We found out today that Barbara, a former part-time copy editor at The Pilot, died yesterday. She had been sick for long enough that that was the first thing we called to mind. It's regrettable. The last I knew, she had ALS, but her doctors thought it might actually be Lyme disease, which was more hopeful. That was maybe a year ago. At the end of her time with us, she had so many pills to take, and her illness tried to stop her at every opportunity. She was too weak to open the bottle to drink milk with the pills, and the disease had robbed her of easy swallowing. She soldiered on.
Barbara couldn't help but bake for us. She made the most amazing miniature muffins and brought in loaves of banana nut bread still warm and crusty from the oven. I somehow remember that there was butter, also. Jim said that one Sunday, he ate 13 of these little heart-shaped waffles she'd brought in with fruit topping. Everything she made surprised us and brought us comfort. Once, when I got into stamping for a few weeks (read my previous post re: obsession) and I wanted to start my own f you card company (on the front of the card, DUCK BLUE. on the inside, you guessed it), she brought me in this gigantic box of stamping materials that she and her daughters used to use. There was even a soldering gun. It was an incredibly sweet gesture.
And that's what I'll remember.