community and friendship through the years: a celebration

Yesterday, the joy of community and continuity: Bodgefest!

Many years ago, some of the children in this 'hood took pottery lessons with Bodge, who had a kiln in her basement. They sculpted and painted joyously and came home proud of their creations, which, dutifully, all of us kept, though gradually the collection of these heavy pieces diminished considerably. But I kept a few favourites, and so did all the other parents. 

Gina and Paul organized Bodgefest in their home and asked us to bring our Bodgeware to celebrate her. She, finally, was too shy to attend. But there we were with our offerings all over the house, on all shelves and surfaces. The parents there have known each other for decades, have watched each other's children grow up and give birth to the next generation. 

My Sam was the only sculptor to appear in person. I'm especially proud of his plate of spaghetti and meatballs, with two large lumps of green broccoli at the top that he said he put in especially for me. He was nine. Now he's nearly thirty-nine. I also love Anna's three musicians - well, two musicians and someone. 

Sigh.

Today, all day, work on my new website with Patrick my tech helper and by myself — rewriting, re-imagining. It's good, clear, sharp. Tomorrow, work all day on the copy edit of the manuscript. This past Saturday, however, playtime: lunch at Ruthie's with two of her dear friends who knew my parents, and dinner with Toronto Lynn who brought, as usual, a superb bottle of wine. 

As I was going through pictures for the website, this one turned up: Provence Lynn and I at my wedding party in August 1981. Anna was three months old; Edgar and I married in May when she was a week old but celebrated later. We commandeered a wealthy friend's enormous estate near UBC, and our guests spent the day swimming in their pool, playing tennis, dining, and dancing to a hot jazz band. Lynn and Denis came especially, as I'd been there for their wedding in northern France nearly a decade before. Despite the thousands of miles between us, she has been a dear friend for 56 years. 

Another picture, from a few years later — well, nearly forty years later — in a Greek restaurant with our friend Ken.

In this shot, Lynn looks like her mother Theresa and I look like mine, Sylvia. I didn't know Ken's parents so don't know whom he resembles. But someone in his genetic pool, no doubt. 

We are all healthy and alive to honour our bond. There is no greater blessing than that.