77

It's a special day here at Five Acres: Ivaan's 77th birthday. I woke up to emails from two of his longtime friends, Bill D. and Myron D., wishing him a happy birthday. I had hoped to visit the cemetery today, but it's raining, plus I had visitors, and I had the sense that I'd be better off avoiding the highways on a rainy day. Once the ground dries up a bit, I'll probably trek over to the island, feed some bread to the birds and squirrels, and tell them it's from their good friend Ivaan. Their good friend Ivaan would have eschewed anything but fresh bread, and by 'fresh' I mean it came out of the oven this very afternoon, but the wildlife will have to make do with some bread rolls that were fresh when I put them in the freezer last week. 77 seems like a big number, and I'm pretty sure he would have preferred not to reach a number that big. He wasn't too delighted about turning 64 two months before his death, and I've just realized that by dying at 64 he never got to receive his Old Age Security pension which doesn't kick in until 65. It's funny: when I moved up here, I swore I would never make another piece of jewellery. Now I'm not so sure. I've done a couple of pieces for people recently, and I might start tinkering with jewellery over the winter. At least I could polish the pieces that are packed away. And I could laugh at the memory of Ivaan exhorting me, "Polish harder! Don't just make the scratches shiny! Get rid of them!" All of which reminds me that I still have to do some succession planning with respect to his art. I should have done it long ago, but I'm going to find it so hard to let go of the things that were his life's work. Yet I've pared down my own jewellery and wear the minimum. Maybe I'll enjoy wearing it more over the winter when I'm not so worried about losing an earring out here at Five Acres. Here's us at our wedding reception.

Happy Birthday, Ivaan. I still miss you.