I'm Ernie Lederman. I met Christine in 1977. A friend of mine managed a store at Eastview Mall -- I used to drop by -- and one evening I saw there, sitting to one side (because the guys were playing dodge-ball behind the counter) the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Who's that?- I asked my friend. That's Chris.-he replied. I had to talk to her. So I approached and asked: "As the only female here, do these guys expect you to clean the bathroom?" To which she replied: "I'm not cleaning it. They're on their own." So we became friends.

Over the years, we came to consider ourselves brother and sister. If we hadn't seen each other for a while, we could get together and talk, and it was as if we'd never been apart. Those were difficult years for her. Her health was bad and she was in a lot of pain much of the time. She was unappreciated by employers and the men in her life. There were unsatisfying jobs, unfulfilled relationships.

But over the past twenty-some years, she found a groove. Her talents emerged. She blossomed. It was always something new. Twelve years or so ago, I went over to her house and there was a six-harness loom, which we saw in the slide-show. The fabric she had woven had turned out so beautifully she didn't have the heart to cut it up to make a jacket. It was always like that with her.

Then there were her e-mails. Earlier this year, she was furious with some office-holder who had made a non-committal public statement about mountain-biking. (This was someone who was supposed to be on our side.) She was sure that some dirty work was afoot. I told her, hey, Christine, it was a politician's statement. I don't see anything sinister about it. The reply came back: "You are NO fun. Sinister is accurate." Another time, she had seen my name signed as Ernest H. Lederman; she wondered what the H. stood for. I wrote of some other matters and then signed, "E. Howard Lederman." The response was: "No, NO, NO parting your name on the side. You'll be in the company of E. Howard Hunt and G. Gordon Liddy." And she signed it, "C. Diane Sevilla."

I'll read some excerpts from a poem by Alfonsina Storni, an Argentinian who lived from 1892 to 1938. It's called Alma Desnuda. "Alma" is "soul;" "desnuda" usually means "undressed" or "naked," but in this context it means "vulnerable."

Soy una alma desnuda en estos versos,
(I am a naked soul in these verses,)
Que va dejando sus pétalos dispersos.
(Who leaves her petals scattered.)

Alma que puede ser una amapola,
(Soul who can be a poppy,)
Que puede ser un lirio, una violeta,
(Who can be a lily, a violet,)
Un peñasco, una selva, y una ola.
(A pinnacle, a forest, and a wave.)

Alma que suele haber como delicia
(Soul who is as joy)
Y sentir en la mano una caricia.
(And whose hand feels a caress.)

Adiós, hermana.