3.) Love is magic. Be generous with it. We’re not going to run out of love.
This morning, in the park, the September drizzle was lovely. I got wet with no hat, but not soaked. As Kira and I played tug up the very steepest hill to the back of the lake, I thought of the child of that courageous woman back in the 40s in rural Alberta. Diane and I met back when we both lived on boats, and she’s been a dear friend for decades. She’s never known who her father was, which hurt. But Di has never said to me, Wow, I had a hard life because I was illegitimate and kids made fun of me and my mom at school, as I’m sure happened.
Diane counts herself as a fortunate person. In spite of her mother’s fears, her whole extended family helped to raise her, all those so-conservative farming folks, many of whom were pretty fundamendalist. They were wonderfully kind. Diane’s grandparents and many aunties rotated her between them and looked after her while her mom was working. When there was a death or a sickness in the community, her mom was always the first over with a casserole or baked goods. Her single mother who cleaned houses for a living was going to hold her head up in the community; she always had enough to give.