Summer’s done. Trees begin to burn with autumn angst.
Backyard bursts with bloom. Garden glows.
A glance through the dining room window, just as sunlight spills all over the kneeling angel under the apple tree. Heavenly moment …
A shaft or sunlight swoops down on Kneeling Angel. She shines against an emerald veil of vines. My heartbeat halts for a fraction of a stunned second and I’m all awash with the delight of summer past, the fascinating fragrance of my Secret Garden.
Such a summer of serendipity it has been. Such finds …
View from the bay window where I sit at my desk to write. Summer garden of 2019 — my living museum of broken, abandoned and unwanted things.A once-upon-a-time fondue set preening on a tree stump by the fence.I found this beautifully rusted, ancient wheelbarrow abandoned on the kerb.
Like I’m pushed to pass by just when this stuff is outside, begging to be taken and pleading for a new destiny.
Click on the arrow below to savour 30 seconds of my Secret Summer Sweetness …
Which brings me to my Last Summer Serendipity …
Saturday morning, off to the mall. Spy something intriguing as we drive by. Little vintage school desks. The kind with a bench attached to the front of it. There’s a pair of them. In front of the old house that has a pile of stuff out each week, ancient things, free for the taking. Sometimes there’s a handwritten sign on a large white board: For Sale.
I have an image in my head. Of a chronic hoarder, who’s amassed stuff for years, urgently requiring to rid himself of a huge pile of junk.
“Could we check them out on our way back?” I ask.
Husband nods.
So shopping done and happy hubby holding the first new suit he’s acquired in years, we head homewards.
The desks are gone.
It’s only been an hour …
I’m crushed.
“Maybe they took them back inside,” he suggests.
“Why would they? There must be someone like me on the prowl! We should have stopped right away!”
“But there was no room in the car.”
True.
I feel forlorn.
I remember from time to time in a sad kind of way and when I do, I whisper, “Please, if he’s right and the owner took them back in, let me pass by when they’re out again …”
A fortnight goes by. Then one day, on my way to the dentist, my gaze strays to my left … and …
Whoa!
… they’re back.
U-turn, park in a by-lane and trot over to inspect. These are not from the ’50s as I’d guessed … the two darling desks are relics from the late eighteenth/ early nineteenth century.
Straight out of a late-Victorian era classroom or Anne of Green Gables novel. There are holes for the inkwells and circular openings in the ornate cast-iron legs to bolt them down to a wooden floor.
Be still, my heart!
The munchkin school furniture is chained together on the grass by the kerb. The chains are solid. Rusty. I waltz up the driveway. There’s an elderly gent sitting on an aged white garden chair, staring out into space by his garage door.
Waiting for customers …
“Are these for sale?”
“Yes.”
He’s all I imagined he’d be.
Self-confessed hoarder. Eighty eight years old.
The house is hidden behind the trees. Possibly the last of the original homes on the avenue.
“I have a garage full of things,” he mumbles. “I’m tired now. Just want to get rid of them and go.”
The desks?
He shrugs. “Found them downtown. They were tearing down an old schoolhouse, I think. Don’t remember. I pick things up. They’ve sat in my garage for over 30 years. ”
Late Victorian schoolhouse desk. The little beauty that took my breath away. The bench folds up. Dear hubby was right. The desks were taken back in as the owner had to visit his wife in the nursing home and couldn’t risk his possessions being stolen from the kerb.
We agree on a price. For one of them. I’d like to have both, but the other one’s already taken.
I ask if he’s got old books. He shows me. A load in the entrance-way, tidily packed in boxes for donation, awaiting pick up.
“Help yourself,” he says. “They belonged to my wife. I never had time for books. But was she ever a reader!”
Mustn’t be greedy. I’m running out of shelf space at home.
My library of vintage and antique books bursts at the seams. No shelf space left!
I pick 20 hardcover copies — many from the fifties — several first editions and a 100 year-old beauty. The books are in marvellous condition. Most of them in vinyl cover-protectors. They look brand new.
Cared for by a woman who delighted in her books …
This book, over a century old …… contains some fascinating historical photos and maps.
He invites me inside and I enter a rabbit warren of rooms in the Land that Time Forgot.
There’s some medical equipment, fine china and a collection of miniature cars. I take pictures and promise to put the items on Kiji on his behalf.
We sit at the kitchen table and chat awhile.
“My wife had a computer. She was an accountant. She did all that kind of stuff. Now she’s at the nursing home and that’s all I have …” He points to an old wall phone from the seventies, looking lost on the kitchen table.
“I live like a hobo, I’m sorry,” he adds.
“Don’t be,” I reply. “I’m amazed at how you’re coping. I’d love to help. Could I bring you some meals – dinner once a week, maybe?”
“No. Food is not a problem. I take those.” He shows me a crate of protein shakes.
“And there’s a collection of china teacups and stuff … my wife used to have tea parties. People don’t do that kind of thing anymore …”
“I do, actually!”
He mentions the wife a lot. I admire the faded cross-stitch pictures on the walls — her handiwork, he tells me. “But no one does that kind of stuff anymore.”
I do, actually!
“Could I take a photo of you with the desk?”
“But I’m honest,” he protests.
I smile. “Not because I don’t trust you. I’d like to record this moment.”
“Oh … okay!”
He sits and strikes a pose. I click.
My new friend and the antique school desk (picture used with permission).
He picks the desk up with effortless ease. It’s heavy.
“You’re strong,” I comment.
“You don’t know what I had to do for my wife until two years ago,” he replies airily.
There’s something endearing about him.
“It’s hard to dispose of your entire life,” he adds.
I see desolation in his eyes.
“I can only imagine,” I sympathize softly.
His sadness reaches me.
Goodbye Lifetime of Yesterdays …
All alone. Mr. A taking me to the shed in the sprawling backyard, to show me his grandparents’ stuff. He built the shed himself using old garage doors! My kinda re-purposing guy!
I remember that I’m not as young as I used to be and reaffirm my resolve to squeeze every last precious drop out of the rest of my life.
I’ve been back to visit a couple of times. Bought more stuff for myself and on behalf of a friend.
His name is Albert. I call him Mr. A.
It’s kind of a privilege to have met him.
This suitcase would already be old if it were checked onto the Titanic. There’s a single handle located on one side. With solid wood trimming and brass embellishments, it certainly wasn’t designed for air travel! I plan to turn it into a coffee table. This beautiful Singer treadle sewing machine is over a hundred years old. Mr. A purchased it 40 years ago from an old farmhouse. The carved drawers hold the original machine accessories, bobbins, needles and spools of thread. It weighs a ton and I have no idea how he and his son carried it down the narrow flight of stairs ready for pick up. It’s now my whimsical new foyer table
As I said … such a summer it has been, of delightful discoveries and intriguing encounters.
Sweet, surreal serendipity …
Until next time,
PS: Pause to breathe and linger in this year’s Secret Garden. Take a stroll in the Garden of Dreaming 2019 and savour the splendour of this summer past …
The sun glowed orange during rush hour this morning. My heart sagged under a weight of joy and I slowed down to take pictures –
I almost sent them off to you.
Then I remembered …
I recalled a recent dialogue we had.
Me: Could I use these pictures of you, please? There’s such a beauty about you that’s riveting.
… and this one. (Judy wrote: “that is Eamon reading a letter that I wrote to him. I love my bedhead look.”)I asked her for this picture … (Judy with a mixing bowl and the rubber chicken she used as a ‘bell’ too summon assistance)
You: You can use every picture you want. You don’t have to ask. Surprise me!
So I’m surprising you today …
You: How long was your fight with cancer?
Me: The cancer battle was over a year and a half. My oncologist calls me a success case (I prefer miracle patient). I don’t look like myself in the picture, do I? Within two weeks of your first chemo, the hair starts falling out and you mutate into someone else. I began to practice intentional thankfulness. When gratitude seeps in, joy is not too far behind. Those were beautiful, dark, lovely, intense and precious times. God sends angels, as you know, in many shapes and forms.
You: I don’t look like myself anymore, either. I was always on the go. Now it is my mind that is on fast.
What a girl! My friend, Judy, as she used to be.Judy (right) standing tall at 6′ 1″, with her mum and sister, Linda (left)
The aircraft commenced its descent into Halifax last Thursday afternoon and my thoughts overflowed with vignettes from your heart –
My mum sent the pink rose to me today … just because. The Ford Escape is on the lawn because Cam wanted me to see it. He just bought it yesterday as a second vehicle. My wheelchair van rides low so it’s not practical for snowy days ahead. I always loved a Ford Escape and Cam would drive a van.
Her mum’s rose in a vase on the window sill and Judy’s view of the Ford Escape, parked by the hen-house.
We have a cottage on the Bay of Fundy and watch the tides go in and the tides go out. Nature at its best. September is a special time. Most cottagers are only there on weekends, so the solitude and beauty is magnified. My paradise …
Her paradise – the cottage on the Bay of FundyA serene spot to sit stare in a sky-blue chair
Your beloved Cameron –
Cam and our brother-in-law are re-shingling the back of the cottage. It has been a busy day. For me, the moments when I can look out the window and see the eagle fly, sandpipers having their last meals before heading to South America and the magnificent clouds being reflected in both water and wet mud are highlights of my soul.
Judy and CameronJudy and her beloved Cam on their wedding day
Today it was 29 degrees and sunny, so I went out in my wheelchair to enjoy. On impulse I drove on my lawn around to my gardens to see the tulips and bleeding heart. I felt free until my wheelchair got stuck in soggy lawn. Resourceful Cam got blocks of wood and we managed to get out. BUT my tires were full of mud. Cam cleaned as much as he could off and them I wheeled myself in. A flashback hit me. How many times had I told the boys NOT to wear their dirty boots in the house? Cam, patient Cam, has been working at getting the wheels clean ever since!!!
JOY was your three-letter codeword –
Went to the Festival of Lights today in Wolfville, where Cam and I met while going to Acadia University. At the farmer’s market, it was all about Indian food and entertainment. I got a dragonfly and the word JOY done with henna and several Indian silk scarves for Christmas gifts.
Waking up to JOY on her arm each morning … Henna tattos: dragonfly-and-JOY (the dragonfly is the ALS symbol)
I am waking up immediately to JOY in the morning for the next couple of weeks.
What made my day? My careworker this morning for 4 hours was Holly. Someone that previously had only been there for my half hour tuck-ins at night. We were sitting at my kitchen table in the sun, when I asked her about her heart-shaped ring … and that was my further joy for the day.
You infused JOY into every moment, Judy, distilled, savoured, sipped on it, then infected the air you breathed and intoxicated those around you.
… in Judy’s homeJOY glowing on her front lawn and …
You: There is no such thing as coincidence.
Absolutely. I agree …
You: Maybe I came into your life to show you the other side of ALS. The joyful side.
Judy’s/Charlies’ Angels! The three Starrit brothers all grown up. Judy’s JOYS: Cam and her sons
Tim is home. Happy heart.
Just got back from taking Tim to the airport. What a lovely visit and a wonderful son. He left such wonderful memories behind.
Tim with his newest nephew, HenryAndrew and his boys
Andrew came home on Friday and stays till this Friday. Check him out on You Tube in the Hot Fireman ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. (Click here to watch Judy standing at Andrew’s side as he takes up the challenge.)
Matthew visits at Christmas
Matthew was home from Wednesday to Saturday. Shared the big news that Laura is pregnant! Be still my heart. We are so blessed.
Those grandbabies –
Got a wonderful card in the mail today, with an ultrasound picture on the front and the announcement inside saying “It’s a boy!” Our third grandson is due the end of October. The Starrit genes were working again. OverJOYed!!!!
He was born yesterday and all is right with the world. 8lb 11 0z of pure JOY! Yesterday was such an emotional day. Waiting, wondering, wishing, praying. And then the phone call came. Rejoicing, heart exploding, celebrating our new JOY! And then by 10.00 at night, emotional breakdown. Thinking about what I will be missing in his future, but being so overjoyed he is here. A part of me.
Celebrating Henry, the newest JOY …Judy with sister, Linda, and tiny Henry
He’s Henry now. Named after Cam’s dad. We are still on our baby high. Will be for quite a while.
Cam just stenciled a picture of him onto a pillowcase.
Cam’s handiwork: Baby Henry-on-a-pillow
Tomorrow Andrew, Findlay and Eamon are coming for Thanksgiving weekend. I am beyond excited!!!
They’re here! Watching for Findlay and Eamon through her bedroom window.
I have arranged for the pilot, Debbie, of the only plane that travels to Sable Island, to come and speak about her experiences.
I took pictures, but my hands were unsteady with excitement.
“Starfish or a shell?” (Pilot Debbie engages the kids in discussion)
“Smile guys!” (Gramps and Grammy with Findlay and Eamon)
Eamon just messaged me. Andrew is taking them to a movie. He likes to keep me informed.
Your sister —
Tonight Linda comes. Any minute now.
Linda is here and we are going to listen to the sixth CD of the Book Of Joy, a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Tutu. This is our sixth Monday night doing it …
Sister Linda (right) with Mum and Judy
… and the whacky, wonderful friends –
My friend, Mary, and sister are coming out to play a card game called Quiddler. A weekly event. I am on a winning streak.
Mary brings muffins for Cam
My tree is trimmed and …
The tree is trimmed … (in Judy’s living room)
… the Wild and Woolies are coming at 4.00. Laughter will abound.
The Wild and Woolies have been getting together for over thirty years
“Wild’s the word: wool’s the game!” (The Wild and Woolies, Judy’s crazy rug-hooking gang at her Celebration of Joy)
Laughter abounds. Judy with Wild and Woolly Pal, JeanThe Wild and Woolies hooked a pun-ny Christmas gift for Judy: JOY TO THE WOOLED
Don’t forget the goats …
Andrew and Cam have just taken the goats up the hill for a walk. If we let them loose too close to the house, they would eat all the flowers coming up …
Playing the giddy goat … Cam at her bedroom windowGoats-on-a-quilt. Judy’s handiwork …
I always have flowers in my view. I even got flowers for Father’s Day!
Gotta be kid-ding – goats at a wedding?(The “kids” are included in Andrew and Shantel’s backyard nuptials) …
… and the chickens (of course) —
Just had the chickens playing the xylophone at my window.
Chicken serenade. Pecking a little tune. (JOY on the windowsill)Cereal inducement. Cam scattering cheerios on the keyboard of a toy xylaphone!
Homecare just arrived, but chickens come first!
On living with ALS –
I have a whole new view on listening. My boogie board is my voice now. People don’t wait until I finish writing and assume what I’m going to say and rush off to do their own thing. Also, they read it wrong, and I have to get their attention and underline a word or words.
It cost less than $30 at Costco.
Judy’s “boogie board”. She used a tablet-type device to communicate.
I WAS a talker!
I do most of my writing on my phone now.
I am using my BiPAP for about 20 hours a day. It gives me the freedom of not having to think every time I take a breath. The strength in my hands has diminished as well. I will NOT let that keep me from living a full life but it has put limitations on what I can do. ALS sucks sometimes.
Sucks? The beast stinks …
Judy: Bipap to breathe, crimson manicure and loads of laughter.
Success. Beyond resounding! My mind is still going. Still walking. Still enjoying yesterday. There were 59 people, including care-workers, friends and family on Judy’s Joys. I am blessed Truly blessed.
Judy’s Joyful Angels – one of the teams representing Judy in the ALS fundraising walk – and …
… Judy’s Joyful Jewels
Took 5-6 days to get over the walk. SO worth it!
We shared our rainbows, you and I —
In your home …
… in mine –
You: We are definitely sisters from another mother.
There’s no doubt about that!
You: The physical meeting somehow eludes us, but we are so much beyond that. We are so much closer than that. What we have done for each other is beyond friendship.
Me: Can’t wait to meet you, Judy. It will be odd, though. Kind of like having a first date after being married for a year!
You:I, too, want to meet you! If I could, I would be on a plane now. But the other side of reality is that I know I won’t be travelling by plane anymore. Too many uncertainties.
Just a text away. Judy used pictures, video clips and GIFs to express herself. They were dead on and often hilarious. (Bottom left, her Facebook profile picture.)
You: Wish, wish you lived nearby. Always thinking about you.
Me: Me too. I love how Cam cares for you, love the chickens, love the red bike. I even love your ghastly puns!
Flowering bicycle planter (painted red by Cameron)Hilarious hens partying at the window
You: Our friendship goes much deeper. I needed you as much as you needed me. You took me outside of myself.
By the way, Cam is going to mail a parcel to you tomorrow. No parcel from you yet. Tomorrow.
Your parcel arrived by express post on December 23rd. Icicles dripped off the eaves as the mailman hopped from one foot to the other and blew on his hands, while I hastily inscribed a signature on the electronic board he held out to me.
DREAMS made from Scrabble pieces Hangs by my desk to inspire me as I write.
Such a treasure trove of thoughtful things inside …
Me: Did you make the Scrabble ornament? Love it!
You: Bought it at the ALS sale.
Me: It was meant for me.
You: I found your DREAMS, didn’t I?
You sure did!
We called onChristmas Eve, before heading out to church. Husband, Daughters and I sang We Wish You A Merry Christmas on speakerphone. Cam said you raised your arms in delight and crossed your hands over your heart.
On Christmas day we shared cameo moments.
You sent me –
Joy on the Christmas treeMum sipping a cup of yuletide tea
and I sent these –
Isn’t this fun?
Absolutely!
Our house was always the ‘go to’ house at Christmas. I used to make rolls and shape them in the form of wreaths and Christmas trees. Decorate them, of course, and wrap them in clear, cellophane with fancy ribbons. That is a thing of the past now, but Christmas still comes and goes!
(Click here to dance with Judy and her Bhangra Boys, on her birthday last year.)
I picked up my tea bag and one of your dainty, embroidered white hankies on my way out.
There was a tea bag ‘party favour’ for everyone, with Judy’s instructions to have a cup of joy with a friend and an invitation to take one of her lovely old fashioned handkerchiefs to be used to wipe away tears of joy and sadness.
(Click here for photos and video clips of Judy’s funeral Celebration of Joy)
It felt strange to visit your home on Saturday. To walk up the ramp and knock at your kitchen door.
Cam and Mum on the volunteer-built wheelchair rampJudy’s hospital bed (from which she took many pictures), all neatly made up, will be donated to the ALS society.
Google Earth view of her home posted on Judy’s Facecbook Page
Cameron with Andrew (left) and Matthew. Tim had left for the airport
Joy all over the house, pouring from every corner.
Cam and I sat in your room. We chatted like we’d known each other forever.
My Christmas package finally made it out to you after New Year’s, he told me. Two days before your final departure. Cam said you smiled when he showed it to you
He showed me your rubber chickens. I peeped into the henhouse on my way out.
Cam with the rubber chickens. Judy used them like a bell, to summon assistanceHad to check out the henhouse. An infrared light keeps the cluckies warm in the winter
You wrote three months ago: PS: Oct 11 – went to my regular 3 month appointment with all the specialists today. They are all pleased with how I’m doing …
The only predictable thing about life is its unpredictability, isn’t it?
……………………………………………………………………………………………….
I’m sipping, as I remember and write, from the mug I found nestled in my surprise Christmas box.
From my Christmas box. Life sure surprised me with you, Judy.From my Christmas box. The dragonfly is the ALS symbol
The dragonfly brightens my kitchen window. I love how it begins to burn when the sun seeps through.
We never said ‘hello’ in person, Judy. I never got to write about what I discovered in the bombed out jungle graveyard in Tellipallai, Jaffna. This was not how our Dear Judy travel series was supposed to end.
I’m thankful you found this blog and reached out in joyful friendship.
Thank you, my courageous friend. You are proof that a purpose-driven life does not necessarily embrace a bed of roses. You were a true and unique gift.
RIP Judy Starrit, my amazing, inspirational friend.
Loving you from afar. Love, xx Judy
I love you too, Judy …
We’ll meet face-to-face. On the other shore some day, when my own journey’s done.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shallbenomore, neither shalltherebe mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.”(Revelation 21:4RSV)
His Master said to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant … enter into the JOY of your master.” (Matthew 25:23 RSV)
Until then,
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Splashes of butter and blood met my eye when I looked through the kitchen window, just two weeks ago. Time to put the terra cotta flower pots away in the garage.
View from kitchen window two weeks back. The Virginia creeper blazed up and down the fence as the morning sun buttered the landscape with gold.
My friend Judy Starrit (centre), who lives in BeaverBank, Nova Scotia.
So summer’s officially done.
I messaged you two months ago: What can I bring you from Sri Lanka?
You replied: Send me pictures of your culture.
Puppy had the usual anxiety attack. Suitcases are a rotten omen, as far as he’s concerned.
Puppy hoping to halt the packing process.
I decided to visit Dad later in the year, to avoid the hot season. Got fried last April.
Texted Aunty Rom (who’s not really my aunt!): I’m arriving in Colombo in two weeks. Looking forward to our morning walks.
Aunty Rom, my stalwart walking companion. This birthday card she mailed on one of our morning meanders never reached its destination.
The familiar sense of homecoming as the plane touched down on the tarmac. I’ve spent more than half my life away from the motherland.
Sinhalese words came diffidently to my lips, then slid out with fluency. It takes my tongue a few minutes to get acclimatized.
Dad’s driver was waiting outside. He cranked up the air conditioning. The roads were congested, though it was still early in the morning.
Vijitha, Dad’s faithful driver and general factotum
A bewildering sea of highrises punctured the sky around me.
Colombo is currently the fastest growing metropolis in Asia, I’ve been told …
The Lotus Tower (new since my last visit). A Chinese investment. The tallest free-standing structure in Asia.
City of Colombo growing upwards for as far as the eye can see
Higher and higher …View from my friend, Angali’s balcony
NO LIMIT. Sure looks like it …
Rush hour traffic is in full swing and Dad’s just waking up when we get home.
Dad’s homeDad’s halfway up. Never thought the parents would adjust so well to condo living.
Everything’s spick and span, crisp linen in the guest room, a fresh breeze and the sun streaming in through the open balcony doors.
A resounding emptiness, though. A sort of hollow ache as the eye alights on an empty rocking chair, the laptop idling under a dustcloth and the vacant seat beside Dad’s easy chair in front of the living room TV.
Pol roti (coconut flatbread) and katta sambol (a fiery mixture of dried red chillis and raw onions). A carb-laden breakfast favourite. Homecoming heaven!
Yum …
Latha, Dad’s cook/ housekeepeer
Dad drove us to Independent Square in the evening to catch some fresh air. I struggled to keep awake.
Independence Square, where the who’s who of Colombo go to keep fit, see and be seen
This is my Dad, Judy.
Dad enjoying a quiet moment under a banyan tree by the walking track at the old racecourse.
He was a strikingly handsome man in his day.
Independence Square is a great place for people-watching. I got unobtrusively busy with my camera.
A place for lovers …… and loners
… and quiet reflectionBackpack and burkhaCaption: My Shirt Made a Difference (It did. I paused to take a picture of it)
Daddy and his princessSecrets of childhood
A moment to breathePalm trees in silhouette. Twilight shrouds Independence Square. Time to go home for dinner.
A change of scene the next evening, when Dad headed for Viharamahadevi Park (formerly Victoria Park). An imposing statue of Queen Victoria appears to have materialized out of nowhere.
Queen Victoria’s Statue (purloined from where it had been dumped decades ago, after independence) restored to its original spot just before the recent Commonwealth Conference.
There’s a different ambiance in this space, besides the gnarly, mammoth trees, probably planted in Victorian times —
… it’s the lovers cuddling beneath the colossal branches!
For as far as the eye can see …
Maybe because someone forgot to put up a sign like this one —
Tongue in cheek, of course …
Sign set up at the old racecourse:This is a place of National Significance. Keep Discipline
Around six o’clock, dusk begins to fall and uniformed decency police appear to guard the morals of the nation. The amorous pairs are shooed out of the park.
Don’t laugh, Judy. I’m not fibbing – honest!
Three-wheeler tuk tuks swarm all over the city like a plague of locusts. They are the quickest and most precarious mode of transport in this traffic-choked city. The captions adorning the bodywork often had me chuckling —
“City Boy” — as opposed to … Country Boy?“Don’t touch my heart” (scroll in to see the words)
“God bless you”“I am strong to carry you” (I certainly hope so!)
“Bad Boyz 008” (Like James Bond 007?)True liberty is to be A free of viceses (think they mean VICES?)Pirat
So why is this one stuffed into the open doorway of an empty showroom?
The door hasn’t been installed yet, so for overnight security …
Still good old tuk tuks are the go-to mode of emergency transport, I’ve often resorted to myself. A wild ride. Kids find it a hoot.
Uber is the latest trend, though, and so much cheaper with heavenly airconditioned vehicles …
I was up all night for the first ten days, Jet lag kills me. It gets worse with the passage of time.
The early walks with Aunty Rom were my day’s highlight.
In spite of these urgings –
and the necessary tools left lying around —
Road sweeper’s ekel broom on the sidewalk, leaning against a tree Garbage collector’s handcart
… and these willing workers
— the streets looked uncared for, garbage piled up in corners, picked over by crows and stray dogs.
The instructions are pretty clearCheck out the mess under the sign …
A disappointing regression since the government changed hands.
The supervised disposal of crow’s nests has been abadondoned, Aunty Rom tells me.
Animal rights activists or government cutbacks. Don’t recall …
Mama crow guarding her nest. These raucous scavengers are becoming a problem again.
The morning walks energized me, Judy. I began each day embracing the essence of the city with all its quirks and complexities.
I remember this woman from last year —
This gentle homeless woman has a puppy in her arms today.This was her last year with just the one dog. (Click here : Good Morning Colombo! for story)Aunty Rom and me as the sun rides highterDawn over Colombo city. My favourite time of day
The homeless slumber on –
… and the dogs —
The stray dogs – all mild and minding their own business – have increased in numbers since I was last here. A troubling threat of rabies.Abandoned coverlet and water bottle. Someone just woke up
Vigorously cleaning business premises —
At the bus stop. To school and work –
And so the day begins –
Early morning moments –
Beggar freshening up at public tapMaid going to work at the big houseYoung vagabond with electricity in his eyes …Dust pan and broom sellerNewspaper delivery – motocycle and …… by bike. (Sarong tucked up high)
Some of my favourite moments, captured just for you, Judy –
Walking his employer’s dogHappy to pose for camera lady“Where’s that wife of mine? …”“… where the heck is she?Lady in red “Just dropped in at the temple …”Jaunty three-and-a-half-legged dog …… pausing to check out a pile of garbage before hopping merrily on its way
“Whats App, Doc?”
The streets at peace half an hour before morning mayhem breaks out –
Peeping TomLaurel and Hardy. These billboard pasters came rolling up and spilled out of a tuk tuk ..… and asked to pose for a second picture, pot of glue and all!
Graceful lady copFlock of nurses off to workWhat’s in the hand?
Breakfast from the corner vendor
“Hey, thanks for the brekkie money!”In a mighty hurryShoolgirls packed like sardines into a private van.
Business is brisk at the food truck –
At the corner of Dad’s street
Aunty Rom and I pass these two every morning –
Determined walker. This one means business, down to the nifty running shoesOn her way to work?
Aunty Rom pauses to pick up her newspaper –
A moment to chat with the vendor. English newspaper, please.
From time to time she suprised me with a detour. Like the time we popped in at Uncle Chandi and Aunty Christine’s home and sat for a while chatting.
Aunty Rom with Uncle Chandi and Aunty Christine (not my uncle and aunt!), aunty Rom’s cousins and my cousin’s in-laws. I met them for the first time last year when we ‘dropped in’ during one of our walks. Uncle Chandi’s lovely garden
I acquired a new aunty when I took this picture last year.
Her name is Welai. Met her at the corner store by the church, early one morning last April. (Click here for the story in Good Morning Colombo)
Found out later that the smiling woman was the employee of Aunty Rom’s friend, Sharmini.
Only in Sri Lanka …
Newest aunt, Sharmini,invited us both over for breakfast one Tuesday morning. Aunty Rom and I walked over. We’d been Facebook friends since the photo incident, and met face to face for the first time today.
Aunty Sharmini (right) in her beautiful home (with Aunty Rom)
Warm, generous Sri Lankan hospitality …
Welai had prepared a delicious meal of pol roti, chicken curryand spicy, accompaniments. Fresh bananas for dessert.
So good …
She was all dressed up to meet us and quite overwhelmed to encounter the camera lady once again!
Welai, feeling shy, in her Sunday best. All dressed up for Aunty Rom and me
New aunty has a lovely Secret Garden.
Aunty Sharmini and Welai at the entrance to the Secret Garden.
Welai looking coy and posing in the garden wearing her regular work clothes!
The sun rode high in the sky. Too sticky to walk. Aunty Rom and I took a tuk tuk back home.
The next week, Aunty Rom, New Aunty and I went to breakfast at the Commons Coffee House, steps away from new auntySharmini’s home.
Scrumptious cheese toast with good friends, all because I made a random click on my I Pad …
Singing in the rain. Aunty Sharmini (left) and Aunty Rom outside Commons Coffee House, Cinnamon Gardens.
Sri Lankan Menu (Commons Coffee House)
Some mornings Aunty Rom surprised me with a different route (to feed my appetite for photography), pointing out stately homes. Many of them are commercial buildings now.
The remaining single unit homes lurk behind high fortress-type fortification walls and iron gates.
A handful old mansions still remain private residences –
… a couple of them in varying stages of disrepair.
Love how flowers and foliage create waterfalls of colour along walls and from balconies —
Destructive love language along the sidewalk …
Architecture and construction accommodate behemoth trees –
The iconic Cricket Club Café has changed locations. There seems to be some confusion as to whether the old location is for sale —
FOR SALE proclaims this gate …
… or not!
NOT FOR SALE declares the gate at the other end. Didn’t notice till Aunty Rom pointed it out. Someone can’t make up their mind!
Paradise Road Galleries on Dad’s street has been torn down –
The rubble of Paradise Road, a classy tourist shopping spotTook this pic last year
–
to make way for yet another highrise.
Found time to browse at Dean the Bookman’s secondhand store –
Discovered Dean at the Saturday pola (farmers’ market) at Torrington Square last year. Bought this copy of short stories by Guy de MaupassantA 20 volume collection of Dickens novels, over a hundered years old, on sale for Rs. 20,000 ($200 Canadian approx)
This is the old colonial cemetery where we buried Mum two and a half years ago, Judy.
Kanatte Cemetary. I never saw it as a place of beauty until now
I’ve just discovered the beauty of the old memorial monuments. Wonder why I’ve never noticed before. I was almost tempted to stand in the sunshine and recite Victorian elegies, surrounded by discoloured Italian marble gravestones. Some of the sculptures are really quite exquisite.
China is pumping money into this country. Thousands of Chinese construction workers are swarming all over the city of Colombo.
This is the future Port City, a Chinese enterprise –
View of Port City from lighthouse. Reclaimed land, stretching fifteen miles out into the sea, leased to China for ninety nine years.
The ocean at Galle Face, where generations of Colombo dwellers came to relax and enjoy the fresh, salt air is gone. The Galle Face Green where you could fly kites, buy a cone from the Alerics ice cream van and have a ride on a sad, mangy pony, barely exists anymore. What’s left of it is all withered and brown.
Not sure how smart an idea this Port City is, politically speaking …
Slave Island is the dizziest hub of construction in the city –
The star of them all is the Leaning Tower (Altair building). By day …… and by night.
The sights and sounds of Sri Lanka, Judy, are very much like India, with a lot less people, of course, and not as colourful. And less dirt, I suppose.
The varied face of Colombo fascinates me –
Working girl carrying her saree with graceBeggar commencing his day
Woman and street dog: crossing the road in opposite directions
Shoe shoppingCool dude!
“Cheque, please!”
Dapper gran’pa …
Texting and walking
The flexibilty of the Sri Lankan woman is pretty amazing …
Umbrellas, come rain or sun —
Tried my hand at rainy day photography. Quite pleased with the outcome –
The street of my childhood grows less recognizable each time I go back.
Uncle Gerry and Aunty Doreen’s home is one of the few original houses in the old neighbourhood.
Uncle Gerry and Aunty Doreen at their front porch. The last of the original homes. They lived two doors down from us. She was one of Mum’s close friends.
A highrise is under construction on the premises of #13 where my old home used to be located —
A highrise at #13, stomping on memories of the past
I’m embarrassed to admit that lunch become another highlight of my day. Latha excelled herself –
Red rice and curry accompaniments. Three meals a day, served up on Mum’s Noritake dinnerware, with linen napkins and everything. I packed on the pounds fast!
I miss the leisured simplicity of life as it used to be when I was growing up.
Change is inevitable of course. It just took longer coming to Sri Lanka …
Sidewalk strewn with temple flowers (frangipani) before the sweepers get goingBetel juice. An ungenteel ‘provincial’ habit that needs to change. Red spittle on the sidewalk from chewing betel leaves
The old Parliament building from colonial times
Colombo lighthouse
Galle Road in Sinhalese, Tamil and English. The city’s main thoroughfare, leading all the way down to Galle down south
View from the lighthouse
Little Lion ice cream from Top Shelf. Consumed copious quantities of it as a girl!
New concept. Hindu temple (golden dome visible) atop a highrise.
… and Elton John!
Judy, have I mentioned the research I’ve been doing towards writing a book on Mum’s ancestry? I chased clues all over the city.
Felt like a character in The Da Vinci Code –
I spent fascinating hours with Mum’s cousins and some distant relatives I’d never met before –
Aunties Daisy and Sybil (real aunts!), Mum’s cousins with old photograph albums. Mums’ cousin, Paranidhi. Met her for the first time. Went back to visit twice more. A fount of old family history and intriguing insider stories.
Heard some incredible stories from the family archives, gathered a goldmine of information and tons of old photos. A mountain of notes to be transcribed. Almost wore my hand out writing in longhand as fast as it would move!
So when Daughters enquired (during a Whats App phone conversation) if I was bored, I answered: “No, I create my own adventures. There’s a new one every day and I can barely keep up with them all!”
The plan was for Husband to fly out from Toronto and join me after two weeks. While talking on the phone before he arrived, we decided, on the spur of the moment, to visit the Jaffna peninsula together. This area, a war zone for decades, is where our ancestors hail from.
With only days to go and a specific cut-and-paste tour in mind, I had to figure out how to make it happen.
Until then, take care, my friend. I intentionally recorded every detail of this trip just for you, so you were sort of travelling along with me, you know.
Judy with her grandson, Eamon, and JOY on the windowsillMy friend, Judy, chooses to live out her diagnosis of ALS with joy. She is an inspiration to everyone she encounters. Click here to read Judy’s story in Love Those Bhangra Boys!
I’m thankful for you, Judy. You inspire me to keep living out joy, because joy doesn’t depend upon external circumstances. It comes from within.
Love always and thinking of you, my friend,
p.s Woke up to our first snowfall this morning. Oh Canada …
Just got a text from Aunty Rom. She wrote: A few days ago, I met the dog lady. She said the puppy had been run over. I was happy for her, so she didn’t have to find food for another mouth. This morning, she had another, carried in a box!
“I suck at this,” she wailed. ” I’ll never get it. I’m going to fail. Why even bother to try?”
Some people take to certain things like ducks to water. Others not so much.
All five fingers are not the same, Mum used to say…
I watched as she struggled to accomplish her task, heaping negativity on her hapless head. Her words settled like corrosive dead-weights in my spirit.
“Don’t say such things,” I uttered. “Words are powerful. They stick and become self-fulfilling.”
If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say it, Mum would say …
“That’s what you always say.” She sounded irritated. “So what? It’s just words.”
No. Not just words …
Proverbs 18:21 Life and death are in the power of the tongue …
I began to see a vivid picture in my mind. Two seedlings in glass containers, one full of acid and the other rainwater.
How it unfolded in my mind
“If you were a plant,” I said, “And words were the medium you were growing in, if kind, positive words were rain water and negative, condemning words were acid – which one would you thrive in?”
She grew silent.
“If you wake up every morning and hear someone tell you how ugly, rotten and dumb you are, that you’ll never go far or succeed, can you imagine the toxicity you’ll imbibe? At some point you’ll come to believe what you hear. Your spirit receives what your ear hears until it becomes a part of who you are.
No comment.
I plodded on. “On the other hand, if someone tells you daily that you are beautiful, smart, talented and capable of achieving anything you set your mind to … imagine the pure rainwater seeping in nourish your spirit.”
Point made. Her exasperation remained, but the dark words ceased.
For the moment.Oh, to always be able to see the gorgeous pink sunset behind and that dark, dark cloud…
Sunset behind a rain cloud (Niagara Falls, summer 2017)
Some weeks back, I stepped into the mall and understood — all over again — the power of words. I’d recently begun to experience occasional darts of doubt . Amazingly, that mellow evening, it seemed like my steps led me from store to store and brought pause at unexpected spots where wonderful words leapt out to cheer me on –
I couldn’t have contrived the inspiration, if I’d tried. My spirits rose and began to soar.
But that wasn’t all …
On my way home, there was an impelling to stop at a supermarket I don’t often visit. I paid for two bags of soil I didn’t urgently require and headed out. A man hurried up from behind and bent over my cart.
“Those look heavy,” he said pleasantly.
I smiled, “They are.”
“I need some for my garden,” the stranger added, “but that’s why I didn’t get any today!”
He straightened up and I became instantly aware of the words on the back of his T-shirt –
I had to get a picture so I would remember that moment always
I gotta believe …
Caught my breath on a gasp.
Gotta get a picture!
Hurried into the parking lot and chased the gentleman down.
Me (to man): I know this sounds silly, but do you believe in signs?
Man (looking startled): I do.
Me: Would you mind if I took a picture of the words on the back of your T-shirt? I needed to see them. They were my sign today.
Man turned around and obligingly posed.
Click!
Man: So what are your plans for the summer?
Me: I don’t know. I have so many dreams and they were beginning to die. That’s why I needed those words. Thank you!
Man: I really need to get some of that soil, you know.
Me: So go get some. Maybe I am your sign for today!
My heart sang all the twilit way back home.
Love how rosy watercolour-ish twilight cloaks the street – well after 9.00 at night (Canada Day, July 2017)
The final clincher came a week later, at the dentist’s office.
I became acutely aware – the moment I stepped in – of the single word tattooed on the neck of the girl manning the phones. She had her back to me –
Her co-worker held her hair out of the way while she posed for the picture
Believe!
Point taken — signed, sealed and delivered!
I’d have to be really dense not to get it by now …
“My dear Beatrice …” Mum read aloud from the letter in her hand.
Postman has just delivered the mail …
Sister and I dared not meet each other’s eye. Bit our lips to keep from giggling.
“I don’t think you will recall me. I was a friend of your cousins, Daisy and Rosie, and have met you in their company on a few occasions in our young days.”
Mum’s voice rose to a squeak. “I write to you now regarding my son …”
Some mother’s boy …
Sister and I held our breath. Our lips trembled with mirth.
Hmm …
“He is a good boy. Very sober and steady (no vices whatsoever). He graduated as a doctor …..”
Mum’s eye popping out of her head …So his mother says …
Sister swallowed hard. Her shoulders shook. I covered my mouth with my hand.
“We have heard about the goodness of your daughters. People all say they are good and smart, clever girls …”
No vices whatsoever/ the goodness of your daughters … good grief … who even writes like that?
And so the letter went (in sister’s heavily disguised handwriting ) …From one mother to another …Sis and I barely contain ourselves …
Mum eyes continued to scan the handwritten lines. “I would be so happy to hear from you regarding this matter if your elder girl is still unattached. My friend, Mrs. M. tells me she is 22 years of age. In fact, your sister, Ruby …”
I’m the ‘elder girl’ …
“You may remember the times we shared as children.” Mum began to look puzzled.
Her jaw finally dropped when she came to the end of the letter. “PS: We prefer a spacious house in Colombo with garden and attached baths.”
Dowry details! Eek …
Who better than a boy’s fond mama to take the bull by the horns …
We could almost read Mum’s thoughts –
What cheek!
“I don’t remember this lady,” Mum mumbled almost to herself, and ran to the phone to dial Aunty Ruby’s number.
“Hello, how are you dear? I just received a strange letter … sounds a little eccentric … who are these people?”
Definitely not!
Sister and I held our sides and roared. We laughed ourselves into stitches.
It all began some months before, when a close school friend of Mum’s asked if she would contact a certain family (who had an eligible son) regarding a formal proposal of marriage for their youngest daughter.
Girl in question was pretty, a recent university graduate, now on the Marriage Market. Parents were anxious to have her fixed up and settled.
True story, honest (down to the phraseology)! Absolutely no embellishment …
Older sister of said Young Lady got entangled with Completely Unacceptable Young Man and eloped when well-to-do Daddy refused to give his consent. Daddy disowned her. A year later, when First Grandchild was born, Starving Couple were ushered back into the family fold.
Get the picture?God forbid that history should repeat itself, right? Okay, so stage is set …
Mum obliged and our home served as venue for introduction between Sweet Young Thing and Very Acceptable Beau.
Cousin Ranji was staying over that weekend. She, Sister and I eavesdropped from behind the drawing room drapes.
No TV in Sri Lanka then. This was far better, delicious entertainment, served up on a platter …
Me (left) and Sister (centre) with Cousin Ranji, possibly that same weekend. We had too much fun to miss TV when we were kids. (Pic. of Daughters celebrating 12th birthday at Disney World)
Young Pair sat at one end of the room to get acquainted. Mothers made small talk close by.
Recipes and stuff …
Two dads at farthest corner.
Mum and Dad sat in on the powwow – being it was their home and all. Awkward …
Things suddenly grew ugly. Raised daddy-voices.
Dirty dowry matters …
Young Man’s father haggled for more.
What Girl’s Dad said …What Boy’s Father hoped to hear …
Sweet Young Thing’s father finally agreed to throw in a lorry along with the house and land.
Or something like that …
Cousin Ranji, Sis and I are horrified.
We’ve travelled back into antiquity …
Deadlock. Evening concludes in chilly huff.
But no one counted on Young Pair falling madly in love.
Definitely! Head over heels for each other …
Completely unexpected turn of events …
Now unacceptable, Young Man contacted and romanced Sweet Young Thing on the sly.
Was it ever! Boy, oh boy …
Mum politely declined when asked to intervene.
He won’t!
Sweet Young Thing phones to weep on Mum’s shoulder …
Persistent suitor
Romeo and Juliet elope to overseas destination. Daddy disowns Little Girl, then throws arms wide open when she returns from honeymoon with baby on the way.
Yay! Forgive and forget …
They defiantly tied the knot
Found out later that Rejected Romeo and one of the cousins were co-workers at the time of Nebulous Nuptial Goings On. They were quite good friends and I’d met him at one of her birthday parties.
Only in Sri Lanka …
…………………………………………………………………
Found an old scrapbook of letters and cards written by Sister, cousins and me when we were children. Carefully dated and captioned by Mum.
Mum was sentimental about everything. She would have kept every birthday and Christmas card she ever received if Dad hadn’t protested.
Sis and I wrote little notes and longer letters all the time.
Me (left) with Sister. Probably born with a pen in my hand!
About everything.
Hilarious notes from Sister …
Thank you for being so kind. Please buy peppermints! (No idea why she asked for prayer …)Forgive me for being so rude. I am very hungry … (Looks like she went to bed without dinner. Don’t recall the incident.)I fell ill today. Feel very much down in the dumps. (Sis was a precocious little thing)From me. My dearest Mummy … Written while spending some days with Cousin Dili at Aunty Ruby’s home. The younger cousins all went to Sunday School together
Mostly to Mum.
Sister’s handwriting
So when it came time to play a prank on a long-suffering mother, inspired by recent events, one would automatically resort to letter-writing.
“My dear Beatrice …”
Poor Mum. We teased her unmercifully and she was always such a good sport about it. Don’t think Sister or I ever ‘fessed up or divulged the source of the written proposal of marriage that once came my way.
We kept out lips sealed!
Dirty deeds!
And now I’ve two daughters of my own.
Full circle. What goes around surely comes around!
The memories flooded in when eyes wandered over the yellowed sheet of notepaper taped to the fraying page of Mum’s scrapbook.
With sister’s heavily disguised handwriting on it. She must have figured it out …
Thankful for Mum’s sentimentality that induced her save all this stuff.
Pure gold …
Like these home-made cards from her nieces –
A definite artistic bent in the family …
— and the self portrait I drew.
A fairly good likeness of my gawky pre-teen self …
The unflattering self portrait!The real bespectacled me with Sis (and Dad inside car)
Sister needs to work on her spelling in this one –
S ..EPRISE!!!
Golden memories. A sweet, mellow time.
Strolling down the quiet corridors of memory lane ...
When we were very young …
Until next time,
THUMBS UP ! To like my Facebook author page: Click here
On the first family trip to England, Mum had us pose in front of Buckingham Palace while she attempted to take a picture of Dad, Sister and me against the backdrop of the Changing of the Guards.
The guards had changed and gone their wayby the time the picture focused to satisfaction. Sister and I teased her about it for years to come.
Smile please …
Everyone was using pocket cameras.Sis and I were embarrassed by the ghastly contraption Mum still wielded with pride!
We flew on to Singapore where Dad bought us girls a Kodak Instamatic with disposable flash bulbs.
Colour pictures … yay, finally!
Shudder to think of the environmental impact from all the used flash bulbs we gleefully dumped in the trash can.
“Smile please,” for the Yashica, at the Trevi Fountain, Rome. Me with Dad and Sister (centre). Have to check if Sis has the Palace picture (without the guards!)Dad, Mum, me (in rising order) on moving escalator in Zurich, Switzerland. Instant focus with the new Instamatic captured moving subjects. A new era in family photography.
Mum discovered the joys of photography around age 12 when she got a gift of a Brownie camera.
She still had it when Sis and I were kids …
Kodak Brownie. A later version of Mum’s camera. (Courtesy Google images)
Mum’s crisp black-and-white photos display an instinct for capturing the ‘moment’ and an unerring eye for placing and composition.
When sister and I were little, Mum acquired the Yashica, also sort of box-camera-ish.
Sleeker, less ‘primitive’, more sophisticated …
It took ages to focus with Mum staring into the open Yashica ‘box’ in her hands, at an upside down image.
She’d murmur, “Smile, smile” through fixed grin and puckered brow, our features remaining in frozen limbo until we heard the click and a cheerful ‘thank you’!
Felt like forever!
Mum’s Yashica (courtesy Google images)Latest in modern technology! Kodak Instamatic with disposable flash, wrist strap and film
Mum often said she wanted to get an ‘unawares’ shot.
Preoccupied with underwear. What Sis and I thought we heard Mum say. We’d go into hysterics!
Sister and I heard … underwears!
We hadn’t the foggiest notion what she meant.
She caught us unawares all right. The delightful album-memories bear testimony to the fact.
Puzzled. “Okay, so what IS it?” Little sister and me with oldest cousin, Sri. “Did you hear that?” Sister (right) and meSheer joy, unawares. Sister (left) and me with Dad.
Mum’s was the era of stay-at-home mothers. Those who were in the professions were nevertheless the proud masters of the housewifely arts. They cooked, sewed, hung for hours on the telephone with other women, shared recipes, discussed the current price of important commodities like sugar, rice and eggs, wrote lengthy, polite letters and never forgot birthdays and anniversaries.
At family concerts we kids ‘did’ Mum and aunties talking on the phone …
Me pretending to be Mum on the phone with one of her sisters
When Sister and I got married, we each received a special gift from Mum. An album of photographs – mostly black and white photos and some washed out Kodak and Polariod colour pictures – each one tailored to document our lives from birth to early adulthood.
All meticulously labelled …
A gallery of our early lives, with love from Mum.
With Mum’s unexpected passing two years ago, I lost my best friend and discovered a treasure trove of old pictures while cleaning out cupboards and putting things in order for Dad.
Eyes popped out of my head as a pictorial record of family history unfolded …
Who ARE these folks? (Dad has no idea. Dying to know!)
Entered a new realm. Memories of bygone days surfaced from boxes, dusty files and disintegrating albums.
Mum’s voice recounting fragments of family legends echoing in the recesses of my mind …
The past came alive in a way that didn’t seem possible. Moments in time frozen on faded bits of glossy paper, pictures worth thousands of words.
Cousins might not necessarily be immediate ‘first’ cousins. Sometimes you might not be quite sure how you’re related!Me (left) and Sister on a play date with Mali (centre), our THIRD cousin. Her grandpa and ours were first cousins.Birthday parties – just the cousins were crowd enough. (Me, a baby in cousin Chris’ arms, far left)
Weddings were a huge deal, grand affairs. Guest lists could run into the hundreds. Your parents’ friends and business associates and in-laws’ in-laws might be invited. And the neighbours, of course.
No fib. Honest!
The workers from Mum’s family’s firm at her wedding. They arrive bearing a gift-wrapped china dinner set (I own it now and use it on special occasions)Dad and Mum’s wedding
Little girls were dressed to the nines in scratchy, organdy dresses often ‘smocked’ by hand, with stiff ‘can can’ skirts underneath. A nightmare to sit down in.
Detested those cancans …
Cancans and bows for Aunty Elizabeth’s engagement party. Sister (left) and me outside Westholme, Kinross Avenue, Mum’s family home.
Engagements were solemn, formal family affairs, with a priest/ minister to officiate.
Pretty much as binding as the marriage ceremony itself …
All the cousins, uncles and aunts on Mum’s side at Aunty Elizabeth and Uncle Selva’s engagement. Toddler Sister seated between the couple. Cousin Shiro the only one still to be born.
You were as important to the aunties and uncles as their own offspring –
The aunties even cared enough to tell you off as if you were their own!
She does!
Sister (left) and me with Babby (Mum’s younger sister, Elizabeth), my godmother. I lived with her family for two years while Dad worked in West Africa. She sewed some of my clothes and treated me as her own. Uncle Prince, my godfather, recently celebrated his 95th birthday. (Mum’s sister Ruby’s husband). He’d always visit, very late in the evening after work at his clinic,for as long as we were laid up in bed with sundry ailments. He never billed patients who were financially in a bad way. Treatment was free for clergy of all religions.
Sister and me with Uncle Peter (Mum’s older brother) who lived with us for some of his bachelor years after Westholme, the old family home, was sold. Sis and I hung around in his room whenever we got into trouble, until the situation cooled, knowing he would intervene if Mum hunted us down!
Chances are your best friend was a cousin, the one closest in age to you –
Me (lying on mat) and cousin Dileeni. Besties since we were babes.Gotta have a sun hat! Rarely apart. Dileen (left) and me.
Such secrets you’d share!
And she whispers in mine …I whisper in her ear …
You both could be flower girls together, several times over –
Two for the price of one!
Little flower girls. Dileeni (to bride’s right) and me at Babby and Uncle Selva’s wedding.Flowers girls again! Me (left) and cousin Dileeni at Aunty Betty’s (Mum’s cousin’s) wedding… and again! Dileeni (left) and me, experienced flower girls at our oldest cousin Sri’s wedding.
No need to wonder why Getting Married and Having A Baby used to be our favourite dress up games!
We created our own entertainment, inspired by the Enid Blyton books we devoured. An active imagination and a bunch of henchmen was all a handful of cousins required.
We all loved to read.
No one called you a nerd or geek. It’s what kids did …
This little girl reminded me of myself as a kid. Puppy posing with some favourites from my childhoodSister and me with my doll, Cynthia
Endless doll’s tea parties –
Dileeni (right) and meSis and me With Baby Cousin Shiro and my dolls Cynthia, Diana and Minerva (Mum named them, probably)
Never seemed to outgrow the toys and board games. Played with them for years.
Those were the days …
Me with cousins’ toys. We all shared.
Don’t recall ever being bored as a child.
Two cousins, Sister and I once crawled into our pretend kitchen, a curtained alcove under a desk space, to melt squares of chocolate over a burning candle.
Melted chocolate is delicious spread over Marie biscuits …
We could have set the house on fire.
When best friend/ cousin set up a lab at home, you followed suit.
My lab sat on a rickety table in a corner of the kitchen …
Best friend/ cousin obtained test tubes from her dad’s clinic. Litmus paper too. And needle-less syringes. She always shared.
We performed acid/base watch-the-colour-change litmus experiments with vinegar and lime juice …
There were those school-holiday cousin sleepovers, Monopoly games that went on for days, birthday parties and breathtaking birthday cakes –
Sister and Me with my 7th birthday Humpty Dumpty cake made by Mum. She handcrafted Humpty Dumpty out of parchment icing and painted him in with food colouring.
Rocking horses and fluffy pets –
Piano lessons and picnics, seaside frolics, Sunday School. And cousins, cousins, cousins –
A kinder, gentler time, a different world. No TV.
Innocent and enchanted …
Though a late bloomer, I think I’ve inherited Mum’s love of photography and her desire to record the precious, never-to-be-replicated moments.
And like Mum, I’m in less than a handful of photographs in my immense digital library!
So thankful for this gift of photo-memories from the past.
Much to remember, much to write about. That’s what next times are for.
So until next time,
Cousin Dileeni (left) and me. Still close friends though we live at opposite ends of the world.
Ever paused to check out what folks are doing at bus stops, or observed parents with kids in restaurants, in the park?
Eyes on phone. Caregiver of disabled children. In local mall.In the mall at Christmastime. Not interested in atmosphere, decorations, festive music.
The forty-something-and-under phenomenon. Hunched over phones …
Shook my head head in disbelief as I took this one –
Youngster manning Salvation Army Christmas Kettle – crouched over phone and halfheartedly ringing bell with free hand. Guess why kettle’s almost empty.As it should be. Smiling Kettle Person happy to pose at WalMart. Couldn’t help emptying my purse of all its spare change.
Times have changed. Sad.
Life’s blazing flicker moments come and go. In plain sight.
So easy to miss …
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Happened to look out of window as sun rose last week. Picked up phone and clicked.
Sunrise over neighbour’s home
Minutes later –
Brighter, more gold
Stark contrast in brightness of light and sharpness of shadow. Parable for the day –
Only a matter of time before things get brighter …
Might have missed the golden moments in morning haste, if I hadn’t happened to look. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………. Objects have such power to transport me back to associated moments.
When I look at these –
The moment I stand at this bay window, I’m back in assorted paradise climes where I found the shells and starfishEnormous bathroom collage of shells from shores around the world. Daily I re-live the joy of beach-combing. The sense of remembered joy never fades.
Ah, to be a dewdrop in lush, humid rain forest.
And then there’s Chair-In-The-Corner .
Husband’s maternal grandpa’s chair. Over a century old, from Kopay, Jaffna.
Hansi putuwain the vernacular. Translated: resting chair …
Infant Husband with grandfather on said Corner Chair .
Miracle child, my husband. Survived despite all odds.
Cutie Pie- now mine!
Parents who dared to believe. Mother with dogged faith –
He’s going to be okay …
Husband with parents after christening at St. Luke’s Anglican Church, Borella. (Left) Maternal grandparents, (right) Paternal grandparents“Hi there!”. Dad, Mom and precious first born (two brothers to follow)
– and Maternal Granny who pretty much slept with head in his crib at night that first year.
Just in case …
Grew to be strong as an ox, that babe, healthy as a horse.
A deep, strong bond to the very end of her life. Husband and Ammamma (His mom’s mom).
And married me …
Testimony to power of prayer, faith, love, positive thinking.
………………………………………………………………………………….
Visually struck by the obvious. See how reflection in mirror changes.
