Lauren & Rebecca with Pancho

Quite often in these pages I have mentioned how my mother would tell me that a house could never be a home until you had framed pictures on the wall. Because I am a photographer our houses have always been decorated with my framed portraits.

Now with Rosemary gone, walking around my Kits home is a sad undertaking. There are many pictures of our daughters Ale and Hilary. But what is really sad is to look at the portraits of our two granddaughters Rebecca and Lauren that I photographed for years here in Vancouver and in our trips abroad. Many of them are of moments, wonderful ones, I shared with Rosemary. They will never happen again. 

In a recent visit to Hilary’s home in Burnaby, a broken frame was placed in my hands. I was asked if I had another. I was speechless. Why? 

The frame in question is one that Rosemary and I bought at the Hob Too Thrift Store on Broadway almost with Dunbar. We went there often and we were always on the lookout for nice frames. The frame was about a shared moment with Rosemary. Made of pewter, it was delicate. I can remember her smiling when I pointed it out to her.

I do not remember when it broke the first time. I repaired it with nails (the heads cut off) and epoxy glue. I asked my daughter if I could keep the frame if I repaired it. I was given the green light. 

My granddaughters here are posing with Pancho el Esqueleto which was given to me by my architect friend Abraham Rogatnick a year before he died. He told me, “I am pulling the plug on my prostrate cancer problem so I am going to die in a year. You might as well have my Mexican papier-mâché skeleton.” 

The frame is now on my dining room credenza. When I look at it I remember Rosemary, and Abraham Rogatnick. It makes me sad but I can almost conjure a smile in my head.