Halla Kristín Guðmundsdóttir Linker Aguirre fæddist 10. maí 1930 í Hafnarfirði. Hún lést 16. ágúst 2023 í Los Angeles. Hún giftist Hal Linker sem lést árið 1979. Eftirlifandi eiginmaður hennar er Francisco Aguirre.
Halla og Hal eignuðust einn son, Davíð Þór Linker, hann á þau Matthew Stefán Linker og Alexöndru Kristínu Linker.
Útför Höllu fór fram 15. september 2023.
My grandmother was a remarkably adventurous woman. Her life's path was
anything but ordinary, as she met my grandfather at the age of 20 in a
whirlwind romance and married him withthe promise to explore the world
together a promise they fulfilled. This was especially extraordinary for
a young woman from Hafnarfjörður.
Certainly, it wasn't easy at times. Within a year of moving to another country, my dad was born. In addition to her concerns for her own safety, she had to care for my dad in tribal Pakistan, revolution-torn Cuba, and an Israel subject to strict rationing of essentials like milk. During the early years of their travels, they were on a shoestring budget, leaving little room for carrying extra supplies just in case. Instead, ingenuity replaced the luxury of backup baby provisions.
In the late 1950s, things became easier as their travel lectures transformed into a travel TV show, featuring my Amma as a central narrator. I cherished watching old episodes and inquiring about her recollections of different destinations. Even now, I occasionally revisit clips to hear her voice. The show continued in various forms for several decades, and my Amma visited well over 100 countries before my grandfather's unexpected passing in 1979.
Amma's Icelandic heritage played a central role in her life and influenced many of the traditions our family continues today. One of my earliest Christmas memories is the aroma of hangikjöt in the kitchen, an annual delicacy she skillfully managed to procure, despite the increasing challenges posed by US Customs when importing Icelandic lamb. She proudly preserved both versions of the Icelandic national costume throughout her life. Even while residing in the US, she maintained a deep connection to her homeland. In 1970, she received the Order of the Falcon for her contributions to the global recognition of Icelandic culture. She also led a fundraising campaign to aid those affected by the Eldfell eruption and served as the honorary Icelandic consul general in Los Angeles for decades.
When reflecting on my relationship with my Amma, her unwavering care for us truly shines through. Regardless of the date or time, Amma always welcomed a phone call or, even better, a visit. Shortly after I was born, she married the only grandfather I've ever known, who we call Abu. Their apartment has consistently been adorned with pictures from both my and my sister's lives, capturing moments I wasn't even aware had been preserved. Amma and Abu's home exudes an atmosphere of joy and warmth. In our younger years, it was filled with the games we played during visits, and as we've all grown older, it's become a place of cherished memories and heartfelt conversations.
Another enduring memory I have of my Amma is her considerate approach to gift-giving. During our childhood birthdays and Christmases, instead of opting for toys, she would usually present us with intriguing souvenirs from her travels, often accompanied by a note detailing where and why she acquired them. Each gift, whether it was a historical book, a piece of clothing, or even something as seemingly modest as a bookmark, held its own captivating narrative. She selected them with meticulous care, intending to spark our curiosity about the world around us.
Evidently, this approach was successful, as I've become an avid traveler. Amma adapted to texting and always expressed delight when I shared photos from my latest adventures, whether it was a visit to her childhood home in Hafnarfjordur, a snapshot from Petra's treasury in Jordan, or a vacation on a distant tropical island. On each occasion, she shared incredible stories from her own travels to those places, allowing me to glimpse her remarkable experiences and adventures throughout her long and diverse life. Amma took great pride in seeing how I followed in her footsteps. I'm proud to have called her my Amma, and as I reflect on her life, I can only aspire to live as she did.
Certainly, it wasn't easy at times. Within a year of moving to another country, my dad was born. In addition to her concerns for her own safety, she had to care for my dad in tribal Pakistan, revolution-torn Cuba, and an Israel subject to strict rationing of essentials like milk. During the early years of their travels, they were on a shoestring budget, leaving little room for carrying extra supplies just in case. Instead, ingenuity replaced the luxury of backup baby provisions.
In the late 1950s, things became easier as their travel lectures transformed into a travel TV show, featuring my Amma as a central narrator. I cherished watching old episodes and inquiring about her recollections of different destinations. Even now, I occasionally revisit clips to hear her voice. The show continued in various forms for several decades, and my Amma visited well over 100 countries before my grandfather's unexpected passing in 1979.
Amma's Icelandic heritage played a central role in her life and influenced many of the traditions our family continues today. One of my earliest Christmas memories is the aroma of hangikjöt in the kitchen, an annual delicacy she skillfully managed to procure, despite the increasing challenges posed by US Customs when importing Icelandic lamb. She proudly preserved both versions of the Icelandic national costume throughout her life. Even while residing in the US, she maintained a deep connection to her homeland. In 1970, she received the Order of the Falcon for her contributions to the global recognition of Icelandic culture. She also led a fundraising campaign to aid those affected by the Eldfell eruption and served as the honorary Icelandic consul general in Los Angeles for decades.
When reflecting on my relationship with my Amma, her unwavering care for us truly shines through. Regardless of the date or time, Amma always welcomed a phone call or, even better, a visit. Shortly after I was born, she married the only grandfather I've ever known, who we call Abu. Their apartment has consistently been adorned with pictures from both my and my sister's lives, capturing moments I wasn't even aware had been preserved. Amma and Abu's home exudes an atmosphere of joy and warmth. In our younger years, it was filled with the games we played during visits, and as we've all grown older, it's become a place of cherished memories and heartfelt conversations.
Another enduring memory I have of my Amma is her considerate approach to gift-giving. During our childhood birthdays and Christmases, instead of opting for toys, she would usually present us with intriguing souvenirs from her travels, often accompanied by a note detailing where and why she acquired them. Each gift, whether it was a historical book, a piece of clothing, or even something as seemingly modest as a bookmark, held its own captivating narrative. She selected them with meticulous care, intending to spark our curiosity about the world around us.
Evidently, this approach was successful, as I've become an avid traveler. Amma adapted to texting and always expressed delight when I shared photos from my latest adventures, whether it was a visit to her childhood home in Hafnarfjordur, a snapshot from Petra's treasury in Jordan, or a vacation on a distant tropical island. On each occasion, she shared incredible stories from her own travels to those places, allowing me to glimpse her remarkable experiences and adventures throughout her long and diverse life. Amma took great pride in seeing how I followed in her footsteps. I'm proud to have called her my Amma, and as I reflect on her life, I can only aspire to live as she did.
Matthew Stefán Linker.
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