Whi
      as
      my
      favorite
     
     
      season
      of
      year
      was
      the
      summer.
      At
      the
      end
     
     
      of
      every
      school
      year
      my
      mom
      would
      send
     
     
      me
      off
      to
      visit
      my
      father's
      mother,
      Nan,
      as
     
     
      I
      called
      her.
      Along
      with
      the
      endless
      cakes
     
     
      and
      cookies,
      I
      also
      enjoyed
      the
      fact
      that
     
     
      Nan
      generally
      had
      no
      idea
      what
      kinds
      of
     
     
      things
      kids
      could
      get
      themselves
      into.
      Not
     
     
      that
      I
      ever
      did
      anything
      terribly
      bad,
      but
      it
     
     
      was
      the
      thrill
      of
      being
      able
      to
      do
      almost
     
     
      anything
      that
      I
      wanted,
      as
      long
      as
      I
      was
     
     
      back
      to
      the
      house
      before
      dark.
     
    

    
     
      I
      had
      several
      friends
      that
      I
      waited
     
     
      all
      year
      to
      see.
      My
      "best
      grandmother-
     
     
      house-friend"
      was
      Sia,
      she
      was
      Greek.
      Her
     
     
      full
      name
      was
      really
      Aspasia.
      Pronounced
     
     
      es-pa-ce-a,
      although
      I
      jokingly
      called
      her
     
     
      a-spaz-ea.
      This
      came
      about
      one
      day
      when
     
     
      she
      was
      leaving
      my
      grandmother's
      house
     
     
      and
      I
      yelled
      after
      her
      SEE
      YA,
      she
      turned
     
     
      around
      and
      came
      back
      to
      the
      house
      to
      see
     
     
      what
      I
      wanted.
      After
      that
      she
      was
      just
      a-
     
     
      spaz-e-a,
      it
      was
      not
      only
      easier,
      but
      we
     
     
      laughed
      hysterically
      every
      time
      I
      said
      it.
     
     
      All
      I
      remember
      about
      Sia's
      house
      was
      that
     
     
      it
      always
      seemed
      to
      smell
      like
      food.
      I
      do
     
     
      recall
      that
      her
      mother
      yelled
      a
      lot
      in
      Greek
     
     
      and
      her
      father
      terrified
      me(although
      he
     
     
      never
      did
      anything
      to
      deliberately
      instill
     
     
      this
      impression
      on
      me).
      Once
      they
      had
      a
     
     
      rabbit
      that
      got
      out
      of
      it's
      cage
      and
      we
      had
     
     
      to
      chase
      it
      all
      over
      the
      neighborhood
     
     
      before
      we
      finally
      caught
      it.
      I
      was
      severely
     
     
      traumatized
      when
      I
      found
      out
      later
      that
     
     
      they
      ate
      it.
     
    

    
     
      ’
      -
      Summers
      were
      filled
      with
      base-
     
     
      ball
      games,
      organized
      by
      the
      neighborhood
     
     
      kids
      and
      played
      on
      the
      small
      front
      lawns
      of
     
     
      city
      yards.
      Sometimes
      we
      would
      have
      to
     
     
      use
      two
      lawns
      because
      there
      would
      be
      so
     
     
      many
      kids.
      We
      swam
      at
      the
      local
      pool,
     
     
      played
      hop-scotch
      at
      the
      school
      park
      up
     
     
      the
      road,
      and
      explored
      every
      corner
      of
     
     
      West
      19th
      Avenue.
      We
      made
      up
      stories
     
     
      about
      every
      house
      on
      the
      block.
      Witches
     
     
      lived
      in
      the
      red
      house
      at
      the
      end
      of
      the
     
     
      block.
      We
      assumed
      this
      of
      course,
      because
     
     
      their
      cat
      had
      six
      toes
      on
      each
      foot.
      The
      big
     
     
      white
      house
      at
      the
      other
      end
      on
      the
      same
     
     
      side
      as
      Nan's
      house
      was
      haunted.
      It
     
     
      always
      creaked
      funny
      when
      you
      walked
      by
     
     
      it
      and
      nobody
      ever
      seemed
      to
      live
      there.
     
     
      Once
      Sia
      and
      I
      even
      found
      the
      skull
      of
      a
     
     
      cat
      on
      their
      lawn
      confirming
      that
      our
      great-
     
     
      est
      fears
      were,
      in
      fact,
      correct.
      ue
     
    

    
     
      The
      only
      house
      on
      the
      block
     
     
      (other
      than
      Nan
      and
      Sia's
      house)
      that
      was
     
     
      spared
      from
      our
      over-active
      imaginations
     
     
      was
      Vera's.
      She
      had
      three
      grandchildren
     
     
      that
      spent
      the
      summers
      visiting
      as
      well.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Toast
      With
      Vera
     
    
   
   
    
     
      They
      would
      always
      arrive
      a
      little
      later
      than
     
     
      I
      did,
      and
      so
      every
      morning
      I
      would
      run
      to
     
     
      the
      window
      and
      pull
      apart
      Nan's
      heavy
     
     
      green
      curtains
      and
      check
      to
      see
      if
      their
      big
     
     
      Monty
      Carlo
      was
      parked
      out
      front
      yet.
      The
     
     
      oldest
      boy
      was
      a
      year
      older
      than
      myself
     
     
      and
      his
      sister
      was
      a
      year
      younger.
      Sia
      was
     
     
      the
      same
      age
      as
      me
      and
      when
      they
      finally
     
     
      arrived
      the
      fun
      would
      begin!
      With
      so
      many
     
     
      kids
      in
      the
      same
      age
      group,
      the
      baseball
     
     
      games
      became
      very
      competitive.
      We
      also
     
     
      had
      water
      fights,
      treasure
      hunts,
      and,
     
     
      although
      politically
      incorrect
      now,
     
     
      Cowboys
      and
      Indians
      was
      one
      of
      our
     
     
      favorite
      games.
     
    

    
     
      As
      the
      summer
      would
      come
      to
      a
     
     
      close
      the
      kids
      in
      the
      neighborhood
      would
     
     
      slowly
      disperse.
      Out
      to
      buy
      school
      sup-
     
     
      plies
      and
      new
      clothes;
      find
      out
      what
      class
     
     
      they
      were
      in
      next
      year,
      or
      go
      on
      the
      last
     
     
      family
      holiday
      before
      September.
      Sia
     
     
      went
      back
      to
      Greek
      school
      in
      August
      and
     
     
      Vera's
      grandchildren
      were
      soon
      gone
      too.
     
     
      One
      morning
      I
      was
      so
      bored
      that
      I
      decided
     
     
      to
      knock
      on
      Vera's
      door
      and
      see
      what
      she
     
     
      was
      doing.
      A
      bit
      strange
      for
      a
      nine
      year
     
     
      old,
      I
      admit,
      but
      what
      first
      motivated
      me
      to
     
     
      do
      this
      was
      not
      the
      incredible
      desire
      to
     
     
      spend
      time
      with
      an
      almost
      total
      stranger
     
     
      over
      the
      age
      of
      seventy.
      Vera
      had
      birds,
     
     
      two
      to
      be
      exact.
      Her
      budgie's
      name
      was
     
     
      Joey
      (I
      know
      not
      original
      but
      true),
      and
      her
     
     
      canary
      was
      Twinkle.
      Yet,
      what
      started
      out
     
     
      as
      simple
      curiosity,
      quickly
      became
      a
     
     
      weekend
      ritual.
     
    

    
     
      That
      first
      morning
      Vera
      invited
     
     
      me
      in,
      and
      proceed
      to
      tell
      me
      all
      about
     
     
      Joey
      and
      Twinkle.
      She
      seemed
      quite
     
     
      happy
      to
      entertain
      the
      rapid
      and
      continuous
     
     
      series
      of
      questions
      that
      I
      threw
      at
      her.
      I
     
     
      thought
      her
      birds
      were
      beautiful,
      and
      she
     
     
      was
      pretty
      great
      too.
      Throughout
      the
      win-
     
     
      ter
      Vera's
      grandchildren
      seldom
      visited
     
     
      because
      they
      lived
      so
      far
      away.
      I,
      on
      -the-
     
     
      other-hand,
      visited
      Nan
      at
      least
      every
      sec-
     
     
      ond
      weekend,
      and
      when
      I
      was
      there
      I
     
     
      would
      get
      up
      really
      early
      so
      as
      not
      to
      miss
     
     
      it.
     
    

    
     
      Scrambling
      up
      Vera's
      steps
      as
     
     
      soon
      as
      she
      opened
      the
      door
      I
      would
      ask,
     
     
      "did
      you
      have
      toast
      yet?"
      "No,"
      she
      would
     
     
      reply,
      "Thelma
      (that's
      Nan)
      told
      me
      I
     
     
      should
      be
      expecting
      you."
      I
      would
      rush
      to
     
     
      her
      kitchen
      and
      sit
      very
      quietly
      to
      wait.
     
     
      Vera
      would
      pour
      me
      a
      cup
      of
      tea
      and
      hand
     
     
      me
      a
      piece
      of
      dry
      toast.
      Nothing
      on
      it,
      not
     
     
      even
      a
      stitch
      of
      butter.
      And
      then
      it
      would
     
     
      happen.
      Joey
      would
      fly
      out
      of
      his
      open
     
     
      cage
      and
      land
      right
      on
      my
      shoulder.
      For
      at
     
     
      least
      an
      hour
      he
      would
      pick
      at
      the
      dry
      toast
     
     
      right
      out
      of
      my
      hand.
      My
      tea
      would
      get
     
    
   
   
    
     
      cold
      because
      I
      was
      so
      afraid
      that
      if
      I
      upset
     
     
      him
      by
      moving
      that
      he
      might
      fly
      away.
     
     
      Twinkle
      would
      sing
      and
      sing.
      Vera
      insisted
     
     
      that
      he
      only
      sang
      when
      I
      visited
      because
      I
     
     
      would
      always
      sing
      him
      his
      favorite
      song
     
     
      "Twinkle
      Twinkle
      Little
      Star."
     
    

    
     
      This
      ritual
      went
      on
      for
      years.
     
     
      Then,
      when
      I
      was
      twelve,
      I
      came
      to
      visit
     
     
      as
      usual
      but
      Nan
      said
      I
      couldn't
      go
      to
     
     
      Vera's
      because
      she
      wasn't
      feeling
      well.
      For
     
     
      several
      weekends
      I
      was
      unable
      to
      see
      Vera
     
     
      or
      her
      beautiful
      birds.
      Then
      one
      weekend
     
     
      in
      February
      her
      family
      arrived
      to
      visit.
      I
     
     
      was
      not
      allowed
      to
      play
      with
      the
      kids
     
     
      either.
      In
      fact,
      I
      wasn't
      even
      allowed
      to
      go
     
     
      and
      speak
      to
      them.
      I
      became
      very
      upset
     
     
      and
      questioned
      Nan
      as
      to
      why
      I
      was
      sud-
     
     
      denly
      not
      welcome
      in
      Vera's
      home.
     
     
      "Cancer,"
      she
      said.
      "What?"
      I
      said.
      "Vera
     
     
      has
      cancer."
     
    

    
     
      I
      only
      saw
      Vera
      once
      after
      that,
     
     
      but
      it
      wasn't
      really
      her.
      She
      had
      changed
     
     
      somehow.
      She
      was
      weak
      and
      sad.
      The
     
     
      cancer
      had
      ravaged
      both
      her
      body
      and
      her
     
     
      mind,
      and
      left
      only
      a
      shell
      for
      me
      to
      say
     
     
      goodbye
      to.
      Vera
      died
      that
      summer.
     
     
      "What
      would
      happen
      to
      Joey
      and
     
     
      Twinkle,"
      I
      asked
      Nan?
      "They
      would
      be
     
     
      taken
      care
      of,"
      she
      assured
      me.
      But
      it
      was-
     
    
   
   
    
     
      n't
      really
      the
      birds
      I
      was
      worried
      about,
      it
     
     
      was
      me.
      Maybe
      it
      was
      becoming
      a
      teenag-
     
     
      er
      that
      year
      that
      fizzled
      my
      enthusiasm
      for
     
     
      weekends
      at
      Nan's,
      but
      I
      think
      losing
      Vera
     
     
      had
      something
      to
      do
      with
      it
      too.
      Vera
      gave
     
     
      me
      something
      that
      no
      one
      had
      ever
      given
     
     
      me:
      their
      time.
      She
      had
      listened
      to
      me,
     
     
      talked
      to
      me,
      appreciated,
      and
      even
      cele-
     
     
      brated
      my
      need
      for
      connection.
      I
      missed
     
     
      her
      company
      every
      time
      I
      went
      to
      Nan's.
     
     
      Looking
      back
      I
      guess
      she
      was
      as
      lonely
      as
     
     
      I
      was.
      A
      young
      girl
      and
      an
      old
      woman
     
     
      brought
      together
      by
      their
      love
      for
      two
     
     
      modest
      little
      birds.
      Almost
      twenty
      years
     
     
      later
      I
      still
      remember
      Vera
      and
      her
      little
     
     
      birds.
      Now,
      even
      her
      house
      is
      gone,
      yet
     
     
      every
      time
      I
      visit
      Nan
      I
      realize
      more
      and
     
     
      more
      how
      much
      she
      gave
      to
      me
      in
      such
      a
     
     
      short
      amount
      of
      time.
     
    

    
     
      Although
      I
      consider
      Vera
      to
      be
     
     
      one
      of
      the
      first
      angels
      to
      ever
      enter
      my
      life,
     
     
      there
      have
      been
      many
      more
      since
      her.
      I
     
     
      have
      never
      shared
      this
      story
      with
      anyone,
     
     
      but
      finding
      myself
      passing
      through
      another
     
     
      one
      of
      life's
      milestones,
      I
      thought
      that
      it
     
     
      might
      be
      an
      appropriate
      time
      to
      acknowl-
     
     
      edge
      my
      angels.
      So
      thank
      you,
      you
      know
     
     
      who
      you
      are.
      I
      hope
      you
      are
      able
      to
      recog-
     
     
      nize
      your
      angels
      too.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
         
     
    
   
   
    
     
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