Remembering Chaiselongue/Teleri

It is hard for me to take in, on this sunny day here, that Chaiselongue/Teleri is gone.

My tears come and go, as do lovely memories of our 2011 Blipmeet with Teleri and her husband (Lo Jardinièr), our stroll in their village with them afterward, and having an autographed copy of her book of poems about her grandmother, In Sight of the Sea, pass from her hands to mine.

That meeting, in which we found so many points of common interest or experience, was one of the reasons I started blipping, and once I did, Teleri's encouraging, thoughtful comments and her beautiful, diverse images inspired me to try more abstract images and explore the world of shadows -- something I never would have done on my own.

Her words were as compelling as her images, whether prose or poetry, and her life in a small French village had no boundaries in a world where injustice rules and women are second-class citizens. Teleri understood the politics of food, as well, and tried to eat only food that came from within 100 kilometres of where she lived and with her husband, to grow as much of their own as possible.

I feel that I know her kitchen as well as my own, thanks to her many food blips, many of which I've bookmarked as an informal cookbook, and her joy in cooking for her family, friends, and the occasional festival will continue to be an inspiration to me.

What shone brightest of all in Teleri's journal was her love for her family, with each visit of her children and their partners being anticipated with such pleasure and celebrated with food and local adventures. My heart aches for them, and for her husband of forty years.

I will remember Teleri with gratitude and deep affection, and think of her often as I pull out my kitchen tools and begin preparing a meal, or spot an arresting shadow, or enjoy time with my children, and many other times as well. Diolch yn fawr iawn / thank you very much, Teleri, for all that you have given to me, and so many others.

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The second stanza of this poem by Welsh poet R.S. Thomas resonated with me today.

A Marriage

We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed,
love's moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.

'Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
partner for
the last dance, and she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.