Sands of Time

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Lost in thought as well as my garden...

Each morning,
stumbling to remember;

appointments,
shopping lists,
and what
to do next.

Nothing seems;
Earth shattering,
time sensitive,
or life changing.

Oddly though:
each moment adds up to;
hours, days, months, and years.


Which in turn add up to:
wonderment at the time
that has pasted by.

Acts that have become;
walls, windows,
worries and wasted.

Or

Cemented families,
friends, fears and faith.

As the good book says--
We have entertained angels unawares.
So easy to miss, so easy to misinterpret.

The Imprecise Mixology

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These have nothing to do with anything other then this very kind and thoughtful daughter (who, writes the blog I am enticing you to read) gave them to me for my birthday. Now we can eat salads without our hands. How nice.

One of my daughters has started a new blog. Of course, I think it is wonderful.
I hope you will too.

This daughter of mine (or should I say ours? with a nod to my spouse) writes with both wit and charm. Please take a look, in her words, think of it as "going off-road, not off the rails"

SO, I am sharing it with you today:
The Imprecise Mixologist

Italian Ladies

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While I live in a solidly Midwestern town, just about a mile from my house, is an small international village, so to speak. It was a town settled by Italians around the turn of the 1900's, versus my town which was settled by Presbyterians, in the early 1800's. (A much more staid bunch.)

The houses are built out of stucco, stone and sweat. The yards are small, but every inch counts. It has a Southern Italy sense about it. While there is no ocean edge, we do have Lake Michigan, which I would think, might feel like the sea.

These fine Italians, came and showed us how to garden, make pasta, and enjoy wine. They have done a stellar job, and we are better for their efforts.

The evidence of these facts are clearly shown by the names of the restaurants; Scornavacos, Maria's Bakery, Papagallos, and Two Guys from Italy. Or landscaping companies: Mariani, Fiore, Puccio, to name a few.

The streets are lines with flower beds which also house; zucchini, tomato, pole beans,and cucumber plants. It charms me when I see then sprawling over the fences and climbing up trellises.

Not so much these days, but when I was much younger, I would see small women, hair covered by black
scarves, sweeping the sidewalks in front of their houses.  There were holly hocks dwarfing the front porches, sunflowers dwarfing the hollyhocks, and all of the flowers dwarfing these industrious women. A colorful view.

Now, this town is home to a new wave of immigrants, Hispanic. These two cultures have melded well. Now one finds next door to Italian establishments: taquerias, Super Mercados, and, Panaderias.

It is the age old American story, we almost all came from some where else, hoping to find a safe place to raise our children, a community to call out own, and a hope for a more prosperous future.

Travels with Uncle Walter

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One of the many passports he has...

Uncle Walter is;

ninety-four,

a bachelor,

fastidious,

a paradox,

and alone.

Except..

not entirely. 

He has traveled lightly

through life. 

Never keeping

what did not matter,

nor packing what

he did not need. 

When he speaks of

his time in the army,

World War Two,

he says;

Typing, saved his life.

Some of his many passports...

(His mother made him take it in summer school, while at the Christian Brothers Academy.)

When he speaks of his travels, 

which was his career, 

he says;

Plan, plan, plan.

Should they inquire the price, 

I did not work with them, 

they were not my kind of clients. 

When the Telex came, I was thrilled, 

when the fax machine came, I was enchanted, 

when email came...

I went home.

I know he carries many wounds, inside and out. 

I know this because, for thirty-eight years, as the niece that married in, I have pursued his company, much to his surprise.

Much to my surprise, 

while we have never left the area,

we have traveled many miles together.