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 ...