Just Like This!
My mother used to make the most delicious banana cream pies. I think I could have eaten a whole one when I was a teenager. One Thanksgiving I was taking one of her pies out to our second refrigerator in the detached garage (we lived on the border of North Hollywood and Sun Valley and the garage abutted the Alley just behind Roscoe Blvd.) and I dropped it.
It was in a Pyrex pie dish and just shattered. I was crushed – heartbroken. There was no way to salvage even one morsel because there was no way to tell where there might be pieces of glass. That was over fifty years ago and I think I’m still suffering over it.
My youngest at my brother's 60th
There are lots of things I love about being a father of young children. One of them just happened in our living room while I was cleaning the kitchen. Our oldest is away with Mom at a Girl Scout activity and the youngest daughter of one of the other families is here playing with our youngest.
I just listened to her (the friends’ daughter) start to sing Frosty the Snowman which, mid-way, transformed into Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and somehow ended in an amalgamated medley of the two. Listening to this incredible editing job, which I’m sure was invented on-the-fly, was priceless. I will miss this age as I miss others that have passed. Thankfully my memory isn’t what it used to be, so the loss isn’t melancholy for long. Still . . .