It's getting close to Valentine's Day. It's also about two years since my great-grandmother passed on. I was thinking this morning about love, the different kinds, and the gifts our loved ones leave us. I haven't seen Tutu since I was eight, but the passion for story-telling she gave me has never faded. When she was healthy enough to travel, she'd visit us for months on end. I remember the countless hours I spent at the foot of the guest bed, drinkng in her stories and snacking on the cuttle-fish she brought with her (dry, salted squid). They were colorful, fantastic stories about her childhood in the mountains of Hawaii at the turn of the century, tales of black magic, fairies under rocks, hidden valleys, birds that don't exist anymore, making poi and tapa the way the ancestors did. Also frightening stories; first-hand accounts of Pearl Harbor, sorrowful narratives of Queen Liliuokalani's house-arrest and Hawaii's ultimate subjuagation. I don't know how much is true. Really, it doesn't matter. Tutu gave her "precious treasure, her Mana'aloha (my Hawaiian name, "the power of love")" a very, very precious tresure: an imagination. A desire to create, and share my creations. In the spirit of this month, of hearts and true love, share with us who inspired you. Maybe it was a relative, a famous author, or even someone on these boards. Whoever it was, tell about them! Mahalo to you all.