I'm still a kid

When I think of that day 30 odd years ago. I was on my way to school. I knew my mother was dying of cancer, but I didn't realize that I wouldn't make it there before she did.

I came into my grandmother's house and all I heard were laments. My father was silent and hugged us. He let my brother and I see Mom before my uncle called his friends at work (who were the undertakers). My father was always the one who was there, when his mother and his wife died.

My grandma was a mess. My mother was her youngest child.

There are a lot of things that are a blur, but a lot of things I will never forget. I learned much later that I could spend all my time thinking about the horrible things a teenager could have to witness (the stretcher, the body bag, the death rattle), or I could choose to remember the things my mother left me.

Her happy disposition despite many trials. Her stubbornness and relentlessness to see things right. Her wavy hair that always curled when you wanted and sometimes, when you didn't. Her enjoyment of the little things in life, like the salami sandwiches from our town's Italian section. The jello (red and green) that Santa left us at Christmastime.

My mother also left me her faith. Her faith that we are all actors in our own story and a little divine intervention never hurts. Sometimes we need to help and be helped. Those traditions of perseverance were more helpful than I ever knew later in life.

So while my mom is no longer here to be celebrated, I look every day for the places where she left her mark on my life. And I see her every day. I put a photo of happy times on my refrigerator, so I remember that. She and Dad took us to get family photos. It was the last group family photo we would get.

So I can mourn this day, or I can live it as Mom would want me to do. My mother always wanted me to be a nurse, so I know somewhere in Heaven she smiles. Even with my detours and stubbornness, she got her wish.

A fun oddity

Here's a guy with priorities: he needs something to eat while playing those late night card games.

Happy 250th birthday of the sandwich.

When in Rome

I would have gone if they would have let me have a longer vacation, but alas, they would not. So to slake my thirst for something Italian, I hopped in the auto and drove a ways to the Italian neighborhood of BigTown nearby.

I love this Italian neighborhood because everything is close. You park on one street and you can literally walk along the business district from one end to another in a pleasant walk, passing schools, the local church and lots of neighborhood homes, most small but neat and tidy, with little Madonnas and tri-colors in the front yards and the occasional "Beware of dog" signs in Italian.

First, I stopped for lunch at one of the sandwich places. It wasn't crowded, but the gaggle of screaming kids with two harried ladies nearly gave me indigestion. I like the guys who own the place, so I was happy with my lunch.

Next, I strolled down to the stores. I passed a couple of bakeries and grocery stores getting their deliveries. Good thing I wasn't here yesterday, or I'd have been run over by the mass of humanity that seems to show up on Wednesdays.

After that I headed over to the salumeria, which is world-famous because several Brat Packers had standing orders from this place because Frank Sinatra discovered it on a concert trip. It's a real hole in the wall, but an actual meat factory that sells all over the world. I had an interesting conversation with the lady at the counter over Abruzzese and Calabrese sausage. Yes, everything south of Milano is southern to the Lombards, and one day, I'll get to a restaurant that appreciates the difference.

I headed out with my sausages and took a break at the corner coffee store, which also happens to roast and sell coffee commercially. One of the employees was roasting a batch, so I sat in the front window seat and watched, as the drone of the roaster provided some nice, soothing white noise. The smell was delightful. I got a cup and a spicy chocolate biscotti and soaked up some sunshine in the front window (which wasn't as horribly hot as outside).

It was a relaxing way to end my trip to the Italian neighborhood. One of these days, hopefully, I'll be on my way to the old country...

Full moon Monday

And to think, I'm not at the Hotel! Darn!

Ah, but it was crazy enough here. Bubba did not want to spend the day with momma and daddy and go to the Kidsmuseum with all the climbing stuff, dinosaurs, animatronics, etc., you can think of, so off he trotted to day camp, where he cried a river before Dahey dropped him off. Not just bawling, but the whole throw yourself on the floor drama queen spectacle. Glad I missed that one. He was still crabby by the time I picked him up this afternoon. Now he's sulking with a root beer float and watching the Yankees play whoever. My child a Yankees fan...eek! That's not kosher in this part of the country, son, but at least he's not asked for an A-rod jersey or a cap yet.

I vegetated and then Dahey and I went to lunch. Didn't end up where we should have, but got lunch nevertheless. Fancy schmancy ethnic was closed, as it is on Mondays, so we went to another nearby eatery owned by Mom and known citywide for her sandwiches. The smell of the marinara drew me to the meatballs...yum!

Dahey went to transact some business. He's an inveterate shopper--goes to auctions, trolls Craigslist, you name it. He drove far away looking for the ever elusive antiques. No dice. Nice man on craigslist who said, sure go to lunch with your wife got a better offer minutes before Dahey arrived and sold the stuff as he was driving up.  Pissed off husband ensued.

Nevertheless, I had a lovely day. My partner and I worked on our group paper and got most of it done. At least we have time to give it a thorough look over for all those APA pitfalls.

A little more bliss, maybe some rain, and hopefully, an interesting lunch or two. Stay tuned....