Jill is off to Berkeley next week, where she will spend a year and a half taking computer courses. It is a positive step for her, and Chuck and I are happy about it. We know she should be more independent. We know we all spend more time with each other than we do with friends. But that is because we are friends. We love being together. So of course, we are going to miss having her around.

There are so many ways that I will miss her. I will miss her laughter, and I will even miss her tears. I will miss being a part of her life at the same time that I know it is right for me to be less a part of it. I shall miss her at midnight. That's when she comes into my bedroom to show me what she is wearing to the dance club and to ask if it is okay. Okay? I always reply. You look beautiful! She always does. I shall miss seeing how beautiful she always looks. And every time that I paint or write, I shall miss her, too. So close are we in the ways we think and feel about things in art that Jill is both my only and my best audience. By this I mean that much of what I do is done not only for me, but also for Jill, who always understands.

Chuck will miss her, too. They have turned out to be fine house companions. They are about the only two people I know with eccentricities so similar. They both prefer late hours and can stay up almost all night to read or work or relax. They both consider ten o'clock a civilized hour to have dinner. They both love television and they both love taping television. And although they love different programs - Chuck loves sports and mystery programs and Jill is partial to series on relationships with strange names that sound like 12345 - frequently they will agree upon some old movie or other to watch and think nothing of snacking on their favorite foods and laughing together until three or four in the morning.

So there isn't anyone who can possibly replace Jill when she is away.

But Jill has to go. Because Jill is a "primordial soup" person. That is Jill's phrase for someone who hates boxes. Business is about boxes. Primordial soup is about creativity. Jill once made this observation when she was participating in administrative meetings at MIT - until MIT, too, became a box for her. I always remember her phrase. Because on some level I guess I always suspected something of the sort, and this remark made it clear for me. I had a primordial soup daughter. This helped me understand her a little more, as she goes here and there, searching for a place that will provide whatever is necessary for her to feel she can grow and expand and thrive. Jill does not like boxes. For her, they are just too confining.

So off she goes to Berkeley on some new adventure. Several years ago, she didn't much like it there. But she went back again last week with a friend. She said he must have been a "guardian imp" because although everything went wrong, it all turned out right. And this time she liked it.

So I think Jill is ready for some thing new - some new area to explore. Maybe literally as well as figuratively. I hope Berkeley is that area and that it provides her with what she is looking for. I hope she finds a spoon for that soup.

January, 1997
BB