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Feb. 21st, 2008 01:32 pmToday is a very strange day.
I'm almost prepared for my food history class. Everything is packed (dried mulberries, ancient breakfast, lots of books, herbs and spices and scents).
Of the eighteen things I had to do yesterday, I only got through nine, but I did four more before lunch, so I'm only behind on five things. They'll be done before I leave for teaching, and tonight I shall do another few odds and sods because I'm going to the Royal Canberra Show tomorrow. I'm determined to. Too much work and not enough showbags make Gillian a dull girl.
I don't know why I have this thing about showbags, but I do. I shall consider them deeply and and enjoy myself. I might buy one. I might buy two. I guess I need to check my bank account.
The real reason today is strange is more bad news. A favourite cousin has just died peacefully in his sleep. He wasn't young, but he wasn't ancient, either. I shall miss my cousin, Michael. I shall miss making Mary Stewart jokes at him. I shall miss his awesome wit. I only got to know him properly when I hit my teens. He was very kind to a shy teenager. I felt terribly adult and sophisticated when both he and another cousin, Max, were round - they included me in their jokes.
One of the best barmitzvah tables I ever sat on was when I was wedged between him and Max and we were acerbic all evening long. I shall miss him. I shall celebrate his life, though, because he was joyous about life. He always had interesting projects and funny stories up his sleeve and was never short of fascinating anecdotes during long family dinners. I used to do the seating for the dinners at Mum's and I made sure I was within earshot of him, always.
It's really tough on Mum, because he was her first cousin and she heard about it halfway overseas, on her way to her grandson's wedding.
As one person leaves my life, another two have re-entered. Two of my close friends who had drifted away came back with a phonecall. I've been trying to fill the hole left by them for years and yesterday I discovered that the reason I couldn't was because each and every friend has their own place in my life and holes can't be filled except by the person who made them. The wonderful thing about getting older is these phonecalls out of the blue "Hey, do you remember me." And my heart lifts, because someone I care about has returned to my life.
I'm almost prepared for my food history class. Everything is packed (dried mulberries, ancient breakfast, lots of books, herbs and spices and scents).
Of the eighteen things I had to do yesterday, I only got through nine, but I did four more before lunch, so I'm only behind on five things. They'll be done before I leave for teaching, and tonight I shall do another few odds and sods because I'm going to the Royal Canberra Show tomorrow. I'm determined to. Too much work and not enough showbags make Gillian a dull girl.
I don't know why I have this thing about showbags, but I do. I shall consider them deeply and and enjoy myself. I might buy one. I might buy two. I guess I need to check my bank account.
The real reason today is strange is more bad news. A favourite cousin has just died peacefully in his sleep. He wasn't young, but he wasn't ancient, either. I shall miss my cousin, Michael. I shall miss making Mary Stewart jokes at him. I shall miss his awesome wit. I only got to know him properly when I hit my teens. He was very kind to a shy teenager. I felt terribly adult and sophisticated when both he and another cousin, Max, were round - they included me in their jokes.
One of the best barmitzvah tables I ever sat on was when I was wedged between him and Max and we were acerbic all evening long. I shall miss him. I shall celebrate his life, though, because he was joyous about life. He always had interesting projects and funny stories up his sleeve and was never short of fascinating anecdotes during long family dinners. I used to do the seating for the dinners at Mum's and I made sure I was within earshot of him, always.
It's really tough on Mum, because he was her first cousin and she heard about it halfway overseas, on her way to her grandson's wedding.
As one person leaves my life, another two have re-entered. Two of my close friends who had drifted away came back with a phonecall. I've been trying to fill the hole left by them for years and yesterday I discovered that the reason I couldn't was because each and every friend has their own place in my life and holes can't be filled except by the person who made them. The wonderful thing about getting older is these phonecalls out of the blue "Hey, do you remember me." And my heart lifts, because someone I care about has returned to my life.