57, With Cake

Happy birthday, Ingrid. You would have been 57 this year, and I probably would have asked you how it felt to be 75. I'd have reminded you that you'd always be older than I. Little did I know, pal.

It's hard to imagine you at 57, though to be honest, you didn't seem to get all that much older each year. Perhaps we see those we love through the lens of the youth we shared with them. Or perhaps you were just eternally cool, youthful, and oh-so-fabulous. Yeah, I think that was it. Even when you were being extremely uncool, you made it look cool. I always knew that if you liked something, the cool people would have to be working hard to catch up to you.

I miss you, old friend. Stay cool.