My niece Jen and her husband Brian are flying in from Orlando later this morning to stay with us over the weekend. You might remember these two from a post I wrote last year when my previous Seeing Eye dog, the heroic Harper, helped me officiate Jen and Brian’s wedding.

Jen and Brian will be married in a civil ceremony today, and I’ll officiate the public ceremony tomorrow. I can read Braille, but I’m so slow at it that if I “read” my lines we’d all still be there Sunday waiting for the part where Brian finally gets to kiss the bride. So I’ve recorded all my lines on a cassette. I plan to have an earpiece in one ear and my finger on the “pause” button. The recorder will read a few sentences at a time, and I’ll repeat what I hear. I am so, so flattered to be asked to do this for Jennifer and Brian, and I could go on and on and on and on here about how terrific it makes me feel that they trust me with this honor.

That's Brian, the happy groom, walking me and Harper to the altar just before the ceremony began.

That wedding went on without a hitch. Jen and Brian are a perfect couple, and their happiness was contagious. The crowd at the reception was lighthearted, loving, and lively. Flo did the chicken dance, and the entire day was, well…perfect.

The visit to Chicago this weekend is a gift from Jen to Brian for his birthday –Brian is a Boston Red Sox fan, and she got him tickets to see them play the White Sox with us this Saturday night.

The game tomorrow will mark just one week since White Sox pitcher Philip Humber pitched a perfect game. There’s been a lot in the news about it — he was put on waivers until the White Sox picked him up, he wasn’t a regular major league starter until just last year – but one important fact has been lost in all the celebration.

The perfect game was played away, in Seattle. I was listening on TV, and the Mariner fans were strikingly quiet after the very last pitch. But as the announcers chatted away, describing Humber’s teammates piling up on him in celebration, I listened closely and heard the crowd slowly swell up in applause.

Those Seattle Mariner fans are one classy bunch. They lost the game, but they witnessed perfection, and they appreciated what they saw. They were a perfect audience.

It is very cold in Chicago this weekend. Our Florida family members will probably have to borrow winter coats and gloves for tomorrow night’s game, but hey – sitting in the stands, watching baseball with people we love? We’ll be perfectly happy. Go Sox!

Last fall I started teaching a second weekly memoir-writing class for senior citizens. Anna Perlberg is one of the students in that second class at

Anna Nessy Perlberg with her best friend, Brady (photo by Mark Perlberg).

Lincoln Park Village, and it’s been a treat to hear her unveil her stories out loud to us every Thursday.

Anna’s husband Mark Perlberg co-founded the Poetry Center of Chicago and served as its president for 13 years. Anna has spent a lifetime listening to poetry, and she reads her own essays aloud in class with exquisite rhythm and timing. You don’t need to be able to see to know that everyone in class is at the edge of their seats when Anna reads, riveted by her words.

I assigned “Feeling Homesick” as a topic for the Lincoln Park Village class, and Anna showed up the next week with an excerpt from a piece she’d written for the Prairie Schooner, a journal published in cooperation with the University of Nebraska Press and the Creative Writing Program of the University of Nebraska.

Anna was born in Czechoslovakia. Her mother, Julia Nessy, was a lyric soprano and performed widely throughout Europe during the 1920s. Her father studied law and served under Czechoslovakia’s first president. “The young republic prospered,” Anna’s voice sounds like soft velvet when she reads in class. Regal, yet comforting. “It’s first president, Thomas Masaryk, set a tone of high-minded humanism; the economy grew, the arts flourished, and the mix of cultures–Czech, German, and Jewish–made the capital, Prague, a rich center of European life.” Czechoslovakia’s First Republic lasted only twenty years before Hitler’s army invaded, and World War II began.

“Those twenty years were the high point of both my parents’ lives,” Anna tells us.

I liked the excerpt Anna read so much that she surprised me with a copy of the journal the next week. I dug out my old cassette recorder when I got home from class, and Mike sat with me on the couch to read the complete essay out loud. Anna describes herself as a “shy, precocious nine-year-old girl,” when she left home with her parents and two older brothers as Hitler’s army seized Prague in March of 1939. The family took a circuitous, and often hair raising, route to New York City, and Anna’s story details countless friends and complete strangers who helped along the way. “I observed much, though I understood little, as we left one world for another in America.”

Anna’s beloved husband Mark Perlberg died in 2008 of complications from leukemia, and she has spent the years since then gathering his unpublished poems. Mark Perlberg’s posthumous collection, Theater of Memory, will be published by Louisiana State University Press in the fall of 2012, and three previously unpublished poems from Theater of Memory will appear in the spring issue of Prairie Schooner. While you’re at the Prairie Schooner site to read the current issue with Mark Perlberg’s poems, I suggest you order a copy of the Fall, 2010 journal as well. That’s where you’ll find Anna’s complete essay and learn about her amazing journey to America.

My loyal blog readers will remember the tribute to our dad that my sister Cheryl wrote as a guest post here a few months ago. She’s back today with this sweet essay about Flo on her 96th birthday.

Honey Girls

by Cheryl May

Last year we celebrated Mom’s 95th birthday on the 95th floor of the John Hancock Building in downtown Chicago. It was her first time there, and she still talks about that special celebration. This year she told us she didn’t want to do anything special. “It’s gonna be special already,” she said. “The new baby is due on my birthday!”

Well, Mom’s birthday gift was delivered a little early. Her 20th great-grandchild, Addison Rose, arrived on April 13th….and what a beautiful gift. So when we gathered for Mom’s 96th birthday yesterday we raised a glass or two — in celebration of both Mom’s and Addie’s birthday.

Our sister Bev drove in from Michigan and surprised Flo at the entrance of the restaurant, and our cousin Darrell stopped in, too. Mom marveled that her first birthday phone call that morning came at 7 a.m. “Seven in the morning!” she said, shaking her head in amazement every time she said it. “Can you believe that?”

What she couldn’t know then was that a string of phone calls would be waiting on her answering machine when we brought her back to her condo, culminating with a Liberace-style rendering of “Happy Birthday” from Pick and Hank in D.C. Pick at the grand piano, of course!

A neighbor at mom’s condo had decorated her door a la college dorm room days. “The sign said 95,” Mom said. “She got it wrong. I changed the five to a six.” Neighbors couldn’t help but notice the sign, and birthday cards started piling up under her door. “So many cards!” she beamed. She didn’t take a nap yesterday, so much going on and all. I don’t feel tired,” she assured us. “But I know I will once I sit down and put my feet up.”

Some of us can never remember the name of the “new” small restaurant we meet at across from the Elmhurst train station, so we just say, “you know, Honey Girl.” Heads nod, all of us remembering the clothes store that used to occupy that space when we were growing up. And today, it was the perfect name for the place we celebrated Florence Maria Martea Frederika and her new great-granddaughter Addie Rose: Honey Girl!

Here’s my husband Mike Knezovich with a book review.

Sometimes when I’m at an airport, a hotel lobby, walking down a city street, in an elevator, I watch the humans and think: Really, we’re all monkeys.

I learned there is some truth to that glib observation a few years ago when I wrote a freelance article on the work of Dario Maestripieri, professor of

Dario Maestripieri will talk about his book and his work on Thursday, April 19, 6:00 p.m. at Sandmeyer's Bookstore, 714 S. Dearborn in Chicago.

comparative human development, evolutionary biology, neurobiology, and psychiatry at the University of Chicago. Maestripieri has been watching human behavior a long while and sees lots of our behavior as evolutionary strategies and traits – many we still share with other primates.

When I interviewed Dr. Maestripieri, I found out he actually used to live in our building here in the Printers Row neighborhood of Chicago. He rode our elevator every day and watched people give awkward acknowledgements to one another when boarding, then immediately look down, up, at their phone (anything but maintain eye contact); he recognized this behavior as very similar to that of rhesus macaque monkeys when they are in tight quarters.

For a rhesus, baring the teeth and staring are signs of aggression. It’s a leftover in us, too.

That’s one really simple example of a fascinating thesis that’s really well-described in Maestripieri’s new book, Games Primates Play. Those of you who remember the bestseller of yesteryear called Games People Play will understand that Maestripieiri is making a very deliberate play off that title. Where the older book looked at everything from a social point of view, Maestripieiri’s work looks a layer deeper.

Example? Generally, a person walking into a crowded theater will look for a spot that has seats open on both sides. Only if none are available will the person finally plop down arm-to-arm with someone else. A sociologist might say that’s because humans need personal space. In Maestripieri’s research and new book, he asks, “Where does that need come from?”

I’m not doing it justice – I hope you’ll give his book a read and, come down to our favorite neighborhood bookstore, Sandmeyer’s, on Thursday night, April 19. Maestripieri will be giving a short presentation and signing books there at 6 pm. I’m going to do my best to be there with Beth – so come on, join us. After all, monkey see, monkey do.

White Sox home opener, 2012. Hot dogs, fireworks, Jack Ingram singing the national anthem, cheering, a fly-over. Both pitchers settled in right from the start, but it took Whitney a little longer — it was the fifth inning before she could sit down!

The White Sox put on a great show – Mike and I had a ball. It was one heck of a well-played, entertaining baseball game. If you appreciate the game, you appreciate great defense, and there was a lot of it: a diving catch in left field by Dayan Viciedo, and shortstop Alexei Ramirez started a double play with a terrific play behind second. Jake Peavy, who suffered a horrendous injury (a muscle literally tore off the bone) two years ago pitched great. The Detroit starter, Max Scherzer, was almost as good for most of the game, so the game went quickly.

Whitney doesn’t yet appreciate the game, so I’m afraid her favorite part of the day was trotting down the ramp to leave the park and go home!

Opening Day started a week of firsts for Whitney. It’s Spa Week in Chicago, so I’ll be celebrating Monday, getting my first massage since coming home with Whitney in December. Will she sit quietly for the entire hour? We’ll see.

And then, this Wednesday Whitney takes a train with me to Champaign where she’ll be asked to sit through her first university lecture: I’m giving a talk to an animal sciences class at the University of Illinois. I plan on telling the students what it’s been like transitioning to a new Seeing Eye dog, then going over some of the qualifications necessary to become a guide dog instructor. Most guide dog schools require instructors to have a college degree and then do an apprenticeship, and some apprenticeships last as long as four years.

Considering that guide dog schools are non-profit organizations, I would guess the pay for apprentices and instructors is far below what a lot of today’s college educated people expect to earn. If you’re looking for job satisfaction, though, this kind of work must be pretty dang rewarding – I’m hoping my talk might motivate some of these University of Illinois students to consider it as a career. I’m also hoping Whitney will settle in to her first university lecture a whole lot faster than she did for her first baseball game – there won’t be any fireworks or hot dogs, and everything I’ll be talking about will be old news to her!

Another great-grandchild for Flo: Addie Rose.

We’ll cap off our week of firsts on Friday when Whitney will attend her first birthday party for Flo, who will be 96 years old on April 20. We’ll ride a commuter train to Elmhurst and meet Flo and other family members to celebrate at the wine bar across from the train station. No need to bring presents; Flo says she already got the gift she wanted. Her 20th great-grandchild, a healthy little girl named Addie Rose, was born on Friday. We’ve got a lot to celebrate, and It’s going to be one joyful celebration. Cheers!