Yesterday morning the keeper left us wearing black and carrying her white robe and we knew what this meant. At least Alice did. Funeral. She used to spend a lot of time every week at funerals, but now, not so much. But one of her favorite former parishioners died at age 97, and so the keeper returned to her old parish and offered a "reflection" as part of the liturgy. Inky was a jewel of a woman, with room at her incredibly laden table for all, and space in her many roomed mansion of a heart for everyone. She was witty and active until her last two days. It was quite a celebration.
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