Carnival ducks

We are going on an outing and I have packed sandwiches. We will take the ferry in to San Francisco, just like tourists.

It has been a hard week, sleepless, poignant. It is such a waste when a talented, capable, funny young person dies, and it hits hard even though I didn't know her! I have read her livejournal and her parents', and I know why Will is so bereft. She was only thirty-four. She particularly loved Yeats: I would have told her how David, invited to tea with Yeats, offered Lady Gregory a scone. He said Yeats talked about investments.

Kristie had a congenital condition and few make it through their forties, does that make it easier? The gypsy told me I would live to eighty-seven, "neither burned nor drownded" so I choose to believe that while hoping I keep my marbles. There is some comfort in universality; early or late, we are in good company.