She and Richard Overholser fell into long literary conversations whenever we went over to their house for dinner. I especially remember one Saturday night when I was helping Claudia clear the dishes while he and Dixie discussed existentialism, “a philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of each individual in a universe that doesn’t give a damn,” as Richard explained it to me. I had never heard of it. “So each person is solely responsible for giving his own life meaning and for living that life passionately and sincerely,” he finished up. “But what about God?” asked I, the product of all those nuns. “He doesn’t exist,” Richard proclaimed. “It’s all up to you girls.” “That’s sort of what Hemingway is saying, isn’t he?” Dixie said. “Well, yes. An even better reading choice would be Albert Camus.” “Albert who?” Dixie had her pencil out.
