200730 Changing of the Guards

July 30  

Link to Bob Dylan's Changing of the Guards:

https://youtu.be/qZhMvLuoMaM

"Sixteen years

Sixteen banners united over the field...

I stepped forth from the shadows to the marketplace
Merchants and thieves, hungry for power, my last deal gone down"

   My brother died on July 29, 16 years ago. We were having a heat-wave and he had no A/C, and in the afternoon he suddenly felt quite unwell and lay down. An old friend was with him (for which we were glad) who called me after calling an ambulance, but by the time I arrived David was dead. We were all there (K came with), my other brother, and our cousin and his wife (very close). After we'd been to see him, we waited outside at the front of the house for the coroner. The house was a mansion re-purposed to a rooming house, a strange setting for such a gathering. We stood, rather small, on the apron that was the driveway; the wide steps and the house rose behind us old and heavy, the trees were old and heavy. David would have been thrilled with the drama! Ambulance, police and enough musicians to have a jam! The highlight was when an off-white Porsche Boxster pulled in. Dave would have freaked! Out steps the coroner, a woman, to boot: the perfect denouement for his extraordinary life.

   David was the best musician, a pianist and writer. It was always wonderful to jam with David. He would kindly play old classics and let me sing: After You've Gone and They Can't Take That Away From Me. When we were children there was an upright in the basement, but as David developed his art, a baby grand was purchased for the front room. Whenever we gathered, as children and and adults, there was music.

David loved all things mechanical. Our father was a mechanical engineer so we developed an appreciation of practical and beautiful machines. Dave drove an old sports car when he wasn't driving a van to a gig, and owned several beautiful old cars in dubious but faithful condition. His last car, a 1967 Morgan + 4, was a red convertible and brought him much happiness. He took it out only in the best weather. 

   He had a guardian angel: when he was five or six the family moved to a new house. It had a glass door top-to-bottom at one side. David rose one morning early and ran out the door - right through the glass, which shattered behind him: he wheeled about in surprise and had not a scratch! After that the angel followed him everywhere. He was almost swept away at the swimming hole after we came to Toronto, but my father made a grab and caught him. Through 42 years of driving cars and sometimes a boat not any accidents. He and his beautiful wife (Angie, (Angel), who predeceased him) travelled and had so many crazy adventures they might have been in a movie!  The adventures were sometimes scary but David and Angie came through unscathed time after time.

   The rambling old mansion where he and Angel lived, (in one room with private bath, marble, and vintage tile), had a pool and it was a joy for them, who never owned a house, to lounge around the pool on hot afternoons in the lap of luxury. Virtual wealth. They seemed to cherish the few possessions they had: each was special or unusual, from coffee cup to lampshade, found in some church bazaar or charity shop. They ate an exotic vegetarian diet, purchased in small high-end grocery stores that dotted the neighbourhood. I first encountered avocado on rye at their home and ski queen cheese*.

   Angie was indeed an angel, spiritual, with a serene grace, quiet and brilliant in all things. She became  daughter to my mother, a sister to me. She introduced us to important literature, and to yoga: her artist's nature loved every sort of art and learning. David was sad ever since her death.

    Sixteen years it has been, but David is woven into the fabric of our lives. I wish he was here for this pandemic and for the demise of The United States. He would have revelled in the apocalyptic theatrics. He would have loved to wear a "plague mask"!

    Left to right: My father, the three boys: Fred, David and Brian, my mother.

"...a tortuous, roundabout refugee trail sprang up - Paris to Marseilles...

[Casablanca, Warner Bros. 1943 (USA)]

Actually David, Matthew and I at Heathrow Airport, 1959.

Please visit again, 

Mumma Yaga.

*Ski Queen: available in small high-end grocery stores that dot your neighbourhood. Keeps wonderfully well, never gets mouldy and tastes like caramel.