One More Thing to Think About

The Census form came today in the mail.
How many people live in your house, they ask.
Do not include children at college
people in jail, in a nursing home.

This is much easier to correct than the voting registration form.
Where there were once three, now there are two.
We answer just like those who have children in college,
or cousins in jail, or parents in nursing homes.

Weather Report with Shopping Memory


Dear Elizabeth,

Weather report.

It just hailed.  The sound of little ticking on the windows grew louder, and then the wind kicked in, and the sheets of rain went diagonal.  Yesterday the wind blew so hard, I passed a blown down awning on Christopher St. and at the corner of Varick and Franklin was a tipped over tree in its gigantic concrete planter. 

They say the gusts were up to 40 miles per hour.  Went shopping anyway.  Impossible to think of shopping without thinking of you.  Harry’s Shoes now has a whole store just for children.  You were patient  trying on different styles and  sizes of shoes while the many older people competed for the attention of Harry’s sales men waiting on you. 

When we shopped in the old Burlington Coat Factory on Park Place—you would hide under the clothes racks, slip between the hanging coats and dresses, play hide and seek there.  


Now the Burlington Coat Factory is a mosque.  And small children wear Uggs.  


Dear Visitors

Dear Visitors to Elizabeth's Blog,

Thank you for coming to this site.  It is wonderful that you are still thinking of her.  Please feel free to say something.  I really cherish every little message left here.

Thank you again.

 Patricia Aakre

Re-post of one of my favorite pictures























What I love about this picture is the way she is laughing. Elizabeth loved to laugh, and loved her friends, and this picture shows both things at once. Emma especially made E. laugh. Thanks, Emma.
How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry