A delectable bite of AlBeRt’s gold-star bAkLavA...drawn by Jules. I visited him again, and learned that he is 93 years old. Just a kid. I told Albert that I wrote about our acquaintance. He asked me to read it to him. As I finished, he grabbed a tissue, and gave me a tight hug. Of course, he insisted I take another piece of baklava. I told Albert I appreciated the offer, but I wanted to pay him. He conceded, and gave me a dollar discount. I was running before I stopped by, and pulled a crumpled $5 bill from my jacket. He studied it, and diligently straightened it. Albert then schooled me on crumpled bills, and added that he didn’t understand why people (me) did this to money. This reminded me of my dad. Everything was always organized, and had its place; from how the dishwasher was loaded, to packing his suitcase. Whenever he went on a trip, his suitcase was packed to perfection. My daughter inherited my dad’s packing neatness, but not I. The more I know Albert, the more he reminds me of my dad. I guess I must be missing my dad, or maybe he’s missing me. Maybe this is a round-about way of connecting humanly, even though he’s gone. Anyway, I’m sure there will be many more visits to the farmer’s market to see my dad...I mean Albert. ❤️
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