Remembering G

The memorial we went to this afternoon was just like one of her mid-summer strawberry parties—berry orgies, she called them—only our friend wasn’t there. Family and friends milling around on the familiar deck, wandering in and out of the house and garden, funny and endearing anecdotes, a couple of music groups featuring crumhorns and recorder, some group singing—all of it recalling G, her love of early music and choral singing, her support of local artists, her inspiring laugh and delight in life. I was her recorder student way back in the seventies. When I retired and was worried that I would have lots of time and no one to hang out with, she was one of the people I recruited to be in a weekly writing group that met for several years. We hiked together, skied, and camped. She was a good friend.