A Profusion of Happiness and Sadness

All my thoughts are scrambled and will disappear if I don't record them.

Lately, there has been too much sadness. Too many people are dying. Some are people who I loved and some are people who I've never met but are the beloved of people I love. I want to decimate death. I don't want to be deprived of those who have enriched my life but this is selfish. I think of Rosemary who lived a great life but at 91 was wearing down. She did not want to continue. She'd get up every morning and think "damn it, I'm still here." My friend Mary wrote me: "Life is indeed precious. My mantra over the past couple of decades has been 'There’s Life and there’s Death. Everything in between is negotiable.'"

I believe that we have to make a conscious effort to be happy although there are those rare moments when it just drops into our laps. I really don't know how to explain this well so I googled happiness. "Regularly indulging in small pleasures, getting absorbed in challenging activities, setting and meeting goals, maintaining close social ties, and finding purpose beyond oneself all increase life satisfaction. It isn't happiness per se that promotes well-being, it’s the actual pursuit that’s key."

I like the idea of pursuit. I like the idea of indulging so I decided to take four days in Mallorca to escape the weight of sadness in this town but more so to have time with my youngest grandson who is so full of joy that it always bubbles over onto me. His mother and father are magnets too as they love to be on the move pursuing whatever gives them pleasure and most often their taste agrees with mine. And though I might groan and complain about the miles they make me walk to reach a gallery or restaurant, I am seldom disappointed.

If it looks like I had a good time, I did. Spanish tapas are the best and it is absolutely necessary to enjoy them with wine or beer - no complaining allowed. (Does it look like Jane and I are finding  it difficult?)

I am so grateful for my family and the times we share and how the good times roll easily when we are together. I am also grateful for my friends who trust me with missions and suggest things that they would like to do but can't: I find myself going places that I wouldn't usually go and doing things that I wouldn't think of doing.

This happened when I mentioned to David Reid that I was going to Mallorca. "Would you take a branch of my bay tree and leave it on Robert Graves' grave?" he asked. "Would you read a poem?" he further requested. So I set off for the island with a sprig of David's bay tree at the bottom of my suitcase. Brendan and Jane thought it a fine idea to have a mission so we took off my last day on an old fashioned train to Soller. The town was pretty enough but being Sunday and off-season there was very little open. Brendan asked if I'd mind a half hour walk to a restaurant that served suckling pig. And so we trudged along narrow scary roads with too much traffic for more than half an hour, not knowing what we'd find at the end of the road. It was perfect - a gracious family restaurant that served good food and wine in pleasant surroundings. After we had sated ourselves and inhaled two bottles of wine, we caught a taxi to Deia and found the cemetery.

We then wandered into the town centre - so beautiful - and lo and behold, we found a terrace tavern where we took refuge as Seb was asleep and if we moved him out of his stroller, he would have woken. We sat and had more wine and beer - for the boy's sake really.

The finale to our perfect day was a taxi ride back to our apartment in Palma along the coastline with its breathtakingly beautiful scenery.

I left early the next morning to spend a day travelling, arriving home at 7 in the evening. The next day Rob was to have his second and hopefully final operation.

Although I hate hospitals, I am happy that we left at 6:30 a.m. to drive (or rather to be driven by two very kind friends) to the hospital in Toulouse. Rob was tense. I was scared. After a very long day, we arrived home at 8 p.m. without the biggest blob of Rob's cancer. He underwent an operation called HIFU performed by Professor Pascal Rischmann who has been doing the procedure since 2006. This is modern medicine at its finest. No chemotherapy or radiation. No ugly side affects and although Professor Rischmann spoke to the FDA in the States noting that the treatment is safe and effective, that it preserves erectile function in more than 90% of patients through nerve sparing, and that it is cost- effective, FDA officials maintained that the benefit of HIFU is unclear and that the risk is substantial. Curious.

So happiness may be a little elusive at the moment but I have experienced a number of highs in the last week and am happy that we are here, where quality of life appears more important than the almighty buck (Rob's operation would have cost around 30,000 in Canada or the US. Here it is free.) I am happy too that I can escape to exotic places on whim and meet up with the British contingent of our family. I am not so happy that two of my children live so far away but Gill and Derek are coming for Christmas and we will fly to Vancouver in January to be with Michael, Kenzie and Isaac.

My Sweet Boy

This boy steals my heart every chance he gets. I just have to think of him and I grin. I will write about him at length soon, in true grandmother fashion, telling the world how great he is but for now all I want to do is introduce him to the blogging world where I can say whatever my heart desires and no comments are allowed. 

Oh just one more thing, he calls me "Lola" (Filipino for grandmother) to differentiate me from "Nanna" Jane's mother. I love it!

I still miss her

Death has been hitting me hard on the head the last half of this year and I struggle to understand it. Fanny's mother died a couple of weeks ago at the ripe old age of 91 years and I am sad that I will not sit at her table with her ever again, sipping red wine from a box, often smoking a cigarette and hearing her stories. She was an incredible woman but it's her youngest daughter who died June 3rd on her husband's birthday, in a restaurant choking on a piece of meat that fills me with despair.

Fanny was 62 years old and so full of life and plans for her new house. Like her mother, she was bossy and opinionated but she also had a tender heart and if someone needed her help - she was an expert seamstress, cook, and computer-savvy - she'd lend a hand even to those that she wasn't particularly fond of.

When Fanny hugged me, she'd squeeze me so tight that I'd have to catch my breath: I always felt cherished. The saddest thing about death is the void that person leaves and, selfishly speaking,  "losing" Fanny means that there is one person less in the world who loves me.

Tribute to Fanny  (read at her funeral)

She was my confidant and partner in crime.

Over the ten or so years that I’ve known her, she taught me a lot but her last lesson was the toughest. Life is fragile. She would be angry at the way she made her exit. She would hate the grief she is causing all of us but especially to her beloved Dave, Rosemary, and Judy. She had one of the biggest hearts in the universe.

She loved this village and the surrounding countryside. She adored her women’s quilting group. She participated in French/English meetings and attended every musical event and feast that happened when she was in town. When I think of her ceaseless energy, curious nature, and quick wit, I am so happy that “we’ll always have Paris”. [a line from Casablanca]

In Paris, Fanny was able to set aside her concerns and responsibilities for a few days and breathe freely. (She knew she had Sue, her good friend and neighbour in the UK to look out for Dave.) She loved Paris Fashion Week and our long walks and metro rides to the Porte de Versailles and Carousel de Louvre. She was an extraordinary assistant because of her skill with a camera and her extensive knowledge of fabrics and dressmaking. She had an eye for beauty. We laughed. We cried. We agreed that what we said in Paris stayed in Paris.

She would force me to walk for hours for the best croissant or a superior steak and frites. She had a refined palate and Paris with Fanny often cost me more than I made.

The last meal that Fanny prepared for Rob and me, in her new home (of which she was so proud and had great plans for) ended with a chili cheesecake. I was a little hesitant about
trying it but of course it was heavenly. She always cooked and served gastronomic delights.

On one of her birthdays, I made all of her favourite dishes ending with a zesty lemon cake. She stole the half that remained much to Dave’s chagrin and my delight. What a compliment!

I cannot condense this intelligent woman’s life into a few vignettes. She was too rich, too complex, and too lovely for words.

The Gauntlet

I am wondering if I can return here and begin posting again. Nearly nine years of my life is missing. I am not sure, at this moment, if this is whim or reality but I think I'd like to pick up the gauntlet again. I hope I am of solid mind and body.