A friend of mine wrote about her recent trip to Cuba. My mother, Grace, was in Havana in 1939 after the New York World’s Fair and my grandmother in about 1909. It would be interesting to hear their stories. I remember my mother describing Havana as one big nightclub. (She was too well brought up to use the word ‘whorehouse’.) When I was in fifth grade, a classmate of mine in Buffalo told me her grandparents’ hotel had been ‘stolen’. I tried to figure out how you could steal a hotel. On reflection, I think she must have come from a gangster/Mafia family.
My grandson, Sam wrote me a letter. He is 4 ½ years old and gets right to the point.
Our German Shepherd Maggie died in August. Sam asked how it happened. This is what I wrote:
‘Sam, you asked how Maggie died. It happened very suddenly. One afternoon, Maggie was lying on the carpet in the living room. I got her leash and asked her if she wanted to go for a walk to the library. She didn’t raise her head from the floor. She just stared at me. When I got home from the library, I looked at her and could see she was sick. Ken and I carried her to the car and drove very fast to the vet’s office. He said she was too sick. He couldn’t help her. She died in his office.
Ken and I cried and cried like babies because we loved her so much. I know you did too.
Your Dad sent me a very nice message when Maggie died. He wrote. “Maggie taught Sam not to be afraid of dogs.” No one was afraid of Maggie because she was so kind and good and she loved to play with kids. You used to kick the ball for her, over and over off our sundeck, remember? She loved that.’