Leopoldo with our Miami Beach Mom, Henrietta.

What a night. I forgot to mention that Leopoldo's parents were arriving tonight. They are not strangers to Miami, and I do believe they wanted to see their beloved son, but I can't help but feel that they were scoping me out. They looked me "...up and down like a searchlight", but I found them so comforting and engaging that all my worries were dashed aside quickly. We knew they would be hungry after the six hour flight and took them to The 11th Street Diner for some down-home cooking; this, amidst the flurry and the hub-bub of the Winter Music Conference. Consuela (Mom) unpacked an astounding array of gifts; crucifixes, toiletries, shirts, watches, home-make tamales, underwear... I felt as if I had stumbled across a Chinese variety store on Canal Street as operated by an ex-flower-child of the Sixties of San Francisco. Glorious! And--I wish I had carried my camera--they were so kind and gentle, much like their son; I know, now, what Leopoldo will look like thirty years from now after looking at his father.

I, of course, will never age; like Caroline Astor, I will just go on talking to imaginary guests and serving tea to the past. If Leopoldo looks as good as his dad, I won't need anything else.