Lisa stopped to take a photo of a chair in the shape of the hand in front of the furniture store. She told me about an article on chairs she read on her flight. Now, she wants to take photos of chairs. "I must take a photo of Lisa taking a photo of the chair," said Farel, brother of Lisa. "I must take a photo of you taking a photo of Lisa taking a photo of the chair," I said. That delightful silliness was last Thursday when the virtual blogging world suddenly became real and I met blogging friend Lisa from Malaysia in person. Wowza, indeed! Lisa and I met on my other blog, Take 25 to Hollister , which is about my hometown and the place where the Husband and I currently live. The "25" refers to the two-lane state highway that leads into Hollister from the north. This bit of information will make sense a few paragraphs later. On Wednesday night, I received a Facebook message from Lisa: "I'm heading to Hollister tonight!" Huh!

Yesterday, I found an unfinished draft that I wrote about four years ago. It was about Dawn who I had not seen since the mid-1980s. About four years ago, I learned that Dawn had died, and she had been dead for 12 years. Only in her 40s, she died from pneumonia in London. Gorgeous Dawn was one of the most sophisticated, yet down to earth, individuals I have ever met. She had a style that I could only describe as the beauty of Italian art, music, film, and food.  And, she had a light that caused both men and women to turn around and smile in appreciation. Dawn was the sister of my brother's friend who fell in love with my best friend at the time, back in the early 1980s. So, I ended up hanging out with Dawn now and then. If we hadn't had this connection, I doubt that Dawn and I would have ever met, as we did not move around in any other of the same circles. She was the artist living in the North Beach of San Francisco, while I lived in the Richmond District, working thre

  "Charlie, tell me the story, again, about that day we put away the benches at Sunnyslope School." "Remember how we used to move the benches back to the side of the building after we ate lunch in fourth grade. Maybe it was fifth grade. There were only a few guys who could carry a bench all the way by themselves. I felt so good that first day I carried one by myself. Then I turned around and I saw you carrying two benches, one under each arm. I was impressed." I don't remember any of it. If there was an exaggeration on Charlie's part, it would be that I was carrying the benches rather than dragging them. Charlie Quaid and I had known each other since fourth grade. He was very cute in his blue cub scout uniform. He had the sweetest smile and, when I look back, the kindest regard for people, which perhaps he didn't know he had.  That, I think, contributed to why he was well-liked by both sexes throughout his life. Charlie was one of the smarte