Gail's Blog

This is my Dad when he was very young. I always thought he was incredibly handsome. A Greek-American boy in the projects. He met my mother, and his best friends for life there. Federal housing projects don't seem like a place where elderly people hold their fondest memories, but my Dad, Mom, Aunts, and their friends did and do. At my Dad's viewing one of his projects friends reminisced about the old days. He was the Armenian, Dad the Greek, and their friend Bill the Irishman. They all went to different high schools for different specialities, something I thought was only invented recently. Dad went to East Tech, where he specialized in aeronautics. Bill went to a secretarial school, which prepared him for his Post Office career. Al went to to the Liberal Arts school, which he said prepared him for "absolutely nothing". It sort of sounds like the old war movies (the Irishman, the Italian and the Jew in combat) but that's how it was. My mother, who died recently

I went to visit my favorite three year old today. She says "ouch" a lot and likes to pretend she is hurt and then laughs. She ( or rather her Mom) won a play date with me at the school Gala Auction. They bid the highest (or were the only bidder, I don't know which). They'd made blueberry muffins and we had them with strawberries and latte (I had latte; she had milk). I brought two books and Melvin, my puppet, who she would remember from school. She hid her eyes from the books and from Melvin. Instead she wanted to show me her dress-ups, with her "glass" slippers that light up when she walks. She wanted to play ball, which we did. She has a super-keen eye for catching a ball--terrific for a three and a half year old. We played Zengo, and she played it as if she were a dealer in Las Vegas, all serious and purposeful, with breaks for capering around the room in her flashing shoes. Before I left I took some pictures of her with my phone. I said they were for he