Seaside, California

 

                                                                                             
 

I am slowly finding the rhythm of Gill's family - at times frantic and how can it not be with a curious two+ year old here, there, and everywhere? He is the apple of his parents' eyes, and is so damn cute that the world is his oyster, gaining smiles wherever he goes. He is also a handful with a mind of his own and when I'm in charge, he needs my full attention to keep him safe.

I observe my daughter. She is a good mother, wife, daughter, wellness coach and business owner. A whirlwind. I would like her to slow down but she cannot so I've been doing what I can to help but it seems like too little and it's making me anxious.

This week Wilder's schedule changes. He is in daycare four days a week so I should have time to complete what I need to do in regards to my own life and finances. I need help but I think I need to wait until I am in Vancouver and can talk to my accountant and bank people. 

I am weary of travel and yet I catch so many glimpses of beauty that I don't want to stop. I have to glue myself to a chair wherever I am and plan so I am not so scattered and have more interesting thoughts.  

Saatchi Gallery, London

The main exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is about flowers as they are an integral part of our lives. We have flowers decorate at weddings and funerals. We send them to express love. We use them to beautify our living space, our gardens, our clothes, and our advertising. 

My friend Maureen and I took a stroll through this gallery and admired drawings, paintings, sculptures, Mary Quant fashion, record covers, film clips of flowers awaking and wilting but one installation by Rebecca Louise Law "La Fleur Morte 2025" appealed to me the most:

The artist writes that "La Fleur Morte explores the place between life and death. By memorializing nature, the work invites contemplation of our human connection to this earth through flowers. 

I look at preserved flowers and I see time.

I see survival.

I see life.

And I see death.

But there is a spiritual place.

In-between.

A place we can connect.

A place we can value.

A place we can stop

And think

And be."

Bad Sisters

I had such an endearing time with my three sisters. (The oldest sister was not present because she is difficult and has early Alzheimer's.) I spent time alone with Gael (at the far left on the photo) and then we flew to Regina, met up with Maggie (far right) and surprised our baby sister for her birthday. We all wore horns in keeping with the theme "Bad Sisters". At first I felt a little silly but most people gave us a big smile. One woman asked if we were horny. She also said that we looked as if we were going to have a better time than she was with her boyfriend. That gained a laugh. I think this a good reason to be sillier in public, a little wilder.

Bev has a beautiful cottage on Lake Katepwa, an hour from Regina. (Over thirty years ago, I flew in with Gilly for Bev's wedding. When we arrived, Gill laughed and said wasn't it strange that they call a city after a woman's private parts. Since then, we call the city Vagina. 

There is something free and easy being with siblings. I was always the first one up thus the only one to see the glorious sun rises. I could greet the day with a little Tai Chi and then clean the kitchen (my job) and sit and do a jigsaw or read, waiting for the others to rise. Bev or Gael always made breakfast. I only here pause and wonder what Maggie did. Doesn't matter. We flowed together. Nothing was a big deal. And most important, the birthday girl was overjoyed and overwhelmed that we all flew in for her. 

I love my sisters. 

Two Years Past

I'm a tortoise. 

I was in London on June 11 and Brendan mixed margaritas in Rob's honour, and we drank I have no idea how many. I woke the next morning fuzzy headed and cried.

I am surprised that two years have passed and although I have struggled doing Rob's chores as well as my own, I have coped. I am a little more accepting that our relationship wasn't perfect and underneath the married dialogue, we admired and trusted each other beyond measure. I wish that we could have talked more, made love more and that I had barked less and been kinder. Still I am grateful that our highs were pretty damn spectacular. 

I posted this video on Facebook because I want him to know he is not forgotten and I wanted to publicly acknowledge this. I have watched this slideshow over and over and what I keep seeing is his arms draped round me. His sister said that I was the love of his life. I see now that he was the love of mine.

I will forever be grateful for that last kiss. 

You and me

Sittin' in the back my memory
Like a honey bee
Buzzin' 'round a glass of sweet Chablis
...

Soul to soul

Heart to heart

And cheek to cheek
Come on baby
Give me a kiss
That'll last [a lifetime]

(Long Monday by John Prine)

 

When despair grows in me

 and I wake in the night at the least sound 

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought 

of grief. I come into the presence of still water. 

And I feel above me the day-blind stars 

waiting for their light. For a time 

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. 

Wendell Berry

Our house is a very very very fine house

 Since Rob's tragic fall, our house has become my house, and I no longer want to spend all my time here. 

Still, it is a very fine house in a 13th century Bastide town in the south of France, surrounded by sunflower fields and vineyards. 

Years ago, when Marlene agreed to hold workshops here, we called it the writing house and women from around the world came to write. When only we were at home, Rob. and I wrote. It's perfect for ruminating, for wandering around the countryside and for putting pen to paper. There are two offices with desks although I often find myself writing at the long kitchen table or on the outside table on the terrace. 

My house has a resident cat, an arrogant miss called Fauci who we adopted during the pandemic. At first, we thought she was a he and by the time we found out her gender, Fauci liked her name. She only demands to be fed once a day and be stroked when she so desires.

My house has many stairs and to make the ascent more interesting, I painted favourite quotes from family and friends on some of the steps.

I am looking for a good person or a couple to fly to France and care for my house and cat. One month is fine but two or more months is better.

If this appeals to you, please contact me at byyoung@mac.com.

Thank you. 

Death, be not proud

My sister Gael's beloved died April 24, 2025, nearly exactly to the day, two years ago, that Rob took his tragic fall. I am mourning the death of yet another good man. 

Larry was a husband, father, grandfather, brother and friend.

He was also a teacher, a dreamer, an inventor, a storyteller and know-it-all.
To put it simply, this world is left less interesting without him. And for those lucky to have loved him, his passing is incomprehensible.
---
Larry was born March 5, 1953, in Calgary, and grew up in small town Alberta. He spent his early days torturing his sisters, making friends with animals and figuring out the man he wanted to be. He left home to learn and adventure in forests and mountains. He eventually made his way to Ontario where he'd stay for over 30 years. Here, Larry found a community and with luck on his side, into his world came a wife, and her two young girls.
Larry's life was full. He spent these years becoming a champion for safety and supporting local
politics. He always made time to lend support to local causes and make the many people in his
life feel important. He nurtured his interest in games and stories and learned to cook and DIY.
He never stopped loving nature and travel and dreaming of his next adventure.
In time, he was gifted with two granddaughters and two grandsons and his role as grandpa may
have been his most cherished.
That Larry's story ends with an inexplicable illness, is not what anyone would have chosen. But
he left as he lived, surrounded by so much love.

My friend Wenda sent me this poem last week and it describes so much of what I've felt since Rob's death but the last stanza, I don't recognize as my tears still flow. I am thinking of my sister whose grief is raw. 

For Grief | John O’Donohue

When you lose someone you love, 
Your life becomes strange, 
The ground beneath you gets fragile, 
Your thoughts make your eyes unsure; 
And some dead echo drags your voice down 
Where words have no confidence. 

Your heart has grown heavy with loss; 
And though this loss has wounded others too, 
No one knows what has been taken from you 
When the silence of absence deepens. 

Flickers of guilt kindle regret 
For all that was left unsaid or undone. 

There are days when you wake up happy; 
Again inside the fullness of life, 
Until the moment breaks 
And you are thrown back 
Onto the black tide of loss. 

Days when you have your heart back, 
You are able to function well 
Until in the middle of work or encounter, 
Suddenly with no warning, 
You are ambushed by grief. 

It becomes hard to trust yourself. 
All you can depend on now is that 
Sorrow will remain faithful to itself. 
More than you, it knows its way 
And will find the right time 
To pull and pull the rope of grief 
Until that coiled hill of tears 
Has reduced to its last drop. 

Gradually, you will learn acquaintance 
With the invisible form of your departed; 
And, when the work of grief is done, 
The wound of loss will heal 
And you will have learned 
To wean your eyes 
From that gap in the air 
And be able to enter the hearth 
In your soul where your loved one 
Has awaited your return 
All the time.

I hope that Rob and Larry are enjoying margaritas together. I hope that they are in some magical place - the place that my grandson Seb described - having a good time.