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Nick remembered everybody’s name who had been to La Cocina at least twice, and we were there at least twice a month. I offered to buy this large painting at every visit, and Nick’s answer was always, “Never.” When Nick retired I tried one more time and the answer was, “I’m giving it to the artist’s granddaughter and you may make a photocopy.” The appeal to me, as it was to anybody else who took a long look was, “Man, I’ve felt exactly like that.” And just what is that feeling of going down to the creek at dusk, alone, and with a bottle of tequila? To take a swig, and another, maybe down to the bottom before returning to whatever awaits one at the end of dusk?  My grand daughter pointed at me and said  “goo goo,” and so I came to be called. My son said “Send bail,” and the young mother with cancer got the teacher of the year award. And my wife of these many years, she kneels now every day for hours before her shrine to St. Finbarr¾yet still there’s pleasure. I grieve that grief can teach me nothing.  R.W. Emerson