91/366: Anita

Forthright, outspoken, funny, Anita recently told me she didn’t think she “had any Fragomeni in her.” I was astonished. It’s not so much her energy, her enthusiasm, her determination, her accomplishments in life. It’s the way she takes care of those around her. She’s more like Nana than most of us.

90/366: Betsy

She loved "Sex in the City," hated Love in the Time of Cholera. As the years pass, I feel more of the things we don't have in common, fewer of the ones we do. Yet we can't help but love each other; we're bound close, for reasons I will never understand.

89/366: Joy Mappes

She and her husband both taught in the Philosophy Department. In that cold mountain town, she always wore pants and turtlenecks. She was tall, with short blond hair and an intensity that bordered on fierceness. In the mid-70s, her Women’s Studies course was breaking new ground. I was amazed by her.

88/366: Paul LaChance

Teaching the Romantic poets, Yeats, Joyce, the modern British novel, he showed us how together they formed an arc that spanned centuries, epitomizing Blake’s “Jerusalem.” From then to now, I still see the spiral of innocence to experience. As a person, he was spacey and self-centered. I adored him, of course.

87/366: Tim (2)

Handsome, with an easy laugh; an amazing artist; passionate about fly fishing, strong coffee, the northern woods. Plays the recorder; gives great hugs; once took second place in a trout stamp competition. But it is his evident love for his wife, also a dear friend, that makes me smile the most.

86/366: Sally

We laughed at the same jokes, shared coffee in the morning, traded nightgowns. We both liked Grape-Nuts, new stationery, old teacups. She was drily funny, a great dancer. And she was in love with my husband. I just didn’t know it. They’re still married, with two kids. Life goes on.

85/366: Michael

We did the hard, honest work of a real marriage. In those years I was nearly drowning in depression. When I found a way to cut loose the weight, to swim free, things got worse. Then there came a day when he told me he was in love with someone else.

84/366: Diane

She has this prickly exterior, but I have seen her compassionate heart. She held me when I was falling apart after my husband left me. She reminded me of what I’d learned growing up, how it had taught me how to cope with the present: “Disasters were the way you lived.”

83/366: Andy (2)

I thought he was everything I wanted: smart, funny, sweet, sexy, unafraid to talk about anything. We spent many hours confiding in each other. Unfortunately, it was about how unhappy our marriages were. Somehow he worked it out; he’s where he belongs, now. And though I’m now alone, so am I.

82/366: Judy

As a child I was intimidated by my older cousin’s razor wit and sardonic humor. It wasn’t until she died that I found out about her kindness. But I remember, at my dad’s funeral, how I had nothing to wear. She took me shopping, spent hundreds of dollars, over my protests.

81/366: Becky (2)

Fun, infuriating, a master of diplomacy, a self-centered clod. In everything, my boss knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Once she dreamed that she’d been given a baby to care for. She was terrified until she remembered that I was there, and everything would be all right.

80/366: Cathy

Growing up, living on opposite coasts, we wrote letters constantly, reams of pages. My cousin was as blonde as I was dark; they called us “chocolate and vanilla.” When my dad died, she just happened to be in town with her husband and kids, their first trip East in 20-odd years.

79/366: Becky

My cousin Becky was my designated guardian one summer when my parents were traveling. She took me to my first R-rated movie: “The Godfather.” She gave me a book on astrology that ignited a lifelong interest. We got stoned in the evenings with my friends. It was the best summer ever.

78/366: Aunt Marian

Dick’s wife was a stunning beauty in her youth. When I was sixteen, she took me aside and said she knew what was happening in my house. “If you need to get out,” she said, “don’t just run off. You call me collect, anytime, and I’ll send you a plane ticket.”

77/366: Uncle Dick

A hot summer night in downtown Tucson. Music playing everywhere; storefronts open to catch any breeze. “Follow me,” he said. Winding through throngs, he led me into a punk bar where the sound would make your ears bleed. He turned to me with a wide grin and said, “Isn’t this GREAT??!!”

76/366: Chuck

My dad’s brother’s son has that dry, Midwestern wit, baby-blue eyes, and an eternally boyish face. He might seem aloof, but if he cares about you, he will rally to you in any time of need. I had a crush on him when we were little; I think I still do.

75/366: Dr. Adams

Fifty-something, with shoulder-length, white hair, he sat down facing us and said eagerly, “Let’s talk about sex.” What followed was a glorious exploration of John Donne’s erotic sonnets. His love of literature, of language, of life and human nature, he imparted with a passion that is now ingrained for a lifetime.

74/366: Annamarie

Dancing. Dogs. Politics. Literature. Music. Long discussions on her front porch on warm June evenings, lit only by fireflies (and the occasional illicit cigarette). She and her sweetheart became part of the Vermont diaspora after the ’04 election. She says she misses the fireflies, but she’s a New Englander at heart.

73/366: Margot

Before I ever met her, I worshipped her from afar on the dance floor. Up close, she is every bit as beautiful and magical as she seemed. We joke that, when we’re forgetful, we keep the other half of each other’s brain. But she keeps a part of my heart, too.

72/366: Charmaine

Vince was the first of Nana’s children to marry. Nana was not happy that he didn’t pick an Italian girl, but Charmaine won her over. How could she not, with that sparkling-eyed laughter? My dear Aunt Charmaine: I loved her like my own mother. Another breast cancer victim. I miss her.