Breathing class today. Imagine if my Dad or Grandfather knew that I paid money to learn how to breath. I learned that I am a shallow breather and I will have to learn how to breathe properly--but, Maria and I are going North, so I may not learn before next fall. In the meantime, I'll be holding my breath.

My Dad used to take the family to Toots Shor's for Sunday dinner. My sister and I would have Oysters and a lobster or Roast Beef. Dad always had a scotch and roast beef, I think. The Men's and Lady's room were staffed by a married couple. When my sister and I returned from camp one year, why Hattie and Ozzie weren't in the RestRooms. Apparantly Hattie had shot and killed her husband over another woman. (If I have the names wrong, please correct me). The maitre'd was a pal of my Dad's. His name was Joe Harrison. Corrections appreciated. Reach me at Gratwicker@aol.com

Dinner with Howard and Bill. Talked about Catholic Bishops and reporting of misbehavior by priests. Restaurants. The sad state of the Democratic Party.