Howie, thank you for this glimpse into your wife's soul...and yours, because you
were kind enough to share it with us.

~ Peri

Howie wrote:

First, I'd like to thank all of you who offered kind words of kindness
and Consolation. Below is the text of an e-mail that Eileen sent to me,
our sons, and our dear friend, Linda, this past October.

"I seem to be having an emotionally manic day. This doesn't happen very
often, so I want to capture some of it. Save these words of joy for
when you or I need it. Make them my memorial.

Random thoughts I wish were memorable:

You know what it's like when the sky is dark gray with storm clouds and
the sun breaks through and you can see individual beams? That's how I
feel today. I am that sun.

Picture this: I sit in my ugly chair, the one Archie Bunker would be
proud of, the one that's the color of a bodily waste product. I am
wearing a pale blue dirtyish nightgown, my warmest (thank you, Eric)
wool socks on my cold feet, a wool lap blanket on my lap. I sport ugly
broken dollar-store reading glasses on my head and a set of headphones
attached to Howie's little jukebox - remember that they are attached via
a plastic coated wire, because this is part of the equation. I just got
off the phone with Linda, who made me happy because she took a garage
for her car and who made me laugh because she always makes me laugh. My
hands hold two short (because I am determined not to make anything wider
than them) metal knitting needles attached to which is a scarf I am
knitting for Eric (more about this later). The scarf is making me laugh
as I work on it. It is a funny scarf. It is a creative endeavor,
something like Adam's music set in yarn. I feel like a genius because I
am so pleased with this scarf.

The scarf is nearly the same bodily waste product color as the chair but
I think that's funny. I am enlivening it with special materials and
special tricks. That especially makes me laugh. Who but me could find
knitting funny? This makes me proud.

In my ears plays my favorite music, Statue followed by Bob Marley, and
the order is significant. (Adam, if you ever get discouraged about your
music, just remember the joy you have given me with it. Your music
makes me feel VERY happy.)

In my head race all kinds of crazy thoughts, but they are good crazy,
nice crazy, fun crazy. I wish I could record my emotions and my
thoughts today so they could be played back on a different kind of day.
It will have to wait till they invent the right microchip to implant in
my head.

I am a little worried. Funny worried. What if I knit the headset wire
in with the scarf? Who will be more upset: Howie because I've ruined
his jukebox, Eric because I've ruined his scarf, me because I have made
a mess? Worse, what if I knit the headset wire and the scarf wool in
with my glasses? What if I can never extricate myself from this?

I laugh.

A cigarette burns endlessly in the ashtry, one right after another. I
take about one puff per cig because my hands are too busy with the
scarf. It's okay, at least the smell will be knitted in and every time
Eric wears the scarf, he will think of me. (I have scarves that were my
mother's that smelled of her perfume for 10 years after she was gone;
why shouldn't you have some that smell of ME?)

Howie's scarf will have to wait till I perfect my skills; my chickadees
wouldn't recognize something as coming from me if it were perfect.
Linda will get a scarf too, but that may take a while. Hers will be the
most fun of all to make because I know the more craziness I put into it,
the more she'll like it.

Here's the pseudo-philosophy about the knitting that's making me laugh:
I always enjoying knitting, but unlike crocheting, which is a more
free-wheeling thing, it frustrated me. I could never make things come
out right because you have to be regular and consistent and follow a
pattern, things I don't much care for in life. Today it has occurred to
me that since I belong to a generation that did away with the rules for
grammar, spelling, sex, school, and just about everything else, I am
well within my rights to do away with the rules for knitting. Who says
there has to be a pattern? Why can't I do whatever stitch I feel like
doing at the moment, regardless of what convention says I'm SUPPOSED to
do? This scarf will be utterly unique; there won't be another one like
it anywhere on earth, BECAUSE IT HAS NO PATTERN, NO RHYME, NO RHYTHM.
That means THERE CAN'T POSSIBLY BE ANY MISTAKES IN IT. I am making the
rules up as I go along.

Ooh ooh ooh! I am happy today! I AM HAPPY TODAY!!!

I wish I could bottle it, or can it, or save it. But I can't, so I'm
sharing it instead."