opinions about life, work, and spirituality


May 21st, 2008

The “lull” in the production schedule of TSGW didn’t turn out to be much of a break. My grandmother unexpectedly passed away two weeks ago, and James and I flew to Ontario to be there for the funeral arrangements and the funeral. Along with my Great-Aunt Elizabeth and mother, I gave a eulogy to my grandmother. She was an amazing lady; full of life, love, faith and courage. Among all the words I have ever written, the sentences I wrote for my grandmother, to express divine thanks for being who she was and for leaving us with a legacy of love, were some of the most meaningful to me.

So now I am back in Vancouver, separated from family once again, staring at my lengthy “to do” list for TSGW. It hardly seems to matter when I feel the great loss of my Grandma. (And to be honest, I could very easily do without all this blasted publicity and production work.)

There is still joy, however, when I rehearse or write: I’m a child at the beach, red plastic shovel in hand, mud sticks to my limbs, and the heat of the sun, centre of the physical universe, is a warm hand on my bare back, the wind an old, familiar dog that scampers across sand. And I dig. I dig because it’s delightful. And maybe I cry a little while I dig. But it still feels right.

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