Well, the dust is beginning to settle … We're almost getting used to the ache, now. She went so fast … 4 weeks from diagnosis to death … nice for her, but we didn't really have time to brace ourselves. Almost like jumping in front of a bus.
We've been going through her house, trying to dismantle a truncated lifetime, and I've gotta say, it's rough. Her spirit hovers over everything in there. But there are some bittersweet moments … I opened a satchel, and found her revolver, which she had bought "so she could spend time with Dad at the range." (I reckon I haven't said much about shooting … I'm a black-powder shooter, I have been for years. I love it, and my contention is that I've never seen anyone come away from shooting a muzzleloading rifle that wasn't smiling. After the first shot, you don't really care so much about hitting anything; you just want to make it do it again.) Anyway, this revolver of hers always has made me smile; it's gaudy, I suppose I might say, and shows to some degree her slightly off-center viewpoint:
We only went out to the range a few times, but she was learning to shoot it. I've inspected the accoutrements that were with it, and I see she was only using 15 grains (a weight measure) of powder … no wonder she was having a hard time! It may seem strange that a Buddhist should have a firearm, but Buddhists are a tolerant lot, and, if I am not mistaken, the Buddha only tells us to be harmless, not impotent.
It's hard to see the Autumn colours, so extra-brilliant this year, or so it seems, when she's gone and can't see them. When I can get my head together a bit more, I'll post a gallery of her artwork … she was an artist, too, in a family of them. Perhaps her Grampa Harold is, at this moment, teaching her how to use a brush; she always preferred a pen … a control freak, I reckon. LOL
Some pictures …
That last is the filling of cracks in our carpark; it looks like a reticulated giraffe.