Move to the front of the line

We are all approaching the edge of the Grand Canyon - just imagine it if you will. You know - the lovely edge that you look down into and see the crazy colours of the rocks all dripping with pastel frosting - a deranged inside out layer cake of a place. In the front row are the oldest generation - the grandfathers, grandmothers, great-aunts and uncles and so on. Each row that comes behind is a slightly younger generation? Where do you think you are? Really! Think about it.

Last night we had a gathering for the relatives of Ron's Uncle Dick - he had died on Wednesday and there isn't to be a service until summer when all can get here. We had chowder and home-made buns and squares and sat around talking and drinking wine or Scotch or beer. It was truly lovely. The weird thing was, all day I had been imagining that there would be old people there. You know - the elders.

Guess what? That would've been us. We were the elders. I mean sure, there are some older people in both our families but there weren't any at this gathering and I actually knew there wouldn't be. There is only one sibling alive from Uncle Dick's family and he lives in Halifax. Uncle Dick's wife and Ron's mother are in the home and neither can really hold it in their minds that he has died. There is one other sister-in-law in town but again - not physically able to manage snowy walkways and steps. We were it.

At the front of the line - in front of us - the deep dark abyss - or the new adventure or however you might think of it. I like how tricksy my brain is, don't you?

Today we're walking up to Uncle Dick's in a snow storm to see his daughter before she heads home.