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Last month Mom said to me that since she would not be around she would have to remember us as we are. As if she were going on one last journey where her only baggage were all the memories she made here with us.

All of the adventures, travels, the art, the performances, the meals, the creations of yarn, thread, fabric and clay, the times she spent with friends and family in her 67 years. And so in a move distinctly uncharacteristic of Mom and against everything she would teach in her travel classes, this one time she did not pack light.

In the past week everyone has said to me how special Mom is - her ambitious exuberance for life. But this is not who she is to me. She is my Mom. The source of who I am. You made me who I am and now, I want to thank you. So thank you Mom for...

Courage that is unaware of itself in a way that only true courage can be.

Truth as quick and unforgiving as truth is, but with a smile.

Belief that doesn't know how hard it is to believe.

Optimism that is unrelenting, impenetrable, unflappable, occasionally infuriating, but most of all, highly infectious.

Knowledge of every flower and of every plant and of every 18th century impressionistic painting… and of every flower and plant IN every on of those paintings.

For love...

of travel

of the symphony and the opera and the ballet,

of color, mostly two colors in particular,

of pottery and clothes and turquoise jewelry,

of desert,

of everything of any kind of beauty in this great wide world,

and she would know.

And of course, Thank you mom, last but not least, for Your Good Looks.

And so Mom, on your journey now, as you unpack your bags, know that you made more than memories here. You made the world a better place. I love you mom, I will miss you.