As we say goodbye to 2025, I’m looking forward to all the brightness the next year will bring. This sunset photo felt like the perfect way to capture that feeling — a reminder of calm, hope, and the beauty of endings that lead into new beginnings.

Some of you have already celebrated — friends and family in the Philippines, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, and across the pond — while those of us here in the USA are still counting down. No matter where you are, I’m grateful we get to step into another year connected by love, memories, and the promise of fresh starts.

May this year bring you joy that surprises you, strength that carries you, and moments that fill your days with connection, kindness, and a sense of belonging.

Here’s to new beginnings, warm reunions, and all the beautiful things waiting for us in the months ahead.

Cheers to 2026 — may it be bright, generous, and full of light for everyone. ✨

A little Christmas gratitude for our grandson, Quinten
Thank you for the Warriors game tickets — our second Christmas spent cheering from the stands, and what a fun tradition it’s becoming. The Warriors beat the Mavericks 126–116, and the whole day was such a joyful way to celebrate. I like to think of these outings as “take your grandparents to work days,” and you always make them feel special. What a gift it is to share moments like these with you.

After the game, the six of us — Quinten and his new bride Maddie, his mom Anna, Sarah, Papa, and me, managed to get ourselves into a restaurant where it seemed like everyone had a reservation except us. Somehow, we slipped right in. The meal was wonderful, cozy and comforting, made even better by watching the torrential rain pour down outside while we stayed warm and dry inside.

Our December 27 gathering-proof that Christmas joy doesn’t need a date to shine

Before the night was over, we even managed a FaceTime call with family in Singapore — a sweet way to end the day, bridging the miles with laughter and familiar faces. It was the perfect final touch to a Christmas spent in motion, in good company, and wrapped in gratitude.

There’s something about Christmas that softens the edges of the year. Not in a grand, cinematic way—more like the quiet glow of a porch light when you pull into the driveway after a long day. It’s subtle, familiar, and comforting.

This season isn’t really about perfection. It’s not about the tree that leans a little to the left, or the cookies that mysteriously vanish before guests arrive, or the wrapping paper that never quite fits the box. It’s about the small pauses we allow ourselves—the ones we forget to take the rest of the year.

It’s the warmth of a favorite blanket.
The sound of someone laughing in the kitchen.
The way the house feels a little fuller, even if nothing has changed.

Christmas has a way of reminding us that the simplest things are often the most meaningful. A shared meal. A handwritten card. A phone call that lasts longer than expected. These tiny gestures become the threads that stitch the year together.

And here’s the quiet truth: even if you can’t celebrate on the exact day, the spirit of it doesn’t vanish. Joy isn’t tied to a date on the calendar. Connection doesn’t expire at midnight. Any day you choose to slow down, to gather, to appreciate the people who make your world brighter—that day becomes a celebration in its own right.

So whether you celebrate on the day, before it, after it, or whenever life allows—here’s to finding joy in the in‑between. Here’s to warmth, good company, and the kind of moments that make your heart feel just a little softer.

Merry Whenever Christmas,

Jay & Dolores

This season always reminds us how much richer life feels when shared with those we love. As we gather around the table, we’re grateful not only for the food and traditions, but for the laughter, stories, and kindness that knit together the bonds of family and friendship.

From the quiet moments of reflection to the joyful reunions that brighten our days, we carry deep gratitude for each person who has touched our journey. The love of family and the gift of friendship continue to shape our lives with warmth and meaning, reminding us that the true feast of Thanksgiving is found in connection.

May your holiday be filled with peace, love, and the simple joys that linger long after the day ends. With hearts full of thanks, we send blessings for today and hope for the days ahead.

Happy Thanksgiving from our table to yours!

It started with Andy wanting to take her new car for a drive. Not just a spin around the block, but a real journey — one with snacks, stories, and a border crossing. Once the itinerary took shape, it stretched into an 18-day adventure, woven together with friendship, roadside quirks, and the kind of meals that linger in memory.

Andy picked us up at home, her car gleaming with anticipation. We packed it full — snacks in every nook, pillows fluffed just so, and a few “just in case” goodies tucked into easy-to-reach bags. I slipped on my Reliefband, the trusty little device that keeps motion sickness at bay. Jay settled into the backseat like a quiet compass, ready for whatever the road would offer.

The first ten days unfolded like a reunion tour — each stop a visit with dear friends who’ve shaped our lives in quiet, meaningful ways. Before the landscapes changed and the border beckoned, we were wrapped in the comfort of familiar faces and shared stories.

Ashland, Oregon — Mark and Cindy

Our friendship with Mark and Cindy stretches back more than 40 years, to the days when we all worked together at Kaiser Hospital. What began as professional camaraderie has long since deepened into something much more personal — the kind of friendship that weaves itself into the fabric of your life and becomes family.

Their home in Ashland has become a place of rest and belonging, where laughter flows as easily as conversation. The moment we arrived, it felt as though time folded in on itself — the decades between our first meeting and now collapsing into the comfort of shared memory.
Cindy’s casseroles were more than food; they were memory-laced offerings that tasted like love. And one afternoon, she made grilled cheese sandwiches layered with the best homegrown tomatoes ever — simple, yet unforgettable, the kind of meal that lingers in your memory because it’s seasoned with care and friendship.

Around their table, we played Zilch, teased each other like siblings, and slipped easily into the rhythm of their world. The games, the laughter, and the gentle ribbing reminded us that joy doesn’t need grand gestures — it lives in the everyday moments of being together.

Cindy also asked me to make a sticky rice dessert, and I was delighted to find all the ingredients at the local grocery store. Preparing it for her felt like a small gift in return for all the warmth she and Mark have given us over the years — a sweet way to add my own flavor to our shared table.

Ashland gave us rest, yes, but more than that, it gave us momentum. It reminded us that friendship is not static; it grows, adapts, and continues to surprise us with new chapters. Before leaving, we promised to return next year for another visit, and this time to see Come From Away together at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. It felt like the perfect choice: a story of unexpected connection, just like ours — a reminder that sometimes the most enduring bonds are born in places you least expect, and carried forward by love, laughter, and trust.

Eugene, Oregon — Dr. Phil Polido and Family

Our next stop took us to Eugene, where we reconnected with Dr. Phil Polido, once my breast surgeon, now a cherished friend. His steadiness during one of the most vulnerable chapters of my life became a quiet anchor, and seeing him now, outside the clinical setting, felt like turning a page and finding a familiar voice in a new chapter.

We visited his hillside home among towering evergreens, peaceful and unmistakably Oregon. I finally met his wife Linda and son Josh, whose names I’d heard for years but hadn’t yet matched with faces. Phil was proud of everything — his home, his family, the life he’s built beyond medicine.

Their newly adopted dog, Lucy, had arrived just days before but already followed Linda with devotion, while the cats perched like sentinels, making sure she didn’t forget who really ran the place. Out by the barn, horses and a donkey grazed along the hillside, their quiet presence adding a pastoral rhythm to the day.

Phil picked up lunch, and we gathered around the table, sharing stories and laughing until our cheeks ached, the kind of laughter that bubbles up from joy and settles into memory. Though brief, the visit was deeply meaningful. It reminded me that the most powerful connections don’t need long hours or grand gestures, just a shared table, a few good laughs, and the feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Portland, Oregon — Bridges, Books, and a Table of Plenty

From Eugene, the road carried us north to Portland, where the city’s energy contrasted with the quiet of Phil’s hillside home. For two days we leaned into the joy of being tourists, letting the city surprise us at every turn.

We crossed Portland’s iconic bridges, each one a gateway to another view of the city’s character. A city tour gave us the lay of the land — murals splashed across brick walls, coffee shops tucked into corners, and the hum of a place that thrives on creativity. Powell’s City of Books was a highlight, a cathedral of stories where time slipped away.

Evenings brought their own delights. One dinner in particular stands out — a restaurant where every choice on the menu felt wonderful. We lingered over dishes that were both comforting and inventive, savoring flavors as much as the conversation. Portland gave us bridges to cross, stories to discover, and a table to gather around

Vancouver, Washington — Monette, Sean, Opel, and Ester

Crossing into Washington brought us to Vancouver, where friendships forged abroad found new roots. Monette and Sean had recently moved from Alaska, and their transition south seemed to open a door not just for themselves, but for those closest to them.

Opel, Monette’s best friend, followed soon after, weaving her own story into Vancouver’s fabric. And Ester, Monette’s mom, flew out from Alaska to join us, bringing with her the warmth of family and the continuity of generations.

Sean and Monette had crafted an itinerary better than any Trafalgar trip could have done — thoughtful, seamless, and full of personal touches. Their planning took us to places that revealed the beauty of the region: the misty charm of Bridal Veil Creek, sweeping views of Mt. Hood, and the serenity of gardens like the Japanese Garden and Leach Botanical Garden. We visited The Grotto, wandered through waterfront parks, and capped it all with a visit to the best farmers market ever — stalls overflowing with fresh produce, handmade goods, and the hum of community.

We first met in Portugal in 2022, strangers brought together by a Trafalgar itinerary that quickly became something more. Last year, we traveled together through Italy, deepening the bond with shared meals, laughter, and discoveries that stitched our stories together across borders. Now, in Vancouver, it was the first time we gathered together in the United States — a milestone that made the reunion feel even more special. What began on Trafalgar trips abroad had now found a new chapter here at home.

Gathering together in Vancouver felt like a reunion of threads pulled from different corners of the map, now tied neatly in one place. The laughter was easy, the stories layered with both old memories and new beginnings. Vancouver wasn’t just another stop on our itinerary; it was a reminder that friendship and family can migrate, adapt, and flourish wherever they land. And as we parted, we carried with us not only the joy of this visit but the anticipation of what lies ahead — looking forward to our future meetings and travels, wherever the road may lead us next.

Vancouver, BC and Seattle, WA — The Journey’s Crescendo

From there, the road carried us north to Vancouver, British Columbia. Crossing the border felt like stepping into another chapter — the city’s skyline rising against the water, its neighborhoods alive with culture and charm. We wandered through bustling streets, admired the harbor views, and let the city’s international flavor remind us how travel expands not just horizons, but friendships.

Our final stop before heading home was Seattle, Washington, where the city’s iconic skyline — the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, and the hum of its neighborhoods — offered a fitting crescendo to our journey.

One of the most memorable experiences was visiting the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit, where Dale Chihuly’s breathtaking glass sculptures shimmered with color and light. Walking among the installations felt like stepping into a dream scape — delicate forms suspended in air, vibrant blooms of glass echoing the natural world, and reflections that seemed to multiply the wonder.

We also wandered through Pike Place Market, where the air was alive with the scent of fresh flowers, the calls of fishmongers tossing salmon, and the hum of artisans selling their crafts. It was a feast for the senses, a reminder of how markets can embody the spirit of a city.

Another highlight was the Seattle Underground Tour, which revealed the hidden layers beneath the city’s streets. Exploring the old passageways and hearing stories of Seattle’s early days gave us a sense of the city’s resilience and quirky history — a reminder that every place has chapters tucked just out of sight, waiting to be rediscovered.

Seattle gave us art, flavor, and history — a city that felt like both a destination and a farewell. It reminded us that every ending is simply the start of another story waiting to be told.

After 18 days, the road brought us back home, our hearts full, our memories layered with friendship, laughter, and discovery. More than the miles traveled, it was the connections renewed and the new chapters opened that defined this journey.

On the drive back, we passed snow‑capped Mt. Shasta, its peak gleaming against the sky like a quiet guardian of the road. The sight was breathtaking, a reminder of nature’s grandeur and the way journeys are punctuated not only by the people we meet but by the landscapes that frame them. Watching Shasta rise in snowy stillness felt like a benediction — a final gift from the road before home welcomed us back.

Some days feel like magic before they even begin — and Maddie and Quinten’s wedding was one of them. Everything unfolded just as planned, with grace, joy, and a kind of quiet perfection that lingered in the air.

The bride and groom were stunning, their love radiating through every glance and gesture. My daughter Rica officiated the ceremony with such warmth and eloquence — her words were tender, true, and beautifully timed. Watching her guide Maddie and Quinten into this new chapter was a moment I’ll treasure forever.

Maddie’s mom, Candace, worked tirelessly to make the venue perfect — from the napkins on the tables to every tiny detail. Her care and creativity were everywhere, quietly shaping the day into something unforgettable. And Quinten’s mom, Anna — my daughter — shared a heartfelt reflection that moved us all. It wasn’t a formal address, but something more personal: a moment of grace, full of love and quiet power.

The wedding party was made up of childhood and school friends — a circle of love that had grown over years and now stood beside Maddie and Quinten as they stepped into something new. Their laughter, their stories, their shared history added a layer of joy that only time can bring.

And just behind them, I caught a glimpse of Keira — Quinten’s younger sister — with tears in her eyes as Anna spoke. She adores her big brother, and in that moment, you could see how much his journey meant to her too. It was a quiet reminder that love runs deep in every direction.

The setting was picture-perfect, the food delicious, and the celebration full of life. Guests danced, toasted, and reveled in the kind of happiness that wraps around you and stays long after the music fades.

And for me, it was also a moment of quiet reckoning — the joy of seeing my grandson begin a new life, hand in hand with the woman he loves, and the tender sadness of realizing that the little boy I once held has grown into a remarkable young man. I felt proud, grateful, and just a little heartbroken in the best possible way.

Love was everywhere, and so was time, the kind that quietly transforms a grandson into a man, and a moment into a memory.

A Quiet Reunion

Our flight landed at 5:50 AM, and after picking up a rental car, we drove straight to Lolly’s house—my sister-in-law—for the first time since Bart passed. Her home was just as we remembered: familiar, warm, and gently worn with love. But the silence was different now. Without Bart bantering with Jay, trading stories and teasing remarks, the rooms felt quieter, as if holding their breath.

I’d brought a piece of bread pudding with me, and the three of us sat at her kitchen table, passing the plate between us, sipping coffee in the soft hush of morning. It was a tender reunion, stitched together with memory, presence, and the quiet ache of what’s no longer said aloud.

Home at The Yellow Rose

Arriving at The Yellow Rose of Talbot felt less like checking into an inn and more like returning to our second home. Tammy and Ken greeted us with the kind of warmth that doesn’t need words—just a smile, a hug, and the quiet knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

I couldn’t wait for the next morning—or the next few mornings—to savor Tammy’s breakfasts, which are always made with love and a dash of something extra.  From my favorite breakfast salad to the warm scones, each plate carries that quiet magic only she can conjure. The inn itself felt like a gentle exhale, a place where stories could stretch out and settle.

Lights, Laughter, and a Little Broadway

New York was a whirlwind of delight. We saw two shows that left us buzzing with emotion and admiration, one full of razzle-dazzle, the other tender and true. We attended a TV taping, where the behind-the-scenes magic unfolded in real time, and the applause felt like shared electricity. The tour of Madison Square Garden added its own pulse to the trip: it was strange seeing it empty!

Cruising into Connection

The next leg of our journey took us aboard the Island Princess for a 19-day cruise through Canada and Greenland. Each port offered its own rhythm—fog-draped harbors, bright bursts of local color, and the kind of quiet moments that sneak into your heart when you least expect them.

No souvenirs were harmed in the making of this journey! I was tempted many, many times to buy a hauntingly beautiful mask carved by a Greenlandic Inuit artisan that nearly talked its way into my suitcase. But I resisted; I reminded myself that anything I bring home eventually becomes something Jay has to dust. Instead, I collected stories, smiles, and the kind of memories that don’t need a shelf.

Almost Reunited

And though we missed seeing Elizabeth and Hughie in Newfoundland, their presence was felt in every memory, every near-crossing, every story retold. Some reunions happen in person, others in the heart.

A Tapestry of Tenderness

This trip was more than miles and meals—it was a tapestry of tenderness, humor, and human connection. I carry it with me, not just in photos, but in the quiet moments: a shared plate of bread pudding, a familiar laugh missing from the room, and the grace of being welcomed, again and again.

One Last Slice

At the airport, just before heading home, we spotted a Junior’s Cheesecake shop near our gate. No hesitation—red velvet cheesecake was acquired with the precision of seasoned travelers. It was our final indulgence, a sweet send-off to a summer stitched with Broadway, bread pudding, and the quiet joy of being exactly where we were meant to be.

What Comes Next

As we fold away the memories of this journey—bread pudding at dawn, laughter stitched into quiet mornings—we turn toward the next adventure with hearts wide open. On September 6, we’ll gather again, this time to celebrate love in its newest form: our grandson’s wedding. But for now, we’ll let the details rest like unopened envelopes, saving the joy for when it arrives.

Our last stop was meant to be St. John’s, Newfoundland, and we were filled with excitement. We hoped to reconnect with our dear friends Elizabeth and Hughie, who had hosted us so generously last year during a 15-day tour of Newfoundland—a journey rich with warmth, laughter, and unforgettable kindness.

It was uncertain whether they’d be in town, as they were hosting out-of-town friends themselves. But as it happened, they had rearranged their schedule and purchased tickets to see a show in Gander—plans that would place them in St. John’s just as our ship was set to dock. A happy coincidence, or so we thought.

Then came the high winds.

With weather turning foul, our ship was diverted to Corner Brook—a port just fifteen minutes from their home in Pasadena. So close. But they were eight hours away, in St. John’s, with their guests, waiting for curtain calls and enjoying the city.

It was a disappointing twist, the kind that leaves you quiet and wistful. We were within reach of a reunion, a warm hug, a shared laugh—and yet, the winds had other plans. Still, knowing they were nearby, even if unknowingly, brought a strange sort of comfort. The connection remained, even if the moment slipped away.

Nanortalik, our final stop in Greenland is a smalll town with the soul of a village. Life here felt active and grounded—people busy with their routines, children heading to school, and curious youngsters trying out English with passing tourists. The older residents smiled as we walked by, many of them tending small stalls filled with beautifully carved handmade goods. The kind that make you want to buy one of everything, just to carry a piece of this place home—but we resisted, if only barely.

The fog that had lingered all morning began to lift as we explored the town, revealing steep mountains and colorful homes—some painted in two tones, as if the residents couldn’t quite settle on a single shade. It added a quirky charm to the streets, a kind of cheerful indecision that made the town feel even more personal.

We saw several dogs lounging or trotting along the paths, clearly at ease in their domain. And finally—a cat. It was perched near a doorway, tail flicking with impatience, eager to get inside. When someone opened the door, it leapt gracefully onto the banister, immediately claiming its scratching post with triumphant satisfaction. It was a small, joyful moment—the kind that makes a place feel lived-in and loved.

Looking back from shore, the ship remained engulfed in fog, a ghostly silhouette against the clearing sky. It was almost an art piece—sea, mist, and memory suspended in time.

In the early morning, I stepped onto the balcony and watched the water shuttle bobbing below, preparing to transport passengers to shore. It’s never been my favorite way to disembark—something about the awkward shuffle and the splashy uncertainty—but today, something felt different.

Two fishermen circled the cruise ship in a small boat, as if searching for its front door. Their catch lay glistening in the morning light: one fish unmistakably a red snapper, the other a flat, dark specimen—perhaps a flounder or some local cousin of it. I wondered if their delivery was destined for our dinner!

Once ashore, Qaqortoq greeted us with a quiet vibrancy. Unlike some of the more remote stops on our journey, this town felt lived-in. Children walked to school with backpacks bouncing, families strolled the streets, and cheerful youngsters tried out their English on passing tourists. There was a sense of rhythm here, of daily life unfolding with gentle pride.

We wandered past homes painted in bold, cheerful colors—bright blues, barn reds, and sunny yellows—that stood out against the muted landscape like confetti on stone. Along the way, we paused to admire the town’s signature carvings—faces, whales, and symbols etched into boulders as part of the Stone & Man art project. Each carving felt like a whisper from the land, a story told in granite. The day passed easily, with friendly exchanges and quiet moments.

In the heart of Qaqortoq’s old colonial harbor district stands the Church of Our Saviour, a striking red wooden Lutheran church built in 1832. Commissioned by Danish missionaries and the city of Drammen in Norway, it has served as a spiritual anchor for the town for nearly two centuries. Inside, a model of the royal trade ship Hvalfisken hangs from the ceiling, and a commemorative lifebuoy honors the ill-fated M/S Hans Hedtoft, which sank in 1959 with only that buoy ever recovered.

Outside the church, a memorial stele honors missionary Hans Egede and his wife Gertrud Rask, whose legacy shaped much of Greenland’s early Christian history. Though they are not buried here, their presence is felt in the quiet reverence of the grounds.

The nearby cemetery is simple and poignant—wooden crosses with brass nameplates, some adorned with plastic flowers or personal tokens. Many graves are outlined with stones, echoing ancient Viking burial traditions. It’s a place where history, memory, and daily life quietly converge.

And then, as if the morning had looped back to greet us, I spotted red snapper on the dinner menu aboard the ship. I couldn’t help but smile. Was it the same fish I’d seen delivered this morning? Maybe. Maybe not. But the connection felt real—sea to shore, stranger to friend, morning to night.

Qaqortoq didn’t just welcome us. It invited us in.