It was in the summer of 1995, as I was recuperating from major surgery, that I got the call from Cousin Abbie. In true diplomat fashion, dad always went through intermediaries. “O is in Paris,” said Abbie. “He wants to visit with you in three days.” I explained I’d just had major surgery and wasn’t yet up to driving or caring for a guest. Could he perhaps give me a bit more time? “Not to worry, the embassy will provide a driver. You are able to make his coffee?” Continue reading Daddy’s mementos →