This ol' blog resembles its first cousin: the one that always comes to Christmas wearing a frocks and colourful earrings, sometimes sober in temperament and occasionally earnest. A bit moody, a bit funny, never too outrageous, always authentic.
Speaking of Christmas cousins, I had one visit every year until the last. She was never dull, that one! Through all her travails, she remained true to herself. We farewelled her on a scorching day just a few days after Christmas, in a quaint inner city church where a sombre mob lined the walls looking in at the altar. When yours truly rose to deliver the eulogy, I was shaking, just a little bit.
"This is a silly back to front church," giggled the smallest cousin to her tear-stained mother. She was used to the traditional rectangular church in her London parish, not that funny shaped round one in inner city Sydney.
And so it was that for the second time in my life, I stood up in a holy place, clutched a sweaty wad of notes and took the microphone.
And this is what I said:
"Jen was our Christmas cousin. She was born to a woman named Olive who died many years ago, and to Maurie, our uncle. We spent every single Christmas in Sydney, with her, her dad and until about nine years ago, with our Nan. One Christmas she arrived and announced she was never again to be called Jen Lynne, her name since childhood. From then on it was just Jennifer. We knew to obey!
Christmas followed the same format every year: Maurie brought the nuts and the glace fruit, Nan stringed the beans and our mum, Jen’s aunt, slaved all day over the hot stove. We all wore silly hats and told lame jokes. The turkey and ham were always warm, as was the corn and the plum pudding which was full of shillings and sixpences and the odd bottle top which Uncle Maurie always managed quite miraculously to almost swallow but always survive. We all fell for that trick for years. I think Jen was the most sophisticated of the five cousins: she cottoned on to the scam first and when she rolled her eyes, so did I.
The day passed in a contented, languid fog. Jen always loved Christmas and there was an empty chair just a few days ago when we all came together. It felt strange without her with us.
Other than Christmas there were holidays up the coast in Woy Woy where her dad lived down the road from Great Aunty Win and Win’s brother Uncle Jo. Jen spent many holidays with Win. It was a mutual love affair. They doted on each other. There was fishing before breakfast in the little tinny with Uncle Jo and again in the afternoon when they chased the blue swimmer crabs through the mangrove swamps. Sometimes I joined them and I have vivid memories of those early mornings, and the buttery leather jackets Aunty Win skinned and fried up for breakfast. I shut my eyes tight as I dropped the still alive blue swimmers into the boiler. It was worth their pain and mine for the crab dinners which we boasted about even though Uncle Jo caught most of them. We cycled around the streets in the lull of the day, and walked for hours sucking ice blocks, bored to death but not about to change anything. Sometimes we came home to Sydney on the train and I felt so grown up.
After the School Certificate she announced she wanted to leave school. Jen was in a hurry to get out in the world, to be independent and fend for herself. She went on to secretarial college in the city where she completed a one year course in secretarial skills. Her graduation certificate states she completed all subjects, including English, current affairs and psychology as well as achieving 100 words per minute in shorthand and 47 words per minute in typewriting. In her first job at the Coal Board in North Sydney, she found an unused electrical typewriter with a memory (quite the new high tech machine) and she taught herself and the entire office how to use it. She was no nonsense, clever and entrepreneurial.
Until she bought her first home in Alexandria she rented for many years over the bridge in Neutral Bay. I remember being surprised when she moved to the inner city after so many years on the lower north shore, but Jen was canny and knew a bargain when she saw one. She sold a decade ago to move here to Erskineville, where she lived in bliss with her beloved husband Charles.
I might add she also lived with, in turn, her three four-legged best friends Spike, Basil and more lately Milly. Despite her adoration for Charles, her husband of fifteen years, despite Spike’s negative attitude towards Charles and despite Charles’s serious dog allergy, she stood firm and the dogs stayed. Basil had quite the public profile in Erskineville: in fact rumour has it that when the nominations were due for the parish council at St Mary’s, one Basil McCann was nominated.
Sadly Basil passed away just before Jen: he was seventeen years old. One-eyed Milly remains, and she kept Jen company off and on at home and at the hospice during the last few weeks of her life.
So what did Jen love?
Firstly her cars: Maurie gave her the deposit for her first car: a Nissan two door sports, and she drove it for fourteen years, until the mudguards fell off and hubcaps rusted and it started falling apart. From there she started buying and selling, becoming a living breathing advertisement for the local car dealership. In her mind there was no better place to buy her various Mazdas, Mercedes and Holdens.
I headed straight there recently with pleasing results and Jen was quite chuffed, though she couldn’t believe I didn’t wait until the end of the month when the best deals were to be had.
Jen said that no matter how sick she became, she could always drive. She considered her car another room of her house. Her boot was full of loot which she sold in her capacity as a sales rep: candles, soaps, clocks and lamps. Her visits to us always came with samples of some product or another and it was always fun trying it all out with my girls.
What else did Jen love?
A bargain: Jen was a fountain of knowledge when it came to getting things done on the cheap. She pursued bargains all over the place, at home and abroad and woe betide anyone getting in her way. I remember when she sourced a side table for her TV. She searched the net, phoned around, found one at an unnamed Swedish homewares barn quite some distance from home. When she arrived the salesman couldn’t find the table. He copped it and I felt for him! When she finally sorted it, she proceeded to sell the old one despite its decrepit condition. This leads me to her next love:
Ebay. Not only did she buy bargains, she sold everything, garbage or not online. I was constantly astounded by her sales and she was constantly berating me for loading up the bins with my throwaways or even worse, putting stuff on the nature strip for anyone to take. She lived the saying: someone’s trash is another ones treasure.
Art and craft work: Jen couldn’t miss when it came arts and crafts. She came from a family of skilled dressmakers and her Nan and great Aunt Win were milliners and later on, fashion fitters and buyers. Firstly Jen mastered dress making and later moved on to folk art – painting floral designs on metal and timber, on just about anything really, and she taught classes in the subject. Her embroidery was legend and her quilting exquisite. Many of you here will be familiar with her work, and some of you luckier ones may have one of her quilts on a bed at home. She laboured for months, then invariably gave them away or donated them for charity. She created and produced prolifically: it was second nature to her. She seemed surprised at others reactions to her remarkable skills.
For the spectacular wedding between Charles and Jen in 1995, Jen sewed my daughter's bridesmaid dress. Two years later she made her first communion dress. That dress was so beautifully made it was passed around for years. At least six girls made their first communion in it and it survived many sessions of celebratory cordial and cake. Sewing came easily to Jen but she was bored by it. With her quilting came challenges and this is where she flourished. It was peaceful and satisfying sitting and watching her work: in the modern world her skills are almost old fashioned, though she never was. Her talents were extraordinary.
Her dogs: I’ve mentioned cranky Basil, moody Spike and sweet Milly: it is difficult to express how much pleasure the dogs gave Jen. She took at least one of them everywhere, including sneaking Basil into Mass here occasionally. When she became ill and finished work, it was the dogs which kept her company whilst Charles worked, between visits from friends, family and the women from her three beloved quilting groups and the coffee group. Membership of the latter was based on just one criteria: you had to be sick. It was a lively coven which overtook the local cafe every Thursday morning.
The Street: Jen loved living in her street. So does Charles, despite receiving two recent parking tickets for parking right outside his house. When our kids were little and Jen and Charles hosted Easter Sunday lunch, they couldn’t believe the play equipment was actually in the middle of the road! It was very special. Charles’s and Jen’s friends across the road and down a bit – you know who you are – have been a huge source of happiness to Jen for years. Like a big extended family really.
But most of all when it comes to what or whom Jen loved, most of all, it was Charles, unconditionally and passionately. He is quite simply the best thing that has ever happened to her in her too short life. Charles came along when Jen had lived alone for years, when she was steeped in her ways and despite old habits they meshed seamlessly into one another. Unbelievable really, considering that Charles stood her up on the first date! I believe she gave him one chance to redeem himself, and the rest is history.
Those who know Charles will be aware he has a finely tuned sense of the ridiculous, and he brought this out in Jen. She never laughed so much in her entire life as she did in the years she was with Charles. There have been difficult times during the past three years, but Charles has been her rock, and without him she could never have fought to stay alive for as long as she did.
Since the deathly diagnosis she and Charles managed four trips abroad, to Bali twice and twice to Europe. She was determined to visit Lourdes and return home with tiny bottles of the magic potion for all of us. She strolled Versailles with holy medals pinned onto her shirt and wandered Monet’s garden with Charles, the emerging artist. They spent time with cousin Lesley in London, where she say on the couch and finished off a gifted quilt. She dozed in the sun as they cruised the Mediterranean. Huge effort went in to organizing and participating in these trips and her determination knew no bounds.
Jen made the most of every opportunity and it would have been easy for her to sit back and feel sorry for herself. But she never did. She accepted her illness as a rather annoying disruption to her plans and kept busy convincing herself there was time ahead for her. We spent many quiet hours together over the past few years and it is was an enriching time, despite it all.
Rest in peace."
It's a little known truth that Christmas and holiday activities brings forth death. Since we ate turkey and pulled bonbons just a few short weeks ago, the grapevine has blurted forth about six other lives gone; at least six other eulogies made. Reminders to cast aside cynicism once in a while, live for right now and appreciate it all.
