Teri and I tonight lifted a glass of Prosecco in memory of our so dear and so-greatly-lamented friend Brett Foster — who loved all things Italian, and Prosecco not least among them. There he is above, holding a glass of it at our house in Wheaton in April 2011: we hosted a party in celebration of the publication of his first book of poems, and made sure that we had a few cases of that underrated bubbly to keep the evening festive. Festive it was, and memorable. May we all lift our glasses someday in another and far better place.