Today is the yahrzeit, the anniversary of death, of my beloved friend Wayson Choy. In his memory I've lit one of the special candles that burns for at least 26 hours, and while it's burning, the spirit of the departed is with you. I was just deleting old text messages and found a Valentine's greeting from him just two months before he died on April 28 2019. The Covid restrictions and lockdowns would have been very hard on him; he lived in a small, extremely cluttered attic space in a small communal house, and with his severe asthma and heart issues and diabetes, these two years would have been long, lonely, and full of risks. We all miss him; my kids loved him and he them, and even Eli, only six when Wayson died, remembers his playful friend. He found a small red and gold paper envelope and said, Wayson! He loved to give out lucky money.
What a long spring this has been. Each sunny day I set out bravely and discover it's colder than it looks. Yesterday I started to bike to the Y; it was so cold, I parked the bike on Parliament Street and got the streetcar. Today again looks warm but is not. Not complaining; usually we have a ten second spring before it's far too hot, so let's enjoy the welcome chill.
Today's excitement: reading in the New York Times terrific Wirecutter section, which finds the best price and quality for everything, about their top recommended bike helmets and discovering my local bike store, a block away, sells them. I now have a spiffy very safe helmet. My kids have lectured me for years about wearing a helmet and will be relieved.
My friend Antoinette, a poet and musician who was my mother's piano teacher in Edmonton and who's become a dear email correspondent, just sent me a poem. She incorporated a line from one of my emails.
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