Today was heartbreakingly inconceivably beautiful. We took the subway to Brooklyn to go to a memorial lunch of a woman Peter didn’t know at all and I knew a little. We went because friends were giving the lunch, and we thought we should be there in case they needed us there. I’m not sure they did. But it was a moving tribute to the life of a large and funny woman. She was hit by a bus in England. When we left, we were both in funny moods. Peter half wanted to go home. I really didn’t. Neither one of us wanted to separate. It was too beautiful outside to go home, so I pushed us in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. In all these years Peter had never walked across. I don’t like being in the role of pushing. But I often am. He doesn’t like heights. And there were too many people today. We were not the only ones crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Still the beauty of the day, and the city, and the walk and the bridge trumped the problems of what I do, what he does, how many people were walking into and across us. We walked, and walked, and walked.