(Aside– we should make a montage of looking-up-to-the-balcony-at-people-waving-down shots)
And about how I used to slurp it up. Pfooooot.
And about how I grew up to look like a piece of spaghetti.
I took pictures of DS (that’s Blogspeak for Dear Son– the oldest one, in this case) on my balcony in Haifa eating spaghetti. In spaghetti letters on his high chair was written “I love you Bubby.”