I reckon it ain’t easy putting into words what Elisabeth meant to us, but I’ll give it a try. She had this “quiet” laugh of hers — though anyone who ever heard it knows there wasn’t a single quiet thing about it. It would roll out loud and free, filling the air and pulling the rest of us right along with it. You didn’t just hear her laugh… you felt it. We shared some mighty fine days out on the “Peggy,” chasing the sun and the breeze, with nothing but time and good company on our hands. Those were the kind of days you wish you could bottle up and keep forever. And then there were those nights… the kind best left half untold. Got into some wild and downright dangerous hot pepper-eating contests we probably had no business joining. The hidden cala in Jávea, the salt in the air, the moon watching over us as we laughed, celebrated, and took those wild midnight swims we probably shouldn’t have… but never once regretted. Elisabeth had a way of turning ordinary moments into stories you’d carry for the rest of your life. She brought joy, mischief, and a kind of light that doesn’t fade easy. I’ll miss her more than words can say, but I’ll carry her laugh with me — loud, free, and unforgettable — every step of the way. Rest easy, dear friend.

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