I had not expected to be so affected by the memorial event in the local Ecology Pavilion for a local friend and neighbour, Lizzie Treip, who died of MS, aged 58.   It was not as if I knew her so well.   I used to meet her on Saturday mornings at the local farmer’s market and sometimes at social events, which she or we had arranged.   It was partly the unspeakable cruelty of the disease, both spoken and unspoken, which influenced her life profoundly, but not her love of music and literature and friends;  the fragility of her life before the disease struck and her resilience mostly in confronting it;  and partly the memory of her life beforehand, its ordinariness, the pictures of her on holiday, when she was small and her children were small.