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Vasilopita

Today was a cold damp day. My painter friend showed up about 10am. Mary Cay and I finished the kitchen and started on a garden room / breezeway at the back of the house. I had your photo gallery up and sat down to take a look. As I scrolled through each photo I began to get a feeling for the dynamic man your father was. I so wish I could have known him.

When I hit the “next ” button and the shot of you and him appeared with the vasilopita, I choked up and tears came to my eyes. Mary Cay came into the room and silently put her hand on my back and I became one with that moment. In the photo I could smell the bread and feel the pride. It is most intense the moment before the first slice, when you make the sign of the cross above the bread with the knife. The moment you feel most Greek. Perhaps it was that after twenty some years of this tradition, I had simply never seen a photo of someone with one of my breads. I think it was that this man, this proud Greek, got to know a teeny little part of me that that photo captured. What an honor.

Every evening after Mary Cay and I go to bed and turn out the lights, one of us , in the silence, will ask “best part?” The other will take a moment and think through the day and share what their best part was. Tonight, mine will be seeing that photo of you and Spyros on that new years morning.

Thank you George and Sara

Vasilis Loizos

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