viernes, febrero 26, 2021
Aileen was brilliant--a gifted writer, an insightful observer of the world around her. I am grateful to have known her over the years, first as a student and then as a friend. As her teacher I got to see her enthusiasm for Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and dozens of other touchstones in the history of culture as--avid and probing--she dug into the heart of what was important in whatever material there was. Right now on my nightstand sits a copy she gave me of the collected works of Jorge Luis Borges, with her occasional notes in the margin. That's who she was: someone in conversation with the artists and thinkers of the past.
That someone can have such gifts and still find happiness elusive is a frustrating mystery. She had, by her account, a wonderful family, and by everyone's account, a great mind. She was creative. She had a lovely singing voice. She had an intellectual curiosity and a kind of longing for knowledge and experience. She leaves behind some wonderful memories for those of us who knew her.
One that comes to my mind just now is this. On a First Friday maybe in 2019, she was performing in Oldtown Salinas with the band--Kayne, Tim, John, Anna, Todd--and she was singing one of the songs she wrote herself. A few of us in the audience had heard it earlier when she performed it on campus, so we started singing along (Passersby must have figured it was a popular song that everyone knew). Aileen became so embarrassed by the attention that she lost her place for a moment, laughing.
We will miss her. I will miss her.
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