I wake up every morning with a headache and I am incapable of doing anything until I take a pain killer. My brother-in-law Bill says that it's the shingles working their way out of my system and not to worry if my head feels as if it is exploding.
Yesterday, Brendan, Jane and Seb flew home and left me all alone. I wrote the above thank-you and then ate cold sausage and cheese. Food does not inspire me. Nothing inspires me. I keep seeing images of Rob in a hospital bed and try to think what I could have done differently. If I'd known that he would die no matter what I/we did, could I have made his passage less painful?
At the Love Fest or what I call his wake, I spoke of our meeting and early days and there was much laughter. This surprised me. I didn't think I was funny.
Toronto with Rob
Rob and I met, in 1968, at Ryerson in the Radio and Television Arts program. There were 27 guys in our class. 2 girls. It was not love at first sight.
Between classes, six or seven of us would hang out in the cafeteria, often joined by Scott MacDonald a journalism student who must have found us RTA students more fun than his fellow journalists.
Rob was just one of the guys - fun to banter with, good for a laugh, and always easy to be around. But I did not recognize him as the one with whom I would share my life.
And then one day, I spied him on the subway. He was half way down the car, standing, shirt sleeves rolled up and one hand gripping an upper bar to steady himself. I found myself staring at his naked forearm, softly furred, and a shiver ran through my body. I was too naive to recognize that shiver for what it was.
Rob, a number of years later, wrote a story about our first days. At first, he called me "a pretty girl without attitude". When he asked if I wanted to hang out at the cafeteria, I often responded,:"sorry I have to go home and wash my hair" or "I have a dance class to teach". He thought that I was way too speedy for him; and yet, he wrote: "Think I'm falling for her."
When I told him one day that I had to go and practice my typing. He said he would come with me as he had to practice his. I didn't know that he took typing in high school and technical school and worked for six months as a typist.
When finally I agreed to go on a date with him, he wrote:
Honest Ed's. I need a shirt. This is a decent one and it's only 99 cents. Getting ready for the play. Christ, it has no buttons on the cuffs. It's a fucking cuff link shirt. Almost time to leave, I'll just roll up the sleeves. A play and then a meal. More money that I've spent in six weeks! But it's worth it. Can't believe she is going out with me!!!
At the end of the evening, he kissed me and I was hooked. A few months later, Rob wrote: She has sort of moved in with me on Sudan St. A commune that doesn't really work. Do any of them?
Finally our own place on Earle St. We are reading Leonard Cohen and one thing led to another. Sue has come to pick her up but we're making love. We can't stop. Sue keeps knocking but we don't care.
Maitland Street is more like a home. When I ask her to marry me, she breaks out laughing. But she does say yes. Yeah!!!!!
Rob didn't know that for three days after his proposal, I agonized. Having read Simone de Beauvoirs "Memoire of a Dutiful Daughter, I had sworn that I would never marry. And then something curious happened - something that has only happened a few times in my life - on the third day, I was overcome with such calm, such peace that I knew marrying this man was good.
We married in my parents' back garden. My mother planned the wedding as neither Rob nor I cared about the ceremony itself. He was still a struggling student at Ryerson so he borrowed a suit and bought an orange shirt. By that time, I had switched to York University into their new theatre and dance program, and my mother insisted on making me a dress - she was afraid that I'd go to the church in my usual attire - leotards and jeans. At my mother's insistence, we had three bridesmaids - my sister in law, my third sister and a university friend. Bev, at six years old, was our flower girl. In the evening, Rob and I caught an overnight train to Montreal, a gift from Rob's boss.
Rob was working part-time at Spence Thomas Productions. Patrick, not only gifted him with a solid knowledge of sound, he taught Rob how to handle the most difficult situations with grace. He was a gentleman. Every night when Rob left work, Patick would thank him. Later Rob credited him with his success although he noted that the Welshman was not a good business man: he often forgot to bill his poorer clients.
When Rob began working as a location sound mixer for W5, we moved to Garnock Street. Rob was worried that he travelled too much and so we got a dog called Manny to keep me company.
A year or so later we moved to Bonfield Street in the Beaches - our last home in Toronto. The day after our move, Rob took off to Chile for three weeks. We were both lonely.
Financially we were doing well. We bought a new Toyota Corolla but when, we asked a salesman to come to the house to demonstrate a [countertop] dishwasher, we looked at each other appalled. Even though we both hated doing dishes - we had sworn that we would not tie ourselves down with stuff, not become too materialistic.
The lease was up on our apartment and we were planning to drive across Canada and visit Rob's sister. Three weeks before our holiday to Vancouver, I said "Let's just quit our jobs and move there?" Rob agreed. So we left our well-paid jobs, crammed our Toyota with our personal stuff, a tent and camping gear, and drove across the country.
… like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
[We] have tried in [our] way to be free
Today, my sister Maggie arrives and we will hopefully be able to reach the right person and unravel more of our financial affairs.
