Gorgeous, long walk after my class today. Took the train to downtown, and then made my way via Louise McKinney to the 98th ave trail, which is not actually on 98th, but closer to the river. There is the main trail, and then there is the off-limits trail, which is the one I always take. It’s fenced off because of an eroded bank, but the path is well-trodden in spite of the signs. It’s a beautiful, snakey trail, with lots of fallen trees, and the ones that haven’t fallen are very creaky. One area has four or five trees gnawed on by beavers, which is unusual in this part of the river valley. Whitemud Creek is full of beaves, but not here, or at least, not until recently. The verboten path does not run the entire length of the trail, but ends at the header into the flat path before the ascent up 98th. Unfortunately, I’ve just missed the blossoming apple trees, but judging by a few suspicious green things hanging from the branches (could have been insect, could have been miscellaneous plant material), we’re heading into worm season. Best to stay out of this area until July. After this walk, of course.

At the top of the trail, I did the loop around the sports fields and McNally High School, and then down to Riverside Golf Club, over the Dawson Bridge, and into the ever so quaint Riverdale neighbourhood. Very bucolic and quiet, as per usual. The elm trees are just raining seeds for some reason. We had the opposite of a droughty winter, so the trees shouldn’t be double-seeding. (I wonder if double-seeding due to stress is the equivalent of over-eating because of stress? Nah, probably not.) The gutters are full of seed. Prior to my walk, I was near the university, and some of the trees looked brown and dead, but the branches were cocooned in seed. I watched a wind blow thousands of them from the tree, beautiful and sun-lit; something magical in the middle of a bus lane.

After Riverdale, I stumbled back up to the downtown train station for the ride home. The walk would have been improved if I hadn’t been wearing a heavy backpack. (Must have been the coloured post-it notes and peanut M&M’s.) Nevertheless, it was everything I could have asked for on a holiday walk.

3:00PM/23C

A quiet walk in the ravine with the dog. Thinking, remembering, enjoying the hot sun on my face.

Went to my friend Angela’s funeral this morning. I first met her in 1990 when I started at Audreys Books. 13 years later I quit for good, but continued to drop in to the store, to buy a book, but mostly to see her. After she retired, I never went back. She was the bookstore to me. Her parents, Mr and Mrs Whaley, owned the store prior to 1989, just before I started. Sadly, I missed those years. Everybody who knew them loved them, just like they loved Angela, and the store radiated their good stewardship for years after. In fact, the bookstore is named after Angela’s mother, Audrey, and the other Audrey, wife of Mr Whaley’s business partner (and co-owner of the store), hence the lack of apostrophe.

While still at the store, and up until last month, Monica, Barb (who got married in Angela’s living room), and I met regularly for birthday dinners and Christmas get-togethers. We visited her in the hospital last week. It was hard to see her bedridden, but she was still Angela. Still funny, still telling stories, still directing everything. We had an impromptu bedside shower for Monica and her new baby Sydney. Angela enjoyed a doughnut with sprinkles, while watching Monica open up the presents. Angela was a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. She had great stories to tell, and loved to tell them. Ironically, she wasn’t much for reading, but she taught me a lot about people, about making friends and building relationships. She also taught me more than I cared to know about Elvis.

The ‘celebration of life’ was just that. Lots of great photos of Ang, smiling ear to ear (she had a beautiful smile), hoisting a glass or holding a baby. Remembrances, music (courtesy of her granddaughter Sarah and…Elvis), good conversation, and food (including her beloved Cozy Shack rice pudding.) It was strange and wonderful to meet her family,  most of whom I knew all about, but had never met in person. I introduced myself to Mr and Mrs Whaley, and thanked them for many things, including Audreys Books. They were so kind and gracious. How awful to be at your daughter’s funeral. I remember my dad at my sister’s funeral in 2000, a shrunken version of himself. When Mr Whaley spoke during the remembrances, I was balling like a kid. How sad it was, and yet, with his walker, to have the strength to be able to stand up there and express his love for his daughter. About holding Angela in his lap when she was a baby. About how much they all enjoyed being together. Calling her his sweetheart. It was very moving, and I’m crying now as I write this. For whatever reason, I was OK up until today, and then I could barely hold it together. Part of it was seeing all the people who were there because of her, all the people who loved her, like I do.

When we left the service, I could not get over how huge the sky looked, as if there were no horizon, just rows of clouds bumping up against each other and an arc of blue sky as far as I could see. And so, when I got home, I put on my running shoes, grabbed the dog and got out into nature. I still feel sad, but my parts are holding together again. Death sucks. It really, really sucks. No other word for it. Being out in the woods, under a big sky, a woodpecker banging on a tree, the dog running ahead to find the nearest water to jump into…it’s like an exhale. It’s peaceful.

Goodbye my friend.