Objects with a history follow your imagination into the past carving out their own stories. Years ago, my mother gifted me a glass bowl. A few months ago while visiting her, she told me once again to take the bowl home with me and I finally shipped it across the prairies from her Ontario farm.
My often privileged life is long enough to have had many ups and downs over almost seventy years including navigating the unevenly distributed challenges of this global pandemic. My daughter is the highlight of my life well-lived. I am grateful for the gifts of adoption, for the lifetime of love that ties us together.
Why did I want to rid myself of this beautiful piano? Newly retired, I wanted to make the house sparser, less a revelation about the material debris. amassed during 26 years in any house. The boxes of papers. The books in piles and shelves. Collected objects, story prompts, dear debris I've amassed in beloved junk stores where I’ve wandered. The things that make a life. I would call this blogpost a dilation. The lens is turned to admit more of a scene that leads us down linked but discontinuous subjects. All of them find a woman in the frame. A daughter. A writer. A political leader. Her mother. A chef. And a cook, me, writing up a storm. A delicious surprise ending.
Winter solstice is in the rear view mirror. This year, spring is once again on its way as I write. Six hours and nineteen minutes into a next year. Every day creeps closer to a high rising summer. Yesterday afternoon was a solstice celebration of connection. Acres of food, hours with friends, a happy visit. Though I did miss all the beloveds too far away or stricken with illness or long gone.r
A nine-course vegetarian feast. A birthday party for the wonderful Jillian Elizabeth. Chef Doreen Prei went above and beyond for this multi-faceted extravaganza for a dozen or so. Splendid dinner at Zinc Restaurant. Plus a brief winter of our discontent political detour to Alberta, Canada, the U.S. and the U.K.