Zelia
has chosen the Actor’s Chapel, in the heart of Broadway, for the service. It’s
almost 100 years old and beautiful. The
service is flawless, the chapel is full, and Victoria, Zelia’s daughter, delivers
a heartfelt eulogy.
After
the service, a small group is invited to Sarafina’s, a nearby restaurant. It is more festive than somber, and I think
Zelia and her children finally have a sense of closure. The food is excellent and plentiful, and I
abandon any attempt to eat carefully. I
have a small piece of bruschetta, a few calamari, a bit of greens, and a slice
of thin crusted pizza. And those are just
the appetizers. My entrée is sage with
butter ravioli, and dessert is more-than-a taste of three different
desserts.
Following
the lunch, Brooke, Janice and I walk about a mile. I am impressed with their ability to walk so
far in four-inch heels. I have changed
out of my nice shoes into a lower-heeled shoe that two people comment on. “They look dowdy; like something an old lady would wear.” I decide they are
right and will now toss them.
I
remember writing about these shoes when I bought them only two years ago.
The
people at Harry’s Shoes convinced me then that since my body looked so good, no
one would be looking at my feet.
Now I
realize how little truth was in their observations. I weigh about the same as I did then, and
trust me, people do look at my feet and notice when they are clothed in granny shoes.
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