I've been thinking a lot today about pagan babies.

I'm not talking about wiccan offspring - I'm talking about those poor unfortunate non-Christian children for whom generations of young Catholics were asked to save their pennies.

I've also been thinking a lot about the New Jersey Turnpike - in particular those exits in Newark.

I've been thinking about veggie wraps, slave quarters, living in tents, Terry Pratchett novels, historic houses and a candle that I haven't yet burned that smells of cinammon and has fireflies on the side.

It's because I'm thinking about Debbie.

She died on Sunday. I found out today.

I'm really not able to write much right now - only to say that she was such a wonderful person. So warm, so funny, so gentle. My office mate. My partner in crime at the Crisis Museum of Art and its Hysterical Houses.

Sleep well, sweet Debbie.