Past blasts

Saying goodbye at the NY pier to Uncle Ivar, who boated his way back to Norway for a visit. That's me on the right (in the left pic), with Dad and my sister, Kathy. I remember that day; Dad was walking fast--he could span the cracks in the sidewalk with one stride--and I couldn't keep up. So I'd run, hop, swing on his arm, then run and hop again, and swing. Maybe that's why I'm holding the arm...

Thirty years later, boozing it up in floral flannel and big hair. My, times change.