In 1943 Roberta Louise Collier was born in Tucson to parents who liked to travel.
She was a classic beauty with dark hair, a twinkle in her eyes and a wide, nearly ever-present smile.
Because she exuded optimism, curiosity and a spirit of adventure, people were drawn to her, like human moths attracted to a warm, glowing light that illuminated the extraordinary in ordinary places. I was drawn to her in the same way.
A gifted artist who taught English and art at Shasta and Central Valley high schools, Roberta loved life and marveled at everything around her. In 1977 she took a year off from teaching so she could drive from Europe to Nepal.
She camped in her car for four months along the way and trekked almost to Mt. Everest’s base. In 1980 she took summer photography classes in Morocco and Italy. Three years later she spent four months traveling the world.
She always documented her trips through photography. Her pictures were displayed in art galleries from Redding to San Jose; Albuquerque to Washington.
I first met Roberta many years ago while writing a newspaper feature story about Travel Packing 101. I was especially interested in this topic because I’m a lousy packer who invariably leaves something crucial behind despite lugging along far more than I should.
Like a Samsonite magician, Roberta’s packing workshops shared her secrets of how to fit weeks’ worth of belongings inside one small, carry-on satchel. Zip-top bags played a prominent role, and a few lightweight knit coordinating outfits and even a scrunchable hat. No matter how lightly she traveled, Roberta always looked like a classy, fashionable continental explorer.
She demonstrated how to tightly roll clothes into cigar-shaped pants and cigar-shaped sweaters that she then stacked like miniature cord wood inside her tiny suitcase. She showed how to tuck smaller rolls of underwear, socks and even bras into vacant spaces, like shoes.
She said the point of travel was to see and do as much as possible, not be slowed down by excess stuff. Besides, less luggage freed up hands to carry other things, like cameras, or mementos, such as the miniature boxes she collected from the 50 countries she visited.
She had a point, but then, in Roberta’s quiet way, she always did.
Perhaps nobody was as familiar with Roberta’s viewpoints as her husband, Dale Wilson.
He met “Berta” in the mid-’80s in Larry Grandy’s Shasta College Community Concert Band. She played flute, he played trumpet.
Dale fell in love with Roberta’s infectious smile, positive attitude and love of adventure. He soon discovered she was a brilliant artist and photographer. Before long he also learned she enjoyed a serious travel addiction that she insisted he try, too.
They married Thanksgiving weekend in 1987 at the Hitchin’ Post in Reno. Because the couple could never remember their exact wedding date, every year after that they celebrated their anniversary on Thanksgiving Day. Roberta’s marriage to Dale gave her two stepsons, Luke and Cody Wilson. Later still she was blessed with a grandchild, Ava.
Dale and Roberta were both teachers, so that left their summers open for travel. They crisscrossed Europe, traipsed through Africa, spent time the Caribbean and the Pacific and traveled the length of both U.S. coasts. Eventually their hobby turned into a business when they bought a travel agency, a job Roberta juggled along with everything else, even after she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1989.
“To my amazement Roberta was able to teach, run the agency and still travel,” Dale said.
For more than a decade Roberta’s cancer was in remission before it returned with a vengeance. Dale said that during Roberta’s two-decade battle against cancer, she was living proof that sometimes, mind over matter does work.
In 1997 Bruce and I sought Roberta’s help to arrange an Italian honeymoon that remains one of the best times of my life. Roberta said that even when she was unable to travel, the fun part about booking trips for others was it allowed her to travel again – vicariously.
Even after the cancer returned in 2002 and invaded her bones, Roberta continued to work, teach, do her art and travel. Eventually she lost weight, lost her hair, lost energy and even lost the ability to stand and walk without the aid of a cane. But Roberta kept going. She packed as many experiences as possible into her slowly diminishing life space.
After I was fired from my newspaper job in 2007, I was shocked to see photos of Roberta among the protesters. There she was, smiling, in a wheelchair. Her nearly bald head was covered by a stylish scarf.
She looked beautiful – forever young – even then.
I saw her a few more times over the years. Each time I was amazed at the number of cancer bullets she’d dodged, and how many times she’d turned a deaf ear to Death’s increasingly loud knocks at her door.
Death finally came for Roberta four days before Christmas. She was a free-spirited, fun-loving, life-embracing 66 years old.
On Dec. 29 I joined scores of others who gathered for Roberta’s memorial service at Lawncrest Chapel in Redding, Calif. In the chilly winter air we shuffled in a long line from the parking lot to the standing-room-only chapel and into an over-flowing side room crammed with surplus chairs.
A minister read aloud Roberta’s obituary – the one she’d written. Her stepson played Amazing Grace on his saxophone. Toddler Ava moved around freely, jabbering and laughing, oblivious that her grandmother – one of the most inspirational women many of us have ever known – was gone.
A few weeks later Dale shared in an email how his wife’s cup was always half full, and how glad she was to greet each day. He described how one recent morning Roberta asked – completely out of the blue – “Isn’t this great?”
Dale said he remarked with a puzzled, “Isn’t what great?”
“Life,” Roberta said.
Shortly before Roberta died she told Dale she’d had a great life, that she’d done more than she’d expected, and she wasn’t afraid of death.
Roberta was already gone when Dale found something she’d jotted in the margins of her obituary notes:
“I always admire people who concentrate on one gift or skill and do it well. But I have had so much fun trying to do everything. Selfish? Maybe; but a full life.”
Contributions to the Susan G. Komen for the Cure or Shasta American Cancer Society can be made in Roberta Collier’s name.
Independent online journalist Doni Greenberg founded what’s now known as anewscafe.com in 2007 with her son, Joe Domke of the Czech Republic. Prior to 2007 Greenberg was an award-winning newspaper opinion columnist, feature and food writer recognized by the Associated Press, the California Newspaper Publishers Association and E.W. Scripps. She lives in Northern California in the tiny town of Igo.
