The move. Ah the cardboard and my grandfather.

The move and the cardboard

Ok I've been in my new place for three weeks. I still have stuff scattered around the city. I knew it would be a long day when I put my hang around the house pants on backwards.  I still have seven boxes containing all my record albums and they won't be put away until I get a shelving unit back from my sister's house, amongst other things. Ah the cardboard! It will take me several more weeks, perhaps a month to get rid of all of it as they collect recycle material every other week. Four of my six guitars are still at my sisters. I never got to play them though because somehow I hurt my left arm by sleeping on it "funny". I originally hurt it when I hurt my leg on vacation back in 2012 you know where. The arm is better now but it's still a bit tender when I stretch it out holding the guitar neck. Not only that but by not playing for three months I lost most of the calluses on my fingertips. They have disappeared. Still with all that annoying stuff I'm ok, just busy.

My sister's house and my grandfather

The three months I spent at my sisters and brother in law was filled with a lot of laughs. Many of those were aimed at my brother in law. One very warm evening the three of us were sitting on the porch enjoying an adult beverage. Now my sister is a wonderful person but if you upset her she is going to let you know about it. As we sat there my brother in law, Jim announced that he was getting chilly and was going to put a sweatshirt on.
" Sweatshirt?!Chilly Jim?!! It's 9 o'clock and it's &$#!?!!! 82 degrees!"
They were a very entertaining couple.
Then there was the time when my sister and I were reminiscing about the time my parents and my mother's siblings and spouses decided to bring my grandfather over from Italy. He was in his 80's and they were receiving reports from the old country that he was wandering around disoriented. My parents, aunts and uncles decided to bring him over. He would spend four months at each of their homes. Now my grandfather had been to America back in the 1920's. My mother was born here in Boston, and went to school here until the sixth grade. There are pictures of them in the southern parts of the city (my city) taken in the late 20's and 30's. The neighborhood looks pretty much the same at least the houses do. I have some of the pictures and I'll show them when I get my scanner over here. Then they went back to Italy for reasons I'm not aware of. Then the war broke out. Fast forward to the '80s. My grandfather was staying at my parents house. He really didn't know where he was and every time we went to the house we had to be introduced. One day my mother was washing some dishes and grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table. My grandfather thought he was still living in Italy. She asked him, in Italian, if he knew where he was. He answered the name of the little town in Italy. She told him no. This conversation was all in Italian.
"No. You're in America!"
"What do know about America!? I was there!"
"Yes but we brought you here."
Once again he repeated, "What do you know about America? I was there! I speak English!"
"Really? Let's hear some English?"
My grandfather picked up a spoon and proudly announced, "Spoondella!"
He then picked up a fork and said, "Forksy!"
At this point we were all stifling chuckles.

My grandfather might have been old but he was still plenty strong. He was a farmer. One night I was over for dinner. My mother had a fight with her father and he wouldn't come in to eat. He sat on the steps of the front porch with his arms folded looking grumpy. Grumpy grampy! My mother asked my father and I to go get him. My father couldn't talk him in so it was decided that we should carry him in. My father got him under the arms and I had him by the legs. He began to struggle and boy was he strong! He was flailing his arms and legs. My father and I started to laugh, imagining how this looked to the neighbors. We were laughing until one of the fists at the end of his flailing arms caught my dad right in the chops. For a split second I saw my father turn red and make a fist and then quickly calm down. We struggled up the stairs and eventually got him inside. After a couple of minutes grandpa had forgotten all about it.
As a side note, of course both my grandfathers came to America except my father's father came alone. He worked as a laborer here in Boston, sending money home then he eventually went back and stayed there until he died in 1977. He was a farmer as well. In fact both grandfathers were born and died the same year at 90.

On a side note I was very proud of Arlene a couple of days ago. A local politician who is not very well liked, made a comment on the just completed Krystle Campbell memorial park, just completed and to be dedicated this Sunday. Just in case you don't know or remember She was one of the people killed at the marathon bombing. Arlene knows the family and their kids went to school together. Arlene ran into Krystle's mom at the supermarket the other day and she heard what this local jerk, and believe me I want to use stronger language here, said about the park. He called it a waste of time and money. Well Arlene let him know what she thought of him and his harsh comments about the memorial park. It was all done using donations. Good for you Arlene! Ya done me proud! Hopefully I can get some pictures.   

So my moving out downstairs, waiting three months and moving back upstairs is still an ongoing process. Today I plan to do some laundry and not much more. Tonight we will be going out to dinner at our favorite local restaurant. Oh and I have to make an angry phone call to DISHTV.

For now,
I am outta here.