It is difficult not to be depressed at the recent great loss of life in our community.
U.S. Presidents. Martha’s Vineyard. There’s quite a story here.
Here is what I have learned about grief after having to cope with it for 11 years.
In 1950, six million homes in America had television sets. That included our family, living in a smoky steel town on the Ohio River.
No Fireworks, no Fair, no Illumination. No house too full with each generation.
As I work at home during the pandemic I’ve become attuned to the rhythm of the neighborhood.
Sand Clean white sand warm in summer rolling wet hot bodies fresh from swimming in the Sound Frozen white salted  crunch underfoot in winter...
Dennis daRosa, my longest-time friend in life, died last week.
Fifty years ago this summer I saw a musical milestone. No one knew this was a farewell concert.
Early Sunday morning, I like to walk Middle Road from West Tisbury.
I live on Martha’s Vineyard, 3,000 miles away from my homeland. Why?

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