RIP, Mrs. Stegner

I have frequently rhapsodized about one of my favorite authors, Wallace Stegner. He died in a car accident 16 years ago, and today in the paper I read that his wife had passed away a few days ago. Here is what he said about her:

"She has had no role in my life except to keep me sane, fed, housed, amused, and protected from unwanted telephone calls...also to restrain me from making a horse's ass of myself in public, to force me to attend to books and ideas from which she know I will learn something; also to mend my wound when I am misused by the world, to implant ideas in my head and stir the soil around them, to keep me from falling into a comfortable torpor, to agitate my sleeping hours with problems that I would not otherwise attend to; also to remind me constantly (not by precept but by example) how fortunate I have been to live for fifty-three years with a woman that bright, alert, charming, and supportive."

I'd wager that a glorious reunion was had a few days ago.