Sunday, 26 January 2014
Move to the front of the line
We are all approaching the edge of the Grand Canyon - just imagine it if you will. You know - the lovely edge that you look down into and see the crazy colours of the rocks all dripping with pastel frosting - a deranged inside out layer cake of a place. In the front row are the oldest generation - the grandfathers, grandmothers, great-aunts and uncles and so on. Each row that comes behind is a slightly younger generation? Where do you think you are? Really! Think about it.
Last night we had a gathering for the relatives of Ron's Uncle Dick - he had died on Wednesday and there isn't to be a service until summer when all can get here. We had chowder and home-made buns and squares and sat around talking and drinking wine or Scotch or beer. It was truly lovely. The weird thing was, all day I had been imagining that there would be old people there. You know - the elders.
At the front of the line - in front of us - the deep dark abyss - or the new adventure or however you might think of it. I like how tricksy my brain is, don't you?
Today we're walking up to Uncle Dick's in a snow storm to see his daughter before she heads home.