My grandmother whom I called Abuelita constantly taught me refrains from the Don Quijote de La Mancha and many more that she learned as a Little girl when going to school in Valencia  in the 19th century.

Sometimes she taught me stuff that was unkind. Of boring people she would say, “la  compañía del niño  muerto,” which translates to, “the company of the dead child.”

Eight years ago we adopted brother and sister cats that were called Mac and Cheese at the SPCA. They were about 6 years old. Rosemary and I liked to adopt cats that were middle-aged so that we could enjoy that mutual getting to know each other. I did not like the SPCA names so I named them Niño and Niña.

Niña became my cat and Niña adopted my Rosemary. They were our constant presence when we were in bed and they slept with us.

After Rosemary died on 9 December 2020 I found solace in the company of my cats. I would talk to them (mostly I Spanish) and I catered to their needs. This catering brought me a stability that I lacked in not having a partner, not needing to work and having too much time to think. One routine was taking Niño for his daily walk (no leash) around the block. Rosemary had taught him. Rosemary often told me, “When I am not around and you walk Niño be patient and don’t shout at him.”

On May 12 this year I woke up with Niño dead on my bed. It has been a devastating death ever so slightly ameliorated by the Niña’s constant warm presence. Somehow, and I am sure, she understands the concept of death. She has adopted all of Niño’s quirks (except walking around the block). I often ask her, “Do you remember Niño, Niño?”

She is my daily routine as is my daily bike ride. The bike ride divides the day and that activity adds a element of stability. I am not sure how I will handle the cold in December.  I would never bike in the rain.

I will have to cuddle with Niña on the bed and  we wil think of our Rosemary and Niño.

And so I can modify what my abuelita told me to , “Niña the company for a dead Niño.”

Evely Lau - 1989

 

19 September 2026

In 1989 I was called by a publicist called Nancy Flight asking me I would photograph a brand new 18-year-old poet called Evelyn Lau. The book was called Runaway: Diary of a Street Kid. I accepted. Flight asked me how I would photograph her. I told her I was going to do it on her bed. Flight was shocked. I told her, “She is still a teenager and she probably has a funny bedspread”. She did, it featured red balloons.

Today I went to room 

C225 at the Vancouver campus of University of British Columbia for the launching and the reading from her new book Parade of Storms. The book features poems related to what all people talk about these days- the weather.

Halfway through the talk Lau asked us to try to write a poem. A few of us did.

I decided to take the advice of:

 Baltasar Gracián (1601–1658) was a Spanish Jesuit priest, Baroque philosopher, and writer known as a master of conceptismo, a literary style characterized by witty, terse, and subtle expressions.

Here is my poem:

Evelyn

Eevelyn

Runaway returned

Balloons on the bed

A beginning

Deserved