For a change, I picked up a biography of someone I'd never heard of. In this case, the late Alice Trillin. Her husband, Calvin, has been a writer for the New Yorker since the early sixties. I'd never heard of either of them, but he has a very lengthy list of published work in the first couple of pages which leads me to believe that I'm likely in a very small minority.
What I discovered about Alice after crawling out from my rock: Her husband, family, friends, acquaintances, and friends of acquaintances clearly adored her. She was radiated positivity and didn't let anything get her down. She had cancer, but didn't let that define her. She sounded feisty, funny, generous, smart, beautiful, opinionated yet humble. She's the kind of woman that every man would want to be with and every woman would want to be.
That was just her in a nutshell like the book itself. Reading About Alice felt like taking a small glimpse inside a beautiful little gift box, sneaking a peek at the effect a cherished woman had on those who knew her, touching the stories inside and then closing the lid on a celebrated life wrapped up into a special little book. And I personally think that being eulogized by a child as "the coolest girl I ever knew" is just about the best compliment one could receive.
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