Goodbye Aunt Liz. Thanks for the many wonderful memories. You have always been there for as long as I can remember and seemed like you always would be. From earliest family visits to your house on Dosch Road in Portland to the week in Honolulu staying at your "wee puka" as a couple of very green still-teenage friends embarked on a grand world tour to all those Hornby years, you never once failed to impress the hell out of me. If ever a move meant to happen, it was yours to Hornby and I am glad you made it to the finish line without having to leave your cherished home for some care facility. It would be easy to get carried away with the charms of Hornby and especially your home at Whaling Station Bay. The magnificent setting at what could seem like the edge of the known world. The never-ending cast of characters that came through your doors. The fun, the adventures. Walks in the park. The great coho fishing. But you were the star attraction. And you did it by making everyone else feel like one. I hope we didn't take advantage of your generosity. Seems like you were always there for a disproportionate number of visitors and I wonder if it ever got to be overbearing for you. If it was you didn't let it show. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say that we depended on your wisdom and insight into the human condition to navigate many a storm at sea. You had that rare ability to get us to open up in ways we wouldn't dream of otherwise. And you weren't shy about getting out the sundowner to ease the process. In the brains department, you were sure no slouch and if a new renaissance was ever to emerge, odds were good it was going to get kick-started at your place. You had the knack for complementing that oddball mix of Hornby synergies while maintaining your independence and intellectual rigour. No doubt Hornby will never be the same again. I know I won't. Liz, you nailed down those qualities in life that really matter. Above all you were kind and to all of us who were touched by your kindness, you have left a lasting legacy. Wherever you are now, save a space for us at your kitchen table. Vaya con Dios your nephew Fred