Georg Vihos, Phone Numbers, and Breaded Cutlets

Lisa here. In the coming days, I am going to be posting some tributes and meditations on my father who left this physical plane on September 26. He was an amazingly prolific artist, and a lover of life. His greatest pleasure, it seemed, was to pass on the spark of creativity to others. I think about him all the time, which I suppose is quite normal right after someone dies. However, I can't imagine how I will ever not think about him. I am not ready to write about him yet, but I know I will soon enough. One day, at the hospital, he said to me: "Write a story about me." I said, "I will, dad." He said, "Make it a good one." Before I get to my own stories about Georg, I will share some from others. Here is the first one, from Stoneboat contributor who happens to be my brother-in-law, Stephan Mazurek:

Death lingers, even as the date of the last breath fades from the calendar. The first reminder of someone no longer being with us invariably for me is the address book in my mobile phone. The first glance of someone's name who has recently passed always brings a resounding finality to the absoluteness of life and then death. My first impulse is to remove the name, number, and addresses from my book. But I never do. My address book is full of names and numbers of dead people. I like coming across their names and being reminded of their voices and the conversations and memories we created when they were alive and with us. And so it happened again last night when I came across Georg Vihos's name and number. I opened up his entry and really looked at his former studio address in Detroit and looked at the ten numbers that represented his binary identity in my phone.  I will always associate food with Georg when I remember him.  If Georg visited your home and studio he always brought some tasty treat with him.  In the mornings, he would always show up with bagels, lox and tuna.  If you invited him to a wedding, or another major event, he would always arrive  with some cut of lamb, sometimes even a whole lamb. Impressive and intimidating.  Greeks know how to throw a party  and to make an entrance to a party.  Georg loved to cook and feed large groups of people. So last night I decided I was going to teach my daughter, Ella, how to prepare and cook breaded cutlets. Ella loved pounding the meat, making it more tender than it deserved to be. She seasoned the meat, floured it, submerged it in eggs and then breaded the cut until it was covered in a worthy disguise.  And then she admired her breaded hands before she washed them clean. And then I started cooking the breaded cutlets as she went back to reading her book.  After a while she called out,  " It smells good.  It reminds me of something."  Something, yes. Someday that something will become a memory long after I am gone and nothing but a telephone entry in your phone's address book.