She drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra

Carrie Fisher to me was far more than Princess Leia. Never forgetting that Leia was a strong female role model who took no sh!t from anyone, I fell in love with her words in my late teens and have never fallen out of them.

I started with Postcards From the Edge, after watching an interview with Meryl Streep on Oprah publicising the film, rapidly worked through Delusions of Grandma, Surrender the Pink and when it was released, The Best Awful. Wishful Drinking was added, and I took Hubs to see Carrie Fisher in it when she brought it to Melbourne (pre-Peanut).

I still use one-liners from her now. I retain water on behalf of people, although not Whitney Houston as originally written in the book. I actually do have car-parking-karma. I don’t answer my phone while I’m driving until the third or fourth ring, in case I’m doing something more important.

Douglas Adams, yes him, was the top quote on one book “I kept ringing people up to read them bits of this book” I’m paraphrasing, as I can’t find the quote now, but that is high praise indeed.

Carrie Fisher’s words, her life, as she mined it so gloriously, resonated so strongly with me through my late teens and early twenties, she’s truly part of the fabric of my being. When Hubs told me today that she had passed away, my heart broke. For Debbie, for Todd, but most of all for Billie, her extraordinary daughter with Bryan Lourd, of whom she was so proud.

We get so proprietorial over celebrities, we feel like they ‘belong’ to us. [There’s another blog about this rumbling around]. This sweet, generous, sassy, firecracker of a woman has been public property since birth. Like many around the world, I’m devastated she’s gone, but no one should bury a child, no matter how old they are.

Debbie Reynolds with daughter Carrie Fisher and granddaughter Billie Lourd in Beverly Hills

photo credit
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