|Rosemary's hands at death - 9 December 2020|
|Mexico City 1968|
Before I go into more heavy stuff I will begin with some levity.
Tom Hawthorn is a fine Victoria, B.C. journalist with a major in writing for most of Canada’s newspapers. But he has a minor. He is known for his obituaries. I would like to write here that if I ever dream of Mr. Hawthorn I will know that I am dead.
I have written obituaries about a few of my friends:
And I have written obituaries when our moribund press (will Hawthorn ever write one? ) ignored these two:
But it was last year on December 10 that I wrote a short obituary on my Rosemary who died the night before. It has been a tough year since that day. But it would seem that Rosemary keeps sending me posthumous gifts.
There is one gift that I have to admit was unforeseen. I may be a middling blog writer. But I believe that with this past year’s grief, Rosemary has pushed me in the direction of making me a better writer.
When the Vancouver Sun had good active writers, a recent one, Marke Andrews wrote this: Beautifully written, Alex.
It was about this blog: Cats & the Meaning of Death