Behind the Brick Facade

Ignorance is bliss. I know nothing about engineering or architecture, yet I can't help myself from collecting photos of buildings, mostly brick buildings. Brick buildings of my youth include the bank with smooth rounded veined marble pillars.  Somehow my cheek would find a way to access the coolness of the rock.  The ceilings high making the building hollow and echo.

Perhaps my affinity for brick, aged buildings comes from after church Sunday visits to Auntie and Gene's in Portland.  There was always lots of food.  Not the meat and potatoes that graced my table at home, but fresh produce from the farmer's market and pickled vegetables. I developed my sense of culinary adventure behind that brick facade.   Often we would bake short cakes to go with fresh strawberries or blueberries. I would walk down to the tiny store around the corner with my big sister to get a carton of cream that would be whipped into sweet peaks of delight.  Auntie's was the first place I had a taste of loose tea, mostly milk and spoonfuls of sugar.    Family stories, secrets between adults in French and food.  Auntie's was a place of constancy and love.