Most likely, the approach of Thanksgiving was just enough to throw our turkeys a bit off balance.  We couldn’t help noticing a recent uptick in pre-Turkey Day drop-ins.  One of the “kids” even climbed up on the patio chair right outside my window and struck a pose that I read as  “I’m in command now.” Maybe I  just misunderstood his friendliness. Or possibly he wanted a heart-to-heart chat  about whether I was planning a holiday menu… Marian’s right — from the start, she told me that these fairly drab-looking non-native turkeys would stand in...

Ed told me that he hardly ever gets a call from men after they lose their wedding bands — no, it’s their wives, he said, who track him down to see if there’s any way he can turn the beach upside down to bring the lost ring back.  I stopped asking questions for a moment and then the friendly carpenter, who lets his ladder idle as often as possible to search for a needle in a “wet haystack,” asked me how many men I knew who are willing to drive to a gas station for directions after they made the wrong turn?  And, yes, he’d helped several wives surprise their spouses...

It’s such a beautiful word– in sound and in meaning.  And its essence honors my father, who died today, one year ago, as well as it honors my precious mother. Both wanted to be remembered by all the love and the helping hand they offered so often — and by what they left behind in their exquisite and meaningful art.  That was who they were.  Shaloha. The bulk of my father’s artistic legacy is settled now in New York City, his home of homes —  in such good company.   Shipments, first from Oregon, and, more recently, from Hawaii, brought his images, books, publications,...