I have gypsy blood.
I forgot all about it. But while I was laying here trying to wake up, the song Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac came on and I remembered.
It’s from my Papu Albert’s side of the family. I really need to get together with my Auntie Vi. She’s his younger sister. There are still two out of the seven left. My Auntie Lalie - the redhead who lived next door to Steve Martin in Los Angeles - is also still alive. They’re feisty women. I wanted to write bitches but I figured that would come off rude. They would laugh and say HELL YES WE’RE BITCHES. Write it honey write it!
Auntie Vi also has a September birthday. She must be around 97 years old. I want to take her to 23rd Street in the Central District and try to find the house they grew up in. Oh! I should mention that although their physical health isn’t great, they’re both sharp as a tack.
Auntie Vi didn’t eat like everyone else. She was into nutrition long even as a young women and would eschew the fatty meals. She said they ate pretty healthy when they were really young because it was more cost effective. They’d eat vegetables and beans all week long and then splurge on a meat meal for Shabbat. This must have been the 1920s and 1930s when she was a kid. My Papu, her older brother, was born in 1915. If she is about 97, then she was born in 1922 so she would have been a small child in the 1920s.
How the world has changed since then.
I can ask her more about the gypsy blood. Their brother, my uncle, Raymond only recently died. He was the baby. And how we all loved him. The nicest guy on the planet.
He was in one of those marriages that everyone envies.Read More