SugarBeet of Simmer

I had a list of things to do today, and did a few of them. Including writing SEVEN MORE hand-written notes on the good stationery to inform various people of my mother's death. I'm not sure I have the current address for a couple of them. My mother's records were not up to date, and her most current address book disappeared somehow. A couple of people I thought I'd have to write turned out to be dead, which I hate to admit was kind of a relief to me. Many of these people were former students of my father's who had kept in touch. They adored my mother. They thought she was the most wonderful thing ever. My father very frequently invited graduate students to walk home with him and have lunch, which was really more like dinner because he preferred to have his main meal at midday. And my mother, of course, accommodated him. She was not a very good cook when I was a child (can you say tongue, boiled in a pressure cooker?), but by the time I was in high school, she had improved quite a lot, and also had more money to buy better food supplies. It was heaven for graduate students to enjoy a hot home-cooked meal, complete with a glass of wine and a nice dessert. They also had a lot of parties to which they would invite the students, and if they noticed that anyone was alone for the holidays, they would invite them to our house. Their hospitality was a beautiful thing. To the students, my mother was all that was gracious and sweet. I thought they deserved at least a note. It's harsh when you don't hear from someone for a long time, and then you find out they're dead by running across their obituary. I think I'm done now. I'll probably think of a couple more that I should write to, but for the time being, I've done all I can. There is a certain satisfaction in this.