Bri A. Knorr

In Memory of Bri A. Knorr

A Life to Celebrate!

September 17, 1922 - April 6, 2020

Where to begin? Bri had such a remarkable and long life. She was born in Los Angeles, CA and died in New York City at the age of 97-1/2, having lived and traveled throughout the world. If you are reading this, you may be family, or a friend in one of the many places she resided - LA, DC, Cambridge (MA & England), Minneapolis, Copenhagen, Kyoto, Strasbourg, Santa Fe and NYC! Remembering Bri, there are many aspects of her extraordinary life which stand out…

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Star Tribune Obituary

With Newborn Daughter, Minneapolis - 1954

Bri's Father Visiting with Grandchildren, Minneapolis

Baiting a Hook with Her Father and Son - 1955

Family Gathering (Husband's Side) - Burbank, CA - 1961

Volunteering at the Children's Museum, Santa Fe - 1999

Bri Volunteering with the Snake at the Children's Museum, Santa Fe - 1999

With her Grandchildren, Old SF Railroad Car - 2001

Bri at Natural History Museum with Grandchildren

Buying Pumpkins with Son-in-Law & Granddaughter

Princeton U. Sculpture Pose with Grandchildren

Visiting Barnes Museum - 90th Birthday, Philadelphia

Enjoying Ginger Cookies - Christmas 2016

Bri's 95th at the MET with Niece & Daughter - 2017

At the MET with Son-in-Law, Daughter & Niece

Blessing of the Animals, St. John the Divine, NYC - 2018

Watching Peacock - St. John the Divine, NYC - 2018

Favorite Poetry, Sweets, Art and Music

The Ponds

Every year the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe

their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them —

the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch

only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?

I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided —
and that one wears an orange blight —
and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away —
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

— Mary Oliver

Where The Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

— Shel Silverstein

Art By Bri’s Son - Matthew D. Hintz

Bri cared deeply for nature and wildlife. Contributions in Bri’s name can be made to the Randall Davey Audubon Center or the World Wildlife Fund.

Memorial Information

A celebration of Bri’s life will be scheduled when possible and we will reach out with further information. In the meantime we would love to hear your stories and memories of Bri.

Please do not hesitate to get in touch.

Bri with Daughter & Son - Santa Fe - Bottom Right.jpg