I'd invited Mary and her husband and another long-married couple for dinner yesterday, to thank Mary for the work she did on my mother's estate, which meant that dealing with it was remarkably easy for my brother and me. We drank a bottle of Dom Perignon and conversation bloomed. It's always a treat when one set of friends becomes friends with another set of friends. We discussed many interesting things, including hearing aids. Sign of the times.
Speaking of the times - I just found in one of my mother's scrapbooks a Macleans magazine from 1961. There are a phenomenal number of ads for cigarettes and for scotch and rye, showing rock-jawed Mad Men knocking it back. For women, softer stuff - two women joyfully sip Coke as they rest, wearing little hats and surrounded by packages, after a shopping expedition. A joke - two women in hospital, one plain, the other young and blonde. The plain one says, "I'm glad you're my roommate; now my husband will visit me more often."
The world was ripe for change!
I'm still in a fog - my house buried in stuff, me making stabs at figuring out what to do with it all. Periodically I am hit with sadness - a scent of lavender, a radio program Mum would have loved, an unexpected cache of her watercolours suddenly appearing - and I ache with longing. But mostly moving on, things to do, places to go. Today, across town to visit Anna and Eli, then to Hugh's Room to meet a group of friends for a St. Patrick's Day party and band. It snowed again this morning, putting to bed any thoughts of an early spring.
I hope you'll forgive all those shots of my grandson in the last post. I am so very in love.
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