"You-
you dress in pink and blue, just like a child
and in a yellow taxi, take a ride."

Steppin' out-Joe Jackson

Blowing bubbles. That is how I remember her. She loved blowing bubbles outdoors, and she brought one of those little red plastic bottles everywhere we went. Concerts, ballgames, picnics, whatever. It was like a fashion accessory for her. She had a charm bracelet, an amazing array of hair fun and her bubbles.

She was childlike in many ways, but not naive. She had her own set of portable tragedies, but she didn't dwell. I think maybe the bubbles were her way of keeping things light, but she denied that when I asked her.

Not everything means something, she said.

We would talk for hours while she blew the bubbles, aiming for serious old people (to annoy) or little kids (to surprise). She always loved how children took these bubbles as a big shock- one, that an adult had them, and two that they were there in the first place, incongruous and wonderful, like a free balloon or candy from the doctor's office.

She would sit back on sunny days, watching the little circles drift toward the bright sun and try and catch the little rainbows as they swirled away. I mostly watched her watching them. I never see her anymore, but sometimes I buy one of those little red bottles and take them to the park. I don't blow them myself, but I give them to the first child brave enough to ask.

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