This has been a very busy week. It seems things have become busier now that I'm working less.
A couple of weeks ago I was asked by Arlene's daughter if I would take some pictures of a carnival in the parking lot at city hall. I said sure, so Arlene and I headed to "the square" as we would say around here. It's not much of a square but it's the only square we've got. There were police by the entrance stopping traffic for the pedestrians. I began taking pictures. I moved up the street for a different angle then sat down on a little wall by a medical building.
A minute later over came a young policeman. He introduced himself and asked me what I was doing. It seemed fairly obvious to me what I was doing. He was very polite. There was a mêlée at one of these carnivals a few years back in city not too far from here. I told him what I was doing and dropped a name and the name of the local news web site. Mind you at the time I was across the street from the carnival. He shook my hand, thanked me and left. It seems police are quite sensitive at the moment. He really couldn't have done anything. I have every right to take pictures in a public place.
It was getting dark and it was overcast. The wolves were howling...ok it was a little pain in the ass Chihuahua. Sniffing, yipping, barking and annoying.
This was this afternoon, 5/4/2015, looking out my front window to the porch. Nothing great here but it was a beautify day
It was the first really beautiful, warm sunny day. I was off but I had no urge to leave the house.
So here it is, the next night, 05/05/2015. I'm getting to the computer late these days. What started this whole blog was remembering my grandfather. I got off on a tangent. My grandfather on my mother's side was having some difficulties. He was still in Italy. He had come to the United States in the late 1920's. My mother was born here. They went back for reasons unbeknownst to me and the war broke out.
Flash forward to the mid to late 1970's. Calls from Italy to the family here that my grandfather was getting confused, seen wandering around. The decision was made to bring him to the States. He would stay with my family for four months, then at my mother's brothers house, then at their others sisters house. When he was with my family, the same routine happened when I came into the house. My mother would say in Italian, "Who is this?" My grandfather would say in a shrug, "I don't know."
My mother would say, "That's your grandson!"
Grandpa would say, in Italian, "No! My grandson is in America!" as he sat in a kitchen 5 or 6 miles from Boston.
"You are in America!"
"What do you know about America! I was there!" Then my grandfather said, "I speak English!"
To which my mother would say something like, "Ok. Let's hear some English!"
My grandfather looked at the kitchen table, picked up a spoon and proudly said, "Spoondella!"
He picked up a fork and said, "Forkett!"
You had to laugh.
There were times when we would be on the porch and my father and grandpa would be having the same old discussion. You're in America. What do you know about America, I was there, then my grand father would point up our street and say his farm was down there, point at a factory close by and pronounced that, the city hall.
The most amazing part of this is, when grandpa was taken to the North End of Boston, a very Italian neighborhood where my uncle had a store, where my grandfather and his young family lived in the 20's and 30's, he was back in America. He recognized buildings and a street or two. Leave the North End and it's back to Italy.
Grandpa was harmless but you had to watch him. He once wandered away from my aunts house, the state police got involved. We finally received a call at about 11 pm. The state police had him at their barracks at the airport and that he was a little tired, (he covered about 6 miles) but non the worse for wear. He was about 86 at the time. When we got to the barracks he had 5 or 6 troopers around him seemingly amused as he chatted on in Italian. He was a tough old guy and he was still physically strong.
He lived until he was 94. He didn't die of old age. He fell and hit his head. He didn't last long then. Who knows how long he would have lived. I suppose it's a combination of good genes, hard work on the farm, and having a pretty healthy diet. Those Mediterranean's know how to eat. My grandfather grew oranges, lemons and limes, figs, walnuts, and an assortment of vegetables.
Here's a picture some pictures I got off the web of the little town in Sicily, Cannicattini Bagni. The first picture with the church in it, is very recognizable to me. My grandfather lived on the street behind the church. I remember walking on the main drag. If you walk left on the main drag in front of the church you come to a beautiful little landscaped park.
Ok, I've gone on long enough. I'm not even going to proofread it. It's late and I have to work again tomorrow. I'll try and visit around on Wednesday evening.
I'm outta here.
I miss you Beth.