Aunts Jen, May, and Pat who filled my childhood with music. Weddings, funerals, whatever - the sisters sang.

Emily Goldthwaite who at 103 still hosted formal teas in her home, glowed with happiness when little children demonstrated chopsticks on her piano, always had the best candy at Halloween, always had the latest biographies from a mailing library, painted watercolors, and shared an afternoon glass of sherry with me every day. I miss her terribly.

Kendall Morse who for all his crankiness is a gentleman quick to make me laugh, slow to offer advice, but always ready to listen. He is the one person who understands why I choose to laugh out loud instead of cry when the rest of the world thinks laughing is inapprpriate.

Bobbie Turner, Martha Maxin, Sheila Lieberman, and Sylvia Quailer - the women who stood by me through the worst of my son's addiction, never criticized, and rarely offered advice. I am sane today because they took care of me. These are women who have shared their good and bad times with me. I am very proud to call each of them my friend.

And there are at least a hundred more - I have been very fortunate.