A Tribute to Deirdre
 

I’ve known Deirdre longer than I’ve known anyone else.  Inextricably linked, the way siblings are, my knowing her shaped me, formed my ideas, and in many ways gave me my identity.  In fact, she even gave me my name.  When I was born, my parents wanted to include Deirdre in the event, so they gave her a list of names they liked and left the final choice up to her.  She picked Sheena.  I expressed my gratitude to her not long after, as her name was my first real utterance. 

Of course, I idolised her growing up, wanted to do what she did, go where she went, but, realistically, who could keep up?  As a child I thought it was just that I was four years younger, but as I grew older I realized that others—her peers and elders—had trouble keeping up too.

If D is for Deirdre, it also stands for drive, direction, determination and destination.  She pursued her plans with unsurpassed energy, always in motion, always with somewhere to go and needing to get there, fast.  Walking was far too slow.  Running turned to biking, and then horseback riding, motorcycling and ultimately flying.  She had important things to do and speed was of the essence.  Is it any wonder that as children we did not build mere snowmen or snow forts in the winter, but rather snow horses or snow cars? 

Instead of finding me a childish nuisance, she often included me on her neighbourhood adventures: chasing bad guys on horseback, jumping imaginary fences, roaming the ravine, talking on our shoe phones, and playing with our Best of the West action figures.   

 I’m sure we had the usual sibling scraps, although I can’t really remember any.  My sister paid me the highest respect I think an elder sister can: she tolerated me, even during our teen years when I would liberate articles of clothing from her closet and hoped to return them there before she got home from school.  There was a time I “borrowed” a pair of shoes from her and thought I looked quite natty in them.  Unbeknownst to me, she had legitimately borrowed them from a friend, a friend who now wanted them back.  She searched the house in vain, going through all the closets, looking under beds and behind doors while I watched, knowing full well that the shoes were in my locker at school.  She finally said to me, very kindly, “If you know anything about the shoes, I’m not going to get mad, you’re not going to get in trouble.  I just need the shoes back.”  And so she made it easy for me to confess.  It was a small kindness, perhaps, but a memorable one to me. 

My sister was a Renaissance woman; she could turn her hand to anything.  She had so many hobbies and interests and could do them all so well-- sewing, flying planes, making complicated desserts, carpentry, vermicomposting--and she did them all with such meticulous attention to detail.  And despite her many talents she was not one to blow her own horn.  I remember one of her visits to Toronto:  my mother, Geoff and I suggested a game of Scrabble.  She was reluctant to join, not having played the game much, she said.  After much coaxing and cajoling and even proposing that she get to go first, she agreed.  She looked thoughtfully at her tiles, moved them around a bit, and then tentatively placed them down on the board, one by one.  All of them.  The word was ZODIACS (110 points).   

She was a pioneer, a fearless explorer on the edge of new frontiers, often pushing the boundaries of conventionality.  I remember her travelling in Europe when she was about 18.  She was heading for Rome, I believe, and boarded the wrong train in Geneva.  It was a sleeper train, and when she awoke in the morning she was surprised to find herself in Barcelona.  “Oh, well,” she thought, “why not try Spain?”

Her astrological sign was Sagittarius, The Archer.   I’ve often thought this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow very appropriate for Deirdre.  It goes,

     I shot an arrow into the air

     It fell to earth, I knew not where;

     For so swiftly it flew,

         the sight

     could not follow it in its flight.

 

If arrows were ideas , or dreams, or plans, then she filled the sky with arrows.  I’m only sorry that I won’t be able to see where they all land. 

Good-bye, Deirdre.