It would seem that in my family there is a tradition of the posthumous gift. I have written about it in several blogs.
My Rosemary died on December 9, 2020 and not one day passes with my noticing her presence or in a strange way a vacancy of her presence.
Some 20 years ago I purchased a 100ft extension cord that I used in our Kerrisdale garden for our edger and our weed wacker. I also used the extension cord in my assignments where I had to take studio lights to offices to photograph business people or lawyers.
When we moved to our present duplex in Kitsilano almost five years ago the extension cord was in not much use as assignments to offices ceased. But twice or even three times a year I needed to weed eat the lane garden outside the former garage that is now my office and little studio.
When I had to use this cord I would subject Rosemary to my shouting and swearing on how awful the cord was and how nobody should have ever sold such an aberration. It knotted and kinked and took a lot of time to extend it and then to wind it back on its black plastic holder. It was the twisting on the holder that gave the cord the kinks. The cord had a memory for this.
Rosemary would then tell me that I should buy a new rubber one that would not kink. I told her that a rubber one would cost at least $150 and that if I only needed to use the bad cord three times a year that was fine.
That was not to be. It would seem that a couple of months before Rosemary was too sick to go out to the garden she patiently unwound the terrible cord and threw it into the garbage. She put the black holder on the side of the garden where she knew I would eventually find it. Then a couple of weeks ago I looked for the extension cord as time was ripe for an initial trimming of the lane garden.
The extension cord was gone. I realized that beyond the grave Rosemary had done something for me. Today I went to Home Depot and spent $180 on a cord that worked very well when I trimmed the back lane.
What else will I discover? I am sure that Rosemary has left me with many surprises to come. It saddens me.
But I almost feel like smiling.