karen mcconnell - artist
ephemera
This is about something that happened
'SUDDENLY LAST SUMMER' …..
As I write, it is the sixtieth year of my life. Despite my arrogant presumption that the best of things will never be lost, and the worst of things will never come to pass…the rudeness of mortality intrudes in ways that seldom occurred to me not so long ago.
There have been small 'incidents' over the past few years….of tiny and unimportant memory lapses, and aching joints, and more silver threads.…little nudges to the psyche that cannot, with any good sense, be ignored. Signs that a rich and carefree childhood is left further and further behind.
I now have children of my own, already full into adulthood…..and the joyous blessing of grandchildren. You’d think I would have known!
Just over a year ago I received news that a person I’ve known and loved for all my life was not well. He had been a lovely friend, as well as my first cousin. There was an immediate sense of urgency to be in touch.
Brian grew up to look much like Robert Wagner, and every time we got together, mostly at gatherings of our large family, I would remind him of that. This would always elicit a slightly self-conscious chuckle and we would soon be lost in recollection of the time when we were both young and spending our days together on the neighbouring farms which our fathers managed. In retrospect, I suppose we lived on the edge of poverty a lot. But we never knew it. There were squirrels and wild rabbits to chase, trips to the woods in spring, watching the sap drain from the maple trees and observe the sugaring-off as well as tasting the buckets collecting the sap on the sides of trees enroute to and from our one-room country schoolhouse.
There were summer days of playing in the long grass and hay fields to the incessant music of cicadas and the winters were idyllic as we skated on the frozen pond, built fantastic caves and castles of ice and snow. We could welcome and hold the newborn pigs and learned to milk the cows. One time we decided we would like to taste the milk untainted by the pasteurization process. So we took turns squirting from the cows udders to the general vicinity of the mouth of the other, neither of us nearly as impressed by the taste as by our talent for getting the job done.
Our fathers were two of six siblings and I think were closest to each other. I do know that, on many occasions, our parents seemed almost interchangeable. Once when my mother was ill, we actually lived with Brian’s family and without missing a beat, my aunt and uncle showed me the same love and care and discipline as they provided to both Brian and his sister. I remember an occasion when the discipline was meted out without any apparent deference to gender or genes. A neighbour had visited and, as he often was, showed all the signs of being well under the influence. As he made his way toward the driveway on his way home, Brian and I taunted and teased him (despite the warning hand gestures from the adults on the other side of the farmhouse window). We were rewarded with some comedic poses and utterings, and even gleaned a nickel each from this poor fellow. As we bade him a fond adieu and grinned at the shiny coins in our hands, a tall dark shadow emerged from the house and moved quickly toward us. It was my uncle. The coins were quickly taken from us to be returned to their rightful owner and there were three smart slaps to the backside….ladies first! It was an occasion for us to learn that despite any circumstances, one does not diminish the dignity of another human being.
The penchant for making music was strong in our family. Brian’s father had a rich bass voice and loved to sing in gospel quartets, and also played the violin beautifully. I began playing piano by ear shortly after turning four, and impressed my grandmother sufficiently that she gave me her piano so that I could take music lessons. Such a thoughtful and loving gesture which provided me with so much joy and gave me pleasure in playing for others including my grandfather. It only took two years for me to learn to play his favourite ‘Bless This House’. I believe Brian’s piano was possibly inherited from his maternal grandmother because the vintage appeared to be about the same as mine.
The time we spent living in the same house had turned out to be a nice turn of circumstance really, because Brian and I were playing two piano duets together in competition at an upcoming music festival. So the practicing was much more convenient and my aunt set us up at least twice daily to do so. Never without that tyrannical metronome, and seldom without her counting the measures while singing out the numbers ranging in pitch from the top of the piano to the bottom. Brian had better things to do, and it showed. Nevertheless, we made it to the festival and managed to take ‘second prize’ in our category!
Years passed and our locations and lives kept changing. On the occasions which would bring us together we would speak of making a point to get together but, as happens with so many others I suspect, other things would get in the way. I never realized that, even at a distance, I took Brian’s presence in my life for granted and what happy knowledge that was. But one year ago….within just a few short weeks of hearing of his illness, the news of his death came. It was a tremendous blow. It was the first death in our generation of family and this fact alone brought a stark realization of the inevitable course of life for us all. There was regret that we had not actually had those extra times together that we’d spoken of so often.
But with Brian’s death and the celebration of his life came an extraordinary gift. About a year before this, Brian had retired from teaching school. He had decided to leave the city in which he had lived for all of his adult life and look for a home in the country. He found it in a little village not far from the beaches of Lake Erie. The place he chose was a century-old church which had been converted into a home. It is surrounded by a lovely lawn, wildflowers, a wood, and a ravine teeming with the sights and sounds of birds and trickling water.
In this idyllic location, his family and friends gathered to bring their spontaneous and heartfelt recollections of the times they had spent in his presence. Some of his favourite poetry was read and some songs were sung and I learned so much about the man he was….having travelled so far from those carefree childhood times. There was no clergy, no dirge, no temple with trappings. A pervasive spirit of abundant love helped to assuage the sorrow, and the glory of the summer afternoon brought a special enhancement to our remembrances. The music of nature which surrounded us excelled any choir of the most glorious of human voices.
Although I had never been in this home before, upon entering I was awestruck by the power of Brian’s presence. Just inside the door was the piano. With that tyrannical metronome in it's rightful place. So many things I had not known…..he kept journals. And wrote profusely in prose and poetry. Scattered throughout his home were the pens and journals and poems and thoughts….almost as though he had been gone from writing them for only a few minutes and expected to return. And there were pictures of those he loved, prominent among them his beloved daughter.
Seeing these things in this special context, there was the realization that Brian and I had indeed taken parallel paths after all, and that we had both come to a special place where creativity and joy and contentment reside and comfort. We had done it separately. Which brings me to wonder where this special journey begins.
In the few brief weeks between the diagnosis of his illness and his death Brian made specific plans for the preservation and eventual publishing of his written work, entrusting it to those most dear to him to finish the task. I have read only a small portion of the body of work, but it is evocative and touching. Someday, when the pages are bound, I hope to be able to hold it all in my hand.
In the meantime, I hold him in my heart. For the rest of my life. In loving and joyful memory.
_______________
Karen McConnell
June,2004
'SUDDENLY LAST SUMMER' …..
As I write, it is the sixtieth year of my life. Despite my arrogant presumption that the best of things will never be lost, and the worst of things will never come to pass…the rudeness of mortality intrudes in ways that seldom occurred to me not so long ago.
There have been small 'incidents' over the past few years….of tiny and unimportant memory lapses, and aching joints, and more silver threads.…little nudges to the psyche that cannot, with any good sense, be ignored. Signs that a rich and carefree childhood is left further and further behind.
I now have children of my own, already full into adulthood…..and the joyous blessing of grandchildren. You’d think I would have known!
Just over a year ago I received news that a person I’ve known and loved for all my life was not well. He had been a lovely friend, as well as my first cousin. There was an immediate sense of urgency to be in touch.
Brian grew up to look much like Robert Wagner, and every time we got together, mostly at gatherings of our large family, I would remind him of that. This would always elicit a slightly self-conscious chuckle and we would soon be lost in recollection of the time when we were both young and spending our days together on the neighbouring farms which our fathers managed. In retrospect, I suppose we lived on the edge of poverty a lot. But we never knew it. There were squirrels and wild rabbits to chase, trips to the woods in spring, watching the sap drain from the maple trees and observe the sugaring-off as well as tasting the buckets collecting the sap on the sides of trees enroute to and from our one-room country schoolhouse.
There were summer days of playing in the long grass and hay fields to the incessant music of cicadas and the winters were idyllic as we skated on the frozen pond, built fantastic caves and castles of ice and snow. We could welcome and hold the newborn pigs and learned to milk the cows. One time we decided we would like to taste the milk untainted by the pasteurization process. So we took turns squirting from the cows udders to the general vicinity of the mouth of the other, neither of us nearly as impressed by the taste as by our talent for getting the job done.
Our fathers were two of six siblings and I think were closest to each other. I do know that, on many occasions, our parents seemed almost interchangeable. Once when my mother was ill, we actually lived with Brian’s family and without missing a beat, my aunt and uncle showed me the same love and care and discipline as they provided to both Brian and his sister. I remember an occasion when the discipline was meted out without any apparent deference to gender or genes. A neighbour had visited and, as he often was, showed all the signs of being well under the influence. As he made his way toward the driveway on his way home, Brian and I taunted and teased him (despite the warning hand gestures from the adults on the other side of the farmhouse window). We were rewarded with some comedic poses and utterings, and even gleaned a nickel each from this poor fellow. As we bade him a fond adieu and grinned at the shiny coins in our hands, a tall dark shadow emerged from the house and moved quickly toward us. It was my uncle. The coins were quickly taken from us to be returned to their rightful owner and there were three smart slaps to the backside….ladies first! It was an occasion for us to learn that despite any circumstances, one does not diminish the dignity of another human being.
The penchant for making music was strong in our family. Brian’s father had a rich bass voice and loved to sing in gospel quartets, and also played the violin beautifully. I began playing piano by ear shortly after turning four, and impressed my grandmother sufficiently that she gave me her piano so that I could take music lessons. Such a thoughtful and loving gesture which provided me with so much joy and gave me pleasure in playing for others including my grandfather. It only took two years for me to learn to play his favourite ‘Bless This House’. I believe Brian’s piano was possibly inherited from his maternal grandmother because the vintage appeared to be about the same as mine.
The time we spent living in the same house had turned out to be a nice turn of circumstance really, because Brian and I were playing two piano duets together in competition at an upcoming music festival. So the practicing was much more convenient and my aunt set us up at least twice daily to do so. Never without that tyrannical metronome, and seldom without her counting the measures while singing out the numbers ranging in pitch from the top of the piano to the bottom. Brian had better things to do, and it showed. Nevertheless, we made it to the festival and managed to take ‘second prize’ in our category!
Years passed and our locations and lives kept changing. On the occasions which would bring us together we would speak of making a point to get together but, as happens with so many others I suspect, other things would get in the way. I never realized that, even at a distance, I took Brian’s presence in my life for granted and what happy knowledge that was. But one year ago….within just a few short weeks of hearing of his illness, the news of his death came. It was a tremendous blow. It was the first death in our generation of family and this fact alone brought a stark realization of the inevitable course of life for us all. There was regret that we had not actually had those extra times together that we’d spoken of so often.
But with Brian’s death and the celebration of his life came an extraordinary gift. About a year before this, Brian had retired from teaching school. He had decided to leave the city in which he had lived for all of his adult life and look for a home in the country. He found it in a little village not far from the beaches of Lake Erie. The place he chose was a century-old church which had been converted into a home. It is surrounded by a lovely lawn, wildflowers, a wood, and a ravine teeming with the sights and sounds of birds and trickling water.
In this idyllic location, his family and friends gathered to bring their spontaneous and heartfelt recollections of the times they had spent in his presence. Some of his favourite poetry was read and some songs were sung and I learned so much about the man he was….having travelled so far from those carefree childhood times. There was no clergy, no dirge, no temple with trappings. A pervasive spirit of abundant love helped to assuage the sorrow, and the glory of the summer afternoon brought a special enhancement to our remembrances. The music of nature which surrounded us excelled any choir of the most glorious of human voices.
Although I had never been in this home before, upon entering I was awestruck by the power of Brian’s presence. Just inside the door was the piano. With that tyrannical metronome in it's rightful place. So many things I had not known…..he kept journals. And wrote profusely in prose and poetry. Scattered throughout his home were the pens and journals and poems and thoughts….almost as though he had been gone from writing them for only a few minutes and expected to return. And there were pictures of those he loved, prominent among them his beloved daughter.
Seeing these things in this special context, there was the realization that Brian and I had indeed taken parallel paths after all, and that we had both come to a special place where creativity and joy and contentment reside and comfort. We had done it separately. Which brings me to wonder where this special journey begins.
In the few brief weeks between the diagnosis of his illness and his death Brian made specific plans for the preservation and eventual publishing of his written work, entrusting it to those most dear to him to finish the task. I have read only a small portion of the body of work, but it is evocative and touching. Someday, when the pages are bound, I hope to be able to hold it all in my hand.
In the meantime, I hold him in my heart. For the rest of my life. In loving and joyful memory.
_______________
Karen McConnell
June,2004
