Many years ago, my best friend Howard and I rented an apartment in Martha's Vineyard.  When we got there and entered the place, it was empty of all furniture.  Apparently there was a murder involved and we might have been homeless for the week.  The realtor offered us a lovely home on the bay as compensation for our inconvenience.  I sat on the porch of this beautiful house and listened to my favorite song over and over:  Van Morrison and the Chieftains singing, "Oh, Shenandoah.   Howard died twenty-five years ago.  Every time I hear this song, tears form in my eyes.  There is something about it ...