Making Do

I am sitting here, trying to wake up after a very late night of flat-out work, staring at the TV. And who comes on but Ute Lemper, yet another singer Ingrid tried to persuade me to like. And I'm watching it, and listening, because I know that Ingrid would have.

God, I wish you were here to watch it, too, Ingrid. I'd listen to any kind of music for any length of time, just to have the chance to see you once more, just to see you enjoying something you loved. But Ute Lemper will have to do.

Sigh.

Moving On, Not

Now that I've decided to move back to the US, at least part-time, I find that I'm more tortured than ever about not making it back in time to see Ingrid one last time. None of us could have known how fast things would be, how fragile she really was. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I'm sorry, Ingrid. I didn't know that 17 days would be too many.