If you knew our mother for five minutes, she would invite you to lunch. She would insist on paying, too. She never let money (or the lack thereof) get in the way of a good time.

She gave all three of her daughters her sense of humor. Nothing was off limits or too dark or too soon. We (mostly) laughed with her.

Our mom was not afraid to pick up the phone. If she liked you, you would get regular calls. If she didn’t like you much, the calls would be slightly less regular.

She said YES to your invites. She went to your parties, your graduations, your dinners, your baby showers, your luncheons, your art shows. She could forgive almost anything except being ignored.

Our mom wanted to have a good time, and she wanted you to have a good time, too. Go paint the town red. Put on a little lipstick. Let your hair down. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. These are all things she said.

She was especially beautiful in her youth, with green eyes and lots of thick wavy hair. She liked to talk about how great her legs were at 21, walking up and down San Francisco’s hills in her bank teller’s heels. Before she met and married our dad, she had lots of suitors and was engaged multiple times. She broke these engagements off, claiming to be fickle.

Despite this alleged fickleness, she was married to our dad for 22 years. She also raised four children, lived in the same house for 30 years, and had friendships spanning decades. She lost a brother, a son, and a husband way too young, but she never succumbed to depression and never stopped being curious about art, people, politics, and the world.

Our mom never passed a dog she didn’t comment on. She was good with babies. She would invite you to sit with her if you were new to a class or looked out of place or uncertain. Young people gravitated toward her, and she had friends of all ages.

All four of her grandchildren adored her. They all have their own cache of “Nonnie-isms.” things said that were especially funny or weird or otherwise irreverent. She liked to take her grandkids out for meals and always insisted they order dessert. Sometimes, her grandchildren talk about writing a book about their Nonnie – she has been one of the most vivid characters in their lives.

And she adored all four of her grandchildren. They were all brilliant. All beautiful. All out to conquer the world and do things she could only ever dream of doing.

“I’ll be your manager,” she repeatedly told her oldest grandson when he showed an unusual talent for music. Whatever the grandchildren’s changing interests were, she catered to it - gifting them art supplies, days at the museum, musical instruments, books, and trips to exotic places. And she gave freely, without expectations or strings attached.

Our mom took a dislike to people she found uptight or humorless or otherwise did not laugh at her jokes. If you had a problem with someone – your boss, your landlord, your utility company – she offered to tell them off for you.

She wanted you and everyone else to think she was a natural redhead.

Our mom could be difficult, imperious, stubborn, and challenging. Sometimes, she made us absolutely crazy. She was also the most generous woman you could ever meet.

She loved her two dogs, Daisy and Cho-Cho. She spoiled them rotten, took them to the vet for every sniffle, and never disciplined them. They circle the house now, a little lost, like the party left town.

Our mom charmed people because she wasn’t afraid. She would ask the African-American woman in the store if she could take a picture of her long braids. She would give the homeless person money or a coat or food. She talked to her neighbors, gave to causes, and asked people for help. She reached beyond herself.

Our mom was also not afraid to delegate. “Make yourself useful” was a favorite phrase, usually directed at whichever son-in-law happened to be relaxing in her line of sight. There was always a painting to hang, an unwieldy piece of furniture to move, a glass of water that was just slightly out of reach. She was able-bodied, but you were always just a little bit closer.

Jesus Christ on a crutch. Shut your piehole. Who doesn’t like a party? What else is new with me? Go play in traffic. These are all things she said.

Our mom was a talented artist, a true original. She painted mostly female figures and animals. Some of her artwork was political; she called it edgy. She never cleaned her brushes, and she let paint dribble everywhere. She liked her own work but she also just loved art in general. Our mom’s art is colorful, bold, and bursting with her unique sense of humor.

She grew up in a home with a large extended Irish family. There were many colorful characters – carousers and storytellers and larger-than-life types. Our mother was the last of this wild bunch. She was never a carouser, but she could tell a good story and had an ear for the telling detail. “I once had a midget living under my stairs,” she would begin. “His name was Chip, and he slept in the broom closet…”

Our mom believed men were put on this earth to carry things, fix things, and otherwise make themselves useful. When not encouraging the women in her life to follow their dreams, she was encouraging them to rest up, treat themselves, and take it easy.

Her communication style was less than conventional. “Little brat,” our mom would say when her grandchildren teased her or otherwise challenged her. “You’re the little brat!” the grandchild would invariably say back. And then round and round they would go – poking and teasing, upping the ante – until one or the other (usually the grandchild) finally gave up.

She shopped. Oh lord, how she shopped. She had too many teddy bears. Too many broken typewriters. Too many ceramic bowls. Too many flying pigs.

At 81, she had more friends than she knew what to do with.

Our mom cared about not hurting your feelings. She was worried when you were sick.

When she died, she had stacks and stacks of handpicked greeting cards waiting to send to all of you. She would have sent them, too. She never forgot a birthday or a special occasion. She never forgot any of you.

She just ran out of time.