Coming in Hot
Chronicle of Café Catherine, Edition CCLXIX
Dear Partygoers,
Catherine’s Birthday
They arrived from Tokyo, Chicago, and the Oregon coast, siblings Caroline, John, and Bill, along with Aunt Liz, Cousin Christopher, and others. Catherine’s family name was Coney, a European rabbit. Take note of the rabbits on the tea bowl, center. And there are more rabbits on the table. I lined up all the rabbits and asked, “What do you get when the rabbits all shuffle backwards? You get a receding hare line. Haha.”
Lots of stories, food, lemonade, wine, a few cocktails as evening approached. Photos of friends and family from years past. Posing for more. Catherine was sparkling, as usual.
This was not really a food event, but one side dish was a surprise hit – diced heirloom tomatoes with olive oil and basil, sprinkled with Maldon salt, topped with anchovies. “I didn’t get any anchovies!” Catherine cried. John said, “Liz, give Catherine an anchovy.” Her fork was hovering. “Well...OK.” Catherine later suggested that I purchase anchovies in larger quantities.
A reunion of Catherine and the Receding Hairlines
Irv Started It
He reached behind Jack and pinched me really hard. “Oww!” “What’s going on back there?” “Irv pinched me.” “Well, stop it. Here, have an apple.” Irv took the apple and pinched me again. An apple would never stop Irv.
We were on our way from St. Louis to Philadelphia to visit our relatives. It was no fun. Ted was an impatient driver. The station wagon sped, swerved to pass on the middle lane of the three-lane highway, braked hard. He said uncomplimentary things about the other drivers. Jack read. I drifted with the landscape and buildings of Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. Irv wiggled, pinched, punched, and annoyed. Kenneth, four years old, laughed whenever Irv pinched someone. He was in the front seat, so he did not get many pinches. We drove day and night.
After the gruesome drive, we sat in dark parlors with smelly old people. Grandparents and great-grandmothers, some were nice to kids, some not. “Don’t touch anything!” Grandma Stern pinched like Irv. Grandma Cookie gave us treats, no pinching. There was nothing for us kids to do except to go outside and run around the 59th Street Reservoir or sit on the porch and watch the traffic. We could identify almost every make of car, even the pre-war models. We visited Joyce’s parents, Charlie and Bessie, in Germantown. Charlie loved having us visit and we loved being with him. Charlie and Irv had a special connection.
Aunt Rose and Uncle Howard’s apartment reeked of cod liver oil and vitamins, which were heaped on the Formica table in the kitchen. They gave each kid a few dates. Rose and Howard ran Mione Bakery, with an enormous circular oven and barrels of jimmies, candied fruits, and other sweets to put on baked goods. The oven was offered to friends and neighbors to bake dishes for the Sabbath. After Aunt Rose died, Uncle Howard moved to a senior center, where, it is said, he gave up being a health nut and lived a good life until he died in his mid-90s.
We went to the Franklin Institute and walked through the giant beating heart. Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub. We boys were familiar with hearts, as our father built an artificial heart machine in a lab at St. Louis University School of Medicine. It forced blood through a flexible tube using a crude peristaltic pump. He connected it up to dogs, and it worked. Progress! Poor dogs. There may be some lessons here.
Hello? Is this Today? This is Tomorrow speaking. Just want to let you know that I will be coming to join you, probably around midnight. OK. See you then. Bye.
Lessons Learned from Life
When your mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair. Taylia, 11
Felt markers are not good to use as lipstick. Lauren, 9
You can’t hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk. Amir, 9
Everyone shopped for back-to-school clothes, didn’t they? Pajamas were never considered appropriate school clothes. Now: “The ‘Back-to-School’ clothes collection includes pajama pants, perfect for studying like the teacher’s pet.”
The universe is not hostile, nor yet is it friendly. It is simply indifferent. J.H. Holmes
Best wishes,
Laurence Kornfield, Scribe
415-307-6707