listening to Lou Rawls

and ironing something like 9 shirts, some slacks, a dress, four tablecloths and 2 dozen napkins.

Because ironing with fresh air coming through the open windows, the sun beginning to fall in the west, KBLX 'The Quiet Storm' on the radio with classic R&B, and taking a very-wrinkled shirt and making it smooth, well . . . it just floats my boat.

This idea people have that certain chores are more enjoyable to do than others, and everyone must share their feelings, I don't buy it. Classic story in my family: When my father was alive and I was a young adult I once said to him, "I'd love to come over and cook a really nice meal for you," to which he responded, quite aghast, "Why in the world would you want to do that?"

I said, "Daddy (I know, childish, but it's what we called him then and still refer to him now), I love to cook, I really do. It would give me so much pleasure to do it for you."

Somehow it never got arranged, I don't think he could wrap his head around having spawned someone who could enjoy it. After all, he married two attractive women and neither one could cook for anything, both preferring to make reservations than dinner. His mother, my Nundy (I have no idea why we called her THAT, the other 10 cousins called her Grandma) was an incredible cook they tell me, and there are two things she made that only I have even been able to duplicate. Not like she taught me - I was 6 when she died.

Nundy lived above the store at 2101 Chelton Ave. in Philadelphia's Germantown neighborhood. A long time before I was born she was widowed with 5 kids, my father the last one, I think he was 8, 1929. Her husband's shoe repair shop became her business to run to support the family, and every kid worked hard every day at school and outside jobs to keep things going. One by one they married, and each new couple lived with her above the store for a year or so, I think. Aunt Molly, who left 4 kids 8-16 when she died just before Nundy in 1963, worked in the the Sugar Bowl candy store with Nundy, and it was she who was rewarded for it by being treated to elective rhinoplasty, a nose job, to make her more beautiful. I've seen both pics, I think it was a wise choice. Understand this was the 40s, and Nundy had not done anything other than keep things going, she had no stash of cash.

During my lifetime the store was R&R Realty, a partnership of Daddy and Uncle Robert, both post WWII service and law school. My father used to tell me that he always offered estate planning with a real estate transaction, because often the people who bought from him were not married to each other and they needed to ensure their wishes were followed about their property.

Interesting factoid of the sixties, the mid-sixties, of black life in Philly. My parents led me to believe that we, as Jewish people, were different and decidedly better than anyone else. If I had a friend who wasn't Jewish I was discouraged from getting too close, and if my friend was black, well let's just say that I was never permitted inside the home of a black family, not ever.

That all of these activities were forbidden was never discussed, you just KNEW. Here's how we went trick-or-treating . . . well, we knew the black families, maybe 1/3 of our neighbors, were off-limits, and the Catholic families, often with rambling houses on the corner and like 8 kids, also a 'no.' We almost never met the Catholic families, since they went to the local parish elementary school, Little Flower.

When I had my first job that wasn't babysitting, I was 12 and a cashier at a local toy store a few hours a week. The stock boy was one of those kids in my neighborhood who lived in a big-ass house with lots of siblings and big family parties. Ricky Flammer, now Chef Rick in Philly, became a good friend and we're still in touch, saw him in 99 when we lived in NJ. I took him home with me one day, in the middle of a Sunday in 1969 I think, so I could show him my famous grilled cheese sandwich. Everyone was home, they'd heard of him and likely met him at the store.

But bringing him into the house . . . my father hit the roof. He must have been boiling but as I remember it he was polite to Rick and and waited until Rick had gone home. He told me he absolutely forbid me to have anything to do with Rick, no offense to Rick, but Rick is NOT appropriate friend material.

It's been fun reminiscing, maybe more soon.

Pray for a productive week-before-chemo and continued nice weather.