There's a piece I'm working on about my grandmother. It's beautiful and so hard to write.
I'm naming the summer of 2021 after Theo. Honouring her spirit.
Going to the farmer's market to buy ingredients and cook how we both like to eat. Serve it up on the few pieces of her Blue Mikado china I possess. Put preserves in bottles I wish I could take to her.
We went to the Welland Market in the early 70s on a couple of Saturday mornings. I think I was seven or eight. Talk about hustle—keeping up was non-negotiable. At 6-feet tall, she was an imposing figure striding through the crowd, getting the good stuff.
On visits to the Atwater Market in Montreal, I've imagined her buying fresh supplies for the canaller when she worked on the St. Lawrence River in the mid-1930s.
I'll be listening to opera and baking on Saturday afternoons, staying current on federal politics (my grandmother and father raised me up right), maybe subscribe to Canada's History and National Geographic.
I might watch an early black and white episode of Days of Our Lives—'like sand through the hourglass.' That sacrosanct time of day when bothering her could lead to a swat.
I'm thinking of my family—those present and not—sitting around the after-dinner rubble at the table or in a comfy living room for 5:30 cocktails. Trading stories. The room shimmering gold from the sun hanging low in the west.
I've learned so much—most of it a privilege.
A man who was a student and has currently manifest as my teacher told me at lunch on Wednesday, "Land your lessons more powerfully." By that, he means, put down the hammer and let them float softly to earth.
I hope our friendship lasts a long time.
Soundtrack - 2015