Susan Hattie Steinsapir

She shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary her, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember her.

Today, we are all diminished. Words come slowly and with great difficulty, like barnacles off a mussel.

We talked (by e-mail) of this and that - I in early morning London, she in late evening California - bouncing back and forth ideas, comparisons.

It is twenty-three years ago today/tomorrow (overnight) since my mother died, also in her forties - Binyon's lines (above, with pronouns adapted) were used then, and they apply to Susan. Even more so, since the going down of the sun and the morning are happening at the same time for her friends who girdle the earth.

Later this morning, I shall be introducing the Web to about a hundred newcomers to the Information Age. Convincing them that the Net is more than a collection of electrons is part of it - usually. I can depict its human side. I hope I can do so today, for Susan.



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