Loose-meat sandwiches

This morning I was walking to a coffee shop around the corner from my office. (I work on 9th and K Street and the coffee shop is the where the old Levinson's Bookshop was on 10th.) I love where my office is and I love walking to this coffee shop ... it reminds me of my dad.

My dad's gallery was on 10th street between J and K streets. In fact, the building hasn't changed, the space hasn't really changed. Bud's Buffet is still downstairs and in the morning it smells like what I imagine a loose-meat sandwich smells like.

I remember spending every other weekend at the gallery with my dad and my brother. 1020 10th street. Once a month we would get to watch my dad in action as he carried his mug and shmoozed with the art-crowd during second-saturday. I felt special. I would get to stand next to him and watch him work his magic. I liked introducing myself to people and having them recognize as me as his daughter. It made me feel important. I felt like he was important.

Lucas and I would spend the day looking at art. I would bug him and answer phones. We would get to walk very "carefully" around the corner down K street to Comics and Comix and Lucas would read comic books and I would eat the gum out of baseball card packs. K street smelled and there were only 3 stores that I remembered; Comics and Comix, Togos and Taco Bell. I'm sure there were more, but I think I was only allowed to go in those three.

I miss my dad. I wonder what he would think about me right now? I'm sure he'd be proud, I'm sure he'd be excited to be a grandpa, but that's not really enough ...

In the 6th grade we did an "Egg Baby" project. I had to care for an egg for a certain period of time and I remember taking my egg to my dad's for the weekend. We took pictures of the egg all over. The exhibit at the gallery happened to be by Jim Adan and it was tall, wooden sculptures; eggs on top of pillars. I put my egg in the middle of the giant sculptures and took pictures for my "baby book." Later, were taking polaroid pictures of the egg in my dad's sunglasses and having fun. My dad had very cool sunglasses. We were at Carrows restaurant. All of sudden my dad slipped and the egg dropped and yolk spread across the table. I was upset, my dad was upset...

He felt awful, probably worse than me. The next day, at the gallery, he wrote a very professional letter, typed it in on a typewriter in fact. I remember the stationary, the "Michael Himovitz Gallery" stationary, it was a thick white paper with grey lettering in the corner. It felt important. I handed it to my teacher. I don't remember if I explained what happened or if I watched the teacher read it, but everything was okay.

My Egg Baby made it all the way to the finals for the Egg-O-lympics. We lost in the final round of the Egg Toss. And I got an A, or maybe it was an A-, but in my mind I think I'm going to stick with the solid A.

I miss my dad and I think he would get a kick out of my belly and watching me raise a little person. I love working near the gallery and thinking about it as a place filled with possibilities and underneath, smelling like loose-meat sandwiches.