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I've been going through the contents of a folder I found while cleaning out my mom's apartment, discovered after the "nostalgia box" had been hauled to my storage unit in Virginia and therefore jammed unexamined into my suitcase so I could stay focused on the tasks at hand. (So many tasks.) Among the photos and miscellaneous bits of writing, was this gem that seems to me to capture so much about her: How she thought. How she questioned. How she struggled.

I thought you might appreciate it, too.

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March 16, 1977

Something happened to me today in the seminar when students began to discuss the readings on problems and methods of women's history. All the pleasure I had taken in reading Sherry Ortner's piece on male and female, culture and nature, in Natalie Davis' piece on European women's history and its potential directions, in Mill's "Subjection of Women" was…

The first time I met Sara was in New York City at her club. Agnes Scott had sent me to the city to reacquaint Sara with her alma mater. On that evening, she swept into the room with such grace, confidence and…je na sais qua that I was dumbstruck. I felt like a country bumpkin, even though I had grown up in a city, and she had once been Little Sally Ector from Marietta.

I wish I could have been the fly on the wall for that metamorphosis from little Sally to Sara, citizen of the world. She did say that at some point she knew that if she could speak a foreign language fluently, she could create a whole different – and far broader world. And in adulthood, Sara presented as at least as French as American.

I was so fortunate that following my New York visit, Sara folde…

My mom didn’t leave any instructions as to what should be done with her ashes. She didn’t need to. Yesterday afternoon, I scattered her remains on the same Norfolk hillside where her beloved Alec’s were buried.

What a loss, we are heartbroken and stunned to hear this news months later.

Joanna and I met Sara in the early 90's, when, having moved to Lakeville CT, down the road from Norfolk, she decided to return to the piano and engaged me as her teacher. She studied with me for a couple of years, working on Chopin, Bach, Mozart, some French music. She was a wonderful student, very dedicated and self-deprecating. She refused to experiment with improvisations, which I suggested would be a fun, creative thing to add to her piano toolbox. Whether she was afraid of making mistakes or didn't feel like she had permission to make something up, it was about the only facet of her multitalented life that didn't match the brilliance of everything else she turned her attention to. As we became friends with Sara and later with Alec, and saw her whip up…

I am shocked, saddened, and anxious about this news. My last couple of emails from Sara were on a down note; I never had a chance to answer them properly, but I figured she would pull out of it as she always has before.  God knows she had some bad breaks, seems unjust for the superior person that she is, and will always be in my mind.  I have known Sara (Sally back then) as a special friend from the fourth grade at West Side School in Marietta, Ga. right on through recent years. To me, and I think others in our little group of "Marietta Misfits" (You know who you are.), she was "the Girl who knows Everything", like Hermione in the Harry Potter tales.  And she retained that aura for all the years I knew her through to the present.  Several times she said things that took my…

In the 1950’s Sally Ector (aka Sara) and I were Girl Scouts. Our troop, organized and lead by Mrs. Sarah Tumlin, met every Tuesday in the basement of the Methodist Church in Marietta, Georgia. Miss Sarah (Tumlin), determined to make us strong women capable of withstanding any storm, taught us to make camp stoves from tuna fish cans, and sit- upons from oilcloth. She taught us about honor, loyalty, and the value of friendship. We were eager learners and her efforts proved to be worthwhile. Even though, as we were to recollect, none of us ever made another tuna fish can camp stove, we somehow did absorb Miss Sarah’s wisdom regarding friendship. Moreover, I always maintained that the early lessons in camp fire cooking laid the groundwork for Sally/Sara’s recognition, at the end of our senior year in high school,as the recipient of The Betty Crocker Homemaker Award.

in 1958…

I adored Sara. She was the older sister I always needed and never had until I found her nearly 28 years ago, thanks to the wonderful time I spent working at Agnes Scott. She was one of the great blessings in my life. She was beautiful, brilliant, funny as hell, loving to her core, elegant, loyal. An artist. Able to see beauty, able to call out wrong.

Dan, you and I have never met but I feel I know you so well. Your mother was so incredibly proud of you, loved you with her whole being, and delightedly told the world that you were her greatest achievement. I last spoke with Sara in April I believe. We discussed the importance of staying connected, and that email is a gift in these times, but that conversations are treasured - just hearing voices on the other end seems to cut through t…

It has been a painful process to accept the fact that Sara is gone. She was such a vital presence; in the words of Victor Hugo "une force qui va." I keep wanting to call her, to talk with her, to hear her voice. From the time we were introduced forty years ago in Paris by a mutual friend, we bonded (hey, we smoked the same brand of cigarettes), and I found her a formidable, appealing, welcoming, and unshakably loyal friend. Visits to Norfolk: meeting Alec, being chased by the sheep guard dogs, being stunned upon walking into the living room and seeing the Breughels hanging on the wall, listening to Sara playing the piano, gathering for drinks in the sun room, surveying Sara's beautiful garden. All accompanied by easy hospitality and interesting and sometimes devastatingly witty conversation. Then after the misery of Alec's death, visits with her as…