Monday, December 14, 2009



37 years and about nine months ago Rosemary arrived at the Mexico City airport from visiting her parents in Ottawa. She was radiant in a beautiful, very tight and very short orange mini dress. We went home and she seduced me. I never did ask. I suspect that her parents might have recommended that a second child might help iron out whatever difficulties Rosemary might have with her Latin husband. I remember that night.

Hilary was 37 today. It seems only yesterday that Hilary was a few weeks old and my mother said, “She has beautiful hands.” And it seems it was only yesterday that she was 4 or 5 and we were in the posh dining room of the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco and Hilary was crying loudly (below, right) and having a berrinche (a Mexican tantrum). The beautifully dressed waiter came up to me and said, “Sir is there anything we can do for the young lady?” I was too stupid to understand that he wanted to help so I answered, rudely, “If you can find her some beans and tortillas that will make her stop.”


She is 37 today and when I gaze at her I gaze at the face of my mother. She has her ways, especially her patience to deal with her two, sometimes difficult little girls.

Bruce and Hilary arrived at 6. We prepared a cheese fondue and Rebecca had made a delicious chocolate cake from scratch. Bruce and I indulged in a bottle of Argentine Torrontés white wine. We were all at the table and I cannot think of anything better except perhaps our Christmas Eve dinner to come.



After dinner I took two Fuji instant pictures of the three girls. In the first they smiled, that kept them happy, in the second they didn’t and that made me happy.

Rosemary and I are so lucky.