The Fezziwig Ball

Spent most of last evening with a good friend of Edwin's. We laughed, we cried, we shared memories, we held each other. After he left, I was struck once again (as I have been often these past weeks) what a huge hole his death has caused in so many people's lives. . . .

He loved the role of Scrooge, and played it often later in life. Scrooge being man who had seen in time that dying with only money in your life account made others glad at your passing. And if he loved Scrooge, he loved Fezziwig more: it was his sign in and/or password as he traveled the internets. He named the smartest dog in the world Fezziwig, and was proud to consider himself Fezzi's Dad.

I asked him once why the fascination with Fezziwig? "Because he knew, always, how to live: to give, to love, to find joy where you are."

I'm glad his final incarnation on the DFA blog was Fezziwig. It was his final role in his own life.

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Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke.