Author: Catherine Campbell

Wordwrights Christmas Lunch 2024

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

Hard to believe but this was the 8th Wordwrights Christmas lunch – one of them virtual. Since the first lunch we have lost two of our original members – Rian Elliott and Alison Pearce. Two of the original members – Muriel Allingham and Maria Melillo Jones – did not join us. Two new members of the group were joining the lunch for the second year – Cathy Sartor and Krista Vanderhoeven. Welcome back to our supporter, Mary Ann Colihan, Annie Carpenter, Diane Chartrand, Madeleine Horton, Marian Bron. And me.

The location was the RiverBend Golf and Country Club, freshly renovated.

It is a great occasion to share some seasonal treats and to look forward to a productive new year. 2025 will be the 10th year of the Wordwrights. Hard to believe.

A writing challenge has also been regular and this year was no exception. We were challenged to write a “seasonal” piece and read it to the group. All the contributions were entertaining and creatively varied.

See the posted writings under Special Occasions..

Winter Season (Catherine Campbell)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

My relationship with winter has deteriorated drastically over the years – although it didn’t start off all that well either. Five years old I froze my hands because I lost my mittens. Winnipeg weather is not kind and the family spent three years there.

Next stop was Goose Bay, Labrador. Activities there revolved around winter. Neighbourhood kids dug tunnels in the snow. Easy to do when the drifts were over our heads. My father rescued me walking down the corridor between those drifts in the middle of the night – barefoot. My sister and I loved to watch the dog sled races – teams racing across the frozen bay. The northern lights were spectacular as I walked home from Brownies.

Ottawa wasn’t a lot different. A long, cold winter with lots of snow was common. Here I did try and enjoy activities in that wintery environment such as skating on the canal.

Needless to say, our two years in Tanzania didn’t include “winter”. My mother still decorated. The fake tree was a montage of drawings of pastel branches stuck on the wall. The community celebration was odd – dishes prepared and served on picnic tables. The roast goat didn’t happen. Someone stole it the night before. I suspect its ending wasn’t any kinder.

Winter in Edinburgh was just “cold”. Our school uniforms didn’t include panty hose and the heating in the classroom was a copper pipe across the front of the room. Since I was the most junior member of the dorm room I was appointed the task of lighting the heater first thing in the morning. Of course I then dove back into bed to warm up my feet. No real winter sports made up my life here but I did continue horseback riding. My pony was decidedly hairy.

Back in Ottawa I invested more in “enjoying” winter. I started figure skating lessons and skiing on the local hills. More horseback riding on our palomino, Drifter, and our little thoroughbred, Tony. Felt boots, toques, scarfs, parkas – very chic. I did some cross-country skiing.

When I moved to Guelph to finish my first degree I acquired a car. Not exactly a winter vehicle – 1964 MGB. It was an ongoing challenge to get it started.

The next few years revolved around work and law school in Toronto, walking distance. No winter activities. I tried to revive my skiing activity but just ended up somersaulting down the hill. Bruised and humiliated I haven’t downhill skied since.

Cross-country skiing didn’t last long either. My husband and I actually took the skiis, two dogs (vizslas – not exactly cold weather dogs) to Calgary. We brought two collie puppies home with us. The skiis ended up in the rafters in our garage in Aurora. They might still be there.

The vizslas liked to run in the snow. My champion obedience dog and I finished a miserable dog show (failed all the trials) by going to Ashbridge’s Bay. February but the sun was shining. Sheba (the vizsla) took after ducks on the frozen surface of the bay. She went through the ice. A piece of ice was under her chest so she was floating – and howling! I crawled out on a spit with a good Samaritan and we coaxed her over to us. We got her out to the applause of about 200 spectators just as the ladder firetruck arrived.

So here we are in London. A gorgeous vista across the golf course and Kains Woods. The dogs (Dobermans) and I enjoyed admiring the view from the sunroom. Any snow activity was brief – exercising the dog and a little retrieving.

My current enjoyment is similar only now with a poodle. He quite likes the snow. Our short jaunts in the drifts results in a trip to the grooming table to comb out the snowballs and dry him off. Tedious. Sends me back to the hand warmers and a coffee.

Summer Music

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

Bayfield was one of our go-to places for several years after we moved to London. We discovered Bayfield and the Little Inn of Bayfield as attendees at chef dinner/wine tasting events. The weekend stay was a treat – relaxing.

This town just vibrates “summer”. The streets crawl with visitors enjoying the sun, the patios, just steps to the lake. Numerous restaurants and bars line the main street. And businesses like the Village Bookshop grace the side streets. This shop reflects decades of dedication to the classic book business – welcoming to casual browsers and bibliophiles alike – defying the trend to online blogs and podcasts.

So why a visit on a hot summer day when weather forecasts threatened thunderstorms and even tornadoes?

The Village Bookshop had announced an event on Facebook. The plan was to host a Jazz Daze performance in the garden behind the store. Their promotion introduced the quartet performers. Two of them I knew. The percussionist was a Londoner and the husband of a creative writing instructor from Western. His wife had shared the event posting with me. I had been introduced to the percussionist’s obsession for music from jazz to classical. Their London home chock-a-block with musical instruments and music collections. The trumpet player we had heard several times in more classical venues, playing classical music. He performed a concert in a Baptist church accompanied by the piano and another in a United church joined by an organist. The piano and the organ were played by the same man who happens to be my piano coach.

This was not an event to miss. We decided that it would be well worth the 1 ½ hours drive even if we had to take refuge from rain. My husband and I arrived in Bayfield to the news that the performance was now indoors in the lounge at the Little Inn in deference to the weather forecast. (Of course, not a drop of rain fell.)

The performers were just warming up as we coasted in. Let me introduce all the musicians.

“Jazz Daze” is a quartet consisting of the trumpet (Ken Baldwin), the double bass (Steve Harris), percussion (Paul Adams) and keyboard (David Lee).

Paul Adams handled introductions and entertained the attendees with an explanation of the musical roots of the Bossa Nova. Clearly passionate about the art of drumming in jazz Paul demonstrated the use of brushes as well as sticks. For us, new to the brushes, it was interesting to hear the unique, jazzy sound. Paul also spoke about his custom Ayotte snare drum. Ken commented on the difference between the trumpet and the fugelhorn and showed the mutes he used.

No programs but Paul very generously forwarded me a list of pieces performed so that I could share. The extensive selection was familiar to many in the audience – among the songs were Summertime, Fly me to the Moon, Girl from Ipanema, I Loves you Porgy, Cheek to Cheek, Moon River, Song for my Father. All had been performed in years gone by by great musicians, singers as well as instrumentalists. An afternoon immersed in a jazz legacy.

The atmosphere was casual, intimate. Locals and visitors wandered in enticed by the resonating tones – and stayed. They filled the few seats, other lining the walls. A little wine and beer. Laughter, conversation and applause.

The musicians performed two lengthy sets. We bid them adieu and headed back to London. Not as fortunate as Bayfield with the weather, London had torrential rain the whole afternoon and, further east, Ayr was hit by a tornado.

2020 – “MEMORABLE” YEAR – CATHERINE A. CAMPBELL

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

No ominous vibes.

2019 ended with a trip to Welland to see family with our new poodle puppy in tow, followed by a New Year’s Eve dinner. 

2020 started routinely.

JANUARY

We did make it to midnight, coughing the whole time.  

I spent the first few days trying to rehome a piano for Alison (one of the writing group). It ended up going to a young relative of hers who was just starting to learn. Piano looked to be a major part of this year – 2020. I had made the decision to pursue my Associateship of the Royal Conservatory of Canada so lots of piano lessons and piano practice. An onerous undertaking.

The Forest City Wordwrights, my writing group, continued its monthly sessions. Amazing that we have been together for four years. I submitted a story about the loss of Ivy, our last Doberman, to Chicken Soup – worth doing but like most rejections today the response was “silence”. 

Dog training is also a high priority for 2020 – Kohl, now 6 months old, is getting bigger and much more confident. Definitely got a mind of his own. He graduated from Grade 1 and moved on to Grade 2 – at a training centre about an hour and a half drive east of London.

Having invested in clippers, scissors and a very powerful dryer we wimped and pursued grooming services from the co-breeder who has set up a new business in Strathroy – a half hour drive west of London. 

Good thing Kohl likes the car.

FEBRUARY

I celebrated my birthday at the ortho clinic (again!) seeing the surgeon for my follow-up and to celebrate the completing of my participation in a two-year study related to different types of hip replacements.

The writing group was active – checking out competitions and reviewing books on the art of writing.

In a test of my piano accomplishments – I played t the St. Thomas Rotary Festival – this time a Chopin Etude, by memory. Wish it had gone better but the adjudicator was very generous. This piece is now so much better, but it is hugely challenging and wildly fast. I played in the Festival two years ago three weeks after my hip replacement surgery, hobbling up on stage on my crutches. I played that time much better – the adjudicator just about took a header over my crutch at the end of my performance.

MARCH

There were murmurs about a virus surfacing in Europe – my recollection is that Italy was the primary focus for the first part of the month. A couple of cases occurred in the West – US and Canada – but the general response from the powers that be here in Canada was that there was no great concern. So life went on.

We attended a performance to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s death – Gerald Vreman, my piano coach, played the Concerto #1 as the highlight of the event. It was well attended. I remember discussing the Italian situation with the virus with another of Gerald’s adult students who was planning to go to Italy in April to address family situations. (She didn’t go. Several of her relatives contracted the virus.)

Mid March we went to a wine tasting in Niagara – a fabulous cheese buffet spread and several wine options. But there was now a tension, a concern about the buffet and strangers in close confines. The winery had staff serve rather than everyone helping themselves.  We had stopped at a Niagara distillery on the way in and a couple of small bottles of hand sanitizer were included in our order. The distillery undertook the production of large quantities of sanitizer and delivered it for free to paramedics, police and other frontline workers in the Niagara region. Many other wineries stepped up to provide more supply.

It was still several days later before all non-essential businesses were ordered closed. Schools were closed. Our beloved Covent Garden Market and Jill’s Table (our favourite kitchen store) closed – we went to both weekly. The vendors were (well still are) our friends. No more housecleaning. No more hair salon. The Club closed but reached out to the community by establishing a meal delivery service. 

There was a mad rush on toilet paper.

Technology stepped in. Our dog training went online to complete the Grade 2 course. My piano lessons moved to FaceTime. Yoga went to Zoom. No dog grooming but, using Skype, the groomer delivered a lesson on coat maintenance. Our personal fitness training group moved to virtual using Physiotec.

We walked the golf course with the dog – my Fitbit recorded thousands of steps a day.

The writing group also went virtual – low tech. As if isolation wasn’t hard enough to bear additional upheavals happened. A marriage breakup (upside, the husband had bought a lot of toilet paper before he walked out and didn’t take it with him). The member I had helped with the piano – 88 years old – had just moved into a retirement home and no one could visit. The group tried to stay motivated by doing scheduled prompt writing sessions and circulating the results via email. The better efforts were added to our website. Forest City Wordwrights

In our family, our son worked from home and was “daddy day care” to a 4-year old. His wife quarantined herself thinking she had symptoms, but her test came back negative. She then went back to work, 12-hour shifts, in the dialysis unit of her hospital.

Trips planned got cancelled – my sister’s trip to Florida to join her spouse cancelled. Instead, he was trying to figure out how to get home. And her vet practice was working on a new no-touch system of treating pet patients.

We were already starting to feel guilty that our lives had changed but, comparably, we were untouched. Ergo my addition to my wardrobe – 

God grant me the

Serenity to accept things

I cannot change

The Courage to change

The things I can

And the Wisdom to know

When just to play PIANO

APRIL

Everything went quiet and the atmosphere was electric. Our community Owners’ Council (I am a long-time council member) went to Zoom. Wineries and the dog training outfit got creative to keep their clientele in the loop – Zoom, Instagram Live and Facebook Q&A. Friends talked of disappointment at not seeing family at Easter. Church services went online.

We drank wine, ordered more. The writers group organized lots of prompt sessions and took advantage of virtual writing workshops. 

I wrote at the time….

OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.

Coming back to life – cutting the grass. Seems almost normal. Kohl is checking out this new activity. Well not really new – back in the fall of 2019 it was normal routine. Nothing normal about today.

Well that really isn’t true either. The sun is shining, the grass is green, the leaves are starting to unfold from their buds on the trees. The bees are back, feasting on the dandelions. I rescued one from the sunroom and set him free. Something missing though. 

No golfers.

The irrigation system was being checked this morning. Big sprays of water over the 1st green. The fertilizer cart headed back from the second hole. The greens are cut, the rough is trimmed. 

No golfers.

There are walkers galore. What else is there to do? Our private park. I’ve hit my 10,000 steps several times. We have videoed Kohl doing his leash work and his tugging and his retrieving. Posted it online because there are no dog training classes. We chat from a social distance with fellow residents. Introduce Kohl but no social interaction allowed. Walking carefully by fellow walkers, an appropriate distance maintained, a wave, a smile.

The eagles are soaring in the afternoon sky. A robin has nested on the pillar by our front porch. Not sure where the ducks nested this year. Kohl and I watch them come and go from the ponds. And geese, of course. The superintendent was out a few weeks ago – loud noises to spook them away. Back down to the Thames Valley Conservation area or Kains Woods. Kohl has met a muskrat and checks out the stream every walk to look for him (or her). We spooked two deer who bounced down the fairway, tails flagging white and high. Kohl would have been in hot pursuit except for the leash.

No golfers. 

In a normal time, spring, warm, we would not be walking on this course soaking up the joy of renewal. We truly would be observing outside the window. So all beautiful and vibrant but all outside the window.  

Outside the window.

MAY

The days are now starting to blend together, one after another, a disturbing lack of rhythm. Days, now weeks, now months. 

Just in case we thought spring was actually here Mother Nature delivered a final dose of winter.

Just a week later the golf course opened. One person per cart. Social distancing. No raking of the traps. The Clubhouse was still closed. To complement the meal delivery program the Club initiated a grocery service. A godsend to some in the community who were reluctant to or unable to go to a grocery store. Social distancing at our favourite store was almost impossible so we stopped going. Masks were promoted for anywhere social distancing wasn’t possible – in a very short time both masks and social distancing were mandated.

Kohl was in dire need of a groom, but no groomers were allowed to be open. We discovered ticks. Fortunately, not carriers of Lyme disease but we combed Kohl out carefully after any walks in the fescue. Lots of deer and coyotes so not a surprise but easy to miss. End of the month Kohl got his groom. I didn’t. I looked worse than Kohl.

It was disappointing to have to celebrate a friend’s 88th birthday virtually. Not even a cake was allowed to be delivered. So, I made her a birthday card and posted a virtual party on the writing group website. The new owner of her family homestead tried to do a visit outside her window but was discouraged by the management of the retirement home.

Just for an outing we drove to Niagara for a curbside pickup of barbecued brisket – crazy – we were getting claustrophobic. It was delicious. Kohl came on the drive but didn’t share in the brisket.

JUNE

The region started opening up. With some trepidation we went back to personal fitness training – 1 client at a time, by appointment only. We visited the market and our favourite kitchen store but our emails setting up these outings show quite a bit of angst.

And now masks – I ordered masks from a clothing store – Frank Lyman specials. One of the residents in the community started making masks, no charge except that she was the volunteer fundraiser for the London Symphonia and a donation would be much appreciated. Expensive masks. One is a keyboard pattern and the other musical notes and clefs.

Out of the blue Howard got an email from his best friend when he was ten, a woman now living in Seattle. A package arrived from her – more masks. 

Mid-month in-person dog training restarted – small class, no spectators. The patio at the Club opened with masks required except at the table. Separate entrance and exit paths. Owners’ Council meetings remained virtual. Piano lessons still on FaceTime.

The writing group continued to meet “virtually”, writing prompts and just staying in touch. The birthday member had a fall and ended up in hospital. It was hard to track down how she was. Visitors were very limited and she had to quarantine because of being at the hospital.

Just to add another challenge an element in our oven burned out. It took weeks to organize a repair call and weeks to find out it couldn’t be replaced. Good thing we had the Big Green Egg. I even cooked Yorkshire puddings on it.

JULY

Our favourite July event for years was the i4C – International Cool Climate Chardonnay Celebration. The organizers put together a virtual offering including the School of Cool event. Not quite as entertaining as the in-person. Not sure whether the 2021 event will fly or not.

The virtual lecture was interesting but not in the same league as this real experience in 2018.

Mid-July, masks were made mandatory inside businesses and restaurants. 

A storm went through the area knocking out power. Wind shear took out trees and twisted a garage door like a pretzel. There was other minor damage, but our property was untouched. 

AUGUST

Here we are on the Hidden Bench patio participating in a dog training Zoom call (using my iPhone for data) – a treat to be in the open air, a socially distanced outing. Only a couple of people were allowed inside the tasting room at a time. Everyone was masked on the formal patio and inside. That did lend an ominous air to the occasion that we tried to ignore.

Wine and the study of wine fills hours of the days. 

Not my favourite task at the best of times but we had to kick off the election process for Owners’ Council. Three vacancies, four candidates. We set up the voting process on Survey Monkey.

Our medical checkup appointment pushed out 6 weeks. The clinic was closed. Doctors dealt with non-emergency medical issues on the phone.

And for the writing group, I wrote virtual meeting notes – a truly virtual meeting as it didn’t take place even virtually.

SUMMER DOLDRUMS AND COVID-19

Although we are escaping the oppressive heat of July and early August the fresh cool mornings just exacerbate the feelings of physical and emotional constraint brought on by social distancing, masks and angst. For those of us “trapped” in relatively idyllic locations we ache for those who are confined to homes, deprived of social interaction, suffering from ailments (some serious but medical attention is hard to obtain) or working in difficult circumstances (vets, dentists, health care workers). The fear mongering in the media and amongst our political class (domestic and international) makes it difficult to define what social activity is a reasonable risk and what is not. As we mask everywhere it seems like eons ago that our public health advisors were saying masks were useless. Now you can be lynched for failing to mask and “endangering” others even if there is no-one within dozens of feet much less six. As we tentatively test a return to “normal” – my piano lessons are now in person, but I arrive at one door and leave through another, masks are worn, handwashing is required and all the door knobs get sanitized between students. Yoga is still on Zoom. Kohl’s dog training is in person – 6 students in a huge training hall, masked, no spectators and, just to be sure, social distancing. I guess this will be the “new normal” for many weeks, months. Winter is ominously lurking – another form of confinement.

The Wordwrights have supported each other’s projects and creativity for several years now. It is hard to lose the physical connection even though it was only monthly. And that is especially hard when members of the group are going through personal challenges. Let’s keep reaching out to each other, virtually for now, but, with the power of Zen, lift our spirits and energize our creativity. Share the moments of despair but also indulge the moments of accomplishment even joy. 

We will get through this!

SEPTEMBER

On the Labour Day long weekend, a Foreign Affair Brisket Event was organized – a picnic. Masks to enter the picnic grounds, questionnaire and temperature taken. Kohl accompanied us to this “socially distanced” picnic. He was a very good boy. Brisket sandwiches, baked beans and chips and, of course, a glass of wine. I was the driver – Howard had 2. Seven hours from leaving home to getting back. Pooched! 

Last day of August and it looks like a new range will finally be installed. In this complicated life the deliverers of the range don’t disconnect the old appliance or connect the new one. So, we had to find an electrician to come in the day before the delivery and the day after. Having strangers wandering through the house was stressful. Then the range arrived with a significant dent – the price was adjusted by $500. The dent doesn’t show because the range is set into the cabinets but still annoying.

The Owners’ Council election went ahead with only a hitch or two on Survey Monkey. Sadly, one of the council members was diagnosed with lung cancer during the summer. She voted from her hospital bed and died a week after the results were published. Still miss her presence at the meetings – bright, funny.

OCTOBER

This month it is a year since we saw our close family. We looked at the possibility of visiting. Too many “uncontrollables”, particularly the 4-year old who loves to hug. That and our son doing part-time firefighting. And our daughter-in-law still in the health care system. And we would have to bring Kohl who has never met their dog, Odi (standard schnauzer).

We roasted a turkey for Thanksgiving even though it was just the two of us. Multiple turkey dinners, turkey pies, turkey stock, stuffing for pork tenderloin…not really an ideal menu option for two.

The trials of several of the writing group members continued. Real emotional hardship. Our prompt sessions stalled – jaded perhaps. 

Makes me feel guilty for chafing at the restrictions when I have access to outdoors, to good food and wine, to books, movies and playing with/training my dog. I feel badly for my sister and the difficult processes implemented in her vet practice. Her significant other would normally be on the way to their property in Florida but not this year. 

Fall moves on. Golfing is still a go so our walks are around the outside of the course. Absolutely gorgeous.

So much routine too. Numerous meetings and issues with Owners’ Council. Personal training resumed. Piano continues. Seems surreal.

There is a change in email – less from friends and family and more from retailers, vendors, travel sites – constant barrage of specials and opportunities. And lots from the Tudorose Poodle group (Kohl’s connections) and McCann’s dog training (Kohl’s connection again). Most of the blog posts from writing sites and piano and music sites remain unopened. Maybe I am also jaded.

Kohl needed his vaccinations so headed for the vet. Phoned when we arrived. A technician came out and fetched Kohl. We spoke to the vet, masked and socially distanced, and paid by phone.

And another little bit of normalcy, we got our flu shots in an outdoor clinic. Never got out of the car. In and out of the parking lot in 20 minutes including the 15-minute wait to make sure there was no reaction.

I wrapped up the month with a Zoom workshop from Quick Brown Fox – How to Write Great Characters. Of course, I haven’t managed to put the info to use.

NOVEMBER

I signed up for a Jill’s Table virtual cooking class. – Marvellous Mushrooms. We picked up the necessary ingredients from the store and from the market. Then I discovered the downside. I had to do all the prep and do it all before it was needed if I wanted to keep up with the Zoom presentation. The kitchen was destroyed. No question the pre-pandemic cooking class, sitting in the store’s teaching space with a glass of wine watching the guest chef work “magic”, delivered to us to taste, was much more relaxing. Not that my culinary results were disappointing. Not at all. Just a lot of WORK.

I registered for a Mysteries and Thrillers writing course through Western. It provided a little intellectual stimulation and I did make a little progress on one of my projects. 

I finally got a scheduled medical procedure (CT Colonography) after a year of waiting. Initially I was told it could be scheduled spring of 2021 if I was prepared to go to Strathroy and summer if I wanted to stay in London. I got a call in November and took a deep breath and said OK. Perverse I suppose that a hospital is the last place we feel safe today – whether a patient or a health care worker. And an illustration of the delays the pandemic wrought on non virus health care procedures. 

Piano practice is taking its toll on my hands. I have started serious physio! Patients have to fill in a wellness check online before attending a session.

We actually had a dinner reservation at the Club the first week of November – oysters on the half shell. The Club is really trying to keep the residents entertained. Of course, many of them should have been in their southern destinations by now. 

The US election provided some significant “entertainment”. 

A military organization promoted a virtual Remembrance Day. I posted pictures on their Facebook page and on my own. These two photos pretty much bracketed my father’s military career.

Here is the first picture of my father shaking hands with Prince Akihito in 1953, Victoria, British Columbia.

And the second was a plaque commemorating his role with the Canadian delegation of the International Commission of Control and Supervision, Region 4, in South Vietnam – 1973. The Canadian delegation was pulled out in only 6 months with the observation that they had come to supervise a ceasefire but were instead observing a war.

I also posted the following on Facebook:

Military initiatives are frequently remembered by the works of artists retained to capture the nature of the mission. My mother (her artist name, Elizanne) was selected to be the war artist in Vietnam during this short stint. I have a couple of her works from this project but understood that additional pieces were held in the collection of the Canadian War Museum. My husband and I decided almost 10 years after her death to visit the Museum. The librarian I consulted found the microfiche for us – it was quite emotional to browse those images. What was perhaps more astounding was that the librarian had no idea Canada had played a role in the peacekeeping efforts in South Vietnam.

My father, Colonel Frank Campbell, retired several months after returning from Vietnam. He became employed with The Plan (then Foster Parents Plan) and returned to Saigon as director of their operations there. He was in the process of moving to a new post in Indonesia with belongings packed on the quay to be shipped when he was told to be on the tarmac the next morning to board a Canadian plane. Evacuation of Canadians was underway. I saw my dad walk across the runway to board the plane – newsman, Craig Oliver, had called to tell me to watch. Saigon was falling.

Time Fillers

Tartine bread making every couple of weeks – my starter is 8 years old, I think. Takes the better part of a day to get the loaves into the oven. Slice it up and freeze it – great for grilled cheese except that the cheese oozes through all the holes in the bread. And absolutely amazing for croutons. I have revived my fondness for Caesar salad.

We are back to driving to Flamborough once a week for Kohl’s training class. Still no spectators allowed so Howard gets to sit in the car. I recorded the class with my iPad, leaning it against a chair so that Howard could see what we were doing. 

No question that over this year Kohl has provided us with an invaluable distraction. He is oblivious to the stress.

DECEMBER

Last month of a crazy year.

Worth noting the huge push of email to encourage purchasing before Christmas. Businesses trying to survive.

More trials and tribulations for members from the writing group – their friends and family. Even quarantine at the retirement home. Yet several members have finished projects, made major inroads on projects and persevered with the creative writing exercises. The Thrillers and Mysteries course wrapped up. 

Family birthdays came and went – quietly – just email or cards. 

A morning visitor made short shrift of one of our shrubs – 6 feet outside our sunroom door. Like the spring there was still a rhythm to life. 

“Outside the Window”.

One of our favourite Niagara wineries organized a virtual tasting. The Wine Club offerings were poured into serving size bottles and delivered. Food pairing options were recommended (we didn’t try everything). Very decadent.

A selection of hard cheese with fruit compotes (Heritage cheddar from Upper Canada Cheese Company) is beautiful with the Chardonnays. Brie with warm mushrooms for the Nuit Blanche. Crab cakes with the Chardonnays. A charcuterie board will always work with many options. Duck confit bites with the Locust Lane Pinot. Shaved Roast Beef with plum compote for the Terroir Cache.

Then we were shut down again. All non-essential businesses limited to curbside or delivery. The Club closed again. So what could we do to “celebrate” the Forest City Wordwrights.

“Virtual” Christmas Lunch. With London now in a red zone we have to face the reality that Forest City Wordwrights annual Christmas lunch at the RiverBend Clubhouse is not going to happen in 2020. So it seems like the best substitute would be a wander down memory lane. https://www.forestcitywordwrights.com/2020/12/13/virtual-christmas-lunch

Christmas 

I couldn’t bring myself to put up a tree. I did put the wreath on the door, lit the candle in the lantern of a ceramic snowman and put Queen Bear in her place on the piano. We cooked a prime rib for our Christmas dinner. Too much turkey still in the freezer. Lots of email greetings, a couple of phone calls. 

Then on Boxing Day, the stay-at-home direction – unless absolutely essential!

New Year’s Eve

New Years’ Eve a delivered dinner from the Club. A single malt scotch for me, a martini for Howard and a nice bottle of wine. The traditional Campbell dress tartan. Good omens!

A toast to 2021 and prayers for a respite from the pandemic.

“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree” (Catherine Campbell)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

When it comes to Christmas for most people the main symbol of Christmas is a decorated tree – I reflect on that symbol and other Christmas events when the Christmas celebration is “relocated”.

Carlux. One of the most memorable was a return trip to France to our friends living in the Dordogne, in a small village, Carlux, in a property called Le Fournil.

We arrived before Christmas. It was 1999 and the millennial was on the horizon.

We purchased two little trees at the market and decorated them with red balls and Santa hats. Since it was also the millennium a lovely stuffed bear was acquired with a celebratory banner. Our little trees got planted in the garden above the Le Fournil – they are now 8 feet tall!

Millenours 2000 (my white bear) has gone a little yellow – I have gone a lot grey!

Tanzania – our Christmas tree was an artistic creation of pastel branches on sheets of paper – my mother was an artist and evergreens were not one of the native plants.

Indonesia – no Christmas tree but a special invite to a wedding (Christmas wasn’t part of the culture). The guests were seated facing the bride and groom and a meal was served to all. Unfortunately, the green beans were actually outrageously hot peppers. Tears streamed down my face while I tried not to interrupt the ceremony.

Palm Springs, the Ingleside Inn. We were without our son at Christmas so we took a trip to fill the holiday. Christmas decoration here consisted of a nude sculpture in the garden that had been graced with a Santa hat. Mini trees, decorated, about 8” high, were in every room. Echoing the near forgotten era of the piano lounge there was a pianist (Canadian co-incidentally) tickling the ivories on a grand piano, the food was excellent, classic tableside favourites, as was the wine – a Duckhorn Merlot.

Home and Christmas Tree Evolving – Aurora – London. The Christmas tree became “artificial” since our son was allergic to pine. It was graced with decorations that we had acquired from almost every place we visited. Nothing stylish about our tree but lots of memories. It has not been unboxed and “dressed” in five years. Just seems like a lot of effort when there is no one to share it with. Although, a visit including the grandkid is planned just after Christmas so I may have to take a deep breath and decorate.

 As our focal point of Christmas, the tree has been displaced, replaced by a piano recital mid-December (since 2011) and a writing group lunch. COVID was hard on both off these get togethers. No piano recital 2020, one in 2021 and nothing since. This year is particularly hard because the MC of the recital, our piano coach, is still recovering from a serious motorcycle accident. The adult student participants have lost touch with each other and, to some extent, lost focus on the performance objectives. The writing group lunch lost a year to the pandemic and suffered the loss of two of the original group, Alison and Rian. They are missed.

Santa Claus The fantasy of Santa Claus permeates Christmas. Of course, gifts under the tree are a big part of Santa’s role. In Goose Bay, at 6 years old, I guess I was a believer. CBC tracked Santa’s route from the North Pole. Gifts from Santa materialized from the basement (we never questioned why but now know my father made cradles and brought dolls home from a trip – no Santa involved). The requisite photo of our grandson in Santa’s lap was taken when he was a toddler.  None since and no gifts from Santa under his tree.

Fascinating was discovering the grave of the real Santa – St. Nicholas. We visited that grave in Antalya, Turkey. The stories of this saint’s life and good deeds seem so far removed from our bearded, classically attired in red and white, jolly old man with his reindeer and his elves.

As we move through the “silly season”

A Toast to Christmas

 To the memories past and memories yet to be made.

From our Carlux hosts and the 8’ Christmas trees,

“standing in verdant beauty”

Bonne Fetes.

Home Left the Dog (Catherine A. Campbell)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ 1 Comment

A dog stood, motionless, in the middle of the sidewalk. A busy sidewalk, many walkers, along a road with many cars.

“Where was she?”

His head swivelled; his tail wagged gently – then drooped. He sank to the ground. It wasn’t very far because his legs were short. His long body stretched along the wet pavement.

“Where was she?”

The dog, a dachshund, had been pushed out of a car several hours ago. It had sped off down the road. He had been standing in the same spot all that time. So, she would find him.

His head sank onto his paws, his eyes closing.

Startled awake he looked straight at the toes of polished boots. So polished his nose and eyes reflected in the gleam. A hand touched his head.

“What are you doing here, buddy? No leash, no collar. Did you run away from home?”

No, home had run away from him. “Where was she?”

“Buddy, maybe you should come with me.”

Pulling his ears back, hesitating. She might come back!

“Don’t think so, buddy.”

The dog looked up at the voice, up the pressed trouser leg, the leather belt, the uniformed jacket. A kind face with a 5 o’clock shadow. The brim of a cap shielded the eyes from the setting sun.

Setting sun! Where was she? His home had run away. The day was waning. She was gone.

Gentle hands lifted him to his feet.

“Come with me, buddy. We will figure this out.”

The Spinning Wheel of Sarah Ann Backus – her Spinning Wheel Legacy (Alison Pearce)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

This is the spinning wheel that belonged to my grandmother, Sarah Ann (Backus) Pearce. It was small too, just as Grandmother who was less than five feet tall was small.  Her short legs comfortably reached the treadle on the wheel.

As I look back now in my eighties, II recall how mesmerized I was as I watched my grandmother treadle for hours. Her feet and legs moved ever so evenly, up down, as she guided the rough wool onto the wheel, her hands and feet moving in different rhythms, forming one long unbroken woolen thread and ball of yarn. 

 For grandmother, spinning was more than a skill. For her it was an art and one which began in early spring. Each year my father or my uncle took turns putting aside a fleece for Grandma. And when summer time came Grandma began the act of preparation. I can see her yet, sitting out on her lawn, fleece spread over her lap as she pulled out the oily tats one by one.

 Then came the job of washing the fleece. Out came the large galvanized bucket to the lawn which she filled with warm water that she had heated on top of her stove. After several washes and rinses Grandma spread the fleece out on the lawn to bleach and dry in the days that lay ahead.

Finally she determined that the wool was ready for spinning. She gathered up the bundle and carried it into her living room where her spinning wheel was ready and waiting. I watched as she tore off large chunks of the fleece, piece by piece which she rolled into rough threads. Then she would place, one end onto the wheel, as she began to treadle. She kept this up until she had enough to form one large ball of yarn.

She loved to knit socks   for her sons and woolen mitts for her grandchildren   my birthday at the end of May.

Spinning 

The Spinning Wheel

This spinning wheel belonged to my grandmother, Sarah Ann (Backus) Pearce. Grandma was less than five feet tall and a special spinning wheel had to be made for her.  It’s well over 80 years now since I stood, as a wee child, mesmerized, watching her hands and feet working the wheel and treadle in their own rhythms. 

She was a 3rd generation pioneer and the last one in the community to carry out such a task, which she performed from beginning to end.

Each spring one of her sons, Ernest or John, would give her a fleece following the shearing of the sheep. Grandma would prepare and wash it in her yard and when bleached and dry she would bring it into the house where the spinning wheel was waiting. With her balls and skeins of yarn she would knit socks for the men and mittens for her grandchildren .She purchased her packets of dye from Hockins in Dutton. In May of each year I could count on a pair of mittens for my birthday, navy one year – burgundy the following year.

The Gifts of Love  (A true story) (Alison Pearce)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

Excitement continued to mount throughout the whole month of December. Each day brought something new and the boxes kept filling up as the month crept on. Yesterday four boys brought in gifts for Michael age 10 and Steven the baby, 14 months. The presents for Karen, age 11 and Jennifer who was 4, were piling up too, all nicely wrapped for Christmas, all tagged with the name for each family child on it and the name of the child who gave the gift. The children in the class had drawn names. In that way each child would receive the same number of presents.

As the days rolled on the food boxes were filling up too; cereals, hot chocolate, jams and peanut butter, canned foods and other food gifts that would not spoil. The class had voted that two children would accompany Mrs. Bernstien, the class mother, and me to take our gifts of Christmas love to our family of four.

With the car all packed, we set off after school the day before holidays were to begin. Neither Mrs. Bernstein nor I had been to this part of the city before.

What a shocking surprise! This whole area had been expropriated, awaiting the city’s decision over the building of the Allan Expressway. It was an area of small flat-roofed shacks, with their hydro and telephone wires strung from one crudely built cabin to the next. I pushed the thought from my mind of what might happen if one of them suddenly caught fire. Surely this was Toronto’s social housing at its worst. At best, it was a far cry from the beautiful homes of Forest Hill, less than five miles from where we had just come.

Nevertheless we parked in front of a door bearing the number we had been given and heaved a sigh of hope that we would be welcomed and not turned away.

We knocked. “Hello”, I said to the lady as she timidly looked us over. “The boys and girls in my class would like to give you and your children some presents for Christmas. May we bring them in?”

The mother stood speechless as she nodded and her eyes filled with tears.

By the time we had finished carrying in all the boxes her children had huddled around her, Jennifer tugging on her skirt. Baby Steven, awakened by the noise and chatter, was beginning to fuss. While Mrs. Bernstein and I were laying out some candy canes, fruit and nuts, Susan and Allan were each holding up a present and showing the mother the names of the children.

“Oh!” said the mother in a faint voice. “I can’t believe it!” and as she gathered her children around her even more closely, she pointed to the boxes. “How can I ever thank you? We had nothing and you have made our Christmas!” she said, struggling to hold back even more tears.

“And you have made ours too”, said Suzy and Allan together.

As we drove quietly back to the school I could hear Suzy whisper to Allan. “I wish I could take them all home with me,” she said, and he whispered back, “Me too.”

William Charles Frederick Keeler (Alison Pearce)

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

Bill Keeler has been in my life for 9 years and when I look back on those years I can’t think of what my life would have been like without him in it. I have been truly blessed and at a time in my life when I had not expected such blessings. Bill and I had a common interest in genealogy and family history. We each went to the monthly Middlesex Genealogical meetings when we first came to London.

So you see! We didn’t meet on-line as so many young people do today. Had we gone on line we would have had to give a personal profile – a sketch of ourselves. They might have read something like this.

Bill Keeler: widower, age 82 -have had 56 years of marriage – doesn’t like to listen to classical music; independent – strong minded – used to setting the rules 

Alison Pearce: spinster, age 75: single all these years; doesn’t like to watch John Wayne movies; independent – strong minded – used to setting the rules

Well there we have it. The perfect match!

But there was so much more to Bill’s personal profile. He had a real sense of humility and though he was neither spiritual, nor religious, he truly lived, “The Golden Rule”­—”Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.” In all the years I knew Bill I never heard him once say an unkind word about one person. He was a true gentleman, kind and considerate and anyone who met him could sense these qualities about him. Always impeccably dressed and always with his long-sleeved shirts and trousers pressed just so. 

Bill had a great sense of humour too and believe it or not we laughed together many times during this past year.

I don’t know of any person who could be as kind and thoughtful as Bill. I had just met him at the time that my sister Mary, who lived in St. Thomas, had died. When Bill asked me if he could help me in any way- such as driving me to St. Thomas for the visitation or the funeral – I thanked him and said I would be fine. Then within minutes I realized what I had just done and I quickly picked up the phone. Thus began a long series of Bill doing things with me and for me. He helped me to arrange birthday parties for one sister when she was in the McCormick Home. He drove me to Aurora every month to visit my oldest sister Norine in her retirement home, before her death three years ago. As the oldest in the family, Bill and Norine were very much alike. They were both the role models for their younger siblings.

One time when I received an invitation to a book launch, from a former pupil, that was to be held in Casa Loma, it was Bill who said, “Well, what’s holding us up?” Down we went to Toronto. Four years later we attended Andrew’s wedding, as well.

In 2000, I had moved from Toronto to London to research and write the history of my Elgin County family and to have it published in time for our 200th anniversary in July 2009. That was a little more than two years down the road -from the time that I had met Bill. Although he had already written and printed his own family history, mine was still underway. I had no idea that putting all the historical chapters, data and family pictures in book form, was as complicated as it was. With Bill’s knowledge and many hours of working together, our excitement eventually rose to fever pitch. We headed down to Milton to pick up the printed copies two months prior to the July reunion taking place. And yes, Bill was every bit as pleased as I was, with our labours.

Later on we had two wonderful trips – the first to the West Coast in 2010 where we visited Bill’s brother Don and his wife Shirley; a year later out to the East Coast and to the very tip of Newfoundland.

But it was the little things that Bill did that counted so much too; driving out into the country for brown eggs, or picking up some maple syrup; over to Port Stanley for a perch dinner, or to the Pearce Park in the fall to hear the crunch of leaves underfoot.

As time went on, our outings became fewer and farther between because of Bill’s oxygen needs. He would work in his basement on his stamps for hours at a time when he said, “I don’t think of my breathing then.” But there are times when cabin fever can set in for any one of us. Bill loved to get in his car and just GO!

One misty Saturday last October he called me early in the morning. His first, and I think his only words were, “I’m taking you for a drive up north”. I knew he hadn’t the foggiest idea of where we were going, and I also knew we had three hours of oxygen. After I made some calls and plans off we went through the country to Grand Bend, saw a few coloured leaves in the rain around Parkhill, had a fantastic lunch in a restaurant called F.I.N.E. – and arrived back in London just under the wire. That was our last “out of city” outing.

These last two or three years in particular, have not been easy for Bill. I know, and I became quietly anxious, as I saw him requiring more and more oxygen just to keep going. What courage and determination he had.

But he lived to celebrate his 90th last August. Although he gave me a wonderful party for my 80th, Bill did not wish to have a 90th party. Part of it may have been that he was finding it just too tiring to be around people, but part of it was Bill’s own nature. He would rather do for others than have others do for him.

I believe that we all have lessons to learn as we journey through life. So what lessons did Bill teach me?

Well #1 I’ve learned never to use a comma where there should be a semi-colon. #2 I’ve learned I could be quiet for at least 10 seconds when riding in Bill’s car. #3 And I know that when I get up, I must first get dressed – no sitting around in your pajamas having breakfast just because you’re retired.

BUT most important of all. I’ve learned that if you’ve had a bad day with someone close — or anyone, for that matter — learn to let it go. Don’t continue to have regrets about yesterday’s ills. The next day is a “new day”. Make it count. Bill tried so hard to monitor and control his breathing needs so that he could have as many “new days” as possible with all of us. But his final “new day” came on February 24th. How fortunate we were, that all of us, his family, could be there together in his room sharing our love with him on this, his last “new day” here on earth.

I shall miss you Bill.Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my life, for just being you – for doing things for me and with me over these many years. And thank you too, for making me such a part of your caring and loving family.

Alison Pearce – RIP – February 13, 2023 – 91st year

~ Catherine Campbell ~ Leave a comment

Some of our memories…

Christmas Lunch 2019
Christmas Lunch 2022

Diane Chartrand

KNOWING ALISON PEARCE

The first time I met Alison was in the fall of 2014, both attending Mary Ann’s Introduction to Fiction Class at Western Continuing Studies downtown in Citi Plaza. The class was large but a few of us seemed to gravitate to each other, Alison among them. We attended several Creative Writing Classes together over the next couple of years.

Mary Ann suggested that we start a writers’ group. We ended up with nine people participating, rotating our meetings in each other’s homes. Friendships grew.

For me, it was time at Alison’s apartment. It was only a ten-minute bus ride from my house to hers and she would ask me to come over and help her with computer stuff. Alison was a whiz with education things but over her life, she had shied away from computers and never learned how to use them correctly. She always had issues trying to find where her writing had gone. In her words, “It just always seems to disappear into thin air.”

I would go over and sometimes we would go out for lunch, or she would have made something at the apartment for us to enjoy. Yes, there always was wine and if she didn’t have any we would get in her car and go get a bottle. Then we would go into the room where her computer lived. Watching Alison fluster over her issues seemed funny to me but I’m sure was very frustrating for her.

She would open Microsoft Word and type up some things, like the address book she was trying to create with all her friends and acquaintances’ addresses, emails, and phone numbers. I think over the years it got lost many times, but we always seem to find it somewhere in a file folder that had nothing to do with addresses.

I pinned the files she wanted to work on at the bottom of her main screen to help her find something quicker including how to access her email account. Sometimes that helped but it always seemed that she would either forget where they were or accidentally unpin them and had no idea where they had gone to.

At times we would mostly just sit and talk about everything from upcoming classes to other members of the group and their writings. Alison had a lot of great stories but most times she was unable to get them down entirely unless she put them into emails for us to read. I had kept a few of her stories that we went over during group meetings that were printed out and you will see them along with our memories. 

I think being able to make it into your 90s is a great feat and one I’m striving for. Knowing Alison helped make me a better and more informed person. Anyone who knew this fine lady definitely would agree. 

Marian Bron

The twinkle in Alison’s eye and the little knowing smile is what drew me to her. It was as if you and her were the only ones in on a delicious secret. I bet that’s what made her such a great teacher and principal. She knew how to captivate and disarm. 

Her storytelling was epic. Her warm voice, an arc of an eyebrow, the irrepressible smile and a chuckle, all hallmarks of a true raconteur. The listener was stuck in the mud with her on a road trip through the prairies or helped pack and lug a steam-trunk as she set sail for England.

I am honoured to have known her and to have been part of her circle.

Alison, you will be missed.

Mary Ann Colihan

Alison was remarkable. Age 80, she joined my writing classes at Western Continuing Studies. This gave confidence to everyone else that no matter what your stage of life, it was possible to take up the craft of writing. She then quietly shared that she had written a 600 plus page family history. I always told her she should be the one teaching. Of course, she was an educator through and through and was proud of her years in Toronto, especially at the Bishop Strachan School. She lived near me and I enjoyed driving her to class, She shared many family stories, told with sharp clarity, and tales of her career. She formed a writer’s group with others from the class and that was a successful model of team work and mutual support. We were invited down to visit her ancestral part of Ontario in West Elgin County. We toured the Backus Page Museum, the beautiful Pearce Park overlooking Lake Erie, St. Peter’s Anglican Church circa 1827 and cemetery in Tyrconnell where Col. Thomas Talbot is buried. The Pearce family was part of the Talbot Settlement. Alison was a gifted storyteller and we were lucky to be invited to her old family homestead nearby, a truly remarkable farm with stunning lakefront views. She loved to share all she knew about the people and events that shaped Wallacetown. As a consequence, the owners of the home always made time for her and became friends. And we never left without eating local pie from Tall Tales. She will be greatly missed by many, especially our literary group, the Wordwrights. But we know she will continue to inspire our rewrites.

Annie Carpenter

I remember quite vividly the face of dear Alison the first night I showed up for my very first Creative writing class. She was the first smile directed my nervous way. I scanned the room anxiously… and one by one the faces I would come to treasure over the next few years looked up at me. Alison held the most senior in the class title. She inspired me with her thirst for knowledge beyond the time most people seek new waters. She would stand and sway a little at many a class with lower back pain. She would say she just couldn’t write sometimes…and I would think… your words and your life already had made quite a statement. 

I miss the special moments with her and the writing group. I miss the Creative Creation that class inspired.  Catherine… hands down kept this group afloat… by persistently being consistent . Mary Ann and Catherine’s bond with Alison is a testament. I can’t think of Alison without thinking of the unique part each and everyone in the group played…wrote… in this story we’re in.  Where writing-joins souls from every walk of life. It’s a very unique thing that joins people who, by all means, may never have connected without the love of writing…. Dearest Alison, how brave you were…and so touched to have known you. 

Muriel Allingham

Everyone has captured Alison’s incredible spirit, her resilience, her love of life and her sweet nature. 

Maria Melillo Jones

In memory of our beloved Alison, our little firecracker. 

Alison was in her early eighties when she joined the Western Continues Education program. 

She sat at the back of the class; her perfect silver hair caught my attention.

“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” I mumbled.

 Alison shared personal stories regarding her life journey; I felt that I was on the expedition with her.

She brought part of her past to the present by scheduling a visit to her previous family estate in the town of Wallacetown, Ontario.

The estate is a gem with a stunning landscape heading to the shores of Lake Erie; we visited the John E Pearce Provincial Park, a charming little church, and the cemetery, where she chose her eternal rest. 

I feel privileged to have had a glimpse into her culture and traditions.

At times I would pick her up to go to our scheduled group writing meeting. Along the way, we joked and laughed with Diane and our dearly missed Rian. 

I had many talks with Alison most of them were to check in on each-other, where in other occasion she gave me good advice.

She was a strong-willed, independent woman. She lived most of her life on her own, then towards her late eighties, I noticed her health and mobility decline.

One day in a friendly and concerned way, I asked Alison if she had thought about moving to a retirement facility.

Her tenacious personality snapped back at me like a flashing light.

“Why don’t you?” 

I smiled and apologized, knowing I had offended her independence. 

 Rest in Heavenly peace, my friend. 

Madeleine Horton

I’ve thought if Alison were born in much earlier times when names signalled desired virtues, she might well have been called ‘Patience’ or ‘Honor,’ both fitting what I know about her reputation as an educator and her dedication and respect for local history and her family’s role in it. In this vein, I might call her ‘Modesty,’ fitting the unassuming and humble person I was fortunate to know. This was brought home to me very sharply at her Visitation when I was awed by the scope and detail of the book she had written about her family’s history, researching the earliest settlers, and reaching into the present. It is a book of so much more than genealogy; it is filled with personal accounts and anecdotes along with photos and diagrams. She had mentioned it briefly, and in an off-handed manner, as if it were nothing of significance.

At the same time, she was effusive in her praise of my writing when we did critiques of members’ writings at our Wordwrights meetings. She would often preface her comments by saying how much better all the other writers in the group were than she was. Definitely not true. I have kept an email she sent about one of my writings because it was both incisive and encouraging. 

Alison’s rural roots meant so much to her and as I also grew up in the country, we shared some chat about that. She had such interesting stories; I only wish I had met her earlier.

Catherine Campbell

I recall a vibrant lady with a captivating, warm smile and a self-deprecating manner. The writing she shared with us, her writing group friends, radiated her wit and humour.

Alison, I regret that I never got an opportunity to play that grand piano at OakCrossing for you thanks to the pandemic.

The Forest City Wordwrights did get to share coffee and special treats at our meetings and a glass of wine or two at our Christmas lunches. We were so privileged that Alison was able to join us at our first post-pandemic Christmas lunch this last December. We presented a screening of pictures from our last visit to the Pearson homestead that Alison had been unable to attend. This was all especially poignant when we lost her so soon afterwards.

I will certainly toast her often!