Writing, Traveling and Hosting

These are from various moments, late 1990s I am thinking, and clearly below one photo confirms it.

Dad was, as I have mentioned, part of a writing class at the City of West Hollywood Senior Center. It really energized his writing as I will no doubt be posting his stories and some of his commentaries, for many years. Every year I seem to remember, there was a small public presentation of the stories of the members of the group, as you can see.  

Although my father had served in the Big One, World War II and spent time in Italy and North Africa, in my memory he just wasn't a big traveler. He went with me in 1995 (and there will likely be pictures when I find them!) for the investiture of George Niederauer as Bishop of Salt Lake City. Of course, he moved from New York to Los Angeles. Right now, I cannot think of any other place he went during my lifetime, except the trip pictured below, which I convinced him to go on (and it wasn't easy), a three day cruise to Mexico. My friends Andrew and Len and I saw him off (that picture is somewhere). I think I can safely say that neither my father nor I received gifts well from one another, for reasons that are probably explainable by some psychological theory. He is smiling in some of these pictures, but he never went on another trip. 

He did much better when I brought a friend to him, on his 90th birthday. The picture just below is not from his 90th, but from around 1979. The lovely lady is Sophia. One of dad's co-workers at the Super Agency he worked for arranged for a blind date. He hadn't dated since my mother died a few years before, and frankly, he really wasn't looking for anyone, but he conceded. Sophia was quite a few years younger than dad, something like 15 or 16, and that gave him pause. But she was Greek, and he was half Greek, and they both had attended the same Greek school, albeit some years apart. It was a match, but only for about a year or two. If it had been up to me, they would have been married. And I know they cared for one another. He said he broke up with her because he didn't think it was fair to her, given his age. She told me that it was a mutual decision.  Because of me (I have to say) they kept in touch from time to time. I kept in more frequent touch. I was, and am, crazy about her. In 2008. Sophia agreed to be a surprise visitor for Dad's 90th. My friend Len arranged that she could use his miles. I insisted that she should pay for nothing and put her up at at a boutique hotel (both Dad and I lived in one bedroom apartments; I wanted her to have complete comfort; I insisted; she kindly allowed me the latitude). Dad suspected, but only slightly complained about seeing her after so long; I could tell he was excited. It was a lovely weekend. My friends Len and Andrew and I joined them for a dinner at Madeo Dad did comment that he could have made the Linguini and Clams for far less than the celebrity restaurant charged but at the valet, waiting for our car, he engaged Sophia in a small dance. When they were going together, they had danced everywhere that remained in New York, Roseland among them. I was in law school and half the time found myself waiting up for him, like a worried mother. Sophia joined us for Mass (Dad had by that time become a Catholic), and a brunch at the still-missed Mirabelle on Sunset Boulevard. Dad died about 23 days later. Sophia, lifelong New Yorker, lives now near her son in Florida. 

A Characteristic Pose. I still have the mandolin. 

Although Dad went to writing classes with other senior citizens, he always liked younger people, people in my age range. All my friends knew him well, for when I was in college and in law school he catered and hosted my parties, and even when he moved to Los Angeles he would join me on various outings with friends. The young woman below, however, lived in the first building he moved into when he came to LA, and she found his intelligence, charm and kindness compelling. They became friends.  After she got married and moved to San Francisco, and had a daughter, she occasionally came to visit with Chloe. I like this picture, which Kathi sent to him, of the two of them in front of his little library in his dining room. And below that Dad administering First Aid to her daughter, for a little scrape. Dad liked her but did express his bias about children when he complained that he didn't understand why she didn't like Cornish Hens. Dad was a gourmet cook. I tried to explain that children prefer things like Mac and Cheese. He thought that odd. And odder still that my friends and I also did not like Cornish Hens. In fact, he was disappointed about our lack of good taste on the matter.