Christina

I just found a stack of baby pictures, mostly of me and my brother Josh. Pictures from Cyprus and Venezuela and other places we lived growing up.

It got me to thinking about the people out in the world whom I knew and cared about at one time, and who knew and cared about me, and whose whereabouts and situation are utterly unknown to me now. For example, when we were overseas, we had nannies. Christina took care of me when I was a baby in Cyprus. Olive took care of Josh and me when we lived in Venezuela. She and I used to watch telenovelas together.

Olive with Josh and me outside the front door of our house in Caracas, Venezuela. I'm thinking about getting that plaid suit in an adult size so I can replicate this look. Or maybe track down these outfits so I can embarrass Zeke...

Frances was Sam's nanny in Israel, and she took care of Josh and me as well. It turned out that she stole things from my mother and was let go, but I didn't know that until much later, and I always liked her -- she was nice to me and very artistic and she taught me to knit and sew. Maria Lidia took care of Sam in El Salvador. I was in college and thus a little old for a nanny, but she was always sweet to me and she taught me how to fold my underwear into tiny little balls, a technique I use to this day.

I wonder where they all are, and how they all are. Especially Christina.

My mother was 22 years old when she married my father and joined him in Greece, where he was stationed as a junior Foreign Service officer. From there they moved to Cyprus, where I was born. Soon after moving into their house in Cyprus, a kindly woman in her 40s appeared at the door, introduced herself as Christina, and informed my mother that she (Christina) had worked for the people who lived in the house before my parents, and that now she would be working for my parents.

In my high chair in Cyprus, with Christina

sitting in Christina's lap with my cat, McGee

I don't remember Christina, but I've seen so many pictures and heard so many stories that I almost feel as if I do. I know that she was a wonderful caring woman who was utterly devoted to me from the day I was born. She took responsibility for making sure I wouldn't burn in hell for all eternity by taking me to her village to be baptized (something my Jewish parents obviously weren't going to do -- people ask me if my parents were mad, but their attitude was, "hell, it can't hurt"). She fed me and changed my diapers and took care of me. I learned Greek -- my first language -- from her, including Greek nursery rhymes (I have vague memories of a song in Greek about a little rabbit). She loved me like I was her own child, and was devastated when we left Cyprus.

I haven't seen her since leaving Cyprus 36 year ago. If she's still alive, she would be in her 80s, I think. Wherever she is, I hope she knows that I love her too, and that even after all these years, I still think about her and appreciate her role in my life.