Her name was LaMar Harrrington.
And she gave me this pin.
She died on Wednesday.
She was 87 years old.
At 34, she started volunteering for art fairs.
At 40, she received her BA in art history from the University of Washington, going on to be curator of not one, but two, local art museums.

   The arts were her life, as everyone will remember–even though they only factored into 54% of it. We met her a few years ago, when she was trying to shed some of her modern furniture. We paid too much for her Mies van der Rohe coffee table. But we didn’t care. She was packing to move out of the city, and her life lay exposed in piles and boxes. Stepping over and around bits and pieces of memories, we both wished she could be our Aunt LaMar. If only we would have met her a few years earlier, before she moved away.
   She was a woman of curiosity, with a passion and eye for innovation. She could have laughed encouraingly at my awful watercolors. We would have known the names of all the people in her stories. But she died on Wednesday.
   Her name was LaMar Harrington.