This morning the weather is mild and wet. I am in great hopes that winter has abandoned interest in our geography and will not return until success is guaranteed in November.
I sit watching the shiny wet baubles drop slowly from birch tree branches outside my window. At the same time similar watery drops move slowly down my cheeks as I watch the funeral of England's Queen Mother.
I am struck by her self-orchestrated funeral and by her choice of words to mark the occasion of her public passing. The words that, once heard, will remain with me, were a commentary by the Canadian press. It was said that she regarded her privilege of birth as allowing her to be the servant of the people she ruled rather than the master. Not a life I would have desired for myself, surely.
I did not know the Queen Mother or any member of the Royal Family. The source of my tears is a deep well of memory and longing. "God Save the Queen" sung in a one-room schoolhouse where a brightly sparkling Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, and children sang with one voice fidgeting in anticipation. My grandfather upon his first glance at Princess Diana, giving a short snort and saying "A bit fat"; upon which my Grandmother shot him a look that rang through the room and silenced the entire family. The Royal family decorated many memorable occasions with people I cherished; people who are now lost to time.
The Queen Mother was a part of the known world of my childhood. My memories marched along to the steady measured steps of her pallbearers.
|RECIPES :: Cast
Cascade of Time
On the Screen
The Funeral of The Queen Mother of England
Wind: NW 22 km/h
Barometric:102.3 kPaSunrise 6:52 AM EDT
Sunset 7:58 PM EDT
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