I went last evening with my friend Nancy to see "The Iron Lady." Nancy's wonderful husband John died of a brain tumor five years ago. I was with her, just the two of us, with him, the night that he died, and I have never forgotten what a privilege that was.

Much more recently, Nancy was an enormous source of help and advice during Martin's illness.

So there we were at the movie...which we both felt was a marvelous performance by Meryl Streep in a less-than-marvelous film...and suddenly there was a scene where the aged Margaret Thatcher finally sorts and discards her late husband's things. She puts his shoes, pair by pair, into a large green trash bag. Nancy and I both gasped. We had both done that.

Nancy spent the night at my house and this morning she was still there sipping coffee when my contractor, Sal, arrived. I had called Sal just yesterday to see if he could schedule some time to paint a room. I had been dismantling Martin's home office for some weeks. His big desk went to my house in Maine, where it replaced my much smaller one. His computer went to one of his sons. His keyboard went to my brother. Little by little things were sorted, somewhat like the shoes, and discarded or sent to a new home. So the room was nearly emptied and ready to be painted, and when I called Sal, he said he could come the next day...today. So I rushed to choose paint; and today, little by little, all traces of Martin's office, where he spent so many—mostly happy—hours composing music, have disappeared and it is re-emerging as a guest room.

Then this evening a UPS guy came to my door and delivered this package of pages. Literally pages...386 of them, to be exact; and times two...because there are two copies...makes 772.

This is how I will spend my weekend. This bundle of "pages"....as they are actually called...is my last chance to correct, change, modify, fuss over, and then let go of. (I know, sentence ending with a preposition. Get over it.)

I don't know why the light is funny in these photo....perhaps because it was under halogen lights on my kitchen counter.  Take my word for it, the pages are white. And this is how they look.

And here, the dedication:

He would love that, I think. It would make up for the fact that his practically brand-new two-hundred-dollar loafers went to Goodwill and the walls of his man-cave are now yellow.