Of all the wonderful memories of knowing Strelsa, in Berkeley and at the Ranch, the most poignant and significant was how Strelsa saved my sanity and the lives of my unborn twins. In 1982 when I was pregnant with twins, I went into pre-term labor and was put on strict bed rest for 11 weeks. Our two older sons, Sean, age 10, and Chad, age 12, still needed daily attention — especially meals. Strelsa, in her mid-twenties, lived across town. She generously agreed to come over weekday afternoons when the boys came home from school and cook dinner. When she arrived, she would come upstairs singing, dressed in a long, colorful skirt with decorations in her hair — truly a breath of fresh air. Sometimes she brought me a small treasure — a flower, a few spring leaves. Most importantly, she brought her joyful spirit, her generous vitality, her palpable empathy, her hearty laughter, lots of hugs, and news of the world outside, from her own unique perspective. During this stressful time, not knowing if my babies would survive, her presence in the house cheered and reassured me, knowing the boys were cared for and that I didn’t need to risk getting out of bed. The healthy twins, Matt and Gavin, are now 39 years old. I still have in my recipe box, on scraps of paper, “Strelsa’s Pork Chops,” “Strelsa’s Spaghetti Sauce.” I treasure these reminders of the intimacy we shared and how Strelsa, just by being Strelsa, made such a meaningful, long-lasting impact on our lives. She is in my heart.