Sticky weather is here again. Came on what seems like fast to me. Tomorrow is supposed to be terrible with heat. Guess I will have to hang out with Tupie in the air conditioning.
Although I was up past 2 a.m. and slept until somewhere in the 10 a.m. world, I am looking bedward now. Inasumch as I love love love the silence of the hours with little numbers, I do like the morning as well. I need to be on a more working stiff schedule.
Today was BSB's birthday ... or tomorrow was. There seems to be some confusion. My heartache is somewhat lessened. Not gone, just more tolerable. Perhaps the shock is wearing off.
BSB really wanted to go. She had everything arranged. Her friends think that she spent the last year planning and getting everything in order. There was a box in the back of her car with her dental records, passport, all things needed to identify her. Her note hoped that her body would not be found. It was.
KarHu went to get her car from the Marin lot of the Golden Gate Bridge. A park/bridge worker said that someone jumps once a week. It is the most jumped from Bridge in the world. While KarHu looked through Barbara's stuff, reading her last note, there were visitors and tourists happily snapping pictures a foot or two away from her. On the passenger seat was the current New Yorker, likely read cover to cover as BSB sat drinking Bushmill's and summoning up her last bit of strength.
I cannot remember a single moment in BSB's presence that was not amusing. Other than knowing of her pain and sadness, I never ever had a bad time with her. And I do remember laughing until near death.
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