the last living southern belle

I feel dumb, trying to keep little tears from seeping out here in the bowels of Davis Library. Kathryn and Miguel looked at me and said, “You look really sad,” and then I started to talk about her—Lib—and then on come the tears.

I just finished writing a eulogy for my great aunt. And it hurts. More than I thought it would. I can’t be at her memorial service this weekend, but I was asked to write something for the service so that is what I am finishing up. We were very close, which may sound surprising, since your great aunt isn’t usually your chum. But she was one of my most treasured relationships. I exchanged letters with her since I was twelve, right up to the present year. She was the relative that I was the closest to, apart from my grandparents. It’s the remembering that makes it hurt. I was composed when I found out that she had passed away. But it’s the digging and resurfacing and shaking up the memories that rakes the wound. I loved this woman. More than I have the skill or ability to say. If I turn out to resemble her in even the slightest way, I will have lived well.

"Abby, dear," she once told me, "You haven't lived until you've had a Yankee boyfriend."

In happier news, Betsey and Emily are the reasons I get up on Monday mornings.

Kathryn and I went to Catherine's house this weekend and it was so peaceful and perfect. We had such excellent food, watched six consecutive hours of "America's Next Top Model" while wrapped up in blankets, made sushi, went to Vintage, &c. On Sunday afternoon, Catherine played beautiful selections from Vivaldi and Bach while Kathryn read and I drew (the first time I've tried to draw in years and it was exhilarating). Ideal, quiet weekends.

Today during geology, uninspired to pay attention to the divergent plate boundaries, I read some articles from The New York Times online about the most recent Palestinian turmoil. Intrigued, I then did some research on the differences between Hamas and Fatah because I didn't know. I like learning new things every day; it keeps life fresh.

My life is very small. In the whole course of it, not many of these things that I currently fret about matter.