"I LAHV YOU too mahch," said the glamorous woman with the clinking bangles. She was my dad's sister, my Aunt Mansoureh—known to all as Mali—and she beamed as she hugged me for the umpteenth time since she had arrived in Philadelphia from Iran. Because she barely spoke English and I didn't speak Persian, we communicated with smiles. In the kitchen ... Continue reading »
- Views: 294
- Comments: 0



