Well, the title says it all.
2018 is here. I will be writing 2017 for the next ten days or so. I'm told that banks, back when people actually wrote cheques, would train staff to make sure that they would cross out the incorrect year on the cheques. And the blog automatically keeps track of the date for me, so I don't have to worry about it happening here.
But I have a habit that goes back to my grade school days. I have a psychological compulsion to write the day on every piece of paper put in front of me. I have managed to keep myself from writing the day of the week on each piece of paper, but I still write something like "Jan 1/18" on every piece of note paper I use. If I am at a meeting and taking some notes, I write the day on each page, along with a page number, such as "p1", or "p2" or as the case may be. I do the same thing when I use a scrap of paper to write a grocery list or a to do list. So, if I am ever kidnapped, and someone makes me write a note saying I am just fine and not to worry, if I don't write the day and page number on the page, then that is my way of telling you that I am not okay. OK?
I am not sure why I wrote that.
At any rate, Saturday was the day of my friend Rhea Dawn Mahar's funeral. It was at the Legion on the Bedford Highway, which seemed like an odd choice at first to host a funeral service, but seemed just fine after it started. It was a celebration of her life, the kind of service I would want for myself. There were tears, but plenty of laughs, too.
Rhea's environmentalism was so overarching, such a part of her character, that nearly nothing escaped her notice. People read their presentations about Rhea using their smartphones because they thought Rhea would have objected to their wasting paper. They told about the time when they were at her house and took a shower. After a couple of minutes she would walk in the bathroom and shout, "You're killing the fish!". And in my own case, when I hired Rhea and her crew to replace my front steps with a deck, and tear down the old, rotting back deck and replace it with a landing, she refused to use any pressure-treated wood. I have had to stain the deck and landing every year, which come to think of it is, not a bad thing to do at all.
Afterward, there was plenty of food, but then again, there were plenty of people there.
Rhea's death cast a pall on our holiday season. I have thought about her a lot in the last couple of weeks. I wish I had known her better. I wish I had hung out with her more. I wish I had emulated her environmental passions, but I find myself wanting. I still have to use my app to tell me where to put what item, come garbage/recycling day. She would have kicked my ass if she had known.
I will miss Rhea. A lot.
The balance of the weekend, we sat around the house and slept and ate and watched the flatscreen. Sometimes, it was even on. New Year's Eve, Patricia made those little pinwheel snacks that we had a friend's place the other week. Today, I cooked a few pieces of salmon I rescued from the freezer on Friday night. The rest of it is in the fridge, which is full of uncooked food that we should cook, and soon.
Tomorrow we get up and start another year of work. I hope that the new year brings me some good news. I have had far too much bad news lately. I sort of feel I am due.
Speaking of which, I should turn in. I have enjoyed several days of sleeping in and the reality of getting up at 5:30 will not be fun for either of us.
See you tomorrow.