A new loss that brings with it such delicious memories — Maestro James DePreist,  Jimmy to every Oregonian, is now forever still. A long time ago, Jimmy  gave me a little ceramic pot with a picture of an ice fisherman at work.  “This is what you do for me,” he explained in the kindest way.   But there wasn’t any ice when I was pitching national media about a great conductor who let nothing dwarf his ascension.  Nobody ever sent me more effusive thank you notes for doing what was so very possible.  I remember the carrot soup that he made for lovely Ginette and me and the...

My mother-in-law died late last night in her sleep, and I have little doubt that she’s now back in my father-in-law’s arms — resting, laughing, home, at last. Far too many condolences to count in 2012: when I lost my mother and my father and now Betty, who just amazed me as she quietly inked in crossword puzzles and recognized every single song they played at Regency name-that-tune events. With sadness felt, she’s made it a trio, just months before turning 90. But wait just a minute,  also on this same dark day, in flew a delicately addressed envelope from Paris — a...

Chocolate Pudding: Memories for Father’s Day I wrote this back when my father turned 75. It could use a little editing — but sometimes you can’t find the time to prune the joys of life.  

www.phsc.ca/gilbert.html How many daughters can say that about their fathers, I wonder. Mine is now at rest, after a distinguished career and many hearty decades as a terrific father. His rich life ended on November 1, when he sped off to catch up with my most favorite artist, my mother. The photos he left us behind celebrate the great love he and my mother shared.

And what about Leonard Woolf?  Did he ever have a room he called his own?  Like my father now has…  After out-surviving the woman of his dreams, he’s quite at home in his very own two and a half  room apartment. Bill made it all come together so smartly — negotiating the purchase of some left-over furniture and then turning the place into a salon for my father’s large, striking photos — with a roomy old couch where residents and caregivers join the fun, while my father parks himself in his comfy easy chair by the phone, across from a red desk that everyone should...