In which two blogs I follow speak to love.
I’m not sure if it’s the dull grey skies, the changeable weather or the time of year – mid-February is never a good time in Northern climes – but the last week or two has been a time of “fragility” for lack of a better word. Emotions have been close to the surface and patience has become as spare as leaves on the mulberry bush outside the house. Experience tells me that this too will pass – as the actress said of her kidney stones – but it does make for less than the best of times.
However yesterday two of my blog buddies published posts that touched me deeply in a very positive way. The writers cannot be less similar, the stories more different …. and yet. And yet their writing spoke of deep and abiding love of friends, family, and partners.
I’ve often spoke of David over at I’ll Think of Something Later. Writer, teacher, critic, and broadcaster David lives with his Diplomate in a pleasant neighbourhood in West London. He has taken me on many virtual journeys around Europe and England and introduced both Laurent and I to music and authors that we would have otherwise missed. And we’ve had the good fortune to get together several times for food, music and walks on our visits to London in the eight or nine years we’ve know them. A joy that I so hope will be repeated in the next year or so.
On Sunday David wrote of the life of a close friend, the late Dame Beulah Bewley and the celebration of her life at St Margaret’s Church, Westminster Abbey earlier in the week. As I commented to him: A remarkable life remarkably remembered. And I should add as always remarkably written in David’s post. A left click on the cover of Dame Beulah’s book will take you to Beulah: perfection of the life, and of the work, David’s touching and loving remembrance of their friend.
I had finished reading David’s tribute and went on to Sooo This is Me a blog written by a gentleman that I had the pleasure of meeting only once with our friends Dr Spo and Someone. He lives in a rural community less than an hour away from our former home in Ottawa. Unfortunately circumstances just never aligned before we left for another meeting, something which I regret.
His Sunday post had many similarities with David’s and as many differences. Steven speaks of dealing with a loved one who is progressively withdrawing from the world, of memories put away in a drawer, but also of living memories. And he write, so beautifully, of the love between two people that lives on in that memory. I don’t know what sort of cactus he is referring to in his title but he tells us why he knows Love is a Cactus. A left click on the little cactus will take you to this remarkable story of lives remarkably remembered.
I will freely admit that both these posts brought me to tears. Not tears of sadness but tears of thankfulness for lives lived and loved and remembered with love.
On this day in 1872: The Metropolitan Museum of Art opens in New York City.