protesting in the cold

People have been incredibly kind. The notes on FB and the emails keep coming, including from students I've not heard from in many years, who met Wayson in my class or know what he meant to me. Nick Rice sent a letter, and this morning, Margot, a dear friend from the Y, dropped a card through my front door. Blogger friend Theresa Kishkan sent this beautiful thought: You will miss him and no doubt the grief is raw and painful right now. Any person who has become an intimate friend and who is interwoven in the daily fabric of our lives never leaves us, though. We learn to know them differently. It's a bit lonely, not having the physical person there to laugh with and talk to and share writing with, but everything he has meant to you will continue. And you will know him differently as you adjust to both his physical absence and his deep presence. I have a few dear souls who remain with me years after their physical deaths and learning to know them in a new way has been both sad and also kind of exhilarating.

I love the idea of our dead with us, us 'knowing them differently'.

The thoughtfulness of these friends gives me the feeling of a pair of arms holding me tight, at a time of grief. Wayson was one of the only people who telephoned me on my landline, so every time the phone rings, I think it's him. He'd call almost every day to check in, to ask if I needed to use his car for something; I almost never did but he called anyway, to make sure I knew he was thinking of me. I miss that.

I'm waiting to hear about a memorial event; apparently Denise, Wayson's agent, is organizing something but there has been no word. A number of people have written to me asking; I will post here as soon as I know.

Meanwhile, the usual. The weather has been appalling, the worst spring I can remember, protracted cold and wet, and that's after a cold, wet stay in Paris - not lucky with the weather this year. Work has not finished in the house. The other day I used the new small washing machine for the first time; disaster, during the spin cycle, it rocked so hard, it nearly spun out of control and was unbelievably noisy. I was in knots. An hour of exploration later, Kevin and Ed discovered they'd installed it with the feet needed only for transport still on, so no wonder it went off balance. One crisis averted. Matt my computer guy came to fix some bugs and upgrade me to Mohave. I got my bike fixed up for spring and some of the garden cleared and pruned. The window guys are coming, the termite guys. Today Ed is fixing the front door, which is about as old as the house - at least a hundred - and falling apart. Like me, some days.

But yesterday, I went to an anti-Doug Ford rally at Queen's Park, met friends there plus Anna and Ben. It was bitterly cold and we didn't stay long - long enough to register our disgust for this premier and his repulsive gang. It was good to be with a group of kindred spirits, fighting the good fight despite the odds. Despite the fact  that here we go again. Got to try.

 Ben with his sign, and, below, me holding Eli's.

And then Ryerson started last night - back at work, an interesting new group of student writers. Home class tonight, U of T next Tuesday. Normal life returns. Sort of.