There are those in our
midst whose measure of worth is not the achieve of… though she did achieve.
Nor is it anything to be
quantified or Googled…though she certainly did make her mark in the Art Book
world.
The way I remember Barbara
is how I always felt so fully met. So received. A reception that elicited a
loving response in return. Even on her
down days when you could almost hear her silent struggles.
I loved the way she would
talk back to the T.V. set…no don’t open
that door……….or you deserve what you got, you bum. Barbara wanted to set
the world right.
I found such delight in
her wackadoddle emails. Every other word was mis-spelled as if it had arrived,
unfiltered, from her own distant country.
Yet for all the indecipherable
sentences it bore Barbara’s unmistakable sui generis signature. A stream of her
immediacy.
She sought the seclusion
of the Hebrides, both the real and imagined place, an inner-Hebrides away from
the clamor without and within.
Most of all, I think, she
wanted to curl up on a cozy couch with book in hand, preferably a book about
books, lost in their pages. She was herself, at times, an open book albeit with
yet un-cut pages. Highly collectible. Worn a bit on the edges. Else fine. A
rare first edition. One of a kind.
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