

It was great seeing so many friends I hadn't seen these last three long years -- all of us a little greyer, but happy to see each other. 

And I can't end this short post without acknowledging the other author honoured at this event, Alan Twigg. He was presented as this year's winner of the George Ryga Award for Social Awareness in Literature. The award recognizes all that Twigg has done to ensure that writings about the Holocaust are preserved. 

An amazing evening, one where I felt privileged to witness two presentation to two very deserving recipients. 

Afterthoughts

My last post, about the Amelia Earhart Festival, left out one element of the festival that's always been important to me -- the traditional Saturday night display of fireworks. 

There've been many times I've sat beside my friend Louise (whom everyone else called Lou), oohing and ahhing as the pyrotechnical show entertained us, lighting up the sky above the Missouri River to the sounds of the 1812 Overture. 

This year, there was no Louise. After a long life she left us, but her absence wasn't the only thing that had changed for me about the fireworks. 

Ukraine, and specifically Odesa (which I've at least learned to spell the non-Russian way), where a man I've met -- in Atchison, no less -- still lives, in an apartment with his aged parents. Every time I hear about Odesa in the news, I can't help but worry about him and his family. His emails have reported the shriek of missiles flying overhead, on their way to some hideous destination, not long ago, a mall where he'd often shopped. 

Last night we were invited to a friend's place to get a strategically great view of the local (White Rock) fireworks display. And again, I admit to a few inward shudders when I heard their boom-booming noises. I know the fireworks we watched were strictly on display for entertainment, but because I've probably watched too much news coverage of this hideously destructive war on Ukraine, hearing those crackling sounds and deep booms has lost some of its appeal. I can't help but think they sound just a little too much like the sounds of machine guns and exploding bombs. 

Quite the pair!

I love these two Buddhas, sharing a laugh. They look to me like the epitome of what friendship means.

Yet today isn't a day when I'm celebrating Buddhism. Rather, I'm thinking about friendship. This is partly because a group of longtime friends celebrated a big birthday last weekend. It's also because today marks the birth date of Eleanor Roosevelt, a best friend to one of my heroes, Amelia Earhart.

The two of them shared many values, especially their vision of full equality for women. They also both hoped for peace, yet another goal I continue to hope for.

Best of all, they shared many good times, and the joy of flying was part of that.

I suppose, in addition to wanting to celebrate Eleanor, I'm getting excited at the thought of the tv show that's coming up just over a week from now. When I was in Kansas this summer, a crew from National Geographic was doing interviews and filming key persons in Atchison during the Amelia Earhart Festival. I suspect that my mentor and friend Louise Foudray should have something to say during that presentation. I sure hope she hasn't wound up on the cutting room floor. To see a preview of the program scheduled to air on October 21st, follow this link -- then scroll down to the words, "Expedition Amelia" for a sneak peek at what's in store.

But now, here's to Eleanor, and to long lasting friendships, wherever and when we may find them. Something to be grateful for always, but maybe especially on this Thanksgiving weekend.

Fleeting glimpses

Where the Vernal Equinox was yesterday, today is the first full day of spring -- and it feels like it. It's bright and sunny, and there's a light breeze that carries the sweet scent of blossoms. It's even quite warm outside (as long as you're in the sun).

But it's a day that brings a small chill along with it, as it marks one month since the death of a friend who lived in the neighbourhood.

She'd always seemed frail, but maybe in the way that thin, pretty blonde women can appear to me. She embodied that lovely fragility we once associated with old-fashioned china dolls.

There hasn't been a service -- not even an announcement -- so I suppose I have some unresolved feelings surrounding her death, especially as I was the one on the phone with the 9-1-1 person.

I probably won't forget what it was like to be standing in the road when the firetruck, lights flashing,  sirened its way to a stop in front of me. Nor will I forget the confusion of several conversations going on at once, as the struggle to get her to treatment went on.

There's more that I remember, but that's something I still need to hold in my heart, a heart that still gets a knot when I think of her. It feels something like that heart of knotty tree roots enclosing the batch of crocuses in the photo.

Someone too young, someone to remember.

Life on the coast

Coasting. Sometimes that's how it feels, especially on days when the rain seems to be winning. Days like today, when it's on and off blustery-wet and the most you want to do is read and think.

We've been away, visiting places with lots of fresh fish and seafood -- even conch.
Yet although we had a wonderfully relaxing time on holiday, it's hard to beat being home. Especially when one of first nights back found us sharing a scrumptious meal with friends. The first course felt especially like a welcome home: fresh Dungeness crab from nearby Saturna Island.

I usually don't serve fresh crab unless we can eat outside (hint: it gets messy). But my smarty-pants girlfriend just covered the kitchen table in newspaper and we tossed shells helter-skelter, then wrapped it all up and off it went to the 'green' garbage bin. Not only delectable, but tidy.

While tonight's meal isn't anywhere near as exotic, it was fun to be able to dash outside between squalls to pick some fresh chives and parsley for the pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, as well as fresh oregano and rosemary for the slices of eggplant cozying in the oven.

All in all, it's good to be home.

Better late than never?

If I'd been serious about having bulbs in bloom for Christmas Day, I would have got started on this project much sooner. Unfortunately, too many sad things have slowed me down the last little while, the saddest being the death of a very dear friend.

Still, where she was such a skilled gardener (and especially fond of items that were exotic), it seemed important to at least start a few pots of bulbs for forcing even if they might not bloom until the new year.

The ones in the photo are one of the most traditional (and easiest) bulbs for this, paper-white narcissi, and despite how they might resemble a pan of yummy roasted onions, they are definitely not an edible.

I also planted a couple of hyacinths, each in their own Christmas-themed cup. They're so very fragrant when they bloom, they can't help but bring sweet thoughts of springtime.

My wildest experiment (also in a cup) is the Acmopetala Fritallaria. It's supposed to be easy to grow (though that may only apply to outside in the garden or in the Middle East, where they're from). Whatever, it's a species that's got to be easier to grow than to pronounce.

And just to ensure a showy display, I've got an amaryllis with a pretty good start. Those showy trumpeting blossoms are guaranteed to brighten the darkest day or mood.

I'm looking forward to having all these flowers in bloom to help me to celebrate, whether it's Christmas or New Year's or for that matter, Australia Day. Something bright and sweet to remind me of Jane.