When I was little, my parents would ship me off to Boston for a week during the summer to stay with my grandmother. The collage of those weeks in my mind, are some of the happiest moments of an otherwise very happy childhood.

One of my grandmother's favorite memories is as follows:

I would have been about four or five years old. A yearly tradition was to go into Boston one morning to ride the Swan Boats on the Common, and feed the birds. She would pop a big bag of popcorn (this is 1984 or 85 so...so we're talking about loose kernels here...) and she and I would ride the T into the City and get off at Boston Commons. After the boat ride, out of her purse, which had a near endless supply of Nips Candies, sour balls, aspirin, schmutz-removers (Kleenex and spit) and everything else imaginable, would come the bag of popcorn. We'd go by the water's edge and feed the birds the popcorn. (We didn't know it was bad for them back then.)

Pigeons, geese, sparrows and swans would flock to us. In one hand I held the bag of popcorn. With the other hand I would distribute the popcorn to my eager avian friends, who would devour it with gusto.

At one point, I guess a handful didn't make it onto the ground fast enough, and a Canadian Goose nipped a kernel out of my hand. It didn't bite me per se, but it nipped, and it scared the crap out of me.

My grandmother loved to tell the story of how I let out a shriek, and threw the bag of popcorn up in the air.

We can all figure out what happened thereafter.

I was a tiny five-year-old in my little overalls and tiny Pumas, covered in popcorn and birds, screaming with fear. I escaped completely unscathed, but I think we went to Cabot's Ice Cream afterward to calm my frazzled little nerves.

I can still her her hooting with laughter as she recounted the story.

Bei mir, bistu shein, Bella.