Paddy’s wake was conducted in a hobbit hole (the basement suite of her daughter Steph’s house in East Van, memorialized so many times on this blog in happier times) and it snowed food and rained drink, in keeping with the theme.
I sang The Housewife’s Lament very creditably although I did just about lose it halfway through when I thought of how John used to sing it along with me. Paul still can but it’s not the same. There was a ukelele jam, led by a woman who would AND THIS PART I TOOK OUT, BECAUSE, HEY, INAPPROPRIATE but I knew that sooner or later the non musical people would wish to turn the floor over to the anecdotes. And so it was. There was no weeping; there was love and mutual support. Kindly fate, grant that my rellies have something similar when I go.
She was much loved, she will be much missed, and if I can bring more of her love for children and social justice into my weary life, I will be a better woman. It was glorious to see Steph, even under these trying circumstances. Mike took some of Paddy’s ashes; he will dispense them by kite over Buntzen Lake, and a more appropriate farewell I can’t imagine. Mike is very saddened by her going.
I am off to New West to spend money on mundanities like batteries for the smoke detectors. I may just have myself a lamb lunch.
Jeff and I are experiencing some of the benefits of clean living; our rent has not gone up for the second year in a row. We are getting A STEAL and good landlords to boot.
