Today May 23, is a beautiful spring day that B.J. would have loved, blue skies, sunny and warm. It is today on her birthday that I feel B.J.’s absent presence in the space where friendship is of the essence.
We were introduced two years ago on a Friday night as we both leaned carefully on a counter loaded with Sabbath food and B.J. spoke Hebrew to me immediately right there, in the kitchen.
The rich aroma of spices filled the air, and somehow we skipped the formal conversation of people who have just met. We talked about writing. She wrote, I found out, mostly creative non-fiction and poetry was not her favorite genre. She was about to publish her memoir.