A Ferry TaleThis is the story my Father always likes to tell, of how he met my Mom and how I came to be here. But don't go thinking that this is a love story between them, for when they met, I was already 13, my Father was already married to my Mother, and my Mom was already married to my Dad. This last September, when my Mother and Father came to see my Mom and my Dad, we had a family lunch at Black Butte Ranch; my Father repeated his story, and called it our Ferry Tale. He regretted that he had never written the story down but thought perhaps someday I could. So this is the beginning of my version of the Ferry Tale, starting from End of August, 1975. Short episodes will be written periodically in no particular order, and posted for all who wander here to see. You can go backwards, forwards, or perhaps randomly, as you see fit. I've chosen to start the story 2 years after the part my Father tells, the ferry part, but this is the way I'm telling it. [New installments uploaded on Nov/2006.] |
End of August, 1975On my first day, I made spanikopitas at the Greek Orthodox Church. Elektra, a silver haired lady sitting to my right, showed me how to brush melted butter onto long strips of phyllo dough, put a spoonful of spinach filling at one end and folding each into a triangle. I remember seeing her leaning forward and speaking to the person to my left, her skin a pale translucent creamy pink, her hair a warm silver, and her profile chiseled, so different from the familiar. IndexIt's been a while since I've added to this story; I hope the new installments are fun to read, and I hope to be more consistent in writing. I've added the index below, in chronological, so it's easier to navigate and read. Going to America | |
