A short one

Dear friends and family,

At the top are the flowers that Sophie and Brendan sent 11 days ago for our anniversary. The lilies, which were tight buds, are now open, a feast for the eyes. The photo at the bottom was taken yesterday when Merwin and I went out for lunch with our dear Phyllis S. The blouse I am wearing is part of a two-piece set (top and bottom) that Merwin's spunky, sometimes wild, sometimes amazingly independent Mom, made for me. I may have mentioned before that she used to make all my clothes, a real boon when we had small children, I could not get out easily to shop for clothes and, at least at first, we were short of money. I would open cardboard boxes, mailed from Buffalo, and pull out garment after garment. She sewed for me (and did much else) while working full=time as a pioneering x-ray technician for almost 50 years. She died very suddenly about 18 years ago. I rarely discard what she made for me. Sometimes I give items away.

This morning Sonia and I actually went on an outing to TJ Maxx, a favorite store of us both, where I failed to find some things but did buy pjs, which I will try at home and keep if they fit. My body is so weird these days, it's hard to tell. The result of the shopping expedition is exhaustion, but I will recover soon, I hope.

On the TV, the news has just been broadcast about Mubarak's decision ti step down. Wow! Of course, it's his recently appointed VP who will take over, and he is just another version of the president. It's fascinating to see how all this will fadge (to use a favorite word from Twelfth Night). The NYT this a.m. had a great article about how this whole Egyptian revolution was planned and executed by a small group of intellectuals.

The NYT Book Review, Jan. 2 (I am behind in all reading) has a review I want to take to heart. The historian Tony Judt, struck down by a neurological disorder that left him paralyzed except for a finger or two, but whose brain and voice were perfectly intact, dictated a memoir before he died. I am so much better off than Judt. I can use my own fingers to write—and that allows me to keep in touch with friends, Shakespeare, family (not necessarily in that order). Of course, this distance is not ideal for all relationships. I was not able to be there for the final days of my dear friend Phyllis Bolton, who died yesterday, at home in Tucson, after a long illness, not cancer but heart failure. It would be hard to convey what she has meant in my life. I will try to do so, perhaps in a piece for my writing group meeting next week. What a beautiful life she had! How many people she touched—not only friends but the children of friends.

Sonia says that in spite of the exertion of the TJ Mazz outing, we have to do our exercises. So off I go.

Love to all,
Bernice