Wild-irises posts in memoriam for onyxlynx, who died last week.
Of her nature and character you can read there. Here I will just say that I feel wounded. She was one of those people who brought texture to my life. I like the word "indirect" that wild-irises uses; that was how I experienced her communication, and it was something you got used to. I felt honored that she was my DW friend, and we went on communicating in that same indirect way that I'd first learned when we were in an apa together in the late 70s. I found that staying up late in a bleary haze was the best state to appreciate her writing and to respond appropriately. This broadens and stretches the mind, children.
Of course she used a different name in apas than she did offline. Nor did she litter her online journal with clues to her identity either; figuring out who this "onyxlynx" person was was just part of the fun.
We both disliked dogs. We both disliked potatoes. We may have been the only ones.
I'd sometimes come across her among the niches at the Garden of Memory concert - she's the Tall Black Woman whom I'd report having seen there - and we'd converse there in that happenstantial way of casual occasional friends. She thanked me for posting a reminder of this summer's concert and planned to be there, but alas it did not happen and she sent regrets. And that was the last ...